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loganlermanstanaccount · 8 months

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Rigor Mortis (part 7)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 6, Part 8

summary: You spend some time with Miguel.

warnings: smut. f receiving oral, fingering, grinding, switchy behaviour from both sides, angst. 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: this chapter beat my ass icl

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 6.3k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

all-consuming grief,

It’s going to be a warm night. It's ushered in by the kind of dawn that bleeds red and gold, tawny and autumnal in the waning light. Like the washy colours of a Renoir, and he doesn’t even notice that he’s doing the thing he swore black-and-blue he wouldn’t. Reminiscing and romanticising; for the first time in a while, Miguel is able to see the sun set, legs splayed on the brick of his front steps.

Sitting by worn metal railing, he’s still in his work clothes. He chucked his rucksack on the step above, leaning long legs onto the ones below. They don’t ache as much as they used to, well-trained by a couple months of running and spending more time in the gym. There’s a shake in the fridge, labelled ‘Tuesday, PM’ that he’ll gulp down before bed, and one labelled ‘Wednesday, AM’ that he’ll take before setting off in the morning. In the morning, with cloudy skies and street cars to keep him company. There’s too much pollution, light or otherwise, for him to see some stars. He hasn’t seen stars in a while, now.

Long days seem to have turned into just days somewhere along the way. He can’t quite pinpoint when, and doesn’t really care to, but he thinks his brother would call it “progress”. There’s a grimace on his face as he thinks about it; a word that tastes like mud and feels like swirling cement in his mouth. It’s all bullshit, really. Gabi’s paltry attempt at therapising him, one which he would usually nip in the bud - taking metaphorical shears to slash at weeds and dense conversation. Catch-up calls about how he feels, how he’s doing – when he’s fine, he always is – as if Gabi is waiting for a shoe to drop.

He’s waiting for Miguel to have an epiphany, a breakdown the size of a collapsing star. It’s not coming, he keeps telling his brother, and the sooner the younger O’Hara realises – without the wide eyes and the pity – the better for the both of them. After all, Gabriel is his baby brother, and he’s spent his whole life worrying on his behalf: playing hide-and-seek in little closets and putting back together broken toys. Trying to drown out the sound of shouting and broken plates. They’re too old for all that, the worrying and gulping back tears, walking its well-travelled paths – and it doesn’t feel right that Gabi should do the same for him.

He sighs, deep and heavy and rolling down that quiet street. After what feels like forever, he’s tempted to lie down, to rest his head on the stone, close his eyes and think of something else. Of someone else - lots of someones, at this point in the day. He’s not the weepy type, but he is tired; shaking off the wear and tear, and fighting off sleep.

Then he sees it; a figure walking towards him, all sandals and khaki shorts and smiles. Mr Estevez, donned in his year-round attire of a polo shirt, a little tight around the middle, and cargos cut off below the knee – finally appropriate, considering the weather. He’s strolling closer like he’s got all the time in the world. If Miguel wasn’t so exhausted; the bone-deep kind, the kind that seeps into skin and lines a casket; he would’ve been annoyed. Instead, he hisses, furrows quickly deepening.

“Buenas, Miguelito!” Mr Estevez beams, scratching at scraggly facial hair.

Miguel frowns, but greets him nonetheless: that politeness drilled into him during childhood rearing its head.

“Buenas tardes, tío.” He grits his teeth as he gets up from his seat, creaky joints and all.

His landlord, the building’s handyman, owner of half a dozen shops all over the city, and Miguel’s uncle-that’s-not-really-his-uncle; Mr Estevez wears many hats, staying bright and informal regardless. He’s known the older man since he was 6, so he can’t be too disappointed; his tío has been late for weddings, funerals, and his little boy’s birth – it’s not much of a surprise that he’d be late now, too. Miguel stretches out a rough palm, and the man stops just shy of his hand, completely ignoring it. Before he knows it, Miguelito is engulfed in a great big bear hug, with wet kisses pressed to the apples of his cheeks. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, as usual, so they hang limply; arms flailing to his sides like a t-rex.

They separate, and he coughs at the great big hand that slaps his back. Grumbling, he walks up to the door, bag over his back, and stands expectantly. Mr Estevez doesn’t follow, instead dusting himself down to sit on the steps.

“I just need to get into the building.” Miguel starts. “Forgot my keys, and I've been here for hours. M’tired, and I–”

“Let’s sit, Miguel.” He scoots over, making space. “Look at the stars.”

It’s clear the older man isn’t moving. Begrudgingly, he obliges. “We’re in the middle of the city. You only see “stars” in the river – beer bottles and tinned crap reflecting the lights.”

“Language.” He gets a sharp nudge to his ribs.

“Discúlpame, tío.”

They stew for a moment, bathing in the silence that follows. The man besides him is the first to speak.

“I spoke to your mother.”

He’s scoffing and moving to get up, before feeling a firm hand on his shoulder.

“She’s worried, Miguel. Says you haven’t called in a while.”

“She hasn’t called me either."

“She’s stubborn.” The man besides him chuckles, bringing gentle eyes to meet his own. "Pig-headed. Remind you of someone?"

Miguel rolls his eyes, he just can't help it.

"She’s also the one that moved back home, so either way–”

"You know it's all been hard on her."

" –on her? It's been hard for her, surrounded by family, after she abandoned me? A-After…" His voice gets dangerously hoarse, threatening to crack under the weight of those words.

He can't stand the pitiful look sent his way: brows drawn, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Sorry. It's… It's nothing. I'm fine. Just fine."

"I didn't ask if you were fine, Miguel."

–even though you're definitely not okay. That part is left unsaid, spat onto the pavement like bitter backwash.

Mr Estévez sighs, ruffling a hand through Miguel's hair. It makes him hiss and dart away from the hand, pouting like he's a little kid again. He doesn't like it; the way he feels like all this life he's lived has been for naught. Trials and tribulations, and yet he doesn't feel that ache of growth; still stuck in the shoes of an awkward teenager.

"You think too much, Miguelito. Always have." He smiles, the kind that deepens the wrinkles around his mouth. It twists Miguel into knots, mouth dry as he tries to untangle himself from that feeling. "I'm worried about you, kid."

He sniffs, eyes trained towards the pavement. There it is again, worry; complicating and unravelling what was meant to be just another day.

"It's today, isn't it?"

All Miguel does is nod, shakily. It's been 2 years since his heart was ripped out of his chest. It heaves now, an erratic rise and fall he’s doing his best to control. Breathe, deeply and calmly; try not to think about his little girl in that hospital bed, and those blank eyes staring back.

“M’fine.” It comes out more desperate than he intends it, and he curses under his breath. If Mr Estevez hears the crude language, he doesn’t react.

Miguel is tense, hunched over the bag on his lap and curled into himself like prey – spitting and prickly and clearly uncomfortable. He’s never been the weepy kind, but the older man can’t help but think it’s a shame; so much love, and nowhere to keep it but inside. Miguel's bottled it up; the memories of precious Gabriella, all that warmth she brought out in her father; and he's turned them to poison pills to keep himself sick.

Miguel would never admit it, of course. He’s too stubborn. Pig-headed.

His tío sighs, moving to get up. He groans, in that dramatic sort of way he knows Miguel can’t stand, but still, there's a rush to help him up. Producing the door keys with a flourish, he pulls from the depths of cargo pockets, and unlocks the main door. Ushering in the younger man, who has grown so tall he needs to duck as he climbs the narrow stairs, there’s a finger prodded into the back of that cotton button-up.

“Miguel?” He starts, revving up a conversation he’s been meaning to have for a while now.

“Hmm?”

They both wait by the entrance of the apartment. The keys jingle in Mr Estevez’s hand.

“If I open the door, will I find out that you’ve driven away another one of my tenants?”

Conveniently, there seems to be a rather interesting spot in the hardwood that Miguel pokes with a dress shoe.

“...depends on your definition of 'driven out', tío.”

“That’s the third one this year! Not even 2 months– I knew there was something up. Not a single one of those little smiley faces to my messages, and–"

“I’ll make up for his side of the rent, you know I will.”

“I don’t like it. You should be saving up, to go get a house and settle down somewhere."

“I like living here, and I’ve said multiple times I’d pay the extra to live alone–”

“And then what? You rot in your room for the rest of your life?”

“I don’t– rot feels a little–”

“Nonsense. You’re lonely, Miguelito. If you don’t like it, you move out.”

They both know he won’t. It’s not really an option; the apartment is affordable and he likes living so close to his old neighbourhood, his old haunts. It’s like he’s tethered to that place with a bungee cord wrapped under his ribs, always snapping back.

“No promises, tío.”

“Doesn’t matter, Miguelito.” He sighs, scratching at stubble. “It’s been hard to find other tenants, with half the neighbourhood drying up. But as soon as I do–”

He points an accusatory finger at Miguel, and the sentence is finished for him.

“...best behaviour, I know.”

“Best behaviour.” Mr Estevez repeats, and starts to fumble with the keys. He throws a little comment over his shoulder. “I liked your lady friend, ages ago… the scary one, with the blue hair. She was–”

“Xina’s not scary, when you get to know her.”

“She was funny. Very pretty. Always paid rent on time, gave me food when I came to fix the heating…”

“It's out again, by the way.” Miguel chews his lip, with a strange expression. “And yeah, she was.”

The door swings open. Mr Estevez doesn’t let him off the hook, though, engulfing him in a warm hug. This time, in the doorway of his apartment, eyes screwed shut; he doesn’t try to wriggle out of it, melting into his tío’s arms. It feels different now that he’s not a kid: angry and hurting with a different sort of ache, but he leans into it, all the same.

~~~

There's a pressure released from the apartment, lately. Miguel feels… well, first of all, he feels ; thinks with his heart and not his head, sometimes. It's lighter, coming home with that weight on his shoulders and with someone there to distract him from it. Living life, he thinks, for the first time in a while. Vivid and vibrant and awake ; relishing the autumnal weather. It's always been his favourite season, despite how childish he thinks having a favourite season is; something you had asked him on a whim one morning.

Normally, he wouldn't entertain it, and with all the shit Pete spews, sometimes, he's had plenty of practice ignoring it. A well-timed dirty look, and then he'd get his head down and work; occupy himself with something less frivolous. But when you say it, with half a piece of toast sticking out of your mouth, it doesn't feel like a chore to answer. It doesn't feel like a stupid question, and he finds his face growing warm at the thought of you caring about these little things – wanting to know him , however that comes.

And so, his answer is Autumn. It's a little stilted; but catching him off guard after a run will do that to him. It's purely practical , he says, eyes tracing the slopes of your body in that shirt and shorts that stops at your thighs; high enough that he feels like a perv for looking. Autumn has temperate, even weather. Perfect for sweaters and hoodies. Warm enough that you don't need a jacket. Just right. You snort, nudging him. Bullshit, Mig. You flutter your eyelashes mockingly, your tone light. You just think it's the prettiest.

And he hums, catching you off guard. You're both drawn towards that little window over the sink, the one that overlooks a fire escape and the street. He's had that view for three years, now. Sleeves always rolled to his elbows as he does his washing up, but never quite looking. The street just below is framed in its windowpane, quite the pretty picture. Crisp leaves scattered on the sidewalk, carpeted in red and honeyed amber. And he can feel it from the other side of the glass; smell it, touch it, taste it. Autumn: hot chocolate and giggles, the crunch of leaves underfoot, and cupping tiny palms to warm them up. Sunsets seen for the first time, watched through bus windows on the way back from school – he misses those the most.

"You don't think it's beautiful?" You say, leaning your head towards the half-open window.

You don't notice, but he looks over to you, swallowing roughly. He says it with a small voice.

"I…I do."

You're darting to the bathroom not too long after, breaking the spell. Frustrated, he resists the urge to curl up into a ball and scream into his palms. He's got what he wanted; a good fuck, a pretty face, a warm smile. Friends, at the most, who happen to get the other off after a long day. A welcome distraction, at the least. He's got what his body has been telling him he needs for the past few months. It makes him feel weird, so oddly settled; but, all things considered…

Miguel is doing okay.

“...and I wouldn’t normally ask, but I swear , I left him…o-on read and he won’t stop texting me.”

Really, actually; he’s doing fine.

“It feels weird– mmffuck– but I can’t ignore him any longer.”

Maybe even… good. Better than okay.

“I still have a bunch of my stuff over there. At least half of it is clothes and books, a-and I’ve put it off for as long as I can…”

He hums in response, pulling quiet curses from you, above. Pressing the flat of his tongue onto your clit, your hips jump up and he purrs ; rearing up to dive even deeper into your pussy. Too quick for him, you catch on, hand in his hair to pull him up.

Sitting up on your haunches, he rests his head on your bare thigh – licking the taste of you off of his lips.

You tilt your head, looking at him with those eyes he can’t help but marvel at. A beat passes.

“...so?” You start, expectantly. “Will you help me or not?”

His response comes in the form of teeth nipping at pillowy skin. You yelp, and swat him away whilst he chuckles.

“I’m serious , Mig. It’s too much to pick up by myself. And you’re the only person I know with a car…”

“ Ouch, hermosa. ” He frowns as you peter off. “Is that the only reason you’re fucking me? For my car?”

“If I say it’s because of your sparkling personality, will you help me?”

For a moment, it seems like he’s got his brows pressed together like he’s seriously considering it, but it ends up being just smoke and mirrors. He’s pretending , biding his time to hook a hand under your legs and force you to lie down onto the bed. Your head hits the covers with a gentle thump as he hikes up the lip of that big tee even further; squeezing your thighs around his head like earmuffs.

It’s when he makes eye-contact, tongue circling your hole, that you realised you’re fucked. Up until now, he’s been toying with you – playing with his food, so to speak – lazily swirling his tongue around your clit and pressing buttons to see exactly where to push. And you'd welcomed it, a hand in his hair as you talked about your day – which he'd asked for, of course.

Now, he's insatiable, eating you out like a man starved; all tongue and wet kisses to your swollen bud. You're slightly raised up on his shoulders, clamping around his tongue as he fucks into you fervently. Big palms spread you wider, and he hums into it, content.

"So pretty ," He sets you down, pupils blown as he studies the way your back arches and the way your legs shudder in the sheets. He slides upwards, sitting next to you, tracing a hand across the gentle curve of stomach that peeks out from your big t-shirt.

Still coming down from your high, you're only just able to register it: he looks mesmerised, a dopey smile plastered on his face.

"What?" You scoff when a moment passes, and his hand inches closer towards your lower lips.

"M'just looking." He shrugs, with a little smile on his face. "I'm not allowed to look?"

You scoff, but you're still shaky so it comes out a little more pathetic than you intend. Nevertheless, you start to sit up but he stops you with a gentle hand at your chest.

"Call him." He says, pressing two fingers to your clit and then down to your gushing slit.

Maybe it's the way he hunches over you, eyes flicking towards your lips, or the way he slips those fingers in; but your eyes go wide, and you're choking on your next words.

"Call… Call who?" Playing dumb, dancing on a razor's edge, and Miguel only quirks up an eyebrow at the stupid question.

"You know who." He says it low, smooth and dulcet as he curls his fingers at that sweet spot, experimenting. "I'll help you, fine. But I want you to call your ex, too. Let him know when to expect us. Is that okay, sweetheart ?"

That last word comes with a twang, the lilting tone of what sounds like mockery. He twists the knife, nudging the flat of his palm onto your clit – still tender and throbbing from your last orgasm.

Before you change your mind, you pick up the phone laid face down on the bedside table, pressing shaky fingers to its screen. You don't dare to look up, knowing Miguel is watching; dark eyes studying your every move.

Flicking his wrist this way and that, he swallows roughly as your fingers stutter on the screen. Not completely satisfied, he still has the time to look smug, settling into a comfortable pace. Finally, your phone rings with a tell-tale dial tone. It rings once. It rings twice, and–

"Hello? " The voice is muffled as it says your name. Put it on speaker, Miguel mouths and you oblige.

"Hey, J-Jamie." The phone is shaky in your hands, so you lay it out next to you on the bed.

"It's late, baby." You don't have time to be annoyed at his tone – or the unwarranted pet name – because Miguel speeds up, pumping in and out of you with a little more force.

"I… I know. S-Sorry." You clamp down the moans that threaten to erupt, rocking your hips in time with the thrusts.

Head lolling back into the sheets, you spend a good ten seconds in oblivious bliss, until Jamie breaks the silence.

"You've been ignoring me for ages, baby… and then you call out of the blue. What is it?" He's tired, it sounds like. Irritated for sure.

"Just w-wanted to–" Miguel presses his thumb to your clit and you jump. Once back down to earth he has to prompt you to answer. "-my stuff! Fuck , I just want to pick up my stuff."

"...now?"

Tomorrow. Miguel mouths.

"Tomorrow. " You repeat, wrapping a hand around his forearm to slow him down. It's too much, too fast; and he has the audacity to add another finger, scissoring out to stretch your cunt.

"O-kay. " He clicks his tongue, with some things rustling in the background. "Okay. You're acting weird, but..."

You're conflicted. His tone makes you melt, reaching for your phone to answer when Miguel snakes a hand under your shirt, palming your tits. To your surprise, he presses shaky kisses to the skin, rolling around your nipple with the flat of his tongue. You keen, clamping a hand around your mouth to stop the noises that spill out.

"...we still need to talk about what happened. About how we left things."

Anger flares up at your chest; hot at the sheer gall. He wants to talk? Now, when you had been met with a brick wall of silence; begging and begging for even a simple explanation?

What made it sting even more was that even after the breakup, everything happened on Jamie's terms. He broke up with you, providing little warning. He completely ghosted you, refusing to answer countless calls and messages. And now, he wants to talk; to make himself feel better and wank off his own ego, no doubt. It's not bitterness that makes you press Miguel closer, to revel in the pleasure that he gives you, you convince yourself. It's for you ; finally, unabashedly, just for you.

You don't bother to answer, hanging up the call with a click. Tugging at his hair, you pull him off with a wet pop; slick-soaked fingers slipping out of your cunt.

He cradles your chin, angling you upwards.

"You okay? Too much?" It barely registers; you're too focused on the tangle of curls framing his face, and the rosy pout of messy lips.

You shake your head, writhing against the sheets.

"More." You move his hand over to rest between your legs. "Please, Miguel."

His eyes flutter, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Eyes on me, baby.”

He says it with sobering clarity, bolstered by just how precisely he slots against your bare pussy. You can feel it, the full length of his cock; pressed up against you as he slips it out of his sweats. Head spinning, it slaps onto your stomach. Your eyes practically bulge out of their sockets. Oh fuck. He's big.

"Just like that." He coos, spitting into his palm and pumping his cock. “Wanna see how pretty you look when I make you cum.”

~~~

When tomorrow comes, you’re still sore from the litany of bruises and hickeys littered. It’s a Saturday, and you’re up bright and early. Well, Miguel is up bright and early, clattering around in the kitchen as you wake up.

He seems energised, mug of coffee in hand whilst you rub the sleep from your eyes. You waltz into the kitchen through the open doorway, morning breath and all.

"Morning," You say, soft and giggly at the way he jumps ten feet in the air, too wrapped up in himself to notice at first.

"Morning." He breathes, melting when he sees you in the shirt he had picked out for you last night. He shakes himself out of it. "Hungry? I can make something."

"No, no. M'good." You sidle up to the counter, head clocked at the fancy machine on the heavy slab. There's a question on the tip of your tongue, one you roll between your teeth. "Could I have some coffee? I mean… could you show me how?"

Where you expect laughter, mockery, or surprise that you've lived here for months and can't figure out the coffee machine; he nods, patient and calm. You ask him more questions; curious with every flick of a switch, and the way he lights up when talking about it. To your surprise, you want to know more – anyway that comes.

He's talking about expensive beans, and his favourite roasts – and a place across town that sells the exact kind he likes, but it's too fucking gentrified for him to go there more than two or three times a year. That makes you giggle: his little pout, the press of brow; and he looks up in surprise before joining you in light laughter.

You finish, pouring cream into his special mug with a flourish, and he steals a sip before you can. You elbow him away, angling for that stolen taste. When you do, it is deep and rich; sweet in a way that reminds you of Miguel, grounded and balanced and silky. In short, it's the perfect cup of coffee. More than content, you hum.

"Is it good?" He asks because he's already making mental notes, planning to greet you with a hot flask of the stuff in the mornings – if it means he gets that smile, of course.

"Very." Fervently you nod, lips curved to the ceramic as you blow; and Miguel is trying really hard not to stare. Maybe it's the fact that he's seen you in a way not everyone gets to; pretty and vulnerable and writhing on the tip of his cock; but it has him fending off vivid daydreams. Your lips wrapped around his length, his hand pressing you further down, feeling that warmth as you choke on his–

He blinks and you're gone, padding off to your room with that mug of coffee. You return not too long after, phone in hand and tapping away at the screen. Miguel ignores the way it makes him feel, having your attention and then losing it just as quickly. Like a kicked puppy, he resists the urge to beg for more – of your time, of your attention – turning away to clean up instead.

"I spoke to Jamie," You start, leaning with your back to the counter as he rolls up the sleeves of a comfy sweater. "He said he'll be around later in the evening, after his shift. Around 10. Is that okay?"

He shrugs, not caring either way. You're a friend, and he's helping you because that's what friends do. He can still taste you on his lips, but it doesn't mean anything. Not in a way you'd want, anyways.

"Sure." He doesn't turn around, stealing glances at the open window whilst he clatters around. "I've got a session later on anyways."

He catches a flash of something on your face, and you're pushing it away; prickly and uncomfortable. In his defence, he's stopped bringing people over for faux chemistry tutoring and there's less banging coming from across the wall. Less , but not completely gone, because you've learnt he has a penchant for dropping shit and cursing like someone's Dad.

But you can't help but think about Sarah , and Jia …. and how close he would get to Sita on the dining table. Fuck .

You're sighing now, tracing the curve of his jaw as he settles in front of the window: jaw set, arms crossed, and distant. He does that sometimes, goes off somewhere else – all teeth and claws. Tense, brows drawn up in a way that makes you want to smooth them out.

You put your phone down and mug away, sliding across linoleum to gently nudge his shoulder with your own.

"Are we…" He starts, and you track his line of sight to a quiet street below. He hums, without looking away. "Are we good?"

It makes you turn. You blink, as if out of all the nonsense you bicker about daily, that was the most ridiculous. Good? Good? Of course we are, of course we always will be. How could we be anything else? You shut it down before it spills out of your mouth, overzealous and desperate.

He clarifies with a nervous cough. "Last night. Was it… good?"

His frown deepens, and you wonder if it's just you that hears it in his tone. His real question, the one that makes you splinter and creak like a felled oak tree: Was I good? Am I good enough?

"Yeah. " You say it like the most obvious thing in the world – and to you, it is. For all his flaws; assholery and its trimmings aside; Miguel has never been a bad lay. You don't even think he has it in him; he couldn't half-ass it if he tried.

"It was–" Fucking amazing . The kind of thing you'll fuck yourself to for the foreseeable future. Cathartic and breath-taking and hot . All of the above.

Miguel finishes your sentence with something a little less… horny. "It was a lot, wasn't it? I wasn't really thinking, how uncomfortable it could be for you, and–"

Gently, you laugh and cut him off. "I've been having mediocre sex for basically the whole of my adult life, Mig. This is… exciting and new. I like it, I really do."

Exciting and new. It brings him crashing back down to earth. You're enjoying the way he makes you feel, the thrill . Not… him. Not really, anyways. That pang of disappointment feels different, for some reason. He's never liked the song and dance of flirting, but he cherishes its rewards: of being wanted, and someone wanting him . So that fiery flame of need; deep and heady; is unfamiliar under his skin.

"We can slow down, if you'd like." You bring a hand to his arm, warm and gentle. "I don't mind. We can go back to just messing around on the couch…."

You've got a cheeky smile when you say it; a vague memory of a different time, when you had gotten a little too comfortable on the sofa, leading to hands stuffed in trousers and pressed up against one another. Quick and desperate, you had wanted to see him fall apart; like he did your first night together, and the next, and the next.

He gets closer, sandwiching you between the counter and his body. With a gentle hand, he strokes your hip, bunching up the fabric to get a peek of thigh.

“What do you like?” He’s deadly serious, red-brown eyes searching your face for something he can’t quite place. And just like that, the air is thick with tension. All you can manage is a limp shrug.

“I don’t know, really.” It comes out as a croak , as you’re much too occupied with the shrinking gap between you both. “I haven’t done the things you’ve done.”

You’re making assumptions, of course. Filling in the gaps of what you’ve learnt in the past few months; of alleged threesomes and a laundry list of women at his feet. He’s an asshole; pretty and gruff and sarcastic; but God , he knows how to touch you just right.

“I could show you.” He slots a knee between your thighs and your head spins. “Make you feel good. ”

Before you can think, you’re nodding; chewing at your lip to bite back moans when he rucks up your shirt. He nudges your legs apart, both hands on your waist as he slots himself between them. You can feel it; quickly hardening, loose underneath sweats. Miguel slides wide palms to your ass, kneading its globes. With one hand, he picks up your leg by the thigh, and snakes the other to your pussy. Bare, because you’re trying to kill him, of course, and he groans at the feeling of his hand at your cunt; already wet and pliant for him.

After a few wet taps to your hole, obscene, he slips himself out and you heave; pussy fluttering at just the thought of him inside you. Gathering up your slick on his palm, Miguel pumps his weeping cock, pressing its tip to your hole.

"Still sore, Miguel." You hiss, looking down at where you both meet with the prettiest pout he thinks he's ever seen.

It has you clawing at his back for purchase as he finally sinks in, stretching you out in that wonderful way he did last night. Except this time, he's slow and careful; steeling himself with shaky breaths.

"Oh, fuck. " He settles in about halfway, stopping to hike up your leg just a bit higher. "Want me to make you feel better?"

He says it breathless and crooning, forehead comes to rest on yours. With that other hand flat on the counter, you're lifted up to only toes on the floor, and he angles himself to buck up; filling you deep, and cock sliding past that sweet spot inside. He sets a pace, grinding into you, rather than fucking. If last night was dirty ; taboo, quick and primal; then this morning feels different. Intimate and reverent, he rolls his hips perfectly ; sending flashes of that first night down your spine.

With the moans that spill out of your mouth, it takes all of Miguel's willpower not to swallow them in a kiss. Impossibly close, he traces up your thigh with a large palm; eventually pressing into the small of your back. Arching into him, your lips barely brush together, and you're both panting into open mouths; drunk on pleasure.

"Miguel." There's a warning somewhere in your tone; underneath the layers of lust, you remind him of your previous agreement.

"I… I know. " He swallows, nose pressed to yours, eyes screwed shut. He thinks if he opens them, he might spill into you right then and there.

He's trying, he really is, tracing your cheek with his nose and mouthing at your neck – light kisses against the skin. He smells like coffee, bittersweet and heady, and you groan, rocking into him in a way that rubs up against your clit – before finding an ounce of restraint and putting a hand to his neck.

You apply a little pressure, intending to push him away, but he likes it: eyes fluttering open, and mouth curved into a little O. It's a pretty sight that has you drooling, tits pressed against him as he practically purrs . And so, you pull him closer; nails dancing underneath his shirt, whispering filth into the shell of his ear. You're close, grinding into him like the push and pull of waves, merely waiting for the crescendo of orgasm to take you out to sea.

"I'm close, Miguel." All he can do is hum, pulling you closer. "Fuck, I feel so good. You make me feel so good."

"Yeah? " He asks, needy in a way you haven't quite seen before.

"M'gonna cum," You nod. "...because of you, baby. You did good. So good. Shit, ohh –g-god–"

You clamp down on him, gushing around him with shaky legs. And Miguel is good; patient as he watches you fuck yourself through the aftermath. When it finally slows, he slips out with an obscene squelch clamping a hand to the base of his cock and leaning heavily on the counter.

"It's okay," As if on cue, you kneel in front of him as best you can, tugging down your shirt to expose collarbone and the swell of tits.

Miguel growls, grunting as he splatters thick cum across your chest, pumping his poor cock through it.

He wouldn't have lasted a second longer, not with that smile across your face; smug as you swipe fingers across your chest and lick up the mess he's made.

He's sighing, tucking himself back into gray sweats and pulling you up with a hand in yours; grumbling as you absentmindedly follow him to the sofa.

You're leaning back onto the arm of the tattered material, and he settles to sit so your legs lay in his lap. He's frowning, again, and it makes you giggle, still licking up what's left on your fingers.

He rolls his eyes, tapping a spot on your chin. A fat glob of his cum, dripping from your jaw to your neck. You miss it on the first swipe, and he gets impatient on the second, grabbing your hands and clambering over you. He drags the flat of his tongue to your skin, licking it up for you – and your eyes go wide. That… that felt good.

You giggle at the sensation, so attuned to your roommate that you can hear it: his eyes clattering into the back of his skull, as he rolls his eyes a second time.

"Is that okay?" He says it into the skin, pausing over a particularly tender spot. "Not too far?"

"Feels nice, Mig." You sigh, content. Sun streams in on a lazy morning, and you're sore in the kind of way that feels good; fucked out and blissful.

You lean into it, and then he sucks , teeth clashing onto the skin as he gives you a hickey and the juncture of your jaw. You wriggle, and he pins you down with one big hand holding down your arm, nipping and kissing and soothing it with a flash of tongue. This time he smiles, wrapping around your middle, tugging down your shirt to decorate your chest with hickeys. You play with his hair, wrapping soft curls between your fingers.

You spend a little too long like that; curved into him, spines moulded to the shape of each other. It feels nicer than either of you would care to admit; the pretense of sex wrapped around you both like a thin veil. Before he leaves, Miguel indulges himself just this once; head on your chest and sinking into those arms wrapped around him. You smell like coffee and sweat and Autumn, somehow. He presses kisses wherever he can reach, for a bit longer.

Miguel is okay. He's doing just fine.

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

@bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook @sonderspider @spear-bitch @cryingintheclubdhmu @mageneire @notdyl4n @slezhara @funkyfoxx0 @smol-beb @iceclaw101 @lixhizy @errorundyne-exe @707xn @beantokki@twentysomethingwereyote

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #rigor mortis 😼#miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #kat_writes😼#spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman 2099 x reader

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starkidmunson · 1 month

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glitter & crimson

Time passes in ways Eddie doesn’t fully understand, in the aftermath of Steve’s injury.

A few days are spent lounging around the hotel room with Steve drifting in and out of sleep, for the most part. Then they graduate to small day trips. Squeeze in some touristy shit; museums and landmarks not too far from the hotel, in case Steve gets a migraine or starts feeling nauseous.

Day 6 features a follow-up at the hospital, where Steve is told the bandage is no longer necessary to cover the worst of the injury, surgery won’t be necessary, and he’s clear to fly home or wherever else he wants to go. Which means Eddie is also free to leave LA, but he’s already stuck it out this long, so he decides to continue to follow Steve’s lead and spend another day.

He gets a call from Steve before he leaves his hotel room on Day 7, informing him that Max is leading a trip to the beach before they leave California again. Steve insists it’s the least he can do since Lucas flew out to spend the last few days with her, so she could stick around until Steve was clear to travel again.

And that’s how Eddie finds himself wearing lavender board shorts from the surf shop that looked the least like a tourist trap, dousing himself with an entire bottle of the highest SPF he can find before stepping out of the store. His black ripped jeans and the Judas Priest shirt he’d worn, not anticipating a trip to the beach, are folded into the bottom of a large tote Robin is carrying with ease, as she picks out towels for everyone to lounge on. She catches sight of him and raises an eyebrow, but he holds his hand up to stop any commentary.

“Black is just going to make me burn even more than I’m already going to burn, and the blue pair I liked were the wrong size, so lavender it is.” He defends, but she just shrugs at him, keeps smiling and walks over to pay for the towels and her bathing suit.

Behind Eddie, Lucas clears his throat. He spins to find Steve, blushing and glaring at Lucas, who’s grinning.

“What? Don’t tell me I need to defend the trunks to you guys, too. I thought you’d be on my side.” He whines.

“Oh, I don’t think Steve has any issue with your shorts. Or lack of a top.” Lucas teases, then laughs as Steve swings a soft punch into his shoulder.

“I just…” Steve trails off, turning his attention back to Eddie and Eddie can see the heat rise from Steve’s cheeks up to the tips of his ears, coloring him a soft shade of pink. “I didn’t realize how many tattoos you actually have, I guess.” He eventually settles on, before immediately occupying himself with finding sunscreen.

Eddie lets it slide, and they all pay for what they need, before crossing the street and trekking toward the water. Max is the first to toss her shorts and sandals into a pile, running toward the ocean and diving into the first wave she encounters. Lucas is just a step behind her, and he’s quick to catch her waist and throw the two of them back into the water just as she’s resurfacing.

Robin shoves a rented umbrella into the sand and Eddie helps expand it, as Steve lays out his towel so his face is covered by the umbrella’s shade, but his torso down is exposed to the sun. Eddie, on the other hand, huddles up so most of his body is concealed by the umbrella.

“Oh shit, dude, I didn’t even think to ask. Are you worried about getting seen out here or something?” Steve asks, and Eddie frowns. It takes a moment before he realizes it probably seems like he’s hiding from any potential paparazzi.

“I get bothered so little by media that I hadn’t even thought about that if I’m being honest.” Eddie shakes his head but smiles at how thoughtful Steve is. “I’m just a little too pasty to trust the sun on a cloudy day, so direct exposure like this always makes me nervous. But I like laying in the sand and I’m happy you wanted me to tag along. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” he assures Steve, who smiles at him until Robin mocks a gagging noise and makes them both blush and look away from one another.

The salt air and crescendo of waves and bellowing laughter kick up a surprising amount of inspiration for Eddie, and he fishes his phone out of Robin’s bag, typing away while she and Steve sunbathe.

He’s so caught up in the piece he’s working out that he doesn’t realize anyone has spoken to him until Steve’s pressing a hand to his knee, looking a little concerned.

“What? Sorry, I got an idea and I had to get it out before I forgot about it.” He mumbles, typing out his final thoughts before giving Steve his full attention.

“We’re going to return the umbrella and grab food before heading back to the hotel to pack up, if you’re hungry?” Steve asks, smiling at Eddie. He looks back at his phone to realize their hour with the rented umbrella is nearly up, so he nods and helps clean up the space they’d taken over, before they find a beachfront restaurant that doesn’t mind that none of the guys are wearing shirts, or that Max’s hair is still dripping wet, leaving a trail behind her as they move to their seats.

Once they’ve eaten, they go back to the hotel. Eddie asks if he can shower to get the sand out of his hair before he changes back into the clothes he’d had on pre-trip to the beach. When he re-enters the room, almost everything is packed up and Robin is on the balcony, talking on the phone.

“Nancy called,” Steve explains from the sofa, as Eddie flops beside him, towel-drying his hair gently. He hadn’t bothered to put his shirt on yet, not wanting his hair to make it all wet while it air dries. “Did they hurt?”

“Hm?” Eddie’s confused instantly, looking at Steve before realizing he’s eyeing the tattoos across his chest. “Some of ‘em more than others, yeah. But it’s a good kind of hurt.” Eddie explains, and Steve frowns, but that’s okay because Eddie knows not everyone gets what he means whenever he explains the tattooing experience like that. “It’s… kinda like if you have itchy sunburn and you accidentally scratch it? It feels good to have scratched it, but it also hurts.” When Steve still looks confused, it’s Eddie’s turn to frown. He looks over Steve’s exposed arms and takes in the soft golden color they’ve turned and his eyes narrow. “Do not tell me you’re one of those genetic anomalies that doesn’t sunburn and always has a perfect tan, Stevie.”

Now Steve is grinning, throwing a shrug in Eddie’s direction. “Blame it on the 8 years of swim club during the summer off-season.” Steve laughs as an explanation, and Eddie instantly wants to know more about everything Steve has ever done in his life, but doesn’t know where to draw the line at how much is too much to ask to know, so he ultimately doesn’t ask for any further information. Which is fine, because Steve is leaning closer and taking hold of his left forearm, twisting it and tracing a finger along a snake that wraps around his skin. “Do they have meanings?”

“Some of them, yeah. Some of them I just got because I liked how they look.” Eddie admits, watching Steve’s fingers trace along the delicate lines of the snake. “That one’s got its mouth open like it’s hissing and about to bite.” Eddie considers what comes next, and decides to just lay it all out on the table. Steve had been open and honest with him, Eddie could return the favor. “Snakes are supposed to be a symbol of inner strength and perseverance, and they look sick. I got it after my first stint in rehab.”

Steve doesn’t falter, doesn’t even blink, and if Eddie didn’t know better, he would think Steve had already known about his trips to rehab before he’d said anything. Instead, he moves on to trace a blackout band around Eddie’s bicep. “Do any of them have stories you want to share? You don’t have to if it’s too personal.”

He’s stunned to silence for a moment, something that doesn’t often happen to Eddie. But he’s so used to everyone pressing to hear more about rehab and addiction and recovery that his brain physically needs a moment to catch up to Steve. “Oh. Uh. I mean, the one you’re touching doesn’t have a meaning or story, I just liked how it looks.” Eddie thinks for a moment, then, before he holds out the inside of his right forearm. “This one is a puppet master. Master of Puppets is my favorite Metallica song, and when I learned to play it is when I realized that music could actually be a career path for me.” They run through a few other tattoos; the Wyvern, the spider, the “you bow to no one” in elvish down his spine. While still working up the courage to tell Steve more, he switches his approach. “Do you have any tattoos? Or have you ever wanted any?”

“I’ve never thought about it in a serious way, because I’m not sure I’d like having something on me permanently like that.” Steve shrugs, flipping his arm over to point at his right wrist. “The few times I’ve thought about it, it’s been like. A robin, here. The Roman numerals for 94 somewhere. That kind of stuff.”

Eddie smiles softly, nods. “It’s adorable that you’d want one for Robin.” He teases and lets the moment breathe for a moment before he circles back to the tattoo of the snake. “I’m not ashamed of my story, or my history, but we hadn’t really talked about, you know. That aspect of things, yet. But, I mean. I made terrible choices when I was younger, and I got in over my head with drugs harder than I realized. And it’s happened more than once. And I’m not naive enough to think I’m magically cured because drugs haven’t raised an issue for me over the last few years. But I’ve been mostly sober for almost 4 years.”

“Mostly?” Steve asks, concern clear in how softly he speaks, and Eddie can’t help but grin and shrug a little.

“Still some weed sometimes. Still drink beer sometimes. Both in moderation, not anything out of control. It, uh, probably sounds weird but those weren’t substances I had issues with, so I don’t… I don’t really think about drinking or smoking as cheating, but I know some programs would call it that way.” He shrugs, and Steve nods, processing the information.

“Well, thanks for sharing that with me. I know it’s probably not easy to talk about, but. I learned a few new things about you today.” He offers with a little smile, and Eddie nods back. They slip back into silence, until Robin slips back into the room, looking between the two of them expectantly.

“Did you ask him?” She asks, and when Eddie turns his attention to Steve, he flushes.

“No, I uh…” He trails off, picking at a fingernail before looking up at Eddie, then back down at his hands. “We’re flying back to Chicago tomorrow, and we were wondering if you had your plans set for heading back to Nashville?”

“Oh, yeah. When you guys initially said you’d be leaving tomorrow, I booked a flight home for tomorrow afternoon.” He says and watches Steve’s lack of reaction. Wonders if he should have asked about joining them in Chicago until Steve gives an awkward smile.

“Right, that makes sense.” He nods. “Well, we can all head to the airport together, at least?”

“Yeah, sure.” Eddie agrees, turning to look at Robin in the hopes of finding an explanation, but she turns away to take her turn in the shower, leaving Steve and Eddie together on the sofa.

~~~

Gareth picks Eddie up from the airport once he’s touched down in Nashville, and they head back to his house. Eddie throws himself into the comfort of his sofa, huddling up to a pillow with the intention of taking a nap, but his phone buzzes in his pocket. When he fishes it out, he smiles.

Stevie: Dustin has taken over the apartment, but we’re home. Hope you got home safe, too.

“Why are you smiling?” Gareth asks as Eddie is typing out his response.

“I’m not smiling,” Eddie responds instantly, schooling his expression and shoving his phone back in his pocket.

“Oh, so Steve texted you,” Gareth says, matter-of-factly, before scrolling on his own phone. “Want to order food? I’m hungry and you don’t have anything edible.”

“Why do you assume Steve texted me?” Eddie asks, frowning and sitting up straighter.

Gareth raises his eyebrow and glances over his phone at Eddie before he sighs. “Because you were making that face you’ve been making for the last month every time you text him, and you just got home from a week with him, so obviously he’s texting you again. Your turn to answer; food?”

Eddie stares at Gareth for a moment, watches as he turns his phone around to face Eddie, showing off the Uber Eats screen, before he scoffs and takes the phone to place his order. Before he hands it back to Gareth, though, he holds it just out of his reach. “What face am I making?”

“C’mon, Eddie, don’t play dumb.” Gareth laughs, but Eddie frowns deeper. Gareth frowns back, then. “You really haven’t put it together?”

“Put what together?” Eddie asks, finally handing Gareth his phone back. Gareth takes it, but doesn’t look away from Eddie until he answers.

“Dude, you’re in love with him.” He says, like it’s obvious, before going about placing his own order.

Eddie thinks for a moment. He knows he has feelings for Steve; finds him attractive and interesting and definitely wants to see if something is there. But to know that his friends can see through him puts him on edge, makes him defensive. “I’m not in love with him, we’re just friends.”

“Eddie,” Gareth laughs before he sees the serious look on Eddie’s face and he sighs. “Look, man. I’m not trying to start a fight or make you spiral or anything. I’m just saying. You leaned into a TikTok trend for him, voluntarily learned about the sport he plays, helped nurse him back to health after he got hurt and spent an extra week in LA to be with him longer. And now you’re texting him, again, like you did after we left Chicago. There’s something there, whether you want to admit it or not. Maybe it’s not love yet, but that’s where it’s heading.”

Silence settles over them, just the sound of Gareth’s short nails tapping against the screen of his phone, for a long moment. Eddie processes what he’s said, thinks it over, before flipping back to the text messages from Steve. He reads the words over and over before he decides on an answer.

Eddie: Glad you’re home safe. Miss you already.

He doesn’t have to wait long for a response, as Steve answers no more than two minutes later.

Steve: I miss you already, too, Eds.

Eddie considers responding but decides to tuck the phone back into his pocket instead. He drums his fingers against his knee, settling into a melody before he nudges Gareth’s leg with his foot.

“Wanna help me set up the studio downstairs while we wait for the food?”

Gareth meets his look, raising an eyebrow. “Inspiration strikes over Steve Harrington?”

“I’ve got, like, four different ideas I started fleshing out in LA without instruments,” Eddie answers instead and ignores the smug look on Gareth’s face as they stand and make their way to the basement Eddie converted into a recording studio to get it ready while their food is delivered.

#glitter & crimson #hockey player!steve harrington #rockstar!eddie munson #steddie au #gareth #corroded coffin #lumax #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #robin buckley #steve harrington #eddie munson #starkidmunson writes #tw: mention of addiction #tw: mention of rehab #if there's anything in here anyone ever thinks i should tag #just tell me pls #thanks for reading!

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cod-sins · 9 months

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𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐊ö𝐧𝐢𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

.ೃ࿐ Ratings: SFW

.ೃ࿐ Reader: Undisclosed

[A/N: I didn't proofread this so if you see a mistake no you did not.]

[Edit: I can't seem to add a read more option fellow mobile users I am so sorry]

𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖

𝙰𝙿��𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴 ‣. I see König standing at a whopping 6'10 (because I say so) meaning he's a big guy. He has trouble finding clothes that fit his size (especially pants). He gets alot of his civilian clothes tailored or he just has his Oma [ :')] do it for him. I imagine he wears a size 49 in European shoes (16 for Americans) and he prefers boots and sneakers instead of sandals and loafers. His usual outfits include plain colored tees, a jacket (usually dark colors; black, navy blue, hunter green), sweatpants [show off that dickprint] and combat boots. König doesn't wear his hood out in public, so he settles for black or blue surgical masks. He doesn't want to draw anymore attention to himself so dressing casual is his way to go. He's got big meaty thighs and hard abs with a sharp prominent v-line (mwah) to tie it all together.

‣. König has a cleft lip! It's on the right side of his mouth, he hated it as a child but grew up to realize it was apart of him. He has scars on his forearm from a hostile trying to slash him. They run deep and it was a pretty painful experience for him (he hates talking about it and he tries to wear long sleeved clothes but sometimes the weather ends up winning). He also has a bullet scar on his thigh as well. He keeps his nails short except one or two just in case he needs to pick something or scratch. I imagine his hair to be a soft strawberry blonde color. Something like this, this, and this. Because of the military he keeps it very short but he likes when his s/o styles it around. It looks similar to these styles. Despite what canon says I say his eyes are deep green.

‣. König is a Libra! His birthdate is August 22, 1995! [I know Libra's aren't born in August but for the sake of fanfiction shhhh let's pretend it is!] Making König 27 years old; He's very mature for his age!

𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈 ‣. König suffered from anxiety/social anxiety since he was 17 and still suffers till this day just not as much. He's able to turn it off in the field but once he's on leave and is around other civilians it comes crawling back. It has stopped him from making friends, hanging out with his fellow soldiers and even dating. He's still a virgin because of this (and because of work and him finding the right person but that's a later issue). However once you get past that shy exterior he's pretty cocky. He's proud of the fact that he is a colonel and he enjoys secretly flexing on his s/o. "Ja, I took down a group of terrorists and saved all the hostages by myself. No big deal (👀)." He's one of those quiet people who talks alot of shit in their head and sends side eyes instead of starting shit.

‣. König is relatively good at hiding his anger, especially since he wears that mask 24/7. He'll quietly brood in the corner--arms crossed giving off an aura that spooks the new recruits. He's very quiet not speaking unless spoken too or if he needs something. König is so sarcastic! He'll roll his eyes (secretly) or mumble smart comments under his breath––mocking whatever superior that pissed him off. If you're close to you him you'll notice when he's happy. He has a slight bounce in step and he walks with his chest puffed up proudly. It's a real cute sight honestly.

𝙿𝚁𝙴𝙵𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 ‣. König's favorite colors are earthy tones. He likes dark woodsy green, russet and navy blue. I imagine he loves the ocean and water. Especially creeks! Winter may not be his favorite season but he loves hiking through the snow in his hometown's nature trails. He enjoys hearing the sound of the snow and dead leaves crunch under his footsteps. Speaking of hometown his favorite dishes are things like beef stew or anything meaty and hearty. He really likes homemade jams and jellys. He prefers going to the farmers market and picking up his fruits and vegetables fresh.

‣.This man's house is HUGE. It would look maybe something like this. It's super spacious with a few spare rooms for guests. König showers more than he bathes. He's legs are too long to fit which makes him have to awkwardly scrunch himself up. He isn't around much because of his work so he never took to the time to properly decorate. If you're his s/o he gives you permission to decorate. Make it look really pretty for him please. He lives somewhere a little distant from the city; closer to the country but not too far. He still wants to be close to local shopping markets.

‣.I think König would prefer a fat/chubby partner over a thinner partner. He enjoys grabbing onto their body, holding them closely feeling the warmth radiate from their body. I see him liking a partner who is quiet. Not as quiet as him because he likes when your chatter fills the silence. But someone who's able to relax and enjoy the ambience of their surroundings. Someone who is able to point out the little details in things. He wouldn't mind an outgoing s/o, someone who speaks for him when he doesn't feel verbal that day.

König was once stationed by an ocean for half a year and it was the best moments of his life. It was so calming for him. Every night he could hear the waves gently crashing against each other it always soothed him. It was favorite lullaby (after the one his mom sings).

König always has his hands held behind his back or he holds them in the front. He enjoys grabbing parts of himself it helps keep him stable and grounded. He also fiddles alot. Like he constantly stretches and wiggles his fingers. Or he lightly traces his thighs up and down with his fingers.

One of his favorite genres of music is Electro Swing. His favorite band is Caravan Palace. He loves all their albums.

100% picks people up. If you're his s/o and you're in his way he's grabbing you by the waist and gently moving you over. If you're on the battlefield god knows he's treating you like a football; bro is slugging you over his shoulder if you get injured or he's tackling you down to protect you from grenades.

If he's stutters too much in a sentence he gets really mad. He doesn't find it funny when people mock his accent. Also!! There are certain English words that König just doesn't know. He's fluent in English and can write well but there are times he gets stuck on words he doesn't recognize.

Has a thing for chubby cheeks. Also really likes chubby fingers. If you have fat fingers please give him a massage, he would love it so much. It's such a nice contrast too; his rough calloused hands compared to your soft round ones.

Looves chocolate. Especially dark chocolate, he really enjoys candy bars with nuts and toffee in them. He adores American super-sized candy bars. He also really likes twizzlers and licorice.

He doesn't outwardly smoke but if you offer he won't refuse. He's makes sure not to make it a habit (his grandmother was very upset when she caught him smoking once), he'd rather die by a bullet than slowly kill himself.

I know I said he's 27 but I imagine him to be 35 in canon.

NATURE LOVER! Bro is enamored by the beauty of his home country. He loves observing the wildlife on walks. He has a journal where he keeps different leaves from different places he was stationed at.

Good friends with Horangi. Not like BFFS (they are) but they're drinking buddies. Horangi helps König with his social anxiety and König helps Horangi not fall back into gambling.

König's favorite meat ever is lamb. He fucking loves a tender lamb roast. Gets annoyed as hell when the meat get stuck between his gums but he thinks it's worth it for the delicious food.

Pretty particular about his beers, he doesn't drink anything he's a man of class! He'll go on this super long lecture about how German brewing is so much better than other countries and that non-German beer/alcohol can't compete. Him and Soap got into an argument about this.

He keeps his area as tidy as possible. He isn't a slob but isn't a complete neat freak. If he has a bunch of random items out he'll try and keep them in a organized pile.

Sometimes he leaves his guns out around his house.

Lowkey likes being needed. There are times when his fellow soldiers ask him for help carrying extra stuff or when children or the elderly ask him to reach stuff off the top shelves. Especially likes when his s/o ask him to carry them. He'll start to puff his chest out and walk around with a dumb grin under his mask.

Type of guy to see people down an asle and wait for them to move instead of saying excuse me. [Projecting fr fr]

A real crafty individual, his hood is just a tee-shirt with holes in it. His helmet is literally a bicycle helmet he modded with military gear. König knows how to sew and he can tailor a little. He prefers taking his clothes to a seamstress or tailor because his hands are very big and sewing can a take a long time and he doesn't have that much patience for it.

He LOVED arts and crafts as a child. He would make so much shit to bring him to his mom and grandma. His grandmother still has his things till this day.

His favorite English speaking bands would be The Smiths, Boâ and The Cranberries. He likes to quietly sing to himself it makes him happy. He also enjoys 70-80s music. I also think he likes the sound of nu metal/rock instrumentals.

If he had an s/o he would love to dance with them. He would/could never dance in public but behind closed doors god knows this man would shimmy with his partner. He doesn't care if you can dance well because he can't dance well, he just wants to let loose and have fun with you.

Broke a guy's ribcage once. It was during sparring and König was pretty pissed with the man because he did something cocky and stupid that caused them the life of another soldier. He didn't receive proper punishment because they successfully completed the mission but König decided he should deal his own form of justice. By putting so much pressure on his chest until he heard a satisfying crack sound.

I think he likes apple cider.

He was raised by his mother and grandmother so he has a softer spot towards woman. He enjoys being in their company.

Smells like one of those fireplace candles or something with sandlewood and cinnamon. On the battlefield thought he reeks of blood, sweat and gunpowder.

Absolutely hates when there is dirt under his nails (or anyone else's). He thinks it looks so gross it makes him wanna vomit.

His favorite animal is probably either a bear or fox. He also likes pigs, he thinks the little piglets are so cute.

König is texter not a caller. He'll send his s/o paragraphs of texts instead of small individual ones because he thinks the notifications would be annoying and the last thing he wants to be is annoying (please convince him he's not).

He always plans out conversations in his head. Before going to check-out he's going through a mental rundown of what the total is gonna be, how he's gonna pay and what the cashier is going to say. Being in the military lowkey made this worse. He's always over analyzing conversations because he's afraid of messing up and embarrassing himself.

He likes drama movies and psychological horror. Midsommar is one of his favorite horror movies.

König has stretch marks on his thighs and legs and a little on his stomach. His growth spurt was crazy as a child.

Requests: OPEN

Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

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st4rshifts · 1 month

Text

script template based on what I do :]

general

name:

full name:

nicknames:

something specific to dr: {quirk, peculiarity, godly parent, hogwarts house, anything}

gender/pronouns:

sexuality:

nationality/birthplace:

languages:

likes:

dislikes:

hobbies:

skills:

appearance

face

body

hands + feet

specific details {scars, birthmarks, tattoos, piercings, etc}

places {some suggestions}

house, dorm room

school

car

other important places

relationships

friends

family

pets

friends:

birthday: age: closeness: height: smell: memories together: pronouns: sexuality potential s/o?:

{personally I do this because idfk who I want as my s/o, so for example if I want a b c and d equally, I can put them all at 7-9. I dont do 10 because that seems like scripting them as a current s/o}

pets:

species: size: age: personality: favorite people:

scenarios

friends - sad

friends - fun

family - sad

family - fun

{neutral or comfort ones are also options I sometimes do}

belongings

bags

trinkets

bedroom

"toys" {I've only done this one for waiting rooms}

other

wardrobe

accessories

belts

tights

gloves

sunglasses

hats

jewelry

necklaces

bracelets

earrings

rings

underwear

swimwear

"lauderay" {iykyk}

plain things for everyday

clothes

sweaters

coats

shirts

shorts

pants

socks

shoes

sandals

open toe/heels

running shoes

boots

other?

YOU WILL SHIFT <3

#reality shifting #shifting antis dni #shifting blog #shifting community #reality shift #shifting #shifting thoughts #shifting template #shifting realities #shifters #shifting ideas #shiftblr

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 2 years

Text

VIII ║ Concentric

Dieter Bravo x f!reader

{ << Part 7: Contrary | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E (18+ only)

Summary: You and Dieter come full circle.

Warnings: Shenanigans, fighting, drinking, swearing, dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), face sitting, safe unprotected sex (be smart kids!), multiple orgasms (f and m), cumshot, cum play, size kink, light spanks, yearning, mentions of food, fluff, feelings, no use of Y/N

Word count: 11.5k (it's only fitting that we break the word count record on the last chapter!)

Note: October 2013. That was the last time I finished a WIP, and that one took me 6.5 years. Years, I kid you not. So please forgive me for being extremely melodramatic and emotional about finishing Consent in just over 5 months.

I thought I was done with fanfiction and writing, and I've never been happier to be proven wrong. I wouldn't have believed it if you told me the next series I'd complete would be about a man called Dieter Bravo. You've all been the most incredibly supportive readers, and I'm so lucky to count many of you as friends. I don't know what I've done to deserve you. Thank you, thank you, thank you - this is for all of my fellow Dieter Bravo hoes (affectionate) ❤️

I had a lot of help for this chapter. To avoid any spoilers, I will be thanking everyone at the end of this chapter.

There’s always a jarring sense of disconnect when you land in a country you’ve never been to before. Even more so after a red-eye, a connecting flight you almost missed and a long drive from the airport to the little seaside town you’ve seen so much of in Ana’s stories.

It doesn’t help that you’ve been wide-eyed the entire journey, your head too loud to switch off.

The sleep deprivation makes it doubly surreal to see the mountains, the Tyrrhenian Sea and picture-perfect towns zoom past the car window. To feel the sunshine on your face as your taxi eases around hairpin turns on the coastal roads, then down narrow streets - barely squeezing past the summer crowds - as your destination draws close.

The car purrs to a halt in front of a charming pink-orange house that looks like something straight out of Under The Tuscan Sun, where Ana is waiting impatiently. She nearly rips off the door handle and throws her arms around you as soon as you clamber out of the car.

‘I missed you!’ you mumble into her hair.

‘You too, bitch!’ she squeals, dragging your suitcase off the sidewalk. ‘Let’s get you unpacked and showered. We’re going on a cast and crew sunset cruise in a couple of hours, so you can finally meet Richard Linklater. I hope you brought something pretty to wear!’

You didn’t pack much summer attire with you to Calgary, but you did bring your trusty yellow dress from that night, which feels like a lifetime ago - if not from another one entirely. The shower perks you up somewhat - at least you don’t smell like an economy plane cabin anymore. You’re putting on your makeup in a futile attempt to cover up the dark circles under your eyes when Ana comes back to the apartment.

She hands you an espresso and a cannoli, which you take gratefully. ‘Thank you so much. My biological clock is so confused, I don’t know when I last ate.’

‘Don’t worry, hon, there will be plenty of food and drink on the boat,’ says Ana. Eyeing you over critically, she runs a makeup brush or two over your cheekbones, and dabs some colour onto your lips. ‘You look great. Shall we?’

The town is absolutely darling, and you have to pinch yourself to make sure you’re not actually dreaming this. The weathered cobblestones are slippery beneath your leather sandals as you trail behind Ana. Your tummy rumbles at the smell of sweet tomatoes and baking bread, and you can’t help but run a hand over beautiful summer fruits as you walk by stalls on street corners, brimming with produce. Exuberant Italian conversation surrounds you, and you lose yourself in words that you don’t understand.

Your breath catches when you round a corner and the blue sea comes into view, the fresh scent of salt and summer in the air. With her arm hooked through yours, Ana leads you across the water front, pointing out her favourite restaurants and watering holes, clearly having settled well into her workplace these past months. You’re distracted when you spot a familiar low wall, recognising it as where Dieter and Constance posed for one of their many Instagram stories.

Distracted, you nearly walk into Ana when she stops abruptly in front of an extravagant-looking yacht, spread over two levels, her arms outstretched in a flourish. ‘Ta-da! The perks of the movie being financed by a rich local guy - free boat trip every weekend!’

‘Fancy,’ you remark, suddenly nervous that you’re underdressed for the occasion.

‘He’s newly divorced too,’ she adds with a wink. ‘And stop fussing, you look fantastic. Come on, I see Richard - I’ll introduce you!’

The boat is fairly full, people bustling about with drinks and canapes in hand. Despite being jetlagged and incredibly starstruck, you manage to somewhat hold it together when Ana introduces you to your favourite director. She offers to get you a cold drink and leaves you to chatter with him. You talk about your favourite movies of his, his career, and a bit of yours, before someone shows up at his elbow to whisk him away. You shake his hand and thank him for his time, and he gives you his business card before he takes his leave.

The boat pulled away from the port while you weren’t looking, sailing smoothly towards the calm, open sea. You glance about, trying to look nonchalant and to keep your breathing under control. Now that you’ve met your hero, you have to contend with the fact that you came to Italy for something else.

Someone else.

A voice catches your ear. Familiar and gruff, drawling in a bored monotone.

There’s no dramatic swell of music in your ears, or the fading of the world until it’s just the two of you and no one else. It’s almost anti-climatic, really.

You tilt your face towards the upper deck - and there he is.

One of his signature earth-tone t-shirts (you know he has more than one) hangs comfortably off his broad shoulders, sunglasses hooked at the neck, dragging the ragged neckline low. The sea breeze ruffles his curls, longer than they were on Resurgence, the sun bringing out undertones of gold. He’s chatting to a man - or rather, being chatted at - leaning his weight on his elbows on the bannister, scratching at his beard, wearing his usual air of indifference.

One look and the clocks turn. It takes you right back. You remember exactly what it’s like to be that close to him, to be wrapped up in the broadness of him - the feeling of his body warmth, how soft his t-shirt is when you rest your cheek on his chest.

You haven’t moved a muscle, but somehow, his head turns just a fraction, and he finds you.

If not for the physical distance between you, you’d be convinced that he’s reached inside you and squeezed your heart with the whole of his hand until it stopped pumping, blood roaring inside your ears with nowhere to go. His stare - bewilderment and awe and hunger - pins you to the spot.

And you know. You just do.

They are the same eyes you woke up to so many mornings. First thing when consciousness seeps in and you blink away the last remnants of the night before, his arms around you or yours around him. Through thick lashes and peeking from under heavy eyelids, syrupy-slow with sleep as they sweep over the contours of your profile, lips curling into a warm smile.

Yours.

He’s long stopped listening to the man, and even from where you are, you see him grip the wooden railing tight, disturbing his rings, the same ones he always wears.

Then she appears.

An Aperol Spritz in each hand and a small plate of canapes balanced awkwardly on the sides of her wrists, she nudges his side hurriedly with her elbow, her platonic tone carrying despite the rush of the sea. ‘Oi! Grab your drink, dude. Come on - it’s slipping!’

The naked panic on his face only reaffirms what your intuition tells you.

Ana finally returns to you with chilled champagne, grumbling about the crowds at the bar. Taking a glass, you turn to her and nod towards the upper deck. ‘So - Dieter and Constance.’

‘What about them?’ she asks innocently, taking a big gulp of bubbly.

You watch as Dieter furiously whispers into Constance’s ear. Her eyes widen in obvious excitement, darting everywhere until they settle on you for the briefest second before she schools in her features. You hear Dieter hiss, ‘Don’t be so freaking obvious, Jesus Christ.’

You fight the urge to giggle - and you never giggle. An Oscar winner and an Olivier nominee walk into a china shop and they’re about as subtle as two bulls after a red flag.

You turn to Ana and ask conversationally, ‘They’re not really together, are they?’

She shrugs, poker face firmly on. ‘Don’t know what you mean, hon.’

‘Ana,’ you put on a serious tone.

Never one to stand her ground under pressure, she surrenders far too easily. ‘Fine, they’re not! Before you yell at me, it was all Dieter’s idea. And I’m sorry it upset you, but I’m not sorry that it worked! I’m not going to apologise for helping him get you back.’

The words tumble out of your mouth before your head catches up. ‘He wants me back?’

It’s beyond strange to acknowledge aloud what’s between you and him for the first time. You’ve never even articulated it to yourself.

Ana beams, bumping shoulders with you. ‘You better believe it, hon.’

Your head feels like it’s filling up with helium and any second, you’ll be lifted off the wooden deck. You’re so fucking confused - should you be angry that he basically tricked you into coming here? Should you be elated that he went to such lengths to get you here?

There are no answers, but there’s booze. Lots of it.

So you bring the glass of champagne to your lips and tip your head back, draining the flute until there’s nothing left.

‘Whoa! What are you doing?’ squeaks Ana as you plant the empty glass on a cocktail table nailed to the deck.

Crossing your arms, you say, ‘You’re right, his little ploy worked. But if he thinks he can mess with me without paying for it, he’s got another thing coming.’

‘For fuck’s sake, can’t you two just talk to each other like normal people for once?’

‘Ana, I was miserable! For weeks!’

‘Girl, I’m gonna give it to you straight. Even if he didn’t pull this Constance bullshit, you would’ve been miserable anyway because you broke up with him!’ She clasps her palms together in a desperate prayer. ‘I’m begging you, can you two please just make up!’

You hold out stubbornly. ‘Not until I’ve messed with his head at least a little bit.’

‘This is not what I signed up for,’ Ana grumbles.

You laugh and drape an arm over her shoulder, giving her a squeeze. ‘It’ll be fun. I promise. I flew all the way here, I deserve a little restitution.’

She whines. ‘Hon, come on, what am I going to tell Dieter?’

You hold up a stern finger. ‘Nothing. You can’t tell him that I know, you owe me as much. I also need you to distract him while I talk to Constance.’

She frowns. ‘Constance? What are you planning?’

You wink and turn to leave without giving her an answer.

Ana watches you go with a long-suffering sigh. She’s taking a deep glug of champagne when Dieter ambushes her, startling her into a coughing fit.

His usual air of chaos has intensified exponentially, she can almost feel it physically vibrate off of him. He spills Aperol everywhere when he asks with his hands. ‘What the fuck, Ana?’

‘What?’ she shoots back defensively.

‘Why didn’t you tell me she was coming? Are you double crossing me?’

‘Double cross - what does that even mean in this context?’

Dieter’s not interested in her answer though. His eyes are darting about, looking for you. ‘What’s she doing here? Did our plan work or did you tell her?’

Technically, you found out on your own, so Ana is comfortable lying through her teeth. ‘I didn’t! She said she came to see me and to meet Richard, that’s it.’

He’s talking to himself now more than anything. ‘She must suspect something, but I don’t think she knows about the whole set-up.’ Pausing, he pokes her in the side in a warning. ‘You can’t tell her that you know I think she knows.’

Ana’s eyes nearly roll behind her skull in exasperation. ‘Couldn’t if I wanted to. Here’s a bright idea - why don’t you go talk to her?’

Dieter’s frown deepens as his determination hardens. ‘No, fuck that. She broke up with me. I’m not going to be the one giving in.’

Ana waves in a frenzy to get someone’s attention to refill her empty glass, letting out a cry of relief when a server starts making their way over. ‘What do you mean by not giving in?’

Dieter swigs his glass clean and sticks it out to the server to fill it up. ‘Keep doing what Constance and I were doing. Until she cracks.’

‘Just so we’re on the same page, this entire weekend, you’re going to keep pretending to date Constance and throw it in her face, instead of just making up? What could possibly go wrong?’

‘Way to be supportive, Ana.’

She gives him dead eyes in response. If only Pete was here to back her up. Speaking of whom - he’s really missing out big time. She’ll have to call him to fill him in tonight.

Dieter half-turns to leave, but something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye. He does a double take, craning his whole body forward and squinting dramatically to take a better look.

‘Ana, why the fuck is my girlfriend talking to my fake girlfriend?’

Constance is not hard to find, with her willowy figure and luscious curls billowing in the wind. She seems to have recovered her composure from when she first spotted you, and when your gazes meet on your approach, they give nothing away.

‘Hi Constance,’ you say casually in greeting.

She plays it cool with a polite smile. ‘Hi there. Have we met?’

‘I know you know who I am, Constance.’

She blinks her doe eyes. ‘I’m so sorry, I really don’t think I do.’

You shuffle in closer and say under your breath, just in case someone overhears. ‘I know you were in it with Dieter - his little plan to get me jealous. Ana told me.’

The mask melts so quickly that you can’t help but find it endearing. Dragging you by the elbow into the privacy of the cabin, a sincere crease in her brow, she confesses, ‘About that, I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t want to do it at first, I swear. But he’s so smitten with you and he was just about ready to try anything to get you back -’

You shush her and grab her free hand. Both of you have just enough alcohol in your systems to feel the pull of the universal, sisterly bond between drunk women, despite having only met thirty seconds ago. You reassure her, ‘No, please don’t apologise. I’m not angry - well, a tiny bit mad at him for messing with me, but not at you.’

‘But I feel so bad,’ insists Constance. ‘You must have felt strongly enough to have flown all this way. Please, if there’s anything I can do.’

‘Listen, if you want to make it up to me - you could do me a favour.’

Constance nods solemnly. ‘Anything.’

You grin mischievously. ‘Will you help me get back at Dieter?’

Dieter mopes in his corner on the upper deck, growling and hissing at anyone who dares approach, drowning himself in Aperol Spritz. He doesn’t particularly like that stuff, but when in Rome and all that shit.

From his perch, he can see and hear you laughing loudly at something Constance says to you, champagne in hand, having a whale of a time.

There’s no two ways around it. His plan failed. Ana’s right. You came to see your friend, not him. If you did and knowing you, you’d be doing something to get his attention. You’d be trying to make him jealous. You’d be mad, spitting flame and venom.

You’re giving him nothing. You haven’t even deigned to glance his way after you locked eyes for that brief moment.

But… you’re wearing that dress. Surely you haven’t forgotten what happened the last time you showed up in his trailer wearing that -

Another peal of laughter pulls him from his thoughts. He slurps on the straw until it gurgles at the empty bottom of his glass.

You didn’t expect to like Constance. It turns out she grew up in the same county as you, just a few towns over, you even share a few distant mutual acquaintances. You chit-chat about everything - your schools, the local beaches, working with Dieter.

The boat has anchored in the middle of the sea for the sunset, and you’re sitting on the deck at the back with your feet dangling in the cool water, sandals by your side. You marvel at the view - the beauty of this place is unreal. Village houses hug the rugged shoreline, stacked one on top of the other in gravity-defying fashion up the steep cliffside, dramatic mountains rising above behind the town. The setting sun throws a rose gold tint over the valley, the sky burning orange.

Even if you don’t go away with what you came for, this could be enough.

Constance giggles drunkenly, looking over your shoulder. ‘He’s watching you again. You’ve really riled him up.’

You resist the very great temptation to take a peek. But you know Dieter - the longer you hold out, the better the payoff later.

There’s a scrape of footsteps and Ana appears with her phone out. ‘Selfie time, bitches!’

‘How’s Dieter?’ asks Constance, shuffling over to make space for Ana.

She sighs. ‘So confused. When will you put him out of his misery, hon?’

You shrug. ‘He can hold out a little longer. Constance, remember, you have to keep up the whole charade for maximum effect, ok?’

She wrinkles her nose. ‘It would be weird doing it in front of you though.’

‘Are you a working actress or not?’ you tease.

Ana chortles, and Constance raises her glass. ‘Alright, alright, I’ll do it - for you. To new friends.’

The three of you clink glasses clumsily, bumping shoulders and cackling at everything and nothing at all.

You’ll drink to that.

When the yacht docks, spontaneous dinner plans are made, with those wanting to prolong the evening revelry wandering down the cobblestone streets to a trattoria frequented by the cast and crew.

The dozen or so of you sit at a long, rickety table under fairy lights, the plentiful food and drink illuminated by candles dripping wax as they burn low. Easy conversation, a mix of English and Italian, ebb and flow over the course of the slow dinner.

You’re sitting in the middle of the table, flanked by Ana and directly opposite Dieter, with Constance to his immediate left.

The actress keeps her promise to you, practically dousing Dieter in PDA. She’s feeding him pasta, handing you her phone to take photos of them kissing and practically sitting in his lap. He’s unresponsive, staring at you openly throughout dinner.

It takes all of your resolve to not give in to meet his eyes.

The street gets rowdier by the hour, and the group thins after dessert and limoncello is served. When an impromptu band shows up and starts playing music right next to your table, Constance tries to pull Dieter to his feet for a dance, but he’s like dead weight, pouting and somehow burrows himself deeper into his wooden chair. Unperturbed, Constance grabs Ana instead, joining the raucous crowd gathering on the sidewalk.

It’s just the two of you left at the table.

You finally let yourself look at him, finding his gaze already trained on you. You took it easy on the wine over dinner, allowing the rich food to soak up all the alcohol you had on the boat. But you still feel buzzed enough to do something bold.

Scooping a generous helping of tiramisu and bringing it to your lips, you lick the underside of the spoon, collecting the cream on your tongue, before pushing it into your mouth. Your eyes flutter close as you moan around the spoonful of smooth mascarpone and coffee-soaked biscuit.

Dieter’s jaw goes slack, and you spot the pink tip of his tongue between his parted lips, his chest rising and falling quickly. Leaning forward, you reach out and trace your index finger up the back of his hand until you reach his ring with the black gemstone. He doesn’t try to hide the shudder that runs like a current through his body.

The power you so easily wield over him is both sweet and heady. You decide to push him further, leaning your elbows on the table and drawing your shoulders together, making the neckline of your dress gape and your cleavage pop.

The way he stares is gasoline to the fire under your skin.

When you speak, he demonstrates that he still remains somewhat in possession over his faculties as he drags his gaze up, with considerable difficulty, to your face.

You wear a bright smile, and your tone is syrupy sweet. ‘You’re one lucky guy - Constance is amazing. Honestly, I think you’re perfect for each other. I’m so happy for you, Dieter.’

He echoes your words, slowly. ‘You’re… you’re happy for me?’

You blink, butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth as you answer, ‘Yes, I am. So happy for you.’

He stutters, before his words peter out. ‘But - but you were meant to be -’

‘Meant to be what?’ you prompt.

When he doesn’t reply, you give him a pat on his hand. ‘Take care of yourself, Dieter.’

He’s so stunned that he doesn’t react as he watches you go.

Dieter thinks for a second, the pasta and pizza and bread having absorbed enough alcohol from his bloodstream for him to dig deep for some clarity within himself. He re-runs your words in his head, a deep frown on his brow.

Hold the fucking phone.

He scrambles onto his feet so hard that his chair hits the pavement, and he runs after you.

He crashes through the crowds half-blind, angry Italian cursing thrown his way, until he leaves the ruckus behind. He doesn’t even know where he’s going, but by some miracle he spots yellow, and with one last push, he throws himself in front of you, wheezing and leaning heavily on one hand against the wall to block your path.

You’re staring at him in genuine concern. ‘What are you doing? Are you ok?’

Finding his voice, he opens with an apparent non-sequitur. ‘You do impulsive things when you’re mad. You know that, sweetheart?’

You brows knit in confusion. ‘What?’

‘You heard me.’

You humour him, arms crossed. He knows that you probably think he’s just drunk. ‘Ok. Like what?’

‘Like flying 6,000 miles to see me.’

‘I’m here to see Ana.’

Dieter shakes his head slowly, a smile unfolding as he begins to find his footing for the first time since you appeared out of thin air and turned his day upside down. ‘She sold me out, didn’t she? Constance too. I should’ve known they’d be on your side.’

You snort. ‘You’re talking crazy, Bravo.’

He crowds you against the wall, meeting no resistance as your back hits the stone, and he coaxes. ‘Admit it, sweetheart, and I’ll give you everything you came for. I just need to hear it from your pretty little mouth.’

You hold your tongue stubbornly, but he sees your pupils dilate and senses a shift in the crisp evening air.

He grins, finally establishing control over the situation, which sobers him up like nothing else. You’ve tortured him all day - it’s time he has some fun.

Leaning down to your ear, he growls in a register that he knows will get you wet for him. ‘Tell me you came for me, sweetheart. And then maybe - I’ll make you cum for me.’

You just about lunge at him, but he holds you in place with hands around your upper arms, crowding you, drunk on the power now that the tables have turned. He wags a condescending finger at you, tapping the tip of your nose. ‘Uh-uh-uh. You heard me, sweetheart. C’mon, four little words. You can do it.’

That does it. You bare your teeth at him, panting as you struggle in his grasp. ‘You’re such an asshole.’

Dieter makes a buzzer noise. ‘That’s four words, but not the right ones.’

‘Over my dead body,’ you spit at him.

He tuts. ‘Sorry, sweetheart, no deal. Well, I guess I better go -’

He lets go of you and spins on his heels, but he doesn’t even get to take two steps when he feels your hand wrap around his wrist and haul him around with surprising force.

He deliberately knocks into your body, hands landing on your waist and his weight holding you in place. You all but snarl at him, ‘Don’t you fucking dare walk out on me again.’

There she is, he thinks to himself, chest swelling with pride at the fire in your eyes.

He runs a finger down the side of your cheek, the gentle touch in direct conflict with the words that come out more affectionately than he intends. ‘You never make things easy, do you? You get off on making my life hell, hmm?’

Your eyes soften, but you still run your mouth brash. ‘You don’t like it easy, Bravo. You’d get bored.’

He chuckles, and leaning in to brush the tip of his nose along yours, he tries again. ‘Did you come all this way to see me, sweetheart?’

He isn’t gloating, or trying to trip you up.

You cup the side of his stubbled cheek, and you decide to let him in. ‘Of course I did, you fucking idiot -’

And then he’s kissing you.

Your hand is tightly wrapped in his as he leads you through a maze of alleyways, as if he’s worried that you would bolt. You won’t though - you’re done running.

The strain in your calves begins to make its presence felt after several flights of stone steps, the long journey earlier today kicking in as the adrenaline fades. You yawn and Dieter notices, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

‘Almost there, sweetheart,’ he promises you, dragging you against his side with a hand on your hip, taking some of your weight.

You watch from under drooping eyelids as he turns the key and opens the door to a two-storey house. A lone lamp glows in the corner of what appears like a comfortable sitting room, but you’re too tired to be curious to look around.

Dieter steers you up cool tiled steps, having helped you out of your sandals. He all but pushes you up to the bedroom, hands firm on your waist so you can focus on just putting one foot in front of the other.

The mattress is soft and welcoming as you flop down nose first, muffling your groan as you give in to the exhaustion that you’ve been putting off all day. He chuckles, rolling you onto one side of the bed.

‘Let’s get this dress off, shall we, sweetheart?’

Even in your prone state, you attempt to put on a coy smile, pushing the straps off your shoulders. ‘You know you want to.’

He chuckles, turning you over to find the zip and pulling it down. He mock admonishes you, ‘Keep it in your pants, woman.’

Dieter feels almost bashful peeling your dress off, baring skin that he hasn’t touched for too long - he has to wait a little longer for that. You never sleep in your bra, so he unhooks that too, averting his gaze, and grabs a comfortable t-shirt from the dresser.

‘Arms up, sweetheart,’ he cajoles, and you comply despite grumbling sleepily. The t-shirt slips easily over your head.

It’s a warm night, so he lets you stretch out above the duvet as he strips down to his boxers. He opens the window to let in a cool breeze to bring down the temperature in the room. It’s been baking in the sun all day.

Dieter shuffles onto the mattress behind you, no hesitation when he tucks your body under the crook of his arm. He breathes you in, nose in your hair, a deep calm settling into his bones as he feels your steady breathing. He tightens his grip on you and lets sleep claim him.

You’re not sure if it’s the church bells or the light streaming through the patio doors, but it’s a clean awakening, your eyes snapping wide open as you take in the bedroom you barely saw last night before passing out.

It’s strangely comforting to see he’s brought with him across the Atlantic the same mess that you became so used to. Inside-out t-shirts and shorts draped on chairs and flung carelessly onto random spots on the floor, where they’ve stayed. A glass of water half empty on his bedside table, his reading glasses and a couple of rings next to it. One slipper at the foot of the bed, the other nowhere to be seen.

You look down at the t-shirt you’re wearing. It’s one that you often borrowed from him for bed, and it makes you smile.

Following the smell of fresh coffee and bread, you pad quietly downstairs, admiring the rustic living space flooded in morning light, the open patio doors leading to a lush garden, letting in a soothing draft.

Dieter is perched on a bar stool at the counter in the open kitchen, already dressed for the day. He looks up from his phone when you approach, the corners of his eyes crinkling when he beams at you, and he breathes out something like relief when you slot into the V of his thighs without any trepidation.

‘What’s this? Dieter Bravo out of bed and dressed before,’ you pause and squint at the clock. ‘Ten in the morning?’

‘Not just that,’ he gestures at the breakfast spread on the table with a proud puff of his chest. ‘I provided.’

You smirk and rest your palms on the top of his thighs. ‘No Deliveroo around here, huh?’

‘It’s sink or swim, baby. Got pretty hairy for a while.’ He grabs a paper cup and pushes it into your hand. ‘Got you a cappuccino from my favourite barista. Try it.’

‘You have a favourite barista? Not just a favourite cafe?’

‘Of course. I have a favourite barista for cappuccino and another one for espresso.’

‘That might be the most obnoxious thing I’ve ever heard.’

He gives you a wink. ‘I’ve put down roots here, baby.’

‘Dieter Bravo has roots?’ you quip. ‘Do you even speak the language yet?’

He replies in an exaggerated Italian accent, complete with hand gestures. ‘A leetle beet, bella signorita.’

You laugh and take a sip of the cappuccino, sighing deeply at the rich, roasted flavour. ‘Thank you, this is delicious.’

Rough palms rest on the small of your back, pulling you flush against his chest. His eyes are warm and open as he confides in you, ‘This job’s been really good for me.’

You run your fingers through his curls. ‘I know. I can tell.’

‘And Calgary’s been good for you too?’

You nod, and you hesitate for just a moment before you answer, ‘They’re going to offer me a contract for the second season.’

It’s not that you’re trying to catch him out, but you watch his reaction closely. You see nothing other than excitement before he presses his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. ‘That’s my girl.’

Suddenly quiet, you go still, and your change in demeanour doesn’t escape him. He pats you playfully on the bottom to get your attention. ‘What’s wrong, sweetheart?’

It’s hard to meet his stare when you’re trying to find it within yourself to get the words out. You fixate on a small stain on his shirt instead, rubbing your finger over it.

He waits patiently, and to give you an out, replies lightly, ‘Couldn’t get the stain out. It’s ragu from my favourite place in town - I can take you there if you want.’

‘I’d like that,’ you smile gratefully.

But the thing is - you don’t want out. You want in.

You take a deep breath and take the plunge. ‘Dieter - should I sign that contract?’

It’s the longest five seconds of silence, and it takes all of your self-control to not twist around in his grasp and run up the stairs. Finally, he leans in to kiss you deeply, and you’re glad he’s holding you up when your knees give.

He pulls back and runs his thumb over your cheekbone. ‘Can you hold out for another two weeks?’

You wish you didn’t answer so quickly, but you can’t help the breathless yes that slips out. Of course you fucking would.

Dieter holds your gaze. ‘Just so we’re clear - I want to be in the same place as you, sweetheart. Or at least close enough to commute to you. Is that ok?’

You nod, a stupid grin breaking across your features. ‘Yeah, that’s ok.’

‘Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,’ Dieter winks at you and grabs a paper bag from the kitchen counter. ‘You’ve got to try this.’

You peek inside and ask skeptically, ‘Is that… a doughnut?’

‘No, it’s a bombolone.’

‘Out of all the Italian things I haven’t tried, you picked the most American -’

He shoves the sugar-covered pastry into your mouth to shut you up, laughing as an indignant squeal catches in your throat. You bite into the pillowy doughnut, a thick smear of the chocolate filling spilling out and painting your lips, sugar crystals sticking to the mess.

Dieter wrinkles his nose jokingly. ‘You look so hot like this, sweetheart.’

Swiping at the chocolate from the corner of your mouth with your index finger, you push it between his lips. His eyes darken immediately as he sucks on it, the mood in the room swinging instantly into familiar territory.

Running your tongue across your lips, you put the rest of the doughnut in its bag and lick the sugar from your fingers. ‘I hope you haven’t had breakfast yet.’

His big hands dip underneath your shirt again to cup your bottom. He raises an eyebrow at you inquiringly. ‘Oh? Why not?’

Your back arcs and you rub your ass into his touch. ‘Because this pussy hasn’t been eaten in a very long time.’

His eyes snap shut at your words as if they physically pain him, impatient hands now sliding up your front to cup your bare breasts. ‘Fuck, baby. Is this the first thing you think about in the morning, you filthy girl?’

You kiss him sloppily, more tongue and teeth than anything, and Dieter pushes you away to hop off the stool, pulling off your shirt in the one smooth motion. He runs two fingers along the seam of your panties, smirking at the wet spot he finds. ‘Did no one else take care of this pussy while I was away?’

‘You know there’s no one else,’ you whine, letting him walk you into the living room, until the back of your knees hit the sofa.

‘Good,’ he growls into your ear, spinning you around and pushing you onto your knees into the cushions, hands on the spine of the sofa. Possessiveness clouds his mind as he runs his gaze over you every inch of you. ‘All mine.’

Slowly, he drags your panties down your legs, kissing the back of your thighs. You writhe under his touch, the scrape of his beard on your sensitive skin making you shudder. You moan, ‘Dieter. Please.’

Spreading you open, he tells you through clenched teeth, ‘I can see how wet you are, sweetheart. So pretty.’

‘Don’t tease,’ you beg, feeling your pussy flutter around nothing, your ass in the air as you grip the sofa tightly. ‘I need -’

You break off in a moan when Dieter closes his lips around your clit in a wet suckle, dragging the broad of his tongue through your core messily. His nails dig into the swell of your hips to hold you in place as you writhe, dipping into your pussy to taste you. Too long. It’s been too fucking long since he’s had you.

He traces his tongue along your contours patiently. He’s waited so many months, he can hold off the want to fucking devour you just a little bit longer. The tip of his tongue draws insistent circles on your clit, your hips undulating while you chase your pleasure. He feels a tremour run through your body before you bury your head into the sofa, muffling your cries.

Oh no, that won’t do.

He brings his palm down in sharp clap on your pillowy cheek, making it jiggle. You gasp, head snapping up and around to glare at him. ‘What was that for?’

He shoots you a dirty grin, chin already shiny with you. ‘Wanna hear you scream, baby.’

You pin him with an audacious stare. ‘Make me, then, Bravo.’

As if he isn’t already rock hard, he has to bite down on his bottom lip to wrangle himself under control. He groans, ‘Can’t just go around saying shit like that, baby.’

You smirk, knowing exactly what it does to him, enjoying his desperate little whimper. You shift to widen your stance, knees sinking deeper into the sofa, teasing him, ‘What was that about the screaming again?’

For one second, you think you’ve pushed too far when Dieter draws clear from you completely. Before you can protest, there’s a scrape of wood on stone as he pushes away the coffee table clumsily. Leaning on the sofa, his long legs splayed in front of him, you can see the clear outline of his erection through his shorts. He lays the back of his head on the edge of the seat, meeting your panicked eyes when you look down at him between your legs.

You squeak. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

He grins, reaching up to nip your inner thigh with his teeth. ‘You want me to make you scream, right? Come sit on my face, baby.’

Holy fuck. You hear the metallic zing of a zipper being pulled down. Dieter’s eyes squeeze shut, his neck muscles pop, and you feel his hands move, out of sight. ‘I’m so fucking hard for you, baby. Please, ride my face while I stroke myself -’

‘Oh god,’ you grit out when you lower yourself onto his tongue, hips jerking when he grips one of your thighs almost painfully, grunting as you slide wetly on his tongue. Looking down, your lips part when you catch him watching you with a frown of quiet concentration as you grind down on him, too keyed up to find any sort of rhythm. It’s messy and crass, desperate above all else.

You know you’re drenched. Almost embarrassingly so. One of your hands drops to tangle in his hair, curls sticking to his forehead as his hairline beads with sweat.

‘Baby -’ You’re out of breath as you feel your orgasm building. ‘I’m close - oh god, Dieter -’

His fingers close around the plump flesh of your ass, and with a violent shudder, you’re thrown over the edge into a heaving, knee-shattering high, your slick and his spit dribbling down the inside of your thighs as you scrabble for air. Collapsing bonelessly onto the spine of the sofa, you feel Dieter wipe his saturated chin on your skin, leaving a cool trail, and you jump as if it burns you.

His whispers tickle the shell of your ear as he climbs onto the sofa behind you, cradling your smaller frame with his. ‘You came so hard, sweetheart. Such a good girl.’

You groan indulgently as he wraps himself around you. One hand finds your breast, and the other dips between your legs, a growl rattling in his chest when his fingers slip uselessly over your sodden pussy, unable to find any purchase.

‘All this cum for me,’ he hums, crooking two fingers to gather your slick before bringing them onto his cock, which nudges you just above your ass, stroking it languidly. ‘I missed you so much, baby.’

You nearly stumble over your words, too highly strung. ‘I missed you too. So fucking much.’

One hand turning your cheek, he claims your mouth possessively, sliding his tongue in to mark you with your own taste. Heat spreads across your skin as he caresses your lips sensually slow, his hand sliding down to hold your throat gently. He feels rather than hear your breath catch before you swallow thickly, the movement intimately pressed up against the tips of his fingers.

Sliding his cock through your wet folds, he pushes two fingers into your mouth to wet them. He fucking loves the feel of your tongue on him - anywhere on him. Mindful of how sensitive you are after you came, he runs the lightest path from your clit to your entrance, then up again.

‘Have you been touching yourself while I was gone?’ he asks gruffly.

‘Yes,’ you admit without putting up any resistance.

‘Stretch that tight pussy with your fingers?’

At your frantic nod, he retorts with a feral edge to his voice. ‘You pretend it was my cock instead?’

Gasping when you feel him notched at the mouth of your pussy, you cry out, ‘Yes!’

‘Well, you must have one hell of an imagination. How could these little fingers -’ he grabs you by the wrist and sucks on them, one by one, leaving them spit-soaked, before wrapping them around his throbbing cock. ‘- stretch you even a fraction of how my dick does?’

You flush at the filth tumbling out of his mouth, and you’ll be damned if you don’t give as good as you got. You smirk, ‘Why don’t you find out?’

‘Don’t have to ask me twice, baby,’ he grins into your shoulder, and one thick finger slides into you.

You feel his smile falter and his teeth dig into your skin instead. He groans into your ear, ‘Sorry to break it to you sweetheart, but you’ve been doing a pathetic job.’

You squeeze your hand around his cock and he lurches against you, grabbing you in a silent warning. You blink sweetly at him. ‘Stop gloating and do something about it then.’

Your smile falters when he pulls out of you, only to reenter with two fingers, and your chin drops to your chest at the fullness as he fills you. His ribcage vibrates with a satisfied hum against your back, sweat building up where your bodies meet.

‘Relax, sweetheart,’ he says, mouthing sweet kisses down your spine. ‘You’re doing so well for me. Good girl.’

Taking a deep breath, you do, and he eases in even further, eliciting a sharp gasp when he hits a particularly sensitive spot inside you. He works into you at a steady pace, sometimes shallow, sometimes knuckle deep, until you start to pant, your hips twisting in pursuit when he draws out of your wet heat.

‘Harder,’ you demand, and he tightens the arm wrapped around your waist, pumping in earnest, teeth bared as he draws increasingly loud squelches from your cunt. He hisses when he feels you begin to clench around him, whimpering, ‘Fuck - fuck I’m gonna come again -’

Dieter wraps his whole body around you as you thrash in his arms, desperate sobs racking your frame as he rambles in your ear. ‘That’s it, let go, baby - this beautiful pussy’s getting my fingers so wet - gonna make you feel even better with my cock -’

Suddenly, the room spins and you’re lying on your back, Dieter’s weight pinning you to the soft cushions. You arch up lazily to kiss him, enjoying the heft of him on your body.

‘You ok?’ he asks almost sheepishly, nuzzling your neck. ‘Too much?’

You don’t skip a beat when you retort with a flippant shrug. ‘Honestly? Not enough cock.’

You grin at his splutter to your response. With a low growl, he grinds the underside of his erection against your folds. ‘That fucking mouth is gonna get you into trouble some day.’

You reply cheekily, ‘Sometime this morning would be preferable.’

Dieter reaches down to wrap your legs around his waist, lips on yours. ‘I haven’t slept with anyone else, but I can wear a condom if you want me to.’

You shake your head adamantly. ‘I want to feel all of you.’

Pushing your legs open wide, Dieter positions himself over you, teasing the head of his cock at your entrance, teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

‘Look at me, sweetheart,’ he whispers, and pushes in.

Your noses knock together as he bites out a harsh fuck, rocking into you inch by inch with patient strokes.

‘So big,’ you moan, burying your nose in his shoulder. You feel his arms tremble as he holds himself over you. ‘You feel so good inside me.’

He grunts as he bottoms out, taking a second for you to adjust around him. ‘Are you still on birth control? ‘Cause there’s a very real possibility I’ll blow my load any fucking second -’

You take him by surprise when you bring a palm down onto his ass cheek in a sound slap. ‘Don’t you dare, Dieter Bravo.’

He grits his teeth at the sting that lingers on his skin and goes straight to his cock. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

He doubles down and fucks you hard, dipping his head to draw wet circles around your nipples with his tongue before biting down on the underside of your breasts, making your back arch, allowing him to fuck into you even deeper. You can only take him, hands around his neck, your lips clashing together in a wet tangle of tongue and teeth. You moan when he slides his hands under your ass, lifting your hips to change the angle. He plants his knees and thrusts into you feverishly, making your tits bounce to the rhythm.

Looking up at him, backlit by the soft morning light, you scrape your nails on his scalp, pulling at his curls until his eyes shut with a groan. His beard is scratchy on your fingertips when they draw a line down his strong jaw. You watch the endearing lines on his face crease as he watches you back, a small smile breaking through the intensity for just a moment before it gets too much again.

His knuckles on your hips turn white and the vein in his neck throbs. ‘I can’t hold on. Where do you my cum, sweetheart?’

‘Inside me, please,’ you plead, wrapping your legs tightly around his hips as he ruts recklessly into you.

His last thrusts shove you up the length of the sofa, and you watch as Dieter throws his head back when he comes. His hips crush against yours as he chokes on broken moans, spilling into you. But instead of winding down, he keeps pumping into you even when you feel his cum leak - hot and sticky - out of your cunt.

You look up at him, confused. ‘What - what are you doing?’

‘I’m still hard,’ he pants, eyes screwing shut from overstimulation, his body wound up painfully tight. ‘Oh god, fuck, I think I’m gonna cum again, baby -’

‘My tits - cum on my tits,’ you demand hurriedly.

He pulls out of you, and you feel his spend dribble and pool onto the sofa below. Cock in hand, Dieter clambers upwards, knees on either side of your hips as he strokes himself frantically, his tanned skin flushed with a sheen of sweat.

‘Ready, baby?’ he pants as he braces above you.

You nod and push your tits together, the visual sending him over the edge. He cries out your name, and you watch with your lips wantonly open as lewd, white lashes spurt over your nipples, the swell of your breasts, dripping into the valley of your cleavage.

With one last, strangled whine, Dieter collapses half onto you and half onto the couch, and you beam proudly at how absolutely wrecked he looks. You did that. You stretch languorously, and his gaze follows intently as beads of cum drip from your breasts and down your sides in thick streaks.

‘Look at you and your multiple orgasms,’ you tease, shuffling closer to peck him on the lips.

He grunts. ‘Didn’t wanna get upstaged by you, sweetheart.’

You shiver when he brushes a finger through the mess he made on your tits with a deep groan of satisfaction before pushing himself up with great effort, and settling himself between your thighs. Pinching your folds together gently, he groans as a pearly bead of his cum oozes out of you, feral eyes meeting yours. ‘I love seeing my cum all over you and inside you, baby.’

Glancing down at the wet patches on the cream-coloured sofa, you quip, ‘I don’t think you’re gonna get your rental deposit back, though.’

Sidling up to you, he kisses you and grins. ‘Totally worth it.’

The next time you wake up, it’s definitely the church bells ringing for the evening service that rouse you.

‘C’mon sweetheart, it’s dinner time.’

You turn to Dieter’s voice and pout sleepily. ‘What?’

‘You passed out after we took a shower, and I didn’t want to wake you for lunch,’ he recounts the missing hours to you. ‘Ana brought your suitcase around, by the way.’

You swing your legs off the side of the bed and stretch with a yawn. ‘She’s the best. We need to buy her dinner or something. Constance too.’

Dieter pulls you onto your feet to nuzzle the side of your neck. ‘Nope, sorry - you’re mine this weekend. Especially since you’ve already spent about half of it passed out cold.’

You roll your eyes and wriggle out of his grasp to unzip your suitcase, bending over to rummage through it for something to wear. ‘Hardly my fault that I find jetlag more compelling than your company, Bravo.’

He grins when you yelp at the smack that lands on your ass. ‘Hurry up, sweetheart. I’ll take you around the neighbourhood, and we can get pizza from my favourite place for dinner.’

Your stomach answers for you with a comically loud rumble. ‘Yes please, I’m starving.’

The streets look different in the dying daylight. You bask in the twilight sunshine, senses in overdrive as you take in the surroundings.

Dieter lets you drag him into a gelato shop to get a refreshing frutti di bosco in a cone, which you both take turns licking and biting into as you stroll through the neighbourhood. Then he ducks into a tiny deli to get some burrata and prosciutto in case you get midnight munchies later. As you get closer to town, the crowds start to thicken, and Dieter feels you shrink into yourself.

Brushing a kiss to your temple, he reassures you, ‘There’s no paparazzi here, sweetheart. I’ve been here for three months and no one has recognised me even once.’

Your shoulders relax. ‘And your fragile Hollywood ego lived to tell the tale?’

He pulls a squeal from you when he dives in for the last bite of the cone without warning, sucking melted purple gelato off your hand.

The pizzeria is tucked away on a side street, tiny tables and stools lining either side of the entrance, and there is no sign above the door. Stepping inside the dark interior, it’s piping hot with three men behind the counter, rolling out dough and cooking pizza in a wood fire oven, trading rapid-fire Italian.

A man with grey hair and an impressive handlebar moustache exclaims when his eyes land on the two of you, stepping from behind the counter. ‘Dieter! Amico mio, vieni qui!’ || ‘Dieter! My friend, come here!’

They embrace like life-long friends, the older man babbling Italian at him while he babbles back in English. You’re absolutely certain neither of them knows what the other is going on about.

Dieter gestures at you. ‘Lorenzo, I want you to meet my girl.’

He makes a delighted noise and kisses you flamboyantly on both cheeks. ‘Questa è tua moglie, vero? Buonasera, signora Bravo! Che bella coppia!’ || ‘This is your wife, yes? Good evening, Mrs. Bravo! What a beautiful couple!’

Dieter winds an arm around your waist and tells you proudly, ‘This place makes the best pizza in town, and they don’t even have a name! I found it one night when I was drunk off my ass. The best margherita I’ve ever had. Am I right, Lorenzo?’

The Italian smacks his lips in a chef’s kiss as if in agreement. ‘Voi avrete i bambini bellissimi! Te lo giuro!’ || ‘You two would have the most beautiful babies! I swear!’

‘Lorenzo says it’s something about the flour they use in the dough. Or was it the yeast?’

A wistfulness creeps into the Italian’s tone, and he suddenly leans forward to grip your chin between his thumb and index finger. You suspect he’s not exactly on the same topic of yeast. ‘L'amore è bello. Voi mi ricordate me e mia moglie defunta, pace all’anima sua!’ || ‘Love is beautiful. You remind me of my deceased wife and I, God rest her soul!’

Dieter claps his hands together to wrap up the unilateral, bilingual conversation. ‘Anyway - can we order the margherita and artichoke? Takeaway, please.’

Lorenzo lets your chin go and presses a kiss to his hand, then dispatches it heavenwards. ‘In onore della mia amata moglie, Maria, Includo gratuitamente un regalo speciale! I miei colombini preferiti!!’ || ‘In honour of my beloved Maria, I will include a special treat for free! My favourite lovebirds!’

Dieter pays for the order and a couple of limonata from the fridge, and you retreat outside to wait for your dinner. Sitting down on a low stone wall opposite the shop, you take a sip of the fizzy lemonade and remark, ‘Now, that’s what I call a character.’

He beams and laces his fingers through yours. ‘Isn’t he great? I want to move here someday.’

Your eyebrows reach for your hairline. ‘Really? Dieter Bravo living la dolce vita? Leaving behind the lights and vices of Hollywood?’

Before he can answer you, a piercing screech sends your heads spinning around to see Ana running down the street towards you, shouting and waving, ‘Hey, lovers!’

You laugh as she smothers you in a hug while simultaneously fiddling with her phone. ‘Oh my god, you guys are fucking adorable. One second, one second -’

You shriek when she brings up her phone to show you who’s on the screen. ‘Oh my god, Pete! We miss you!’

He waves at you through Facetime. ‘Babe, I cannot believe I’m not there to witness this first hand. It’s not fair! Let me see you two together!’

Ana grabs the phone and angles it so you and Dieter are both in the shot, and sing-songs, ‘Kiss cam, lovebirds!’

You roll your eyes. ‘Ana, we’re not just going to -’

You’re cut short when Dieter ambushes you with a full-mouthed kiss, and you hear both Pete and Ana squealing excitedly.

‘What are you doing? These two don’t need any more encouragement!’ you chide halfheartedly when he finally draws back, releasing your lips with a wet pop.

Dieter points at Pete through the screen then at Ana. ‘We’re keeping it under the radar for now, okay? No leaks to the papers or any of that shit.’

Ana nods solemnly. ‘Lips are sealed.’

‘I’m totally not screen recording this right now.’

You narrow your eyes at the phone. ‘Pete - ’

‘I’m joking, I swear!’ he protests. ‘Totally not crossing my fingers behind my back.’

Lorenzo appears with three pizza boxes even though you’re sure Dieter only ordered two, and he shepherds you on your way while speaking Italian, presumably saying something to the effect of eat it while it’s hot.

Ana waves, heading in the opposite direction. ‘I’d invite you for drinks with Constance and I later, but I doubt Dieter would let you out of your sight for even a second.’

‘She’s staying in my bed till Monday morning. Naked.’

‘Dieter!’ you admonish.

Ana laughs and winks at you as he impatiently drags you away. ‘Have fun, lovebirds. I’ll see you back stateside!’

And Pete gets the last laugh. ‘Don’t you forget - I called best man!’

A spiral staircase winds up to the rooftop you didn’t know existed, and you gape at the view from the top. The sea laps in the distance, blue and orange, waves rippling as if in slow motion. The rest of the town sitting on lower ground is laid out below your feet like a chaotic streetmap, the dinner-time ruckus a muted buzz in the distance.

The terracotta tiles are sunwarm beneath your bare soles as you set the rustic dinner table under the canopy. Dieter appears at the doorway with a bottle of wine and two wine glasses.

‘I forgot the water. Do you want some?’ he asks.

You step around him and peck him on the cheek. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get it.’

You hum to yourself as you traipse your way back upstairs with a jug of water and two glasses full of ice from the kitchen. Dieter lines up the three takeaway boxes side by side, and rubs his hands in anticipation for the big reveal. ‘Alright, ready for the best pizza of your life, sweetheart?’

‘Go on, then,’ you grin.

He’s barely cracked open the first box a sliver - you catch a glimpse of a perfectly baked crust - before he snaps it shut with a panicked, ‘What the fuck?’

You frown. ‘What’s wrong?’

He pinches the bridge of his nose, the other hand on his hip. ‘Lorenzo - he pulled a prank on us.’

You reach for the box to see for yourself, but he snatches you by the wrist. You sigh, ‘C’mon, Dieter, I don’t care as long as I can still eat the pizza without getting food poisoning. I’m actually going to faint from hunger.’

He lets you go cautiously, holding his hands up soothingly like he’s trying to talk you off a ledge. ‘Just - promise me you won’t freak out, okay?’

You cross your arms. ‘You’re actually scaring me now.’

‘It’s not a declaration or anything. I didn’t ask them to do it.’

You’re about this close to stamping your foot like a child, but you take a deep breath and reply, ‘Dieter, seriously. I promise I won’t freak out, just -’

You trail off when he opens the box and you stare down at the contents.

It’s a heart-shaped pizza.

Any and all apprehension bleeds out of you as your shoulders quake with laughter. You open the other two boxes, which are identical in shape, with different toppings. Turning to Dieter, you pull him in by the scruff of his shirt to plant a kiss on his lips. ‘I love it.’

The relief is clear in his features. ‘Really? You’re not gonna flip and run off in the middle of the night?’

‘Unless there’s a diamond ring baked into the cheese - no, I won’t,’ you give him your word.

Dieter winks and kisses the centre of your palm. ‘Oh, you should be so lucky, sweetheart.’

Making yourself comfortable on the cushioned bench, you pat the space next to you. Reaching out for a slice of what smells like the best margherita you’re about to have, you sniff, ‘Be quiet and eat your pizza, Bravo.’

Pouring red wine into your glass, Dieter rambles on conversationally, ‘So… since you like heart-shaped pizza, does that mean I can get you heart-shaped cookies? Heart-shaped donuts? Heart-shaped marshmallows -’

Using his own trick on him, you shove the slice that was destined for your plate into his mouth instead to shush him. He spills wine everywhere in his haste to put the bottle down, and you laugh as he sputters.

His mouth full, he shakes a finger at you as he chews and swallows. ‘I’ll get back at you for that, just you wait.’

You smile sweetly and grab another slice. ‘I’d like to see you try, Bravo.’

Pulling you flush against him, he looks down at you playfully, but his eyes are soft. ‘I will always try, sweetheart.’

And you know he will.

Rebecca is enjoying a rare evening alone. Coco is over at a friend’s pool party and won’t be home until after dinner, and Hank is still at the office. She flops heavily onto the outrageously expensive sofa she so rarely gets to enjoy, kicking off her high heels, when her phone buzzes. She arches an eyebrow when she sees the name on the screen.

‘Hello, darling. Long time no speak.’

‘Hey Becks. Listen, do you have any TV roles for me?’

‘Not even a hello, how are you, dear agent?’

She shakes her head fondly as he parrots back word by word, ‘Hello, how are you, dear agent?’

‘TV, you say?’

‘Something that will stick for at least a couple of seasons, in LA. And make sure it’s something edgy.’

‘By edgy, do you mean something that might have an intimacy coordinator role that needs filling?

‘Yes.’

‘And does that mean you want me to take your name out of the hat for the next Spielberg movie?’

There is no trace of doubt in his reply. ‘Yes.’

‘Alright then. I’ll have a scout around and send you some options in the next few days.’

‘Thanks, Becks.’

She smiles into the phone. ‘I’m happy for you, darling. Send her my love, please, and we’ll have you both around for dinner soon.’

‘Yes, ma’am. Will do.’

Two weeks later, a package arrives at your flat in Calgary, and you hand in your one-month notice the next day.

A covering letter to the contract directs you to an address in Sherman Oaks to drop off the documents in person the next weekend. You’re not aware of any studio offices in that particular part of town, but you need to go back Stateside to sort out something at your bank anyway, so it’s not particularly out of the way.

You slow your car down to the crawl when your phone announces that you’ve reached your destination. It’s clearly a residential area, and you double check the address - you’re definitely at the right place. Maybe it’s the HR director’s home address. You’ve been to far stranger places in your career, so you shake it off and walk up to the modern, white-washed house that sits on two floors, with a minimalist garden in the front.

You glance about at the tidy hedges after you press the doorbell, and you hear footsteps approach at a leisurely pace. You put on a professional smile in anticipation.

The door opens, and your jaw drops.

‘Hello, sweetheart.’

Before you can make heads or tails of the situation, the envelope in your hand slips out of your grasp and you launch yourself at him. Dieter staggers backwards with a laugh, his hands full of you and his lips on yours. It’s been three weeks since you said your goodbyes at the airport in Italy, with promises to see each other when filming wraps for the both of you in another month or so.

You can’t resist slapping him on the chest in rebuke for showing up unannounced. ‘What are you doing here?’

He shrugs nonchalantly. ‘Thought you’d appreciate a house tour now that you’ve signed up to the project.’

You look around, taking in the dark wooden floors and high ceilings painted white as he scoops up your abandoned papers and closes the front door. ‘What house tour?’

‘I told the studio you’ll be living with me. It’s the only reason they hired you, by the way, because we’ll be saving them accommodation costs.’

You know he’s trying to get a rise out of you, so you don’t give him the satisfaction of a quick-tempered answer. Instead, you cock your head to one side, and purse your lips. ‘How did you know I want to live with you?’

His answer is unexpectedly forthright, and it hits you right in the stomach. ‘I don’t, but I hoped you would. I want to live with you.’

Rocking onto your tippy toes, you reach for him, but before your lips meet, he stops you, brandishing a piece of paper in your nose. ‘One minute, sweetheart. Since we’re now both employees of this show, we should really sign this Relationship Consent Form for HR before we do anything else.’

You blink and take a mental step back, suddenly alert. His smile is perfectly benevolent, which is suspicious in itself. He’s trying to pull something, you just know it.

But you go along with it. ‘Sounds like the responsible thing to do. You got a pen?’

Right on cue, Dieter pulls out a fancy-looking fountain pen and his glasses from his shirt pocket. ‘Voila. This way, sweetheart, we’ll do this in the kitchen.’

The foyer opens up into a large and modern kitchen space, with a marble counter separating it from the dining room. You like it - it’s not as coldly sleek as the apartment you shared while filming on Resurgence. It looks homey and lived-in despite knowing for a fact that the most Dieter’s ever used it for is pouring milk into a bowl of cereal.

He pulls out a chair for you at the dining table, even pushing your seat in before settling opposite you. You keep a watchful eye on him at this show of gallantry. Pointedly ignoring you, he smooths a hand over the consent form sitting in front of him, uncapping his fountain pen dramatically and putting on his reading glasses.

With a clap of his hands, he announces. ‘Ok, here we go. Fill in the name of Party A.’ He spells out yours letter by letter as he scribbles. ‘And Party B: Dieter Bravo.’

From where you’re sitting, his handwriting is barely legible and absolutely not contained to the pre-drawn lines.

‘I can do the writing, if you want,’ you offer, eye twitching at the mess.

Dieter smiles at you. ‘I got it, sweetheart, thanks.’ Clearing his throat, he reads the first question out loud. ‘Are Party A and Party B engaged or intend to engage in sexual intercourse?’

He looks up at you, as if expecting an answer. You frown. ‘What?’

‘You have to say the answers out loud.’

‘What?’

He taps somewhere on the piece of paper. ‘To consent, you have to say the answers out loud. Says right here.’

You sigh heavily and reply, ‘Yes.’

Dieter scrawls the answer with a flourish, and moves on to the next question. ‘Is the frequency or intended frequency of said intercourse between Party A and Party B expected to be equal to or exceed once a week?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are Party A and Party B engaged in or intend to engage in an exclusive sexual relationship?’

Your answer comes out sharper than you intend as your patience wears thin. ‘I fucking hope so.’

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t look up. ‘That’s a yes, then. Are Party A and Party B engaged in or intend to engage in an exclusive romantic relationship?’

You cross your arms suspiciously. ‘An exclusive romantic relationship? That’s an actual question in the form?’

He points somewhere in the middle of the page. ‘Yes, it says right here.’

‘I’m sorry, why does the studio need to know that?’

He sighs. ‘Sweetheart, it’s a simple question - yes or no?’

You shift in your seat, feeling vulnerable, but you answer in the affirmative. ‘Well, I mean, if I’m going to be living with you - yes.’

The smile he gives you nearly reaches his ears, and you smile back, before he looks down at the form and continues, ‘Now, this is an interesting one. Is Party B’s genitalia the most substantial Party A has ever had in terms of length and girth?’

Not even Dieter can keep a straight face.

You growl, reaching across the table to rip the piece of paper from his hands while he howls with laughter, reading glasses coming off. ‘Ugh, Dieter Bravo! You’re so fucking juvenile!’

He’s literally wiping tears from his eyes. ‘You should’ve seen your face, sweetheart. You were taking it so seriously.’

You run a critical eye over the form. It was obviously done in Word and printed out at home since the margins are all off. ‘You used Comic Sans? Comic Sans? You might as well have written this in purple crayon!’

‘Hey! Don’t judge a consent form by its font, sweetheart.’ He rounds the table and grabs it from you, pinning it onto the kitchen counter with his pen.

‘I forgot one last question, it’s an important one,’ he says, and you squeak when he lifts you up onto the cold marble surface of the kitchen counter by the back of your thighs. Close enough to bump noses, his breath hot on your lips, he asks, ‘Does Party A consent to being thoroughly railed on this kitchen counter by Party B right about now?’

Grabbing the pen sitting next to you, you scribble carelessly over the sheet, before tossing it somewhere behind you without looking. It floats languidly, landing feather-light on the kitchen floor, soon joined by hastily half-unbuttoned, half-unzipped clothing and underwear.

Your answer to Dieter’s question - all his questions - is scrawled across the page in a clear, emphatic hand.

Fuck yeah.

[ the end ]

Very long note: This wasn't the easiest chapter to write, but then, I guess finales never are easy! Having said that, I already knew what the last scene was going to be when I decided to make this a series, and it was surreal to finally see it typed out in black and white.

I also made sure the supporting cast - Pete, Ana and Rebecca - each made a cameo in this last part. They've been so important to the plot, and your reaction to these OCs makes me so warm and fuzzy inside. I'm very happy with the way this chapter turned out eventually - I hope you are too!

I've left things fairly open in this finale. I don't feel like Dieter and Reader have to make any grand declarations to each other, or to put a label on anything, for this stage of their story to be complete. This also gives me the space to explore their relationship in further instalments. While I don't see another full-fledged series in this universe, there will definitely be drabbles and one-shots in the future.

Before I lose my shit and start crying up a storm, I need to give credit to these lovely people who helped me with this chapter.

❤️ First, I want to thank Cristina @pedropascalsx for making the gif set for the last ever sneak peek. It really set the tone for the finale, and I will cherish it forever.

❤️ Second, thank you Kat @katareyoudrilling for helping me with the Italian translations. Your notes were so detailed, I loved learning about the language from your explanations.

❤️ Third, the heart-shaped pizza idea came from a reblog @hquinzelle left for a previous chapter, and it's been stuck in my head since! Thank you for letting me use this idea for this chapter.

Lastly, thank you to every single one of you who have interacted with this fic in any way. I have been blown away by your love and support every step of the way. Thank you for taking a chance on this story, which started off as a horny one-shot (and my first time ever writing smut), and ended up a short series that I'm so proud to have written for this beautiful mess of a man and - most importantly - for all of you❤️

Ok I'm going to go bawl my eyes out now.

#dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo fanfic #the bubble fanfiction #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo self insert #cliff beasts 6 #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x f!reader

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beanghostprincess · 4 months

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Usopp and Nami would rather steal from each other than actually share their things.

Usopp always snatch the occasional hair band nail polish lip gloss. She would take makeup but none of its in her shade. It's mostly things she wouldn't notice.

Nami on the other hand doesn't give a shit. Most of usopp's things she owns are new and shiny. Bought by sanji and her Dad. Tops, earrings, bras accessories and other stuff. She'd slip them in her pocket and when usopp asked for them she plays the fool. Blue tank top?? Nah I haven't seen them sorry. ask Robin

Sometimes it's blatant and very obvious that they steal from each other. Nami took her orange overalls and when usopp pointed it out she just simply stated that she wears overalls all the time. She has a lot of them missing. One pair isn't going to hurt her.

It started to get ridiculous and petty when they started taking things that didn't even fit. Nami took a pair of sandals that were oblivious too big for her.

she's a size 6 ½ while Usopp was size 9. Usopp took one of her bras it was too big at the time but she started to need them. They started getting into arguments. It got to the point where the crew got involved with their fights, some tried to stop their fights (jinbe, chopper, Franky and sanji) and others like to add fuel to the fire (Zoro, Luffy, Brook and Robin)

They (Zoro) would throw random pieces of clothing into the clean laundry and see which one claims it first. It was usually Nami but she would be talked into giving it to usopp (jinbe told her) . Since she doesn't have that many feminine clothes of her own

I agree with this one completely, but let me add that I think everybody steals clothes from everybody no matter who it is. Like I am 100% sure the only one who can't do that is probably Zoro because dude is pretty much shirtless all the damn time and even if he wanted to wear a shirt he'd have to steal Frany's or Jinbe's because big tits need big clothes. But the thought of Usopp and Nami doing it constantly to each other is peak best friendism behavior and I find this extremely cute and hilarious, please. Also extremely canon. Also, Nami, Usopp and Robin steal clothes from the boys 24/7 because comfy big t-shirts and (because Bean can't make a fucking post about OP without mentioning Sanuso, apparently) Sanji would absolutely die seeing Usopp wearing his clothes.

#i love the strawhats sharing clothes #it makes me very emotional they're just so cute #one piece #nami #usopp #transfem usopp #sanuso #<- i swear i'm normal about them

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insomniphic · 3 months

Text

💕VALENTINES DAY IS A WEEK AWAY!💕

So guess what?! :D

I’ll be posting daily One-Shots of Narry in very Valentine scenarios for 7 days!

None of these are canon! They’re just cool “what if’s” since Narry is probably doomed to be forever lonely 😔.

Anyways~

DAY 1: Crowded Places

Narry participated in a party once; in our current timeline he might have already joined more than four, perhaps none, but ONE was enough to realize his hatred towards crowded places, of every kind. “Hatred”? No. Not really. Maybe it’s discomfort. Maybe fear.

The music is the latest hit of this year, so was the next, and the following. The taste was generic — made to entertain most of the crowd because of how trendy it is — so it was no surprise that everyone was still moving their bodies to a rhythm that matched their hearts more than the beat. Narry wished there was more variety so he could test his memory… Perhaps he could just list out the pitch, the notes, maybe the specific riffs to the bass that carried the harmony.

An arm brushes against his. A sandal comes close to stepping on his black loafers. Hair slashes across his back. An empty plastic cup tips and touches against his chest.

He really needs to stop closing his eyes, these sensations were becoming more intense without his vision and it was making him shudder when he isn’t even feeling cold.

While pursing his thin lips, the brunette tilts his head down and cracks both of his eyes open, looking straight at his feet. There’s about a two step radius that he could shuffle around in. (Disregarding the shoulders that nudged past that small border.) He made sure to straighten his body like a rod, taking less space to give himself, and others, more room.

It’s alright, Narry, just listen to the music. The music is loud, this room is big. It’s alright, Narry, just listen to the echo of the music. If the music echoes, then the room is spacious; it’s big.

“Oh my goood, have you heard what Juliet just did to her new boyfrieend?~” A random girl slurred out, her eyes hazy as she pressed herself closer to her other female companion, trying to be more audible in the crowd.

Narry blinks, his brows furrowing. Music, Narry, music. “You know how to dance, huh?” A man with a buzz-cut hair chuckled as he swayed along with a some blonde woman. The duo was too close for his liking; it’s almost as if those words were directed to him.

“Hahaha! Yeaaah!” The other squeaked, her face flushed and hair a mess from all the grooving, “I was in the dance team when I was in high school!” She grinned suddenly throwing her hands up, ultimately hitting against Narry’s arm without her knowledge.

Narry writhed as he began to inch away from them. He steps out of the center of his small safe space, and it led him into bumping against another stranger. And like a game of Pong, he bumped into another as he apologized. Where’s the music? Narry’s eyes whirled around, looking for safety. Why can’t I hear it?! Where is it?!

…Screw the music. Screw the size of the room. It’s too cramped here— WHY is he here?

“Narry!” The man jumped — not out of fear, but more in relief.

Music. He’s hearing the music.

“Narry! Oh god, what are you doing here?!” Narry’s lover pushed through the wall of people, concern driven all over their face. Before Narry could even reply, they were already taking action. “Common, let’s get you out of here!” They yelled over the crowd.

The yellow eyed man kept himself close behind them. He’s usually much more… organized than this. Thankfully enough, he felt all of the tension release as he stumbled slightly on random rubbish that’s been tossed on the hard tiles of the club. He’s usually much more autonomous than this. When finally reached the door — he forgot there was one (he’s usually a lot more aware than this) — he pries his eyes away from the textured ground and then up at the moon, the stars, his lover. Suddenly, his head was clear.

“Gosh…” Narry groaned, lowering his head into his hands, “I’m usually a lot more… normal than this.” He shuddered, his shoulders sinking slightly.

“Narry, you are being normal.” His hands are stuffy. Music. Listen for the music. “You’re just overstimulated, alright?” he looks up from his hands. He hears the echo of their voice. It’s spacious; the world is big. “Don’t bash yourself for that.” They smiled, clearly hazy from the fun he probably just pulled them away from, but they seemed clear in the head enough to mean what they’re saying.

Once he nodded, the other sighed, running a hand through their hair as they looked down the empty sidewalk and streets before glancing back. “Why are you here, Narry? I thought you said you’ll just stay at home for tonight,” they frowned slightly with concern.

Why? Why… Narry was quiet for a moment, the most knowledgeable being in the world seemingly forgotten. “Oh— uh…” his hands naturally ran down to touch his pocket, feeling the contour of his cellular device. Right. “I wanted to pick you up,” he mumbled, “You texted me a while ago, saying that your friends left earlier while you guys were at the pub, and I didn’t want you to go back with an Uber — and by yourself. I came — brought the car — and thought I could find you easily if I go inside myself instead of waiting. And—“ he paused, “I got stuck.”

His lover chuckled, before they reached down and took his gloved hands into theirs. “That’s really thoughtful of you, Narry… thank you.” They gave him a closed eyed smile, and Narry couldn’t help but reciprocate, albeit a bit shy because of the earlier predicament.

“Are you good for a hug?” They widened their arms for him, and Narry paused.

Of course he couldn’t say “no”. And with a small hum of encouragement, he bent himself down and enveloped themselves into each other’s warmth.

The hug was tight; it gave him no space to move, and the entirety of the hug were just sensations he wouldn’t usually agree to. And yet… he didn’t mind it.

Narry has a fear towards crowded places, but his only exception only ever seemed to be their comfort.

===

Next—>

#you can consider his lover as Y/n if you want #but it’s more like— they’re faceless cause thers’s no fitting character..#never really wrote that much so— sorry if it’s bad XD #I just really like putting Narry in scenarios and making him happy in the end lol #this was a last minute idea honestly #drabble #valentines day #valentines special #oc #oc fictive #Narry #InSomniphic’s Random Commentary #InSomniphic’s Event Participation

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simsycatx · 4 months

Text

House Tour: 715 Falls Park Drive

Watch the House Tour

2 Bed 2 Full Bath Mudroom Coffee Nook Walk in Closet Price: §117,301 Lot Size: 20 x 20

Occupant: Jennifer Smallwood

CC/DLC List below along with my ramblings/notes on the build too :)

Gallery ID: SimsyCatx - tick to show custom content and use bb.moveobjects

I wanted this home to be super cosy with "Live Love Laugh" vibes. Very much decorated with a feminine eye with lots of cute B&M/Best Buy/cheap & cheerful clutter decor.

I have play-tested this and it all works except the two bathroom sinks because the sinks aren't designed for those counters. I'm guessing the counters are too high which puts the sinks too high to use. I did try to play around and try and get it working but couldn't manage it. It doesn't bother me (it kinda eliminates the dishwashing in the bathroom) so I left it for the ✨ aethestic✨ but they can easily be replaced if you want!

I've also removed the custom images in the bedroom (you can see them in the video), just because they are boudoir shots :)

DLC LIST:

Essential: For Rent High School Years Cottage Living Eco Living Seasons Get Together

Non-Essential: Growing Together - lamps & light Island Living - landscaping plant Get Famous = stairs Cats & Dogs- sculptures City Living - Rug Get to Work - sculpture Dream Home Decorator- plant Dine Out -plant Spa Day - towel Outdoor Retreat - condiment clutter My First Pet Stuff - blinds Romantic Garden - landscape flowers Free Holiday Pack - lights

CC LIST:

by House of HarlixORJANIC Brick Foundation Sectional Sofa Curtain Right & Left - Short Cushion 1 & 2 BAYSIC A good chunk of it BAFROOM Scrub Bathtub Shampoo Towel Rack Toilet roll Soap Dispenser Face Cloth KICHEN Rubber Plant Olive Oil Lovely Lady Bush Cabinets Shallow Counter Wine Rack Glass Pendant Short Chopping Board Set Bay Tree HARLUXE Sink Beach Bag Coffee Table JARDANE A good chunk LIVIN' RUM Stacking Box Tiny Tray Remote Simsung Frame TV Magazine End Table Book Series

by The Clutter Cat Understairs Shelf - Short

by @simcredibledesignsOh Reykjavik Paintings Cushions Zara Bed Nothing to Fear Geomentric Shelves Silky Intentions Toilet Brush Lotions Nuance Mugs Scandi Fever Sideboard Plant 2 3 Cushions TV Rug Naturalis Hanging Plant tall Hanging Plant Suculenta Coffee Maker Calligaris Purse Rug Sandals Purse Rack Hanger Welcome Sculpture Paper Shop Bag Botts Bag Rack Country Coffee Flower Straws Wall Mug Board Painting 1 & 2 Deco Cutting Board Capsule Tower Capsules Pomeriggio Candle Jules Sandals Lipstick Dream English Latitude Make Up Trays Toilet Brush Shampoos Cotton Swabs Agata Candle - Small Keep Life Simple Bathroom Towel Toilet Bidet Bedroom Mirror La Femme Painting Small Go Trendy Plant Bottle Spotlight Desk Daydreamer Pillow Love the Less Sphere Glass Cloche Decor Cotton Plant 4 Cushions

by @onyxsimsExcelsior Toilet Paper Toilet Paper Holder Free Standing

by @simkoosMorning Routine Closet Clutter Shoe Box Plant Mum II Mini Plants Eucalyptus v2 Cup of Straws Metal Tongs Tiny Living Room Television - Standing Thermos Makeup Palette Hanging Purse Shoe Box Storage Container V1 & V2 Stacked Cups Napkin Holder Cup of Straws

by @pralinesims Decal Posters 9, 8, 7, 5, 4, & 2

by @awingedllama Blooming Rooms Plants Paranormal Plants Apartment Therapy v2

by @soloriyaBarber Shop Decor Hair Mousse Hair Spray

by @lapanemona Harmony Set

by @syboubouCountry Kitchen Glass Jars Pot Holder Olive Oil, Pepper & Salt Induction Stove Kitchen Sink Millennial Utensils Rack Utensils Pot Wall - Halftiles Wall - FulTiles Dish soap Breadbox Life Living Room TV Remote Magazine Pile Candles Life Bathroom Razor and Cream Toilet Deodorant Soap Products Bathroom Mens Products Sophie Cushions

by @nynaevedesign Breeze Plants & Planters Kala Bathroom Soap Dish Towel V2 & V3 Toothpaste Toothbrush Soap Dispenser Lyne House Number & Lights Set Amber Bathroom Glasses

by @redheadsims-cc Nintendo Switch

by @sims4luxury2022 Christmas Collab Star Clock Rug Collection #8 White Siding Wood Wallpaper Norrland Plain Wallpapers Grassy Cobblestone Floor Farmhouse Entry Square Artwalls Doormats

by @peanutbutterjelly02 Functional Photo Frames

by Mutske Wonders of Ivy

by @peacemaker-ic Matilda Mudroom Pointless Renovation Short 2 Tile Arch Colour Me Rug - Beige, White, and Brown Gently Draping Curtains

by SnootySims Asymmetrical Vase Small Candle Scent Diffuser Home Design Books Ceramic Vase Ceramic Bowl Candle Lamp

by @ravasheencc Never Been Bedder Platform Bed Frame - Double Nothing Else Matters Mattress - Double Binge Innking Stacked Books

by Severinka Mirror Arrows Mirror Lotus Cleo Hallway Floor Mirror

by @xplatinumxluxexsimsx Luxe Hair Tools Set Wall Letters Chanel Tennis Rackets Chanel Tennis Racket Case Chanel Tennis Balls

by @mechtasimsWelcome Home Cookie tin Clock Moonstone Hanging Dima Mirror

by @madameriasims4Back to Basics Tile Wall Pot Holder Wall & Flat Wall Paint Coffee Tin Modular Shelves

by @kerriganhouse Dormitory Fairy Lights

by @pierisim Winter Garden Pillow

by @networksims Modera Coasters Legacy Coasters

by @kliekie Open Shower

by @arwenkaboomBluem Office Books 7 Arran Wall Tiles Fridge Floor Tiles Dish Rack

by @pinkbox-anye Holly Trinket Dish Jade Roller

by @sooky88 Bath & Bodyworks Candles

by NOSTYLEWOODLAND NSWL Shampoo Lobhe Mirror Folfor Large Mirror ALAS Wall Shelf

#ts4 home tour #ts4 builds #sims 4 houses #sims 4 lots #sims 4 cosy builds #showusyourbuilds #simblr #sims 4 interior #ts4 decor #I used a shit ton of CC again the list is so long but it's all beautiful and I can't not use it anymore #sims 4 cc builds

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randiviefashion · 1 year

Text

#LOVE COIL SANDAL #BUY 2 ITEM AND GET 1 FREE #PRICE: 7 #500 #SIZE: 37 To 41 #COLOR: JEANS BLUE & CHAMPAGNE #.#To order: Call or WhatsApp us #+234703 999 3563 #fashionsandals #sandalsinlagos #naijaladieswears #lagos #abujababes #naijaonlinecustomers #sandalslovers

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rotzaprachim · 6 months

Text

Brazil Cracks Down on Surprising New Threat: Neo-Nazis - The New York Times (nytimes.com)

By Julia Vargas Jones

Reporting from Nova Petrópolis, Brazil

Nov. 7, 2023

By Julia Vargas Jones

Reporting from Nova Petrópolis, Brazil

Nov. 7, 2023

Leer en español

In southern Brazil in July, Laureano Toscani and João Guilherme Correa were smoking cigarettes along a busy road in their prison-issued garb, shorts and sandals, waiting for a ride after seven months in jail.

Mr. Toscani was once convicted of stabbing a group of Jewish men, and Mr. Correa has been accused of murdering a couple leaving a party. But this time, they were behind bars for attending what they said was a harmless barbecue.

The Brazilian authorities, however, say it was something far more sinister: a meeting of the Hammerskins, a neo-Nazi group founded in Dallas in 1988 that they say has recently found its way thousands of miles south, to Brazil’s most starkly conservative region, reflecting a surge in far-right extremists in Latin America’s largest nation.

In September 2022, the state police in Santa Catarina began trailing the Hammerskins as members strategized on how to attract new recruits.

Two months later, as eight men met at a farmhouse outside the coastal city of Florianópolis, a police hate-crimes unit burst in, arresting everyone under anti-discrimination laws and accusing them of being members of the Hammerskins. Two other accused members were arrested weeks later.

On the members’ phones, the police said, they found antisemitic and racist content, including a message that one had sent in a group chat saying that “Black people need to die every day.” The police said they believed the group was aided by at least two American Hammerskin members who had traveled to Brazil several times.

The raid was part of a larger crackdown on neo-Nazi groups amid a rise in extremist movements and sentiments in Brazil that has spurred a greater number of school shootings and stabbing attacks, including at least 11 this year.

In February, a 17-year-old boy wearing a swastika armband was accused of throwing two homemade explosive devices into a school, but no one was injured.

In March, authorities said a 13-year-old boy fatally stabbed a teacher while wearing a skull mask commonly worn by an American neo-Nazi group.

And last month, a 16-year-old boy was accused of firing at a school, killing a classmate and wounding two others. Another student was injured trying to escape. The teenager had previously posted a photo of a swastika drawn on his face, the authorities said. In the three cases, which all occurred in or around São Paulo, the authorities arrested the boys.

The authorities say they have thwarted hundreds of other attacks.

Many of the attacks did not target Jewish people specifically. Brazil has roughly 100,000 people who identify as Jewish, according to estimates, or just one in every 2,000 people.

But researchers believe that those who have carried out or planned such attacks often turn violent after consuming extremist or neo-Nazi content online that frequently exhorts violence against any person who is not white.

In April, Brazil’s new justice minister, Flávio Dino, ordered the federal police to investigate what he called the growth of “hate and intolerant speech by neo-Nazi, neo-fascist and extremist groups.”

“If you mention Nazism, neo-Nazism, threaten a school or say you will attack a school, we will call for your arrest,” Mr. Dino added.

Brazil’s federal police have opened 21 investigations involving neo-Nazis so far this year, the same amount as in the three prior years combined.

Data on the size of Brazil’s neo-Nazi movement is sparse, but most researchers agree that it has been growing. One researcher tracking neo-Nazi groups, Adriana Dias, an anthropologist at the State University of Campinas, estimated that the number of groups increased from the hundreds in 2019 to more than 1,000 last year.

SaferNet, an organization that helps the Brazilian government combat online crime, has been collecting reports of neo-Nazi activity online since 2017, when it recorded almost 1,200 complaints. By 2021, complaints had grown to nearly 14,500, but they have since fallen as neo-Nazi groups have increasingly migrated to private-messaging platforms, researchers said. Still, there were 945 complaints in the first half of this year.

Antisemitic attacks have risen around the world, including in Brazil, since the war between Israel and Hamas broke out last month. Last month, the Brazilian Israelite Confederation received 467 reports of antisemitism, compared with 44 in October last year.

Some researchers linked the rise in neo-Nazi activity in Brazil to Jair Bolsonaro’s four years as president. Much like how American extremist groups gained strength during Donald J. Trump’s presidency, the Brazilian far right latched onto Mr. Bolsonaro’s inflammatory rhetoric as tacit approval of their views, researchers said.

After a state visit to Israel in 2019, Mr. Bolsonaro’s first year as president, he said that Nazis were leftists and that “we can forgive but not forget” the Holocaust, drawing criticism from his Israeli counterpart.

In 2020, Mr. Bolsonaro’s secretary of culture was forced to step down after giving a speech that was so similar to one by Joseph Goebbels, the Nazi Party’s chief propagandist, that parts seemed to have been copied.

And at a news conference in 2021, one of the former president’s aides made the “OK” hand gesture in front of cameras, a sign that has been appropriated to signify “white power” in white supremacist circles. He was charged with hate crimes, but the case was later dismissed.

The “gesture started appearing in the Brazilian far right, even among groups that do not explicitly identify as neo-Nazis,” said Odilon Caldeira Neto, a professor of contemporary history who studies the far right at the Federal University of Juiz de Fora. That, he added, helps neo-Nazi groups “get pulled into the political center.”

While the Bolsonaro administration investigated neo-Nazi groups, the issue has become a priority under the leftist president who defeated Mr. Bolsonaro last year, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva. Raids on neo-Nazis groups have taken place in at least 10 states this year.

In July, the Brazilian police carried out a four-state operation against 15 people connected to a neo-Nazi group called the New SS of Santa Catarina, which used 3-D printers to manufacture handguns.

In one raid, the police were met with gunfire as they entered a rural home in Nova Petrópolis, a picturesque mountain town of about 20,000 people, many of whom are descendants of German immigrants.

The person firing at the police was a woman alone with her toddler and an infant. No one was injured and the police said they found two handguns, 96 rounds of ammunition and a trove of Nazi materials, including a swastika armband, German World War II memorabilia, the flag of an international neo-Nazi group and supplies to produce merchandise for a local neo-Nazi group.

The woman was arrested after firing at the police, but she was released on bail hours later.

Later that evening, belongings were still strewn at the home and the front door was busted. The woman who had been arrested said the items that the police had taken were personal belongings bought while traveling.

Many investigations have been concentrated in southern Brazil, where 73 percent of the population identifies as white, versus 43 percent nationally, and 62 percent voted for Mr. Bolsonaro last year, versus 49 percent nationally. Some researchers believe neo-Nazi groups are attracted to the region’s German history.

Before World War II, from 1928 to 1938, Brazil had the largest Nazi Party outside Germany, with 2,900 members across 17 states, according to Brazilian scholars. After the war, Brazil, like other South American nations, became a refuge for Nazis fleeing prosecution.

In 2020, the city of Porto Alegre, a southern state capital with a population of 1.5 million people, renovated a park to include an original design from the 1930s on the pavement. The design resembled a swastika, and residents complained. An investigation by the city concluded that there was no link between the design and the Nazi symbol. The design has since been vandalized.

Under Brazilian law, it is a crime to discriminate based on race, religion or nationality, as well as to display a swastika for the purpose of spreading Nazi ideology. Both crimes can lead to yearslong prison terms. All 10 people accused of being Hammerskin members have been released from jail with ankle monitors while they await court hearings.

Waiting for his ride from jail in July, Mr. Toscani said they had done nothing wrong. “They arrested us for throwing a barbecue,” he said. “You know what they found when they arrested us? A machete and a book.”

The book was “The Turner Diaries,” a classic of the extremist canon that Timothy McVeigh said inspired his bombing in 1995 of the federal building in Oklahoma City that killed 168 people.

Arthur Lopes, the chief of the Santa Catarina police hate-crimes unit, who arrested the accused Hammerskin members, said some were covered in extremist tattoos. “Everything but the swastika,” he said.

Jack Nicas contributed reporting from Rio de Janeiro.

#news #brazil #neo nazis #anti black racism #antisemitism #link is acting strange but. oh well

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petri808 · 9 months

Note

To help with writer's block: #12 Nalu!

I hope it helps cuz I can already see it in my mind!

“You kick a ball and your shoe flies off, hitting them in the back of the head.”

Nalu Week- 7/30/23 Shenanigans @allaboutnalu

Magnolia Park, so called for the large flowering trees that dot its landscape is a favorite place for many residents of the mid-sized college town. Forty acres of grassy knolls and walking trails with park benches along the way, at any given time during daylight you’ll likely run into kids playing, joggers and bikers, and people simply taking in the fresh air. Just like a group of friends who are spread out on a large colorful blanket having a picnic on this sunny Sunday.

It’s just one of those spurs of the moment events when they ran into each other at the local supermarket that morning. They rarely have a day off that coincides, so, Lucy Heartfilia suggests they all have a picnic in the park.

“We were just about to head there, so you guys should join us!” The blonde woman beams.

Natsu Dragneel, Lucy’s boyfriend smiles. “Yeah, unless you’re busy.”

“Nah,” a male named Gray Fullbuster shrugs, “no plans.” His new girlfriend Juvia Loxar nodding in agreement as she hangs onto his arm.

Levy McGarden, another female smiles. “It’s a perfect day to hang out, right?” She turns and looks up to her taller husband Gajeel Redfox who just grunts in return. “We’re down for it.”

They pick a spot under one of the magnolia trees, thankful for the shade it provides. There’s a very light breeze that comes by now and again, but nothing that will send their blanket flying. The combination is enough to keep them cool under the warm late spring afternoon. Each couple has supplied a fair share of offerings, snacks like chips and dip or cookies, some popcorn chicken and rolled sushi from the deli, and half a dozen donuts that Gajeel tries to say are Levy’s, but they all know that’s a lie.

For a couple of hours, the friends chat about everything and nothing, catching up on how each are doing. Levy is four months pregnant, so the girls are happily chittering, asking how things are progressing. Aside from month two’s morning sickness, nothing else has been troublesome. She also relays that they hope to find out the sex in a couple of months, and the names they’ve been tossing around for whether the baby is a boy or girl. They eventually made a deal that if it’s a girl Levy will pick the name, and if a boy Gajeel, and they can’t complain about the choice. This leads into a discussion of what Lucy or Juvia would name any future kids they may have. The guys are discussing an upcoming MMA fight and who they think will win the main event. Well, mostly bickering over which fighter they think is better. It’s just a laid back, vegging kind of day where the biggest excitement is a bee that wouldn’t leave them alone for a time.

Well, that is, until Natsu suddenly grabs everyone’s attention by tapping a key from his keychain loudly on the side of a glass juice bottle. They all stop talking and turn from their conversations to see the man sitting back on his haunches, seiza style with a big smile and the reddest blush alighting his cheeks. “I’ve got an announcement.” He states plainly with a slight cracking in his voice. “Lucy, could you come closer?” He accentuates the request by gesturing to the spot in front of him.

“Okay…” Lucy’s tone drips with hesitant curiosity as she heeds the request. “What is it?”

Natsu then pulls out a single shoe from behind his back. Everyone’s eyes narrow in confusion, head tilting, or brows furrowed wondering what in the world is their friend doing. The shoe is a woman’s flat sandal, light beige with an inch deep cork/leather platform sole bottom and crisscrossed straps running over the top to secure it to the foot. It’s open-toed and an open backed slip-on sandal that Lucy recognizes instantly as her own. He holds it perched on the flat face up open palm of his left hand while cradling the side with his right as if presenting a gift. Which he is.

“Natsu why do you have my shoe?” Lucy queries, but her eyes and focus are on the tiny item tied with a ribbon to the strap. Knowing, yet not knowing exactly what it is.

“Because it’s special,” he grins. “It’s the one you wore the day we met, remember?”

“I remember, but what’s that?” She points towards the strap with a head shaking, smiling laugh. “Please don’t tell me you’re doing what I think you’re doing.”

He nods as he replies. “On a day two years ago, the wearer of this sandal stood above me as stars danced around her head and light haloed like a golden angel from Heaven…”

“Oh my god!” Lucy mutters and palms her face despite the heat flushing her cheeks and brimming smile of embarrassment overwhelms.

His grin widens even more and eyes sparkle in the sunlight as he puts the sandal down and undoes the ribbon holding the ring. “Lucy Heartfilia,” Natsu holds the ring up. “Will you be my star for the rest of our lives?”

Lucy snorts a laugh and pushes him lightly on his shoulder pretending to try and knock him over. “You total weirdo!” But also presents her left hand to him. “Of course, I will!”

After Natsu slips the engagement ring onto Lucy’s finger, he pulls her in for a sweet kiss, cradling her cheek and resting his forehead on hers as she whispers words of love through the embrace. Their bonds strength is one that couples wish for, dream of; a connection where unspoken words are communicated simply with a look in a language only known to them. It’s an endearing scene made all the sappier with the oohs and ahhs of their friends and the wows from the women over the white gold band and 1/8 carat solitaire diamond ring. It isn’t a large or fancy ring, but for Lucy, just the fact it is from Natsu is all that matters.

“But Juvia is still confused,” the woman breaks through the chatter. “Juvia doesn’t understand about the sandal.”

“Oh,” Levy laughs, “it’s about how they met.”

“It was long before we met,” Gray takes over the explanation for his girlfriend. “Lucy’s sandal hit Natsu in the head and knocked him down.” He laughs too. “It was pretty funny at the time ‘cause he had a welt on the back of his head for a week so he couldn’t sleep on it, and the guys at the academy teased him mercilessly for it.”

Juvia turns back to Lucy and Natsu with genuine curiosity in her voice. “How did it happen?”

Even for Lucy this is a memory that she’ll be sure to tell her grandchildren about one day. Of all the ways to meet someone, this is not something anyone would recommend. But it does make the story a whole lot more memorable.

Natsu perks up at Juvia’s question. “Oooh, I’ll tell the story!” He sits cross-legged and leans in with gusto. “Gray and I were jogging through the park that day ‘cause we were in training for the fire departments physical exam…”

In Lucy’s mind a vision of that long ago day floats back into her consciousness as Natsu’s voice slowly fades away and she’s transported back in time. It was sunny and comfortably warm that day in July, not too hot like a typical summer day could get. She’d done an interview earlier that morning for a magazine article she needed to write later, but since the rest of her day was open, Lucy decided to relax in the park. It’s something she often did, taking a new novel to read and finding a bench along the walking paths of Magnolia Park. That day passed along quickly unfettered to Lucy as she lost herself in the fictional story, so by the time a soccer ball rolled up and bumped her foot, she hadn’t realized three hours had already gone by.

She’d put her book down on her lap and looked up at the kid’s voices, calling to Lucy to kick their ball back to them. There was a group of children of various ages between 7 and 14 playing soccer in the adjacent open field approximately 50 feet away. It Was perched on a hill with a slight incline of about ten degrees, but sure, why not? It shouldn’t be too difficult to kick the ball up the hill. So, she stood, lining up the shot so it should go in the correct direction.

And it did! The ball headed straight towards the center of the group.

But Lucy didn’t notice the children’s squeals of joy. She only heard the cry of “Watch out!” by someone nearby. She turned to her right in the direction the male voice had come from and saw a black-haired male standing next to and over another male who’s lying on their back in the grass with their palm pressed against their forehead… and her sandal lying next to his arm. Lucy’s eyes widened in realization.

True, the ball had gone towards the kids, but her shoe flew in another direction striking a hot, pink-haired guy in the back of the head hard enough to knock him down. “Oh, no, I am so sorry!” Lucy rushed over to the two men twenty feet away, dropping to her knees. “Are you hurt?!”

The male rolled over and groaned, his eyes still blocked by his hand. “What’s that thing made of wood? It hurts like hell, but I’ll live.” He moved his hand and looked up towards the female voice, squinting as his eyes readjusted to the sunlight. He blinks a couple times and tips his head slightly. “Did I die and you’re an Angel taking me to heaven?”

“Oh, brother…” The black-haired male rolled his eyes at the lame pick-up line. “Idiot.”

Completely flustered, Lucy’s face turned cherry red. It had been a while since a guy had tried to talk to her, and this one was certainly in the top 5 of hottest guys who’ve hit on her before. “N-No, not an angel,” she stammered, “a journalist.” She reached over and helped him to a sitting position. “Maybe I should grab some ice,” she suggested when noticing the angry bump developing on the back of the man’s head.

The man shook his head no. “What you can do is tell me your name.”

“Lucy.” She responded. “And you are?”

“Nice to me you Lucy,” he held out his hand, “I’m Natsu…”

The memory of him flashing his pearly white smile that sent a shiver through her soul, fades away back to the present, and being surrounded once again by their best friends. If someone had asked her if two years later, she’d be back in the same park being proposed to with the same shoe by the guy who’d been hit by said shoe in the head Lucy would’ve said they were in a fairytale. Well, and here she is. She smiles as Natsu reaches the end of the story.

“And that’s when I asked for her number, and we’ve been together ever since.” Natsu proudly proclaims.

“Juvia thinks that’s such a sweet story!”

Levy chuckles. “I remember when she called me that night to tell me about Natsu. She couldn’t stop talking about how hot he was.”

“Hey!”

Lucy squeals and dives to cover Levy’s mouth, but Levy ducks and continues. “She was known for her soccer kick in high school,” she laughs, “but never would’ve guessed she’d catch a guy with it!”

“Ha Ha,” Lucy rolls her eyes feigning that she’s not embarrassed despite the blush in her cheeks. “It’s not like I was trying to, but at least it’ll be a funny story to tell the kids one day.”

Natsu suddenly perks up in confused excitement. Did he hear what he thinks he heard? “Huh, kids?!”

#naluweek2023 #nalu #nalu fan fiction #fairytail

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honeymelonpm · 2 years

Text

-Innocence-

Part 7:

Characters: Arthur Harrow x reader

Summary: The reader learns that if she behaves, Ammit would have no reason to hurt her.

Warning: Yandere, Kidnapping, Age Regression Themes, Captivity, Discipline.

Requested by @gorgeourrific-nerd

The midday sun beamed over the village, rays of deep gold flooding the streets. Arthur suggested you go out and help in the garden, and after what happened that morning you weren't too fond of being locked up alone in your room, so you agreed.

He finally helped you remove the socks that bound your hands. You immediately stretched your fingers, rhythmic cracks sounding from them after being balled up in fists for multiple days.

Chunks of gravel flew out from under your feet as you shuffled down the path with your new white sandals.

His hand resting across your shoulders once more as he showed you to the gardens. Fruit trees lined the back fence, surrounding rows of risen garden beds filled with vegetables and herbs.

A familiar looking man with ivory skin and freckles dotted down his nose strolled over to you, meeting you half way. He flashed you a smile and held out his hand.

"You remember Holland don't you honey?"

Your lips pulled into a tight line as your hand met his. You wanted to respond and greet him to be polite, but no words left your mouth.

The weight across your shoulders disappeared, "Okay sweetheart, make sure you help him out okay?"

Panic coursed through you, immediately snatching his hand into yours.

He peered at you, eyes twinkling as he lowered his body to get a closer look at you, "It's alright honey, I've got some things to do but I'll come pick you up later okay?"

No.

No it wasn't okay.

"Come on, you have to pick some fruit for us, think of all the jam we could make, huh?" He muttered, subtly removing his wrist from your grip.

Pale, slender fingers clutched your upper arm, keeping you firmly in place.

"I'll be back soon, I promise, go have fun okay?" Arthur rose from his position and took a few steps back, giving you a look of reassurance before beginning to walk back up the street.

Your body became overwhelmed with a sense of nausea. The full force of fear took its toll on you as you realised he was actually leaving.

"Noo!" A strained cry erupted from you as all you could do was sob as you watched him leave.

Holland's light, mellow voice rang through your ears as he attempted to comfort you, "It's alright, here, come help me with these."

He guided you over to a garden bed, a row of different types and sizes of watering cans resting against the timber.

Holding your breath you kept silent, not voicing your upset as teardrops weighed down on your eyelashes.

"Here," He whispered as he knelt in front of you, his sage green eyes taking you in, "pick one."

You glanced at the row of cans, some made of plastic, some covered in rust, all with different types of spouts.

Your fingers grazed against each one, before wrapping around a silver handle, kept warm from the radiating sun.

"You want that one?" He asked, watching you pull it away from the pile, "Okay, go fill it up over there and you can come back and water these for me, okay?"

Wiping your itchy eyes with your sleeve, you nodded and carried the can over to a small tap planted in the ground in the corner of the garden.

A small squeak sent shivers crawling up your neck as you turned the rusted tap, a heavy stream of water gushing out.

Peering down at your feet, you swiped away any dirt that had begun staining your shoes. The faint laughter of children echoed down the lane, catching your attention. The garden was beautiful, much like the rest of the village. The fences were covered in hanging plants and vines, the buildings all made from wood and stone.

Turning your attention back to the watering can, you grasped the tap, quickly turning it off before the can overflowed.

You had spent all day with Holland. He taught you about different fruits and vegetables, how to tell if they were ripe and ready for picking, and how much to water them. The sun was resting on the horizon, and Arthur still hadn't returned to pick you up.

"Are you okay? I'm sure he'll be back soon." Holland came over to you at the gate of the garden, peeling off his dark green and yellow gloves.

"C-can I go to the bathroom?" You asked quietly.

Holland appeared surprised at your ability to speak, "Of course, do you know where it is?"

You gave him a single nod, and he returned it, giving a nod in permission.

Taking a breath, you stepped through the gate and stalked along the cobbled road. It felt wrong walking on your own without the familiar weight across your shoulders keeping you close, but you kept going.

You weren't sure what your intentions were. Whether you were actually going to find a toilet or if you were going to take this as an opportunity to escape.

The crowd of people that usually occupied the streets had gone into the hall for dinner, leaving the streets deserted.

The streets were darker than usual, creating a mass of shadows. Wandering along the road, you squinted your eyes, hoping to see your surroundings better.

"I bet he hasn't told you a thing," A deep voice resonated around you, making your stomach drop in an instant.

A beam of violet drowned out the shadows, and you didn't need to turn back to know who had begun breathing down your neck.

Without a second thought you took off up the street, and any reason to stay disappeared, you had every intention of leaving.

So you ran as fast as your tired feet could take you, until you reached the top of the lane.

A metal umber gate stood tall at the end of the street, towering over you. Groaning at you as it rocked back and forth against its hinges, the warm night wind slipping through the cracks.

You couldn't find the courage to look behind you to see if anyone was watching, so you took your chance. You creeped around the side of the house across from you.

The space between the house and the fence was large enough for you to walk through, and narrow enough that you could steady your feet against the rough brick and push yourself up, and hopefully, over.

Resting your back against the grimy steel, you pushed your feet against the wall, your back sliding up the gate. Gradually, you stepped your way up the wall, using all the strength in your legs. As you felt yourself beginning to slip, you threw each arm over the top of the gate and hoisted yourself up. You didn't care too much about how you would land, you just needed to get over the other side, even if it meant a few broken bones.

You rolled off the top of the gate, your body slamming against a row of garbage bins before you fell onto the concrete. Wasting no time, you attempted to get up and run across the road, but a black car slammed its brakes before you as you ran in front of it, knocking you over.

"Oh Christ, are you okay?!"

You heard a car door slam, before a familiar looking woman ran over to you. She was only a little taller than you, slender with short hair and skin the shade of deep chestnut, her cheeks reflecting the warmth of the surrounding street lights.

She cupped your face to make sure you were okay, before she recognised your features.

"Oh my." She breathed, "You made a mistake."

The haze that blurred your vision disappeared, allowing you to truly see the woman that held you.

Her hold around the back of your legs only tightened as you thrashed around in her grip. Despite the dizziness that fizzled through your head, you continued slamming your fists against her lower back as she carried you down the street.

Each step she took left you feeling as though your eyes would fall out any second.

You didn't need to see your surroundings to know that you had just entered the hall, the echo of the wooden doors opening resounding around the high ceilings. You continued fighting against her, only stopping when she called out, "Harrow!"

The chatter that buzzed through the room ceased, and you could feel all eyes on you. She turned around, to show everyone exactly who she was carrying over her shoulder. Mustering all the courage and upper body strength, you slowly lifted your head to look at the room, eyes meeting Arthur's in an instant.

He stood directly opposite you at the end of the room, everybody else had taken seats in front of him, he must have been giving a speech.

Only a small whimper left your lips as the room watched the two of you.

Arthur's face had hardened, nodding to himself, he stepped down onto the main floor and continued walking down the middle towards you, "Excuse us."

She loosened her grip on you and let you slip off her shoulder, your feet clapping against the hardwood floor.

You started to shrink in on yourself as he got closer before finally stepping next to you and bending down to whisper in your ear, "Walk, or I make you walk."

You wanted to stay strong and fight back, show him that he couldn't just treat you like a little kid, but your eyes began to water, and your lip began to quiver.

You held your head down and turned to walk out the hall, keeping a few feet of distance between you.

After a minute you had reached your house, only hesitating a moment before opening the door, knowing he wouldn't hold back once you were in the privacy of your own home.

Opening the door, you began climbing the stairs, not stopping to take off your shoes.

"Uh-uh," You stopped in the middle of the staircase, turning a little to face him, "What are you doing?"

"G-going to my room." You muttered.

"Did I say you could go to your room?" He asked, his eyes burning through you from the bottom of the stairs.

"N-no," You whispered, before slowly descending the stairs.

He stood in his position at the landing, knowing exactly how afraid you were to have to walk by him after what had happened.

You reached the second last step, allowing you to be face to face with him.

"Go stand over there." He said, eyes glancing to the corner of the kitchen.

You did as you were told, moving past the table to face the wall. The legs of a chair squeaked against the floor, before creaking under Arthur's weight.

You knew what he was doing.

This wasn't the punishment, this was just a warm-up, to let you crumble under your own regret.

You listened to the rustling of paper, which you could only assume was a newspaper of some sort, and that was all you heard for a while.

"Did you have fun with Holland today?" He asked.

You nodded, doing your best to ignore the lump in your throat.

"Look at me when I talk to you."

Turning around, you watched as he set the newspaper down in front of him, folding it back up now that he had finished reading it.

"What did you do today?"

"I watered the garden," You muttered, eyes tracing along the tiles.

"Yeah, what did you do after you finished helping in the garden?" He asked, a small smile on his face.

"I was going to go to the toilet."

"Mmm, did you find the toilet?"

Your lips pulled into a tight frown, your eyes squinting slightly as tears bubbled in your eyes, "It was Ammit." You sobbed.

"That wasn't my question honey."

You shook your head, wiping a stray tear from your cheek, "I-I didn't find the toilet."

"Why not?" He asked sincerely.

"I got scared." You sniffled.

"Why were you scared?"

"b-because of Ammit."

He took a deep sigh, "We talked about this, Ammit isn't awake."

You stayed in the corner, the back of your hand resting against your damp eyes.

"Even if you were scared, you should go and find an adult, right?" He pressed, rolling his cane between his fingers. "But you put in the effort to climb over the fence and... leave."

Before you even realised what was happening, a raspy scream tore through your throat, "It was Ammit!!"

The gentle glint that rested in his eyes got lost as they darkened and glazed over. Jumping up from his seat, his arm threaded under yours as he almost carried you out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

You struggled against his grip, crying out apologies in hopes he would let it go, but he didn't.

As you reached the top landing, he dragged you into the bathroom, roughly sitting you down on the toilet and slamming the door shut.

"I didn't mean it please." You said between hiccups.

He shook his head, his broad back facing you as he learnt over the sink, turning the tap on, "I've been too nice, you haven't learnt anything."

Turning off the tap with a squeak, he turned back around, revealing a bar of soap in his hand as he walked over to you and knelt down, "This is going to teach you that you DO NOT talk about Ammit in that tone, do you understand."

You gently nodded your head, subtly stretching your hands, preparing to stop his hands when he tried to feed you the soap.

"Put your hands flat on your legs."

Peering at him with big watery eyes, you quietly sulked as you put your palms flat on your thighs.

"Open."

You shook your head, your face turning red and wrinkling as you cried.

"Open or I'll do it for you," He warned, losing his patience.

You shut your eyes and opened your mouth.

He pinched the tip of your tongue and tugged it out, before rubbing the soap up and down your tongue.

Your body cringed at the horrific taste, your small hands reaching to grip his wrists. He continued to brush stripes down your tongue, before letting go of it, "Now put that tongue back into your mouth, and keep your mouth closed, do you hear me?"

You did as you were told, your face scrunching at the overwhelming taste as Arthur turned back to the sink to disregard the soap. You couldn't help the small whines of upset that strained your throat.

"I'm curious about something," He started, turning around as he rolled up the sleeves of his blouse to sit at his elbow. "What makes you think that you can just go and do as you please, hmm?"

Your face became red with anger as you began grinding your teeth. "I'm not a kid," You growled, "You can't tell me what to do."

His jaw clenched, and whatever poise he usually carried himself with was nowhere to be found, "You wanna be smart with me?"

He seized you by your arm, pulling so hard you thought you felt it fall out of its socket for a second. He wrapped one arm around your chest and under your arms to restrain you, as his free hand began smacking your rear.

"Ow!" You struggled against his hold, attempting to cover your backside with your hand.

"Ow, I'm sorry I'm sorry!" You cried, thrashing against him.

Finally he let you go, pointing a finger at you, "Face the wall."

You sniffled as you turned around, coming face to face with a wall covered in layers of cracked paint. Your hands covered your rear, before he snatched them and threw them back by your sides.

"You wanna know my flaw?" He asked, "My flaw is I'm too nice, too forgiving." He huffed, "Your flaw, is you just never learn." His voice deepened as you crouched behind you.

You heard him sigh, "I don't think the soap worked as well as I thought, it didn't get all that filth out, do we need to do it again?" He studied your body language. "Or maybe I should try something else." He pondered, watching your body stiffen.

You watched as he left the bathroom and walked straight into your room.

"No no no no no please!" You ran after him, throwing your arms around his waist as he was merely inches from your plushie. You tried to yank him back, before you snatched the hippo and hid her behind your back.

"Oh, so is that what it's going to take for you to behave." He asked.

You shuffled into the corner of the room before lowering yourself onto the floor. He continued towards you, until you were toe to toe, "Give her to me."

A sob escaped your throat as you desperately shook your head.

He knelt down to make eye contact with you, "If you do not give her to me now, then when I do get a hold of her, there will be nothing left of her."

You sucked in a harsh breathe.

"I would think very carefully about your next decision." He threatened.

You didn't shake your head, not wanting to give him a final answer, but you found yourself unable to hand her over.

"Three."

The colour drained from your face, all that remained was a deep shade of red circling your eyes as you tried to hold back tears.

"Two."

You whined and shook your shoulders a little to show your frustration.

"Right."

You whined and cried, wrapping your arms around his legs, burying your head against his thigh, "Please, please, I'm sorry, please don't take her away from me!"

He snatched Tawaret from your limp body. You were sure the rest of the village could here your sobs. He didn't say anything, just stared down at you, and watched as you cried into his leg.

"Please please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." You pressed your forehead into the side of his thigh, wrapping your arms around him so tightly out of fear he would go through with his threat.

As you pulled away, you could make out the tears that stained his pants, despite the slight blur in your vision. Keeping one arm firmly wrapped around his leg, you reached out for the Tawaret stuff that dangled by his side.

Your pathetic attempt at taking back your toy resulted in him moving it out of reach, clutching it in one hand.

"Please don't take her away!" You begged. He continued watching you, your body shaking with hiccups.

"Pl-please don't take her away from me!" You felt like you were going insane, maybe that's what he wanted.

"Go to your bed," He instructed.

You hesitated, afraid that if you let go now then you would never see her again.

"This isn't the time to misbehave."

You loosened your grip around his leg, before gradually lifting yourself up onto the end of your mattress. You couldn't keep still, your toes wiggling underneath you, the desperation and frustration you felt coming out in whines. You rested on your knees and waited for him to do something.

"I don't know what else to do." He admitted. "If this is what it takes for you to behave then maybe this is what I have to do."

You unconsciously sat up on your knees, "No please."

"You've left me no choice." He took the plushie in both hands and began to pull on either end. You leaned over the bed, holding on tight to the bed post next to you.

"NOOO!" You screamed, before he pulled the plushie out of reach again. You quickly sat back down, fidgeting and whining like an impatient puppy.

His lips tugged into a small smirk as he watched you squirm, he finally found a way to keep you in line.

"Don't, move." He demanded as he left the room, Tawaret tucked under one arm.

After a minute or two he returned, without her. Instead, holding your bottle and a fresh pair of socks.

"If you're going to behave like a disobedient child, then I'm going to treat you like one." He told you, setting down the bottle to roll up the socks. He took your hand and stretched the fabric over your fist. You didn't bother struggling against him, instead, letting your head hang in shame.

Once he took away the ability to use your hands, he moved the bottle to your lap.

"Tawaret will sleep with me tonight," He said as he walked towards the door.

You sat up on your knees in a hurry, no words coming out of your mouth, only a small whimper to catch his attention.

"What?" He asked, stopping as he reached for the handle, "You're afraid she'll come back?"

Nodding your head, you silently pleaded with him, showing him your big eyes.

"Ammit only punishes bad people, maybe if you behaved, you wouldn't have anything to worry about." He said carelessly, closing the door behind him, reaping the room of any light.

You froze for a moment, hoping he wasn't really leaving you, but the creak of the stairs followed by silence solidified your fate.

You shuffled back to the opposite end of your bed, before wriggling yourself under the blanket. Hugging the sippy cup between your arms, you took a few sips, before letting the mouth piece rest in-between your lips.

If you were good, she wouldn't be able to get you.

#fanfic #ammit #arthur harrow #arthur harrow x reader #konshu #jake lockley #layla el faouly #marc spector #moon knight #steven grant #tawaret #yandere #age regression

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leftnotright · 2 months

Text

PROOF APOLLO WEARS HAWAIIAN SHIRTS

“The Tri-Ni-Sette machine is failing. The world will die.” “We can’t do anything going forward. Going backwards, however, is another matter.” Ryohei had his mission: To go back. To before the most recent Arcobaleno Curse, to before the slaughter of the Simone. To before the Tri-Ni-Sette System finally gave out. Ryohei was used to loss, in the ring and in life. But this time, he promises, he’ll win. Reborn had his mission: Get in this man’s pants, or die trying. After all, Reborn was nothing if not an Icarus. (Or: The ‘size matters’ fic)

Parings: Reborn/Sasagawa Ryohei Characters: Reborn (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Ten Years Later Sasagawa Ryouhei, Sasagawa Ryouhei, Vindice (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Arcobaleno (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Checker Face | Kawahira Tags: Time Travel Fix-It, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ryouhei Time Travels

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

CHAPTER 9: I KNOW THAT YOU'RE SCARED BECAUSE HEARTS GET BROKEN

Ryohei’s living quarters within the Vindice were bare and sparse, if, admittedly, spacious.

A ‘glorified hole in the wall’ some would have called it.

The stone walls glinted with condensation and old, yellowed light bulbs. The floors were so uneven and gritty the table rocked if you so much as looked at it wrong. There was a persistent smell of damp cloth and fish that stuck in the back of your throat and you could never go blind to.

Well — Ryohei’s living quarters within the Vindice were bare and sparse. Until Reborn had gotten his hands on them.

Ryohei cheered as he threw himself onto his bed, gaping at how it didn’t make that horrible noise when the frame cracked against the once-dipped floors. He laid out on his back and pivoted his head to look around, taking in everything that had happened in the five hours the room had been vacant that day.

The walls were a warm white limewash and Ryohei ran his hand along that texture. The floors were a red terracotta tile, similar to the floors Ryohei had seen in the buildings on the surface, and a soft, dusty beige coloured rug was tucked under his bed.

Ryohei noted the kitchenette that had been cobbled together in what used to be a dank, empty gouge in the corner. A pot of coffee already steamed on the counter, wine and whiskey filled the shelves. Coming off of that was a small, circular table with two chairs tucked to it, all made of the same warm-toned wood. Placemats sat across from each other, already set with cutlery and an arrangement of plates.

Reborn walked across the room, his shoes struck the red-tile floor, and came to a stop at the table. He raised his hands and gently arranged a floral display of sunflowers and barley.

Ryohei grinned as he watched, Reborn looked very happy with himself.

“So what took you so long, Reborn?!” Ryohei asked as he got himself comfortable on his bed.

He paused and looked behind himself. There were more pillows up against the headboard, a whole mountain of them arranged kind of like a pyramid, or bowling pins. Ryohei loved pillows, but he really had no idea what he’d do with all of these. Way too many for one man!

“I had to pack,” Reborn hummed playfully, still fluffing those yellow petals. “Do you expect me to come to an island without bathers?”

“Ah! You’re extremely right! I need to buy some swimming trunks. Hey, Abramo, you guys got a shop for swimsuits?”

Abramo stood in the doorway of Ryohei’s room, visibly reeling from the shift in atmosphere. He glanced at Ryohei, but his gaze was tugged back to the man who had finished arranging his flowers and had moved to pour himself a fresh brewed shot of espresso.

Abramo’s toes were wet, murky water soaked his sandals as he stood just before the threshold where chiselled rock met terracotta tile. Once again, Abramo was reminded that this little slice of domesticity was deep within the heart of the Vindice’s new nest beneath the Simone Island.

And how — How had this ‘Reborn’ had the time to do all this?

“How did you get in here?” Jaeger hissed, surging forth from behind Bermuda and a stunned Abramo. “This is no place for the likes of you.”

Ryohei blinked owlishly. He was actually kind of surprised Jaeger had managed to show enough restraint for them to have gotten all the way back to Ryohei’s chambers. But then again, Reborn had barely given them time to realise he was on the island before he rushed Ryohei to come see his ‘renovations’.

Reborn smiled at Jaeger from behind his cup, leant back against the polished stone counter.

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong. This is the perfect place for the likes of me.”

Jaeger’s coat billowed as he reached for Reborn, hand wrapped in Flame and chains.

“Don’t bother yourself,” Bermuda called and Jaeger came to a sharp halt. Bermuda sighed as he floated over, resting on his subordinate’s tense shoulders. “Really, we can’t be surprised.”

Bermuda looked around at the new arrangement of the place. He looked begrudgingly impressed.

“Finally, a man with sense,” Reborn hummed, “But I must also suggest you tighten security on the western wing? I practically walked in.”

Bermuda didn’t so much as twitch.

“Noted.”

“Excellent,” Reborn smiled, before he turned to look at Ryohei who was still utterly aglow at his return. “Now, Ryohei dear, why don’t you get me all caught up on the situation.”

Abramo cleared his throat and gently raised his hand, “Can I? Also get caught up?”

“Oh yeah! Sorry,” Ryohei untangled himself from his pile of pillows and threw an arm over Reborn’s shoulders. “Reborn, this is Abramo Kozato of the Simone! Abramo, this is Reborn, he’s the best!”

“In the world, some say,” Reborn agreed, leant up against Ryohei’s side readily. “Charmed.”

“Uh, likewise?” Abramo nodded.

“Anyway, so, Reborn, this is the Vindice’s Simone Base!” Ryohei began and Jaeger grumbled low in his throat as Reborn set himself on the edge of Ryohei’s bed, cup cradled in his hands.

“Ah yes, the home of your Machine to ‘save the world’,” Reborn said. “I saw the progress so far, those metal frames in the auditorium. Seven vessels for seven Earth Flames.”

“Right on it!” Ryohei agreed, and threw a thumb over his shoulder to point to Abramo. “Abramo over there is the big Boss of the Simone! He gets to choose who’s going to put their Flames in here since he knows who’s strongest on the island.”

“Sound reasoning,” Reborn hummed, enjoying the scorch of that arm still across his shoulders. “I hear there’s been some trouble. Apparently the Vindice are struggling with handwriting of all things.”

Bermuda hoped Reborn burnt his tongue on his espresso. But Reborn sipped unscathed and, as if sensing the growing enmity, smiled at the little ghoul.

Jaeger frowned. Bermuda scoffed.

Abramo shifted off to the side, looking between the two parties. Sun and Moon.

“Bermuda said they’d figure it out soon,” Ryohei assured even as he chuckled a bit. “They’ve got their best guys on it!”

“I’m sure they do,” Reborn smiled at him.

Abramo shifted, he thought that sounded more like a thinly veiled ‘or else’. Ryohei smiled, completely oblivious to the tension — or happy to have someone in his corner.

“We do,” Bermuda said shortly, irritation underlying his tone. “In the meantime, you have yet to fulfil your labours.”

Reborn leant heavily against Ryohei’s side and sipped at his espresso again, a twinge of annoyance taking him. Ah yes, Verde.

“We’ll set out tomorrow morning!” Ryohei announced, pumping a fist into the air excitedly. “Reborn’ll find him easy! Right!?”

Reborn sighed. It was for Ryohei’s great plan to save the world so he supposed he could tolerate that green menace’s presence.

“Of course, Ryohei dear,” Reborn smiled thinly.

Jaeger huffed at him, pleased that something had killed Reborn’s lofty mood. Reborn didn’t spare him a glance, too busy watching the way Ryohei beamed at him with such enthusiasm and joy. Ryohei was so excited to get out there, to scour the world at Reborn’s direction. Full faith that wherever Reborn leads him it will be to where he needs to be — A part of Reborn wondered if he led Ryohei to a cliff, would this man jump at his bay? With bullets at his heels and sun in his eyes?

A part of him thought: Yes. The same part of him knew Reborn would follow and fall like Icarus to Ryohei below.

“Well, in that case, we’d better get some rest,” Reborn said suddenly and smiled at the people standing in their doorway.

It was an obvious dismissal.

“Yeah, we gotta get up bright and early!” Ryohei agreed enthusiastically. Then he paused and looked at Reborn. “Oh hey, did you get a room too?”

Reborn hummed at Ryohei, eyes hooded in some kind of soft amusement, “Oh Ryohei, I’ll be sleeping here.”

As he said this, he gestured to the bed they sat upon. What once had been a crib-like single bed, had been upgraded to a plush twin size. With more pillows than one man could ever need.

Ryohei blinked owlishly at him. Then his face lit up in a grin and cheered, “Roommates!”

Abramo waved pityingly as he closed the door to their chambers, and Reborn could hear the distinct sound of Jaeger's mocking laughter.

☀

Reborn greeted Ryohei the next morning artfully reclined on his side of the bed, hair charmingly tousled and without a whiff of morning-breath. He stretched and moaned as he awoke, back arched and throat exposed. Then he rolled onto his side, head propped up on his hand and looked to his bedmate—

Ryohei sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed in an appalling yellow, green and purple shirt, and nearly vibrating with energy.

“You’re awake! Good morning!” He grinned as he jumped to his feet. “When will you be ready to go?! Do you want to eat now or on the way or—”

Reborn blinked at Ryohei as he started pacing their space, his sandals clapped on the tile floor. Reborn huffed and rolled onto his belly, watching that man excitedly narrate their supposed journey for the day. As he did, Reborn noticed Ryohei’s — it hurt to look at — shirt had been buttoned up lopsidedly.

Reborn hummed as he scooted out of their bed, feet sliding into a pair of house slippers. He reached across to Ryohei and started to unbutton that Hawaiian shirt, revealing pecs and muscle beneath.

“Let me have my coffee,” Reborn all but crooned, gently straightening Ryohei's shirt, doing it up. He smoothed his hands across Ryohei’s chest. “Then we’ll head out.”

Ryohei grinned, “Sure!”

Reborn sipped at his morning espresso as he got dressed, half the closet dedicated to his suits and summer attire. He pursued his shirt collection, before glancing at Ryohei’s Hawiian monstrosity. Reborn sighed but selected the shirt that most closely matched that shade of yellow — which wasn’t so terrible when isolated.

Ryohei was bouncing at their door by the time Reborn was ready to go, fedora hat clutched in his hands as he wordlessly urged Reborn to speed up putting on his shoes. Reborn chuckled as Ryohei handed him his hat, before Ryohei grabbed him by the arm and started the all out sprint into the damp halls of the Vindice.

They broke out into the fresh air and rising dawn of the Simone Islands, Ryohei racing ahead up the steep slope that led out of the island’s quarry. A Simone fisherman down at the port took them across the harbour in his dingey, the poor old man held onto the edge of his boat with a deathgrip as Ryohei took up the oars. Reborn reclined back and held onto his hat, watching the dawning horizon and the way Ryohei’s biceps flexed as he rowed, speed rivalling a motor.

When they came to a stop, it was nearly halfway up the beach on the mainland, that little boat all but buried into the sand. Ryohei looked around and rubbed the back of his head, sheepish.

Reborn only smiled as he stepped out of the grounded boat. He brushed himself down as he looked around the bay. Ah, Reborn knew where he was.

“Sorry! Thank you!” Ryohei called out as he pushed the old fisherman’s boat back out into the harbour. Then he turned and ran across the sand to join Reborn at his side. “Let’s go find Verde!”

“Very well,” Reborn sighed, before he linked his arm though Ryohei’s elbow. “The train station is a fair walk from here though, so we might as well enjoy the trip. We’ve got lovely weather this morning.”

“Huh? Oh yeah, it’s all sunny,” Ryohei agreed as Reborn guided them up the boardwalk, early morning vendors setting up their stores between the bustle of sailors. “So, where’s Verde?”

“In another one of his underground bunkers,” Reborn grumbled, “You know how he is. So paranoid that someone will steal his research he digs himself a hole. We’ll be greeted by some hair-brained series of traps, no doubt.”

Ryohei beamed and clenched his fists in excitement, his biceps tense under Reborn’s hand.

“Oh, this is going to be so extreme!”

Reborn smiled fondly.

Reborn led them through the market street arm in arm, the summer morning already heated. They arrived just in time for the train to roll in with the screeching of the tracks, commuters pushed and shoved their way onto the compartments with the usual discomfort.

Ryohei and Reborn stood in the corner of the cabin, the scent of coffee and sweat thick in the cabin as the passengers sweltered. Reborn scrunched his nose a bit, Ryohei gave him a placating grin of sympathy.

“We’ll have a car ready for us in Cefalù,” Reborn said, as he idly traced their progress on the train map. “From there, we’ll head to Nicosia. Would you like to get a snack before we start the drive, dear Ryohei? It will be two hours.”

“Yeah sure!” Ryohei agreed, and followed eagerly when Reborn tugged him off the train.

“What do you have an appetite for?” Reborn asked as he looked around at the options near the station.

“A sandwich is fine! I wanna get on the road quick!” Ryohei announced and pulled Reborn towards the storefront boasting hot sandwiches and miscellaneous finger foods.

It was only when Ryohei was dual-wielding two halves of a hot sandwich , taking alternating bites and groaning in happiness, did Reborn finally deign to turn and address those prying eyes.

“Can we help you?” Reborn asked, brow raised in annoyance.

Octavia, the retired Don of the Vongola Family, huffed at Reborn’s tone. At her side, her son and current Don, Timoteo, gave a chuckle. Both were dressed in civilian clothes fitting a warm morning, obviously out on one of Octavia’s strolls incognito.

Convenient, Reborn thought with no little distaste.

In her prime, the Eighth had stalked the streets of her Vongola’s territory, taking personal stock of every need and change of her land. It had driven both her Set and protection detail up the walls — but it had been how she had found her late husband. Now, she walked with her only son.

Reborn glanced behind them.

And two of her grandsons.

“Reborn, Ryohei, it’s good to see you,” Timoteo greeted warmly.

Octavia, while one the most capable of the Vongola Bosses, never quite got a grasp on people. She was quick, nearly ruthlessly efficient, with her work. Under her, the Vongola’s territory had nearly doubled.

Her son, however, took more after his father’s gentle persuasion. Inheriting his mother’s power, and his father’s tongue, Timoteo was a potent man.

“Oh, hi Ninth,” Ryohei waved with his sandwich. “You out with your family?”

Reborn glanced at Ryohei. What a way to talk to a King.

Reborn shrugged and moved to stand close to Ryohei, then smiled at him as he ate. Reborn should treat Ryohei with food more often if it got him like that, bouncing on his heels and face aglow. He finished the last of his sandwich and began working on the last bites of his sandwich.

“Yes I am,” Timoteo replied to Ryohei, “We needed some fresh air.”

“That’s nice. Reborn said it was a good day for a walk!”

Octavia critiqued the way the two Suns stood, eyes taking in every detail. The way Reborn’s elbow brushed Ryohei’s, the matching shades of their shirts, the turn of Reborn’s body.

Reborn tutted at Ryohei as he produced a handkerchief from his pocket, taking Ryohei’s hands in his own and wiped the residue from his meal. Ryohei hummed a thanks.

Octavia blinked. Everything about him pointed towards Ryohei.

Reborn smiled at her, eyes dark.

“Ryohei, you remember my son, Enrico,” Timoteo said and both Octavia and Reborn’s eyes snapped to the man.

Timoteo gestured for his eldest son to come forward. The young man answered the summons with well-hidden hesitance, eyes skipped between each face even as he smiled with a false swagger.

“Enrico, this is Ryohei Sasagawa,” Timoteo introduced, “The man I told you about a few days ago at dinner.”

“I remember, father,” Enrico nodded and took his queue. He turned to Ryohei and smiled, showing his father’s blood as that warm, homely expression took his face. “Ryohei, I’ve heard a lot about you. Father speaks of you highly, especially your Flame. Such a high purity — you must be a very driven man.”

Ryohei’s smile went tight. The honey-sweet scent of harmony tickled his nose and stuck in his throat.

Reborn frowned, nose scrunched at that saccharine stench.

Octavia laid a hand on Timoteo’s arm. Octavia never understood people, but as one of the strongest Skies she understood Flame. And Timoteo and Enrico were walking on dangerous tinder.

But she kept her mouth shut. Teeth gritted tight. It would be a bad look if the Vongola Don’s mother had to pull Timoteo’s head in in public. It would undermine him, mark him as a man still under ‘mummy’s’ thumb.

Enrico extended his hand to Ryohei, that homely smile and honeyed scent still thick on his skin.

Ryohei stared at the hand in front of him, his strained smile unmoved. He could feel eyes on him. People in the street watched from behind newspapers, around corners, from under hats.

The Vongola heir was on the hunt.

Reborn watched, teeth gritted, as Ryohei’s hand raised to meet Enrico’s. That starburst scarred hand touched pale, soft fingers that wrapped around him tight. They squeezed, Enrico smiled.

Enrico lingered.

Flames reached.

Ryohei let him taste. Ryohei let him burn.

Reborn bit down on sadistic laughter as Enrico yanked his hand out of Ryohei’s and stumbled like a lame lamb back into his father. Enrico’s face was red, his brow wet with sweat, his hair stuck to his cheeks. Enrico panted, chest heaved as his collar went damp. His hands shook as he held them out, palms red and aching, the meat of his thumb puffed.

Enrico lowered his hands and stared at Ryohei.

Reborn tilted his chin in vindication at that little Sky who trembled before the Sun it couldn’t dream to contain. He leant closer to that Flame, to Ryohei, and let it burn. Let it scald, and let it melt into his skin. A lesser man would have let go.

Ryohei smiled thinly as Timoteo ushered his sons into the care of some incognito Vongola officers. Timoteo never let his eyes stray from him, careful and calculating even as he tried to keep the tone light.

Flames didn’t always mix. Technically, Ryohei had committed no fault. If anything, Enrico’s behaviour had been bordering on promiscuous to reach for a Flame so quick upon introduction.

Reborn had seen his fair share of men slapped for their probing Flame. Enrico was lucky to have just been burnt.

“Sorry,” Ryohei apologised nonetheless. Reborn glanced out of the corner of his eye and a frown marred his face. “I’m not really… palatable.”

Palatable. Nice. Dociale. Easy

Reborn had never heard such a less fitting word for a man like Ryohei. Whoever had tried to make him ‘palatable’ had committed nothing short of a cosmic crime. Ryohei wasn;t something you could fit into a set, a predetermined cookie-cutter space for him to slot into like a good little Flame. Ryohei was a Sun; the centre of a solar system. How could something like that ever ‘fit’ in a Sky?

“Palatable,” Reborn scoffed, venom in his voice.

Ryohei looked at Reborn, his expression turned sheepish. Reborn’s opinion on this matter was known: This was all that fool of a tutor’s fault, and he won’t have Ryohei breathing a bad word about himself.

“It’s no issue, sometimes people don’t get along straight away,” Timoteo chortled and Reborn refused to bristle at the implication that Enrico would try again. “A young man ought to experience some rejection now and then. It’s good for the character.”

“Indeed, and a young man should learn when to bow out as well,” Reborn frowned, sharp eyes watched the way Enrico was coddled by his caretakers, younger brother ordering for someone to get them cool drinks to lower body temperature.

But he could hear it, the gossip, the praise, the urging.

“Did you feel that? How strong that Flame was–”

“If you get a Flame that strong in your Set, Enrico–”

“You’ve got to Harmonise–”

“You’ll be revered–”

“Catch him–”

Reborn felt his blood boil. Reborn felt the phantom press of his pistol in his palm. Reborn felt his Flames surge–

Ryohei threw his arm over Reborn’s shoulders and let out a booming laugh that jostled both Suns.

“Right Ninth, Reborn! A real man knows how to take a rejection!” He laughed, loud and boisterous. “I’m sure Enrico will have his fair share, finding a good Set is an extreme journey!”

A true man knows how to take rejection.

Reborn watched Ryohei smile at Timoteo with a touch too much teeth. Take the loss, Vongola.

Timoteo chuckled. No.

Octavia let out a sigh through her nose. She had always hated watching men dance like peacocks with their words.

Reborn looked at his watch and all but draped himself into Ryohei’s fiery side as he tugged that arm tighter around his shoulders, a clear indication that he wanted to be excused from this wonderful company. His lips curled, nothing short of mocking, as Enrico and his brothers craned their necks and gawked at the ease of their touch. At how Reborn didn’t burn like a leaf in wildfire.

“Well as enlightening as this has been,” Reborn drawled lamely, “Ryohei and I have a full schedule today. Things to meet, people to do, you know how it is–” Timotoe’s expression twitched. His sons behind him glanced around unsurely. Octavia did not so much as blink. “So we’ll part with you here. Have a pleasant day, Vongola.”

Reborn’s smile was full of nothing but venom and spite as he drew Ryohei away by that searing arm wrapped around his shoulders.

“Bye Ninth! Bye Ninth’s mum!” Ryohei waved.

Reborn let out a scoff at how Ryohei managed to still sound so civil despite the obvious hunt Timoteo had sicced his son on. But he said nothing as he felt Ryohei lean into him, weight rested on his shoulders.

The walk to the car was sluggish and quiet. Ryohei’s Flames were wrapped up tight, a burning white dwarf.

“You had nothing to apologise for,” Reborn said as they got comfortable in the car. Ryohei played with the radio and cranked the air conditioning on high. “Enrico got what he deserved.”

Ryohei smiled a bit and wound the window down, the morning sun pressed against his cheek, “No one deserves to get burnt, Reborn.”

Reborn huffed through his nose as he drove them into the narrow streets full of blind corners and potholes. His thumb tapped on the wheel as he waited for someone to do a three(and then some)-point turn.

“But you still burnt him.”

There was a tense stretch of silence. Ryohei picked at his cuticle. It bled lightly.

“I think…that's just what happens with me. When people get too close,” he said, voice quiet in a way that so distinctly did not suit Ryohei. Reborn gripped the wheel. “I can’t help it.”

Reborn glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. He took a breath.

“You don’t burn me.”

Ryohei’s hands were white-knuckled clasped in his lap, eyes fixed on the horizon. Ryohei didn’t say anything further.

Reborn turned off the air conditioning.

☀

Reborn broke off from the coastal road somewhere around Bivo Badia and took the inland route, avoiding the toll cameras. It added an easy 20 minutes to their journey, but Reborn would happily trade watching Ryohei stick his head out of the sunroof, hooting in glee at the countryside, over the knowledge that the Vongola was tracking their progress on the way to collect — ugh — Verde.

It wouldn’t stop the Vongola. But it would make it that much more difficult. And Reborn was nothing if not a petty man.

A petty man who smiled to himself as Ryohei bellowed “Horse! Horse! Horse in a blanket!” as they sailed passed plots of land speckled with cattle and stock. “Hey Reborn! What’s your favourite animal!? I like kangaroos! Oh, but I fought a bear once, that was great!”

Reborn laughed as he took a turn that made Ryohei grip at the roof. Of course that man had fought a bear.

“I quite like lizards myself. Chameleons especially.”

“Right!” Ryohei called over the wind, his hair swept back and his eyes squinted. Reborn huffed; it was said like common sense. “Oh! Oh! I fought a dinosaur too once! That’s kind of like a lizard! But aren’t dinosaurs meant to have feathers!?”

Reborn blinked out at the twisting horizon, then he asked, “You fought a dinosaur?”

“Yeah!”

And it was said with such joy that Reborn didn’t even find himself questioning the logistics of that. It just meant he needed to figure out how and where so he could say: “oh, fancy that, I have as well. We have so much in common, dear Ryohei.”

Instead, at that moment without having gone toe-to-talon with a dinosaur, all Reborn could say was, “And yet you still buckle at a flock of geese.”

Ryohei ducked his head back into the car’s cabin, “I want to see you fight a flock of pissy geese!”

Reborn smirked and turned sharp right. Ryohei shrieked as he gracelessly fell into his seat.

“Seatbelt please, Ryohei, we’re entering Nicosia.”

The place Reborn took Ryohei was just a bit beyond Nicosia. Where the houses became speckled on the horizon behind them and the paved roads turned to rocky dirt. The grass became patchy with white stone-sand. The wheels crunched as Reborn parked them in the shade of a tree.

“We’ll have to walk from here,” Reborn said as he fished his hat out from the backseat.

“Okay,” Ryohei agreed and got out without hesitation.

Reborn stared at the rocky, vastness around them, with random thickets of bunched trees. Anyone else would be sweating, having been driven out here by a hitman.

Ryohei bounced impatiently, head on a swivel as he tried to find a hint or tell of where Verde might be hiding.

Reborn donned his hat and locked the car with a snap.

“So, are you and Verde close or something?” Ryohei asked as they walked in a seemingly random direction, no treaded path or otherwise to mark their route.

“What makes you think that?” Reborn scoffed, not bothering to hide his distaste.

“Well, you know where his little base is don’t you? Wouldn’t that be, like, some sensitive stuff?”

“It is,” Reborn said, “It’s just that he doesn’t know I found it.”

“Oh,” Ryohei blinked before he tilted his head. “Why’d you find it? Did you want to hang out?”

Reborn’s nose twitched, “I needed something of his. Borrowed it for a short time. Verde was none the wiser.”

Reborn adjusted his hat and strode ahead of Ryohei as the area lost its canopy shade and became slopey with wind-worn rocks. Under the midday sun, Ryohei’s shirt was an eye-sore.

“It’s not very well hidden, mind you. Honestly, a novice could find his ‘secret laboratory’ with enough searching,” he said and kicked a rock.

Given its size and how deep it seemed to be embedded in the ground, Ryohei wasn’t surprised it didn’t move. But then a camera, disguised as a pebble, popped up.

“Wow!” Ryohei shouted, utterly enthused as he squatted down to inspect the tiny camera. “Is this, like, Verde’s doorbell!? Hi Verde!” He said and waved.

The camera dropped back into the rock and was replaced with a gatling gun. It whirred as it prepared to fire—

Ryohei blinked. Then he grabbed hold of that gun by the hydraulic arm and ripped it out with the screech of metal and hiss of electrical sparks.

Reborn covered his mouth to smother his mirth. Oh, Verde would not like that. Do it again.

Ryohei tossed the ruined gun aside and started to knock, insistently, at the dormant pebble-camera.

“Verde, we need to talk to you! It’s extremely important! Verdeee!”

Ryohei continued to knock, his knuckles pounding the rock until — the boulder cracked. Reborn let out a sharp laugh.

“Oh, sorry,” Ryohei winced, and hid his still-clenched fist behind his back.

Reborn cleared his throat and through his snickering he said, “Worry not, my dear Ryohei. We needed to get in anyway.”

The boulder groaned and grated as Ryohei pushed its mass aside, pried out of the earth to leave a hard-packed crater beneath. A little square of metal sat in the moist soil, slater beetles and worms wriggling at the seams.

“Ryohei, if you’d be so kind as to get the door?” Reborn crooned, and Ryohei beamed at the permission.

“Verde! We’re coming down!” He bellowed and ripped that metal panel off its shute.

Without hesitation, Ryohei clambered onto that ladder that went down, down and down deep into the narrow darkness. He gripped it by the side-beams, and with a squinted grin up at the silhouetted figure of Reborn, he went sailing down.

Reborn scoffed as he heard the man’s echoed whoop of joy and followed his fall deep into the earth. Reborn felt the metal of the ladder, smooth and treated to avoid rust as the air turned cool and sterile and the light of Nicosia’s midday sun shrank to an ambient pin-prick above his head.

Reborn was convinced there was another way into this base. Verde didn’t have the cardio to climb a ladder like this.

“Whoops!” He heard Ryohei yelp and Reborn gritted his teeth as he came to a sharp halt mid-fall, knees bent to take the strain. Ryohei’s hand came and pressed against his calf, a searing heat that was almost luminescent in that dark tunnel. “There’s something moving under us.”

Reborn leant back and looked down, Ryohei barely an outline between his legs.

“Yes, that would be the first of our welcome traps.”

“Oh,” Ryohei uttered, voice reverberating up and down those walls. “Okay.”

And he continued to fall with the rustle of fabric — ending with the great thunder roll of gunfire.

Ryohei hit the ground rolling, the whirr of mechanical gears and machinery filled his ears as Verde’s security geared for his presence. Bullets pocked the cold concrete floor in his wake, his very eardrums flexed under the gunfire cacophony. Ryohei swung, his fist struck the floor and chunks of concrete bulged to make way. He grabbed a piece, jagged and chalkey, reeled his arm back —

“Yo Ryohei! Come play ball with Fuuta and me! He wants to try out for his school baseball team!”

The machine went down with the sizzle of livewire and the groan of warped metal.

Ryohei let his hand fall to his side. He felt his heart beat in his chest, one painful pulse at a time.

Ryohei swallowed thickly and straightened his shoulders, eyes set forward to the door that was bolted shut several times over and defended with a passcode. His fingers tingled, chalkey concrete powder and baseball leather thick on his palm.

“Allow me,” Reborn said, voice all but a song, his hand gracing Ryohei’s back as he walked passed.

Ryohei felt that hand slide across his back, fingertips traced the curve of his shoulder blade and he felt the weight melt off, dragged away like Reborn had plucked it in passing. A pickpocket who’s only telltale was the scalding heat he left in his wake.

He let out a long breath through his nose. For a moment, Ryohei thought he saw smoke.

“After you, my dear Ryohei.”

Reborn pushed the door open, the hinges squeaked and chaffed. He bowed at the waist and swept his hand into the hall lit with blue-tinged lights and white-concrete walls.

Ryohei laughed, a choked and quick sound that thawed into something warm and full-bellied. Ryohei reached out and threw his arm over Reborns shoulder as he marched them down the hall.

“That’s some fancy fingering skills, Reborn!” He praised. Reborn had barely needed a moment to get passed the code.

“Why thank you,” Reborn purred, “People do often tell me I’m rather good with my hands. I should show you sometime.”

The air tickled his lungs and felt kind of acrid in his throat — some sort of chemical. Tasted bad. Ryohei scrunched his nose as Reborn pressed a handkerchief to his own.

Ryohei let go of Reborn’s shoulders to reach for the bolted door at the end of the hall, massive, heavy hydraulic bolts dug deep into concrete walls. His hands grabbed, fingers gouged for grip. The bolts bent, the concrete cracked and the door buckled at the corners as Ryohei all but peeled that slab of metal out of its shell.

“After you,” he joked as he stepped aside, arms sweeping for Reborn’s way.

“Oh, what a gentleman! I’m all aflutter,” Reborn chuckled and fanned himself as he stepped over that heavy, metal carpet Ryohei had laid out for him.

“Please stop this queer mating ritual of yours.” Came the voice that reverberated through the walls like a rolling thunder.

“I refuse,” Reborn responded, but was overblown by the ear-shattering bellow of “VERDE WE NEED TO TALK LET US IN!!”

“No.”

“VERDE!”

“No.”

Ryohei pouted and waved his arms at the camera, “Come on Verde! It’s extremely important!”

“Nothing could be more important than the continuation of my research.”

“Not even a Machine to save the world being built on an uncharted island populated by a new species of Flame Set and now defended by the Vindice?” Reborn uttered, checking his nails for any imperfection. There weren’t any.

A silence hung in the halls.

“Fine.”

Ryohei cheered.

A series of fourteen doors opened with heavy swoops and the chatter of alarms. At the far end, almost blending into the white concrete, was an equally pasty and off-colour looking Verde, the man hailed as the second coming of DaVinci.

“You look like shit,” Reborn scoffed as they made their way over, stepping around deactivated traps, some sort of sickly green pit visible beneath a glass floor. “When was the last time you went outside?”

“December 8th,” Verde said.

Reborn twitched, “It’s July.”

“Riveting,” Verde deadpanned. “Talk about the machine.”

“Ever graceful with the pleasantries,” Reborn hummed.

“Okay, so!” Ryohei began, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “It’s a long story but the short and sweet is that the world is gonna end in like — uh — a few decades? Give or take. And there’s this Machine that’s gonna replace the Tri-Ni-Sette Curse—” Verde blinked at Reborn. “—And instead of Sky Flames, we’re gonna use Earth Flames!”

“Earth Flames,” Verde echoed.

“Yeah! Great guys! Extremely good food! But the Vindice are kinda stuck and they need someone to figure it out and you’re the only one who can do it!”

“A Machine that metabolised Sky Flames to stabilise the planet has been converted to take Earth Flames and the Vindice is deadlocked,” Verde summaries without missing a beat, mind working at lightning speed, eyes wide and alert as he took in every sparse detail Ryohei spilled. “The ‘Tri-Ni-Sette Curse’ was the predecessor— Never heard of it..Tell me more.”

“The Tri-Ni-Sette System is what powers the earth! Don’t know the specifics, I got told, but I totally forgot it was like ten years ago— but it’s like extremely ancient and used to be maintained by the True Earthlings—”

Reborn turned his head. This was new. “True Earthlings?”

“The race before humans,” Ryohei tossed out, and that did not help at all—

“But they’re all dead. Well, except one. Nice guy, bit creepy. Good heart. Anyway, the Machine is gonna stop the Arcobaleno Curse cause it’s a shit solution and we need you to help fix the machine ‘cause you’re the one who made it in the future! Well, with someone else too but like—”

A hand, hot as the surface of the sun and just as demanding, grabbed Ryohei by the bicep. Nails dug in, bones ground together. Reborn stared at Ryohei, eyes wide and bright and seering.

“What do you mean he made it in the future?”

Ryohei blinked.

“I mean Verde’s the guy who designed it. Will design it. Has-will? Will-has?” Ryohei could feel his brain start to hurt the more he thought about it. “But yeah— didn’t I tell you?”

Reborn smiled thinly, and with a voice full of soft venom said, “No. I didn’t get that snippet of information, dear Ryohei.” Then Reborn stepped forward, eyes alight with something fierce that picked at the very seams of Ryohei and dung in just as deep as those nails in his arm. “And tell me, Ryohei: if this Machine was designed in the future, how did you get your hands on it? Or, how did your Family—”

“My family sent me to fix some things.”

Reborn froze.

“I don’t exist now.”

“Not anymore.”

Ah. It all made sense now.

The weeks, near months, Reborn had spent chasing heat haze from Kosovo to Bhutan were all for naught. Not because Ryohei was well hidden, but because he didn’t exist. Reborn should have realised, if he of all people couldn’t find someone, the logical answer was they simply never existed. And here he had been, doubting himself.

“We have…much to discuss, my dear Ryohei,” he said, slow and full of vicious victory.

Ryohei blinked again. Reborn saw the moment the retaliation dawned upon him— but it wasn’t of dread, or resignation, or even the thrill of being caught. Reborn stalled as Ryohei leant toward him and a hot hand clasped the wrist that was claws-deep in his flesh. A grin danced on his lips, face aglow with sheepishness.

“Oh, I forgot to mention that, sorry to the extreme! Thought I told you since I told Bermuda, and I just can’t keep track— Yeah, I’m from the future. Thirty years, kinda. That’s why you couldn’t find any of my info! Sorry again, Reborn. Wasn’t trying to hide anymore, it just slipped my extreme mind!”

Reborn squeezed. Teeth still gritted in a smile.

“Nonetheless, when we return to our quarters, we will be having words.”

Ryohei nodded, “Got it, I’ll make sure I get all the details this time!”

Verde clapped his hands suddenly, and both Reborn and Ryohei’s heads snapped around. Verde’s expression was wrapt, the gears in his head spinning at high speed. The man, dishevelled and bummy as he was, looked the most alive Reborn had seen him in— years. Practically a live wire, Verde was abuzz, hair standing on end and eyes alight.

“I’ve got it!” He announced and spun on his heel, off-white coat billowing. “Gentlemen, I am a genius!”

Verde took off in a run, lopsided and frantic and accompanied by the clatter of falling metal and half-baked projects. Ryohei followed with an infectious grin, the energy in the room found a new conduit. Reborn followed if only to watch when Verde finally tripped over his own mess in the rush.

Verde’s lab, deep in the bowels of Nicosia’s chalky outcrop, was full of all the latest bells and whistles and atomic-level cutting edge. It was all that and a fire hazard, with paper and steel wool and old clothes draped across circuitry. The air was stale and cold, filtered once and filtered again, and Ryohei’s nose itched as he detected that distinct ‘plane-air’ smell.

“You will take me to the Machine— to the Island, I must see the island. Flames, you said. Earth? Fascinating, a whole Set branch. Do they maintain the seven frequencies or is that entirely Sky-centric? And the Machine, take me to the Machine, how goes the progress, where are the blueprints I must see them.”

“Blueprints are back at the Simone base, Bermuda won’t let them out of his sight,” Ryohei responded without missing a beat.

“Then we go!” Verde announced as he spun to face them, folders of documents and a crate of assorted greeblies and tools clutched under his arms. “Now! Take me to my Machine!”

#khr #reborn #katekyo hitman reborn #sasagawa ryohei #fix it fic #khr rare pair #proof apollo wear hawaiian shirts #fanfiction #leftnotright #ao3 #time travel fic

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