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starry-bi-sky · 4 months

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(Part of this post with older brother danyal al ghul)

...Okay, look. Sam knows she's staring. She knows very well that she is staring. And that if she doesn't stop staring it's gonna draw her unwanted attention, and that will only have to make her explain why she's staring. Which she doesn't want to do.

She's trying not to stare, which she thinks she should get brownie points for. She tries to look away, to find a spot on the wall to stare lifelessly at, maybe she can burn holes into some of these annoying socialites' heads. But eventually her eyes drift, and suddenly she's back to staring again.

Can you blame her though? Damian Wayne looks like a very close mini-me of her fucking best friend. Seriously, it's like looking into a mirror to the past. If that mirror to the past had green eyes rather than blue and a distinctive lack of a facial scar.

The first time she sees him when her parents drag her over to Bruce Wayne to butter up to him she has to do a doubletake. Then a triple take. Then a quadruple take, just for good measure that she was seeing what she was actually seeing. She was sure she looked like one of those stress toys that when squeezed had their eyes pop out comically like a Saturday morning cartoon, that's what she certainly felt like anyways.

Look, Danny's come a decent way from being that scowl-y, jerkish little ten year old she first met when he arrived like the wind to Amity Park five years ago (even if he was still occasionally scowl-y and jerkish), but one thing that's stayed the same is how reserved he is about his home life prior to being taken in by the Fentons.

He doesn't talk about it much, and Sam's come to know that he's very good at changing the subject when it gets brought up. Even after being friends for nearly four years, the only thing she and Tuck know for certain is that he has a little brother that he refers to as 'starlight', whom he cares a lot about but left on really bad terms with. And that he's never met his father, but wants to and knows who he is.

He's never told her or Tucker who he was though, and glancing at Bruce Wayne, Sam is realizing why. She can begrudgingly acknowledge all the good he's done for Gotham, but... well, if Danny told her that Bruce Wayne was his dad, she wouldn't have believed him at all.

But she's starting to see the resemblance, as subtle as it is.

And she sees the resemblance to Damian Wayne, her eyes dropping back down to him as he wears a very Danny-like scowl on his face, arms crossed behind his back as his eyes swept around the ballroom. He was five years younger than Danny, and god it was so, so weird.

His eyes turned on to her, and they locked gazes for a moment.

Involuntarily, Sam makes a startled noise and looks away. Fingers tap against her purse, black and purple and unfortunately a clutch that only held her phone and her wallet in it. She would have kept a knife on her, but her parents put their foot down and there was a security detail at the door. Only in Gotham.

Silently, she was hoping that the little Danny-me didn't say anything. Or at least, he hadn't noticed her staring. Which was a tall order if she ever heard one -- and unfortunately, her silent prayers went unanswered as her mother's eyes dropped down onto her.

"Did you say something, Samantha?" She asks in a sickeningly sweet voice, a sound that makes Sam's skin crawl. Her dad and Bruce Wayne's attention also turns onto her, and she glowers at her mom from the corner of her eye.

"I didn't say anything." Sam says, barely keeping her tone polite as she turned her head away. Her mother clucks her tongue, disapproving, but from her peripherals doesn't pester her more

Bruce Wayne, the bastard, takes that time to turn to Sam and grace her with his dime-a-dozen billboard smiles. "I've been talking with your parents this whole time, Miss Manson, you must be terribly bored. How is your schooling going?"

Sam eyes him up and down. On one hand, she immediately wants to be snarky. It's none of his business what her school life is like, she doesn't care for his fucking small talk.

On the other hand, this was Danny's whole father. Someone who she knows that Danny has wanted to meet for, what she's assuming, his whole life. He's never brought it up much, but she remembers that very quiet, solemn conversation she and Tucker had with him where he admits to having never met his dad. But god does he want to.

And... wait. Sam's eyes narrow, and she meets Bruce Wayne's eyes. Does this man even know Danny exists? She drops her gaze down to Damian, who was staring at her suspiciously, and then back up to Bruce, and she alternates between them.

Why was Damian living with Bruce, but not Danny? Why hasn't Bruce done anything to reach out to him - what was going on with Danny's biological family that Danny had to be separated from them, but not Damian? Danny's always been kinda mysterious, but now things weren't adding up.

Was Danny given up? Does Bruce just not want Danny, but wanted Damian? Why the fuck does Bruce Wayne know about Damian but not her best friend -- or does he know and just not care? He's fought for custody for his adoptive kids before, does he just not want to fight for his other biological son? Does he think Danny's not worth it?

She's never cared much about the Wayne family before, other than to hear about the advancements on WE's eco-friendly tech, but Sam thinks she's gonna have to look into why Damian Wayne was living with the Waynes.

Slowly, with a protective anger beginning to burn in her gut and crawl up her throat, a scowl slowly curls at the corner of her lip as she redirects her glare from her mother onto Bruce. "It's going fine," She says curtly, jutting her chin out defiantly. "Me and my friend Danny started a petition to fix the leaky faucets in the girls and boys' bathrooms in order to conserve more water for the rest of the city."

She eyes his face, waiting to see if anything like recognition flashes through it. And- and nothing. Sam breathes in slowly through her nose, trying to quell the red that's blurring the edge of her vision -- does he just, not know where Danny is?

Her parents however, make vaguely displeased expressions. "Our Samantha is... quite passionate about her pet projects." Her dad says, laughing low and nervously, "she's very vocal about silly things like that."

"Her friend Daniel is perhaps even worse than she is sometimes." Her mother adds on, fanning her face with her perfectly manicured hands with a sigh. "I swear, he's the one that keeps dragging her into these things."

Sam's anger turns on its head, and she whirls on her heel like a fire-breathing dragon. "It's Danyal." It rolls out like instinct. Danny's told them both that he hates the Americanized pronunciation of his name, but in a rare moment of restraint, puts up with it for reasons unknown to her. "And Danny doesn't make me do anything, it was my idea."

The name, Danyal, seems to ring some kind of bell in Brucie Wayne's head, because she sees him and Damian quietly perk up like two cats pricking up their ears. Her eyes flick onto him immediately, something dangerous rearing its head. So Bruce Wayne knows about Danny. And he's not reaching out to him. Is he? She's not sure.

She does know that she's gonna rip his throat out if she finds out that he's known about Danny this entire time and has been ignoring him while favoring his little brother. She'll hunt down Aragon herself and steal his dragon-shifting amulet and wreck house on Bruce Wayne if that's the case. Batman and his league of vigilantes be damned. Her parents don't notice her slowly turning head towards Bruce.

But Bruce does, and she makes direct eye contact with him. His smile doesn't falter, he just tilts his head like a curious puppy and looks at Sam's parents. She hopes Bruce can read minds, she hopes he can hear her threatening him.

"Danyal?" He asks, and Sam doesn't know if she hates the fact that he said it correctly or not. She just continues burning holes into him and hoping he might spontaneously combust.

Her mother waves her hand dismissively, tilting her nose up poshly into the air. "Our dear Samantha's little... foster friend from school," she says, not even bothering to hide her disdain, "a creepy little boy with the most garish scar on his face. He's a rude little thing, not good for polite company."

Scratch that, Sam mentally alternates between ripping into her parents and Bruce. She whirls on them. "Do not talk about Danny that way." She all but snarls, and they all but ignore her.

(She's tearing up the upholstery when she gets home. She's going to paint over the fine china. She's going to do something to make them pay for this.)

"Oh yes, he was taken in by that freaky Fenton family a few years ago." Her dad continues in lieu of her mom, and they both shake their heads disapprovingly. "It's just what our city needs, another menace."

"Danny is not a menace." Sam continues, raising her voice while her hands shake with rage. Her parents finally look at her, but she can already tell that they're going to scold her for raising her voice. She bulldozes over them and jabs her black-painted finger at them. "He's got a bigger heart than the both of you combined."

"Samantha, please." her mom says, exasperated. They both give her disapproving looks, Sam thinks about grabbing champagne off the tray of a nearby waiter and throwing it in their faces. "You defend that boy far too much. What do you actually know about him and his family?"

Sam sets her jaw, puffing herself up like a dragon protecting its hoard. She steps into her mom's space. "I know that he loves the stars; you can ask him anything about astronomy and he could give you an entire lecture on the formation, class types, and various gasses that stars are made up of. He can tell you how the Earth was formed, he can tell you about the visible light spectrum and about light curves, and a whole ton of other stuff that I don't really understand. But Danny loves talking about it."

Her face twists and scowls, "I know he cares a ton about the environment and about fixing light pollution, and preserving the forests and natural habitats of animals." She nearly jabs her finger into her mom's chest, "I know he loves dogs, and that there's one he feeds every day on the way to school that he calls Cujo, its a St. Bernard puppy and Danny carries him around whenever he sees him after school, and is in the middle of training him."

It's not a total lie, but it's not the whole truth either. Cujo doesn't need food, but Danny gives him it anyways. "I know he likes spicy food and loves movies but specifically only sci-fi and horror, and he hates most martial arts movies. His favorite superhero is the Martian Manhunter, but Batman comes in at a close second." For reasons to her that were pretty unknown, but it didn't matter.

"I know he loves wordplay and making puns, which I would have never expected from him when we first met, but it's so unbelievably Danny-like that I can't imagine him not making puns." And she smiles a little to herself, she remembers the first time Danny intentionally made a pun once and it got startled laughs out of both her and Tucker.

Her smile suddenly falters, and she swallows. Her lips purse up, wobbling, and she very quickly glances over to Damian Wayne, of whom is watching her with a vaguely bewildered expression alongside Bruce.

She turns her eyes back onto her parents. "And I know that he worries a lot, even if he has a shit way of showing it. I know he had a little brother that he hasn't seen since he was adopted by the Fentons, and he doesn't talk about him often but when he does he he calls him 'starlight'." From the corner of her eye, she sees Damian jerk.

"So- so, so what if he's not 'good for polite company'." Sam's voice, embarrassingly, cracks down the middle. But she's so angry over Danny's behalf that she doesn't really care. "Or that he can be mean, and critical, and stubborn. He's learning, and he's becoming kinder by the day. That's more than I can say about you."

(She remembers when Danny finally admitted to her and Tucker being his 'closest friends'. It was sometime before the portal incident, and it felt like a milestone because beforehand he only really referred to them as his companions or allies.)

(At the time, he'd looked unsure of himself. Skittish like a stray in the back of an alleyway, almost shy in his own way. It had come out stilted, slow, like an infant taking its first steps, and it would have been endearing if it hadn't been heartbreaking.)

Her parents rear back like she'd struck them, and her mother holds a hand against her chest in aghast. Sam doesn't care, she blinks the sting out of her eyes. "Samantha." Her mother starts.

Sam cuts her off, "I don't care what you have to say, you-- you pricks." she snaps, around her, there are gasps. Belatedly, she realizes she's grown an audience, but again she doesn't care. "Danny might be an asshole, but he cares. And I'd rather be around someone whose mean but cares, than someone whose nice but doesn't."

With that, she whirls on her foot and turns on Bruce Wayne, who has been silent the entire time with a surprised expression on his face. He starts to shake out of it when Sam turns to him, but she doesn't give him the chance to speak. "Enjoy your party." She snarls, and then stalks away.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #danyal al ghul au #older brother danny #sam is one protective gal. this scene went differently in my head. way differently. but alas. i am not complaining.#sam: if bruce wayne abandoned my best friend i'm gonna physically transform myself into a dragon and incinerate him. how dare he.#bruce and damian got to watch in real time as a random girl who knows danny suddenly realizes he's related to them. which is comical to me #because she suddenly goes from being disinterested but weirded out by damian. to suddenly looking at bruce like she's gonna kill him #which is very funny to me bc from their pov at first its like this random girl just speedran hating bruce. and then her parents bring up he #friend danny and then she calls him danyal. and suddenly its starting to click into place like 'oh fuck wait we may just have a lead on --#-- finding danyal and his whereabouts.' especially after sam's mom mentions the scar on his face. like wow. what a crazy ten minutes.#not seen but def happened: sam gets her phone out to go text danny in the corner. she's not gonna bring up the bruce thing yet. she needs #a pick me up. related note: danny and tucker know she's gone to some gala thing with her parents but not to a wayne gala. if danny had know #he may have told her that he was related to damian wayne. just to prepare her for that. not so sure on the writing in this one folks #but i also dont wanna go through and edit anything its like half past one in the morning and i also dont wanna wait until morning to post #when i can just do it now. and get instant serotonin. i thought of this scene in various ways. like sam calling damian 'danny' out of shock #and then quickly correcting herself. and then excusing herself very quickly. or her mentioning that damian resembles her friend danny a lot #so she was just thrown off by him. because i def think that could happen if sam has no reason to think that she needs to hide danny from th #waynes. i also thought about her parents mentioning that damian resembles danny a little bit. only for one of them to go 'oh no no couldn't #- be. how insulting to damian since the daniel they know has this horrid scar on his face.' and then go from there. either way i thought #a scene like this would be fun. get to also kinda explore how danny looks like from his friends' povs. of which he is #'our lovable jerk who is an ex-cult member and whom we will maim someone over.'#not a scene that was added but i wanted to: sam mentioning in parenthesis that she and tucker think danny was part of a cult prior to the #fentons. and that sometimes danny will say something alarming and sam and tucker will stare at him until he frowns and goes #“that... isn't normal. is it?” and tucker will clap his shoulder and cheerfully go “no buddy. no it isn't” bc i think the idea is funny.#sam is so focused on the idea that bruce abandoned/ignored/was unaware of danny's existence that she momentarily forgot that bruce may have

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smoosnoom · 1 year

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invent love (invent the river)

Neil is the sort to go looking for his friends, and, by proxy, Todd. Neil is the sort to go looking for Todd. It’s a strange realization, being looked for. Being wanted around.

Five different moments spent at the bridge.

Inspired by this scene.

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cloverjelly · 3 months

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life series duos as songs!

2 - mean gills (scott and martyn) - me and the devil by soap & skin

again, song analysis under the cut :)

-(not song related/for clarification) - somewhat hc but i say scott has the widow curse (not grian ik, scott's curse is in the sense that he outlives his allies) which is the black widow spider fucking up the strings and martyns is the swan curse bc he devotes himself to one person and will defend it like hes fucking feral. which explains the feathers bc i really didnt wanna draw a swan!

-and i said hello satan, ah / i believe it's time to go - i like to think that since both of these buddies r super smart and (mostly canonically) aware of the watchers and what goes on beyond the games, they both kinda knew about each others curses when they met and knew one of them would die to the other and only one curse would be broken in the end

-me and the devil walkin' side by side - super similar to the first note- the entire mean gills alliance was doomed and formed more from strategy than actual friendliness (debatable but yk) and both were aware of the other's ability to murder them

-you may bury my body / down by the highway side - i would say this is mostly scotts pov, since i still believe that he knew what was coming for him and knew about martyn's betrayal, this is also shown by him smiling in the art

-see, don't see why / people dog me around / it must be that old evil spirit / so deep down in your ground - kinda tying back to how both parties were somewhat aware of the watchers (the "evil spirit" in the lyrics) and were lamenting about their curses, especially when it came to them both being in the final fight

-(not song related, 2) - i used white hibiscus flowers as a base for scott's crown (its usually js yellow) bc 1. they lived on a fucking beach 2. it symbolizes purity and sympathy which i think makes a lot of sense considering the above circumstances, AND i used the same reddish tone for scott's flowers and martyn's coral crown. i ALSO added a nice beam of light as the lighting this time bc drama and also idk smth smart about being aware/"enlightened" to the watcher's antics

#my first duo other than desert duo / ranchers 😱?!?#jk lol but it was so fun drawing characters i dont draw often #life smp #traffic smp #limited life #mean gills #scott smajor #inthelittlewood #martyn inthelittlewood #scottyn #jelly jar

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neteyamm · 1 year

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untitled bc yeah

pairing jake sully x na’vi!reader (female coded)

warning(s) nsfw, minors dni, oral, kinda na’vi heat?

author note this was literally going to be in a fanfic i was writing, but then, i like scrapped it and wrote this in thirty minutes. lol, is kitty offensive? jake’s great great great grandparents x20 was gen z. think on that. this is actually like crack? like crack wit smut? idk. enjoy i guess. jake’s pussy whipped, sooo. lol accidental third person? well, its third person limited, bc it’s jake pov? that happened accidentally tho. soz <33 unedited … yeah <33 my descriptions are actually shit and i think i gave jake adhd? lowercase very much not intended. i spent too much words on fucking silk. that had no reason being there :) it was fun tho. somehow past tense but not? idk not edited so yeah. enjoy again ig.

that small area, filled with overgrown trees, bushes and plants, lush greens and illuminating purples, had already been claimed before jake stumbled into it. it was hard to find, and it had been a mistake on his part in finding it, he’d took a tumble from the tall trees, fell through some pretty hard branches, and landed before the slender covered entrance. at first, jake thought he was looking at cloth, that somehow the na’vi had created silk fabric. he’d touch it, shocked and slightly excited, only to feel as if he’d touched a spiderweb. the silk, he’d realized, was natural — made from a bug larvae, most likely. jake had pushed the silk aside to the reveal small area. the ground was the most softest marsh he’d ever stepped on, nearly tickling his feet when he dragged them. the plants, the bushes, the trees, everything was alive and glowing, the ground tracking his footprints, it was nothing short of amazing.

he’d turned to leave, wondering if neytiri had ever been here, when his ears perks up. the tall tale sound of a hiss. it sounds like bees in someone’s throat, and escapes in a bone-chilling sound that even now, as a true na’vi and could very much make the sound himself, leaves him nervous and admittedly a little weak in the knees. he could remember when meeting the clans with tsu’tey and neytiri, asking them to fight the humans, he would steel himself when hearing it. there were so many different sounding hisses, and yet jake thinks his clan took the cake for the scariest ones.

he shakes his head. the point being, the sound makes his hairs stand and his tail to swish nervously. he turns, looking up to see a na’vi woman, an omaticayan, squatting in one of the lower branches covered in illuminated moss. she holds a dagger carved from their newest hometree, after many months of searching, tsu’tey found one suitable for their many people. she hisses again, defensive, and he smells it then. it’s like a light switch goes off in his mind. the reason he hadn’t seen neytiri, or any of the unmated women, it was the change of the tide — they called it — and when that happens, unmated na’vi women go into heat.

it’s also the reason he hadn’t seen tsu’tey all day. it makes sense now, he honestly thought they were avoiding him. he wants to slap himself now. how disrespectful of him to stumble into a woman’s marked territory, during her heat no less. he holds his hands up and walks backward, barely withholding a flinch when she hisses again.

“uh, sorry, ma’am. so sorry, didn’t mean to … what’s the word? hm, uh, embark? no, definitely not the word. uh. sorry to invade your territory?” he backs away slowly, least he accidentally starts a chase he did not want. “i’m just gonna—”

“are you mated, toruk makto?” compared to her hiss, her voice is quiet nice, hm, like honey he thinks, smooth sounding, sweet tasting, almost like her scent—he snaps out of it. her words correlate in his mind.

he honestly forgot he was the toruk makto for a moment. the war had been months ago, and despite the fact that many people won’t let him forget that he was the sixth, it was easy to forget when people got over the awe. got over the awe and saw that he was really just a clumsy guy, with a too big heart, a little too smart mouthed, and great enough warrior. he takes pride in being the head warrior, just beneath tsu’tey.

“no…?”

“was that a question, toruk makto?”

“no?” he looks around for a moment, before back to the woman. he noticed it then, she was actually quite beautiful. huh. her hair wasn’t braided, and from the slight waves, he assumed she’d just taken them down. oh, he abruptly looks away. she wore the customary loincloth, yet only a single beaded necklace, with tiny beads extending from it like dripping water, covered her nipples.

“do you want a mate?”

now that he thinks of it. he hadn’t really been looking for someone to mate with forever. once he realized neytiri was destined for tsu’tey, and they had some odd partnership going on between them—he got over that crush painstakingly slow. not to mention, tsu’tey could be scary, and jake didn’t want to mess up his position as the next olo’eyktan. no, no, jake wasn’t looking for anyone, despite the obvious looks he was receiving. he looked back to the woman, she was staring at him with clear eyes. wait. . . was she offering?

“what’s your name?” he questioned, dropping his hands when realized he still hand them up like a idiot.

“(name) te tshaka de mo’at’ite,” she says, confidently. he blinks. now, why has he heard that name before? oh, oh! the mystery woman! he remembers it clear as day now. the younger sister of the three sisters, the deceased one, the next tsahik one, and the mysterious one. that’s what, he couldn’t even remember the dead avatar driver’s name now, had said, anyway. the avatar driver had thought he was being funny, until grace practically kicked his ass and nearly cut him off.

jake couldn’t for the life of him remember seeing her, he could remember hearing her name being called, her voice talking, but she was never in sight. “neytiri’s sister?”

“yes, neytiri is my older sister by a single cycle,” she grits her teeth, a hand briefly pushing at her lower belly. “you did not answer my question, toruk makto. do you want a mate?”

“uh, are you sure this isn’t your heat talking?” jake couldn’t help but wonder. what if it was someone else that barged in, would she say the same?

“i have seen you—”

“you have?” jake raises a brow.

“i have watched you—”

“you have?” jake raises both brows.

“i have followed you—”

“you have?” jake couldn’t help the voice crack or raise in pitch. he never noticed anyone following him. oh man, this shouldn’t be as flattering as he’s taking it.

“i decided that i will have you,” she finishes, not an ounce concerned with just how odd she sounds. she is confident, jake will give her that, to outright tell someone that you will have them is ballsy.

“you will?”

“I will. I am glad it was you who stumbled upon my thicket. otherwise, i would have injuried them.”

well, that settles it. jake always liked a woman who could kill him, and well, (name) looks fierce and ready to kill him. besides, jake’s a simple man, someone willingly to be with him? forever? hah, if his old buddies from earth could see him now. they were always saying jake would never find a girl or guy, he wasn’t the best at flirting.

“well, here i am, have me?” he understands his old buddies, now. he cringes, by eywa, did i really say that?

(name) gives a rich laugh, it causes a shiver to run down his spine, and he only has half a second to catch the lunging woman. they tumble through the soft marsh, nearly sinking into it as she settles quite contently on his lap. she brings her quene around, and jake does the same, watching in morbid fascination as the tendrils coil and link around the other.

it only takes a second for their minds to connect, emotions bursting full and richly around their interlinked minds. there’s no love there, not yet at least, but its overwhelming, heartwarming and thrilling all at once. he could feel her brushing against his mind, squeezing around his brain, settling into the missing blanks, melting into the crevices and nooks. it feels good, it feels right, and he’s suddenly heavily aware of the stabbing pain in her lower belly. amazing how she kept a clear mind with that amount of pain, geez.

he wonders, briefly, if this would have felt more special if they took things slow. but then, he’s struck by unbridled lust, and forgets his wonderings. well, it’s been years since he’s last did anything, really, and her scent was starting to coat the air thickly.

“so,” jake starts awkwardly. does this count as a one night stand, we just met, and now we’re about— his thoughts blank when she grabs his hands, pressing them against her tits. the beads dig into his skin for a moment, but they’re easily removed, and suddenly it’s skin on skin contact. he squeezes, instinctively really, and draws out a breathy whimper from (name). his eyes widens briefly, and he feels like inexperienced teenage boy again with his fast he hardens.

she must have felt him, there’s no way she hadn’t, her hips move upwards slightly, then back down. it’s his turn to whimper at the friction of the cloth and the pressure of her weight on him, practically suffocating his cock. he decides, last minute, to give her perky nipples a little twist and he savors her sounds. she really did sound good, like — his eyes caught the silk curtain swaying gently — like honey dripping onto silk.

her scent rolls around his nose, strong, thick, and heady. he rolls them over without a second thought, hands sliding down to her loincloth. his eyes meet her’s, and he raises a brow. “may i?”

she twists her hips a little, impatience nudges against his mind, “please,” she purrs, litreally, it starts in her chest and settles in her throat. like a cat. like a kitty. oh, he shudders.

he makes easy work to untie the strings, the cloth falling away aimlessly, and that is all it takes for her arousal to truly be smelt. he gulps, swallows harshly, gulps again. shit, is it hot? why does it feel like his control is breaking? her inner thighs were glistening and as she happily, and proudly spreads her legs, he couldn’t help the groan of utter pain. his cock throb painfully, his chest ache painfully, this has to be a crime. he’d never once in his life seen a cunt so pretty.

his mouth waters, and he swallows again, least he starts drooling everywhere. he knows that wouldn’t be an appetizing sight. he shakes his head, back on track. he clenches his fingers, before scooting himself back, settling on his belly, and eye level with this beautiful, beautiful cunt.

“pretty,” he unconsciously mutters, mesmerized. her pink bud peeking out between her puffy lips, his eyes catching sight of tiny droplets sliding down and disappearing into the marsh below them. “god, such a pretty pussy.” it felt wrong to call upon eywa, what if she heard? what if she saw? he doesn’t think the mother goddess needs to see this.

“hurry, jake,” she whines above him, twisting her hips again, and his eyes tracks the movements. she’s practically waving her cunt in his face. he groans.

“patience, kitty,” he mutters, debating if he should eat or finger, hm. shit, he really wants to taste her. “you want me to touch you?”

“yes, please,” she whispers, sounding shy all of a sudden. he chuckles at that, barely dodging the thump from her tail against his face.

jake uses his index and thumb to spread her puffy lips, his eyes flutter, his breathing is caught, he could die right here, he could die a happy man right here, right now. jake can’t even call it glistening anymore, she’s practically a river, so wet, dripping and dripping, her pretty hole clenching around nothing.

he leans forward, flattening his tongue, and giving her a generous swipe. her taste melts on his tongue, heady and sweet all at once, he swallows like a man starved and does it again. his tongue nudging against her hole, catching the juices that exit. “ooh, fuck, you taste so good, babygirl,” he groans. he really feels like praying.

“j-jake,” her whimpers and mewls were like music to his ears, and the moment she grips his hair, his hips jerk and he has no choice but to eat her like a man straved. he slurps as much of her juices as he could, before turning his attention to her neglected bud, swirling around the engorged bud slowly, eyes fluttering open to watch the way her body responded.

he swirls on the left side, her belly clenches. he swirls on the right side, her thighs shudder against his head, a true moan ripped from her throat. “so pretty, you moan so prettily,” he grins against her cunt and attacks that spot with vengence.

he uses his free hand to wrap around her thigh, prying it open as they begin to close around his head. she shudders above him, fingers tightening around his hair, pretty sounds trembling from her lips. he swirls and slurps, sucks and nips, and he could only feel himself growing harder by the second. “j-jake—haah!—m’gonna cum!” she warns, spreading her legs a little wider and practically shoving her cunt into his face, and he happily takes advantage of it.

he wraps his arms underneath her thighs, hands settling on her hips in soft grip, locking her in place as he brings her closer and closer to her release. she’s not quiet anymore, sounds ringing above them, her mind is blissful against his — thinking of nothing but the strings of pleasure. it only takes a well placed swipe of his tongue, a tiny nip of his fangs and—

“j-jake—m’cumming!” she cums with a sequel, thighs nearly locking around his head, but he grabs them in time. he’d seen what a na’vi women’s thighs could do to a head. he happily licks up the steady trail of white leaking from her hole, listening to her soft whimpers and satisfied purrs.

“good, kitty?” he asks, propping up on his elbows to get a good look at her. he nearly starts kicking his feet at the satisfied expression on her beautiful face.

“mhm, very good, jake,” she grins, fangs on display, and goddamnit, he’s going to burst from that image alone.

“you want some more, pretty girl?”

her cheeks bloom like anemones, eyes casting downwards, and her grin turning shy. she’s so fucking cute, it hurts, really. “i need your cock, jake.”

“oh?” he raised a brow, condescendingly, “you need it?” she nods, eagerly. “if you didn’t need it, babygirl, would you want it?”

“yes,” she shudders, “please, jake.”

“hm, let me see,” he mutters, dragging himself onto his hunches. he chuckles when she props up on her elbows eagerly, watching his fingers untie his loincloth with lustful eyes. he sighs when the cool air hits his cock, the tip an angered magenta and leaking clear pre-cum. air sucks through his teeth when she reaches forward, grabbing his cock in a tight grasp. “careful, kitty, don’t hold too tight for me, yeah?”

she leans down, mouth dropping open, and he stops her, index underneath her chin. “later, pretty girl,” he promises.

her lips pout, slick from spit and brusied from biting, “but, you—”

he gives a quiet tut, “i’ll train your pretty throat for me, later. right now,” he grabs her waist, forcing her on to her back. she gives a startled look, pretty eyes wide, and mouth popping open. “i need to fuck your fat cunt, until the only thing you remember is my name, hm?”

she shudders, hands reaching for his. “please,” she begs prettily.

ugh, he hopes na’vi can’t have heart attacks.

#avatar smut #avatar way of water #jake sully #jake sully x reader #jake smut #jake sully smut #babygirl only sounds right from jake’s mouth #avatar 2009 #he’s literally it #.masterlist.

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autisticlancemcclain · 4 months

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fic rec friday 61

hello and welcome to fic rec friday! where, on friday, i rec five of my favourite fics.

Autistic Lance (Voltron) [series] by dontthinkiwont

"Look, okay, I get it, I like peanut butter, you like sharks. It's a thing, whatever. But seriously, dude - what the fuck?" - Or, Lance has Autism Spectrum Disorder and this can cause him to fixate on some things. Like, maybe, for instance, great white sharks. For example.

yes i like this series for projection reasons. whatever. it was also one of the first autistic lance fics out there!! and its v heavy in platonic relationships yall are gonna love it

2. Revelations and Reactions by @azapofinspiration

Keith couldn't believe it. He was part Galra. That was hard enough to deal with... But then he realized that he would have to tell the rest of the team. He couldn't help but fear how they would react. In which Keith reveals that he's part Galra after facing the Blade of Marmora's trials.

azap truly never misses. they KNOWWWW how to do found family like a CHAMP and i will never get tired of reading canon corrections where keith is like. loved and accepted lol

3. A Memory Like a Snapshot by MemeKonVLD

Pidge is still close —closer than is entirely comfortable if he has to be honest— giving him an evaluating glance. Lance doesn’t really know where to look, other than up her nose— but that grows old pretty fast. So he looks at himself in the reflection of her glasses. And squints. He touches his own face for the first time since waking up— and feels the roughness of his chin. “I have stubble,” he says, and the words are as alarmed as they can be even though they still sound slightly slurred, slightly off. Pidge blinks a couple of times at him, and finally retracts into a more comfortable distance. “Well, yeah,” she says. “You are like, what? 22? 23 in a couple of months?” “I’m feeling— I’m feeling a little queasy,” he says then, with bright spots of color dancing in front of his eyes as he thinks 22. Suddenly, a bucket gets shoved against his face. He takes hold of it with clammy fingers and he leans on his side so he can... use it. Thoroughly. “I’m having Garrison flashbacks,” he hears Pidge say. (Or: Lance is stung by an alien bug, loses his memories temporarily and makes assumptions about his and Keith's relationship. Also, Pidge cheats at Uno.)

losing your memories. and waking up. and someone treats you so kindly and lovingly that you know, immediately, in the bones of you, that they love you. and the feeling in your chest even if your brain doesnt remember of love for them tells you clearly that this person is your soulmate. i am going to LOSE IT

4. Love in the Times of (Intergalactic) War by MemeKonVLD

Lance: Oh, man. [I see him grow visibly excited here, leaning forward and putting his hands up— he’s big on gesticulating, as anyone who’s watched the pilots of Voltron host SNL a couple of months ago knows.] Space is vast. I know that’s not groundbreaking knowledge there, and everyone’s somewhat aware of it, but— being up there? traveling around space for years, and knowing we never even— we never even came near to touching upon a tenth of what’s out there? That’s cool, weird and scary all in one.

WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT 2016 FICS. HUH. ICONIQUE?? AMAZING??? SHOWSTOPPING?? INCREDIBLE??? bc pov outsider is the BEST and watching how much lance SHINES to anyone who looks at him...yeah

5. Skin by MemeKonVLD

He’s aware of Lance talking to him, but he’s still too asleep to try to decipher whatever it is he’s blabbering about. He only starts paying attention when one of Lance’s hands goes to the drawstring of his pajama pants. “Whoa, what are you doing?” He asks, slapping Lance’s hand away, cheeks warm. “You,” Lance starts, pointing at him (and Keith notices that for all he’s made fun of him for the last forever for them, he’s wearing his fingerless gloves), “are not screwing up my skin care routine, man.” (AKA: the one where Keith and Lance switch bodies.)

suave keith and flustered lance my BELOVED. swapped bodies truly has to be one of the top ten tropes of all time. love watching them be in love and also stupid

that’s it for today!! i’ll see y’all back next friday for the next fic rec post!!!

#making these makes me sad now 😭😭#vld #voltron #lance #lance mcclain #keith #keith kogane #klance #pre klance #getting together #established klance #autistic lance #galra keith #keith angst #fic rec #FRF #longpost

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lunicho · 20 days

Note

Here r my thoughts !! I hope they’re ok bc I’m really sleepy rn so idk if they make sense lololll

K: def a dom

- like I CANT see him as a sub

- If u try to make him submissive he’ll just mock u n make fun of the things u say when ur with him

- You: “Stop making fun of me”

- K: “I thought this was normal sub behavior 😋😋”

Fuma: soft dom

- likes taking care of you n worries about ur pleasure first

- If u want to be the dominant one he doesn’t mind and let’s u

- Subby Fuma tho…mmm tastyyy

- a soft dom but can be a mean one if he’s feeling extra possessive

Nico: switch (or is it called vers? Like versatile? I forgot 😟)

- a little controversial(/j) but I’ll d!e on this hill

- He tries to be the dominant one all the time but if he goes more than 2 days without ur pussy he’s on his knees begging for you and is at your mercy

- He just wants to be good to you so he’ll want to be in control but every now and again he wants to be taken care of and have you make him feel so good

EJ: service top with a sprinkle of sub

- As much as I love subby Juju and making him tear up I see him more as a service top but the subby parts of him comes out and he ends up falling apart bc u feel so good around him when he was supposed to put you first

- I looooooveeee service top juju

Yuma: MEAN DOMMMMM

- he is MEAN

- He makes FUN OF YOU

- But the dick is so good you’ll only go to him (so basically the mean dom Yuma you always talk about LOL)

- He’s actually not mean which is the funny part 😭 when y’all aren’t having sex he’s so chill and easy to hang out with 😭 he just likes seeing you cry and whimper as he fucks you and calling you names is the fastest way to do it LOL

- I KNOW the jealous sex is so good bc he gets jealous and possessive so easily so if another man tries to make a move on you he is FUMING and he needs to fuck you as fast as possible

Jo: sub

- pov: ur at the “I love sub!Jo” contest and ur opponent is me 😋😋😋😋

- Sub!Jo is so beautiful in my mind like him just laying down while i have my mouth on him PLEASEEE

- He likes it when you praise him omfg praise kink Jo 😵‍💫 but that’s for another time

- Tbh I see him as the type of guy that’ll do anything for you so you can praise him

Harua: switch

- as you know I’m a switch!Harua truther

- This section won’t be long since I already talked about it it

- But bratty sub Harua 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

- Sassy dom Harua who knows how to control you 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

Taki: switch but u HAVE to hear me out

- every time I think of Taki most of the time it’s just pretty shiny sub Taki who wants all of your attention on him

- The type to D!E if you don’t take care of him and his raging boner /j

- Whines a lot 😵‍💫

- BUT LISTEN

- Recently…him and his “morality police” bit where he’s (playfully) telling the members to cover up and not wear revealing outfits

- Makes me think of mean dom Taki 😵‍💫 where you wear revealing and skimpy outfits to mess with him and he fucks you harddddd bc he knows you’re just trying to get his attention and to rile him up

Overall I also think that they’re all really possessive with the exception of Jo but those thoughts haven’t marinated long enough in my brain yet 😙

-😵‍💫

HOPE U GOT SOME REST BOO THANG, u came and u served and now its time for u to get the rest u so rightfully deserve bc this right here ‼️‼️

kei - okay so i do agree, he most often takes on a dominant role just because he enjoys it and it comes so naturally for him. BUT i had a convo with one of my moots (shout out mel 🙏🏾) where we explored the idea of subby kei and i think he's in there somewhere. he has the potential to be submissive but may not know how to go about it or how to commit to that fully which is why he'd rather be all snappy and mean and mock u about it and in other words that's why he kinda acts like a brat 🤷🏾‍♀️. but dom kei is so so real there's no denying that ☝🏾😌

fuma - YES. everyone who read my fuma a-z knows i agree cuz like duh, he's so soft dom to me but he has a love for being the submissive one. he may not be THE MOST submissive guy out there but being under u and being doted on is something he enjoys thoroughly. but yeah like u said ur his baby and his top priority so he loves taking care of u <3 subby fuma is incredibly delicious to think about if im so fr like idk

nico - i giggled. SWITCH NICHO IS SO REAL TO ME 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭. ppl are too scared to play around with the idea of subby nicho but COME ONNNN u can't tell me this man wouldn't look and sound so good when he's getting edged and ur sucking him off or jerking him off or riding him like i can hear it so clearly in my mind how he'd suck in a breath thru his teeth and how he'll grunt and groan sm and how- yeah. also pussy obsessed nicho?? hello??? him not being able to be without pussy is so true i could say sm abt that but imma move on for everyone sake

juju - the way when i read his section the first time i went "NOOOOOO" but then i read it again and was like,,, oh wait kinda true tho. he leans so subby cuz of how well he listens and how obedient he is. he'll let u use him and grind against his face/ride his face, he'll let u pull his hair and get yourself off using his tongue like 😞. he's a service top cuz he likes making u feel good but i will never deny sub juju. i will never deny how pathetically hard he gets sometimes and how he Will tear up in front of u quicker than either of u could even process 😞

yuma - EXACTLY LMAOHSJS he's not actually mean or crazy at all like he is during sex which is what makes it hotter cuz he's so versatile. i do think that he can change up a lot and he can be soft and sweet at times too but he's just a rough sex enjoyer what can i say 🤷🏾‍♀️. i do wish ppl would fuck around with the idea of sub yuma more tho cuz i need people to feed me those thoughts like i wanna hear what ppl say so bad 😞 (teamies dom, sub, switch analysis but it's just me wanting people to explore the idea of sub teamies) AND THE JEALOUS SEX?? big yes he's sooo jealous and possessive sometimes like it's crazy 💔

jo - ?!?!?!?!?! $! $;! #;#;#? +#(#) #+#-(# like what like ?!?! $? ;$? $+($-# and why have u never come to my inbox abt sub jo?? didn't even know this was an agenda u had wtf??? LITERALLY okay. okay. let me control myself. i see him as a sub as well and i see him as the type who's a little naive but not necessarily in a bad way. he's just the type to follow you so blindly just bc ur his partner and he wants to do anything to please you so he can be ur good boy 😞 i could see the dom jo agenda but it's smth abt sub jo that feels so true to him 😞 he's so cute ugh

harua - yes 😞 i am aware of your switch rua agenda 🙏🏾 and honestly i think it's quite accurate i just cannot fully process harua as a dom like it just won't register in my mind so i always just think of him as a sub. and i always feel like he's not really like a brat he's just kinda moody and super needy and if he ever is bratty it's cuz of him acting up for your attention 😞

taki - ??!?!?!!!!! $;! $:$? $($(($$ okay so?!?!? fuck i literally agree like FUCKK 😭 taki can be so submissive to the point where if u told him to get on all fours and bark then he fucking would. this man will do anything for some pussy like im being so fr. he just might fall over and die if u haven't made him cum in a little while cuz he's like erm hello??? but he's such a good sub like genuinely 😞 but as a dom?? 😵‍💫😵‍💫 can't even properly process the thoughts that are happening in my mind but i just know he's rough and mean like u said, a little controlling too if im so so honest with u ohhh em geeeee. like maybe he only rlly doms on specific occasions or like maybe u both just switch often cuz i could see him needing someone who's willing to switch up regularly depending on your moods yk? (FUCK HOW'D THIS PARAGRAPH GET SO LONG??? i feel like i didn't even say anything 😭)

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thebestofoneshots · 4 months

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IDEAS? I GOT YOU!!!

ok so this just came to me as I was reading your response but VAMPIRE READER MY BELOVED!!!!

Hear me out! Plot point I imagine:

It’s a full moon lily goes out to the forbidden forest (this could be before lily finds out about Remus being a werewolf or maybe she had to go get something and she’s only on the outskirts of the forest ) she’s trying to get what she needs quickly and efficiently as it is late and well forbidden. She hears something lurking around her but she can’t tell from which direction. Is it a deer? A bunny? Another person? She doesn’t really want to find out so instead she quickly and quietly decides to get the hell out of there but before she can successfully leave the forest MOONY JUMPS OUT! Lilly stumbles back before booking it in the other direction not thinking about anything besides “get the fuck away from the danger” moony is gaining fast but before he can catch her JAMES COMES TO THE THE RESCUE! he shoves moony aside and tries to keep moony away from lily. At first lily stares at the stag in shock because holy shit this giant stag just saved me but as moony tries to claw at her and the stag bellows (is that what it’s called?) she remembers her need to run and starts running again. But uh oh! Her ankle is twisted! So now she’s hobbling away as fast as she can cursing under her breath because she’s too smart to get herself into such a dumb situation like this!

Now there’s only so much James can do against moony by himself but he tries his damn hardest before moony gets out of his hold and starts chasing after Lily again this time with James hot on his tail. James yet again shoves moony aside and they tussle on the ground as lily is just inches away watching in horror as the stag who saved her gets throw into a tree. This is it she thinks. This is how I die. As the stag calls out a pained cry and as she closes her eyes accepting her early demise……nothing. Wait nothing? Quickly she opens her eyes to see someone in front of her. READER! Who in their right mind would fight a werewolf? How is this person fighting a werewolf bare handed? She stares up at this mystery person and can only see so much. because of the darkness theses not enough to she can conclude about this person but she can tell they went to hogwarts based on the clothes they’re wearing. As she continues to stare in shock she notices the person is holding the werewolf back by its jaw. Drool dripping down the persons arms. The stag is watching in shock or confusion? It’s hard to tell knowing he’s probably concussed.

The mystery person tells lily to run. She can see the persons canines and is appalled at how sharp they are. Are those fangs? She wonders. But before she can ask out loud they yell for her to run as they throw the werewolf back at least a couple feet and without a second thought she runs as fast as her sprained ankle can handle. Hearing grunts and growls in the distance. She runs as she hears screams. She runs until she reaches hogwarts. She runs until she reaches the gryfindor common room. She runs until she reaches her dorm room. She slides down the door and try’s to catch her breath closing her eyes until she ends up falling asleep against the door.

This was long and probably really shitty but hear me out. you can take this and make it like 10 times better it’d be amazing!

OK IM GONE!!! 🏃‍♀️

BRO I LOVE THIS!

AND it could totally be the beginning of the story as well. We could INTRODUCE the reader like this and start it with Lily's POV. I mean omniscient but focusing on her, and then from there build up until that point and the moment she sees the reader she can have a mini sexuality crisis bc HOW can this hot person do this?

But also, I kinda dig the idea that Remus would absolutely love the reader on a platonic kind of way because OMG there IS someone in the world that could actually fucking control Moony and they would become besties bc neither of them asked to be what they are and it'd be so freaking interested in exploring that side of the story as well.

AND since I AM writing vampires for the last Maraudween I feel like I'm actually going to have enough practice to be able to make this one happen ufff.

AND THE NAME?!?!? We could have a super meta name for the story bc Vampires are already super cool and did I mention to you guys I'm currently reading Dracula? I'm SOOOOO ready for this one!

#marauders x reader #Jilly x reader #james x lily #lily evans x you #lily evans x y/n #lily evans x reader #james potter x reader #james x lily x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #the marauders x you #marauders #the marauders x reader #marauders x y/n #marauders x you #jily x reader #poly marauders #poly!marauders x reader #poly marauders x reader

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somewhereincairparavel · 2 months

Text

Hazel and Jason's dynamic is SO fucking disappointing now that I'm binge reading the books again. It was so frosty and distant. Jason was literally just mistrusted and "not like what she expected him to be" in 90% of her Hoo POVS it's sad really. I really wish they would bonded properly. So much potential for friendship just down the drain.

Hazel's unwillingness to forgive Jason for suspecting Nico was genuinely pissing me off I'm sorry 😭 like I never thought I'd get mad at Hazel of all people bc she is literally a sweetie, but she's infantilized way too much in the fandom, so her flaws are easily overlooked, but like she literally went all volcano on Jason and held a grudge against him till House of Hades too? Like I get that she worried about her brother and stuff I'd be mad too. But it's the fact that she selectively forgave Leo SO quickly and never even yelled at him (even though he's the one who started the suspicion in the first place even jokingly called nico creepy and stuff behind his back not that I'm trying to fault him or anything I love him)

look I'm not saying it's all Leo's fault or anything, in my opinion, both Jason and Leo were right to suspect nico because of how back and forth nico went from both camps without saying a word and also pretended to not know percy and stuff. So it's realistically shady behaviour from their pov.

But Hazel gets all sweet and soft on Leo because of Sammy and forgives him in a heartbeat, tbh tho she never really directed her anger on Leo in the first place so there was nothing to forgive. But when Jason apologizes, she gets all cold and frosty like accepting his genuine apology is the hardest thing she has ever done?? Like?? Hazelnut I love you and all, but you just accused Jason of unfairly judging nico but you ironically unfairly judged Jason and went all sweetheart on Leo?? Contradiction much?? Either forgive both of them or don't forgive either of them? Why the bias?

Then in HoH she goes on a whole lot of yapping about how she doubts his capabilities as if she didnt just idolize him like 5 minutes ago RIGHT after he encouraged her that she was doing well and included her as a part of the team?? Idk, she was so petty with him and for what?. I just found it unfair that Jason considered hazel a friend but she didn't consider him one and just fully went all judgy mode on him for the rest of the series. she holds on an even bigger grudge than nico lol. she literally did anything but forgive him or give him a chance. so ooc.

Also, In TOA, I found out Hazel told Apollo that she talked to Jason's ghost after he died, to yell at him about how much his sacrifice had hurt Piper :/ like rlly? Out of all the things you could say to a person you idolized who made a lifechanging sacrifice, you guilt trip him for the sacrifice instead of gratitude? Ig she may have been raging out of grief or something but I honestly didn't like the way their dynamic ended. So incomplete. Just another reason of why I found fanon way better.

Hazel coming in terms with the fact that jason is a boy, and not a legend would've been sm better. since the seven basically signifies friendship and comfort. him being a boy with feelings is basically the whole point of his character, but it only gets acknowledged by nico and leo. hazel of all people would've understood jason's internal struggle, she has literally come back from the dead, if anyone knows about struggle, its her.

#I honestly hope y'all don't misunderstand this post as hazel slander or something. i love that pookie #but its time we acknowledge that she is flawed and is not an innocent bean who can do no wrong simply because she is infantilized #I am just super salty at how Jason had like no closeness to anyone but leo and nico #the amount of slandering this man had to endure from ppl. like the hazel raging at him was such an unnecessary addition.#Hazel and jason could've had a great heart to heart scene #pjo #pjo fandom #percy jackson #pjo hoo #jason grace #pjo hoo toa #pjo series #annabeth chase #piper mclean #leo valdez #hazel levesque #frank zhang

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whatsnewalycat · 7 months

Text

Psychomanteum / Chapter 14

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)

Chapter 14: Wish You Were Here

Chapter Summary: Dieter takes action.

Word Count: 9.9k+

Content / Warnings: dieter pov, implications of suicidal thoughts, swearing, alcohol use, airplane, uncertainty, parker/jackie, infidelity (not our heroes), thoughts of cocaine use/relapse, opera, fame, very vague understanding of the criminal justice system excuse that pls, bribery, lotta fucking dialogue, lotta yearning and self-reflection, angst, our boy is a big sappy mess and we love him for it

Notes: Chapter title from “Wish You Were Here” by Pink Floyd. First and foremost, everything is gonna be ok, ok? I promise. Also, good news for people who like this story—since we’re nearing the end, I’m going to make it my primary writing focus for a while. Will be posting to AO3 later bc I can’t from mobile it’s a nightmare.

[ Previous Chapter ] [ Series Masterlist ] [ Next Chapter ]

— Dieter senses your absence before he even opens his eyes.

Oftentimes you wake before him, still weaning off your internal alarm of 5:30AM EST (not-a-fucking-chance o’clock PST). When this happens, you brew some coffee and drink your morning cup in bed, passing the time by reading, or fucking around on your phone, or writing in your journal.

Most of the time he opens his eyes and finds you deeply engrossed in one of these activities. Sometimes you’re cuddled up into his side, silently tracing patterns onto his skin. Even when you’re not in the same room when he wakes, he can still feel you, your life force brushing up against his.

But this morning is different.

Dieter winces at the morning light and sits up, rubbing his face before looking around the room. He clears his throat, then calls out your name.

It echoes back to him.

The silence that follows is eerie and distinct, its vacuousness an exclamation point that hurts his ears.

How can nothing be so loud?

Swinging his feet over the side of the bed, he goes to grab his phone off the nightstand and instead finds a note with his name on it. He sits there staring at it for a minute, rubbing the layered notebook paper between his fingertips.

The gears in his brain start to turn.

He looks at the armchair where your suitcase has been sitting the week and a half. It’s gone.

Understanding twists his guts bowtie.

Denying the cardstock confrontation, Dieter puts on a robe and searches the house.

He finds nothing.

Each empty room accumulates buzzing and hot beneath his skin.

He goes outside.

The patio, the garage, the driveway, the street.

Calling your name like a kid who lost his mom in a department store, panic building with every utterance, a desperate crescendo.

By the time he returns to the origin point, his thoughts are stumbling over one another trying to explain what the fuck could be possibly be happening, because this can’t be real.

It’s a joke, it’s a terrible joke that you’ll laugh about later—or, no, there was an emergency and you had to go—but wouldn’t you wake him? Wouldn’t you tell him? Maybe you went to the store and you’ll be right back. But why would you bring your suitcase?

He snatches the paper off his nightstand and unfolds it.

—

Dee,

I need you to know this isn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. I love you as much as humanly possible, and then some. Please understand that I couldn’t make you choose. That burden shouldn’t rest on you.

I’m sorry for ruining everything. I’m sorry for leaving like this. I’m sorry for not giving you a choice.

I love you with everything I am.

Until the next life,

Lua

PS: I stole some cash from your wallet. I’m sorry for that, too.

—

The words don’t compute at first.

He shakes his head and reads it again.

And again.

A thousand-pound weight drops his stomach to the floor. Adrenaline pumps through his heart and turns his limbs gelatin. Blood whooshes behind his ears, and—God, he’s going to be fucking sick.

The note wavers in his grip and the text starts to blur.

This isn’t right.

This can’t be happening.

He needs to talk to you right fucking now.

Overcome with this sudden rush of panic, Dieter grabs his phone off the nightstand, ignoring the barrage of notifications littering the screen, and calls you.

The line trills, and further away, he hears “I’ll Be Your Mirror” by The Velvet Underground and Nico play.

He follows the noise into the kitchen, where your phone buzzes on the countertop, displaying your contact photo for him. The one where you’re both mid-laugh with red lipstick and black face paint smudged all around your faces.

Your voicemail picks up.

“Hey, this is Louella, sorry I missed you. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back, thanks.”

A tone signals the start of recording. Dieter clears his throat, then says, “Hey, doll. It’s me. This is probably stupid because your phone is here, but I don’t know,” he pauses to gather himself as everything around him becomes blurred by tears. When he speaks again, his voice is somehow gummy and ragged at the same time, “I don’t know what to do. You’re gone, and there’s this note and… Fuck, whatever it is, we can figure it out. Please, Louella—Lua, baby, I love you. If you hear this somehow, please call me.”

When he hangs up, all he can do is stand there, staring at her phone.

The air particles around him throb with this deep, dense sorrow that cracks him wide open and hollows him out. It’s heavy. Infinite. All-consuming, like loss on loss on loss on loss.

He knows, like he just knows things, that this is what you were feeling before you left. He knows you left your phone so nobody could find you.

Beyond that, though… It's a brick wall. He tries, although he doesn’t really understand what the fuck he’s doing, to send out some kind of a psychic ping. Sometimes he can get a sense of you this way.

This time he gets nothing.

He can’t hone in on anything, can’t even feel the rough edges of your life force. The string that connects your tin cans has been severed.

What the fuck does that mean?

The not-knowing makes him anxious. His imagination starts wander deeper into the dark forest, showing him taxis and mirrors and riverbeds and—

Your phone jumps to life.

It starts ringing to the tune of “Take Your Mama” by Scissor Sisters, lighting up with a photo of you and Parker.

He scrambles to grab it and answers, “Parker—”

“Dieter?”

“Is she with you? Do you know where she is?”

“What do you mean? Isn’t she with you?”

“No, I just woke up and she’s fucking gone and there’s this note,” he sighs and throws his hand out at his side, “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“A note, what does the note say?”

“Hang on, let me,” he tucks the phone between his ear and shoulder, rummaging through the pockets of his robe, “Here we go, ok…”

He reads it to Parker, who remains silent for a long while afterwards.

“Until the next life?”

The tips of his ears heat up, and he runs a hand through his hair, “Yeah.”

“Have you talked to anyone else this morning?”

“No, I just woke up,” he starts pacing the length of his kitchen island, explaining, “Last night we were talking about moving in together, having her come out here, and… I don’t know, did I fucking scare her off or something? She seemed into it, but maybe I’m wrong, maybe I was going too fast—”

“Whoa whoa whoa, ok, slow down, papi,” Parker interjects, “It’s not like that. Her apartment was raided this morning.”

Dieter frowns, “Wait, what?”

“Yeah, some fucking journalist went poking around, talking to her neighbors and shit, digging into stuff about Ethan, their business, all that. He brought it all to the cops and demanded they do something about it, so they got a search warrant.”

Dieter stays quiet as his mind whirrs, trying to comprehend this information.

Parker continues.

“I went over there this morning, just to check in on the place, and it was fucking crawling with cops. I FaceTimed Lou and told her, then she hung up and I haven’t been able to reach her since. Figured she was talking to you, but…”

Poisoned words cycle through his head, begging to be released, but he traps them behind clamped lips.

“I called Reese to see if he knew anything, since he bumps elbows with a lotta those criminal justice guys, you know?”

“Reese?” Dieter furrows his brow, “Married guy? I thought you were done with him.”

“Yeah, well,” a sigh crackles in his ear, then Parker says, “Good thing I’m not. Turns out, he’s friends with the DA. He told Reese about the journalist shit, said they have a warrant out for Lou. Wanted on possession with intent to distribute and drug trafficking for the pot stuff, oh—and possession of cocaine, because apparently they found one of Ethan’s hiding spots.”

“Fuck.”

“I know.”

Hundreds of thoughts ricochet around his head screaming for attention. The whole goddamn dashboard is lit up and blaring WARNING WARNING WARNING—

The nausea returns. Dieter plucks a half-smoked joint from the ashtray on his countertop and lights it, then turns and slides down the cabinet onto the kitchen floor.

He takes a few hits, waiting until the overwhelm dims a bit before whispering, “Fuck, Parker, this is bad.”

“I know, baby, I know.”

The skunky smoke burns his lungs as he inhales again, holding holding holding, then lets it go.

Things start to slow down enough for him to backtrack, “Did you say a journalist?”

“Yeah, Reese couldn’t get a name, but there was this guy outside the building this morning who was—oh, fuck.”

“What oh fuck?” Dieter wrinkles his nose at the roach and takes one more drag before stubbing it out on the shiny hardwood floor.

“It was that point dexter motherfucker that did your interview. That was the guy! And I was on a video call with Lou—”

Parker cuts himself off with a gasp.

I couldn’t make you choose.

“Oh fuck,” Dieter breathes, “I gotta call you back.”

He hangs up and trades your phone for his own, rejecting an incoming call from Darlene.

It takes him three seconds to find it.

Dieter Bravo Girlfriend Wanted On Drug Trafficking Charges, Claims In Email to DIRT: “He Was In The Dark”

The header presented at the top of the article is your mugshot from your previous arrest. Your eyes appear puffy and dull and hopeless. Below it, the article continues:

Dieter Bravo’s newest girlfriend reportedly has a warrant out for her arrest in relation to drug trafficking charges.

Early this morning, the NYPD hit Louella Friedman’s Downtown Brooklyn apartment with a search warrant. Friedman was not present at the time the warrant was executed, so no arrests have been made, but law enforcement sources tell us that she is now wanted by the state of New York on multiple drug charges.

This is not Friedman's first run-in with the law. Just days ago, she appeared alongside Dieter Bravo for an exclusive interview with DIRT, in which she admitted to being convicted of felony drug trafficking in 2018. She stated during this interview that she has “changed a lot since then … we don’t want people to think we’re trying to hide any of this, because we’re not. We’re just trying to move forward together.”

The email we received from Friedman this morning paints a different picture:

“As you probably know, my apartment is being raided. I need one thing to be clear: Dieter is not complicit. He didn’t know about and did not take part in my illegal activity. He was in the dark. My mistakes are my own, and I ask that the blame be placed appropriately.”

It’s assumed that Friedman is still in the LA-area, as she and Bravo have been spotted out and about a few times this week. Before that, the pair were seen in New York, which leads us to wonder how much time the Academy Award winner actually spent in her apartment.

Bravo himself has a notoriously checkered past with drugs, and although his antics have been subdued since the “publicity stunt” for the movie Limbo (premiering next May), it wouldn’t be considered out of character for him to become knowingly involved with a drug dealer.

DIRT will continue reporting as this story unfolds.

—

The first person Dieter calls is Lincoln, who answers on the second ring with a cheerful, “Good morning, Dieter!”

“Lincoln, where the fuck are you?”

“I’m grabbing breakfast from that pla—”

“Change of plans,” Dieter leafs through the clothes hanging in his closet, “Get over here now.”

“What about—”

“Listen, I need you to get me the next flight to New York. And, uhh,” he rips a few shirts off their hangers and tosses them into the open suitcase on the floor, “Clear your schedule for at least two days. I need you to housesit.”

“Is everything alright?”

Dieter ponders the question for just a moment, long enough for a sharp ache to pierce through his chest, then says, “Hurry the fuck up, ok?”

He hangs up.

The second person he calls is his lawyer.

When he tells the guy about your situation, he says, “Well, it sounds like there’s enough room for deniability, I don’t think they’ll bring charges against you—”

“Yeah, no shit,” Dieter scoffs, “What about her, how could she get out of this?”

“With all due respect, Dieter, you’re my client, not her.”

“Come on, man. What if, you know, I was in her situation?”

On the other line, the lawyer sucks his teeth, then says, “Well, theoretically speaking, you would be looking to either turn yourself in or see if you could get the charges dropped.”

“How would one get the charges dropped?”

“The District Attorney would need to drop them.”

“Uh-huh,” Dieter nods and rubs his lips, then queries, “And if—you know, like you said, theoretically—if he were to be convinced to drop the charges—”

“See, that is a tight line to walk, and one must tread very carefully, you understand? Many methods people attempt to use in persuading district attorneys, for example, bribery or blackmail, get sticky quick. They offer the wrong amount of money, or don’t get enough dirt, or what have you, then they’re in a world of hurt.”

“Well, sure. Those people don’t use their head. But if someone wanted to just… sit down and talk to him, would that automatically raise a red flag?”

“Depends. If someone of similar notoriety as you reached out to him to set up a meeting, it might raise a red flag. But if they happened to run into each other… probably not as much.”

“I see.”

The front door swings open and he looks up, expecting to see Lincoln, but instead locks eyes with Darlene. She’s holding a phone to her ear and says, “Yeah, he’s here.”

“I gotta go,” he says, then hangs up the phone and greets Darlene, “Hey.”

Her heels click-clack on the floor as she strides over, taps on the screen of her phone, and says, “Ok, Mark, you’re on speaker. Dieter’s here.”

Darlene sets the phone down on the counter and starts rummaging through the leather bag hanging off her shoulder. The phone speaks:

“Dieter, we need to talk. Is Louella there?”

“No.”

“Is she going back to New York?”

Not sure how to answer the question, Dieter rolls his eyes, “Is that what this is about?”

“Yeah, look, this isn’t good. I’ll cut to the chase. If you endorse her claim and cut ties, we can keep you on, but if you don’t, we gotta let you go, bud.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Darlene answers this time, “We’re serious, Dieter. The optics are terrible—”

“The fucking optics, un-fucking-believable,” he mutters, pushing off the counter to pace the kitchen.

“Is it really unbelievable?” Darlene blinks, her scathing gaze steady on his, “Coke head dating a felon who’s wanted on drug charges? You don’t see how studios will react to that?”

He doesn’t answer. She continues.

“If you release a statement corroborating her story, explaining how you didn’t know, and things are over between you—”

A groan of agony rises in his throat.

“—it will work. She gave you an out, Dieter. Take it.”

His nostrils flare. Heat rises to his face and he hisses, “You never liked her, did you?”

Darlene scoffs, “What?”

“Did you even give her a chance, or did you just write her off the second you met her? That shit weasel from DIRT is the one that set all these fucking dominos up, did you know that?”

“No, of course not—”

“Dieter,” Mark sighs, “This isn’t personal. Look at the facts. You’ve done three stints in rehab just within the past decade. Beasts of the Bubble depicted you as a drug addict—Christ, you overdosed in that hotel. You just got divorced, had a ton of bad press from that. Now you’re in this very new, very serious relationship with a widowed felon. And, what, a week after swearing she’s a law-abiding citizen, cops find enough shit in her apartment to issue a warrant for her arrest? Do you know how that makes you look? Does it sound like you’re a person anyone could trust to sign onto a project?”

Dieter presses his palms against the kitchen counter and leans over the phone, “It sounds like you’ve already made a choice, Mark. You wanna drop me as a client, just fucking do it.”

“If you make a public statement saying you were shocked to find out that she took advantage of your vulnerable state, you’re not using, blah blah blah, this could go away relatively quickly. Most likely she’d be painted as a con woman or gold digger or something along those lines, which makes you the victim. Granted, that makes you look a bit like a sucker, but we can live with that.”

The nausea returns.

“I can’t,” Dieter shakes his head, “I’m sorry, but I can’t live with that. Saying that she tried to steal my money—god, not a fucking chance in hell—”

“Of course, you wouldn’t say that,” Darlene cuts in, “People might infer that, is all Mark means. You know how this works—”

“Yes, I do know how it works. And no, I can’t. I won’t. It’s all fucking bullshit, the whole thing. Darlene, you’re bullshit,” he directs his voice to the phone, “Mark, you’re fucking bullshit. Fucking… optics and public opinion and the two of you trying to stage direct my fucking life—my life. Mine. I am my own person. And I love her. I’m going to find her, and fix this, and spend the rest of my fucking life with her even if it doesn’t make sense to anyone else but us.”

Darlene holds up her hand, “Dieter, you’re making a mistake—”

He laughs.

It booms, dry and humorless, through the house.

She jumps in surprise at the noise, then looks at him like he’s fucking crazy. Which is fair. He sounds fucking crazy.

But for once, he feels completely sane.

His spine straightens flag pole and he shakes his head, “Trust me, Darlene. I’m not.”

They sit there, staring at each other in a silent standoff. Her hazel eyes flick around his face, then drop to the phone.

“Mark, I’ll call you back.”

Darlene ends the call before Mark can respond and stomps around the dining room table to a solid oak credenza, popping the top off one of the decanters of booze.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I need a drink.”

“It’s 10am.”

Whiskey sloshes into the crystal tumbler. Darlene glances over her shoulder at him, holding up the bottle in question. He sighs, which she interprets correctly as a yes, and pours a second glass.

Dieter murmurs a thanks when she returns and hands it to him. He takes a big swallow of the liquor. Leaning back on the counter beside him, she does the same.

“How’s she doing?”

His stomach twists.

He takes another swig and shrugs, then digs the note from his robe pocket and gives it to her.

She reads it, then passes it back and empties her whiskey down her throat.

“Fuck.”

“My thoughts exactly,” he mutters into the tumbler as he drinks the remaining booze in one large, burning gulp.

“So you don’t know where she is?”

Dieter pinches his eyes closed, tilting his head up at the ceiling, and shakes his head, “She was gone when I woke up. Took her suitcase. Left her phone, funny enough.”

After a brief silence, she tells him, “I didn’t know David was looking into her. Even if I did, I would never try to get her in trouble. You know that, right?”

He shrugs. His shoulders weigh a million pounds.

“Look,” she sighs, “Maybe I don’t see whatever it is you see in her, but I do see that you love each other.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think she’s turning herself in?”

He furrows his brow and looks down at the floor, shaking his head, “No.”

Dieter breathes it in, that palpable emotion still clinging to the air. He sinks into the dense, dark feeling—blackest ink in the world—letting it carry him downstream. There’s a glimmer of something. A spark of you.

He speaks it out loud.

“She’s in the fucking woods now.”

“In the woods? Dieter, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbles, scrubbing his face with his hands, “I don’t fucking know. I’m scared, you know, with the note…”

He doesn’t want to say it. If he doesn’t speak it into existence, maybe it won’t be true, that you’re looking for a place to die. Like how dogs do when they’re ready, crawling off into isolation to protect their loved ones.

Darlene stays quiet.

He swallows hard and starts pacing the kitchen floor again, running his fingers through his hair, “If I can get the DA to drop the charges, maybe it won’t be too late. Maybe I can fix this. But I have to find her, too.“ A hot rush of frustration overtakes him. He slams his fist down on the countertop with a thud and barks, “FUCK!”

“Ok,” Darlene turns to face him, placing a hand on his arm, “It’s gonna be ok—”

“But what if it’s not?”

Emotion clouds his vocal cords and vision, warping both into a wet, smeary mess as he says, “What if she fucking—fuck, Darlene, what if she goes through with this? I can’t do this without her. I won’t.”

“We don’t know that this is a suicide note—”

His whole body twists up into a snarl, a guttural moan rising from his throat as the idea shreds him to bits. He shakes his head in protest, because he does, he knows that’s what this is, but he can’t fucking bear to speak its name.

Darlene watches him unravel for a moment before taking the crystal tumblers back to the credenza for a refill. When she returns, she holds one out to him and asks, “We need a plan to track her down. Have any ideas?”

He rolls his head on his shoulders to look at her, glancing down at the cup, “We?”

She nudges him again, so he takes it and sips while she grimaces, “If I didn’t raise hell about the interview and get David in trouble… who knows, maybe we wouldn’t be here. I doubt he was looking to write an exposé on her before that.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” he shrugs, “Doesn’t matter now.”

“Still, I’m… sorry,” she stares down at her glass and swirls the amber liquid around a bit while telling him, “The contract, too. I’m sorry about that. Like Mark said, it’s not personal. It’s business.”

“I know.”

“You’re sure, though? That you don’t want to corroborate her story?”

“Yes, I’m sure I don’t want to throw the love of my life under the fucking bus, Darlene.”

She holds up a hand in defense, “Ok—”

“Even if that’s what she wanted me to do, no fucking way. She’s a good fucking person and I won’t sit here and agree with people saying she’s some fucking lowlife, because she’s not—”

“Ok ok ok—Dieter, I understand. I was just making sure.”

He huffs and takes a drink.

An uncomfortable silence settles over them. The booze starts to course heat through Dieter’s veins, sedating his agitation, making his head swim.

“If you’re not my publicist anymore, why the fuck are you still here?”

“Because I’m still your friend.”

He looks over at her, meeting her hazel eyes, and senses sincerity.

His jaw works back and forth. He takes another drink, then tells her, “I’m going to New York to meet with the DA. Lincoln should be here any minute, he’ll stay here in case she comes back while I’m gone. I’m gonna have him try to track her whereabouts, see if she left any breadcrumbs—”

“You have a meeting with the DA?”

“Not… necessarily.”

“Then, what—” she pinches the bridge of her nose, “I don’t wanna know, do I?”

“Doubt it.”

“Right,” she sighs, shakes her head, then starts pacing, “Well, if Lincoln is here, he can call around to places, but I’m assuming you don’t want him to leave the house? In case she comes back?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll help follow up. Call around, and if needed, go to the places she might be. See if I can’t track her down.”

Hope swells in his chest. His posture softens, and he nods, “Thank you.”

She waves him off, “You said she left her phone, right?”

“Yeah, uhh,” he pulls it from his robe pocket and stares at the lock screen, “I felt, I dunno, weird… about going through it. So I haven’t yet.”

Darlene holds out her manicured hand, so he gives it to her.

“Zero two one four eight eight.”

She types in the passcode and starts tapping around as she paces, sipping her whiskey every now and then.

Meanwhile, Dieter finishes his drink and stares at the empty glass, wavering back and forth on whether or not to pour another. A hungry buzzing works through the tendons in his neck. There’s an old, familiar voice at the back of his head, urging him for more more more, begging, pleading for sedation, anything to make these big feelings less so.

Booze would be great, but you have the morphine, too, or the coke, fuck—now would be the perfect time for coke. It would straighten out your thoughts. Sharpen you. It could help you, Dieter, really. Help you clear your head and get to the bottom of this fucking mess, it could be the thing that saves her—

“She made an outbound call this morning,” Darlene murmurs as she punches the number into her phone, then raises it to her ear.

Dieter hears the faint voice from the speaker answer, “Hollywood Checker Cabs, how can I help you?”

She snaps her fingers at Dieter and pantomimes writing. He scrambles around the kitchen trying to find paper and a writing utensil while she asks, “Hi, my friend ordered a cab early this morning and I’m trying to track where she might’ve been dropped off, can you help me with that?”

Dieter finds a notebook on the counter. He pulls the pen from its spine and writes down your phone number and full name, then slides it over the island counter to Darlene, who nods and reads your phone number, then says, “Yeah, she called at 5:32, the pickup is—yep, that’s it, that’s her.”

She grabs the pen and starts scribing. Every few seconds she murmurs an uh-huh or ok.

Behind her, the door to the garage swings open and in comes Lincoln, carrying a brown paper bag and a backpack.

Concern creases his forehead as he approaches, and drops the paper bag on the counter, whispering to Dieter, “What’s going on?”

“Shh.”

Darlene glances up at them, then back at the notebook, and nods, “That’s incredibly helpful, thank you. Appreciate it.”

When she hangs up, she says, “The driver dropped her off at Union Station around 6:30 this morning,” then continues typing in her phone, “From there, she could’ve taken another taxi, or a bus, or a train—”

“She took a bus.”

Lincoln asks, “Who took a bus? Lua?”

They both ignore the question. Darlene blinks up at Dieter, and before she can question him, he shrugs, “Gut feeling.”

“Gut feeling,” she snorts, shaking her head, and tosses her phone in her bag with a sigh, “Well, I’ll drive over there and see if she’s still there. When does your flight leave?”

Dieter looks at Lincoln, who perks up and pulls out his phone, “Let’s see… A car will be here in… fifteen.”

“I’ll call you when I know more, ok?” Darlene says as she pulls her purse up onto her shoulder. She regards Dieter for a second or two before patting him on the shoulder, “We’re gonna find her.”

He doesn’t trust himself to verbalize the uncertainty churning in his guts, so he acknowledges the sentiment with a flaccid smile and a nod, thinking, “I fucking hope so.”

—

“Hey, this is Louella, sorry I missed you. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back, thanks.”

“Hey, love. I’m, uhh… leaving you an update, I guess. I’m going to New York to sort this shit out, talk to some people, see what I can do. But if you get this somehow, please, baby… please come home. Ok. I love you, bye.”

—

Suspended miles above the Midwest, with Dieter packed in a tin can alongside all the other mouth-breathing sardines, the in-flight WiFi goes out.

He tries watching a movie, but none of the information computes. His mind keeps wandering to you. What you’re doing, where you are, why you didn’t just fucking wake him up and talk to him.

Seconds twist under his skin.

The minutes lodge inside his throat.

The tiny screen could be showing him fucking anything, and his demeanor wouldn’t change a drop.

Tight-lipped. Hostile. Dead-eyed.

That’s what he gleans, anyway, from the way people react to his presence. The downcast glances and wide berths. How the flight attendant doesn’t even try to protest when he requests four mini-bottles of vodka.

Wincing with every swallow, Dieter drinks them and scrolls through his text history with you. It’s not uncommon for him to do this while idly passing the time alone, within the past few months especially.

Re-reading each conversation, admiring the photos and screenshots, allowing himself to daydream about you… usually, he finds it comforting.

This time it’s different.

It’s steeped in the knowledge that he may never receive another message from you.

Flipping his phone face down on the little shitty tray, he looks up at the Q*bert air vent and releases a big sigh. The thoughts of you creep back into his brain. He doesn’t shoo them away, though. It’s fucking pointless.

Please understand that I couldn’t make you choose. That burden shouldn’t rest on you.

A burden.

What a load of shit.

As if he wouldn’t let hellfire lick his bones to dust for one more earthly second with you. As if you don’t revive him every single time your lips meet his. As if he could breathe without you in the atmosphere.

Of fucking course he would choose you.

Over anything, really. Especially acting. Fuck, maybe that’s exactly what he needs. It’s all just stupid Hollywood bullshit anyway. Being owned by a dozen different people at any point in time. Everyone trying to get their finger in the goddamn pie. He’s tired of being a billboard first and a human second.

The more he thinks about it, the madder he gets. He douses his stomach with vodka, thinking about the fame machine, how it chewed you up and spit you out in no time at all.

He resents the public spotlight. His whole adolescence, he dreamed of having a successful career as an actor. He worked hard and got lucky and his dreams came to life, and now, well… he’s right back where he started.

Watching, helpless and terrified, as the person he loves gets pummeled half to death.

—

Dieter leans on the doorframe and gives apartment 14C three firm knocks.

The blaring music inside cuts. Parker stomps up to the other side of the door, “Who is it?”

“Fucking Santa Claus, who do you think?”

A thunk sounds from the deadbolt, then Parker swings the door open, propping a hand on his hip and shaking his head, “Santa Claus? Really?”

His face is fully dragged up in the style of Jackie Lantern, with blue eyeshadow and hot pink lips and harsh contour, while the rest of him is Regular Parker, with sweatpants and a baggy Bikini Kill t-shirt.

“Ho ho ho,” Dieter enters the cozy, dimly lit apartment and pulls him into a one-armed hug, “Good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too,” Parker mumbles as he wraps his lanky arms around Dieter and squeezes, “Wish it was under better circumstances.”

“Me too, bud,” Dieter takes a step back and ventures into what looks like a new-age opium den.

Incense and pot smoke cloud the air. A loom-woven tapestry, depicting a unicorn standing triumphant in a field of wildflowers, takes up almost the entire wall behind a well-worn sofa. On the opposite wall, at least 50 framed bug specimens hang on display.

Between the deep-seated couch and the TV sits a big octagonal coffee table, its glass top all littered with books and water bottles and cannabis paraphernalia.

Dieter, finding none of this surprising, looks around and nods, “Nice place.“

Parker bolts the door closed and turns to scan Dieter up and down, “Nice suit.”

“I hate this fucking thing,” he mutters, rolling his shoulders in a feeble attempt to make more room inside the jacket, then points to Parker’s sweatpants, “Is that what you’re wearing?”

“Shade,” Parker scoffs and starts off down the short hallway into his bedroom, “I’ll be ready in a minute, help yourself to whatever.”

“Where do you keep your liquor?”

“On top of the fridge.”

Dieter wanders into the kitchen and grabs a bottle of whiskey from its home, then starts flipping through cabinets. When he finds the one with cups, he calls out to Parker, “Want a drink?”

“Lord, please.”

He unscrews the cap and pours two generous servings. Before returning the bottle, he takes a pull off it. The cheap booze burns the whole way down, settling like fire in his belly.

Parker comes stomping back into the room, clawing at the back of his blue sequin gown, “Do me a favor, love, help me zip this?”

Dieter signals for him to spin around, then guides the zipper up his bony back as Parker asks, “Any updates from your neck of the woods?”

He taps on his shoulder, giving him the all clear.

Parker turns and leans back against the galley kitchen’s countertop opposite Dieter, who hands him a drink.

“Yeah,” Dieter nods, takes a sip of the shitty whiskey, then explains, “Darlene was able to convince the security team at Union Station to let her review footage from this morning. At 6:30 this morning, Lua boarded a Greyhound bus that dropped her off in Fresno around 11:00. Darlene couldn’t get much over the phone from them, so she’s driving up there to raise hell, see what she can find out.”

The words come out dull and matter-of-fact. Offline, disconnected from the treasure chest labeled LUA.

Parker studies him, “How’re you holding up, papi, you doing ok?”

“No.”

He stares down into his cup and thinks he should probably say something else, but comes up with nothing. It feels both pointless and too painful.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

When he glances up at Parker, and their eyes meet, he recognizes the melancholy there. His own, reflected back at him.

He shifts a little and adds, “After we get this part over with, though, maybe we can… I don’t know, get hammered, cry about it. Drown our sorrows or whatever. If you want.”

The corner of Parker’s hot pink lips turns up in a smirk and he chuckles, “Long as we don’t get arrested doing this stupid ass shit, I will take you up on that.”

“We’re not gonna get arrested, I promise. He’ll take the offer.”

“And how do you know that?”

Dieter could make a reference to The Godfather here, or mention the thick wads of cash lining his Armani suit, but thinks better of it. Probably best he doesn’t know.

Instead, he asks, “Do you trust me?”��

“You know we wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“Then trust me, we’re gonna be fine. Just follow the plan.”

Parker snorts and shakes his head, muttering something about ‘you cryptic ass motherfucker’ into his glass as he takes a sip.

Dieter drinks, too, then tells him, “I like your dress.”

“Thanks,” he smiles, eyes flicking to the clock on the stove, “Fuck, I gotta finish getting ready or we’re gonna be late.”

“Can I pick out your hair?”

Parker groans a little, feigning annoyance. He pushes off the counter and starts towards his room, “Fine, but I reserve the right to veto.”

—

“Hey, this is Louella, sorry I missed you. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back, thanks.”

“Hey, doll, it’s me. I’m uhh… in New York, at Parker’s place—”

“Who are you talking to?”

“I’m leaving her a message.”

“Give it, I wanna say something.”

“Just hold on—”

“Hey Miss Lou, I love you, I miss you, and let me tell you, your boy is a goddamn mess. And, um… so am I. I’m worried about you—we’re worried about you. Just… let us know you’re ok, ok?”

“Me again. We’re gonna go fix this. I love you, Louella. Please come home.”

—

Instead of conversing en route to the Metropolitan Opera House, they pass a flask of whiskey back and forth and occasionally sing along to the music on Jackie Lantern’s “PUSSY POWER” playlist.

Although neither of them mention it, Dieter knows they’re essentially doing the same thing. Hyping themselves up. Trying to ban the performance anxiety from their brains as they get into character.

By the time he and Parker arrive at Metropolitan Opera House, the booze has fully assimilated into Dieter’s bloodstream.

Thank fucking god.

It grinds down the coarse edges of reality and allows him to slip effortlessly into a familiar skin.

Dieter Bravo: Washed-up Actor.

Dieter Bravo: Party Monster.

Dieter Bravo: Brazen Jackass.

A carefully curated persona so convincing, it had him fooled for years before you coaxed the real him out of hiding.

That guy, the real him, or whatever the fuck, is not the right man for this job. Too soft. Too emotional. Guy is a pansy, he would fucking cry or make a scene or something.

Seriously.

He has no jurisdiction here.

Here, in this glitzy opera house, among the other black-tie patrons who regard him and Jackie Lantern with a kind of grotesque curiosity that guy couldn’t fucking handle.

But, Dieter Bravo: Attention Whore?

Eating. This. Shit. Up.

“Literal fucking pearl clutching, ho-ly shit,” he murmurs to Jackie’s big, white blonde afro wig as they walk up the red carpeted stairs into the lobby.

It opens up into a huge space that reminds him of a cave.

Brightly-lit, thanks to the starburst chandeliers dripping from the ceiling like stalactites, but a cave all the same. All four stories of shining white marble look to be hollowed out over centuries. Smooth, curved staircases flowing into terraces, filled with hundreds of well-dressed people and the abstract murmur of their conversations.

For the millionth time today, he wishes you were here.

You would be awestruck, gazing around with starry eyes that would make him appreciate its beauty that much more. You would look at him, in that way you do, and everyone else would melt away. You would smile and make those crystal chandeliers look like bare fluorescent bulbs. Put the goddamn place to shame.

“Whaddaya think, sugar? Get a drink?”

He glances up at Jackie over the rim of his sunglasses and tosses his sloshy head back and forth, trying to gauge how drunk he actually is, then shrugs, “Fuck it, why not.”

She leads the way while Dieter follows in her wake, delighting at the number of people who ogle Jackie, with her big hair and her commanding presence and her blue gown, shimmering aqua and cyan and turquoise in the light.

Only a few people seem to notice him trailing behind her. Fewer yet glint any tell-tale signs of recognition. The little upright jolt. The furrowed brow leaping into a surprised expression. The whispered “Is that who I think it is?” to the person beside them. Or, his favorite, the scramble to grab their phone and snap a photo.

They order drinks and find a tall table in the corner to lean against. From this vantage point, they survey the crowd for their subjects.

“How much does your man know?”

“My man,” Jackie mutters to herself with a little scoff, glancing down at her martini, “He’s not my man. I’m just a rental.”

Dieter peels his eyes away from the crowd to look at her, “A rental?”

“Not good enough to invest in long-term.”

His head rocks back in understanding, and he frowns, “How long have you been seeing him?”

“Off and on for two years.”

As she says this, she looks up, flicking her eyes around the room. Then she zeroes in on something. Her posture perks to attention. That little glint of recognition.

Dieter follows her gaze to what can only be described as the most average looking white man in Manhattan. Dusty blonde hair, athletic build, black suit.

He would’ve completely overlooked the guy if not for the precision of Jackie’s stare.

Well, that and the fact that you’ve gone on your fair share of angry rants about the man, which involved you showing Dieter his Instagram. This is how he also recognizes the mousy woman standing at his side.

“He brought his wife?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you two me—”

“Nope.”

The sullen aura radiating off her makes Dieter tick his jaw back and forth. He looks between her and Reese, then asks, “Does he know the plan?”

“Kind of,” she shrugs, “Bare bones, enough to maintain plausible deniability.”

“Uh huh. How did Reese know about Mr. Lindorm’s uhhh…”

He scrunches his face up and turns his wrist around, trying to find the right word.

Jackie raises an eyebrow, “Proclivities?”

“I was gonna say fetish, but sure.”

She lands a playful smack on his arm, then sighs, “Sometimes it’s best I don’t ask.”

“Don’t ask don’t tell, good policy.”

This earns him a side-eye with very little humor attached. Sore spot. Fuck.

“Look,” he leans harder on the table, “All I’m saying is you could do better. No doubt about it. You uhh… I don’t know. You deserve someone who loves you so much, they would pluck the stars from the sky and craft them into a crown for you. Not someone who keeps you a secret.”

“Craft them into a—?” She blinks at him, “Ok, papi, what the fuck’re you talking about?”

He tries to formulate an answer, to figure out where the fuck that came from, but admits, “Fuck if I know.”

“I’m cutting you off.”

“I am not that drunk.”

“Better not be, cuz it’s fuckin’ showtime. Here they come.”

“Sorry to interrupt.”

He looks to the source, flicking his gaze up and down Reese’s neat tuxedo.

Reese extends his hand, “I don’t believe we’ve met, but I’m Senator Reese Bernard—”

“I don’t endorse political campaigns, sorry.”

He starts to turn back to Jackie, who mirrors the action, then Reese, right on cue, says, “Oh, no. Nothing like that, I’m just a big fan. Could I buy you and your um,” his eyes shift to Jackie, “Companion a drink? Maybe pick your brain for a bit?”

Dieter finds himself slightly surprised with Reese’s acting ability. That is, until he remembers the man acts every single day of his life. He raises his eyebrows in question at Jackie, who holds his gaze and shrugs, “Fine by me.”

“Alright, yeah.”

A boyish grin spreads across Reese’s face, then he turns to the little mouse of a woman behind him and murmurs something to her, jerking his head towards the bar.

She nods and walks off as Reese joins their table, glancing between Dieter and Jackie, “Well, this is certainly a way to shake things up at the opera, huh? Kind of exciting,” he settles his gaze on Jackie, giving her a charming smile, “You look gorgeous.”

“Thanks, love,” she tilts her head at him, batting her lashes.

The way they look at each other, all goo-goo eyes, inspires Dieter to finish his drink. When he slams the empty glass down on the table, they both jump, snapping out of their nauseating little bubble.

“When’s our guy supposed to be here?”

“Ahhhh,” Reese frowns at his watch, then starts searching the lobby, “Should already be around somewhere. We always meet him and the missus over here for a drink before the show.”

“You guys do this often?”

He shrugs, “Every couple of weeks or so. Not really my cup of tea, or his even, but the gals love it.”

“Cute,” Dieter mutters.

Jackie shoots him a look, then asks Reese, “Do you really think this is gonna work?”

“Oh, definitely, definitely. The guy is smart when it comes to law, but thinks with his dick when it comes to most everything else,” he smirks at her, “And you’re just his type.”

In response, Dieter grunts and searches the room. His head feels weighted, brain sloshing around in the sea of alcohol he consumed throughout the day.

Maybe he should switch to water for a while, slow down this freight train.

Or maybe we should go in a different direction. Try to get a hold of something that will straighten us out.

This thought overrides his entire body, blaring and hot and uncomfortable in his veins, and he wonders if that’s why it’s called an impulse.

Wouldn’t it make you feel better?

His leg starts to bounce. He grits his teeth and reminds himself that he promised you he wouldn’t use cocaine again. Reminds himself of what you said in return:

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Your voice in his head makes his heart flutter, while the content of your statement sits heavy in his stomach, warring with that concentrated dose of urgency buzzing through him.

“There he is,” Jackie murmurs into her wine glass, “Over by the stairs.”

Jerking to attention like he fell asleep at the wheel, Dieter follows her laser-focused gaze to a distinguished salt-and-pepper man posing for a photo with a tall blonde woman.

The way they stand next to each other, all rigid and precise, their perfect, practiced smiles spread wide beneath dead eyes… it strikes him as familiar.

Middle-aged Barbie and Ken.

A fair comparison, although she looks closer to 20 than 40. Either that or she has a stellar plastic surgeon.

There’s something else, though.

It’s in the way they take a big step apart when the photographer gets his shot. How they seem to be bickering at each other out the side of their faces between fake smiles.

Anika and Dieter.

He studies them with a morbid kind of curiosity, wondering if that’s what they would have eventually been like if they tried to make it work. If, almost a year ago, he would’ve gone home to her instead of boarding that plane to New York.

They would’ve fought about it. Maybe they would’ve cried and had make-up sex. He probably would’ve gone to rehab, and couples counseling, and, hell, maybe they would’ve had a kid or something. Things would’ve felt real and good with her for a while.

But it would have faded.

After a while, he would have strayed again. He would have started getting high and fucking around all the time. He knows this like he knows you’re alive, like he just knows things, certain and right at the very core of him: He never would have found peace until he found you.

Instinctually, he wants to say you changed him, that you made him want to be a better man. But it dawns on him, with stunning clarity, that you didn’t. You didn’t change him any more than an astronomer changes the universe when they discover a star.

Which is to say, darling, that you just brought him into focus so he could see himself for who he really is.

Anything else would have been a plastic, miserable cohabitation.

As this sinks in, that hungry buzzing in his chest wanes. He understands that he can’t break his promise to you. More aptly, he won’t, because he’s not that man anymore.

—

Sometimes things go sideways.

For instance, sometimes the love of your life thinks that disappearing is the best solution to both save your career and evade a second felony.

Sometimes, though… the universe aligns in your favor, and a plan goes off better than you ever could have imaged.

Sometimes your girlfriend’s best friend’s boyfriend’s wife, who Dieter eventually learns is named Rachel, runs into her friends, Mr. and Mrs. District Attorney, on her way back from the bar and invites them to join your table.

They introduce themselves as John and—no fucking joke—Barbara Lindorm. Just as Reese predicted, John is captivated by Jackie the second he lays eyes on her. He occupies the open space next to her and laughs at her jokes, frequently splitting off into quiet little side conversations, where Dieter hears him ask where she’s from, what she does for a living, and whether she and Dieter are dating—which is great news, because it means he has not placed him as Dieter Bravo: Louella Friedman’s Meddlesome Boyfriend.

If Barbara notices her husband flirting, she doesn’t let it show. Dieter surmises it’s because he’s doing a bit of flirting himself, letting his gaze linger on her longer than appropriate, complimenting her dress, her hair, her nails. Not because he’s interested or anything, but rather to provide a bit of a distraction while Jackie reels in her husband.

It’s a little fucked up, sure, but you’d understand. Think big picture, baby. The greater good or whatever.

At one point, he sees Jackie pull out her phone and tell John, “Oh, I have to show you this picture from my last show, you’ll love this.”

This is the move. The part where she shows him a typed out message telling him to follow her at intermission.

Dieter calls attention to the other side of the table, asking Reese, “So, what, do you guys have regular seats or something? Since you come here so often.”

Reese sees the setup and nods, “Oh, definitely. A box, actually, they’re great seats—“ he cuts himself off with a gasp, slamming his palms down on the table, “Hold on, I’m getting a crazy idea. The other couple we usually come here with dropped out at the last minute. Do you two want their seats?”

Dieter glances over at Barbara, meeting her demure gaze, while he hears John murmur to Jackie, “You’re right, I do love that.”

“Why the hell not,” he licks his lips and shrugs, departing from Barbara’s eyes to meet Reese’s, “Let’s keep this party rolling.”

Reese grins, “Fantastic! Ok, do you guys wanna go now, or…?”

The lights wax and wane in brightness a few times, signaling curtain call, and Dieter smirks, “Lead the way.”

—

While waiting for the gilded curtains to part, Dieter flips through the program for Ariadne auf Naxos, tuning out the meaningless chit chat taking place around him.

He skims the synopsis provided, mostly just trying to look busy. One sentence catches his attention.

Ariadne is alone in front of her cave.

He tilts his head at it, lingering for a moment before resuming the skim. His eyes snag on the words stars vanish, then backtrack to the beginning of the sentence.

Entranced by Ariadne’s beauty, Bacchus tells her that he would sooner see the stars vanish than give her up.

Like he did with the last line, Dieter stares at it, slightly stunned. He shifts in his seat, glancing around before leaning over the program to re-read the opera’s synopsis from the beginning.

The passage briefly recounts the story of Ariadne, who assisted Thesus in escaping a labyrinth because she loved him. They were betrothed, and Ariadne left her family to be with him. On the trip home, Thesus abandoned her on a remote island while she was sleeping.

Ariadne woke and found herself alone on the beach. Heartbroken, she longed to die. When Bacchus arrived on the island, Ariadne first thought he was the messenger of death, then mistook him for Thesus. Bacchus explained that he was neither, he was a god. They fell in love and rose into the heavens.

Dieter sits back in his seat and fidgets, trying to find comfort despite this goddamn suit jacket, all stiff and tight with wads of cash. Despite the painful parallels his mind keeps drawing.

You are fucking everywhere.

The opera. The crystal galaxy chandeliers that hang from what looks like a bright white tunnel into the afterlife. The scalloped ceiling, backlit with a warm, golden light, reminding him of goldfish scales.

Are they signs or is he just losing his fucking mind?

“Probably both,” he mutters to himself.

Jackie looks up from her program at him, raising an eyebrow, “What?”

He shakes his head, nervously tugging at the whiskers that sprout from his jawline.

Before she can prod him further, the chandeliers float up into the white abyss and all of the lights dim, then the curtains part.

—

As soon as intermission starts, Jackie is on her feet.

John waits one cool second before excusing himself and following her into the hall. Reese hears this and turns around in his seat, asking Barbara how she likes the show so far. As she leans forward and begins to answer him, Reese locks eyes with Dieter and gives him a wink of approval.

Dieter nods and rises to his feet, then slips into the hall, weaving his way through the crowd.

See, when Jackie used to work catering gigs here, she got to know a member of the opera house staff who showed her a few private rooms that aren’t necessarily secret, but aren’t exactly advertised, either. They’re reserved for VIPs, when they want them, but mostly remain unoccupied during performances.

He follows the path Jackie mapped out for him earlier today to an unlabeled door on level three. Inside, he hears a familiar giggle and knows it’s the right one.

He pats down his suit jacket with both hands, double checking that he didn’t somehow drop all his money en route, then grabs the doorknob, twists it, and pushes the door open to reveal the smallest Victorian parlor he’s ever seen in his life.

It contains an antique sofa, a coffee table, and an armchair in the corner, and still feels cramped. The back wall is entirely occupied by a mirror. Probably an attempt to make the room look bigger.

On the ornate red sofa, Miss Jackie Lantern and Mister District Attorney are so busy making out, neither of them seem to notice his presence.

Dieter makes a point of closing the door with a loud bang. John jumps up and starts scrambling away from Jackie, his face all covered in hot pink lipstick, stammering out clichés, “I can explain, this isn’t what it looks like—”

“Save it, that’s not what this is,” Dieter waves him off as he approaches the couch, unbuttoning his suit jacket.

“What is this, then?” he looks from Dieter, who shucks off his jacket and sits down beside him, to Jackie, “A three way?”

Jackie sticks out her bottom lip in a sympathetic manner, shaking her head.

“This is an opportunity.”

John turns to him, narrowing his eyes, “Explain.”

“Well, see,” Dieter tosses his jacket on the coffee table, “I’m going to give you a stupid amount of money, I mean—really, truly, a fucking obscene amount of money. In return, you’ll drop the charges against Louella Friedman.”

He studies Dieter carefully.

“You and I both know that warrant was bullshit. Based on witness statements obtained by fucking paps, really?” Dieter clicks his tongue against his teeth and shakes his head, “That man is a gossip monger with a grudge. Zero fucking credibility. It wouldn’t hold up in court. It would be a waste of everyone’s time and money. This is an opportunity to cut through the red tape and get a little something for yourself in return.”

John sits back, crossing his arms. He frowns at the jacket for a while, seemingly running calculations in his head, then asks, “How much?”

“Hundred thousand.”

His eyebrows make a surprised jump. He presses his knuckles to his lips, considering this. His leg starts bouncing. He looks between Dieter and Jackie, these quick, sharp glares, “I don’t appreciate being set up like this.”

Dieter nods in acknowledgment. Jackie just blinks at him.

He releases a big sigh.

Sitting up, he grabs the jacket and digs into one of the pockets, then pulls out a few $10,000 bundles.

As he inspects them, Dieter asks, “Well?”

“You two are good,” John chuckles, then extends his hand to Dieter, “I’ll look into her case for you, see what we can do.”

He takes it, giving him an overly enthusiastic shake, “Good man. Thank you.”

“Louella Friedman?”

“That’s right. I, uhhh—I put her info in the front pocket.”

“Got it.”

Dieter stands and looks at Jackie, nodding to the door.

“Thanks, Johnny,” she winks, then rises to her feet and starts towards the door.

“Thank you, Jackie,” he grins at her for a second before returning to Dieter, “And thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Dieter pulls up the sleeves on his dress shirt, “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

John laughs at this, so Dieter feels compelled to clarify, “No, but really, the IRS might start asking questions if you do. So—don’t, ok?”

“Oh, well, yeah—”

Dieter turns on his heel and follows Jackie out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“Johnny?” he raises an eyebrow at her as they walk away.

“He’s kinda cute. Good kisser.”

“Thinking about adding him to your roster?”

She snorts and gives him a playful shove, “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

—

Within thirty seconds of entering the apartment, Jackie has locked herself in the bathroom with the shower running.

Dieter collapses on the couch and slowly dismantles the remains of his suit, unknotting the bow-tie, taking off his dress shirt, wriggling out of his pants, until he’s left in boxers and an undershirt.

Exhaustion, emotional and physical, drains any remaining adrenaline from this evening’s success from his limbs.

Figuring it will take a while for the de-Jackiefication to take place in the bathroom, he checks his phone for updates, then decides to call and leave you a message before letting sleep take over.

“Hey, this is Louella, sorry I missed you. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back, thanks.”

“Hey, doll, it’s me. It is… just after midnight here in New York. Just wanted to let you know, I talked to the DA. He’s dropping the charges, because they’re bullshit, and uhhh… yeah. You can come out now, if you want. I… I miss you. All day I missed you. I wish you were here, and—listen, Lua, I get what you’re doing. You think you’re saving me or something by disappearing, but let me tell you, you are fucking not. Ok? I don’t think you understand… you save me every single day. Just by loving me. The acting, publicity, fucking—whatever, none of that fucking matters to me. I swear to god. You are—you are it for me. The end all be all. My sun, my moon, the stars, you are my whole fucking universe. You are… everything to me, Louella. I love you. I hope I see you soon.”

[ Next Chapter ]

#psychomanteum #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x oc #dieter bravo x ofc #the bubble #the bubble fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

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luvriablack · 9 months

Text

Someone older

Pov: a young detective has a crush on Batman. The only problem is that Batman thinks he is too old for her

Warnings: agr gap, teasing ?

"Have we got any new leads?" He asks monotonously, the hoarseness of his voice sending chills down your spine. Batman was in my office. He must have came from a window or something. I look behind me when I heard his voice. It was hard not to tell I had a crush on him. My smile quickly fades when I get back in reality

" No, I am sorry" I simply say and look down

I am young , 18 but I was a detective helping him catch Joker.

His eyes flicker towards you as he hears your voice. When he sees your puppy dog eyes, he feels a tinge of pity for you. It's like he's looking at himself when he was just starting out. His lips tug into a small smile, just for you.

"It's alright. You can keep trying." He says, his voice softer now.

" I am" I say quickly. It was late. Too late. I decided to stay to the office rather than go to my apartment.

His eyes soften even more. He could tell the exhaustion in your words. All alone, working long hours. And for what? It made you more approachable in his eyes.

He lets out a heavy sigh. "You can head out for now. Get some rest." He told you.

" No no its okay." I reply as I look out in the window. The dark sky was almost intimating. I sigh and sit in my chair" I will stay here, it has more light than outside "

Batman looks outside as well.He understood I didn't want to go out in the dark

" I will take u home" he says with his thick batman accent

I look up at him" U don't have-" I tried to say but he stopped me

" Get up . The batmoblie is outside. I will just talk with Gondor about something and I will come in a minute " he says serious and leaves my office.

I got outside of the police station and waited outside. I spotted the batmobile but preferred to wait for Batman first

As soon as the two of you arrive, Batman gently opens the door for you and helps you in.

He goes to the driver's side and gets in, starting the car. Once it's running, he pulls out into the night, with you seated beside him. I was idmiring his car while he drove

When he spots you not wearing your seatbelt, he turns to you quickly and puts on a worried face. "Hey... Put on your seatbelt." He tells you, a hint of concern in his tone.

I look at him" oh, it's okay I am a big girl now, I don't have to wear it" I try to joke with no success.

He looks at you in surprise and annoyance when you say that.

"A big girl?" He repeats, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. His tone is firm and demanding.

"Put on your seatbelt." He says firmly. It was an order, not a request.

I sigh and put my seatbelt " my apartment is-" I talk again

" I know where it is sweetheart " he says

I blushes and looked out in the window. It's the nicknames making me melt for him. And he is just protective. He was always nice to me. Maybe he likes me as well? But...no way I was too young for him.

Timeskip

Months passed and I said my feelings to Bruce. It didn't turned out well bc I was too young for him. I was in my office with him and I was leaning my head to his shoulder while we were listening to the news about Joker. We finally caught him but he wouldn't talk about his crimes.

Your eyes are closed as you're resting your head on Bruce's strong shoulder.

Suddenly, he moves his hand towards your cheek, running his finger along your cheekbone, softly. His touch is so tender and sweet... it's making your heart beat faster with every passing second.

I smile at him and close my eyes again leaning on his shoulder " Am I still too young?" I whisper

His fingers drift slowly to the back of your head and he runs them through your hair. His touch is slow and gentle as he makes small circles around your head.

He gently strokes your hair as he whispers, "Yes... you're too young. You need to learn more about this world, my little one. I would feel wrong being with you right now..." Bruce whispers to me

" U can teach me," I say and play with his large fingers. He laughs softly when you say that, but his expression is still firm.

"I cannot, little one. You're too young, too inexperienced. When you're ready, I'll be there to embrace you. I promise. But not now."

His fingers continue to run through your hair softly. His face is tranquil and his eyes are filled with resolve.

I look down. Then I get up from the couch I was sitting and hit his shoulder playfully.

He's also a bit taken aback by your sudden display of emotion.

"Don't do that." He says sternly, but there's some amusement in his tone.

"Stop it and sit down." He orders. "I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you here."

" No! I don't want to!" I say and make a step back" U are just telling me to wait so I can feel better. Why can't we just be together!? I see how u look at me , we can be together, I promise" I hug him again

He sighs and shakes his head as you insist.

"You think this is only about you? It's not." He says softly but intensely.

"It's about the both of us. I care for you too much to enter into a relationship with you at this moment. You're still too young. I can't... it's wrong."

He feels a strong urge to pull you closer to him, but he resists. The idea of a love that can never be, pains him deeply.

" I am not a child! I am 18 I am an adult now !" I say. It's not like I said this the first time. I have said the same thing to him a lot of times but...I won't stop.

"18, 20, it doesn't matter. You still have so much to experience and to learn." He tells you, his voice firm but filled with concern.

"I've got 20 years over you. You're young, so very young." He says as he strokes your cheek softly.

"But when the time is right, there's nothing in this world that will stop me from claiming you as mine." He whispers seductively into your ear, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

" I can be yours now" I whisper back

You lean into him, your lips brushing his ear as you whisper those words. For a moment, his heart skips a beat and he can't help but feel a tug in his stomach.

He wants to claim you too. He wants to kiss all your worries and insecurities away. He wants to hold you in the darkness of the night, and he feels an itch to run his fingers through your soft, blonde hair.

But that feeling of responsibility keeps him restrained. He keeps trying to find any reason to justify him not being with you.

But there's another side to him. He wants to throw all responsibility aside, just to indulge this burning feeling inside him. He wants to pull you close, and kiss your soft lips. He wants to feel your body against his. He wants to show you the world through a lover's eyes.

"You're too young, little one... too young," he whispers as he gently strokes your cheek. But it's not a reason. It's just an excuse.

I look at Bruce with an serious expression. " whatever " I say and leave the office and go walk in the hallways of the police station.

You exit the office and wander the hall, your eyes darting from door to door. Suddenly, when you're walking past the interrogation room, you spot someone familiar

It's The Joker. He's dressed in a straight jacket and he's handcuffed to the table. His hair is unkempt and his face has a crazed expression. He's laughing, his eyes fixed onto you.

" what u laughing at?" I tell him with narrowed eyes

Your voice echoes through the hallway and he suddenly stops laughing. His eyes are wide and he tries to hide his laughter by covering his mouth. His expression is one of fear and surprise.

He sits there with a stunned look as if he's just been caught in the act of murder. His face slowly turns into a smile as he's about to say something when...

*Ding dong!*

You hear the bell go off in the interrogation room. Then the door opens and Batman and Gordon enter the room.

Batman enters the room and walks over to Joker, while Gordon follows close behind. His eyes are cold and his expression is serious. He pulls out a file from inside his jacket and hands it to the clown.

Joker takes the file and reads it silently. Then he looks up at Batman and Gordon. "Why am I in here?" He asks, acting as if he's surprised to be in police custody.

" Bc u killed people and stole from banks. U also wanted to explode the whole Gotham!" I interrupt them.

Joker laughs and turns to you. "Is that right little girl?" He taunts.

Your face flushes with anger, but Batman puts his hands on your shoulders. "Easy, little one." He whispers, his voice like velvet.

"I don't see a little girl, I see a woman trying to help this city be a better place." Joker tells you, his tone soft and full of compliments, but his gaze is filled with hatred.

I consider Joker's words. I looked at him surprised

Batman notices you listening to Joker with some thought and consideration. He sighs because that's the last thing he wanted you to do.

"Don't listen to him." He tells you. "He's trying to fool you into letting him go, or worse... join him."

" but still, he is right. I am not a little girl Batman!" I say

Batman sighs and looks at you with a bit of disappointment in his eyes.

"I know you're not a little girl. I know you're smart, brave, and beautiful." He says.

For a moment, his eyes soften and the corner of his lips rise up in a small smile as he strokes your back. "That doesn't change the fact that you're still young and you need to learn more from the world." He adds.

I sigh

Batman looks at Joker sternly and Gordon nods. "We need your help, Joker." He says quietly, his voice serious and his expression stern.

Joker laughs. "Why not ask little Miss Goody Two Shoes here? She seems to be smart enough to get it." He says, gesturing towards you with his free arm.

You give Joker a hard glare and Batman looks at his arch-nemesis with an irritated expression. Gordon sighs as he turns and points at the file in Joker's hand.

"Look, can we cut the crap and get to business already?" Gordon says.

" U planted 2 bombs, where are they? Tell us" I say firmly

Joker laughs as he sets the file in a corner and leans back, his arms crossed in front of his body.

"Not happening." He says, a bit of arrogance in his tone. "And what are you going to do? Torture it out of me? Is that how we do things now?" He asks sarcastically.

There's silence in the room for a moment as Batman and Gordon exchange a look. They both already know what their next course of action is going to be if Joker doesn't comply with their demands.

When I got to my apartment I put my key door to the table as I locked the door . The apartment was quiet until I felt like something was wrong. My door broke and Batman rushed to take me.

" Get out now!" He yells at me as we both head away from my apartment. Seconds later I witnessed my own apartment getting blown up. This is where Joker planted the bombs.

You're wrapped up in the softest blankets you ever felt as you lie in Batman's bed. It's so cozy and comfortable here, and you can't help but feel relaxed.

Suddenly, you hear a knock on the door, followed by a muffled voice. You don't understand what they're saying, but you know it's Batman.After a few seconds, the voice becomes clearer.

"Y/N, it's time to get up..."

I pretend to be asleep so I don’t answer

You lie in bed, feeling his warmth slowly radiating throughout you. Your eyes are closed, but you're not really asleep, just enjoying the moment.

Then you feel the bed dip as Batman sits down next to you.

"Y/N, I know you can hear me. I have breakfast waiting for you in the dining room." He says softly. There's a bit of concern in his voice.

"You need to eat, it's been hours since yesterday." He adds.

" I wanna stay in bed" I whisper as I yawn

" U can stay if u want. I will just head to the Wayne company. I have work" he explains " Alfred is in the kitchen. If u need something just ask him" he adds and leaves.

After my apartment got destroyed Bruce took me to the Wayne Manor till I find another place to stay. That's how I ended up sleeping in his bed.

I nod at Bruce with my eyes closed .

( pls comment for part 2 bc I got an idea)

#batman begins #batman #batman x reader #batman x fem!reader #bruce wayne x y/n #christian bale #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader

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