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musings-of-a-rose · 3 months

Text

Not Without You

Pairing: Lucien Flores x f!reader (nickname: Poppy)

Word Count: 2800+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Notes: Listen. I saw that clip of him making out in The Uninvited. That's it. That's the explanation. This is not betad. This one is for the sluts.

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Lucien Masterlist

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I get out of my car, staring up at the ridiculous mansion in front of me. The sound of the ocean, just out of sight behind the giant home, is soft and gentle in my ears, calming me. Giving me a little mental boost before I sigh, smoothing down my dress. I make my way to the front door, weaving between a few cars that were parked out front. Expensive cars.

It's not that I'm jealous of my childhood friend. Emilia deserves to be happy and she's happy that she married money. Some fancy producer out here in LA that fell for her big eyes and bright smile the second he saw her.

But that doesn't mean I wanted to come to one of her dinner parties, having to schmooze and pretend to be interested in what everyone has to say. I've been here before, met the people, fucked the party boy actor that eventually broke me, and yet here I am, unable to say no to Emilia.

I raise my hand to knock, dreading what the evening will bring but the door flies open before my knuckles touch anything. Emilia stands before me, a few rollers still in her hair, stress all over her body.

"Poppy, you're early! Thank GOD!" She pulls me inside and hugs me, the door closing heavy behind me.

"I always come early because you need me," I smile as she chuckles, lightly punching my arm. "What can I do to help?"

"You're angel, I swear! Can you make sure the table settings are right? There's extra silverware in the-"

"I know, Emilia. Everything like normal?" I'd been to so many of her parties, I know exactly what the set up is.

She nods, her smile growing wider. "Keep it simple and classy. You know me!"

I nod. "So what kind of party is this one? Another schmooze for Mr.?"

She waves her hand. "Yeah something like that. He's meeting with a bunch of actors for some upcoming project. He's hand selected them."

"Cool."

Emilia thanks me again before running off to finish getting ready. I pause for a moment, looking around trying to remember where the dining room is. I head down the hall and into what I think is the dining room. It turns out I remembered correctly, my eyes roaming over the table and making small adjustments to the settings already there. I end up pulling out more silverware, fixing them to Emilia's standards. I hate that I know this stuff, but I've saved her ass more times than I can count at these things so it helps to know what to expect.

As I work, my mind goes back to all the parties past. The ones she brought me to when she first started dating the producer several years ago. She had been so nervous, as if the producer wasn't already head over heels for her. That's where I met-

No. Not going down that road again. I can't do that to myself.

I shake my head and finish the settings, adding some minor touches to the decorations and finally lighting the candles. A knock at the door brings me out of my head and I walk over to answer it. An older gentleman stands there, putting out a cigarette with his shoe. He introduces himself as the director. What an ego.

Several people arrive after him, a mix of actors and a screenwriter. They all mingle in the sitting room for a few minutes before Emilia and the producer make their way in, everyone doing introductions.

The producer claps his hands together, looking around. "We're still missing one, but I doubt he'd mind us getting started. Who's hungry?"

Everyone gives their approval but as they move towards the dining room, a knock raps on the front door.

"That should be him. Guess I tried to start too soon!" Polite laughter at the producer as Emilia moves to answer the door, a quick glance in my direction before she disappears down the hall. The producer is telling some little story about a prior movie he was involved in, one I've heard a zillion times. But his story is short and he motions behind me.

"Just in time! We were about to eat. Welcome, Lucien."

My back stiffens. The room starts to spin my chest heaving. He didn't say Lucien. Did he? Maybe it was another Lucien. It couldn't be my Lucien? No. He's not my Lucien. He made that very clear when he wanted to continue partying and I wanted to settle down.

"Perfect! I'm starving."

Fuck. There was no mistaking that voice, the one that sets my skin ablaze, makes warmth pool between my thighs, the one that told me he needed to focus on his career and couldn't be with me. Not in the way I wanted him.

A small hand on my elbow squeezes me and I know it's Emilia, gently guiding me towards the dining room.

"I'm sorry, Poppy. He invited him and I didn't make the connection until the last minute."

"You couldn't have given me a heads up?" I yank my arm from her grip and swallow hard. I can't let him see how he makes me feel. He doesn't deserve that. I turn, letting the others file past me until he stops in front of me.

"Poppy. I..I didn't know you'd be here."

I'm determined to show him how much better off I am, that he means nothing to me now. I look up into his eyes and all of my resolve goes completely out the window. Were his eyes always that big? That round? So soft? I want to yank him to me by the thin chain around his neck, press my lips to his and never let go.

Way to show him, Poppy.

"I didn't know you'd be here either."

A silence stretches between us, a heavy, loaded silence. His eyes soften the longer he looks at me and is that regret I see? No. I'm projecting. But then he offers me his arm, taking me completely by surprise.

"We can be adults. Shall we?"

Don't do it. Don't take his arm, Poppy. Don't do it, don't do it, don't-

My fingers close on his offered up arm. "I'm sure this is a great opportunity for you."

Fuck, he's still warm. His skin smooth where my fingers touch him. Way to go, Poppy.

He escorts me into the dining room and I feel Emilia's eyes glued to us. He pulls out my chair and I sit, him scooting the chair in behind me before walking around the table, looking for his name card. Which was conveniently placed directly across from mine.

The producer clears his throat after everyone sits and starts making some speech about the project, about handpicking everyone here, blah blah blah. I zone out, trying to use my peripheral to steal glances at him. It's been several years since that night we split, the yelling match that had devolved into quite possibly the hottest sex I'd ever had. No, don't think about that. I need a better look so I turn my head to take a drink and chance a glance at him, only to find him already looking at me, still with the soft eyes. I nearly choke on my drink, managing to swallow it and clear my throat.

He finishes his speech and everyone claps politely, starting to eat and talk amongst themselves. I sit, deciding to choose silence while eating but then Lucien looks directly at me.

"So, what do you think?"

"Uh what?"

Fuck him with those big, stupid eyes.

He gestures towards the producer with his fork. "The project."

"Oh. Well I'm not involved so," I shrug. "I'm just here for Emilia."

He chuckles. "How many rollers were in her hair this time?"

I laugh, my body betraying me. "Four."

"But seriously. A good project?"

"I think..I think it's an honor he hand picked you. I'm not sure what the project itself is, but I'm sure it would be great for your career."

His eyes study my face as I take a bite of my food. "It's not always about the career though."

Anger surges up through me. "Isn't it?"

"How are we doing over here?" Emilia had walked up, cutting off whatever Lucien was about to say to defend himself.

"Great, Em. I'm just going to get something from the kitchen." I set my napkin on the table and push my chair back, Emilia giving me the smallest squeeze to my arm before I turn and head into the kitchen, the door closing behind me and effectively cutting off the sounds of the dinner party.

I lean over the kitchen island, my hands splayed out over the cool marble, trying to calm myself down. I hear the door open, the chatter from the party momentarily loud again before the door swings shut and it's quiet again.

"Em, I'm fine. Really. He just...caught me by surprise. I can hold it in."

"What if I don't want you to hold it in?"

My head snaps up, meeting his gaze, embarrassment making my skin heat up. "Oh. I thought you were Emilia."

Lucien takes a few steps towards me, the light glinting off the thing chain around his neck. "You didn't answer my question."

I stand up straight, crossing my arms. "We've done this dance before, Lucien. It didn't end well."

He smirks and I want to slap him. "I think it ended just fine. In the doorway, on the floor, in the front yard. I had to move my neighbors were too jealous."

My body betrays me with a small smile at the memory but then I reign it in. "I'm still not paying for that end table."

He's closer now. When did he move closer? Almost close enough to touch. His voice is low and raspy. "I'd destroy every end table on this planet if it meant having you under me again."

Fuck. Me.

I turn away from him, not giving him the pleasure of seeing what he does to me. "Flattering. But you made it very clear I was not number one in your life."

"I was stupid. I guess I needed to prove to you, to myself, that I could actually do this acting thing."

Finally composing myself, I turn to face him. "And how'd that work out for you?"

His eyebrows furrow together. "Have you not seen any of my films?"

I had. I had seen them all. I know I shouldn't have, that it wasn't helping me get over him. But Lucien has this pull, this hold on me I've never been able to fully shake.

"Some. But I'm asking your opinion. Off camera."

His jaw ticks a moment before he takes a swig from the glass I only just realized he was holding. "It brought me here."

I scoff. "Yeah, the producer hand picking you is actually a very high honor. I'd be-"

"No, you misunderstand." He shakes his head and sets his glass down on the counter. "I lied earlier."

It was my turn to furrow my eyebrows. "When? You've lied to me a lot."

"Earlier, when I said I didn't know you'd be here. I knew, well...more like hoped you'd be here. Knew it was a long shot but the only way you'd talk to me again."

My heart was racing, nearly bouncing out of my chest as he takes another few steps right into my personal bubble, my lower back against the counter. "I already told you I'm not replacing that end table."

He's right in front of me, the warmth from his body radiating onto mine. "I was a fool, Poppy. I..I love you."

I've waited years to hear him say those words to me again, to hear him actually mean them. To hear them not sandwiched between things like "but I have to focus on my career".

His lips are so close to mine, his breath fanning over my face.

"You broke my heart, Lucien."

"I know. I'm sorry. Let me put it back together."

"Lucien, I-" but he cuts me off with the softest touch of his lips I've ever felt, a whole slew of emotions flooding my body, including the one pooling between my legs.

"I can't do this without you, Poppy."

"Do this?"

"Life. I don't want to do it without you."

Fuck.

I grip that chain around his neck and pull him to me, our lips crashing together, his body pressing into mine. But then the counter scrapes across my spine and I jolt, breaking the kiss to gasp in pain. Lucien steps back, offering me his hand.

"Let's go somewhere where we won't break the furniture."

I shouldn't take his hand. I can still back out. But a small voice in the back of my head believes that he means it. That he wants a life with me, wants what I wanted all those years ago. And right now, I'm letting that voice win. I take his hand and he smiles, that smile that makes me feel like I'm the only person in the world. He guides me out the back door, past the pool, past the changing tents between the pool and the beach, and down the walkway alongside the neighbors cement wall that leads down to the beach.

He spins me and I laugh, tasting the salty ocean air on my tongue. I back up towards the wall and he follows me, lowering himself to my level. His large hands wrap around my hips, gliding down to cup my ass, and I moan into his kiss, my hand gripping his shirt to pull him closer to me. He kisses me, his tongue sliding into my mouth like it had so many times before. One hand still firmly on my ass, the other slides up my side, cupping my face so tenderly, full of love. He pulls back slightly and looks at me, like he's shocked I'm really here. That he's really kissing me.

"I love you, Poppy. I never should have let you go."

"Then don't let me go. I've always been yours."

He kisses me again, his hips pressing into mine and I can feel him hard, my cunt desperately throbbing, begging to feel him inside me again. Somewhere in my haze of desire, I hear myself begging, whispering pleas in his ear to take me, that I need him inside me before I die. His hands slide my dress up my thighs, reaching under and ripping my underwear in two, tucking them into his pocket. He had ruined so many good pairs of my underwear that way, but I honestly couldn't care less. My fingers fumble with his zipper, but I manage to get it down, reaching in to grip him, a sharp intake of breath when my fingers close around him, pumping him a few times. His hands slide under my ass, lifting me up as he presses me against the wall. He slides into me and the world stops moving, colors are brighter, and I finally feel right, like I'm actually here on this planet. Every thrust of his hips brings him deeper into me, holding me here, holding me to him. His breath comes out in short pants, desperate pleas of love and apologies between our moans as he fucks me against the wall.

And then the light blooming inside me breaks, my head pushing back, my nails digging into his skin, my entire body tingling as pleasure radiates out from where we connect. Lucien follows suit, moaning my name as he spills himself inside of me, pushing as deep as he can. We stay like that for a moment, trying to catch our breaths.

"I want to stay inside of you but my legs are fucking shaking."

I laugh and he yelps, quickly trying to pull out of me as my laughter contracts my body around him. He sets me on the ground and zips his pants as I smoothe out my dress, my laughter slowly fading. I look at him and he looks back at me, his eyes still soft and gentle. He tucks some hair behind my ear before cupping my cheek again.

"I wasn't kidding, Poppy. I was fucking stupied before. I need you next to me. When we're together, I feel...right. like I belong here. I don't think I can face this life without you."

I know it's a possibility this will end the same way it did before, but something in his eyes is different this time. He's had time to think, time to experience life without someone with him. Without me. He's grown, matured - well, matured some at least. But do I want to open my heart back up to him? Knowing that he could shatter it again at any moment?

"I'm still not replacing that end table."

He smiles and it lights up my entire world. "That's ok. I have plenty more furniture we can ruin with our love."

-------

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#lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x you #lucien flores x f!reader #lucien flores x female reader #lucien flores #the uninvited #the uninvited ff #the uninvited fanfiction #the uninvited fanfic #lucien flores fanfic #lucien flores fic #Lucien Floires ff #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character ff #pedro pascal characters

244 notes · View notes

chronically-ghosted · 6 months

Text

stay gold, baby boy

rating: 18+ (expliiiiicit)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: almost 6K

summary: six months into your friends-with-benefits situation, you institute a new game. A gold star on the board every time Dieter is a good boy. Today, he gets bingo . . . for wearing real pants.

warnings: friends with benefits (with more feelings), oral (m receiving), dom/sub dynamics (guess who subs today!), talks of edging, hair pulling, creampie, piv sex, praise kink, my mother raised me to have better taste in men but fuck it

a/n: remember when i posted this picture? And then this one? Remember how you could hear me yelling from space? Well, @sp00kymulderr has added fuel to the fire – Dieter and stickers. I can’t explain myself except that I was horny and I wanted to take his pants off with my teeth. So I did.

✨gif credit goes to the ever incredible, talented, and enabler of my dieter fantasies @perotovar! she saw me floundering with the header and immediately was like 'hold please i can make his baby cow eyes even better'✨

🤍Masterlist

With your foot on the low table, your ass firmly planted on the middle poofy cushion of the dumpster bin couch at the back of the trailer, thumbnail nibbled between your teeth, you have to admit it’s starting to get a little embarrassing. It’s honestly such a bad look.

Not that he would ever shame you for it. In fact, he’d probably like it.

And it’s not like you waited for him here all day. You had things to do as one of the co-screenwriters on this film. You had things to do and people to see and stuff to organize – all of which had nothing to do with Dieter fucking Bravo.

Okay, so a lot of it actually had to do with him. Lots of scene rewrites, lots of notes from the studio, lots of instances where the two of you had to put your heads together and come up with a solution that made the studio happy and didn’t make you want to claw your eyes out artistically speaking.

Which had led to this.

And the past six months of whatever this is. Working together led to seeing each other (outside of work), to eating with each other, to fucking each other – with the line firmly drawn there.

Whatever you may say about Dieter, the man could compartmentalize in a way that would make Marie Kondo weep with joy. By the way he treated you on set, no one in their right mind would ever have guessed he knew what you looked like naked. Or that he knew your left nostril twitched just before you came.

The same could be said for you too. Out of boredom one morning in the grocery store, you bought a trashy magazine with his face emblazoned across the top – Dieter Bravo and His Lonely Hearts Club. You weren’t one for the gossip rags, but flipping through it, not a single one of his “club members” mentioned his raging praise kink. You bought the damn thing on the spot, giving them all a consolation prize of some sort. Sorry, ladies, guess I win. Ha. Ha.

But, at the edge of the cushion, eyes occasionally flicking between the door and the failing darkness outside, you didn’t feel much like you’d won anything.

In fact, you’d lost. Big time. When all of this had been your stupid idea in the first place.

It had been your idea (and your initiative) to buy a packet of gold star stickers. Like the kind teachers use with their first graders. Actually, exactly like the ones teachers use for their first graders. You couldn’t form words when the woman at the education supply store ringing you up asked, “oh, what grade do you teach?”. You just tossed a twenty at her and booked it, your face painfully hot for a fairly innocuous purchase.

But all of that was his fault for dropping a praise kink and a teacher kink on you all at once the night after you jokingly spanked him with a ruler in front of the director, in-front of his co-star, because he wouldn’t agree to a line change, and he had to excuse himself from the room.

A month later and he forgoes touching himself for a gold star. He agrees to your line changes without argument for a gold star. He picks you up in the morning and drives you home at night for a gold star (you could drive yourself, but there’s always that last minute thing you need to talk to him about so you do it just because it’s easier, really).

He lets you come, over and over again, and keeps nothing for himself – all for a gold star.

Someone is bound to figure it out. They have to. Six months in and you’re getting sloppy. Obvious. What the fuck would you be doing in his trailer at seven o’clock at night after a full day of shooting unless you’re fucking him?

But you, worryingly, can’t find it in you to care.

You had lost your mind, that’s what you lost. Because tonight is the night Dieter gets his final gold star. It’s his reward but you’re about to vibrate out of your skin with want.

(It didn’t matter that you hadn’t seen each other in two weeks and by the third day, an ache had settled in behind your breastbone, one that clutched your phone in your hand, and forced your eyes to the screen every minute, checking for a new text message.

He called on day five, by the way.)

Your neck snaps up when you hear voices outside of the trailer. Laughter, his.

You suddenly feel the need to flatline against the floor in case anyone might see you.

Fuck, and how are you supposed to explain yourself if the someone he is with follows him into the trailer? Too many frightfully bad scenarios and you’re rooted to the floor, unable to make a single decision.

The metal latch clinks and his trailer door swings wide open.

“Yeah, man, I’ll catch you tomorrow.”

You can hear a deep, “see ya” from the other side (maybe Daryl from craft services?) and the scrap-metal trailer squeaks, as the lock clicks shut.

Dieter scratches his cheek, surveying the trailer as if some part of him knows something is different, but his conscious mind can’t figure it out.

Until he turns. And nearly leaps out of his skin.

“Fuckin’ – what are you doing in here? Wait – I thought you left town to scope out the new location in San Diego.”

You want to answer him. You know how – open your mouth and tell him the trip’s been delayed for a few days, nothing serious, timeline bullshit – but you can’t.

It’s officially embarrassing.

It’s embarrassing how turned on by Dieter Bravo you are.

Hair in all kinds of directions, skinny cloth bracelet loose around his wrist, he had pushed up the sleeves of his henley shirt, exposing the thickly drawn triangle over his forearm and the clear one near his wrist. His hand with the rings hangs by his side and something inside of you silently whines.

But what really sets you off, what really makes this embarrassing and terrible because there’s no bluffing here, no hiding your cards and folding – nothing you can do to keep spit from flooding your mouth the longer you look –

He’s wearing pants.

Black with loose belt loops. Zipper and all. A silver button sitting between his hips. Fuck. Just like you told him to. Fuck fuckfuck.

You’re briefly aware when he says your name and you have to make a physical effort to tear your eyes away from that glinting silver eye winking up at you.

Dieter’s frowning, knowing silence isn’t really your thing.

“Are you okay? Why are you –,”

As though it had called his name, his gaze drifts from your face to the table between you and him. Where his scorecard rests with four stars in the Good column, and shockingly, none in the Bad.

His mouth parts, eyes going dark, as the realization hits him like a mack truck.

“Delays,” you say suddenly, preemptively, knowing that normal people usually have some sort of preamble before tearing each other’s clothes off. You stand up a bit straighter, tilt your jaw away from him, gaze leveling him from the end of your nose. You have got to get this thing under control. “Frank ran into some scheduling issues with the boat for the lake scene so, until further notice, the trip to San Diego has been delayed.”

He blinks slowly as if he’d been struck over the back of the heat, mouth parted. He has such fucking gorgeous, fucking perfect lips –

“So you’re here?” he asks, his voice low, disbelieving.

You scoop up the scorecard and step over the table, your shoes long since gone. It’s like his vision narrows the closer you come; he is transfixed, gaze on you as if molded at the seams, as you step up to him. You tap him on the chest once with the corner of the scorecard, excitement and nerves and that ache making you tremble despite your confident appearance.

“So I’m here.”

“On the last day of the week.” Words thick, as if all the moisture had been sucked out of his mouth.

“On the last day of the week.”

“When I,” he swallows thickly, “when I should get my reward.”

God, this kind of power trip should not be making you this wet.

You lift your gaze from his chest, taking in his beautifully dumb-struck face.

“You will.” You nod. “And do you know why?”

His breath quickens, lip between his teeth, when you scratch off the final star from the package and stick it to the Good column.

“Because I was a good boy?”

You toss the scorecard behind you, it clatters onto the table, and you cup the back of his hot neck.

“Because you were a very good boy.”

He stumbles back, knees unsteady, when you kiss him. You see his eyes a split second before you close yours and hot electricity swoops down to the pit of your stomach. It would be mortifying if you just fucked him right here and now – he does deserve something extra special – but fuck – you want his whole hand inside of you.

His warm palm slides across your jaw, pulling you into him, and Dieter breathes, deep and long, inhaling as much as he can. You don’t think he realizes that he’s picked you up off the ground with his arm around your back until he opens his eyes, vision hazy and off-center.

“Go lock the door, baby.”

He nods and puts you back down. You slip off your jacket as he bolts the trailer door shut.

Dieter’s mouth drops open when he turns around and sees you on your knees.

Shit, you should have stolen some knee pads from the costume department.

“Really?”

You smile at him because he asks like a kid that just got offered a puppy for Christmas. You reach towards him and he takes your hand, unsteady on weak knees

“For as long and as much as you want.”

You palm him and Dieter groans, mouth-closed at the sensation, the hard ridge of the metal zipper not one he is entirely familiar with. At least, not like this. Beneath the warm press of your palm, you feel him thicken, harden, and you press more, digging your fingers into his thighs. The muscles in his legs tense, his mouth falls open, as his hips cant forward, desperate for the new weight of the zipper.

“And I won’t make you wait, Dieter,” you say, eyes tripping up from where your hand sits, up to the flash of exposed tummy where his pants have ridden down and his shirt slid up, into his almost surprised gaze. “You’ve been very good, wearing this for me, but I want you to learn why it’s important to wear pants with buttons.”

“I-I t-t-thought,” he tries, voice abruptly cutting off when you nuzzle the constrained bulge in his pants. He tries again, eyes slamming shut as if to stifle the sensation of your warm breath so near to where he needs you the most. “I thought i-it was so I d-din’t – didn’t look bad.”

Your face still pressed into his crotch, you briefly massage his calves, then the backs of his thighs. You cup the curve of his ass through the starchy back pockets, which is remarkably prominent now that he’s in something else than baggy sweatpants.

You shake your head, nose dragging along his hot length, against the space between his hip bone and his cock, smiling.

“Baby, you know I like how you look. I always want you to be comfortable.” You look up and meet his eyes. The remaining brown not yet wholly consumed by a blurry, heated darkness softens. Somewhere beneath the hazy, disarming feelings of lust currently filling his head like a bike tire, he’s still your Dieter. Or – well, wait – at least the Dieter you know. The Dieter you have impossibly fun times with. The Dieter who makes you laugh like no one else. The Dieter that can make you fall apart until you’re a gooey, dripping mess and he still manages to stitch you back together. The Dieter that keeps you up at night thinking he might possibly want something more. “But this is so much more fun.”

Grounding your chest against his thighs, holding yourself against him as leverage, you sink your teeth into the corner of the fabric fastening his pants together. Eyes up at him again, you tug and his cock is pushed up against your tits from the force of the pull. He rocks forward, an airy gasp escaping his mouth, and the button gives, the lip of the fabric sliding back as the silver disk slips through the hole. Now your touch is unimpeded by rough fabric when you lean forward and kiss him just below the waistband of his black boxers.

It takes you a second to realize that Dieter Bravo is wearing underwear at all and you smirk up at him.

Something about your gaze makes the tips of his ears go red, as if he had been caught being very naughty. His big hand cups from your jaw to your ear, as if trying to placate you, beg you not to be mad this close to his cock.

“You said I had to dress u-up,” he says, eyes wide and round. God, he’s trying to be so good. One week of the rating system and Dieter Bravo is a trembling mess. Despite your wildly beating heart, you smirk, your thighs shaking briefly at the sudden rush of tenderness you feel for the man in front of you. You hide your own blush by mouthing that open spot just below his tummy and above his cock, wetting the black material with your tongue. Before he can whine about it, you pull back just barely, enough to curl your fingers around both his black underwear and the pants he wore for you. Just as you begin to pull down, you nip the zipper between your teeth and slowly, slowly, rubbing your nose against him, tug the metal teeth apart. His pants open and Dieter groans loudly. He’s already so sensitive.

For a mouthy, ego-driven bastard, he really did have a magnificent cock. Flushed at the base, thickest you’d ever had inside you, and he’s leaking silvery threads from the head. The vein thickly pulsating on the side makes you wonder how he hasn’t passed out from all the blood rushing to his cock.

You lick that vein, that beating pulse, and his knees buckle. His massive hand grips your shoulder and Dieter shakes his head, his mouth wrenching open.

“Please, please — mhmm — don’t tease. I-I can’t – you haven’t – please.”

As if you would be cruel to him. You feel rather dizzy, elated on the idea that you wield this much power over him. That he trusts you with all of him. There it comes again, that arching ache in your chest.

“I’m just trying to get myself ready for you,” you confess quietly. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

Dieter swallows something large in his throat, panic receding from his eyes. His smile is small and his touch on your cheek is light.

“I know.”

And you weren’t lying. You’d never forget the sound of your jaw popping and cracking the morning after you sucked him off three times before you let him come. Dieter is shockingly big, annoyingly only when he uses it against you or makes you tell him over and over just how big he is before giving it to you. For now, you just want to remind him how very appreciative you are that he gives it to you at all.

Eyes decidedly looking away from the warmth on his face, you squeeze the backs of his thighs as you relax your jaw as much as you can. Above you hear him huff with his mouth shut as you start to take him in, your tongue wetting that soft skin on the underside of his cock. One move forward and you’ve wet him halfway, tongue massaging that vein. Another drop of your head and you’ve taken him completely.

“Fuck,” Dieter murmurs, the hand on your shoulder tightening. Your heart pounds in your chest all the harder when he takes his other hand and knots your hair with his fingers. By the twitching of his thighs beneath your palms, you know it’s taking every ounce of his restraint to not buck his hips forward. “That’s it that’s my girl you take me so fucking good you feel so fucking good.”

The thing about your mouth that is markedly different from your pussy: you can’t release your gag reflex to take more of him. But fuck, you want him to fuck the back of your throat – you just might drown before it happens.

He smells surprisingly clean as your nose inches closer and closer to his skin. With each pull, you slide your tongue down the other side, until it pokes through and licks where you haven’t reached with your mouth yet, inches from his pelvis. He shudders when you use the tip of your tongue.

“Oh my god, your mouth, baby, your mouth.” The words dribble out of his slack mouth, fingers flexing in your hair as if he can mimic pushing your head down further. You pull all the way off him, tongue catching the rim of his cock and he drops his head back against his shoulders and moans. The sound of it makes your pussy throb and you breathe out your nose to stifle your own noises. This is about him. He did good. He was a good boy the whole week.

You replace your mouth with your hand. Sufficiently wet from the way you slobbered all over his cock, you use a fist around his flushed head to smear pre-cum all the way down to the base of him. You brush his balls with your knuckles, just as you fit the tip between your lips, sucking – and Dieter bucks, hard.

“Ngh – shit! S-sorry!” His nails dig into his thighs, eyes squeezing shut as silvery threads spurt out from his cock.

Maybe you’d gone too far with the whole sticker thing and he really thought this was another test. His cheeks are burnt pink, his chest heaving and it’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen.

“Dieter,” you cry softly, gently, comfortingly. He still doesn’t open his eyes, not even when you resume stroking him. You lick the soft skin of his balls and his gasp punches the air out of his lungs, his eyes splitting open. He looks down at you, thighs trembling and you squeeze him gently. Not to edge him or punish him, but to make this last a bit longer for him. “Dieter, take your shirt off and sit down.”

He can’t move fast enough. He yanks the henley over his shoulders, the collar scraping his hair up in wild directions. He goes to sit but his thighs are shaking too much and he just sort of tumbles onto his ass. Smiling, you take your own shirt off, hoping to save this particular bra reveal for another time, but fuck, this time is as good as any. Despite his panting and squirming, his gaze rolls from your face to your tits. Emerald green with black lace, this is far too nice for a work bra and it properly communicates to him that you were going to fuck him whether or not he was going to get that final gold star. The realization is visible as it crosses his mind, bleeding hungry black in his eyes.

You take off his pants all the way, before sliding your own jeans down and to the floor. His roving gaze catches the matching panties and the noise in his throat is deep, like a smothered grunt.

“Now, I’m going to suck you off no matter what,” you say as you crawl in between his legs, before leaning back and sitting on your heels. You smooth your hands down his thighs, near his red, stark cock, but not touching. Dieter’s breathing hitches in anticipation, not sure where to put his hands or his gaze. “But I want you to answer one question for me first.”

He nods rapidly, spreading his knees further for you as if to remind you there’s other places he could be fucked.

“Why did you think I was going to punish you today?”

You’ve asked this question paraphrased a dozen times, usually when you both know the answer: he came without asking, or he came by himself, or any of the dozen reasons Dieter liked to push your buttons, only for you to break him as far as he can go. But today, there’s no sultry edge, no double meaning. Your question is sincere and it takes him a moment to understand. He swallows as his eyebrows tug down on his forehead, something vulnerable flashing in his eyes before a look of uncertainty crosses his face.

“We’ve never had sex just to have sex.” He says it like a question. He settles into the floor one hand going behind his head, the linear tattoo on his forearm dark like a third eye. “Not that I’m complaining but it’s always a competition, or because we’re bored, or you wanna work out some personal shit because of the costume department. I know this is my reward, but I figured there had to be some kinda catch to it.”

You frown deeper than him. “There’s no way we haven’t had normal sex.”

Something like a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Define normal sex.”

Now it’s your turn to go warm across the cheeks. “I mean, like . . . outside of . . . our roles. Where there aren’t roles at all. It’s just . . .”

You break off for the third time, the look in his eyes forcing you to snap your mouth shut before you say something incriminating like, just us.

Dieter shakes his head. “No, we haven’t.”

“You’re telling me in six months, that’s never happened once?” You adjust on your heels and cross your arms. “It’s not like you can remember every time we’ve had sex.”

“I do.” This, coming from him, is not a question. It’s an irrefutable statement that you don’t seem able to refute with a no you don’t. There is no room for arguing.

Driving right on through the heat of your cheeks, that ache returning, you shake your head. “Then doesn’t that get old? Having to play games every single time?”

Dieter pouts as he thinks, eyes on the roof of the trailer. “Sometimes, but I don’t mind. Not enough to want to stop fucking you.”

“So, after a week of nothing, you were totally willing to let me edge you within an inch of your life? Let me treat you badly?”

Dieter smirks and it suddenly feels like you’re the one under him. “Sure, but you like me too much to keep it going for too long. And you like watching me come.”

Your teeth grind together at this very bold accusation, your entire face blazing. Weren’t you supposed to be domming him today??

His feet slide out beside you and Dieter is the very picture of arrogance, his arm still tucked behind his head. He drums his fingers on his stomach.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he says, the smirk around his mouth soft, “I like you too.”

It doesn’t. Not really. Not when his words spear through you hot and hard, landing in your chest like a landmine. Fuck.

Fuck.

“Oh, so this is all for me, then?” You ignore the fact that you’ve slipped back into your role in active defiance of talking about this anymore, and crawl forward until your forearms frame his head. That teasing contentment fades from his face as he watches you, eyes following a line that only he can see from your nose, lips, chin, throat and tits. Your hair slips off your shoulder, darkening the light on his face when you straddle his waist. “But what about you? Don’t you want to come?”

He nods, slower than before, but only to keep from breaking eye contact with you. Light as feathers, Dieter trails his fingers up the backs of your thighs, over the curve of your ass, to settle into your hips. His mouth parts in anticipation, pink tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

“I do,” he says, rolling his neck as if he can see more of you this way. “I really fuckin’ do.”

“What a coincidence.” You shift down, dragging the wet patch on the emerald green underwear beneath your drooling cunt, shift until it slides across his half-hard cock and Dieter’s hands dig into your hips, a groan breaking off in the back of his throat. His eyes slip half-closed, a thick, smoky black enveloping that beautiful brown. “So do I.”

Grinding down over so slightly, you roll your hips once more – Dieter tenses, his hands easing to the tops of your thighs – before sitting back on his knees.

“Now relax, baby, you’ve earned it.”

You drop forward over his hips, open your mouth, and slurp him up between your lips.

The noise that comes out of his chest is broken, knocked loose, split down the middle. You take him all in one, down until your nose is tickled by his coarse hairs, and you swallow. He is immediately, instantly, rock hard and dribbling. You swallow again and his hands dive into your hair, knotting the strands around his fingers, the way a rider draws up the reins of his horse. He goads you down with just gentle pressure, needy and demanding all at once, and you take him, and you take him, and you take him until the blunt head prods the back of your throat and you gag, throat constricting, and Dieter’s eyes roll back in his head.

“Shit, that’s too fucking good.”

You breathe out your nose, pulling up just enough to keep him off your reflex, but instead you hollow out your cheeks and suck, tongue pressing up against him and around that hammering vein.

And here, here comes the sound you’ve wanted from him all night –

Dieter whines, high and keening, his neck straining, your skull pinching from where he pulls. Between your thighs, the emerald green is completely ruined, buffed out dark in the wet.

The vein throbs again and you nearly drop onto your elbows, not caring if you choke or drown or sputter, you want him in your mouth, you want that salty, gooey taste of him that you find you can’t seem to lick up enough. You want him inside you –

With a grunt that morphs into a groan as it rises up his chest, he tugs hard enough on your hair that the pain splits your mouth open, head tugged back enough that he slips out of you, a thread of pre-cum from your puffy lips to the tip of his blunt head.

You lied. This wasn’t entirely for him.

You can feel your lips twist into a snarl. “Dieter, what are you –,”

He kisses you with such a force, that noise in his chest is transferred to yours, a collision that sparks a causal nexus and his own desperation bleeds with your own. The kiss is messy, dizzying, spit and pre-cum smearing across swollen lips and wet tongues. He twists his fingers deeper into your hair, as if he can consume you through the bowl of your skull.

Your name is something that tumbles, falls, drips from him, his mouth tilted a fraction of an inch away from yours. Eyes dark, full, a beast that howls for the moon in your eyes.

He’s going to fuck your brains out on the floor of this rickety-ass trailer.

Dieter tugs you forward, drags you onto your knees over him as he settles beneath you. Your fingers knock with his in a fight to reach your panties first, to shove them down your hips and thighs, get them to the floor.

Dieter’s flushed, pupils dark, big hands grappling against the weight of you as he pulls you onto him. You are so aroused, so sunken into the smoke of lust, you go as you are moved, his cock smearing apart your wet pussy. Dieter sits up, eyes locking onto where you’ve nearly become a single creature, and then he hesitates.

Sanity seems to ring his bell, for just a moment. Without waiting, he sucks two fingers into his mouth, coating them with his spit, and you can see what he’s about to do just before he moves. You shake your head, knees aching from carrying your weight against the flat trailer floor, and sit up off him, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Don’t need it,” you mutter before licking into his mouth. He drops his head back to let you sink your tongue between his lips. Both hands wrapped around his jaw, you thumb his earring and he grunts out the side of his mouth. “I want –,”

His big hands settle and it’s like he dropped a thousand pound weight between your ribs. You drop, right onto him, his cock forcibly shoving you apart in a single thrust. Dieter barks out a moan, his hands clutching your spine, teeth going for your shoulder to muffle anything else that threatens to escape him.

You swear your nerves are on fire.

He always takes his time with you, for your benefit, and his. He can be maddening and incessant and demanding, right up until this part, the part where he could actually hurt you. Right then, he waits. Lets you come to him. Let you take as much as you want and he holds you tight.

But this, this is you taking all you want and then some.

In the split second you allow for your bodies to recognize the give and the take, the swell and the invasion, you meet his gaze.

No roles. No games. No landmines.

Exposure.

Blistering and brittle.

Safety.

You curl your toes underneath you, grip his shoulders, and slide up on an inhale. On an exhale, you thrust down and you don’t know who cries out louder.

Dieter pulls you to him, arm banded around your back, the other to balance as he leans back to meet your downward strokes with his upward thrusts. His fingers pinch the clasp of your bra and the straps slide off your shoulders, your frantic bouncing knocking those emerald cups loose.

“Oh, yeah, oh fuck yeah.” He mouths at your collarbone, tonguing the sweat that blooms across your skin. Your short huffs have your chest trembling, a shudder disrupting your breath when he uses the blunt edge of his teeth against the soft curve of your breast. His nose against your skin, he turns his head and licks your nipple into his mouth. He sucks, licks, your rapid rise and fall catching your sensitive peak against the tops and bottoms of his teeth. He uses the barest hint of pressure and your back arches. He sucks your other nipple into his mouth, repeating that same pattern with his tongue, while his fingers flick your hardened bud.

You think you’re going to melt, fracture and ooze into this hot pool of pleasure that hums between your legs.

“Fuck, Dieter,” your own voice is unrecognizable, breathy and high, cut short every time his hips meet yours in a harsh slap, “I can’t –,”

He rubs up against something truly devastating inside of you and immediately your legs give out. You topple into him, arms around his neck, nose pressed up against his jaw. You feel his overheated skin, a balm, a solidifying force, against your cheek. The whirling inferno in your head soothes. A drop of sweat from his hairline trails down by your eye and you lick it.

“Make me come, Dieter,” you whisper for him, of him, beg in a way that only he can hear. You nuzzle his earring and he keens. “Please – I need it – n-n-need you.”

Open-mouthed, breath hot, flush down to his chest, he slithers the hand against your back between your warm bodies and finds your clit. Drags his thumb across it as his hips pound up into you – you can’t hear what he says in your ear, the edge you’re dangling over loud and pulsing – and then there’s a softness against your throat.

The white spark between your thighs erupts and you come so hard you scream. A release. Controlled and contained brightness now spilling out everywhere, you can feel it as you soak his lap. It drips and winds down, and it drunkenly slides off you. Finally, you curl into him, a muddled tingle radiating out across your nerves.

You sink into your skin again and hear him, still whispering, still talking.

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you come it’s okay baby I’ve got you I’ve got you I’m here – I’m gonna – g-gonna – oh, shit,”

His hips thrust up one more time before a full body shudder yanks his words and the air right out of his mouth. You melt as his cum floods your insides, the warm pulses intoxicating in the place he so forcefully claimed for his own. His shoulders curved towards you, his hand pinches the knot of your spine as if to steady himself, palm scalding against your skin. In your exhaustion, your sweaty forehead falls against his.

He doesn’t seem to mind.

Seconds mold into minutes, minutes into maybe hours then days.

Dieter’s trembling elbow finally weakens and with his arm around your back, he tips you both backwards.

His cock rubs up inside of you in a new way and your cunt clenches involuntarily. You both groan when his cum leaks out of you, squeezed out by the contraction. You shift your hips to lay fully on him, and his cock slides out, but his arm around you remains.

It remains long after your breathing settles, long after the sweat dries and your exposed skin grows cold. The longer you lay together, the more you feel he’s going to start stroking you, touching you in a way that a fuck buddy shouldn’t. But he doesn’t. He keeps you close but doesn’t move.

The feeling, the ache in your chest. It’s soothed and hastened by the beating of his heart beneath yours, your ear lying flat against his chest. It beats so loudly for you.

For some unfathomable reason, you glance up at the window. It’s dark out, the sun set and gone. For all you know, you two might be the only two people on the entire lot.

“Dieter.” His name sticks in your mouth. “Dieter, I –,”

“Five stars?”

You blink, lifting your head for the first time in ages, sweat on his skin almost suctioning your ear to his chest. He’s grinning, curls matted and damp against his forehead.

He reaches up to the table behind him and snags that stupid bingo card, along with that packet of shiny gold star stickers.

This feeling, you can contain it.

For now.

Smirking down at him, you peel off one of the bigger stars and with your thumb, you press it into the center of his forehead.

“Five stars, Dieter. Five star dick.”

His smile widens.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #the bubble fanfic #the bubble 2016 #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfiction #pedro pascal #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x oc #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #the bubble

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matrixbearer2024 · 4 months

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So why did Lucifer call for Vox to help him with the snacks and stuff?

Actor AU: Lore Drop 1

Vox: "Aaaaah we got a lore question!"

Lucifer: "Hey! And it's about me! Wait let me answer this-"

(Y/N): *Vibing in their seat*

Lucifer: "So, when we were filming that scene- we thought it would kind of be funny to showcase Vox's friendship with my character? Because we all know he wasn't going to call for Alastor-"

Alastor: "I still can't believe you guys got away with the 'enemy of my enemy is my friend' thing. That's kinda sus-"

Lucifer: "For you maybe. Anyway-! The screenwriters decided it would be even more hilarious if their character-" *points to (Y/N)* "lost IQ points because of some skin. Hence the chocolate strawberries thing-"

(Y/N): "And it makes sense, because Vox's character had been wearing long sleeves and just coats all the time. It's got the same appeal as a shirtless Alastor for fanservice."

Alastor: *Laughing his ass off*

Vox: "On some days of filming it's actually a pain dressing up like that though, especially when it gets so HOT."

Lucifer: *Smirks* "Hot like the fans want it or because the temperature is literally unbearable-"

Vox: "DUDE-" *Laughs*

#vox x reader #hazbin hotel #get off my screen series #hazbin hotel vox #vox #vox x you #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin vox #hazbin vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox x reader #actor au

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bitchcakegreen · 23 days

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I finally watched all four episodes of season 3 part 1 and I have thoughts, as a fan and as a screenwriter/former romance novelist, and professional director. I didn’t have netflix but I got it for this season. I did this kinds of analyzations and such during Game of Thrones. Hopefully people enjoy reading. Full disclosure, I have not read any of the Bridgerton books. (I’m about three chapters into Romancing Mr. Bridgerton)

First off, give me all the Pen and Colin all the time. I’ve been hoping they get together from season 1 and I’m so happy Shondaland didn’t make us wait another season, as the books go in a different order. There’s a lot of subtle nuance to Pen and Colin’s scenes, Colin always seeking out Pen wherever they are, the tent pastry scene followed by Colin clearly eating the same pastry as Pen did. The tent scene was freaking hot. I said what I said. Things of this nature make their love affair so lush. It’s that journey to getting to the carriage scene that’s so thrilling.

I didn’t mind Francesca’s subplot or the Mondrich one but I do agree with many I’ve seen here that the subplots almost took over. There was a lot of emphasis placed on things other than Pen and Colin which annoyed me somewhat. Hopefully when we get to part 2 there will be more intense focus on Polin and the subplots are just rotating around them because right now, with the pacing of these first four episodes, it’s the opposite. Polin feel as if they are somewhat an afterthought.

The Cressida redemption movement I don’t think will last into part 2. I think all this work is to try and make the audience sympathize with her and then when she goes after Pen, Pen as Lady D, and so forth we are supposed to think “OH! But she was being so nice.” Hopefully I’m wrong and they follow through on her storyline because if they don’t…they wasted a lot of time and storyline on her instead of focusing on Polin.

I’m ambivalent about Lord Debling, so meh. Sorry about it.

Anthony and Kate - absolutely unnecessary but I know why they brought them in. One, he is the Viscount so he would be around. Two, they are fan favorite. I get it. I accept it. It was just wasted real estate for me. But to each their own.

I love Mr. Finch and I LOVED he got to be such a beaming brother-in-law for Pen in the green dress. I do wish they hadn’t shown us the dress reveal in the trailer. It would have been such an awestruck moment for us to see it first in the show. Sweeping cape removal and glittering loveliness.

Pen’s sisters and their race to get pregnant. It’s all a setup for Pen to be pregnant first or with the male heir by the end of the season. Cute but really long winded in getting there. There is a now since deleted promo clip of Pen, with Colin standing behind her, where she takes his hand and places it on her stomach. So we’re getting a pregnancy nod somewhere next part. May even be why she faints in whatever scene they show in the trailer for part 2.

Eloise needs to get her head out of her butt. I don’t think she’s angry Pen is LW but more angry that she didn’t figure out Pen was Whistledown sooner. She’s mad that Pen didn’t try to see her during the offseason, yet she tells her at the end of season 2 to get the fuck out of her life. Get it together Eloise. I love Eloise, don’t get me wrong, I adore her. I just want her to stop acting like an ass and TALK to Pen.

There is discourse about the second Colin threesome scene, but there really shouldn’t be. There’s a reason for it. It showcases that Colin is done with the charade he’s been playing all season. He isn’t the bon vivant, dashing rake he’s supposed to be. It’s jarring but it’s a scene with a purpose.

All the Polin scenes are delightful. The balloon scene might be my favorite - the pastry scene I include in this. And of course the first kiss and the carriage scene (which lives in my head on repeat) but I have to say, I wanted more Polin screen time. I think if we spliced all the Polin scenes together we see that out of four hours of film, they have maybe a cumulative 1 hour of screen time. Which isn’t much for a couple that is the lead of the season. Hopefully the ratio will be better in part two.

Merit badges and raises to the Featherington coachmen and to Pen’s maid Rae. They are MVPs and are totally gossiping about Polin. You know that tea was flowing in the servant’s quarters about the carriage ride…

Scenes I hope we get in part 2.

1. Full on sexfest with Pen and Colin, the likes to rival Daphne and Simon.

2. Whistledown reveal to Colin. First I want him angry - that passionate angry we use in romance novels. The kind where the hero is always “I’m so mad at you right now I can’t see straight but I need you writhing with passion underneath me screaming my name RIGHT NOW!” kind of angry. I want ripped corsets and torn skirts. If you know you know.

3. Pen and Eloise make up.

4. Big stupid lavish wedding.

5. More unhinged Queen Charlotte wigs. Because reasons.

Sorry this was such a long post, but I needed to get my thoughts out. Thanks for reading if you made it this far. Now excuse me while I go watch part 1 elevenity million more times.

#romance novels #romance writers #polin #bridgerton #writing #bridgerton thoughts #colin bridgerton #colin x penelope #polin bridgerton #writer thoughts #late night writing #bridgerton season 3 #penelope featherington #shondaland #netlfix #bridgerton netflix

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hhactorauofficial · 3 months

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Random ActorAU Character Headcanons: RadioStatic Edition(Platonic; Besties)

Vox (Surname: Borle)

- He's a theater kid so he sometimes makes random references to plays or popular musicals. - "It's hard to be the bard~!" - Actually knows how to play the guitar and piano. - Absolutely hates the recorder(instrument) which Lucifer makes fun of him for. - His fashion sense is a war crime and if it weren't for Velvette he would've continued to look and dress like an idiot. - Like, the most apallingly ugly/colored patterns on his shirts, jackets or socks- - Can't tie a bowtie for shit, he knows how to wear a proper necktie though. - His costume in the show uses a clip-on unless it's supposed to look messy and undone. - Hates the summer heat with a passion. - Wears the thinnest layers during winter, loves the freezing cold. - Has somewhat of a sweet tooth, but drinks his coffee black. - Responsible for the most bloopers on set. - Either from tripping over things or because he can't stop laughing. - He actually drew the Alastor doodle from episode 2. - Which was still somehow better than Alastor's attempt at drawing his own character. - And he drew it during one of the script table readings out of boredom. - Vark is actually his dog, a huge golden retriever who was costumed as a shark for the "Get Off My Screen" Series. - Unironically has a huge hat collection, just because he can. - Would wear a different one every day to set no matter how random because it makes people laugh and smile when they see him. - He actually studied to be a software engineer before shifting courses to take acting instead. - So he does know how to code and mess with electronics. - Loves energy drinks and panera's charged lemonade. - Actually helps bend into his canon character's eccentric personality. - Regularly causes chaos on set. - Has broken his TV headpiece a number of times already. - Can't be told about the script in advance because he's prone to accidentally spoiling during interviews(like Tom Holland). - Doesn't have his own car, takes the train or taxis to get around. - On the more inexperienced side of the cast since he's not a bigshot actor like the others. - This show's actually been his first time on the big screen. - Can and will infodump about sharks if you let him. - Knows how to cook but only simple meals. - Pretty chatty, a dork and all around just a fun guy to be around.

Alastor (Surname: Bosco)

- Collects watches and sometimes shows them off when he can. - Does not know how to play an instrument at all. - That sequence in "Hell's Greatest Dad" with him on the piano? - He was just pressing random keys when the cameras rolled. - He has the vocal range of a god though. - Like this man can SING. - Prefers old things, and hilariously still even has an old radio in his home. - So his character is based on a lot of his preferences. - His wardrobe also reflects that. - Either on or off-screen this man looks dapper and posh. - Doesn't even need them but he wears glasses sometimes. - Just because it looks nice. - Loves his character's monocle and will wear it even without the whole costume. - Still uses an old Nokia, can't begin to wrap his head around an Iphone. - Is one of the screenwriters for the show, so a lot of the stupid or corny things that happen are mostly his fault. - Except for pentious' joke death. - He was sick when they wrote that so he wasn't able to stop everyone else. - Also has the most whack ass sleep schedule since he's often one of the last to leave but first to arrive on set. - Helps play into his canon character's creepiness and oddity. - Hence chugs coffee like it's his lifeline. - Hates the taste of energy drinks so you won't catch him with those. - This man is never late, ever. - Hates the cold, loves the heat. - Will be bundled up like the michelin mascot during winter it's hilarious. - Most often seen with Vox and they're both usually up to no good. - Either just messing with random things on set or actually being borderline chaotic. - Is asexual and sex-indifferent, though most of the cast assume he's sex repulsed because of the character he plays on screen. - Still calls soda 'pop'. - Can actually speak french. - Knows how to cook and cook WELL. - His mama taught him, and it's a fact he will always be proud to say. - Drives an Aston Martin V8 Vantage with a bright flaming red paintjob. - Yes it's a car model from the late seventies/early eighties. - He doesn't care if it's old it's his favorite thing ever and he takes care of that car like it's his child. - Doesn't prefer candy much, he'd rather give it to Nix or Vox. - Loves dark chocolate though.

(OKAY- When it came to the surnames- I know I mentioned that these guys take on the surnames of their actual VAs but I thought it'd be kinda funny to have both Al and Vox to have similar surnames since in this AU they swim in chaotic besties/sibling energy so yes- a reference to Alastor's pilot VA Edward Bosco! No this is not me saying one is better than the other, I seriously just wanted to make more funny pairs with these two idiots while they playfully piss each other off XD)

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todayontumblr · 1 year

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Friday February 24. It's the end of the line for Succession.

Well, now the title feels a little redundant, because that would be that, according to showrunner Jesse Armstrong. The British author, screenwriter, producer, and stupid, no-good, cowardly, skanky-ass nerf herder has confirmed in a profile with The New Yorker (The New Yorker? He needs to *get over himself*) that the upcoming fourth season of #succession is to be the last. We won't bullsh*t you fine people: we are incredibly bitter about it, and wish Mr. Armstrong either absolutely no luck whatsoever with future projects, or that he takes his finger out and gets to work on season five.

So if you want to join us in being resentful and bitter towards not just Mr. Armstrong but the entire #succession production crew, come join us! And for those in possession of better, more balanced and robust emotional health, simply pay tribute to an *exceptional* series with a whole host of fanart, gifs, polls, fan theories, and discourse.

#today on tumblr #succession #succession hbo

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lizardsfromspace · 2 months

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The funniest part of Ben Shapiro's film studio is that Ben Shapiro tried to be a screenwriter & he obviously must know his screenplay is ass bc he hasn't tried to produce it even though he literally has his own vanity project film studio now

#film #movies #politics

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the-cat-and-the-birdie · 6 months

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Okay okay with all the script hate for ATSV I'd like to at least take a moment to praise How they did Hobie right

And why they got Miguel wrong.

Mini-Ramble: The Concept of 'Can-dom'

a.k.a the writers really love Hobie and just fucking hate Miguel and it's borderline funny.

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So, you know we are called fans, and we have a fandom. The fandom writes 'fanon'.

But what do you call the group of people who write canon?

And can the people who write canon also be a fandom in and of itself?

As someone who has worked on TV and film sets in NYC - across a couple of different departments - I can assure you:

YES.

And they act JUST LIKE US.

And I call it Can-dom.

And there's no better example of this, than the ATSV script.

Look at how they talk about Hobie:

To the writer who described Hobie as 'strong, long, and skinny-hot' and his guitar as 'throbbing' idk what you were on that day but keep it up.

Look at them rubbing their little writer hands together going 'hehehe they're gonna love this mfer to death he's so hot'

Miles calling Hobie cool and Hobie agreeing is literally just the writers complimenting themselves on how insanely rad and attractive they made their own character. I love it.

They could've done so much worse or described him as rowdy or cocky or rough but they're just like 'he's hot. really fucking hot.'

And everybody was in on it.

The designers read the script and was like 'really really attractive? the coolest fucking guy you've ever seen? ok boss'

and then drew a black cop killer with natural hair and beautiful sharp black features

Then the animation team looked at Hobie and was like YEAH HE'S SUPER FUCKING COOL

Then made a supercool technology just for the insanely rad punk character

AND THEY WENT TO DANIEL KALUUYA and had him do the super cool ironic funny lines for the super cool rad fan-favorite-to-be character

And then the whole production team looked at Hobie and they all looked back at their work and his arc and lines and design and animation style and they were like

Because after months and months and months of collective effort and going 'this guy has to be so likeable that disliking him is almost a moral failing'

And then just like us they finally saw the finished product and we're like

'THAT'S A WRAP. CUT. SEND THIS SHIT TO THE PRINTERS. He can't get any cooler we did it.'

Cause as someone who has worked in TV & Film and had been in the offices I can tell you:

Screenwriters are not some big wigs that come to work in suits and sit around on chunky laptops in complete silence sending emails

They are normal ass people in a cramped ass office and cubicles who joke with their co-workers, come in in jeans and a 'casual tshirt', and sit there chilling revising the same script a dozen times because they came up with a new idea that HAS to be in it. And sometimes they be having dogs in the offices.

They're dorks just like us. That's how they got there. By obsessing over the tiniest minute shit in stories and getting way too into characters and writing out our little stories.

To think they were squealing about Hobie Brown this whole time for years while making him.

And then giving him to the fandom and we're like FUCKING THANK YOU HE'S OURS AND WE LOVE HIM.

I know a lot of the time it may come off as a shady corporation manipulating the punk aesthetic for revenue - while it is that - its also an office full of writers and animators and designers literally making a mini fandom between them and snickering at their own jokes and ideas as they write this story I love it

It makes me think that - while the language towards Miguel is like.. undoubtedly questionable and something of necessary discussion -

I also just think that the office fandom just.. didn't fucking like him.

Like in the writers room over time they didn't like him and wanted to bully him 'ayo this dude is a clown and he's wildin out like a BEAST'

And putting in lines of Gwen clowning him just because the writers wanted to make fun of Miguel 😭😭😭

like.. just the thought of that.

- and the thought of the ATSV writers team just ganging up on him only for the animation team to turn around and be like 'give him the thiccest ass imaginable. make it clap when he walk'

HILARIOUS.

And then for the production team to have to look at this script of Miguel and look at his dummy think design and just sigh and be like 'fine okay the lines are fine but you HAVE TO TONE THE ASS DOWN'.

We bully our OCs all the time

And yeah they took that shit wayyyy too far cause like... The Spot murdered people why are y'all not looking at him and also Gwens dad is an asshole

But a part of me feels like the writers and production were fandom before fandom was fandoming.

Just like us they hyperfixated on two characters, the same characters the fandom would later.

And like the fandom originally did, they really really liked Hobie and just REALLY REALLY REALLY didn't like Miguel.

We're all like 'haha let's bully the shit outta Miguel as a little treat' and then they start taking it too far 😭😭

I'm just going to lay myself to (semi-)peace with this thought. I know it's pure speculation - I repeat, speculation - but like, writers are genuinely just like us. I wouldn't put it past them.

With the way the script is narrated I wouldn't be surprised if the first draft they put

**MIGUEL collapses to the ground with GABRIELLA in his hands as she DEPIXELATES. A look is devastation crosses his face. Ha, get owned, you fucking idiot.**

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

Also they absolutely know about fanfiction. I haven't heard them talk about it and I don't know how much they know. But they know.

They may not be in the shows fandom, but they've usually been into older fandoms like Star Trek and thus know about the fanfic and shipping stuff.

If you read this far!! Hey hi how ya doing thank you for listening to my rambling. I wouldn't call this a full essay cause it's just my thoughts and opinions and like.... thoughts???

Anyway here's Hobie to make up for the fact I just said a whole lotta nothing

(actual picture of me arsoning the Sony headquarters if they fuck up Hobies characterization and make me regret this post lol)

Bye.

#am I too optimistic?#NO PROOFREAD HAHA #spiderman #spider man #atsv #marvel #across the spiderverse #hobie brown #spider punk #spiderpunk #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara #miguel ohara

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ponett · 1 year

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I have now finally seen the Mario movie. It was Pretty Good. Here are my wordy thoughts on it. (I am going to spoil the entire movie. Duh.)

In many ways, the Mario movie does what I wish the first Sonic movie had done. They just took the characters and the premise and the world from the games, and made it a straightforward animated adventure movie. It's bright and colorful and remixes things JUST enough to include fun elements from multiple games, and it doesn't make Mario get adopted by James Marsden or whatever. It even has the music!

That's all you really need, right? Right...?

I'll get this out of the way up front. Chris Pratt was fine. He's fine

If anything, it really feels like they did the movie a disservice by letting us hear so little of the Mario voice in the previews. It took one scene for Pratt to disappear into the role for me. It was totally fine. If anything, I found Charlie Day's normal voice coming out of Luigi WAY more distracting, even if I did like him in the role.

Everyone else was pretty good, for the most part. Jack Black was obviously very good as Bowser, but I'm biased. Seth Rogen does the Seth Rogen laughs as Donkey Kong, but I thought DK was fun, too. (I liked his little rivalry with Mario where he was just constantly giving him shit.) The only casting choice I truly hated was Fred Armisen as Cranky Kong. I hated every line that came out of his mouth. He sounds atrocious. Just the worst. I swear to fucking god if they do a DKC movie and we have to hear him for 90 minutes

I did think Peach was lacking, but that was on the script, not Anya Taylor-Joy's performance. It's cool to see Peach fight, but it's one of those all too common instances where the writers put so much effort into making the main girl kick ass and be an effortlessly confident girlboss that they forgot to give her an actual personality. Not that I'd point to Super Princess Peach and its mood swing superpowers as positive representation or anything, but there's a happy middle ground, surely. Shrek was 22 years ago, just having the princess do flying kung fu kicks isn't enough.

Okay. With the voices out of the way, let's talk about the big picture:

It's way better than the words "Illumination Mario movie" implied, and I mostly enjoyed my time with it. The spirit of Mario is there 100%. But I'd also describe it as "ruthlessly efficient."

This was perhaps the main complaint critics had, and they were absolutely right. People have responded to these totally average reviews with "Well, what did you expect? Shakespeare?! It's MARIO!!" Like, yes, I would prefer it if the movie I paid to see had writing that was good instead of bad. What a shocker. My issue isn't that it's not "high-brow" enough. The problem is that it feels mercenary. It feels like an editor went through and deleted almost every line of dialogue that isn't some form of exposition, at the expense of the pacing. Any scene that's not a montage or some sort of action is kept as short as they could make it, with barely any room for embellishment, character interaction, or anything other than the bare minimum word count to hit all the typical Save the Cat Hollywood screenwriting 101 story beats to the letter. There aren't even as many jokes as you might think (and the ones that are there are extremely hit or miss, including a lot of the slapstick with Mario himself).

Mario and Peach's little arc together in the front half of the film is probably the worst example of this pacing. Even having read reviews that complained about how fast Peach goes from meeting Mario (by her admission the first other human she's ever met) to deciding to train him as the new savior of the Mushroom Kingdom, I was SHOCKED at how fast it was. They don't even lampshade it.

Peach takes Mario straight into the big training sequence where he learns how to use mushrooms and jump over platforming obstacles. Peach is apparently already a hypercompetent platforming pro and a great fighter, so there's no clear reason why she's taking the time to train this random guy to be half as good as her when the world is in danger. Then they set off on their adventure, Toad joins them, and we get a VERY brief travel montage. It's about thirty seconds total - just long enough to give Peach a line about how she wants to protect this beautiful world of hers to try and give her some stakes. We get the genre-mandated nighttime campfire heart to heart, which is exactly long enough to have Mario say he misses Luigi and to have Peach give the two sentence summary of her origin story and not a second longer. Then they reach the Kongs, and their big journey is complete. (They barely interact for the rest of the movie.) So much of the movie is like this - always ready to get on to the next scene as soon as a new one starts.

I'm not criticizing the script because I expect The Super Mario Bros. Movie to be a prestige drama - although there are certainly halfhearted attempts at a dramatic arc. The stuff with Mario's family was a fun enough idea, but again, ruthless efficiency. We get one quick scene with them at the start to give Mario some pathos, because I guess Save the Cat said he's gotta have some pathos. And then Mario gets his dad's approval amidst the action of the final battle in Brooklyn to resolve his arc, just so the movie can end as quickly as possible once Bowser is defeated. (Despite now having the approval of their family and their community back in Brooklyn, Mario and Luigi move to the Mushroom Kingdom off-screen without a single word dedicated to this decision, because that's where they live in the games.)

Look. I am not comparing it to The Godfather. Don't give me that shit. I am not asking for an extra half hour to explore Mario and Luigi's childhood trauma. I am not asking for the complex inner workings of the Mushroom Kingdom monarchy. I know this is gonna be a basic Hero's Journey adventure for kids. It just feels like it's turning down so many opportunities to have a little fun with the characters, to let them interact and play off of each other, to let there be some adventure on this adventure. This is the first time we've gotten to see these characters interact with fully voiced dialogue in a very, very long time! "Yeah, it's not High Art, but it's FUN!" Stories are fun! Character interactions are fun! The script could be having so much more fun!! It is adamantly against making the Story parts of this story-driven movie any more Fun than they functionally need to be!!!

Mario, Peach, and Toad's journey to find the Kongs is shorter than the training montage that precedes it. After the opening, Bowser mostly just sits in his castle and waits for the third act to start. Luigi's there, too, but he only gets one scene with Bowser and then the movie mostly forgets he exists until the climax. He doesn't even get to try and sneak out of Bowser's castle and get up to hijinx. He's just there to be a motivation for Mario, so he sits in a cage for half the movie. It's the bare outline of a script with action scenes added in.

Aside from the fact that it's Jack Black singing as Bowser, I feel like this overly-efficient script might be part of the reason why the "Peaches" scene stands out so much. It's a moment that didn't strictly need to be there to keep the plot moving or to provide an action setpiece. It's not even a reference to another Mario thing. It's just a fun and memorable little character moment that's there for its own sake. That's what the movie needed more of. To stop and smell the roses more often. To play in the space.

To be clear, this isn't a unique problem with this movie. Critics have been noting for years that second acts are disappearing from big Hollywood movies in favor of the Act I plot setup and the Act III action, even though Act II is supposed to be where you get to explore your actual premise. And lots of animated movies give me this exact same vibe of being too "screenwriterly," or feeling like they had an executive breathing down their necks and demanding changes based on focus testing. But these common issues are why I come away mostly feeling like the movie is on the better end of "average," rather than totally blowing my mind. You have seen this movie many times before, just not with Mario in it.

And, of course, there's the music. The score by Brian Tyler based on various classic Mario and Donkey Kong tunes (frustratingly all attributed to Koji Kondo) is absolutely beautiful, but it's unfortunately frequently overshadowed by the licensed music. Everyone already complained about things like the use of Take On Me in place of a lovingly arranged DKC medley, but it feels illustrative of the tug of war the movie is caught in the middle of, between wanting to be a lavishly faithful Mario movie and wanting to be a generic tentpole animated adventure movie. Every single licensed song used is the most obvious, overused song they could have picked for the scene. It reeks of cynical executive meddling and it took me out of the movie every time.

But there really was a lot of care and love put into this movie - more than probably any other video game movie ever made, not that that's a high bar. I don't want to underplay that too much amidst all my complaints spurred by the absolutely insane response to the reviews.

Aside from the countless background references that people will be picking apart for years, touches like the Captain Toad tune playing in the background of Toad's introduction or the Mario Kart 8 menu music playing in the kart garage really help bring it to another level of authenticity. I also enjoyed seeing some more obscure Mario enemies that felt like they were picked more for being fun to animate than for being nostalgic and marketable. No matter how many times I sarcastically pointed to the screen and deadpanned "reference. reference." I am not immune to noticing these things and smiling. I am not immune to the DK Rap. These alone don't make the movie good, but it's nice to have a video game movie that feels like it was made by people who like video games.

Most importantly, the animation is great throughout. It's leaps and bounds ahead of other Illumination work, and it's the best the Mario cast has ever looked. They even made Donkey Kong handsome, somehow. They're all so squishy and expressive, and they move so fluidly - especially in the action scenes. I particularly liked the more kinetic ones like the aerial Banzai Bill chase and the Mario Kart sequence. Truly, the Mad Max-inspired car battle on Rainbow Road where Mario literally does the speedrun shortcut is this movie firing on all cylinders.

Other, more hand-to-hand fights nail the Popeye-esque vibe Mario should be going for. He's an underdog who gets the shit kicked out of him by bigger, stronger opponents until he gets his signature powerup and turns the tables on them. My favorite animation of all probably came from the use of Cat Mario to turn the tide in the DK fight. They had so much fun making Mario move like a cat. Again, it feels like a choice made because it'd be fun to animate rather than just a nostalgia move.

It's that animation and that attention to detail that carry the film, really. They elevate it from mediocrity into being a fun watch for a fan like me, albeit one I couldn't help but pick apart with Anthony as we watched it at home. I'm glad I saw it, but there's a lot of room to improve with the inevitable sequel. I hope they do. I can't deny that I had fun with the movie, but I hope next time that fun is partially because of the script instead of in spite of it.

Stray thoughts:

Overall, I would say I enjoyed the movie a lot more than Sonic 1, but probably not as much as Sonic 2. Not that these movies need to be pitted against each other.

I hated the Luma. I hated how hilarious they clearly thought the Luma was. They have the fucking Luma break the fourth wall to end the movie and start the credits. This is going to be a deep cut for fans of bad animated films, but the whole time I was just thinking of the little fish from Romeo & Juliet: Sealed With A Kiss who's just the director's kid saying random nonsense. You know I'm right

I rolled my eyes at the "our princess is in another castle" joke and several other jokes that would have been dated in a gamer webcomic 20 years ago but I guess they had to be there

How much of Brooklyn did Bowser's giant floating castle take out? We know 9/11 happened in this universe because the Freedom Tower is there, hasn't New York been through enough

I can't believe there's a Diskun easter egg

The dog is the most Illumination character design in the movie. It felt like it wandered on set from The Secret Life of Pets

Mario being a gamer and playing Kid Icarus of all things just made me remember this tweet:

Yes Anthony did get mad at me for being thirsty for Bowser

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anastaaaaaaasia · 1 month

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I really hate HBO

I am writing this and understand perfectly well that this post can cause a lot of discontent and hate, but I feel that I can no longer remain silent.

It's about HBO and the character of Aegon, and more specifically about the incident with Dyana.

Many of the green team and even Tom Glynn-Carney himself are hated and called rape apologists. *Deep breath*

Honestly, I will never understand this, especially when real people are bullied for fictional characters. But today I would like to talk about HBO.

I absolutely love the character of Aegon, I love the books on which the series was based, but HBO is hitting another rock bottom with their masterpieces.

All the scenes with Dyana look terribly awkward, because the serial Aegon is so pitiful that sometimes you think that he himself is being straponed by all the servants in turn. As my mother says, you can only hug him and cry. Diana as a character is a simple cardboard figurine for HBO's convenience.

All modern values, agendas and education on these topics are, of course, good, but not when they cover their asses with it for their own convenience. Unfortunately, in the modern world, where the topic of violence is very acute, it also turns out to be a very profitable topic. Profitable for increasing coverage, convenient for creating a clichéd image of a villain. I wouldn't even be surprised if HBO released Dyana T-shirts later.

But the most deplorable thing is that a large corporation does not remember about rape, when they could have donated to a fund to help victims and talked about it at events. Just perform an educational function!

Sorry, but HBO essentially monetized violence.

Chapter 2. Fans and double standards.

I can understand why the TV series Aegon is hated. Yes, he’s no good! Despite the fact that he still remains my favorite character. The first scene with the adult Aegon, right where Alicent scolds him for Dyana. This act is essentially presented to us as the main one, as the main feature of Aegon. How else should those who were not familiar with the books before react?

But I have another question, many of the fans of the House of the Dragon watched Game of Thrones, where there is much more violence. Why then were only new characters included in the distribution?

We had Ramsay raping Sansa on her wedding night. We believed this because we saw the sadistic tendencies and understood that Sansa was not a Mary Sue who would be able to escape from Ramsay at the last moment.

We had JAIME raping Cersei over the corpse of their own son. but his character had been revealed before from the best sides, so many did not even understand what happened.

I will never get tired of saying that the writers and producers, frankly, did a terrible job. We were supposed to have a series where the fight is between two types of shit, all of them gray. But we ended up with characters without motivation, with unnecessary clichés and, frankly speaking, boring in many places.

We got a real feud between the fans. This is good for business, but bad for humanity. It turns out that many actors receive hate.

Yes, I’m on the green team, but first of all, I’m on the team of those who condemn the shitty work of screenwriters and producers.

#aegon ii targaryen #house of the dragon #team green #HBO #HBO you can fuck yourself #dyana

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nonstoplover · 2 years

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fake or not fake ~ daniel ricciardo (dr3)

my masterlist | my f1 masterlist

pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!reader

summary: a prank in a bar by his friends, then some slight embarrassment, that might just lead to something bigger and better.

words: 2.8K

warnings: explicit language, mentions of drinking, and fluff. just fluff.

a/n: no, i did not get the inspo for this from narcos 1x1... lmao. i haven't even watched more episodes (at least not yet) but that scene just got stuck in my head. so credit goes to screenwriters of narcos i guess.

and you know that i just had to write something ahead of this very emotional weekend. i'm not ready btw. (i'm gonna miss you so much, sv5 and dr3, i don't know what i will do after sunday. f1 will never be the same without the two of you.)

reader, please don't be a ghost, all feedback is well appreaciated, rb or comment!

taglist: formulapierre

"Are you sure it's a good idea?" Sebastian asks, leaning back in the booth, his eyes glancing back and forth from the bar counter – or more specifically the two girls sitting there – to his friends-slash-colleagues sitting opposite him.

"When do any of his ideas turn out to be good?" Lewis lets out a chuckle, earning a light punch in the shoulder from George along with an exclaimed, huffish hey.

"It's going to be alright, don't worry. Danny can take a joke," George says in defence of his idea he just announced to the other two a minute ago. "And by the way, that girl is one hundred percent his type. He won't mind."

As if he was summoned by the mention of his name, Daniel appears in their sight on his way back from the bathroom, a spring in his step as his head slightly moves around to the beat of the song playing.

"Okay, let's do this," Seb mumbles, all three pairs of eyes trained on their fellow driver as he approaches.

"What's up, guys, why are you all silent? Does the conversation just die when I'm not around?"

Daniel chuckles at his joke, and Sebastian playfully rolls his eyes whilst scooting a bit further inside the booth to let his friend sit down comfortably. "Yeah, sure."

The chat between them sparks up again, just as light and fun as it was before – and as it always has been in their group. The perfect way to let go of all the tension of the racing season. They were lucky to have a free Monday evening after another race weekend.

Not many minutes pass though before George quickly glances at Seb with a mischievous glint in his eyes, then turning his attention to the victim he's chosen for his newest prank.

"Actually, D, while you were coming back, that girl at the bar just couldn't keep her eyes off you," he nods with his chin, pointing in the two girls' direction.

"She was full-on checking out your ass, too," Lewis adds, voice slightly shaky from the laughter he truly struggles to hold back now – luckily only Seb knows him and his voice enough to notice it, but he still kicks the Brit gently and noiselessly under the table. If they're really going to do this prank, they can't have Lewis blowing it before anything happens.

Daniel turns his head slowly and as casually as he can manage, to catch a look at the mentioned girl. "Which one?"

"(y/h/c) hair, dark blue top, sitting with her friend."

"You kiddin'."

"Why would I? I'm just informing you, thought you might appreciate it," George shrugs, and Seb has to admit to himself that the kid is a way better actor than he'd expected him to be.

After turning towards the counter as well – as if he'd never seen the girl before and he's just checking who the two Brits were talking about –, the German gently pushes Danny's shoulder with his own. "You should go for it."

"I don't know, man, I'm here to spend time with you, not with some random girl."

"Oh, come on, you'll have dozens of nights like this with us, and this girl, you might never see her again," Seb can feel himself get more and more into this joke as time passes. "Don't tell me you'd actually give up an opportunity like this."

"I agree," Lewis chimes in. "You prefer our boring faces instead of that girl?"

"I know that she's your type, Danny, just man up and go get her," George delivers the final push.

"Fuck it, I'm going."

With that Daniel gets to his feet, wiping his palms swiftly on the jeans hugging his thighs. A look back at his friends – catching the sight of a thumbs up from Seb – and he's off. Calculated, confident steps take him to the counter, where he immediately goes for it, without a second thought, leaning against the wooden furniture right next to the girl.

She momentarily glances at him, a little disturbed by the sudden appearance of someone next to her, so close that she can the body heat radiating off him. There's plenty of room on his other side, he could've easily stopped a bit further away, a bit less in her personal space, she thinks to herself somewhat irritated, but she doesn't want anything to ruin her night, so she leaves it without any comment said to the man.

But then the next second Daniel leans forward, trying to catch her eye. His signature smile – the more flirtatious version – is playing on his lips, with words spilling from them, and it's painfully obvious they're directed at her. "How're you doing?"

With a sigh, (y/n) half turns away from her best friend, casting bored eyes at the man. "Busy," she replies, "and having a great time with my friend."

The unspoken continuation of the sentence hangs in the air, unmistakable even to Daniel. 'And you're ruining it right now.'

Confusion fills his mind, the smile slowly fading from his face as she turns away and he leans back. If she was checking him out, what is going on now? Why does she seem so fed up with him? Did he do something wrong? Insecurity kicks in, and his eyes flicker back towards his friends.

George is doubled over, his whole upper body shaking with laughter, Lewis is shaking his head with a wide grin spreading across his cheeks, and Seb obviously tries to hide himself, sliding down in his seat in the booth until only small parts of him are visible, but it's still clear he's laughing away as well.

'I know she's your type, Danny.'

'You should go for it.'

Their words are on swift repeat inside his mind, and suddenly everything makes sense. It was a stupid prank. Shaking his head in disbelief and biting on the inside of his cheek to stop the surprised chuckle threatening to escape, Daniel wonders which one of the three originally came up with it. He'll have to find a way to get revenge for this.

Oh, the embarrassment he's feeling right now.

His eyes move back to the girl as he slowly pushes himself away from the counter in order to saunter back to their booth. He mentally debates apologising for being so straight-forward. After all, she must think he's some total creep now, being so pushy even though she never expressed even a tiny piece of interest in him.

But then the perfect idea forms in his mind, and another quick look at the three drivers and how they're still enjoying themselves over there confirms to him that it's the best thing he could ever come up with. It's already somewhat a revenge in itself, and there's no way he'd back down from a challenge.

So after that one first step taken away from the two girls, he turns right back around and leans in once more. He can clearly see the frustration in her eyes now, but even that doesn't stop him this time. If she just listens to him this once, she will never see him again, and all her frustration can go away.

"Yes?" (y/n) asks impatiently.

"I'm sorry, we got off to a bad start–"

"You don't say," she mumbles, interrupting him.

"–but if you look to the side you can see three guys in that booth laughing." Daniel waits for her to do as he told, and a long second later she rolls her eyes and with another sigh turns her head. "They are my friends, and they thought it would be funny to make me come here by telling me you were checking me – and my ass if we're tryna be exact – out before. But I mean, who'd check out a race driver's ass?"

"You're a race driver?" (y/n) asks back with the first thing that comes to her head. She's still trying to comprehend the story he's told her.

"I am."

"Nascar?" (y/f/n) chimes in, leaning closer to the two, and Daniel spares a glance at her, only for his mind to conclude that her friend has nothing on her, she really is one of the most gorgeous women he's ever had the pleasure to see.

(y/n)'s lips momentarily pull into a grimace at her friend's intervention, and he catches it just before it disappears. She probably doesn't like Nascar then.

"Nah, Formula One actually," he replies, curiously waiting to see if it triggers the same reaction from her. Nothing happens, to his great relief.

"So that's why he's moving in so fast," her best friend chuckles in the background, eliciting a giggle from her.

"Be careful, (y/f/n), or he'll move so fast by you that you'll get whiplash," she can't help but add jokingly, her eyes swiftly moving along his body. She has to admit, the man actually looks quite attractive.

Daniel shakes his head at their antics, before determinedly going back to his mission.

"Listen, if you could help me out, I'd be forever grateful. I would offer to buy you two a drink, but that might come off as flirting again and I don't want to make you more uncomfortable, so you have to make do with knowing I'm grateful."

"What do you want me to do?" (y/n) squints her eyes, turning more serious as she waits to hear his plan.

"Give me your number."

She raises an eyebrow in surprise. It wasn't what she expected. That she can easily do. "Is a fake number good enough for you?"

"As long as you give me anything I can show them, I'm okay with it," Daniel shrugs.

"Fine," another sigh escapes her lung, holding her hand out towards him in the air, palm facing up, waiting for his phone.

His eyes light up, and he scrambles to pull the device out of his back pocket, unlocking it on the way before placing it in her palm. She deliberately turns her body a bit so that his friends can definitely see her typing away on his phone, before handing it back to him.

"Here you go."

"Thanks, and sorry for bothering," Danny flashes a wide grin towards her, showcasing all his shining, pearly white teeth to her, before wheeling round and making his way back towards the booth.

(y/n) shakes her head, still not being able to fully comprehend the situation. "Why did you let him go like that? He was actually so hot," (y/f/n) scolds her, shoulders bumping into hers as she watches him retreat from the corner of her eyes.

"Who said I did?" (y/n) replies, her voice a bit dreamy and distant.

"What?" her friend lets out a laugh in disbelief. "You gave him your real number, didn't you?"

"I might have," she shrugs, turning back towards the counter.

"And what if he doesn't realise this? I mean, you did in fact tell him it's fake."

"Then it's his problem. It was worth the risk," with a giggle into her glass she takes a sip of her drink. Maybe it was the small amount of alcohol already in her system that made her decide on such a crazy thing. "I didn't want to make it so easy for him."

"I can't decide if you're a genius or an idiot."

They burst out laughing at the same time. Whatever happens, this will be a fun story to tell in the future, she decides. What she doesn't know is that the attractive guy has turned in his seat at that very moment, hearing her laughter even through all the noise of the bar, and is now watching her with happy amusement.

When Daniel arrives back at their booth, the first thing he does is to lean in above the table and smack the back of George's head. "I know it was your idea, Russell George."

"What? Why?" the younger Brit exclaims, rubbing the skin where Danny's hand made a contact. He's still unable to stop chuckling though.

"Lewis is too nice for it, and Seb is not cruel enough."

Sitting down in his seat, shaking his head, Daniel casts a look on all three of his friends that's meant to be reprimanding but only comes off as funny, especially when it comes to the two older drivers. All four of them are simply grinning wide in the end.

And in the middle of the just setting, temporary silence, the Aussie places his unlocked phone on the middle of the table. "But your plan didn't work out quite how you thought, did it?"

He leans back and watches joyously as the three move closer, feeling oh so satisfied to see the shock settling on their faces.

"That's her number, idiots."

"What?" Daniel can hear George's mumbled disbelieving, probably rhetorical question, which only fuels his satisfaction.

"That's how you do it. Next time, watch and learn instead of laughing your asses off."

A couple hours later Danny arrives back to his hotel room, and flopping down on his bed pulls out his phone to scroll on social media for a while, not in the mood to go to sleep just yet. It was such a nice night, he wants to enjoy the content feeling buzzing in his body a little more.

As his phone unlocks, his eyes fall on the saved newest contact. He's totally forgotten about her – how could he? He forgot how he locked his phone right away after showing her number to the other three drivers, and didn't use the device again until now.

But now her number and name are right there, in front of his eyes, and he can't help but think back to those breathtaking (y/e/c) eyes. He wishes he could see them again.

His finger hovers above the call button before his mind can catch up to his actions, but freezes just in that very moment. She gave you a fake number, his mind tells him.

Yeah, but what if she didn't? What's the worst that can happen? He wakes some old grandpa up in the middle of nowhere. And so what?

So in the next moment, when his finger moves again, Daniel doesn't stop himself, and lets the skin on the pad of his finger press onto the screen. It rings six times, and he's close to giving up and just ending the call when someone finally answers.

With bated breath he waits, his nerves tickling, muscles tense as he's laying on the soft mattress.

"Hello?"

He immediately recognises the voice. It's her.

"So it wasn't a fake after all," he can't help but smirk to himself.

"No, it wasn't," she replies, and Danny can basically hear how she rolls her eyes playfully at him.

"Why'd you say it was fake then?"

"Wanted you to figure it out yourself."

"You give me way too much credit if you think I'm that clever," he chuckles.

(y/n) giggles, her heart fluttering in her chest. She'd been waiting for him to call, but slowly started giving up hope he actually would. And now she's actually talking with him.

"I thought you'd like a challenge, Mr Race Driver."

"Oh, I did."

A second or two passes in silence, both just contently breathing, happy that they didn't lose this opportunity, to speak to the other again.

"I'm Daniel, by the way," he speaks up again, just wanting to hear her voice again, more than anything else.

"I know. I looked you up in Google," she admits.

"Did you?" Daniel bursts out laughing. (y/n) joins him a moment later, and he swears there are butterflies in his stomach and chest by the sound.

When they calm back down, it's her turn to break the sudden quiet. "I'm (y/n)."

"Nice to meet you, (y/n)," he speaks her name slowly, carefully, rolling it around his tongue, trying to get a taste of how it feels to say it. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.

"You too, Daniel." Her voice is soft, so soft he could fall asleep just listening to her – especially if she says his name. It's like being in heaven.

"Are you free tomorrow?"

"Wow, you really don't wait around a lot," and just like that, he earned another chuckle from her.

"I'm leaving town two days from now, that's the reason." He shrugs, even though he knows she can't see him.

"Oh." A long pause, one that scares Daniel for a moment that his previous announcement scared the girl. "I'm free in the afternoon actually," she adds then, and he's back to grinning with that signature, teeth-flashing smile.

"Good."

What has she gotten herself into?, she can't help but think as her heart beats rapidly in her chest and in her throat.

She doesn't know the answer, not just yet, but she can feel that it's going to be one hell of a wonderful adventure.

.::the end::.

my masterlist | my f1 masterlist

i just had to put another gif of him, i couldn't stop myself. sorry not sorry. let me know what you thought, i'm dying to hear from you.

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