#anyway this helped me cope with the bad feelings tonight.

[zvdvdlvr]

Why’d You Have to Wait?

🔥 - synopsis. You get kidnapped on a case. Aaron’s coping mechanism? Self isolation. But when you’re recovering, Aaron wonders if staying away from you is the right thing to do. Jack convinces him anyway. Are things too far gone for Aaron to fix?

🔥 - warnings. Non descriptive torture. Scars. Burns. Very vaguely described mental issues. Slow burn. Friends ro enemies to lovers? Sad hotch. Angst. No happy ending.

🔥 - author’s note. Doing a part two. Hopefully this doesnt flop :)

Aaron had dreams about it now. They were so vivid- lifelike and real. Every time he had them he woke up in a cold sweat, heaving in the bathroom as tears dripped slowly down his face.

He hadn’t gone to the hospital to see you. In fact, Aaron hadn’t seen you since the day you almost died. He rode in the ambulance, but tore himself away from the hospital as he watched the doctors wheel you into the operating room. Your blood had stained his hands, face, and arms for days. Every time the white spots danced in his vision after emptying the contents of his stomach, he swears he can still see the glossy red liquid drip off his fingers.

You were well like. Not only by the team but by Strauss. She had given the team the time off to help y/n recover: sit in her room after another surgery, cheer for her during physical therapy.

Jack loved having time to see his dad after school, but he knew something was wrong after consistently hearing him pad to the kitchen during the middle of the night.

Tonight was no different.

Jack sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes. He blinked owlishly around the room and stood up. The little Hotchner slowly followed the light to the kitchen and saw his daddy lean over the sink. “Daddy?”

Aaron turned his head and tried to smile at Jack. Aaron knew he probably looked a mess. “Hey buddy. Let’s get you back to bed.”

Before Aaron could set down set down his water cup, Jack crawled up the seat and watched his dad over the counter. “What’s wrong, daddy?”

“I just can’t sleep,” Aaron shrugged, facing Jack with his arms crossed. “Why do you think something’s wrong?”

Jack looked at Aaron as if he had grown two heads. “You get up in the night a lot, daddy. And your eyes are red. You cough a lot too.“

Hotch wanted to laugh. Of course Jack knew something was wrong- he always knew. “Yeah. You’re right, kiddo.”

“You yell when you sleep sometimes too. What happened to y/n, daddy? She doesn’t come see me anymore.”

Aaron shuddered as he inhaled. Smart boy. “She got really hurt, buddy. It’s bad. I guess I just… get scared thinking about her getting hurt,” Aaron admits, feeling his heart beat faster in his chest.

Jack nodded. “Can we go see her?”

“I- I don’t think we should. She’s still getting better.”

Jack furrowd his eyebrows and tilted his head. “But I miss her.”

“I do t- I bet she misses you, too, Jack, but I don’t know how she’s doing. She might still-“

Jack sighed. “But daddy, she’d be so happy to see me!”

Aaron sighed. As much as he selfishly wanted to see you, he couldn’t. He’d do something he wasn’t proud of- embarrass himself, ruin his reputation of being a mentally and emotionally tough boss, ruin your friendship… No. Aaron couldn’t go by himself, but Jack could go with him. Why hadn’t Aaron thought of it before?

“Okay,” Aaron relented. A smile tugged at his lips when Jack’s face lit up. He scrambled off his chair and collided into Aaron’s legs and squeezed.

“Can I sleep with you tonight, daddy? Aunt Jess always stays with me when I have a nightmare.”

Aaron bent down and picked Jack up and nodded. “Yeah, buddy. Let me brush my teeth again.”

Jack wrapped his arms around his dad’s neck and squeezed, as big of a hug his little body could give.

— 🔥

The days were all a blur for you. Now that you were all fucked up, nothing felt right anymore. Second defree burns crawled up the calf of your left leg. Small cuts littered your entire body, scarring and twisting your skin. The worst part was the long, twisting scar that started on your cheek about two inches away from your ear and pulled down to your collarbone.

The unsub, Barney MacMillian, was a sadist. A stupid fucking sadist. He thought he was punishing you for hunting him when he kidnapped and tortured you.

You know the team tried- they really really did try- to cheer you up, to get you back. But the fact that you now considered yourself a monster and how you started to believe the things MacMillian had whispered in your ear as he tore you apart, layer by layer.

Derek genuinely thought your scar was badass, but learned not to bring it up. Penelope just kept rehashing everything- something you had eventually told her to atop doing. Prentiss was cautious, testing the waters. But she eventually got back into a rhythm with you as your best friend. JJ didn’t do anything wrong, she was just really nice- too nice? Spencer was… himself. And you couldn’t thank him enough for just staying him, recitinf facts about burns and scars, knives and blood loss. It was morbid, sure, but you were always close with him and the way his brain worked.

Rossi was the one that kept you together through it all, though. He had conversations with you, long past visiting hours. He talked with you about anything and everything and somehow knew exactly what you needed to hear or talk about. But he kept making excuses for Aaron.

Aaron. The romantic feelings you kept trying to flush away turned into hurt every time Rossi’s eyes flickered away from yours when you asked about him. But you knew now. He didn’t care. He never would. That’s why he didn’t show. It’s the only plausible explanation of why he wouldn’t show up, shoot you a text, something.

So you turned your hurt into anger and stopped asking, ignoring the way your heart would drop to your stomach and how the acid in your stomach churned eveey time you heard his name.

You already had your resignation documenta stored neatly in a magazine in the second table in the nightstand to your right. You were done with it all.

— 🔥

That’s why you felt tears prick in your eyes when you saw Jack Hotchner leap into the room. His little eyes scoured your face, eyes dragging down the healing skin on your face. You heard Aaron’s footfalls stop short at the door. Your jaw clenched and you stared at Jack, waiting for him to start crying and ask to leave.

But he didn’t. He just smiled and leapt into your arms, completely unaware of the physical pain in your leg and body. He just wrapped his arms and legs around you.

You sat still, eyes looking at Rossi, who smiled at you. You hadn’t yet looked at Aaron and didn’t even want to. Carefully you wrapped your arms around Jack’s back, ignoring how fast the tears left your eyes.

Jack pulled back and looked at you with a smile that faded the second he saw your tears. In all of your time (almost 10 years) at the BAU, Jack had only seen you cry once. And that was during a movie. 

“I thought coming to see you what make you happy,” he sad, voice sad. “Why are you crying?”

You smiled at him, sniffling pitifully. “I’m not sad, little J. I am really happy to see you,” you said. You hoped Aaron would hear the sharp undertone in your voice. Judging by Rossi’s huff of a laugh, he did.

“Oh! Well, I brought you stuff. I know you like the Black Widow because she’s really cool, so I brought you a coloring book,” Jack explained as he brandished his backpack full of stuff. You listensed intently, only looking up when Rossi got your attention and nodded to the door to signal him leaving.

Jack kept talking and you were overjoyed to listen. He was a pleasent little man, making your time more enjoyable. He opened up the coloring book he bought and started coloring after giving you a Beanie Baby he had that you mentioned you liked. He also got you a necklace- that Aaron no doubt spent a pretty penny for- that had your birthstone set in it. Jack watched you carefully as you opened it, and he put it on with his chubby fingers. You didn’t tell him that you would have to take it off soon after he left so it didn’t kill you when you slept. Hospital policy or something.

Soon after you finished your own coloring page featuring the Black Widow and Tony Stark making a hero landing, Jack turned on the T.V. and fell asleep.

“Hey,” Aaron said finally.

You nodded. “Hi boss.”

Aaron bit his lip. You stared forward, hand threading through Jack’s hair. Aaron felt his heart clenching in his chest. He didn’t know how you were gonna react when he came by, but he didn’t expect this- this silent treatment. He didn’t really blame you though. He wanted more than anything to make it up to you, to get you smiling again, but he knew the distance was probably better. For him at least.

“Y/n-“ Aaron started.”

You cut him off with. “Jack’s asleep, sir. It would be best not to wake him.”

Sir. You only called him sir if you were mad. Aaron swallowed. He knew he fucked up. Would he ever be able to fix his mistake, bring the old you back? He pondered the questions as he leaned back in his chair and watched the television show Jack chose before he fell asleep.

— 🔥

“Y/n is getting sent home today,” David’s voice crackled through the phone. “We wanted to take her out to dinner, something nice. Are you coming?”

Aaron sat at the kitchen table, checking over Jack’s homework. Jack himself was sitting a couple feet away on the couch. “Probably not. I have Jack.” 

Rossi scoffed on the other line. “She loves Jack and he loves her. Bring him with you.”

“I don’t know,” Aaron sighed. He rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes. “Dave, she hates me.”

Silence. Rossi exhaled and shook his head. “She doesn’t hate you, but you’re giving her a lot of reasons to. Clean yourself up and meet us all at the address Garcia’ll send you. 6:00. Be there, Aaron. If not for her…” he trailed off, considering his next words carefully. “Then for Jack.”

— 🔥

David convinced you all to wait until ordering.

But when 6:45 rolled around and Aaron didn’t show, you just clenched your jaw and ordered a neat whiskey.

#ssa aaron hotchner #jules writes 📓🖊 #x female reader #female reader #x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x gn!reader #aaron hotchner x reader dies #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x female reader #criminal mnds #bau #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fandom

[izzy-b-hands]

i was going to only film today but somehow I'm writing a fic abt izzy and fang taking on a puppy ed and stede can't handle (not so much a them issue as a 'they already have shared custody of Stede's kids so the house is Busy also there are other extenuating circumstances that mean maybe a puppy now was Not A Great Idea' overall thing)

searching up puppy training rn bc it's been An While since I had a dog and I've already implied fang and izzy know what they're doing so. I need to verify what's changed re: dog training since last I needed to look lmao

#text post #still want to film but I'm gonna get the bedrock of this draft down first #and try not to think abt anything else or I start to feel Very Bad!!! #and im trying to not touch the edibles till later tonight but the coping skills aren't really helping the Bad when it hits so #writing abt crate training a puppy while also thinking god what a life. to be told what to do where to go & occasionally u get squeaky toy #im fine. anyway what are they gonna name this puppy ed and stede literally have not named yet idk so if y'all have ideas shoot em at me

[bluebellhairpin]

Thou So Long Hast Mourn'd

Bruce Wayne X Batmom!Reader

Summary: After Jason's passing, your grief and anger combined causes you to leave Gotham - swearing only to return when you have a perfect chance to kill the Joker for what he did to your son. (Part 2 to 'Hell Hath No Fury')

Warnings: Loss and Grief (Mentions of a funeral and repeated mentions of Jason dying. We miss Mumma's Boy Jay a lot :( ). Bad coping mechanisms all round. Clark Kent acts as a marital buffer. (Reader is fem coded; has she/her pronouns; is referred to as ‘wife’ multiple times. Has the hero name of 'Valentine'.)

Listening to: 'Skyfall' By Adele - "I know I'd never be me without the security of your loving arms keeping me from harm."

Series Masterlist || Masterlist || Ko-Fi

Yes, thou shalt know, spite of thy past Distress, - 

Jason’s funeral was attended by a very small number of people. Yourself, Bruce, Dick, and Alfred all front and center. 

For days, weeks, the media pestered asking question after question. “A tragic accident.” Commissioner Gordon would reply. It became you answer too, like a well-rehearsed prayer. 

A tragic accident. Tragic. Accidental tragedy. Accident. 

Except it was no such accident. Someone killed Jason. A man, who still walked free, murdered your son. 

Even now, a month after you buried the child, as you sat listening to rain pat against the window panes in Wayne Manor, you remembered what you’d told Bruce the night he brought Jason home for the last time. 

“I’m going to kill him.” you said. “I’m going to kill the Joker.” You told Bruce you’d do what you’d vowed to never do again. You promised yourself to avenge your son, to make sure no one else would ever lose a child to that monster ever again. 

Ever since that night you’d felt a wedge slide between you and Bruce. Dick, only sixteen and having lost the closest thing he had to a brother was feeling it - you could see it on his face, and they way he held his shoulders at dinner. How you were feeling, how little Bruce was doing about it - none of it was doing Dick any good. 

Aside from the anger, you didn’t know how you were feeling. You never thought you’d ever be a mother - you had no idea what to do to help anyone. So you left. 

Bruce was out on patrol - he dove into Batman head first, a bitter feeling in your stomach had you thinking he was compensating. Dick was out - gymnastic practice, which Alfred was in charge of tonight. You were left alone in a huge house, and you couldn’t stand to stay there any longer. 

A small bag was packed with basics - clothes, cash, a few weapons from the cave, and a single family photo taken while on vacation just that past summer (stolen from its frame and folded into a jacket pocket close to your heart). As you walked past the main living space, you stopped, and looked up towards the item hanging above the fireplace. 

The sword - Excalibur - a god-given gift to humankind to exact true justice, now resting as a collectors antique catching dust. You knew if you took it that you would be able to do what you needed to. During your time using it there was no greater pull than to execute Joker - yet something always stopped you. 

You knew it was Bruce. 

Even already, your own guilt over what you meant to do wouldn’t let you take it with you. 

Naturally, on that night, Alfred brought Dick was home first. It was already nine thirty, and while Dick would be up for a long while, he knew the boy wasn’t sleeping proper anymore. 

Alfred sent him up to his room anyway, reassuringly with a hand on his shoulder, telling him to go try and get some rest. 

But Alfred knew something wasn’t right in the Manor the moment he stepped inside. It was too quiet. Like it had been empty as long as they’d been away - even though he knew full well you should’ve been there to keep the house alive. 

Although not trained, the butler had a sixth sense for a lot of things - he was a natural at whatever he sent his mind to (in his youth it was acting, and hence so seeing through lies and reading rooms (for improvisation, obviously) went with it). He set out to find you. Looked in all the usual places, and the unusual ones, in the big rooms and the small ones. 

In the last week or so you’d taken to spending time sitting in the walk-in-fridge. He worried about you a lot. While Dick still had school and his friends, and Bruce threw himself into Batman, you only really had yourself. It wasn’t healthy. 

But no matter how much he looked, or where he looked, you were nowhere to be found - not in the house, nor in the grounds. You’d said nothing about going out when he left, he would’ve remembered. In a last ditch effort to find you, he looked in one last place. 

But you hadn’t been in the Batcave since Jason came home. 

It was there, as he walked down a set of stairs, that he noticed a piece of paper haphazardly taped to one of the center computer monitors. 

He grabbed it, and flipped it open, reading quietly to himself the words inside, scrawled in your handwriting. 

‘Bruce, Don’t look, you know I won’t let you find me. I’m going to do something you will hate me for - probably forever. I can’t keep living like this knowing Jason’s killer is out there killing more mother’s sons. Take care of Dickie. Don’t take Alfred for granted.’

The older man found himself sinking into the chair beside him.

He had a hunch this was coming - he wasn’t in the cave the night Bruce brought Jason home, instead at the time he was upstairs taking a call from an excited Dick who was recalling his day spent doing a treasure hunt around Blüdhaven for a school camp trip that lasted the whole week. Alfred had no idea how you first reacted - he didn’t know how Bruce reacted to your reaction. 

He knew it wasn’t good. Especially since in your note you didn’t even say goodbye to your husband. 

You’d been hiding in a place you knew Bruce wouldn’t ever look - he always hated visiting Metropolis, the city was too bright.  

You knew no one there would snitch on you - most didn’t even recognize you, and the one person who did, conveniently the man who was the closest thing Bruce had to a best friend, wouldn’t ever snitch on you. Not for this. 

‘I needed a break,’ you’d lied, ‘Couldn’t handle being in Gotham after…’ You never finished, and you knew Clark could see through a lie like glass - but the grief he could see. He could also see the anger simmering underneath. He never called you out for it though. 

You’d been there a while, waiting, watching Gotham from a distance Bruce wouldn’t see you from. You kept tabs mostly on Batman - although interviews with Bruce having to explain where his wife went were entertaining (in a sick, satisfying way). Sometimes you were sick, others you were out of town, most times you ‘weren’t feeling up to it’ - the latter two would be closest to the truth, not that he’d know that. 

You often looked fondly at whatever information came though about Dick - he took out the gymnastics first place for his age bracket in the Gotham state. The picture made your heart ache - his smile was wide and toothy, but even though your printed newspaper you could tell it wasn’t reaching his eyes. 

Who you were watching most, though, was the Joker. You combed through old reports and new ones. Even called up Harley Quinn a few times, just to get a perspective on him from someone who was - at one point - much closer to him. She asked you why you wanted to know. 

“I need to know.” 

“O-kay. And where exactly have you been Val?” she’d said, voice crackling down the hotel landline, “You ain’t locking yourself up in that Mansion are ya?” 

“No. I’m not in Gotham right now.” 

“So what’s even the Joker to ya if you ain’t even here huh?” 

“When I come back,” you said, “I’m going to kill him.” 

You became a Joker expert in almost one night.

You got a late night visitor less than a week after that phone call. Clad in red and blue, with a gaudy cape and that stupid ringlet you and Bruce would always bitch about on late nights under bed covers. 

You were a little happy to see Clark - you actually had nothing against him, it was all just in jest (or solidarity because Bruce was your husband). He was let in pretty quickly. Mostly to avoid questions from the nosey couple who’d been staying in the room next to yours for the past three days. 

He stood around awkwardly while you watched him from the seat next to the room’s microwave, posture screaming Clark Kent, journalist, even though he looked like Superman, world-know superhero. 

“I’m, uh -” he started after you stared at him hard, wordlessly willing him to speak, “- I’m worried. I think you should go back to Gotham soon. To Bruce, specifically.” 

“And why’s that?” He looked at you like you’d just said you had Kryptonite in your pocket. 

“Because you’re in trouble.” 

“I’m here in Metropolis, I’m with you right now, I couldn’t be in less trouble if I tried.” 

“You know I have super hearing.” he said sheepishly. It was like he was telling his Ma he ran over her peonies with a bicycle. You put two and two together quickly though. 

“You’ve been spying on me?” 

“For me!” He said, stepping back with his palms towards the sky, “I feel better about not telling Bruce if I know what’s going on with you.” 

“And so what part of your spying brought you here tonight?” Both your arms and legs crossed, you could tell from his face he didn't mean for you to get so offensive so quickly. 

“You were talking to Harley Quinn?” 

“Oh that,” you scoffed with a wave of your hand, “Even Bruce does that. She’s not so bad. Taught me how to roller-skate you know.” 

“About the Joker?” 

“That happens often when my husband is being a pain in my ass,” you said, “Reminds me he could be much, much worse.” Clark motioned his head - ‘fair’, but then he returned serious once more. This time it wasn’t a question. 

“You said you were going to kill him.” 

You knew he couldn’t read your mind, but he could hear how your heartbeat picked up. He had to know you knew you’d been caught. He sat down on the edge of the bed, waiting for your answer in the most approachable way he knew in that moment. 

“I’d be doing everyone a favor.” 

“Bruce - I don’t know what he’d do. He could hate you.” 

“I’m sure he hates me right now anyway.” 

“You can’t believe that,” Clark said, looking up at you with blue eyes that almost looked like Bruce’s. “You don’t really believe he hates you right now?” You took a great interest in the patterned carpet. Clark said your name, and you reluctantly looked back at him. 

“He misses you.” 

“I miss my son.” You bit back at him bitterly. His face remained hard. This was suddenly no longer Clark. You were talking to Superman now. 

“I’m not sure how to say this kindly,” Clark said with a firm voice, “But you’re so focused on the child you lost that you’re abandoning the one that’s still here. Bruce misses you, but Dick misses you even more. He doesn’t need to lose another Mom.” 

His stare was hard, stubborn - he wasn’t going to let up. Your stare was hard too - sour and angry, not because you didn't believe him, but because you knew how right he was. 

“I think you can leave now.”

Two weeks later, after a late night grocery run that consisted mostly of chicken noodle cups and instant coffee, you found a lump of black sitting in the dark with its back against the door of your room. 

Clark told Bruce. 

He didn’t seem to notice your approach, but once you stood toe-to-toe with his polished Oxford shoes, you kicked his leg. 

“Get up.” 

His head of messy hair lifted, and when his brain fully processed you - his wife, finally! - standing before him, he almost jumped to his feet. Uncharacteristic of him outside his prior - and now ditched - playboy persona. 

He breathed your name, stepping forward with hands outstretched as if to hug you. You took a step back. Clark, apparently hadn’t told him everything - if he had, he was taking it very, very well. 

“Where’s Dick?” 

“With Alfred,” he said, hands falling to his sides again after you hummed in acknowledgment. You both stood in silence for a while, before you gestured to a door with a full hand. He got the hint, stepping away, then taking the bags away from one hand as you fumbled for your keys. 

The quiet continued as you let yourselves in, you sat the shopping on the bench, and he made himself at home at the table near the door. You sat back down in the microwave chair, the furthest place from him you could be while still staying in the room. 

“Been keeping busy, Bruce?” you asked, he turned to fully face you in his seat. 

“Not really,” he said, “I’ve been looking for you. Never thought you’d be here,” You almost smiled, thinking about how right you were for coming here. Almost. 

“Heard you went to Saudi Arabia while I’ve been gone.” 

“It was nothing. Really.” 

“You couldn’t have been looking too hard if you were able to take a ‘nothing, really’ trip to the Arabian Mountains.” 

“I’m not here to fight with you,” Bruce said, resting a palm on his knee, “I’m here to ask you to come home. We all miss you.” his last words came out very quietly. “It’s been months. Nothings going to get easier if you stay away.” 

“Are you listening to yourself?” you said with a soft scoff, “He who literally spent every single night after Jason died away from home. He who spends every moment he can down in a dark damp cave rather than with his family - I don’t think you get to tell me where I should be.” You felt tears well in your eyes - hot and fat if they fell, but you willed yourself not to let them. Bruce’s shoulders softened, and he stood and walked closer slowly, coming to kneel before you with his fingers just touching yours. 

“We both haven’t been doing well, have we?” his head shook and his voice was barely audible. It was like he was speaking to himself. His admission - finally, his own pride and stubbornness aside, and it made yours disappear like dust in the wind. 

“You need to see my bathroom,” you said. His head cocked, a sly smile twitched onto his lips. 

“Oh?” he said, “And what might I find there?” But you weren’t smiling. You were trying to be honest.

“Just go look.” you said, turning away from him, bringing your hand away. Telling him with your actions that you weren’t going to be talking until he did. 

He stood, opening the bathroom door behind you and flicking on the light. You could feel how still he was. Taking in the room, and what was inside it. 

All across the mirror and walls were taped up newspaper clippings and photos and articles printed off from the library, old and new, a few of him - Batman - but most of the Joker. Beside the toilet was a case - one he knew would hold parts of a rifle (parts he'd seen you pull apart and put back together in a minute flat) - and across the sink were knives and gun magazines. 

Bruce stepped off the carpet and onto the tile. There was a little list in the center of the mirror, written in red and with the last line underlined.

‘Kill the Joker’. 

When he returned to you, he was holding the list in one hand. 

“When were you planning on doing this?” he asked. You weren’t able to meet his eyes when you answered. 

“Whenever I go back to Gotham.” His body went rigid beside you. Audibly, he let out a breath.

“I’ve thought about it too. Just getting rid of him like that.” he admitted, voice quiet and with a rough edge, “But I know it won’t help. It won’t bring him back.” 

“This isn’t about bringing him back. If I knew it could bring Jason back I’d have done it weeks ago.” You looked up at Bruce as you spoke, watching as his face crinkled in disbelief. 

“You’re so serious about this.” 

“How could you still think I’m not serious?” you said, standing to help convince yourself you weren’t as unsure as you felt. “I will do it. A time will come when that monster dies - wherever it is I will be standing by watching.” 

He watched you. Analyzing your face and the way your eyes moved. His face set like stone, hard and sure and you knew he was much more upset now having found out than what he was when you were missing. He took a step back. 

Bruce was moving towards the door. 

“I won’t stop you. I couldn’t bear to.” he turned, hand on the door handle, “But Batman still will.”

As far as you knew, you’d made it back into Gotham City undetected. 

You knew the route’s Bruce - no - Batman, took while out on patrol. You knew the surveillance he constantly would check. You knew because for years you’d helped him do it all. 

Thankfully, you had a not-so-little little helper - Joker assassination aside, Harley was more than happy to put you up for a while. After you’d killed Joker you’d planned to turn tail and leave again - maybe hide someplace in Australia where no one barely goes. It wasn’t like you had to put up with her long anyway. 

Harley was great, but you’d have to love her a whole lot to live with her longer than a week. But you weren’t planning to stay that long. 

You’d tracked Joker to an apartment complex near Arkham - you knew he wouldn’t stay there forever, so you needed to act fast. 

Your weapons of choice were clean and ready to go, your escape routes A through to D were memorized, a hood and bandana combo were acquired to hide your identity long enough for no one around to know it was you. By all means and definitions you were ready to go. 

You left Harley’s place wordlessly. You were sure she didn’t even know you left. 

A cloak and the shadows of night concealed you from most passersby. Slowly, slowly you stalked towards where you knew the Joker to be. When you climbed the fire escape to find your vantage point, you almost didn’t make it all the way there because you saw Him. 

Sitting, lounging. Acting like there was not a single thing in the world to worry about. It made you so angry you could scream, claw your eyes out, you could do so many things all because that man couldn’t care less about your son dying. 

In fact, you didn’t make it to your original vantage point. 

You settled right there, three levels lower than planned, and took the rifle off your shoulder. Clipping on the scope, twisting the silencer on, packing the magazine in. Settled your body into a comfortable position, then raised the gun to look at your target through the scope. 

With greasy green hair and yellow teeth, you watched him smile through the crosshairs. With a sneer you flicked the safety off. You were ready to take the shot.

A flash of red, green and yellow came in front of the Joker. You frowned, confused. Pulling the scope back you looked again with a wider range and saw something that made your heart drop. Someone was tied up and presented to him like a present. 

The Joker had Robin. 

Your Robin. Your son. Your Dick Grayson. 

Suddenly this was more than just a chance to avenge Jason. A switch flicked inside your heart. This wasn’t a chance to avenge Jason anymore; this was you, saving the son you had left. This was you not giving that monster the chance to keep you in black. 

The lethal rifle was ditched right there on the fire escape, not caring if a lowlife found it before you could return. The knives you’d stashed - ‘just in case’ - were now your swords. Their piercing blades becoming the only thing shielding those who stood in your way a feral beating from bare fists. 

No one was standing in your way of taking Dick home safely. 

Your veins pumped white hot, you saw red all over. This was not going to happen a second time. It wasn’t ever going to happen again. 

A goon at the door stood in your way, he was met with a knee to the crotch and a wound to his shoulder to keep him down. More on the stairs were thrown over bannisters. One had his head smashed into the doorway of the Joker’s apartment. Another was given a hard elbow to the back of his neck. 

You weren’t aiming to kill - you were aiming to get them out of your way, and keep them that way. 

When you reached the room which window you saw through, there were only four other people aside from yourself, your son, and that murdering bastard. They all stayed quiet, goons waiting on a call to action from their boss. You missed the way Dick’s eyes widened as he realised his Mom was here. You were busy staring down the Joker, trying to make him feel just how much pure hate you had for him without a single word. 

“Give me Robin,” you said, voice low, venomous. Dangerous. 

“Well if you want him so bad, and since you asked nicely,” His smile spread wide and uncanny. “Come and get him.” 

So you did. 

Like a blur of back and blue, you had all four men either out cold or groaning on the floor. The Joker himself was under your kneeling form with his teeth now stained red and an eyes swollen shut. 

“Listen well because I’ll only say it once.” You said, your hand a rough fist in his hair to make sure he looked into your eyes and saw exactly how much of a threat your promise was. 

“I spared your life today. I will never do it again. I am not the Batman. The next time I find you trying to pull something with one of my Robin’s and you see me coming you'd better run the other way because I will kill you.”

After untying Dick, retrieving your abandoned gear, and throwing Joker into Arkham, you reconvened with Dick on a nearby rooftop. 

You barely stood upright on two legs before he barreled into you, arms thrown around your waist with his face squished right into your collarbone. He’d grown taller in the time you’d been away. You felt tears fall as your arms wrapped around him in kind. 

“I’ve missed you Mom.” he mumbled into your shirt, “Please don’t go away again. Please.” 

A hand raised to the back of his head as you pressed your covered nose into his hair. You took a deep breath with your eyes closed, then opened them, peeling you both apart just enough to take in each other's faces. Even with his mask on you could see how much he was pleading with you to stay.

You brushed his hair away from his face - he needed a haircut soon. 

You wanted to stay, you never wanted to leave him ever again, not after tonight. But would Bruce let you? 

Out the corner of your eye you saw a black drop fall onto the rooftop a little ways off. Batman. He stood, tall and intimidating. In that moment you had half a mind to take a step back even though he made no move closer to you. 

Instead you just held Dick a little tighter. 

Bruce's hand reached out to you, palm open, outstretched, and empty. Waiting for you to take it. 

“I think we can go home now.” he said, “We all can.” Like that, Batman disappeared. Bruce was here. You guessed he bluffed - when it came to you Bruce was always there. 

Things were not going to go back to normal. They weren’t for a while. But the best thing you could do was stay together, all together. As a family. 

Nothing was going to push that away from you again. 

- And all those Ills which thou so long hast mourn'd;

#the adventures of batmom #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x batmom #batman x reader #jason todd x batmom #dick grayson x batmom

[selfindulgentpixies]

So I wrote a very self indulgent Satoru Gojo x reader fic to cope with a couple of bad sensory overload days I had a week or two ago and it's just been sitting in my drafts half finished until tonight. Got a boost of spiteful inspiration since I spent most of today in bed with a migraine.

Contains: gn!reader, mentions of sensory overload, brief mentions of getting ill, Gojo being sweet and taking care of you, reader has a cat, reader wears glasses

Take me home tonight

Gojo could tell something was wrong as soon as you’d walked into the meeting late, not just late but later than him, looking frazzled. Even if you shared his disdain for the higher ups you played your role well enough, always on time, students cared for, work taken care of with what could sometimes be considered malicious compliance if you were pushed the wrong way. But that wasn’t the you he saw try to quietly slip into the meeting.  You looked washed out, nauseous even. It wasn’t helped when the higher ups tried to lay into you for being so late. You looked panicked which is when he swept in. Taking their attention off you. He’s not even sure you take in anything that’s being said but you at least send him a small and grateful smile. 

The meeting is barely over before you’re getting up to leave, ignoring any protest at your abrupt exit. He quickly finds you when he leaves, between his long strides and six eyes it’s easy to find you and catch up to you. You’ve stopped to sit, heels of your hands pressed against your eyes and your glasses dangling loosely from your fingers. He plops down on the bench next to you and speaks. “Mind telling me what that was all about?” He doesn’t miss how you flinch at his voice.  He’s known you long enough to catch on and his voice is quieter the next time he speaks. “One of those days then?”

You give a jerky lil nod, still covering your eyes. Even though your lenses on your glasses were transitions they weren’t activated by the lights inside the building, the barely there default tint of them not enough at the moment which was probably why you were just holding them and sitting with your eyes covered. “Y-yeah. Had a mission in the city, dealt with a curse that could manipulate light, and everytime it attacked it let out a high pitched buzzing noise, it was like the world’s worst rave and then I came straight here for the meeting.” He frowns a bit at that. Really you should have just gone home. 

“You don’t even like normal raves.” His tone isn’t something you’re able to parse at the moment, but there’s a playful enough note to it that it gets you to smile just a little.. 

“You’re right, I don’t.” 

Still speaking softly, so much so that only you can hear him even as other staff pass by. “You went into the crowded city,” you nod, “went to hell’s light show,” you nod again at his words, “And still decided to go back through the city to sit in a brightly lit meeting room and deal with the higher ups?” 

“That sums it up, yeah.” You part your fingers ever so slightly to glance at him but quickly close them. 

He sighs. “Here, keep your eyes closed but move your hands.” 

“Gojo?” You question as you hear the shifting of fabric. 

“It’s fine just move your hands,” he gently coaxes you and you feel his cool dry hands gently pull your own from your face. Then he’s gently tugging something over your head and you realize he’s putting his blindfold on you, the thick soft cloth finally blocking out all light. Instead of tucking it behind your ears he pulls it slightly lower so it covers them and at least partially softens the sounds around you. You’re both quiet for several moments until he takes your glasses and tucks them into his pocket. You don’t see that of course but you trust him to not break the things you need to see since you’ll want to see again eventually.  “You still with me?” 

“Y-yeah, thank you. Don’t you need this though?”

You don’t see him shrug but he does it anyway. “I’ll be fine without it for a bit. I’ve got my sunglasses if it gets bad. I think you need it a lot more than me right now. Do you want me to take you home? You can’t make it there blind so i’ll-” 

“Gojo, if you teleport me right now I’ll probably throw up on you.” 

“Gross.”

“I’m just being honest.”

He hums in thought. “How about I just carry you to my office then? It’s nice and cool in there and I can draw the blinds.” 

You’re quiet for a moment and he almost asks again until you nod. “Y-yeah alright.” 

When he picks you up he does so with care, making sure he doesn’t do anything unexpected. Normally the idea of being touched by Gojo would be much more pleasant but each point of contact makes your clothes rub more uncomfortably against your skin. You don’t complain though and just let him carry you. You tuck your head into his neck. You’ll probably feel mortified later but right now all you care about is being somewhere dark and quiet.  You think you hear some of the students start to speak to him and maybe begin freaking out when they see that he’s carrying you but his energy shifts slightly and you hear him shush them. Surprisingly they immediately comply. You imagine it has everything to do with the shift in his energy and not respecting the fact that they’d  been hushed. 

There’s the soft sound of a door opening and then being closed again before you find yourself being set on a comfortable chair. “Just get some rest alright? I’ll be back.” 

“Thank you, Gojo.” You curl up in the chair and he smiles a little at you. 

–

You’re a little surprised later when you open your eyes and are faced with complete darkness. Your brain is hazy and takes a moment to catch back up to you. You vaguely remember the conversation with Gojo and him slipping his blindfold on you- oh. Right. You reach toward your face and push up the dark fabric. You blink in the low light of the room. Gojo is at his desk, looking terribly bored of doing his paperwork in the dim lamplight. At least you think he looks bored with how he’s resting his cheek on his fist and holding a document in his other hand. You can’t really see anything else without your glasses.

He perks up when he notices you looking at him. “Hey there, feeling any better?” His voice is still quiet just in case your ears were still sensitive. He gets up and grabs something from his desk before walking over to you. You can now see that he’s holding your glasses. 

“Yeah, still a lil fuzzy but definitely better.” You give him a sleepy but grateful smile. He almost wishes you hadn’t taken your glasses back because he knows that as your vision comes back into focus you’re now able to see how pink his cheeks are. You look so cute half asleep and it’s not really a vulnerable moment he’d ever thought he’d get to see you in. Especially not curled up in his office with his blindfold sitting part way on your head leaving your hair mussed up. You sit up and stretch, arching your back in a way that gets his eyes to track over your body before you pull the blindfold the rest of the way off your head and press it into his hand. “Really thank you. I hate to say it but I was on verge of tears before you helped me out.” 

He pulls the blindfold over his head but lets it rest around his neck instead of pulling it over his eyes. “It’s no problem really. You weren’t acting like yourself. Next time just go home if you feel that way. I’ll cover for you if you need me to.” 

You scratch at the back of your neck. “You already do so much, I don’t feel like I should be asking you to do that.” 

He shakes his head. “I mean it. Gives me an excuse to give those old bastards a hard time.”

You snort. “As if you need me to give you an excuse.” 

He smiles but otherwise doesn’t respond to that particular comment. “I do mean it. I think you might be surprised by how well I understand what you were going through. It’s not exactly the same but there’s a reason I always have my eyes covered.” 

“Yeah alright then… I’ll let you know next time.” 

His smile widens into a grin, bringing out his dimples.”Good. Now how about I bring you home now? I doubt you want to deal with the trains.”

“Gojo, if I throw up-”

“Then that’s literally on me.”

“Gross,” you echo his comment from earlier. 

—-

You don’t get sick from being teleported but it’s a near thing as you lean heavily against Gojo in your entryway. He raises an eyebrow at you. “You gonna be alright?” 

“Y-yeah I’m good.” You let out a slow breath before taking your weight off him and toeing off your shoes in the entryway. “Did you want to come in for a bit? I won’t be up for long but I should fix something to eat. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. 

Gojo studies you for a moment, and without his blindfold in place you feel exposed. “How about I order us takeout then?”

“I don’t know if I should eat anything greasy right now.”

“I can order you some soup. I know a place.”

You consider his offer for a moment before nodding. “Yeah okay. Sounds good.” You begin to walk toward the main part of your apartment. “I’m gonna go get cleaned up while you order food. Make yourself at home okay?” 

He hums in the affirmative before you vanish into your room. 

—

When you emerge a bit later you’re wearing a clean pair of sweatpants and one of your sleep shirts, which was really just an oversized band-t. You’ve made a half hearted attempt to dry your hair with a towel. The apartment is filled with the smell of food making your stomach growl and drawing you more quickly to the main part of your apartment.  Gojo has made himself comfortable just like you’d told him to. There’s containers of food spread out in front of him on your coffee table and he’s relaxed into the love seat with your cat on the back by his head. The little shit sniffing and chewing at his hair, which you suppose meant Gojo passed your feline companion’s test for being allowed to exist in your space. But what really gets your attention is how Gojo has discarded his work jacket and is just sitting there in a tight black t-shirt that clings to him like a second skin. It takes your breath away a little because while you knew he was probably muscular in theory it just never really sank in because he always wore such baggy clothes. 

“You just going to keep standing there staring holes into me or are you gonna join me for dinner?” His voice is full of amusement.  

You squeak. Of course he noticed you. “S-sorry. I was just surprised. My cat doesn’t normally like when there are men in the apartment he doesn’t know.” It’s only a half lie.

Gojo snorts and glances back at you. “You have a lot of strange men over?” He says in a teasing tone.

“No. Just.. he hates whenever maintenance is here and he attacked poor Nanami’s leg once when he stopped by.” 

Oh now that makes Gojo laugh, loudly in fact, though he quietens himself down to chuckles when he notices you flinch at the noise. “Maybe your cat is a bad judge of character, liking me more than Nanami,” he surprises you by saying at his own expense. 

“No, I think he just picked up on how at ease you seem to be here,” you say this reflexively though a second thought occurs to you moment after when you remember how Gojo had carried you and you’d buried your face in his neck. Your scent must be clinging to him and especially to his blindfold that he's still wearing around his neck. The thought makes you blush and he tilts his head at you for a moment before gesturing for you to come sit down, patting the cushion beside him.

You suddenly wish your apartment wasn’t so sparsely furnished but since it was normally just you here the only place to sit in the living room really is directly next to Gojo. You consider saying you should move to the kitchen table but did you actually want to miss an opportunity to be so close to Gojo when he was offering it? The answer was apparently ‘no’ as you make your way over. He crosses his legs to make room for you and you take your seat next to him. At your arrival your cat mrrps and headbutts the back of your head before leaving. 

“Now-” Gojo leans forward picking up a container and a spoon for you, “go ahead and eat.” Once he’s sure you have a good grip and aren’t going to drop hot soup on the two of you he grabs his own food and sits back, his arm brushing against you. The two of you eat in silence your arms occasionally knocking into each other as you fill your empty stomachs. 

Before long you’re drowsily sagging to the side and Gojo is gently taking the mostly empty container from your hands. This causes you to jerk and blink up at him groggily. “Ah sorry-”

He chuckles. “You don’t need to apologize, you’re exhausted. Why don’t you head to bed? I’ll clean up and head out after alright?” 

You feel a little guilty. “You don’t need to clean up, Gojo.” 

He holds up a hand. “It’s not a big deal really. You just get some rest.” 

He stands and stretches, and he reminds you a bit of a very oversized cat. his fingers brushing your low ceiling. Then he’s holding a hand out to you and pulling you up from the loveseat.  The two of you say your goodnights and goodbyes before you shuffle your way to your room. He stands there in your living room with an impossibly fond smile on his face.  He catches your cat giving him what could be a judgmental stare from the corner of his eye. “Bet you think I should have asked them out, huh?” The cat just flicks his tail unimpressed. You, unaware of the small exchange between Gojo and your feline companion, fall asleep to the sounds of Gojo cleaning up.

The next morning you wake up to the chime of your phone. You bink blearily and fumble for your phone. When you unlock the screen you see you have a message from Gojo. 

Gojo: hey I hope you’re feeling better this morning. if you’re up to it do you want to come meet me for breakfast? i’d like to ask you something.

You sit up and rub at your face before responding. 

You: can’t you ask me over text? 

Gojo: it’s something i’d rather ask you in person. so will you? 

You: sounds a bit ominous but ok

Gojo: it’s nothing bad I swear! 

You grin sleepily to yourself. 

You: yeah yeah you’re just trying to lure me into a false sense of security

Gojo: you wound me!! i would never. sooo meet me in 30 minutes? 

You: not giving me much time to wake up huh? 

His next message is the location of a cafe not far from your apartment. He apparently took your question as a yes. 

So you get up and scramble to get ready, you’re still a bit disheveled but you're comfortable enough around Gojo to not really care. As you shoo your cat away from the door so you can slip out you have no idea that when you return home it’ll be with your soon to be boyfriend.

____

And that's it! I just needed a comfort fic so i wrote it myself. I'm still working on chapter 7 of my Satoru x reader x Suguru fic. It's just taking time to pull together

@nanamikentoseyebags @strawberrystepmom @gojoest

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x gn!reader #gn!reader #jjk x gender neutral reader #jjk x reader #rossi writes

[maivolpe]

hii! i j read “as long as ur with me” & i love ur writing :3 could i request a very cheesy fic in which reader’s alrdy confessed to bucky & bucky’s rejected them ? ( maybe bc he’s unsure abt his feelings ? ) tony holds a party later & bucky gets jealous ( ooo ~~ ) of the reader after he sees them talking & being close to sam, ( meanwhile the reader’s only talking to sam for help abt bucky ? ) basically mutual pining but reader & bucky just need a push in the right direction ?? thank u either way & i hope u have a nice day ♡Ꮺ៸៸

thank you so much for your kind words :) so sorry for the delay, writer's block hit me like a truck last month so i'm trying to slowly get back into it (this is really lengthy and i don’t like it very much eek) anyways thank you for requesting ♡

･｡ﾟ: ∘◦☾◦∘｡ﾟ.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader cw: mentions of alcohol, cursing, knives wc: 1.5k

tony was having yet another party. you swore he never even slept, just drank the night away with whoever was willing to with him. tonight, however, you didn’t have time to lecture him about his coping mechanisms. you had more pressing problems.

exactly a week before, bucky had invited you to spar. you'd jumped at the chance to have such experienced competition, and, if you were being honest, your heart raced when he pinned you. or talked to you, or even just looked at you, anything really. but everyone thought that way. right? right.

he’d let you choose one of his blades to work with, stating that he wanted you to be more familiar with knives. they were much easier to come by than guns, he’d noted.

"move your hand here instead of there... there you go."

"watch your six, good."

and soon enough the critiques turned to compliments, and it was much more of a fair fight. for almost an hour you were evenly matched, each dodging nearly all of the others’ blows.

as time dragged on, bucky started to get distracted. his eyes had flickered away for only a split second, but it was all you needed. you pushed him up against the wall, holding your knife to his throat. your breaths came quick and hard, and you'd stared up at his smirk, just inches from your face.

"careful there," he'd breathed. "you want to stab your opponent, not kiss them."

and with a rush of confidence, you'd cocked your head.

"would it be so bad?"

recognition dawned in his eyes, and that was the last thing you saw before a flash of metal overtook your vision. his knuckles had struck your ribs hard, and you went flying. he’d stalked out of the room and left you sprawled on the floor, gasping for breath.

ever since then, you’d been stuck in a whirlpool of emotions, keeping yourself confined to your room whenever you could. your ribs were bruised along with your ego, and altogether you just felt terrible. what were you thinking? what posessed you to leave a thought you would've been embarassed to even think, just floating in the air like that? and now tony was hosting this party, and the last thing you wanted to do was go.

well, maybe you'd get something to drink.

the room was flooded with people, packed to the brim with journalists, celebrities, and some uninvited partiers that had found their way in. trying to avoid conversation, you found yourself, drink in hand, tucked away in the corner of the room with sam.

“i feel so stupid, sam.”

“dude, i’m sure it’s not that serious. he probably just freaked out a little. and besides, i mean, look at you!” he motioned towards your dress, giving his hands a shake to emphasize how it flattered your figure.

“listen, though,” he continued. “just give him some time. he’s one to avoid any and all confrontation, but he’ll come around. with some nagging, maybe.”

you laughed. “thank you. i’m sorry for bothering you about this, i know it’s not super important.”

“it’s super important to you,” he pointed out, stuffing an hor d'oeuvre in his mouth. “‘s ‘mportant t’me by default.”

“ew, sam.”

bucky, in the meantime, was livid.

he’d come down just to grab a drink, or five, because the serum made it particularly tough for him to be inebriated. in the two minutes he was downstairs, of course he’d caught a glimpse of you, the very person he was trying to avoid. and you looked beautiful.

the party spilled out of open doors, people clambering in for a glance at tony. many shoved past him at an attempt to get closer to the middle of the room. it was a security nightmare, and also, he couldn’t hear anything.

he saw sam leaning in, whispering something to you, gesturing to your body? and you were laughing? as if his week hadn’t been bad enough, you’d moved right on from him. he wasn’t mad at you, he could never be. but sam?

“i need some air,” he grumbled to no one in particular. he pushed past waves of partygoers, keeping his head down, and slipped away through the first door he found.

across the room, you felt your heart sink to your stomach. you’d only seen bucky for a moment, and despite your determination to be happy, the look of revulsion on his face made you want to crumble.

“sam, i- i need some air.”

he nodded, brushing crumbs off of his chin and waving as you ducked through the crowd, dodging drinks and people alike. your ears rang, and even the silence of the elevator was deafening when the doors slid shut.

you tumbled out of the elevator as soon as the doors slid open, steadying yourself on a nearby doorknob. the wind whipped around your body, sending goosebumps down your arms and stinging your eyes. it was far too cold to be out on the roof, but where else was there to be?

you crept closer to the edge, perching on the roof so that you could see the city moving below you. cars and trucks whizzed by, oblivious to your existence. you found the bright colors of the stoplights blurring in your vision.

you were quickly learning that your emotions would always get the better of you. no matter how determined you were, they always took control.

the maintenance door behind you creaked open, and you whirled around to see who had found you. the glint of metal under the spotlights told you all you needed to know, and you quickly turned away.

“are you… crying?”

“no,” you sniffed, swiping fruitlessly at your tears.

"okay."

bucky lowered himself down next to you, stretching his legs to let them dangle off of the roof. he left a good space between the two of you, and you couldn't even bring yourself to hope he'd close the gap.

there was silence for a few moments, where neither of you dared to even breathe, much less look at each other.

"i was wrong," he whispered.

"what?"

“i said, i was wrong."

it was louder this time, but left you just as confused. was it guilt or pity that compelled him to make such a statement? either way, you shook your head. he couldn't be left thinking that way for simply feeling what he felt.

"no, you're not wrong. i was way too forward, and i made you uncomfortable. maybe you didn't have to lay me out like that, but that was a justified response. it's perfectly fine that you don't want me."

"but i do want you."

a puff of air escaped his lips with the words, visible in the frigid night. it dissipated as you turned the words over in your mind. you toyed with your fingers, afraid you'd misheard him. afraid you'd dreamed up the whole thing.

"i do want you. i've wanted you since i met you, the way you throw your head back when you laugh, the way you smile at me when you think i'm not looking, the way you hum along to every song, all of it. i just..."

he took a deep breath, and you could've sworn his hands had a little shake to them.

"it's... crazy. like shit, doll, i've hardly even talked to a girl in seventy years, and there you were lookin' beautiful, and talkin' about kissing me, and i just... didn't know what to do."

you nodded, gathering enough courage to peek up at him. he was watching you wistfully, emotion you'd never seen in him before displayed plainly on his face.

he looked away, though, shaking his head. "i'm sorry, i shouldn't have said anything. especially since you have that thing going on with sam now."

you wrinkled your nose. “what thing?”

“i, uh,” he started, clearing his throat, “i saw you guys talking. you looked happy.”

you giggled, smiling for what felt like the first time in forever. "about you, buck. i was worried about you. did you think i was making a move on sam?"

"maybe," he said sheepishly.

“he was helping me, or trying to, because i really messed up. i really do like you, james.”

his face softened at that, eyes widening at your confession. "in that case, i want- if you want to, i mean, i don't want to force anything-"

you reached over and took his hand, relishing the feeling of it slotting perfectly into your grip. "i want to."

"well, c'mere then."

he tucked an arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him, smiling down at you.

“can i kiss you now?” you breathed.

he answered by pressing his lips to yours, and it felt as though you melted into him for a moment. the colors dancing across your eyes were no longer from the traffic lights, but the dizzying happiness fizzing in your body, like the bubbles in a champagne glass.

he pulled away for a moment, and your heart pounded, afraid you’d messed something else up. but he only smiled at you.

“that felt really good.”

and before you could say “yes, it did,” his hands were cupping your face and he was pressing another gentle kiss to your longing lips.

･｡ﾟ: ∘◦☾◦∘｡ﾟ.

ko-fi ♡

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes blurb #blurb #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfic #winter soldier #avenger reader #marvel #mai writes

[wardenparker]

Bright Lights & Broken Dreams - pt 2

Dieter Bravo x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst​

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+   Word Count: 30k Warnings: *Contains flashbacks*. Cursing, food/alcohol, drug use referenced underage substance abuse), controlling/abusive parent, false positive pregnancy, reference to underage sex with an adult, depression, really bad coping mechanisms, loss of virginity, praise kink, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, protected sex, piercings, hand job, fingering, unprotected sex. Summary: The blurred lines of playing lovers and being lovers have been blurred for you and Dieter before, but it seems like this time you might be much closer to your characters than either of you want to admit. Notes: Guys this story came out of a silly little dream that I had about hanging out with a movie star and allllll this angst is what poured out onto the page. Keri is a magician at helping me unravel all my wild thoughts 🧡🧡 The play we used for reference as their Broadway show is “In the Next Room (or The Vibrator Play)” by Sarah Ruhl in case anyone is wondering!

It should have been useless to be anxious when you got to the theater that night, but you couldn't help it. After delivering terrifying-yet-somehow-still-exciting news to Dieter before your shift at the restaurant, and then that shift going disastrously badly because you weren't feeling well, you were just hoping you could talk to him and try to come up with some kind of plan. You'd been dating for ten whole months, for crying out loud. You love each other. Surely you could come up with some kind of pathway through your future that could allow both of you to have your careers and still love this– this baby that you had created together.

Baby.

For such a small word it's fearsome. The idea of being a mother is more daunting than anything you've ever faced in your life but with him? Dieter makes you feel like you can do anything. His praise is like armor that shields you from the world. From all the scary things and hurtful things and the things that make you unsure of yourself. With him, you're sure you can make this work. Which is why you sit on your anxious hands and wait. Wait and wait, wondering if he's running late to show tonight since it's well past call time.

******

Dieter’s hands shake, from the nerves, too many cigarettes and fear when the phone rings and his father’s name comes up on the screen. He should have known he would find out quickly. The Hollywood circle is far smaller than people believe and Baxter Bravo was still in the center of it despite his ‘retirement’ ten years ago. “Dad.”

"Dieter." The elder Bravo coughs halfway through his son's name and doesn't bother to cover his mouth, making a hideous sound through the phone line. "You got a call today, unless I'm mistaken." And Baxter Bravo is never mistaken. "It's a good role. Decent enough, anyway. I'm having the maid air out your room."

“Yeah.” Dieter hesitates, still reeling over your news and honestly piss scared about it. “I might not take the roll.” He admits, knowing his father will disapprove. “I just found out that my girlfriend might be pregnant.”

"Don't be stupid." His father scoffs, the derisive laugh making him rattle. "Of course she thinks she's pregnant. How else is that pitiful little corn-fed thing supposed to get you to stick around?" He had met his son's paramour only once – at the opening night festivities that he attended with an appropriate smile on his face despite loathing Broadway – and he had been glad to forget the girl's name immediately after. "You can't possibly think she's serious. Of course you're taking the role."

“Dad, I love her.” It terrifies him, but he actually loves you. It had started out as something casual, a way to feed his ego and to get laid but there was something about you. He hadn’t gotten bored within weeks like he had expected. And watching you mature as a performer made him give serious thought about giving up acting and becoming an instructor. The only thing that stopped him was dear old dad. “I’m happy on the stage. The audience is amazing.”

"I knew I never should have let you go out there." Baxter huffs and loudly smacks on the end of his cigar. "I know she's been an amusement, Dieter. And that's fine. But you've been bred for far better than some mid-Western virgin and a smattering of applause. There is no immortality on the stage, son. Besides which, I've already accepted the role for you. So you'll come home immediately and I will graciously forget that you considered being disobedient."

“I’m fucking twenty-six, Dad!” Dieter shouts, frustrated that his father isn’t listening to him. Though that wasn’t unusual. He didn’t listen when he told him he didn’t want to act at six, or that he just wanted to go to school like a normal kid. Definitely didn’t listen when he said he wanted to go to school for art.

"Whatever does that have to do with anything?" His father asks, confused by the assertion, but rambles on before Dieter can reply in any way or shape. "I've had the attorney inform your landlord that you'll be out in forty-eight hours, and your airline ticket is being held at the service desk for when you arrive tomorrow. Noon flight, and if you're late I'll have to pay a fee to have the fare transferred to another flight, so please don't be a nuisance about it."

Dieter closes his eyes and shakes his head. “No.” He decides. “I’m going to stay here.” He tells his father firmly. “I can’t leave her if she’s pregnant.”

"She's not, though." There's boredom in his father's voice, as though Baxter has gotten tired of even having to speak to his own son. "She's a poor girl trying to trap a rich boy in the oldest way possible." A lazy puff of smoke curls out of his mouth and he sighs drearily. "But I can simply cut you off, if you're so determined to prove a point. Raising a bastard child that may or may not be yours on the streets of New York ought to be fun for you. Homeless and self-righteous. Is that what you want?"

“My money is from my acting when I was a child!” Dieter doesn’t know exactly how the money gets to him, just that he gets a healthy check every month.

"Your money goes through me." The reminder is as dark as it is serious, making his father's chuckle on the other end sound even more ominous. "Every cent you've ever made has gone into an account managed solely by me, Dieter. One call to a doctor and I can have a conservatorship in place faster than you dial a telephone. Pack, Dieter. Pack and come home to take your rightful place here or I will force you to. Am I making myself clear?"

“Shit.” Dieter hisses, running his hand through his hair as he paces in the apartment he had called home for the last three years. Knowing that he can’t see you, he’ll stay if he does. He’ll lose everything.

“You are a Bravo.” His father reminds him when he doesn’t say yes right away. “You will do the right thing, you have a family legacy to uphold.”

Closing his eyes, Dieter's lip trembles and he imagines your face. Tries to imagine it when he tells you he’s leaving and the way you would look so heartbroken. He can’t. He can’t see that. He can’t do it.

“Yes sir.” Dieter responds woodenly, hearing his father’s satisfied grunt on the other end.

“See you tomorrow.” Baxter hangs up the phone, satisfied his son will do as he is told.

******

"What do you mean he's not here?" You're supposed to be face to face with Dieter right now. Places has been called and the curtain is about to go up, but you're standing with his understudy and the stage manager on the verge of tears. It's worry more than it is anything else. If he's not here, is he okay? Is he hurt? Sick? Anything could have happened.

“He got the call.” The stage manager knows the two of you are sleeping together, everyone knows. It hasn’t been a secret for the entire run of this play. Although he had expected Dieter to tell you what was going on. “He left for L.A. Apparently got the role of a lifetime.”

"He..." In an instant, your heart and stomach drop through the floor and tears well up in your eyes. "He's..." The words won't even come, even breathing makes you feel like you're going to be sick all over the floor. "He's gone?"

“Shit, we’re about be ready for the curtain.” The stage manager looks at you with a mixture of pity and worry. It’s obvious Dieter didn’t say a word to you and just skipped town. Hating that he had to tell you the bad news and potentially interfere with tonight’s production. “Do you need a minute?”

"Ye–I–I–" The prop on the table a foot away from you catches your eye and you sob, loudly and openly. The baby doll is all wrapped up and swaddled to open the first scene. Just you and that little doll for a full minute until Dieter is supposed to walk out onstage to join you. But it won't be him. It won't be him on that stage or anywhere else, you realize all at once. When that baby doll in your arms is replaced with a real one, he won't be there either. "Stall." You beg, finally forming a full word as you throw yourself toward the nearest bathroom. "Two minutes!" You're a professional. A real professional, but you definitely do need to go throw up and rinse with a half bottle of mouthwash before you go out on that stage. He left you. He's gone.

Hiding in the darkest part of the theatre, Dieter keeps his hoodie up, not wanting anyone to recognize him. He knows that he shouldn’t have come. It would have been better to just walk away clean. To ‘wipe the slate clean’ like his father likes to say after so many of his misdoings or affairs when they were done. Getting to watch you perform rather than being a part of it. You’re beautiful, your performance even stronger than it normally is when he is your co-star. Making him realize that you don’t need him. Maybe you never did. All he had done was hold you back from your full potential. Right as the last curtain falls, Dieter turns around and heads for the exit. Away from New York and the one person who he had honestly loved.

******

In the month since filming began, an awkward truce has settled between you and Dieter. You don't openly antagonize each other any more, or even give each other the periodic silent treatment. You've become oddly respectful to the point of making it uncomfortably polite for people around you. The way the two of you tiptoe around each other is like the polar opposite of the way your assistants have become attached at the hip during every second of downtime that they have. Sadie and Desiree are possibly the sweetest couple you've seen in a long time, and as happy as you are for them, it makes you ache in the deepest corners of your heart and mind.

Dieter is in hell. Pure, unadulterated hell. You don’t insult him. You don’t ignore him. You’re polite to him. Making his skin crawl as he remembers all the times people were sickeningly sweet to him only to want something, but he can’t figure out what you would want besides this movie to be done. Snorting coke only goes so far and he’s almost bored with getting blitzed every night after filming is done, knowing you are next door and hating himself for wanting to go to you.

"I wish you would tell me what's going through your head." Sadie had asked you this morning, when you blankly accepted the cup of tea she handed you. Your anxiety had been high lately so she had insisted on cutting back on your caffeine intake. "You know you can talk to me." You can talk to her. And you probably should. But the fact is that you can't really find the words for what you're feeling. Being polite to Dieter is the only way you can get through the day without wanting to go to him and you can't do that. So you've just sort of...shut down. Everyone on set gets perfect manners from you, and no one can see the riot going on inside you.

Sadie frowns slightly and sighs, knowing you won’t open up. Ever since that first night, something has changed. “Let me go help Desiree.” She slaps her hands on her thighs. “Make sure he didn’t OD.”

"Is it really that bad?" You can't help the way your head pops up at such a casual remark, or the fear in your eyes when it does.

“It’s not good. Something– I don’t know. Desiree said he’s just given up.” She told you that she would tell you anything about Dieter, but she’s been hesitant to bring it up. “All he does is sit in his room and get bombed on whatever he has. She’s had a hard time getting him to eat.”

"I thought he'd lost weight." It's not as though you haven't paid attention. You spend most of every single day with the man. Blowing out a breath, you shake your head and stand up. "Will you do me a favor, honey?" When she nods, you wipe your hands on your pants nervously and return the gesture. "Order a pot of green tea and three shots of espresso to Dieter's room, and whatever Desiree says his favorite breakfast is. It used to be French toast, but I don't know if that's still true." Maybe you can get through to him and maybe you can't, but either way, you're going to try – and just hope you can keep your head on straight while you're at it.

“Okaaaaay.” Sadie frowns but she’s going to do what you ask of her. “It’s your day off today.” She reminds you. “You have tickets to the Tower of London and that tea room you wanted to try.” It’s been rare to get days off with the grueling schedule and luckily Dieter has sobered up enough to put in a spectacular performance everyday but it’s been rough.

"If it's my day off, then it's his day off." Considering you have very few scenes apart, your schedules tend to be identical. They won't be separate until you get to the location in France. "I–" When you turn to look at Sadie your eyebrows are knitted together in concern. "I'm worried about him," you admit quietly.

“Desiree is too.” She confesses quietly. “He’s – well, at least he’s been somewhat normal on set, but it’s been something.” She shakes her head, thankful that her boss wasn’t going through something like Dieter is, although Desiree is protective of him.

"She cares about him." It's good to see. And you do like Desiree a lot – she's a kind woman with fierce loyalties and a huge heart. And she looks at Sadie like she hung the stars in the sky. "I'm just...he might not want to talk to me. But I have to at least try."

“He might not know who you are, depending on what he’s taken.” Sadie warns you, aware that Dieter has done that with her quite a few times. “It’s fucking amazing he remembers his lines and the blocking.”

"I have to try." You reach out to squeeze her arm and head out the door, just to take six steps in the hallway to knock on his door. "Dieter?" His name is soft on your lips and there's no answer, so you try again. "Dee? It's me...can I come in?"

Dieter stares at the wall, not moving, not blinking. Barely breathing. Lost in his mind, fuzzy and muted. Barely hearing the sounds coming from the door. Staring at a single spot in the wallpaper that doesn’t match the rest. The pattern is off, just slightly. Like the wall was damaged and had to be repaired.

It's Desiree who opens the door, face drawn in concern. "It's not a good time," she tells you gently, glancing back toward the bedroom where Dieter is lying almost entirely catatonic.

"Sadie said he hasn't been doing well?" You're not about to let her close the door on you. Not when you're this concerned about him. You know things have been off lately, but that doesn't mean you're detached from it all. "I'm not here to chat or play board games, Des. I'm honestly worried about him."

“I–” Desiree bites her lip and decides to be blunt. “What happened that night? Did you see him? Did you talk?” She knows something had to happen for Dieter to sink this low. You seem to be a trigger for him, good or bad, she hasn’t decided.

"I'm afraid there's more than one that night to pick from." You tell her when she steps back to let you and Sadie inside. "If you mean the first night of filming? Yeah...we...we ran into each other at dinner. And I...I got mad. It's not my proudest moment, I'm afraid."

“What happened?” Desiree’s heart drops and she bites her lip as she looks back towards Dieter. Unsure of how to snap him out of this particular funk. She normally can, but nothing is working this time.

"He had a sketchbook with him." It's really not anything you're proud of, but you're honestly shocked that whoever had filmed it in the restaurant that day hadn't put it online. "I–I saw him drawing me and I kind of...well, I yelled. We came back here when I insisted that he explain to me why he was drawing me and he...well," you exhale deeply, remembering the deep lines of hurt in his face right before he walked out your door. "It didn't go well."

She can’t even begin to imagine what Dieter is thinking, but she nods. “Okay.” She glances over at Sadie and bites her lip. “We’ll go downstairs to give you two a few minutes.” She decides, desperate to have her boss back and willing to do whatever it takes.

Silent hugs of encouragement are had between the three of you, and you watch Sadie and Desiree go out the door before you step back toward the bedroom door. It’s open but you still knock, not wanting to startle Dieter. “Dee?” From the doorway you can see that the room has been left to get messy along with his mind. He’s laying on the bed staring at the walls and you gulp nervously. “Dee, is it okay if I come in?”

Dieter grunts, hearing you although it sounds like he is in a water tank. Wondering why he hears you, you shouldn’t be in his room. The blissful feeling of floating is starting to wane and he knows that he’s coming down from his high. Must be his call time for the day.

When the biggest response you get out of him is a nonverbal sound, you leave your bag at the door and push inside with worry worn on your face. “Can you talk?” You ask gently, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Fifteen.” Dieter croaks out. His voice is rough and raspy from not using it for so long. He always sounds a little hoarse, but it’s amplified by the cottonmouth the drugs leave him with.

“Fifteen what, Dee?” A deeply ingrained part of you just wants to reach out and wrap your arms around him but the fear is overwhelming. He might lash out or he might not want you here at all – regardless of you just trying to help.

“She was– was my father’s girlfriend.” Dieter tells you, tone flat and void of all emotion.

“Your father had fifteen girlfriends?” You ask, not understanding at all. Of course, you knew his father for a womanizing asshole, but not much else. Dieter has seemed to fear and revere him when he was younger, but you had only met the man once.

“N-no. Yes.” Dieter doesn’t know why he is thinking about this, but it’s what he keeps replaying in his head. “I was– fifteen when she– he sent her to my room.” His father had decided he was tired of his son being a shy virgin. So he had sent his twenty-one year old girlfriend to him to show him what to do.

“Oh god.” Dread curls on your stomach when you realize what he’s saying, and you shift closer to him on the mattress. “That’s all done now, Dee. It’s over. And he’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore.” While the news of Baxter Bravo’s death rocked Hollywood a few years ago, you had paid it little mind. Now, though? Even that one little piece of information makes you want to dance on his grave when you get back to California.

“He had my money.” Dieter croaks, frowning and closing his eyes. “Threa-threatened to cut me off. If I didn’t– if I stayed in theatre.” His thoughts have shifted to his father, guilt and anger fusing together. “First time I got drunk was because of him. Eight years old at his party.”

“Shit…” He’s bouncing all over the place in his memory, and unfortunately there is a lot about his father that you just don’t know. But the piece about theater sticks directly into your heart – because the only time Dieter was in the theater was around the time you met. “When did he say he’d disown you?” You ask, trying to get him on a clear train of thought if that’s at all possible.

“I watched you.” His eyes open again and he turns his head to look at you for the first time. “I was in the back, I watched the entire thing. I couldn’t go without seeing it– you. It was your best performance. Without me.”

“The night you…” It’s an impulse, the way you reach for his hand, but your fingers tighten around his and the gesture feels so small. Not nearly enough, but you’re afraid to go further. “You watched the show the night you left?” You were broken that night – sobbing and sick to your stomach at every turn, lashing out at people who tried to take care of you because you were hurt and terrified. You couldn’t even let yourself drink after the show to numb the feeling because you thought you were pregnant. “Dee…” Your inhale is ragged. “It wasn’t my best performance. Not by a long shot. I was a shell that night.”

“It was beautiful.” Dieter insists, frowning at you, showing emotion for the first time since anyone entered his room this morning. “You were beautiful. And I–” he swallows. “I couldn’t keep you, no matter how much I wanted to.”

“Because of your father?” The pieces begin to slide into place in your mind, but the puzzle is still wildly incomplete. “Is that what happened?”

Dieter blinks, frowning slightly and then lifts his head. “Bambi?” He asks quietly. “Are you really here?” He’s talked about this so many times to a figment of his imagination he doesn’t know if you are real.

“Yeah, Dee.” You shift another few inches up the bed, keeping his hand in yours until you’re sitting right next to him. His eyes are glossy from whatever he’s taken but his words are coming a little clearer, and you’re hoping that’s a sign that he’s coming down. “I’m right here. I was…I’m worried about you.” There’s no past tense about it, but you bite your lip from saying anything deeper when he’s not entirely himself. “So I came over to check on you.”

“Why?” That confuses him. You hate him, you have every right to hate him after what he had done. Not just twelve years ago, but the way he had prodded at you and taunted you since then, fueling the hatred because it was easier for you to hate him than to delve into his losing you. “I– I left you. I left you for him.” He grunts, disgusted with himself for choosing a man who had never viewed Dieter as anything more than an extension of himself. Forcing him to choose the Bravo family dynasty and then dying on him a few years later, leaving a widow that was nearly too young for even Dieter to date.

“Because—” It sticks in your throat, choking you with truth and sadness and tears of regret. With anger and frustration. With things you have never said out loud to anyone before, not even Sadie or your therapist. “Because I c—care about you,” you manage to choke out, feeling the half-truth of it crack in your chest. The decade of anger and disgust really boils down to hurt and worry, when you’re honest with yourself.

“You shouldn’t.” That is the crux of Dieter’s issues. He knows he is completely unworthy of someone caring about him. It’s easier to not care when you push people away and they look at you in disgust. “I–” he closes his eyes again, humming to himself. “I love you.” He murmurs quietly, his mind settling and the rush of the high wears off as he fades into fatigue.

“Dee, can you stay awake for me?” You don’t know a whole lot about drugs or their side effects but you know that there are a whole lot of things that can make a person tired or even pass out, and you’re about as prepared for that as you are to handle what he just said to you — which is to say, not at all. You don’t know whether to trust it or not. Whether he would have said it at all, or if he would even come close to meaning it when his mind is his own. The best you can do is try to keep him awake and hope that Desiree sends up his breakfast soon.

“Hmmmm.” Dieter doesn’t want to, not when he is feeling this tired. “Bottle–” he gestures with one lazy hand towards the nightstand. “Red pill.” He needs a hit of speed to be ready for his call time. “Need.”

“What are the red ones?” You’re not prepared to give him more drugs, but if it’s an antacid or a simple ibuprofen or something, that’s different.

“First time I took speed– I was ten.” Dieter grunts. “Dad gave it to me. Needed to stay up for a night shoot.”

“Fucking hell…” If his father wasn’t already dead you’d be hunting him down yourself. How could a grown man do that to his child? “It’s okay,” you tell him quietly, putting your other hand over his. “We don’t need that today.” Or ever, but one step at a time. “We’re just going to sit together today, is that okay? Just you and me? Have something to eat and if you need to nap we can ask Desiree, okay?” At the very least, Des can give you a better idea of what his symptoms and side effects look like. She can give you some kind of idea of what to expect.

“Gotta–” Dieter opens his eyes again and gives you a soft smile. “Bambi.” He murmurs breathlessly. “Still so innocent.”

“A little less than I used to be.” In this, though? In the world of these abusive experiences and using drugs to compensate? You really are very innocent.

“Great ass.” Dieter groans, acting more like his normal front for a moment, but he means it. “I lied, your tits are amazing.”

You can’t help but snort, holding back an appreciative laugh because you don’t want him to think you’re laughing at him. “You were always a big fan of them.”

“Why did you rip my sketches?” He asks quietly, a question he has pondered for a long time but never asked. “Were they bad?”

“Because I—” Unconsciously, your hands tighten slightly around him, not wanting him to pull away. “I thought you were making fun of me. That you wanted to remember how much you had hurt me…and then I saw more and I…I was just confused as to why you kept drawing me.”

“That's all I have left of my beautiful Bambi.” Dieter chokes out, his face twisted in sorrow and remorse.

“Dee…” It makes you deflate, the confusion and the anxiety leaving your body so you nearly sag beside him on the mattress and shake your head. “You really loved me, didn’t you?” For years you had convinced yourself that it was a lie. That he had just told you what you wanted to hear and that he had never meant it. But the voice in the back of your mind that knew it wasn’t true seems to have been right all along.

“Told him I was staying.” He rambles, shaking his head. “Not going to Cali, but he said I would be cut off. Raising the baby on the streets. I’d be a bad dad.”

It doesn’t matter that the tests had been wrong – it was the fear that was real. And the fear that his father had instilled in him was real, too. “I’m sorry you were scared.” You murmur, still holding onto him. “I was scared, too.”

“I shoulda stayed.” Dieter huffs. “Been stronger. Always been so weak. You’re strong. So strong. Better than me.”

“It’s not about ‘better’.” It breaks your heart to hear him say that, and you shake your head. “We’re just different. That’s…that’s why we were good together. Balance.”

With his confessions off his chest, Dieter falls asleep, his soft snores coming out evenly with his breathing relaxed. Hand going slack in yours.

Once it’s clear he’s sleeping and not in some kind of stupor, you text Desiree to let her know that he seemed lucid before the snoring started and you sit back to wait. Unfortunately, you’re somewhat of a restless person and sitting while someone else sleeps just isn’t your cup of tea. So the compulsive cleaning starts. First it’s tucking him in properly, then dropping his rejected sweaters and t-shirts into the laundry basket in his wardrobe. It’s tidying his stacks of books, then art supplies, and scattered notebooks that you assume hold more sketches. It’s curiosity that does it – that same old thing that got the cat and now you.

The first sketchbook is the one you recognize from the sandwich shop, and you very carefully and quietly set to work taping the pages back in that you tore. The next has images of sets and landscapes – nothing out of the ordinary there. But the third seems to be self-portraits. Gruesome renderings of his own visage with gore and mutations, some intentionally missing whole chunks of himself from the image. Drawings where his chest has been torn open, or where he seems to have no space for a heart at all. It’s an overwhelming discovery, and you compulsively find yourself flipping through every single image until you’re sitting in the corner armchair silently crying.

Dieter sleeps for several hours without dreaming. Just the deep sleep of the exhausted. Until images of you start to creep in. Moments he has missed until he is running towards you and he can’t seem to catch you. “Bambi!” He moans, the word coming out gargled and far quieter than he has said in his dream. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

The second you hear your name – your nickname – your head shoots up from the book you were reading and you head for the bed to sit with him again. Desiree had said he said Bambi in his sleep and she was being honest, though he had always talked in his sleep from time to time before. “I’m right here.” You take his hand again, not caring if you wake him up. He’s been asleep for hours and he needs to eat something. God only knows how long it’s been since he had a proper meal. “I’m right here, Dee.”

You’re running away from him, making him run faster. Trying to catch you before you disappear out of sight. Until you leave him. “Don’t go.” He whimpers, feeling a pressure in his hand and he squeezes it in desperation. “Please. Please Bambi.”

“I’m right here,” you repeat, watching his face contort in the dream, and you find yourself wondering if it’s unsafe to wake someone from a nightmare if they’re still tripping. But since you have no idea if he is still high, you decide to say fuck it and put your other hand on his shoulder very deliberately. “Dee, wake up.” You barely keep yourself from calling him baby — cooing the way you would have years ago. It’s too easy to slip back into. “Wake up for me? Please?”

Dieter’s eyes shoot open, like he’s had a shot of adrenaline shoved into his heart. Reaching out and grabbing your hand on his shoulder. “Bambi!” He gasps before he realizes he’s awake and gives you a confused look, “did I– where am I?”

“The hotel.” You nearly jump three feet off the bed when he woke up, but you manage to keep your voice calm. “We’re in the hotel. In London. Does that ring a bell?”

“Yeah.” Dieter groans and looks around, blinking owlishly, although his vision is a shit ton better since the lasik surgery. “Did I miss my call time?”

“It’s our day off.” He hasn’t let go of your hand and you don’t let go either. “You haven’t—I mean I—” You exhale to let the shakiness out of your voice. “I’m worried about you. Desiree says you haven’t been eating.”

“What?” He makes a face and then gives a small shrug before he grunts and sits up. “Not hungry.” He murmurs, feeling like everything tastes like despair.

“Says the guy who used to be able to eat two entire cheeseburgers plus fries in a sitting.” Looking down at your joined hands, you’re not sure if coming over here was a good idea or not, but you’re here. You made the decision. So you’re going to stick with it. “Does whatever you’re taking make you not hungry? Or is it the depression?” It’s not like you haven’t dealt with it yourself. You know what depression can do to a person and you know it firsthand.

Dieter looks away guiltily, remembering all the times that his father would tell him that there’s nothing a snort of coke or a tight pussy couldn’t fix. “I just– nothing tastes good.” He says finally, registering that his mouth is dry. “I gotta–” he moves to get up, but you don’t let go of his hand.

“There’s water right here.” That, at least, you could have ready for him. The bottle is ready and waiting on his side table where you point to it. “Do you…” your voice wavers but you clear your throat. “Do you remember talking to me this morning? At all?”

Dieter’s eyes narrow and and despite the drugs that he takes, he unfortunately remembers it all. The curse of a photographic memory, though it serves him well in memorizing lines. “I told you about that day. And my dad.” He gulps down the water thirstily and sighs when it’s gone.

“You did.” He also said that he loves you – present tense – but if he doesn’t remember that part you’re not going to put more pressure on the situation. “I’m sorry, Dee. I had no idea he was so hard on you.” You knew he was strict, obviously, but some of the things he described were downright odious.

“I’m sorry.” Dieter rubs the back of his neck and sighs. Aware of what he had blurted out to you in his very honest dialogue. “You can just– pretend I didn’t say anything. It’s okay. I won’t blame you.”

“Do you want me to forget?” It’s a very touchy game you’re playing here, and you’re not sure which way he’s leaning.

“I know you can’t forgive me.” Dieter murmurs quietly. “But no. Use it to make yourself feel better about how shitty I did you.”

“It sounds like things were a lot more complicated than I ever knew.” The urge to just reach out and hug him is so hard to ignore. There’s always been a magnet between you and it seems to have been recharged as more and more information came to light today. “I wish you had at least said goodbye, but I get now that you didn’t have a choice in leaving. We…we were just kids.”

Dieter snorts and shakes his head. “I was a grown ass man. I should have told him to go fuck himself. Sued him for my money.” There've been plenty of regrets and ‘would haves’ where you and that situation was concerned. “If I had said goodbye, I would have–” he shakes his head. “I don’t know. I knew I couldn’t face you. I’m a coward.”

“He was abusing you.” If he’s been in therapy, then he knows that already. But the stubborn voice inside you refuses to let him get away with putting himself down. “Of course you were afraid of him. He did that on purpose. But Dee…” You shake your own head this time and sigh. “He’s gone. He doesn’t get to keep hurting you like this.”

“The ghost of Baxter Bravo always haunts me.” Dieter tells you. “It’s like a never ending A Christmas Carol.”

“Is there…” It sticks in your throat like lava, some kind of fear that you can’t name, but you manage to swallow. “Is there anything I can do? To help, I mean?”

Dieter shakes his head, knowing it’s not your place to fix him. He doesn’t even know if you can. He’d just drag you down with him. “Doubtful. Unless you want to show me your tits?” He asks hopefully, lifting his brows.

You roll your eyes, seeing his walls go back up and shut you out all over again. Making it clear that he doesn’t want you looking into that part of his life anymore. “You’ll see them on set in a week.”

“I don’t–” he sees the way your expression falls, the annoyance you are trying to hide. “Thank you.” He offers, swallowing. “Life is full of regrets, right?”

“I guess so. Or…I don’t know anyone whose isn’t. So it must be universal.” This conversation feels like a time bomb, ticking away to the point of oblivion, and you just don’t know when the explosion is going to come. You’d thought it was just a second ago, but apparently not. So you try a different olive branch. “I don’t like being mad at you, for the record. Even if we’re not…what we were…I still don’t want to hate you.”

Dieter licks his lips, eyes quickly darting between yours and he lunges forward, desperately pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that is needy and wanting.

It makes sense that your first impulse is to push him away. This impulse of his seemingly came out of nowhere, after all. The problem – or maybe more accurately, the complication – is that as soon as you register the fact that Dieter is kissing you, you become twenty-one all over again and hold onto him for dear life instead of using your hands on his chest to create distance. It’s pull instead of push, and the kiss lingers just long enough to become soft before your mind comes back down from whatever cloud it lighted on and you have to part for air.

He frowns when you pull back, wanting the kiss to go on longer, for it to never end. Opening his eyes with a small pout on his lips and wishing he could lean in again but your hand is on his chest gently keeping him in place.

“Wha—” With your mind going a hundred miles a minute, you feel like you’re spinning and holding on to him is the only thing keeping you from drifting away. “That—” One hand drifts to your lips to touch them like you’re not sure if the sensation is real or not. “You meant it, didn’t you?” Is what eventually comes out of your mouth, utter bewilderment obvious in your tone.

“Meant what?” Dieter asks, not sure exactly what you are talking about. He had meant everything he said.

“Before you fell asleep…” It’s been ringing in your head for hours. “You…said you love me.”

“Yes.” Dieter admits it quietly. “I don’t – I’m honest when I’m high. I have no filter.”

“I just…I spent a long time thinking you hated me. Or…or that you didn’t think anything about me. It’s…” You swallow again, fingers still tangled in his shirt. “An adjustment.”

“I’m sorry.” Dieter bites his lip. “It’s a – it's a safety thing. Push people away before they can hurt you.” He’s not proud of it, nor would he say that it’s right, but it’s what he does.

“I get it.” Shifting in place from mounting anxiety, you find yourself moving closer to him instead of just adjusting in place. “I mean…I haven’t had a relationship last longer than six months in…” You huff at yourself when you do the math. “In twelve years.”

He knows that’s his fault. He caused you to be that way. He had taken his Bambi, his innocent Bambi, and ruined you. He sighs softly and shakes his head. “I’m a piece of shit for that.”

“What happened was complicated.” That’s a very kind way of putting it, but you can’t bring yourself to be ferociously upset or angry with him anymore. Not now that you’re starting to have a picture of how bad the abuse was that he endured. “But it’s good to know that you didn’t do it on purpose. That’s…that means more than you know.”

Dieter nods, feeling like he should say something else but not knowing what. He’s not…good with emotional entanglements. Trying to keep everything surface level for so long had fucked with his heart. “I– that’s good.” He says awkwardly, his stomach deciding it would be the perfect time to rumble like Mt. Vesuvius.

“You need to eat.” It’s the spell that breaks the tension, and you sit back again on the mattress with renewed awkwardness. “I’ll, um…I’ll call for room service?”

“You don’t have to stay.” Dieter knows that you might not want to spend too much time with him. “It’s your day off. I doubt you want to spend it with me.”

“If you don’t want me to stay, that’s one thing,” you tell him honestly. “But if it’s up to me, I’d rather stay. I haven’t stopped being worried about you just because we talked without screaming at each other.”

Dieter frowns and wonders why you are worried about him. But he also doesn’t want to be alone. Instead he nods. “I– I need to shower. I feel grimy.” He knows he looks homeless routinely, but he does shower regularly. “Could you– could you order us something to eat? If you’re staying?”

“I’ll order some food, you go shower.” That gets you up at last, moving across the room to grab the hotel’s service binder from the table it’s sitting on in his front room. After a second you step back, hanging in the bedroom doorway. “Our assistants are dating, by the way. I don’t know if you know.”

“I figured when she snapped up the reservation she had made for me.” Dieter mumbles. And it explains why another woman had been coming into his room. “That’s how you found out about me talking about you in my sleep.”

“Yeah.” You nod slightly, but look up at him with a lopsided smile. “But you always talked into your sleep anyway. I could have been bluffing.”

He pouts, knowing that you could have been bluffing and he would have believed it, because he does dream about you. “True. But you burp in your sleep.”

“Which I’m pretty sure is the reason nobody sticks around more than a few months.” It’s a friendly jab at yourself, and you shrug it off. “Go shower. I’m gonna get us some food and let Desiree know you’re up.”

Dieter turns and stops. “Thank you.” He tells you seriously. “You could have just left me to my misery.”

“Turns out I might have a little soft spot for you.” A fact which is going to have your stomach, nerves, and heart in knots all at once.

“Don’t know why, but I’ll take it.” Dieter turns and walks into the bathroom, only pushing the door instead of latching it.

As soon as you hear the shower turn on, you call down for a sizable lunch plus a whole pot of the green tea he seems to be favoring these days, and then turn right around and call Desiree to give her an update. She and Sadie had gone down to Sadie's room to wait things out, and while you realize you might be calling in the middle of...things, it's worth the risk of interrupting them to let her know that Dieter is okay.

Standing under the hottest water the hotel provides, he leans against the shower tiles and closes his eyes. He doesn’t know why you are here, but he’s more relaxed than he’s been in a long time. His head is pounding but he’s not reaching for the bottle on the counter just yet. Groaning as the water beats down on his skin and he reaches for the soap he prefers, eager to scrub himself clean.

******

The day has been such a whirlwind that you barely know what's happened except that from rehearsal to dinner to the cab right back across the city, you and Dieter have been inseparable. He’s been so kind and so attentive, answering all of your questions about what it was like to grow up in Hollywood and all of the exotic places he’s visited. He’s told you stories from movie sets and all about the sunny beaches out West that just beg for anyone to enjoy them. And now – on top of it all – you’re sitting in the living room of his upper East side apartment with him with glasses of sticky sweet rum and Coke to drink while you listen to someone across the small neighborhood playing piano with their windows thrown open. It’s so romantic you could cry, or maybe jump for joy. You certainly wouldn’t want to cry right now, with his fingers grazing your shoulder gently – a little more every time they pass.

He doesn’t understand how you are still untouched, so fucking pretty and clever, sociable when you want to be. Keeping his own ‘losing his virginity’ story to himself because what can he really tell you about that? Instead his fingers trail over your bare shoulder, your tank top is a toy at times as he hums. Itching with the need to draw you, another talent he doesn’t talk about. It was highly discouraged in his household. Hell, the only thing that was encouraged was acting and being a slut. Living up to the old man’s reputation. But right now, none of that matters. All that matters is how your body inches closer to him and those kisses that you’ve been enthusiastic about sharing have turned slightly greedy.

The dam broke at rehearsal, of course. The script calls for a kiss and he had kindly suggested that it would make it less awkward in the future to share a few early on. That led to a fairly intense make out session in your dressing room, and now this moment on his couch. You’re so drawn to him – unsure of how or why this is happening but determined to make the most of it. Dieter toys with the strap of your tank top, sliding it off your shoulder and grazing his fingertips across the bare skin to make you sigh and shiver. It’s divine and slightly intoxicating and he has completely wiped every thought from your head except for him.

"You need another refill?" Dieter hesitates to ask the real question he wants to. Wanting you to be comfortable. "Or water?" He probably drinks a little more than he should, smokes some grass and pops a few pills when he isn't working, but he wants you clear headed for what he wants tonight.

“I guess water might be smart.” You fluster slightly at the fact that you probably would have just had another drink if he hadn’t offered an alternative. To you, that signals the end of the night – he’ll be walking you to the door and sending you home soon. But what a day it’s been.

He nods, reluctantly removing his arm from around you so he can stand to get you a new glass. “Let me get it for you.” He bites his lip, wondering what you are thinking as you play with your rum glass. “So how do you like kissing me?”

The straightforward question earns an embarrassed giggle from you, and you take the last sip of rum and Coke from your glass while you think of the least embarrassing way to answer. "A lot," you admit, hiding your flustered face behind the glass. "I like it a lot. But I'm sure I'm not the first girl to tell you that."

“No, but you’re the only girl I want to hear it from.” Dieter flirts, turning around and winking at you from around the corner to the small galley style kitchen.

"It's going to be a really remarkable show." The playwright is amazing, the rest of the cast is phenomenal, and you're basically feeling like an imposter being a complete unknown and leading this cast of incredible talent. The fact that you've had a crush on your leading man since you knew what a crush was doesn't hurt either.

“Yes it is.” It only takes him a few moments to get your glass and he brings it back over to you and sits down to face you as he grins. “Because you are in it.”

"You're so sweet to me." You put down your empty glass to accept the water and feel the heat rise in your cheeks. Between how he keeps flattering you and being nearly desperate to kiss him again, you feel like you're on fire from head to toe – and the center is that familiar and powerful want that starts between your legs and grows infinitely.

“I want to talk to you about something very serious.” Dieter raises his brows and looks at you playfully, in a way that he can only manage when he wants to know something naughty. His fingers find your bare arms and he strokes the skin softly.

"Okay." There has been no shortage of conversation between the two of you, which has been nice, but you call yourself to order for something serious.

“So we’ve been….doing this–” he motions between the two of you and bites his lip, aware that you might not be ready for something like this. “But….do you want to have sex with me?” He asks. “It’s okay if you don’t, but I really want you.”

"I–" The surprise on your face is obvious as you set the glass of water down carefully on the table beside you and turn back to Dieter on the sofa. The answer is obviously yes, but it's a shock to hear him ask out loud. And a shock that he would want you when he could have his choice of anyone in the world. The signals in your mind cross themselves, and you're nodding yes right away, but what comes out of your mouth is slightly different. "I'm a virgin," you blurt out, unable to stop yourself from being honest to a fault.

He had known that. The way you responded to him had told him that, but his half hard cock twitches at the words. “That’s okay.” He promises you. “It’s okay Bambi, I don’t mind if you’re a virgin.”

"You don't?" As far as you understood, that was the worst thing a girl could be. It smacked of being prudish or snobbish, and even though there just hadn't been any boys at home that you were interested in. In the city you had focused entirely on your studies. Now your studies have led you here...and to him.

“I love that.” Dieter confesses, sliding closer another inch, his cock throbbing now and he knows if you look down, you’ll see his hard on straining against the joggers he was wearing. “I want to be the first one to touch you, maybe the only one.” He’s breathless, as if it would be a treasure to cherish.

The only one. It takes your breath away unexpectedly, and you can feel yourself staring with your mouth slightly open. He's remarkable and magnetic and the closer he moves to you the more you move to meet him, and your hand tentatively rests on his leg to steady yourself. "I want you to be, too."

Grinning, he raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?” He asks, wanting to make sure. “You want me to take your virginity?”

"I've..." Your fingers dig into his leg a little, curling as you lean forward a little and nod. "I've dreamed about it." You confess quietly. Those dreams were long before you met him, obviously, but here you are.

He nods seriously and points to your water. “Drink up Bambi, I want to show you my bedroom.”

“I’m not drunk,” you promise him, but drink the water anyway. It’s probably good to give you a minute to cool down before you spontaneously combust right next to him.

He smirks and shakes his head. “I know. I just want you in complete control of the decisions you make.”

“Saying yes to you isn’t exactly a difficult decision.” In fact, you’d be hard pressed to think of any time or place you would say no — the idea of turning down Dieter Bravo is unfathomable.

“Yeah but…” he doesn’t mention that he doesn’t want you to regret it, instead he just leans in and kisses your throat. “I want you begging for it.”

Somehow you really don’t think that’s going to be an issue, and the whimper that escapes your lips when you feel his tongue flick across your pulse tells him so. It’s all you can do to gulp down the water remaining in the glass he brought you so you can have both hands on him as he kisses his way along your throat and shoulder, then back up to your jaw again.

“You want to go to my bedroom?” He asks softly, keeping his voice low and easy. Hands ghosting over your sides and grazing over your breasts.

“Yes.” The emphatic nodding would have given your answer but you whine on the word, making it come out strained and eager. Like you’ve never wanted anything more in your entire life. And maybe – as of this moment – you haven’t. “Yes—I—please?”

Standing up, Dieter drags you up into his arms and rushes you towards the bedroom. He’s lucky that he even has a bedroom, most apartments are studio closets like yours. He nearly picks you up in his rush to usher you through the apartment, and you giggle against his lips as he moves you. Dieter groans and giggles as he slams his shoulder into the door frame in his eagerness to get you into the bedroom.

You’ve heard things, because of course you have, from girls around you. About how the first time is always bad, or it hurts, or it doesn’t last more than two minutes. There are always plenty of bad stories in circulation as warnings. But you can’t imagine Dieter would be a disappointment like that. Whether it’s the rose-colored tint of brand new feelings or that very long-distance crush that you nursed for forever…or even just the surety that anyone who kisses as well as he does can’t be bad in bed. Whatever it is, you’re more excited than you are scared.

“Now.” Dieter collapses on the bed with you and rushes to kiss you again. “I’m gonna lick your pussy.” He groans, reaching for your leggings. “Don’t be shy and try to hide from me.”

For just a second you’re tempted to point out that he seems to like when you’re shy, but when you register what he’s said you end up gobsmacked instead. Almost every girl you know has bitched and moaned about their boyfriends hating to eat pussy — and here you are with an international movie star about to strip your panties off.

Some people call him selfish, and he is. Dieter can be a needy, selfish asshole but he also has a massive praise kink. Learning quickly from his first encounter that the easiest way to earn moaned praises is for him to service his partner. Making them willing to fuck him again the next time, so he is a man who will happily bury his face in a cunt or wrap his lips around a cock. Now, he pulls back to drag your panties down, spreading your legs wide and tutting when you try to close your legs. Sensing your embarrassment, he flashes you a grin. “Don’t worry Bambi, I don’t shave either.”

“I would have…” You mumble, heat flooding your cheeks that has nothing to do with arousal. “But I never expected this.”

“Don’t worry, Bambi.” Dieter scoffs. “I like the au natural look.” He promises. “It’s womanly.” He grips your thighs and ducks down to suck your clit into his mouth.

It’s a shock to your system that makes you tense up at first, keening at the sensation that is completely unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. No fumbling hand in your panties could ever come close to the sensation of hot breath and plush lips on your clit. Not that any of the boys that came before him ever even knew where your clit was. This is the kind of pleasure that makes your back arch and your brain shut off immediately.

Humming, he smirks against your mound. Reaching up to push your shirt up so he can reach your tits. Eager to touch them. He’s wanted to see your tits since he’s kissed you. You shiver under his attention, body responding to everything all at once and yet focused entirely on the places that he’s touching you. He grunts in disapproval when he feels you move, but it’s just so that you can peel your tank top off, stripping away your bra along with it to leave yourself completely bare for him.

Groaning, Dieter reaches up with both hands, filling them with your tits and massaging them as he spells his name into your folds with his tongue, making sure to flick it over your clit as much as possible.

The breadth of his frame keeps your legs pinned open, body moving in waves underneath him as you arch up and roll your hips down alternately. You’re trying to chase every single sensation possible as the pressure mounts in your core, unashamedly whimpering and moaning at every turn. By the time your legs are shaking you’ve nearly forgotten your own name, but you sure as hell remember his – chanting “Dee” in increasingly breathless moans until the damn breaks and your orgasm washes over you with an intensity you’ve never felt before.

For his part, he’s incredibly patient for a man in his twenties giving pleasure to someone else. Keeping his tongue sweeping over your nerves with practiced skill and precision, groaning when you shamelessly press yourself harder into his mouth. Wanting and willing you to come apart so he can witness the spectacular sight.

“Oh my fucking god.” Most of the time, you really don’t swear. It’s not a big part of your vocabulary, or at least it hasn’t been so far. But as the aftershocks of that first orgasm at his mercy roll through you, you can’t seem to form a sentence that doesn’t include a curse. “D—Dieter—shit…that was…” It was amazing, but you’re not sure if gushing about it just makes it all the more obvious that he’s the first person ever to make you cum that way.

He chuckles as he gives your soaked folds another lazy lick before turning his head and kissing along your thigh. “You enjoy that, Bambi? I fucking love the way you taste. So sweet for me.”

“You’re so fucking incredible.” Without him holding you in place, you easily twist down the bed to meet him, eagerly tasting your own essence on his lips and tongue. Some people might not like it – most men you’ve known say they don’t – but you don’t care. All you care about right now is being as close to him as possible.

The kiss is messy, frantic. Aided by your fingers pulling at his clothes. The role of shy virgin peeled away and he’s left with his Bambi who is desperate for him. Dieter groans, hating that his lips break away from yours long enough to pull his shirt over his head, he has to be the one thinking rationally. “Condom.” He gasps, nearly whining when you cup him through his pants.

Like a shock to your system, you pull your hand back immediately and look guiltily away. Since you never thought anything like this could happen in a million years, you certainly didn’t come prepared. “Shit…” the murmur that passes your lips is fully regretful and your face drops.

“No.” Dieter cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours firmly. “I need to get a condom.” He clarifies. “I have one.” He keeps them in his dresser. He was just so overwhelmed he was reminding himself he needed to protect you.

“Oh.” Your whole face burns in embarrassment, but he doesn’t let you look away. “Right. I—I knew that—”

“It’s not on you to provide condoms.” Dieter has a fucked up view on sex and love, but he had always been taught to fucking wrap it up. His father didn’t want scandals about his son catching the clap.

“Okay.” Taking it as fact from someone who knows far better than you, you nod your understanding and tentatively press in to kiss him softly. “Whatever you say.”

He smirks, wonderfully entranced with your easy acceptance and he shuffles over, still kissing you so that he can open the small nightstand and pull out a ribbon of condoms. “Fuck baby, you’re so good to me.” He groans. “Lay back. Let me get this on.”

There is no instinct in you to question him or the situation. Absolutely nothing matters more here or now than him, and you just naturally assume that you aren’t the only girl to have ever felt that way. After all, how could you be? He’s a movie star. Of course he’s had sex with plenty of other people. But your mind rings with him saying he wants to be the only one to touch you and it’s the most utterly special you’ve ever felt in your life.

Dieter hops off the bed and smirks, making a little show of stripping off his pants and underwear. Watching your eyes widen gives him a quick ego stroke. Ripping open the foil packet with his teeth, he frowns slightly as he rolls the rubber down his length and strokes himself a few quick times. “Are you ready?”

It’s not like you’ve never seen a dick before – you’ve had boyfriends after all – but this is more significant than a hand job after prom or messing around on spring break. This is something you’re going to remember for the rest of your life. And you couldn’t be happier that it’s him, feeling like a string exists between the two of you that will keep you tied together forever. “I’m ready.”

Dieter climbs back onto the bed, his protected cock swinging underneath him as he slots himself into the cradle of your thighs. Taking his time to kiss you softly, letting it build up as if you have all the time in the world. The muted taste of rum on your tongue and your need are intoxicating and making him feel drunk off of you.

Desire outweighs your nerves, teaching your body how to move without the need for more formal instructions. Your hands wander and your hips roll, lips trailing down the column of his neck and tracing the prominent veins there in an attempt to memorize him completely. If he was handsome before – and he definitely was – he’s stunning now, moaning in your ear when your fingernails graze over his chest and scrape his nipple — which you somehow hadn’t realized was pierced in the darkness of his bedroom.

“Shit.” He hisses, cock throbbing at the sharp burst of pleasure. He rocks his hips forward, cock laying between your lips. “So sexy.” He moans quietly into your mouth when you find each other in the darkness again.

“What is?” You hum into the kiss, feeling emboldened by his praise. “This?” Nails finding their mark again, this time you bring both hands down his chest to play with the sensitive buds.

“Fuck, fuck.” Dieter whines, snapping his hips forward to grind against you. “I’m supposed to be making you feel good.”

“You are, Dee.” The more he grinds against your mound, the slicker and more swollen your clit gets, making you lean into the motion more and more.

“You want me to slide inside you?” He asks, moans the question in your ear. “Break open your needy pussy on my cock?”

“Fuck.” Needy is definitely the right word, as you actually might combust if he doesn’t. “Please,” you nod frantically, rendering what he said about wanting you to beg. “Oh god, please do it—”

It takes just a moment for him to drop his hips and feel the tip of his cock catch at your dripping entrance. Your legs widen even more to let him in and he captures your lips again as he starts to rock forward. The feeling of fullness is indescribable, beginning right in the core of your whole self and spreading outward until even your fingers and toes feel different somehow. Even kissing him seems fuller now, although that might be from the reverberating moans you share as he sinks deeper inside your body.

“You’re so good.” He praises, breaking away from your lips so he can roll his hips back. “Tell me you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you. Tell me you are feeling this.” He begs quietly between kisses.

“You didn’t hurt me.” You promise him, shaking your head and brushing kisses across his lips and jaw. “Feels amazing, baby.” The little term of endearment slips without thinking about it. You might have been more self conscious or doubting about it if he weren’t inside you, but since he is you just relish it. The physical closeness and the intimacy of this moment that is so much more incredible than you could have expected. It is…different than you expected, though, and you squirm slightly under him. “So full, Dee. Fuck, I—does it feel as good for you?”

“So goddamn good.” He moans, ducking his head and tucking his face against your throat. Needing a minute himself shows how tight you get when you contract those muscles. “So good.”

The long moments – maybe whole minutes or more – that it takes both of you to get your breath back are exquisite. You start moving under him sooner than he moves on his own, not because you're impatient but because it feels too good not to. He takes his time establishing a rhythm. Letting you roll your hips up to meet his thrusts. Pinning you down every other thrust and letting you feel every inch of his cock as he pushes forward.

Every girl you know said that their first time was over in the blink of an eye, but this is practically lazy. Dieter is in no rush to have the night over with and though you're already climbing your way back up that immense mountain of pleasure, you're in no hurry for it to be over. You wrap your legs around his waist, feeling a little bolder every time he groans at the tight squeeze of your velvet walls.

He’s determined to make this good for you. Kissing and sucking on your skin. Groaning because he feels how your walls tremble when he rasps in your ear. “So good baby.” He moans. “You’re doing so good for me.”

You'll feel him tomorrow in every way that counts, from the ache between your legs to the bruises he’s leaving on your skin. You'll taste him on your tongue and have the ghost of his kisses left on your lips, and every time you remember how deep his voice gets when he moans in your ear, your toes will curl all over again. Tonight, though, as you gasp and keen, wailing his name into the darkness, you can't help the curiosity rolling through you alongside the pleasure. "Want to t-try–" Gasping between thrusts, your lips practically tremble at his ear. "More, baby, please. I want to try everything."

“We will, baby.” He promises, twitching inside you. “Fuck, all of it. Gonna do everything with you, to you.” He wraps his hand around your shoulder to have better leverage to thrust into you.

"Everything." It's a vast, bottomless promise but somehow you don't doubt him. Like everything that he's done is everything that you're aching to try, and the things that he hasn't are the things that you were always meant to try together. The new angle he achieves with his arms wrapped around you like this gives him the perfect opportunity to strike a spot inside you that you've never felt before – one that turns keening wails of his name into shapeless cries and shouts, too lost in pleasure to even find words to express how fucking good it feels.

Once he gets that response out of you, Dieter clenches his teeth together and concentrates. Making sure he hits it again and again, wanting to hear you squeal his name. “There it is. Oh fuck, you gonna cum Bambi? You gonna soak my cock?”

Without enough presence of mind to even be able to form the word "Yes", you manage a nod, clinging to him and moaning so deeply you can feel it in your toes. It feels like you're about to shake apart and yet if you let go of him for even a second you might crumble from the inside out. Orgasms have never felt like this before – like a ticking time bomb inside your body might go off if he just strokes that spot inside you one more time.

Rocking into you is as close to secular prayer as Dieter has gotten…ever. “Oh god, oh god.” Is chanted on repeat, barely able to keep his eyes open as works his cock in and out of your pussy, poised on the edge of spasming around him.

It takes two more strokes, not one, but when you fall off the edge of pleasure you manage just a single syllable - crying "Dee!" Out into the night and sobbing as wave after wave of pleasure crests across the two of you. Your whole body seems to draw him in, cunt clenching and arms tightening, legs twitching at his waist before you slip away into a sky of stars that burst behind your eyes. The poets were not exaggerating, not one little bit.

He is tumbling right after you. Pushing as deep as he can with a worshipful groan of your name. Thankful for the condom because he would have never been able to pull out in time as he fills the prophylactic with a shudder.

The rush of endorphins that hits a second later has you giggling, dusting kisses across his lips and every inch of skin you can manage while pinned underneath him. “I—” As articulate as you try to be in everyday life, words fail you now. “Wow.”

As soon as Dieter gets done, he’s burrowing into your neck. Becoming an adorably snuggly koala. Always loving the post coitus high that comes from sex. “So fucking good.” He praises, scattering kisses over every inch of skin he can reach.

“You’re amazing.” Still working to catch your breath, your legs may drop back to the mattress but your arms keep him close.

Dieter’s hand slides between you to hold the condom as he pulls his hips back, but he doesn’t make any effort to move beyond that. “You’re amazing.” He counters. “How do you feel?”

“Empty.” The pout you throw at him and the way you bat your eyelashes is purely playful, but you do already mourn the loss of not having him inside you. “I feel amazing, baby.”

“Yeah? Give me twenty minutes and if you aren’t too sore we can go again.” Dieter chuckles quietly.

“You’re on.” The giddiness of it - the lightness - makes you feel like you’re floating on air. Either every girl you know was wrong, or you now have the world’s best experience of losing your virginity.

“I think I’ve created a monster.” Dieter moans playfully, pulling his head up so he can kiss the tip of your nose. “Wanna stay tonight?”

“Of course I do.” In this moment, you’re certain you would stay forever if he asked you.

“Okay.” Dieter kisses you again before he starts to actually move. “Let me get this condom off.”

******

“Clear the set!” The order goes out after everything has been readied, everyone but essential crew retreating to other tasks to allow for intimacy on set. It’s a day you’ve been anticipating with immense nerves. These last two weeks have been complicated — more time spent with Dieter and less fighting has only left you questioning how you feel about him all these years later. Things had happened that he never shared. That you never knew about. And while he still hurt you, you can understand now why he acted the way he did. Maybe even forgive it, if he ever asked you. This scene is one you have been nervous for, not for nudity but for having to be almost entirely naked in a bed with Dieter? It’s consumed almost every thought for the last few days leading up to this shoot. So much so that yesterday when he sat next to you in your trailer, you erupted in goosebumps and immediately put on a sweater.

Dieter slaps himself, looking in the mirror at his reflection. While the lack of eating had cut some unwanted pounds off of his belly, he was still nervous about this scene. Crazy considering he was never shy about flaunting his body no matter what kind of shape he was in. He was nervous now because it’s you. Since that day, things have changed but he can’t say that you have forgiven him. The awkward moments are still there, but you are treating him like he’s a fragile bird with a broken wing. Which, he is, but he doesn’t want to upset the very relieving truce between you. His own dickishness to keep you at arms length had fallen away, with a quiet desire to be with you starting to take hold.

Only a few people are on set when you come out of your trailer, wrapped in a robe and striding toward the newly-finished bedroom set that makes your palms sweat. But you’re a professional above all else, so you hand off your robe to the only production assistant and slip under the sheets.

“Remember she doesn’t actually want you.” Dieter had actually agreed to the modesty sock, even though he tries to avoid it as often as possible. The last time he had a scene where it called for one, he had taped his dick to his thigh.

“You’re wearing it?” When he hands off his robe to the PA you can’t even hate yourself for looking. You have to work with this man. To function around him. You can’t hate yourself for looking, but you can curse yourself for being affected by him. “I half expected you to show up naked like the Emperor showing off new clothing.”

“Didn’t think you would want to see me in all my middle aged glory.” Dieter jokes, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck as he walks over to the bed. The intimacy coordinator is nearby but she had already said that she wanted to see how you organically greet each other.

“Why do you think I got here first?” You have to laugh at yourself, at least a little, being so anxious around the first man who ever saw you completely naked. It should be ridiculous, but instead your heart is threatening to beat out of your chest.

“Things have changed.” He also didn’t know what you would think about the…piercing he got after coming back to Hollywood. He doubts you’ve heard about it.

“You should get in.” Reflexively, you pull the sheets on the other side of the bedside to let him climb in, studiously keeping your eyes on his face.

It’s hard not to think back to that tiny apartment on the upper East side. Sharing a queen sized bed with you for months and thinking about asking you to move in when your lease was up. He has never told you that. Knowing it would just be another bittersweet symbol of the hurt he had done. Nodding, he slips beneath the sheets and settles on his back.

“I want to give you guys the chance to find a comfortable position organically,” Sam steps closer to the bed on set and crosses his arms over his chest. The director has no idea what has been going on between his lead actors, but he knows things are tense. “But you will have to touch. Sooner than eventually.”

Dieter twists his head and looks over at you, knowing that this scene calls for you to be on top of him. “Not like you haven’t been there before.” He murmurs quietly so no one else can hear.

You snort under your breath, knowing he’s right, and shift closer to him. It’s a simple matter of situating yourself above his waist, but you’re desperately afraid of giving yourself away when you do. Not that you might be aroused - being in a room full of relative strangers - but that he’ll remember the other things. Goosebumps and shallow breath, the way you squirm when something feels particularly good.

“It’s okay, Bambi.” Dieter knows that you are an accomplished actress. He might have a copy of every thing you’ve ever been in, but you are biting your lip like you are that shy virgin all over again. His chest aches with how badly he wants to kiss you. “You’re a professional. Just another day at work.”

“We both know it’s not.” It’s sweet of him to say so, though, and you hate the way it makes you ache that he’s started using your nickname in private again. It takes a deep breath on your part before you have the nerve to sit up, twisting the sheet around you for modesty and making it pool around the place you’re connected. It looks perfectly like you’re straddling him but you’re actually hovering a few inches north of where actual sex would require you to be. And yet? All either of you would have to do is shift once and you would be in place.

“No, it’s not.” Dieter can agree to that and his hand slowly slides up to hover over your waist. “Can I touch you?” He asks before setting his hand on your skin.

Goosebumps. You can feel them the second they happen, but there’s nothing you can do now. They’re there, and Sam has noticed enough to call for the heat to be turned up on set, mistaking it for you being cold. “We’ll never get through this if we can’t at least touch each other.”

“Figured I would ask.” He shrugs, not giving a damn if it takes longer than Sam would like. It’s more important that his partner is comfortable. He can’t flirt and joke like he would with someone else, because of your history together.

“And I appreciate that.” Tentatively, you let both of your hands down onto his chest the way the script had described. If Sam wants it changed, he can say so. Right now you’re just trying to baby step your way to even a tiny bit of comfort. “Are you…okay? I’m not sitting on you weirdly or something, am I?”

“I’m good, just let me…” Dieter slides his hand between the two of you to adjust the ‘sock’. “I’ll try to keep it under control.” He murmurs.

It takes a second, but the half-guilty and half-flattered grin that overtakes your face comes with a snort of amusement to cap it all off. You snort again, suppressing a giggle, and shake your head at him. “Good luck with that. He has a mind of his own.” Sam hasn’t said a word as he watches the two of you get comfortable, but even he smiles seeing you relax.

“Okay,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s just find the motion, before we add in the dialogue. I want you guys to see how easy or awkward or difficult it will be for you to switch places from here. Dieter, just go ahead and roll her over carefully, and that will lead us into the kiss and the rest of the dialogue.”

There is a thirty second pause. Ten seconds of that is Dieter staring up at you, as himself. Then the set of his jaw changes, his eyes darken and his brow pulls down just enough to signal a change into character. He’s not Dieter Bravo now, he’s the character he’s bringing to life. His arm swings around you and his hips roll, making a seamless transition to push you under him and as blocked out, his mouth fuses to yours in a frenzy of need and lust.

It’s acting. It’s all acting, you promise yourself, not letting yourself react in any way beyond wrapping your arms around his shoulders and returning the rapacious kiss. It’s false. Entirely the character in a way that the scenes of the two of you screaming at each other truly isn’t. “Hold.” Sam’s voice cuts through the tension, his footsteps on the wooden floor audible over the heavy breathing in the set. It might have been false, but it was still a kiss. “Try it again,” Sam insists. “Less forceful this time?” He hums while he thinks – a habit of his.

“Maybe we can get a beat of looking into each other’s eyes right before the kiss?”

That seems to be a good idea to the young director, and he nods. “Make the decision,” he tells Dieter. “I want to see you make the decision to have her.”

Dieter nods and resets, waiting for you to get back into position and covered like you had been before. It takes less time to slip into the skin of his character this time and the way he holds your eyes is more assessing before you see the way his face changes almost imperceptibly. Rolling you over again and the kiss is less forceful but just as passionate as the last.

This time your fingers are in his hair when Sam calls for a hold, and it takes you a second to come back to yourself, but the real problem is that kissing him again is doing things to you. You squirm slightly, hoping no one notices, and try to clear your mind enough to pay attention to whatever the hell Sam is saying. At the very least, you’re just determined not to make eye contact with Dieter between these rehearsal moments. It’ll give you away – but you aren’t even sure what feeling you would be betraying at this point.

“Something’s missing,” Sam is saying when you finally tune in. “There’s so much honesty…and I don’t…” He huffs out a sigh. “I don’t believe you. Either of you. When you hated each other, I believed you. The confusion, the yearning, the—everything else. But I don’t believe that when the cameras cut, you’re going to tear each other apart.”

Dieter frowns slightly. “What do you mean?” He huffs, not sure what the director is looking for. The way your hand had tugged at his hair with just the right pressure had made him start to harden. He had been working so hard on holding himself back. Not making it real.

“I mean…” Sam pauses, trying to suss out the right way to explain it. “There’s something about the other scenes that makes me hold my breath when you two get going. Something honest about them. But I’m not holding my breath now.”

“So you’re saying…” you sigh, pinned underneath Dieter and trying desperately not to react to what might be his cock twitching or might just be the fabric of the modesty sock against your thigh. “You can tell that we’re acting?”

Dieter mulls over the director's words, his fingers pressing against the divot of your hip and he nods. “We’ll reset and then I’m going to change it slightly.” He offers, looking down at you and silently asking for permission.

“You have an idea?” The question is more or less rhetorical, but he nods and you swallow your nerves. “Okay. Let’s reset.”

Dieter reaches down between you and removes the modesty sock and shoves it under the pillow to hide it from the crew as you adjust.

The second you sit up again to put your leg over his waist, your eyes widen and you look down at Dieter with an expression halfway in between murdering him and melting. Even if you'd never sat on his cock before you would definitely realize the difference between fabric and skin, and you swallow a gasp when you look down at him. "This is your idea?" You whisper, shifting on his lap to try to raise yourself up off of him so you're not sitting directly on what is now his hardening cock.

“Do you have a better idea?” Dieter shoots back with a snort before he grins at you. “Hey—”

Cutting him off by settling yourself directly on top of him isn't quite the victory you imagine it is, because you have to bite your lip to keep from reacting and end up pinching your eyes shut as you twist to wrap the sheet around you again. Thank god, at least, for pasties. No one needs to see your nipples bud and pebble with arousal. "This is going to be interesting," you murmur, looking down at him from this more-familiar position. There's a pretty solid chance that this counts as cock warming. Or it would, if your own modesty garment weren't in the way.

Dieter bites back a groan and stares up at you. “Do you want to have sex with me?” He asks, smirking slightly.

"The first time you asked me that, the answer was my virginity," you remind him extremely quietly, as if he might have forgotten what had happened then. The problem, though? Is that you want to say yes. You actually, completely, in this exact moment – you want to say yes.

This time, the expression is less the character and more Dieter. Letting his own emotions and confusing needs blend with that of his character, reaching up and cupping your breast over the sheet while he rolls you under him desperately.

You don't gasp this time, but whine. It's your sound, the one you make naturally, and the one that is automatic when Dieter grinds against your core. Your eyelashes flutter of their own accord and your hand reaches to grasp his hip in turn. The internal war of whether or not to succumb to him that your character is supposed to be having reads in your confused eyes as clearly as a neon sign, and this time when he leans down to kiss you, you meet him halfway there.

This time, there's a need that is more raw, realistic. It’s his need. His want that comes through the slot of his lips against yours. The subtle slide of his tongue into your mouth.

The hand you have in his hair pulls a little harder this time, your body lifts off the mattress and your other arm wraps around his torso to drag him closer instead of draping prettily on his shoulders. It's barely acting, in the sense that you're currently presenting as two fictional characters. That's the surface of what is happening, as you moan softly into his kiss. But the fact is that if he slipped inside you right now, you probably wouldn't hesitate to let him have you right there on that set. Which...is something you're going to need to think about later when your mind isn't completely fogged by desire.

Dieter doesn’t pull back, doesn’t stop kissing you. His hand squeezes your tit softly, knowing that there are thirty people watching the two of you simulate working up to having sex.

Neither of you heard the command from your director to hold, too wrapped up in each other and too overwhelmed by the pounding of your own blood to have noticed. It's only when you break the kiss to have a gasp of air and turn your head to the side for Dieter to trail his lips down your neck that you open your hazy eyes and see Sam standing there with his arms crossed and a slightly gobsmacked look on his face. "Well," he chuckles, when you snap back to reality and open your eyes in his direction. "That's more like it. Let's reset and get ready to roll cameras."

Dieter pants and closes his eyes, leaning down and pressing his head against your clavicle for a second before he moves over onto his back again. “That’s what you want?” He asks Sam, wanting to make sure he doesn’t need to change anything.

"See if you can add a growl without making it sound forced." Sam chuckles at the thought and steps off the edge of the set, bound for the chair with his name on it.

Dieter chuckles, closing his eyes for a moment and blowing out a deep sigh to try to calm down his raging boner. “Sounds good.”

“Need another second?” Since you know what he did - and have an inkling as to how thin the shred of Dieter’s self control can be, you don’t want to just hop back on his waist without warning. You’d either knee him in the dick by accident or end up making him moan out loud for real.

“I’m good.” Dieter knows that you are fully aware of what is going on under the sheet, and another conversation will need to happen. He will have to apologize to you. But for now, he reaches for you so he can be as close as he can be to you.

Onto his lap one more time, you wrap the sheet around your torso artfully and let the set dresser nitpick the specific placement of things until she’s satisfied and steps away. You place your hands on his bare chest and note with a frown that his own previously pierced nipple has healed through, but school your expression back into place when Sam calls for “Action!”

This time, Dieter gives the scene his all. Taking his need up a notch and just like Sam had asked, he included a small growl into the scene as he rolls you under him again and presses against you.

It’s a fucking miracle you can remember your lines or deliver then clearly enough for the boom mic hanging a foot and a half over Dieter’s head to pick up, because when Sam calls cut you half want to kick everyone off set and just rip the sheet away. “Let’s just set up for the next scene,” Sam instructs, sending the crew scurrying all around you. “Guys, you’re doing great,” he promises, stepping back up onto the set. “I want to try the image two ways – once spooning and once having you face each other. We’ll see which one we like better in post, okay?”

“S-sure—” You manage a vague nod, trying to remember what the next shot even is. Ah. Right. It’s him watching you sleep. The page in the script has whispered words of love and a kiss to your head while you sleep, and you had decided stubbornly not to read it ever again after the read through. The idea of Dieter ever saying sweet things to you again had been horrible at the time. But now? It twists deep in your heart how much you have to admit to missing those days.

The first set up is Dieter facing you. He’s managed to slip back on the modesty sock and his cock is only half hard now that the scene has cooled down and he doesn’t have his hands on you. “You good, Bambi?” He asks quietly after you get positioned.

“I’m good.” You have to be. There’s no option to go running off the set because you got horny and emotional during the last shot. “I just…” A soft exhale comes when you rest your head on the pillow next to him. “I wasn’t expecting Sam to want more.”

“No, no, no.” Sam huffs, like he has developed sonar hearing out of nowhere. “Get closer. You guys look like you’re politely keeping your distance at your in-laws. Sprawl out over Dieter,” he instructs you, coming back onto the set to look at things from the angle he wants. “One leg over his, hand on his chest. Intimate.”

Dieter reaches for you, pulling you closer and draping his arm around you. He moves closer and presses his face right up against you. “Hey.” He murmurs quietly.

“Hey.” It’s just a little whisper, but you smile as you flick your eyes up to look at him before closing them again when Sam pronounces the shot to be perfect. “You’re comfy,” you murmur before you can stop yourself, and squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment.

Dieter sighs softly, reaching up and his fingers brush over your cheek. “Dee! Wait for the call!” Sam yells, making him drop his hand. That part hadn’t been scripted.

“Yeah, Dee,” you can’t help the way you giggle under your breath, like you ought to be sticking out your tongue at him. Under the sheets, though, your hand comes to rest softly on his chest after not really being sure where to go. It’s a small gesture of comfort between you, but it’s there.

There's a small grin, quickly squashed before you close your eyes and Dieter settles down. When the director finally calls 'Action!', he reaches up again to brush your face lightly as he watches your face. "I do love you." He whispers softly, "I'm not a good man, I don't know why I am the way I am. I don't want to say the things that come out of my mouth." He murmurs quietly. "You are my world, even when you aren't around."

Professionalism, you remind yourself, trying desperately to keep your eyes shut and not react at all even though you’re fighting every instinct you have that wants to surge up and kiss him now that that dam has been broken again. It’s all you can do to keep perfectly still until Sam calls cut and tells you to hold your position so they can fiddle with the camera position for another angle. Your eyes flutter open, lip bitten as you try not to smile too much. “Good line delivery,” you murmur quietly, looking up at Dieter from your place in his chest.

"Dee, Dee." Sam tuts and walks over. "You are a man in love." He stresses. "Obsessed and yet completely aware that you have treated your lady wrong. This is supposed to be almost like your act of atonement." He sighs and motions. "Reset."

“You okay?” The direction seems harsh to you, but you don’t want to get in the middle of things. Your only job right now is to not react, but you still check on him.

"I'm good." Dieter brushes off your concern and waits for you to close your eyes again. Channeling images of the last time he saw you twelve years ago, watching you take your bow on stage before he turned around and walked out of that theatre and your life "Action!"

There’s something Sam is looking for but he can’t quite describe it. There’s a feeling that he’s gotten from the other big scenes that has made him want to alternately jump out of his chair in excitement or apologize for intruding on such an intimate moment. That’s what he’s looking for.

There are tears in his eyes when the director calls for the scene to end. The dialogue changed slightly, more personalized. Words that he had wished he could have said to you so many years ago come pouring out of his mouth as his fingers fan your face, tenderly brush over your features as if he’s memorizing every curve and valley.

“I don’t think we need to do the other set up.” Sam decides, apparently satisfied with the set up and the reset he has just gotten. With his hands on his hips, he seems to look at you and Dieter in that bed on set but not see you at all. “Good work today. Let’s call it an early night tonight.”

Blinking, Dieter shuffles back from you as Desiree rushes over with his robe. "Good work, Dee." She coos as he sits up and shrugs into the robe. He's a little raw, unable to look over at you at the moment as the lines between his character and himself have blurred more than he had anticipated. "Thanks."

“Dee?” Sadie has your robe out to you barely a second later, and you thank her with a nod and a silent moment of eye contact before turning back to him. “Can we…um…can we maybe talk?” The last few weeks have been so careful – such a tiptoeing around each other – that you haven’t done much meaningful talking. Just surface level stuff or spending time together in relative silence. Now, though, you feel like you need to talk to him or you’ll burst.

Nodding, he stands and quickly ties the robe shut. “Ten minutes?” He asks, needing a few moments to try and find an emotional balance so he doesn’t collapse against you and sob. “Or back at the hotel?”

“I’ll meet you at your trailer and we can drive back together?” You’re afraid of losing your nerve if you wait too long, but you also don’t want to scare him. Dieter can be like a horse sometimes – he spooks easily.

Agreeing, he gives you a quick nod and turns around to practically run back to the safety of his trailer. Feeling exposed and vulnerable as Desiree rushes along beside him.

“Do you guys have plans tonight?” You loop one arm through Sadie’s on the way back to your own trailer, trying to keep your spirits up.

“Just a night in.” Sadie admits with a grin. The relationship is everything she’s wanted and to be honest, she’s not looking forward to when the filming wraps. “With Dieter behaving, Desiree wants to stick close by just in case and to relax.”

“So if I send a bottle of something bubbly and dessert from room service, should it be to your room or hers?” Seeing Sadie this happy has been such a sweet thing. She’s not only fantastically on the ball as an employee but she’s also been just a wonderful influence on your life in general, and you want to do everything you can to help that happiness grow for her.

“I think I’m staying in her room tonight. But you don’t have to do that.” She protests. “Dieter just has her room number memorized and he might call on the hotel phone since he likes that better than cell phones.”

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to.” At the door to your trailer, you unlock and push inside first to let her in after you. “You take such amazing care of me. If I can do little things now and then to make you smile, I’m going to.”

“Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you back to the hotel?” She had assumed you meant to ride with Dieter and the assistants ride together since the cars needed to get back.

“You and Des enjoy some quiet time. I’ll drive Dieter and me.” Amongst other eccentricities, the man hates to drive. It’s secretly one of the reasons he loves cities and having an assistant. You’re pretty sure he hasn’t been behind the wheel of a car voluntarily since he got his license. “I—honestly I kind of need to talk to him. And I haven’t quite figured out what I’m going to say.”

“The scenes were very…intimate.” Sadie answers honestly. “I know you are on better terms but talking will be good.”

“It was…a lot more intimate than it looked.” Disappearing into the tiny trailer bathroom to peel the modesty garment off your skin – thank god for bikini waxes – you re-emerge a second later and step into the little bedroom for clean clothes. “If not for that shred of adhesive, we would officially be making a porn.”

“Did he remove the sock?” Sadie asks, “Desiree swears she saw him remove the sock.”

Half-dressed, you stick just your head around the door of the little room to look Sadie dead in the eyes. “Oh yeah.” You confirm with a look of slight desperation. “Your girlfriend’s got a sharp eye.”

“Jesus.” Sadie shakes her head in horror. “I– what was he thinking?” She is still operating under the assumption that while things are better between you, you want nothing to do with Dieter Bravo once this movie ends.

“That it would be a more authentic reaction from both of us.” You shove away from the door again long enough to pull on your blouse and cardigan before coming out. “Which, let’s be fair. He was right. But I—” You blow out a breath and shrug your shoulders almost desperately. “I honestly don’t know anymore, Sadie. I don’t know what I feel, I don’t know what I want, and I don’t know what he wants either. It’s going to drive me crazy to do this whole movie without knowing when he’s crossing the line into reality and when he’s not.”

“Oh God.” Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open slightly. Realizing that her boss is falling in love with the man who broke her heart again. “Yes.” She decides firmly, nodding. “You need to talk.”

“The trouble is that talking to Dieter Bravo is like talking to a forest sprite or a fae or something.” With another shake off your head, you reach into the mini fridge for your water bottle and sigh after a sip. “You’re not going to get a straight answer, or if you do, it’s not going to be anything like you expected. And it’s going to cost you just for asking.”

“But you love him.” She murmurs quietly.

“I—” Most of the time, you really would like to think that you know yourself. The things that you want and the things that will help you be healthy and happy. Right now? You really don’t know if the thing you want is going to be good for you at all. “I don’t think I ever stopped,” you admit quietly. “I don’t think you can be as angry as I was with him for so long without there still being love left. That’s why it hurt so much.”

Sadie walks over to you, taking your hands in hers and staring into your eyes. “I love you, you are my friend and I want nothing but the best for you.” She assures you softly. “Talk to him. Be honest and make sure you know what you are getting into.”

“I love you too, honey.” While most of Hollywood would tell you that you were silly or overly sentimental for being friends with your assistant, but you hold her in a tight hug and let the tension roll out of you for a minute before exhaling deeply. “Okay. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck.” She’ll cross her fingers and her toes for you if it means that you can have a significant, meaningful conversation with Dieter.

Dieter’s trailer is only a few doors down, and you walk over together so Sadie can pick up Desiree at the same time. You swear it feels like walking out in front of a judge when you knock on the trailer door, but since you haven’t been sick from nerves in years, it’s still a win.

Desiree opens the door with a grin. “Come on in. Dieter is just finishing getting dressed.”

“Long day.” The sun has well since set, and if it weren’t for how tense the last few hours had been, you would probably be starving.

“It has been.” Desiree nods, having calmed her boss down enough to be able to change and interact like a semi-normal human being after a small cry. “We are planning on marking it an early night. And he asked me to order room service for both of you.”

“That sounds like a good plan. And thank you.” Desiree’s exceptional eye for details and time spent with Sadie means she zeroed in on your favorite foods extremely quickly and anytime you’ve eaten with Dieter or as a group, she’s been pretty on point ordering for you. Although, the last time that the four of you all had room service together, you had splurged on luxury items and watched a few episodes of Black Sails together. That was actually a very fun night.

Dieter emerges from the back bedroom wearing a pair of loose palazzo style pants, a t-shirt and a crocheted sweater with his crocs. Hair still wet from his five minute shower and his face shiny and free of makeup. “Hey.” He murmurs quietly when he sees you, rubbing his hands on his pants nervously.

“Hey.” It’s such a small word for all the big things you’re feeling, but you put on a smile and point your finger at the door. “I’ll drive. You can look out the windows or meditate on the way back if you want.”

Swallowing hastily, Dieter nods. "Thanks, you know how much I hate driving." Especially here he was always driving on the wrong damn side of the road. It was nerve wracking. "Are you ready? I'm ready."

“Yeah, I’m ready.” To drive, anyway. You have no idea if you’re ready for this conversation. At least the hotel isn’t more than a twenty-minute drive away.

“Okay.” Dieter is the last one out of the trailer even though Desiree locks it for him. Trailing behind you and waiting for some kind of sign about what you want to talk about. Fingers twitching as he reaches for the ever-present candy in his pocket.

“You’re not in trouble,” you murmur with a shake of your head, opening his door for him when you reach the rental car.

“Shouldn’t I open the door for you?” He frowns at the reversal of roles and the way that all the women in his life are walking on eggshells around him right now.

“I was just trying to be nice…” It makes you frown much more deeply than you expected when the small act of kindness seems to upset him. And within seconds you’re rethinking everything you wanted to say, wondering if you didn’t just get caught up in the moment with him all over again.

“I know.” He blows out a sigh and shakes his head as you put on your seatbelt. “I just – I don’t want you to feel like you have to take care of me.” He murmurs quietly. “I’m not – I should be apologizing to you. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” If you surprise yourself with the honesty of it, he must be shocked. “Not really. I mean…I could have told you no. Or to put the damn sock back on. But I didn’t.” Both of you are buckled in and the car is on, but you haven’t pulled out of the lot yet. “Maybe it says more about me than it does about you, I don’t know. But the last few weeks have really…they’ve really proved to me…” You blow out an unsteady breath. “How much I’ve missed you.”

He bites his lip, closing his eyes and wondering briefly if he’s imagined you saying that. He’s had auditory hallucinations when he’s detoxed before and it’s been nearly seventy-two hours since he’s done anything more potent than weed or ‘shrooms. “I– can you say that again.” He begs softly. “Please?”

Your hand reaches carefully over the console, covering his larger one but not pressing any further. Just simple skin on skin in the most innocent way possible. “I missed you, Dee.”

“I miss you too.” Dieter turns his hand over and squeezes yours when your palm hits his. “I– today was– it wasn’t my character.” He confesses quietly. “It was me.”

“Apparently, it was both.” There’s a certain amount of pride in your voice for that fact, and you squeeze his hand back more tightly this time. “But…I was sort of hoping you would say that…that I was right when I heard you through the lines.”

“I’ve never done that.” He shakes his head in amazement. “Never.”

“Not even the first day of filming?” It seems silly to ask, but that moment had felt so real. Hell, it had been real enough for you to go berserk on him at the tea shop.

Dieter frowns and tries to remember what the first day of filming was. His brows shoot up when he remembers. “No.” He shakes his head furiously. “Not– no, I– not even then.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t pull the slap.” It was unprofessional if nothing else, and you do regret hurting him. It had been such a horrible, complicated day. “I shouldn’t have hurt you. No matter how upset I was.”

“I deserved it.” Dieter can admit that. He absolutely deserved that. He had been hurt that you had seemed to anticipate it with glee, but he thinks you hadn’t enjoyed it very much afterwards. You hadn’t gloated, at least.

“This is the kind of stuff I wanted to talk to you about.” Carefully pulling the car out of its space and through the lot, you weave into London nighttime traffic deftly. “I just…I’m anxious as hell to talk about any of this. But I feel like the longer I put it off…I’ll psych myself out or convince myself that I’m overreacting. Or reading into things too much.”

“If I overstepped…..I’m sorry.” Dieter turns his head and looks out at the passing city. His heart aches when he realizes that he had been hoping for some kind of reunion of sorts but it sounds like you are not interested. “I know that when we are done with the press junket and whatever that you won’t want to have anything to do with me.”

“Dee...” His hand is still encompassing yours and you thread your fingers through his when you hear the heartbreak in his voice. “That’s kind of the opposite of where I wanted to go with this conversation,” you admit quietly.

“Wha—” he doesn’t trust himself to ask that question. Instead he just turns and looks at you in confusion.

“I don’t know how any of this will work with us now.” When you sigh this time it’s admitting to yourself that yes, this conversation is happening in a moving vehicle so no, you absolutely can’t cry during it. “We’re different people than we used to be in a lot of ways, but at the same time the fundamentals of who we are…well, they’re kind of baked into us.” At the next stop light, you turn to look at him and are so sure you see hope in his eyes. “And I don’t know how it would work. Or if it would work. But of all the things I regret, I don’t want to regret not taking a second chance when we had it.”

“You want….me?” Dieter asks, bewildered by that confession. “Like– another chance? You want to give me another chance?” He’s so confused, but his voice breaks. “Y-yeah.”

“I had planned on being more eloquent than this.” A whole speech had been forming in your head, rolling over and over as you tried to figure out exactly what you wanted to say. But in the end it has turned out not to matter. “I had this whole plan. I was going to have champagne and chocolates sent to Sadie and Des and to us and make it this whole romantic thing and I just…please don’t take the fact that I asked you like this instead of doing something absurdly romantic to mean that I’m any less sincere.”

“You wanted to give me chocolates and champagne?” His voice sounds awe-filled, as if he had never even had someone consider doing something like that for him. “We can still have them. I’ll order them.” He offers, squeezing your hand again.

“Then it’s you giving them to me and not me giving them to you…” The distinction is important to you, considering there was a time when you couldn’t give him more than a glass of water.

“I–okay.” He murmurs quietly. “Um,” he glances back at you briefly before looking out the window again. “This isn’t because you feel sorry for me, is it?” He doesn’t know if it would hurt him more or less than he had already been hurting.

“No.” The speed of your answer should probably speak for yourself, but you still keep a hold of his hand. “Pity isn’t a foundation for a relationship.”

His sigh of relief is quiet, but he knows you hear it. Realistically, he knows he doesn’t deserve another chance. Not after what he’s done, but you are giving him one. “Good.”

“It’s…” you steer the car into the underground parking below the hotel you’re staying at and glance over at him as darkness overtakes the car. “It’s because kissing you…even on set, even through the lens of characters…” Your voice is shaking as you park the car and you can hear it, so there’s no doubt he can too. “Kissing you today felt like coming home.”

“I’ve never been happier than in that little shitty apartment, wrapped up with you.” Dieter admits, swallowing down the thick emotions. “Not even winning that fucking Oscar.”

Now that the car is parked and things are out in the open, you sink back in your seat and unbuckle your seatbelt. “Maybe we’ll win one together this time,” you tease, trying not to think of the note he sent to your house after you lost a few months ago. That wasn’t really him. It was a coping mechanism.

“Yeah.” Dieter nods. “I meant what I said to you. You deserved it, and hopefully next time you’re nominated, you win.”

“You sent me a note that said ‘Whoops. Better luck when Meryl isn’t nominated.’” Actually saying it out loud makes you pause, and you shake your head at yourself for getting so wrapped up in seven stupid words.

“Yeah,” Dieter nods, wincing slightly. “It’s Meryl, I’m happy I don’t have to go up against her.” He huffs. “You would have won if her movie had come out the next year.”

“Come on.” One more squeeze of his hand and you let it go to pull the keys from the ignition and retrieve your purse from the backseat. “Let’s go upstairs? I’ll catch hell from Desiree if I don’t feed you, and that girl is scary when she defends you.”

Chuckling, he climbs out of the car. “She scares me.” He admits with a grin. “I think that’s why my agent loves her.”

“Your agent loves her because she is impossible for you to talk into your bed.” You grin at him as you round the hood of the car and hold out your hand for him to take again.

“That too.” He admits shamelessly. “Girl doesn’t like dick at all.” He huffs, smirking slightly. She had a knack for putting him in his place and it was something that was needed every now and again.

“She and Sadie have that in common.” The elevator to go upstairs isn’t far away and you let Dieter press the call button as you unconsciously lean into his side. “They’re very sweet together. I think Sadie’s nervous that you and I won’t be on good terms when filming ends. Like that would affect their relationship. I didn’t…I didn’t really tell her what I wanted to talk to you about tonight. Not all of it, anyway.”

“You aren’t giving me another chance because of your assistant, are you?” He’s joking, but he stares at you suspiciously.

“No.” The elevator doors open and you nudge him inside, pressing the button for your floor yourself. “I’m asking if you want to try again because I’ve…I’ve never loved anyone in the world as much as you.”

“There’s a reason why I couldn’t get a relationship to last.” Dieter admits quietly. “They weren’t you. And I fucked up the best thing I’ve ever had.”

“Well…” The elevator car starts to move and you shrug a little. “Better later than never. Isn’t it?”

“Twelve years later.” Dieter sighs, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “I’m sorry, Bambi.”

“The person who owes us both an apology is your father.” Something which you will never get, unfortunately. “But barring that? I’d say…maybe we focus on the future instead of the past?”

The idea of a fresh start isn’t new to Dieter, they talk about that shit all the time in therapy but he bobbles his head, wanting it now. “Okay.” He agrees quickly.

From the elevator to his room, the two of you stay connected long enough to get inside and long enough for you to call room service for those bottles of bubbly and boxes of chocolates that you had planned for. According to the staff member on the other end, Desiree has already arranged your dinners. “I swear,” you hum, resting your head on his chest. “Between the two of them, they might start reading our minds.”

“I think they know us better than we know ourselves.” Dieter huffs, pleased that you have wanted to do something for him. “Um–” Dieter rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, a little shy about showing you his sketchbook since you had freaked out last time. “Do you want to see the rest of my sketches?” He asks quietly. You’ve done something for him, so he wants to do the same.

"Yes." They're intensely personal to him, you understand that now. It was something you couldn't wrap your head around before and you're embarrassed by how you reacted weeks ago. "I'm sorry I–um...is there any real way to repair the book? I'm so sorry, Dee..."

“I redrew it.” Dieter admits. “When I was – when I was high.”

"You've been doing that less." There's no judgment behind it. It's just an observation on your part. He's barely touched anything in the last few weeks, and nothing dangerous at that.

“You said you were worried.” Dieter explains. “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

"How do you feel without it?" Mostly you were worried that he was going to overdose out of sheer desperation or depression, but from everything you can see, he's actually doing okay being more sober on a day-to-day basis. Or maybe he's just a good enough actor to get through the daily motions of life on autopilot.

“I–I don’t know?” He shrugs carelessly. “Weird. It’s all too bright.”

"That's the pot. It makes you more photosensitive. Not to a degree that could hurt you, but just enough that sunglasses are good." You follow him through to the bedroom of his suite where he keeps his sketchbooks, shrugging your own shoulders in turn when he looks at you in confusion. "I–I did some reading. In case you started having withdrawal symptoms or anything like that."

“I don’t know if I should have known or shake my head at you.” He snorts. “I’m sure you could have asked Desiree. I think the woman has a binder of all the drugs I take and their effects.”

"I wanted to put in the effort myself." It means a lot to you, to be able to step out of your comfort zone for him, and it probably is an obvious clue that you still felt strongly about him far before you were able to admit it to yourself. "What if something happened to you on her day off? Or in the middle of the night when I'm here and she isn't?"

Dieter swallows and feels guilty for putting so much responsibility on you. “I’m sorry.”

"It's okay." Your hand touches his arm gently and you offer him a smile, not wanting to dwell on too many heavy things all at once. "Do you still want to show me your sketches?"

“Yeah.” Dieter picks up the book and hesitates for a moment before he offers it to you. Reminding himself that you wouldn’t tear it up again. Maybe you would be impressed with the sketches now that you aren’t angry at him.

Cradling the book carefully, you sit down on the edge of the perfectly made bed and smile at the fact that Desiree found time to make it – because he certainly didn't do it himself. The early pages of the sketchbook are rough images of your face with your eyes closed, followed by several more that concentrate entirely on your eyes being open. As the book goes on, the images become larger and more varied. A full page is dedicated to a sketching of you wearing a dress that you particularly loved – it had been in magazines, if you recall correctly. The designer was someone previously unknown who had sent you a thank you card for mentioning her name to a reporter. The ones of you smiling are the most remarkable, though. With nothing but pencils, paper, and raw talent, he's made you more lifelike in that book that you are in some days of your own life. "They're..." you exhale shakily when you flip to a page that shows you sleeping. One hand lays in front of your face with a ring on your finger, almost like a dream. "They're stunning, Dee. You're incredible."

“I–” Dieter reaches out and touches the binding of the book. “I bring this book with me everywhere.” He admits quietly. “Desiree never touches my backpack. I don’t allow her to. It’s my carryon.”

"You bring me everywhere?" It touches you far more than you can really say, sticking in your throat and making you swallow thickly.

“Yeah.” Dieter knows that it’s dumb, perhaps even creepy to someone if they were to think about it. “Just– wanted you to know.”

"I'm flattered." When you reach for this hand this time you press a kiss to his palm and smile. "And I'm sorry again for...for being so over dramatic about discovering them. You have every right to express yourself and keep your memories however you want to."

“I get it.” He hadn’t been able to recreate that sketch in the new book. Not wanting to see that look again. “I understand, I do.”

"Maybe in the future there can be happier reasons to draw." Trying as hard as you can to lighten the mood, you tip your chin back to look at him and waggle your eyebrows. "Or sexy reasons?"

“Yeah?” Dieter’s brows shoot up and he gets a hopeful look on his face. “Would you model for me sometime?”

"I'm surprised you never asked me to before." You chew on your lip, brows furrowing. "Or...did you not draw back then?"

“Not really. Nothing beyond doodles.” Dieter snorts. “The idea of Baxter Bravo’s son being an artist beyond the silver screen was never an option.”

"You can do whatever you want now, you know." Arguably, he could before. But abusive parents have a way of caging in their children that cannot be easily broken. "I mean...even if you wanted to go as far as quitting acting altogether, you could."

“What the hell would I do?” Dieter’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. Not even imagining what he would do since he’s not doing as many drugs and he doubts you would be interested in orgies.

"I'm not saying that you have to, or even that you should. You're an amazing actor, and you did deserve that Oscar." A knock on the suite door has you standing from his bed and putting the sketchbook back down on the blankets. "I just want you to be happy. That's all."

Happy. What would that entail? He frowns as you open the door, thinking about what would actually make him happy. You, for one. You would make him happy. He watches as they wheel in the cart of food and you sign off on the bill. “What did she order us?” He asks, striding over as the server discreetly exits.

"Looks like a roast dinner for two." The covered platters of beef, potatoes, carrots, peas, and Yorkshire pudding are as English as it gets, and the boat of gravy is steaming away happily. Beside it, the ice bucket of champagne and box of chocolates are a decadent cap to the meal. "She ordered us a celebration."

“Sounds good.” Dieter has showered but you are still wearing remnants of the makeup from the set. “Do you want to shower before we eat?” He asks, wondering if you would go back to your room after dinner or stay. Feeling off kilter from the way things have turned out. Who knew you would be the stronger of the two of you?

“Five minutes?” Considering your room is right next to his, you could be in and out in no time and come back in pajamas. “Everything will stay warm if we keep the lids on and…if today’s already been a lot we can just watch a movie or something. I don’t really mind…I just…” It feels so silly, yet it’s true. “I just want to be around you.”

“You could always shower here.” He offers quietly. “But – no, that’s stupid.” He shakes his head and waves. “Go shower and change. I’ll be right here.”

“Why is that stupid?” You tilt your head at him.

“You don’t have clothes and I–” he shrugs one shoulder. “I know that it’s dumb to not want you to leave for five minutes.”

“I—” Biting back the suggestion at first, a smirk ends up creeping across your face anyway. “If I shower after dinner I just…might not get dressed afterward?” It wasn’t so many hours ago that he was grinding against you in that bed on set and the memory is still making you a little hazy.

Dieter has been trying sooooo hard not to turn things sexual, especially given the way that he had finally been on even ground with you. Groaning quietly, he bites his lip. “What would you wear?” He’s a little breathless at the thought, remembering how you looked even with the modesty garments on.

“Um…I was kind of leaning toward wearing nothing? But I can borrow one of your shirts if that’s too fast or too uncomfortable.” The question makes you stumble a little, wondering if you misread any of the conversation that the two of you have been having. He had said that nothing this afternoon was faked, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s ready to just dive into bed with you.

Dieter closes his eyes for a moment, lips parted as if he is in prayer. “I–I can’t guarantee I won’t get down on my fucking knees and beg to touch you,” he admits, cock twitching in his pants. “Fuck.”

The reverence and desperation in his voice has your eyes flicking up to meet his again, and your lips twist into a relieved smile. “I wouldn’t be suggesting that I get naked in your hotel room unless you were going to be allowed to touch me.”

“You– want to have sex with me?” Dieter asks, slowly opening his eyes. “Or– is this something where I need to make things up to you?” He’s had partners that have been more dominant and denied him an orgasm. He didn’t mind it, as long as he got to eventually cum.

“It’s not a game.” You never played psychological games with him back then and you sure as hell aren’t going to start now. “I thought…after what happened on set…that you wanted to?”

“I want to.” Dieter nearly makes himself dizzy, nodding so quickly. “I– fuck, I’m aching.” He admits. “Been hard all goddamn day around you.”

“Yeah…” You smirk a little, cheeks burning at the memory. “I noticed.”

“No one could get me as hard as you fucking could with a look.” He huffs, pouting at you like it’s entirely your fault.

“Well I’m very sorry.” You’re not. At all. And your tone would make it obvious even if you weren’t stepping closer to him. “I’ll make sure never to look at you like I want you again.”

“You better.” Dieter whines. “I want sex in my relationship with you.”

Just hearing him say he wants a relationship - any kind of relationship - with you is enough to make you giddy, but this little back and forth you're having is fun. "We generally had a lot more trouble keeping our hands off of each other than not, if I remember correctly."

“I am older.” He warns you with a grimace. “And drugs can sometimes make things…uh, not hard.”

"I don't expect either of us to have the same sex drive we had in our early twenties." That would be completely ridiculous, and you reach out to offer him a place in your arms with a soft smile. "Things aren't going to be the same as they used to be, and that's fine. We're different people than we were. For now, all I care about is that you're willing to give this a try."

“I want that.” He doesn’t have to think about it. Of course he wants to have a relationship with you. He’s wanted you ever since he walked away.

"Then...?" You hold out your arms again with a little shrug, still hoping for a hug or almost anything that isn't propelled by a script or a set. As intense as filming had been, and as honest, it was still not fully you.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you want a hug and Dieter rockets forward to wrap his arms around you. Sighing softly. There's a distinct difference between how Dieter holds people on set versus in real life when he's only himself. When he's himself it's like being enveloped in the beaming embrace of summer sun. He's a blanket of warmth and comfort that could best be compared to hugging a weighted blanket. Your nose burrows into his chest and you let out a sigh that almost matches his, squeezing your arms tightly around him before just relaxing into him.

“This is nice.” He hums. Rubbing your back gently as he tries to stretch out the much needed hug.

"You've always been a sucker for cuddles," you chuckle softly, nuzzling against him as naturally as breathing. "Glad to see that hasn't changed."

“Didn’t get this when I was a kid.” He murmurs, not bothering to even try to move away.

"Glad to change that for you." The food can get cold, for all you care. Having him with his arms around you again is the most heavenly comfort that you've been without for so long. No one gives hugs like Dieter does.

He doesn’t know how long the two of you stand there, wrapped up in each other's arms. The comfort of the moment is one that neither one of you is willing to give up. Not until he realizes that it’s getting late and you have to be uncomfortable with the makeup and adhesives from modesty garments still sticking to your skin. “Go shower. I will set up our plates in front of the tv.” He offers as he pulls away.

"If you insist." It takes you a second to open your eyes, and even longer to be willing to let your arms drop from him. "I'm going to steal one of your t-shirts to wear while we eat, if that's okay?"

“Yeah.” He grins, biting his lip and congratulates himself on not immediately popping off with something dirty. “That’s okay with me. They are huge and comfortable.”

"I'll be right back." It's only a single moment of hesitation, but you decide that you've talked enough for it to be safe and you lean forward to kiss his cheek before turning to head through his bedroom to the large bathroom that matches your own on the other side of the wall.

Dieter rubs his cheek, grinning again as he rushes over to the dresser where Desiree had put all his clothes. Picking out the softest shirt he had that wasn’t currently on his body.

Some old habits apparently will never die, and you’re grateful to see that Dieter’s obsessive exfoliation is one of them. His loofah is perfect for scrubbing away the last remnants of the work day, and whatever fancy formula shampoo he talked about once in an interview that he now has a lifetime supply of, is divine. Five minutes in scalding hot water from start to finish and you feel like a new person when you step out of the shower. There’s a towel on the counter that you didn’t put there and you smile to yourself – an expression that only grows wider when you step out into the bedroom after drying off to find that he’s picked out a t-shirt for you. It’s soft as a feather and a nondescript blue-gray color that looks as though he’s worn it a hundred times or more, and you’re swimming in the stretched out cotton when you put it on. After a quick debate about whether or not to dig through your eternally over-packed purse for the clean panties you know are in there through force of habit, you decide not to. You’ve already talked about having sex tonight. If you decide not to? Well, you can put panties on then.

He has moved the dinner from the couch to the bed and back again nearly half a dozen times. Unsure of when he became this neurotic, he justifies himself with the fact that he wants to make things good for you. Despite you wanting him, he knows he needs to make up for the hurt he had caused you. So now the plates are sitting on the coffee table and he’s even dug out those candles that were in the large gift basket waiting in his room when he arrived a month ago. The small lamp, the only other source of light beyond the tv, already turned to a movie that he vaguely remembers you enjoying.

"I was only gone for five or six minutes..." When you step out of the bedroom to find the living room has been transformed into a little oasis of romance, you almost sigh audibly. Candles and dim light accentuate the still screen of a favorite drama he's pulled up on the tv, and your dinner is sat out in front of the couch with the ice bucket of champagne and two glasses standing ready. It's so sweet that it makes your face burn. "You went for romance and I went slightly slutty."

“I like slutty.” Dieter nearly shouts it. “I like it a lot. Slutty romance.” He nods, patting the couch. “Please tell me you aren’t wearing panties?”

"You want to find out?" Of course he does, but you can't resist teasing him a little. You saunter up to the sofa to sit down next to him and make sure to flash him just a tiny bit in the process.

“Shiiiiiiiit.” He hisses, eyes fixed on the apex of your thighs until you cross them. “Eating– we– we need to eat.” He reminds himself.

"Sorry if the waxing is a disappointment," you eye him as you both pick up your plates. "But those modesty things we have to wear are sticky and the last thing I want to do after a day of filming is pull out my pubic hair by hand."

“It’s your hair.” He shakes his head slightly and shrugs. “Whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

"I distinctly remember being told that you liked the au natural look because it was womanly." It's not as though you've forgotten a single thing from that night. It was one of the most important nights of your life. And happiest, honestly.

He smirks, remembering how suave that had sounded at the time. “That was good, wasn’t it?” He hums, sliding closer to you. “Smooth.”

"Considering how desperately in love with you I already was, you probably could have just grunted at me and I would have thought it was the sexiest thing in the whole world." It's honest, at least, and you lean into his side with the champagne bottle in your hands. "But it was definitely smooth."

“You’ve done really well.” Dieter compliments. “Your career is amazing and Heat Rush is probably one of my favorite movies of yours.”

"You've actually seen my movies?" It shouldn't surprise you, considering you now know he's had feelings for you all along, but it still makes you flush hot and duck your head before concentrating on uncorking the champagne bottle.

“I don’t watch my own movies, but I watch yours.” What that says about him, he’s not quite sure, but he shrugs and tries not to look too pleased with himself for you suddenly seeming bashful. “I was invited to a couple of your premieres, but I’d have ruined it for you if I had shown up.”

"Well, you're going to have to come now." Concentrating on pouring out two glasses means you don't have to look him in the eye, which saves you from looking him in the eye and letting him see how touched you really are. "Can't have my agent trying to manufacture a date for me when I can take an actual date to things."

“That might be better for you, considering my reputation.” Dieter knows the image that he has crafted for himself, so often compared his father.

Frowning, you had him a glass of champagne and examine his face before shaking your head. "Do you really think that I would hide the fact that I love you?"

“People will talk.” He points out, not upset about it, he doesn’t care what people think. About him. You are a different story. “Start a countdown for how long it takes until it blows up.”

"And?" The shrug of your shoulders is pointed as you turn to face him on the couch. "Worst case scenario is we find out we are very different people than we used to be, and we part as friends." A scenario – as you call it – which is highly unlikely because you doubt you could ever just be his friend, but if he decided that he didn't want to be with you after all you would take whatever relationship you got to have with him. "But if you ask me? It will be fun to watch them all eat their words one by one when we prove everybody wrong."

Everyone who has ever tried to ‘date’ him in the last twelve years has tried to change him. To make sure that his image is revamped and they prove to the world that they are the one who ‘tamed Dieter Bravo’, like they used to want to do with his dad and Warren Beatty. Although Beatty was a bigger prize since he had never married. Baxter was always sore about that. To hear you just casually say that their opinions would change is refreshing.

"I wouldn't start something with you if I didn't think it could last," you tell him, hoping that he remembers your policy of honesty in relationships. It had served the two of you well right up until the day his father stepped between you. "And...I would hope that you feel that same way."

“I just don’t want you to regret it.” Dieter admits. “You have before.”

“What I regretted was a situation I didn’t fully understand.” You put your glass down and sit up fully, trying to figure out if this is him telling you to run. If he unconsciously is trying to give you some signal or other. If it is, unconscious isn’t good enough. “The only reason I would back off now is if you told me that you didn’t want me for some reason. But the inability to see the future isn’t a reason not to try.”

Dieter nods and reaches for your hand. “I’m scared.” He admits. “I know if you walked away from me – hypocrisy, I know – it would kill me. Because I walked away and it nearly killed me then.”

“It’s okay to be scared.” Your fingers twine together and you squeeze his hand gently. “I’m scared, too. But…life is kind of terrifying on its own. So I’d rather be scared with the person I love than without you.”

Nodding, he sighs softly. “I know. I just–” frowning, he turns his eyes towards you seriously. “I’m tired of hurting you.” He confesses. “I’m worried that I will.”

“Then how about we talk about things?” It seems so easy and so obvious, but sitting down and having a serious conversation can be one of the most difficult things in the world sometimes. “Any time one of us is feeling off-kilter, or worried, or anything like that - we talk about it before it gets bad. That way we don’t ever get to the point of something dramatic or hurtful happening.”

That’s the smartest thing to do, but no one has ever accused Dieter of being the brightest. Still, he’s willing to do anything in order to make sure he doesn’t screw up again. “Yeah. Yeah, we should do that. And I– I’ll start writing down when I’m feeling off.”

"We can set aside some journaling or sketching time, if you want." You tilt your head at him, knowing he doesn't know you keep a journal. You hadn't back then. "It's...something I've been doing since I started seeing a therapist a long time ago. I don't see her very frequently anymore, but I've kept up with my journal. It helps me keep my thoughts straight."

He winces slightly. “I can only imagine what is written in them about me.” He’s not vain enough to think you’ve thought about him a lot over the past twelve years unless it’s when he runs into you and there’s some little spat.

Frankly, you don't want him to imagine it. There've been some truly not-very-nice things that you've thought about him over the last decade, but they all came from a place of being hurt. A place that you are very much not in anymore. "It doesn't matter anymore," you promise him, picking up your glass again. "What matters is that we are good going forward. Together."

He chuckles and lifts a brow. “That bad, huh?” He teases. “I deserve it. I picked at you to keep you angry at me.” He admits.

"It was easier to be angry than to admit that I was still hurting." You shrug slightly and take a sip from your glass. "But that's...that's when I didn't want to admit to myself that I was hurt because I still have feelings for you."

“I’m surprised you do.” He’s gobsmacked by that if he’s honest. “I would have imagined it would have resulted in you not pissing on me if I was on fire.”

"Love seems to be a very illogical thing." Nudging him to pick up his plate, you trade your glass for your own dinner. "Fortunately, I'm a stubborn and illogical person to begin with, so I'm okay with it."

Laughing, he shakes his head and holds up his champagne glass to yours. “To being completely illogical.” He offers with a smile.

“Here, here.” Now that is something you will absolutely drink to.

Once the mini toast is done, Dieter removes the lids off the dinner. “We should eat before it gets too cold.”

"What a very logical thing to say." You tease, despite doing exactly as he suggests. For the first time in ages, you might truly be relaxed.

“Can’t have sex on an empty stomach.” He jokes, feeling more at ease with the situation. You’ve never lied to him, and if you say you want to have sex with him, that’s the truth. “Have to eat dinner before I can have dessert.”

That earns him a half-snorted laugh as you take your first bite, and you shake your head at him. "Eat up then. I'm in the mood for sweets tonight."

“Yeah? You want to drink champagne and eat those chocolates while I eat you?” The idea has him twitching in interest, the lazy indulgence of it enticing.

"Oh, I just meant that I want you." He always has been, and still seems to be, incredibly sweet. That's part of what his anger and seeming hatred had stung so badly. "But if you want to be fully hedonistic, I'm on board."

“Been a long time.” He admits with a shrug. “Need to get back into the habit.”

"If I ever object to having my pussy eaten, call a doctor because I've been body snatched." You tell him definitively.

He snorts and then busts out into a laugh. “Sounds about right.”

Things really start to feel normal as you eat, joking at the movie and reciting your favorite lines here and there until your plates are empty. You creep closer together on the couch as time ticks by, pulled together with that same magnetic attachment that has always seemed to bring you together. Before you know it you're leaning into his side, fingers threading together and head on his shoulder.

There’s a sweetness to the moment that Dieter is reluctant to end. It could have been twelve years ago, the two of you sitting on his tiny loveseat couch in that apartment. Or in your dressing room.

"I missed this." It's a big thought for such a quiet moment, but you sigh into it and just let the truth of it settle around you. It's not a heavy or foreboding thought anymore, and that feels like a weight off your shoulders.

“Me too.” His hand slides around your shoulder and he pulls you against him even more.

"I'd suggest sleeping right here if we didn't both have the backs of people over thirty now." Back then, the two of you could and would sleep wherever you dropped. It was usually a bed, sure, but not always. One memorable night saw you falling asleep in his lap when you couldn't bear to tear yourselves apart after riding him.

He snorts and shakes his head. “We are getting old.” He admits. “Hangovers take forever to get over now. Do you remember when we used to perform while still drunk from the night before?”

"It's a fucking miracle I could remember my lines sometimes." Theater work really has differences from film work, and you giggle about it almost wistfully. "I think...I miss theater, too. I haven't been on an actual stage in years."

“Me too.” He hasn’t stepped foot on a stage since leaving the production you worked on together. His father would have pitched a fit and he didn’t have the heart to do it anymore.

"Can you imagine?" It earns another small laugh from you. "If we wrapped this movie and then ran off to play on a stage somewhere? Gossip magazines would practically sell our tickets for us."

He snorts and gives a fond smirk. “We find some hole-in-the-wall theatre in Nebraska and make it bigger than Broadway.”

"Would you go all classical on me and want to do Shakespeare and Chekov and Tennessee Williams?" It sounds like fun for once. Like something you could do without looking over your shoulder and making sure you're doing precisely what ten thousand sets of eyes want you to be doing.

“Why not? Or Oklahoma.” He chuckles, smirking at how his father would roll over in his grave. “Or do you think it’s sacrilege to perform that in Nebraska?”

"I think it's a sacrilege to perform Oklahoma! at all," you snort, enjoying the image of him in a cowboy hat regardless. "We'd do Shakespeare and musicals and classics and experimental whatevers whenever we felt like. The king and queen of Midwestern regional theater."

“Build a theatre that rivals Juilliard for performances for students.” Dieter slips into the dream a little more, enjoying the idea of it. “Teach the next generation of performers.” Hell, if he were honest, he thinks of you as a mentee of his.

"An institute for performers, staring with high school." There is a smile on your lips when you tilt your head to look at him. "Not kids. Kids should get to just be kids. No stage parents thrusting their children on our stages. We'd make sure of that."’

“Absolutely.” He nods in full agreement, hating being dragged around to auditions when all he wanted was to go outside and play.

"It's a beautiful dream, Dee." One that wouldn't necessarily be so difficult to achieve, given his multiple generations of accumulated wealth. It would take a little while to bring together the right people for a school, but a theater? The two of you could fund that yourselves without a lot of effort.

“It’s been a long time since I had a dream that was fun.” He admits softly. Smiling at the idea and tracing a pattering on your shoulder under the fabric of his t-shirt.

"Maybe it's worth going back on stage first to make sure it's as good as you remember?" Support is something that you know he hasn't really had, and that's definitely something you can give him. Your full and unconditional support for moving in a positive direction. Positive being whatever makes him truly happy.

“Yeah. It’s not good to just jump in.” He reminds himself, not wanting to jump in too deep, too quickly.

"But if you could..." He loves to dream - or at least he used to - and you don't want him to just box up the thought and tuck it away in his brain to forget about. "Where would you want to open it? Anywhere in the country. Or hell, anywhere in the world?"

Dieter frowns and considers it seriously. “I’m not really sure. Where would you want to go?”

"I mean, if we were really thinking about it?" You lean back against his arm on the couch and smile softly, letting childhood memories come through to the surface. "The theater that I did my first show at ever is in my hometown in Washington. It was this big deal summer stock left over from the 1930s or 40s, and they'd built up a hotel around it for a while. But the hotel went under and the theater squeaked by for a few decades more after it was demolished and..." you shrug slightly, knowing how nostalgic you sound. "I grew up in the mountains, so now it's this big, defunct theater in the middle of a valley. I wish it could be restored and turned into something great again. But I don't know if Snoqualmie, Washington is the place you want to build your legacy."

“That’s pretty cool though.” Dieter grins. “You get all the Hollywood types out there for the summer theatre program and then the local kids and kids who dream of theatre and can’t get the lessons.”

“Can you imagine?” It warms through you, the idea of your little town reinvigorated. “We get occasional tourists because they filmed some of Twin Peaks in my town. But a whole theater and a school? It would be something else to see.”

“That would be cool. Bring some more life to the area. Is it a nice vibe? I like a good view.” Dieter asks, not really caring about much, but this is the first thing that’s gotten him thinking about more than himself in a while.

“I thought it was boring growing up, but I like going back for the holidays and family stuff when I can. It’s pretty. And there’s something to be said for having all four seasons.” He sounds like he’s actually thinking about it, which makes you smile more than you would have expected. “If you decide this is actually something you want to do, I can help you look at different places. If…if you want me to, I mean.” It would be a drastic change in how he lives his life, and if he wanted you to come with him it would be a drastic change in yours. Who knows when or if it would ever happen. All you know is that it’s good for Dieter to dream.

“You would want that too?” He asks, surprised. Your career is taking off, still running like a freight train without the hints of or outright scandals he has weathered.

"I mean...I'm not thinking about taking a running leap out of Hollywood anytime in the next year or two, but I've definitely thought about what I would want to do when I get out. And I want to get out on my own terms, not because people have stopped returning my calls or because the only offers I'm getting are witches or overbearing mothers." You shrug slightly, nuzzling deeper against him as you do. "I don't want to wash up or fade away. I want to be present to enjoy every stage of my life. That's what I've always wanted."

“Whatever you do, you’ll be great at it.” Dieter knows that without even considering it very much. You’ve always had the raw talent that most people are in awe of.

"So will you." You're not about to let him think less of himself or avoid the very honest compliment just because he redirected the conversation. "And besides, if you decided to open your theater and drama school in my hometown I would certainly hope you would want me involved in things. It only seems fair."

“Oh it’s fair, huh?” He cracks a sardonic grin. “Because it was your idea?” He knows that if he did do something like that, he would absolutely want you involved. Your talent as an actor has only gotten better.

"Alright, maybe not fair." You have to laugh at it yourself, even a little, and bat your eyelashes at him. "More like...wishful thinking?"

“Wishful thinking.” He hums, enjoying the idea of you being interested in taking that on with him. “It’s something to think about. I think we do need more theatres.”

Empty plates and empty glasses stand by on the coffee table, and you smile from your place, tucked into his side on the sofa. It’s comfortable and also comforting, to be able to sit and talk like this. When you were young everything was about the here and now, but now that you’re adults the dreams are a vital part of pushing through each day’s monotony.

When the two of you are like this, Dieter wonders how the hell he had ever walked away from you. The way you calm him down amazes him, the nervous energy dispelled easily without the need for chemicals.

The movie ends soon afterward, not that you were really paying that much attention. You had talked all through the meal and maybe only sat and watched the last fifteen minutes. But those last fifteen minutes were calm and quiet and saw the two of you happily wrapped up in each other. It’s nice. It’s comforting. And it’s also making your skin tingle any place he touches you.

“Do you– do you want to watch another movie?” Despite having a call time tomorrow, Dieter feels like the two of you have all the time in the world. The way the sexual tension has shifted into something… more has him reluctant to give in to his body’s wants.

“If you want to.” Once upon a time he would have been tearing his shirt off of you at the first possible opportunity, but things aren’t the same as they were – and you have to remember that it isn’t a bad thing or anything to do with attraction. You’re both very obviously still attracted to each other if what happened on set is any indication. This is about being close again, and you reach to grab the remote off the coffee table to pass to him.

“Not really.” He admits with an amused huff at himself. “I kind of want to go to the bedroom.”

"Oh yeah?" The eyebrow you raise at him in sheer amusement comes with a smirk. "You thinkin' about asking me to come with you?"

“Hoping you would.” He chuckles. “It’s either that or I’m gonna need to go jerk off.”

"And that would be a damn shame." Nodding solemnly, you shift out of his lap and stand up before holding out your hand to him. "Come on, Dee. I don't mind leaving a mess for once."

He grins, remembering how you would want to pick up his apartment before going to bed when you were staying practically every night. “Yes ma’am.”

Your clothes from the day are neatly stacked on the dresser across from the bed, and the towel you used hung just as neatly in the bathroom. There's barely any trace of you here at all, but Dieter's marks are everywhere, just as they should be. This is his room and his space, and he's welcomed you into it. In some ways that first night together comes roaring back into your mind - but that night was a lot more about tearing each other's clothes off than this careful tiptoe of a dance you're doing right now.

“You still like the right side of the bed?” He asks, bolting towards the bed to pull the covers back. He wants you, he fucking aches with it, but he also wants to make sure you know that this isn’t just sex. “If you want to stay, that is. I don’t know. You might have a more comfortable bed than mine.” He jokes.

"Dee..." He's nervous, and you sure as fuck are too, but you cross the room to put both of your hands on his shoulders. "I want to stay. And I want you. It's okay. There's no reason to be so nervous." You should probably listen to your own advice. Oh well.

“It’s uh,” he shuffles and rubs the back of his neck. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this…sober.” He confesses, looking mildly embarrassed at the way his life had turned out.

"That's okay." Far be it from you to judge him for coping with the stressful way things have gone for him. "It doesn't have to be tonight. And if it is, it doesn't have to be a marathon."

“I want you on top of me.” Dieter groans breathlessly. “I fucking loved when you would grind down on me and fucking let me suck on your tits.”

"So specific." Yet you can't stop yourself from groaning, remembering how enthusiastic and sloppy he would get whenever the opportunity presented itself. "We should get in bed, then."

He bounces into the bed, flopping on it like he is about to start jumping as he pushes his boxers down and kicks them off.

You can’t help it, you smother your face with two hands to keep from becoming a giggling mess and end up barely stifling a snort in the process. “Is that my seat?” You tease, glancing at his half-hard cock when you put one knee on the mattress to climb in with him.

He pouts and wraps his hand around his cock. “It was hard all day.” He huffs at you. “It’s gotta let the blood flow back to my brain sometimes.”

“Only sometimes.” You move closer to him, about to put one leg over his lap when you stop short and groan softly. “I knew I felt something,” you huff indignantly. With one hand, you reach out to wrap your fingers around his length and moan all over again at the way he twitches in your hand. The thing that has your attention, though, is shiny rather than warm. “When did you get your cock pierced?”

Dieter groans and his eyes flutter while he enjoys the curious trace of your fingers over the metal in his cock. “I– oh fuck, about a month after I came to California.” He admits. “Wanted to rebel and what better way than to get my dick pierced?”

“Enhances pleasure, I take it?” He’s squirming under the light attention and you shift to straddle his thighs while you explore.

“Yes.” He pants, cock now fully hard and curled nicely against his belly. “People– uh, seem to like it. And it feels really fucking good when someone plays with it.”

“Really good, huh?” You’re not as innocent as you used to be. Not by a long shot. And your experiences with men have been varied over the years. What you do know for sure, is that your experiences with Dieter were the happiest you’ve ever been. You tighten your hand around him experimentally, remembering how much pressure he used to like, and let yourself lean in easily to press your lips to his.

“Shit.” He hisses, muffled by your kiss and as soon as you lean in, he’s grabbing a handful of the overly large shirt. Bunching it over your breasts and dragging you closer to him while his tongue begs for entrance into your mouth.

None of the old feverish need for each other is missing from this moment, and it’s a perfect kind of ecstasy to realize that aging twelve years – a death sentence in Hollywood – hasn’t affected his attraction to you at all. You open up for him immediately, tongue sliding against his as you push your chest into his hands and start to pump his cock slowly in your hand.

The sounds that he makes breathe straight into you. Given up willingly and he kisses you like it is the last thing he will ever do. No one around this time, Dieter pours all of himself into you, giving into the need that seems to always come back to you.

There is no reason to hold back this time. No one to witness you or to have an opinion on what is happening except for the two of you, and you are the only ones whose opinions count at all. You shift forward, hand still wrapped around him and stroking his cock eagerly but now the heat of your core is hovering barely a hair's breadth away as you swallow every sound he has to offer you.

You still know how to touch him. His hands slide under your shirt, greedy for the skin he had wanted to touch but couldn’t before. Marveling at the way you still fit in his hands perfectly. “Fuck.”

"You let your nipple piercing heal," you pout, turning your head to kiss down the cut line of his jaw.

“Yeah.” He grunts when your teeth scrape against his skin. “Took it out eleven years ago.” He doesn’t tell you that he had almost had the damn thing ripped out by a jealous lover when he had been found in bed with someone else.

"At least you replaced it with something fun." Running your thumb through the dribble of precum at the head of his cock, you pull away from him long enough to suck the digit into your mouth and hum immediately, shutting your eyes for a moment while you enjoy the long-forgotten flavor.

“It’s supposed to feel good for you too.” He adds, like that had been the entire reason that he had gotten his dick pierced.

"I'm sure it will." You hate the way it makes you pause, but you lean in to kiss him softly and take an internal deep breath. "I...I have an IUD and...and I haven't had a partner in a while. Like...my last tests came back clean and I haven't been with anyone since..."

“I– the insurance physical.” Dieter admits breathlessly. “Clean…and I– it’s only…” he huffs at himself. “I haven’t been with anyone since I found out you were in this. And since the physical. I don’t get laid as often as everyone thinks.”

“We can change that.” One raised eyebrow aims itself at him and you can’t help but look amused with your own reaction. “I mean, it wouldn’t be all kinds of crazy orgies or random partners…but a world where Dieter Bravo gets laid every single night? That’s just about having a partner with a high enough sex drive.”

“Have you– since we– since I–” Dieter can barely think with his cock in your hand. He never could, the feeling of your soft skin gripping him so firmly, always making his brain short circuit into something magically blank to everything but the pleasure. “Orgy?” He finally manages, wanting to know if you’ve ever indulged in multiple partners.

“I–um…no.” The image that you built for yourself – the careful walls you constructed around the person you wanted to be seen as – would never have allowed you something so indulgent or hedonistic. Your image is modest and professional. It has been since the day you hit Hollywood. You were a Girl Next Door type in your first television show and your manager wanted you to keep that image. “But if you want—” You stammer, hands stilling as you try to sort out your thoughts. “I don’t want you to feel trapped with me, Dee.”

“No…no.” His frown matches the urgency in his voice. “That’s not– I wouldn’t–” He’s made a lot of mistakes over the past twelve years, but he would never push you. “If you wanted to, that would be one thing. But honestly?” He looks up at you seriously. “I would be jealous of someone else touching you. Like slapping their hands away to do it myself.”

“You always were a little greedy.” There’s nothing but fondness in your voice as you brush a tuft of stray hair from his face and lean in to slant your lips earnestly against his. “Possessive, I guess is more accurate. But…I’m not going to lie.” You flash him a grin. “I always found it kind of hot.”

“I wouldn’t want to share you.” He grins unrepentantly. “Never liked that idea. You were mine.”

You shift a little, cheeks on fire, and swallow a sigh. “Are.”

Quietly absorbing that new information, Dieter nods. “Then we are together.” He decides. “Just us. No licking frosting off someone’s tits or blowing the hot model from the shoot. Just us.”

“I mean…” Not wanting him to feel like he’s giving up his entire lifestyle, you take your hands away and wipe them self consciously in your thighs without even being able to tell if they’re sweaty. You’re just inexplicably nervous. Tonight had gone from sexy to serious very quickly. “If you want to lick frosting off my tits that’s completely cool — and if you’re doing a shoot for something, I will absolutely be blowing the hot model.”

“I just–I meant just us.” Dieter clarifies. “I want it the way it was back in New York. Me and you.”

“As long as that is what you actually want.” He has the biggest, warmest brown eyes and you just melt into him, feeling so freed by this conversation. The cage you’ve had around your heart for so long is finally open again.

“It’s what I want.” His hands squeeze your hips. “I think it’s what I always wanted when I could make my own choices.”

“We keep getting distracted with promises.” It’s endearing, and honestly pretty romantic, that as much as you might want each other, it’s the romance that keeps taking over. You cover his hands with your own and squeeze them gently. “Second chances don’t come around every day. I’m—I’m grateful for this.”

“I’m the one who fucked up.” Dieter admits. “I wrote you a letter, about six years ago. One of those twelve step programs where you write those who you wronged and don’t send them.”

“Did it help?” While you wish he would have disregarded the direction and sent the letter anyway, you know it’s more about admitting wrongs than reaching out. “To write it, I mean?”

“Not really.” He admits with a sheepish smile. “Because I knew that you still thought I hated you at the end of the day. I got baked the next day.”

“Then hopefully things will start to get better now.” It’s all you can really hope for at the end of the day. That things will return to how good they were between you since you know they’ll never be the exact same. Too much has changed, but it doesn’t mean that you can’t ever be that happy again.

“Okay. Now that I’ve brought the mood down, can we fuck?” Dieter whines, his cock twitching against you.

“Telling me you love me is never going to kill the mood,” you promise him, although you do laugh at the exaggerated pout on his face. Taking one of his hands off your hip, you carefully slip two of his fingers into your mouth and relish the way he groans while his eyelids flutter. Directing those same fingers down your body, you press the pads of his fingers to your slick slit and hum at the contact. No longer being shy about asking for what you want has its perks.

“Shit.” Dieter hisses, rocking his hips up so he presses the length of his cock against your cunt while he starts to rub your clit frantically.

If you had been thinking about it, you would have thought through it enough to expect him to go hard and fast getting you ready to take him, but all you had been thinking about was how good it would feel to have him touch you again. So when Dieter immediately starts rubbing your clit like he’s going for a High Speed score, you end up squealing and shaking against him in a fit of surprise. “Oh my—fuck— yes baby—”

There’s a magic to your breathy cry. Making him smirk and rub harder. Wanting to see if you can cum before he ever fucks you. You really had been planning on returning the attention while he fingered you, but the ferocity he goes into it with is enough to have your legs shaking immediately and your fingernails digging into his shoulders as your back arches and your hips start to roll.

Dieter doesn’t stop, not with you bucking and wailing on top of him. He bites his lip and watches as you shake, a sign you are getting close. “Come on Bambi.”

The tension coiling in your core is pulsing as fast as his fingers move, pushing you up toward the crest of your orgasm with force. You're on the edge almost before you can blink and rocketing over the edge with a high wail of his name that is barely muffled by burying your face in his shoulder as your body shakes. He keeps his thumb pressed against your clit while you buck and shake through your orgasm. Marveling at how gorgeous you look.

"Fuck." Cutting off your own groan, you dive into kissing him as soon as your body sags, wrapping both arms around his shoulders and pressing him back into the upholstered bedhead with determination.

“Hmmmmm.” He groans and kisses you back just as passionately. Loving how soft you are after cumming.

It only takes small shifts to move forward, knees bracketing his hips and core hovering over his leaking cock as you lose yourself in more kisses. Everything about this is better than you could have imagined and you just want to drown in it.

“Baby…please.” Dieter groans. “You don’t– you don’t have to move, just– just put me inside.”

“If you’re inside me, I’m going to move.” It’s a promise as much as anything else, and you reach between you to stroke his cock a few times before notching the head at your entrance and sinking down on him slowly.

Dieter's mouth drops open and he lets out a low, pained whine. Nearly shuddering at the heat of your cunt wrapping around his cock and gripping him like a vice. Not knowing how it's possible that you feel even tighter now than you did when he took your virginity, his heels dig into the bed in an effort to keep himself still.

"Shit, shit, shiiiiit," your head drops back the further down his shaft you slide, eyes drifting shut in bliss and body shivering with pleasure. When your ass is firmly planted against his thighs you rock forward, gasping at the way his piercing creates an extra layer of sensation deep in your cunt when you move.

"Goddamnit, fuck, shit, motherfucking whore." Dieter hisses, eyes closed so he doesn't blow his load right this second. You are just like a fucking glove around him and he's overwhelmed by how good it feels to have you around him again. It was something he had dreamed of, jerked off thinking about but had never really believed it would ever be afforded to him again.

It's counterintuitive, but you smother a burst of giggles at his tirade of curses and lean forward to kiss him. "You okay, baby?"

"Gimme a minute....." He pants, chest heaving as he tries to think about anything but the wet clutch of your cunt. Your walls contract and he groans, cock twitching deep and he grimaces slightly against your lips. "Trying to– trying to make sure I don't fuckin' embarrass myself." He complains, as if it is all your fault. Which it is, but he's not mad about it. "Too fuckin' tight."

"No more Kegels?" You can't help but tease him, feeling the way your pussy throbs around him. It's brilliant and sinful and makes your mind fog with pleasure.

"Those work?" He pops one eye open to stare at you, trying to gauge if you are serious or not. "No bullshit?"

“You tell me.” Whining a little when he twitches deep inside you again, you flash him a grin. “You’re the one feeling the results right now.”

"Mean." He hisses when you tighten down around him again. "Brat." His nails dig into your flesh but not enough that he would leave more than dull marks on your skin, easily gone later.

“You gonna punish me for it?” It certainly wouldn’t be the first time the two of you ever played with power dynamics in bed, and your lips curl into a grin.

Dieter is a cocky enough man, well aware of his abilities in bed to change things up. Enough of an asshole to flip you over onto your back with a quick tilt of his hips and follow you, staying buried inside your body and snapping his hips forward sharply when he thrusts down. "Yes."

“Fuck!” It happens all at once, as the begging mess of a man flips on a dime to being dominant without warning. The true definition of a switch, all depending on how his mood runs in that moment.

His one chuckle is breathless, but the idea of taking charge helps him keep the bare thread of his control. "Yeah?" He rocks his hips back and decides that another rough thrust is exactly what you need. Wanting you to experience what it is like fucking him with a piercing. "That's what I thought."

It’s probably a very good thing that no one is in the suite next door, otherwise they definitely would have heard you wail at that hard thrust that ran the ends of that bent barbell in his cock all along the walls of your pussy, stimulating places you didn’t even know could have extra stimulation and making you gasp in pleasure. “Fuck that feels amazing.”

“Yeah it does.” He groans in agreement, moving down so he can gather you up in his arms as he starts to normalize his sharp, steady pace. It will kill his back later on, but he needs this.

"Goddamn, Dee–" Each thrust pushes the air out of your lungs and you moan without restraint, wrapping yourself around him just as surely as he wraps up in you. Even a puff of air between you is further apart than you want to be tonight.

Lowering his head to your shoulder, he moans your name quietly. Pressing his lips to your skin and grunting with every thrust as your walls quake around him.

Unlike other encounters - even other encounters with him - this isn't about fancy positions or how well you can bend yourself up to take each thrust as tightly as possible. This isn't about the acrobatics of sex. It's the intimacy. It's the way he fills you to aching with every deep thrust and the way you cling to him like a lifeline even when he pulls away again that leaves you breathless, not just the simple act of sex itself.

“Fuck— fuck baby.” He moans quietly. “God I love you. So much, feels so good.” He can’t stop moving, breathing you in. Touching you like he had wanted to so many times while on that damn set. Now he can and like everything else Dieter is greedy with, he is going to gorge himself.

“I — fuck — I love you so much.” It’s like he’s trying to swallow you whole and you would willingly let him. There’s nothing standing in the way of you positively devouring each other and you just as desperately are trying to burrow under his skin or just welcome him fully into your body every chance you get. Time doesn’t matter right now. He could be between your thighs for five minutes or five days. All that matters is that he is right where he wants to be.

There’s something almost ethereal in the air tonight - or that might just be the way your heart is pounding so wildly that you feel like you’re about to take flight. Every time you rise up to meet him he bears down again and meets you in the middle, creating a symphony of gluttonous, lustful sounds as your bodies move together in that bed and your moans twine together.

“Fuck, fuck Bambi.” He moans quietly. Biting the juncture of your shoulder. “Please cum for me.”

It’s barely a request, more like a prayer as you tumble together toward that brilliant and eruptive end. A drop of sweat from his forehead on your skin seems almost as lecherous as anything else, like the tantalizing cream on top of a favorite dessert. Your back aches again as his hands push under your ass angling your bodies so that you cry out with his next thrust – vision going white as the explosion of orgasm washes over your body.

“Yes,” your real name falls from his lips as a prayer, trying to rock into you through your orgasm. Watching as your entire body thrashes under him.

“Fuuuck, Dee—” The more he works you up, the louder you groan and the faster his name falls from your lips. It almost rolls you over into a second orgasm altogether and all you can do is pray he follows you. The way you soak him has him unraveling, the wet slaps of his hips nearly frantic as he shoves himself deep and cries out in the most soul soothing release he’s probably ever had.

Panting for breath, you wrap both arms tightly around his shoulders and hold Dieter to you like an anchor. “This is…not how I expected today to end,” you whisper quietly, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “But fuck…I love you so much.”

Swallowing, Dieter tucks his head into the curve of your shoulder and tries to catch his breath. "I love you." He exhales breathlessly. "I've got– twelve years to make up for, so I'm gonna be a little clingy."

You can’t help but laugh at that, breathless and light, and you find his lips to kiss him gently. “That’s just fine with me, baby. I promise.”

Groaning quietly, he starts to roll the two of you onto your sides. He doesn't want to pull out quite yet, but he knows he's a hell of a lot heavier now than he had been twelve years ago. The skinniness of youth has filled into a broader frame.

“Now I know why some people have sex under blankets,” you giggle softly, tucking into his broad frame. “So they can go right to sleep after.”

"You want to stay like this for a while?" He asks, pulling you closer.

“We could lay like this forever.” Would people come looking for you? Sure. But in this moment you could not give a single flying fuck about the rest of the world.

"You might have to pee after ten minutes." Dieter teases, remembering how you used to claim you could sleep right after sex and always had to get up within ten minutes to use his small bathroom.

“Tease me all you want, I’m enjoying the romance of the moment.” You giggle against him and place a kiss over his heart. “I don’t want to go back to reality just yet.”

"I get it." Dieter's eyes are half closed and he strokes your back as he hums. "It's like being on that really good high and not wanting to come down."

“I guess that makes sex my drug of choice.” Or him, maybe — being with Dieter has always felt like a special kind of paradise while it lasts.

“Sex is always a good drug.” He agrees, knowing that tonight isn’t going to be one and done. Not when he’s wanted you all day. It might take awhile to recover, but he wants to make you cum again.

“The best.” Not that you have a lot of experience with others, but that isn’t the point. The point is him and you and getting your together back.

Humming softly, Dieter closes his eyes, the soft edge of a smile on his lips. “If I’m dreaming, I don’t want it to end.”

"I'm not going anywhere, baby." You promise, murmuring quietly in his ear. It's not that you're trying to rub salt in the wound that he was the one who left you back in New York, but the fact is - you probably never would have left him. The way you felt about Dieter while you were apart was a product of hurt, and of betrayal. Not that you didn't love him.

“You were always stronger than me.” He turns and kisses your face blindly. “Always.”

"I don't know about that." After all, he survived treatment from his father that would probably have crushed you if you had it from yours. "But either way? We made it back to each other."

“We did.” He reaches out and caresses your face. “I don’t deserve you. I never did. Just so you know that.”

"You deserve to be happy, Dee. And so do I." One of your hands comes up to cover his and you turn your head slightly to leave a kiss on his palm. "We had that spoiled for us by someone. But this second chance is just for us."

“Just for us.” He nods, opening his eyes to stare at you solemnly. “I love you.”

"I love you, too, Dee." And boy is that going to surprise the shit out of a lot of people.

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle    

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Dieter Bravo #Dieter Bravo x reader #Dieter Bravo x you #Dieter Bravo x female reader #Dieter Bravo x f!reader #The Bubble #lost love #one that got away #movie star reader

[cerise-on-top]

Lost Shelter

This is a bit longer than what I usually write when it comes to fics, but I think I didn't do too badly on it. This is just me coping this time, maybe someone else will enjoy it too. Reader is heavily depressed, but John tries to help them on an especially bad day. 3,5K words, roughly.

TW: mentions of potential self harm, mentions of suicidality

Your throat would make any desert in the world feel as though it was thriving within the gentle rains. No saliva, and yet, you tried to swallow something, anything, down, to no avail, the action only making you more aware of how parched you were, leaving your throat sore. Your head was pounding, your body screaming for anything to hydrate yourself with, but nothing would come, you knew as much. Wars, horrible in nature and impossible to prevent, were waged within this reality you had to call your own, a never ending conflict between the world and your mind. It was a losing battle, it always had been, with you simply stalling for time until you were finally ready to admit complete defeat. Lying in bed with your eyes closed, images of sad realities flooded your brain. Self-inflicted heartaches of people looking at you with the kindness you didn’t deserve, the sympathy you never earned, those better times that would never come. A sigh left your lips, another step closer to a complete loss.

For the first time in an unknown timespan you opened your eyes, squinting as you internally complained about how bright it was. The light was quite painful, not particularly making you feel welcome in this world you were barely even a part of anymore. The tiniest bit of curiosity prompted you to reach for your phone on the corner of your bed, hidden behind the pillow you called your only ally. Well, almost your only ally. Within quick succession, you tapped twice on the screen, making it light up to show the time. 15:56. Despite having been awake since 8am, you barely left the bed. For as tempting as sleep was, nothing you did prompted it to take you to faraway lands where naught but the simple meaningless things would take place. The screen darkened again and you put down your phone. You had to get up eventually or else you weren’t going to sleep tonight either.

Slowly, you sat up, limbs made of iron weights obstructing your every attempt at doing so. Finally, another fight barely won, you leaned over, putting your arms on your thighs. It was such a sweet serenade, so sickening, to not move, even then. Looking at your arms, they did not belong to you. You did not belong to yourself. You were watching a little movie where the credits seemed more enticing than what was actually happening. The pain felt almost real, the way the bed seemed to spin underneath you, the way your throat begged for any drink at all, the way your eyes were stabbed a billion times as they fought to do the one thing they were supposed to do. That hand moved closer to where you could see it, moving around, wiggling a bit at every angle. It was yours on a logical level, but that reality you couldn’t see anyway told you otherwise.

Finally awake, love?

A voice called out. It was there, you simply didn’t realize it as it had no weight, no sound, no one it belonged to. As though a small ghost crept up on you, whispering things in your ear. Ghosts weren’t real, they had no form, they had no existence. Just like you. You weren’t real. Your bed wasn’t real. The air around you wasn’t real. In fact, there was a chance you were going to choke, wasn’t there? This little canvas of a life you find yourself in couldn’t sustain you, it was going to kill you.

Here, have a glass of water, sweetheart.

The ghost crept up on you again, making sure you would remember its presence. Somehow, this time, it felt closer than before, almost reaching you.

Into view came a glass of water, a third hand appearing out of nowhere. Blinking away the tiny daggers nestling themselves so comfortably in your eyes, you followed the limb to find where it originated from. The flesh seemed to retract itself once you took the water from it, left to hang on someone’s side all on its own. You met the eyes of the being standing next to you, met with such gentleness, it could have wrapped a cloth around your heart to stop its bleeding. John?

You tried to call out to him, but only a pathetic cry left your throat. A coughing mess, tears in your eyes from how painful it all was. It hurt too much as you covered your mouth with your free arm. The water was quick to be downed. Somewhat cold, it made your throat bloom, fauna, flora and your voice finally to return once again. In a single go, the translucent gold was gone. “John?” You wiped your mouth as you looked at your partner. Those god damned eyes of his, so tender with concern as he sat down next to you.

“I’m here, don’t worry.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. The embrace a mother would give her child, filled with what was supposed to be unconditional love, would weep in jealousy with the warmth he made you feel. “Going through it today, hm?” His voice was low, almost raspy, and yet no silk in the world could ever compare to its sound. Even with the strong smell of his cigars lingering in the room, you let out a shaky breath as you relaxed into him.

The fog in your brain cleared for a moment as you gazed into his eyes. No matter how beautiful and kind they were, you were not worthy of being perceived by them and in your shame, you focused on the dark spot on the wooden floor before you. “I’m just having a day today, I think. Sorry.” Even within that spot, there seemed to be an area, lighter in color than the rest. How could you have not noticed that sooner?

John’s hand moved to your head, his head entangling itself into your hair as he pressed a kiss to the top of it. Quite long, just the tiniest bit of pressure applied. But soon enough, he let go of you, moving his hand back down to your shoulder. “Anything I can do to help? Do you need to get something off your chest or do you need me to leave you alone?”

You took another whiff of his scent. So long ago you loathed the smell of cigarettes and cigars, only to find that years later they were an indicator of home. Putting your hand over his chest, you immediately took in his warmth. Even on those days where resisting your demons seems hopeless and futile, on those days where the emptiness spreads beyond your own body it seemed, those days where you couldn’t believe you were real, you could rely on John. He was a soldier, a skilled one too, so he was likely a different man on the battlefield he would fight on. But in the here and now? His body was as warm as a heater, his soul would put the sunrays in spring to shame. “Can we just cuddle today? I can’t do anything today.”

The glass was really all there was to stop you from wrapping your arms around him immediately, sinking into him further and further until you would suffocate. Naturally, he’d pull you back out, breathing into you the gentle kiss of life until your soulless eyes would stare back into his, until there was even the empty husk of mirth within them. The shell may be empty, but it was proof enough that there was something that could be filled once again. One day, you were going to smile again without fearing the consequences of glee. That’s what he promised you, that’s what you clung onto when he wasn’t near.

With a light tug, he took the glass from you, putting it on the nightstand next to him. Some things had priority, he could wash it later too. His attention was all given to you, his body angled in a way where he was facing you and you alone. The cold snow dragging you into the familiar sadness melted a bit when he put his hand on your face, gently caressing it with his thumb. “I’m more than happy to do that, but only on the condition that you eat something first. You haven’t eaten since yesterday and I can’t allow that.”

There was a chance he could have been right, even if you wouldn’t be able to admit that to yourself. But he wouldn’t lie to you about something like that.

You leaned into his hand, putting your own on top of his to make sure it was here to stay. A ferocious, fearsome fighter, in his eyes the smallest glint of hope to get you to listen to him. It likely would make him happy if you ate something, anything at all. A piece of bread, an apple, maybe a chicken nugget or two, it was better than nothing.

“Please, love. I made you the cauliflower cream soup you always adored. Even made sure it has some extra chunks still.”

The offer was enticing. But was “offer” really the right word to describe such a thing? To offer something means to expect something in return. Then again, you supposed maybe it was an offer after all, you were expected to eat it.

Even in all its heaviness, dragging you back down into those abysmal sheets that won’t solve your problems, your mind was plagued by the soup. John wasn’t a bad cook either, his soups and stews were usually to kill for.

“I suppose I can agree to that. But… John?”

“Yes?”

There was some shame in admitting such a thing. By no means were you frail, if anything you had been hardened to some degree by some of your battles yourself. However, that did mean you were left weakened, gasping for air as your body grows cold, clad in armor adorned with blood. “Do you think you could maybe hold me? I still feel a bit dizzy.”

“Naturally.” In a gentlemanly manner, he got up and offered his hand to you. Taking it like you had countless times before, you were lifted up onto your feet with John quickly getting into position to make sure you wouldn’t topple over and get hurt even worse. One blow to your pride was one thing, another one could have even more consequences. His arm found its way around your shoulders again. It was fairly noticeable how you fought to stay upright, to not wobble too much.

Although short, the walk to the kitchen was a mission to not tumble over as your home spun in circles, black dots obscuring your vision. In the dark you would always find your way around, never running into the furniture you’d see every day either way, but even within the light a task that seemed so simple, something you wouldn’t even need to think about, was a herculean challenge. Finding yourself seated with some eagerness, you held your head in your hands, not giving the item placed in front of you much attention until some time had passed.

“Drink up, I’ll prepare some food in the meantime.”

The words didn’t go unnoticed, but they certainly meant little to you for the time being. It wasn’t until the bowl was placed in front of you that you could lift your head, even if such was possible merely due to the smell of cauliflower wafting through the air. Fairly large chunks stared back at you as John placed a spoon next to you. You were no stranger to the empty feeling in your stomach, but you did think it to be fitting. An empty body, an empty stomach, it was just fair. It was so easy, leaving yourself neglected, body begging for any sustenance at all, when such things weren’t presented to you this easily. Something within urged you to take the spoon, maybe even the bowl itself and drink up the entire thing. The cream soup was beckoning you closer in a way only a knife ever has.

“Bon appetit, love.” John was sitting opposite of you, his spoon already submerged in the food he prepared. There was a certain hesitance to him, he was waiting for you to grab your silverware, make the first move, show him that you kept your promises to others even when you can’t keep the ones you made with yourself.

“Bon appetit, John.”

His food was usually delectable and you were starved for anything, even something as small as cream soup. The shame burnt within you, wanting to down the entire thing in one go, filling the gaping emptiness with something, anything at all. Something warm? Even better. The composure it took to not guttle it all, opting for calmly taking the spoon instead. While he has seen you on your worst days, never judging you even once for inabilities that came and went, he didn’t need to see how desperate of a beast you were in that moment. Stirring the soup, so evil of an enemy, invading all your senses, you finally waited for long enough, taking the first spoonful.

There were many ways to describe John’s cooking, but if you had to use a single word, it would likely be home. Something home-made, making you feel at ease. It wasn’t laced with any poison to make you don’t leave, to make sure you were easily exploitable, it was seasoned with love and topped off with care, which resulted in one of the few reasons you had to stay. It wasn’t that hot anymore either, at the very least not searingly so, but warm enough to still thaw your cold body again. Your sense of pride was thrown out the window as you took spoon after spoon in your mouth in quick succession. You simply had to have more.

It almost escaped you, John’s chuckle as he watched you for a few seconds before leisurely eating himself. “Glad to see you still like it as much as you do.” If you had hurried just a bit more you would have missed his gentle gaze as he regarded you with adoration. While not being a hearty meal per se, it gave you enough strength to get up yourself, taking another three, four ladles of cream soup before sitting down again, resuming your previous activity. You would gladly endure this humiliation time and time again as long as it was meant for his eyes only. Yet, on your third serving, having slowed down with each spoonful, you grew content, leaving it at that and nothing more. Mind and matter were pleased for the first time in a while.

Soon enough your partner, too, had finished his two servings of soup, allowing him to take both of your bowls and put them in the sink to soak until later. Whatever responsibilities such may bring could wait until later on.

“John, that was absolutely amazing. Thank you, I really owe you one.”

You didn’t, you never did. The light returning to your eyes was worth more than the world’s gold reserves. You were just too precious to leave in misery’s hands like that.

“I’m just happy to hear you liked it.” A gentle pat to your shoulder, an understanding, but pleased, smile was all it took to make you forget life’s agonies for just a moment. And another would turn into two. “You wanna watch something together? You’ve always loved that one movie, haven’t you? Princess Mononoke?”

A small anecdote you maybe mentioned once or twice throughout your life, enough times for him to remember. His job was reliant on him remembering, no, noticing the tiniest details, but you were separate from such a thing. His head would get crowded with pointless information about you, misremembering important facts you couldn’t imagine if you tried. Stunned into silence, you scrambled for words to find, to express how you felt. Yes, please! I wanna watch a childhood movie!

“That would be nice, I suppose.” Your somber voice was quiet, but if one were to take it apart, dismantle it at its source, they would find themselves with a gentle, satisfied surprise. Taking the glass of water, you gulped it all down in one go this time too. Truly astounding how many small things a human body required to function perfectly fine.

Even now, John extended his hand, taking the glass from you and filling it back up once again. Your glass in one hand, the other found its way to your back, guiding you to the couch in the living room. Nothing had changed aside from a bunch of colorful catalogs adorning the table now. An opened letter laid next to them, the addressee hidden from your sight. It couldn’t have been for you, however, if it had already been opened. The glass was set down, tearing you from your thoughts as it was your turn to watch him as closely as a cluttered mind would allow. Swiftly, he lied down, losing no time in holding his arms out expectantly. Right, you asked him to come cuddle with you.

There was nothing lost but the time you could spend touching him, thus making you almost hurry to lie down on top of him, careful enough to not hurt him by accident. Like a flesh eating plant, his arms snapped close, trapping you within them. His warmth burnt your skin in the same way scorched soil would give way to new flora. You were thriving, getting closer to the end of a cave that seemed to have followed you for as long as you could remember. On its roof was an opening, letting in the rays of the sun, showing a beautiful blue sky, a heaven to show you what lies at the end of the darkness. It seemed less frightening in that moment, a companion leading you, showing you the way into a future you would want to be a part of.

The next few minutes were spent not watching a movie, not preparing to do so either, but simply with you in his arms. You were royalty and John showed his loyalty by kissing the crown on your head, sometimes even your temple. Whichever it was he could reach, he was certain to make sure it would feel his love. No words were exchanged in those minutes, the comfort leaving you to slowly space out once again. This time, the images you brain conjured weren’t of needless violence you could feel in your bones, every blow shattering your self further and further. What you imagined was more akin to sitting on a rock on a warm spring day. The foundation for flowers had been built, all that was left was to give them time to bloom into an unforgettable scenery. That sounded nice, actually. Maybe you and John should visit the tulip fields in the Netherlands sometime. The fields of lavender in France sounded rather enticing in their own way as well.

You closed your eyes, imagining the pink and purple fields, so vast that the only other colors in sight would be a blue sky and maybe John’s odd hat he would wear fairly often. The thought made you smile.

“What are you smiling about?” His fingertips started to gently trace your back. It almost tickled, actually.

“Our shared future that I want to see.”

The hands holding you captive relaxed, his voice giving way to the smile on his face. There was no need to see it, you knew making thoughts such as those known would always make your partner soft. Happy you’re still here, ecstatic to see the world with you. “Are we going somewhere?”

“I wanna go see flowers and meadows. Flowering meadows. Fields of green, red, pink and any other color there could be. I think I want to see life. I know I want to see it with you”

Another kiss to the crown of your head, lingering for a moment before John pulled away. “That can definitely be arranged. I’d be more than happy to see anything you want to see, as long as it’s with you.”

A day that felt as though it would be your last, it ended with the knowledge and belief that, even if just for a moment, everything was going to be alright. No matter how much despair seemed to rule over you, it was evident that, as long as you had the tiniest bit of hope, you were going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay. Not because it had to be, but because you weren’t alone. John was with you, making sure you would see the world and its beauty until you could see the most gorgeous things on the whole planet: yourself and your smile in the beautiful light of a late afternoon.

#cod #cod x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #john price

[charliesgoodboy]

-🦋Anasui x Male reader(SFW, ANGST TO FLUFF)

-🦋Song fic: TV by Billie eillish

-🦋idea by @gaybitchfx

-🦋A/N: more angst more angst more angst more angst

You had..past issues with others.

Your past partner had done such horrible things to you in the past you couldn’t quite recover from, at least recover from so quickly. And it had caused you to develop a bunch of fucked up shit. Especially the eating disorder you had. And boy was it bad, at times it would trigger over little things that seemed so big to you.

In all honesty you thought no one would ever love you, or you would ever love anyone again. It felt like no one would want to out up with all the fucked up shit in your head, you’d made a few friends but never had you thought to get in any type of other relationships for a real long time.

Pretty much all that changed when you had met Anasui. He was flirty, but so sweet, cared for the people close to him, his voice was so soothing and his touch was soft. You felt comfortable and safe with him, instantly falling in love with him.

You never thought it’s happen but it did. He had even helped you with your problems helping them get better. He was like a therapist with no money, it’s fucking free man.

“Ah, Anasui you seem a bit tired and stressed. Would you like me to cook for us tonight ?” A sigh came from his lips as it turns into a sigh of relief. “Would you really ? Gosh thank you (m/n) your to sweet.” He gave you a small kiss on your cheek letting you do your thing in the kitchen as he went to go and rest in his room.

You weren’t so bad at cooking many people have told you that your cooking was not bad many epeople have told you that it was actually pretty good so Anasui was lucky enough to trust you with the stove.

Kind of..

When you were going to reach for the pot on the stove you forgot to put the mitten on your hand and you ended up burning your hand pretty badly making you yelp loud enough for Anasui to come rushing into the kitchen.

“Shit ! (m/n) ! Are you okay ? What happened ?” “Nothing really I just ended up burning my hand is all I forgot to put in the mitten while getting the pot-“ “You idiot how could you forget such a simple thing ?!” You slightly flinch and look at him in surprise in confusion..why the hell was he yelling at you. Yes it was dumb to forget the mitten but damn he didn’t have to yell.

“Jesus you can’t do anything right ! I’m already upset and tired today and you just made my even worse !” You could feel tears brim up the edge of your eyes. It was the worst when people would even raise there voice at you. It was the worst feeling anyone could ever feel.

It remedied you of them. Your last partner. All the pay ever did was blame everything on you and blame you for every little thing that upset them. It got so bad to the point they would get physical. They would insult you on your body, the way you spoke, your personality, almost every little thing on you just to make sure you felt hurt.

The yelling had continued, the burning and itching pain from both the pain and your feelings was to much you had just slowly started to walk away from him and into your room to lock the door. You could hear your own loud heartbeat exploding in your ears as your breath quickens as well.

“Deep breathes deep breaths, don’t think about it don’t think about it. Your okay, your okay, it’s fine, your okay-“ Your thoughts you had said aloud got cut off my a knocking from the door.

You could hear the muffled words behind the door but you had ignored it anyway. You knew who it was but you just needed a bit of time by yourself. It was really isolation but you’ve learned to cope by using it, it was the only way to deal when things like this happen.

About a week had passed of soft knocks on the and the muffled voice behind it, and you ignoring it. That whole week you had kept yourself in that room with no food, no sleep, and no interaction. It was good you had a shower in the room you were in though.

“(m/n) I’ve got food in my hand..could you please unlock the door and let me in…please..I promise you I’m sorry but you haven’t eaten and I’m sure you haven’t slept in about a week..please I just need to see how you are, so I can be sure your okay but please..”

You lift yourself off of the bed clicking the door lock and open in the door letting Anasui in the room of darkness. He sets the food down on the night stand after the bith of you sitting next to each other on the bed in silence.

“(m/n) I-“ “I’m sorry Anasui.” Anasui looks at you in guilt. You shouldn’t have been the one to apologize to him, he should’ve been the one to continuously apologize of what he did for something so little. “No, please don’t apologize to me, that’s what I should be doing.” You shake your head giving him full eye contact. “No, I was being an idiot for not putting on the mitten like a normal ass person would if they’re cooking something. I’m sorry, this whole ordeal would be my fault.”

The feeling of arms engulfed you in instinct your arms quickly wrapping around your boyfriends for comfort. “It’s okay now. I won’t do something like that to you again. I was the one in the wrong, it was never your fault it never was, please don’t blame yourself again for someone else’s actions.” Anasui felt a wet puddle in the middle of his shirt as you pulled him closer to you.

You were both so important to each other and you never wanted to let each other go. You both loved each other and would both be there for each other when needed.

That’s what lovers do ain’t it ?

#male reader #x male reader #male y/n #male reader insert #fluff to angst #angst #sfw #fluff #jjba x reader #jjba x male reader #anasui jjba #anasui x reader #anasui x you #anasui x male reader #Spotify

[threadbaresweater]

What You Need

When you find yourself in the midst of a marriage in shambles, you find a way to ease some of the pain, no matter how temporary.

Tags/Content Warnings: Heavy angst, infidelity, reader is married and has children; reader has...questionable morals and unhealthy coping mechanisms; Kishibe is willing to help ease her pain with some casual sex; vaginal fingering, unprotected sex; Kishibe calls her babe, alcohol and cigarette use, driving under the influence of alcohol. Please let me know if I forgot anything! Under 18 please don't interact! (Yes, this is a repost)

Everything feels wrong. You know you shouldn't be here, but there's some small, screaming part of you that demands that it be paid attention to. You feel slippery and lucid, as if you're not quite real. There's music playing, but it's muffled by the sound of your thoughts as you make your way to the darkened corner of the bar where he sits, three drinks in and poker-faced as ever.

He doesn't say a word as you slip onto the seat next to him. Dark eyes barely acknowledge your presence, and he throws back what's left of the whisky, gulping it down like it's water.

"Started without me?"

"You mad or something?"

You scoff as he signals to the bartender to bring two more drinks. "At you? Never."

"Right there's your first problem," he says, giving you a little bit of side-eye. He doesn't look directly at you. He hardly ever does; he doesn't like the feeling of someone being able to really look at him and see everything.

"Got a little tied up with the kids," you say, toying with the corner of a cheap, papery napkin.

"Right. Thought we agreed not to bring that up."

Your face grows warm and you suck in your bottom lip. "We did. My bad," you say, the guilt of it all gnawing at your stomach. With your thumb, you trace the indentation of where your wedding ring usually sits on your finger and take a deep breath. He knows you're married– you know he knows, but you still remove it anyway. It's tucked away in your change purse, a solid reminder that you belong to someone else.

Tonight, you'd rather not be reminded.

"Whatsa matter, you got cold feet?"

His question makes you twitch a little; you're brought out of your reverie and give him a flirty, bashful kind of smile. The corner of his lip barely lifts, but you see the glimmer of mischief clearly in his eyes. "No. I just…never imagined I'd be doing something like this."

Thankfully, the bartender brings your drinks, and you're temporarily occupied by the burn when you take a sip. Kishibe lights a cigarette, takes a drag, then offers it to you. For a moment, you hesitate, but your fingers touch his when you take it from him and you're reminded of why this was your idea in the first place.

"It's your circus, babe. I'm just your monkey."

That earns a laugh from you. Kishibe watches as you put the cigarette between your lips, a hunger in his eyes that you've seen a handful of times before, usually when you're alone in his office with the blinds drawn and the door locked.

It's been a long time since you've felt desirable to another man. Your husband's serial infidelity has left you broken; time and time again, he tells you he's sorry, and you've got a million and one reasons why you could leave him for good, but you just can't bring yourself to do it. It's complicated, you tell yourself and your friends who have begged you to leave him. But the kids need both of us. I'm not stable enough financially to be able to break free. The list is endless. Somewhere deep down, you think you still love him, but the fire has long been snuffed. When he tries to make love to you, you pretend to be asleep, and no matter how long he tries to kiss and touch you, you don't move. You don't want to. You can't shake the feeling that you're just another means for him to get off– that you're just an option for him now when his other lovers aren't giving him what he needs.

You know that fucking around with Kishibe isn't the right solution, but you don't want to think too hard about it. It's fun. It's hot. It's dirty and depraved and all things wrong and impulsive and reckless.

It's exactly what you need.

The drinks are enough to quell the uncertainty that simmers in the pit of your stomach and quiet your conscience, and when Kishibe throws down a few bills to cover the cost, you know he's had enough, too. Time is of the essence, so you quickly duck out of the bar and follow him to his car.

"What was your excuse tonight?" he asks, glassy-eyed but focused on the nearly deserted street. He really shouldn't be driving, but you can't bring yourself to care too much. You figure his blood is half alcohol anyway, and his place isn't too far away, so you relax and settle in for the ride.

"Drinks with friends," you say.

"Got a curfew?"

You shake your head. "As long as I'm home before–" Before the kids wake up.

Kishibe catches it. "Tsk. Strike two."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry!"

He reaches over to lay a rough, warm hand on your thigh and gives you a meaningful squeeze. "Relax. 'S no fun if you're gonna be all pent up like this."

He’s right, and you hate him for it. You take a deep breath to try and settle yourself, breathing out against your palm, elbow propped on the door frame as you watch the scenery crawl by. There’s an old song playing on the radio– you can’t make out the lyrics, but the tune is familiar, and you hum along while Kishibe makes the final turn to his house.

The night air as you step out of the car is balmy and heavy; it carries the scent of rain as it rustles through the trees that line the sidewalk, and you can’t help but notice how suburban and quaint his neighborhood is. It’s a far cry from what you were expecting, and your little laugh is carried off on the wind as he steps around the car and ahead of you, leading you up the concrete stairs on his porch.

As soon as the door is shut and you've just slipped off your shoes, he tugs you toward him with a strong arm hooked at your waist. You fall against him with a soft grunt just before he ducks his head to kiss your throat. You close your eyes and lift your face to the ceiling, and you're floating already. Tipsy and warm, you push your fingers through his hair and hold him as close as you can.

What you're doing with him isn't about love, and he knows it as well as you. It's not about revenge, or getting even; it's about doing something for yourself that doesn't benefit anyone else but you. It's about finally being selfish enough to chase your own pleasure, to stop trying so hard to make everyone around you happy by making all the wrong decisions for yourself that you could possibly make. Your children are home safe in their beds. You're not due at work, you even called your mother today to give her the latest news about your cheating husband. You're doing all the right things, all the time.

Sometimes, you just want to be wrong, though. It makes you feel alive. It makes you feel human. It makes you feel like no matter how bad things get, you can still grasp a little bit of happiness, no matter how fleeting it might be. No matter that it's built on a bed of lies and deceit and sneaking around.

Kishibe sucks on your jawline before drawing back to cup your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He's got a way of looking at you where it feels as if he can see every inner working of your psyche, but when you look back at him, you never quite know what he's thinking. Maybe it's the years of training he's endured to not show his weaknesses. Maybe it's just who he is. Maybe he's guarding himself from feeling something for you beyond a physical desire. Whatever it is doesn't matter when he bends forward just enough to kiss you.

It starts off like a whisper– open mouth, barely a breath between you, before he pinches your chin a little harder and licks into your mouth with a deep, raspy groan that makes you weak in the knees. Your trembling fingers tug at some of the longer strands of his hair, and you find that no matter how close he is, it's not close enough to satisfy the aching need that blooms throughout your body.

"Please," you whimper, muffled by the seal of his mouth over yours.

He pulls back just far enough to speak unhindered, lips bumping against yours as he breathes a reply. "Didn't think you were the type to beg."

You're consumed with him, overwhelmed by the way that your thoughts feel like static and your head is floating and you feel like you're drowning but oh wouldn't it be a wonderful way to go. It's a rush, it's too much, and it's scary because you've barely just kissed him but you're already lost in the flood.

Kishibe isn't the type of man you usually go for. He's rude, he's coarse, he's got an air of indifference that makes you want to slap him and wake him up. He's never seemed interested in anything that doesn't immediately benefit him or bring him some kind of temporary pleasure. You don't think you've ever seen him without a drink or a cigarette in hand, and the only time you've seen him with a semblance of a smile has been when he's caught wind of a devil being sent back to hell.

He's a far cry from the husband you have at home, who is– as far as anyone outside of your immediate family knows– a gentleman. Handsome and soft spoken and a doting father, he's exactly what he's supposed to be…except when he isn't. He's a liar and a cheater, and he plays one hell of a victim when it comes to confrontation. He's good at masking his true nature around those to whom his reputation matters. Behind closed doors, you know who he really is.

You like Kishibe because you know he's not bullshitting you. With him, what you see is what you get. He won't sugarcoat anything. He won't tell you pretty things to get you into his bed. He won't smile at you or compliment your outfit or tell you that you smell nice. He won't lie to you.

He won't lie to you.

He allows you to take control because he knows that it scratches some itch for you that you can't satisfy anywhere else. You're desperate to feel him inside you, to finally take that step into forbidden territory where there's no turning back. So you kiss him again and push weakly at his chest, guiding him to the couch just a few steps away where he sinks down into the cushions and rests his arms along the back. His legs are spread wide and he watches you with hungry eyes as you straddle him, grinding down on his half-hard cock as you settle into his lap.

"You're really worked up, aren't ya?"

One of his hands slides down around your hip, coarse fingertips digging into the swell of your ass to feel you sink a little deeper against him. "Yeah," you whisper, rubbing your cheek along the stubble of his chin, lazy tongue darting out to taste the salt on his skin. You don't want to talk. You want to feel good. So you take the lead (like you know he wants you to) and undo his belt, then his pants. Carefully, you peel away the elastic of his underwear; your breath catches when his cock springs free, already shining with a little drop of precum at the tip. You use your thumb to smear it before taking his length in your fist. It's so big that your fingers don't quite wrap all the way around, and your cunt throbs when you imagine how it's going to feel when he's balls deep inside you.

Kishibe's hands are at your waist again, thumbs on your skin beneath the waistband of your panties. He pushes, and you lift yourself away from his lap to take off your pants, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the floor at his feet. He appraises your figure through heavy-lidded eyes, his gaze dropping to your bare sex as he slides his tongue across his teeth.

You climb back into his lap, hovering just above where his cock stands at attention. He's pumping it himself, eyes trained on the way your thighs flex when you straddle him, on the softness of your belly and how it seems to quiver with every breath you take. You lean forward and kiss him again, hands on either side of his face, brows knitted together as you whimper softly.

He goes straight for the kill, fingers spreading you open to push one inside: he chuckles low, right next to your ear, when he feels how wet and swollen you are for him. Your body is alive and buzzing already, and when he fits another finger inside, your back arches and you cry out, gripping the back of the couch for stability.

"Fuck–" You gasp for air, too far gone to be embarrassed about how fast you feel your body responding. But just as you're reaching the moment where you know you'll fall apart, he slips his fingers out, leaving you breathless and empty.

You know what to do. Without hesitation, you sink down onto him slowly, the stretch even greater than you'd been able to imagine. Eyes wide, mouth formed into a pretty little 'o' shape that Kishibe thinks is just right for sticking his thumb into, you take his length until it feels like he's filled up every part of you.

"Oh my god," you whisper. Kishibe doesn't move, but you see the look in his eye. He allows himself the pleasure of feeling your walls open to him, the weight of you in his lap, the wet of your tongue as it traces along his throat.

"Go on, baby. See what you can do with it."

You being to rock, languid at first. Once you think you're accustomed to the stretch of him inside you, you move a little faster. He kneads at your ass with greedy hands, pushes his thumbs up under your bra to touch hardened nipples. He watches as you bounce in his lap as his length disappears inside you, coaxing you with words of quiet praise. Feels good, don't it? So greedy…take it all, sweetheart. Make it count.

You listen. You take and you take and you take, and you gasp for air when you feel the high you've been chasing reach a point where it's impossible to contain the way your body quakes and trembles around him. You grab fistfuls of his shirt and cry out his name at your peak, the pleasure almost too much for you to bear. It brings you to tears and you choke on a sob, falling forward to slump against him, chest heaving, a sheen of sweat beading across your brow.

A broad hand smooths over your back as you come down. He doesn't rush you to compose yourself. You rest in his lap, his cock growing limp inside you, the mess you've made of each other beginning to run down the inside of your thigh.

"You good?" he asks quietly, just after your silence becomes uncomfortable for him.

You nod, your face buried in his shoulder, arms linked around his neck.

"Need a drink?"

You nod again and sit up with a deep sigh, exhaled through your nose. He winces– still sensitive– when you lift yourself away from his lap and bend to grab your pants off the floor. He takes a moment to appreciate the view before tucking himself back into his own pants.

"Bathroom's down the hall to your left if you wanna get cleaned up."

You nod, trying in vain to fix your hair, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. You clutch your pants to your chest and tuck your chin, the reality of what you've just done beginning to sink in. Kishibe begins to unbutton his shirt on the way to the kitchen, seemingly unaware of your moral conflict.

"Hey," he says. It catches you off guard, and you jolt a little, looking up at him with brows raised, bottom lip tucked under your teeth.

"What?"

"Why the long face? You had fun, yeah?"

"Yeah," you say, a breathless giggle bubbling over. You don't remember the last time you wanted something so bad.

"Then smile. You're hurting my feelings." His deadpan delivery is so on brand that you can't help but laugh as he turns away.

"Kishibe?"

He calls from the kitchen. "I'm thirsty. Make it quick."

"Can we do it again?"

You're still standing in his hallway, still clutching your pants. Still riding the high of what you've done, shoddy marriage be damned.

"It's gonna cost ya," he says, appearing in the doorway with a glass of liquor.

You know the implication of what he says. It's going to cost you a lot of things, should you happen to get sloppy and your secret gets out. Kishibe lifts his glass in a mock toast and raises a brow, waiting for your answer.

"I know," you say. I'm good for it."

#kishibe x reader #kishibe x you #csm kishibe #csm fanfic #chainsawman fanfic #hi hello i'll work on reposting some of my favorite stuff over the next few days/weeks

[midwestmade29]

*Currently doing a happy dance*

CHAPTER 1 💕

I somehow managed to break through my writer's block and put together the first part of another Christian Cage story! Let us all rejoice 😂 With this story, I'm kinda taking it in a different direction compared to my last one. This story dives a little deeper into a version of Christian that I imagined if he had taken a lot of the criticism, negativity and hate that he received during different points of his real life career, (from fans, writers, coworkers, etc.) and had a very hard time dealing/coping with it, and choosing to let it consume him. The story may start off kinda slow, but I hope you'll give it a chance! (Don't worry...there will still be spicy content in it as the story marches on 🔥)

If you are not 18+ years old, please KEEP SCROLLING. Do not interact with any parts/chapters of this story.

Due to the explicit nature, this story is NSFW or minors.

It is written from the POV of a female character and has dialogue between her and Christian Cage. As I continue writing, I may change the POV to Christian’s from time to time!

Some topics/actions/theme(s) of this story may not be suitable and/or triggering for some readers. Foul language, alcohol consumption/use, drunkenness, arguments, “sexual dirty talk.”

Word count for Chapter 1: 1,354

*As always, I would love to hear from you! Constructive criticism, suggestions,feedback,thoughts…tell me all the things!😌*

So, without further ado...here is Chapter 1 🖤

Earlier today, Christian sent me a text and told me to meet him at our favorite restaurant downtown at 9 o’clock for dinner. I was so excited to see him after being a part for 12 days due to his travel schedule for AEW, that I even went shopping to pick out some new lingerie and a dress to wear for him. I couldn’t wait to feel his arms wrapped around me and to kiss his full lips. The thought of him discovering my little secret I was hiding under my dress caused my core to heat with excitement. With one more spritz of my perfume and a quick touchup of my lipstick, I was ready to go see my guy.

I arrived at the restaurant a few minutes late due to my Uber driver getting us stuck in traffic, and thankfully the hostess sat me at our reserved table anyway. Christian hadn’t arrived yet, but the waiter greeted me and asked if there was anything he could get me while I waited. He nodded and walked away when I only ordered a glass of ice water for now. I sat in the dim lighting of the restaurant and stared out the window, watching people pass by holding their umbrellas, protecting them from the rain that had started to fall. I studied the menu from front to back, checked my phone more times than I’d like to admit for any notifications, and eventually ordered a glass of wine. Time continued to tick on, and Christian was now 40 minutes late for our date. A sense of uneasiness settled in my stomach.

I felt bad for holding up our table while other patrons continued sauntering into the restaurant. The waiter was very understanding when I tried to attribute Christian’s tardiness to a possible flight delay due to the rain, or maybe even traffic, but when the front door of the restaurant burst open, I was sadly mistaken. Judging by the look on my face, the waiter gave me a sympathetic smile and hurried away to check on his other tables. I watched Christian stumble in, drenched from the rain, about to knock over a potted plant on his way to the hostess station. My eyes grew larger the closer the hostess and Christian got to the table when I was finally able to take in the full sight of him. I stood and thanked the hostess before she walked away, and helped Christian sit in his chair before he knocked it over or missed it completely. “Hi baby. You’re looking mighty fine tonight. Did you dress up just for me?” Christian slurred. Before I could reply, the waiter came over to the table once he noticed my less than punctual guest had gotten settled. I quickly tried to shoo him away, but it was too late. “Good evening, sir. How are you this evening? May I get you something to drink, or perhaps start you two off with an appetizer?” the waiter offered, looking back and forth between Christian and I.

I slid down in my chair, staring daggers at Christian, just hoping and praying he would behave, only to have him smile back at me mischievously. “Actually, my good man, a drink sounds delightful. Whiskey, neat. No cheap shit.” “Uhm, do you think that’s a good idea?” I shot back immediately. “Judging by the swagger you displayed walking in here, it would appear that you’ve already had enough.” The waiter stood silently, unsure of what to do. He started rocking on his heels the more Christian and I stared at each other, silently arguing. Christian finally caved, downgrading his order all the way down to a water while rolling his eyes. “We’ll also have some of the house bread with the assorted spreads, please.” I added. “What’s that for?” Christian asked. I tried to reel in my frustrations before responding, but I think it still came out a little snarky. “One, you could use something to soak up whatever alcohol you have in your stomach, and two, I’m starving. I’ve been sitting here practically drooling all over the trays of food that have passed by me the last 40 minutes.” This time, Christian was the one to slide down in his chair a little. “Not happy to see me, baby?” he asked, trying to keep a straight face, but the alcohol made him break out into a small fit of giggles. He looked up at me with his piercing blue eyes and lips in a full pout before giggling again. If I wasn’t so concerned and frustrated with his current state, I would’ve joined in on his laughter because he looked adorable with his pouty lips and his smile was radiant.

“What’s going on, Christian? Is everything okay?” I asked softly. “Nothing’s wrong, baby. I had a few drinks on the plane. Maybe a couple after we landed too. Just lost track of time. What makes you think there’s something wrong?” “Because I know you, Christian. You show up 40 minutes late to our date that you put together, you haven’t drunk like this in a while and the last time you did was when you and Adam had a huge fight. I know how hard it is for you to get out of your own head sometimes. So please, don’t lie to me because I can see right through you. This is more than “just a few drinks.” “You’re killing my buzz, being so serious. I thought we were here to have a good time. Not to try and fix someone that’s unfixable.” He replied condescendingly. “Now, are you going to finish your wine, or can I have it?”

I smacked his hand away as he tried to grab my wine glass. “Spoilsport.” He groaned, crossing his arms. “If anyone is spoiling anything, it’s you Christian. You can’t say things like that and not elaborate. I just want to help; I’m not trying to fix you. It hurts my heart to hear you say such things about yourself.” “Well, the truth hurts, baby. And the truth right now is that I don’t need your help, or anyone else’s for that matter. So, let’s cut the shit and kiss and make up. I’ve missed your sexy lips while I’ve been gone. I can think of a few things I’d like you to do with them...”

Usually him talking dirty like that would ignite something deep in my core, but right now his words were just igniting my anger. “Fine, Christian! You don’t want to talk, so we won’t talk. In fact, I think I’ll leave you and your secrets to enjoy your drunken state since that seems to be what’s important to you right now. I can’t believe you were late getting here because you were drinking! I’ll see myself out.” I scolded before standing. Even with his head swimming in all the alcohol he had obviously consumed, I think he finally started to realize how quickly our conversation (and night) had taken a turn for the worse. This was hardly the first time I’d seen him like this, and definitely not the first night to go this way either. Christian remained seated as I grabbed my purse and jacket off my chair. “What about dinner?” he murmured. I couldn’t help but scoff at his question. “I’m not hungry anymore, but you go ahead and enjoy. I hear it’s one of your favorite restaurants. Goodbye, Christian.” I weaved through the sea of tables as fast as I could, trying my best to avoid bumping into anyone or knocking anything over. The cool, damp night air filled my lungs as I took a deep breath once I was outside. Reality hit me fast when I remembered it was raining, and that I had taken an Uber to get to the restaurant. My heels I was wearing were not ideal to walk in, but I had to get out of here. I stepped into the downpour trying to shield my phone from the rain so I could make a very important phone call...

If you read through the entire thing, THANK YOU!!! I appreciate it more than you know!

Chapter 2 coming soon…😘

#christian cage #jay reso #aew #all elite wrestling #fanfic #fanfiction #head canon #smut #christian cage smut #christian cage headcanon #instant classic #captain charisma #christian cage fanfic #christian4peeps

[howlingday]

How about some Jaune Strife and Yang fluff (I need the positivity at the moment)

Jaune panted as he sat up in his bed. His safe, warm, comfortable bed. He felt around his legs and sighed in relief. No accidents tonight. He looked to the time and saw it was still early.

It was Saturday, which means no classes. He climbed out of bed, accepting that he wasn't going back to sleep any time soon. He shut his eyes and he could still see the fire.

After rushing through his morning routine, he crept out of the dorm. He looked back to his team sleeping soundly. Pyrrha cuddled her pillow, probably dreaming about a crush. Ren slept under undisturbed sheets, envious of how peaceful his sleep was. Nora snored partially into her drool-soaked pillow, her butt pointed high in the air. With a smile, he left without anyone noticing.

"Wassup, Lady Killer?" Jaune flinched and whirled at the voice. Yang smiled in the dimly lit halls at Jaune, giving a small wave to him. "You're up early."

"Y-Yeah." He sighed. "I couldn't sleep." Yang quirked a brow. "I mean, I could- or, well, I did, but..."

"Easy, Vomit Boy." Yang held up a hand. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Thanks." He took a deep breath. "What are you doing up?"

"I promised your mom I would drop by this morning for some early morning practice." Jaune then noticed the duffel bag. "You wanna join me?"

"Sure." They began walking down the hall. "I kinda need to ask Mom something anyway."

"Like what?" Yang asked, holding back her teasing to avoid him telling Tifa and getting a twenty-minute speed round on the bag.

"I, uh, had a bad dream." Oh, he was making this so hard for her.

"Uh, what, uh-" Yang exhaled to avoid being caught smiling. "What was your dream about?"

"My parents being murdered."

"Oh." That was a hell of a way to shift a mood. Yang was no stranger to nightmares, especially ones involving the death of a parent. The weeks after Summer died were the worst of her young life. She wouldn't call herself an expert on the subject, but she could help with an open ear. She just needed one thing from him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Jaune was quiet for a long while. He didn't say anything until they were already on the ground floor from the elevator. But the second the doors opened, so did he.

"Yeah, I think it'll help." He swallowed and Yang stayed close the entire walk. "Everything started out dark, but then everything was on fire. I heard a scream, and Mom was on the floor. Then I saw Dad fighting some guy against the flames. He even pulled out his super-move, but then..."

"Jaune?" Yang tapped his balled up hand, and he exhaled. "You good?"

"Yeah." He huffed. "After Dad, then guy came for me. I wanted to run away, but," Jaune shook his head, "I couldn't even move."

"It might have been the sheets."

"Huh?"

"Your bed sheets." Yang explained. "Sometimes when I can't run in my sleep, it's because my legs are wrapped up in my sheets."

"Uh, y-yeah, I guess."

"Sorry, I thought explaining it would help you deal- er, cope with it."

Jaune chuckled as they approached the bullhead station. "You're a terrible therapist."

"At least I'm trying!" Yang pouted, sitting down with a huff.

"I know." He sat next to her. "And I'm glad you're here with me."

The way he smiled at her, and the way he said that, it all made her heart beat faster. Choosing to ignore this feeling, Yang coughed into her fist and looked away.

"Keep going. I'll, uh, look out for a bullhead."

"Well, after that, I just woke up. I don't remember much else."

"What about what he looked like?"

"Well, it was dark-"

"But there was a fire, and your dad fought him using his sword, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Did the other guy catch it with his hand or something?"

"No, he had a sword, too." The memory became clearer to him. "A really long one. Kind of like a katana."

The bullhead docked, and they boarded. Yang rubbed Jaune's back as they departed. He sat next to garbage can furthest from the pilot, as he was scolded to do so many times before. As Yang rubbed, she noticed how broad his back was, and how thick the mucles in her grasp were. Blushing again, she looked away. Jaune didn't throw up this time, which he was proud of.

"Anything else about him?" Yang asked as they left the station. "Was it a him?"

"I think so, yeah." Jaune nodded. "He mumbled something but I can't remember what. His voice was kind of gravelly."

"Anything else?" Yang asked.

"Yeah, but I don't know if you'd believe it if I told you." He shook his head. "I can't even believe it."

"Hit me." Yang said.

"He had a wing."

"Like a Faunus wing?"

"No, his was," Jaune scrunched his brow, "bigger, and not part of his arm. And he only had one."

"Hm..." Yang rounded the corner, now a block away from their destination. "Sounds like a wuss to me."

"Huh?"

"This guy in your dream. He sounds really pathetic, when you think about it. I mean, he has a really long katana, a deep, gravelly voice, and only one wing. It sounds like a guy who's always losing."

"But my dad-"

"Was probably caught off guard. It was dark, right? He probably snuck up on him in the shadows instead of fighting like a real man." She punched his shoulder. "Heck, you could probably beat him, so there's nothing to worry about!"

"Thanks, Yang." They stopped in front of the bar/training gym. Jaune hugged her, giving a good squeeze with it. "For everything."

"N-No problem." Yang felt light-headed, but in a good way. The warm hug reminded her a lot of the ones back home. The ones she got from her dad... and her mom. She returned the hug with hum.

"Ahem!" The two separated as Tifa glared at the two of them, but mostly at Yang. ESPECIALLY Yang. "Jaune, I'm glad you came to visit. Yang, you're late."

"Oh, really, I, uh-"

"It's my bad, Mom." Jaune spoke up. "Yang was helping me with something, so we kind of got distracted."

"Mm, alright." Tifa turned away. "Your father is still asleep, so we'll try to keep it down."

After she walked inside, Yang let out a sigh. "Thanks for the save."

"No problem." Jaune smiled. "You'd save me if I needed it, right?"

"Yeah." Yang smiled back. "Yeah, I would."

#rwby #rwby au #jaune arc #yang xiao long #dragonslayer #jaune strife au #final fantasy #final fantasy vii #tifa lockhart

[ibrithir-was-here]

I'm kinda feeling like crap lately too so might not be the best person to give advice but here goes:

Our modern western life is really not conducive to mental or emotional health (or really any kind of health for that matter) so the unfortunate effect is that what should be a 'normal' state really takes so much work to achieve.

Social media, news, click baits - we are constantly under attack by things that harm us mentally, whether it's chasing that dopamine or overwhelmed by what is going on in the world or just the constant negativity we're surrounded by.

And then there's just the inescapable realities - a loved one is sick or our relationships are going through a rough patch... and sometimes we just don't have the support around us to weather even the minor things.

So here is my (sus) advice on how to cope:

However hard it is, however vulnerable it makes you feel, find someone you can open up to. I know that feeling of "I have nobody" but sometimes it's because we're too afraid of being annoying or driving someone away to be willing to truly open up, but I think most people *are* willing to listen to their friends and we're just too worried to give them that benefit.

Get off the internet. I know this is *hard* because so often we're turning to the internet to cope or find connections or talk with friends, but time away *is* so so so important. Even going into autumn (in the north anyway) it's good to just go outside, breathe in fresh air, listen to birds, just do something that gives our emotions a chance to settle down again.

If outside is truly not an option, then a quiet place - maybe beside a window, maybe put on 'nature sounds' in the background - and try your hand at meditation. I hate how much this actually can help because it feels like it should be a scam but it really can help the brain recover from some of the barrage we're getting.

Walking or any kind of mild exercise, the body and brain are inexorably linked, and doing good things for the body can truly help. One trick I've employed with myself is "If I were my own pet how would I treat me?" and then do your absolute best to be the best "you" owner ever. That means going for walkies, drinking water, eating well, getting plenty of sleep and affection.

Journaling can help get the thoughts and feelings out of your head.

But I think the best thing I can offer is no matter what it is, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how bad you feel... it *does* get better. The pain will ease in time, the brain can be taught that it's not always red alert time, for all the horror in the world the march of time is still moving toward better.

I just want you to know that you are seen and you are worth the effort it takes. Your life and happiness are worth the effort and I know there are people out there who would love to put forth that effort if they are given the chance.

I hope good things for you

(you don't have to publish this if you don't want, it's alright.)

Thank you 🥲💛💛💛 I'm actually tearing up at work here. These are all really good points, and a lot of what others have said to, and I really should be better at remembering them 😅

I'm gonna read over this again once I'm off work tonight and yeah, start trying to be more intentional with my self care. Thank you again 💛

#to remember #mental health #self care #physical health

[existentialbogwitch]

I just want to make something very clear: I would stay in school forever and get never ending degrees if they would let me.

I love learning. I love analyzing. I love theorizing with people. I miss having opportunities to do that with adults because I work with children.

I think it is absolutely cruel that education is essentially something that is gatekept by those who can afford it.

Yes, I am trying to put my rage at being poor aside to focus on living my life and making the best of things, but it is so difficult.

We live in a society that projects the constant ideal that you are somehow worthless if you don’t have money.

Literally worthless as a human being.

There are people bombing innocent humans because they believe they have rights others don’t?

What?

I’m having an existential crisis every day and reading books to try to understand the nature of god because I cannot comprehend why the war has been allowed to go on for as long as it has.

And if I were to talk about this openly with people I would be silenced because no one wants to talk about it.

Again, I’m a very isolated person and I work with children and have a very conservative family. The people in my circle are not talking about it. I could bring it up with them but it likely wouldn’t be a conversation that would go well.

This isn’t an easy subject for anyone to talk about.

I guess all I’m saying is, if you’re a sensitive person and you’ve been hurting a lot more than usual lately, I see you and I feel you and I’m right there with you.

(This is a pep talk for me and you).

I’m watching Star Trek discovery and realizing how important Tilly is as a character and human being.

I have never seen myself SO MUCH in a character on screen.

I love her a lot and I think if I ever met that actress irl I would immediately cry and hug them.

I want to try to go to a Star Trek con so bad but I have severe anxiety and it will be a few more years before I’m able to handle something like that without assistance. It would be far too overwhelming and overstimulating.

But it’s nice to know that maybe one day I could go to something like that if I wanted to. I’m glad things like megacon etc exist, even if they aren’t environments I would feel very comfortable in necessarily. Not right now anyway.

This post has gotten away from me but my heart wants me to scream it into the void tonight ♥️

Oh! I have something maybe actually helpful to share!! !! !!

(Insert Terry Pratchett quote about the implications of someone’s sanity based upon their overuse of exclamation points.)

!!!!!!!!

(love you though Terry)

I found some journaling prompts about coping with existential depression and it has been somewhat useful!

It is still something I will continue to discuss at length with my therapist but it gives me things to ponder in the meantime.

I

I have been dealing with existential depression on and off since I was a teenager and I almost went to seminary with an absolute certain idea that I was doing the right thing. I started writing my application letters for why I wanted to apply and (very, very long story short) I ended up realizing that everything I thought I knew about god and the universe was wrong and I needed to think about it a lot more.

And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

I suppress it a lot and pretend I’m not thinking about it all the time, but I am.

It’s a struggle because I don’t know many people in reality who want to talk about that kind of thing.

Metaphors and stories tend to make these topics more palatable, so I’ve tried to find different stories that ask the same questions I’ve been asking myself for years and I’m hoping that this will help me find my own answers.

Star Trek in particular offers a ton of great fodder for these types of discussions and I wish more people would be open to the idea of watching an episode of Star Trek and talking about the ethical and moral issues the characters faced and how they dealt with their challenges and how that applies in our lives in things like relationships and therapy.

My brain knows I don’t have to do anything tomorrow and it’s screaming “FREEEEDOM BITCHES!!!!” At me every time I try to tell myself to stop writing this post and go to bed.

Just, if you were wondering.

(You can have an unhinged rant as a treat)

#might delete later #rant #late night thoughts #personal #star trek #mental illness #existential depression

[omnitricks]

this is a bunch of nothing but i made it so im going to post it somewhere. but its for me first and foremost

and for your reading pleasure im going to post a bunch of shit under a readmore

okay so, if you know me, you know that i have some level of bipolar disorder. i was tentatively diagnosed by a therapist i went to when i was about 17, and while i never got that formal diagnosis tattooed onto my body, it, frankly, was kind of fucking obvious in retrospect.

i have talked.. a LOT. about how my teens were filled with a near constant level of homicidal anger. a lot of it was comprised of your standard teen loneliness, going through the wrong puberty, and maybe a sprinkling of childhood emotional abuse, but. whatever. you get it.

i am also autistic, which is fun. the two are.. 'comorbid,' or something, maybe thats the wrong term, but i dont care. nobody is reading this. anyway. basically this means whenever i do feel something, which isn't always, i feel it in a Fun and Unusual way. so far i have been able to cope with my fun and unusual emotions by rationalizing them, or like.. anthropomorphizing them, but in reverse. i dont know. i am angry a LOT, and i form that anger in my head as a smilodon. again, autistic. not the point.

but i've never really thought about what my bipolar disorder itself felt like in my brain. until, y'know, this. this inexplicable thing i can't get rid of but makes my life harder. you know how it is. but.. anyway. back to the near constant level of homicidal anger.

im not going to blame the myriad shitty things i did as a kid exclusively on my mental illnesses, and how poorly they were managed, but im confident i wouldn't have been nearly as bad had i gone to a proper psychiatrist. and gotten medicated, probably. but then again i probably would've done better with *no* mental help considering the first therapist my parents took me to essentially pushed me back into the closet for a few years. that was fun.

point is. i've come to terms with a lot in the past few years, but only recently have i been able to like.. help with it? i have a very supportive partner and she helps so much in calming me down. but its still, yknow, a mental illness that i have.

which is why it's so upsetting to me when people refer to intrusive thoughts and become upset with you if you talk about yours and they're not fun and innocent and quirky enough. people with intrusive thoughts about murder rise up. 'eww theres something wrong with you' WHAT DO YOU THINK MENTAL ILLNESS IS, *CORBYN.*

sorry to any corbyns in the crowd tonight i bet you're a great 17 year old trans boy who hangs out in your high school's library during lunch.

this is a lot of rambling. but like. point is. i have bipolar disorder and it makes living hard and i never feel properly 'safe' in my own home. because, though i know this isn't true, i feel as if i could at one random moment just snap and enter another one of those white-hot rage states where i do something ill regret for the rest of my life. you know?

but all in all, im a lot better than i was. im not great *now* but im a lot better too

#vent #i guess? #its not a very good comic #but i had to collect my thoughts.

[kimmimaru]

So, probably a bit TMI (mentions of mental health) for random internet strangers but oh well. I'm sticking it under a cut for people who don't care lol.

So, I've been having a...difficult time lately. I'll keep it simple and just say I'm struggling pretty bad with personal shit. Anyway, I was considering looking into counselling but the NHS no longer fund talking therapy, it's only CBT and stuff which is helpful but not what I need. So I'd have to pay through the nose. And even if I could afford it I've only been able to find 1 single person in my entire town who specialises in treating autistic people. There may be more but honestly I have no idea where to even begin looking. Also like there's loads of groups for older people and people with toddlers but nothing for parents of older kids, groups for the parents I mean. I struggle very badly with making friends and talking to people, I'm awkward as fuck and have no idea how to socialise. Unfortunately I'm not a child so don't have anywhere to go to meet people like me. It's hard to make friends when neurotypicals have an instinctual dislike of autistic people (ok not everyone but apparently they can identify people as 'weird' without even speaking to them and generally tend to avoid us). Sorry, I did say this was probably TMI, but I'm just so fucking lonely and so stressed I'm having heart palpitations. I'm not sleeping either and unfortunately I don't have anyone to actually talk to about it so this is why I'm posting this here. Its at least just getting it all off my chest, even if it's not a long term solution maybe it'll be enough to actually help me get some sleep tonight. My mum was the person I talked to about all this shit, the only one I felt I could actually confide in and she's gone. I have family but they're busy with their own lives and tbh...I never felt like they ever really got me. My dad's a very closed off man, not in a cold way, he was always affectionate but he and my mum got divorced a long time ago and since then I've never felt able to talk to him about deep stuff. I suppose it's something to do with broken trust and all that crap. My sisters are way too busy and have their own problems and lives and my only brother is a lot older than me and far away. They all love me and care about me, I have never doubted it but none of them are neurodivergent. They don't understand me really and never have (that's not a self pitying 'oh woe is me' it's just a fact). It's a very weird feeling to be surrounded by people who love you but knowing they just don't get you. I am extremely aware that people would kill to have what I do, a big, loving family and they try really hard to understand and help but sometimes you just need more weirdos like you who see the world the same way and have the same kind of issues you do. What I want is a day. Just one single fucking day where I can just do what I need to do around the house without just staring at it for hours before I work up the spoons to do it. I want one day where I can actually do something creative as I've lost my drive (probably temporary, depression usually has the opposite affect on me and I write MORE when I'm depressed for some reason). I want to play with my daughter without constantly worrying about if she'll eat something other than junk food (she's an extremely picky eater), or is she'll take a bath without a fight or if she'll actually drink something for a change (yes, we are in contact with doctors about all this, it's just an extremely slow process). I want to wake up and not be exhausted for a change, I want to not be in constant pain for no fucking reason (chronic fatigue...yay). I want to not spend my days unable to focus on anything, to not be constantly disassociating because my stupid brain can't cope with too much sensory input. I am exhausted, I'm grieving and I just want to be normal for a fucking change. Anyway, it's all a lot more complicated than what I've written and it's very unlikely this makes any sense at all. But I needed to write it down, to tell someone, somewhere just so I can stop obsessing over all these thoughts. Maybe now I can sleep.

#Rant post #very long #I don't expect anyone to read this it's a little bit more personal than what I usually post and I'm sorry for that

[themultifandomgal]

Alfie Solomons- Partners In Crime Pt2

Our first date went very well I have to say..

"Thank you for tonight Alfie. I had a lot of fun" I smile as Alfie walks me to the apartment I'm stopping in

"Does the night really have to end?" Alfie smirks at me

"What have you got in mined Mr Solomons?" I raise an eyebrow

"I think you know Miss YLN"

"Well then you best come inside then" I open up the door and walk inside

"I have to say YN it's a bit small"

"It has a bed what more do you need?" I smirk leading Alfie over and making him sit at the end of the bed. I take his face in my hands and place a kiss on his lips. His hands move to my butt and squeezes it before pulling away a little

"You know. I feel in love with you the moment I saw you"

"Love at first sight ay?" I smirk at the Camden Town gangster and lean down to his face "you best show me how much you truly love me then"

We lay in bed naked while cuddling one another

"I want you to be mine. Officially"

"I have been yours since you said you loved me" I tell him while using his chest as a pillow 

"One day we will moved to the country and get married and have kids. Mark my words"

That was 6 years ago and just like he said we moved to the country after Tommy tried to kill Alfie because of his illness. Now he's getting better and I'm 8 months pregnant with our 3rd child. I watch as Alfie sits on sofa next to our oldest boy Adam who's 3, his showing Alfie a drawing of a boat he did with me earlier in the day. Our other son Samual is playing on the floor with some blocks, he's 20 months old now

"If this one is another boy right, I think we should try again for a girl" Alfie says looking at me

"I don't know Alf. Three kids is enough and we're not getting any younger"

"Oh come on, what's one more child"

"We're having one more child. I don't think we can cope with 4 kids"

"Once this one turns 1 you'll be wanting another. You wait and see" Alfie points his walking stick at me making me laugh

"Anyway it's time for bed. Adam run upstairs and get your pyjamas on"

"Ok mamma" Adam runs up the stairs, I get up off the sofa and awkwardly bend down to pick up Sam when the door mocks

"Who the fuck could that be?"

"Language Alfie" he gets up using is cane and walks to the door, I follow behind him and there stood at the doorway was Tommy Shelby

"Tom?" I frown

"Tommy shalom, shalom"

"Well I can see the bad leg and near death experience hasn't harmed your dick" I roll my eyes at Tommys comment

"You coming in or just going to stand at the door?" I ask turning away

"Mamma who's at the door?" Adams feet run across the landing and down the stairs

"Picked the wrong time Tom the kids are meant to be sleeping"

"Hi Tommy" Adam smiles a wide smile

"Hello Adam, now mamma said you should be going to be"

"But she has to read a story"

"I'm coming. Of you go" I watch as Adam runs off again

"You didn't answer my question, what are you doing here?"

"I only came to check up on you both. No one has heard from you for a few weeks. Ada was worried"

"We're all fine. There's more though isn't there?"

"Well I'm going to be your new neighbour. Me, Lizzie and Charlie. Faked my death"

"Wow" my eyes widen "the three biggest gangsters have fallen within 6 years"

"The Peaky Blinders are still going, but I'm done with that life"

"Well then Lizzie can help me give birth this time. Alfie just faints and I have to do it all myself"

"You said you wouldn't tell anyone" Alfie calls as I make my way to Sams bedroom

"Goodnight my love" I place him down with a blanket and immediately he's asleep. I walk into Adam's room, he's now in bed hugging a teddy.

After reading him a story I walk downstairs to Alfie alone sat on the sofa. I sit next to him

"Who'd have thought this would be our life? ay?" I ask snuggling into him

"Never thought I'd have kids now I've got 2 and 2 on the way"

"1 on the way" I correct him

"2"

"I'll think about it" I tell him closing my eyes relaxing.

#alfie solomon’s imagine #alfie solomons #alfie solomons x y/n #alfie solomons x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders reader