#sleeping pill cocktails
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Three more sleeps
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listen ok I know shit is dire in CAS land (by @somerandomdudelmao) but I had this stupid idea and it's a slow day at work and I type fast so here you go I didn't proofread this at all
I'm sorry I made it silly
Massive spoilers if you haven't read the new CAS update
...
"I can fix it," is a much easier thing to say than to do. Casey's thinking that as he takes long, quick strides through the lair, turning the problem over in his head as fast as he can. He hopes Uncle Tello can't hear the parts of his thoughts that are in a panic, but based on their conversation before he probably can.
Uncle Tello doesn't say anything about it, and Casey kind of wishes he would, just for the reassurance that he's still there.
He's so absorbed in his thoughts he doesn't notice Donnie (the younger Donnie, the physical Donnie) standing in front of him until it's too late and he's already collided with his back. Coffee spills everywhere, though thankfully it only splashes his plastron where he can't get burned.
Younger Donnie whirls, something distinctly murderous in his eye that feels so weird and wrong directed at Casey. It cools only slightly when Donnie processes it wasn't one of his brothers bumping into him, and somehow that feels just as weird, that Donnie has to readjust his feelings to accommodate the unfamiliarity. (He's not family, not to this Donnie.)
"Is something chasing you?" Donnie snaps.
"Uh... no-"
"Is there a fire?"
"No, but-"
"Do you need glasses?"
"I don't... think so?"
"Then watch where you're going!"
He spins on his heel and marches off, toward the kitchen to get more coffee, Casey assumes. For a moment he's left too off kilter and dumbfounded to remember what he was doing.
Then Uncle Tello's voice in his head startles him out of it. What just happened?
Oh, uh... I ran into the other version of you.
Ran into?
Literally. I spilled his coffee.
Ah, and he didn't take it well.
And Casey knows he shouldn't stop for this. Casey knows they may be on limited time and he has to fix this and Uncle Tello shouldn't have to listen to his whining about things that don't matter.
But he's been holding in so many feelings for so long and even if it's just in his head, hearing his uncle's (dad's) voice makes it rush out of him before he can stop it.
I don't think he likes me very much. I touched his shell the other day and he snapped at me. I got mad at him when he touched your tech and that made him mad, too. I don't know how to talk to him.
He doesn't really know how to talk to any of them, is the thing. It used to be the easiest thing in the world, and now it's a wall he hasn't yet learned how to scale.
He can feel his thoughts spiraling against his will. He doesn't have time for this, but the grief and the lack of sleep and the lack of easy affection are all mixing together with the weirdness of it all into a dangerous Molotov cocktail of emotions and he's not sure what will light the fuse.
Casey Jr, says Uncle Tello's voice.
Uncle Tello?
Do you want to see something really funny?
Casey can't help but make a strangled noise at the back of his throat, one that isn't a laugh but isn't a cry either. Something funny?
Yeah. Trust me, it'll be hilarious. Go to my lab.
Casey hesitates. He doesn't let me in there without him...
I feel confident I outrank him. Wait, how old is he?
Sixteen.
Ahhh, that explains it. I know I'm an absolute delight now, but at that age I could be a real pill.
It startles an actual laugh out of Casey. Without arguing further, he rushes to Donnie's lab, quick before he can finish brewing his coffee.
How do I get in?
Is this the subway?
Yeah.
Okay, there's a manual override for the voice lock hidden in one of the wall panels, should be... three to the left, middle of the door. Give that a good knock. Shave and a haircut~
Casey does as directed, and the panel slides back, revealing a flat, glossy keypad.
What's the access code? he asks, feeling like they're on some secret mission now. Maybe it doesn't fall into what people in this time consider normal, but to Casey this is standard stuff. He falls into the rhythm of it like a well loved song.
Oh one one four twenty one twenty seven, says Uncle Tello.
Casey punches it in and the door slides open. He slips inside and hits the button to close and lock the door behind him. Donnie still hasn't returned; the mission is proceeding as planned.
Wasn't that the code for one of the weapons lockers in the old- at base?
Yes, it was. Poor security protocol to reuse codes, I know, but I'm partial to that one.
What is it?
Atomic Lass's birth date. Uncle Tello pauses, then adds, Has he shown you any of the old Atomic Lass episodes of Jupiter Jim?
Uh, no...
Ah, continuing to fail my already low expectations, Teen Tello. Never mind, we'll worry about that later on.
Later on. Right, they shouldn't be doing this, they should be trying to fix Uncle Tello, they should be-
To my computer, Casey Jr! I can't type so you'll have to do it for me.
Uncle Tello's voice pulls him out of his reverie, and he hurries to do as he's told.
Uncle Tello walks him through passwords and then through navigating the OS. It's old and out of date compared to what they had in the future (Donatello's custom OS, better than the hacks at Apple and Microsoft, or so he said), but when Casey had called it old and out of date Donnie had gotten mad about that, too.
Ada Lovelace, this is old, says Uncle Tello's voice now, and incredibly Casey laughs again.
But they find what he's looking for and then input a series of commands into the command line. Casey isn't familiar with all of them, but if he had to guess, they just sent a video from late 2019 to every device in the lair.
Alright, mission accomplished, time to retreat, says Uncle Tello's voice, and he hurries out of the lab, just in time to hear a ping from the phone in his pocket.
He pulls it out and watches the video. It's Donnie, only slightly younger than the teen Casey now lives with, adjusting the camera before grinning and posing in front of it. He's in his lab, though a different one than the one here in the subway. He looks cocky.
He moves further back from the camera so his entire body is framed in its lens, then steps onto a skateboard. He glides in a circle for a moment, then jumps to try and do some kind of trick. Casey doesn't know the name of it, but what he does know is that Donnie's feet get caught in his board, and he ends up tumbling to the floor, crashing in an undignified heap, arms splayed out and face smooshed against the concrete.
It shouldn't be funny.
(It's pretty funny.)
It seems the others echo this sentiment, because suddenly Casey can hear laughter erupting from elsewhere in the lair.
"OMIGOSH! Barry, you gotta watch this!"
"HAHAHAHA BRO ATE SHIT!"
"Hah... Don't worry Donnie, I'm sure you'll get it next ti-hahahahaha!"
There's the sound of scurrying feet, and then Donnie slides into the hall, glaring at Casey who forgot he should be moving away from the crime scene.
"YOU!" he screeches.
Casey freezes. What is he supposed to say? What excuse does he have? The you in my head told me to do it? Yeah right.
Casey does the only sensible thing and turns to run.
Casey Jr?
Uncle Tello!?
What's happening now?
The other you is after me!
Oh. Well. Better run fast.
Casey turns on the speed, sprinting down the corridor and toward the only exit he knows, Donnie hot on his trail.
Why is every younger version of you so scary!?
Oh please, there's no way that scrawny, barely pubescent mess is scary. Have you ever heard his voice crack?
...Well, yeah...
See? Hilarious. And we didn't even have to pull up my browser history.
Okay, but none of this helped us fix anything.
Ah well. One problem at a time.
#dandy fanfiction#rottmnt#cass apocalyptic series#future casey#casey jones jr#future donatello#rise donatello#I'm sorry#I said this was silly but there's angst in here too but it's mainly silly#idk how cass will actually have them be#but in my head future donatello and present donatello exist to antagonize each other
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Dieter's Daughter {Dieter Bravo x F!Reader}
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 13.7k
Warnings: Dad!Dieter, mentions of drug use, unplanned pregnancies, freaking out, mentions of foster care, anxiety, lactation kink, babies, domestic bliss, falling in love, sudden marriage proposals, Dieter being a sap, adult breast feeding, oral sex (female receiving), face riding, vaginal sex, pregnancy
Comments: When a baby is dropped off on Dieter's doorstep, he is completely out of his element and doesn't know what to do. Attending a single mother support group meeting, he finds you. Begging you to become a nanny to his daughter.
Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers
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|| MasterList || Dieter Bravo MasterList ||
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.
It takes several minutes for the sounds of the doorbell peeling insistently to break through Dieter’s nearly catatonic state. Too much booze and too many pills are the result of another day of discontent and wishing that there was something other than numbness of life for him. Leaving him grumbling when one eye pops open and he groans when the cotton mouth and headache hits him. “Go away.” He huffs, knowing that there is no way that whoever is at the damn door would hear him all the way in his bedroom. Hell, the only reason he hears the doorbell is because it’s wired to the sound system in the house. Again the bell rings and like the dead rising from the grave, Dieter drags himself out of the safety and comfort of his bed. “Fuck! I’m coming! I’m coming!” The bathrobe he had tossed down last night is put over his boxers and he shuffles towards the stairs as fast as his lethargic body can go.
When Dieter opens the door, he’s shocked to see a woman standing there holding a baby. “Can I help you?” He asks, rubbing his eyes, and she snorts.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” She asks and Dieter squints, “am I supposed to?”
She laughs humorlessly, “I shouldn’t be surprised, you could barely remember my name that night. I was just amazed that a big actor wanted to fuck me. Remember me? That cocktail waitress from the club you took home about ten months ago?” She says and Dieter scratches his neck.
“Listen lady, I sleep with a lot of people. It’s hard to remember them all.” He admits with zero qualms.
“Wow. You’re a fucking asshole. Anyway, I guess the condom broke because congrats, you’re a daddy. It’s a girl. Her name is Rosie. Her birth certificate is in the bag.” She holds the baby out towards him and his eyes widen, looking down at the baby bag in the ground.
”What? I- what the fuck?” He looks bewildered before he starts to laugh. “Good one. Real funny. What do you want? Money?” He scoffs and she shakes her head, tears in her eyes.
“No. No. I need you to take her. I can’t afford her and I- I didn’t want her. When I found out - I was fucking eight months pregnant so it was too late to get rid of her and I can’t work so I can’t pay for my place. I can’t keep her. You gotta take her. She will be better off with you.” She says and pushes the baby into Dieter’s arms.
He scrambles to hold the baby, not wanting to drop her and the woman immediately sprints off towards her car. “Hey! Wait! You can’t just- I don’t know how to look after a baby! I need you to - hey. Where the fuck- get back here!” He yells as she squeals off of his driveway and he curses himself for not fixing the gate yet. “Shit.” He hisses. He didn’t even get her name. Looking down at the baby, he sighs and knows he has to find her mom. He can’t be a daddy. He can barely look after himself.
No, first thing is a damn DNA test and then he’s gonna find that bitch and give her back her baby. He’s gotta call the police after he cleans up his counters from the coke powder. “Fuckkkkk.” He groans, knowing his quiet day just got a whole lot busier.
****
“If we take her, Mr. Bravo, she’s just going to go into a state home. An orphanage.” Dieter frowns and wraps his arms around his chest, nervous for having the fucking cops in his house. Paranoid they were going to find the baggie of Coke he just remembered was in the little box next to his car keys. “You are listed on the birth certificate.”
Snatching the paper from the officer he squints at it. “How the fuck is that legal?” He demands. “That means anyone could put me down as the father of their kid.”
The officer shuffles, clearly uncomfortable and slightly in awe of being in the actor’s presence. “That’s for the courts to decide. Look,” he lowers his voice and looks around. “I don’t think you understand how bad the system is for babies.” He tells Dieter seriously. “Just- keep the baby with you, at least until the DNA tests come back. That way you don’t have to fight to get her back when she is yours. You already said you might have slept with this woman. Stranger things have happened.”
Dieter huffs, upset by the idea of the tiny little human being in an orphanage. Even if she doesn’t look anything like him. He had found diapers and a can of formula in the bag that the mother had left with him but that’s it. He has nothing to take care of a child. “What am I supposed to do? I don’t know shit about kids.” He demands, making the officer chuckle.
“Hire a nanny.” The officer suggests, smirking. “Isn’t that what you Hollywood types do?”
Dieter knows he can’t just ship the kid off. She’s so tiny and vulnerable. He can’t do it, even he’s not that big of an asshole. He will call his assistant to get a nanny in today. “Listen, do you, uh, know how much formula to use?” He asks the cop who nods and walks over to the counter to show Dieter.
“One scoop for every two ounces of water. Get baby water but bottled will have to work for today. So four ounces, two scoops. And shake. After she is finished, shift her to your shoulder and gently pat her back to get her to burp.” He says and Dieter nods.
“How much does she need?” Dieter asks and the cop chuckles, “she’s gonna be hungry a lot. I remember mine at that age. Endless bottles. Be sure to wash them thoroughly.” He says and pats Dieter on the shoulder and makes his way towards the front door of the Sherman Oaks mansion.
“Fuck.” Dieter groans, rubbing his cheek when the police leave and the baby starts to cry. He knows she must be hungry so he fumbles to open the container, grabbing the bottle to fill it with bottled water and putting two scoops in. “I’m coming.” He says, struggling to do the bottle up, and he curses again as he walks over to carefully scoop the baby up. “How do I-?” He struggles to get her to suck on the bottle and sighs in relief when she stops wailing and gulps down the milk.
Dieter holds the baby awkwardly, trying to remember how from that role a few years ago. The baby had been a prop doll, but they had shown him how to hold it. “Your name’s Rosie, huh?” He asks, looking down at the infant. According to the birth certificate, she’s only two months old. “I’m Dieter, but you don’t talk so why am I telling you that?” He huffs, but the baby gurgles around the nipple of the bottle and it makes him grin. “Did you like that?” He asks, lifting a brow. Apparently he’s a natural with kids.
The baby grunts and the grin immediately slides into a frown. “What’s that?” He asks, feeling something moving. “What are you doing?” Instead of sucking down the milk, the baby is grunting and straining and Dieter stares in horror as the smell starts to reach his nose. “Oh shit! You shit!” He groans in disgust.
The baby starts to cry, unhappy with a full diaper, and Dieter is reaching for his phone.
“Hello?” His assistant answers and Dieter is panicking.
“I need you here right now. I need help.”
Johan, his assistant, frowns, “is that- is that a baby?” He asks and Dieter groans, “get here now. And call a nanny service!” He demands and hangs up. “What do I do?” He asks the baby, shifting to lay her down on a towel so she doesn’t get shit on his expensive rug. “I- shit. You - fuck. That’s disgusting.” He groans and pulls his phone out. “YouTube! I’ll try YouTube.” He looks up ‘how to change a diaper’ and grabs the baby bag.
Dieter watches the video, studying it intently as he keeps a hand on the baby’s stomach. “Looks easy.” He frowns at the squirming baby. “But the doll wasn’t moving.” He sets the phone down beside the bag so he can see it and bites his lip as he tries to figure out the snaps on the onesie she’s in. “Holy shit.” He huffs, amazed at how easy it unsnaps. “I need this in a fucking adult version.” Wrinkling his nose when the smell gets even worse, he groans. “Wheeeeew, God you stink.” He nearly gags and pulls his shirt up over his nose. “What did you eat?”
Trying to plug his nose, he follows the YouTube video, wiping the poop off of her skin after rolling up the dirty diaper and putting it in the diaper bag. Anyone watching would think Dieter is dealing with a bomb. He gags when he pushes the wipes into the bag after cleaning her up and he grabs the rash cream, placing some on her bottom where the video details he should. He curses the new diaper, trying to figure out what way is the front until he sees it says “back” on it and he pulls it tight on her tiny body before he clips her onesies back into place. “Shit. That - that wasn’t too bad.” He murmurs, breathing in the fresh air and she hiccups, looking up at him with wide eyes.
“You’re kind of cute.” Dieter murmurs. “In a weird, ‘you don’t look like me’ kind of way.” He frowns when she grins at him, kicking her feet. “You’re weird.” He huffs, but she just waves her arms at him and squeals. Is she his? After all this time, did he finally fuck up and procreate? His mind spins and he wishes he remembers what the woman looks like better than he does but it had been early (for him) and he had just woken up. “We will have to find you someone who knows what they are doing kiddo.”
****
“What did you do?” Johan accuses Dieter who shakes his head, holding the baby in his arms and he looks at her, unable to deny that she looks a little like Dieter.
“I don’t know man. Some woman, I- Jesus. She said I fucked her and don’t even remember her. I’m waiting for the nurse to come for the DNA test.” Dieter confesses, knowing he has to be sure before he does anything.
“Oh my God, Dieter.” She rolls her eyes and immediately steps closer to the baby, unable to resist seeing her up close. “This is why you said you needed a nanny?”
Dieter nods and rocks his body as the baby’s eyes start to drift closed. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.” He huff, looking around the house that is definitely not baby proof. “I don’t have anything. I need-” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what the fuck I need. More diapers? That formula?” He nods towards the diaper bag. “She didn’t leave me shit for this baby.” He growls, pissed off at the poor planning of that woman. Who just abandons their baby with someone they didn’t know?
“Let me make a list and we can get what we need for her.” Johan says, knowing Dieter will not know anything that he will need.
“I need help. And stuff. Like now.” Dieter says, feeling the need to use but he can’t since he’s responsible for a fucking baby now.
Johan nods and bites his lip. “I’ve got a call into a nanny service. They are going to send someone over today.” He knows Dieter will be relieved. “Maybe she can help us with what we need.”
“Let’s get her. I need help. I- shit. I don’t even have a crib or anything. I need you to go out. Take my card and get all the baby shit from the best store there is in town.” He orders, wanting the baby to have the best even if she isn’t his. She’s cute and she deserves a good start in this world. “I need - shit - I have no idea what I’m doing. Please help me.” Dieter begs, the baby falling asleep against his chest and he looks down at her, her lips pouting as she sucks on the pacifier he found in the bag.
Johan grimaces and nods, aware that he has even less experience with babies than Dieter does. “I’ll be back.” The other man promises, quickly making his way towards the door and out of the house. He had no clue what the hell to do for his boss, he’s gotten himself in a mess this time. As much as he wants to claim he doesn’t know that baby is his, it is. Dieter Bravo is a father.
****
“It’s nice to meet you. I’ve always been such a fan of your work.” The woman gushes. Dieter can barely remember her name. Violet, Vivian, or something like that. She seems nice enough and her qualifications from the service are good. He doesn’t really know what he’s looking for in a nanny except he desperately needs help. He’s waiting on the DNA results to come in but the little baby is cute and she listens to him rambling without complaints.
Viola looks around the house and wonders how the hell Dieter Bravo became an overnight father. “You must attend parenting classes.” She insists after Dieter finally runs out of steam and shuts up. “There is one I can sign you up for. It’s for new parents and you qualify.” She chuckles, shaking her head. “They have a meeting in two days, I can see about getting you halfway set up.
“What? No. I don’t need a parenting group.” Dieter scoffs and Viola raises her eyebrows.
“Respectful sir, I think you do.” She offers him a wry smile when the baby starts to cry in his arms.
“I’m hopeless, aren’t I?” He sighs, trying to rock Rosie and he is struggling to calm her.
“Here. Can I-?” Viola asks and Dieter practically shoves the baby into her arms.
“You’re hired.” He declares when Rosie calms down and the crying stops. He can’t do this alone.
“Mr. Bravo,” Viola frowns and shakes her head. “I’m sorry if you misunderstood. I am here temporarily.” She explains. “I have already signed a contract with another family. I came today because it was an emergency.” She wonders if he had heard anything she had said when she arrived, he had looked frazzled but she thought she had been clear.
“What? No! You seem like such a nice lady and Rosie likes you. Please. I’ll pay more. I’ll do anything to get you to stay.�� He pleads, “name your price. I’ll fucking pay it. Please!” He pouts, eyes wide and pleading.
Viola shakes her head, “I’m so sorry. I can’t get out of the contract. I’ll help you as much as I can. Johan said you need help learning the basics so I’ll show you the basics and take care of Rosie while I can but you’re going to have to learn what to do.” She says, knowing it’s going to be tough.
“I can’t do this.” Dieter wails, knowing life as he knows it is over. Without someone here, he going to fuck it up. “Please, please, you have to stay.” He begs, making Viola shake her head.
“I am here for one week, Mr. Bravo. Then it will be up to you to find someone to help you care for Rosie. Now, let me show you how to bathe your daughter.”
****
“She’s yours.” Dieter exhales shakily as Johan announces the DNA results.
“Shit. I- I have a daughter.” He shakes his head and looks over at Rosie who is asleep in her bassinet. “What am I gonna do?” Dieter asks as reality sets in. He has a child that he’s responsible for and Viola is only here for two more days. “She’s - she’s so tiny and I’m gonna fuck it up. She’s gonna get fucked up because of me.” He starts to panic now that reality has hit.
“You are going to go to the parenting class tonight and we are going to continue to look for a nanny.” Johan tells Dieter practically. He’s been surprised that Dieter hasn’t done as many drugs as he normally does, even smoking weed outside because of the baby. “So far all the services I’ve called don’t have anyone available until next year.” He shakes his head. “Apparently it was baby season this year.”
Dieter groans, covering his face with his hands and dragging them down his cheeks. “I have pre-production for the movie coming up in a few weeks. I can’t take her with me to a table read.” He whines and Rosie shifts in her sleep, making Dieter’s heart melt when the movement catches his attention and he looks over. “Fine. I’ll go to the parenting class. Maybe…maybe someone can help me find a nanny there.” He says, determined to find help.
****
Dieter walks into the church hall, surprised he hasn’t burst into flames. He hasn’t been to church since he was a kid. His mama used to drag him on a Sunday and when he became famous at ten years old, he managed to bail on church because he was working. He sits down in a seat, noticing how all the other attendees are women. Rosie is asleep in her carrier for now and he has the diaper bag at his feet. “Welcome ladies and - oh. Hi, we have a new member.” An older woman smiles at Dieter, “welcome to the single mom support group.”
“Oh, uh, I thought it was-“ Dieter falters for a moment, panicking about being kicked out of the group. “I thought this was a single parent support group.” He explains, shuffling. “I just- uh, the mother of the child- my child- I just got the DNA test back, dropped her off on my door with no warning.” He rambles, trying to explain why he needs to stay. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.” He confesses, nearly sounding defeated.
“It’s okay. It’s okay. You can stay.” A few of the moms recognize Dieter and he looks exhausted. Rosie had kept him up half of the night since Viola has been weaning him off of her help, and he glances around.
“I’m sorry to - shit. I can go.” He says and you are sitting next to him.
“No, stay. It’s okay. We are all here to help each other.” Your own son, three months old, is whining and you sigh, pulling your tank top down and unclipping your bra to breastfeed him.
Dieter’s eyes widen at the sight of your breast and he can’t deny his cock twitches a little at the idea of drinking down some milk. Shit, when did that kink happen? “I appreciate it. I have no clue what I’m doing.” He admits again and all the women laugh, “none of us do. It’s instinct and a lot of books.” One giggles, “and Google.”
“I didn’t even know.” Dieter moans, shaking his head. “It was- it was a one night stand.” He feels bad about that, not even able to tell Rosie about his relationship with her mom when she gets older. “I’m trying to hire a nanny but all of them are booked up.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to fuck her up. She’s so tiny. Two months old.”
“What’s her name?” You ask him, looking at the little girl asleep in her carrier.
“Rosie.” He says with a soft smile, it’s hard to not love the little girl now that he knows she’s his. He wants the best for her, even if she’s stuck with a manic mess like him. “This is Oliver.” You gesture to the baby now asleep on your breast.
Dieter smiles and tries not to notice the grunting sounds the kid is making. Feeling guilty because he knows that he would be making the exact same sounds the kid is if he was sucking down milk from your tit. “That’s nice.” He offers.
“So what is your name?” The woman in charge smiles fondly at him and he’s surprised no one recognizes him.
“Uh, Dieter.” He offers, curling his shoulders slightly. “Dieter Bravo.”
“Welcome Dieter.” Several of the women say to him with a smile.
“So do you have any questions?” Julia, the group leader asks.
“Where the fuck do I begin?” He replies dramatically, making all the women chuckle.
“Well, we are here to help each other so might as well start.”
“So my first question. So is their shit always gonna be that black color?” Dieter shakes his head, making a face as he remembers the last diaper he had changed.
All the women laugh. “No that won’t last for much longer since she’s three months old.”
Dieter rolls his eyes gratefully. “Oh thank God.” He chuckles. Looking over at you again. “You said your son is two months old? Is he sleeping all night? Is that something that she has to get used to?”
You shake your head, “he isn’t sleeping through the night yet. I breastfeed so he wakes me up every couple of hours. It takes a while for them to sleep through the night. Like six months or so. Have you read any baby books?” You ask and he shakes his head. “Oh you must read - you know what. I’ll send you a list. What’s your number?” You ask and the women all giggle, making you fluster. “I mean, to help. We have babies close in age. It’s good to have help.”
“Do you need a job?” Dieter blurts out, wondering why he hadn’t thought of it before. “I mean- if your husband doesn’t mind.” He corrects himself, forgetting it was a single mother’s group. “I'm just- I’ve got to start pre-production on the next movie and it’s going to be crazy and you seem like you’re perfect. You handle your baby so easily.” His eyes are wide and pleading, begging you to say yes.
Your eyes widen, "I- um, oh wow. A job?"
The other women all nod, telling Dieter about your history as a teacher and how you know CPR. You fluster, knowing you need a job. Your maternity leave ended two weeks ago and instead of letting you come back to work, your job had fired you. Between losing your job and your landlord chasing you up on rent, you know this is too good to turn down. "I'm not married and um, what job do you have in mind?"
“Nanny.” He jumps immediately on your question. Knowing that it’s not a ‘no’. “I’ll pay you really well and you can- can you live there? I mean, I can have odd hours and you can stay at my place. You and Oliver.” He makes sure to include your son. “I have a big house. In Sherman Oaks.” As if that would sweeten the deal. “Help me with Rosie and teach me how to be a dad. How to look after her. I don’t expect you to do it all.” He clarifies, having already gotten used to the idea of being a ‘girl dad’. He’s watched a few Tik Toks about it and it looks cool.
You know it sounds too good to be true. A job and a place to live with your son. “I think we need to sit down and talk this through properly. You don’t even know me. Don’t you wanna do a background check?” You ask, knowing you’d be doing that if you were hiring someone to live in your house. “We have a lot to discuss.” You bite your lip and look around the room to see the other moms nodding to encourage you.
“Yeah. Yeah.” Dieter nods seriously. “My agent will have that done. Plus the NDA you would have to sign.” He’s grateful you are even thinking about it. “But don’t worry. Most of the tabloid stuff is bullshit. I’m not that bad.” He promises with a quick, charming grin. “We can hammer out the details after this, right?”
“Uh, sure.” You nod and Dieter winks at you before turning back to the women, their own babies in their arms and you know this is too good an opportunity to turn down. “You wanna go get a coffee?” You ask Dieter after Oliver is in his stroller and you look at Rosie who is still asleep, unaware of her father trying to hire her a new nanny.
“As long as it’s quiet.” He says and you frown, “uh, sure. You said you are going into pre-production so does that mean you are an actor?” You ask, unaware of if he’s famous.
Dieter stares at you for a moment, wondering if you are just trying to play coy but you are just looking at him curiously. “Yeah, uh, I am.” He admits, finding it refreshing that someone on this planet doesn’t know who he is or have any expectations of him. “I normally do two or three movies a year, depending on how long they take to film or whatever.” He struggles with the carrier and the door, holding it open for you on the other side. “Gotta get one of those.” He tells himself, eyeing your stroller.
“We can make a list of what you’ll need. I’m guessing you have the basics but there’s so much stuff.” You sigh, knowing it’s not always been in your reach but someone like him could buy it all.
“A list sounds good. Coffee?” He suggests, gesturing to the small coffee shop down the street and you nod.
“Sounds good. I desperately need one. He kept me up all night. He was hungry last night and wouldn’t settle unless he was against my breast.”
Dieter keeps his dirty thoughts to himself, but he doesn’t blame the kid. He would love to sleep with a nipple in his mouth too. “We will make sure to get you an extra shot of espresso.” He promises, carrying the car seat and diaper bag as he walks alongside you. “I’m being serious. About the job, I mean.” He tells you. “I have tried every nanny service in the greater L.A. area with no luck, although I’m on their waitlist.” He sighs and shuffles the carrier when his arm gets tired in one position. “I have an in-law suite you and Oliver can use, if you want a little more privacy than just sleeping upstairs.” He knows he sounds desperate, because he is desperate. Johan knows less than he does about babies and has zero interest in watching the kid while he is busy.
“Let’s sit down with the babies and then we can order.” You suggest and he nods, guiding you over to a table in the back. Rosie is waking up and he panics when she starts to cry. “Oh hello gorgeous.” You murmur, leaning down to look at his daughter and Dieter is fumbling to get the bottle from the bag to make her formula. You sigh, sensing he needs help and you unbuckle the baby, Oliver asleep as you cradle Rosie, her cries settling a little and you stand up, rocking her and you reach for the formula Dieter has, a whole damn container, and work fast on a bottle. “My sister has kids. I used to babysit them.” You explain and work fast with one hand to prepare a bottle and bring it to her lips. “Here you go sweet pea.” You coo as she starts to gulp down the milk.
“You’re really good at this.” Dieter says in awe, watching you handle things so smoothly. “I’m just-I don’t know.” He sighs, feeling bad that he’s not good at this.
“Babies sense the emotions around them.” You tell him quietly. “You panic, she’s going to become more frantic. Just talk to her while you are getting her bottle ready. Or have one already mixed up, ready to go.” You think about all the formulas that are already bottled and just need a nipple slapped on them. “We can find a routine that works for you.”
Dieter nods, “yes. Yes. God, please take the job. I need you.” He pleads and you shift Rosie into his arms, transferring the bottle to him.
“I’ll take the job. On one condition.” You say, sitting back down and you rock Oliver’s stroller.
“Anything.” Dieter vows.
“You learn too. I don’t want you to just shove her into my arms at the first sign of difficulty. She’s your daughter. You need to know how to care for her, to bond with her. You can’t just hand her off and expect me to do it all. She needs to know her daddy.”
Dieter nods, knowing that he would do that if given the opportunity. “Okay.” He agrees. “I want you to help me become better at taking care of her.” He bites his lip and looks at you. “What do you want for pay?” He asks, listing off a number that the nanny services had given him. “Does that sound okay? Plus, you’ll have full use of the house. And a card for expenses. I don’t expect you to buy the diapers or wipes or any of that shit.”
Your eyes widen, it’s way more than you were making at your old job. Your landlord has been threatening you with eviction since you’re struggling to pay, and this almost seems like fate. “Wow. I- are you sure?” You ask him and he nods, “I’m absolutely sure.”
You swallow and offer him a soft smile, “then I’m your new nanny.” He grins and your heart thumps in your chest at how handsome he is. “There’s something you gotta know though.” You sigh and Dieter nods, waiting for you to go on. “Oliver’s father. He - he died.” You feel yourself tearing up, “we - I was only a few months pregnant when we got into the car accident. I didn’t even know I was pregnant at the time but Ollie- he- he died. We were- we were friends, friends with benefits and we got pregnant and he- he never got to meet his son.” You choke, the grief that’s consumed you threatens to take you again. He didn’t have any family left alive so Oliver would’ve been his only family.
“I’m sorry.” Dieter frowns, unsure of how to comfort someone about a death that meaningful but he feels like he should say something. “That is rough. Hopefully- hopefully this will turn into a good arrangement.” He offers with a small shrug, realizing that things could be worse. He can’t imagine what it would be like going through this alone. “After our coffee, do you want to come over? See the house?” He asks. “I can call my agent to draw up any kind of paperwork you want.”
You nod, sniffing to stop yourself from crying about Ollie. You loved him, he was your friend, but you were never in love with him. He had his problems and you had yours. It would’ve never worked. Oliver is here now and you have to be strong for him, to keep Ollie’s memory alive. “Yes. I- this is a lot but I want to change my life. I need a change. I want to work for you.” You say as the barista takes pity on you with the babies and comes over to take your order. “I’ll have a vanilla latte please.” You order and Dieter adds, “with an extra shot of espresso.”
After taking your orders, Rosie finishes her bottle and Dieter shifts to put her up on his shoulder to burp. “Hang on, you need a spit rag.” You insist, digging in your own diaper bag to produce one.
“Huh,” Dieter huffs, “I just thought I was supposed to wear her puke until she stopped doing that.” He jokes, the stains on his shirt only partly from his daughter.
“No, you always carry multiple burp clothes and changes of clothes, for both of you.” You tell him with a smile.
He nods, mentally taking notes. He has so much to learn from you to make sure his daughter is well looked after. He doesn’t want to fail at being a father. He wants her to know he did everything he could to be a good daddy. He knows you will be good for Rosie, for him too. He sips his coffee and watches you with Oliver, rocking his stroller, and he can see you’re a good mom. He feels comfortable with you. “Do you wanna come back to my place?” Dieter asks, realizing that’s the first time he’s asked that question without it being for sex or drugs
You bite your lip and look up at the frazzled, yet handsome man who is offering you a dream situation. A place to live and the ability to stay at home with your son while still earning money. You don’t know if you would ever get a better offer. “Yes.” You agree. “I’ll follow you? Maybe you can text me the address in case we get separated?” You want to look it up really quickly, just to make sure it’s a real place.
He nods, taking your number to text you his address. He is anxious for you to see the house, hoping you love it and it helps to get you to take the job. You strap Oliver into his car seat while Dieter does the same to Rosie and soon enough, you’re driving to his house.
“I, uh, I’ll ask the housekeeper to come in more than once a week.” Dieter offers, climbing out of his car as you do the same. He doesn’t want you to think that it’s all going to fall on you. “Oh, Johan told me about a diaper delivery service. All natural diapers? That’s better, right?” He asks, anxious about doing the right thing. He had read about the chemicals used in the nappies he currently has.
You smile at his anxiety, wanting the best for Rosie, and you know he’s going to be a good daddy once he gets his feet under him. “Johan?” You ask and Dieter nods, “my assistant. He’s - he is my lifeline.” Dieter confesses and you nod, understanding he lives a completely different life to you. He needs an assistant to manage his schedule. You take Oliver out of the car in his carrier and follow Dieter into the house, your eyes wide at the gorgeous home he owns. “This is - wow.” You exhale as you enter the grand property.
“Thank you.” Dieter shows you the bottom floor and opens the door to his study. “I have all this shit I don’t know what it’s for.” The room is filled with boxes of toys and jumpers, cribs and carriers. Johan had gone overboard but Dieter had wanted to make sure that he had everything he needed. Your eyes widen and he blushes, “I was trying my best.”
You nod, understating he has struggled since Rosie was dropped on his doorstep. “We can get everything set up. Does she have a nursery?” You ask and he shakes his head, “she’s been in my room. I- I haven’t really slept. I’ve been trying to watch her sleep in case, you know.”
You understand, knowing you stay awake watching Oliver breathing. It’s a lot of anxiety being a first time parent. “We will get her nursery set up and then you can keep her in your room if you want but then she has somewhere to nap and call her own.” You smile and rub his shoulder after you set Oliver down in his carrier, he’s asleep. “It’s gonna be fine.” You promise him, glancing around the beautiful living room. “It’s gonna need some baby proofing and, uh, that needs to go.” You gesture to the powder packet on the counter.
“Oh, I, uh-“ Dieter rushes forward and grabs the packet to sweep it off the counter and into his pocket. “I haven’t- that’ll be put away.” He promises, cursing himself for leaving it out. He hadn’t taken any lately, not since Rosie arrived because he’s too fucking scared of something happening to her while he’s bombed. “Sorry.” He hopes you don’t decide to leave him high and dry because of that. “Do you want to see the rooms you and Oliver could have?” He asks desperately.
You stop him, “I- I am taking the job but you won’t do drugs in this house with the babies. If something happened or they got hold of it - I couldn’t - no drugs in this house. Period. You wanna go get high somewhere else? Fine. But your daughter comes first, you understand?” You ask him, knowing you won’t risk your own son around that kind of bullshit.
Immediately nodding, Dieter understands what you are saying. “I haven’t- not since she’s arrived.” He confesses. “I’ve been too scared to even try in case something happens.” He’s not stupid enough to think he won’t do drugs anymore but he does want to be there for his daughter.
You nod, knowing it’s not ideal but it will have to do. As long as they aren’t kept in the house and he doesn’t do them around the children, it’s his business. You are just his employee. “Okay.” You pat his shoulder and he guides you to the guest suite. “Dieter…this is…wow.” You gasp at the massive room, “this is - this is a lot. Are you sure - there’s no other room you want me to have?” You ask, knowing this room is the size of your apartment.
“You need room for you and Oliver.” He shrugs, not wanting to say that he doesn’t have guests unless it was someone from a party. And he doubts he’s having those here anymore. “This way you have privacy and your own bathroom.” He knows that is important and figured this would be perfect. “And using another room for Oliver is okay too.” He doesn’t want to suggest the nursery can be shared, but he wouldn’t mind. “Will this work?”
You smile, reaching out to pat his arm, “this is more than enough, Dieter. It’s perfect.” You promise and he grins, pleased that you are happy. He sighs when Rosie starts to cry and Oliver follows suit, both babies waking up. “Come on daddy, let’s go feed the babies.”
He feels more confident with you beside him. Even if it’s just your presence reminding him that he should test the bottle on the inside of his wrist before popping the nipple in Rosie’s mouth while Oliver is greedily suckling at your breast for his own meal. “That wasn’t too bad.” He grins down at his daughter, eyes wide but slowly starting to close as she gulps down the bottle. “How often do you have to feed Oliver?” He asks, trying to keep his eyes on your face respectfully. You aren’t giving him a show.
“About every one and a half to two hours. Depends on when he’s hungry. He lets me know.” You chuckle and watch your son as his gulps turn into suckles which lead to him falling asleep against your breast. “It’s - it’s exhausting but he’s worth it.” You smile at Dieter who is rocking Rosie. “You’re getting better already. We will make a list of everything we need for you and, um, I guess I better go and pack.” You smile bashfully, knowing this is a big move but it’s what’s best for you and Oliver.
“Why don’t we hire someone to pack you?” Dieter asks with a frown. You have your hands full and he knows that it will take a lot to take care of your son and try to pack. “I’ll pay for it. I don’t mind. That way we can get the nursery set up.”
“Are you sure? I- I don’t know if you’re gonna find someone so late notice. I don’t have much. And I will need Oliver’s crib and -”
You don’t get to finish because Dieter is pulling out his phone to call Johan and arrange for your things to be moved today. “Whatever it costs.” Dieter says and you swallow, knowing Dieter has more money than you could imagine if he can waste it like that.
“Thank you.” You tell him, cradling Oliver who is fast asleep.
“It’s nothing.” Dieter waves away the thanks and looks down at Rosie as she finishes the last of her bottle. “Okay little girl, let’s get you to burp, and then maybe a nap?” He asks, grinning. “She has the manliest burps.” He brags, astounded that something so small could make such a racket. “I have the other cradle thingy if you want to lay your son down.”
“The bassinet?” You smirk and he shrugs one shoulder, “I’m still learning.” You nod and let him guide you to the bassinet and you carefully lay Oliver down before adjusting your shirt after clipping your nursing bra. Rosie burps and you giggle softly, liking how proud Dieter is of her and you watch him lay her down in the cradle next to Oliver. “Maybe they will be best friends.” You whisper, leaning closer to him.
“That would be cool.” Dieter imagines it, his own childhood lonely and isolated. There were times he had wished desperately for a built-in friend. “Let’s get out of here before we wake them up.” He has learned that Rosie is cranky if she gets woken up before she’s ready and he doesn’t blame her, he’s the same way. Maybe she got it from him. “So, uh, since there’s two kids….just, um, we’re gonna need that double stroller thingy, right?” Dieter asks as he walks down the hall with you. “And can you show me that carrier thing? The one you have the baby wrapped to your body? That looks cool. Oh, and uh, the diapers. The service, when we get that set up, use it for Oliver too.” He adds. “No need to have two different types of diapers, right?”
You nod, realizing it’s best not to argue. “Let’s leave them to sleep and we can work on getting the nursery set up. I- I really appreciate this opportunity, Dieter.” You tell him and lean in to kiss his cheek. He blushes as you set your phone up as a makeshift baby monitor, calling his phone, and you leave the babies to sleep. Dieter follows you, his eyes dropping down to your ass, and he curses internally when he realizes he finds you hot.
****
“Dieter!” You call out, trying to find your boss. Oliver and Rosie are having tummy time on the play mat and you need your breast pump. It’s been a couple of months since you moved in with Dieter to become his full time nanny and it’s been surprisingly nice. Rosie is a good girl and you’ve grown to fall in love with her, making sure her and Oliver get equal treatment. “Can you get my pump?” You ask when he doesn’t respond.
“Yeah!” Dieter reluctantly lets go of his cock and tucks it away in his dress slacks. He had been trying to tug one out before he had to go to court, formally getting custody of his daughter. Nervous and not able to get high, jerking off had become even more of a habit than before now he had started thinking about you while he was doing it. You’re so fucking pretty and kind. Looking like an angel as you take care of his daughter. Dieter knows that he’s falling in love with you but he can’t do anything about it. Not willing to risk you leaving and denying Rosie the best nanny in the world. Washing his hands quickly, he rushes to the kitchen to grab the pump where you had cleaned it last night while he sterilized bottles. “Here it is.”
You thank him, breasts aching and you attach the suction, not thinking about Dieter as you sigh in relief at the milk finally being pumped. “Shit. That feels good.” You groan, the whooshing of the machine pumping and you have been pumping enough for Rosie to have milk too. It’s been a lot but you love the babies. “What time do you have to leave?” You ask Dieter, catching him staring at your tits and you hate that it thrills you. He’s so sexy, unintentionally so, and goofy as hell. He’s good with his daughter and you’ve grown close, raising the babies together, and you know it’s getting harder and harder to deny how you feel every day.
“Oh, uh, I gotta leave in twenty minutes.” His cock is still hard in his trousers and he twitches at the groan you make. Every day you pump, having no modesty around him now and you shouldn’t - it’s natural but Dieter still thinks it’s sexy. “I’m nervous.” He admits, glancing over at Rosie as she squeals and waves her arms on her tummy. “I know that my lawyer said it’s a formality, but what if the judge doesn’t like me? What if he takes Rosie from me?”
You shake your head and reach for his hand, squeezing it. “I promise you, it’s gonna be fine, D. You’re a good daddy and that will be shown. I know your past hasn’t been ideal but you got this. You’re a good man, Rosie is lucky to have you. We all are. It’s gonna be fine. I promise you.” You offer him a soft smile and squeeze his hand again.
“I’m more nervous than the night I won my Oscar.” Dieter confesses with a nervous chuckle. He doesn’t tell you that he was high, sure that you could guess that, although he has done anything more than hit his weed pen since you’ve moved in. Rosie is surprisingly therapeutic, although he’s glad she doesn’t understand what he talks about during the nights he gets up with her. The movie is almost halfway done shooting and he’s going to make sure that once he’s done, you get a week off so you can veg for more than a night. He looks down at your joined hands and smiles. “I’ll call you when I get out, okay?” He asks, and you nod, letting go of him. “And eat that kale and beet salad in the fridge”, he throws over his shoulder as he rushes towards the door. “It’s supposed to help the milk supply.”
You roll your eyes playfully, looking back at the babies. “Daddy is silly, isn’t he?” You talk to Rosie and look at Oliver, saddened that he isn’t going to know his father. You wonder what Ollie would think of Dieter. They are similar in a lot of ways but Ollie was always practical, making sure you weren’t in a relationship because of his strenuous job as a firefighter. He didn’t want you to be one of those women sitting around waiting for him. You sigh and wonder what you are going to do about Dieter. It’s too comfortable with him.
****
“Dinner’s ready!” You call out. The babies are now six and seven months old. Sitting in their baby bouncers, watching you setting the dinner out for Dieter. He’s finished filming and you want to celebrate. The nice bottle of wine on the table alongside his favorite pasta.
“Oh my god, you spoil me.” Dieter groans as he comes into the dining room, freshly showered and in comfortable clothes. Rosie squeals happily and so does Oliver, both of them in their high chairs. Dieter grins leaning in and blowing a raspberry on his daughter’s cheek and then on your son’s. He never thought he was a kid type of person, but his playfulness extends to your son. He’s a good kid and it would not be right when you are so good with Rosie if he ignored the little guy. It makes him imagine that the four of you are a family, a real one and he was coming home from work to all of you. “You didn’t have to do this.”
You shake your head, enjoying the way his hand finds your waist as you reach for the parmesan on the counter. You turn to face him, cupping his cheek, “you just finished filming. You deserve a treat.” You smile, caressing his cheek and your eyes dip down to his lips for a second. He stares at you and you clear your throat, lowering your hand, “let’s eat. You must be starving.” You set the cheese down and glance over at the babies, you fed them while dinner was cooking so now you and Dieter can enjoy your meal.
“How was your day?” He’s finding that this, fatherhood and responsibility, is grounding for him. Not just concentrating on his whims and trolling through boredom. Every day is different and challenging with kids, especially when he’s trying to make sure that none of his own parents' mistakes affect Rosie. “The kids were okay?” He asks, pouring more wine into each of your glasses. You hum in protest but Dieter shakes his head. “Just pump and dump. You deserve more than one glass.” He huffs.
You sigh but let him pour some more wine, it’s been stressful with the babies today. “Rosie decided to throw up all over Oliver and herself so both of them needed a bath and then Oliver managed to get his diaper off in his onesie so he needed another bath and then Rosie wouldn’t stop crying because Oliver wasn’t next to her. It’s been - it’s been a day.” You sigh and Dieter nods, reaching for your hand. It feels so normal, like you’re complaining to your husband about your hectic day over wine and you look up at Dieter, “I love them both so much but today was…it was a lot.”
“I can imagine.” Dieter squeezes your hand gently and once again thinks that it’s odd that you don’t feel like his employee. You feel like his wife, although he’s never kissed you, or touched you like he’s imagined. “Let me take both the kids tonight.” He offers. “I’ve got the next week off before I have to do all the press bullshit for the other movie coming out in two weeks. Why don’t you take a little vacation? A spa or something?” His parenting skills have improved drastically and there have been times where he’s watched Oliver for you. Like when you had to go for another postpartum checkup.
You groan, letting go of his hand so you can continue eating. “I won’t lie…a massage sounds good. My back has been killing me.” You confess, twirling the pasta around your fork and you bite your lip, wondering what a massage from him would be like with his hands. “I wouldn’t mind going to the mall. I need some new clothes that aren't leggings.” You chuckle, “and I need some new underwear.” You sigh before you chew on the pasta.
Dieter’s cock twitches at the thought of your underwear. Not that he sees them. You’ve taken over doing the laundry even though he offered to have someone come in. Or he could help. Insisting that it was no problem. Johan had even commented that you made his house seem like a real home, and Dieter couldn’t deny that. “You could do all that.” He promises. “I’ll watch the kids. I want to spend some time with R and O.”
You feel guilty leaving the kids behind but you trust Dieter, something you never thought you’d say, but he has proven himself to be an amazing father. You smile, “thanks baby.” You tell him and he swallows the wine down. It’s getting harder to deny how you feel. After finishing eating, Dieter helps you clean up while you have the babies in the play pen. “Bedtime for the bubbies.” You coo, picking up Rosie and kissing her hair. “Daddy is gonna change you, baby girl.” You slide her into Dieter’s arms and pick up Oliver.
“Why don’t you go take your own bath?” Dieter offers, grinning down at Rosie. “You’ve had them all day and you said it’s been rough. Go take a bubble bath. I can get them ready for bed.” He’s made huge strides as a father, as a caretaker and now that he’s more confident, he finds he likes it. Kids are fun. And easy to learn how to please. “I can rock them both and get them settled.”
“Are you sure?” You ask, trusting him but you want him to be comfortable.
“I am for this.” He promises and you nod, “you got this. I- I can feed O before they get to sleep.” You say and he shakes his head.
“No. I got it.” He promises, knowing he can warm up your milk.
You lean in to kiss the babies’ heads, “goodnight my loves. I love you so much.” You say to them and you look up at Dieter, offering him a grateful smile. You make your way into the bathroom, sighing in relief when you sink into the tub.
Dieter hums to the babies as he warms up their last bottles of the night. Changed and in clean onesies, they are ready for that last bottle. Smirking to himself as he tests the breast milk on his wrist and barely resists licking it. He wants to try it, but he feels like that might be crossing a line. Getting both of the babies settled in each arm and they can hold their own bottle now with a little help. “You two are like twins, you know that?” He coos at both of them, settling in the rocker on the nursery while they eat. Watching their eyes grow heavier as they suck. You had both decided to keep them in the same nursery, letting them bond and it has worked out so much better than he had ever hoped. He loves Oliver like Rosie and when they fall asleep at the same time, he’s grinning as he holds them for a little longer before shifting to put them to sleep in the same crib. They cried if they were separated, curling up together during the night as if they were twins.
You sigh, relaxing in the hot water until you decide to get out and say goodnight to the babies. You shrug your robe on, tying it as you make your way to the nursery as Dieter leans over the crib. “They asleep?” You whisper and he nods. You caress their heads, loving how they are asleep together, keeping each other safe. Sometimes you see them holding hands in the night. It’s adorable. You rest your head on Dieter’s shoulder as you watch them for another moment and he turns his head to kiss your hair. It makes your heart pound and you pull away, letting the babies sleep with the white noise machine running.
Dieter’s hands seem to be twitchy as you walk out of the nursery in front of him. He knows that you are only dressed in a robe and he wants nothing more than to strip you out of it and touch you. Make you shake in pleasure. “Do you want to have a drink?” Dieter asks. “Or are you calling it a night?”
“A drink sounds good. Relax after a long day.” You smile, walking into the kitchen to open the second bottle of wine you’d bought earlier. You work fast to open it, pouring a glass and handing it to him before you settle on the sofa. “You wanna continue watching that show on HBO?” You ask, knowing he hates it when you watch an episode without him.
“Yes!” Dieter lights up and he narrows his eyes at you playfully. “You better not have already watched it.” He threatens playfully, handing you the remote. He likes when you relax and loves that you feel completely at home here. It is your home. He leans towards you and takes a sip of the wine. “What do you think is gonna happen, this episode? The previews looked good.”
You nod, shifting closer towards him. “I promise you. I haven’t seen it yet.” You assure him and have another sip of your wine. You love and hate how relaxed you are, how easy this is. How real it feels. Like you’re a proper family. The baby monitor is on the coffee table and you rest your head on Dieter’s shoulder as he presses play. You barely watch the show, too focused on the way Dieter feels pressed against you.
About halfway through the show Dieter shuffles, throwing his arm around the backside of the couch and around you. Letting you slide down against him more. You pull the throw blanket over your legs and he smiles, wondering how you are always cold but it’s a cute quirk he’s noticed.
You snuggle into his side, hand finding his chest and you caress the skin under the shirt he always has half buttoned. He sighs and you breathe him in, pleased to feel his heart thumping under your touch. This intimacy, it’s what keeps you satisfied when you yearn for more but you can’t risk it. Your job. Your home. Your life is connected to his and you can’t afford to mess it up.
“Marry me.” Dieter says and you think you misheard him.
“What?” You ask, not moving.
“Marry me.” He repeats and you jerk back from his side so you can look him in the eyes.
“What- did you just ask me to marry you?”
“I did.” Dieter nods, turning towards you and reaching for your hand. “I love you. I love how you make this house feel like a home. I love how you care for Rosie and I love Oliver.” He adds. “I love coming home to you and I want this-“ he motions around the house and between the two of you. “To be real. I want to touch you, kiss you. Make love to you.” Dieter isn’t a man who talks in terms like ‘making love’ but that’s exactly what it would be. “I think you love me too, don’t you? I know you do.”
You shake your head, wanting to tell him you love him. He’s crazy, he leaves his socks everywhere and he has so many holes in his shirts but he’s kind and whacky and so damn funny. You love him, you’re in love with him, but to marry him would be a bad idea. You can’t risk this life you’ve created together. “Dieter.” You sigh, pulling your hand out of his. “We can’t. We can’t risk the babies. We - if it all went wrong, then I’d be moving out with Oliver and Rosie loses him and vice versa. If it all went wrong, I’d be homeless and I wouldn’t have anything. I can’t risk that for my son. I can’t. I’m sorry.”
His heart breaks but he’s determined to convince you this is a good thing. Latching onto what you said about being homeless, his eyes widen. “I’ll buy you a house.” He bursts out. “In your name alone. It’ll be yours. Completely.” He nods to himself, grinning like an idiot and picks up your hand again. “It won’t go wrong, you’re perfect and I love you. I want to be with you and our babies all the time and fuck, I want another baby when you’re ready.” He missed everything about Rosie’s birth and he wants to see your stomach large with a baby, his baby. “But if it did-“ he stresses the word ‘if’, “-you would have a house for you and Oliver. And you could rent it out right now. The money would be yours. Totally yours.”
Your eyes widen and you shake your head, “I can’t - that’s too much. A house here is insane. That’s a crazy amount to put into this. That - a whole damn house? That’s what you want to do?” You ask incredulously and he nods.
“All I know is that I can’t stop thinking about you. I need you. I love you.” He promises and you swallow harshly, tears stinging in your eyes.
Your heart yearns for him yet your head tells you it’s too much of a risk. “Dieter…” You trail off and he frowns, pulling away slightly, sensing your rejection. “I love you.” Your eyes water and a sob escapes your lips as you start to cry. No one has ever been so kind to you. To know he loves you enough to buy a house so you feel secure in case something goes wrong. It has you sobbing.
He lunges forward, crushing you to him in a comforting hug. “Don’t cry baby, please don’t cry. I never want you to cry.” He pleads, sure that he’s messed up somehow. “I’m sorry, I just can’t stop wanting you. Seeing you with our babies, I think- I wish they were ours. Our twins and we had them together.” He rubs your back and pets your hair as you sob into his chest and he tries to think of how he could make you feel better.
You sob into his chest at his words, wishing they were true but it’s not and that’s okay. The babies brought you together and you know you and Dieter would’ve never met if it weren’t for that single moms group. “I - I love you.” You offer him a watery smile as you pull back and he reaches out to gently wipe your tears away. “I love you and I want you to be mine. I want to be yours. I love you Dieter.” You confess, cupping his cheeks.
Dieter’s smile is slow, soft and he can’t believe that you are saying yes. He leans in and presses his lips to yours softly. Loving how you immediately open for him to slide his tongue against yours with a groan. Pulling you close against him again, this time shamelessly pressing his body against yours. “I love you.” He promises, kissing down your jaw line. “Do you want to have sex with me? Or do you want to wait?” He wants you in his bed, but if you wanted to wait until the deed to the house was in your hands, he would understand that. He would go out tomorrow and buy you the best house he could find.
You know you’ve spent far too much time thinking about him, having him inside of you, pressing against you, and you know you should slow down but you can’t. “I want you. I don’t want to wait. I want you now.” You tell him breathlessly and you press your lips to his, cupping his cheek while you slide your tongue against his.
Groaning, Dieter pulls you closer and starts to lean you back against the sofa, knowing that he needs to take you to bed but right now, he needs to feel you under him. “So beautiful.” He praises, kissing your chin and nips your skin with his teeth.
You sigh, loving how it feels to have him touch you. His hand sliding along your thigh and you whimper, “Dieter. Please. I want you to touch me.” You plead, guiding his hand to the tie of your robe while your hands caress his chest under his ratty t-shirt.
He hums, twitching against your hip and he leans back and grins at you, “I’m going to, baby. I’m going to make sure you know exactly what you are getting from me.” He pulls your robe open and groans at the sight of your tits. Looking back up at you. “Can I taste?” He asks. “I’ve dreamed of tasting your milk.”
Your cunt clenches around nothing at the thought. “You’ve imagined it?” You ask breathlessly and he nods so you move fast to straddle him, his cock hard against your thigh, and you lean in towards him to kiss him as you shrug your robe off of your shoulders. “You can have a taste.”
He knows your tits are tender, hearing you complain and watching as you sometimes have to massage them. He cups them in his hands, groaning at how full they are, grinning. “Fuck, I can drink it all since you were going to dump it.” He realizes as he leans forward to wrap his lips around one nipple.”
“Oh shit.” You gasp, groaning softly at the relief and arousal coursing through you. You love it. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you watch him gulp down your milk and you’re amazed that he enjoys it. “Oh God baby.” You pant, feeling the relief of your milk draining and the way he sucks on your nipple, biting it now and then.
“Shit.” He gasps, feeling his cock throbbing. “It’s better than I expected.” He moans, switching to your other breasts and he knows this will become a favorite thing for him now. One hand slides down between your thighs and he is so fucking happy to find you wet.
“Dieter. Please.” You beg, needing more from him. It’s been so long since someone touched you. Not since Ollie. You rock down onto his fingers, loving how he rubs your clit while his lips suckle on your other breast. “Oh fuck, D. So good.” You whimper, caressing his shoulders.
“What do you want, baby?” He pulls off your nipple with a pop. “You want me to eat your pussy?” He groans at the thought. “Want to sit on Dieter’s face? Smother me with your cunt?”
You giggle breathlessly, “that’s the only way to shut you up?” You tease and he nods, “one of the few ways.”
You laugh and he moves fast to shift, laying down and he pulls you over to hover over his face. “Shit baby. So good to me.” You gasp when he drags you down on top of his face.
The first taste is always amazing. Sliding his tongue though your folds as he pulls your hips down onto his mouth. Holding you there as he licks and then sucks on your clit.
You whimper, “baby. Oh baby.” You moan, grinding down onto his face. “So good. So fucking good.” You moan, loving how enthusiastic he is and he squeezes your ass, encouraging you to move. You do, rocking your hips down even more.
He doesn’t care that you two are on the couch or that he is throbbing in his pants. All he cares about is making you moan his name. He knows he will slide inside you as soon as you cum for him. He moans against your clit, loving how you are smothering him just like he wanted you to. Using him for your pleasure.
“Fuck. Fuck. It’s so good, baby.” You pant, lost in the pleasure of his mouth on you. You rock on top of his mouth, his nose pressing against your clit as his tongue pushes deep. “Fuck baby. Yes. Yes. Yes. Keep - keep going.” You beg, moaning his name.
He can’t breathe, but he doesn’t care. Too busy licking into you to feel your walls start to convulse around his tongue. Moaning when the first rush if your juices hit his mouth and your moan of his name almost makes him cum in his pants. Digging his fingers into your hips, Dieter doubles down on making you shriek his name.
You throw your head back as he makes you cum, moaning his name as you clamp down around his tongue. “Fuck baby. Fuck. I- I love you.” You whine when he works you through it and you whimper, lifting off of him when it becomes too much.
Panting like he was the one who had cum, Dieter licks his lips, completely pussy drunk as he caresses your side. Enjoying the boneless way you collapse on top of him as you try to catch your breath. “I love you. Fuck, you’re my new favorite meal.”
You inhale deeply, shifting off of him and you waste no time in tugging his shirt off of him. “Baby. I want to see all of you.” You tell him, tossing the ragged shirt away and you pull his sweats down to expose his cock. “Holy - that’s what you got?” Your eyes are wide at the girth and you wrap your fingers around him.
Dieter groans, bucking his hips and biting his lip in pleasure. “Fuck, is that not enough?” He gasps out. Normally women have no issue with his size but maybe your Ollie was hung like a horse.
“Not enough? Dieter, baby, I’m gonna feel you tomorrow.” You assure him, “I’m gonna need - wow. You might have to get some lube.” You admit and you start to pump him, in awe that your fingers don’t touch. You know it’s been so long since you’ve had sex and he is thick. You’ve always preferred girth over length anyway. “You’re big.” You promise him, leaning in to flick your tongue over the leaking slit.
He preens at your praise, eyes rolling back in his head at the feel of your tongue. “I’ve got lube.” He promises, reaching down and cradling your jaw. “Use it all the time, jerking off thinking about you.” He’s not ashamed of masturbating while thinking of you. “Baby let's go to the bedroom. You can ride me if you want more control.”
You want to suck his cock but you know you’ll have plenty of time to do that later. Right now, you need him inside of you. Releasing his cock, you pick up the baby monitor and stand up, smirking as you make your way to his bedroom. He’s scrambling to get his sweatpants off and you disappear down the hall, throwing over your shoulder, “don’t keep me waiting, Bravo.”
“Shit.” He hisses, eager to chase after you. Noticing that you are headed to his bedroom and not your own. “I’m coming baby, fuck.” He watches your ass shake as you sway your hips. “Gonna buy you the biggest fucking house I can find.”
You giggle, setting the monitor down on the nightstand and you gasp when Dieter’s hands grab your hips, pulling you back into him. You quickly spin and wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your lips to his. “I love you.” You murmur against his mouth, his hard cock pressing into your stomach.
“I love you too.” Dieter moans softly, sliding his hands down and squeezing your ass. “Do you- do you need me to wear a condom?” He asks, sure that you aren’t wanting to get pregnant so soon after having your son. It wasn’t like you two had discussed birth control.
“No. I- I got an IUD put in. Figured they might as well do it while I was there and it wasn’t painful. I’m clean too. Not been with anyone since Ollie.” You promise and wonder if he’s clean. You don’t know when he slept with someone last. Maybe after you arrived. You don’t know. It’s not like it was your business when you were just his nanny.
He nods. “I uh, I haven’t been with anyone since Rosie has shown up. I’m clean.” He promises, eager to slide inside you and feel you without a barrier. “I didn’t want to do that kind to shit around her. Give her a good example. Don’t want her to be like me.”
You cup his cheeks, “you’re a good father and she’s gonna be just fine. You’re doing a good job.” You remind him, leaning in to kiss along his jaw. “Come on baby, you want me to ride you?” You ask and he nods. You let go of him and he walks over to his nightstand to grab the lube while you kneel on the bed. When he’s laying down, you grab the bottle and squirt some into your hand, wrapping your fingers around his cock to coat him before you swipe your fingers through your folds to make sure you’re slick enough. “Fuck, you’re gonna stretch me out.” You tell him as you straddle him.
“Want to see it.” Dieter pants, chest heaving as he watches you position his cock at your entrance. Moaning your name as you start to sink down on him, he can feel his entire body light up in pleasure at the hot clutch of your cunt. “I love you. I fucking love you.” Dieter cries, his fingers digging into your thighs as you slowly take him deeper, watching your mouth drop open and loving the way you moan his name.
Your eyes close as you slowly sink down onto him. He’s so thick, it stings, but you like that. It’s been so long since you had sex and this is the man you love. Your heart pounds in your chest as your thighs meet his, his cock fully inside of you, and his fingers sink into your flesh. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” He grunts and you giggle, leaning down to kiss along his jaw. “I fucking love you too.” You murmur, licking along his neck until you are biting his earlobe so you can give yourself a moment to adjust to him.
He whines, unable to stop himself from lurching up in pleasure. “Oh did you like that?” You giggle breathlessly, making him moan and turn his head so you can do it again.
“More baby, fuck. Want you to mark me up.” He begs, so starved for attention that he needs to drown in it. His hand squeezes your ass again and it takes concentration to not urge you to move, your walls fluttering so deliciously around him.
You love how desperate he is for you. Biting down on his earlobe again and his cock twitches inside of you. You take pity, finally feeling comfortable, and you shift, rocking on his cock while you nibble on his ear, whispering “you’re mine. I’m gonna make sure everyone sees it.” You smirk as you kiss down his neck, sucking and biting on his skin.
“Fuck yes, I’m yours, I’m yours.” Dieter chants, rocking his hips up to chase your cunt when you lift off of him. Hating even the brief few seconds where he’s not buried inside your warmth. “All yours baby.” He groans, closing his eyes at the pure bliss of being able to touch you, to tell you what he’s thinking without worrying about offending you. “Gonna marry you. Give you everything.” He gasps out.
You moan, “I’m yours too. Been yours since I moved into this house. I’m gonna be your wife.” You promise and he groans, hands caressing your back. You kiss his collarbone and shift back, making his cock sink deeper and you grab his hands to help you balance as you ride his cock. “Fuck. Yes. God, so good. So good inside of me.” You ramble, squeezing his hands as you start to pick up the pace.
“God, fuck, your pussy is gold.” His toes curl and he loves how you start to bounce on his cock. Making your tits away heavily and he watches with them unabashed lust. “So fucking gorgeous.” He pants. “Can’t wait to see you pregnant, riding my cock.”
“One day.” You promise with a grin, breathless from how good this feels. You let go of his hands, leaning back to grab his knees, and you grind down onto his cock, hitting just the right spot to make you gasp. “Fuck, baby. Oh my - I’m - it’s gonna make me cum.” You confess, reaching down to rub your clit.
Dieter frowns and slaps your hand away, pouting up at you. “Let me.” He insists, pressing his thumb to your clit and rubbing a tight circle over the bundle of nerves while you bounce on his cock. “Fuck baby, cum, please cum. I’m gonna -“ he hisses. “Not gonna last. Too fucking tight.” Your walls clenching down around him every other bounce is getting to be too much and he grits his teeth, praying he lasts long enough for you to soak his cock.”
Your moans are getting breathier as you struggle to breathe from the pleasure. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Dieter. I’m gonna - oh!” You moan, clamping down on his cock and soaking him, his thumb still working your clit until your thighs are shaking. “Cum for me.” You beg breathlessly, wanting to feel it as you convulse on top of him from your orgasm.
You don’t have to say anything else. His entire body is aching to cum, gripping your hips harshly as he starts to thrust wildly up into your body. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shiiiiiiiiiit.” Dieter whines, burying his cock half a dozen more times before his back is bowing and he is crying out your name, filling you with hot spurts of his seed.
You pant, collapsing onto his chest as his cock twitches inside of you, and you kiss along his neck. Unable to speak, you enjoy the aftermath of your orgasms. The connection you feel to Dieter has you on cloud nine. He’s a good father and a good man, despite what the paps print. He’s changed for his child and that makes you love him more. “Good?” You ask breathlessly, hoping he enjoyed it as much as you did.
“So fucking good.” Dieter’s eyes are closed and his expression is one of pure relaxation. Enjoying the way you feel on top of him. “God, you’re spending the night right here. Every night from now on.” He slides a hand up and down your back, enjoying the feeling of your slick skin under his palm. “Now we just need the kids to sleep through the night.”
“Soon. They are getting better. And you want another one to keep us awake?” You tease, giggling when his cock twitches inside of you.
“I do.” He promises and you caress his cheek, leaning back to look into his eyes. “Me too. One day.” You lean in to softly kiss his lips, knowing you want this man to be your husband, to be everything. ****
“Diet, babe. Can you get me that - shit.” You hiss after you feel the baby kick your ribcage.
“Bad word mama.” Rosie points at you and you nod, “sorry, love. Mama needs to sit down.” You tell the three year old. Ollie comes over to sit down on the sofa next to you, his small hand on your belly as he leans in to talk to the baby in your belly. Rosie follows suit, wanting to do what her brother is doing.
“Hello baby. It’s me. Your big brother-”
“and sister.” Rosie adds as she leans in to press her ear to your stomach. You smile, tears in your eyes and look up to see Dieter walk into the living room.
“You called baby?” He asks, paint splattered all over him from painting the new nursery.
“Yeah. I’m sorry. Can you- can you get me some ice cream?” You bite your lip, knowing he’s been run ragged with your cravings.
Dieter grins, shoving his hand through his paint flecked hair, although he teases that the gray is because of you and the babies. “What kind of ice cream do you want, babe?” He strides over and rubs your bump before dropping a kiss on your lips. “Rocky road or are you wanting that cheesecake strawberry swirl?” He knows you will probably text him with more cravings, but he doesn’t mind. You are carrying his baby and you get what you want.
You smile at him, loving how flustered he looks when he has to go get your cravings, and you run your fingers over the kids’ heads before they look up at Dieter.
“Can we have ice cream, daddy?” Rosie asks, that pout she definitely got from Dieter on her face.
Oliver nods, “yes! Vanilla.”
Rosie shakes her head, “chocolate!”
You giggle and look at your husband, “I’ll have rocky road. Guess it’s an ice cream day.” You say and the kids cheer, excited to have ice cream.
“Vanilla, chocolate and rocky road.” Dieter nods, smiling down at the kids. He could never deny them much and while they would be considered spoiled, they were very well behaved. “Oh-“ he snaps his fingers. “Before I forget. The management agency called. They found another renter for the house and said that the repairs for the house were minimal, just paint to freshen up.”
True to his word, he had bought you a house, deeded it in your name and hired a management company to handle the day to day issues and repairs. All of the profits were deposited into a bank account that was solely yours, even though you had access to everything of Dieter’s. “So that’s a weight off before the baby comes.”
The money going into that bank account is going to pay for the kids’ college. You won’t use it for yourself, not when you are happily married to Dieter. “Yes. Glad they managed to find another tenant.” You smile, reaching for his hand to kiss the back of it.
“Daddy!” Oliver rushes over to him after shifting off of the sofa.
“Yeah, buddy?” Dieter groans as he bends over to pick him up.
“Can I come? To get ice cream?” He asks and Dieter nods, “of course.” You smile, loving how close Oliver and Dieter are. You adopted Rosie and he adopted Oliver not long after you were married. It felt natural and meant to be. Your little family, complicated but perfect.
“We will be right back. Rosie, you wanna come?” Dieter asks and she shakes her head, climbing onto the sofa.
“I wanna stay with mommy.” You pull her close, “we can watch our show while the boys are out.” You tell her in a playful whisper and she grins.
“We will be back soon.” Dieter promises and you smirk at him, “after ice cream, the kids need to nap. Mommy needs ‘nap time’ too.” You say to Dieter and he smirks back at you, “what mommy wants, mommy gets.” He promises, knowing he wants you to moan his name while the kids are asleep. From Rosie getting shoved into his arms on a random day, to having a family with a baby on the way. Dieter never imagined being a family man but now, he wouldn’t have it any other way.
#pedro pascal#dieter bravo#dieter bravo x f!reader#dieter bravo x you#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo smut#dieter bravo imagine#dieter bravo fanfiction#dieter bravo the bubble
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Steve hadn’t thought his nightmares could get any worse than they already were. They were already such a nasty cocktail of the jaws of Demogorgons, both big and small, the Russians, the beatings and the horrifying sounds of the kids screaming, of Robins voice begging. They would blend together so horrendously that he would often wake himself up, screaming.
He hadn’t thought it could get worse than that.
He was wrong.
Every night, without fail, Eddie died. It didn’t matter how many times he tried to repeat the miracle he’d pulled off, no matter how often he repeated his same actions, Eddie would always die. He’d always be left, eyes wide open, blank. Dustin would always beg Steve to bring him back.
Steve would always wake up sobbing.
And there was nothing he could do. He'd tried taking sleeping pills, tried meditation, tried to tire himself out before bed in the hopes that he'd be too exhausted to dream. Yet, still, every night, without fail...
It continued for weeks. Steve was getting less and less sleep each night. He’d started waking himself up earlier, and earlier, trying desperately to cut his nightmares short. To go one night without seeing Eddies cold and lifeless eyes.
One night, Steve wakes up early. He wakes up before the nightmare ends. He wakes up before Eddie dies, once again. He wakes up.
He’s as confused as he always is, disorientated and struggling to grasp reality.
But he woke up. Eddie hadn’t died. He isn’t dead. Steve knows it, can feel it in his bones.
He forces himself up, doesn’t bother grabbing a top or changing out of his pj bottoms or putting on slippers. He grabs his car keys and starts driving.
He gets to the little house the Munsons now owned, thanks to the hush money. He didn’t bother knocking on the door, carefully hopping around the bushes to knock on the bedroom window.
“What the fuck is-” Eddie hisses, but shuts up when he pokes his head out. “Steve? What is it, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”
“Can… can I just…” Steve wipes at his face, hating how wet his cheeks are. He has to bite back a sob. "Please."
“What? What do you need?”
Steve grabs Eddies hand, pulling his arm out the window a little more, so he can press his fingers to the inside of his wrist. It takes a moment for him to find his pulse but, once he does, he just feels relief.
“Oh… oh, Stevie…” Eddie whispers. “Come on, get in here.”
“I’m ok,” he chokes out. “I’m ok now, don’t worry, I can-”
“No, you can’t. Get in here. I’m not asking, Steve, I will come out there and drag you in if I have to.”
It takes a moment for Steve to crawl in through the window, mostly because they’re both trying to keep him from knocking anything off the desk, making sure he doesn’t break anything.
“Shit, you’re not even wearing socks… come on, come here.”
Eddie grabs his wrist, pulling him over to the bed, gently pushing him down.
“Where will you sleep?”
“Here, dumbass. Move over.”
Eddie gently pushes him to the side, crawling into bed so he’s behind him, tugging him close so he can spoon him. He wraps his arms around Steve tight, almost painfully. Tight enough that Steve sighs, finally relaxing.
“I’ve got you,” Edide whispers. He presses his forehead to Steves shoulder. “And I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m ok. You’re ok. We’re both ok. We’re safe here.”
“Promise?”
“I promise. I’m staying right here.”
"You'll still be here when I wake up?"
"Always."
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Hello, Jesse. Right now, you are feeling helpless — a feeling you’ve no doubt grown accustomed to whilst keeping the company of deplorables. But the apathy you wrap yourself in cannot truly smother your guilt, nor will the pills you cram down your throat make you sleep any easier. To that end, think of this… as a wake up call.
Before you stands Walter Hartwell White. To some, he is a warrior. To others, an artist. To me? A thief, robbing others of health. Life… Choice, in a desperate attempt to force the world to feel as helpless as he has. He is a truly sick man, and his medicine is long overdue.
Your task is simple: depress the button in front of you for thirty seconds. That is the time it will take to for the IV to inject a lethal cocktail of heroin, ricin, and Lily of the Valley into his bloodstream. But I’d be quick, if I were you. Should you fail to act within the next three minutes, the box your hand is sealed in will collapse, crushing your bones into a powder you cannot so easily sell on the black market.
Will you once again allow this man to carve out your future, or put an end to the nightmare that you and so many others have been trapped in? The choice is, as it always has been, yours.
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News from a crazy mind...
Sherlock, mental health and the support from a fandom.
When Sherlock becomes what the doctor ordered....
100 days lie between those moments.
100 days since I wanted to die.
100 days since I emailed Dignitas.
100 days full of struggle and hope.
100 days later I made it out of hell again.
A handful of people who showed me unconditional love during the hardest setback of my disorder career.
I will love them till the day I die.
And once again the Sherlock world saved my soul before I destroyed it myself.
A fandom full of kindness and support and a detective and a doctor who saved me in more ways than they can ever imagine.
Had a doctors appointment on Friday and I have one hell of a doctor.
Not as good as John Watson but highly supportive of anything that increases my strength.
We talked about a little miracle.
A miracle that sounds so incredibly stupid but it is such a huge thing.
For the past five years I have to take besides my regular medication in mornings and in the evenings a little extra cocktail of meds in the afternoon to keep my extreme nervousness in check.
I'm nervous and tense 24/7 and it takes a toll on my body sometimes.
It makes it very hard to sleep and to find a way to sit still.
So the extra meds are necessary..
Ten days ago I started to listen to Podfics and quickly discovered a new way to enjoy the Sherlock universe.
I'm 43 years old and retired since I was 39 because my body couldn't take the stress anymore.
I have some free times during the day and I made it a habit for the past ten days to listen to Podfics in the afternoon and again at night.
And suddenly I could sleep and, and here comes the miracle..
I forgot to take my afternoon meds.
Even more my body relaxed in a way I haven't experienced in decades.
My body was obviously as surprised as I am because since a few days I have to drink a coffee in the afternoon, otherwise I would fall asleep.
I can only drink coffee without caffeine which tastes awful but otherwise my nervousness goes through the roof and I shake like a leaf.
But now instead of taking an extra dose of anxiety relief pills I take a real good old black coffee full of caffeine after listening to Podfics.
And that sounds incredibly ridiculous but for me it is a miracle because for the first time in over 15 years I feel calm and not because of a chemical reaction but because of a human reaction.
I know @totallysilvergirl had no idea what would happen by telling me about Podfics but I will never forget it!
Back to my incredible doctor who saw the change from a person who was determined to end this endless circle of depression and anxiety to a person who smiles again.
Now he ordered a six months try of daily Podfics ( no joke) to see if my blood levels improves and accordingly my medication can be reduced.
He knows that in the past three years my disorder was always better during my Sherlock highs so he is actually happy about the new development.
Long story short ( too late I know)
Do whatever feels right for you!
Invent your own therapy!
Do what makes you happy no matter how unconventional it might be.
Because you matter!!!!
I attach you my new and exciting Podfic collection for you.
Maybe you will find something you like.
Of course everything is available in Reading form as well.
Be happy in your own, weird, wonderful way.
@keirgreeneyes @discordantwords @a-victorian-girl @bewitched-bullet @lisbeth-kk @whatnext2020 @inevitably-johnlocked @barachiki @babaybo @jobooksncoffee @rey-jake-therapist @missdeliadili @helloliriels @podfixx @johnlocky @johnlockpodficclub @johnlockficclub @peanitbear @strawberrywinter4 @chocolate1elise @kettykika78
#bbc sherlock#johnlock#john watson#sherlock holmes#fanfiction#fandom#alternate universe#sherlock loves john#johnlovessherlock#podfic recs are the staff of life#johnlock podfics#mental health#you are loved#you deserve it#you are not alone
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A zombie apocalypse au for @medusashima collab! Find the collab master list HERE! Be sure to give the others a read too!
Warning: graphic, violent, and sexual content intended for adults 18 or older.
Synopsis: Shelter isn't hard to come by in the End but good, untouched, shelter is. When you find paradise in the middle of a dead field in the shape of a 900 square foot home you start to break a few of your important rules. Always keep moving and don't help anyone. Especially if that anyone is a hot headed blonde bounty hunter sent to settle score you'd rather forget.
Peachy Keen Master List
Chapter One - Never overstay your welcome, keep moving
Winter
It scares you at first, the mummified body facing the door in the cramped living room of the home you found tucked away in a field of corn long past it's harvest.
Petrified you, like the farmers that sat facing one another. In wooden rocking chairs, gnarled fingers slack around the handles. Coming closer to inspect and seeing no signs of teeth marks or infection. Letting loose the held breath you kept as deft eyes looked over every liver spot and wrinkle in the leathery skin. No fluid on the hardwood floors beneath their rocking chair or in the blankets around their shoulders.
And by some miracle, the cold, the house didn't smell like rot.
You figure they must have died earlier this winter, it lasted damn near since October as the Earth naturally cooled in the fall of the human race.
With critical climate change hitting irreversible levels and long lasting damaging effects in just a few short decades, Mother Nature took matters into her own hands. Doing what she does best.
She evolves, she changes and grows, makes a deadly cocktail of pathogens and fungi that rids her realm of blight.
Humans.
You were just surprised a nuclear war didn't wipe humanity off the map first.
You hadn't meant to live this long, six whole years in the apocalypse, honestly you were one of the many who'd rather take their own lives. Least then you had a say in how and when you went.
But the body has a funny way of forcing you to survive. To dissociate in some feeble attempt to keep the body going for an organ that tortured itself daily with endless, grueling tasks and for what?
So you could experience your first kill? Watch your friends and family die when the Feds bombed cities instead of trying to quarantine sections? Of you walking until your feet bled, fleeing the city just to live in the outskirts to hear the screaming and wails as the undead met the living? Tied to a tree limb with your worn belt to sleep or maybe it was so you could loot the dead man for his tent but not without putting a bullet between his eyes as a parting gift first.
No longer does Grim accept the coins laid upon the eyes of the dead. Now payment for a safe travel down the river Styx is paid with the bullet lodged into the third eye of the deceased.
A tradition sure to be passed down to the generations to come.
Despite the rage you've aimed at yourself for still living, the home was a welcoming sight. The old farm house made of gray cinder block, stout in the field of the tall stalks that you yearned to see each sweltering summer when you were stuck in the city before the world went to shit.
Now the sight of the dried crop makes the nostalgia coat your tongue thickly, like the bitterant of a large pill.
You think you choke when you swallow.
Still even with the two harmless corpses it was an amazing find. The shingles of the roof are all in tack and the old wood stove holds the reminiscence of a charred log and ashes.
Logs lining either side that would last through the winter and then more still kept under an open awning out back. Plenty of birch wood to burn white smoke making you sigh in relief.
First things first and with the few hours of sun you had left you needed to get to work burying the couple. Half debating over taking their rings that were about to fall off before thinking better of it.
Grabbing the shovel from the makeshift shed and going to the edge of the corn field out back. Only you were stubborn, stupid enough to fight the frozen ground as you shoved the sharp spade into the Earth. Moving it to your will as sweat collects on the inside of your thermal undershirt making it stick to your back and the nape of your neck uncomfortably.
Your calloused hands protect you from the biting wood as you spend the better part of your day light going six feet down. Using the height of the shovel as a measuring stick.
I wonder if their kids and grandkids will visit. I'll have to make a good marker so they won't miss it.
And then it hits you. The realization of what you're thinking. Fat droplets blurring your vision as you chide yourself over wasting quickly dwindling time.
You hadn't even cried when you watched your friends being torn apart from the force of the bomb but here you were crying over two strangers and their imaginary family.
Except they weren't imaginary were they? They were hung neatly throughout the home.
Ya know the multi generational home that you planned to squat in. The one with the warped photos in warm senpia of when the family first arrived and built the modest country home to the vibrant color photo of the grandparents smiling ear to ear as their kids and their kids' kids stood on the still sturdy porch with corn cobs in their small hands.
Another sob racks through your body forcing you to take a break from carving out your last foot hold so you could climb out of the grave you'd just dug.
Should you start digging your own now too?
Since no one else was going to be around to do it.
Once you're back in the house you try to think of the logistics of bringing the pair out. You start with the wife, taking her delicately preserved body with the blanket around her shoulders.
"’Xcuse me." You murmur to her as you lift her up, surprisingly light compared to the other corpses you've carried or moved. Careful to avoid banging her up against the door jamb accidentally before you make it out the few yards to the edge of their little property.
Easing her down into the hole using the long and strong quilt that she must have made until you could slip it from beneath her to bring the fabric back up.
"Sorry." Another involuntary pleasantry as you scoop the husband and his quilt up. Repeating the same action until he rested beside her as much as he could be. Dropping the first and second quilt over them as if tucking them in. You just hoped they wanted their holy matrimony to be reflected in the after life as well.
Rooting around in your pocket for the few spare ammo you've got left.
"For the toll." You murmur dropping a bullet each before tackling the grueling task of shoveling dirt back into the hole you half killed yourself to dig. Returning to the house only to place their wooden rocking chairs at the foot of their grave before heading inside for the night.
Telling yourself not to look for their names, refusing to and that the wooden rocking chairs would have been enough.
But it gnaws at you as you move around their furniture to better suit you, as the old wood stove fills the home with a warmth, with a luxury, you've long since forgotten.
Knowing full well she would have been the type of woman to have a farmer's log.
A handwritten one or a more accurate family log written in the old bible that sat on her night stand.
You left it alone, thankful they hadn't died in their queen sized bed as you moved it into the living room frame and all.
The moon shining bright over head, peering in through the kitchen window over the sink as if to check on you. To see if you were still awake.
And of course you were, when was the last time you've ever had a restful sleep?
Your mind back to the "holy book" specifically the one with the worn leather and cracked spine. Even to the end the wife was a woman of faith, a bible open on the coffee table that you quickly used for kindling.
Because what has God ever done for you?
He sure as fuck wasn't as merciless as he claimed to be.
Although he'd given her and her husband an easy enough death hadn't he?
You were sure the rest of her family didn't meet the same gentle fate.
In the end there was only one true God and that was Death.
Ever waiting and watching, coming to steal you away before you could even blink with nothing to show you ever existed at all save for your own headstone, least til that crumbled away.
You jolt out of bed, rushing towards the book as if it whispered your name all this time and now it was shouting.
Screaming, demanding your undivided attention until you flip open the front cover. Old cursive greets you as the pages sigh, rolling over birth and death dates until you're forced to flip to the back, finding the first two names without death dates but plausible birth dates that would line up to their age and the End. Slamming the generations old book as you rise.
Finding yourself outside, bare foot. Knife in your hand and your breaths coming out in ragged puffs.
Scrapping along the tops of the wooden rocking chairs like a woman possessed, carefully carving the letters into the headrest of the rocking chairs.
Stepping back in a fever to admire your work, feet numb from the biting cold ground before you turn on your heel.
They echo back to you as if you'd carved each curving letter into your psyche instead of the smooth stained grain. Unsure if the haunting was that of thanks or scorn and you were sure a poltergeist was the least of your concern.
Even as you drift the names burn your retinas as if to remind you whose home you spent the night in.
ASTRID EMROY
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The next morning you find yourself trapped in the house by deep snow so you poke around the home. Rearranging some things here and there but not to disturb the personal belongings just yet.
Even though you know you won't stay long, never breaking one of your many rules that lead you to survive this long. But why not disturbing their belongs matters to you, you aren't sure.
Maybe it's the way that this home is untouched. Truly loved and lived in, while the other houses you've squatted in were long since looted. Ransacked and trashed, taken back by the unforgiving weather and those desperate enough to defile what was once someone's home.
For others, their Hell within four walls and maybe the big End meant nothing to them anyway. Besides, it wasn't like you weren't one of the many who rooted through homes and hissed when you found nothing of use, just fading photographs and old DVDs and CDs. Shit that didn't matter now.
Right now you were mostly looking for a good pen with a plan to roughly guess the year so you could add the rough date beside their names and put their bible up somewhere. As if compelled to end their chapter properly so that they may live on despite, their bloodline most likely having died long before them.
The couple really didn't have much and you were sure if you tried you could dedicate one small wall and bookshelf to their personal belongings to honor them. The thought makes you suck your teeth, so easily you cling to sentimental bullshit, out of spite now their things would be lucky to be stored away in a box.
On the dusty coffee table are two sets of coasters, tops well worn from sweating drinks, a black leather book and a copy of The Great Gatsby with a broken spine.
The book peaks your interest, hadn't read it since highschool and even then that felt like a foreign memory. Of harsh fluorescent lights that buzzed loud enough you were sure you'd go deaf to them after having lived in silence for so long. Tossing the tattered paperback onto the old wood top before your fingers grab for the worn leather spine, flipping the pages to see dozens and dozens of entries.
You settle into the old couch, the fire in the wood stove keeping the place warm as the sun lazily bleeds in through the windows to provide you with just enough light to read as you flip it open you're met with a threat.
If ya settle here ya better watch over our goddamn farm.
The cover page makes you snort, flipping the thick page to consume what you could, hoping there would be some hints on where they stashed their canned goods and supplies. Even if it didn't provide you with anything, at least it helped past the time.
Jan 31 20XX Six years after the "Rapture"
It's ain't all fucking peachy keen as I'm sure ya can see and I'm comin to realize that I ain't built to live forever.
And if I was, I couldn't imagine a worse hell than this.
If ya settled here in our little house I've got some rules.
No drinks on my damn coffee table without a coaster. I got plenty of 'em. The ones from my birthday (they got cats on em but the paint'll be rubbed off by now I'm sure) or the ones Emroy made outta small trees. Hell use a book if ya gotta.
Two, you best sweep this home. I don't care where ya came from or who ya came from, what god you do or don't worship but there is one thing for certain, house as old as this has a spirit and ya best keep it happy. Open the front and back door (good cross breeze in the sweltering summer) and you sweep my damn house.
Or I just might be the spirit that haunts ya.
Reckon that's it. So I'll quit my belly achin and step down from my soapbox to learn ya a thing or two.
Now if you're a country folk and from 'round these parts y'all'll know two things. When snows a coming, or rain, y'all can smell it real easy in the air. Can't tell ya the smell but if you know ya know. And the second being it always snows heavier in the next coming weeks before spring than it will in the dead of winter.
Now if you're from the city or just can't smell like ya used to, Bets the cow will be able to tell ya. She won't come out, simple as that and by the next day snow'll be up to your knees and Bets will look at you like she told you so.
Hopefully she'll live that long, seems this disease ain't affecting the animals like it is us folks. Reckon we didn't pray hard enough or some preachy shit Gran would've said. Now if the cow ain't there to tell ya, the farm log will. Use yer head, you'll see the pattern even with the blasted greed fueled heat spikes. It's best to prepare for the worst. We've enough canned rations to last us a lifetime in the cellar but Emory and I are old as dirt, it won't last forever but as long as these hands can can, they'll can what he grows.
Emory, my husband, says hello. Wants me to tell the "stranger" that's you I reckon, that the Great Gatsby is worth the read and that if ya find yourself with nothing to do, which ya will eventually, you should read it.
Go on now, get back to surviving and be sure to dust my damn picture frames too.
Yours truly,
Astrid & Emory.
Pushy. You think to yourself but relish in the fact that old folks like to ramble, even in written form. Quick to explore the home to find the cellar doors in the fading short lived light of winter before realizing the age of the home.
Shit, it's probably buried under a whole foot and a half of snow, you could exhume it now but you and twilight always seemed to have bad luck.
It's when you've been raided most and almost bitten more times than you can count and after finding this place you don't wish to push your luck. Even if the undead were few and far between in bumfuck nowhere.
Flipping open the cabinets in the kitchen you find a few manufactured canned meats. Fingers smoothing out the old label for any sign of denting or damage that could lead to botulism. Finding none makes you pop open the can to sit atop the old black wood stove, glass casting the room in a soft orange that rivals the sunset. It makes you pull the blinds closed in caution, not wanting any light to attract unwanted guests and when the wind howls you wrap tighter in one of the many blankets lying around.
Three days pass and there is only so many times you can study the farm logs and widdle wood into pitiful shapes with your dull knife before you drive yourself mad. Still avoiding the books for now in some sort of spite or rebellion to God knows who before you're outside and bundled up. Shovel in hand as you scrape the metal spade all along the foundation of the house until you hear a satisfying tink.
Your luck would be to start in the wrong direction and have to walk all the way back around the house just for the damn thing to be on the left side of the back porch instead of the right. Shoveling away the icy snow before coming across the wooden cellar doors. You wonder if you'll have to replace them soon but your curiosity of the future dies when you spy a combination padlock. Sucking your teeth pull a bobby pin from your hair, straightening it out and wiggling it between the rusting dials, scraping it around before feeling the soft give of the locking mechanism. You jab roughly and the lock pops open making you smile as if you hadn't picked anything ten times as hard.
Taking the steps into the deep cellar where the air was cool yes but warmer than outside. As if it were deep enough in the Earth to stay a balmy fifty degrees even in summer heat. Flash light paints the darkness in harsh white when you spy a candle and a box of matches into an enclave built right into the old cobblestone.
Once the fire flickers to life you switch your flashlight off, pocketing it as the candle washes the old glass jars and few metal cans aglow.
Jarred jerky catches your eye first as you snatch for that, then a small jar of syrupy looking strawberries, as bright red as when they were first picked, making your mouth salivate. The place neatly organized and labeled, the metal cans of all of those beef stews that were upstairs despite there only being enough of those left to last through this winter. Even if you stretched them out with water. Finger following the shelf lining to try to find more sweet fruit coming across the word peaches under a layer of dust.
Delight you look up, just to find the shelf empty and the sight of it makes you snarl.
But at least you had your strawberries.
They taste like late spring, like your childhood when you'd pick the berries at the local farm. How the sun beating down on your back made them taste that much sweeter in the field. A little reward paid by the sweat on your brow and the money your mother would toll out for the fresh fruit.
Well, well worth the price.
Spring is coming like her book says and you sweep and dust her house.
#bakugou x reader#bakugou Katsuki x reader#bakugo katsuki x reader#bakugo x reader#kitten writes bakugou 🖤🐈⬛ 🖋️
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THIRD TIME’S THE CHARM
— flashback from the dadrry universe about how you & harry first met 🍸
——
Harvelle's was where Harry went to unwind. The blues club in downtown Santa Monica was home to an intimate, narrow bar room that had once been a popular speakeasy nearly a century ago. Live jazz music, bewitching burlesque dancers, and eclectic alcohol choices attracted people from various backgrounds to visit and escape reality for a while.
Harry was there after a strenuous ten-hour shift, his back and feet aching to the highest degree. No amount of pain pills or sleep had fixed it, so he decided to come to a place where he could drink his sorrows away and focus his mind on anything other than his premature midlife crisis. The hangover he'd wake up with tomorrow would be dire, but thankfully, he'd have the weekend to recover.
As a generous patron of Harvelle's for over a year, his designated seat was the circular stool snug against the corner of the bar. Every Friday evening after work, he'd sit down, slap his credit card in the bartender's hand, and quietly sip cocktails while he observed everyone around him dive into drunken ecstasy.
This night was different, however, because someone at the opposite end of the room caught his attention.
In a trance, he watched you sway your head to the sultry music playing while holding a martini glass filled with pink liquid. Something strawberry-flavored, probably. He flicked his gaze to your lips that puckered around the thin straw and took graceful sips occasionally. You were... gorgeous. Effortlessly so. You had the kind of face Harry would remember for a long time, even when he was slightly tipsy.
His lemon drop martini was half empty, and his eyes drooped from either exhaustion or the alcohol coursing through his blood. Tendrils of his hair fell over his forehead, ones his sunglasses failed to hold back. His sheer, patterned shirt was sticking to his skin because of the room's humidity.
Or maybe it was because of you.
There had to be a way to garner your attention from where he sat. Your body was turned away from him, the shimmering lights from the rotating disco ball dancing across your back. Harry didn't want to be the type of guy in a bar who uncomfortably invaded a woman's space and sparked a lousy conversation until he could sense boredom practically exuding from them.
So, after the band finished playing a song, Harry put two fingers in his mouth and produced a loud whistle as everyone else clapped. It worked, much to his surprise. Your head shifted to glance back at him, and Harry felt instant regret. Too annoying? Had he turned you off?
"Sorry," he mouthed for some stupid reason.
You just smiled kindly and ran your eyes up and down his figure before casually jerking your head in invitation. Harry pointed at himself to ensure he was reading your gesture correctly, and you nodded in response while patting the empty stool beside you. The bar wasn't packed since it was nearing the early morning hours, so he grabbed his martini glass and stood up before approaching you. He awkwardly sat beside you and supposed he should introduce himself.
"Hello, I'm Harry," he greeted, holding out his hand.
You placed your hand in his and gently shook it, telling him your name. "Nice to meet you, Harry."
"Where are you from?"
It had been a brutal couple of months of having minimal luck in the dating realm, so he hoped he wasn't coming across as a total moron.
"Topanga," you answered, absentmindedly twirling the straw in your glass.
Harry had already fallen in love with your voice, if possible. "Wow. That's all the way in the mountains."
Shrugging, you sipped your drink, then said, "I don't like big cities. If I could, I would live closer to the coast, but properties are so expensive there."
Harry crossed one leg over the other, trying to appear nonchalant even though he was nervous as all get-out. "Like a beach house?"
"Yes, exactly!" you said, your eyes lighting up. "Maybe with my own private beach or something. That'd be amazing."
"Sounds like a dream," he replied, placing his chin in his palm.
"And what about you? Where does a guy like you live?"
"I live in Santa Monica in an apartment complex a few blocks away."
"That's nice. Do you come here often?"
Harry didn't want to give off lonely, miserable drunkard vibes, so he chose not to fib. "Um, sometimes," he admitted sheepishly, hoping his answer wasn't too vague.
"This is actually my first time here. It's quite intimate."
Harry licked his lips, desperately fighting the urge to longingly stare at yours whenever you spoke. "Yeah, it is. They have burlesque dancers on Saturday nights."
You whistled attractively. "I'm sure you enjoy that."
"Hey," he dragged out, smiling a bit. "I appreciate their flexibility." Too far, man. Dial it back a bit. "Just kidding," he quietly added.
You downed the last of your drink and then tapped your phone screen. "Yikes, it's getting late. I should probably head home."
A wave of disappointment and insecurity washed over him. He was just getting to know you. Had he said something wrong? Was he boring you? He could be quite the awkward, clingy idiot when he was drunk, so he genuinely felt worried as to why you had to leave so suddenly.
His brain was hazy, and the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "Can I have your number before you go?"
You collected your purse, shooting him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, but not tonight. Ask me again when you're sober."
Harry went utterly speechless. You hadn't said it dismissively or rudely, but it caught him by surprise nonetheless. In response, he just lamely lifted his drink in a cheers gesture as you left him lonely, mysteriously disappearing through the exit and never glancing back.
——
You were running considerably late to work. A mandatory meeting was supposed to begin in less than twenty minutes, and you'd only just pulled into the parking lot of some random restaurant to pick up a cake for a coworker's birthday today. You followed the directions your boss gave you, which led to a burgundy building on the outskirts of Santa Monica. Luckily, the bakery section of the restaurant was right next to the lobby doors, so you parked your car and rushed inside.
When you pushed the glass doors open, a bell chimed, and you immediately heard something clatter to the ground, along with a hushed swear. The place was empty of people, chairs still stacked upside down on the tables. Its modern interior design with neutral shades provided a subtle background for the colorful pastries crowding every corner. There was also a grand window display of desserts, all aesthetically and meticulously organized.
A man suddenly came shuffling out of the swinging kitchen door, his hands full of supplies teetering on each other.
Oh, it was the hot guy from the bar you went to about a month ago. What was his name again? Harvelle? No, that was the bar's name. Maybe it was Henry? Hector? Hubert? You didn't exactly remember, but you were positive it was something close.
Anyway, he seemed flustered in his oversized knit sweater and green trousers. A Styrofoam coffee cup was balanced in the crook of his elbow, and honestly, it looked like he just woke up. Yet somehow, he appeared even more beautiful than he did in the moody lighting of Harvelle's. His features were now accentuated by the pure daylight pouring through the windows.
You cleared your throat and waited by the front counter, observing him clumsily set things down before flipping through a notepad and blindly reaching for a pen off to the side. He had yet to notice you, too caught up in whatever task he was trying to complete.
After a few silent seconds, he ripped out a piece of lined yellow paper scribbled with scrawly handwriting and skimmed over it while walking forward to greet you. When he glanced up, he froze in place. His green eyes took in what seemed like every inch of your being. His fingers twirled the ballpoint pen he was holding.
"Hi," you said quietly, adjusting your purse strap.
"Hey," he replied, scratching under his eyebrow with his knuckle. "Uh, hey. Hi. What— why are you here? Sorry, that sounds rude." He took a deep breath before continuing, "I meant, how can I help you?"
You bit back a smile and took out your wallet. "I'm here to pick up a cake for my work. We're having a birthday party for someone, and this is where I was told to get it from."
"Ah, okay. Can I have the name associated with the order?"
"It's under mine, but I—"
He politely interrupted with your name unfurling from his mouth as a question. "We talked at Harvelle's not that long ago, right?"
He remembered, and you thanked the heavens that you quickly noticed his name tag because otherwise, you would have been guessing every name in the book.
"Yeah," you confirmed with a nod. "And you're Harry. You asked for my number."
His cheeks flushed pink as he rubbed his forehead with an embarrassed scrunch of his nose. "I'm so sorry about that. It wasn't the greatest first impression, was it?"
"I've had people try worse lines on me," you assured him with a laugh. "So, how much is the cake? I only have cash on me."
Harry checked his notepad. "Twenty-four dollars and sixteen cents."
You fished out a crisp twenty- and five-dollar bill, then handed them to him. He took them, his hand brushing against yours as he opened the cash register.
"Did you know there's a Carlo's Bake Shop in Santa Monica?" you asked.
"Mm-hmm. It's just around the block, actually."
"That's wild. I almost screamed when I found out."
Harry slowly smirked and closed the register with his hip, silently counting your change in his palm. "Why? It's just any old cake shop."
You gasped with widened eyes. "Excuse me? Any old cake shop? It's from Cake Boss!"
"Cake what?"
"The show that was on TLC with Buddy Valastro. Hello? Do you live under a rock?"
He tilted his head and tucked a pen behind his ear. "You're speaking Greek to me. I've no idea what you're on about."
"Never mind." You rolled your eyes playfully and began gazing at the displayed pastries. "Do you make everything here?"
"If I'm not scheduled elsewhere, then yes," he answered. "I'm usually here for the morning part of my shift."
"What else do you do?"
"I'm mostly an assistant chef in the restaurant kitchen, but sometimes I bartend or run the bakery."
"Well, everything looks delectable." You checked your watch and huffed when you saw the time. "I need to get going."
Harry snapped his fingers twice. "Shit. I almost forgot to give you your cake." He turned around and opened the see-through fridge, searching for the correct box. He eventually took a baby blue one out from the bottom shelf before setting it on the counter and taping the receipt he printed out onto the top.
"Here you are," he said, sliding it toward you before taking a sip of coffee.
You found yourself liking the way his voice sounded when no one else was around. "Thank you. Um, you forgot to give me my change."
Harry cupped both of his cheeks and slowly shook his head. "I am so sorry. It's early, and I didn't sleep much last night."
Waving him off, you said, "It's okay. Mondays, am I right?" You mentally facepalmed yourself for sounding like a loser.
"Right. You get it." He breathily laughed and handed you your change.
You put your wallet away and then picked up the cake box. "Thank you again."
"Of course," he replied with a handsome smile. "It's nice to see you again, by the way."
"Same here." You checked your watch for the second time. "I really need to go, but I'm sure I'll come visit another time to buy something for myself."
Harry gestured a thumbs up. It made your heart skip a beat for some reason. "Please do," he said. "Have a good day, yeah?"
"You as well."
You headed toward the door, and just as you were about to pull it open to leave, Harry called out, "Hey, wait!"
You abruptly stopped and turned around. "Did I forget something?"
He stuffed his hands in his pockets, clearing his throat. "No, but you told me to ask you sober, so can— sorry, may I have your number? Please? Or we could go out somewhere?"
Your spirits sunk. "I'm actually running super late right now. I'll try to come back soon, though. Promise."
Harry nodded, his head dipping low. "I understand. I'll catch you later."
"Bye," you whispered hastily before stepping outside.
When you finally got to work and sat down for your meeting, you thought about Harry the entire time.
——
Harry was bartending when he saw you again. He was topping a White Russian with cream, almost overflowing the glass, when he did a double take at your figure walking toward the counter. He wasn't expecting you at all, entirely confident that he'd never cross paths with you again after his failed attempt at asking you out a few days ago.
You were dressed in a black suit with matching heels. Your hair looked frazzled, but it was ridiculously attractive. He had to check that he didn't make the customer's drink wrong because of how many times he had glanced at you.
"Hey," you said breathlessly, sitting on an open stool in front of him. "I had a feeling you'd be working here tonight. Are you busy right now?"
Harry nervously swallowed and slid the drink down to the customer. "Hey. N-not really, why?"
You bit your lip, your teeth puncturing the soft flesh. "I just wanted to say thank you for the delicious cake. My coworkers loved it."
"Oh, thank you," he said, casually placing his arms behind his back. "I'm happy to hear that."
"I also came here to tip you." Harry followed your movements with his eyes as you took a ten-dollar bill out of your pocket, smoothing the creases against the edge of the counter before holding it out. "This is for you. You're very talented."
He accepted the money because, in all honesty, he really needed it. "That's kind of you. I appreciate it."
Harry couldn't believe he had the woman he couldn't stop daydreaming about right in front of him. His mind scrambled for a flirty gesture or pick-up line to impress you, and he ended up going for what he was best at. Jerking his chin up, he smoothly asked, "Can I make you a drink?"
You set your elbows on the counter. "What do you suggest?"
"A strawberry margarita. Isn't that what you ordered at Harvelle's?"
"It was! I'm surprised you remember."
He wanted to say it was impossible not to since he had been besotted with the way you puckered your lips around the straw, but he refrained for the sake of his dignity. "I'll make it for you right now," he said. There are also appetizers in the back if you'd like some. Jalapeño poppers are the special tonight."
You nodded eagerly. "I'd love some."
Harry walked toward the kitchen pass, smiling as he grabbed a steaming basket. He thought it was going well so far, and it was wild that you had visited to simply tip him.
When he came back, he set the food and a couple of napkins in front of you. You immediately took a bite as Harry started making your drink.
"I'll go out with you, by the way."
If he hadn't been working, Harry was sure he would have acted like a lovesick girl at a sleepover who was spilling juicy details about their crush while giddily kicking their legs in the air. Him? You wanted to go out with him, of all people? The burnt-out food service worker who drove a shitty Subaru and was living paycheck to paycheck?
Maybe the third time's the charm.
"Are you sure?" he asked as he stuck a sliced lemon on the rim of your glass.
Before you could reply, a customer pulled him away, waving him down. He apologetically smiled before rushing over and aiding them as fast as possible. Once done, he spread his hands on the counter and tapped his fingers. "You're serious?"
You leaned forward and stared at him with a glint in your eyes. "Dead serious."
Harry blew out a sharp breath and chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Would it be lame if we got dinner here since I work literally every day this week?"
"I don't mind at all," you replied without missing a beat. "Whatever works for you."
"Cool." He straightened his posture and flung a dishrag over his shoulder. "How about this weekend?"
You hummed, quirking your lips to the side. "How about tonight?"
Harry's eyes went wide, clamminess instantly infiltrating his palms. Tonight? As in, there wasn't enough time to mentally prepare himself for a date tonight. Is it even considered a date? He was freaking out.
"Unless you're not in the mood," you added quickly. "I understand if you just want to go home after work."
He briskly shook his head. "No, no, I'm in the mood. Totally in the mood. I get off in about an hour if that's not too long of a wait for you."
You lightly knocked on the counter three times. "Perfect. I'll sit here and watch you make drinks until then."
He just grinned and handed you your margarita. "Wave me down if you need anything."
Throughout the last hour of his shift, Harry tended to everyone in the bar while checking in on you every so often. Making sure no one tried to hit on you, for the most part. After his coworker finally arrived to replace him, he washed his hands and rounded the counter to stand next to you.
"Let's head outside where it's quieter."
You nodded and grabbed your drink as he led you away from the crowd, his hand hovering over your back. He didn't want to overstep unknown boundaries too soon.
"Where do you think strawberry margaritas are better? Here or at Harvelle's?" you inquired as you both walked to the outdoor seating area right by the beach.
"Here, obviously," Harry said with a smirk. "Why, does mine taste bad?"
You both sat down opposite each other at a circular table. "No. I'm just wondering since you're the expert."
Harry bashfully smiled, then became a little more serious. "Listen," he started, "I'm sorry again about asking for your number while tipsy. That wasn't very gentleman-like of me."
You laughed and said, "Don't worry about it."
"All right. Good."
After you ordered food and more drinks—Harry insisting that he could get everything for free since he was a loyal employee—the two of you began getting to know each other more, taking turns asking questions and falling into an easy flow of conversation.
"Do you want kids?" Harry asked on his tenth or eleventh turn, his rings clinking against his glass as he tapped it.
He watched you ponder the simple yet complicated question, wondering if asking such an invasive thing was a stupid mistake. "I'm not sure," you replied eventually. He let out the breath he'd been holding. "I'm still young, and I don't think it's a decision I can confidently answer right now. What about you?"
Harry cradled his cheek in his palm. "I definitely want babies in the future—with the right person, of course, so I guess I have to wait for that first."
Your eyes softened as you took a sip of your drink. "How many babies?"
"Hmm, maybe two. Three, if my partner doesn't hate me by then."
"Boys or girls? Or both?"
"Honestly?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. You nodded as he rested his foot on the bottom of your chair. "All girls would be ideal. I don't know why; it's just what I see for myself."
"I get that," you said, nudging your foot against his. "Daughters would be really special to raise. They make the world go round."
He hummed in agreement, subtly brushing his kneecap against yours. "I also think I could learn so much from them, you know?"
"Who, your hypothetical children?" you teased.
He chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, I guess. We're speaking hypothetically, right?"
"Sure. Unless you're speaking it into existence."
"With how my love life is going, it doesn't seem likely."
You made a noise of protest. "Don't say that! You're a handsome guy."
"Well, my looks only get me so far."
"You're also sweet and charming." You took a small bite of food and maintained eye contact with him. "I'm shocked you're not taken already."
"I swear it's because of my job," he muttered. "Whenever I tell someone I work in a restaurant, they look at me like I'm a disappointment."
You retracted your head. "What's wrong with working in a restaurant?"
"You tell me," he murmured around the rim of his glass.
"I think it's hot."
Harry nearly choked on his drink, raising a fist to his mouth as he coughed in shock. "Come again?"
"You're a chef—"
"Assistant chef," he corrected.
"Same difference," you continued confidently. "You can cook food, you can bartend, and you know how to woo a woman. That's hot."
"Are you sure you're not just quoting Paris Hilton?"
You rolled your eyes with a knowing smile. "Maybe, maybe not. Although please tell me you've watched The Simple Life."
Harry stared at you, waiting for the punchline, but you looked completely serious. "No," he deadpanned. "Absolutely not. I will never watch trashy reality shows."
"Not even The Bachelor?" you asked, leaning closer with interest. "That's my favorite franchise to watch."
"You're insane if you enjoy that," he replied, wiping a napkin around his lips. "Anyway, back to you calling my job hot. Elaborate, please."
You gawked at him. "Has no one ever told you that before?"
He blinked slowly with a straight face. "It's not like I have the sex appeal of Bobby Flay, love."
Your eyes scanned him up and down. "I'm sure it's hidden somewhere deep inside you. Do you wear a chef jacket?"
"Yeah."
"See? That's hot."
He barked out a laugh. "You're lying to me."
You mimicked his surprised expression. "I am not!"
Slightly leaning over the table, he looked at you with unwavering eye contact. "Liar."
"You don't know me."
He said in a low, self-assured voice, "I'd like to."
A heartfelt exhale escaped your beautiful lips. "Then stop assuming I'm a liar when I compliment you."
Harry breathed in deeply and glanced at your lips. One brief look at them rendered him weak, their shape curving into a smile, stained pink due to your margarita. He wanted to kiss you, but it wouldn't be very romantic to do so in public. He could kiss your cheek instead, but he already imagined how awkward he'd make it. He could hold your hand, a more subtle gesture that wasn't too bold. That sounded manageable.
So, with a single swig of his liquid courage, he went for it. His hand slowly scooted to your thigh under the table, delicately grabbing your fingertips with his own. He rubbed his thumb along your knuckles and set his fingers underneath your palm so you were holding hands, fingers not interwoven but holding nonetheless. You'd gone quiet, whatever you were about to say getting lost in the intimacy swirling in the air.
Harry squeezed your hand and said, "Let's walk down to the beach."
"Okay."
Harry let go and stood from his seat, then pulled you up with him before leading you to the sand. The sun had fully set, yet several campfires and tiki torches lit the way to the shore. There was barely anyone out, which was perfect for Harry since he planned to kiss you senselessly. At least, he hoped so. He might chicken out, which was highly likely considering his heart nearly gave out whenever you looked at him.
"Can I kiss you?"
"Pardon?" Harry's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Damnit, you beat him to it.
You took off your heels and started walking toward the water. "You heard me."
"Yeah, I- I did," he stammered, sliding his shoes and socks off as he strode up to you.
His black work shirt almost caught on fire from the tiki torch with how fast he walked toward you. The waves calmly met the shore, and he admired you step foot into the shallow water, the Ferris wheel and pier merely twinkling lights in the background. The nearby flames danced off the reflection of the ocean as well as your skin, and he swore he'd never experienced such a magnetic pull toward someone before. He followed you like a puppy on a leash, digging into his pocket for a mint he secretly grabbed. He popped it into his mouth.
Eventually, he faced you with the water rising just below his knees. You were staring at him with a particular look, and he took it as his cue to initiate the first move. "Do you want to kiss me, or should I kiss you?" Harry asked nervously.
You placed your hands on his hips and said, "Just kiss me, please."
So he did. He ducked his head down to mold his lips onto yours, feeling them immediately find the shape of his and move beautifully against his bottom lip. He tasted strawberry residue, weakening his knees with each soft pull. His hands gently held the sides of your neck, using his thumbs to tilt your jaw. He wanted to open his eyes and savor how you looked, but he was so caught up with how fast his heart beat and how euphoric he felt touching the woman of his dreams.
When you finally ran out of breath and pulled away, Harry rested his forehead against yours and made a noise somewhere between a whimper and a groan.
"Was that okay?"
He shook his head in disbelief but quickly turned it into a nod so you didn't think he was saying no. "Yes. That was the best thing to ever happen to me."
You laughed and kissed the corner of his gobsmacked mouth. "I'm honored."
Harry stared at you, mesmerized by every square inch of your face. "I feel like we were always supposed to meet," he murmured, more to himself than anyone.
"Me too," you said sincerely.
He really hoped he didn't mess things up.
——
#harry styles fanfic#harry styles imagine#harry styles x reader#harry styles fluff#harry styles au#harry styles#adore-laur#third time’s the charm
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Modern AU
A/n: This is just for me. This is just a dumb little treat for me. Puttering in the modern au.
IF HAARLEP TAKES YOU HOME, THEY HAVE ULTERIOR MOTIVES
Raphael's condo is cold and clinically efficient, much like the man himself. It would be different, she thinks, at one of his country retreats—there, he could express himself more freely and indulge in lavish excess. There's a brutalist modernity to his home in the city, with hard edges and white-blue lighting. No color. No personal photos. Nothing incriminating.
It's also fucking cold temperature-wise. Not an issue with a cocktail of designer pills and booze in your system and the devil's sugar baby whispering sweet-nothings, but a real fucking problem the morning after. There's an insane part of her that wants to crawl back into bed with Haarlep. Write the evening off, call a truce, and just…sleep off the hangover. Maybe a sympathy lay for the road.
It's not in the cards; she's been gone too long already.
Father would start to worry.
Fuck.
Her clothes are gone. Her phone is gone—concerning. Again, filed away, future problem. For now… she's got what she came for— Haarlep's phone. Predictably locked, but it's nothing Enver wouldn't be able to crack.
"My—we're looking a touch worse for wear, aren't we?" Raphael asks. The cambion is waiting for her. In her current state, they couldn't contrast each other more strongly. She's a wreck. Raphael is perfect; his robe, slippers, and pajamas are the same beautifully rich maroon. He tips his head to the side, plucking the reading glasses from his nose. "Tell me, little heiress, what would your father think of this…display?" Raphael's gaze flicks from her face to her chest with no hint of interest. He tuts, holding his hand out for the phone. "Indecency and petty theft."
"It's mine."
"Curious." Raphael reaches into his robe's pocket. "Haarlep was good enough to bring me your phone hours ago." The devil smirks. "You're a heavier sleeper than I might have expected. Or shall we credit dear Haarlep with your exhaustion?"
Joi screws her eyes shut, sighing. She crosses to him, setting the phone on the counter. "Didn't expect the little shit to be so…prompt."
"Few do. Curious how often they're underestimated."
Joi motions to her phone. "I'll take that, thanks."
He chuckles. "My dear, do you believe you are in a position to make demands?"
"Not with how my morning's been going." She scrubs her hands through her hair. "Fuck—fine. What do you want, Raphael?"
"The pleasure of your company, nothing more." The devil shrugs out of his robe and holds it out for her to slip into. "Take a seat. We have much to discuss—to our mutual satisfaction, of course."
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I am so bad at being alive it’s actually unbelievable.
How can someone be this messed up. It doesn’t even make sense. Nothing about me makes sense. I shouldn’t even be here.
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kindly asking for hoffman taking care of a sick s/o (but also not opposed to the same prompt for amanda,,)
Hoffman and Amanda taking care of a sick s/o headcanons
Okay!! This is coming out literal months after it was sent into my inbox and for that, I apologize! I am notoriously terrible at time management and I will procrastinate as much as the day is long.
Procrastination in accompaniment with a couple of personal issues and mountains of demotivation and anxiety as tall as mount everest are not the best cocktail and again, I am very sorry for how long this has taken!
I do have it titled in a way that might be a little confusing but, just to clarify, I did do headcanons and I did two separate sets rolled up into one fic just so that I could make it a little easier on myself because I could not, for the life of me, choose between hoffman and amanda for this. I don't write enough for either of them so this is kind of how I'm compensating for that lol
Fic type - this is very fluffy!
Warnings - the reader has a sinus infection/cold, so there's likely to be symptoms of that discussed, plus mentions of medication
oooookay!! To start, we're gonna go with Hoffman!
You wake up sick one random morning at the beginning of February and Mark is immediately like "oh NO, did I give them the sinus cold that's been going around work?" bc he had it like,, two or so weeks beforehand
and when you say good morning in a way that tells mark you're groggy but also sick, he calls in sick from work on your behalf and then calls the precinct to waste a few sick days to take care of you
After he's called in sick from work, he kisses your forehead both because he wants to and also to check for a fever. He finds that you're burning up, which is a bit of a surprise given the fact that, the minute Mark had adjusted, you'd practically stolen all of the blankets from him.
So, he kisses you on the forehead again and then leaves your apartment to grab the essentials: ibuprofen for the inevitable headache, a combination pack Nyquil and Dayquil to ease the fever and also help you function like a person during the day and get some sleep at night.
He also grabs chicken noodle soup and bread for toast, plus a few of your favorite snacks.
When he gets back home, he tosses one of his older NJPD sweaters into the dryer so that it comes out warm once the fever has broken, finds you in your bed with nothing but a stolen pair of Marks boxers and one of his button ups to act as clothes. A thick blanket covers your legs entirely and you've sat up in the bed, clearly trying to will yourself to function like you would if you weren't sick.
Mark is at your side relatively quickly with a Dayquil and bottle of gatorade in hand, kissing your forehead as you take the pills and thank him for running the errand.
Generally, Mark is absolutely the type of guy who just wants to make sure you have the time to rest. He takes care of the house work, makes sure that the windows are open so that you're still getting fresh air but aren't practically drowning in the wintery cold, does everything he can to make sure you're resting well.
that also means he's with you lots of the time--he'll lay down with you in bed for as long as you want, happy to kiss the top of your head and act as your anchor when a migraine sets in.
It also means kisses after you've taken your meds--you'll pop a Dayquil, sip some gatorade, and Mark will kiss your forehead or your cheek and then say nothing when you fall asleep against his shoulder twenty minutes later
he's generally very sweet and absolutely one hell of a guy to have around when you have a cold
okay! It's Mandys turn
Amanda is super clingy and has herself a few connections, so when she finds out you have a cold she uses those connections.
the biggest connection that she has is lawrence (I am firmly of the belief that they had a sibling dynamic and also that they were both only children) and she uses it the second you're asleep while sinus-infected and bedridden
she calls him up like "hi. my partner has a cold. I need a prescription for the best cold meds you have or at least a bit of advice please and thanks."
so, Lawrence kind of like,, he gives her the play-by-play, right? He tells her what over-the-counter meds work the best and gives her advice on how to help you
she follows it bc she wants you to get better. She gets you the good stuff and benadryl, which has the tendency to knock a person out as it were and the night-time cold meds were out of stock at the pharmacy she went to.
She even goes to walmart and gets you a heated blanket. she is the fuckin--she loves you so much that she's willing to spend the 2001 equivalent of modern-day $20 for one of the decent ones.
And then she gets home and kisses you on the cheek bc emotional support, and you thank her while she sets up the heated blanket
generally, Amanda is like--she's on top of your care. She makes sure you're always comfortable, bribes you with kisses to get you to take the buckleys or whatever it is that she finds when she checks another pharamacy after a bit of apprenticing one day
you also sleep a lot, and Amanda pretty much acts as your body pillow??
the minute you're tiredly pressing your face against her shoulder, she's just kind of happy to let you sleep as you please because she wants you to get better
generally, she's very attentive and is quick to get you what you need when you need it.
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Leon Kennedy headcanons because he has infected my little homosexual monkey brain like the plague
- Bites the skin on his lower lip as a habit and picks at it mindlessly
- Like he won’t even realize his lip is bleeding
- Leon has sharp canine teeth and is constantly accidentally biting his tongue, the inside of his lip, and the inside of his cheeks like, exceptionally hard (almost always has a small open wound in his mouth, lots of scars)
- Prefers plain mint gum over spearmint gum, usually only chews sugar free gum as well
- Super flexible (which is canon tbh) and he loves doing stretches
- He sleeps and sits in strange positions because of his flexibility so things that are super comfy for him might be damn near impossible for others to do
- (slight chreon) Chris has definitely gotten distracted by Leon stretching because goddamn why he is so flexible???
- Leon prefers thicker soups over thinner ones
- The least picky eater imaginable oh my god he’ll literally eat nearly anything if you tell him it’s edible I stg
- (RE2 Leon and a bit of RE4) A little insecure about his babyface, like if he walked into a bar he would definitely get carded and he’s just kinda like “man :(“
- Used to be a dog person but now he’s kinda afraid of them due to the trauma he has with dog B.O.W.s
- Leon is often compared to a cat by Chris (he thinks the man is very cat-like, especially with how he likes to sit/sleep and his personality)
- Doesn’t smoke but has hit a younger coworkers vape once and his eyes teared up from him trying to hold in his coughing (he liked the flavour though, it was strawberry kiwi ice)
- Prefers pistols and close-combat weapons (such as his knife) over semiautomatic weapons
- Leon is autistic. That’s all I have to say about that
- Violently bisexual but in denial about liking men (he’s already bad with women, he doesn’t wanna think about how it’d go with men 💀)
- Like to sit in ways that stretch out his legs, likes to stand/lean against walls so he can stretch his legs. He takes up a lot of room because of this but he will move if needed
- The only reason he’s still allowed to have his license is because he works for the government
- Usually though the government will provide him transportation for everyone’s safety
- Can only cook really simple meals and can never eat/deal with meat a few days after a particularly rough mission
- He more often than not has nightmares and is an extremely light sleeper
- Leon really doesn’t get a lot of sleep and has to resort to sleep pills fairly often
- His one-liners and jokes keep him grounded as he does missions
- It’s also why he prefers to wear fingerless gloves! The gloves protect his palms but being able to feel things directly to his fingers can be helpful in keeping him grounded and focused on the mission
- HATES insects and will kill them but will gently take spiders out of the room and outside with the cup and paper trick
- If he’s drinking to relax he’ll have a fruity cocktail or something sweet but if he’s drinking to forget/cope he’ll choose something that’ll burn his throat going down
I have way more so I’ll probably make another list at some point <3
#resident evil leon#leon s kennedy#leon kennedy#re2 leon#re4 leon#leon headcanons#leon kennedy headcanons#chreon#just a smidge#as a little treat
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Voldemort POV for 'It runs in the blood'.
Before you read, please be aware that this work is born out of sleep depravation, allergies, back pain and a cocktail of perhaps too many pills! So don't expect much! I needed a distraction and you guys seemed to like the first little paragraph I posted here a week ago, so I gave it a go.
#death star#sirius/voldemort#it's almost like a coming of age story only Voldemort is like 50#Bella keeps pushing Sirius into Voldemort's bed without meaning to#Voldemort and Bella tea parties
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Okay, hear me out… stepdad!harry and y/n on vacation. Y/n gets jealous of her mom and Harry, but Harry likes seeing her all jealous and needy so he plays it out for a bit. But eventually he gives into her and is all sweet and reassures her that he only wants her 😖😫🤧🫶🏻
Also, I’m literally obsessed w your writing 💛
A/n: Vacation stepdad Harry! Hope you enjoy! Also, not sure who made the shit edited pic of Harry I used, but - eh, thanks? 2.1k words
Warning: Smut (oral f receiving), some light angst and jealousy - NOT PROOFREAD - this is stepdad!harry x stepdaughter!reader and they have a totally inappropriate relationship - do not read if you're not into it :)
stepdad!harry masterlist
You were dreading a vacation for the first time ever in your life. Because this time, it meant you'd be with your mom and Harry together nonstop. You'd have to watch them together, and at the end of the day he'd be going to their room for the night, not yours.
Your mom booked two rooms at the resort where you were staying. The rooms were not adjoined, which you were thankful for. Even on the flight you sat apart from them. By yourself, next to an old woman who snored the entire time. And that wasn't so bad to be honest. At least she wasn't trying to talk your ear off.
The resort was gorgeous with pool areas, a night club, a few restaurants and the beach which allowed you access to the ocean was all right there. Your room was basic but the bed was comfortable and you had a good view from your tiny balcony.
When you met up with your mom and Harry at the seafood restaurant they were already there, looking cozy and sweet together. You thought you'd throw up. You knew Harry was putting on an act. He'd told you over and over again what to expect. He admitted to you the way he felt for you and that nothing could compare to his feelings for you. That gave you solace. But it was still a hard pill to swallow seeing them flirty and touchy.
You could barely eat your meal. You tried not noticing the way your mom kept touching Harry's arm and the way Harry responded by touching her back. You hated the way he'd whisper into her ear and it'd send her laughing loudly. She was quite a bit drunk by the time the server had cleared your table and you all were ready to leave.
"Let's go to the pool together and enjoy some sun!" Your mom spoke as she grabbed Harry's hand and pulled at him.
"Nah. I'm just gonna go and walk around the resort. See what's around," you spoke and saw Harry frown at you. Your mom let out a strange wet gasp, "No, come with us, Yn! Don't be a party pooper!"
You rolled your eyes and chose not to respond. But you did concede and follow them both to the adult's only pool.
You found a chair and and slid your dress off, draping it over the back of the seat and laid yourself over the cushions wearing your cute little green bikini that you hoped would have Harry looking.
And it did. Harry noticed your little swimsuit. He also noticed other people noticing. He didn't like that but he couldn't do anything about it. He and your mom laid next to one another and held hands. Harry kind of liked watching you get jealous of him. He liked that you were fuming. It might have been mean, but he knew that you were aware of his feelings. He had warned you beforehand. But it was kind of cute to watch you get all huffy with him. He'd take care of that later.
After another few rounds of cocktails your mother had hit her limit. Harry helped her back to her room and you assisted. She was slurring and kissing all over Harry's neck, "Just need to sleep it off and then I'm gonna suck your big dick so good baby..." your mom spoke and you nearly gagged and vomited all over her.
Harry just laughed, "Sounds good. Can't wait."
He knew she was going to be out and would never remember saying that, especially since she said it right in front of you. Yeah, she was quite intoxicated. She'd be out for the rest of the night.
Once you and Harry got your mom into her room you excused yourself so Harry could help her change and tuck her into bed. Before you could open the door Harry put his palm on the frame and turned you toward him, "Stop being a brat. I'll see you in fifteen minutes in your room."
You yanked your arm away from him and narrowed your eyes at him, "No you won't. I'm not going to my room. You can stay here and let my mom suck your cock for all I care."
You were pissed and Harry only smiled at you, making you even more mad, "Go to your room. If you aren't there in fifteen minutes I'll come find you and drag you back there."
You left and stomped your way down the hall. You hated the predicament you were in. It never got easier.
But you did go to your room because deep down you knew what Harry was doing was for your mom's sake. She couldn't know about you two or it would end in disaster.
You stripped out of your bikini and put on a robe from the hotel and opened up the door to the balcony to let in a breeze. You were already feeling better.
Just as promised, fifteen minutes later, Harry was knocking at your door. You put on your angry face and swung the door open ready to argue and pout and make him feel sorry for you having to put up with him and your mom being lovey-dovey. But when you took him in you nearly melted and lost all the resolve you had to be angry with him. He was holding a small bouquet of flowers and had a bottle of white wine in the other hand.
He stepped into your room and handed you the flowers and then pushed you backwards, closing the door behind him, cocky smile on his face. He continued walking you backwards with the bottle of wine in one hand and the other cupping your face. His eyes were soft and he his lopsided grin was cute but you wanted to slap him. And then kiss him.
"Baby, don't be angry. I know you want to be but we talked about this," he set the bottle of wine down on the cabinet and then cupped the other side of your face with his newly free hand. He still walked you backward until you were against the bed. He gently nudged you back to sitting and then removed his shoes before grabbing you by your waist and moving you deeper into the bed, pushing you toward the pillows as he climbed over you and then untied your robe.
You let him open up the thick cotton and expose your naked body underneath. Harry smoothed his hands from your tummy up to your breasts and then leaned over you to place a small kiss at each nipple.
He looked up at you with innocent eyes, "You know I love you. Right? More than anything or anyone." He continued kissing over your breasts and you were quickly coming undone. Harry let his lips trail down to your sternum and lower toward your belly. His soft lips covered every inch of your skin as you remained silent still being a little stubborn.
Harry chuckled against your hip bone and then looked up at you, his light green eyes looking hungry and desperate, "I mean it. Please. You're all I want. All I can think of anymore. Don't be mad."
With his eyes still on you he brought his lips back to your hip bone before lowering to you pelvis and then like magic, the moment his mouth met your labia and then his tongue licked inside and found your clit you sighed and couldn't stop the smile from taking over your features.
"There she is. There's my good girl. Want your pussy licked baby? I'll show you how you're the only one I want. The only one I need."
You moaned and nodded at Harry and you saw him smile before delving in and covering your pussy with his mouth. Harry kept his eyes on you as he licked upward and stroked your clit, getting you all slippery and whiny until he knew you were ready for his fingers.
"No one does this to you but me," he said in a deep voice as he pushed his middle finger into your entrance and began stroking upward and then in and out. He put his mouth back over you, using his tongue to dance around your clit and it drove you crazy. You needed more pressure and he knew it, but he loved driving you crazy.
He added a second a finger and his fingers moved a little quicker as started to suck on your clit using his tongue to massage and encase your sensitive bud.
You put your hands into his hair and began to pull when you spread your legs further apart to give him as much access as he needed. You closed your eyes when his slurping and fingering felt like a warm zipper coming undone on your flesh. You groaned.
Harry used his free hand to pinch your thigh and you popped your eyes back open to look down at him with heaving breaths.
Harry lifted his mouth to speak to you, his lips grazing your pussy as he spoke his words, "Keep your eyes on Daddy. Want you looking at me when you come."
So you did your best. He always wanted you to watch when he ate you out. The way his tongue worked you, his lips sucked at you, his fingers fucked into you... and the sound of him slurping your cunt.
You began to moan in high, breathy noises. Harry's cheeks were shiny with you. He kept his eyes on yours as he continued his attack on your pussy and with his free hand he began to hold you down as you started to buck upward when you felt your end bubbling out.
"Daddy... oh my god!" Your words were moans and your ears began to ring as you struggled to keep your eyes open and on Harry's.
"Come on baby. Come on my face... come in Daddy's mouth," Harry grunted his words out and you noticed that he was gently rocking himself into the bed as he was working you to your end.
"Fffuuck!" You yelped as you released and fluttered your eyes closed for only a second before you felt Harry pinching at you again and you peeled your lids open and watched Harry as he continued licking and sucking with his fingers inside of you as you came. You moaned nonsense words and high pitched breaths as he at you out until you were so sensitive you were trying to push at his head but he had a vice grip on you and he didn't let up.
Harry's mouth was still eating away at your pussy and you squeezed your eyes closed, "Harry! Please!" you gasped your words as he licked over you clit, up and down, side to side. He slide a third finger inside of you and you opened your eyes and craned your neck to watch.
You began to feel your second orgasm wind around your insides as Harry's tongue didn't stop swiping over you. Everything was so wet and slick on your pussy with your own arousal and the spit Harry was using on you as he smoothed his mouth up and down.
The moment your second orgasm hit you felt like you were levitating. Harry had three fingers inside of you, knuckles deep as he sucked you in. He held you down and you writhed as you whined and moaned his name.
Harry laughed as you quivered and tears fell from your face. He knew he'd overstimulated you but he loved watching you struggle and come over and over again.
When you came down and your breathing was still a bit hard Harry lifted his face and began taking his clothes off. You watched him from your prone position with a smile of relief on your face.
Harry's dick was plumped and leaking at the tip already when he grabbed your thighs and dragged you to pull you closer.
"Daddy needs to come inside his baby now. Show you how much I love you. Fill you up with my come."
You were already so fucked out and you hadn't even technically been fucked but you nodded with a smile and Harry leaned down to kiss your mouth, he tasted like you.
He put his hands into your hair and gently smoothed it back. He looked at you for a moment with the soft eyes you loved so much. You loved it when he looked at you like this. It spoke everything to you that you wanted to know.
"Okay? Can I make love you to you now, baby? Want Daddy's cock?" Harry's lips were wet with you and his irises nearly completely covered by his pupils.
"Yes. Fuck me daddy. Make love to me."
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#harry styles smut#harry styles#stepdadrry#stepdad!harry#stepdaughter!reader#harry styles fic#harry styles fanfic#harry styles one shot#harry styles fanfiction#firstpost
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Love Potion
A/N: day 2 of Valentine’s week prompts. Jo and Matty say I love you.
Warnings: none.
***
“Honey, I’m hoomeeee.” Matty announced, in a sing-song voice, as he walked through the door, nudging the door shut with his bum. He rushed over to the couch where Jo was laid up. Her broken leg in a cast, atop a special cushion that he’d bought for her after calling up every pharmacist in the country to ensure that he’d selected only the very best.
“Hey, Angel” he kissed her softly, as he took his backpack off his shoulder. Her response was cold, withholding, merely tolerating his touch. He wished he were surprised. But she’d been that way all week. He’d been trying to give her space. Trying to understand that she must be in a great deal of pain and frustration. He’d imagined that having her stay with him until she could get the cast off her leg would be a good thing. But perhaps he’d neglected to consider that being stuck alone some place that isn’t her own, sleeping in a bed that isn’t hers every night, having to find rest and calm without her comfort items and away from her stuff in her own home would also be difficult and confusing for her. He didn’t know what else to do and he couldn’t shake the feeling that, in trying to help her, he’d somehow made her feel worse.
“How was your day?” He asked, quietly, sitting by her and wrapping his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him to kiss the side of her head.
“Like every other day.” She mumbled, sighing.
Matty already knew what the following few moments of conversation would entail but he went through them anyway, asking her what he always asks every night. “You eaten yet?”
“Tsk.” She made a vague noise that his chest absorbed.
“Taken your medicine?”
“Nope.” She stiffened under his touch.
“Oh, Jo. Why not?” He looked down at her with a frown on his face.
Jo felt a mixture of defensiveness and guilt. She hated to see him disappointed in her. And she hated that he’d built all these expectations around her every basic function. She was an adult capable of understanding consequences and making her own choices. She didn’t need him hovering over her, making an event out of her meal time and her medication. All she wanted was for him to get home and be with her. To hold her in his arms as let her listen to his heart beating in his chest, get a whiff of his scent and feel him shed away the excitement’s and stressors of the day, which her leg and his protectiveness had shielded her from for far too long.
She pulled away from his embrace, sitting up and wrapping her arms around herself.
“Just leave me alone.” She whispered, half-hearted, barely audible.
Matty rolled his eyes. “I can’t do that, now, can I ?” He got off the couch, suddenly, heading for the kitchen.
Moments later, he emerged with a plated sandwich, a glass of water, and an assortment of pills.
“Eat. Take your medicine.” He said. “Going upstairs to change out of these clothes. I’ll be back.”
***
When Matty walked back down in a pair of sweats and an old graphic t shirt Jo’s sandwich and cocktail of pills were still untouched. He could’ve easily gone down another line of questioning, hoping that, by the end of it, he would’ve logically proven to her that she should start eating right away, but he bit his tongue, opting instead to let it go.
“Wanna watch anything?” He asked, sifting through the categories on Netflix.
She shrugged, looking away from him.
Another opportunity for a fight. And another inspiring exercise in self-restraint on his part. He let it go.
He ended up settling for a documentary that Jo hadn’t focused on long enough to learn the subject of. She’d spent the whole night glued to her phone, cowering in the corner of the couch as far away from him as possible.
After the documentary came the novel. She stared into the void as he curled up with the book, underneath a blanket, his eyes growing sleepier with every page. Every once in a while, he would look up from his book to check on her, see if it was the right moment to offer to carry her upstairs to bed, but the look of rage in her eyes always advised him to remain silent.
Then came the doomscrolling. Quietly co-existing on opposite ends of the couch, each of them glued to their individual screens, Matty laughing at something every now and then (a meme no doubt) and contemplating leaning over to show her his phone, but ultimately choosing not to.
Despite his best efforts, Matty eventually fell asleep on the couch. He was only out for about an hour or so, and the first thing he did when his eyes opened again was look down at the sandwich plate, finding it still full. He recalled an incident earlier that week, during his first attempt at making her a sandwich. He had no idea the order in which the ingredients went on the sandwich mattered so much to her, and he hadn’t thought to ask beforehand. The result was what she had perceived as an unbearably soggy sandwich. But she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. She didn’t want to appear ungrateful or irrationally picky. He’d gone out of his way to prepare food for her and make sure she was looked after. All after he’d brought her to his place. To take care of her. To be a supportive boyfriend. A soggy sandwich is hardly a crime. But she couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t bring herself to take a bite. So, she’d burst into tears.
Naturally, therefore, when Matty had woken up to find her food untouched, he’d assumed that he’d made some kind of mistake once again. Had he misremembered her instructions? Was he unaware of an allergy or something?
He never even got the chance to ask her, though. all it took was for him to glance from the sandwich to her face for her to begin sobbing.
“Oh, no! Oh fuck! No please don’t cry , Jo!”
Matty rushed over to her side. “I’ll fix it- I’ll fix it. Just tell me what I did wrong this time. I’ll make you another one. Really, it’s fine!!”
She sniffled, wiping at her face with the back of her arm. “N-no. Y-you did nothing wrong. It’s perfect. I’m - just…I’m not hungry.”
Relief washed over Matty’s face. He exhaled. “Oh.” His fingers padded, gently, at the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Hey, it’s alright. Don’t cry, Darling. I’ll just….save it for later, yeah?”
“That- is not why I’m crying.” She giggled in between sobs, both amused and embarrassed.
“It’s not? Then- erm- what’s wrong? Are- you in pain? Is it your leg? Do you need me to-“
“No, no. It’s not my leg, Matty. It’s me!”
“Pardon?”
She felt her cheeks heat up as the guilt and embarrassment began to set in. She looked away, hiding from his eyes. “It’s me. I hate who I’ve become, ever since this whole….thing.” She pointed to her leg. “You- you’ve been so kind to me. You brought me over here to stay with you. You take time off work to keep me company. You- you come home…and I’m sure you’re tired and all that….im so mean to you. Angry all the time. I promise it’s not you, it’s….i don’t even know what it is. It’s like this demon takes over and I just want to scream all the time.”
“Oh my darling…” was all that he could muster, at a loss for words, worried about saying the wrong thing and giving her the impression that he didn’t understand.
“I- I guess I just…I miss work. And being able to move. And going places that aren’t…..here!” She waved her hands in the air. “No offense, Matty. Your home is beautiful. It’s really calming. And- thank you for having me, really. But I just- I don’t know. Everything —every little thing—is getting on my nerves lately. My head feels all foggy all the time from these pain pills. I’m so tired. I hate everything.”
Matty pressed his lips to hers, feeling her tears on his skin. “I’m so sorry, baby.” He whispered. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”
She clung to him, crying into his chest, as he held her and rubbed her back gently, whispering sweetly into her ear.
“I’m sorry darling. I know this all must be overwhelming..” he said once her crying had finally stilled. He kissed her damp cheek, “I really wish I could take that pain away, baby.” He looked into her eyes and she saw the pain in his. It was killing him, watching her cry like this. He was desperate to help. To do something that would make her feel less alone in her pain. But he knew, better than anyone, how isolating pain can be. Knowing that intimately is what bothered him the most. Because he knew that she felt fundamentally separated from him. And there was nothing that he could do about it. Unless….perhaps he could?
“Jo? Here’s an idea.” He pulled away from her to look into her eyes. “Listen….why don’t I- erm….get an overnight bag together and go stay at George’s. You text your friends. Invite them over. You can have a sleepover or something. Maybe watch a film or just do whatever you like. Get dinner. Could help you feel a bit more like yourself? Lighten the mood? You’ve not been anywhere or seen anyone since….”
She looked up at him with big sad and glassy eyes, speechless, looking like she was once again on the verge of tears.
“What? You don’t like the idea? Sorry. I wasn’t trying to abandon you or anything. I just- I guess I thought maybe you’d want a change.”
“You’d really do that ? For me?” Her voice small and distant, a fresh stream of tears rolled down her face.
He giggled. “Yes, Jo. I would. For you.”
“Well- I don’t even know what to say.” She choked back a sob, her hand reaching for his face, she blinked away the tears, exhaling the sadness out of her lungs. “Matty.” She said firmly in a sudden change of demeanor. “I love you.”
Matty’s heart skipped a beat. He felt his face tingle, his smile spreading across his face, so wide, it might as well shatter him. He looked into her eyes and felt time slow down. Breathless, as if on a joy ride. “I love you, too, Jo.”
She jolted in place. “No, no! No pressure! You don’t have to say it back just yet! I just wanted to-“
“I want to say it.” He laughed, placing his hand over her mouth to stop her panicked rambling. “I love you, too, Jo. Really. I do.”
“Really?” Her lips moved against the palm of his hand.
“I’ve wanted to say it for a while now. But I’ve held back cuz- well, it didn’t feel right to do it while you’re in pain, miserable, and on drugs.” He chuckled shyly. “ but perhaps those drugs are on my side.”
She leaned forward reclaiming her rightful place in his arms again. “You love me.” She mused, the smile clear in her voice.
“Mhm. And you love me.”
“I do.”
His response to her declaration of love was perhaps the biggest proof that she was right about him. Right to have fallen for him. She’d fallen in love with him because of the way that he treated her when she was being difficult and needlessly cruel. Taking her pain and frustration out on him. Because of the way that he remained gentle and understanding. Because of the way that she saw her pain reflected in his eyes. He was the kindest, sweetest man she’d ever met.
Matty dipped his head down, kissing her. “Well, then, I’ll try and make myself scarce.” He looked back at the sandwich that had started it all, laughing to himself. “As your lover, I think you should eat this sandwich.”
“Did you just call yourself my ‘lover’?”
Matty grinned “mhm….Take the love drugs. So you’ll still love me when i get back.”
She laughed, reaching for the plate, suddenly feeling an appetite.
“I’ll order some snacks and things? For you and your friends? Before I head out….”
“Sure. Whatever. Just kiss me and tell me you love me again before you go. Okay?”
Matty cocked his head, pretending to mull over the request for a moment. “Hmmm….okay. If you insist. I think we can manage that!”
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Tate frost head cannons (some NSFW)
Great cook, even better on the grill.
Wears bras to support his tiddies.
He's really comfy and always warm.
He got called a "sigma male" at the gym once because he was wearing a wild shirt. Went down the rabbit hole and hasn't been the same.
Can make really good cocktails
Enjoys reading
Has a dark sense of humour. I don't mean 9/11 jokes. I mean he watches car crash videos to laugh at how people drive.
He can't watch ANYTHING without calling out stiff cinema sins style.
Has a weird hyper fixation on history.
Has a room off of his bedroom (never a good thing to have)
He's a regular at Spencer's and worked there during his high school years. He really likes some of the weird items.
He carries an air horn. If in an argument, he'll sound it off to avoid the other person from talking.
Likes cooking more than eating. Got popular in college because he'd cook for people in exchange they'd do his homework.
Takes sleeping pills.
Has a bunch of CDs in his car, all in the glovebox.
Conditions his hair too often.
Likes chocolate bars.
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