#chapter 3.1
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I read The Witch's Marriage Chapter 3.1.
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Sumeru Acts III and IV
Why can’t we take actual photos in cool places like these?!
Anyway spoilers below
I’ve honestly really enjoyed them. I like how everything is connected in this plot, and the pace has been really good. I also like the implementation of the other characters and their dynamics. Now onto more specific things...
The beginning of Act III was a bit slow but that Dottore cutscene really had me on the edge. It’s a bit sad that we only see him in that moment since he’s a very important figure in this story but at least he made his presence known.
Then came the Scara animation cutscene. It’s probably my favourite one until now, I wish we had a bit more details of his backstory but we’re seen enough to understand him. And I love how it’s confirmed that he thinks of Ei has his mother, that’s cute and very, very painful. But great stuff there, I’m very excited to see more of his story and him becoming playable soon.
The rest was not as exciting but interesting nonetheless, I was engaged to see where everything was going. The lore of Sumeru is well thought out, it feels believable taking into account how the people there are so obsessed with knowledge and it’s cool showing how that can let you to do crazy things.
Like, they just wanna create a god, that’s insane! And using Scara! Which makes me question, what do the Fatui gain with this? Why does Dottore wanna do this? Better yet, why does Scara? In his cutscene he talks as if he wants to destroy everything which I mean... makes sense, he gave himself the name “Country Destroyer”. But is that really all there is to it? Does the Akademiya know of his desires?
It’s all very intriguing and I’m very excited for the finale and how Sumeru is going to change after we defeat them.
All that’s left for me is to do Cyno and Nilou’s quests. I did Tighnari’s the other day and it was actually pretty good, I love stories where machines are seeing as living beings, it’s always emotional.
Only two weeks to go!
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wtf kinktober is next week and i haven’t even started on the first mass skdjsjjd
#i will uhh do it on thursday#for now im focusing on chapter two of adepti’s guide#hoping to finish and post it before 3.1 drops#ash talks
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Hoshi no Ouka | Chapter 3.1 [EN TL]
MangaDex link | All Hoshi no Ouka updates
This newest Liberum creation. Friends, lovers, fashion and hanging out after-school... For Hoshino Ouka, a gal who grew up in the city those are important things. But when she unexpectedly had to move to the country side town 'Yutakamachi', everything she hold dear vanishes...? In an unfamiliar town the fresh and tender days of youth begin!
❧ Read the trial-draft here.
❧ Follow the blog/Discord for updates and extras.
❧ Want to talk about the series? Check out the Discord.
❧ See any mistakes? Let me know so I can fix it.
❧ I love reading your comments~ It also helps me gauge interest in the series.
#Hoshi no Ouka#Hoshi no Ouka Chapter 3.1#HoshiUta#Liberum#Scanlation#Translation#English Translation#Manga#Ouka Hoshino#Karin Shiraishi#Tenma Ozaki#Yamato Sekioka#Tom Matsueda#Sanechika Furukawa
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Codename Anastasia chapter 3.1
12:10 PM. The National Intelligence Service
3 YEARS AGO NORTH KOREA AND RUSSIA HAVE JOINED HANDS,
THE MAIN POINT OF WHAT I'M TRYING TO DISCUSS IS THAT THEY'VE STARTED DEVELOPING NEW WEAPONS.
THE WEAPON IS SAID TO POSSESS A FIREPOWER THAT HAS NEVER BEEN SHOWN IN ANY OTHER COUNTRY.
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Class-8 Mathematics NCERT Solution Exercise 3.1 Q:- 1, 2, 3 & 4 #maths with narendra sir #maths
#exercise 3.1#class 8 maths chapter 3 exercise 3.1#class 8 maths exercise 3.1#class 11 maths ncert solutions chapter 3 exercise 3.1#class 8 exercise 3.1#exercise 3.1 class 8#class 8 maths ncert solution#class 8 maths chapter 3 exercise 3.1 question 1#ncert class 8 maths chapter 3#class-8 exercise 3.1 q.3#exercise 3.1 ncert solutions#concepts & exercise 3.1 solutions#understanding quadrilaterals exercise 3.1 in tamil#class 8 math exercise 3.1#maths with narendra sir
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Unwavering Presence Chapter 5
Cassian X Archeron Sister
Summary: Y/N falls into a routine and finds her place in the Night Court. Even gets to have a one on one moment with the renowned Spymaster. But her anxiety spikes when Rhys and Mor Bring Feyre back urgently from the Spring Court
Content Warning; Nothing comes to mind
Word Count: 3.1
Masterlist Chapter 4
The next few days I was able to fall into a routine. Mornings were dedicated to training with Cassian, where I could feel my body getting stronger little by little. The more I trained, I found that the nightmares were kept at bay. Lunches were spent with Rhys. He was casually asking me questions about Feyre. Her favorite color, if she had any favorite meals before we lost our fortune, any embarrassing stories I could share. Along with that he would lay out the King of Hybern’s plan and how he wanted to take the Human lands back. He gave me more information than Tamlin and Lucien were willing to share. Then Mor would take me to the closest café before we explored the town and all the shops.
After a long day of working out Mor made sure to take me clothes shopping to make sure I had a sufficient wardrobe even though we had gone shopping the day before. My hands were full of the bags from today’s excursion as walked toward the dimly lit sitting room of the town house. Azriel was lounging on the sofa staring at the fire in quiet contemplation, a glass of whiskey in his hand. “Hey, Az.” I dropped the bags and his head moved toward the thudding sound. He tilted his head, his mouth pressed in a tight line as his gaze met mine, a silent question in the air. “Mor made me buy every item that I glanced at for longer than 5 seconds.” He huffed out a breathy laugh, but I noticed how his shadows perked at the sound of the blonde female’s name.
Azriel lips quirked, and he reached over to the end table of the sofa and grabbed an empty glass and filled it with the Amber liquid and held it out for me patting the spot next to him. I dragged my feet over to him and grabbed the drink in thanks for taking a seat on the other end of the sofa, my back resting on the arm rest where I’m facing the spymaster. I hadn’t spent a lot of time with the Spymaster, he had been out doing some missions and I only got to see him in passing. “Thanks!” he nodded and clinked his glass with my own. I took a sip and let the burn of the amber liquid warm my throat. I watched as the shadows swirled around his shoulders and his wings; they were magnificent. “Have you always had your shadows.
Azriel took a sip of his drink, “For as long as I can remember.” He looked at me mischief in his eyes as a breath of cold kissed the back of neck and both of my wrists. Looking down at the sudden temperature change I found his shadows swirled around my arms like the night mist kissing my skin and tickling the back of my neck causing me to giggle. I lifted my free hand and watched as the shadows slid around my arm and through my fingers the scent of citrus and the night breeze wafted through my nose.
I was entranced by their movements and the sensation of them along my skin, “They’re so beautiful.”
I could feel the sofa move and I didn’t need to look to see he was shifting, not used to the compliment I paid his shadows. Though he whispered through his glass, “Thanks,” throwing back the rest of the liquid. He didn’t even flinch from the burn of the alcohol as I tore my eyes from the shadows that were now settling into my hands. Azriel stared back into the fire, his hand idly twisting his glass around his knee. The firelight accentuated the white scars covering his hands. Cassian left out how Azriel got those scars when he talked about how he and Az met, and I would never pry, but he looked glum. There was a haunted look gracing his features and it unsettled something deep in me.
I set my own glass down the whiskey long forgotten and scooted closer to Az. I was about to reach out and looped my arm around his and I caught how he tensed at my reached-out arm, and I retracted my arm the shadows pulling it in protest. As if they wanted me to reach my hand out. “I’m so sorry, Azriel,” I scooted back from him. The shadows left my arms and returned to their master. “I should have asked if it was ok to touch you.” I sighed and looked up at the ceiling guilt building in my gut. “I tend to want to link arms or hold hands or hug anyone who may be feeling sad. I’ve never been good with words but when I sense someone’s sad,” I looked at Azriel, “Or brooding.” Az snorted, but I pressed forward, “Feyre was never one to talk about her feelings including hard messy feelings, but I always knew when she needed me to hold her hand or be nearby. Apparently knowing I was there good enough for her.” Az nodded his head as in understanding.
I scooted once more to create more distance and clasp my hands together and looked at the fire letting the silence blanket us. My thoughts went back to Feyre and how lonely and afraid she might have been feeling. The anxiousness she might be feeling thinking that I’m dead. She was already falling apart while I was there, Tamlin happy to let her wither away. I closed my eyes and tried to level my breathing. The new month was approaching, and I would be able to see her. Would she be angry that I wasn’t dead or think that I ran away and abandoned her. What if she thou-
I blinked once, twice, and was able to acknowledge that a scarred hand over my clasped ones. The softness of them going against the raised skin covering them along with the warmth they provided. The warmth contrasted with the cool kisses his shadows skittering over my cheeks I finally met the Hazel eyes of Azriel that were so much like Cassian’s but different he had more flecks of green. “Your heartrate spiked; you were thinking so hard It was as I could see every thought that appeared in your head.”
Slinking one hand out of his grasp keeping one hand in his deciding the intertwining my fingers with his. There is a silent moment before he weaved his fingers through mine.” I smiled looking back at our entwined hands. “You remind me of Cassian you know.” My head snapped back to the Shadowsinger and he smiled, “When Rhys and Cass found me, and then tormented me like the pricks they are. Whenever I was stressed or scared, Cass would always put a hand on me should or bump shoulders with me. Especially In those first few months when I was free from my imprisonment. He always wanted me to know that he was there and that he had my back.” He gave me another small smile, “Because he knew that I didn’t talk especially big messy feelings.” I smiled as he threw my words back at me.
I leaned my head on his shoulder, “He’s a good male.” I whispered.
He pressed his cheek against the top of my head, “You’re a good woman, Y/N.” I felt the shadows swirl around our entwined hands, “You’re a good sister.”
I closed my eyes for a breath moment and let his scent calm me. “I wish that were the truth, Az.” I lifted my heads and gave him a small smile, “What kind of sister lets her twin get her neck snapped?” I yawned and was met with his concerned look, and I waved him off. “So, Mor’s pretty huh?”
Az groaned and leaned his head on the back of the couch, “Have you always been a busy body like this?”
I smiled at him, “For as long as I can remember, Shadowsinger.” I threw his words back at him. “Don’t worry. I won’t press you on it. She is gorgeous but that’s coming from a plain human girl. Everyone here is extremely pretty.” He rolled his eyes but gave her a smile. “I’m heading to bed, the last thing I want is for Cassian to make me run for being late.”
“Or have water splashed on you in bed. He’s notorious for that.” I snorted to myself, “I’ll be joining you guys tomorrow. Not that you mind the alone time with our general.” Heat crept in my face, “I just want to get some training in before I’m heading out again.”
“You’ll be a nice addition.” I bite my lip, “Do you like your position, Az?”
Azriel furrowed his brow, “I do. Why do you ask?”
I shrugged, “It just seems like being Spymaster can be lonely. I know you have known the Inner Circle for centuries, but if you ever want to talk, I’m around.” I blow him a kiss, “Good Night, Spymaster.”
“Good Night, Y/N.”
***
The next morning, I stepped out in the blazing sun to see the two Illyrian’s shirtless and sparring. Sweat coated both of their brows. Two predators were circling around ready to strike and I could not help but stare in awe. Azriel’s eyes flicked to me and back to Cassian whose back was to me his wings tucked back tightly, hair up in a bun. Azriel shifted his features into one of worry and Cassian spun in my direction and he immediately recognized his mistake. Azriel took the opportunity to strike fist hitting the middle of his back, Cassian barely flinched in pain.
He turned back to the Shadowsinger and went in straight for an attack. Punch. Dodge, sweep of the leg, The way Cassian fought was like the way Nesta would dance on the ballroom floor and there was a pang of sadness that hit my chest at the thought of my sister. I wondered if either of them missed me or Feyre. I honestly doubted it as they never really cared of my presence before so my absence would not make a difference doesn’t mean that I didn’t miss them and wished for Elain to brush my hair or Nesta to read me a story like they did when we were small.
A grunt pulled me from those thoughts to find Cassian putting Azriel in a chokehold, Cassian’s wings flared in triumph. “You gonna tap, Az.”
Az smirked and gave me a playful wink, “Not a chance.” Quickly Az stuck his leg and wrapped it around Cassian’s knee and twisted his body and Cassian found himself on his back and Cassian had just enough time to tuck his wings so that it wouldn’t scrape going down. Az in a snap had his hand to Cassian’s throat keeping his wings tucked.
Cassian’s eyes shifted toward me ever so slightly and an idea bloomed in my head. I gave him a wink and made a show of stumbling causing. Azriel didn’t take his eyes off his prey, and I let the world tilt on its access and collapse on the floor the sun blazing on my cheeks and behind my eye lids. I could hear feet shifting and shuffling. A scarred hand grazed my cheek, “Shit, Y/N” Panic laced in his voice, and I opened one of my eyes to see Azriel flaring his wings to block the sun from my face.
Azriel gazed back at me in a daze and Cassian placed him back in a headlock. Azriel eyes shone shock. “Do you yield, Shadowsinger?” I teased a playful smirk gracing my lips.
Azriel reluctantly tapped Cassian’s arms and the General released his friend. “You’re an evil little thing, Archeron.” Azriel rose and walked over to the water station. I remained lying down and enjoyed the sun on my face.
Shadows blocked my sunlight and then Leather and Sandal wood wafted over me. “What a clever little stunt you pulled, Princess.” I opened my eyes to see Cassian, basically touching his nose to mine. His eyes gleamed brightly and there was a sense of pride in his face, a smile wide across his handsome tan face. “Clever wicked, Woman.” He whispered, nudging his nose with mine and I smiled placing my hands on his chest and lightly pushing so I could sit up. He got to his feet and held out a hand,
I placed my hand in his and he hoisted me up and I stood up with such speed I ran into his chest. He wrapped an arm around my waist, to stabilize me, “You, okay?” He asked concern worn on his features.
I nodded and the General released me from his grasp. “I have to say I was hoping you would get what I was trying to do.” He chuckled as he put his shirt back on.
“Oh, he got it alright, He will always find a reason to cheat. Since we were children.” Azriel grumbled. Handing some water to his brother.
Before Cassian could argue Mor ran through the door with urgency, her eyes scouring until her brown eyes locked on mine, “Y/N we have a problem. Tamlin locked Feyre in a manor, she freaked out. Rhys could feel her pain, her fae power erupted. I brought her to Rhys.”
A hand slid around my waist, as the words sank in. “Is she okay?”
Mor’s lips formed in a tight line, “She’s unconscious but we got her out of the manor.”
My hand slid over the one on my waist to ground me. “Where is she?”
“Rhys took her to the House of Wind.”
“Cassian.” I whispered.
Cassian had me in his arms in an instant, “Hang on.” He instructed me and I wrapped my arms around his neck as he shot to the sky. My grip on him tightened and I closed my eyes as the speed we were going made my eyes water.
Time moved slowly even though Cassian was flying at rapid speeds. Feyre was alone when she was abandoned by Tamlin, and I wasn’t there. I am no better than Tamlin leaving her on her own. “Stop.” Cassian gritted. I opened my eyes, “Its not your fault.” He said as he landed on the balcony of one of the rooms. He placed me down and I was about to run find Rhys when his hand gripped my arm, “Princess, listen to me.” I paused, “This. Is. Not. Your fault. Tamlin did this, not you. You don’t need to shoulder this burden.”
I bit my lip and gave him a curt nod; the General released my arm and I darted to go find Rhys. I ran through the hall and followed the pull that I always have for my sister. I slammed open the door and Rhys stood his eyes rimmed red. “Y/N.” His voice was drowned out by my sister’s unconscious body. Her breath rising and falling.
Y/N, she’s fine. She had a major panic attack. She’s just sleeping it off.
I sat at the foot of the bed and gripped my sister’s ankle and rubbed my thumb. Her chest rising and falling in even Rhythm.
“Y/N did you eat?” Rhys asked, his voice hoarse.
“Rhysand.” I whispered and his hand gripped my shoulder and gives it a comforting squeeze, “Shut up. I just want to be with my sister.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No. Stay.”
Rhys moved a chair next to the one he was sitting on, a purple lounge chair a chair that could accommodate wings. “That chair is yours when you want to move. I’ll go bring you some food.” I nodded as he walked out and shut the door behind him.
Once the door closed, did I let the tears fall as I squeezed her ankle, “Feyre, I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry.”
I sighed and moved to the chair and sat there while I watched her chest rise and fall afraid if I look away she’s going to stop.
***
I was sitting on the large chair Rhys left for me, my knees tucked to my chest watching the rise and fall of Feyre's chest. I hadn't kept track of the hours and meals missed, just the even breathing of my slumbering sister. I could feel Rhys behind me he had not been able to sit down, and they came back from the Spring Court. I lifted my arm out of my palm open. Rhys slid his hand into mine. "She'll be okay, Rhys."
"I know," His voice was hoarse. I felt his lips abnormally dry on the top of my hand, "Get some sleep. She's not going to wake up anytime soon."
"I'm fine." I leaned my head on the back of the chair.
There was a prolonged silence, Rhys's thumb swiping the top of my hand when there was a knock on the door, and door creaked open and a familiar deep voice filled the room, "Y/N, can I steal you?"
I didn't look at Cassian focused on Feyre's pale gaunt face guilt overriding my system, "No, I won't leave her." The door shut, and Rhys released my hand. Boot thudded on the tile, and I could feel the General's gold flecked eyes on me.
"Princess, you need to sleep."
A tan hand tucked a strand of hair behind me, "I can't leave her. Not when this is my fault." My voice was hollow to my own ears as I reached out and stroked my sisters, overheated cheek and leaning back.
A sigh rang in the room, and strong arms lifted me from the chair, and before I could protest, Cassian was sitting where I was adjusting his wings in a comfortable position and placing me on his lap. “What are you doing?”
His toned, muscled hands tucked me close, and he maneuvered his wings to provide warmth “I know when I’m not going to win a battle. So, I’m compromising.”
The comforting smell of Leather and Sandalwood flooded my nose, and calm and exhaustion ran through my bones. I stilled and whispered, “Why?”
Cassian pressed his forehead to mine and whispered, “You take care of all your loved ones. Someone needs to take care of you. Someone to remind you this is not your fault, and you shouldn't punish yourself because of what happened. Rhys is here. You are not the only one who wants and can take care of your sister." He pulled away, and I finally met his gaze. He patted his shoulder, indicating where I should lay my head, and I obeyed the silent command. "Good, now close your eyes, Princess." I did and let the sounds of the fire pull me under, and I swore I felt gentle lips upon my forehead.
***
Cassian POV
The steady heartbeat of Y/N's chest almost lulls me to sleep when Rhys softly speaks, "I'm going to need you to go to Windhaven."
I softly swore working hard not to wake up the sleeping woman in my arms, "Are you kidding me?"
Rhys looked exhausted and rubbed his face, "We are going to need the Illyrians you'll need to spend some time there to make them more willing to join the cause." I formed a tight line on my lips. "It's bad Cass."
I adjust my arm so that I could cradle Y/N's head as she adjusts and sighs contently. "What about Y/N and Feyre?"
Rhys looked at the woman in my arms, "Y/N will be training with Az he's coming home tomorrow. Feyre, will need time and I'll take care of her. Though Y/N is going to fight me on it."
I chuckled, "Probably. She loves fiercely and she's so protective of the people she loves."
Rhys gives a waned smile, "Just like someone else I know."
"Prick."
"You love me." Rhys leaned against his chair. "Rest Cass, you'll need your strength"
"You too, Rhys." and I took in the sweet Jasmine scent of Y/N and placed my head against the head rest and fell asleep, with Y/N tucked tightly in my arms.
Chapter 6
Story Tags: @hellodarling1357 @hnyclover @waytoomanyteenagefeels @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @esposadomd @sleepylunarwolf @stressed-reader @kylaisra @marvelouslovely-barnes @magicstrengthandcourage @spideytingley @awkardnerd @donttellthecats @tastydewdrops @vermillionwinter @asweetblueberry2 @bunnyredgirl @homeslices @azriels-mate2 @oksloan3 @wallacewillow0773638 @fandom-crashlanding @writingstreetspirit @hannzoaks @minnieloo @tuggboatfishin @judig92 @atrxidxs @dustyinkpages @secretlyhers @mxblobby @blogforficslol @historygeekqueen @turtleshavesoulmates @scooobies @anuttellaa @earth-to-lottie @slytherintaco @fxckmiup @tinystarfishgalaxy @chessebookgirl
#cassian x reader#cassian fanfic#cassian acotar#cassian x you#acotar#acotar fanfiction#rhysand x reader#azriel x reader#archeron sister#cassian imagine#cassian acosf#unwaveringpresence
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Hideout (3.1)
touch-starved!Nomad Steve Rogers x motel employee!Reader
Sensitive Boy, part I (see previous or series)
Summary: Steve surprises you with help at the perfect time.
Warnings for light smut (I have to split this chapter or it's just suddenly twice as long as the last, but really there's just massage and an implied orgasm in this half. You know me: too many feels and too much development...) MINORS DNI. This series is 18+ only. If you are underage or simply enjoy lighter content, there is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this post is not for you! WC 3.2k
With so much on your mind, scaring the crap out of you is not difficult, so his strong hands hold you upright.
“Don’t do that,” you shriek, barely glancing at Steve’s face. You startled so suddenly your housekeeping cart is left rolling away at a snail’s pace.
“Sorry, I—“ long arms abandon you and reach to stop the bin “—it said on your website you were closed for renovations, and…”
You look him up and down. You were sure after he left two months ago that you’d never see him again. You’d gone too far. You’d pushed him too hard. He wasn’t ready.
Steve adjusts the strap over his shoulder. “I thought maybe I could help out…if you want?”
The last guests checked out a half-hour ago, and you readied to spend the whole week meticulously refreshing each room with your parents. The list of what needs done, however, doesn’t only include the motel. There’s a bunch you all had let slide up at the house. Help would…be extremely helpful actually.
Steve pulls a paper bag out of his knapsack. “Or I brought you some lunch if you just want a break or something.”
“It’s okay,” you rush out. “More than okay. Thank you, yes. We’d love—I’d love that.”
No one else can know it’s him-him there though. You’ll have to think of a way to keep your parents and St-‘Grant’ as far apart as possible, and how long you can manage that is…questionable.
If Steve’s not worried though, you’re okay.
Turns out, keeping your family up at the house is easy. Your mom shouts down the phone with relief that she can tackle the fridge, and you hear your dad mumble something about ‘the garage in daylight.’ You can enjoy a sandwich in the office with Steve in peace, explaining what all needs done before the electricians show up Friday afternoon.
The closure hasn’t been planned for a long time—not even before Steve and ‘Tom’s’ last visit—hence why you just painted Room 8, 5, 2, and 1 since March, but doing all those is how you and your parents really noticed that the light fixtures from the ‘90s were not only dated but very worn and that the same color layered over and over again for twenty years was, well, getting old.
Warmer months are better for the work. Pipes won’t freeze while you air out paint fumes, etc. The week after the gigantic, city festivities of Independence Day is notoriously dead. Since there were no reservations this stretch as of April, the family jumped at the chance to fix it all in one big, daunting go.
Saying you’d looked forward to this is a wild overstatement. You’ll be glad when it’s finished, and that’s the bulk of your excitement.
With his assistance though? Hope soars.
Steve will help you take down the sconces, the hanging lamps, and the panels above the vanities, then you both can—
“Where’s the paint?”
He’s very intense with the gameplan. Three guesses why.
“Dad’s gonna pick it up today. Probably. I’ll text him.” You whip out your cell again. “We didn’t think we’d get that far by evening.”
Steve nods.
“We also need to move all the furniture away from the walls and drape plastic to protect the carpet. Oh, and put tape along the trim and doorframes, ya know.”
Steve nods again. He wads up the wrapping from his sandwich and casually asks, “are all the doors open?”
You only just get your finger in the air to point at the desk.
“Master key is—“
But Steve is observant and has clocked everything about his surroundings each time he’s stayed, apparently. He stretches over to the wall beyond the counter, snatches the (correct) unmarked key, and heads out the door.
The service bell rings gently to emphasize the conversation is over.
All furniture in every room is pulled away by the time you finish sanitizing the one guest room he interrupted.
He asks where you keep the ladder, not that he’ll need it, but you will for reaching some of the lights.
You don’t know whether to be in awe of or exhausted by his efficiency.
He’s rigid and militant—go figure—until these few moments he suddenly can’t be.
As you toss plastic over the last bed to move, Steve yanks that sucker across the floor so fast, you roll off. His eyes are saucers as he apologizes, but you get the giggles and pick yourself up.
His fingers can’t separate thin layers of the plastic at one point, and he throws a minor fit until three rip apart together. Steve frowns at you and grumbles that he’s only ever used cloth for this before. It seems to take everything in his power not to say “back in my day,” but you can read between the lines.
Years of crusted paint makes the removal of some fixtures tricky.
Steve rips out one stripped screw with needle nose pliers, squeaks in alarm at the hole left behind, and then quietly asks if you have patch paste.
You call your dad before he’s left to buy paint. He adds spackling to the list.
The closest Steve comes to telling you anything specifically about himself is when you struggle with a stuck bolt.
“Just a little trick I learned when I was—“ Steve wraps his big hand around yours to pull the wrench instead of push from the other direction “—smaller.” He huffs out a laugh, adding, “when I couldn’t, ya know, ‘put my weight into it’ because a feather could’a knocked me over.”
As you relish the simple contact of his fingers, you smile, too.
“Hmm. I heard you got into back alley scrapes.”
“If you heard that I won any of those, you were lied to.” He patiently waits for you to finish removing the bolt before he pries the aged metal and glass away from the old paint it’s stuck in. Steve sighs dramatically.
“Shoddy education these days…”
“I…” You tap his bicep with the claws of the wrench. “I can’t argue with that. We hear only what they tell us about…heroes.”
You should have known he’d shut down at that word, but it’s the truth. Even with him right in front of you, the only things you know about Steve Rogers are from books, newspapers, and the internet. At face value—looking directly into the face of this man—all of what you’ve been told is hogwash. It’s insufficient. It barely covers 1% of who this man is.
He teaches you tricks of the weak man’s trade because it helped him once, too. Today, he’s friendly. Not that he was unfriendly before, but Steve is so reserved he never reference the past, in general, i.e. that there was a past existence of like the planet much less him.
It’s the number one rule of Fight Club: you don’t talk about Fight Club.
If there was ever a real fight club, it’s the Avengers.
You have no official rules for what this is between you. You don’t have to to know that is the most important one. You do not talk about Fight Club. Steve isn’t afraid of silence, that much is clear, but he isn’t a fan. He tries—he is trying—to connect and relate. He can’t be a man of the people, however, if he can’t talk to the people.
It’s important: connection. You know with every fiber of your being that Steve deserves it, but even with unlimited, super-human strength, he cannot get himself out from between this rock and that hard place.
You do not talk about Fight Club, especially when you’ve been kicked out of Fight Club.
Today, though, he’s a little different, a little softer. Perhaps it’s knowing there are no other people in the building, perhaps he is truly more comfortable with you, but either way, Steve is not flat or off-putting.
His organized persona, his focus on the work, his indirect interactions and practical touch; they all fit here while he has a project. It’s the closest he can be to his old self, maybe even his real self, without mentioning the past—the fighting past—at all.
“You’re really good company,” you tell Steve, “even when you make holes in the walls.”
He tilts his head down and blushes. He shrugs as he takes the sconce out to the dumpster. Although he didn’t say it, you hope this is okay.
Either way, you relish it. The help. The touch. The silence. All of it.
You relish Steve.
Your dad brings by the paint, spackling, and a surprise of pizza for dinner while Steve is taping the baseboards in a corner. You introduce ‘Grant’ from afar and haul the cans and boxes from the car to the room, cataloguing all you two have finished to this point and what you’ll do before stopping for the night.
Dad is impressed. He’d suspected the three of you—you, he, and Mom, that is—might settle for slapping some paint up around where the electrician would install the new lights. No one planned on getting this far in one evening.
He won’t stand in the way of progress, so your dad simply calls out, “bit of an artist, are ya?”
Steve looks up, confident with only the side table lamps plugged in, he can barely be seen. “Just want to be useful,” he mutters.
You wink at your dad as he heads back to the still-running car. “Grant is a jack of all trades.”
You’re sure to thank him for the food and let him know all the motel stuff is completely covered for tomorrow, too. You’ll work as late as you can and start as early as possible.
Dad says your friend has gone ‘above and beyond.’ You agree wholeheartedly.
‘Grant’ would more aptly be described as a machine.
All the furniture moved, all the lights taken down, all bordering taped, and now all blemishes in the walls smoothed, your impromptu contractor finally calls it quits when he’s forced to watch stuff dry.
You’ve kept the air conditioning going in one room.
Steve tentatively asks if he should walk you up to the house, but you counter with “it’s not any less dangerous for an average guy alone to return” and a cheeky smirk. Besides, it is very late. You let Captain OCD keep going; you tapped out a while ago.
He puts his hands on his hips, arms akimbo, thinking of a comeback that never manifests. After giving up, Steve takes his tiny bag into the bathroom and brushes his teeth.
You can faintly hear it over the murmur of the TV.
You aren’t really watching. It’s background noise to your general exhaustion.
With only a side lamp and the screen as light, Steve’s bare feet crumple over the discarded plastic sheet on the floor. He falls into one side of the bed, fully-clothed and (finally) tired.
Though productive, the day has been a distant one, working in different rooms for most of it and tiptoeing around real conversation. You want him to feel appreciated, not pressured, so you ask if he’d like the TV on for a while or would rather quiet.
Steve just grunts with his eyes closed.
Gently, you place a hand on his chest to steady you, leaning to kiss his bearded cheek.
“Thank you, Steve,” you say softly. “Good night.”
He hums when you say his name, and before you can lift your hand away, he captures it under his, holding you in place.
His eyes aren’t open. He can’t see you smile wider.
“Okay.” You tuck yourself into his chest as he raises his other arm out of the way. “Okay.”
Your ear sits in the dip beneath his collarbone, listening to his steady heart, his thumb sweeping back and forth over you knuckles.
He smushes you closer to his side. You toss your leg over his.
You forget to turn off the TV.
He’s sanding the spackled spots by the time you wake, so you rub across his back and dismiss yourself to get breakfast up at the house.
Steve makes no effort to go with, which is fine. You assumed as much.
Your dad calls Grant a ‘magician’ over the pop of oil in the skillet and insists you give your friend whatever he needs to keep working so fast. You are only half-joking when you admit the key is staying out of his way.
Bonus: the exchange reinforces your parents simply leaving the two of you alone down the hill, and you proudly tell Steve that when delivering him an enormous plate of scrambled eggs.
He jumps right back into planning-mode and orders you to roll the first coat of paint onto large areas. He’ll follow, completing the edges and corners.
It’s such a domestic thing to do. There is no one in danger, there are no bodies piling up if he makes a wrong move, and he can go faster or take his sweet time. Steve breaks when he wants or needs to. He sits outside and listens to the birds in the sunshine. No one is around to question him, not even you. You are only there to encourage.
You realize he was looking for a project. He’s used to—and likes—being busy, getting his hands dirty, producing results.
It’s a long, messy day where he becomes more serene in spirit the more intensely he works. You reward him with gentle sweeps of your hand down his arms, pats on his shoulders, and brushes at the small of his back.
Despite the almost constant movement, the day is over before you know it, earlier than yesterday, but it’s too hot to go on.
All the windows stay open to air out the fumes.
Though it won’t stop you from sweating, you both shower off as many splatters and flecks of paint as you can. You insist he goes first so there’s plenty of hot water.
He’s sitting on the bed, shirtless, checking his phone when you come out of the bathroom, but he immediately squirrel the device away in his small bag. Not much to carry around. Not much to leave behind. Steve can’t leave a trace of himself anywhere.
Hunched over and fatigued, he flashes a polite smile your way and blinks heavily.
He deserves the world.
You grab the small bottle of lotion from the countertop and playfully jump onto the bed behind him.
“How about a massage, yeah? You much be aching.”
Honestly, you don’t mean for it to sound sexual, but the phrase comes out downright dirty, making Steve awkwardly chuckle.
“You don’t have to,” he placates.
“Nonsense, I want to. It’ll make the air feel cooler.” That’s as good of an excuse as any. Who cares when the rippled expanse of his back flexes wildly in your touch?
His breathes are audible from the beginning.
You dig at his traps, his leg bouncing as he tries to relax. You use your thumbs, the flats of your hands, and your knuckles.
He shoves his fist in his mouth when he starts to moan, covering the move with a cough, but muffling the noise is abandoned in favor of clasping over his lap. He’s intent on hiding his hardness this time. There’s nothing you can say to truly lessen the sting of needing more. You can’t simply tell him he’s allowed to desire this; you have to ignore his misplaced shame.
But you can take pity on him.
“If you lie flat—“ you step off the bed to give him privacy “—I’ll have more leverage.”
You hear him crawl and adjust on the sheets. “Unlike the torque on a wrench,” you add, just to show you’ve been listening to him.
More lotion is needed for the surface area.
You turn up the TV, feining interest in the late night show so any noise he makes is not as obvious. What the speakers can’t cover, however, is Steve’s involuntary thrusts when you rub the heels of you palms up and down the sides of his spine. If you prop up on your knees, he has more range of motion and doesn’t obviously rock you while mindlessly humping the bed.
His sweats are slung low on his hips, two darts of muscle prominent above his ass.
They are irresistible, the perfect grooves to target and roll into, and he immediately mewls long and deep into the mattress, fingers curling and relaxing while his body seizes.
He hasn’t even finished coming, you think, before he taps at your leg and races to the bathroom.
You hope you didn’t push too far. You hope he’d tell you to stop if he needs more space, more time. Mostly, you hope he knows you’d give him every conceivable pleasure, just because he is him.
The water runs a long time, continuous splashing in the sink, and then nothing.
He didn’t bring much because he doesn’t have much. Your heart sinks, realizing you’ve made him soil one of only two pairs of pants he has here.
He cracks open the door, muttering, but you can’t make out the words.
You turn the volume back down. “What?”
“It pretty hot.” He clears his throat. “Would you mind if I sleep…without…?”
“Naked?” you squeak before composing yourself. “That’s fine. Whatever’s comfortable.”
You shuffle up the bed to click off the lamps. This man isn’t the type to strut around in the nude—yet, anyway—so in the faint and ever-shifting glow of the screen across the room very little can be seen.
‘Little,’ however, can’t describe anything that is visible about the man emerging from the bathroom.
You have to make a point not to stare, but no skit or commercial on the channel promises the same level of entertainment.
Steve slides himself beneath the sheet, sitting near the headboard.
You hold up the remote. “On or off?”
“Off,” he says, “please.”
You’ve certainly done enough for one day. You won’t push your luck, so you hit the power button, toss it on table, and snuggle into your half of the bed, facing away.
“If it’s too hot for any covers, that’s okay, too.”
A rustling interrupts the rhythmic whir of crickets in the night until you feel a warm hand lightly mold to your waist.
This should be encouraged. This should be rewarded.
“Hey, Stevie,” you whisper, waiting for his hum, “happy belated birthday.”
At most you expect a grip of notice, but instead, the big hand snakes across you and hauls you into his chest, his long legs bending to match the crook of yours, his nose and forehead tucked against your occipital.
“We did okay today,” Steve mumbles into your shirt.
You walk your hand over your stomach to find his, lacing the fingers together. “Yes. Yes, we did.”
Steve got to be useful today. He had a partner today. He will tomorrow and the day after, for as long as he stays, for as long as you’re alive. Nothing can change that.
Maybe he can’t talk about Fight Club, but he connects with you anyway.
A/N: Whoopsy. Didn't want to make y'all wait for a 6k+ chapter, so here's the first half! I am DEEP in the feels of this one. So, so many notes have been taken. The brainrot is real, and I fucking love it!!!!
[Next: Sensitive Boy, part II]
[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]
@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @rogersbarber @spectre-posts @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @im-a-slut-for-fluff @fangirl-swagg @georgeweaslysgirl @austynparksandpizza @claireelizabeth85 @jamneuromain @rach2602 @royalwritersoftheuniverses @shelbygeek @rogersideup @eyebagsanonymous @trudy-shams @saranghaey @awkwardgiraffe726 @marvelmenwhore @happinessinthebeing @before-we-get-started @sjsmith56 @esposadomd @cjand10 @yearningforsappho @mrsevans90
#steve rogers fanfiction#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers fic#steve rogers series#steve rogers fluff#steve rogers fanfic#nomad steve#steve rogers smut#steve rogers x reader smut#touchstarved#touch starved!steve#touch starved#captain america fanfiction#captain america x reader#captain america x you#nomad captain america#steve rogers x you#steve rogers x y/n#nomad steve rogers#hideout series
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The New Girl in Tinseltown - Chapter 1 - Ukiyo
A Dieter Bravo x Actress! Reader PR Marriage AU
Series Masterlist │ Next Chapter
Chapter Rating: E (18+, MDNI)
Chapter Summary: Tired of being pigeonholed into your good girl persona, you take a chance on a night out with Dieter Bravo, America's favorite Bad Boy. A drunken night leads to the two of you in Las Vegas...
Chapter Warnings and Tags: (Not So) meet cute, PR Relationships, what happens in Vegas ends up in the headlines, Dieter just does not give a FUCK, Smut, SO MUCH SMUT, a look at the inner workings of Tinseltown and the sleaziness it comes with, Somnophilia, Slightly Dub-Con (but she's into it), cunnilingus, SLOW BURN WE DONT KNOW IT, this is unhinged, no use of y/n, No beta we die like men!
Word Count: 3.1 K
A/N: After the insistence of some of my readers wanting me to write a Dieter story, I finally bit the bullet! I will be honest - it's tough for me to watch 'The Bubble' in its entirety. Hence, I heavily relied on TikTok and its fabulous edits of Dieter to develop his characterization. This was really fun for me to write, and I hope you all enjoy the ride our favorite trash panda is about to take us on! Gird your loins and your panties, babies!
Ukiyo - living in the moment, detached from the things in life that bother us.
You feel like you're trapped in a surreal, fucked-up dream.
Memories from the night before flooding your mind as you gradually pull yourself back into consciousness.
"It's nothing personal, Dollface, it's just business," the sleazy hot-shot producer whispers in your ear. His hands graze your lower back, and you force a smile amidst the swarm of paparazzi. "I'm not a miracle worker, baby. They want an Angelina, not a Jennifer. Casting America's sweetheart in an R-rated movie? It's a tough sell."
"I'm not exactly jailbait," you retort, turning toward the paparazzo bellowing your name, a practiced smile on your face. "I believe I'm ready to explore different roles-"
"Well, that 'no-nudity' clause is really messing you up, baby. Times are changing, and they want bold, daring, sexy actresses," he remarks, his tone oozing condescension.
The producer's creepy breath tickles your ear, and his hands venture lower down your back. "I can help you with that," he whispers, and the suggestion feels like a toxic cloud hanging in the air, making your skin crawl.
You toss and turn in bed, gripping the silky sheets beneath you. The memory of his touch haunts your thoughts, leaving you uncomfortable and anxious.
"Dieter Bravo," your publicist cautions with a smile, guiding you down the carpet, "is someone you want to avoid tonight, Doll. Save yourself the hassle, seriously."
You furrow your brow, glancing down the red carpet to where Dieter stands. His unruly curls frame his face as he grins widely for the photographers. It's as if he senses your gaze; suddenly, his eyes lock onto yours, eyebrows raised in surprise. A smirk plays on his lips, and he blows a kiss in your direction.
"He's nothing but trouble, I'm surprised they let him on the carpet after what happened last year," your publicist states matter-of-factly.
"Care to remind me?" you breathe, smiling at the cameras. "He seems like a riot."
Your publicist shoots you a look. "Well, I don't consider getting arrested for public intoxication, disorderly conduct, and lewd behavior as something amusing-"
"I don't know, seems like he would be a fun time," you muse, playfully pushing your breasts in Dieter's direction. "Maybe that's what my career needs – someone like Dieter Bravo corrupting America's Sweetheart." Dieter leers at the gesture, waggling his tongue and adjusting himself as he walks backward into the venue, a mischievous grin on his face. "... besides, he hasn't been shy about wanting to 'put his face in between my tits', maybe I should just let him have at it."
"Are you seriously considering tanking your career before it's even taken off?" your publicist groans, steering you into the venue and handing you a flute of champagne. "People like him are like a virus; he'll infect everything about you." He lets out a sigh. "I understand you want to break out of the girl-next-door mold, but getting involved with Dieter Bravo is not the answer."
You take a sip of your champagne as you continue to eye fuck Dieter from across the room. "I don't know, maybe it is."
You're suddenly gasping in pleasure as you're finally jolted awake, the feeling of someone's hot breath against your skin as you arch your back at the sudden intrusion. "Fuck-" you sigh, looking down at the mass of unruly curly hair in between your legs. Dieter licks and parts your folds as you lock eyes with his, a shit-eating grin on his face. You swear you hear an insistent ringing in your head.
"Dieter?" you moan, realizing that what you're hearing is your ringtone from across the hotel room that you don't remember being in. "What-"
"Shh, baby. Let your husband eat you for breakfast," he mumbles against your pussy, his teeth scraping at your clit. He grabs onto your breast, squeezing and pinching your nipple as he sticks his other finger into you, eating you out so thoroughly like a starved man. Your cellphone rings again and you're too overwhelmed to care, your head pounding from whatever you drank the night before.
"Husband?" you ask confusedly as you feel yourself about to come.
"That's right, Doll, fuck I feel you squeezing the shit out of my fingers, are you gonna come for your husband?" he pleads, and you realize that you're both stark naked and that you somehow ended up from LA to Las Vegas, getting eaten out by America's Bad Boy in a suite at the Cosmopolitan. How in the fuck did we end up here? you ask yourself in a panic. Why the fuck is Dieter Bravo calling himself my husband?!
You're on your fifth glass of whatever champagne the venue is serving when you suddenly feel someone's hot breath against your ear. "I can't help but notice that you've been eye fucking me the entire night," Dieter groans, taking a seat next to you. "I guess my little ploy of trying to get your attention with that Wired interview worked out in my favor-"
"You know, there are more normal ways to get a girl's attention-"
"Ah, but you're America's Sweetheart, and your pitbull of a publicist won't let me near you, I had to let my-" he gazes at your cleavage, "intentions very clearly known."
"Well, I don't know if it's clearly known," you whisper. "I think you're just going to have to spell it out for me."
He smiles, leaning back in the seat as he spreads his legs, caging you in. "Do you want to have sex with me, Dollface?"
Your phone ringing a third time snaps you out of your reverie as you simultaneously chase your impending orgasm that your husband? is working so damn hard trying to get you there. "Fuck Dieter, I need-"
"What do you need, baby?" he pants, the sound of your slick as he licks at your folds aggressively, the loud squelching echoing throughout the room. "My wife has such a pretty little pussy, my fucking GOD," he praises, "Fuck, if this is heaven, I'm begging to see what hell has in store for me-"
It's obscene.
"Do you need my cock? Didn't get enough of it yesterday, huh?"
"My phone-"
"Fuck your phone," he dismisses as he starts to pump another finger into you, "Do you want your hubby's cock or not, baby?"
"Ye-"
Your legs are suddenly pulled to the edge of the bed, Dieter entering you in one fluid stroke. "Good enough answer for me." He pulls himself back, grabbing one of your legs and wrapping it around his waist as he thrusts aggressively back into you, his balls slapping your asscheeks as he begins to pound into you with a brutal pace. "Fuck, only took me being inside of you the whole night for you to take me in so fucking well-"
You chuckle as he accelerates out of the venue's parking garage in his PA's Mustang convertible, cackling like a madman as he maneuvers through the dwindling streets of LA. "Are you hungry, Dollface?" he yells, almost running a red light, his eyes fixed on the glowing In and Out sign in the distance.
"I shouldn't, I have that screen test next week-"
"Fuck the screen test!" he shouts. "The night is young, and you are gorgeous. Let Dieter take care of you, baby... while I still have you in my grasp. I ain't gonna waste a moment I have you in my orbit!"
He pulls into the In and Out parking lot, cutting the engine, and pulls you into his lap, his face immediately diving into the valley between your breasts. "You can suffocate me with these tits and I would die a happy man," he mumbles against your skin, his growl reverberating throughout your entire body like wildfire. "What do you say, Doll? Would you do me the honors?"
"Fuck Dieter," you moan, tipping your head back in pleasure as his tongue teases the edge of your dress covering your breasts. "Grab my tits," you beg, grabbing his hands for good measure.
"Dieter! My Man!" someone shouts in the distance. "What the fuck are you doing here?!"
"What does it look like I'm doing?" he yells back, "I'm about to fuck this beautiful woman in an In and Out parking lot, what are you doing here?"
"Fuck, can I take a pic, man?" the fan shouts as he approaches the convertible.
Dieter is railing you into oblivion when there's suddenly a heavy knock on the door. Your phone is ringing off the hook, and you can't help but desperately whine as Dieter wraps his arms around your neck, pulling you into a kiss. "Fuck, can't I fuck my wife in peace?!" he growls at the door, his pace quickening as he urges you to come on his cock. "I ain't answering the fucking door until you milk me dry, baby girl, you gonna come for me?"
"Fuck Dieter, don't fucking stop, please-"
The knocking on the door echoes throughout the room as Dieter suddenly arches his back, squeezing your thighs harshly as he explodes deep into your pussy, his fingers finding your clit as he desperately rubs circles, begging you to come. He slaps it for good measure, the sharp sudden pain making you arch off the bed as you grab ahold of him, screaming into his neck as you're suddenly blinded by a feeling of absolute fucking bliss that no one has ever been able to pull from your wrecked, shaking body.
"That's the fucking spirit, Doll, give me every-"
"OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!" you suddenly hear. "I KNOW YOU'RE FUCKING IN THERE!"
Dieter pulls himself out in a huff, not bothering to cover himself as he storms over to the hotel room door, opening it harshly for good measure. "What do you FUCKING WANT-" he growls to the intruder, only to be met with the widening eyes of your publicist, his PA, and the Hotel Manager. Your publisher harshly pushes himself through the threshold, pushing Dieter to the wall as he makes his way to the bedroom, and you hurriedly cover yourself as he bursts through the door.
A phone is thrust into your face, the image of you and Dieter in front of the Graceland Wedding Chapel in the background as you hold your hand up for the camera, Dieter kissing your cheek as the diamond ring on your finger winks back at you. You lift your hand to your face, your eyes widening at the ring on your finger as your publicist glares at you, his chest heaving.
"Do you want to tell me what the fuck happened last night?"
"So how do we fix this?" your publicist groans, the wrinkle between his brows more pronounced. "Maybe we can get this sham of a marriage annulled-"
"I have an idea," Dieter's PA chirps in, "What if we lean into this?"
"Absolutely not!" you find yourself shouting, your hands reaching for the bottle of painkillers on your coffee table. "I'm America's fucking sweetheart, the gossip rags are already having a field day about me getting my tits groped by America's bad boy at a fucking In and Out-"
"If I can recall, Dollface, you put my hands on said tits-" Dieter snarks, pushing his sunglasses down on his face, leaning into your chaise. "Must have done something right, hell, you were practically begging me to marry you, jumped on my lap the moment we got into the convertible-"
"Are you always this vulgar?" you bite back, taking a big gulp of water, some of the liquid spilling down your neck, onto the valley between your breasts. You notice Dieter gulp at the sight, his gaze resting heavily on your chest. He takes a tentative lick on his lips, a small smile forming on the corner of his mouth.
"Only for you, Mrs. Bravo." He winks, smirking.
"Stop that." You quip, crossing your arms around your chest.
"Stop what, Dollface?" he asks coyly, spreading out on the lounge.
"Looking at me like the cat that got the cream," you reply, refusing to meet what you imagine to be his smoldering gaze.
"Well," he breathes, a Cheshire grin on his face. "I most certainly got you to cream, several times-"
"I would think the feelings mutual," you seethe through your teeth. "I mean, I did get you to come in your pants just by sucking on your-"
“You want to land meatier, sexier roles, right? Break free from the rom-com stereotype,” Dieter's PA nervously interjects, “… and you certainly don’t want to face blacklisting in Hollywood due to your recent escapades,” he shoots a meaningful look at his boss. “I believe this marriage might actually be a strategic move. It could help you break out of the girl-next-door image and simultaneously soften Dieter's playboy persona.”
Dieter contemplates this, crossing his legs on the chaise lounge as he glances into the living room of the hotel suite. He smirks at the sight of you with your arms crossed around your chest, recalling the moments when you were pliant in his arms just a few hours ago, begging and whining as he licked and sucked every inch of your delectable skin. His dick twitches at the memory, hungry to be inside of you once more.
Dieter leans back, his fingers tapping on the armrest as he assesses the situation. “A calculated scandal to redefine my image and give her career a new direction? I suppose there's a certain allure to that.”
Your publicist interjects, “It's a risky move, but it could work. Public opinion is volatile. We need to control the narrative, give them a story that captivates and eventually redeems.”
Dieter smirks, his eyes narrowing as he looks at you. “So, America’s sweetheart and I play the happy couple, the media eats it up, and we both get what we want.”
You scoff, “This is insane. I’m not entering into a fake marriage for the sake of our careers.”
Dieter raises an eyebrow, "But what if it's not entirely fake?"
You glare at him, a mixture of disbelief and annoyance crossing your face. "What do you mean, not entirely fake?"
Dieter leans forward, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "We can keep the public guessing. A little ambiguity goes a long way in the celebrity world. We'll play the part when we need to, but in private, we keep things... interesting."
Your publicist looks skeptical, "That could be a recipe for disaster. What if it backfires? What if the public starts hating both of you?"
Dieter smirks, "Let them talk. Controversy sells, my dear. As long as we control the narrative, we can turn this into a win-win situation."
You cross your arms, feeling a headache coming on. The idea of navigating a fake-real marriage with Dieter is the last thing you want. Yet, there's a strange spark of curiosity. What if this insane plan could actually work?
As you contemplate the proposal, the room is filled with tension, waiting for your response. Dieter raises a curious eyebrow at you, a small smirk playing on his lips as he places his hand on them. He sees you gulp heavily at that, your legs crossing tentatively as you try to play coy. Ah, yes, sweetheart. I see you. I caught you in my web, and I'm going to consume every fucking inch-
You take a deep breath, considering the options laid out in front of you. The publicist watches you with a mix of concern and caution, awaiting your decision.
"I don't like it," you finally say, your tone firm. "But if it helps me keep my career and get the roles I want, I'll play along. Just remember, Dieter, if this blows up in our faces, it's on you."
Dieter grins, satisfied with your response. "Trust me, darling, this is going to be a wild ride. We'll be the talk of the town."
Your publicist rubs his temples, clearly not thrilled with the plan but realizing the potential benefits. "Fine, let's go with it. But we need a strategy, a narrative that controls the story. And we must be careful not to let things spiral out of control."
Dieter nods, already plotting the next move. "Leave it to me. We'll craft a story that keeps them guessing and wanting more. Our little secret, darling."
"... and there will need to be some ground rules," you say firmly, uncrossing your legs as you adjust yourself in front of Dieter, presenting the fact that you still haven't put on underwear under your dress. You smirk as he tries to adjust himself, the sight of his spend still leaking out of your pussy leaving him groaning. "If we are going to do this, you have to be in it for real which means... no fucking little Miss Suzy and embarrassing me. You're going to worship me in public, and make an honest wife out of me."
Dieter leans forward as he locks his darkened eyes at you, licking his lips in anticipation. "Oh baby, I'll show you how I'll make an honest wife of you, several times... maybe as soon as all the suits leave-"
"You love this, don't you?" you breathe, toying with the hem of your top, exposing your lace bralette in his direction. "Thinking you have me all riled up, thinking I'll beg for you-"
"Guys-" Dieter's PA attempts to diffuse the tension in the room, looking nervously at your publicist for backup. "Just think about it, okay? I'll have your lawyers draft up a contract for the both of you to look over."
"Why don't you all just get the fuck out and let me fuck my wife in peace?" he retorts, pulling his robe off for good measure, not a care in the world as his dick stands proudly erect. "You're wasting good light, and I intend to fuck her on every surface of this goddamn suite-"
"Lovely," you sigh into the couch, groaning as you pinch the space in between your eyes. "You're a real class act, you know that?"
"Well, I'll just-" His PA stutters, grabbing his messenger bag. "Let's leave them alone, call us when you get back to LA," he murmurs, motioning for your Publicist to follow him.
"We're not done with this conversation, Dollface," he chides, slinging his bag on his shoulder. "I expect to see you on Monday for the screen test?"
"Yes, yes, I'll be there," you dismiss him with a wave. "I'm sorry, for all of this," you say softly, refusing to look him in the eyes.
"Not as sorry as you're going to feel once you see the headlines," he warns. "Brace yourself, Dollface. Don't say I didn't warn you."
Taglist: @yxtkiwiyxt @skysmiller @picketniffler @readingiskeepingmegoing @islacharlotte @drewharrisonwriter
#the new girl in tinseltown#dieter bravo#dieter bravo x female reader#dieter bravo x you#dieter bravo x reader#dieter x reader#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal fandom#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal imagine#dieter bravo smut#dieter bravo fic#dieter bravo fanfiction#dieter bravo fanfic#the bubble
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The Wrath of the Stag
Chapter two (the finale)
Oliver Quick x f!Reader
My fic masterlist
Part 3.2.
Part 1: Actaeon
Part 2: Artemis
Part 3.1: The Wrath of the Stag (ch.1)
Warnings: smut, dubcon, fingering, choking, penetration sex, mentions of drugs, almost?onesided!Felix, dark!Oliver, character death, angst.
Word Count: 4K
So, you and Felix had reached the labyrinth.
Lush and blooming in daylight, it seemed hazy and darksome at night. But still, it was the same maze in which you used to love playing hide-and-seek and catch-up with Felix. You could never catch up with him, no matter how much you wanted to, which made you childishly angry, and he laughed and teased you all the time. Now it seemed somewhat symbolic to you.
"So, what did you want, can you finally say, please?" he wondered with a smile. He was already drunk enough, too, but you started sobering up a little from this long walk.
"You were right. Oliver can be weird. I thought we would talk, but he brushed me off and started dancing with one girl, then another... and then he and Venetia..."
You couldn't hold back your tears. Felix hugged you, comforting you. His warm embrace protected you from the cool air and sense of desperation. It seems as if he was covering you not only with safe arms, but also with his angelic wings.
"Hush, sweetie, hush," he said, quietly asking after a while, "...is it getting better?"
You nodded, looking up at him with tear-stained eyes.
Felix smiled slightly, gently wiping the tears from your cheek. Raising his eyebrows, he looked at you expressively, there was a pause in the air. Felix bent down and reached for your lips. You started answering without fully understanding what you were doing. All this alcohol, torn feelings, Oliver's behavior and, of course, the unrequited love for Felix buried deep inside you for several years, made you try to experience this feeling at least once. You enjoyed his warm, soft lips, hugging his shoulders, until it completely dawned on you. No, you couldn’t do that. Feelings for Felix were long in the past, and Oliver was in the present. The situation might be terrible and confusing, but at least you need to talk, and only then make such decisions as how to respond to someone's feelings or not. Especially since your feelings and thoughts now actually belonged to Oliver.
You gently pushed the guy away from you, "I'm sorry, Felix. I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"I'm... thinking about Oliver now."
"What?" he couldn't believe his ears, "Are you really ready to forgive this freak, even after everything I've told you?"
"We should at least listen to his side... and besides, I have... feelings for him," you finally admitted.
"Y/N, what should we listen to? He's a liar and a creep, that's all! What feelings? Oh, don't make me upset, please. I wouldn't want you to choose anyone over me, but if it's Oliver, then it's some kind of insult even!"
He grimaced, and you got angry, "Well, then don't be offended and better choose your own friends next time. Or, as your sister says, "toys"! But it's not for you to tell me who I should or shouldn't be with!"
"Fine. Have fun then! But I assure you, Oliver is unlikely to stay here for long..." Felix threw up his arms, and in a fit of anger turned around and left the maze.
* * *
Not far from the house, he plopped down on a bench, where Farleigh approached him with some two girls. Felix moodily lit a cigarette.
"Hey, buddy, what’s with the face?"
Catton Jr. said nothing and only frowned more, rolling the cig in his lips. Farleigh gave him a drink from his bottle, and then, turning around, quietly suggested, "Coke?"
* * *
You were wiping away the remnants of tears, leaning on the statue of the Minotaur and inhaling the sobering cool air. Looking up, you met the gaze of a horned monster. Despite the intimidating appearance, his eyes were plaintive, like a gentle cow's. You always paid attention to this detail, ever since you had noticed it once as a child, it helped you stop being afraid of the statue when you were running with Felix and Venetia in the maze. Any thing or person, if you look at them closer, does not seem as intimidating as at first glance. Perhaps even worthy of pity.
A familiar horned silhouette appeared in the maze.
"Oliver? How did you..."
"How did you like the party, Y/N? It seems that you completely abandoned your birthday boy tonight," he was slowly approaching you from the darkness. Up close, Oliver looked even more amazing in this suit. You involuntarily looked him up and down, lingering with your gaze on the naked torso peeking out from under the jacket, on which again hung only one chain reflecting the light of the moon. His summer-tanned skin contrasted so well with the glaringly white suit. The pebbles creaked softly under his feet as he came up to you and gently stroked your neck. Your skin covered with goosebumps. You swallowed, pushing those thoughts aside.
"Are you kidding me now? I didn't leave you for the whole evening. And it wasn't me dancing with some random girls and Venetia."
"Oh yeah? But it wasn't me who kissed one of the Cattons this evening!" his fingers closed palpably around your throat.
"Oliver... what are you doing..." he let the grip, and you continued, "Are you crazy? Why the hell were you following us? You're really doing this, gods… Just like Felix said... "
"Said what?"
"That you were watching Venetia and me and that you... did obscene things and told him that you... liked both of us."
He narrowed his eyes, "What else did Felix tell you today?"
You frowned, "That's all," he continued to look at you silently, "That’s enough for me, isn’t it for you?"
He pinned you at the pedestal of the monument, enclosing you between his strong arms. He looked at you with unblinking, darkening eyes and asked, "So, why the hell did you kiss Felix Catton?"
"He kissed me! I've been wanting to talk to you all evening, and you brushed me off... and then you started dancing with some girl.… And then with Venetia… And that's after everything Felix told me.… He tried to comfort me, but I... refused him. I wanted to talk to you first," hot tears rolled down your cheeks again. His face seemed to soften a little.
"First of all," Oliver said, "calm down, my dear. Secondly, you don't know anything. Thirdly," he runs his thumb over your left cheek, wiping away tears," This is still not a reason to kiss someone else. I'll explain everything clearly to you now."
Without warning, he got under the hem of your dress and inserted one finger into you. You exhaled sharply.
"About the window case... yes. I was looking at you, just at you, unable to look away. I will not apologize for this, although it is a pity that Felix and, in the end, you misunderstood me because of him. But these are his problems. Are you going to be mad at me for not being able to resist your beauty? Don't be silly, Y/N. Did you see yourself lying in a swimsuit under the hot summer sun? I did. I'll tell you, it's a sight that you can't handle yourself. Or rather, it was only my hand that could somehow handle it."
He added a second finger and slightly accelerated the pace.
"What about the party… I was in a bad mood, I needed to talk to Felix and explain about this situation so that he wouldn't upset you, but I couldn't find him anywhere. So, I asked his friend first, and then his sister. The fact that they were both drunk, high and desperate for any male attention is not my problem either. I don't know what you’ve imagined..."
The pace of his fingers became ruthless, Oliver also added a third finger, and it almost caused you real pain from the suddenness of everything that was happening. Another tear involuntarily rolled down your cheek.
"...but I've been hoping all evening that after talking to Felix that I'll finally get, as you said, my main gift..."
He licked your hot tear off your face with his even hotter tongue.
"You."
You almost came from a mixture of fear, excitement and arousal.
"I saw you walk past me, holding his hand and not saying a word to me. Of course, I followed you, especially since I needed to talk to him. And what do I see? How he. Kisses. My. Girlfriend."
It was the first time he had said "girlfriend". In a different environment, you'd been absolutely happy, but now a feeling of unknown anxiety had been added to this feeling. Oliver himself would prefer announcing it in different circumstances, but there we go. He pulled out your fingers, which glistened in the dark. You were panting a little. He ran his digits lightly over his lower lip.
"Tell me, is my name Felix Catton?"
You were silent. He couldn't be serious, could he?.. But Oliver leaned over to you and almost whispered his question into your lips, "Is. My. Name. Felix. Catton?"
"No..."
"So, what is my name?" he asked, staring intently into your eyes so that you wanted to sink through the ground. His hands squeezed your forearms painfully enough.
"O-Oliver..." you answered almost soundlessly.
"I can't hear you, Y/N. Say it a little bit louder, please."
You were silent, shaking slightly. It was like the air has left your lungs. Oliver sighed.
He took you by the hips and pulled you to him, turning you over with your chest and stomach on the pedestal of the monument, your front parts of your body were not used to the cold of the stone and immediately became covered with goosebumps, just like your palms and elbows, which you had to lean on now. He bent you and spread your legs wide apart, lifting the hem of your dress.
"You have a very beautiful outfit today, darling. I'm sorry I was out of sorts and didn't say it sooner – you look amazing tonight. Of course, I noticed it right away," you heard the sound of a belt slowly unbuckling, and then the sound of a fabric coming down, "So, who is this? Helena? Or Hermia? Oh, it must be Hermia, isn’t it? How ironic. I hope in this version of the story she won't have to choose between Lysander and Demetrius?"
Oliver, holding your hips, bent down and left a few kisses on your neck, going down to your shoulder blades.
"She won't have to."
With those words, he entered you, abruptly and without warning. You exhaled in a little shock. Oliver entered and fill you up completely at once and, almost without giving you time to get used to it, began unhurried, but nevertheless impatient movements with his hips. You started to sigh and whine, feeling yourself getting wetter by the second. He smiled, feeling it, "I didn't expect anything else. So, tell me, dear, what's my name? Only louder this time."
You let out a moan in response, and Oliver picked up the pace, "I'm going to bang those words out of you."
Your eyes were watering, but he watched the way you were twisting and panting. You liked this. He could see it in your face, which was slightly tilted to the side, could feel it within his core. He continued thrusting, his hips meeting your ass with each movement. He reached up, wrapping a hand around your neck and pulling you closer, the sensation restricting your breathing ever-so-slightly turned you on even more.
"So... what's my name?"
"Oli...ver..." you moaned, stumbling because of his strong grip and the rhythm he had set.
He practically went in and out of you completely with every move, the stone of the pedestal seemed to melt under you. The feeling of a little fear and anxiety completely turned into a pleasure that overshadowed everything else. Oliver took his hand off your throat and moved it to your hair, burrowing into it slightly.
"Oliver… Oliver!" you said louder, breathing heavily, the words turning into moans again.
"Good girl, that's exactly my name. And all the other names, and even more so lips, hands, and so on, you must forget. This is my wish for my birthday."
You looked back and your eyes finally met. His eyes were completely dark with lust, and his lips crooked into a satisfied smile when he caught your gaze. He was horned and you were incredibly horny. Heck, he was horny too, of course, not to say more.
You gasped every time as he was pushing inside you. You were so fucking tight, still so tight, you were need to be fucked more like that sometimes, he kept thinking to himself as he gritted his teeth, feeling your body pulsating around him.
"Fuck, girl, making such a mess over me," he groaned. His head fell back and his grip on you was tightening.
The moon casted a shadow of the two of you on the ground. Oliver's horned silhouette was crashing into you, and a horned monster was looking at it all from above. You were close to the end.
You were mewling, bucking your hips, wanting to take him deeper, the tip of his cock brushing against your most pleasurable spot with every thrust. He drove into you harder, holding you tighter, clenching his jaw. His pace was absolutely merciless and was already just abruptly knocking the air out of you instead of any screams.
"Oliver!.." you came around his cock, and a minute later he followed you, piling on top of you. He was breathing heavily, and then he kissed you on the shoulder, then on the neck, after that he turned you over and sat you on the pedestal of the statue, straightening your dress.
Buttoning up his white pants, he knelt down, gently wrapping his arms around your leg, kissing your knee and looking deep into your eyes. The feel of his warm fingertips against the slightly cold skin on your calf gave your chills. Then he took your hand, kissed it and pressed his face against it. Closing his eyes, he began to rub his cheek against your hand, burrowing his face into your palm. It was an act of adoration after the act of forcibly asserting his authority.
He was again just a mere stag by his Artemis’s side.
You stroked his dark soft hair, and then you began to grope his antlers. Sharp and hard, now you were stroking them securely, although it seemed that a moment earlier Oliver could stab someone with them out of rage. Maybe even you. Any thing or person, if you look at them closer, does not seem as intimidating as at first glance. Yet maybe not quite any.
He rose from his knees to the level of your face, and leaning on his hands next to your hands, he asked softly and hoarsely, "Are you mine, Y/N?"
His piercingly blue eyes were glowing in the dark along with his suit, which seemed almost luminescent white in the night.
"Yes, Oliver, I am yours," you replied, sealing your promise with a kiss.
* * *
You walked silently back to the house, out of the maze, through the garden, past the pond. The small pebbles crunched under your feet. The fresh air, all these wild experiences and emotions today and their passionate resolution made your legs feel wobblier with every step, and your eyes began to feel weary.
Upon entering the hall where the party was going on, you were greeted by loud music again:
One, two, three, four
Let me hear you scream if you want some more
Like ah, push it, push it
Watch me work it
I'm perfect
Oliver kissed you on the stairs. Few people paid attention, but he knew that Felix would most likely notice if he was here. And he was here, and he noticed. You turned around and saw that Felix was already dancing with some girl and was clearly having a good time with her. You were upset. It didn't last long, you thought bitterly. Even though he probably had a lot to drink, it was no excuse to forget his intentions so quickly. But you didn't know that he had been high for a long time on top of everything else.
"Can you get me something to drink?" you moaned.
"Baby, haven't you had enough for today?" Oliver began mockingly, and then, seeing your frown, added, "The wishes of the birthday boy’s girlfriend are the law," and left for cocktails.
That's right, I'm a superstar
Everybody wanna come up when I'm at the bar
All the people wanna try
It's like, give me some more
Try a little harder, honey
Give me some more
You were looking at Felix and the girl in the fairy costume again. He could not take his hands off her, then bent down and began to whisper something to her, or maybe not only whisper, which made her giggle.
Perfection… ha-ha!
The female singer's voice seemed to mockingly comment on the situation.
Your heart has almost broken once again this night. When you saw a drink nearby on a nearby table, you knocked it over without looking at the contents. Damn, it seemed like it was something very strong. Oliver returned with two cocktails, blocking you in every sense from this view. Smiling, you downed another cocktail in almost one sitting. Your head began to spin pleasantly again, pushing out unnecessary thoughts. You and Oliver danced a little. How fabulous he was in that outfit, your birthday boy. The music seemed to disappear for a while when you enjoyed this moment of dancing, without taking your eyes off each other.
Then, the music almost abruptly hit you with a throbbing headache and a heaviness in your eyelids and legs. It seems that fatigue and a sense of stress have returned, multiplied by repeated alcohol intoxication. Oliver led you through the entire crowd and all the rooms, almost every one of which had its own mini-party, until you found yourself on your floor. He carefully helped you undress and put you to bed. Your body ached pleasantly, feeling the soft mattress underneath and the duvet above.
"Good night, Ollie."
"Good night, Y/N," he said softly, "And... Sorry for everything."
"We sort of settled everything," you assured him, being sure that he was only talking about the events of the evening, and not about anything else, "Everything will be fine."
"Everything will be fine, that is for sure."
* * *
Oliver returned to the hall, a bottle of wine in his hand. Felix never let talk to him, literally sent him away, and Quick wanted to give him another chance. Or maybe he didn't want to anymore after Felix laid his eyes and not only the eyes on Y/N.
Catton Jr. danced merrily with his fairy, and then at some point took her by the hand and led her across the hall, outside. Oliver watched all this closely, gloomily drinking from a bottle, leaning against the wall.
Felix's clouded mind told him to finish the job, his regrets almost completely blocked by drugs, alcohol and the desire to lick his wounded ego. Therefore, his almost mindless brain led him down the road that he already knew well. Into the maze.
Oliver followed, his wrath building with each slow but firm step as he was running through all the events that had happened. Going to his parents without warning, ignoring his requests and pleas to stop, turn around, or at least not go with him. The discovery of the truth, the way Felix pushed him away, calling him a fucking liar, yet he had nosed into Oliver's life himself. The way fear and contempt were read in his eyes, mixed with an inner struggle whether to tell it all to everyone or not. To tell it to Y/N or not. The way he started turning Y/N against him. The way he started hitting on Y/N, especially now, knowing it all. And how he immediately traded you for some random girl. And all this was on the date of his birthday celebration.
No, there won't be a second chance, Oliver thought to himself as he poured a huge dose of the drug into the bottle.
It was tempting to say that Felix flew too close to the sun, but he was actually the sun himself. So dazzlingly bright and inviting. It was all the others who were too close to him in the rays of his destructive splendor and the hopes of living the same incredible life as his that endlessly flew up and burned. Besides, it was the middle of the night in Saltburn, so the allegory would be completely missed. However, in addition to those infamous wings, Daedalus created something else - the labyrinth of Knossos, where the Minotaur dwelled and suggested a horror, devouring beautiful young men.
Which meant that Icarus was destined to die anyway from the creation of Daedalus.
The dark antlered silhouette followed the winged youth with the confidence of a predator.
By stepping into this labyrinth, carefree Icarus himself signed the verdict of his fate.
* * *
It still seemed to you that all this was a terrible foggy ill dream from which you still could not wake up from. The scream that Felix had been found with was still ringing in your ears sometimes.
It had been a few days now, and you still couldn't believe that he was gone. No matter what, he was an angel. Childishly selfish, but still generous, open-hearted and always ready to help and support. You remembered his costume at the party and smiled bitterly. Really an angel. And even more so now.
You were so regretful that you didn't speak to him again that night. Were so sorry that you went to bed early and didn't see much. That you never knew that Felix and Farleigh were taking some drugs that night, to the point it was too much and too late, and Farleigh was anyhow to blame for it and he couldn’t save him. That you couldn’t save him.
You went into Oliver's room, but he hadn’t come yet. While waiting, you began to walk around the room, and suddenly saw a book by his bedside table, your birthday present. You sat down on the bed, picked up the book and began to look at it again. Icarus with golden wings, falling away from the sun. You ran your finger over the gold embossed cover. Tears welled up your eyes. Gods. You started crying uncontrollably, hot tears dripping right onto the cover of the book. Gently throwing the book on the bed, you buried your face in your hands and bent over in sobs.
"Y/N, what are you..." Oliver came into the room and rushed to hug you.
"Ollie... the book... I..." you spoke barely legibly through sobs. He began to calm you gently, squeezing you tightly in his arms, "I'm here, my darling, everything is fine."
He wish he could take away this pain that you were experiencing right now, but it was impossible to take away what he had caused himself. Yet he was sincerely comforting you, hugging and kissing you in the most caring way possible, "I'm here and I'll always be there, no matter what happens, you'll be safe and sound with me," his whispering was hot and assuring.
Oliver used to think that there was nothing better than the feeling when you comforted him. However, the way you looked at him with your eyes full of tears, trustfully snuggling closer, searching for his support and his consolation, it turned out to be a feeling on a completely different level. The way you needed him, him and no one else. And only he could grant you any relief. At that moment, he felt that he was close to the deity. Your personal deity.
And Oliver was ready to arrange a hundred more accidents to experience this feeling again.
A hundred? This was, of course, too much. But it was in his power to do a couple more.
He took a deep breath of your scent, burying his nose deeper into your hair and holding you closer. Besides, Saltburn looked like a lovely place for your future shared happily ever after.
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BSD Chapter 107
"In the Narrow Room" - Part 3.1
We got a rather long chapter this month and the plot is progressing! Asagiri is always so unpredictable and I love it so much.
Please note that I don't speak English nor Japanese as a native language and I am also super excited about the chapter so I may make mistakes here and there. Please have mercy on me ;_;
SPOILERS AHEAD
After hearing Teruko talk about the true purpose of The Decays of Angel, Atsushi's head becomes confused with all the thoughts of what is right or wrong. He wishes someone could answer all of his questions. He remembers how Dazai used to show up in his thought when he struggles, and wonder why this time he cannot hear Dazai's voice anymore.
He stops at the foot of the tower and notices Aya and Bram there. He tries to go and rescue them, but it turns out to be a trap, with Akutaga jumps out to attack him.
Sigma is finding his way in the prison after escaping from the elevator. He thinks about what happened. He remembers Dazai checking the elevator before getting on it, and realizes that Dazai already knew the elevator was dangerous from the beginning, and he probably just got on it because it is what needs to be done to save the Agency. Sigma also recalls Dazai's expression underwater, he wonders if its the face when Dazai realized that the elevator was going to fall, and that's why Dazai acted the way he did. Sigma wants to run away by himself because he thinks an ordinary person like him cannot do anything. He then found a paper on the floor. It is written in Russian, that says "Save me" (Notes: The original text is just "Please save", it is not clear who it is telling him to save)
Back to Atsushi and Akutagawa. Atsushi still doesn't understand what is happening. He tries to fight back and realizes that Akutagawa is not using his ability to guard himself. Akutagawa instead sucks the blood from his own hand to heal his wound. He doesn't try to cover himself because he can regenerate like that, and it means unless Atsushi kills him, there will be no way to stop him. Atsushi tries to tell him to stop, hoping his consciousness is still there, and that he still wants to ask Akutagawa why he saved his life that time.
In Mersault, Dazai is seen dragging himself and leaning against the wall, covered in blood with his legs broken. He looks up to the surveillance camera and tells Fyodor to put an end to his pain cuz it hurts so bad. Fyodor gladly accepts and sends Chuuya to finish him. Suddenly Sigma enters the room and shoots Fyodor in the shoulder, telling him to stop attacking Dazai. Sigma says he is there cuz he has promised Dazai to touch Fyodor to read his scheme in the airport. Fyodor asks why Sigma has to keep the promise with Dazai, which surprises Sigma himself. Fyodor then proceeds to say that Dazai has manipulated Sigma the whole time, and that normally Sigma is not that kind of a reckless person. He explains that at first, Sigma only wanted a "home" so he would not get used by anyone. But after watching Dazai, Sigma has come to realize that a lonely "home" is not enough. He has started to want not a place, but trust, a relationship where people rely on others without borrowing or trading anything. In other words, he has started to want to become a member of the ADA. Yet, Fyodor adds, it is not Sigma's own thought, but the trick Dazai uses to tamper with his heart.
Sigma thinks back of what Dazai has told him, and still decides to point the gun at Fyodor. Because even if it is a trick, Dazai has paid a big price for it, and accepting a customer's bet is the casino's way. He says he knows Fyodor is trying to manipulate him too, to cause distrust towards Dazai and makes him drop the gun. Sigma then adds that Dazai has won this manipulating competition.
According to the fact that Fyodor has to try to talk him into lower the gun, Sigma concludes that he has no other backup. He tells Fyodor he is going to touch him and read his information, but before that he wants Fyodor to tell him what his ability is, cuz its dangerous to touch someone whose ability might be activated by contact. In the last frame, Sigma changes the question from "What is your ability" to "What the hell are you?"
The chapter ends here. Next chapter will be out on June 2, 2023 (Japan time). Thank you for reading till the end!
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A Little Sun Part 3.1 - Dieter!Bravo x f!Reader
part one / part two
rating: 18+ (MINORS GET OUTTA HERE OR I'M TELLIN' YOUR MAMAS)
Story Summary: As a PA to megastar and mega man-child Dieter Bravo you've had your fair share of headaches. Getting accidentally pregnant with his baby however takes the cake, especially when he offers to pay you to be his surrogate. You just weren't expecting to fall in love with him along the way.
tags: Surrogacy, Pregnancy, Body changes re: pregnancy, Mutual Pining, Idiots in love, P in V, Dirty talk, Unprotected Sex, Romance, Oral (f receiving), Cigarettes, Drugs, Mentions of Parental Death, Vulnerable Dieter, Vulnerable Reader.
a/n: y'all I'm really annoyed because tumblr won't let me post the entire chapter in one post because of whatever reason. So if you wanna read it all in one go, I'm posting it to my A03.
dividers by @silkholland
A LITTLE SUN
You burst into the house, kicking off your shoes and throwing your purse down onto the couch. Dieter looks up from his place on the chaise longue by the fireplace.
"What?"
"Some old guy in the coffee shop overheard I was pregnant and he told me that I shouldn't drink decaf coffee and then he touched my fucking stomach."
"What?" Dieter is immediately on his feet, fists curling. A strange feeling has passed over him, this protective and strangely possessive feeling. You're his. You're carrying his baby.
"Yeah and I was in such shock that I just let him. I fucking hate this," you say pressing your lips together tightly as you exhale through your nose. "As soon as your pregnant people suddenly feel like they have the right to touch you and give you unsolicited advice. It's so gross."
"I'm sorry," Dieter says, fighting the urge to touch your stomach himself.
It's barely even three months and you're not showing. He hasn't actually touched you anywhere other than your hand since that first time he cradled your stomach.
You see the way his dark eyes dart from your stomach to your face and back again. Can see the twitching in his fingertips as he thinks about it.
"You can touch it," you tell him. "You won't feel anything but you can touch it."
Dieter is immediately at your side, his wide hand going to your belly. You'd expected him to go over the shirt so when his hand slides up your t-shirt to rest over your bare skin you're surprised.
You go to say something but you still when you see his face. His eyes are closed, brows saddled in concentration. It's impossibly sweet. And there's something comforting about his warm palm on your skin, a feeling you can't quite place.
"Wish I could feel him moving."
"Won't be for a few months yet," you tell him.
Dieter gives a thoughtful hum in response. His thumb slowly drags across your skin and you feel your breathing hitch for a moment. Up close you see the length of his dark lashes, the fullness of his mouth. Has he always been this handsome? Or is it the hormones?
You pull his hand from under your shirt. "Okay that's enough."
“I said I am.”
“I never see you with it.”
“Jesus, Dieter! Do you want me to pull it out of my room?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake.”
You storm into your bedroom, grabbing the yellow object from beside your bed and bringing it back into the living room where your boss/surrogate benefactor is waiting with his arms crossed.
“I told you, I put it on my belly every night. The baby hears your fucking Bravo mix tape every goddam night.”
“Every single night?” Dieter says disbelief. “What about Friday? You came home super late from that PA after works drink thing.”
“Dieter it was eleven when I got in,” you say rolling your eyes. “Besides, I don’t think the baby will suffer if it misses one or two-“
“I KNEW IT!” Dieter shouts animatedly. “You did skip a few days!”
In all honesty you’ve skipped plenty of days. Wearing those stupid fucking headphones over your belly is uncomfortable and boring as shit. You always read when you wear them because sleeping on your back is something you want to save for when you have no other choice. But lately you’ve been more tired and reading has been swapped for more sleeping.
Dieter looks beside himself as he begins pacing up and down the hallway, muttering to himself about being lied to. You recognize the signs almost immediately, shocked you overlooked them so easily before. Dieter is anxious. While most curl into or sequester themselves away, Dieter has always been a ball of anxiety that lashes out, fixating on everything other than himself.
“Dieter.”
“What?”
“What are you anxious about?”
Dieter pauses, face contorted into a defensive pose, lower lip stuck out. You almost hear his petulant: I’m not anxious. But the longer he stares at you the longer he realizes that you know him better than most. He just shakes his head, unable to formulate what has his insides doing a tap dance.
“I know something’s wrong,” you tell him as you shuffle over to him and he’s relieved and thankful to see there’s no animosity there in the depth of your eyes. Without thinking you reach out and take one of his hands in yours and he notes your palm is freezing.
“Nothing,” he mutters to himself. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
He sees the hurt pass over your face for a fraction for a second and he’s quick to clasp your hand tightly. “Is that okay?”
“Of course,” you say, retracting your hand. “Why don’t you go in the studio and paint for a bit? Enjoy your day off.”
Dieter nods, padding off to his workspace while you give a sigh. You can tell something is up with him, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. It makes you ache for him in a way, knowing that he’s holding something so close to the chest. Normally he tells you everything.
By four months you need to fuck something.
Toys aren't cutting it. You need a good fucking. You’ve decided that Josh will be a nice choice. You two have been fooling around a bit on set when you’re not being ordered around by Dieter who suddenly seems to need you every second you’re there.
So far it’s all over the pants stuff with Josh; mostly because you’re paranoid he’ll see your bare stomach and declare you pregnant. You don’t know why this concerns you, you don’t even look pregnant. Maybe a slightly swollen quality, but only you or Dieter (or your Mom!) would know the difference.
He doesn’t like you hanging around Josh and you can only assume it’s because Dieter doesn’t like to share his toys. You’re having his baby and so in his mind he gets to dictate everything. It’s fucking driving you insane.
You decide to approach Dieter about it directly, not wanting to bother the lawyer with this sort of thing. It seems embarrassing to have to go about it in this fashion, almost as if you have to ask permission for something quite personal. But this scenario is new and you’re not exactly what’s within the realm of appropriate.
You find him painting in one of the rooms, cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he listens to some strange grunge band from Japan. You lower the volume as you enter.
"Can we talk?"
Dieter turns, brows raised. "What's up?"
You look nervous, face warm and your fingers nervously drumming at your side.
"Dieter, we uh, we never talked about one thing in the contract."
Dieter lowers the paintbrush, going to the sink to wash his hands as he waits for you to continue.
"What's that?'
Fuck you feel awkward about this. How do you mention to your boss that you wanna go get laid? Your cheeks are heating and you nudge your toe absently against the doorframe.
"Uh, if it was okay if I wanted to go out with someone?"
"You want to date someone?" Dieter looks horrified, the cigarette dropping from his gaped mouth onto the floor. He retrieves it quickly, tossing it into the sink behind him before turning back to fix you with a glare. "I've known you for two years and you've gone on maybe three dates in all that time. Now you're pregnant and suddenly you want a boyfriend?"
"Not a boyfriend," you say quietly. "Just uh... a…"
"A hook-up?"
"Yeah."
"No fucking way!" Dieter insists much too forcefully for a man who tries to continually convince himself that he doesn’t want to fuck you himself. "Too dangerous! You could end up with a creep! What about the baby?!"
You roll your eyes. "Obviously I would be careful."
"No," Dieter shakes his head. "Too risky. What if they find out you work for me and ransom you?"
“It’s some-“ you stop yourself from giving too much away. “It’s not risky. I feel safe about it.”
“Well I don’t.”
A stand off about who you can fuck. Is this a joke?
"Dieter I'm really just giving you a heads up as a courtesy," you say icily. "You don’t control what goes in my vagina.”
Dieter blinks back his surprise a moment. You’ve never spoken to him like that. He can only assume that this is pregnancy hormones so he lets it slide. However, he’s still irritated about that annoying Josh hanging all over you. You turn to walk away from him.
"Well then as your boss," Dieter bites back, "I'm telling you that you can't fuck your little PA friend."
You stop your walking, turning to face him with a face contorted in rage.
"What?"
"You think I'm blind?" Dieter scoffs as he lights a fresh cigarette. "You think I don’t see you and that PA Josh making eyes at each other?”
You hate how he says PA, like Josh is pathetic for having the very job you yourself have. Not shocking – has Dieter ever really seen you as more than an extension of himself? More than the woman who plans his days and picks up his dry cleaning? Never.
"Dieter who else is there? He's the only single, straight guy near my age in this town!”
Dieter just stares at you, the end of his cigarette a red flare in the semi darkness. You throw up your hands in irritation, giving a growl and walking into your bedroom, slamming the door behind you.
///
BabiEDucate
15 weeks
Cravings: DICK. Also pickles - Related?
Missing: SEX. GETTING FUCKED.
You try not to let the sex thing override the rest of your enjoyment of this beautiful land. Ireland is stunning from the moment you wake up until you go to bed. You’ve met the nicest people on set, you and the makeup girls go to the pub every Friday. You always order for the group and you always lie and say you’re having a rum and coke, but it’s really just a coke.
You think about inviting Josh over here tonight. So far it's been frantic kissing against pub walls and one remarkably disappointing phone sex experience that left you more frustrated than anything.
You're just so paranoid he's going to be able to tell you're pregnant that you've been holding back.
Plus there’s the whole Dieter thing.
“Mia and Dieter are working on a night scene tomorrow night,” Josh murmurs to you as you hang to the side one afternoon on set. You’re both hidden away from the actors who had broken for lunch. “Should give us plenty of time if we want to hang out.”
“Hang out?” you say with a flirtatious smirk up at him. “Is that what the kids are calling it?”
“Fucking your brains out then?” Josh huffs against your ear as goosebumps rise along your neck.
“Sounds great,” you nod.
“Let’s go to yours,” Josh suggests. “Mia and the crew are at some fancy hotel and they’ve all got big mouths. Dieter’s the big movie star with his own rental.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow at seven.”
///
Everything you own is ugly.
Plus you have a headache. Plus you look bloated and your tits fucking ache. You pull at the tights and cute babydoll dress you threw on hours ago because it was the only thing you owned that sort of hides the growing expansion of your midsection and isn’t sweatpants. You look at yourself in the bathroom mirror, applying some lip-gloss before sighing.
All this work just to get laid.
You look down at your stomach, frowning as you mutter quietly. “You’re already a pain in the ass and you’re barely bigger than a bell pepper.”
You give a roll of your eyes at yourself in the mirror before flicking off the lights and heading back out to the kitchen. Josh sits there with a beer giving you an expectant smile as you approach.
Dinner was nice enough (he brought thai food), the conversation free-flowing. You told Josh you didn’t want to drink since you had a bit of a migraine. Not a total lie. He brought you flowers, which is incredibly kind and also annoying because you’ll have to hide them in your room lest Dieter see them.
But you don’t want flowers and wine and seduction. You thought you’d already laid the groundwork for that. But here Josh is trying to ask questions about your family and life back home and all you can think about is the minutes ticking by where you’re not getting fucked.
“Let’s move to the couch,” you suggest casually. “I think I have a documentary on sharks recorded.”
“Yeah, lets,” Josh says smiling eagerly.
There we go.
Within minutes the two of you are on the couch making out. Josh has one leg between yours, his hands on either side of your face. He’s muttering something about how good you feel but you’re distracted, concerned that he can feel your stomach.
You wonder if you could suggest doggy style. That's the only position you think could work where he wouldn't see your stomach. You thought about passing it off as a food baby, but you don't want to take the chance.
He urges your hand to keep palming him through his jeans as he kisses you. He tastes like the wine he brought and the mints Dieter leaves laying around everywhere. Your hand goes there, feeling his length and sighing. You can’t wait to feel him inside you.
“You want daddy to give you more?” Josh hums against your lips before his tongue invades your mouth.
Daddy? Ugh. Mood killer.
"You gonna-"
Whatever Josh was about to say dies on his tongue as the door to the cottage opens. Dieter’s head swings around just in time to see Josh's hand covering yours on the vee of his jeans, your bodies practically melded together.
"Get out," Dieter barks, his eyes wild. He literally races over to you both on the couch, glowering over Josh like an overprotective father. “Get away from her.”
Josh pulls away from you instantly, his entire face blanching. You reach for Josh as he stands abruptly. He's all mumbling apologies, pulling on his jacket and brushing past a very confused Mia who has just come in.
"What the fuck?" You say struggling to a stand. Your belly makes you go off kilter and you shake off Dieter's hand as he steadies you.
"What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking it was my night off and I wanted to enjoy it!" You explain angrily. "And you just chased off my date!"
"Your date?" Dieter looks beside himself with agitation. "Since when? We had an agreement!"
“Agreement? You mean order!”
You throw your hands up, wanting to punch Dieter squarely in the jaw. Instead you simply shake your head and shoulder past him to go to your bedroom. He tries calling your name but you ignore him, slamming the bedroom door behind you.
Mia watches this scene, her large eyes curious. "Dieter what am I missing here?"
"Huh?" Dieter whirls around in a spin. "Nothing."
"Then why did you just scare off my assistant?"
"Because I …He … She’s not..." Dieter waves his hand in the air, trying to explain himself. "I don't want my assistant fucking around with yours."
"Why?"
"It's not professional," Dieter insists, his face gloomy. "What if it got back to set?"
"I don't think they'd care," Mia laughs softly. "Are you just perhaps a bit overprotective of her?"
"Yes."
"Because of the baby?"
"Because- wait, what?"
Mia brings her jacket off her shoulders, hanging it up. "I'm a woman, Dieter. I have sisters. I know a pregnant woman when I see it."
Dieter pauses, considering what to say. He recalls Diane's instructions before you left for Ireland.
"Yeah she's pregnant. She's religious so she's keeping it but she doesn't want anyone to know," Dieter explains.
"Oh," Mia nods.
"I just don't want her hurt." Dieter tries to look sorrowful. "I've known her for a while and yeah, I guess I don't want anyone messing with her. I don't really know Josh or his intentions. I don’t want things to get messy."
"I totally get it," Mia says placing a hand to his forearm. "That's so sweet of you to care about your staff like that."
Dieter shrugs, smiling softly.
"I'll tell Josh to back off," Mia promises.
"Thanks," Dieter says warmly. "I'd appreciate that."
“You still wanna practice those lines for tomorrow?” Mia asks gently, her eyes warm as she glances at the bottle of wine Josh brought. “I see they left some wine.”
“Yeah,” Dieter smiles. “That sounds perfect.”
Josh isn't returning your calls anymore. When you see him on set he's totally polite but there's no more flirting, no more stolen kisses. You figure after the embarrassment of the other evening he’s steering clear of getting caught up in that mess. You can’t blame him. But you miss the attention, you miss the thrill.
In a few short months you won’t be able to hide that you’re pregnant and then after you give birth you’ll need months for recovery before you’re willing to put yourself back out on the dating scene.
Not that you were that big on the dating scene to begin with. If it wasn’t school it was working for Dieter. You had a few flings, a few whirlwind romances that left your body sated but your mind craving more. You try touching yourself in the bath or in the shower, in your bed. Nothing is working. There’s something primal about another person touching you that your hormones are craving.
You and Dieter haven’t spoken about that night with Josh since it happened. You had no desire to rehash the humiliation and in all honesty, you were wrong to do it here in a home that is more Dieter’s than it is yours. You should have gone to Josh’s if you wanted privacy, but you’d been so horny you hadn’t realized that.
You’re still dutiful in his scheduling and a week later the two of you are heading into Dublin so Dieter can have an on-air interview with a popular Irish radio personality. He’s nervous about it, tapping his fingers along his bouncing knee in the back of the limo they sent.
“So steer clear of politics obviously,” you say as you tap onto the tablet reading the notes Diane sent. “Diane says that she’ll be out here next week to go over your interview strategies for Graham Norton. Apparently you’re flying over there for an overnight.”
“I assume you’ll be hanging back for that,” Dieter says flatly.
“Yeah, you don’t need both me and Diane for that one.”
Dieter doesn’t know why but the thought of you fucking Josh is stuck in his brain. Someone Dieter has seen you growing closer to during your time here in Ireland when your attention should be on him. He’s Dieter Bravo – He’s rich, famous, an Oscar winner, the father of the baby you carry! What the fuck makes Josh worth your attention? Dieter sees the secret smiles when Josh texts you, sees you distracted on set. It fucking infuriates him.
“Gives you a whole two days to fuck your little PA friend while I’m gone.”
Dieter is shooting you an open sneer and you feel your entire body heating up. That’s it. You’ve tried to be civil and even apologetic but this is getting ridiculous. You throw the tablet on the car seat between the two of you, your nostrils flaring.
“You don’t get to tell me who I go to bed with,” you growl, noting the way Dieter’s eyes widen in surprise at your tone. “I'm tired you thinking you control everything about me because I happen to be carrying your kid.”
You glance up belatedly hoping that the driver can’t hear you through the plastic divider separating the front from the back of the vehicle before your eyes are back on the increasingly red-faced Dieter.
“I’m my own person, Dieter. And yes, I will carry this child, and yes I will do so with love and care. But as for whom I fuck? That’s not your business.”
You don’t bother telling him that Josh is off the table. That you heard yesterday that he’s started seeing some girl from costumes. You don’t bother telling Dieter that there’s no one in the quiet hamlet that you actually want to fuck. He doesn’t need to know that.
Dieter continues to stare at you, shocked at the vitriol coming from you. He’s seen you irritated and even angry, but right now you seem borderline frenzied. Your cheeks are red and your eyes are bright and you’re almost snarling.
He’s turned on out of his mind.
He crosses his legs to hide his growing length, clearing his throat and praying you don’t notice the flush rising to his cheeks.
You throw yourself back into your seat, eyes out the window. You’re breathing quickly, still furious about all of this. You wish there was another man on set that you’d like to have take you to bed but there’s no attraction for anyone else. Josh was the only one who appealed to you and without him your only solution is the men down at the pub (all pensioners or gay) or your own fingers which really don’t do the job.
Dieter watches you, struck by his own increasing insecurity. He’d rather you fuck anyone else here. Someone whose texts don’t make you smile down at your phone. Someone who doesn’t distract you during movie nights with Dieter. A nobody.
"I know that what I'm asking might sound unfair," Dieter finally offers quietly. "So I'll pay someone. Someone reputable and clean from one of the services here."
It takes you a moment to realize what he's offering and when you do you turn to face him, outraged.
"I'm not sleeping with an escort! I’ve never paid for sex I’m not about to start now.”
"Fine,” Dieter shrugs. “I'll get you whatever toy you want."
"I have toys. Toys aren't doing the job," you admit with a sigh before your face flushes at the admittance. You don't tell him that you've worn out the batteries beyond charging on all. That the toys aren’t what you crave. It’s the touch of a man, his heartbeat under your palm, the sweaty tangled mess under sheets that your body craves.
But Dieter doesn’t understand this; he’s still trying to come up with a solution to your problem that won’t make him feel like shit.
"Then I'll-"
"I need sex, Dieter!" You interrupt in frustration. "All these fucking hormones are making me so... I-I just need a cock to come on!”
The minute the words escape you Dieter’s already dark eyes seem to turn black. He slowly inches over to you in that bouncing, jerky way of his, crawling over the seat until he reaches your. You don't know what he's doing, but you don't stop him when his hand comes to the curve of your belly.
You hold in a whimper at the sensation of his warm palm through the fabric of your shirt. His hands are wide but you've never noticed just how big they are. His head tilts forth, his forehead gently pressing against yours. Your eyes flutter to focus on his full mouth.
"You're taking care of my baby," Dieter offers in a husky whisper. "So I'll take care of you."
His free hand slowly moves to wrap around the back of your neck, barely touching you.
"That's a terrible idea," you breathe, your voice holding no conviction.
"We did it before," Dieter reasons.
"We don't even remember it."
"So let's make a memory," Dieter murmurs, his eyes on your mouth now.
“We’re here Mister Bravo,” comes the voice of the driver from the front of the town car.
Fuck.
The ride back from the radio interview is tense. Dieter managed to be professional, even charming with the hosts. And while he did that you managed to get a few emails checked, interviews organized and wardrobe fittings scheduled.
But the promise of what he started in the limo only hours before weighs heavily on you both. You feel it’s massively inappropriate given that he’s your boss. He’s paranoid he’s overstepped and scared you off so he doesn’t want to make another move.
So the two of you look out opposite windows, studiously ignoring one another until you return back to the rental. Dieter practically flings himself from the limo, tossing a wave at the driver over his shoulder as you roll your eyes and follow him inside.
The house is quiet, the light of the day dimming. You’re too tired for a walk today so you quickly shower and pull on your softest sleep shorts and t-shirt. You pull on your fuzzy robe and slippers and pad out to the kitchen to make yourself a tea. Dieter is already there boiling the water, his hair damp from his own shower. The two of you exchange tight smiles before you go over to the television, switching it on.
“I think there’s a doc about Patagonia,” Dieter calls over to you. “Wanna watch it together?”
“Sure.”
You hate that the thought of it makes your heart jump. The man that is usually so annoying to you is suddenly so fucking enticing you want to jump him right now. You want to fist your hand through his damp curls and ride him until he’s whimpering.
Fucking hormones.
You wonder if Dieter is good in bed. You've heard plenty of thankful refrains from his closed bedroom door but that might just be to stroke his ego.
You don’t remember your time with him and so the only context you have is when you walked in on him when you thought he was alone and you were desperate to go over some of the errands he had asked of you earlier in the week.What you'd found was Dieter lying in bed, one arm behind his head as a lithe blonde man with a scruffy beard went down on him. Dieters hand was carding through the man's hair, pulling his mouth further along his impressive cock.
"That's right," Dieter murmured, eyes closed. "Take it all like a good boy. Swallow it down."
You'd quickly closed the door shut, the man's moans echoing behind you thankful you'd not been seen. For some reason that image had stayed with you since then. You don't know if it's because it was two men or because Dieter was so commanding or because it was something you weren't supposed to see.
But when you think of Dieter and fucking him, it's this memory that floods your senses... And your panties. Like right now as you sit next to him trying to ignore the proximity of his body to yours.
“Want popcorn?”
“Nah, I’m okay.”
“Tea?”
“No I’m fine. Do you want tea?”
“No, I’m good.”
It’s like a middle school dance. The two of you sitting stiffly next to each other, both pretending to ignore the obvious desire there, both too scared of what will happen next. You’re desperate to focus on Patagonia but you can’t. Your boss smells so good and looks so good and he’s rolled up his sleeves so his forearms are bare and his hands are so fucking big. You imagine them everywhere on your body before you force yourself to find a distraction.
“I never asked you about your tattoos,” you say as your eyes runs over the inky triangle closest to you on his forearm. “Why triangles?”
“I guess I really like pizza,” Dieter smirks.
And suddenly all the tension is gone from the moment, replaced with the familiarity of his humor. You let your head tilt back as you let out a guffaw, pushing his arm affectionately. He swings it around your shoulders as he watches your eyes crinkling as you laugh loudly, feeling his chest swell. He loves it when he can make you laugh like that; unguarded.
And in that moment he knows he wants more. He wants to make you feel good. He wants to feel you and be able to remember it the next day.
As you wipe amused tears from your eyes you feel Dieter leaning towards you, his hand on your shoulder, tilting you in his direction ever so slightly.
You don’t pull away.
In fact you let the giggles ebb, but you don’t move from his nearness. Your faces are so close he can feel your warm breath huffing over his parted mouth. You smell like soap from the shower and earl grey tea. He watches your eyes go to his mouth and then slowly move back to meet his gaze.
Why isn’t he kissing me?
You want him to kiss you.
But he’s just sitting there, arms around you; face so close you can see the density of his eyelashes. The two of you sit there breathing slowly into one anothers mouths and it dawns on you that Dieter is waiting for you. Impossibly erratic, impulsive Dieter Bravo is waiting to see if this is truly what you want.
You need to make the first move.
For some reason that's what prompts your head to tilt towards him, your mouth gently landing against his. Your hands go to his shoulder, holding tightly.
He kisses you gently at first, head spinning at how good it feels. He doesn't know if it's because this is the longest he's been sober in years or because it's you. Whatever the reason, it makes him wrap his arms around your waist, licking into your mouth as you whimper.
Fuck he kisses well.
"This is a terrible idea," you tell him even as you begin to pull at the drawstring of his sweatpants.
"Completely," he says, running his palms along your upper arms.
"Need you to fuck me hard, Bravo."
"Anything you want."
"This is just a way to g-get some release," you tell him as his mouth goes to your neck and you groan.
"Mhmmm."
You try to remember what you were going to say but his tongue is slowly dragging along your jaw before he's planting sloppy kisses down your neck.
"J-just this one time," you groan when his hands come to cup your breasts, thumbs rolling over the stiffened peaks of your breasts overtop your nightclothes.
"You sure? What about if you need it again?" Dieter hums, hands sliding up under your sleep shirt to find your breasts warm and heavy in his hands. He makes a soft sound of pleasure as he kneads them.
"We c-can't," you whimper, eyes closing. His mouth is so soft and warm and it leaves every piece of your body it touches electric.
"Sure we can," he murmurs. "We make the rules."
"The contract," you offer weakly as his fingers gently pinch each nipple tightly until you gasp. Dieter can’t look away from your saddled brows and the way you arch into him.
"Didn't say anything about this," Dieter whispers against your mouth. You kiss him now, urgent and needy and he groans as he licks into your mouth.
"I want you to enjoy this," Dieter purrs.
"I'll enjoy it," you tell him, hands still fumbling with the drawstring of his sweatpants.
You'll enjoy any sex at this point. You just need a quick, hard, fuck and you'll be back to your normal focused self (well, plus pregnant). You're startled when Dieter takes your wrists, pulling them from his waist. You frown up at him.
"What're you-"
Dieter gives you a playful smirk and drops to his knees beside the sofa and between your legs. Your eyes blow open in shock as he tugs your sleep shorts down from under your sleep shirt and tosses them over his shoulder. They land somewhere on the floor, forgotten. You don't even have time to be embarrassed at being half naked in front of him, your boss, because he immediately drags one thigh over his broad shoulder.
"Amazing," he murmurs, eyes fixed on your glistening sex.
"You don't have to-"
"Don't have to make you feel good?" Dieter scoffs up at you. "No wonder you weren't in a rush to fuck. All your other boyfriends must have been pitiful in bed."
You're about to answer sharply when Dieters mouth descends. His hands grip the back of your thighs and you feel him lick a stripe up the seam of your drenched cunt.
"Fuck!"
Dieter grins against your pussy at the sound. He looks up to see your eyes wide and fixed on him kneeling there between your legs. You’re slumped on the sofa, looking at him with flushed cheeks and heavy eyes and Dieter feels himself groan at the sight.
You try to distract yourself from the burning in your thighs and the sudden nakedness you feel when you see the moonlight is shining on Dieter’s mouth between your legs.
“Dieter anyone could see.”
“We’re a million miles away from anyone else,” he tells you, voice muffled. But he stops when he senses that you’re suddenly no longer interested in this, at least not in out here while the TV plays a documentary on Patagonia in the background. He leans forward,pressing glossy kisses up your belly until he’s caged you in with his arms against the sofa. He sees the pupils blown wide in your eyes and he can’t help himself from kissing you senseless. You taste yourself on him and it makes your ardor grow.
With a patience he didn't even know he truly possessed, Dieter leads you to his bedroom by the hand, weaving through the furniture in the semi darkness. He’s so hard he’s fucking throbbing, the scent of you clinging to his face and driving him wild.
He watches you clamor onto his bed, eyes watching his face in anticipation. Despite the fact that you run most of his life, tonight it’s Dieter that will be taking the lead. To his surprise you submit, watching him with a nervous look as he crawls onto the bed next to you, still wearing his threadbare t-shirt and soft sweatpants.
You wait for him to start roughly, to take what he wants. You think of his hands on the back of that man’s head, the way he’d thrust lazily into his mouth. You wait for Dieter to take take take as he always does in all things.
But he’s not rushing, he’s watching you closely.
Because he's sober during sex for the first time in years and he's so aware of how this potentially changes things between the two of you. His hands are trembling when he reaches for you. For you this is release, Dieter is a human sex toy for you to derive pleasure from. Dieter knows and accepts this.
But you're not that to him.
And even though he can't recall that night the two of your shared that created the life you now carry, he knows that he never treated you like it. He’s never thought of you as just sexual release, not then, not now, not ever.
He watches you on the bed, hands reaching for him. “Dieter please.”
He moves towards the mattress, knees hitting the edge before his large hands come to slide your sleep shirt up your belly, notching it just under your breasts when he sees your concern at it rising higher.
"Lean back baby mama," Dieter grins down at you as he kisses his way down your swelled stomach, his mouth soft and wet. "Gonna make you feel so good."
"We don't have to- I just wanna get fucked," you explain, still feeling awkward at the thought of your boss going down on you.
"Without being warmed up?" Dieter squints at you in confusion before placing a kiss to the soft of your pussy. "That's not how I do things. You need to come before you get this cock."
You hate how those words from him are enough to have you whimpering.
You watch him with eyes heavy lidded as he spreads your thighs widely for him, hooking them over his broad shoulders. Only now that you're opened so fully to him does he look at your sex and give a tortured moan.
"Such a pretty pussy," he breathes, nose nudging your clit as he begins to give your cunt a sloppy kiss. "So wet already baby. This all for me?"
You don't reply to him and he doesn't wait for your response. But the answer is clear when arousal continues as his tongue begins to delve deeply between your folds. His tongue and mouth immediately begin working at a frantic pace between your legs as he holds you against his face. It isn't long before you're arching into him, holding him by his wild curls.
His wide hands hold your thighs to his shoulders, pinning you open so he can taste you. You hear murmurs of "so fucking sweet" and "so good for me, baby" and each rasping word hits you directly below your navel.
When his tongue flicks your clit and then he begins sucking it's game over. You feel it building in your core and you let out a gentle whimper. Dieter’s eyes fly open at the sound, gaze fixed on your pleasured face contoured in pleasure at your approaching climax.
Your hands are twisted in the sheets and he can see how every muscle in your body is tightened. You’re in awe at how wrong your initial assessment of his sexual prowess was. Dieter Bravo is not a selfish lover.
He's fucking insatiable.
"C'mon, baby," Dieters voice is low and syrupy between his licks and kisses. "Let go for me."
You weren't expecting it to feel this good. Weren't expecting Dieters voice to go that low and raspy. Weren't expecting that just his tongue and fingers could hit so deep, so well.
"I need you to come on my tongue."
There's something in the almost way he says it that has your thighs tightening around his ears, back arching violently off the bed.
"I'm... I'm-c-coming!"
You dissolve underneath his tongue, pelvis thrusting harshly against his greedy mouth. You cry out his name over and over, eyes damp with relieved tears at the tension that is slowly leaving your body.
When you come, Dieter looks up the length of your body, taking in your glassy eyes and flushed cheeks as you float down from your high. You give a soft sigh that ends in a groan. You want more.
"I knew it," he groans, eyes shuttering as he watches you shatter. "I fucking knew it."
You lay quaking in the aftershocks as Dieter crawls up the length of your body, dragging a loving palm over your belly as he does. You're not even sure he realizes he's doing it.
"What did you know?" You pant, hands clutching the sheets as you come down from your pleasured high. His face is inches from yours, dark eyes glittering.
"The face you make when you come," Dieter rasps, eyes mapping your flushed face. "I knew it was gonna ruin me."
His mouth crashes into yours before you can reply and despite your insistence to yourself that this remain platonic, your arms are already snaking around his neck. You're dropping your jaw open so he can lick into your mouth and you hear your own desperate moans echoing against his in the quiet room.
"Fuck me," you croak against his mouth. "Hard."
He pulls back eagerly, stumbling to a stand beside the bed and nearly tripping in his rush to take off his pants and shirt. Finally he stands curls askew from taking off his t-shirt in a rush.
He places his knee on the bed and you can't help but be impressed with the size of him. No wonder he has so many repeat bedroom visitors. Between that and his tongue is a marvel he has time to leave his bed at all.
"You ready?"
"Yes," you pant, hating how desperate you sound as your hands reach for him, eagerly shifting your hips and smiling at him. He lays himself next to you on his side.
“Oh shit, a condom-“ Dieter starts with a frown. “I think I have some-“
"You're clean?"
"Yeah,” Dieter says with quirked brows. “Haven't fucked anyone since you."
You're shocked by this announcement. “Mia?”
Dieter shakes his head, cheeks pinking. You sense the moment slipping from you and you shake off the voice that tells you the lines are blurring. Right now all you want is to feel Dieter inside of you.
“Fuck me bare,” you tell him, mouth on his.
“Really?”
“S’not like I can get more pregnant.”
Dieter chuckles gently, his hand coming to cup your cheek as his tongue slips into your mouth. You taste him, every crevice as he does the same to you, needing to feel every piece of you that you keep hidden. As he does he trails a finger lazily against your inner thigh, knuckles brushing against the warmth of your core.
"You still want this?" he murmurs pulling back to see your eyes.
"Yeah," you nod eagerly, already missing the sensation of his lips on yours. You curl into him. He still stares at you, only now he looks nervous.
"You want me?"
There's something in the way Dieter's voice catches at that last word. Almost as if it's fighting to get out of his throat. Your eyes latch to his and you see the vulnerability there, the way he looks so unsure even as you hold to him.
"Yeah, Dieter," you finally say quietly. "I want you."
The relief is so clear as his mouth finds yours again. He kisses you deeply, tongues dabbing at one another as he urges you onto your back.
"Fuck, I can't believe we're finally doing this," he rasps against your jaw, pressing damp kisses there. "Gonna make you feel so good."
His fingers trail at the seam of your cunt, teasing but you bat them away. He gives you a confused look.
"I need your cock," you tell him breathlessly, hitching your thighs around his hips and urging his cock to your entrance.
This isn't what he normally does. He likes his female partners to be multiple orgasms deep before he fucks them. He's large and he doesn't want to hurt you.
"Please," you whisper and now you're cunt is shifting towards the head of his cock, urging him inside.
He gives a small groan and before he can second guess you request he's slowly sliding into you to the hilt. The feeling of Dieter entering you is exquisite, the stretch not too bad because he's already made you come.
Your entire body arches under him at the divine sensation, the way he fills you so achingly full. You hiss in pleasure, gripping his shoulders so tightly you leave half moon crests temporarily tattooed on them.
Dieter stares at you as he enters you, his mouth hanging open as the delicious sensation of your cunt envelops him. Warm and slick and so fucking good. You wrap around him like you were made for him, like you were both built to fit perfectly together. It makes him give out a strangled gurgle when he sheaths himself to the hilt.
"Holy fuck."
"So good," you moan without thought. You're normally not a vocal lover, but no one has made you feel this good just at entering you.
"Yeah?" Dieter asks you with a proud grin as his hips begin to rock into you. "You like feeling me deep, huh?"
"Yes," you nod, biting your lower lip. "Want you even deeper."
Your thighs drop open further and now you're hands slither down his side until you’re gripping his ass, urging him to fuck harder and deeper.
"So eager," Dieter rasps not even bothering to hide his delight. You're eager for him. He nuzzles your cheek, grazing a kiss there. "You’re trembling, baby. You needed this didn't you? Needed my cock so badly."
"Uh huh."
Fuck you're so pliant, so goddam agreeable right now under him that it makes Dieter heady. You're never so soft with him in real life. You'd never admit to needing him outside this moment. Dieter realizes right then and there that being inside you bare is better than any drug, any drink.
"You like fucking an Oscar winner, sweet thing?"
You momentarily break from your pleasured haze to give him a look that clearly reads your disdain for this particular dirty talk. In all the bliss you've been experiencing with him, you'd momentarily forgotten who Dieter Bravo is.
Dieter is an ego maniac, a man who loves to talk about himself, an actor who gets told how amazing he is by everyone, so you really shouldn't be that surprised that he'd bring up his accolades during sex. However that's about the least sexy thing about him right now
"Does that usually work?"
"Huh?" Dieter's eyes are glassy as his cock saws in and out of you. "Does what work?"
"Reminding your bed partners that you're an Oscar winner?"
He looks at the derision in your gaze and swallows embarrassed. "Sometimes."
You see the sheepish look cross his features.
"Why say it?"
"I guess…to impress them." Dieter gives a crooked grin. "To seduce them... Or whatever .."
"You don't need to impress me or seduce me," you tell him firmly, your hips jutting as you increase his pace. "This is a transaction, Dieter. All I need from you is your cock and for you to fuck me deep."
Dieter grins weakly again and watches as your eyes shut, hands moving to either side of your head against the pillow and he begins thrusting anew. Dieter loves that he doesn't have to wear a condom with you. He's rarely gone bareback - always paranoid about accidental pregnancy or a lying partner. The sweet clench on his bare cock has his brain fuzzy.
Dieter can't fight the need to inhale you at that moment. Your soap, your perfume, your skin. Everything tantalizes him, making his mouth water. His nose buries itself in the hair at your temple and he breathes deeply. Coconut. Vanilla. And something something uniquely you that he can't quite place.
Having you like this is a dream, one he didn't realize he's been harboring for much longer than when you first slept together.
"Need to hear those noises again," Dieter groans against your temple. "Need to feel your cunt squeeze me when you come."
His mouth is filthy and you're shocked at how much it turns you on to hear it. His voice is so low, so gravely is almost a purr.
"You gonna soak my cock, baby?"
"Yes," you mewl, eyes tightly shut as your bodies rock against one another.
"Yeah you are," he says with affection.
He wants so desperately to push your t-shirt up and see the rest of you naked and bouncing. But he'll take what you offer without complaint. His hips shift forward again and again, your thighs spread wide for him so he can access you as deeply as possible.
"Harder," you beg brokenly. "Please… fuck me harder."
He acquiesces immediately with a grunt, hands coming to pin your wrists to the mattress above your head as he fucks into you, hips moving brutally against yours. He can see the swell of your breasts bouncing under the soft cotton of your t-shirt, watches the way your eyes roll back and hears the strange throaty babbling that emerges from you.
"So fu ... So dee.. Fuck... Good.... Don't st... Gonna... Gonna..."
Each word is punched out with every thrust from Dieter. He feels sweat beginning to bead at his temples but nothing distracts him from his pursuits.
You're close, he knows by the way your own hips begin to circle his and then finally they still as you begin pulsing around his length.
At the first sound of your cry and the feeling of your cunt milking him, Dieter feels his own release erupt from him.
“You’re so good, so fucking good,” he groans before he grunts out your name as he gives one final thrust and then stills. He groans as he spends himself deep within you before he collapses on top of you, head against your shoulder.
"Fuck." Dieter says slowly. "That was....that was good right?"
"More than good," you say honestly before brushing back your sweaty hair from your forehead. "Thank you."
You go to sit up and leave but Dieter is already pulling you towards him, wedging a leg between yours and nestling his face in the crook of your neck.
“Just stay a moment.”
You want to extricate yourself, to remind him that this was all just for release. But he’s so warm and he smells so good and you feel so good and the room is so warm . . .
You wake up a few hours later to Dieter’s hand gently rubbing your stomach over your sleep shirt. You give a soft yawn and he looks your face on the pillow next to his. He wonders if all men feel like this when they’ve gotten a woman pregnant. This fierce protectiveness, this open desire that makes him want to hold you and never let go.
You look beautiful right now, sleepy and sensual as you give a soft stretch. He feels your torso shift and thinks about the miracle under his fingertips. Creating life.
"He's gonna be a Saggitarius."
"Huh?"
"My son," Dieter tells you. "Doctor says he'll be born December twelfth, remember? That makes him a Saggitarius."
"So?"
"So that's good because I'm a Libra. So we're a good personality match. He's gonna be independent though. Wonder if he'll go into the family business," Dieter muses looking at your belly. "What are you?"
"A woman who doesn't think that star placements affect my future," you say with your eyes closed, mouth curled into a bemused smirk.
"He'll be here just in time for Christmas," Dieter says dreamily. "Can you imagine how cute he'll be in front of the Christmas tree?"
"Not really," you say briskly. "I'll be recovering from pushing a watermelon-sized being out of my body. I'm thinking a beach somewhere with lots of alcohol."
"You're not going to be here?" Dieter says, feeling a strange panic bubbling inside him. "Not even for the first few days?"
"You paid me to be your surrogate, Dieter," you tell him flatly. "Not your nanny."
"I just figured you'd stick around for a bit," Dieter mutters.
“I'm gonna go to an all inclusive somewhere. Just relax for two weeks in the sunshine, get hammered, ho-."
You stop. You'd been about to say "hook up" but something makes you pause. When you'd first thought about life post birth you'd kinda just assumed that it would be running away to an island to celebrate the whole thing being behind you. But now, thoughts of some warm vacation away from Dieter and your baby seems... Hollow.
Not your baby. Stop thinking like that.
You glance over to see Dieter, his face impassive. You think that maybe, just maybe you could stay a few days. Just to get the baby settled. That would be kind of you. Yes, that works.
"I guess I could stay the first week it comes home- er to your home," you tell him.
Dieter nearly jumps off the bed in excitement. "Really?"
You shrug. "Won't be able to move much anyway."
Dieter can't help himself, his hands go to your neck, holding you before his lips come crashing into yours. You hate how you don't even pause before returning the kiss with cheeks flushed as he takes them in his hands, his eyes soft on yours.
When he kisses you again it feels slower, deeper. And when you urge him on top of you again, your thighs parting automatically, he slides into you like he just kissed you. Slow and deep until the two of you are shuddering against one another, your dual moans a symphony in the quiet house.
Cravings
bananas
pizza
pretzels
independence from boss who will not stop sending insane baby related texts at all hours of the day
Missing
personal space
sushi
not barfing
Baby is size of turnip.
Dieter’s mood continues to vacillate in the coming weeks. Some days he’s bouncing up and down, cooing at your belly behind closed doors and talking about the future. Other days he’s withdrawn, spending hours in his art room or running through his lines alone in his bedroom.
You wonder if it’s the withdrawal from drugs. You haven’t seen your employer indulging in anything more than red wine at dinner and you wonder if it’s taking its toll on him. You decide he needs a distraction, something fun. You also sort of want to pay him back for… well… helping you out.
You take a look at his schedule and after a few phone calls you go to his art room on morning he has off, giving a soft knock. His voice is muffled but irritable through the closed door. He’s blasting music that he turns down.
“What?”
“I have a surprise for you,” you tell him grinning through the door. Almost immediately you hear the padding of socked feet and he pulls the door open, a cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth, his eyes wide like a child’s.
“A surprise?”
“Yep,” you nod with a smile. “A special treat.”
He wastes no time in running a comb through his hair (at your insistence), popping a piece of gum in his mouth and pulling on his oversized jacket before following you out of the house and into the waiting town car.
“What’s the treat?” he asks the second the vehicle begins to move.
“Be patient,” you say with a teasing grin. “It’s about a two hour drive to Dublin.”
“Two hours?” Dieter throws himself back in his seat as if this is the cruellest form of punishment. “Do I get a hint?”
You mull this over as the green outside the window sails by. “Mmm… Green.”
“Green?”
“Yep.”
“The fuck?”
“That’s all you get.”
“What kind of clue is ‘green’ when we’re in fucking Ireland?”
“Guess you’ll have to wait and see,” you tell him. “Now I have some work I have to do, why don’t you go on your phone or take a nap or something.”
“You sure you’ve never had kids?” Dieter muses sarcastically. “Sure sound like one.”
You give him a warning look before going back to responding to emails about a photo shoot happening next month. You pull into Dublin a few hours later, glancing sideways when Dieter shifts and begins speaking.
"I miss going to the movies as a regular person," Dieter tells you, eyes hidden behind sunglasses as you drive by the theatre. "Used to be the only place that made me happy."
Dieter tells you a lot, but his childhood is a topic he usually stays away from. You lower your phone, giving him your full attention. "Really?"
"Yeah," he nods. "When I was a kid we didn't have a ton of money. But my mom always saved up enough for me to go to see a movie."
He misses his Mom a lot. It’s clear in the wistful way he talks about her. It reminds you that the two of you share a connection, one you both wish you didn’t. Parents gone too soon, taken, ripped from your families but never your hearts.
You don’t have to lower his sunglasses to know his eyes are misty as he thinks of her. You reach across the seat and wrap your fingers around his wide hand. You want this day to be a good one for him, you want him to be happy.
“What’s your favorite drink in the whole world?”
Dieter comes back to himself, glancing at you over his sunglasses. “Easy, whiskey.”
“Exactly,” you say smiling. “And what kind?”
“Jameson.”
You nod, watching the green building slowly coming into view. You motion to it out the window with a soft "voila" grinning as Dieters eyes grow wide.
"Jameson distillery...Private tour for one Dieter Bravo," you tell him proudly. "Turns out the owner is a big Cliff Beasts fan."
Dieter is leaning over your lap to see more of the building, his warm chest on your thighs.
"Are you serious?"
He's looking at the logo glowing on the sign, eyes taking in the double doors before smiling in shock at you.
"Yep. Now be on your best behavior," you tell him bringing out the phone. "I'll be back in three hours-"
"Fuck that," Dieter scoffs. "You're coming with me. This'll be way more fun with someone else."
"Dieter, I can't even drink."
"I'll drink enough for the two of u-"
"Incorrect," you cut him off officiously. "You promised Diane you weren’t getting wasted anymore. So today you can to enjoy the tour and the whiskey tasting, maybe buy a hat, but that's it."
"But-"
"Don't make me regret doing something nice, Bravo," you warn him and a warm smile crosses his face as he nods.
"Yes ma'am."
"Alright, let's go in." You shuffle on your seat to the door. “Now we only have three hours inside so make sure you don’t wander off, got it?”
“Got it.” Dieter is squirming excitedly so much he reminds you of a puppy, all big eyes and wagging tail. You roll your eyes in amusement before you duck out of the car with him, telling the driver to please return in three hours.
“Sunglasses,” you murmur, handing them to him. He slips them on, tugging up the hood of his jacket. Without warning he takes your hand in his, clasping tightly. “Don’t wanna get separated,” he explains. You don’t fight him on it, instead you grip him back and nod.
Dieter doesn't let go of your hand until you're both inside staring up at the chandelier made of whisky bottles. The place is busy, but its midday and most are so distracted by their own adventure that they don't even notice Dieter as you two walk in.
"Holy shit," Dieter says and even though you can't see his eyes you know they're wide with excitement.
The wraparound bar has descriptive titles like floral, vanilla, smooth above empty shot glasses begging to be filled. Dieter reads the board talking about the various things to see.
"I wanna do the cask drawing," he says, rocking back in his shoes excitedly. "And the blending class."
"We can do it all," you promise him, absently tapping his elbow to keep him moving. "C'mon, we're looking for a Peter Connor."
You sail past a group just starting their tour, your feet slapping the slate floor. Dieter is awestruck, looking at everything like a wondrous child until you come upon what looks to be the owner, a grey haired man with big ears.
"Peter Connor?" You ask, pulling out the email correspondence between the two of you. "I'm the one who-"
"Mister Bravo?" Peter says with his Irish lilt the second he sees him, his eyes wide. "I was just sayin' to me wife that it was a feckin' miracle you bein' in Dublin since we just finished yer latest Cliff Beast film. Is there any hope of an autograph for the wife an' me?"
Dieter is all charm and smiles, shaking the man's hand and chatting back and forth before signing autographs and you taking a few photos of them.
"I didn't know you were married," Peter says, shaking you hand warmly before you realize what he's said.
"Oh no," you say quickly. "Just his PA."
"My mistake," Peter says ducking his head. "Well if you'll be followin' me I've got a special tour planned. Your assistant here told me how much ye love Jameson, Mister Bravo."
"I do," Dieter says grinning. It's the only whisky I drink."
"Aye, as it should be."
The private tour goes off without a hitch and you find yourself fascinated by the varied history of Jameson whiskey.
When it comes to the tasting Peter your tour guide goes to pass you your flight but you stop him.
"None for me, thanks."
"Ye can't be comin' through Jameson and not tryin' a drop," he cajoles. Normally you'd come up with a lie or laugh along with him. But you're tired from the drive and walking while pregnant so you just shrug.
"Unless medical advice has changed in the last fifty years I don't think introducing my unborn child to whiskey in the womb is exactly wise."
Peter is immediately all smiles, looking at your stomach.
"Are ye' in the family way then?" He smiles. "What a blessin'. Is this yer first?"
And last.
"Yeah," you nod, not wanting more attention than necessary. Dieter is watching all of this at your elbow, eyes on your face.
"I wish ye and yer little one nothin' but blue skies and long healthy days and that you'll both be rich in blessins."
"Thank you."
Dieter sees it before you do, Peter's hand reaching forward to gently pat your stomach. He remembers the horror you feel at strangers grabbing your body and he quickly wraps his arm around your waist, guiding you towards the next flight of whiskey being brought out.
When a young couple comes up and quietly requests a photo Dieter accepts and it’s you who offers to take it, asking them to be subtle and not post it until Dieter has left. They agree, their hands hovering around Dieter’s broad shoulders. You hand them back their phone and move on, rolling your eyes at their backs.
Refreshing.
That's the word that comes to mind with Dieter about you. You're refreshing. Like an iced cold glass of water on a hot day. A welcome reprieve from the relentless heat. He's never had a someone close to him who didn't want their five minutes of fame. But you? You hate being seen, hate the idea of someone taking your photo. You want to exist, but you don't want celebrity, that's never been what you crave. And Dieter thinks that might be one of the nicest things about you.
You do the cask drawing, the whisky tasting, the black barrel blending class and by the end of the experience Dieter is visibly relaxed, wearing his newly acquired green Jameson t-shirt, beanie, hipflask and a bag full of no less than a metric fuck-ton of booze.
"Did you really need sixteen bottles D?"
"This is 12 distillery Reserve," Dieter says aghast at your question. "You can only get it in Dublin. So its one for each month plus a few extra for gifts."
You shake your head in faux exasperation as you both get into the car that's arrived for you along the curb. And just in time, you hear a few voices starting to murmur Dieters name as you close the door behind you both.
Settled inside Dieter produces a key chain in the shape of a whisky bottle, it glints in the low dimming lights of the city.
"For you," he says handing you the key chain as you laugh. "Since you didn't get to drink anything."
"Thanks," you say with a short laugh, taking the key chain from him. You look it over, gently rubbing at the raised enamel. The car begins to drive and you feel your eyelids start to lower.
"Thanks for the treat," comes Dieters whisky-tinged breath huffing at your temple. “Even if you didn’t get to drink.”
You try to hold in the shiver that accompanies his husky order in your ear. Fucking hormones. You swallow, eyes blinking open but you don't dare look over at the chuckling Dieter leaning back into his seat.
“Can we make one stop?” Dieter calls to the driver before the partition closes.
“Where?”
“I ordered something a few weeks back that I wanted to pick up.”
The car takes you to a small row of pale colored storefronts. Dieter mutters that he’ll be right back. You watch him exit and he takes off down one of the narrow alleys, his shoulders hunched.
Your stomach drops because this is all too familiar. This is a fix.
He’s going to buy drugs.
When he returns minutes later with no parcel and his hands shoved into his pockets you know that you’re right. The disappointment that floods you almost takes your breath away. Dieter clamors into the vehicle and the driver informs you that you’ll make good time heading back to the rental.
You are positively fuming and despite his several attempts at getting you to talk, you force your ear buds into your ears and ignore Dieter for the entire drive home.
You throw the door open when you finally arrive back, waiting for town car to leave the drive before you turn on Dieter, your voice low and growled as he makes his way to the kitchen.
“You are unbelievable.”
He slowly lowers his bags and bags of booze before taking in how furious you look.
“Huh? Why?”
“After all that trouble I went to because I wanted to give you a nice afternoon, you go and stop to get drugs?” You head shakes almost violently, moving to the kitchen to give space between the two of you because right now you want to throttle him. “So what is it this week? Cocaine? Heroin? I thought you wanted to be a responsible p-“
“Woah woah,” Dieter says raising his hands in supplication. “Chill out. I didn’t buy any fucking drugs and just so you know, I haven’t even done heroin in years. Believe it or not, some things in rehab stuck.”
“Oh no?” You scoff, throwing your purse to the floor. “Empty your pockets then.”
Dieter stands stiffly staring at you, a frown crossing his features.
“No.”
“Dieter.”
“I don’t want to.”
The two of you stare at one another a moment in a silent standoff. It’s you who fires the first shot as you reach into your coat pocket for your cellphone.
“I’m calling Diane,” you say briskly, “you can lie to me all you want, but-“
“I’m not lying to you,” Dieter insists and irritation is crowding his features now. The back of his neck is growing warm, a classic sign of frustration in him. He wishes you’d stop being so cold to him, so accusatory.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why?”
“Because I know you.”
“Well you don’t know me that well!” Dieter all but shouts. He reaches into his pocket now and pulls out a small box, slamming it onto the kitchen counter between you both. You stare at it confused before looking back up at him.
“What is this?”
“A present for you,” he bites off, his cheeks pink with irritation. “One I was hoping to save until the end of filming.”
The shame that takes you over is almost debilitating in its acuity. You feel your entire body grow warm with humiliation at your accusation. All your desire for a pleasant day for Dieter has been ruined by you of all people.
“Oh.”
“Well you might as well open it now,” Dieter shrugs. “Cats out of the bag.”
You grimace as you open the box, feeling shame growing in your cheeks as you view what’s inside.
It’s a ring.
Your eyes widen as you look inside the box, your fingers pulling the ring out to inspect it. It's the same one you saw weeks ago, the hands holding the heart. Only this beautifully carved one has hands holding a sparking green emerald heart instead. You swallow your suddenly very dry mouth, glancing up at him.
"You bought me a ring?"
Dieter shrugs as if this is something he does every day.
“Why?”
"Heard you talking about it with Fia at the shop so I got one sent from Galway." He sees the look on your face and his brows furrow. "What? You don't like it?"
"I do," you promise him, putting the ring on your right hand, the heart facing out. You both smile when you hold it up to the light. "I love it actually. But I don't want you feeling like you have to get my gifts, Dieter. You're already paying me a lot."
Dieters smile flickers briefly.
"Yeah well this was... This wasn't a baby thing. It was a... I dunno, friend thing. A PA thing. You do a lot for me and just a thank you."
You stare at Dieter in shock, unable to formulate a reply a moment. You look at the ring and the hurt look on Dieter’s face and you feel shame suffuse you. He’d gone and done a sweet thing and you’d thought the worst of him.
“I’m sorry, Dieter.”
He nods and then walks past you, his face solemn as he walks into his bedroom and quietly closes the door shut.
///
19 weeks personal diary entry [D.Bravo]
Baby Name Ideas
Alex
Victor
Francisca
Penelope
Javiera
Should I include Mom’s name as middle name? She wouldn’t want that anyway.
The thing about working on a smaller film set is that it can feel like a family. You're already friends with many of the other PA's, the wardrobe department, hair and makeup, the catering and much more.
Most are older than you by a bit, not uncommon in this part of Ireland and its union. They are all perfectly kind to you, the food is always great and because of that you find yourself going to set more than you have in past productions.
Back in America you used to sit in Dieters trailer on set days with your laptop and phone busily organizing his days. But here his days aren't spent partying and because of the baby on the way you find him hanging around his rental most evenings. It makes your job easier and you find yourself with more free time.
You're also fascinated by how Dieter transforms himself into someone entirely different for this role. It's amazing how he goes from slob in his hole-filled robe and Crocs to a dashing leading man with his hair slicked back and his beard trimmed.
You're also amazed by Mia. You've been on plenty of sets and seen Dieter act opposite many beautiful leading ladies. But Mia is a supreme talent, the kind of woman who people whisper about and stare at. During their scenes together your eyes volley between the two of them completely enraptured in their acting and their undeniable chemistry.
You watch one day as a scene is filmed. Your perched on the chair marked Dieter Bravo, legs crossed and eyes stuck on him on set. It's a night scene and they are both in a library un-chaperoned.
"Why are you here?" Mia asks silhouetted against the window.
"You know why," he says with a throaty rasp coming up behind a quivering Mia.
He completely changes himself for each character down to the way he holds his shoulders back, making him look even broader.
It's hard not to find him attractive like that. Especially now that you know... What you know. The feel of his tongue between your thighs, the rasp of his beard against your cheek. The way his voice goes honeyed when he urges you to come.
You gonna soak my cock, baby?
You watch as Dieter cages Mia in against the wall. "You know what you do to me," he murmurs.
Mia stares up at him, her wide eyes unblinking. You swear you could see adoration in her gaze. It makes you hold your breath.
"Cut."
You watch the two of them break into easy smiles before Dieters large hand sails to the small of Mia's back. He leans over and whispers something into her ear and she tilts towards him, grabbing his bicep as she trills a laugh.
She likes him. You'd long suspected given her gazes that first night at the award show. But the worst part is that Dieter is feeding her obvious crush. His dark eyes crinkle at the sides when she says something only he can hear.
You find yourself cringing at their exchange, your eyes dropping to your phone. Diane has sent you a few emails about a kids awards show that they want to honor Dieter at. Plus a few branding commercials you have to run by him.
You head back to his trailer, needing to focus on your work. It’s a few hours later when you hear the crunch of his boots on the gravel and then the shift of the trailer as he enters, seeing the lights are on and inhaling that familiar aroma of coconuts and vanilla. You give a short hello, not even looking up from your laptop.
"It's lunch," he informs you, watching you hurriedly type at the table.
"Uh huh."
"Have you eaten?"
"I will later."
You don't even notice that he's left until twenty minutes later when a container of salad, bread and lasagna is pushed in front of you. You glance up with a quirked brow to see Dieter staring down at you.
"Eat."
Normally this would annoy you. You hate being told what to do and you hate being babied.
But there's something about the sight of him in that costume, the stern look on his face and the rasped command that has your pupils blowing wide. Your hormones begin thrumming and you feel arousal pooling in your lower belly. You barely feel in control of yourself as you close the lid of your laptop.
“I-I’m going on a walk,” you tell him before sliding out of the seat.
“But lunch –“
“I’ll eat when I get back. I promise.”
You hear a knock on his trailer door.
"Mister Bravo? Your needed on set."
"Coming Simon," Dieter calls out. Then he looks back at you with a serious look on his handsome face.
“Cmon,” Dieter pleads, his large eyes round. “Eat quick and then come to set? I want your advice on some lines.”
“Sure.”
He smiles and heads out of the trailer. The second the door is closed you’ve taken off to the daybed at the back of his trailer. You hate yourself for what you’re about to do, but it doesn’t stop you from shucking down your jeans and thrusting your hands under your panties.
The daybed smells like the cologne he wears, the organic soap he uses. Your close your eyes and inhale deeply before you bring yourself off in record time at the thought of Dieter in that regency outfit, of his dark eyes burning coals into yours as he takes you murmuring filth in that deep rasp of his.
When you come down you give a breathless laugh at how fast that happened before cleaning yourself up in the bathroom. You return to have a few bites of your lasagna before grabbing a banana from this morning's forgotten breakfast and heading to set.
You take your spot on Dieters chair as you arrive, your cheeks heating when he comes over to you. He looks nervous as he holds out the script to you.
"Run these with me?"
"Of course."
Dieter nods and you watch him transform into character. He runs a hand through his hair, making it more dishevelled. His face is a glower, his dark eyes narrowed.
“I need you,” Dieter growls. “So much I can barely breathe. You see what you do to me?”
Fuck.
You’re turned on and Dieter can see it plain as day. He sensed it back in the trailer, but now it’s so fucking obvious he could laugh, your pupils blown wide in your eyes as you watch him finish the scene.
“U-uh that was good,” you stammer, flustered. He wants to kiss you so badly right now, the smirk threatening to turn into a full-blown smile as he watches his normally composed assistant turn pink in the face, stuttering.
“No feedback?”
"Hmmm, maybe try loosening this," you tell him, hooking a finger into his cravat and tugging gently, feeling breathless as you do. "Like you're so overwhelmed by her nearness that you can't breathe."
"Oh shit, that's good," Dieter says with a broad smile. 'I'm gonna use that. Thanks."
"No problem," you answer honestly, eyes moving from his neck to his face. "I actually enjoy this part of the job."
"Yeah?" Dieter’s voice drops a bit as his head tilts to yours. "S'that all you enjoy about working for me?"
Memories of your times together flood your senses and your traitorous gaze immediately falls to his full mouth. You realize your finger is still hooked in his collar. You remove it slowly, letting it drag along his neck.
"Be honest," he purrs quietly against your temple. “I saw how you were looking at me earlier. This costume do it for you, baby mama? Should I bring it back with me later?”
Yes, fuck yes please.
You feel his mouth at your cheek as his hand rises to hover over your belly.
You go white in the face, pressing him back from you and glancing around, thankful no one is watching.
"What the fuck are you doing?" You hiss quietly. "Are you insane?"
Dieter seems to come back to himself and stands abruptly. His eyes are wide, realizing what he almost did.
"Fuck, I didn't-"
"Talent to set."
Dieter goes to say something else but instead just shakes his head and strides from you.
You can't even look at him right now you're so angry. He's going to blow this entire fucking thing with his recklessness. You want to leave but they're about to start rolling and you’re a professional.
"Alright," the director says as the makeup woman brushes Dieters face to take away any shine. "From the top of the page."
"You want me throwing with right or left?"
"Can you do left?"
"Yep."
"Excellent. For the chair, both like in rehearsal." The director slides back into his chair watching the monitor. "Camera? Rolling... Action."
You watch as Dieter grabs a glass of prop wine, throwing it back and tossing the glass into the fireplace furiously.
"She won't even look at me," he growls to himself, shrugging the coat angrily from his shoulders to reveal a starched lawn shirt underneath. "Acts as if she doesn't want me."
He tugs at the cravat around his neck before pouring another glass. He drinks this one quickly murmuring about how the woman he loves has become a stranger to him.
"He's magnificent," a voice whispers beside you. Its Mia dressed in a robe, holding a cup of tea. She's staring at Dieter with stars in her eyes.
The director calls for a cut to reset, something about the lighting. Mia smiles over at you, taking the seat with her name on it as Dieter stands with the director talking quietly. You notice his eyes swinging in your direction and so you focus on Mia next to you.
"I've watched him since I was a teenager," she admits with a soft blush. "He was my first celeb crush."
"Really?"
Mia giggles and nods before taking a sip of her tea. Her large eyes trail over to Dieter once more.
"Is he single?"
You blink. "I think so, yeah."
"Do you think I'm his type?"
You want to laugh. "You're young, beautiful, talented and you're a fan of his. Trust me, you're his type."
"But?"
"Honestly?" You grimace at the concern in her features. "Dieter is a lot of fun. Not really serious, not really...."
You trail off thoughtfully a moment.
"Your star is on the rise, Mia. And from what I've seen of this industry that can be easily tarnished by being seen with the wrong person."
"You make it seem like he's a murderer."
"No, murder is too much work for Dieter," you say with false musing. "I'm sure he'd just get me to do it for him."
Mia hides another giggle behind her hand. You grin at her before growing somber.
"Honestly Mia, Dieter is a great person. He's got a great heart. I just don't think his reputation would be great for you. He's got a laundry list of drug use, saying pretty outrageous stuff on the red carpet," you swallow. "I would just hate for your reputation to suffer because you wanted to date your celebrity crush."
Mia nods thoughtfully, draining the rest of her tea. You feel bad, but at the same time you know what you're talking about. You've seen the hypocrisy of Hollywood taking down women for entering into high profile relationships with notorious bad boys. Mia is too talented to have that happen to her.
While she doesn’t say anything further, you don’t miss the way she continues to stare at Dieter.
Ireland is gorgeous. You've rented a car so the time not spent working on Dieter work is spent exploring the Emerald Isle. You love the verdant surroundings, the amazing locals, the landscapes that take your breath away.
You meet so many kind people, many of them tourists. When they hear your accent they want to take you for a pint and a chat but you always decline. You don't want to have to explain why you don't drink.
Most evenings are spent going over lines with Dieter for the next day’s shooting. Otherwise it's scheduling his meetings, checking in with Diane about his sponsorship posts. And while you grow happier by the day out here, Dieter is quite the opposite.
After the first week you noticed him looking a little down in the mouth. You told yourself it was just a bad mood. But now almost two months in he's become unbearable. Snapping at you, spending a lot of time in his art room. He doesn't want to run lines with you anymore, he hires an acting coach that arrives looking frazzled and they seclude themselves in the office for hours.
At first you assumed they were fucking, but the few times you've passed by to get to your bedroom you can hear them running lines. Dieter always sounds so frustrated, near his breaking point.
You wonder why he stopped running them with you. Was it the sex? It was just a one-time thing.
Dieter continues growing worse, now more snappy and irritable than usual. His morning mediation has ceased entirely. He smokes cigarettes in the garden outside, even in the drizzly afternoon weather.
It all comes to a head when you're woken from a dead sleep to the sound of the front door being slapped and your name being called.
"I wanna fuck again," Dieter tells you, his mouth tainted with whisky when you open the door. He pulls up your shirt, kissing your belly sloppily. "Take off your shirt this time, I wanna see your tits."
You're in no mood. You shove him off of you angrily because you know this horny, loud, rapidly moving Dieter. He's very familiar.
"You're on something."
Dieter shrugs, his eyes on your expanded chest. He wants to see your tits so fucking badly he can't stand it. His hands go to cup them, his mouth parted. “Did a bump with some of the crew. No biggie.”
“Dieter!”
“What?” he challenges. “Just being the guy you always think I am. Some addict loser.”
You feel your face fall at this admission. You think back to how you accused him of buying drugs that day. The hurt look that had crossed his features.
"You can't do this Dieter," you tell him as you jerk back away from his outstretched fingers. "You promised."
"Don't nag me," he scowls when he can see you're keeping your clothes on.
"I'm telling you the facts," you reply. "You promised Diane! And even if you didn't, you told me you wanted this kid."
"I do!"
"Then what the fuck are you doing? You want this kid to end up with some junkie for a father?" You're practically hissing. "Late to set, doing hard drugs, what is going on?"
Dieter tries to turn from you but you grip his shoulder, spinning him.
"Tell me!"
"They don't like me here," Dieter barks out at you, causing you to recoil from him. "They don't think I'm good enough to be in this movie. I can see it in their eyes!"
Animosity drops from your shoulders like an unwelcome jacket. Immediately you soften.
"Dieter," your tone is gentle. "Why would they have hired you if you weren't talented enough?"
"I do action movies, not this Jane Austen shit," Dieter moans, throwing himself into the couch. "I'm no good."
Suddenly the agitation, the long hours spent with his acting coach all makes sense to you.
"I've seen your stuff Dieter," you tell him. "It's great when you really put your heart and soul into it."
His large eyes are so hopeful staring up at you.
"I mean it," you say, your hand reaching out instinctively towards him. He takes it, pressing his cheek into your touch and letting his eyes fall shut.
His stubbled cheek nuzzles against your palm, like an eager cat desperate to lay claim. Suddenly it's too familiar, too domestic and you whip your hand back from him. His dark eyes dart open with a snap.
"You're just saying that," Dieter says, feeling rejected as you pull back from him. "Just saying it to make your job easier."
He pushes himself from the couch, ignoring your calls for him to stop and come back, to talk this out. He slams the door to his bedroom and you can only assume he's locking himself up to do more of whatever he bought.
Fuck what am I gonna do?!
You can't call Diane, it's far too late back in the US and even if you did what can she do?
You scroll through the list of names in your phone. You don't want to get Dieter in trouble with the director or the-
Your thumb hovers over the name MIA ROWE/JOSH in your contact list. You type hurriedly.
[6:55pm] Is there any chance Mia could come by to talk Dieter off a ledge? He's panicking about the movie and I'm outta options.
[6:55 pm] JOSH:One sec. I'll ask.
[6:58 pm] JOSH:Yep. Now good?
When Mia arrives shortly after looking glamorous even in her jeans and sweater, you thank her profusely.
"I don't know how much you know about Dieter and his drug use-" you start, stopping when she raises a wavering hand.
"I know enough," she promises you. "My dad was an addict."
Oh. You worry now that this is far too much for her.
"He's been acting weird the last few days," she confides hanging up her jacket. "I suspected. Honestly I'm relieved that you called."
Relief floods you. "He's in his bedroom, do you want me to-"
"No no, you relax," she says giving you a wink. "I've got it from here."
Dieter is lying on his side when the knock comes to his door. His coke is gone and so is the elated feeling that goes along with it. Now he feels snippy and angry. Your disappointed face flashes in his mind and he winces.
"Go away."
"Dieter?"
That's not your voice. He twists to look over his shoulder at Mia slowly cracking the door open.
"Can I come in?"
What the hell.
"Yeah. Sure."
He forces himself to a sitting position, his head hung to the side as she sits next to him on his bed.
"Your PA told me you're upset about filming and-"
"That I'm the worst fucking actor on set? Yeah."
Dieter throws himself dramatically back onto the bed.
"You're not."
Mia smiles gently at him, her blonde locks falling into her eyes. She takes his hand gently in hers, rubbing his tattoo softly. He softens, raising himself to a sitting position again.
"I'm just as nervous as you are," she confides, her hand over his. "Every day I go to set I'm terrified they'll tell me I'm bad or that they're going to replace me."
"You?" Dieter says in shock. "Yeah right."
"I'm serious," Mia insists. "You're so good, Dieter! Better than I thought you were."
It's been so long since he heard these words from a colleague. It makes him feel good, makes him feel in control. She's smiling at him and she's so pretty.
"I was so excited to work with you on this," she confides. "And I promise you've exceeded everyone's expectations. Everyone talks about how good you are in this."
"Really?"
"Really."
Dieter is like any actor, he's all ego and hearing her say these sweet, wonderful things is warming him.
Her hand goes to his curls, gently carding her fingers through his hair. Her intention is very clear, she didn't just come here to comfort him. She wants him. It feels like so long since he's been wanted like this.
He's been good. No parties and until tonight no drugs. No women or men. He's been like a fucking saint. You yourself don't count. You pretty much told him that when he fucked you. So what's the harm in a little playing behind closed doors?
His mouth crashes into Mia's, hands around her back in an instant. She welcomes the kiss with a whimper, her hands circling his waist as he deepens the kiss.
This feels really good. Mia is beautiful and so gentle. She accepts his touches, enjoys how he wraps himself around her. She doesn't pull away like you do.
He pulls her onto his lap, letting her grind against his already aching erection as they continue to kiss. She's got her hands in his hair, gripping and tugging as they kiss. It drives him fucking wild.
His hands go to the button of her jeans but before they can do more, Mia gives a soft laugh, pecking him on the cheek and standing.
"Got carried away."
"I liked it."
"I'll like it more when I know it's not the coke," she tells him honestly.
"It's not."
"Guess we'll find out," she says smiling as she heads for his bedroom door. "I'll see you on set tomorrow then."
"Yeah," Dieter smiles dreamily. "You will."
You don't know what Mia said to Dieter but he's a changed man. For the rest of the month he is on time, professional and sober. Most nights he's over at Mia's rental having dinner (and you assume fucking). He's been very covert, never spending the night, never touching her on set in a way that's not professional.
Last week he began wearing cologne and you notice his customary Crocs are traded in for dress shoes.
"Mia's taking me to this Thai place," Dieter tells you with a smile one evening as you finish up your debrief about the intimacy coordinator scenes next week. "Then we're running lines at her place."
"But that's-" our thing your mind finishes for you. You hold in the frown and just nod, telling him to have a good night as he waves goodbye.
And that's when it starts. This feeling of being left behind.
It's what you wanted.
Yes, you wanted Dieter to stop treating you like a delicate thing. Wanted him to stop smothering you with attention. You wanted him out of your hair so you could stop having to sneak around with Josh.
Except now you sort of miss Dieter.
You miss his annoying way of chewing gum, making it crack against his molars. You miss how he leans over the back of the couch when he walks by and catches you watching something that interests him. You miss how he asks how you're feeling and the delicate way he cups you tummy when you let him.
You even miss the cigarette smell that occasionally clings to his favorite cardigans (although that changes when it begins to make you sick).
You think about inviting Josh over here tonight. So far it's been frantic kissing against pub walls and one remarkably disappointing phone sex experience that left you more frustrated than anything.
You're just so paranoid he's going to be able to tell you're pregnant that you've been holding back.
You walk to the bathroom, having to pee again. For the first time in a while you take a look at yourself. Your clothes are so very baggy and you go to great lengths not to look at your naked body. So when you pull up the t-shirt and stand to the side you're shocked at the difference.
You look pregnant.
Your stomach is pronounced. You can definitely see it swell and the sight takes your breath away. You touch your belly, rolling your hands over it and giggling nervously as you stare at your reflection.
Holy shit. There's a baby in there.
For a while it just looked like you were permanently bloated. But now at five months you can definitely tell this is not a food baby.
You look at yourself a moment longer before pulling out your phone. You rest a hand over your belly, and take a photo of you in the mirror's reflection. You smile serenely, shocked at how natural you look in this pose.
You consider keeping it for yourself but this is a nice memory to share on the app. Dieter loves shit like this and he's been making your life easier as of late. Besides you won't keep this memory. It will be scrubbed from your mind the second the kid is born. No mementos needed. But Dieter deserves them.
You walk back to the main room, hands absently rolling over your stomach. You're asleep on the couch when Dieter arrives shortly thereafter. You feel his hands on your arm, gently nudging you awake. You blink, rubbing the sleep from your eyes to see him standing above you next to the couch. You glance at the clock on the wall.
"Why are you home so early?"
"I saw the app alert," Dieter says breathlessly as if he’s run the entire way home. "I can't believe - can I see? Touch it? Please?"
He came all this way, leaving Mia's early just to see your belly?
You nod with a yawn, lifting the shirt up over your belly. As Dieter takes in the swell of your stomach his eyes blow wide. He drops to his knees beside you on the couch, large hands roving over your expanded flesh.
"Fuck, he's really in there."
"Ultrasound wasn't proof enough?" You tease stretching.
"Photo is one thing but actually seeing this? Feeling it?" He marvels, shaking his head. "Just makes it so real. My baby is in there."
You nod, swallowing. "How was your night?"
"Good," Dieter answers before looking dreamy. "Mia's amazing."
"Mmm."
You watch as he presses an ear to your belly, his eyes closed as he listens. He's listening to the sound of your pregnant belly. Before you can stop him he's turned his head and pressed a soft, tender kiss to the side of your abdomen.
"I love you," he murmurs to your belly, eyes closed. "I love you my little baby. And when I finally meet you I'm gonna spoil you and take you and over the world."
Your heart goes to your throat as you blink back tears.
"You're never gonna go without," he promises quietly. "We're gonna be so happy."
For the first time since this all began you start to imagine Dieter holding his child. A tiny thing with curly hair that gurgles up at him. A mixture of you and the sweet man cradling your belly like its spun glass.
"Are you okay?" Dieter asks, large eyes concerned.
"Yeah, why?"
"You just look upset.”
“Just tired you lie, rubbing at your blotchy face. “Anyway. How was dinner? Must be good since you’ve been hanging with Mia a lot lately.”
“Yeah,” Dieter breathes with a wide grin. “She’s really great.”
“Mmm,” you nod, your attention on the muted television.
"She likes kids," Dieter adds.
"Oh good," you nod, shuffling your foot anxiously against the coffee table. "That's great, Dieter."
"What do you think of the name Karl-Jose if it's a boy or Mila-Ana if it's a girl?" Dieter asks, his eyes trained on your stomach. "You know, to honor my German and Latin roots."
"You can name it Lemon-Pillow Bravo for all I care," you answer honestly. You continue looking at the muted TV not really taking in anything, but desperate not to fall into the endless warmth of his eyes.
As far as you're concerned this kid growing inside you is a job. You're not getting attached.
"What’s your background?" Dieter asks curiously, his hand still resting on your belly. "That can factor into-"
"Why would it?" You ask frowning. "I'm not any part of this child's life remember?"
Dieter’s face which had been full of such joy moments earlier quickly sobers.
"Right."
The hand slips from your belly and you watch as he stands, moving to his art room, leaving you in silence as you bite back tears.
"It's TikTok live," you explain for the twentieth time in the last hour as Dieter’ hair stylist heads out the door. "Its promotion for the comedy you filmed last year, remember? Ninja cowboy?"
Dieter winces as he recalls that drunken nightmare. A job for a friend that went way over budget and way over filming schedule. He knows it's going to be shit which is why he's using Dieter to gain favorable press before the release.
You glance over to see you employer looking pensively at his breakfast. He's dressed with the clothes his stylist sent over and thanks to his grooming team her in Ireland he looks good in his charcoal sweater and curls brushed back and defined with gel.
"I hate this stuff," Dieter announces as he takes a bite of toast. "Can't you just do it for me?"
He's tired bags under his eyes that the makeup artist who just left tried to cover to the best of her abilities.
Dieter was at Mia's late last night going over lines and making out heavily. He's trying to take things slow with her but it’s hard. She's so eager to be with him, never shying from his touches. It feels so good to be wanted.
"That's not how it...works," you say wincing and putting a hand over your sternum.
Dieter notices immediately, almost choking on his dry toast in his effort to get to you. His hands fly to your clavicle.
"You okay?"
"Calm down," you say pushing him gently back away from you. "It's just heartburn."
"I was just trying to help," Dieter mumbles, throwing himself back into his chair.
It's so frustrating with you sometimes; you blow so hot and cold. It makes him feel unsure and anxious (when he's not turned on out of his mind.) Mia is so much easier and she's so warm all the time. She can also be a bit naive because at her age she doesn't have much life experience.
Mia loves to hear all about Dieter though, loves to talk about the movies of his she loved watching growing up. Mia hangs on his every word and Dieter can't deny that he loves it. It feels good to be adored.
So then why does he still crave your attention? Why does he flush when your eyes linger on his face? Is it really just that you're carrying his baby or is it something more?
Even now he feels his heart pick up as you come up sit next to him at the table.
"If you really wanted to help, you'd focus and get ready because you're going live on the MGM account in like three minutes," you say with frustration, your mouth in a curl of frustration. The baby has been keeping you up lately and its making you feel irritable.
That and you desperately want Dieter to take you to bed again.
But that can’t happen. The lines are getting too blurred for him, you can see that. Plus you’re pretty sure he’s with Mia and she’s been really good for him over here. You don’t want to screw that up.
"People will ask you questions here," you say pointing to the phone screen you've set up on the tripod in front of him. "Make sure at least every fourth question ties in to the movie. Release date, co-stars, that kind of stuff. Just don’t Rampart it."
You notice Dieter nodding at you in the phones display along with the large smear of grape jelly at the corner of his mouth.
"Come there," you say with a roll of your eyes as you turn to him.
In habit you grab his face, thumb coming to rest on his lower lip to swipe the jelly there as you smile at him in mock exasperation.
Dieter leans forward; eyes never breaking from yours before his mouth comes crashing into yours. His hands are on either side of your neck, pulling you to him.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he rasps against your mouth before pressing his lips to yours more fully once more. This is when you would have pushed from him. But instead your lips parted so he could lick into your mouth, making you whimper.
At the sound Dieter groans and you realize your hand is carding through his curls, messing them up.
The beep of your phone alarm goes off startling you both into breaking apart. Dieter pulls back, his dark eyes scanning your wide-eyed gaze.
"Dieter what-"
Fuck. He read that wrong. He fucking overstepped. Fuck.
"I'm sorry," Dieter says quickly. "I just thought-"
"-I was getting the jelly off your mouth before the live."
He snatches his hands back as if he's been burnt.
"That's good. That's great," Dieter stammers before wiping at his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "Better?"
"Yeah, totally," you stammer as you look back at the phone. "Okay, it's starting in two minutes. I'm gonna sit off to the side here in case you get desperate. But for the most part pretend that I'm not here okay?"
Dieter hates doing press, especially when he's somewhere without the guidance of an interviewer. He's so easily distracted, so prone to saying the wrong thing. His PR guy spent the last hour going over his talking points and what to avoid but this just makes Dieter more stressed, convicted he's going to fuck up.
Dieter nods, sitting facing the phone before swallowing and wincing. "Fuck why is my throat so dry?"
"I'll get you some tea," you offer before you go to the kitchen and start the kettle. You try not to think about how your lips are tingling from the kiss.
Things are getting complicated. This was just supposed to be a release based thing. Nothing about that kiss felt impersonal; in fact it felt decidedly intimate. Your second alarm goes off, it’s about to go live. You cross the kitchen to stand beside him.
"Ready?"
"As I'll ever be."
You step out of frame before pressing the red button on the phone and motioning to Dieter.
"Okay, go."
You walk back to pour the water over the teabag and you can hear Dieter behind you greeting everyone and thanking them for attending.
You come back to the table with the teacup to see Dieter shooting the phone and then you a stricken look.
"Jesus," Dieter mutters as streams of text scroll by. "What the... what the fuck do I -"
You roll your eyes off-screen, trying to speak softly to him. You mouth the words exasperatedly.
"Don’t swear! Just take a deep breath, look at the questions and answer them."
Dieter feels panic overtaking him. There's so many questions, so many names. He feels his heart starting to hammer anxiously.
"You've got this," you whisper.
Dieter looks at you and he feels his heartbeat returning to normal. There's something grounding in your expression, the same thing he sees you every time you hold his gaze. That steady, calming presence that tells him he'll be okay. You're the only person who gets to him like that.
"Okay," he says after a beat and you watch as he transforms into the confident, brash Dieter you've always known.
"Let's do this shit." He gives a broad, crooked grin to the phone and picks one of the questions at random. "Okay Pdcv2344 asks 'did I enjoy my nude scene in the Colossal Indemnify flick I made."
Dieter lifts a brow and shoots the camera a sardonic look.
"It was a nude scene with Gal Gadot pretending to ride me. What do you think?"
You roll your eyes and hold in a laugh from where you sit opposite him at the table. He goes on like this several more questions before he clears his throat. You remember the tea steeping at your elbow and fish the bag from the mug.
You hand him the mug, only your hand showing briefly in the screen. Dieter shoots you a grateful look as he takes it from you.
"Thanks baby," Dieter murmurs with a smile at you before his attention is drawn back to the scrolling messages. "No, I didn't wear a eyeliner in Cliff Beasts 2."
You feel your face twist into a grimace at the term of endearment used so publicly. You can only hope no one observes or brings it up. Dieter doesn't seem to notice the misstep. He's sipping his tea and answering questions. He seems to be enjoying himself until somewhere in the fifteen minute mark.
"What the fuck?"
You look up from your phone to see Dieter squinting into the phone. He's confused because digital sunglasses keep whipping over his eyes.
You raise your brows at him.
"These sunglasses keep going on my face when I'm trying to talk," Dieter says pointing at the camera. "Is that me? Am I doing that?"
"Those are gifts," you tell him with a smirk. "They're sending you gifts."
"Huh? How are fake sunglasses a gift?"
You hold in a giggle at this. Sometimes he really does amuse you.
"I thought you used TikTok all the time?"
"Not the lives. Are they using their own money for these gifts? Like real money?"
"Yeah."
"Fuck no!" Dieter frowns at the camera. "Don't send me gifts you guys. I have money. Don't waste yours.”
Dieter frowns when glasses and now a cowboy hat keep appearing digitally.
"Fuck, now there's a cowboy hat!"
"Okay well you can turn the gift option off," you tell him trying not to laugh at how stressed he seems. "Just press-"
"Can't you just do it?" Dieter asks, his baleful eyes pleading at you off-screen. "Please? You're so much faster."
You cringe at the thought of being seen but you nod, swinging around into the chair beside him. Dieter glances at you in the reflection of the camera and smiles.
"Hey everyone, this is my assistant," Dieter tells the crowd introducing and pointing at you as you give an awkward wave. "Best one around. I can't do anything without her."
"It's true," you chirp with a laugh. "I'll be one sec folks; just here for some technical difficulties then you can get back to asking Dieter questions."
You take a moment to press the buttons disabling the gifts option. Dieter watches you, amused at the flush on your cheeks. You hate being in front of the camera.
"There you go, no more cowboy hats or sunglasses," you murmur with a soft smile at him that he returns. His eyes drop to your mouth a moment before he nods.
"Thanks," Dieter murmurs with a smile, watching you slide back to the opposite side of the table, sure not to let anyone see your belly.
Dieter drags his eyes away from you to look back at the questions.
"Hey, Granguy66 wants to know if you're single," Dieter says with a waggle of his brows in your direction. "What should I say?"
You swallow, feeling suddenly strange. You know it's a joke, a laugh. But you feel odd replying in earnest. You decide on your response and deliver it with a grin.
"Say that Ninja Cowboy is coming to theatres this Friday so they better buy their tickets now."
[2:44 pm] JOSH: Thought you'd want to see this. Mia said to send it to you.
It's a photo of the cast of the film smooshed in the back of a carriage. Everyone is laughing. Dieter's hair is brushed and he's got a grinning Mia Rowe tightly against him, leaning over his lap to make sure the photographer can see her.
Dieter looks happy and relaxed and the sight of it makes you smile at the photograph. But at the same time it makes your stomach twist uncomfortably.
[2:45 pm] Thanks for sending this. Glad to see he's doing well.
[3:11 pm] Mia says that she and D are going to dinner tonight. He wanted me to tell you he forgot his phone and can you charge it?
[3:14pm] Of course he did. Yeah, I’ll charge it and have it ready for him before dinner. Can you tell him?
[3:14 pm] He’s asking if the rental needs more Bubble bath?? Wtf?
You smirk to yourself. Your check in code.
[3:14pm] Dieter just really loves baths. Tell him we’re all good here. All stocked up.
You glance down at your silenced phone and frown when you realize you've missed a call from your mother back home and guilt goes through you. You've been going all over Ireland, having amazing sex with Dieter and being distracted. You just send her texts and photos and the occasional email.
Your mother picks up on the second ring.
"Hi honey."
"Hey mom," you bite the inside of your cheek. "Sorry I haven't called lately."
"Oh that's no problem," your mom assures you. "I know you're busy. I just wanted to know if you're doing okay today."
Something in her tone stops your feet. The way she says ‘today.’
"Why wouldn't I be?"
There's a heavy pause then your mother's soft voice. "It's your father's birthday."
A feeling like a punch to the gut makes you wince. You erased it from your calendar, not wanting the reminder. But of course she hasn’t forgotten, wants you to remember them. You worked so hard not to think about these milestones with your dad gone but your mom seems to fixate on them.
"Right."
"Are you lighting a candle?"
"I will tonight."
"Good."
Your mother is big on lighting candles for those you've lost. She started with your grandparents and now your dad. It makes you sick looking at those flickering flames. Tears are starting at the corner of your eyes and a few PA's walk by giving you a friendly wave that you mirror weakly.
"Mom I have to go. I'm needed on set."
You hang up before she can say more but instead of the set you head for the shuttle. You don't want to be here anymore. You don’t want to think.
You want to forget. You want to pretend that you're fine. You want a distraction.
You push into the rental a short while later, your back and feet aching, your eyes swollen from suppressing tears into the cuff of your jacket. You need to just relax and forget about the world a moment, feel comforted.
You run yourself a bath, the scent of coconut bubbles filling the room. You strip down and slip into the bath, relishing in the warm water that surrounds you. You inhale deeply, cherishing the comfort of the coconut scent and gently lapping water. You turn the faucet off when it reaches just below your collarbone.
Your mind is busy though, despite the serene surroundings. You grab your phone next to the tub on the counter and settle back into the bubbles. You should be productive since you’re still technically on the clock.
For some reason the photo of Dieter and Mia is playing in your mind over and over. You click on instagram, searching up Mia's name and finding it there with its blue checkmark. She posts the normal things young women her age do; her doing yoga, shots of her at sunset, coffee drinking with friends, her dressed up for the Oscars. You're about to close out of the account before you see that she's posted something to her story. You click on it, feeling your breath leave you.
Her blonde head is on his shoulder and he's making one of his classic weird smirks at the camera she's holding up in front of them. She's written "This guy just makes me laugh all day" and tagged his account that he hasn't updated in months.
They look so... close.
You don't want to look at it anymore. You close out of the app and open up Reddit instead. You scroll into the Dieter Bravo subreddit. A habit you haven't indulged in for weeks due to distraction. The top post however has your eyes flying open.
Dieter Bravo secret affair? 5K upvotes, 4.8 replies.
Fuck have they learned about Mia’s crush on Dieter? Or is this all speculation like it was when Dieter was photographed with Bad Bunny? You click on the link, reading the paragraph starting the discussion and feel your heart clench.
Dieter Bravo is totally in love with his assistant. Look at these screenshots from his live.
One is you in the frame, focused on getting Dieter to understand the mechanics of the live gift feature before you're turning it off and one is when you just finished explaining gifts to him. He's got his
You can't help but feel your cheeks heating at the sight. While you were busy trying to help Dieter with his phone it seems he was busy staring at you.
And then there's the screenshot of your hand in frame handing Dieter his teacup. And the subtitle underneath: thanks baby.
You sort the comments by top, eyes scanning the thousands of comments in the discussion.
Holy shit the way he looks at her.
I heard he's dating some guy in Germany
How old is she?
My friend signed an NDA but she told me that Dieter totally fucked her in his hotel room after doing coke off her tits.
You can't tell me he's not smitten
He’s not the type to settle down so I hope she doesn’t fall too hard
He looks so hawt there
It's giving soulmates
She's cute! I hope they're happy together.
She's his employee!!!!! Stop being gross and assuming based on nothing!!!
Get urself a guy who looks at you like that
He called her baby. BABY. I'm fucking feral.
I love him your honor.
They're clearly fucking
She dresses like shit
This is how my husband looked at me during our first date. Fifty two years and three kids later he still looks at me that way.
For some reason this is the comment that stills your fingers.
You re-read it and your pathetic hormone-filled mind creates a tapestry of a future you’ll never have. One of you and Dieter older, watching your child playing in the pool. Dieter is looking at you with adoration as you press a kiss to his waiting mouth.
Stop it stop it stop it.
You need to forget this. You turn on your music, finding a blasting piece by NIN and let it overwhelm your brain. Your head tilts back against the tub, your eyes falling shut. In this moment you feel your mind fixed on the music, you feel your muscles releasing. You just want to stay in this moment forever…
“Hey you in there?”
Your eyes jolt open to see that the sky outside the small window is dark and the water you sit in is tepid. How long were you out for? You glance at the door with blurry eyes, hearing the gentle knock turning urgent and Dieter fumbling with the knob.
“Hey are you okay?”
“Yeah,” you call out, scrambling out of the tub and tugging on a robe. “Sorry, yeah I fell asleep.”
You twist the knob open and look at him towering over you in the doorframe, his dark eyes heavy with worry.
“What’s going on? You okay?”
“Just tired,” you say about to say more when your eyes fly open in realization.
“Shit! I forgot to plug your phone in!” you say, moving past him to plug it in now in the kitchen where he left it. He inhales the scent of coconut from your skin as you sail by and feels his stomach twist pleasurably.
He watches you fumbling to plug the charger in and it flashes green, showing its charging. It’ll be a bit before it’s finished though. Fuck, you only have the one job here in Ireland; be Dieter’s assistant. You fought so hard to keep your job and you’re completely fucking it up these days.
“Fuck, I’m sorry.”
“Hey hey,” Dieter grabs your elbow, noting the sheen to your eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Just a shitty day,” you say sighing heavily. “I’m really sorry about the phone.”
“Fuck the phone,” Dieter says with a shrug. His dark eyes are scanning your face. He can see that you’re upset. “I wanna know what has you so upset.”
He sounds so earnest, like he actually cares. Sometimes it’s hard to forget that he’s a really good actor.
“Nothing,” you insist with a false smile. “I got some of your dress shirts sent back from the cleaners. They’re hung in your closet in case you want to change. And uh-“
Your words falter as you look up into Dieter’s face to see him staring at you with an unfocussed look in his eyes. He’s staring at your chest and you glance down to see the deep vee of the robe has exposed much of your cleavage.
The realization should embarrass you, but if anything it makes your breathing come out shallow. The familiar thrumming is back between your legs, making you press your thighs together tightly. Dieter observes this, eyes moving shrewdly from your hips back to your face.
"You need some help," Dieter says huskily and it isn't a question. His hands are already at your waist, thumbs hovering over the sash of your plush robe.
"No...I...."
"I told you if you need release you come to me," Dieter murmurs. "Anytime you need it."
"But your dinner with Mia," you tell him worriedly.
"You come first," he says without thinking. His hands have already begun untying your robe. His eyes dart to your face. "If you want it."
"Yeah," you nod, feeling overcome. "Yeah, I want it."
The second the words leave your mouth he's tugging your robe open
You easily succumb to Dieter's mouth and hands and it's not long before he has you beneath him in his large bed, both of you naked and writhing in the expensive sheets. He's already made you come with his mouth and now his cock hits deliciously deep.
"I can't.... You're so fucking wet," he breathes into your mouth, eyes fixed on yours as you gaze up at him. "So fucking tight."
"Dieter," you groan, allowing him to suck your tongue into his mouth. He kisses as deeply as he fucks before pulling back and brushing the hair from your face looking at your kiss-swollen lips and heavy lidded eyes.
"You're so gorgeous when you let go," he murmurs gently, his hips moving lazily over yours.
You don't want to look in his eyes for too long. It makes it too intimate so you touch your forehead to his. The two of you watch where he enters you, soaked in your arousal. Your belly protrudes deliciously and Dieter realizes that this may be the last time he can fuck you in this position.
"We look so good," Dieter groans, brows saddling. You can't reply, your eyes are cheating to the back of your head now because the pleasure is building.
He fucks you hard into the mattress moaning into the crook of your neck all manner of vulgarities. You cling to him; arms wrapped so tightly around his neck you worry you're suffocating him. But he's not complaining, he's kissing your neck, hips rolling against yours.
The only sound in the room is your combined panting and the sound of his flesh hitting yours as he withdraws and sheaths himself completely over and over and when he comes he does so holding your body tightly to his.
"You didn't come," he pants with a frown. He can tell. He didn't feel that sweet fluttering and clench around his cock. He wants it.
"I didn't care about that," you tell him, kissing him gently. "I just wanted... I just wanted to feel you."
You can't explain it better than that but Dieter doesn't press you. He looks at you with a serious look before nodding and withdrawing from you. You go to leave the bed and go to your room but Dieter holds you to him.
"Stay here a little longer,” he huffs gently against your earlobe.
In this bed you won't be alone. You won't have to distract yourself in your room. You won’t have to think about the bad things.
"Okay."
You’ve forgotten about his date with Mia. Forgotten about everything awful with your Dad. All you feel and think right now is about Dieter and how good he smells and feels wrapped around you.
Dieter feels how you relax into his arms, something you’ve never really done. Just laying with you here in his bed, in sheets that will now smell of you has his heart aching instead of his cock. He could do this for hours, just holding you.
“Would it really be insane?” Dieter asks before he can stop himself, his voice huffing along the back of your neck. “I mean, you’re carrying my kid. Would us being together-“
Panic overtakes you. What the fuck is he suggesting? This is exactly why you didn’t want this to happen. Dieter is such a romantic at heart, so easily swayed if he’s fucked someone. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. And you refuse to be another phase for Dieter, even if he doesn’t know that’s what he is going through.
“Dieter I’m your employee,” you snap, interrupting him. “And after this baby is out of me I won’t even be in the same city as you.”
Dieter feels his body go tense. “Since when?”
“Since I agreed to do this for three hundred thousand dollars,” you inform him. You can practically hear the wheels turning in Dieter’s head as you say this.
“What does that matter?”
“I’m going to pay off my mom’s mortgage and I’m going back to school in Sacramento.”
“Wait, what the fuck? Sacramento? Since when?”
Suddenly the bed feels oppressive and Dieter’s arms feel constricting. You pull away from him, going to grab your robe. He watches your body move from the bed, a vessel of fertility and beauty and mystifying frustration.
“Wait, can’t we talk about this?”
“No,” you say sharply, tying the sash around your waist. “Dieter we talked about this being a release-based system. Not a romantic relationship.”
Dieter feels as if he’s been slapped.
“What about Mia? She’s waiting for you at some restaurant right now.” You glance at the clock before crossing your arms over your chest. “If you leave here now you can still make dessert.”
“You want me to go?”
“You should.”
A coldness enters Dieter’s eyes at that bitten off reply and he nods before pulling himself from the warmth of the bed. You watch him move through the room in his boxers, closing the door behind him with a firm finality.
[Personal Diary D. Bravo – 21 weeks]
Places I want to take Baby Bravo
Chile (show him where I grew up)
Disneyland (when he’s old enough)
London: maybe he’ll get an accent
Fiji – mini island (no paps)
Places I want to take her
Chile
Hawaii –
Buenos Aires (teach her tango)
Italy (she loves pizza)
Anywhere she wants
Today Dieter is filming in Powerscourt.
You are pacing outside the set; far away enough that you won't disturb filming as you finish up a phone call with Diane back home, setting up a sponsorship meeting that Dieter is in the running for. You hang up the phone just as you wander around the back garden of the palatial estate they’ve rented for this scene.
You’re about to turn back and head inside, your feet are getting swollen these days. But movement catches your eyes and you pause.
Two figures are tucked away behind the building; Mia leaning back against the wall, eyes tilted up coquettishly as she takes a puff of the cigarette. Dieter has one palm flat against the wall above her shoulder, angling himself towards her.
You can't hear what they're saying to one another but you watch them both laugh passing the cigarette between themselves. It reminds you of the teens in high school who would sneak off at lunch, sharing smokes in secrecy.
It feels intimate, like something you shouldn't see. You watch him smile at her, his dark eyes soft as he moves his lips to hers and you hold your breath as she meets him halfway, mouth pressing against his.
You know what that mouth feels like. Soft and strong. Tasting of whiskey or cigarettes or that mint gum he's always chewing. You feel a longing sigh escape you.
You feel something in your gut twisting and you realize it must be the baby. You turn away before you have to watch anymore of this, your face in a grim line. You take a seat back inside on the set, wincing as the staff go to retrieve Dieter and Mia from outside.
The two of them come back onto the set with secret smiles on their faces.
“Hey,” Dieter says coming to squeeze your shoulder gently. “Did you get a hold of Diane?”
“Yep,” you force a smile on your face. “She wants us all to face time later tonight.”
“I might have plans,” Dieter murmurs, his eyes sailing to Mia getting her lipstick touched up. She feels his gaze on her and casts a small smile in his direction.
You feel a sickening sensation in your gut and you clear your throat, trying to come off as casual. You twist the ring on your finger, the one he gave you, and try not to look upset.
“We’ll work around your schedule.”
The scene begins as Mia wanders into the library to see Dieter in a drunken rage before he grabs a chair and throws it brutally through a mirror. You watched that scene being filmed a few weeks ago, but this is the second part.
You watch the power in his shoulders and muscles twisting under his lawn shirt as he throws the chair off-screen. He spins back around; dark eyes fixed on a cowering Mia dressed in a flimsy nightdress who backs enticingly against a bookcase.
“And now,” Dieter drawls, his voice husky. “I get what’s mine.”
He goes to Mia, gripping her by the back of the neck and kissing her fiercely. Mia feigns horror, trying to back away from him, but all too soon her arms are coming to wrap around his neck as he grips her thigh, urging it around his waist.
You can’t watch this.
You slide off the chair and head to the shuttle, needing to go back to the rental.
When the director calls cut shortly after and Dieter’s eyes rise to where you were sitting, he's deflated to see the chair empty.
#dieter bravo fanfiction#dieter bravo#dieter x reader#dieter bravo smut#pedro pascal dieter#fanfics#pedro pascal fanfiction
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BATTLE OF HEARTS
pairings- yu jimin x fem!reader( aikawa juna) x kim jennie
plot- Korea's biggest and high profile academy, Dream Weave Academy, witnesses a battle of love between the president and queen bee Jennie Kim and the well known swimming captain Yu Jimin, when a new transferee student from japan, Aikawa Juna, joins the school.
genre - social media au, high school romance, love triangle, funny, angst, slow burn
featuring - Karina (aespa), Jennie(blackpink), Irene(red velvet), Jisoo (blackpink),Han Sohee(actor), Giselle( aespa), Ningning(aespa), Yeji(itzy), Chaewon(le sserafim), Yunjin( le sserafim), Kazuha( le sserafim), Wonyoung (Ive) + more
status- ongoing
Profiles - Main characters, Team Jimin, Team Jennie, Juna's protectors(friends)
Chapters
I just can't stand her
Ready for the first day
Who's she?(3.1) , (3.2)
Mesmerized
#aespa x reader#blackpink x reader#karina x reader#jennie x reader#yu jimin x reader#aespa#blackpink#jennie#jennie kim#karina#yu jimin#kpop smau#kpop fanfic
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Back and Forth - masterlist
Pairing: Steve Rogers x agent! Inhuman!reader
Type: enemies-ish to lovers series
Summary:
Calling yourself an Avenger would be overstatement, even if you have been joining them on missions quite frequently lately. Calling them your friends would be an overstatement also. Calling you and Steve Rogers friends, now that would be an insult to the entity of friendship – though unlike him, you have enough self-awareness to admit that he isn't the only one to blame for that. Most of the time anyway.
However, the Avengers need your abilities and so you and Steve tolerate each other – or at least you’re trying, your back and forth visibly annoying your colleagues and exhausting you both.
And then you’re thrown into a situation where mere tolerance isn’t an option. That should end well, shouldn’t it?
Characters to appear: Steve Rogers, ‘reader’, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark, Sam Wilson, mentions of Phil Coulson, Daisy Johnson and few others
Setting: slight AU 'cause everyone lives thank you very much, no Civil War or further, references to Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D without a fixed timeline
Warnings: besides canon-typical violence, this series deals with topics which might be trigerring for some people - please, read with caution and resposibility
Playlist 🎵 (NEW)
STORYLINE:
Prologue
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3.1 // Part 3.2
Part 4.1 // Part 4.2
Part 5
Part 6.1 // Part 6.2
Part 7
Epilogue
Number of parts/chapters is estimated. Did I add one extra already? Yeah, but shhh
Dividers by firefly-graphics, moodboard by me - and created for the vibes, for it does not necessarily reflect the reader's appearance.
Taglist open 🥰
#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers imagine#steve rogers x you#steve rogers series#steve rogers fanfiction#steve rogers fanfic#captain america x reader#captain america x you#captain america imagine#agent reader#shield agent reader#inhuman reader#avenger reader#steve rogers#captain america#back and forth#back and forth masterlist#anika ann
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Bitter Water 0.01 ~ ♆
“ Survive, “
{{ Finnick Odair x Reader }}
{{ previous part || next part }} {{ masterlist }}
warnings: typical Hunger Games violence/trauma/themes, language, blood, injury, insinuation of forced prostitution, enemies to lovers, slow burn, Finnick is a bit of an ass, thoughts/mention of death, slight food aversion, reader has a panic attack, etc.
{{ word count }} 3.1 k
{{ prompt }} Following the 67th Reaping and a tearful goodbye you board a train to the capital. There’s new faces, new rules, but you only feel more like a caged animal being hauled to slaughter.
{{ a/n }} Finnick appears at last! Granted he is a bit of an ass - but he’s a teenage boy with newfound wealth and arrogance at this point in time and Reader is understandably prickly as well considering the circumstances. This chapter is a bit longer than the prologue - enjoy!!
You weren’t sure when your ears had started ringing.
Maybe it was from the throb at your temple, or the lightning strike of adrenaline coursing through your veins. You didn't know. A wet warmth slid down the side of your face, more blood. Cold metal pressed between your shoulder blades, begrudgingly forcing your body towards the stage. The wails of your siblings above had been quickly stifled. Your father must be trying to avoid more trouble. “Good,” You thought.
“Keep them safe.”
Your jaw set as you shakily ascended the three stairs of the stone platform. The Capital escort held a too-wide, plastic smile that had your stomach twisting. People shouldn’t smile like that. The escort puts out a hand, but you don’t make any effort to reach out, invoking an irritated scoff and a forceful twist of your wrist above your head as if you had won something. You didn’t feel like you’d gained anything at all.
“Our female Tribute!”
Bile threatened to rise in your throat as the horror continued, not quite setting in. Your hand is dropped after a mechanical camera flash temporarily obscures your vision. You don’t notice the disgust on the escort's face as they notice the blood now coating the palm of their expensive glove. Your gaze had moved to stare down at the concrete before you. You didn’t dare look up as a Capital camera flashed again, making you flinch with a scrunch of your nose.
“Now, we’ll select our male Tribute.”
The escort plucks a handkerchief from their breast pocket to wipe their glove. The pale fabric stains red as they move to the pristine crystal bowl on the left side of the stage. Your eyebrows knit together as you see the gesture from your peripheral, thinking it would have been easier to remove the glove.
But the Capital doesn’t touch district hands without protection.
Another show is made of swimming their fingers through the slips of paper, and a dramatic selection brings the stocky-built escort back to center stage once more. The phlegmy cough of the escort earns another scrunch from your nose. “Ahem,” Their voice has a slight gravel in their drawl. Blood smears on the white paper as the identical black seal is peeled away and unfolded to present the name. Your stomach twists again.
A boy’s name is called. You don’t know him. He must be from one of the southern ports by the looks of his tanned skin. The large auditorium remains silent as the Reaping is concluded. The two tributes are presented once more to the population of the seafaring district. Automated cameras snap pictures in bright flashes. You can’t help wishing one of those flashes was a gun.
The barrel of a Peacekeeper’s gun presses behind you once more as you’re turned away from the audience and led off the stage to be paraded down the center aisle as if you were a prize-winning salmon. You wanted to scream.
The heavy double doors of the hall slam shut behind your small procession, earning another flinch and your eyes to squeeze shut. This was happening.
This was happening and there was nothing you could do to stop it.
You're aggressively pushed and prodded down another series of hallways before being led into what appears to be an office and left to your own devices. A muffled shuffling outside the closed door indicates you've been confined to the room with Peacekeepers just outside. The office was professional in appearance. Large mahogany bookcases lined one of the pale blue walls, and a large, matching wooden desk posed in the center of the space with an inky leather chair behind it. There was an array of potted, district-native plants and a miscellaneous collection of knick-knacks and other capital paraphernalia. Two deep blue velvet loveseats sat against the opposite wall with intricate wood trimmings on the polished hardwood floor. Lastly, on the wall parallel to the bookshelves, hung a large portrait painting of the President of Panem.
Coriolanus Snow.
It felt like the wind was sucked from your lungs as your flightless eyes held the tyrant's stare of icy blue. Clenching your jaw, it was all you could do not to lash out and scream at the canvas. You debated tearing it from the wall and shredding the intricate brushwork, but you had no idea who was watching or if the consequences would be deterred on your family once you left. You hated the snowy-haired man. Every fiber of your being burned with a bitter hatred, but that hatred quickly died as the reality of your situation once more weighed heavy on your conscience. You had no clue how you were going to survive. Your mind began to reel with "What ifs" surrounding your fate.
Tears began rolling down your cheeks like clockwork as reality finally set in.
Furiously, you smeared the salty liquid from your eyes with the back of your hands. Silently cursing yourself for cracking like this. You had to stay strong. You wouldn’t dare cry in front of the younglings. You couldn’t bear the thought. Inhaling deeply, you tried to ground yourself. There wasn’t any room to crumble. You just had to get through this one goodbye.
Goodbye.
The idea of farewell brought more tears surging from your eyes. A choked sob racked through your chest as your face fell into your bloody hands. The marks from your fingernails had clotted by now, irritating your tear-streaked skin. How would you ever get through this? You couldn’t die. You couldn’t abandon your life here for the twisted pleasures of the Capital.
“You have three minutes.”
Surprise punches through your senses, bloody hands leaving your face as the office door opens and a Peacekeeper barks just as two heads of matching hair break into the room making a beeline for your legs. You crouch to meet the younglings, hugging the bleary-eyed twins close. “It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay,” you coo as the twins spew questions in quick succession to one another. Your father loomed in front of the door, his eyes had a faraway gaze. You spared a troubled glance his way while trying to soothe your siblings.
“Why are they taking you away?”
The nickname you’d had since the pair learned to speak came out in a choked sob. It broke your heart to witness them so distraught and upset, petting their hair and holding the boys close. “I-I just have to go away for a while. I know. I-I know, I said only a few minutes, but it’s going to be longer than that now.” you stumble over your words as you try to keep yourself together. You couldn't crack in front of them, not like this. Your heart squeezes to the point you feel suffocated as you lie through your teeth. “I’ll be back, I promise.”
There was no way for you to keep that promise in the end. It was a foolish idea, really.
Nobody ever really came back from the Games.
“I’ll bring home the seaweed buns you both like, okay? The ones shaped like little fish.” You try to reassure them while simultaneously wiping the toddler’s eyes. The pair sniffle but allow small nods as you look into one another’s eyes. “You two need to look out for one another while I’m gone, okay? Take care of Dad as well. Promise me that, okay?” You let go of the boys and hold out your pinkie fingers, each twin lacing their own with yours and giving a tight squeeze.
“Pinky promise,”
“Good,” you nod, mustering a weak smile and kissing each of their foreheads before rising to meet your father by the door. “They can’t be neglected. Teach them to help or ask Marjorie to teach them to weave. I- I know things are going to be hard without me, but you’ll manage. Ask for help if it’s needed. There should be some money in a jar behind my dresser that I saved in case this happened. Utilize the underground trade a-and-“
Your rushed instructions are cut short as the office door opens once more. Your broken heart lurches into your throat as the guard tells you your time is up. The air feels like it’s been ripped from your lungs all over again as you startle forward and cling to your father. His good arm wraps around your shoulders, and the younglings wrap themselves around the both of you. You almost don’t catch the gruff whisper through your father’s whiskers.
“Survive..”
A cold encapsulates your form as stark white Peacekeepers move to tear your family from your embrace. The twins shriek, calling out for you as they’re all but dragged from the room. You call back for them in an equally broken sob. A Peacekeeper barricades the doorway of the office with their body. Your father’s words hang in the air like lead, an order in the form of a match to strike the inferno of that bitter promise you’d made during the reaping.
You will not die.
No more tears spill as Peacekeepers surround you once more. The extra security is a tad, daunting, if not oversaturated, as you’re led away from the judicial complex through a dimly lit garage. You’re loaded into a steel armored vehicle with your District Partner and two guards to ensure nothing gets prickly on the trip to the train station.
The ride couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes, albeit bumpy on the cobblestone roads. Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the glaring sunlight after only being in dimly lit spaces following the Reaping. The thrum in your temple has gotten exponentially worse thanks to the hydration in your body escaping through tears. The cold metal barrel of a Peacekeeper’s gun meets your shoulder blades as you hop down from the armored truck and are pushed towards the sleek grey metal locomotive destined for the capital. The short escort from the Reaping is there, providing a stiff wave as the two Tributes of District 4 get close.
“Welcome, welcome! My name is Thatcher Bellstone, and I shall be accompanying you both to our glorious capital and help prepare you to take your first steps into the arena!”
You fight the urge to roll your eyes, settling with a flutter of muscle in your jaw instead. You already weren't taking kindly to them.
“Now, we’re on a very, very tight schedule. Some faces need introducing!” Thatcher claims with a clap of their gloved hands. The fabric is a different color now, most likely swapped post-reaping to cleanse the Capital elite of your blood. If their accent and tone weren’t so snobby or irritating, you might have felt a tinge of guilt for the soiled garment. Regardless of your qualms, you’re shoved forward to the edge of the train platform and almost trip before catching yourself on a small railing over the threshold of the sliding door.
A silent curse crosses your mind as a coy chuckle fills your senses. Your brows knit together in aggravation as your gaze drags up to lock on sea-green irises. The last thing you needed on top of everything was humiliation.
“Careful now~ being clumsy won’t save you in the arena,”
The bronze-haired boy’s voice is all but a cocky purr. A cheshire smirk is plastered on his face sending your blood boiling as you straighten up with a huff. “I can handle myself just fine.” You quip, smoothing the hiked fabric in your clothes and swiftly crossing paths to get away from the victor.
Finnick Odair. Capital’s Darling, Golden Boy of District 4, youngest victor in the history of the Games, and whatever else the upper class decided to call him depending on the day.
You knew vague intel on who the 65th victor of the Hunger Games was. Finnick hailed from one of the southern ports much like your District Partner and had earned his fame and glory by using handmade nets and a trident gifted by a generous (more like bloodthirsty) sponsor to snare other Tributes and take them out. But other than what you witnessed during the mandatory viewing of the Games, you only saw an egotistical Peacock flaunting his wealth earned in the blood of children.
You didn’t bother with more conversational pleasantries as you found yourself in what seemed to be a dining car. The train car looked more like a luxurious house than a mode of transportation, in your opinion. Everything in the space was ornate. Deeply curved royal blue velvet chairs, dark wooden accents, side tables, and more. Crystal wine glasses and fine cutlery donned an ivory silk-covered dining table. The extravagance of just a simple train car made you uneasy. If this was a train, how ostentatious was the rest of the Capital?
“Come, come, let us be seated.” Thatcher piped up to break the tension, clapping their hands again. You share a fleeting, awkward glance with your fellow Tribute before hesitantly moving towards the long dining table. Every plate had a name card. You would have found them holding the knowledge of your name a bit creepy if it was any other occasion. This was the Capital of Panem. You found your place on the left side of the table next to the head chair where an older woman whose card read “Mags” was already sitting. You felt the anxious tremble in your fingertips returning as everyone was seated. Much to your dismay, Finnick slid into the seat across from you, his cheshire smirk only widening. Your pointed glare in his direction grew more menacing in return.
You didn’t appreciate the boy’s demeanor. Or his showboating attitude. Apparently neither did the older woman beside you, Mags, who gave the victor a small thwack to his shoulder with a pointed look, and Finnick sheepishly dropped his gaze, murmuring a sincere apology to the mentor.
“Interesting,” you thought, your eyes dancing between the pair before Thatcher offered a signature phlegmy cough, and your attention was averted toward the other end of the table. Your District Partner sat alongside you, with whom you assumed to be his mentor at the other head of the long table. Thatcher sat on Finnick’s right.
“There is much to be discussed before we arrive in the Capital tomorrow evening. Let’s try to get there all in one piece.” Thatcher explained, glancing your way about your trip earlier at the last part. You simply avert your eyes down to the plate before you. There was a fair amount of steaming food, some of which you’d only read about. There was a piece of grilled fish with what smelled like a citrus glaze, a small bed of rice, fragrant roasted asparagus with a delectable seasoning mixture, and a small bowl of seasonal fruit to the side. You weren’t sure how to approach the plate, let alone if you could stomach finishing it.
Thatcher soon launched into an extended spiel about manners, expectations, and rules while on the train, off the train, entering the Capital, etc. You didn’t understand why there were so many rules, nor why it mattered how you sit or stand or breathe, as a matter of fact. You felt like an animal snared in a net to be hauled off to slaughter. Your mind started to feel like mush as you only pushed bits of food around your plate. You hadn’t taken a single bite. Meanwhile, everyone else had practically finished eating. It was hard to absorb any of the escort’s blabbering. The anxiety crushing your chest started to become unbearable as your gaze turned to tunnels that bore into your plate. The food suddenly appeared very unappetizing. Honestly, you were beginning to feel a bit sick.
“I-I need to be excused..”
You’re barely able to utter the words as the acidic taste of bile starts to rise in your throat again. Abruptly standing, you all but run from the dining table and through a door to the connecting cars. You didn’t stay long enough to catch the annoyed scoff that left Thatcher’s glossed lips or the crease that appeared between Finnick’s brows as he shared a look of mild concern with Mags. You didn’t know where you were going, let alone where your personal room was, but you knew you had to get away from the sick “normalcy” of that table.
A hand claps to cover your mouth as you stumble into an empty room, finding the nearest waste basket and dropping to the ground to heave what little substance had been left in your stomach into it. Your throat burned as you hurled again, a choked sob raking your shoulders as you felt yourself start to crumble full force. As the acid churning in your stomach subsides, you scramble for a tissue to wipe your mouth before curling into a heap beside the sullied waste basket. Your cries come in waves, harsh enough to shake your shoulders and squeeze your chest painfully tight. Panic surges in a suffocating hold, your eyes screwed shut as your hands threaded through your hair.
You fell apart completely.
The small lifeboat holding your sanity wasn’t any match for the hurricane inside your mind. Constricted breaths came out in hiccuping sobs. Your throat felt as if it were closing. With your eyes shut so tightly and your thundering heartbeat overwhelming your senses, you didn’t notice the sound of the door sliding open and shut. Your awful attempts at gasping for air failed to fill your burning lungs, making things worse. You needed to breathe. You couldn't open your eyes either as the fear kept you in a chokehold.
It took a minute for the chaos in your thoughts to register the soothing thumbs moving on your cheeks as human contact that wasn't your own doing. Someone was kneeling in front of you, witnessing your breakdown, and for once, there wasn't any violence or harsh words. The shrieking storm inside your chest slowly started to ebb away as a soft pressure met your forehead. Soft circles traced your flushed skin, wiping away the tears and slowly the pain clouding your senses. Minutes pass before you're able to open your eyes.
It's Mags.
Her touch is soothing, drawing your consciousness out of the fog and into her hands. Tears are still flowing freely down your cheeks but you manage to take a gasping breath of air. The older woman's scent is like sea salt and wildflowers with a hint of cracked peppercorn. It's comforting. Mags' forehead gently rests against yours, looking into your ears as she helps guide your breathing. There isn't a word spoken but you feel as if you're an open book in her palms. You feel safe.
You can't remember the last time you felt safe.
Safe.
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A Danish Werewolf in The City
The First Taste - final chapter.
Note: the last chapter has arrived. Thank you to those who have been devouring (haha) this fic, it's been entirely my pleasure! Once again thank you to @foxyanon for helping me out as I attempted my first monster fucking smut. I hope it was worth the wait...
previous chapters: part 1 - part 2 - part 3.1 - part 3.2
Pairing: werewolf!Sihtric x you (f)
Warnings: 18+, horror fic. Smut, monster fucking, and hey, what's a werewolf without some fluff?
Wordcount: 3,6k
Masterlist
The Moon was full, glowing orange as she peeked through the trees and your half open window. The cool breeze ruffled faintly through Sihtric's dark hair as he towered over you, with his mismatched eyes fixated on your being and his pearly white fangs exposed in a snarl. He had climbed in through your bedroom window, again, leaving claw marks on the walls and ripping your curtains to shreds by accident… again.
Sihtric stared down at you, with parts of ripped clothes dangling from his black fur, thick strings of drool dripping out his parted lips while a low growl began to sound from the back of his throat. It was a frightening sight; those big hairy and pointy ears twitching at sounds you couldn't even hear, and his long whiskers moving along with his glistening nose as he inhaled your scent deeply. His big and feral eyes were fixated on you while you were scarcely dressed and sat upon your bed, as you had half expected him to appear.
You watched him shift smoothly, showing you his human traits while he was still larger than any human could possibly be. Dark hair covered his incredibly muscular body, while his now human shaped ears were still pointy, and his human hands were large and hairy with long nails shaped like claws. He was a beast and yet still a man. A man you loved and a beast you desired.
And when you leaned back on your elbows, slowly spreading your legs for him and teasingly pulling up your nightgown to reveal you weren't wearing any panties, the wolf-man dragged the tip of his large tongue across his sharp teeth, like a hungry beast…
The day after you had met Sihtric at the pub he called you to confess what he had been doing during those months you weren't together. Your silence on the other side of the line was deafening to him once he had told you everything; from hunting and killing dozens of vampires to him lurking around your house at night, he didn't shy away from the truth anymore.
'I knew you were there,' you answered, 'I know I heard you outside my window some nights, hoping to see you again. But I never saw you…'
The relief Sihtric felt when you told him his behaviour was more or less understandable was a feeling he never thought he'd experience. A weight fell off his shoulders and it seemed as if he could breathe freely again. He promised he was done hunting vampires, as most of them had actually been slaughtered by him anyway, and he invited you to stop by his place the next day, so he could show you he was really not that same beast anymore as he had allowed himself to be when he was grieving the abruptly ended relationship.
You met Sihtric while he was fixing up his shed the next afternoon. And what should have been harrowing to see, the knock-off electric chair with the metal chains attached to it to restrain him, wasn't quite as daunting as you had pictured when he told you about his enclosure on the phone. Surely it wasn't normal to have this in your backyard, but you weren't freaked out by it like you would have been several months ago, after your research you simply understood him and appreciated the fact he did everything he could to keep himself and others safe.
Sihtric explained the restraining process to you as he attached a few brand new chains to the ceiling, and you helped clean up the place once he was done. Light touches lingered and you were both quietly tormented by butterflies each time you looked at each other, you just didn't know how to proceed after everything that had happened. And Sihtric, being the monstrous werewolf that he was, was also as shy as a human man could possibly be, so you knew it was up to you to make the first move if you wanted to see where this could lead to.
'So,' you cleared your throat as you were ready to depart, embraced in a hug, 'you're not asking me to stay for dinner?' you half joked.
'I would,' Sihtric chuckled nervously as he looked at you, 'except, I'm having the guys from my pack over tonight, and we're eating wild rabbits. Store bought,' he added quickly, 'but I know you like your fluffy bunnies, so I wouldn't… you know, do that to you.'
'You really are a monster,' you laughed and shook your head, 'a human monster.'
'A human monster is still a monster,' Sihtric smiled faintly, and he slowly drew his lower lip between his teeth as he looked down into your eyes, arms still around you, 'but perhaps we could meet tomorrow? I have all day since I'm still on temporary leave, I just need to be home by nine in the evening.'
'Nine in the evening?' you snorted, 'you're not on house arrest are you?' you jested and checked his ankle for a monitor, to which he laughed and rolled his eyes.
'No, I'm not on house arrest. The full Moon,' Sihtric hinted, earning a soft chuckle from you that set his heart ablaze so easily.
'Of course. I'm sorry, how could I forget. We can meet up tomorrow. And,' you smirked, 'since I helped you with your shed-'
'Helped me with my shed?' Sihtric raised his eyebrow, 'you just watched how I fixed it up and you only helped by swiping a corner, and even barely!'
'Barely help is still help,' you shrugged, 'however, maybe you could help me with fixing up the paint you scratched at? I mean, not to be rude, but that clearly was your doing, so…'
'Yeah, yeah,' he laughed, knowing very well what he had done, 'sure, I'll help you out with that.'
He kissed your cheek before you left, and you both fought the urge to overwhelm each other with text messages throughout the night as you spent it apart.
And Sihtric was as loyal as a pup, stopping by the next afternoon to help paint the outside of your house, as promised, thus covering up the claw marks he had left which looked like the strangest kind of damage to any other person. After you had rekindled over the past few days, Sihtric was feeling more confident again, and you began to see glimpses of the playful man he was before you had witnessed those horrors in the woods. Once again touches and smiles lingered, while you bestowed each other with bad jokes and flirty remarks throughout the day as you painted your house.
You both felt a weird sense of relief once it was covered, and stood next to each other as you looked at the result while the paint dried. It was already getting late when you were gathering the tools left scattered on your lawn, and Sihtric suddenly circled his arm around you, pulling you flush against him before you could even blink.
'You know,' he smiled and took your chin with his tattooed fingers, 'a pretty lady like you shouldn't let a foul creature of the night just climb through her window and into the bedroom. Do you even know what sort of monsters are out there?'
'Oh,' you chuckled as you played along, 'I appreciate your concern, kind sir, and I'll definitely keep it in mind.'
'You better,' Sihtric said with a smirk and winked.
Which was the reason for you to drop everything you held in your arms. You grabbed his face, cupping his cheek with one hand whilst the other moved up into his dark curls as your lips crashed together in a long awaited heated kiss. A kiss that had been held off for far too long now, a kiss you had both been desperate for. You lost yourself in each other's taste and scent and touch while you stood there, fully embraced in the early dusk, and it didn't take long before you started to tug at each other's close and ended up stumbling over, landing on the grass beneath your feet, on top of Sihtric, and you kissed until your lungs burned and begged for air.
'Will you stay the night?' you breathed against his lips as he held you tightly pressed against his strong body.
'I shouldn't,' Sihtric murmured and kissed you greedily again, 'I want to, darling, I really do. But… the Moon,' he said with a hint of sadness, 'it changes me and it's the only night I can't stop it.'
'I know,' you sighed and rested your forehead on his chest, before you looked up at him again, 'but… you know, if you change your mind,' you hinted with a sly smile.
Sihtric laughed, 'Surely you don't want a werewolf in your bed.'
'Hm… maybe I do,' you shrugged, finally speaking your newfound curiosity out loud.
Sihtric chuckled but his face became serious once he understood you weren't joking around. He had sensed the change in you, but he was cautious as he was still more than terrified to lose you once more, now that he had earned you back in his arms again.
'Are you for real? You'd… you'd want to…'
'What if I would?'
'Well,' Sihtric scoffed and smiled lightly as he looked a little puzzled, 'there's no, you know… I mean, hey, I'm not against it, but there are no werewolf sized condoms. And I'm sure in all your research you've read about werewolf pregnancy, and that for a human it's-'
'Lethal,' you finished his sentence, 'yes, I'm aware of that. But,' you smiled as you seductively ran your hand down his chest, 'you forget that I'm on birth control. And I've read that your… load is still human-like, even when shifted. So it would be safe.'
'Huh,' Sihtric scoffed and then laughed, as he had never really thought about that. But he knew you were right. 'Okay, but… are you not repulsed by my werewolf form?' he asked cautiously, still worried you'd be frightened by his appearance once again.
'Your werewolf form is freaky, for sure,' you admitted, 'but your wolf-man form is kinda… eh, sexy. I mean, you're not a full wolf when you shift into a wolf-man. There are mainly human traits I can see then, and you can still talk as a human too. But when you fully shift there's no trace of you anymore as you're just a black wolf, with only your eyes betraying you. And your full wolf form makes me feel safe, I remember you made me feel safe that night. But… as a werewolf, well, more as a wolf-man,' you shrugged with a shy smile, 'I think you might have awoken something in me I didn't realise at first.'
'And… you think you could handle me at my werewolf?' he asked with a cocky smile.
'I think I could handle you at your wolf-man,' you grinned.
Sihtric opened his mouth to speak, but his phone suddenly rang and interrupted the pleasantly tense moment. He sighed as he switched off the alarm he had set, and he apologised that he really had to leave, for it was getting late.
'I should head back home now, the moon will rise soon,' he whispered and kissed your lips, 'I'm sorry, baby.'
'I know,' you murmured, 'just be safe, darling.'
'I will be, I promise,' Sihtric smiled and kissed your cheek, 'I'll see you tomorrow.'
'Or tonight,' you taunted, 'if, you know, you'd want to…'
'Okay, little red riding hood,' Sihtric laughed as he walked off your lawn, 'hey,' he then said as he turned to face you again, 'don't go out tonight, okay? It's not safe.'
'I know,' you agreed and ran over for one last hug, 'are you sure you can't stay?'
'Don't tempt me.'
You smiled, then kissed him and bit his lower lip softly before you took a step back while he held your hands.
'I said don't tempt me,' Sihtric flashed a mischievous smile, 'because you don't know what you're in for.'
For a while, Sihtric wasn't sure if he'd act on your suggestion to stop by when the Moon was full that night. He was more than hungry to explore your newfound desires and curiosity to his beast-like form, but the fear of frightening you away from him once again weighed heavy on his mind. He considered restraining himself, as planned, in an attempt to restore the balance inside of him, but his urge to be with you grew stronger with each passing second as the Moon crept up in the sky. And his animalistic behaviour took full control before the Moon was even at its peak.
He shifted as he was unchained inside his shed, ripping out of his clothes while snapping out of his skin to transform into his hauntingly huge werewolf form. His beastly desires guided him, and he soon made his way to your house, running through the night on all fours with an inhumanly fast pace. He snarled while his mouth watered at the thought of tasting you again, and his loud howl sounded eerily through the night as if it was rutting season already once he reached your residence. He caught the scent of your arousal as he stalked around your property, and it drove him mad with lust while he made sure you were alone.
Parts of his torn clothes still dangled in his fur as he climbed his way up to your windowsill, his claws shredding your new curtains as he snuck inside your room. You stared at Sihtric as his werewolf form towered over you, and soon he shifted in front of your eyes. A shift that took all of Sihtric's strength, as the full Moon always made him transform involuntarily, but he knew you would only let him have you if he was more human-like.
You watched him shift smoothly, showing his human traits while he was still larger than any human could possibly be. Dark hair decorated his incredibly muscular body, while his human shaped ears were still pointy and his human hands large and hairy with his long nails shaped like claws. He was a beast and yet still a man. A man you loved and a beast you desired…
His muzzle transformed back into Sihtric's beautiful face, and upon the sight of you spreading your legs, his eyes began to glow. When you leaned back on your elbows and slowly spread your legs for him, teasingly pulling up your nightgown, he dragged the tip of his large tongue across his sharp teeth, like a hungry beast… and hungry he was. You felt a rush of adrenaline shoot through your body as you looked at him, knowing the wild looking wolf-man was there with only one purpose; to breed you.
Sihtric knelt down at the end of your bed and grabbed your ankles with his warm and large hands. He pulled you effortlessly towards him, throwing your legs over his broad and hairy shoulders, and he locked his strong werewolf-like arms tightly around your hips. You couldn't possibly escape his grip, and you shuddered with anticipation as you felt his hot breath against your already exposed folds. He teased you first, kissing and licking your thighs painstakingly slowly, taking his time to taste your flesh as he dragged his teeth over your skin. You murmured soft pleads, desperately wanting more, and once he delved his tongue between your folds to devour you entirely, you lost all dominance of your being.
Your legs trembled uncontrollably when feeling the slow and deep strokes of his large and broad tongue, while his teeth lightly grazed your sensitive skin, constantly reminding you that you were being pleased by a supernatural creature, by a beast.
You arched your back at the intense sensations Sihtric gave you, and you placed one hand across your mouth in a futile attempt to muffle your moans, while you gripped the sheets tightly with your other. His large arms had you locked in with his claws pressing onto your skin. And everytime your body jerked out of pleasure he held you tighter, making sure you couldn't squirm out of his grip as he consumed you like a starved beast, his hair pleasantly tickling between your thighs while lapping your core. Your head was spinning as you pushed yourself up your elbows again, looking down at Sihtric and finding his eyes glowing brightly while he looked up at you as he made you near your high. He watched you fall apart before him, and didn't stop until your moans had died down. He looked at you, pleased and satisfied as he licked his lips while your juices still coated his facial hair.
You tried to move further up the bed as you were lightheaded, with your legs weak and trembling, but the wolf-man wasn't quite done with you. He smoothly climbed onto your bed, and his claws sunk into your mattress as he crawled slowly towards you, flexing his huge muscles beautifully while ripping your sheets fortuitously.
'You're not going anywhere,' Sihtric purred as he mounted you, and brought his face close to yours, 'my little red riding hood.'
He pinned your arms above your head, and you felt so small yet so safe under his impressive form. He held your wrists with just one of his massive hands, while his other wrapped around your throat as he smiled devilishly.
'I warned you,' Sihtric whispered against your lips, 'to not let any creatures of the night into your room. But you didn't listen, did you?' he chuckled darkly, 'and now… a big bad wolf has caught you. And he won't let go until you're fully bred.'
His sharp teeth made a slight cut in your lip as he kissed you hungrily, and a low growl sounded as he tasted your blood in his mouth while his tongue was inside yours. He proceeded to kiss your neck, flicking his large tongue against your skin in between kisses while he lined his large and hard cock up with your entrance. A silent gasp left your lips as he entered you with ease while stretching you brutally with his size, yet it was strangely pleasant all the same. He didn't give you any time to adjust, knowing your slick would soothe the burning sensation soon enough as he vigorously rutted into you, fucking you like a feral beast while grunting and growling heavily in your ear.
He tossed you around the bed as he had his way with you, your moans and cries for more only making him further aroused and wanting to breed you for hours on end. Which is exactly what he did, filling you with his seed over and over again, until you were completely ruined with tears staining your cheeks as you smiled at him with dazed eyes. And as soon as his beast side was satisfied, his human side made him feel ashamed for letting himself go like that.
Sihtric was fast to shift into his daunting werewolf form after he had pulled out, growing back his ears and muzzle along with his bushy tail. And he quickly picked you up in his huge arms, pressing you against his furry chest while he laid down on your bed, keeping you snug against him as you dozed off in his warm and comforting embrace.
You were safe.
The next morning you woke up, feeling absolutely wrecked but happier than ever when you found Sihtric sleeping next to you in his human form. You cuddled up closer, wanting to pull the sheets over his naked body, but you discovered they were shredded once again. You sighed with a soft chuckle, which woke him up, and he rubbed his eyes before he gave you a shy smile.
'Who knew the big bad wolf could be so shy after his deeds?' you smiled.
Sihtric hid his face in the crook of your neck while his hand moved up into your hair, and he then gently forced your lips to his, capturing you in a soft and sweet kiss.
'How do you feel?' he asked, his voice raspy.
'Wrecked,' you snorted, 'and sore…'
'Sorry,' Sihtric smiled sheepishly.
'Don't be. I asked for it, didn't I?' you laughed, then became serious again, 'but… so… can we make this a monthly thing then, or…?'
Sihtric laughed, pleasantly surprised you weren't freaked out by the night before, and he shrugged.
'Do you want it to become a monthly thing?'
'Yeah,' you confessed shyly, 'if you want it too?'
'Of course I do,' Sihtric chuckled, 'you don't know how good it feels to release that… that tension.'
'Well,' you giggled, 'I sure know how good it felt to me.'
You looked at him and slowly traced the scars on his face with your fingers, a gesture which made Sihtric become silent and feel vulnerable, for you weren't afraid of him and his past anymore. He sensed it, he felt it, and he loved it.
'I love you,' you whispered.
'And I love you,' he whispered, 'mine?'
'Yours,' you said with a nod, and you kissed his lips once more, 'but you have to stop destroying my curtains and the sheets, please.'
'The curtains?' he frowned and looked over at your window, finding them ruined, 'yeah, sorry about that. And sorry for the sheets.'
Sihtric swallowed hard and pulled you in for a tight hug, in an attempt to not make you wonder if he had left new claw markings on the outside of your freshly painted house, because he had, but he wasn't going to tell you yet.
'Sihtric?' you whispered against his neck as he held you.
'Hm?'
'I love you… in every form.'
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