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lxnarphase · 23 days

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BITCH, YOU KNOW I'M SEXY ᯓ★

━━ ❝ I'M NOT YOUR MOMMY, N★GGA! FIND A NEW HOBBY, N★GGA! ❞ wc. 5.4k

ᯓ ❤︎₊‧⁺...synopsis : being toji's roommate, you finally snap after another night of not being able to sleep because of his damn late-night hookups. your house, your rules.

ᯓ ❤︎₊‧⁺...cw : blk!fem!reader x f. toji, frenemies to lovers, smut, face-sitting + pussy eating, dumbification, degradation, praise kink, dirty talk, playful arguing, hair pulling, size kink, begging, riding, unprotected sex (do not do this in real life omfg), dom-ish reader, sub-ish toji, lots of pet names, toji being an asshole, toji gets called a 'good boy' a few times

ᯓ ❤︎₊‧⁺...lunar's notes : toji toji toji, what am i going to do with you...anyways, this was super fun and i love these two so much and i need them to go out on a date properly at some point ! if you want to be tagged for the future posts, comment on the main post here ! enjoy baddies ❤︎

you love sleep. absolutely love and cherish it, even.

every night, you follow the routine you set for yourself without fail: hot shower, slipping into some comfy PJs, in-depth skincare, brushing your teeth, and then pulling your bonnet on.

nothing is better than slipping into bed, soft sheets feeling sooo good on your skin. yes, you absolutely love sleep.

except it seems that your roommate has no respect for your need for rest, considering how many times you've had to hear the high-pitched whining of women paired with the annoying thud of the headboard against the wall.

he better not damage the wall either, because he will be the one paying for it.

you both were...sort of friends, sure, but ever since you both graduated college, toji has been doing his best to get on your nerves. constantly picking on you, teasing you, or doing stupid shit that annoys the fuck out of you. especially whenever he leaves the fucking toilet seat up in the middle of the night.

and every time he hears you squeal late at night in the bathroom before shouting his name, he can't help but laugh.

eventually, it went from him just doing things to inconvenience or mess with you to this. and you were tired.

these nightly...activities of his need to be addressed because you are not letting a man of all things be the reason you can't sleep soundly at night. this is your apartment, after all!

it's a friday night and you just know you need to talk to him before you have to hear some woman fighting for her life of toji does...whatever he does that has all these women coming in and out of your apartment like it's a damn brothel...okay, well, it was the same two women, but still!

so that's how you find yourself, pounding on his door, sleepy, tired, and irritated in your hello kitty pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt, ready to get in bed and actually sleep.

"fushiguro, open this damn door," you command, fluffy slipper tapping on the floor as you wait for him to open his door. after a minute, you hear a groan and the shuffling of sheets before the door swings open.

toji stands in the doorway, only in a pair of sweatpants that hang low on his hips with an eyebrow raised as he looks down at you. you don't care how hot he looks, you want nothing more than to wipe that look off his face, hating how smug he looks.

"whaddya want? 's she here already? told 'er not to come for another 2 hours," he mumbles, scratching at the scar on his lip. you're silent for a moment, processing what he just said. "who......no. nononono. absolutely not, tell whoever you are expecting she is not coming into my apartment."

crossing your arms, you fix him with a tough look. sure, you know you aren't the scariest thing, especially in hello kitty pants and puffy slippers, but it doesn't matter! he is going to respect your wishes or...or else!

"aww, what's wrong, doll? can't sleep," he teases, voice low and sinfully smooth as smirk finds its way onto his face. "guess ya should've invested in those headphone y'keep talkin' about so much. can't help that 'm just that good that the girlies can't keep their mouths shut."

having you in front of his bedroom door like this...it's so fucking adorable to him, you were just so cute and didn't have a single clue, did you? complaining that he and his little playthings were too loud and keeping you up was not what he expected. but, toji won't lie, he's genuinely surprised it took you so long to finally say something.

it seems his little comment struck a cord, his smirk getting bigger when your eyes get just a bit wider in disbelief. man, you were so fucking cute like this, all angry and huffy.

"okay, first of all, those headphones are NOT comfy to sleep with at night. and i'm not dropping almost $400 dollars on something so that i can accommodate for you," you argue, stepping forward and jabbing your finger into his stupidly big chest.

no, seriously, why were his pecs almost bigger than your tits?

"can you please just let me sleep for one night, or are you that sex deprived you can't go a single night without getting your dick wet?"

whatever this new side of you was, he liked it.

"aww, sounds like little princess s' mad no one's fuckin' her right. ya not gettin' fucked good, pipsqueak? haven't seen yer boy-toy around lately anyways.

"god, that's—that's none of your fucking business, fushiguro, shut up!"

"make me."

you blink.

a moment passes...and suddenly, your eyes are sharp.

ah...he might've fucked up with those two simple words.

"...you know what? i will, you annoying fuck."

catching toji off guard, you shove him back, taking advantage of him stumbling to walk inside his room as you slam the door shut behind you. a light chuckle escapes him, eyebrows raises. "so, the little kitten does have claws," he says with a grin.

his little roommate seems to have grown a pair of balls. what is she gonna do? hit him with pillows, curse him out, kick him out? pffft, if you kicked him out he would know you needed sleep, you both have been friends for too long...right?

as toji gets slightly worried he might've genuinely crossed a line (a bit too late to realize that, he realizes), you push him onto his bed, standing between his legs.

oh.

oh, he...he likes you from his angle, looking down at him with a little bit of a pout on those pretty full lips of yours as you try soooo hard to look angry and scary. but how can he be scared when his roommate, the one he's been fucking his hand for, looks so fucking cute?

curly hair a bit frizzy and messy (he's surprised you don't have your bonnet on yet), smelling like cocoa butter and that strawberry shortcake body spray that haunts him at night. and now you're in his fucking room. he'd never be able to escape it now.

fuck, every time you came close to him, he just suddenly couldn't process anything except you...he needed to get a grip.

propping himself up on his elbows, toji locks eyes with you, playing off his surprise. "what's gotten into ya, roomie? so aggressive, might have t' call shiu to come get you," he attempts to playfully poke. the tension in the room grows when you start to massage your temples, trying to calm down.

in.

out.

in.

out.

in-

"well, if lack of sleep is gettin' you all huffed up like this, i gotta couple o' ways t' tire ya out if y'need."

"oh my god, y'talk too fucking much," you grumble.

toji opens his mouth, ready to make another smart comment but he's shocked into silence when you tug your pajama pants off. there's no fucking way this is real. toji knows he has to be dreaming and knowing he'd be waking up with a wet spot in his pants if he didn't wake up soon.

and...are you wearing hello kitty boxer briefs too? god, you're such a fucking dork, it's cute and it's only making him harder in his pants.

but all of that is forgotten when you hook your fingers in the waistband of those stupid looking boxers and drag them down those pretty legs and toji gets a glimpse of your cute, pudgy tummy and...and....

fuck.

he doesn't even get a chance to think, he's so fucking hard. you're fucking half naked in his room right now and he can't tear his eyes away from how soft you look, that little patch of hair (is it shaped like a fucking heart? jesus fucking christ, you were serious about making yourself feel pretty everywhere), god, he's so fucked.

"shit. someone's eager. just couldn' wait to-"

"i'm so sick of you," you cut off, pushing him down onto the bed, crawling up his chest. you give him a look, one that he instantly understands and he smirks, giving you a nod before you continue moving until your hips hover over his face.

the smirk melts off his face when he realizes how real this is. your bare pussy is literally mere inches away from his mouth, so close he can practically taste you.

he's not gonna make it out of this alive, is he?

when you see him about to open his mouth to make another stupid comment, you move, pressing your hips down onto his face, shutting him up. "you wanna use your mouth so much, toj? i'll give you somethin' to use it on."

toji's response is just a muffled groan, his eyes fluttering a little. his hands move up to grip your thighs to steady you and also keep you on his face. he hasn't even tasted you, but shit, you smell so good.

wasting no more time, his tongue hungrily darts out, desperate to taste you. the moment he licks over your folds, he's sighing, melting into the bed. you're so soft, so sweet and he hasn't even gotten a taste from the main source. pulling you down onto his face a bit harder, toji finally swipes through your cunt and he's addicted.

"mmh, fuck," he grunts, burying his face as deep as possible. what the actual fuck are you made of, he thinks to himself. you taste so sweet, he's getting so dizzy as he starts to messily lap up all the slick dripping from your pussy. he barely pulls away from you to breathe, taking just a second to part, his hot breath fanning against the wet mess between your legs before he dives right back in, his low groans resonating against your core so nicely.

toji slurps loudly at your cunt, unable to stop himself from rolling his hips up, the friction of his sweats on his cock a sweet relief. he's so sure this is heaven, thanking whatever god there is for making you snap to this point but then you start talking.

you sigh, hips gently rocking against toji's face as your eyes open to look down your body at him. "mmn, 's better," you purr to yourself, little sweet noises of pleasure escaping you as one of your hands runs through his hair, giving him an encouraging little tug.

"should i just give you my pussy every night so you let me sleep, toj," you coo at him, a smug smile on your face. he didn't even notice his eyes slipped shut, but he opens them, flickering up to meet your lidded gaze and see the pride swirling around your eyes.

has his roommate always been like this? toji doesn't remember you being so fucking sexy like this. sure, you've always been attractive, and he's definitely had a thing for you for a while. but never in his life did he think his sweetheart of a friend would be smushing his face into her soft cunt.

his response is a little nod and an increase in his tongue's movements against your sloppy pussy. his lips move to suck right at your puffy clit, and he swears nearly cums when you gasp his name and whine, pulling him even deeper by his hair.

his train of thought is completely destroyed, he can't think of anything but you, can't feel anything but you, can't see, can't smell, can't taste anything but you.

he'd kill a man if it meant being able to taste you like this every fucking day.

"ohh, tojibaby, y'look s' pretty eating my pussy...poor thing, jus' needed something to shut you up for a bit."

scratch that, he'd kill SEVERAL men if it meant hearing you sing praises like that while you grind against his mouth, practically suffocating him with your thighs.

it's addicting, the way slick is gushing out of you each time he kisses your clit before sucking on it, coating his mouth. toji knows he looks a wreck, but he doesn't care, not when he's got you on him like this.

"d'you wanna make me cum, toj?" you ask it so teasingly, tugging his hair again and making him moan. "you're makin' out with my pussy...such a good boy for me."

those two words are his undoing, a visible shift in his energy. his eyes are sharp, and he almost looks angry as he grips your thighs even harder. "yes, fuck, yeah, mama, i wanna make you cum all over my face," he growls, tongue unrelenting when it slips back inside of your cunt, a nasty wet noise filling the air as you keen. he's fucking you with his tongue so messily, like he'll die if he stops tasting you.

good boy. you called him a good boy.

the compliment made something snap in him, the need to devour you whole the only thing on his mind. he's not just a good boy, no, he's your good boy, and the thought of being yours makes a thick bead of precum to drip out of his cock and stain his sweatpants.

he's brought back when you tug his head back to look at you, that thick tongue of his slipping out of you.

"i don't want you bringing anymore fucking women in my house, fushiguro," you warn, glaring down at him. you're serious. if you see another girl come in here at 11pm, you might actually kill this man in his sleep and not in a way he'd like

"i'm so tired of hearing their annoying moans. if you need a pussy to put your stupid dick in, just ask me, you fuckin' idiot." shit, you usually never talk like this, but toji likes this side of you. the usually sweet and kind roommate he was so used to was no where to be seen, replaced with this commanding and no-nonsense woman who knew what she wanted.

he can't even deny, this side of you is such a massive turn on.

"promise you're gonna let me fuckin' sleep n' i'll cum on your pretty mouth, fushiguro. otherwise, i'm getting up and i'll call shiu and see if he wants a taste."

oh, fuck no. no way in hell is toji letting that smug bastard see you like this, best friend or not.

he desperately nods, just wanting you to let go of his hair so he can dive back into your sweet pussy, licking his lips to taste you again.

"promise, mama, no more bringing other women, jus' you, don't need nobody else but you, y'got my word."

"that's my good boy."

once you let go of his hair, toji dives right back to the task at hand like man possessed. his lips press against your clit, kissing it with little wet smacks before sucking it into his mouth. his tongue doesn't give you a break, flicking over it rapidly. your moans, god, your moans are getting so loud and so pretty, his eyes never leaving your face as he watches you get closer and closer.

"c'mon, doll, please," he begs, a whininess in his voice as he massages your thick thighs, encouraging you to ride his face until you cream all over it. "give it t' me, give me what i wan', cum all over my face, baby girl."

feeling how you start to move your hips, a sweet little 't-toji, 'm gonna cum' falling from your lips, his hands grasp your ass as he seals his mouth over your cunt, sucking and licking desperately.

he needs it.

he needs you.

needs you so fucking bad.

feeling him mutter those words against your cunt makes you gasp and choke out his name, thighs squeezing around his head. "oh, fuck, toji, 'm cummin, baby!" your hands are both in his hair as you desperately hump against his mouth, body shaking with the force of your orgasm.

he doesn't stop, he keeps his mouth on you to make sure not a drop of your sweet cum goes to waste. he can feel it spilling out of his mouth, down his chin and neck. it's so messy, just how he likes it.

he watches you, how could he even think to take his eyes off you? you're so pretty, do you even realize how your hair got puffier and messier from your sweating, how a few of those tiny curls got stuck to your skin?

"g-god, fuck, toj, hoohmygod, your mouth 's so good, nngh!"

shit, you're pretty, so fucking pretty, what the fuck? god, you even cum pretty, toji's so fucked. why didn't he get you on his face like this sooner?

feeling your tremors start to subside, toji slows his tongue, switching to little licks and then to soft kisses against your clit, keeping you grounded as you come down from your high. the fact he didn't paint the inside of his sweatpants white is a miracle, but he knows the front is wet and stained.

when he feels you relax, toji guides you off his face and down to sit on his chest. he can't help the twinkle in his eye, grinning at you proudly. the bottom half of his face is a mess, covered in his spit and your slick. you like this look on him.

"has anyone ever told you that you've got t'most addicting pussy ever?"

you huff a laugh, urging him to move up further on the bed until his back rests against the pillows. he was so annoying, and you hated how attractive it made him. “you’re too awake for my liking," you sarcastically huff, giving him a sweet little pout that makes him feel a bit more things than he probably should.

tugging his sweatpants down, you let out a little noise of surprise.

ah.

it all makes sense now. no wonder those girls sounded like they were dying.

"toji, what the actual hell is wrong with you?!"

"don't get mad at me, ma, i didn't magically make my dick this size! i just got lucky!"

"lucky?! girl, this is a curse, how the fuck did those girls fit this thing in them?!"

"they didn't."

that makes you pause. they couldn't get him all the way inside? glancing down at his cock, heavy in your hand, as he helps to get his pants completely off, you're not surprised. but you could take it, right?

...guess you need to find out.

shifting your hips, you move to swipe his cock through your slick pussy, a smug look on your face when he sharply inhales. "i'm gettin' my revenge, pretty boy, for all the sleep you made me lose. 's late, anyways, yeah? don't we need to sleep soon?"

the head of his cock catches onto your entrance, causing you both to sigh in pleasure. this would be a stretch, but you're determined by pure spite from toji and those women keeping you up at night.

while you're teasing him, toji is a breath away from losing his mind. the sight of you taking charge, hair completely fluffy now from the humidity in the room, has his cock pulsing in your soft hand. he's so sure that you're not gonna be able to take it all in. shit, he's wondering if he should stop you, tell you he's gotta prep you first or else it's gonna hurt, but you use your free hand to grab his face, making him look at you as an evil grin breaks out on your face.

"i'm gonna put you t' sleep with my pussy. uhm, something something, call that pussy nyquil," you giggle, slipping the tip of his cock inside of your wet, tight little cunt.

melting, that's the best way toji can describe the feeling of behind inside you, even if it's just the tip. "jesus," he hisses, his hands coming up to grip your hips. you're so hot inside, your tight walls are so snug around him. there's no way this tight cunt of yours is gonna be able to fit him in, there's not fucking way.

despite that, he finds himself guiding you down onto him, trying his hardest not to buck up into you. but the sensation of your soft, gummy walls squeezing him so perfectly is making it so challenging to stay still.

"fuck, mama...shit," he groans, watching as he is sucked into your warm pussy. once you get halfway, he expects you to stop, and that's usually where they all do. he was fine with that, more than fine, because he's never been inside someone so fucking tight.

but then, you raise your hips until just the tip is inside, and with a devious little giggle, you slam your hips down, gasping when you get him in all the way. damn, you realize it was a stupid idea, the stretch making you feel almost sick, but the reaction you get out of toji is worth it.

his head falls back against the headboard, and he whimpers, eyes rolling back into his skull, his lip pulled between his teeth as he tries to relearn how to think.

“i'm gonna make you cum and ‘m gonna fuck you stupid for not letting me sleep, fushiguro.” giving yourself a bit to get used to his size, you slowly started moving, seeing what angle worked best for you.

meg the stallion, i'm gonna make you proud of me, you think with a little smirk before you steady yourself with your hands on his chest and start to bounce your hips, your cute little threat only making his cock throb inside you.

"'m gonna make you regret bein' an asshole to your pretty roommate, pretty boy."

it doesn't take long for it to get messy, for it to get so fucking sloppy and noisy. each time you bring your hips down, the room is filled with a wet smack. you've really made a mess out of him, your sticky wet coating his fat cock and his lap, thick strands of it connecting you to him with each raise of your hips before you bring them right back down.

toji can't breathe, finally tilting his head back up as his eyes are glued to where his cock slips in and out of you. you're taking him, taking all of him into your sticky cunt and, shit, he thinks he might die like this.

"fuck, fuck, mama, c'mon, don' do this t' me, relax, please, fuckin' strangling my cock, oh my god—"

he's whining, it's so cute. who knew you could get toji fushiguro, mr. tough guy, to crumble under you like this so easily? it's so wet and gushy, the sound of your thick body smacking back down on his only making his insides twist in pleasure. he can feel how fucking wet you are, dripping down his cock, down his balls, it's so unfair.

"tojiii, talk t' me," you coo at him, your sweet voice bringing him back. "don't tell me my pussy's making you dumb already, jus' started."

you did, you're literally fucking him dumb, and he doesn't know what to do or what to say, but hearing you say his name like that in-between moans as you bounce your hips up and down his throbbing shaft has his babbling in an instant.

"god, this cunt 's perfect, baby, s' fucking perfect."

“yeah? y’like my pussy, toj? like my pretty cunt creaming on you?” you roll your hips, a pretty moan leaving you when his tip nudges against that soft spot perfectly. “f-fuck, you really are big...poor thing, no one could get it in all the way? am, mh, am i the first t’ take this fat cock t’ the hilt, tojibaby?”

you lean forward, hands moving from his chest to around his neck as you roll your hips, swiveling them in ways that have him gushing precum all over the insides of your cunt. the squelches your cunt makes with each roll is so fucking sinful and so nasty.

"y-yeah, mama, she feels s' good around me, all tight and warm, milking my cock like it's made just for you."

god, you smell so good...he can still smell your perfume and the sweet blueberry scent of your leave-in. you smell so sweet and taste so sweet too, he's so fucking lucky to have you fucking him like this. toji's hands move from your hips to your ass, helping you fuck yourself on his dick, groaning your name.

"god, you're the first to take it all, y'got me so fucking deep in that sloppy lil' cunt that y'can feel me in your stomach."

you giggle between moans, pressing your forehead against his. "y'so cute, toji, such a good boy f' me, yeah? feels so much better knowin' you can just tell me if you need me to put you to sleep, right?"

he groans, nodding as his eyes flutter closed again. "y-yeah, yes, baby, feels s' much better," he admits, breathless as he starts to get close. he can feel you getting tighter, getting wetter, and he'll be damned if he cums before you do.

"aww, listen t' you," you say with a little whine, your dominant mask starting to ebb away as you start to grow weaker and weaker. it's starting to feel good, really good, to the point where you can't think either, and you don't know how much more of this you can do. "m-my pretty boy, my good boy, f-fuckin' me s...s-so good..."

the moment he picks up the whininess in your voice, toji is alert, looking into your eyes to find that the pleasure is finally catching up to you, too. "yeah? yeah, mama? she's feelin' good? fuck, 'm gonna fuckin' fill you up, baby, gotta cream this pretty pussy so deep that she feels it f' days," he grunts, mouth open as he pants against your lips.

they look so pretty, he wonders if you taste like that lip balm you always carry, if your tongue is as sweet as you are, if your plump lips are as soft as they look. the thought of them pressing against his is what breaks him, and he's so embarrassed at the noise he makes before leaning back against the pillows and planting his feet into the mattress.

"i gotta fuck you, gotta fuck you good, 'm sorry, 'm so sorry, baby, promise i'll let you sleep, promise i'll be good for ya, okay? mm, fuck, c'mon, let toji make it better, gonna kiss your cunt with my cock and make it up t' ya."

toji fucks into your hole desperately, groaning at the loud wet plaps of his hips smacking against yours. your moans, god, your moans, they're so pretty, you're so pretty. he can see your tits bouncing against the fabric of the shirt you have on, and he curses, so fucking mad he didn't have you take it off. but he doesn't care, not right now, not when he sees how gorgeous you look.

he's so fucking prideful when he sees how poofed out your hair is, bouncing with each thrust up into you. "y're so fucking pretty, c'mere."

one of his hands grabs you by the back of the head and smushes his lips against yours, hungry as he licks over them before shoving his stupidly thick tongue inside your mouth. the kiss is just as messy as the rest of you, and the pitiful little moan you give has him reeling.

"i-i'm, 'm gonna cum, toj," you whisper against his mouth, nails biting into his shoulders as you do your best to match his pace. you're gonna cum, he's gonna make you cum, you're about to cum all over his fucking dick, jesus christ.

"fuck, you're so hot, so cute, mama, my pretty girl. need ya t' cum, dolly, can y'do that for me? please, baby, cum on me, make a mess s' i can fill you up an' apologize like i promised," he rambles before kissing you again, biting your lip before running his tongue over it.

it's so close, you can taste it. it's so unfair how big his cock is, how you can feel every vein and throb of it inside of you, how you can feel his hot precum smudging all over your velvety walls.

the realization that he's inside you raw has you moaning so sweetly, and your pussy is gripping him for dear life as you dig your nails into his shoulders even more, head falling forward. "t-toji, 'm, 'm gonna—f-fuck!"

you're cumming, you're cumming on him, and it feels so fucking good. you're creaming all over his lap, and your crying and moaning his name so sweetly he feels like he's gonna pass out. "baby, babyyy, no, lemme see, lemme see you cum," he begs, the hand in your hair tilting your head back up and the view he gets has his hips stuttering inside you.

your eyes are unfocused, long lashes wet from tears as you pant and whimper for him, all for him. and when you make eye contact with him, he feels your gummy walls squeeze him so tight.

"oh, fuck, yes, mama, jus' like that. keep cummin' on me, keep goin', 'm so close, gonna cum, gonna cum in this pretty pussy s' fuckin' deep you feel it in your tummy," toji babbles before he's losing himself too, pressing your head against his chest as he fucks into you, savoring your overstimulated cries for him. "'s gonna go deep, so fuckin' deep an' i'm gonna fuckin' eat it outta you, just like y-you fuckin' deserve—!"

with a pathetic sounding groan of your name, he's giving one, two, three, four hard, deep thrusts, moaning as he pumps his thick load into you, feeling your oversensitive pussy milking him dry. "g-good boy, g'fucking boy, tojiii," you whimper, moving from his chest to pepper kisses all over his face, moaning softly as you feel his hot cum coating your walls.

his mind is so blissfully blank that he doesn't even realize he's shaking a little bit from how hard he just came. cooing happily at him, you cup his cheeks, trying to bring him back down to you. "come back t' me tojiiii, don't die on me, roomie!"

still reeling from his insanely intense orgasm, manages a little chuckle, his hand moving from your ass to under your shirt, stroking your back. "'m here, 'm here, promise...i just...shit. ya fuckin' drained me, girly. what the hell are you?"

you laugh, kissing the corner of his mouth before nestling under his chin to catch your breath. "I'm your damn friend who happens to be the roommate you have been tormenting by not letting me sleep, dumbass."

"heh. fair point."

you both stay like this for a bit, just resting a little and trying to catch your breath. except...toji's eyes feel a little heavy, and he feels himself drifting away. "there you goooo," you coo, hand running through his hair. "told ya i'd put you to sleep."

"yeah, yeah, you were right," he grumbles and opens an eye, hand coming up to pinch your cheek. "jus' a lil' nap, okay? we still gotta get you cleaned up. after all, i promised i'd clean my cum outta ya, right?"

"my god, toji, you are nasty."

"but you like ittttt."

you couldn't stop yourself from laughing because, yes, you did. you liked it a lot.

soon, the room falls quiet as toji's breathing falls into rhythm with yours, the rise and fall of his chest steady and slow. his mind is still a bit dazed, and he can't help but get a little flustered as he realizes how badly he's wrapped around your little finger. the thought is only further confirmed when he feels his heart squeeze just a bit when he notices you fell asleep on his chest.

he wraps his arms around you in a gentle embrace, huffing to himself. yeah, so what he was whipped, he finally got you in his arms, so he sees it as a win.

as sleep finally starts to creep up on him, he presses a little kiss to your forehead, leaning back against the pillows and shutting his eyes. just a little nap, and then he'll get you cleaned up and make sure you accept his apology for everything he's put you through.

...he just hopes you won't be too grumpy when you realize you fell asleep without your bonnet on.

ᯓ ❤︎₊‧⁺...lunar's tags : @satoruwiki @llllllllllllloser @screampied @abcdbleh @vicfuentesfangirl @sakurapeach @ohsuguru @crywolfix @naughtygobbo @aura88967 @jeanine-gt @tananaxx @tojancy @happymangosstuff

#toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro smut #toji x reader #toji smut #toji fushigro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji x black reader #jjk x black reader #black fem reader #jujutsu kaisen x black reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #toji fushiguro x black reader #black reader #𖤐 ── lxnarworks.#🔪 ── toji.

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genshin-obsessed · 8 months

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Idk if I'm too late for the Neuvillette drabbles but imagine trying to go swimming with him but he doesn't get in the water so you splash him playfully and then he just. Summons a fuckin tidal wave on you. By accident. And he's so apologetic afterward but you're just laughing your ass off lol

Nope, not late at all! I just went to bed last night right after posting the thingie lol also this sounds so cuteee <33 I had fun with it! Thank you! Word count: 501

Gather like the Tidal Wave

"Ah! Finally, some time to relax!" You squealed as your feet hit the sand as you ran towards the cool, blue water. Without warning, you jumped in, the cold water surrounding you. Neuvillette, on the other hand, just watched you with a light smile as he stood a distance away.

After a couple of moments, you poked your head out, looking over at him and waving. Raising a gloved hand, Neuvillette waved right back, chuckling to himself.

"Aren't you coming in?" You called back to him before pouting when he shook his head.

"No, I'm alright, but you do look like you're having lots of fun." Neuvillette replied as he walked closer to the water, only his boots getting wet due to the waves rolling in on the shore.

"Aw, come on! You've been working so hard all weak! Don't you need to swim? Cuz you're a dragon and all." You said, making him shake his head a little.

"I'm not a lizard that dries out, sweet (y/n), I'm a human just like you." You crossed your arms at his words, your cheeks turning a faint shade of pink.

"Yeah, well it doesn't rain when I get super sad." You argued back to which he looked at you confused.

"No, if I recall correctly, it does rain when you get upset."

"It rains because you get upset that I'm upset." Well, Neuvillette couldn't deny that. Honestly, if you were upset or you cried, that transferred to Neuvillette and before you knew it, it would be raining.

"I can't deny that." He said honestly, his icy blue eyes shifting away in slight embarrassment.

Deciding it was too boring without him in the water, you began to splash him. He threw his hand up, stopping the water before it hit him, making you whine.

"Neuvillette! You're no fun! Come on!"

"I'm sorry, my robes are a bit expensive and I don't want them to get wet-" He flinched when you splashed him again, but this time the water hit his face.

He couldn't find himself being upset because... you were laughing. So, he decided to play along. He walked a bit further into the water and swiped his hand against it, making it splash you. And so began the very short splash war.

Unforunately, Neuvillette wasn't paying attention and... with one swift move of his hand, a large tidal wave formed beside you and crashed right over you. You squealed, holding your breath in time as you spun around under the water.

Neuvillette, on the other hand, audibly gasped. That wave was a lot bigger than he meant to make it! However, his panicked heart was instantly set at ease when he saw you stick your head out and begin laughing.

"My apologies, that was a little big."

"That was so cool! Do it again!" You exclaimed in excitement, jumping up and down. Much to your dismay, Neuvillette shook his head as he began walking back out of the water.

"No, I don't think so."

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x gender neutral reader #neuvillette x reader #genshin neuvillette #🖊─ pocky’s writings

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ghost-recs · 2 months

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can we get some bakugou recs 😊😊 (written and smaus pleaseee)

hello hellooo! oh man do i ever have some! you have no idea the can of worms you are opening my friend.

but first i am so sorry for how late this rec is! i wanted to get this done days ago, but the semester has been crazy packed. i'm going to get through all my asks one by one. thank you for your patience! anyways let's get into this !!

Bakugou Recs

Garden of Lungs (Hanahaki) by oweCrew [ao3]

synopsis: you have your whole life ahead of you, a promising future and jobs lined up after UA...but these stupid flowers are going to be the death of you, literally.

i flew through this fic so fast. it was the first time i had every heard of hanahaki disease and oof to my heart. i loved it!

Late Night Calls by fictionpls [ao3]

synopsis: much to bakugou's disdain, you skipped your meals again. tch, he's basically taking care of you at this point.

cute lil fluff oneshot with bakugou as your best friend...maybe more.

Nothing More, Nothing Less by @dekustowel

synopsis: bakugou made a big whoopsies. the only way to get out of it? fake date you, the internet's sweatheart, duh!

this smau idea has a hold on me. i'm a sucker for the fake dating trope. and i mean seriously, it's bakugou! [ongoing...]

Nerd (Affectionately) by @oniku-niku

synopsis: you're in love with bakugou, have been since you were kids. there was no use in hiding the truth. but did he have to be so rude about it??

most of this smau is a big ouch to the heart. but the drama gets heavier as the story goes on and i'm here for it! happy soft ending! :)

Speak by Kikyo851 [ao3]

synopsis: you could not believe that your soulmate was such a crude and violent person...just to spite the universe and him you decide not to say a word to your "soulmate."

soulmate au in which the first words that your soulmate says to you is written on your wrist. this fulfilled my needs of a bakugou soulmate au! so cute and it is complete!

Of Snowscapes & Explosions by sugarbun [ao3]

synopsis: you've been categorized as second to shoto todoroki ever since grade school. after a frustrated vent to bakugou and a few of his cracks revealing some of his own frustrations you realize that maybe you and him aren't so different after all.

guys....when i tell you this fic is the slowest slow burn. i feel like it's so accurate to how bakugou would actually fall for someone. sadly, this fic is unfished tho and hasn't been updated in a couple years😭 but you should read it anyways.

cover shot (through the heart) by @andypantsx3

cross posted on ao3 here! cover shot (through the heart) by andypantsx3

synopsis: you're the only one who can deal with bakugou's attitude in the industry. he hasn't found something that bothers you...until he starts flirting with you, hello??

model/celebrity au. super cute fic. i'm warning you this is much spicier than some of my other recs. mdni. (also check out this author's other works. they have a lot of top tier content!!)

Motherly Love by @kweenkatsuki-fics

synopsis: bakugou gives his mom a late night call to thank her. the reason why softens her heart greatly.

super soft lil drabble that just about brings me to tears everytime i read it. in love with bakugou fr.

déjà vu by @cashmoneyyysstuff

synopsis: bakugou thinks back to some oddly familiar memories with you. and one thing always stays the same, you both are together.

oneshot the made my jaw drop. hit me hard in the feels.

untitled oneshot by @honeypirate

synopsis: being paired with your number 1 enemy for a group project proved that the universe hated you. well might as well have some fun with this and make bakugou's life just as miserable.

college au oneshot. i am always down for a good enemies to lovers trope!

risky by @kusaka6e

synopsis: moving from another country to work as a pro hero in japan was not the easiest. and a certain hot headed hero only adds to your frustrations.

oneshot about the obvious grown tension between you and pro hero dynamite.

i hope you find something you like! sorry for the late rec, have a lovely day/night!

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adascore · 1 month

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Hello! Not sure if you’re taking requests but would you consider doing an addition to TSS where young!arsenal reader was starting before Beth and Viv came back and has been benched majority of the time since (Kyra core☹️). Maybe during like the west ham game was one of the subs thrown on halfway through and after the loss made a snarky comment about “being thrown on to unfuck everything” type of thing to another teammate and Viv/beth overhear and think she’s talking about them (maybe they’re already a little insecure about losing such an “easy” game, self doubt post ACL) and things are super frosty and weird at home until one of them snaps and makes a comment about how they still wouldn’t have won even if R started. Hurt/comfort angst but with a happy ending!! Not sure if any of that strikes your fancy but I had the thought and you’re so talented:) no worries if not!!!

To Jump The Gun(ners)

pairings: arsenal x teen!reader / meadema x teen!reader / kyra cooney-cross x arsenal!reader

warnings: the west-ham match. swearing. angst. awkwardness.

author’s note: OMG LOVE THIS IDEA ! like this was right up my alley I felt like 😭 thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy the story!

masterlist

February 4, 2024 - Essex, England

It had become a routine, seeing her name and number on the bench. She took a glance at Kyra, a knowing look in her eyes.

The young Arsenal homegrown wondered where it all had gotten wrong. Well, she knew the answer, but it wasn't exactly something she could say out loud to anyone.

She was transported back to the 2022/23 season, where she would warm the bench until either Vivianne or Beth were too tired or they needed to be rested for the next match.

Their injuries had changed everything.

Y/N not only became a regular starter, but became a vital part of their game. Her absence would be noticed.

She scored the goals that got them to the semifinals of the Champions League, keeping them level with 2x champions Wolfsburg.

However, Beth and Vivianne were back now. Alessia's arrival also didn't help much, the former Manchester United player having cemented herself into the starting line-up.

It also didn't help that Jonas was not a fan of rotating. Only in specific Conti Cup matches or against what he deemed 'weaker' teams in the league would he make changes to the usual starting XI.

In other words, she was back to step 1.

That's why it was hard to watch her teammates falling 2-1 behind against West Ham, with no one seeming to find an answer or any will to turn the game around. It was a painful spectacle.

In the 63rd minute, Jonas decided to throw herself, Kyra and Cloé in the match, and take out Vivianne, Victoria and Beth. It was a desperate attempt, and the three Gunners found themselves on the pitch, tasked with the challenging mission of trying to fix everything that had gone wrong so far.

Y/N and Cloé quickly created some chances but the West Ham defense or the swift reflexes of Mackenzie Arnold saw them go in vain.

The teenager could see the expressions of her teammates on the bench, visibly frustrated with how the match had unfolded since Alessia's successful header.

Vivianne couldn't hide the discontent in her eyes as she sat with a subtle shake of her head. Her partner, sitting beside her, noticed and Beth patted her thigh, offering silent support as they continued to watch their team scramble for a late equalizer.

As the final whistle blew, the disappointment within the team was high. Y/N did her usual post-match routine, and congratulated all the West Ham players on their win, while giving and receiving solace from her own teammates.

The teen found Kyra again, someone who she had found a friendship in over the months the Australian had joined the Gunners.

''You alright?'' The midfielder asked her, a dejected tone in her voice.

Y/N nodded. ''Yeah, you?''

''Not too great, but there are worse things in life.'' Kyra responded, trying to put the loss in perspective.

''True,'' the striker agreed, ''I can't believe he keeps putting us in these positions.''

Kyra nodded. ''You think he would learn after Tottenham.'' She sighed.

''Apparently, we're not good enough to start, but when he needs us to unfuck everything that happened, then he knows who we are.'' Y/N said, her frustration evident. The unfair treatment of some players during the season lingered in the air, leaving a bitter taste after the defeat.

As the youngsters continued their conversation on their way to the locker room, Vivianne and Beth, unintentionally overhearing their discussion, exchanged puzzled glances.

''Did you hear that? 'Unfuck everything'?'' Beth repeated her housemate's words to her partner.

Vivianne's brow furrowed as she processed what was said. ''Yeah,'' the Dutchwoman breathed out, ''not very nice.'' A hint of sadness lingered in her voice. It stung that their efforts were being discussed in such terms, especially by the young girl they were living with.

They didn't say much else to one another as they strolled through the corridor.

The atmosphere in the locker room was subdued, void of any banter and entertaining chats. Most of the players were already there as the couple walked in.

Beth took a glimpse at Y/N and Kyra who still seemed in a discussion with one another, although they were whispering now.

''Girls, we're a lot better than this.'' Kim broke the ice, a neutral expression on her face.

Everyone nodded at the captain, the collective disappointment from the match was visible. ''Well, it's done, we can't change anything about it. So, everyone just do a reset, try to get some sleep or distract yourselves on the bus, and I expect everyone with fresh minds and legs at training.''

The team nodded and weakly applauded Kim's small speech.

As the team began to disperse, Y/N caught Beth's eye, offering a faint smile in greeting. However, the winger's response was noticeably strained, her usually warm demeanor replaced by a subtle tension.

"Everything okay?" The younger one ventured, her concern evident.

Beth's smile faltered slightly, her gaze flickering away before returning to meet Y/N's. "Yeah, everything's fine." She replied, though her words sounded hollow even to her own ears.

The striker's brow furrowed further, a flicker of uncertainty clouding her features. "Are you sure?" She pressed gently, not used to this awkwardness from her teammate.

"I... yeah, I'm sure." She retorted, her voice tinged with irritation.

"Okay..." Y/N trailed off, unsure of how to proceed. Sensing the dismissiveness between them, she offered a hesitant smile before turning back to where she had been talking with Lia.

As her housemate walked away, Beth's expression hardened, a pang of guilt gnawing at her conscience. She knew she shouldn't act like this towards her, but her words had really struck a nerve for some reason and it was hard to pretend it didn't.

The drive home on the bus wasn't that different, though the atmosphere was more subdued due to the loss. Y/N and Kyra were seated next to each other, Katie and Caitlin sitting on the other side of them.

''You alright, Y/N?'' Caitlin asked, noticing the youngster's quietness.

Y/N looked up, glancing away from her nails to the older Australian player. She hesitated answering, not knowing if it was appropriate to say anything about her interaction with Beth.

She sat up straight and motioned for the three of them to huddle together over the small table. They got her message and did just that.

''Did anything happen on the bench or something? Cause I had this weird exchange with Meado, and it's just stuck in my head.'' She explained, her voice hushed.

They all frowned at her words. ''No, she was just frustrated about the game, but so was everyone else.'' Caitlin responded.

''What happened?'' Katie chimed in, curious to know about this exchange.

''I don't know. She was looking at me in the locker room, and I smiled at her, but she, I don't know, just looked weird at me. I asked her if she was alright, but she was kinda distant with me? She responded a little irritated so I left her alone, but it was weird.'' Y/N gave a small summary of the interaction.

"That is strange." Kyra mused, breaking the silence that had settled over their huddle.

They nodded at her words, agreeing with the young Australian.

''I didn't notice anything.'' Caitlin said with a pout, feeling sorry she couldn't help her younger teammate out. ''Me neither, kiddo.'' Katie added, a similar expression on her face.

Y/N smiled sadly, disappointed she wasn't any wiser on Beth. Katie rubbed her arm once she noticed her dejected expression. ''Hey, I wouldn't worry about it. It's a tough loss.''

The youngster nodded at the Irishwoman's words. ''Yeah, you're right.''

Katie was not right.

As soon as she got in the car with the beloved couple it was clear that something had gone down for them to act in such a sour mood. Vivianne's knuckles were white against the steering wheel, while Beth stared out of the window, her expression unreadable.

Sensing the palpable tension, Y/N shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The youngster wanted to break the silence, but the words wouldn't come out. It felt like they were stuck in her throat.

The drive home felt like forever. Every minute made the atmosphere worse. Y/N tried to catch Vivianne or Beth's eye, hoping for some sign that things would get better, but there was nothing.

Car rides after losses were never filled with much conversation, but it had never been like this.

A wave of relief went through her as the car was parked in front of their apartment complex, longing for the comfort of her room where she could hide from whatever the situation was.

Y/N couldn't even come up with a guess on what had transpired. Did they have a fight? Did she do something? Did someone else do something?

She had absolutely no clue.

However, the tension seemed to follow them into their shared home. The silence had become even more deafening with each step they took.

Beth disappeared into her room without a word, while Vivianne headed straight for the kitchen, her movements stiff and mechanical. Y/N stood in the hallway, feeling like an outsider in her own home.

Their behaviors made her feel anxious, feeling that knot inside her stomach. What had happened during the game? What had caused them to retreat into themselves like this?

Unable to handle any of it longer, Y/N tentatively approached the Dutchwoman in the kitchen. "Um, Viv?" She began, her voice small.

Vivianne glanced up, her expression guarded. "Yeah?” She replied, accent heavy.

The younger girl hesitated, unsure of how to broach the subject. "I, uh, did, uh, something happen at the game?" She stammered, her words stumbling over each other in her haste to get everything out.

The striker's eyebrows furrowed. "What are you talking about?” She asked, her face neutral.

Her response only added to the youngest one's confusion. It seemed as though they were both dancing around a subject neither wanted to address.

"I-I just... noticed things were a bit off between everyone after the match," Y/N explained, her voice barely above a whisper, "and, well, the car ride home was... a bit weird, you know.”

Vivianne's expression softened slightly, though her guard remained up. ''Don't worry about it. Just… frustration from the game.''

But Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it than just frustration. She wanted to press further, but the fear of causing further conflict held her back.

Instead, she offered a hesitant nod. ''Okay, good.'' She murmured to the floor, retreating back to her room with a heavy heart.

The Arsenal homegrown player pulled her phone out of her pocket, searching up Kyra's contact. It only took a few rings for the Australian to pick up, she was probably already on her phone as she was called.

''Hey.'' Her accent momentarily bringing a smile to Y/N's face.

''Hey, you're home?''

''Yeah, just arrived. What's up?''

There was a brief pause before Y/N continued. ''Things have gotten a bit weirder since, uh, on the bus.''

''Shit. What happened?'' She asked, her voice filled with genuine worry.

''It's just... the tension at home is almost suffocating," she explained, ''it was completely silent the entire time we were driving home, and when we got home, Beth immediately went to her room. I tried to ask Viv about, but she told me it was just frustrations, but it clearly is not just that.''

There was a moment of silence as Kyra processed Y/N's words. "That doesn't sound good," she finally replied, ''you really have no idea what might have happened? Maybe they had a fight or something?''

Y/N shook her head, even though her teammate couldn't see it. "No, that's the thing. I'm completely lost." She admitted, frustration lacing her words.

''Same. I wish I knew what to say to help.'' Kyra said softly.

''It's alright, Ky. Thanks for letting me ramble.'' Y/N chuckled, appreciating the opportunity to unload her worries onto her friend.

''It's fine, honestly. It must not be fun to be in this situation,'' the Matilda replied, feeling for her friend, ''if anything else happens you can always let me know, okay? I'm gonna have some dinner now.''

Y/N smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Ky. I really appreciate it.”

''Anytime. Take care, I'll see you at training.''

''You too. Bye, bye.'' They bid each other goodbye before hanging up the phone.

Y/N prepared to leave her room again, wanting to check if Vivianne had started dinner yet or not.

Just as she stepped into the hallway, she nearly collided with Beth, who was coming out of her room with a tight-lipped expression. The sudden encounter caught them both off guard.

''Shit, sorry.'' The younger one apologized first, giving her housemate an awkward glance.

''It's alright,'' Beth brushed off, ''uh, were you on the phone just now?" She asked, her brow furrowing slightly.

Y/N nodded. ''Uh, yeah, with Kyra.''

Beth's expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her features. "Oh, Kyra." She murmured, her voice tight.

The younger girl simply stared at the winger, not knowing what to say to her words. "Is everything okay?" Y/N ventured, her voice hesitant as she searched Beth's face for any sign of what might be bothering her.

Beth's lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she seemed lost in thought. When she finally spoke, her words were tinged with a hint of irritation. ''Everything's alright.''

Y/N offered a small, uneasy smile and nodded. "Oh, okay." She said, though her words felt hollow even to her own ears.

With a nod of acknowledgment, Beth turned to walk away. As she watched Beth disappear around the corner, she wondered if it had been something she had done. However, she couldn't recall saying or doing anything that day that would have provoked this kind of demeanor from the couple.

The young striker walked into the living room, noticing Vivianne bustling about in the kitchen. But what caught Y/N's attention was the hushed whispers exchanged between the couple, Beth and Vivianne not being subtle about their gossiping.

A sense of discomfort washed over the youngster as she hesitated in the doorway, unsure whether to interrupt or retreat unnoticed. But before she could make a decision, the Dutchwoman glanced up and caught her eye, her expression inscrutable.

''Hey, dinner is almost ready. Just some leftover pasta from yesterday.'' She informed Y/N, her tone somewhat forced as she attempted to maintain a facade of normalcy.

Y/N forced a smile. ''Nice, thanks, Viv.'' She answered, trying to ignore the awkwardness that hung in the air.

She retreated to the couch, feeling as if she wasn't welcome in the small space. Something was off, and she couldn't help but feel like she was on the outside looking in.

She scrolled on her phone for a few minutes before Vivianne called her to the table as the food was ready. As they gathered around the dinner table, the atmosphere remained strained, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

Vivianne served up the leftover pasta, her movements brisk as she avoided making eye contact with anyone. Beth sat across from Y/N, her expression unreadable as she picked at her food.

Y/N tried to focus on her food, but the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach made it difficult to swallow.

For a few moments, the only sound was the clinking of forks against plates, the silence punctuated only by the occasional awkward cough or clearing of throat.

Finally, unable to bear the tension any longer, Y/N opened her mouth. "So, um, what did you guys think about the match?'' She asked the pair, her voice coming out more high than she had intended.

As if on cue, Vivianne and Beth glanced up from their plates at the same time.

''It was tough, but it shouldn't have been tough. We lacked a clear tactic.'' The experienced striker answered, filling up the silence.

Y/N nodded, relieved at least one of them responded to her attempt at conversation. She took a peek at Beth, who did not seem amused in the slightest to talk about the surprising defeat earlier that day.

''It was just another match of us fucking everything up, and you kids having to unfuck it all.'' Beth said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

The youngest's eyes widened slightly at the cutting remark, not expecting those words to come out of the Brit's mouth.

Vivianne shifted uncomfortably in her seat, casting a quick glance at Y/N before fixing her gaze on her partner. "Beth, that's enough.'' Her voice was stern, warning Beth that this was not the way to go about this.

But Beth ignored her girlfriend, her eyes fixed on Y/N with an intensity that made her squirm. ''No, she needs to learn to not talk about teammates that way, especially the ones that have just gotten back from serious injuries, and need time to reintegrate into the group.''

Y/N felt a flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck, she cast a desperate look at Vivianne, silently pleading for her to intervene and diffuse the situation before it escalated any further.

''Beth, I wasn't-''

''You weren't what? You weren't talking shit to Kyra about us right after the match? You weren't talking shit about us to Kyra on the phone just now?'' The oldest continued in an accusing tone.

Vivianne let out a sigh, her frustration evident as she attempted to defuse the situation. ''Beth.'' She said firmly, her gaze shifting between the two other people at the table.

''I wasn't talking shit about you guys. I would never do that.'' Y/N managed to let out, offended at the mere idea of her not appreciating the two women who'd let her move in with them a 1,5 years ago.

''Y/N, we heard you. On the pitch after the match, with Kyra.'' Beth responded bluntly.

Y/N swallowed hard, slightly ashamed of being caught. ''We were just... we were just frustrated, okay? That comment wasn't directed at any of you guys, it was more at Jonas, to be fair.''

The couple grew silent at the admission, realizing they had greatly misunderstood the two young girls' conversation. ''About Jonas?'' Vivianne repeated, her voice carrying a note of embarrassment.

The young striker nodded. ''Yeah, me and Kyra have just been a bit upset with our game time, that's all. It felt like a repeat of the Tottenham game.''

Beth and Vivianne exchanged a glance, coming to a silent understanding. ''We're sorry for jumping the gun on that one, darling. We really thought we needed to teach you some manners.'' The Brit nervously apologized with a chuckle.

''It's alright, we probably should've been a bit more discreet.'' Y/N brushed her apology off with a hand gesture.

''No, you two are in your full right to complain.'' Vivianne retorted, agreeing on the playing time matter.

The teenager waited a few moments before elaborating. ''I don't mind sitting on the bench, it's great to get rest, you know? But it almost feels like he doesn't trust me to get the game starting or something. I like to think I did great last season, so this kind of sucks.'' She opened up, not having voiced these thoughts to anyone but Kyra.

''You did amazing last season, you stepped up when we needed someone and the team will never forget that.'' Beth smiled, squeezing the youngster' s hand.

''It seems that Jonas forgot.'' Y/N muttered bitterly, looking down at her empty plate.

The couple silenced themselves at her mumbled words, not knowing what the appropriate response would be to cheer her up about the situation. They were indirectly responsible for the young girl to not get as much game time anymore, so whatever they would tell her, she would most likely not feel much better afterwards.

''Just focus on what you're doing right now. Show up to training, recover well, maximize everything in the minutes you do get. Show him that he should trust you to start, and that you deserve to have that spot in the line-up.'' Vivianne chimed in, her voice soft but resolute.

Y/N nodded at the older woman's words, though her demeanor still seemed dejected. ''Yeah, I'll continue to do that.'' It came out somewhat passive aggressive.

''I know it doesn't fix the situation, but you're my personal star girl, regardless whether you play or not.'' Beth softly smiled at her.

The teen managed to crack a small smile back, appreciating the sentiment. ''Thanks, Beth.''

''You're mine too.'' Vivianne added.

''Hey, that's my compliment for her! Find another one if you want to be cute!'' Beth scolded her partner, dramatically feigning annoyance.

The Dutchwoman frowned. ''Everyone calls her ‘star girl'! You're not original either!'' She pouted back.

Y/N couldn't help but let out a chuckle at the banter between the couple, happily accepting the momentary distraction from her frustrations.

Beth playfully rolled her eyes. ''At least I'm complimenting her!''

''Sorry that I was just giving useful advice, Bethany.'' Vivianne retorted.

''Useful.'' The Brit repeated, her voice heavily tinged with sarcasm.

Vivianne's mouth gaped, pretending to be offended. ''It was useful! That's what I would have wanted to hear at 19 year-old.'' She defended herself.

''19 year-old's want to hear praise, Viv. They want to be called star girls, not receive a lecture.'' Beth quickly replied, with a smirk.

''Y/N, it was useful, right?'' The older striker turned towards the teenager.

''Yeah, Y/N, tell Miss Miedema how useful her advice was.'' Beth chorused her words, grinning from ear-to-ear.

The youngster simply glanced between the two of them, before picking up her empty plate and standing up from her seat. ''I'm taking this as my sign to leave.''

She ignored their pleas with a satisfied grin, making her way to the kitchen to dump her plate, and walking back to her room.

The couple watched her depart, sharing a knowing look, a hint of amusement dancing in their eyes. ''She's gonna call Kyra, isn't she?'' Vivianne chuckled.

''She so is.'' Beth agreed with a laugh.

requests are always welcome!

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal x reader #woso imagine #woso fic #beth mead x reader #vivianne miedema x reader #kyra cooney cross x reader #meadema

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r3starttt · 4 months

Text

Gamer gf! Ellie ♡

M.list

gamer gf! Ellie who’s money goes almost completely to anything that helps to improve her setup. She’ll also somehow buy the most expensive versions of everything and keeps on buying lots of lightning products even though she only uses her leds.

gamer gf! Ellie who stays awake super late just to buy things online (mostly unnecessary shit that only she uses or would only use once)

gamer gf! Ellie who’s of course a streamer and somehow has the most nice fandom ever. But also full of people that writes the most feral things/compliments about her everywhere and adores you sm even though they didn’t even know you in the beginning.

gamer gf! Ellie who’s fans fully her for having you as her girlfriend, reminding her all the time how she’s super loser coded and how you’re the total opposite.

gamer gf! Ellie who got viral not for her gameplay but for doing a review of some random product she bought because she almost revealed her face and also because people kept saying how hot her hands were. There were tons of edits and clips about both, the small piece of face she showed and her hands, and she wouldn’t stop showing you all of them.

gamer gf! Ellie who eventually made a face reveal because somehow people were already recognizing her on public and there were pictures of her all over twitter so there was no point on being “all mysterious” (she never was)

gamer gf! Ellie who plays everything (and sucks most times) but definitely loves Minecraft the most just because she gets to play with you.

gamer gf! Ellie who has a huge world with you where she insists you should do the house and decorating all super pretty while she goes in the caves and does the “hard stuff” (she panics whenever those random sounds appear and always gets killed in the most stupid ways)

gamer gf! Ellie who begs you to do streams with her, playing with her (using her fans as an excuse bcs they genuinely ask for it) or just staying by her side (ofc you have to be there if she’s playing some horror game)

gamer gf! Ellie who’s super loud and screams a lot. Who also loves insulting everyone, specially kids.

gamer gf! Ellie who also adores fortnite and GTA (online’s her favorite ofc) just for the kids that she gets to insult and scare.

gamer gf! Ellie who only uses Instagram to let people know she’ll start streaming and overuses twitter (somehow hasn’t got canceled)

gamer gf! Ellie who reads fics of her and sees all the edits and fanart people do (exposes everyone and can’t hold her laugh if the drawing sucks)

gamer gf! Ellie who’s love language would be dedicate you every win she made (would fail most times but the effort matters more than the result ig)

gamer gf! Ellie who loves shit post duh (fills her ig stories with an exaggerated amount of it)

gamer gf! Ellie who also loves animal crossing and the sims (secretly) and does the most creepy shit

gamer gf! Ellie who also installs everything for free if she can because she refuses to spend that much money in games (she still does but whatever)

gamer gf! Ellie who’s phone never has battery and has the most broken screen ever

gamer gf! Ellie who makes a lot of random quizzes and got a high result on the iq ones while streaming (got really exited even though she’s genuinely smart)

#streamer els ⋆.𓆡 ༘˚｡#gamer Ellie my beloved #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x reader #ellie wiliams #ellie the last of us #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fluff #ellie fluff #ren masterlist ᵎᵎ ִ ۫ ּ ⊹

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ravstars · 29 days

Text

Let’s nap ☆⌒(ゝ。∂)

⌇Wanderer/ Scaramouche x Reader.ᐟ

જ⁀➴Fluff: You and Scara take a nap together! Modern AU

a/n: Omfg I was supposed to post Childe smut yesterday but I overthought it too much and got very nerv to post it so I‘ve decided to let it marinate a little more in my drafts until I don’t feel too embarrassed to post it lmao, forgive me! In the meantime, please enjoy some tooth rotting fluff hehe ^-^ This is super short but I’ll make it up to you guys, promise!!

With the months seeming to pass by in a much faster manner than usual, the sun shining through the big windows blinds you with it’s vigorous rays of sunlight. So warm and comfortable that it seems understandable to everyone to take afternoon naps and laze around, even to your sweet lover.

“Scara…” you hug and wrap your arms around his waist from behind as he seemed busy to be preparing some late noon snacks in the kitchen. It had only been a few months since you and Scara had moved in together, yet the domestic feel of just waking up together, spending the day together, cooking together and sleeping together never seemed to stop making your heart beat in a ridiculously fast rhythm every time. It was heaven on earth, in a way.

You get pulled out of your thoughts soon enough, though, as Scaramouche, who had by now finished preparing your snack, turned around to face you.

“What is it?” He feigns annoyance and crosses his arms over his chest, his brows furrowed lightly.

“Gee, lighten up, will ya’?” Your thumb reaches out to smooth over the crease between his brows, as he bites back a visible smile.

“Here, your damn carrots.” He rolls his eyes and hands you a plate with carefully peeled and cut carrot sticks. You in turn take one from the plate and munch on a carrot

“Let’s nap… I’m so sleepy.” You lay your head on his chest, nuzzling, earning a tut from him

“You seem rather energetic to me.”

“C’mon, please…” You give him your best puppy eyes and hope he can’t resist, which earns you a soft smack on the head

“Ow…” before you can even say something else, though, he pulls you by your hand, now in a much gentler manner, towards the couch you had picked out together.

“No funny business,” he ensures, “you wanted to nap, so we’re gonna nap, alright?” You take what you can get and nod, sitting down on the couch before he pushes you down to lay on your back. Afterwards, he lays down next to you, turning to his side and pulling the blanket on the armrest over you two, especially over you. His voice, now softer, rings in your ears

“Tell me if you need anything else. If you’re cold or—“

“— just… cuddles.” Your eyes are already drawn shut and your body has been captured in slender arms. Your wish is his command, after all, may he admit or not. You respond by nuzzling into the crook of his neck, pushing yourself closer and closer until there’s no space left between you.

It’s not toilsome to get sleepy in his arms, proven by your already fading conscience before you feel a light kiss pressed onto the crown of your head

“I love you, Idiot.”

Indeed he does.

#~𐙚Ravza writes...#genshin impact #wanderer #wanderer fluff #wanderer smut #wanderer x reader #wanderer x you #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #scara smut #scaramouche smut #scara #kunikuzushi x reader #kunikuzushi

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dark-fics-4-you · 4 months

Note

hi queen 🤍 the way i squealed when i saw ur post PLS

ok but umm what if your tire went flat at night and dark!rafe happens to be driving by, kinda crossed after leaving a party super late but he stops and helps you…. but plans to make you pay him back one way or another right there on the side of the road even tho you thought it was just a nice stranger doing a favor…..aldfjidoendkd

dw im seeking out help rn.

it’s okay i need to seek out help for writing this the way i did. This fic alone is putting feminism back 50 years okay sorryyyyy enjoy

Equal Exchange

Warnings: noncon, smut, reader gets assaulted by a stranger, degradation, rough sex, implied drug use, misogyny, slut shaming

“Fuck!” You hissed, slapping your steering wheel in frustration before flicking your hazard lights on.

Of all the times and places for a tire to pop, of course 1AM on a back road was just your luck.

You opened your door, examining your parking job before checking out your tires. Sure enough, the right hand rear tire had a gash in it, and was now considerably less full than the others.

With a groan, you retreated to your trunk, opening it and locating your spare. However, only then did you remember lending your jack and wrench to a friend and you cursed angrily.

How could you change the tire now?

As if on cue, the back of your car lit up as another car approached. You spun around, only to be momentarily blinded by the truck’s headlights, but you could hear the large vehicle slowing to a stop.

You nervously shifted your weight from one leg to the other as you watched the door of the truck open and a tall, blond man exited and walked closer to you.

“Engine trouble?” He calmly asked, blue eyes looking down at you kindly. The scent of weed hit your nose, and although you silently judged the guy for driving while high, you weren’t one to turn down help when it found you.

“No, my tire popped. I have a spare, but I don’t have the tools to fix it,” you sheepishly explained, crossing your arms around your chest when the cool wind made you shiver.

“Lucky I was in the area then.” He said with a friendly grin. “I’ve got a jack and a whole tool kit in my truck. I’m Rafe, by the way. What’s your name?”

“Y/N. Thank you so much for the help Rafe, I really appreciate it!”

You watched as the blond got his kit and jack out, and then observed as he masterfully changed your tire. You didn’t miss the way he glanced over the stickers you had on the window there, a couple band ones and then a few feminist stickers that he stared at for just a little bit longer than you were comfortable with.

However, he was helping you out, and by the time your spare tire was on, you had almost forgotten about the way he looked at your stickers.

“Wow, I can’t thank you enough Rafe, you really saved my skin. I’m glad you were driving around here tonight when you were,” you politely smiled up at him, genuinely grateful for him coming to your aid.

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” His eyes lingered on yours but he made no movements to go back to his truck, instead taking a step towards you.

You backed up nervously, why was he coming closer to you rather than going back to his car? It was well past midnight and maybe your paranoia was getting the better of you, but you suddenly really wanted to leave.

“Well, it’s late so I better get home,” you started to turn away from him, but his hand flew out and clamped down on your wrist.

You whipped around to face him, crying out and wincing at the painful way his fingers were digging into your skin.

“What are you-?”

“You just said I saved your skin, didn’t you?” There was an icy edge in his voice, and Rafe pulled you closer to him, chin ticking as he looked down at you in disapproval. “I mean, if it weren’t for me you’d be stranded all alone out here for god knows how long.”

“I-I know, I said thank you, Rafe, now please just let me go!”

“What if I didn’t want to, hm? Are you going to make me?” He chuckled when your face dropped, enjoying watching the severity of the situation he had placed you in dawn on you.

“I mean, don’t you think you could repay me for sticking my neck out for a dumb bitch like you?” He held you in place with one hand, allowing the other to snake around your throat.

Your eyes widened and you thrashed against him when he clamped down around the tender skin, choking you hard.

With all of your power, you aimed your knee in between his legs, missing his crotch, but still catching him off guard enough to get him to release you.

You screamed as you pulled away from him, hoping that someone else might hear you and come to your rescue.

Stretching your fingers out to reach for the handle of the door, you had almost grabbed it when Rafe’s large arms encircled your waist, tearing you away from the door.

You were no match against his strength and he easily pushed you back before getting behind you and shoving you as he bent you over the hood of your car.

You yelped when your hips painfully dug into the metal in a way you were sure would leave bruises.

His large hands pawed at your clothes, and you hopelessly struggled in his arms. When he ripped your shorts and panties down in one movement, dread gripped your heart. You felt dizzy with fear.

Before you could even register the chill of the night air, Rafe roughly slammed your head against the hood of your car, holding it there and chuckling at your terror before hissing into your ear as he undid his shorts with one hand, “I’ve never understood girls like you. I mean, you have those dumbass girl power stickers all over your car but you can’t even change a tire by yourself. And I bet you learned that little move after mommy signed you up for a self defense course, huh? You can take all the classes in the world, but you never really stood a chance against me, sweetheart. I mean, you are so fucking stupid it’s actually adorable.”

His cruel words brought a burning pink tinge of shame to your cheeks, tears beginning to pool in your eyes.

When you felt the tip of his cock brush against your slit, you tried to move again to get away, but you were pinned down by his rough hold on your skull.

“Uh uh, Y/N,” your name sounded all wrong on his tongue, and the smug overfamiliarity from this stranger who was now assaulting you made your stomach turn in disgust. You froze when he pressed the head against your slit again, this time you were slick enough for him to slowly press the tip past your lips and into your warm cunt.

“You’re gonna stay still if you don’t want to get hurt,” his sick laugh barely reached your ears, as your focus was locked on the building pressure between your legs as Rafe pushed himself into you, painfully stretching you out inch by inch.

You whimpered as he sheathed himself inside you, trembling with adrenaline and fear underneath him. He was big, too big, and you clenched around him when he tilted his hips back before snapping them against your ass.

“Fuck, Y/N, I thought I wasn’t gonna get any tonight after that party turned out to be so lame but shit-” he groaned before slowly starting to push his cock in and out of your heat.

“I guess I got lucky after all,” his gruff voice sent shivers down your spine and your tears only made you feel worse. Each stroke of his length was agonizing.

You could barely adjust to the feel of his thick cock dragging along your walls, it felt like he was going to split you open. The pressure between your legs had you gasping and crying out in a confusing mixture of pain and pleasure.

“God you’re squeezing me so fucking tight,” he groaned. “I knew you’d be worth stopping for.”

Rafe was rutting into you faster now, enjoying the way you fearfully looked up at him through teary eyes as he took advantage of you.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were enjoying this, Y/N.” His taunting voice was punctuated by his sharp thrusts, each one rocking your body. “Why else would you be moaning like such a fucking slut?”

#rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron noncon #rafe cameron smut #equal exchange #dark rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron x reader

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barefoothighlander · 1 year

Text

absolution - prologue

-simon 'ghost' riley x wife!reader

-warnings: canon typical violence, mentions of scars, fluff

-word count: 1.4k

-summary: you're a sniper and reconnaissance specialist in the military, secretly married to Simon, as the knowledge of your relationship would compromise both your posts. One night he comes home from a mission and you tell him that Price wants you on the team for an upcoming 141 mission.

next chapter fic masterlist

a/n: this is the first time I've written any sort of fic so pls bear with me, there will be smut eventually, I haven't mapped everything out so don't worry there will be spice. also, I'm not super advanced when it comes to mw lore, aside from the events that occur in the new mw2, but I really love this character and I hope I do him some justice. I'm gonna make a part two, maybe multiple chapters but I'm not sure so pls let me know if you'd read more. :)

this fic was inspired by 'The Captain' by @/as-is-above-so-below which is really phenomenal, so please read that if you get the chance.

It was late in the night when you heard the door open, usually you were a heavy sleeper, but you could always sense when Simon came home. He had been gone for six months on his last mission, somewhere in south america was all he could say about it, before packing up and taking off to leave you alone in your shared flat once again. A mutual understanding had been made during the beginning of your relationship, both of you were military personnel, and you understood that it came with perks, months off spent together, but it also came with its downsides, being separated for months at a time, never knowing what condition the other was in, and living in a constant state of worry about your partner. When Simon proposed, he promised to always come home to you, to never leave you alone like everyone else did, and you believed him, trusted him, and he never broke his promise. His footsteps were light when he came into the bedroom, still wearing his mask, but donning his less formal jeans and black sweatshirt, you caught him lingering in the doorway as you moved to flick on the light next to the bed, casting a dark shadow behind your husband. As soon as your eyes met he lifted his arms to pull his mask off, no longer the ghost, but now standing as the man you so loved. A faint smile crept up on your face as you awakened fully, happy to see him in one piece after being away for so long. You urged him over to the bed with a nudge of your head and he so happily obliged you, kneeling down beside your frame to plant a kiss on your forehead, then your cheek, and lastly your lips, a deep kiss filled with longing.

“Hello” you smirked and glanced forward through your eyelashes as he pressed his forehead to yours.

“Hi lovie” he responded in almost a whisper.

“What time is it?” “late, go back to sleep, ill be here in a minute” he said, as he brushed his knuckles against your cheek and left your side. You watched him cross the room into the bathroom, and close the door almost fully, you two never closed doors fully when you were home together, a sort of unspoken law that allowed you to never be separated. As you heard the shower turn on you sighed to yourself and fell back against the pillows, turning off the bedside lamp. Minutes passed before you heard the shower turn off, waiting for Simon to emerge from the steam-filled room. Once he did, he quickly crossed to the closet to find suitable clothes to sleep in. Entering wearing a simple pair of sweatpants, rare considering he typically wore nothing to bed as the man was like a personal space heater, constantly burning to the touch. He settles himself next to you under the covers and turned to his side so he could pull you close. Resting his face inches from yours, looking at you like he was trying to memorize your face as if he could ever forget it.

“Did you buy more pillows while I was gone?” he asked whilst fussing with the various adornments you have thrown onto the bed. You smirked to yourself, “Yes, but only ‘cause I was trying to make the bed comfier” “The bed is comfy” he replied matter-of-factly.

“Not when you aren't here,” you said as you snuggled close to him, tucking your head under his chin and settling your arm over his waist to allow it to wander over the expanse of his back, feeling over his scars, old and new, silently cursing yourself that you couldn’t do anything to stop him from getting hurt.

“Knife” Simon breathes out. You respond by simply tilting your head and quirking an eyebrow at him. “ ‘sfrom a knife, this cartel was big into watching people bleed”. A meek oh was all you could manage, as you thought about him hurt in the field, a literal knife in his back as he tried to survive. “I’m alright lovie, nothing I haven’t been through before.” He was always this way when it came to his wounds, paying no attention to them after the fact, simply regarding them as an addition to the collection of marks that littered his body. You hated thinking of him hurt, but in an odd way, you regarded the scars kindly.

“You think they’re ugly?” He asks while resting his lips on the crown of your head. “No,” you respond without much thought. He tilts your head to meet your eyes, urging you to explain. “They’re reminders..” you say while looking into his dark eyes. “They prove how hard you fight to come back to me.. I could never find them ugly”. He gives you a simple hmm in response before he arched his neck down to place a kiss on your lips.

“How was it, while I was away?” Simon liked to start conversations later in the night as it meant less time trying to force his body asleep, thankfully you were still awake, which meant he could talk to you rather than staring blankly at a wall or tossing and turning for hours in the hopes of maybe getting a few hours of peaceful sleep.

“Boring” you respond “Went to work, filled out paperwork, trained some new recruits, and practiced grappling” “So nothing interesting happened” he asked. “Well, one thing” you respond moving yourself to look at him. “Price called me” you state, waiting for any change in his face to dictate whether or not you should continue your sentence, he remained stoic. “He wants me for a mission with the 141,” you say. “No” is all Simon responds.

“You don’t even know what it is yet”

“No, you know what kind of missions we get, you’ve seen the paperwork. I don’t want you in any position that could risk your safety”

“Si, every mission risks my safety this wouldn’t be any different”

“Except I would be there, that makes this dangerous”

“How?”

“I can’t do my job if I’m constantly worrying about you, where you are, how you are. It would compromise me”

“Well, what do I tell Price? He doesn’t know we’re married, I can’t just explain to him that my husband doesn’t want me in the field with him, he’ll need a solid reason, and I don’t have one”

“I’ll tell him” Simon grunts.

“You’ll tell him what? That we’re married? You’ll give up that information just because you don’t want to risk me potentially getting hurt, that's bullshit and you know it” you argue as to begin to sit up in the bed, feeling yourself getting angrier at the idea of your husband not trusting your abilities in the field. “It’s not like I would be in the middle of the action, my position is a sniper and reconnaissance, I’ll sit on some rooftop for hours waiting for all of you to clear the way before I even think about pulling the trigger.”

“And what if something goes wrong, what if one of us is compromised? What then?”

“Then we deal with it! Like we always have, we’re a team Simon, I don’t expect your full support on this but I expect a little trust in my capabilities, I have never stopped you from going on a mission just because I thought it was unsafe, I have always trusted you. Please, do the same for me.” You beg as tears begin to prick your eyes.

He stares at you for what feels like minutes as you will him to talk. “Okay”, he says finally. “You’ll come, but this, us, stays a secret. I can’t have the enemies knowing I have any sort of weakness”

“I’m a weakness,” you ask.

“Yes, you’re a weakness. Because I don’t know what I would do if you ever got hurt. They can use you against me. I won’t let you be a pawn”

You reach your hand up to hold his cheek as you lay a soft kiss on his lips. “Okay” you whisper as you curl yourself into him, finding comfort in his warmth, as his heartbeat slowly lulls you to sleep.

Simon stayed awake, listening to your soft breathing, feeling your chest rise and fall with every breath. Holding on to you like if he even loosened his grip you would fall out. He lay awake thinking of all of the ways he would cuss out his Captain, all the ways he could try to get you taken off the mission, tormenting himself over all the possible outcomes of you joining him in the field, until eventually, his eyelids became too heavy, and he joined you in sleep.

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leclsrc · 1 year

Text

sweet pea ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, dad charles/pregnancy au, fluff!, humor, super slight angst

word count: 4.6k

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?” “Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm.”

Or: you finally reap what you sow after fooling around with your best friend. The reaping in question is a kid.

notes... some nsfw allusions, nothing too bad. if pregnancy isnt ur thing this is all about it so.

auds here... i hated this for a long time so i thought id never post it hahahah but i will now bec i just redid some scenes and its okay in my eyes... also this is a bit overdue. i hope u like it everyone! :) title from this

It’s an hour before the race and you’re absent from your usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, you’re leaned against the wall of the tiny motorhome bathroom, silently digging your toes into your sandals. Charles knocks twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. He beams when he sees you, goes, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

He offers a hand, but you let your eyes shut, refusing to take it. You fail to even make eye contact, holding up the plastic stick that’d been in your clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s an omen, a portent, a cursed thing, casting your best friend into silence.

It’s cold and sterile in the bathroom—a stark contrast to where other families might find out they’re pregnant for the first time. You imagine a lemon yellow room bathed in noon sunlight and a happy balding doctor going “It’s positive, mama!” You picture a white family SUV in the parking lot, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness.

Instead, you get: “Do you have COVI—oh.”

“Yeah.” You say, pursing your lips. You swallow. “Oh.”

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?”

“Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm,” you counter, lifting yourself from the wall and bumping past Charles on your way out and into his room. He follows, brows knitted together, muttering something French under his breath.

“By that logic, that’d mean you’re an alien now, too. See, your kinks have finally met their match.”

You turn, effectively stopping him in his tracks. He almost collides with you, his eyes trained determinedly on the positive pregnancy test in his hand. You cross your arms and narrow your eyes, annoyed. “Seriously. Jokes? Right now?”

“I mean—”

“Whatever,” you say, waving him off. “Just go and drive. We can talk about this later.”

“I’ll dedicate the race to the little alien.” He giggles, mimicking a champagne spray, waving the invisible bottle back and forth toward your still-not-showing stomach. His accent switches to a measly English one when he goes, “Oh my Gawd! And there goes the alien Leclerc! Wins in first! From pole!”

“Get out. Or so help me God this baby is growing up without you.”

He ends up winning. (“Should I dedicate every race to the ali—” “Stop calling it that.”)

—

This is nothing but a final culmination of your very layered relationship with Charles. For years, you two had comfortably gone by the “best friends” label, with a hidden “with benefits” clause. You’d grown up together, separated only when you went to university in New York. Your re-arrival in Monaco, coupled with the both of you having grown older and more independent, marked the start of the sex.

It works like clockwork. To relieve stress, to celebrate, to cure boredom. At some point, both of you just inwardly admitted there was a certain weakness to it. A glass of wine, a stick of tobacco, and you’d give in to the temptation easily. Then, in the morning—sometimes in Monaco, other times in foreign countries where your body feels like it’s still three a.m.—you come to a mutual agreement to never do it again.

But you always do, laughing in between kisses, mumbling whispered nothings between the sheets (or in the bathtub, or against the wall, or—that one time—on the balcony.) And now there’s proof of it. Well, barely any yet, you realize, staring at yourself in the mirror of Charles’ hotel room. You turn and flop yourself onto the bed, but face-up. You inch yourself toward the headboard and lean against it in a half-seated position.

“I can’t believe I’m…” You sigh. Finally, the jokes fizzle. This is the real talk.

Charles burrows himself next to you, shirtless and in a stupid pair of boxers with red hearts all over them. You’d gotten them as a Valentine’s Day gag two years ago, but now you’re thinking of the future, of telling this kid their dad has a pair of heart-decorated boxers. Momentarily, and temptingly so, you weigh the options of telling Charles you were joking and running away before sunup.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks. He’d learned the phrase from some obscure American rom-com, if you recall correctly. He uses it constantly, and for many years, improperly.

“I’ll give you them for free,” you say, breathless with worry. “We’re having a kid.”

A hand places itself on your knee. You almost jerk away, but you relax. “What do you want to do?”

“With?” You ask, emptily. There’s so much to do. “The baby?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, but also us.”

“We’re not dating,” you say, a bit sharper than intended.

“We could.” He pauses. “For its sake.” He pokes your abdomen.

“I don’t—” You inhale, trying to reorganize all your thoughts. “I don’t want people thinking we’re suddenly dating and engaged and happy just because I’m about to pop a Charles Jr. out. I mean, what are you going to do with your racing? With a kid on the way, how’s travel going to work? My job? My masters?”

“I think… I think you and I are lucky enough,” he says slowly, “to be able to weigh all these options without losing too much time or resources. I will support you no matter what, and you know that. And really, who cares if people think we ‘date’ because of the baby? You and I have been ‘dating’ since we were eleven.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until your laugh is mixed with a sob. You don’t know if you’re sad, pissed, overwhelmed, loved—or all four. “Okay? So… let’s both think about it. More you than me. And tomorrow, we can weigh this all over again. Let’s sleep on it. Remember? La nuit—”

“—porte conseil,” you finish tearily. “Okay.”

—

It’s two weeks later. Charles gets stuck in the paddock doing something or other for Sunday, so you’re left to your own devices in the parking lot. Five minutes of waiting turns to fifteen, then a half hour. That’s the catalyst for your mid-evening freakout—suddenly you’re thinking about all the times you and this weird thing inside you might be alone, left for work, by an athlete dad.

“Are you okay?” A voice asks when you’re heaving out another dry, panic-induced sigh. You turn, finding it familiar, and see Seb behind you. He may have been Charles’ teammate, but he’s a friend to you, too, and you find he’s always the most grounded in heated discussions.

“Seb,” you croak, caught off guard. “I’m fine.” Your voice breaks on the ine, and suddenly fat tears roll quietly down your face.

You tell him eventually, when he asks you again if you’re okay, making him the second person to know; still, the telling doesn’t get easier. You didn’t even tell Charles, you think. You merely shoved a Clearblue stick in his face and waited for the goofy reaction that would undoubtedly meet your ears.

“A baby,” he says softly. Happily. “Congratulations. This is a big step… but you don’t sound excited.”

“I mean,” you say in between waves of tears, “I am? I am. But—it happened so fast—we’re not even officially together—and Charles is—”

“Do I need to talk some sense into Charles?” Seb asks suddenly, concerned.

“No. He’s—he’s being great. Really supportive.” You wipe the tears and fresh ones come. “He’s happy. You know him. I think I’m just overwhelmed. I mean I’m the one who’s toting this baby around.”

“Take it one step at a time,” he muses. “See a doctor, work out non-race schedules with Mattia, get everything in order. If I know you, this baby will be in the best hands. And that’s not even counting Charles.” He pulls you in for a hug that lasts ages, one that says thank you and I love you better than words. You inhale, find the tears have stopped. You realize what comes after this—it’s telling everyone else. Lily, your best friend. Carlos. Charles’ family. Your family. The fans, oh God you’d forgotten about the fans. The social media announcements.

Charles strolls into the parking lot—runs, more like, with apologies spouting out of him, just two minutes after Seb leaves. He presses a delicate, apologetic kiss to your forehead, a hand on your stomach. “Hey,” he says. Then, to your abdomen, covered by a sweatshirt, “Hey there, alien.” You wonder what this will be like in two months. In seven. In nine.

—

You tell your families over lunch on a lucky off day. There is little surprise—just tears from both your moms and Arthur teasingly asking you to recount the details of conception. You’re in a sundress serving crostini when Pascale pulls you aside to the back of the yard.

She presses a kiss to your cheek, one of conviction and faith. “I always knew,” she says. “You’re going to be a wonderful mom.”

—

The drivers all find out one way or another, news trickling through the grapevine like honey. You share it to Lily first, and of course she tells Alex. You tell Lewis, too, over spring rolls that he claims will power up the baby when it’s born. Charles tells Pierre, who tells Yuki, and Carlos, who tells Lando. You tell Mick, who hugs you and says, “Oh my god! I already knew, Seb told me. I kept wanting to say congratulations.”

It’s a matter of two weeks before everybody knows. You know because you’ve barely taken a step into the dimly lit Ferrari motorhome when you halt and bolt back outside, harboring yourself a few metres away at a safe distance. Charles, who had been walking beside you, arm looped around your waist, turns, puzzled.

“What’s going on?” He asks.

“No. Nuh-uh. It smells in there.”

He sniffs the darkness, fumbles for the light switch. “No it doesn’t.”

“It smells like”—you grit your teeth, trying to identify the stench—“cheese. And champagne.”

“Why would it smell like che—”

He bangs the light open and illuminates a surprise party. The entire grid starts cheering, having unheard the entire conversation. There’s a huge banner that says CONGRATULATIONS PARENTS, and on a makeshift table in the centre, an assortment of cake slices, cheese, and flutes of champagne. Charles laughs with delight at the surprise, and then turns to find you squatting on the ground, trying to quell your stomach.

“Give me five,” you say, waving him off.

He returns after ten to find you still trying to calm the waves of nausea. You hear his footsteps and heave yourself up, standing to face him. “I asked Esteban and Max to evacuate the place of cheese and champagne. It’s just coffee and cake now. I even got three fans going.”

“Desolée,” you say, miserable. He wraps two big arms around you, nestling his chin atop your head. “I feel like a high-maintenance monster.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re not the monster. The alien is.”

“I told you to stop calling it that,” you say, shutting your eyes and leaning into his touch. “Before it catches on.”

“Okay. E.T.? Spock? Open to suggestions.” Hand in yours, he walks you gently to the party, arising loud cheers again. In between sips of hot water, he says, “How about Chewy?”

—

The sense of smell proves to be useful in endeavours elsewhere.

“You never clean your car,” you say, lying horizontal on the leather seat and picking bits of dirt off. “I can smell month old Cheetos.”

Charles watches you obsessively nitpick at the detailing. “Last time you looked like this, I gave you a baby.”

“One more word,” you warn sharply.

“But seriously, be careful. The alien might get stressed.”

You brace yourself for the stupid words that will indubitably follow.

“Don’t worry. If it falls out I’ll plop it in a race car and it’ll be the next Hamilton. Imagine how light it’ll be.”

There it is.

—

Your first trip to the doctor’s is interesting. Charles insists on wearing a wig because he’s so easily recognized in Monaco, so now you look like you’re conceiving a baby with Weird Al Yankovic.

The doctor wheels in a cart with a monitor and all the necessary equipment, and even if it suddenly feels all too real, Charles squeezes your hand and you’re calm again. “I’m back,” she says, sliding into a wheely chair beside you and gelling your stomach.

“Hi, Back,” Charles responds in a crude, twangy Texan accent. The dad humor starts early, you suppose.

You grit your teeth to try and excuse his embarrassing behavior, but suddenly the monitor clicks open and there it is. It looks like the ones in movies, print-outs from friends, but at the same time it doesn’t. It looks different. Special. Yours. You zero in on it, breathless. That’s yours. The doctor says a couple minor things—nothing worrisome—and when you turn to relay it to Charles in case he’d zoned out, you find his face splotchy.

“Are you crying?”

“That’s ours,” he says, dipping down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“It’s mine and Charles’, not mine and Bob Ross’,” you say, but you pull him closer anyway.

You order two printouts. The week next, you discover that Charles snuck back in to order an extra eight and has mailed them out to friends and drivers. You find out because Kylian Mbappe messages you “Due in April? Make me godfather!” on Instagram.

—

Gradually, you fall into a pattern of being queasy constantly. You get nitpicky with meals, and not irrationally—Charles had fed you a spicy hotdog and you’d gone half a bite before hurling it, and your breakfast, into the nearest toilet. You find solace in your cravings—all of which happen to be the same everyday.

Chinese takeout from just about any restaurant ends up being your best friend. You somehow can’t stomach anything but that specific cuisine, much to your own surprise. You find new ways to combine them with each other. Rice paper wrappers with chow mein. Hotpot with fried rice. If you’re not eating Chinese, you reduce your appetite to crackers or hot tea to avoid becoming too nauseated.

It’s poetic almost, the way he sets out the food carefully, in the order you like them. He always presses a kiss to your forehead after.

Around this time, you develop a crazy sex drive, waking Charles up at numerous points of the night, begging into his neck for something, anything. You last an hour before you’re asking again. This proves especially difficult before races, where Charles gives in a bit too easily and Carlos has to knock on the door, going “You have to finish somewhere else too, Charles!”

—

You insist Charles hold off on telling the fans, for a few months. It goes okay until your outfits on the paddock evolve into the variety of “Charles’ hoodies” to hide the increasingly evident bloat of pregnancy, and nosy fans start speculating all over Twitter. That’s when he sits you down and gently tells you he thinks it’s time you both announce it.

You’re sitting beside him in his hotel room, after two calls with his bosses, trying to formulate the proper announcement. You download PicsArt to make it pretty and clean and formatted—because the poor guy was about to post a Notes app screenshot—and then it’s on the Internet.

“She’s truly MOTHER,” one fan comments. Despite yourself, you press the heart icon beside it. It’s your bit of comfort when you catch sight of the nastier comments under the post.

—

You’re ironically gifted an ancient 80s aerobic exercise DVD for mums by Lily and Alex. You’re sure it’s older than you. Charles, though, in his valiant effort to connect with you and Chewy, does the routine everyday. You wake up to the electronic synthpop and Charles doing booty squats in the living room.

The permed instructor smiles through the scratchy 80s quality and goes, “You are rocking it, momma!”

“You hear that?!” Charles pants. “I am rocking it!”

—

Your first parenting fight ends up being one over the baby’s name. Yeah. Of all things. You don’t know why you’re so worked up about it, considering you don’t even know the gender of the baby yet. You arrive in Monaco to mark the first of five off days and Charles makes some random, offhand joke about naming the baby Daryl, and you suddenly start rambling on and on about how it’s too ugly, even if you’d never thought about names before now.

“It’s not going to be Daryl. It won’t be Daryl,” Charles says, hands on your shoulders. You heave another sob. “Please stop crying. You never cry. I’m a bit freaked out.”

“It’s—just—that,” you hiccup, “I—don’t—want to name a—our—baby—Daryl.”

“Yeah, yep,” he says, soothingly. “I got you. It’s not going to be Daryl. Never. We don’t need to decide anything. You gonna calm down for me?”

“I can’t—stop—crying,” you snivel desperately, burying your face in your hands.

He presses a firm kiss to the corner of your quivering lips, and you tug him in for a real one. You calm down when you pull away, exhaling. You gaze at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Blame the alien,” you sniff.

He kisses your stomach, which shows signs of pregnancy more and more as the days pass. “Hear that?” He whispers into the skin. “She’s blaming you, Chewy.”

—

Your next trip to the doctor’s is with your appointed private physician, Dr. Davies. Two minutes before the doctor walks in, you make a serious and compelling order for Charles to remove the Weird Al wig, which he does—but stores in your bag, “just in case.” It’s also his opporunity to play teacher’s pet and showcase how involved he is in your pregnancy, which, judging by the amount of weird cultish pregnancy books he’s burned through, is very much so.

“It’s gonna be a boy,” you declare while you’re being gelled up. You’re past the point of denial and bloat, now showing way too obviously. “Mom’s intuition.”

“Well, all the books say it’s a girl,” he says proudly.

“Yeah, they also say drinking lemon juice while trying to conceive gives you a girl. I’m sure scientific accuracy was their greatest objective.”

“Girl.”

“Boy,” you say dismissively.

“Girl.”

“Boy.”

“Girl.” It’s not Charles this time, it’s the physician, with a small smile on his face.

You squeeze Charles’ hand so hard you’re half sure it’s chipped off and fallen to the tiled floor. You’re having a girl. Normally Charles would turn and make some petty statement about he’d been right, but—you’re having a girl. A pretty baby girl. You almost can’t believe it. He totally can’t, pressing kisses to your hair and face.

You let him buy pink paint later that day.

—

You predict it, but it comes—fights and squabbles over nothing at all.

First it’s about work, then housing, then his job, then the danger of his job. It’s petty, and usually you storm off in an emotional cloud of irrationality, brought down after a talk, a play-by-play, compromise, reassurance. It’s hard when you’re carrying around a human being, you want to say. Try being in my shoes.

“Can we talk?” Charles says, in the thick of another fight. You’re on the balcony of your flat, mulling over nothing at all. Your stomach is heavy, you’re always exhausted, you never feel pretty anymore even if Charles is always unfailing at telling you you are.

“Okay,” you murmur, turning. You’ve already developed a habit of placing your hands on your bump always.

He inhales. “I’m scared.”

This is a first. And you realize—in these six months of being pregnant, Charles has been your rock, but has never expressed much fear until now. He’s always been good. Great. Supportive. “Of what?”

“Of—becoming a dad.” He pauses, as if to weigh his words. “I don’t have… a blueprint anymore.”

It dawns on you what he’s talking about. You accept the hug when it comes, holding the nape of his neck. He isn’t crying, but is close to it. His voice is shaky when he continues, whispers against your ear. “What if I don’t know what to do?”

“Baby,” you say, weakly. You push him gently so he’s looking into your eyes. “If the way you’ve taken care of me the past how many months is any indication of how you’ll treat this alien, I know she’s in good hands. You’ve got so much of your dad in you. You’re caring, sweet, you even got a headstart on the dad jokes.” He laughs. “I want this. And the only reason I ever did was because I knew you’d be with me, being an amazing dad, and an even better…”

“Boyfriend,” he says. His eyes hold hesitance—but you quell it with a nod.

“Boyfriend,” you echo. “For now.”

—

The nursery looks like a nursery in February. It was a storage room in Charles’ flat that had really, at some point, become yours, too. Full of boxes and old suits and memories, it’d taken weeks to properly store everything and make way for the furniture. Charles, of course, insists on painting it himself, with the shade of pink he purchased especially for the room.

He hits his head twice and touches the wet paint. There’s a handprint embossed above the bassinet. (Yours is next to it, at his insistence.)

—

You’re a yoga ball by mid-March, having trouble sleeping and dealing with everything being swollen. Charles helps you through it all, turning the heating up and down every time you get even a bit scratchy with the temperature in the flat or motorhome. Your cravings also morph again at this point, into rigatoni that Charles cooked sometime over winter; he requests Ferrari add an induction stove to every race weekend motorhome that you can make it to so he can cook it at your beck and call.

The season begins. Every race is dedicated to Chewy, and every race is won.

—

It’s early morning in late March when Dr. Davies sends you an email with a one-liner that sounds firm enough to set you and Charles in place after two races that involve you being flown around.

Absolutely NO more air and long car travel for Mommy.

“Can we manage?” You mope, rereading the email, genuinely distressed as you watch your boyfriend pack for Australia. It’s a long haul flight, with only one stopover in Zurich, and you’re filled with anxiety. There isn’t a compromise—until you’re popping the baby out, Charles needs to try and score the title.

“You know I can always drop out of races,” he says softly. “That’s what reserve drivers are for.”

“It’s not the same,” you argue. “I’m just worried.”

“You’re not due ’til the 12th,” he assures you. “I’ll be back then, even if it means dropping a race.”

He leans down and kisses you softly, rubbing your shoulders and ankles. “I’ll be back before you know it. Get some sleep first, okay?” He repeats the sentiment to your stomach, adding a kiss and a bye bye Chewy. You drift off to a sorrowful sleep when he departs, a slow ache in your lower back blooming that feels just like many of the other slow aches lately.

You’re up after a half hour with discomfort. You suppose something is just up with your sleep position, and readjust yourself. The discomfort sharpens, then melts. You sigh with relief, a long whistley exhale, and sleep again.

Bliss lasts about three hours, then you’re up again, groaning. You’re not due for a prenatal yoga class until four in the afternoon, and your body isn’t used to being awake. Hell, it’s not used to being this pained. You shift once, twice, trying to sleep with fruitless and exhausting attempts. It takes a while, but in between shifting positions and trying to make yourself yawn, it registers.

“Chewy.” You groan, cupping your gigantic bump. “Seriously?”

—

The first person you call is Charles, naturally. He should be in Zurich, but maybe signal is spotty or something, because none of your texts or calls ping. So you move down the list to the person you know will be in Monaco and not off racing, like everybody you know is—and it just so happens to be Dr. Davies.

You always thought Charles would be nowhere but beside you when you went into labor. But you’re here clutching the straps of your overnight bag being driven to the hospital, exhale, inhale, try Charles, try Carlos. Exhale, inhale. Try Charles. Try Carlos. Your contractions don’t quell; they only grow in intensity and you wince the whole ride through.

“Looks like it’s going to be a fast labor,” Dr. Davies says when he’s done checking you in and making sure everything is in order. You nod, breathless and flushed. You’ve called your mum here and she’s on the way with Charles’ but—Charles is the issue.

“I will weld myself shut if it means I’m giving birth without the dad,” you beg. “Without Charles.”

Charles, who picks up after forty-five minutes of radio silence. He’s in the jet. Give him an hour. “I will pilot this plane myself if I have to. Don’t do anything—don’t make any decisions without me.”

“Too fucking late.” You say, wheezy with labor. “I’m putting N/A on the certificate.”

“You carry Chewy around for nine months and I don’t get to meet her first?” He asks, in a last-ditch effort to cheer you up. You tear up, splotchy and red all over.

“We can’t call her Chewy. We never discussed names. And oh God it can’t be Daryl,” you say, whimpers turning into half-sobs of overwhelm and yearning. You’re scared. You need Charles, who’s been with you for every week, every milestone, every kick, every rigatoni craving. But he’s not here. You have Dr. Davies, and in five minutes you’ll have your mum and Pascale, but they are not Charles. You breathe heavy into the phone.

“I love you,” you say finally. “Please, I love you.”

“I love you more,” he says gently. “I love you. I’ll be there, okay? Just—just wait for me.”

—

Lil 3s ago

does it hurt?

i know it does but i’m trying to make u feel better

love from houston. i will call you ASAP.

You 1s ago

yeah it hurts so bad

apparently they don’t do epidurals

fuck europe

—

In between quiet periods and intense ones, you finally reach your peak. A nurse takes one glance and nods and your bed is disengaged and wheeling around again. Pascale squeezes your left hand, your mum the other. “Wait!” You pant, voice spent, totally tired, flustered.

The nurses exchange a look. “Ma’am—”

“No, you don’t understand. The dad, my—the dad—he’s out—and I don’t.” You pause, the onset of a cry coming on. Pascale takes the lead, firm, asking for a few more moments of patience.

“I can’t do this,” you say hopelessly, throwing your flushed head back. “No. Not without Charles.”

“I’m here,” Charles says, bounding through the door. He’s in official Ferrari gear and his hair is disheveled and he's clearly been crying. Had Chewy not been wedging her way out, you would’ve kissed him right then. You feel nothing but love.

“You’re a sneaky fucker,” you say instead, and the rest is a blur.

—

It’s an hour before the race and Charles is absent from his usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, he’s leaned against the wall of the motorhome, silently digging his toes into his shoes. You knock twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. You beam when you see him. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

His two girls.

Julia stretches out a chubby hand, but he smiles teasingly, refusing to take it. He holds eye contact, holding up the ring that’d been in his clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s a symbol, a sign, a blessed thing, casting his girlfriend into silence.

It’s a bit dark—a stark contrast to where other guys might propose for the first time. He imagines a Caribbean beach bathed in sunset. He pictures a Jeep in the sand, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness. He figures if you don’t like this, he’ll pay for that.

Instead, he gets: “You’re a doofus—oh.”

“Yeah.” He says, pursing his lips. He swallows, gives you the biggest smile of his life. “Oh.”

It’s perfect.

#f1 #leclsrc1000 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader

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hyunniesgirl · 7 months

Note

oooh Slytherin!hyunjin gives amortentia to reader after she rejects him so many timesss and after the effect gone she found out and mad oooh angst angst idk happy ending hahahahhahahaa (sorry for my bad grammar)

So this ask got me super excited!!! I love writing fantasy so count me in, babes! Please ignore any mistakes since I stopped reading Harry Potter in the forth book and just settled for the movies lmao

Here are some spells used in the story that may be confusing for my sweeties that are not into harry potter:

¹Amortentia: it's the most powerful love potion, it can't reproduce real love and it comes with dangerous side effects like a powerful infatuation or obsession. It smells differently to each person, like the things(or people) the person who's feeling the scent likes.

²Cruciatus: a spell(curse) used to torture people.

I'm using this post to celebrate reaching 200 followers 🥳, thank you for those who like what I write and keep supporting me, I'll keep working hard to bring more nice stories for you!!

I wish you would

Pairing: Slytherin!Hyunjin x fem!reader

Genre: angst, fluff

Warnings: cursing

Word count: 5,120(I'm sorry about that not really I just got very inspired)

Hyunjin is obsessed with you, everyone with eyes and ears knows that. He runs after you like a dog runs after its tail and you always try being nice, try rejecting him in a way to not hurt him but he doesn't seem to take a hint.

Your class just ended, you collect your books and walk to the corridor, feeling his eyes on you.

"What's it?" You ask, turning around to look at him. His green and black uniform matching perfectly with his blond hair. He seems taken aback with the sudden attention, since he's used to you ignoring him.

"I just wanted to give you this", he smiles, holding a paper bag to you, "Felix made brownies and I just thought you'd like a snack, I know you're studying a lot for exams"

You smile, you love brownies but you're not sure if you should accept it. It's been a day since you rejected Hyunjin… again. He doesn't seem bothered by it anymore, he just keeps coming on strong and at this point you already know it's just a trait of his personality to not give up easily. But it would seem inconsiderate to not accept, since he brought it just for you.

"Don't think too much", he shake the bag a little, "I'm just trying to look out for you"

You sigh, accepting the gift and thanking him. It's not going to kill you to be nice this one time.

After saying goodbye you head to the library, you're going to meet Seungmin to study. Your classes are not that difficult this semester, so you're just using your extra time to study for the bigger exams.

It's already past dinner time when you finish your studies, your friend gave up a few hours back and went to the dorms while you stayed to study a bit more.

You're hungry so you look at the paper bag Hyunjin gave you and look inside. The brownies have a nice scent of mint? Maybe Felix added some to the recipe.

One it's not enough, it's so good you end up eating the whole lot. Maybe you shouldn't have, you feel sick instantly after finishing it and the librarian comes running as soon as she looks at your face.

"Are you alright, darling? You look pale", she asks and you nod, maybe the exhaustion is finally hitting you.

You grab your things and walk towards the dormitories of your house, you feel your mouth dry and an empty feeling on your chest. What's going on? You look around, there's very little people in the hall since it's almost curfew time.

When you're crossing the courtyard, you see a shadow of someone hovering over and you stop in your tracks trying to discern who it is.

You tighten the hold on your wand while they get closer, only to breathe relieved seeing it's just Hyunjin.

"It's already late, you shouldn't be wandering around by yourself", he says.

"Oh, I-", you feel your cheeks warm suddenly, do you have a fever? Your hands are sweating too. "Can you help me?" You ask him, stretching your hand for him to hold, your heart beating fast to the thought of touching him. "I'm not feeling very well"

"Yeah?" He raises an eyebrow, surprised, but still takes a step closer to you, grabbing your arm with a hand and sliding his other to your waist, giving you support by embracing you entirely.

"Thanks, I don't know what came on to me", you mumble and you're not sure if he heard, until you feel him tightening the hold he has on you.

"It's okay, it's my pleasure", he whispers close to your ear and you shiver.

It's strange for you to have this kind of reaction, especially to Hyunjin. It's not that you don't like him perse, you just don't think about dating in general. You want to focus on your studies, do well on your exams and have a good career, it's your parents dream that became your dream.

His pursuit over you got boring after the fourth time you rejected him. It was fun in the beginning, he's Hwang Hyunjin after all: handsome, smart and rich, you felt special when he didn't care about all those people that would crawl after him, but would beg for just a single glance of yours. With time it started bothering you, though. It seemed like the more you rejected him, the more interested he would get.

Why did it bother you, though? It feels nice having him holding you right now, he smells like mint, his warmth is shielding you from the cold air and you think it's okay to have him by your side just for a moment.

You can't stop thinking about him, Hyunjin is the first thing in your mind when you open your eyes in the morning and the whole breakfast you spend looking for him around the great hall, thinking about what he'd like to eat and maybe if he would like to walk with you to your classes.

"Are you alright?" Seungmin's voice takes you out of your thoughts, you realize you're just staring at your food for some time now.

"Nothing", you smile slightly, "I just… do you know where Hyunjin is?"

Seungmin frowns, tilting his head to the side while analyzing you.

"Why would I know that? But most importantly, why do you want to know that?"

You sigh, going back to play with your food.

"I just miss him", you mumble, earning a gasp from your friend.

"Did you finally lose it?" He's staring at you with narrowed eyes, disgusted.

You sigh, looking around one more time and finally seeing Hyunjin entering the hall, he's talking to a girl. Who is she? Why is she smiling so much to him? Why is he smiling back at her?

Your body moves by itself, getting up and walking with heavy steps towards the entrance where Hyunjin is talking to that girl, he seems excited.

You don't like it.

"Excuse me?" You say, waiting for him to turn around. You have your arms crossed in front of your chest and a foot tapping impatiently on the floor.

He looks at you with a smile that almost makes you melt, almost. You get even angrier, did he smile like that to her too?

"Oh, y/n, what can I do for you?"

"Who is she?" You ask without even thinking, why does that matter?

"We have divination together", he answers simply, just like that, as if that was a good enough answer. He frowns in confusion when you don't say anything and keep just staring at him. "Hm, we were just talking about some crazy prophecy Trelawney came up with in the middle of our class yesterday", he finishes, hoping you're satisfied with his answer.

You take your eyes out of him, looking at the girl and lifting one eyebrow, she smiles sheepishly at you and say goodbye to Hyunjin, walking to her house's table.

"Why did you take so long?" You step closer to him, grabbing his hand and holding it with yours.

"I didn't know you were waiting", he answers, leaning closer to you with a smirk in his lips.

"Well, I'll be waiting from now on so you better get here quickly"

You turn around, facing the tables. People are staring and whispering, of course, you never gave the time of day to him, it's something unpredictable to see you being cozy.

You slide his arms over your shoulder, a message to every other person that he's yours now. You're not sure where this possessiveness is coming from but it's there and you have to make it clear.

Hyunjin didn't think the potion would actually work, he's not that good at potions. He's been trying to catch your attention for a very long time but you rejected him over and over. He could have anyone he wanted, just not you and that made him crazy in the beginning, he just wanted you more and more, he's very ambitious after all.

However, after some time, he realized his feelings were deeper than what you thought, even more than he thought.

He started noticing every little thing about you, how you frown when you concentrate too hard, how you make every little feeling of yours show in your face. How you always have to be right.

And how you didn't want anything to do with him.

He was in love with you. That made him desperate, he needed you and you kept turning him down.

So he took drastic measures, he's not sure it's the most ethical thing to do, but he's unquestionably cunning, so he would do anything to achieve his goal.

A week before he gave you the brownies, your potion's class learned how to brew amortentia and he knew he had to give it a try. He spent nights awake trying to make the perfect potion, strong enough for it to work instantly and last long enough for you to not fall out of love easily.

"Are you really going to use a love potion?" Felix asks while watching Hyunjin mix the liquid with the brownies batter.

"I need to", he answers.

"She's going to be pissed if she finds out, you know that, right?" Felix tries again, it's not easy to make Hyunjin give up when he sets his mind to something.

"At least she'll be looking at me", his answer takes Felix by surprise, he knows Hyunjin is in love with you but maybe he can't grasp the depth of his feelings.

Hyunjin decides to wait, he'll try one more time before using the charmed brownies. He sees you in the courtyard, reading. You look beautiful with your hair messed by the wind and your lips moving, pronouncing the words in the book.

"So", he starts, he always tries to be confident around you, even though every time you turn him down his self esteem takes a blow. "When are we going on that date?", he asks, sitting by your side and watching you lift your eyes out of the book to look at him.

"Hm, I don't know about that", you smile kindly. He thinks you're cute being so considerate and trying not to hurt his feelings. Maybe if you weren't so nice to him, he'd already have gotten over you.

"What do I have to do for your answer to be yes?" He asks, bending his upper body to look at your face since you're looking at the book on your lap now.

"Let's not, Hyunjin", you sigh, "you know it's always going to be no"

He swallows hard, he did wish you were harsher in your rejection but he didn't think it would hurt so much.

"I'm not going to give up", he gets up, winking at you, he's too proud to show how hurt he is. "I know you don't dislike me, so that's a win for me", he smiles at you, even though he feels like he's suffocating.

He knows your personality, if you hated the idea of him hitting on you so much, you would already have threatened to crucio him but you don't and it's not because you're too polite for that, he has seen you fight people for much less.

He goes back to the Slytherin's common room and sits in front of the fireplace. It's getting cold lately, you shouldn't stay outside so much and for so long.

He just wants you to look at him, he's sure if you just get to know him better you'll want to be with him, he'll make sure of it.

So he gives you the brownies even though he feels a bit guilty about it, it's to late to back down when he sees you already turning around the corner, heading to the library.

He's restless, not sure when you're going to eat the brownies or if you are going to actually do it, he tries playing a bit of quidditch with his friends and studying but he's too anxious to concentrate on anything other than you. So he stays close to the library, waiting for you to finish your things.

As soon as you walk by the courtyard he can tell you're sick, so he gets closer and helps you get to your common room. Did you actually ask for his help? That sounds like a dream to him, just the thought of being next to you is enough to make him the happiest person alive, feeling your warmth against his body was enough to make him melt. If you didn't need his support, he'd be laying on the floor.

After giving him a peek on the cheek and leaving him behind in the great hall, after breakfast he can feel a burning gaze and he knows exactly who it is from. Seungmin, your best friend.

You might be enchanted but he's not, and if Hyunjin doesn't give you more of the love potion, Seungmin is going to make you fall out of love, he's sure of it.

He brews more of the potion, putting it on another batch of brownies to give to you. And you love the gift, eating all of it while studying with Hyunjin in the library. You're not studying much actually, you're just looking at him and asking questions about him, what he likes to do, about his family and his friends. It's an entirely new world to have all your attention to himself, he loves it, loves to spend time with you. The longer he stays in your presence the more he's sure that he does love you, all of you.

You're feeling tired lately, you lost all the deadlines to your projects in the last two weeks and now you're having to pull all nighters to try and get them all ready before the end of the semester. You have been spending a lot of time with Hyunjin, all the time you're not in class revolves around him.

He has been giving you lots of brownies lately and you're actually getting sick of it but you don't want to be a killjoy and end up accepting it anyway, eating it when you're bored.

This was the last time you accepted it though, you're going to say that you don't want it from now on and maybe Seungmin can help you eat these ones. Your best friend is at the library, waiting for you. He's going to help you finish some details of your project.

"I brought this for you", you shake the paper bag, holding it out for him.

He opens it and looks inside.

"Why does it smells like wood?" He scowls.

"What are you talking about?" You laugh awkwardly, "it smells like mint"

He stares at you for a few seconds before gasping, his hand palming his mouth.

"That's what's wrong with you!" He gets up, throwing the paper bag in the trash and ignoring your 'hey!' in protest. "Did Hyunjin give this to you?" He asks.

"Yes, why?"

"For how long have you been eating these brownies? Did they smell like that since the first time?" He ignores your questions, he looks absolutely out of it.

"Yeah, he gave me the first one's like two weeks ago", you frown, trying to understand what he's trying to say.

"He's been giving you amortentia", he tells you, running his hand through his hair, "how did I not realize that sooner, you've been acting weird for a reason!"

You feel your heart sink, he's been doing what?

That's not possible, he would never do something like that. Right?

You gasp, looking back to the way you have been acting lately, did he really charm you? So none of the things you're feeling are really real?

You managed to stay away from him for so long and suddenly you couldn't think about anything but him, the reason was right under your nose, you can't believe you didn't notice the signs.

"How much time does it take for it to wear out?" You ask, not really remembering what the professor taught you.

"A few hours minimum, a day or two if it's strong enough", Seungmin answers, whatching you seat and look at your fingers. Your chest hurts.

"Can I stay with you tonight? The last batch he gave me was yesterday, I may be fine tomorrow morning", you want to cry, Seungmin recognizes that face. You're looking around trying to prevent the tears from falling and he wants to kill Hyunjin for that.

Seungmin has been your best friend since first year, he didn't think he would have so much in common with someone from your house, but you two just clicked. He knows you like Hyunjin but you're too focused on your future to actually see that. Every time he makes a move on you, you'll turn him down, but your friend can see your eyes lingering on his figure while he walks away, you keep looking until he disappears and then you sigh. Sometimes Seungmin even sees you giggling from something Hyunjin says and your eyes shine brighter in those moments, he's not sure how you didn't realize it yet.

After the hurt eases a bit, you start getting mad. You wake up in the morning and all you can think about is a way to murder Hwang Hyunjin. You can't believe he used you like that, like a fucking toy for him to play house with.

You see him in the corridor, he smiles looking at you and opens his arms, waiting for a hug with a big smile on his face. Disgusting, that's all you can think.

"My love"

You walk confidently to him, taking him by surprise by hitting him in the face with a mixture of punch and slap, doing the movement of a slap but hitting him with your closed fist. He bends down, touching his cheek and looking at you, betrayal in his eyes.

"You fucking asshole!" You're seeing red, you didn't think you'd feel so livid seeing him, you're so hurt, so angry.

"Babe?" He looks at you like you're the one in the wrong.

"Don't", you take a deep breath, looking around to try and ease your anger, "don't call me that. You used a fucking love potion on me? What kind of loser does that?"

He gasps, he didn't think you'd find out about it, not so soon. He was sure he could make you fall in love with him and later on he would tell you about what he did.

Hyunjin could have anyone, there are dozens of people falling on their knees for him, you just can't understand why it has to be you.

"Let me explain, yeah?" He tries, taking a step closer and trying to hold your hands but you step back, glaring even harder at him.

"Don't touch me" you say, gritting your teeth, "you're disgusting"

You turn around, seeing the amount of people looking at your fight with shocked expressions in their faces. Of course no one's going to believe he gave you a love potion, he doesn't need that, he's Hwang Hyunjin.

That makes you even angrier.

You walk fast away from there, you can't believe you have to go through this kind of thing and the worst part is, why does it hurt so much? The effects of the potion must have ended by now, then why do you feel like you can't breath? The tears run out of your eyes without your permission and the hiccups come naturally with the painful cries.

You feel tired, frustrated, overwhelmed but most of all you feel heartbroken. There's no more potion tempering with your feelings but you still feel a lot of different emotions you shouldn't be feeling. It's not possible that you really like him.

The right reaction is for you to curse him, feel mad about all he's done and hate him with all your being. But you're feeling hurt and you want to curse at him, obviously you're angry about what he's done, but you're worried about him too, maybe you were too harsh.

No.

You'll not let any feelings you have let him get away with manipulating you. If you really do like him you're just going to have to stop.

Hyunjin can't eat, can't sleep, can't study, in other words, he can't function properly. You don't speak to him, you don't look at him, you don't even aknowledge his existence.

You don't eat when he's in the great hall, you will sit in the fartest seat from him when you're in the same class and everytime he tries talking to you, your personal bodyguard, Seungmin, prevents him from doing it.

He can't live like this, Hyunjin feels like he's about to die at any moment and he just doesn't know what to do.

Felix is too nice to actually say it but he looks at Hyunjin with that 'I told you so' look and just watches again as his friend sits in his bed and spends minutes staring at nothing.

"Was it that bad?" He asks but he already knows the answer. The whole school is in uproar after you punched him in the middle of the corridor before classes started, so to say everyone knows about what happened it's an understatement.

"She's not even looking at me", Hyunjin says finally and Felix sighs, sitting by his side and patting his back.

"I think you should give her some time", Hyunjin scowls after hearing that, even though he knows his friend is probably right.

It hurts so much, even more than when you just ignored him. Because now that he felt your warmth, he can't live without it.

Since Seungmin met you, this is the first time he has to worry about you. Even when you pulled all-nighters studying or joined too many extracurricular activities, you always took care of yourself. This time though, you're not.

Your grades are back to normal and your projects are all ready a week before the deadline but at what cost? You are not sleeping properly, there are huge eyebags under your eyes and you lost weight, your hair is always a mess and your clothes are far from your usual tidy style. He knows you realized your feelings for Hyunjin and you're just trying to bury them without actually trying to understand them and he just doesn't know what to do to help you. Every time he tries talking about it, you'll brush it aside and tell him you're not in the mood for that.

The winter holidays come to you like a gift and a curse, you don't have lots of work to take care of so you can rest but you don't have lots of work to take care of so you don't have anything to distract yourself from your wandering thoughts, those ones that always end up on the same person.

You never thought it would be so hard to get over someone, in some way your brain probably knew that the moment you let someone walk past your walls it wouldn't be easy to undo the damage made. That's why you always run from Hyunjin, because it would be torturous to stay away from him after you let your feelings be known.

As the weeks go by, your anger subside a bit. You still can't forgive what he did but you miss him too much to still be mad. You were pretty confident in the first few weeks, concentrating all your energy in your classes and projects, trying to forget about him. However, the more time passed, the more you thought you actually liked him… way before the amortentia happened.

You two met each other in your first year, but you were children that didn't care about the opposite sex and it went like that till fifth year, when you two turned fifthteen and puberty just hit him like a truck over summer break. He came back taller, his voice changed a bit too and his facial expressions as a whole were sharper, more eye-catching than ever.

It wasn't different for Hyunjin, however you always caught his eye. When he was younger he thought you were cute for a girl and he has never been easy to impress. When you grew up you became so pretty he couldn't take his eyes out of you. That was the first time he ever asked someone out and the first time he was rejected, it really hurt his pride. And now, finishing your seventh year, it's the first time you're realizing that maybe he fell first but you fell harder.

The classes come back in the blink of an eye, you're not sure you're happy or sad about it since you don't know what to do with the whole Hyunjin situation.

It all gets worse when you see him in the corridor, he's looking around, fidgeting and you just know he's waiting for you.

You try walking past him, but he lifts his eyes as if he felt your presence and you see the corner of his mouth going downwards and his lips quivering.

"Can- can we talk?" He pleads, his voice shaking, it's too much for him to finally see you again, finally have you looking at him again.

You look down, trying to decide what to do and end up nodding, turning around and leading him to an empty classroom. He closes the door and watches as you wander around the class, brushing your fingers on the table's surface, avoiding looking at him.

"How are you?" He asks finally, after a few minutes of torturous, awkward silence.

"Just fine", you answer, looking at every piece of the room but not at him. You're afraid that if you look him in the eyes you're going to cave in and you just can't give in so easily.

"I'm having a really hard time", he tells you.

"Didn't ask", you stop in your tracks, annoyed with yourself because it hurts to be mean to him. "Let's get this over with", you manage to say, even though the ache in your chest is making it difficult to breathe.

He sighs, running his hands through his hair.

"I- I'm really sorry about what I did, y/n, can you please forgive me?" He begs and you finally turn around, trying to keep your cool, the anger is coming again and you feel your face hot.

"Are you asking me to forgive you for tampering with my feelings? Or for pulling this shit just because you're obsessed with something you can't have?"

He frowns, it's not like that, he knows that but clearly you don't.

"Y/N, I have wanted you all the same since the beginning. I can't have anyone else, not because I'm obsessed but because I'm in love with you", he takes a step towards you, "you make me feel alive, that's why I keep trying over and over again"

You're taken aback by the confession, so shocked you don't even notice how close he got to you in a few moments but you can't let him get away from this, not when your pride is involved.

"Do you think it's fair to make someone like you just because you like them? Would you ever have told me about what you did or would you keep me like a fucking toy until you were tired of playing with me?"

He stares at you for a moment, a desperate look on his face. He wasn't trying to hurt you. He was selfish, he knows that and you have the right to not want anything to do with him anymore, but he has to try earning you back.

"I know I shouldn't have gave you a love potion, I know it's wrong and I did know you wouldn't like having your feelings messed with", he takes one of your hands and puts it in his chest, right above his heart and for the first time since you found out about what he did, you don't want to pull your hand away from his touch. "I was going to tell you, I swear, I just wanted to make you really look at me and see it was worth giving me a chance", he smiles sadly, "you are right to hate me after what I did but if you do forgive me I swear that I'll make up for it every day of our lives and I'll make you happier than you ever thought could be possible. It's going to be my goal, my mission, the biggest of my ambitions"

You sigh, it hurts. Logically, you shouldn't forgive him. But love is not logical and you want to accept his proposal. You know it's dumb and you know it's risky but never in your life did you really make a choice that you wanted to. You had to be a good student so your teachers would like you, you had to behave so your family would be proud of you, you had to have good grades so your parents would be satisfied, because they told you you needed to have the greatest career and that became your dream, but you never stopped to think about what you really wanted.

"If you didn't use the potion, would you keep trying to win me over?" You whisper, trying to decide what answer to give him.

"Yes, probably forever. Until you threatened to kill me or married someone else", he smiles, "not going to assure you I wouldn't try stealing you from your partner, but that would hold me back a little", he chuckles.

You sigh, why must you like him so much?

"I swear I'll make you regret it if you ever use any magic on me again", you say through gritted teeth, glaring at him, "and I like the thing you said about making up for it our whole lives"

A big smile grows on his lips and you feel your cheeks getting hot, how can someone be this beautiful?

"Then, will you give me another chance?" He asks in a breath.

"I'll let you take me on a date and I'll decide after that"

He smiles widely, throwing his arms around you and kissing the top of your head.

"I'll make it be a yes", he whispers, squeezing you more in his embrace.

You know you'll forgive him completely soon, Hyunjin can't hide his emotions from you so you know he's telling the truth but you sure as hell are not going to make it easy for him.

450 notes · View notes

l4long-winded · 21 days

Text

so, i received the following comment on archive:

"it went from sweet, to sensual, to smut in just one short chapter. which i love.

"i like to think that carmen is an acts of service kind of dude, he expresses his affections through things like making meals for reader. i think it’d be cute if reader like forgot they're lunch at home or smth, and then carmen would deliver it to them in person–just a cute lil thought." - topostapocalyptic

so, here is my version of that. i tried so hard and i just can't look at it any longer!

o.s. basil, monterey jack, and the simplicity of a kind gesture

summary: you're late for work, rushing out the door, and carmen notices you've left your lunch behind. he can't help but interject his talents (carmen berzatto x afab!reader)

reflection: this took me so. so. embarrassingly long. i am not super proud of it. i feel like i needed to finish it in order to get out of my current rut in writing, though. i finished school up and graduated recently, on a lighter note! please enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!

warnings: stress, worrying, temper flares, cursing, shirtless!carmy, established relationship, journalist!reader, commentary on nutrition, poor eating habits, inner dialogue (just a little), nature's own slander, anxiety depictions, original characters, moody!reader, some longwinded descriptions (as always), awkwardness, fluff, kissing, carmen's nervous tick, domesticity, implied (like one or two instances) smut, humor, an act of service, laughing while kissing, a small flashback, no use of pronouns for reader (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 3,207

( this work has been cross-posted to ao3 )

“Stupid shithead,” you mutter.

You’re frantically grabbing items into your hands. Your keys, your purse, the wallet that goes into the purse, your phone. Anything covering the counter. It’s the same counter your knee knocks right into as you turn the corner. Immediately, you bite the inside of your cheek as pain floats throughout your kneecap, a harsh sting that floats into warm pressure down your calf. You’re so self-aware of your blood’s rising temperature in this instance that it nauseates you.

“Motherfucker,” you blurt, sucking in a sharp breath through your nostrils. You lift your foot from the ground and lean a majority of your weight onto your opposite heel, elbow pressing onto the counter you envision your stupid boss’s face on. You would punch it if it didn’t mean breaking your knuckles on ceramic in your growing agitation. No, that’s irrational. You need that hand to type.

“Really hoping I’m not the motherfucker you’re talking about,” Carmen mumbles groggily as he emerges from down the hallway. His curls are tousled, somehow despite sleeping on your satin pillowcase his head continued to slide off. He’s not used to sleeping over here, but he’s willing to learn, if his tossing and turning and eventual spooning didn’t illustrate that to you already. There’s something to be said about the way he adjusts the front of his boxer shorts. Despite the adjustment, the briefs hang low on his hips, the v-line of him greeting you as happily as the trail descending to his waistband does. His shirtless form sleepily walks towards you to place a kiss onto your forehead.

“No, no, not you,” you say, gracious for his forehead kiss, but still rubbing your knee to alleviate the issue. He glances at it in concern, an eyebrow lifting. Before he can ask, you stand tall and give him a quick peck on the cheek. Your knee aches, but the less Carmen worries, the better.

“Stay as long as you like, spare key’s in the bergamot out front, I gotta get the fuck out of here two minutes ago,” you rush out in one string of words.

Carmen’s blinking sleep from his eyes, watching as you stomp out of the front door. He craves a longing kiss goodbye, but he’s not daring to request it seeing how urgently you’re behaving. He heads to the window, two fingers plucking the blinds open to observe you hop into your vehicle and speed off too fast for him to feel secure. He frowns. Carmen’s hand scrubs down his face, a migraine pounding in his temples that feels an awful lot like that worry you didn’t want to implement within him.

You’re working more than usual. He admires your work ethic, he does as it resembles his own, but he can’t stop from thinking about how tired you are when you visit him at the restaurant, or when you stay over at his place. You’re snapping consistently, and it may be at inanimate objects like your broken toaster, or the squeaky hinge belonging to your closet door, or your recent victim, this counter you have apparent beef with. The stress is collecting rapidly and Carmen unfortunately is starting to see the patterns interwoven in his skin stitching up your neck. He doesn’t want that for you. He knows you don’t want it for him either, so he’s trying to think of ways he can bring a smile to your face, or at least ease some kind of method to relax the both of you.

Carmen glances around your kitchen and he notices the brown bag sitting in front of your microwave. Curiously, he maneuvers to grab it into his hand. He opens it up and finds a sandwich there, lunchmeat stuffed between two slices of wheat bread. No condiments, no vegetables, no other ingredients. Just bread and turkey. It’s… it’s such a sad sandwich. He wishes you would’ve at least slabbed on some peanut butter and jam if you were going with the easiest route. Two slices of simple turkey breast are hardly nutritional.

Hypocrite. You drank a Coke and ate a bowl of off-brand Froot Loops the other night for dinner.

Carmen shakes his head free of his intrusive thoughts, picking his phone out of his pocket as he plans to text you that you forgot your lunch. You shouldn’t be too far down the road. Then again, as his thumb hovers over your messages together, he recalls how you’re already late. You don’t have time to turn back around for a shitty sandwich you probably won’t even eat. He’s seen you come home and dump these brown bags, still full of whatever meal you threw together in three minutes because you didn’t bother to take your lunch break.

“Not today,” he mumbles under his breath. He retrieves the sad sandwich and takes a bite, chewing it as he washes his hands in the sink. Then, he opens the fridge, scanning through what’s available. There’s not much to work with, but he’s efficient if anything.

“Blegh,” he scrunches his face, the flavor of the bread thick on his tongue as he smacks his lips, “Nature’s Own.”

You’re typing a storm in your cubicle. The deadline for your story is in a day. A day. You didn’t even have time to gather the interview materials and are still waiting on an email from a supervisor from whoever the fuck knows. The name is written somewhere on the clutter of sticky notes hanging precariously off the frame of your desktop. But then again, who has time to crane their neck to check in the middle of meeting your deadline? You’re making due with what you have on hand, your eyes strained from how long they’ve stared at your computer screen.

“Psst…” comes a voice from behind. Fingertips tap your shoulder, momentarily disrupting you from staring at your keyboard. You swivel in your rolling chair, eyes annoyed and tired.

“What?” You spit. Your gaze is unamused watching the world spin and land on Bill, the secretary from the front desk. You almost cringe the same way Bill in front of you seems to do at the tone in reaction. At that, you pick up your face, clearing your throat and straightening your posture, hoping it’s as polite as you wish to convey.

“Your, uh, boyfriend is up front,” he points towards the hall. Bill is jittery. You wonder if it’s because of an excessive use of caffeine or if because your slip genuinely scared him. You take a deep breath and compose yourself more than you have already.

“Oh… I’ll be right out,” you reassure, feeling bad for the small snap you engaged in. Bill is only doing his job. He’s reporting on a surprise visit from Carmen. That doesn’t mean it’s Carmen’s fault for showing up out of the blue, but yours for letting your cool flee, if only momentarily.

As Bill nods and heads off down the hall, you glance at your computer screen one last time. You choose to stop in the middle of the sentence. You tell yourself it’s because you think it’ll be easier to think of a fresh idea to continue when you come back and not because you’re at a loss for content at the present time. You stand up, palms smoothing the front of your vest down your waist as you walk from your cubicle and repeat the same steps as Bill on his way back to his position at the front of the office building. The ninety degree angle of the corner gradually unveils to you your boyfriend Carmen staring down at his phone, a brown bag in his opposite hand beside his pant leg.

He looks up as if sensing your presence, a shift in energy in the room he detects and smiles at from afar. His phone slides into his pocket the closer you approach him, eyes seemingly glowing underneath the shadow of his tan hat’s rim. It’s that kind of crystal embedded in his irises that makes them sparkle with a glass’s shine and an artist’s yearning. But his eyes carry ocean water, not wine, and the reflection of his muse, your face expanding over the roundness of them as you near him and greet him with a hug.

“Hey, your day alright?” He asks, his voice behind your ear. Your chin rests on his shoulder, one of his biceps cradling the back of your head into him. His other arm is still at his side as he kisses your temple and takes a step backward. You catch Bill glancing up from his computer at the two of you from his desk for a millisecond.

“Sure,” you opt for. Maybe if you say it enough, you’ll believe it. You’re capable of tricking your brain so you don’t psyche yourself on it with your overthinking too much… right? “Why’re you here?”

Carmen’s lips press tightly together. He doesn’t say anything, leveling you with his gaze and a raise of his eyebrows that even cause his hat to slightly lift on his forehead. One single look illustrates how wrong of a statement that was.

Replaying it in your head, you notice the edge to your voice, that small extra bit of irritation that made it to your lips. You didn’t mean it, much like you hadn’t meant it when you sharply responded to Bill’s alert.

You sigh and shake your head, one hand coming up to apologetically stroke his arm.

“I didn’t mean it like that–”

“I know,” he halts your explanation. Unlike you, Carmen falls back on the natural softness of his voice, the one where he refutes raising the volume of his words because you’re always standing so goddamn close to him. Another reason could possibly be that you’re having a hard day and he’s sparing you from an unnecessary argument. It’s not like he hasn’t poured lemon over wounds after particularly rough days at The Bear himself.

His hand with the brown bag thrusts in front of you. Short space separates you further. How ironic. He doesn’t want to poke the bear.

“I, uh, brought you your lunch.”

“Thanks…” You murmur awkwardly.

Carmen’s fingers brush yours once you exchange the bag. He curls those same fingers and attaches the back of his knuckles to his lips, stroking them back and forth over his mouth in that nervous tick of his. He stares along your face, the current contemplation in his head somehow both loud and eerily silent. He’s searching for something to say and it’s obvious.

“Yes, well… have a good day,” he settles for. Carmen turns away for a moment, but you don’t like leaving it this way. Especially not since he took the time to drive here and bring you your lunch. He’s subtly advising you to eat without pushing or adding another task you’ll be fretting over.

Your hand captures his, causing him to shift his eyes back to yours. You smile a little brighter. It’s not forced. The gesture is sweet. You lose sight when you’re stressed as any human does.

“I appreciate it, Carm. Thank you,” you redo your gratitude with sincerity.

Carmen’s hand relaxes in yours. He utilizes the hold you have on him in his own favor, tugging you closer to him, engulfing you into his arms. His scent calms you, lingering cigarettes, mint, pomade, and what seems to be a touch of olive oil. He must be working from home again on his day off. Your belly does a small flip thinking of him working comfortably from your home.

“It’s nothing,” he speaks into your hairline, dropping a few more pecks. He notices your shoulders lowering as he does, encouraging him to continue and then return his eyes back to yours.

“But seriously, have a good day,” he repeats, squeezing your forearms.

“Please,” he whispers. You have no choice but to promise him with a grateful and instant nod this time. You’ll find something to get you through the rest of your shift. You can do it for Carmen.

You can’t say you don’t feel defeated as you trudge into the breakroom with your lunch bag shortly after Carmen’s visit. You highly considered skipping lunch altogether to grant yourself more time to work on your report. However, Carmen walked here to get this to you. It’s not a short thing, either. You had to convince him to take your car so he could run some errands. He’ll be your ride back home after work. In the meantime, you’re going to eat to ease your conscience and so that you’re less cranky, minimizing the casualties of your unintentional attacks today. Your boss wouldn’t be as patient as Bill and Carmen.

You gradually open the bag, reaching in and furrowing your brows when your hand meets a cylindrical container first. You thought the bag felt heavier than a single sandwich should, but you were too distracted being apologetic with Carmen to realize he may have added something to your meal. You should’ve known that he wouldn’t be able to resist doing such a thing with how he’s always taking care of you in that department. He shares his talent where he can’t utter his affections, crafting in opposition to orating. Unless, it’s a different word using the root “ora.” He’s rather good at that, too.

“Carmen, you didn’t,” you mutter under your breath, unscrewing the cap of the first container. Basil, garlic, sweet confection underlying in the background, and roasted tomato spike up in a familiar aroma, the trapped steam floating up to blanket your nose in humid warmth and a nostalgic trip to when you sat with him at a fast food restaurant and he poked fun at you for ordering a grilled cheese.

“Who orders a grilled cheese without tomato soup?”

“Me. I do. Now give me a sip of your soda.”

He did. He said he felt obligated to since your grilled cheese looked dry.

The memory inspires you to reach further into the bag, and of course, you bring out a wrapped item suspiciously in the shape of a square. You already know what’s hidden inside as you undo the layers Carmen meticulously folded for you. Heat sticks to your fingertips. It makes you wonder if he jogged on his way here to get this all to you for it to be this warm still.

The sourdough bread in your hands is perfectly golden without being drenched in oil or even close to being charred on the sides. The bite you take is better than the appetizing appearance it has, a cheese pull connecting your teeth marks on the surprise sandwich to your mouth, steam rising off the strings of the monterey jack and cheddar webs. It pairs nicely with the tomato soup Carmen’s provided, the distinct taste mellowing the salt and tang of the sourdough, something sugary and smooth and still tart melding the classic flavors along your tongue.

You didn’t expect this, and part of you is asking why you didn’t see it coming because of who Carmen is and what he does for a living and for a hobby and for a passion, but you’re not going to mull over your perception’s off-game today. No, you’re going to finish your grilled cheese, soup, and that report. You’ll be sure to credit Carmen in due time.

Carmen’s waiting for you in the parking lot behind your office building. You see his reflection on the driver’s side mirror, his eyes lowered to his phone in his hand. He doesn’t see you coming, his head lifting up curiously as you approach his side instead of getting into the car on the passenger’s. Carmen blinks up at you, the window down most likely for him to get some air. It’s been getting hotter and hotter in Chicago with the change in seasons and your AC isn’t working, as per usual.

“What, do you want to drive—?”

You silence Carmen, obstructing his question with the barrier of your lips. If he’s shocked or surprised, it quickly gets replaced with acceptance and an instant response. He kisses you back, his chin tilting upwards, head perching up out of the window to meet your slumping frame. Your head lolls behind the lead of your mouth, seeking out the feeling and tenderness of Carmen’s lips that he parts to swipe his tongue in rhythm of an upstroking graze. You smile after that, the action creating a centimeter of distance that Carmen closes again, his hand traveling up to the back of your neck to tug you back into him.

You indulge him, laughing against his lips. A smile of his own stretches over his mouth, but he doesn’t detach himself like you did. He goes back for more, stopping only when your hands are patting his wrist to regain his attention back without depriving him too much of your mouth he’s ensnaring with his.

“I finished my report,” you shyly say. You made a big deal about it today and your job in general has been very demanding, causing your behavior to have shifts in line with the spikes in your mood.

“Knew you would,” he replies. He’s still kissing you. They’re spanned out pecks to allow you both to speak during, but he’s making it hard to remember what you wanted to say.

“And my grilled cheese,” you mutter into his smothering stamps. He lets up hearing that, pulling back slightly so he can peer into your eyes. He’s in your shoes this time, sheepish as he tries to casually nod.

“Yeah? And…?” He pauses, gauging your reaction with a suspicious glint in his eyes. You laugh again, nudging his shoulder.

“And my soup,” you stand up taller from the window, fingers resting over the bicep half hanging out of it. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he saves you the speech, knowing you far too well about how you don’t want him to waste his time. He’s going to convince you someday that his acts of service for you will never be a waste of his time. His hand comes over yours on his arm, glancing at your twitching fingers he’s heard typing in the long hours of the night. He’s not the only insomniac among you two.

“You should let me make you lunch more often,” he bargains. You playfully roll your eyes. This is one debate you’ll continue to have for a long time, it seems. He already works so hard.

“Slow down there, chef.” You use one of Carmen’s tricks, draping your mouth back over his before he has the chance to bullet point out his argument. He sighs, content from how you feel and yet that knowing frustration intertwined in that one breath lingers because he doesn’t mind putting together your future lunches whatsoever.

“Thank you,” you pur, and Carmen releases his grip on his conviction. For now, anyway. He’s planning on bringing it up again later. He’s just getting too lost in your appreciative kissing. It’s convincing him to do this again, actually. He’s plotting a new list of ingredients, cherries and almonds and white whine and… he loses his train of thought when your teeth scrape his bottom lip.

#l4l.writes #basil monterey jack and the simplicity of a kind gesture #l4l.carmy #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear fanfic #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #l4l.oneshot

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trippinsorrows · 11 days

Text

with me + part four

authors note: the love and response to this story continues to absolutely floor me. you guys are all so sweet! i was nervous about posting, but everyone has made me feel so happy that i did, so thank you!

couple of hints about things sprinkled through this one. the more i write, the more things are getting fleshed out, so idk how many parts this will be atp, nothing too crazy though!!!

also, some tags don't seem to work for some reason, like when i type it, the hyperlink doesn't appear so super sorry to those impacted by that!!!

warnings: angst, fluff, language, suggestive content

song inspo: with me by destiny’s child

word count: 5.8k

taglist: @pixiedust4000 @southerngirl41 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @wonderingfashion @shayaaaaaaa @usoholic @brokenglassslippers @gators-aid @dersha89 @southerngirl41 @empressdede

You couldn't eat.

Couldn't sleep.

Could barely think straight.

All that consumed you, ate at you, gnawed at your sanity was one thought and one thought alone.

He wanted to take her from you.

Joe wanted to take your daughter from you, your four year old daughter who still couldn't even go to sleep at night unless she got to see or speak to you.

The daughter who he'd only known existed just recently but was seemingly set on ripping away from you.

That thought destroyed you, made you raw from blistering agony at just the idea of not having Callie with you full time. It destroyed you to the point that you decided to throw some clothes on, hop in your car, and set your google maps for the hotel you knew he’d be staying at. Damn the fact that it was the middle of the night or that you were stupid as hell for being in that situation in the first place. None of that mattered.

You needed to talk to him, and you needed to talk to him now.

Joe opens the door with a forceful swing, looking as irritated and disheveled as you’d expect one to look at nearly 1am in the morning. However, when his eyes land on you, confusion meshes with irritation. “Y/N?”

“Hi.” It’s said in a breathy tone. You're struggling to remember the script you rehearsed the whole drive there. “I’m sorry. I know it’s late—”

“What the..….” He sighs heavily and steps aside, motioning for you to come in. “Get in here.”

You don’t need to be told twice, looking around the hotel room that looks so plain and undeserving of someone with Joe’s stature. But, you also know this area isn’t exactly saturated with 5 star hotels, far from it. This is probably the most elite one he could find with such short notice, and it’s not bad at all, just….basic.

He clears his throat, and you return your attention to the man who you just realized is also shirtless. If not for the pending mental breakdown you’re fighting to keep at bay, it would be extremely distracting. Joe is a lot of things, and fine as hell is at the top of that list.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” He sounds exhausted, and you can’t tell if it’s from the argument earlier that day or being woken up in the middle of the night. Probably both.

“I just—I need to talk to you.”

“Now?”

Nodding, you continue. “I know….I know I messed up, okay? I should have told you, but I just—I need you to look at it from my perspective. I need you to just hear me out, and if—if you still feel the same way, then–then I’ll have to deal with that….but please.”

He’s leaning back against the dresser, arms crossed, taking time to answer as he weighs your offer. Finally, he concedes, “you came all the way over here. I’m not just gonna send you away.”

You’re thankful for him being willing to at least hear some of what you have to say. “Callie.....she was conceived the last time we were together.” Not sure if that part was necessary or the best way to start out, you quickly move on to the next point. “I didn’t find out I was pregnant until two months later. And on top of not knowing what the fuck to feel, I barely knew what to do. I was pregnant by a married man that I’d been sleeping with for three years. A married, famous man at that. Who I finally decided I needed to move on from.”

Revisiting this is harder than you expected, harder than when you rehearsed it on your drive here. “I was scared, Joe, okay? I was scared, so I—I did what I thought was best at that time, and clearly it was wrong. I 100% own up to that, and you get to be angry with me, but you don’t get to let that anger influence your decision making, because it is.”

This is the part you debated so deeply on whether to say or not say, to potentially poke the already irate bear. But, you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t speak up for yourself and your daughter. “You want a legal custody arrangement, and I understand why, but—Joe, your name isn’t even on her birth certificate, but to tell you the truth…..I wanted it to be. I did.” Whether he believes you or not is on him, but it’s true. Because while he wasn't present in her life, he was still her father. Nothing would change that. “They wouldn’t do it without you present and without a paternity test—”

“I could have been there,” he interrupts, sounding more hurt than anything. “I should have been there.”

“You’re right, but you weren’t, and I’m sorry for that too. I’m not trying to make any excuses here, just lay out facts. And the fact is that you can get a paternity test, you can establish paternity, and you can try to secure joint custody, but we both know there’s no way you can take her on. You work nonstop, Joe, and she can’t be on the road like that. She’s four for fucks sake. Calista needs stability, and she has that with me. You know I’m right.”

And you can see that he sees you’re right, the wheels turning in his head as he takes in your sound predictions.

“And I know you don’t right now, and that’s okay, but I am asking you to please trust me enough to know that I will not get in the way of you getting to know Calista. Trust that I only want what’s best for her, I’ve only ever wanted what was best for her.”

“Why should I?” Despite his words, you can see and hear the crumbling of his defenses, of the brick and mortar wall he'd erected earlier during the first round of this conversation. “What’s different now?”

“Because she asked about you.” This is the part that crushes you the most, that makes you wonder if you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself for even putting her in that situation. “Because she thinks you’re not in her life because she’s not a good girl, and I will not have my child grow up thinking she wasn’t good enough for her father to want to be in her life.”

You won’t let her grow up like you.

Period.

Having this discussion, saying these things aloud, you’re slowly starting to recognize how some of your own unaddressed issues have contributed to this situation. How your refusal to confront buried trauma has bled into another generation. It’s…..uncomfortable, to say the least.

And something you definitely need to revisit, probably sooner rather than later. Just…not right now.

You’ve got to sort this through first.

It’s after a few minutes of silence that he finally speaks, voice surprisingly calm. “You’re right.” You let out a deep breath, nearly falling back at his words. You knew he was wavering but not to the point where he would yield. “I know….I know our situation is complicated, and I’m sorry for being so cold with you. I just—fuck, I don’t know how to process all of this.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “Neither do I, but we can figure it out, because we can’t…..we can’t put her through a custody battle. I won’t do that.” Despite your very valid facts, you also recognize that while he probably wouldn’t win, he has access to the best legal team money can buy and would outlast you in court by miles.

You won’t say it aloud, not even sure if you can, but you’d soon rather concede than put her through that. You’d give him whatever he asked for if it meant sparing her from that trauma.

It’s a far cry from your stance hours earlier, but time and actually thinking things through made you realize the pain you’d experience at having Callie taken from you would be nothing compared to what that experience would do to her. You know custody disputes can be long and nasty, and though she was still young, you didn’t want to find out if they would question her.

You’d sacrifice your soul and surrender.

You loved her enough to let her go.

“You’re right.” He repeats himself, even and calm. It’s such a stark difference for both of you compared to the blowup from earlier. There’s actual communication occurring, talking with each other, instead of at each other. Listening to hear, not to react. “I—I couldn’t do that to you. I spoke out of anger. My schedule is crazy and she needs stability. You give her that.”

There’s an insurmountable amount of relief that washes over you at his words. It’s night and day from the angry—though rightfully—man that stood before you earlier today. And you couldn’t be more grateful.

“Thank you.” There aren’t enough words to adequately express the depth of your gratitude. Joe is well within his right to be upset, and like you said, you’ll take whatever that is, so long as the both of you can agree that Callie being with you is for the best. For her, but for you too. You won’t deny that. Your daughter is your life, and the thought of being without her, even for a period of time makes you sick to your stomach. “I–” You wipe your eyes, completely unaware that you’d been crying at one point, the tears starting to dry up. “I’m taking off work tomorrow and keeping her home. You…you can come over once I pick her up from Mariah's."

His eyes light up with appreciation that matches your own for his willingness to look past his feelings to do what’s best for your child. “Yeah?”

You offer a small smile. “I’ll probably get her around 10 and text you when you can head over.”

He nods, and the excitement in his expression warms you. It’s so strange how you can go through so many emotions in such a short time regarding the man in front of you. He always has been able to evoke things out of you that no one else could.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

The way he takes you in, assessing you, it makes you shift your weight from one foot to another. Your hoodie suddenly feels too heavy, warmth climbing up to your cheeks. “I—” You gesture to the door with your thumb. “I should head out.”

It’s when you turn to leave that he grabs your wrist to stop you.

“Where are you going?”

Your brow lifts at his tone and words, confused by the quick change and his hand on your arm. “Umm, home?”

“Like hell you are.” His dismissal is firm and final as he informs, “you'll crash here tonight.” Your face must be painted in defiance, because he explains, “it's almost 2 in the morning, and you look exhausted. I'm not letting you get on the road. Anything could happen.”

“Joe—”

He lifts his hand, silencing you as he points to the middle of the room. “You can take the bed. It's uncomfortable anyway.”

Ironically, a small yawn escapes, further proving his point. You are exhausted, in several different ways. The idea of driving back home right now is not nearly as appealing as sleeping off the day's events. “Okay.” Remembering his comment, you add, “you could have picked one of those fancy hotels ya'll stay in, you know.”

“I don't think there's anything ‘fancy’ within 30 miles of here.” He's not entirely wrong, the town's local steakhouse is considered the definition of fine dining and hotspot for special occasions.

“There were once rumors of a Hilton being built.”

He looks almost hopeful. “When was that?”

You bite down on your lip. “When I was in middle school.” A small laugh escapes at his look of exasperation.

“You should take the bed. It's gotta be more comfortable than the alternative.” Truly, because the idea of Joe's big ass trying to sleep on a damn fold out sofa is both hilarious and tragic. “I just need a shirt.”

He looks at you. “A shirt?”

“Yeah.”

“Because…..”

Rolling your eyes, you tug at your old college hoodie. “I can't sleep in this. It's uncomfortable as hell. I dress light at night. You know—” And you stop yourself, because he shouldn’t remember that you always sleep in either a big shirt or thin top and shorts, never more, oftentimes nothing at all when he was in town.

For obvious reasons.

You’re grateful when he turns away and digs through his bag, probably the only one he took with him. He always traveled lightly. He comes back, reaching you one of his black t-shirts.

“Thanks.” Accepting the item, you walk over to the bathroom, closing the door behind you. Standing in the mirror, you take in your appearance. Joe was being nice by saying you look exhausted, cause you look like shit, every bit of the days events, loud and blaring. Blowing out a breath, you start removing your clothes but pause when you go to remove your bra.

Is that….is that too much? You haven’t slept in a bra in years. Not since puberty randomly hit you over the summer between freshman and sophomore year, where you went from a modest A cup to a whopping D. And post Callie body definitely wasn’t a D anymore. It just seems….it seems indecorous.

Deciding to go with safe instead of sorry, you swallow your discomfort and keep your bra on. With the hair tie on your wrist, you do your best to pineapple your hair, knowing good and well it’ll be frizzfest when you wake up but not really caring.

Another yawn leaves your mouth as you walk out the bathroom only to turn into a scowl as you find Joe sitting on the sofa on his phone.

If it wasn’t so late and you weren’t so tired, you’d argue with him why it’s stupid of you to take the bed. He’s at least a foot taller than you. But, you don’t have it in you so just mutter “stubborn asshole,” place your folded clothes on the dresser, and climb into the bed.

You double check your alarm is still set for the right time and lean across the bed to place it on the nightstand. There’s a comfortable silence between the two of you for a couple of minutes, your eyes closing as you try to sleep, even if for a couple of hours before you have to get back on the road.

“What is she like?”

Your eyes open at his question, unexpected but understood. You think about it, wondering how to answer, how to explain all of the wonderful things that is your child. Finally, you settle on an answer, soft and honest.

“You'll find out for yourself tomorrow.” And turning on your side, you murmur, “goodnight, Joe.”

He doesn’t say anything after that.

But while you sleep with the hope of believing that this can be worked out between the two of you, Joe lies awake, taking his turn with mind running a mile a minute.

He knew this would be difficult, knew it was going to get ugly to some extent, but what he didn’t expect was how impacted he'd be by seeing you again.

There was a stark difference between seeing you in photos and seeing you in person. His anger at the situation helped him to not react as strongly, but not as much as he liked or needed it to.

Because regardless of all his outrage, he’d missed you.

Even with your deception, with your deceit and all of his confusing emotions toward you in this whole situation, he missed you.

Joe might not be ready to admit it aloud, but he’s never gotten over you. And not for lack of trying. He’d had a period where he tried to fuck away his feelings, tried to busy himself in between the legs of other women, his favorite distraction when he was in his twenties. Tried to remind himself that it was never meant to turn into anything anyway, that it wasn’t a big deal. But his efforts were fruitless and a waste of time.

He cared about you, he cared about you, arguably, more than he’d ever cared about a woman. Even….even Jadah.

The night you ended things was still a sore spot for him, still something he plays over in his head trying to make sense of. On the surface level, it’s pretty plain and simple. You wanted more, he couldn’t give it to you, so you moved on. 1+1. He was legally married for fucks sake. He couldn’t blame you for wanting more, but there was also a part of him that wondered why you didn’t just ask him for more.

Then again, that went both ways. Why didn’t he ask you for more?

It’s easy to say it was because of Jadah, because of his marriage, and that was both true and untrue. On his part, anyway. Divorce was easy in name but far from it in every other area. And for him, meant being forced to confront demons he tried his best to keep at bay. Up until two months ago, at least

Joe closes his eyes. This is all too much.

He came here ready to confront you, and he had, in fucked up way, even if partially deserved. He came here to meet his daughter, to begin to form a bond with her, and he will do that. He just has to push the complicated feelings for you to the side and place them on the backburner until he can sort through that mess.

Calista is his priority right now. Whatever this is between you and him can be figured out later.

Hopefully.

________

“She can be shy until she gets to know you.”

The day seems to have escaped you, getting on the road early in the morning to drive back and prepare to pick up Callie. She’s thrilled to see you, and vice versa. The two of you spend the beginning of the morning together, stopping at a local diner to share a breakfast before heading back to your apartment. You spend a little more time together, one on one, before texting Joe to head over, staying true to your word.

Especially since he informed you that he had to fly out tomorrow morning. You expected as such, knowing he’d probably already been gone longer than higher ups liked. He could only push the limits so much.

You don’t even have to be looking at him to know he’s nervous, an understandable but strange thing. Weird almost. Joe’s a lot of things, but nervous has never been one of them. “But once she gets comfortable, she won’t shut up.” That makes him smile, and you’re grateful for that. Sure enough, you find Callie in her playroom, which used to be your office space, but the more spoiled she became from your mom, the more you realized her room was too small for all of her stuff. “Hey, Callie Bear.”

Callie looks up, smile bright as she runs over to you. You lean down to meet her hug. She gives the best, loving hugs. “I’m making you something, mommy.”

You gasp. “You are? Well, I can’t wait to see it.”

“It’s a surprise, so no peeking!” She lifts her little finger, wagging it in your face. Laughing, you nod and push back some of her curls. Callie’s eyes then land on Joe’s massive frame standing near the doorway, silently observing. You can see the emotions so clearly on his face: surprise, shock, happiness.

Callie’s smile dims as she moves closer to you, holding you close, her stranger danger kicking in. A small part of you is grateful that even at almost five, she knows to be cautious. Then there’s the other part of you that’s saddened at the fact that the “stranger” she’s cautious of is her own father. “Baby, this is….this is….”

“I’m Joe,” he finishes for you, and you’re both grateful and annoyed. Conflicted because a small part of you wanted to be the one to tell her, but also grateful he ironically took that responsibility off of you. “I’m an old friend of your mom’s.”

Welp.

That’s not….that’s not what you expected him to say, not what you two discussed. It wasn’t explicitly stated, but you were under the impression that they would tell her the truth. His statement isn’t exactly a lie, you did once consider Joe to be a friend, much more than that, but still. Joe’s role in Callie’s life is significantly more than that.

This seems to ebb away some of Callie’s caution as she asks, “really?” Her eyes fall on you, almost looking for approval. With a tight smile, you nod, giving her the relief she needs to loosen her hold on you. “Do you like Disney?” That causes you to genuinely laugh, something your sweet child definitely inherited from both you and your mom was a love of Disney.

“I do,” he answers, and you pause. Does he really? Perhaps. Regardless, it’s a smart answer for your Disney loving child. “Do you?”

Callie nods happily, grabbing your arm and twisting it to show the ‘remember who you are’ tattoo on your wrist. “Mommy and grandma have Disney tattoos, and mommy’s gonna get a Moana one for me!”

“Really?” Joe, now crouched down to be at her eye level, sounds genuinely interested, and maybe he is. Callie is impressively charismatic at only four. She’s also his daughter who he’s wanting to develop a relationship with, so it’s not far-fetched that she could be talking to him about the rate at which grass grows, and he would entertain it like he was watching a 49ers game. “You like Moana?”

Is water wet? “She’s the bestest! Right, mommy?”

You chuckle, fixing her shirt. “She watches it almost every day.” You always found it interesting, ironic even, that your daughter instantly gravitated to Moana, unaware that the voice of freaking Maui is her cousin, that she too had pacific islander ancestry. Through her dad. The dad you kept from her.

“You know I don’t know if I’ve seen that one—”

Callie’s mouth drops open as she looks at you, “mommy, can we watch it? Please? Please? Pleeeeaaassseeee?”

“Okay, okay, okay,” you relent after pretending to think about it. You like to limit her screentime to two hours, and even though she already watched The Princess and the Frog earlier for the 97th time this month, there was no way you were not gonna allow this bonding opportunity.

Squealing, Callie surprises you by breaking away and moving over to Joe, reaching for his hand. “Let’s go, Joe!” She pulls on the sleeve of his hoodie, probably to lead him into the living room where Disney Plus is signed in.

Alone in her playroom, you run over what just happened. You thought you would tell her the truth, tell her that this is the father she was asking about, the one she thought didn’t want her when in actuality, he wanted to know everything there was to know about her.

And for a second, you get pissed off. Why wasn’t Joe honest with her? Isn’t this what he wanted? To be in her life. It’s confusing. He is confusing. But….you try to give him the benefit of the doubt, certain that he must have some reason behind his actions. You just hope they’re damn good reasons.

“Mommy!” You know that tone of hers, the tone that tells you a request is to follow.

You shout back, “yes?”

“Joe likes popcorn too! Can we have some?”

You laugh and shake your head, shouting out an ‘okay’. Walking out of the room and into the living room, you find Callie near the TV, arm outstretched as she explains every detail of Moana, even the most obvious ones. But, Joe is sitting on the sofa, watching and listening intently. His smile is stapled.

He looks…..he looks so happy.

Moving into the kitchen, you move around quietly to not interrupt and to get their popcorn made.

Waiting for the popcorn to finish, you hear Callie ‘whisper’ to Joe, “Mommy can’t cook, but she makes good snacks.”

Amid his laughter, you walk near the living room, hands on her hips. “I heard that, little ms. ma’am.”

“That’s what Grandma says,” Callie defends with a shrug of her little shoulders. “She says mommy is pretty and smart and funny, but she burns water.” She looks off, confused, as if it’s finally registering to her that that doesn’t make sense. “Mommy, how do you burn water?”

Joe is on the sofa, hand over his mouth, fighting for his life. You also can’t help but laugh at the absolutely serious look on her face. “Finish your movie.”

The microwave dings, so you grab two bowls and fill them up equally. Delivering them to both, you place hers on the coffee table as she’s back to narrating. “Popcorn, as requested.”

“Thank you.” Her eyes go wide with excitement as she suddenly asks, “will you watch it with us?”

Damn. You had a feeling she would ask but was hoping she wouldn’t. Disappointing her twice in one weekend felt criminal. “Callie, I'm super behind with work.”

“Pleeeeasssseeee.” She starts with the begging again and then looks at Joe to inform him, “mommy’s a teacher. Do you have a job?”

Joe chuckles. “I do.”

“What do you do?” She asks in a sing-song tone. You give him that ‘I told you she never shuts up’ look.

“I’m a professional wrestler.”

She’s clearly intrigued, asking, “are you actually good?”

“Callie!” This little girl and her lack of filter sometimes never ceases to amaze you. Your mom swears up and down it’s your payback from how blunt you were as a child.

You’re starting to believe it.

Joe gives a shrug, clearly loving every bit of this. You can tell he wants her to keep the questions coming. He’ll answer em’ all if it means getting to spend time with her. “I’m alright.”

At that, you give him a look and crouch down to her level. “He’s very good.” You take the remote and quickly pause the TV, adding on, “matter of fact, he’s the universal undisputed champion.” Joe gives you a look, and you can tell he’s surprised by you knowing this piece of information.

You don’t watch wrestling as much as you used to, partially due to what happened between the two of you, mostly because you don’t have the time, but even non-wrestling people know about Roman Reigns and his current, historic title reign. You’re not sure if you’d feel entirely comfortable saying it to him, but you’re massively proud of Joe and all he’s accomplished. You always knew he could do it.

Her eyes widen with excitement and curiosity as she looks at Joe for clarification. “Really?”

“That is true.”

Head tilted, she moves away from you and climbs on the sofa to sit next to him. Her little legs crossed over as she continues with the questions. “What does undis—undis—”

He helps her out, also angling his body more toward her. “Undisputed?”

“Yeah! What does that mean?”

You can see he’s taking a minute to decide how to answer. “It means I don’t lose. Ever.”

“Whoooaaaa,” she breathes, obviously impressed. “You must eat a lot of veggies. I don’t like them, but mommy says they make you big and strong.”

“Your mom is right,” he agrees and looks her over. “You’re a very smart little girl. How old are you again? Like 15?”

“No, I’m four!” She giggles and lifts up four fingers. “But, I’ll be five on May 19th!”

His gaze softens. “Your birthday is in May?” She nods, happily. His smile is warm, emotional. “So is mine.”

You still for a moment. You hadn’t even thought about that, that her birthday was just days away from his. There’s something strangely sweet and moving about this fact, both to you and definitely to him.

“Really?”

And that’s how it plays out for the rest of the day, a combination of Callie’s incessant questions, intermittent viewing of Moana and parts of Encanto. Lunch and dinner sprinkled somewhere in between. You’re even able to sneak off to do your lesson planning, Callie more than fine with just Joe to entertain her.

It warms your heart to see them connect almost instantaneously.

It’s why you wait as long as you can to interrupt, never wanting to do so, to invade their moment. But, you also know your daughter, know that she needs a certain amount of sleep to function the next day. And when you check in on them and catch her yawning, you know it’s unfortunately that time.

Sighing, you enter the living room with your arms crossed. “Callie Bear, it’s time to start getting ready for bed, mamas.”

“Nooo.” She whines. “I’m not tired.” Her groggy voice and scowl would indicate otherwise.

“Of course, you’re not.” You bend down in front of her and reach for her hand. “Come on, we gotta tell Joe bye. He’s gotta get back to his hotel.” Despite her obvious objections, she climbs off the sofa and accepts your hand but not before looking at him.

“Will you come over again tomorrow?” She asks with hopeful eyes and a voice of excitement, both things that make being honest with her that much harder.

He obviously doesn’t want to give her the truth, but it’s better than the alternative. With a frown, he answers, “I wish….but I’ve gotta get back to work tomorrow, Callie.”

Her smile drops, and sadness arises. “Why? Do you have to go?” Her quiet voice is comprised of disappointment and despondency. You can tell it hurts him. Her hope is dashed, replaced with sadness. “When will you come back?”

“As soon as he can.” You jump in to assist, hating the way he looks so devastated not having a specific date for her. Truth be told, you wouldn’t be surprised if he won’t be able to get away for another few weeks, if not more. “And you know what, you can use my iPad to Facetime him when he’s available anytime you want.”

Her eyes light up. “Really?”

“Of course,” he assures. He reaches to push some hair out of her face. “I’ll call you whenever I can.”

She gives him a small smile. “You promise?”

Joe swallows. “I promise, sweetheart.”

Pleased and obviously ecstatic at this information, she surprises the both of you by tearing her hand from you to throw her little arms around him for an unexpected hug. You’re not sure why, but the sight makes your eyes water. His eyes close as he gently wraps his arms around her as well. You look away, almost uncomfortable interrupting this moment between the two of them.

When she pulls away, you swear you see disappointment reappear in his eyes. “Bye, Joe.”

She returns to your side, and you gently direct her, “go put on your jammies and pick out a book. I’ll be right there in a few minutes, okay?”

“Okay, mommy.” Without protest, she turns and heads back to her room. When it’s just the two of you, you turn to him, “she really likes you.” It feels silly saying such a thing. He’s her father. She should like him. She should love him.

But you also know better than anyone that being someone’s biological parent doesn’t automatically make them a parent.

“That’s why you didn’t tell her, isn’t it? You want to gain her friendship first.” In watching and participating in the interaction between them, it dawned on you just why he didn’t tell her right away. Joe wanted to first establish a baseline with Callie, wanted her to get to know him just for him, to bond with him not because he was her dad, but because she wanted to.

And clearly….clearly it worked.

“She’s amazing,” he whispers. You see he’s still caught up in the emotion of it all, meeting his daughter for the first time, connecting with her as quickly and easily as he has.

“She is,” you agree, suddenly remembering why you’d dismissed Callie. “I–I uhh, I have something for you.” Standing back up—your knees were gonna hate you tomorrow—you pull the thumbdrive out of the back pocket of your jeans. He also stands with you. “I was that new mom who was intent on documenting every single thing my kid did, and I’m kinda glad I did now.” You reach and drop it in his open palm. “I got everything on video. Her first word, first time crawling, first time walking….all of it.” Suddenly uncomfortable with his silence, you add on, “I know it’s not the same as being there, but—”

“Thank you.” he interrupts in a quiet voice, immensely grateful to you at this moment. “Thank you, Y/N.”

Emotion seems to be the keyword of the day, because yours are also all over the place, for a variety of reasons. It’s an experience that’s both overwhelming and confusing, but also….nice? You can’t necessarily describe it, but there’s something comforting about Joe having a role in Callie’s life.

But that doesn’t equate with your decision to not tell him about her in the first place, hence why you’re a hot ass, confused mess.

He’s making you feel things again, and you don’t like it.

“I know getting back here won’t be easy, especially with the holidays rolling around. But, whenever you can come, you’re welcome. I mean it.” Thanksgiving is less than 3 weeks away. You’re highly doubtful he’ll be touching down before then. “Christmas is her favorite holiday. I know she’d love to have you here for that.”

“I’ll be back before Christmas and for Christmas.” You don’t know how, but you do know he’s convinced of it, and you don’t put it past him. He seems entirely determined.

“Okay.” You walk him to the door, unsure why your bodies being so close to each other is an uncomfortable yet pleasing feeling. “Oh,” you suddenly remember something. “You need to make a Snapchat account.”

He scowls almost instantly. “A what?” A small laugh escapes you at his instant disgust. “I’m too old for that shit.”

“We both are, but it’s an easy way for me to share Callie and all her randomness with people. Make it and send me the username. I’ll add you.” It seems all it takes is for you to mention Callie, and he’s sold. He nods in agreement, all distaste washed away with the eagerness of receiving photos and videos of Callie on the regular. You keep your hand on the door, chewing on your lip, murmuring, “Goodnight, Joe.”

He gives you a look, something unspoken in his eyes. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

Closing the door behind you, you lock it and take a deep breath, unsure why your stomach is in knots. Not from anxiety or fear but happiness.

You’re happy to have Joe back in your life, even with all of the bullshit that’s transpired in this single day. There’s something relieving about having him around, and you know it’s for Callie. It needs to be just for Callie, because what you can never do again is allow yourself to fall back into that situation.

No matter how badly your heart and your head are clashing right now.

No matter how much you're starting to wonder if your heart ever really left that situation.

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns fic #roman reigns #arisnotebook

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auteurdelabre · 3 months

Text

A Little Sun Part 3.1 - Dieter!Bravo x f!Reader

part one / part two

rating: 18+ (MINORS GET OUTTA HERE OR I'M TELLIN' YOUR MAMAS)

Story Summary: As a PA to megastar and mega man-child Dieter Bravo you've had your fair share of headaches. Getting accidentally pregnant with his baby however takes the cake, especially when he offers to pay you to be his surrogate. You just weren't expecting to fall in love with him along the way.

tags: Surrogacy, Pregnancy, Body changes re: pregnancy, Mutual Pining, Idiots in love, P in V, Dirty talk, Unprotected Sex, Romance, Oral (f receiving), Cigarettes, Drugs, Mentions of Parental Death, Vulnerable Dieter, Vulnerable Reader.

a/n: y'all I'm really annoyed because tumblr won't let me post the entire chapter in one post because of whatever reason. So if you wanna read it all in one go, I'm posting it to my A03.

dividers by @silkholland

A LITTLE SUN

You burst into the house, kicking off your shoes and throwing your purse down onto the couch. Dieter looks up from his place on the chaise longue by the fireplace.

"What?"

"Some old guy in the coffee shop overheard I was pregnant and he told me that I shouldn't drink decaf coffee and then he touched my fucking stomach."

"What?" Dieter is immediately on his feet, fists curling. A strange feeling has passed over him, this protective and strangely possessive feeling. You're his. You're carrying his baby.

"Yeah and I was in such shock that I just let him. I fucking hate this," you say pressing your lips together tightly as you exhale through your nose. "As soon as your pregnant people suddenly feel like they have the right to touch you and give you unsolicited advice. It's so gross."

"I'm sorry," Dieter says, fighting the urge to touch your stomach himself.

It's barely even three months and you're not showing. He hasn't actually touched you anywhere other than your hand since that first time he cradled your stomach.

You see the way his dark eyes dart from your stomach to your face and back again. Can see the twitching in his fingertips as he thinks about it.

"You can touch it," you tell him. "You won't feel anything but you can touch it."

Dieter is immediately at your side, his wide hand going to your belly. You'd expected him to go over the shirt so when his hand slides up your t-shirt to rest over your bare skin you're surprised.

You go to say something but you still when you see his face. His eyes are closed, brows saddled in concentration. It's impossibly sweet. And there's something comforting about his warm palm on your skin, a feeling you can't quite place.

"Wish I could feel him moving."

"Won't be for a few months yet," you tell him.

Dieter gives a thoughtful hum in response. His thumb slowly drags across your skin and you feel your breathing hitch for a moment. Up close you see the length of his dark lashes, the fullness of his mouth. Has he always been this handsome? Or is it the hormones?

You pull his hand from under your shirt. "Okay that's enough."

“I said I am.”

“I never see you with it.”

“Jesus, Dieter! Do you want me to pull it out of my room?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

You storm into your bedroom, grabbing the yellow object from beside your bed and bringing it back into the living room where your boss/surrogate benefactor is waiting with his arms crossed.

“I told you, I put it on my belly every night. The baby hears your fucking Bravo mix tape every goddam night.”

“Every single night?” Dieter says disbelief. “What about Friday? You came home super late from that PA after works drink thing.”

“Dieter it was eleven when I got in,” you say rolling your eyes. “Besides, I don’t think the baby will suffer if it misses one or two-“

“I KNEW IT!” Dieter shouts animatedly. “You did skip a few days!”

In all honesty you’ve skipped plenty of days. Wearing those stupid fucking headphones over your belly is uncomfortable and boring as shit. You always read when you wear them because sleeping on your back is something you want to save for when you have no other choice. But lately you’ve been more tired and reading has been swapped for more sleeping.

Dieter looks beside himself as he begins pacing up and down the hallway, muttering to himself about being lied to. You recognize the signs almost immediately, shocked you overlooked them so easily before. Dieter is anxious. While most curl into or sequester themselves away, Dieter has always been a ball of anxiety that lashes out, fixating on everything other than himself.

“Dieter.”

“What?”

“What are you anxious about?”

Dieter pauses, face contorted into a defensive pose, lower lip stuck out. You almost hear his petulant: I’m not anxious. But the longer he stares at you the longer he realizes that you know him better than most. He just shakes his head, unable to formulate what has his insides doing a tap dance.

“I know something’s wrong,” you tell him as you shuffle over to him and he’s relieved and thankful to see there’s no animosity there in the depth of your eyes. Without thinking you reach out and take one of his hands in yours and he notes your palm is freezing.

“Nothing,” he mutters to himself. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

He sees the hurt pass over your face for a fraction for a second and he’s quick to clasp your hand tightly. “Is that okay?”

“Of course,” you say, retracting your hand. “Why don’t you go in the studio and paint for a bit? Enjoy your day off.”

Dieter nods, padding off to his workspace while you give a sigh. You can tell something is up with him, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. It makes you ache for him in a way, knowing that he’s holding something so close to the chest. Normally he tells you everything.

By four months you need to fuck something.

Toys aren't cutting it. You need a good fucking. You’ve decided that Josh will be a nice choice. You two have been fooling around a bit on set when you’re not being ordered around by Dieter who suddenly seems to need you every second you’re there.

So far it’s all over the pants stuff with Josh; mostly because you’re paranoid he’ll see your bare stomach and declare you pregnant. You don’t know why this concerns you, you don’t even look pregnant. Maybe a slightly swollen quality, but only you or Dieter (or your Mom!) would know the difference.

He doesn’t like you hanging around Josh and you can only assume it’s because Dieter doesn’t like to share his toys. You’re having his baby and so in his mind he gets to dictate everything. It’s fucking driving you insane.

You decide to approach Dieter about it directly, not wanting to bother the lawyer with this sort of thing. It seems embarrassing to have to go about it in this fashion, almost as if you have to ask permission for something quite personal. But this scenario is new and you’re not exactly what’s within the realm of appropriate.

You find him painting in one of the rooms, cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he listens to some strange grunge band from Japan. You lower the volume as you enter.

"Can we talk?"

Dieter turns, brows raised. "What's up?"

You look nervous, face warm and your fingers nervously drumming at your side.

"Dieter, we uh, we never talked about one thing in the contract."

Dieter lowers the paintbrush, going to the sink to wash his hands as he waits for you to continue.

"What's that?'

Fuck you feel awkward about this. How do you mention to your boss that you wanna go get laid? Your cheeks are heating and you nudge your toe absently against the doorframe.

"Uh, if it was okay if I wanted to go out with someone?"

"You want to date someone?" Dieter looks horrified, the cigarette dropping from his gaped mouth onto the floor. He retrieves it quickly, tossing it into the sink behind him before turning back to fix you with a glare. "I've known you for two years and you've gone on maybe three dates in all that time. Now you're pregnant and suddenly you want a boyfriend?"

"Not a boyfriend," you say quietly. "Just uh... a…"

"A hook-up?"

"Yeah."

"No fucking way!" Dieter insists much too forcefully for a man who tries to continually convince himself that he doesn’t want to fuck you himself. "Too dangerous! You could end up with a creep! What about the baby?!"

You roll your eyes. "Obviously I would be careful."

"No," Dieter shakes his head. "Too risky. What if they find out you work for me and ransom you?"

“It’s some-“ you stop yourself from giving too much away. “It’s not risky. I feel safe about it.”

“Well I don’t.”

A stand off about who you can fuck. Is this a joke?

"Dieter I'm really just giving you a heads up as a courtesy," you say icily. "You don’t control what goes in my vagina.”

Dieter blinks back his surprise a moment. You’ve never spoken to him like that. He can only assume that this is pregnancy hormones so he lets it slide. However, he’s still irritated about that annoying Josh hanging all over you. You turn to walk away from him.

"Well then as your boss," Dieter bites back, "I'm telling you that you can't fuck your little PA friend."

You stop your walking, turning to face him with a face contorted in rage.

"What?"

"You think I'm blind?" Dieter scoffs as he lights a fresh cigarette. "You think I don’t see you and that PA Josh making eyes at each other?”

You hate how he says PA, like Josh is pathetic for having the very job you yourself have. Not shocking – has Dieter ever really seen you as more than an extension of himself? More than the woman who plans his days and picks up his dry cleaning? Never.

"Dieter who else is there? He's the only single, straight guy near my age in this town!”

Dieter just stares at you, the end of his cigarette a red flare in the semi darkness. You throw up your hands in irritation, giving a growl and walking into your bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

///

BabiEDucate

15 weeks

Cravings: DICK. Also pickles - Related?

Missing: SEX. GETTING FUCKED.

You try not to let the sex thing override the rest of your enjoyment of this beautiful land. Ireland is stunning from the moment you wake up until you go to bed. You’ve met the nicest people on set, you and the makeup girls go to the pub every Friday. You always order for the group and you always lie and say you’re having a rum and coke, but it’s really just a coke.

You think about inviting Josh over here tonight. So far it's been frantic kissing against pub walls and one remarkably disappointing phone sex experience that left you more frustrated than anything.

You're just so paranoid he's going to be able to tell you're pregnant that you've been holding back.

Plus there’s the whole Dieter thing.

“Mia and Dieter are working on a night scene tomorrow night,” Josh murmurs to you as you hang to the side one afternoon on set. You’re both hidden away from the actors who had broken for lunch. “Should give us plenty of time if we want to hang out.”

“Hang out?” you say with a flirtatious smirk up at him. “Is that what the kids are calling it?”

“Fucking your brains out then?” Josh huffs against your ear as goosebumps rise along your neck.

“Sounds great,” you nod.

“Let’s go to yours,” Josh suggests. “Mia and the crew are at some fancy hotel and they’ve all got big mouths. Dieter’s the big movie star with his own rental.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow at seven.”

///

Everything you own is ugly.

Plus you have a headache. Plus you look bloated and your tits fucking ache. You pull at the tights and cute babydoll dress you threw on hours ago because it was the only thing you owned that sort of hides the growing expansion of your midsection and isn’t sweatpants. You look at yourself in the bathroom mirror, applying some lip-gloss before sighing.

All this work just to get laid.

You look down at your stomach, frowning as you mutter quietly. “You’re already a pain in the ass and you’re barely bigger than a bell pepper.”

You give a roll of your eyes at yourself in the mirror before flicking off the lights and heading back out to the kitchen. Josh sits there with a beer giving you an expectant smile as you approach.

Dinner was nice enough (he brought thai food), the conversation free-flowing. You told Josh you didn’t want to drink since you had a bit of a migraine. Not a total lie. He brought you flowers, which is incredibly kind and also annoying because you’ll have to hide them in your room lest Dieter see them.

But you don’t want flowers and wine and seduction. You thought you’d already laid the groundwork for that. But here Josh is trying to ask questions about your family and life back home and all you can think about is the minutes ticking by where you’re not getting fucked.

“Let’s move to the couch,” you suggest casually. “I think I have a documentary on sharks recorded.”

“Yeah, lets,” Josh says smiling eagerly.

There we go.

Within minutes the two of you are on the couch making out. Josh has one leg between yours, his hands on either side of your face. He’s muttering something about how good you feel but you’re distracted, concerned that he can feel your stomach.

You wonder if you could suggest doggy style. That's the only position you think could work where he wouldn't see your stomach. You thought about passing it off as a food baby, but you don't want to take the chance.

He urges your hand to keep palming him through his jeans as he kisses you. He tastes like the wine he brought and the mints Dieter leaves laying around everywhere. Your hand goes there, feeling his length and sighing. You can’t wait to feel him inside you.

“You want daddy to give you more?” Josh hums against your lips before his tongue invades your mouth.

Daddy? Ugh. Mood killer.

"You gonna-"

Whatever Josh was about to say dies on his tongue as the door to the cottage opens. Dieter’s head swings around just in time to see Josh's hand covering yours on the vee of his jeans, your bodies practically melded together.

"Get out," Dieter barks, his eyes wild. He literally races over to you both on the couch, glowering over Josh like an overprotective father. “Get away from her.”

Josh pulls away from you instantly, his entire face blanching. You reach for Josh as he stands abruptly. He's all mumbling apologies, pulling on his jacket and brushing past a very confused Mia who has just come in.

"What the fuck?" You say struggling to a stand. Your belly makes you go off kilter and you shake off Dieter's hand as he steadies you.

"What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking it was my night off and I wanted to enjoy it!" You explain angrily. "And you just chased off my date!"

"Your date?" Dieter looks beside himself with agitation. "Since when? We had an agreement!"

“Agreement? You mean order!”

You throw your hands up, wanting to punch Dieter squarely in the jaw. Instead you simply shake your head and shoulder past him to go to your bedroom. He tries calling your name but you ignore him, slamming the bedroom door behind you.

Mia watches this scene, her large eyes curious. "Dieter what am I missing here?"

"Huh?" Dieter whirls around in a spin. "Nothing."

"Then why did you just scare off my assistant?"

"Because I …He … She’s not..." Dieter waves his hand in the air, trying to explain himself. "I don't want my assistant fucking around with yours."

"Why?"

"It's not professional," Dieter insists, his face gloomy. "What if it got back to set?"

"I don't think they'd care," Mia laughs softly. "Are you just perhaps a bit overprotective of her?"

"Yes."

"Because of the baby?"

"Because- wait, what?"

Mia brings her jacket off her shoulders, hanging it up. "I'm a woman, Dieter. I have sisters. I know a pregnant woman when I see it."

Dieter pauses, considering what to say. He recalls Diane's instructions before you left for Ireland.

"Yeah she's pregnant. She's religious so she's keeping it but she doesn't want anyone to know," Dieter explains.

"Oh," Mia nods.

"I just don't want her hurt." Dieter tries to look sorrowful. "I've known her for a while and yeah, I guess I don't want anyone messing with her. I don't really know Josh or his intentions. I don’t want things to get messy."

"I totally get it," Mia says placing a hand to his forearm. "That's so sweet of you to care about your staff like that."

Dieter shrugs, smiling softly.

"I'll tell Josh to back off," Mia promises.

"Thanks," Dieter says warmly. "I'd appreciate that."

“You still wanna practice those lines for tomorrow?” Mia asks gently, her eyes warm as she glances at the bottle of wine Josh brought. “I see they left some wine.”

“Yeah,” Dieter smiles. “That sounds perfect.”

Josh isn't returning your calls anymore. When you see him on set he's totally polite but there's no more flirting, no more stolen kisses. You figure after the embarrassment of the other evening he’s steering clear of getting caught up in that mess. You can’t blame him. But you miss the attention, you miss the thrill.

In a few short months you won’t be able to hide that you’re pregnant and then after you give birth you’ll need months for recovery before you’re willing to put yourself back out on the dating scene.

Not that you were that big on the dating scene to begin with. If it wasn’t school it was working for Dieter. You had a few flings, a few whirlwind romances that left your body sated but your mind craving more. You try touching yourself in the bath or in the shower, in your bed. Nothing is working. There’s something primal about another person touching you that your hormones are craving.

You and Dieter haven’t spoken about that night with Josh since it happened. You had no desire to rehash the humiliation and in all honesty, you were wrong to do it here in a home that is more Dieter’s than it is yours. You should have gone to Josh’s if you wanted privacy, but you’d been so horny you hadn’t realized that.

You’re still dutiful in his scheduling and a week later the two of you are heading into Dublin so Dieter can have an on-air interview with a popular Irish radio personality. He’s nervous about it, tapping his fingers along his bouncing knee in the back of the limo they sent.

“So steer clear of politics obviously,” you say as you tap onto the tablet reading the notes Diane sent. “Diane says that she’ll be out here next week to go over your interview strategies for Graham Norton. Apparently you’re flying over there for an overnight.”

“I assume you’ll be hanging back for that,” Dieter says flatly.

“Yeah, you don’t need both me and Diane for that one.”

Dieter doesn’t know why but the thought of you fucking Josh is stuck in his brain. Someone Dieter has seen you growing closer to during your time here in Ireland when your attention should be on him. He’s Dieter Bravo – He’s rich, famous, an Oscar winner, the father of the baby you carry! What the fuck makes Josh worth your attention? Dieter sees the secret smiles when Josh texts you, sees you distracted on set. It fucking infuriates him.

“Gives you a whole two days to fuck your little PA friend while I’m gone.”

Dieter is shooting you an open sneer and you feel your entire body heating up. That’s it. You’ve tried to be civil and even apologetic but this is getting ridiculous. You throw the tablet on the car seat between the two of you, your nostrils flaring.

“You don’t get to tell me who I go to bed with,” you growl, noting the way Dieter’s eyes widen in surprise at your tone. “I'm tired you thinking you control everything about me because I happen to be carrying your kid.”

You glance up belatedly hoping that the driver can’t hear you through the plastic divider separating the front from the back of the vehicle before your eyes are back on the increasingly red-faced Dieter.

“I’m my own person, Dieter. And yes, I will carry this child, and yes I will do so with love and care. But as for whom I fuck? That’s not your business.”

You don’t bother telling him that Josh is off the table. That you heard yesterday that he’s started seeing some girl from costumes. You don’t bother telling Dieter that there’s no one in the quiet hamlet that you actually want to fuck. He doesn’t need to know that.

Dieter continues to stare at you, shocked at the vitriol coming from you. He’s seen you irritated and even angry, but right now you seem borderline frenzied. Your cheeks are red and your eyes are bright and you’re almost snarling.

He’s turned on out of his mind.

He crosses his legs to hide his growing length, clearing his throat and praying you don’t notice the flush rising to his cheeks.

You throw yourself back into your seat, eyes out the window. You’re breathing quickly, still furious about all of this. You wish there was another man on set that you’d like to have take you to bed but there’s no attraction for anyone else. Josh was the only one who appealed to you and without him your only solution is the men down at the pub (all pensioners or gay) or your own fingers which really don’t do the job.

Dieter watches you, struck by his own increasing insecurity. He’d rather you fuck anyone else here. Someone whose texts don’t make you smile down at your phone. Someone who doesn’t distract you during movie nights with Dieter. A nobody.

"I know that what I'm asking might sound unfair," Dieter finally offers quietly. "So I'll pay someone. Someone reputable and clean from one of the services here."

It takes you a moment to realize what he's offering and when you do you turn to face him, outraged.

"I'm not sleeping with an escort! I’ve never paid for sex I’m not about to start now.”

"Fine,” Dieter shrugs. “I'll get you whatever toy you want."

"I have toys. Toys aren't doing the job," you admit with a sigh before your face flushes at the admittance. You don't tell him that you've worn out the batteries beyond charging on all. That the toys aren’t what you crave. It’s the touch of a man, his heartbeat under your palm, the sweaty tangled mess under sheets that your body craves.

But Dieter doesn’t understand this; he’s still trying to come up with a solution to your problem that won’t make him feel like shit.

"Then I'll-"

"I need sex, Dieter!" You interrupt in frustration. "All these fucking hormones are making me so... I-I just need a cock to come on!”

The minute the words escape you Dieter’s already dark eyes seem to turn black. He slowly inches over to you in that bouncing, jerky way of his, crawling over the seat until he reaches your. You don't know what he's doing, but you don't stop him when his hand comes to the curve of your belly.

You hold in a whimper at the sensation of his warm palm through the fabric of your shirt. His hands are wide but you've never noticed just how big they are. His head tilts forth, his forehead gently pressing against yours. Your eyes flutter to focus on his full mouth.

"You're taking care of my baby," Dieter offers in a husky whisper. "So I'll take care of you."

His free hand slowly moves to wrap around the back of your neck, barely touching you.

"That's a terrible idea," you breathe, your voice holding no conviction.

"We did it before," Dieter reasons.

"We don't even remember it."

"So let's make a memory," Dieter murmurs, his eyes on your mouth now.

“We’re here Mister Bravo,” comes the voice of the driver from the front of the town car.

Fuck.

The ride back from the radio interview is tense. Dieter managed to be professional, even charming with the hosts. And while he did that you managed to get a few emails checked, interviews organized and wardrobe fittings scheduled.

But the promise of what he started in the limo only hours before weighs heavily on you both. You feel it’s massively inappropriate given that he’s your boss. He’s paranoid he’s overstepped and scared you off so he doesn’t want to make another move.

So the two of you look out opposite windows, studiously ignoring one another until you return back to the rental. Dieter practically flings himself from the limo, tossing a wave at the driver over his shoulder as you roll your eyes and follow him inside.

The house is quiet, the light of the day dimming. You’re too tired for a walk today so you quickly shower and pull on your softest sleep shorts and t-shirt. You pull on your fuzzy robe and slippers and pad out to the kitchen to make yourself a tea. Dieter is already there boiling the water, his hair damp from his own shower. The two of you exchange tight smiles before you go over to the television, switching it on.

“I think there’s a doc about Patagonia,” Dieter calls over to you. “Wanna watch it together?”

“Sure.”

You hate that the thought of it makes your heart jump. The man that is usually so annoying to you is suddenly so fucking enticing you want to jump him right now. You want to fist your hand through his damp curls and ride him until he’s whimpering.

Fucking hormones.

You wonder if Dieter is good in bed. You've heard plenty of thankful refrains from his closed bedroom door but that might just be to stroke his ego.

You don’t remember your time with him and so the only context you have is when you walked in on him when you thought he was alone and you were desperate to go over some of the errands he had asked of you earlier in the week.What you'd found was Dieter lying in bed, one arm behind his head as a lithe blonde man with a scruffy beard went down on him. Dieters hand was carding through the man's hair, pulling his mouth further along his impressive cock.

"That's right," Dieter murmured, eyes closed. "Take it all like a good boy. Swallow it down."

You'd quickly closed the door shut, the man's moans echoing behind you thankful you'd not been seen. For some reason that image had stayed with you since then. You don't know if it's because it was two men or because Dieter was so commanding or because it was something you weren't supposed to see.

But when you think of Dieter and fucking him, it's this memory that floods your senses... And your panties. Like right now as you sit next to him trying to ignore the proximity of his body to yours.

“Want popcorn?”

“Nah, I’m okay.”

“Tea?”

“No I’m fine. Do you want tea?”

“No, I’m good.”

It’s like a middle school dance. The two of you sitting stiffly next to each other, both pretending to ignore the obvious desire there, both too scared of what will happen next. You’re desperate to focus on Patagonia but you can’t. Your boss smells so good and looks so good and he’s rolled up his sleeves so his forearms are bare and his hands are so fucking big. You imagine them everywhere on your body before you force yourself to find a distraction.

“I never asked you about your tattoos,” you say as your eyes runs over the inky triangle closest to you on his forearm. “Why triangles?”

“I guess I really like pizza,” Dieter smirks.

And suddenly all the tension is gone from the moment, replaced with the familiarity of his humor. You let your head tilt back as you let out a guffaw, pushing his arm affectionately. He swings it around your shoulders as he watches your eyes crinkling as you laugh loudly, feeling his chest swell. He loves it when he can make you laugh like that; unguarded.

And in that moment he knows he wants more. He wants to make you feel good. He wants to feel you and be able to remember it the next day.

As you wipe amused tears from your eyes you feel Dieter leaning towards you, his hand on your shoulder, tilting you in his direction ever so slightly.

You don’t pull away.

In fact you let the giggles ebb, but you don’t move from his nearness. Your faces are so close he can feel your warm breath huffing over his parted mouth. You smell like soap from the shower and earl grey tea. He watches your eyes go to his mouth and then slowly move back to meet his gaze.

Why isn’t he kissing me?

You want him to kiss you.

But he’s just sitting there, arms around you; face so close you can see the density of his eyelashes. The two of you sit there breathing slowly into one anothers mouths and it dawns on you that Dieter is waiting for you. Impossibly erratic, impulsive Dieter Bravo is waiting to see if this is truly what you want.

You need to make the first move.

For some reason that's what prompts your head to tilt towards him, your mouth gently landing against his. Your hands go to his shoulder, holding tightly.

He kisses you gently at first, head spinning at how good it feels. He doesn't know if it's because this is the longest he's been sober in years or because it's you. Whatever the reason, it makes him wrap his arms around your waist, licking into your mouth as you whimper.

Fuck he kisses well.

"This is a terrible idea," you tell him even as you begin to pull at the drawstring of his sweatpants.

"Completely," he says, running his palms along your upper arms.

"Need you to fuck me hard, Bravo."

"Anything you want."

"This is just a way to g-get some release," you tell him as his mouth goes to your neck and you groan.

"Mhmmm."

You try to remember what you were going to say but his tongue is slowly dragging along your jaw before he's planting sloppy kisses down your neck.

"J-just this one time," you groan when his hands come to cup your breasts, thumbs rolling over the stiffened peaks of your breasts overtop your nightclothes.

"You sure? What about if you need it again?" Dieter hums, hands sliding up under your sleep shirt to find your breasts warm and heavy in his hands. He makes a soft sound of pleasure as he kneads them.

"We c-can't," you whimper, eyes closing. His mouth is so soft and warm and it leaves every piece of your body it touches electric.

"Sure we can," he murmurs. "We make the rules."

"The contract," you offer weakly as his fingers gently pinch each nipple tightly until you gasp. Dieter can’t look away from your saddled brows and the way you arch into him.

"Didn't say anything about this," Dieter whispers against your mouth. You kiss him now, urgent and needy and he groans as he licks into your mouth.

"I want you to enjoy this," Dieter purrs.

"I'll enjoy it," you tell him, hands still fumbling with the drawstring of his sweatpants.

You'll enjoy any sex at this point. You just need a quick, hard, fuck and you'll be back to your normal focused self (well, plus pregnant). You're startled when Dieter takes your wrists, pulling them from his waist. You frown up at him.

"What're you-"

Dieter gives you a playful smirk and drops to his knees beside the sofa and between your legs. Your eyes blow open in shock as he tugs your sleep shorts down from under your sleep shirt and tosses them over his shoulder. They land somewhere on the floor, forgotten. You don't even have time to be embarrassed at being half naked in front of him, your boss, because he immediately drags one thigh over his broad shoulder.

"Amazing," he murmurs, eyes fixed on your glistening sex.

"You don't have to-"

"Don't have to make you feel good?" Dieter scoffs up at you. "No wonder you weren't in a rush to fuck. All your other boyfriends must have been pitiful in bed."

You're about to answer sharply when Dieters mouth descends. His hands grip the back of your thighs and you feel him lick a stripe up the seam of your drenched cunt.

"Fuck!"

Dieter grins against your pussy at the sound. He looks up to see your eyes wide and fixed on him kneeling there between your legs. You’re slumped on the sofa, looking at him with flushed cheeks and heavy eyes and Dieter feels himself groan at the sight.

You try to distract yourself from the burning in your thighs and the sudden nakedness you feel when you see the moonlight is shining on Dieter’s mouth between your legs.

“Dieter anyone could see.”

“We’re a million miles away from anyone else,” he tells you, voice muffled. But he stops when he senses that you’re suddenly no longer interested in this, at least not in out here while the TV plays a documentary on Patagonia in the background. He leans forward,pressing glossy kisses up your belly until he’s caged you in with his arms against the sofa. He sees the pupils blown wide in your eyes and he can’t help himself from kissing you senseless. You taste yourself on him and it makes your ardor grow.

With a patience he didn't even know he truly possessed, Dieter leads you to his bedroom by the hand, weaving through the furniture in the semi darkness. He’s so hard he’s fucking throbbing, the scent of you clinging to his face and driving him wild.

He watches you clamor onto his bed, eyes watching his face in anticipation. Despite the fact that you run most of his life, tonight it’s Dieter that will be taking the lead. To his surprise you submit, watching him with a nervous look as he crawls onto the bed next to you, still wearing his threadbare t-shirt and soft sweatpants.

You wait for him to start roughly, to take what he wants. You think of his hands on the back of that man’s head, the way he’d thrust lazily into his mouth. You wait for Dieter to take take take as he always does in all things.

But he’s not rushing, he’s watching you closely.

Because he's sober during sex for the first time in years and he's so aware of how this potentially changes things between the two of you. His hands are trembling when he reaches for you. For you this is release, Dieter is a human sex toy for you to derive pleasure from. Dieter knows and accepts this.

But you're not that to him.

And even though he can't recall that night the two of your shared that created the life you now carry, he knows that he never treated you like it. He’s never thought of you as just sexual release, not then, not now, not ever.

He watches you on the bed, hands reaching for him. “Dieter please.”

He moves towards the mattress, knees hitting the edge before his large hands come to slide your sleep shirt up your belly, notching it just under your breasts when he sees your concern at it rising higher.

"Lean back baby mama," Dieter grins down at you as he kisses his way down your swelled stomach, his mouth soft and wet. "Gonna make you feel so good."

"We don't have to- I just wanna get fucked," you explain, still feeling awkward at the thought of your boss going down on you.

"Without being warmed up?" Dieter squints at you in confusion before placing a kiss to the soft of your pussy. "That's not how I do things. You need to come before you get this cock."

You hate how those words from him are enough to have you whimpering.

You watch him with eyes heavy lidded as he spreads your thighs widely for him, hooking them over his broad shoulders. Only now that you're opened so fully to him does he look at your sex and give a tortured moan.

"Such a pretty pussy," he breathes, nose nudging your clit as he begins to give your cunt a sloppy kiss. "So wet already baby. This all for me?"

You don't reply to him and he doesn't wait for your response. But the answer is clear when arousal continues as his tongue begins to delve deeply between your folds. His tongue and mouth immediately begin working at a frantic pace between your legs as he holds you against his face. It isn't long before you're arching into him, holding him by his wild curls.

His wide hands hold your thighs to his shoulders, pinning you open so he can taste you. You hear murmurs of "so fucking sweet" and "so good for me, baby" and each rasping word hits you directly below your navel.

When his tongue flicks your clit and then he begins sucking it's game over. You feel it building in your core and you let out a gentle whimper. Dieter’s eyes fly open at the sound, gaze fixed on your pleasured face contoured in pleasure at your approaching climax.

Your hands are twisted in the sheets and he can see how every muscle in your body is tightened. You’re in awe at how wrong your initial assessment of his sexual prowess was. Dieter Bravo is not a selfish lover.

He's fucking insatiable.

"C'mon, baby," Dieters voice is low and syrupy between his licks and kisses. "Let go for me."

You weren't expecting it to feel this good. Weren't expecting Dieters voice to go that low and raspy. Weren't expecting that just his tongue and fingers could hit so deep, so well.

"I need you to come on my tongue."

There's something in the almost way he says it that has your thighs tightening around his ears, back arching violently off the bed.

"I'm... I'm-c-coming!"

You dissolve underneath his tongue, pelvis thrusting harshly against his greedy mouth. You cry out his name over and over, eyes damp with relieved tears at the tension that is slowly leaving your body.

When you come, Dieter looks up the length of your body, taking in your glassy eyes and flushed cheeks as you float down from your high. You give a soft sigh that ends in a groan. You want more.

"I knew it," he groans, eyes shuttering as he watches you shatter. "I fucking knew it."

You lay quaking in the aftershocks as Dieter crawls up the length of your body, dragging a loving palm over your belly as he does. You're not even sure he realizes he's doing it.

"What did you know?" You pant, hands clutching the sheets as you come down from your pleasured high. His face is inches from yours, dark eyes glittering.

"The face you make when you come," Dieter rasps, eyes mapping your flushed face. "I knew it was gonna ruin me."

His mouth crashes into yours before you can reply and despite your insistence to yourself that this remain platonic, your arms are already snaking around his neck. You're dropping your jaw open so he can lick into your mouth and you hear your own desperate moans echoing against his in the quiet room.

"Fuck me," you croak against his mouth. "Hard."

He pulls back eagerly, stumbling to a stand beside the bed and nearly tripping in his rush to take off his pants and shirt. Finally he stands curls askew from taking off his t-shirt in a rush.

He places his knee on the bed and you can't help but be impressed with the size of him. No wonder he has so many repeat bedroom visitors. Between that and his tongue is a marvel he has time to leave his bed at all.

"You ready?"

"Yes," you pant, hating how desperate you sound as your hands reach for him, eagerly shifting your hips and smiling at him. He lays himself next to you on his side.

“Oh shit, a condom-“ Dieter starts with a frown. “I think I have some-“

"You're clean?"

"Yeah,” Dieter says with quirked brows. “Haven't fucked anyone since you."

You're shocked by this announcement. “Mia?”

Dieter shakes his head, cheeks pinking. You sense the moment slipping from you and you shake off the voice that tells you the lines are blurring. Right now all you want is to feel Dieter inside of you.

“Fuck me bare,” you tell him, mouth on his.

“Really?”

“S’not like I can get more pregnant.”

Dieter chuckles gently, his hand coming to cup your cheek as his tongue slips into your mouth. You taste him, every crevice as he does the same to you, needing to feel every piece of you that you keep hidden. As he does he trails a finger lazily against your inner thigh, knuckles brushing against the warmth of your core.

"You still want this?" he murmurs pulling back to see your eyes.

"Yeah," you nod eagerly, already missing the sensation of his lips on yours. You curl into him. He still stares at you, only now he looks nervous.

"You want me?"

There's something in the way Dieter's voice catches at that last word. Almost as if it's fighting to get out of his throat. Your eyes latch to his and you see the vulnerability there, the way he looks so unsure even as you hold to him.

"Yeah, Dieter," you finally say quietly. "I want you."

The relief is so clear as his mouth finds yours again. He kisses you deeply, tongues dabbing at one another as he urges you onto your back.

"Fuck, I can't believe we're finally doing this," he rasps against your jaw, pressing damp kisses there. "Gonna make you feel so good."

His fingers trail at the seam of your cunt, teasing but you bat them away. He gives you a confused look.

"I need your cock," you tell him breathlessly, hitching your thighs around his hips and urging his cock to your entrance.

This isn't what he normally does. He likes his female partners to be multiple orgasms deep before he fucks them. He's large and he doesn't want to hurt you.

"Please," you whisper and now you're cunt is shifting towards the head of his cock, urging him inside.

He gives a small groan and before he can second guess you request he's slowly sliding into you to the hilt. The feeling of Dieter entering you is exquisite, the stretch not too bad because he's already made you come.

Your entire body arches under him at the divine sensation, the way he fills you so achingly full. You hiss in pleasure, gripping his shoulders so tightly you leave half moon crests temporarily tattooed on them.

Dieter stares at you as he enters you, his mouth hanging open as the delicious sensation of your cunt envelops him. Warm and slick and so fucking good. You wrap around him like you were made for him, like you were both built to fit perfectly together. It makes him give out a strangled gurgle when he sheaths himself to the hilt.

"Holy fuck."

"So good," you moan without thought. You're normally not a vocal lover, but no one has made you feel this good just at entering you.

"Yeah?" Dieter asks you with a proud grin as his hips begin to rock into you. "You like feeling me deep, huh?"

"Yes," you nod, biting your lower lip. "Want you even deeper."

Your thighs drop open further and now you're hands slither down his side until you’re gripping his ass, urging him to fuck harder and deeper.

"So eager," Dieter rasps not even bothering to hide his delight. You're eager for him. He nuzzles your cheek, grazing a kiss there. "You’re trembling, baby. You needed this didn't you? Needed my cock so badly."

"Uh huh."

Fuck you're so pliant, so goddam agreeable right now under him that it makes Dieter heady. You're never so soft with him in real life. You'd never admit to needing him outside this moment. Dieter realizes right then and there that being inside you bare is better than any drug, any drink.

"You like fucking an Oscar winner, sweet thing?"

You momentarily break from your pleasured haze to give him a look that clearly reads your disdain for this particular dirty talk. In all the bliss you've been experiencing with him, you'd momentarily forgotten who Dieter Bravo is.

Dieter is an ego maniac, a man who loves to talk about himself, an actor who gets told how amazing he is by everyone, so you really shouldn't be that surprised that he'd bring up his accolades during sex. However that's about the least sexy thing about him right now

"Does that usually work?"

"Huh?" Dieter's eyes are glassy as his cock saws in and out of you. "Does what work?"

"Reminding your bed partners that you're an Oscar winner?"

He looks at the derision in your gaze and swallows embarrassed. "Sometimes."

You see the sheepish look cross his features.

"Why say it?"

"I guess…to impress them." Dieter gives a crooked grin. "To seduce them... Or whatever .."

"You don't need to impress me or seduce me," you tell him firmly, your hips jutting as you increase his pace. "This is a transaction, Dieter. All I need from you is your cock and for you to fuck me deep."

Dieter grins weakly again and watches as your eyes shut, hands moving to either side of your head against the pillow and he begins thrusting anew. Dieter loves that he doesn't have to wear a condom with you. He's rarely gone bareback - always paranoid about accidental pregnancy or a lying partner. The sweet clench on his bare cock has his brain fuzzy.

Dieter can't fight the need to inhale you at that moment. Your soap, your perfume, your skin. Everything tantalizes him, making his mouth water. His nose buries itself in the hair at your temple and he breathes deeply. Coconut. Vanilla. And something something uniquely you that he can't quite place.

Having you like this is a dream, one he didn't realize he's been harboring for much longer than when you first slept together.

"Need to hear those noises again," Dieter groans against your temple. "Need to feel your cunt squeeze me when you come."

His mouth is filthy and you're shocked at how much it turns you on to hear it. His voice is so low, so gravely is almost a purr.

"You gonna soak my cock, baby?"

"Yes," you mewl, eyes tightly shut as your bodies rock against one another.

"Yeah you are," he says with affection.

He wants so desperately to push your t-shirt up and see the rest of you naked and bouncing. But he'll take what you offer without complaint. His hips shift forward again and again, your thighs spread wide for him so he can access you as deeply as possible.

"Harder," you beg brokenly. "Please… fuck me harder."

He acquiesces immediately with a grunt, hands coming to pin your wrists to the mattress above your head as he fucks into you, hips moving brutally against yours. He can see the swell of your breasts bouncing under the soft cotton of your t-shirt, watches the way your eyes roll back and hears the strange throaty babbling that emerges from you.

"So fu ... So dee.. Fuck... Good.... Don't st... Gonna... Gonna..."

Each word is punched out with every thrust from Dieter. He feels sweat beginning to bead at his temples but nothing distracts him from his pursuits.

You're close, he knows by the way your own hips begin to circle his and then finally they still as you begin pulsing around his length.

At the first sound of your cry and the feeling of your cunt milking him, Dieter feels his own release erupt from him.

“You’re so good, so fucking good,” he groans before he grunts out your name as he gives one final thrust and then stills. He groans as he spends himself deep within you before he collapses on top of you, head against your shoulder.

"Fuck." Dieter says slowly. "That was....that was good right?"

"More than good," you say honestly before brushing back your sweaty hair from your forehead. "Thank you."

You go to sit up and leave but Dieter is already pulling you towards him, wedging a leg between yours and nestling his face in the crook of your neck.

“Just stay a moment.”

You want to extricate yourself, to remind him that this was all just for release. But he’s so warm and he smells so good and you feel so good and the room is so warm . . .

You wake up a few hours later to Dieter’s hand gently rubbing your stomach over your sleep shirt. You give a soft yawn and he looks your face on the pillow next to his. He wonders if all men feel like this when they’ve gotten a woman pregnant. This fierce protectiveness, this open desire that makes him want to hold you and never let go.

You look beautiful right now, sleepy and sensual as you give a soft stretch. He feels your torso shift and thinks about the miracle under his fingertips. Creating life.

"He's gonna be a Saggitarius."

"Huh?"

"My son," Dieter tells you. "Doctor says he'll be born December twelfth, remember? That makes him a Saggitarius."

"So?"

"So that's good because I'm a Libra. So we're a good personality match. He's gonna be independent though. Wonder if he'll go into the family business," Dieter muses looking at your belly. "What are you?"

"A woman who doesn't think that star placements affect my future," you say with your eyes closed, mouth curled into a bemused smirk.

"He'll be here just in time for Christmas," Dieter says dreamily. "Can you imagine how cute he'll be in front of the Christmas tree?"

"Not really," you say briskly. "I'll be recovering from pushing a watermelon-sized being out of my body. I'm thinking a beach somewhere with lots of alcohol."

"You're not going to be here?" Dieter says, feeling a strange panic bubbling inside him. "Not even for the first few days?"

"You paid me to be your surrogate, Dieter," you tell him flatly. "Not your nanny."

"I just figured you'd stick around for a bit," Dieter mutters.

“I'm gonna go to an all inclusive somewhere. Just relax for two weeks in the sunshine, get hammered, ho-."

You stop. You'd been about to say "hook up" but something makes you pause. When you'd first thought about life post birth you'd kinda just assumed that it would be running away to an island to celebrate the whole thing being behind you. But now, thoughts of some warm vacation away from Dieter and your baby seems... Hollow.

Not your baby. Stop thinking like that.

You glance over to see Dieter, his face impassive. You think that maybe, just maybe you could stay a few days. Just to get the baby settled. That would be kind of you. Yes, that works.

"I guess I could stay the first week it comes home- er to your home," you tell him.

Dieter nearly jumps off the bed in excitement. "Really?"

You shrug. "Won't be able to move much anyway."

Dieter can't help himself, his hands go to your neck, holding you before his lips come crashing into yours. You hate how you don't even pause before returning the kiss with cheeks flushed as he takes them in his hands, his eyes soft on yours.

When he kisses you again it feels slower, deeper. And when you urge him on top of you again, your thighs parting automatically, he slides into you like he just kissed you. Slow and deep until the two of you are shuddering against one another, your dual moans a symphony in the quiet house.

Cravings

bananas

pizza

pretzels

independence from boss who will not stop sending insane baby related texts at all hours of the day

Missing

personal space

sushi

not barfing

Baby is size of turnip.

Dieter’s mood continues to vacillate in the coming weeks. Some days he’s bouncing up and down, cooing at your belly behind closed doors and talking about the future. Other days he’s withdrawn, spending hours in his art room or running through his lines alone in his bedroom.

You wonder if it’s the withdrawal from drugs. You haven’t seen your employer indulging in anything more than red wine at dinner and you wonder if it’s taking its toll on him. You decide he needs a distraction, something fun. You also sort of want to pay him back for… well… helping you out.

You take a look at his schedule and after a few phone calls you go to his art room on morning he has off, giving a soft knock. His voice is muffled but irritable through the closed door. He’s blasting music that he turns down.

“What?”

“I have a surprise for you,” you tell him grinning through the door. Almost immediately you hear the padding of socked feet and he pulls the door open, a cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth, his eyes wide like a child’s.

“A surprise?”

“Yep,” you nod with a smile. “A special treat.”

He wastes no time in running a comb through his hair (at your insistence), popping a piece of gum in his mouth and pulling on his oversized jacket before following you out of the house and into the waiting town car.

“What’s the treat?” he asks the second the vehicle begins to move.

“Be patient,” you say with a teasing grin. “It’s about a two hour drive to Dublin.”

“Two hours?” Dieter throws himself back in his seat as if this is the cruellest form of punishment. “Do I get a hint?”

You mull this over as the green outside the window sails by. “Mmm… Green.”

“Green?”

“Yep.”

“The fuck?”

“That’s all you get.”

“What kind of clue is ‘green’ when we’re in fucking Ireland?”

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see,” you tell him. “Now I have some work I have to do, why don’t you go on your phone or take a nap or something.”

“You sure you’ve never had kids?” Dieter muses sarcastically. “Sure sound like one.”

You give him a warning look before going back to responding to emails about a photo shoot happening next month. You pull into Dublin a few hours later, glancing sideways when Dieter shifts and begins speaking.

"I miss going to the movies as a regular person," Dieter tells you, eyes hidden behind sunglasses as you drive by the theatre. "Used to be the only place that made me happy."

Dieter tells you a lot, but his childhood is a topic he usually stays away from. You lower your phone, giving him your full attention. "Really?"

"Yeah," he nods. "When I was a kid we didn't have a ton of money. But my mom always saved up enough for me to go to see a movie."

He misses his Mom a lot. It’s clear in the wistful way he talks about her. It reminds you that the two of you share a connection, one you both wish you didn’t. Parents gone too soon, taken, ripped from your families but never your hearts.

You don’t have to lower his sunglasses to know his eyes are misty as he thinks of her. You reach across the seat and wrap your fingers around his wide hand. You want this day to be a good one for him, you want him to be happy.

“What’s your favorite drink in the whole world?”

Dieter comes back to himself, glancing at you over his sunglasses. “Easy, whiskey.”

“Exactly,” you say smiling. “And what kind?”

“Jameson.”

You nod, watching the green building slowly coming into view. You motion to it out the window with a soft "voila" grinning as Dieters eyes grow wide.

"Jameson distillery...Private tour for one Dieter Bravo," you tell him proudly. "Turns out the owner is a big Cliff Beasts fan."

Dieter is leaning over your lap to see more of the building, his warm chest on your thighs.

"Are you serious?"

He's looking at the logo glowing on the sign, eyes taking in the double doors before smiling in shock at you.

"Yep. Now be on your best behavior," you tell him bringing out the phone. "I'll be back in three hours-"

"Fuck that," Dieter scoffs. "You're coming with me. This'll be way more fun with someone else."

"Dieter, I can't even drink."

"I'll drink enough for the two of u-"

"Incorrect," you cut him off officiously. "You promised Diane you weren’t getting wasted anymore. So today you can to enjoy the tour and the whiskey tasting, maybe buy a hat, but that's it."

"But-"

"Don't make me regret doing something nice, Bravo," you warn him and a warm smile crosses his face as he nods.

"Yes ma'am."

"Alright, let's go in." You shuffle on your seat to the door. “Now we only have three hours inside so make sure you don’t wander off, got it?”

“Got it.” Dieter is squirming excitedly so much he reminds you of a puppy, all big eyes and wagging tail. You roll your eyes in amusement before you duck out of the car with him, telling the driver to please return in three hours.

“Sunglasses,” you murmur, handing them to him. He slips them on, tugging up the hood of his jacket. Without warning he takes your hand in his, clasping tightly. “Don’t wanna get separated,” he explains. You don’t fight him on it, instead you grip him back and nod.

Dieter doesn't let go of your hand until you're both inside staring up at the chandelier made of whisky bottles. The place is busy, but its midday and most are so distracted by their own adventure that they don't even notice Dieter as you two walk in.

"Holy shit," Dieter says and even though you can't see his eyes you know they're wide with excitement.

The wraparound bar has descriptive titles like floral, vanilla, smooth above empty shot glasses begging to be filled. Dieter reads the board talking about the various things to see.

"I wanna do the cask drawing," he says, rocking back in his shoes excitedly. "And the blending class."

"We can do it all," you promise him, absently tapping his elbow to keep him moving. "C'mon, we're looking for a Peter Connor."

You sail past a group just starting their tour, your feet slapping the slate floor. Dieter is awestruck, looking at everything like a wondrous child until you come upon what looks to be the owner, a grey haired man with big ears.

"Peter Connor?" You ask, pulling out the email correspondence between the two of you. "I'm the one who-"

"Mister Bravo?" Peter says with his Irish lilt the second he sees him, his eyes wide. "I was just sayin' to me wife that it was a feckin' miracle you bein' in Dublin since we just finished yer latest Cliff Beast film. Is there any hope of an autograph for the wife an' me?"

Dieter is all charm and smiles, shaking the man's hand and chatting back and forth before signing autographs and you taking a few photos of them.

"I didn't know you were married," Peter says, shaking you hand warmly before you realize what he's said.

"Oh no," you say quickly. "Just his PA."

"My mistake," Peter says ducking his head. "Well if you'll be followin' me I've got a special tour planned. Your assistant here told me how much ye love Jameson, Mister Bravo."

"I do," Dieter says grinning. It's the only whisky I drink."

"Aye, as it should be."

The private tour goes off without a hitch and you find yourself fascinated by the varied history of Jameson whiskey.

When it comes to the tasting Peter your tour guide goes to pass you your flight but you stop him.

"None for me, thanks."

"Ye can't be comin' through Jameson and not tryin' a drop," he cajoles. Normally you'd come up with a lie or laugh along with him. But you're tired from the drive and walking while pregnant so you just shrug.

"Unless medical advice has changed in the last fifty years I don't think introducing my unborn child to whiskey in the womb is exactly wise."

Peter is immediately all smiles, looking at your stomach.

"Are ye' in the family way then?" He smiles. "What a blessin'. Is this yer first?"

And last.

"Yeah," you nod, not wanting more attention than necessary. Dieter is watching all of this at your elbow, eyes on your face.

"I wish ye and yer little one nothin' but blue skies and long healthy days and that you'll both be rich in blessins."

"Thank you."

Dieter sees it before you do, Peter's hand reaching forward to gently pat your stomach. He remembers the horror you feel at strangers grabbing your body and he quickly wraps his arm around your waist, guiding you towards the next flight of whiskey being brought out.

When a young couple comes up and quietly requests a photo Dieter accepts and it’s you who offers to take it, asking them to be subtle and not post it until Dieter has left. They agree, their hands hovering around Dieter’s broad shoulders. You hand them back their phone and move on, rolling your eyes at their backs.

Refreshing.

That's the word that comes to mind with Dieter about you. You're refreshing. Like an iced cold glass of water on a hot day. A welcome reprieve from the relentless heat. He's never had a someone close to him who didn't want their five minutes of fame. But you? You hate being seen, hate the idea of someone taking your photo. You want to exist, but you don't want celebrity, that's never been what you crave. And Dieter thinks that might be one of the nicest things about you.

You do the cask drawing, the whisky tasting, the black barrel blending class and by the end of the experience Dieter is visibly relaxed, wearing his newly acquired green Jameson t-shirt, beanie, hipflask and a bag full of no less than a metric fuck-ton of booze.

"Did you really need sixteen bottles D?"

"This is 12 distillery Reserve," Dieter says aghast at your question. "You can only get it in Dublin. So its one for each month plus a few extra for gifts."

You shake your head in faux exasperation as you both get into the car that's arrived for you along the curb. And just in time, you hear a few voices starting to murmur Dieters name as you close the door behind you both.

Settled inside Dieter produces a key chain in the shape of a whisky bottle, it glints in the low dimming lights of the city.

"For you," he says handing you the key chain as you laugh. "Since you didn't get to drink anything."

"Thanks," you say with a short laugh, taking the key chain from him. You look it over, gently rubbing at the raised enamel. The car begins to drive and you feel your eyelids start to lower.

"Thanks for the treat," comes Dieters whisky-tinged breath huffing at your temple. “Even if you didn’t get to drink.”

You try to hold in the shiver that accompanies his husky order in your ear. Fucking hormones. You swallow, eyes blinking open but you don't dare look over at the chuckling Dieter leaning back into his seat.

“Can we make one stop?” Dieter calls to the driver before the partition closes.

“Where?”

“I ordered something a few weeks back that I wanted to pick up.”

The car takes you to a small row of pale colored storefronts. Dieter mutters that he’ll be right back. You watch him exit and he takes off down one of the narrow alleys, his shoulders hunched.

Your stomach drops because this is all too familiar. This is a fix.

He’s going to buy drugs.

When he returns minutes later with no parcel and his hands shoved into his pockets you know that you’re right. The disappointment that floods you almost takes your breath away. Dieter clamors into the vehicle and the driver informs you that you’ll make good time heading back to the rental.

You are positively fuming and despite his several attempts at getting you to talk, you force your ear buds into your ears and ignore Dieter for the entire drive home.

You throw the door open when you finally arrive back, waiting for town car to leave the drive before you turn on Dieter, your voice low and growled as he makes his way to the kitchen.

“You are unbelievable.”

He slowly lowers his bags and bags of booze before taking in how furious you look.

“Huh? Why?”

“After all that trouble I went to because I wanted to give you a nice afternoon, you go and stop to get drugs?” You head shakes almost violently, moving to the kitchen to give space between the two of you because right now you want to throttle him. “So what is it this week? Cocaine? Heroin? I thought you wanted to be a responsible p-“

“Woah woah,” Dieter says raising his hands in supplication. “Chill out. I didn’t buy any fucking drugs and just so you know, I haven’t even done heroin in years. Believe it or not, some things in rehab stuck.”

“Oh no?” You scoff, throwing your purse to the floor. “Empty your pockets then.”

Dieter stands stiffly staring at you, a frown crossing his features.

“No.”

“Dieter.”

“I don’t want to.”

The two of you stare at one another a moment in a silent standoff. It’s you who fires the first shot as you reach into your coat pocket for your cellphone.

“I’m calling Diane,” you say briskly, “you can lie to me all you want, but-“

“I’m not lying to you,” Dieter insists and irritation is crowding his features now. The back of his neck is growing warm, a classic sign of frustration in him. He wishes you’d stop being so cold to him, so accusatory.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why?”

“Because I know you.”

“Well you don’t know me that well!” Dieter all but shouts. He reaches into his pocket now and pulls out a small box, slamming it onto the kitchen counter between you both. You stare at it confused before looking back up at him.

“What is this?”

“A present for you,” he bites off, his cheeks pink with irritation. “One I was hoping to save until the end of filming.”

The shame that takes you over is almost debilitating in its acuity. You feel your entire body grow warm with humiliation at your accusation. All your desire for a pleasant day for Dieter has been ruined by you of all people.

“Oh.”

“Well you might as well open it now,” Dieter shrugs. “Cats out of the bag.”

You grimace as you open the box, feeling shame growing in your cheeks as you view what’s inside.

It’s a ring.

Your eyes widen as you look inside the box, your fingers pulling the ring out to inspect it. It's the same one you saw weeks ago, the hands holding the heart. Only this beautifully carved one has hands holding a sparking green emerald heart instead. You swallow your suddenly very dry mouth, glancing up at him.

"You bought me a ring?"

Dieter shrugs as if this is something he does every day.

“Why?”

"Heard you talking about it with Fia at the shop so I got one sent from Galway." He sees the look on your face and his brows furrow. "What? You don't like it?"

"I do," you promise him, putting the ring on your right hand, the heart facing out. You both smile when you hold it up to the light. "I love it actually. But I don't want you feeling like you have to get my gifts, Dieter. You're already paying me a lot."

Dieters smile flickers briefly.

"Yeah well this was... This wasn't a baby thing. It was a... I dunno, friend thing. A PA thing. You do a lot for me and just a thank you."

You stare at Dieter in shock, unable to formulate a reply a moment. You look at the ring and the hurt look on Dieter’s face and you feel shame suffuse you. He’d gone and done a sweet thing and you’d thought the worst of him.

“I’m sorry, Dieter.”

He nods and then walks past you, his face solemn as he walks into his bedroom and quietly closes the door shut.

///

19 weeks personal diary entry [D.Bravo]

Baby Name Ideas

Alex

Victor

Francisca

Penelope

Javiera

Should I include Mom’s name as middle name? She wouldn’t want that anyway.

The thing about working on a smaller film set is that it can feel like a family. You're already friends with many of the other PA's, the wardrobe department, hair and makeup, the catering and much more.

Most are older than you by a bit, not uncommon in this part of Ireland and its union. They are all perfectly kind to you, the food is always great and because of that you find yourself going to set more than you have in past productions.

Back in America you used to sit in Dieters trailer on set days with your laptop and phone busily organizing his days. But here his days aren't spent partying and because of the baby on the way you find him hanging around his rental most evenings. It makes your job easier and you find yourself with more free time.

You're also fascinated by how Dieter transforms himself into someone entirely different for this role. It's amazing how he goes from slob in his hole-filled robe and Crocs to a dashing leading man with his hair slicked back and his beard trimmed.

You're also amazed by Mia. You've been on plenty of sets and seen Dieter act opposite many beautiful leading ladies. But Mia is a supreme talent, the kind of woman who people whisper about and stare at. During their scenes together your eyes volley between the two of them completely enraptured in their acting and their undeniable chemistry.

You watch one day as a scene is filmed. Your perched on the chair marked Dieter Bravo, legs crossed and eyes stuck on him on set. It's a night scene and they are both in a library un-chaperoned.

"Why are you here?" Mia asks silhouetted against the window.

"You know why," he says with a throaty rasp coming up behind a quivering Mia.

He completely changes himself for each character down to the way he holds his shoulders back, making him look even broader.

It's hard not to find him attractive like that. Especially now that you know... What you know. The feel of his tongue between your thighs, the rasp of his beard against your cheek. The way his voice goes honeyed when he urges you to come.

You gonna soak my cock, baby?

You watch as Dieter cages Mia in against the wall. "You know what you do to me," he murmurs.

Mia stares up at him, her wide eyes unblinking. You swear you could see adoration in her gaze. It makes you hold your breath.

"Cut."

You watch the two of them break into easy smiles before Dieters large hand sails to the small of Mia's back. He leans over and whispers something into her ear and she tilts towards him, grabbing his bicep as she trills a laugh.

She likes him. You'd long suspected given her gazes that first night at the award show. But the worst part is that Dieter is feeding her obvious crush. His dark eyes crinkle at the sides when she says something only he can hear.

You find yourself cringing at their exchange, your eyes dropping to your phone. Diane has sent you a few emails about a kids awards show that they want to honor Dieter at. Plus a few branding commercials you have to run by him.

You head back to his trailer, needing to focus on your work. It’s a few hours later when you hear the crunch of his boots on the gravel and then the shift of the trailer as he enters, seeing the lights are on and inhaling that familiar aroma of coconuts and vanilla. You give a short hello, not even looking up from your laptop.

"It's lunch," he informs you, watching you hurriedly type at the table.

"Uh huh."

"Have you eaten?"

"I will later."

You don't even notice that he's left until twenty minutes later when a container of salad, bread and lasagna is pushed in front of you. You glance up with a quirked brow to see Dieter staring down at you.

"Eat."

Normally this would annoy you. You hate being told what to do and you hate being babied.

But there's something about the sight of him in that costume, the stern look on his face and the rasped command that has your pupils blowing wide. Your hormones begin thrumming and you feel arousal pooling in your lower belly. You barely feel in control of yourself as you close the lid of your laptop.

“I-I’m going on a walk,” you tell him before sliding out of the seat.

“But lunch –“

“I’ll eat when I get back. I promise.”

You hear a knock on his trailer door.

"Mister Bravo? Your needed on set."

"Coming Simon," Dieter calls out. Then he looks back at you with a serious look on his handsome face.

“Cmon,” Dieter pleads, his large eyes round. “Eat quick and then come to set? I want your advice on some lines.”

“Sure.”

He smiles and heads out of the trailer. The second the door is closed you’ve taken off to the daybed at the back of his trailer. You hate yourself for what you’re about to do, but it doesn’t stop you from shucking down your jeans and thrusting your hands under your panties.

The daybed smells like the cologne he wears, the organic soap he uses. Your close your eyes and inhale deeply before you bring yourself off in record time at the thought of Dieter in that regency outfit, of his dark eyes burning coals into yours as he takes you murmuring filth in that deep rasp of his.

When you come down you give a breathless laugh at how fast that happened before cleaning yourself up in the bathroom. You return to have a few bites of your lasagna before grabbing a banana from this morning's forgotten breakfast and heading to set.

You take your spot on Dieters chair as you arrive, your cheeks heating when he comes over to you. He looks nervous as he holds out the script to you.

"Run these with me?"

"Of course."

Dieter nods and you watch him transform into character. He runs a hand through his hair, making it more dishevelled. His face is a glower, his dark eyes narrowed.

“I need you,” Dieter growls. “So much I can barely breathe. You see what you do to me?”

Fuck.

You’re turned on and Dieter can see it plain as day. He sensed it back in the trailer, but now it’s so fucking obvious he could laugh, your pupils blown wide in your eyes as you watch him finish the scene.

“U-uh that was good,” you stammer, flustered. He wants to kiss you so badly right now, the smirk threatening to turn into a full-blown smile as he watches his normally composed assistant turn pink in the face, stuttering.

“No feedback?”

"Hmmm, maybe try loosening this," you tell him, hooking a finger into his cravat and tugging gently, feeling breathless as you do. "Like you're so overwhelmed by her nearness that you can't breathe."

"Oh shit, that's good," Dieter says with a broad smile. 'I'm gonna use that. Thanks."

"No problem," you answer honestly, eyes moving from his neck to his face. "I actually enjoy this part of the job."

"Yeah?" Dieter’s voice drops a bit as his head tilts to yours. "S'that all you enjoy about working for me?"

Memories of your times together flood your senses and your traitorous gaze immediately falls to his full mouth. You realize your finger is still hooked in his collar. You remove it slowly, letting it drag along his neck.

"Be honest," he purrs quietly against your temple. “I saw how you were looking at me earlier. This costume do it for you, baby mama? Should I bring it back with me later?”

Yes, fuck yes please.

You feel his mouth at your cheek as his hand rises to hover over your belly.

You go white in the face, pressing him back from you and glancing around, thankful no one is watching.

"What the fuck are you doing?" You hiss quietly. "Are you insane?"

Dieter seems to come back to himself and stands abruptly. His eyes are wide, realizing what he almost did.

"Fuck, I didn't-"

"Talent to set."

Dieter goes to say something else but instead just shakes his head and strides from you.

You can't even look at him right now you're so angry. He's going to blow this entire fucking thing with his recklessness. You want to leave but they're about to start rolling and you’re a professional.

"Alright," the director says as the makeup woman brushes Dieters face to take away any shine. "From the top of the page."

"You want me throwing with right or left?"

"Can you do left?"

"Yep."

"Excellent. For the chair, both like in rehearsal." The director slides back into his chair watching the monitor. "Camera? Rolling... Action."

You watch as Dieter grabs a glass of prop wine, throwing it back and tossing the glass into the fireplace furiously.

"She won't even look at me," he growls to himself, shrugging the coat angrily from his shoulders to reveal a starched lawn shirt underneath. "Acts as if she doesn't want me."

He tugs at the cravat around his neck before pouring another glass. He drinks this one quickly murmuring about how the woman he loves has become a stranger to him.

"He's magnificent," a voice whispers beside you. Its Mia dressed in a robe, holding a cup of tea. She's staring at Dieter with stars in her eyes.

The director calls for a cut to reset, something about the lighting. Mia smiles over at you, taking the seat with her name on it as Dieter stands with the director talking quietly. You notice his eyes swinging in your direction and so you focus on Mia next to you.

"I've watched him since I was a teenager," she admits with a soft blush. "He was my first celeb crush."

"Really?"

Mia giggles and nods before taking a sip of her tea. Her large eyes trail over to Dieter once more.

"Is he single?"

You blink. "I think so, yeah."

"Do you think I'm his type?"

You want to laugh. "You're young, beautiful, talented and you're a fan of his. Trust me, you're his type."

"But?"

"Honestly?" You grimace at the concern in her features. "Dieter is a lot of fun. Not really serious, not really...."

You trail off thoughtfully a moment.

"Your star is on the rise, Mia. And from what I've seen of this industry that can be easily tarnished by being seen with the wrong person."

"You make it seem like he's a murderer."

"No, murder is too much work for Dieter," you say with false musing. "I'm sure he'd just get me to do it for him."

Mia hides another giggle behind her hand. You grin at her before growing somber.

"Honestly Mia, Dieter is a great person. He's got a great heart. I just don't think his reputation would be great for you. He's got a laundry list of drug use, saying pretty outrageous stuff on the red carpet," you swallow. "I would just hate for your reputation to suffer because you wanted to date your celebrity crush."

Mia nods thoughtfully, draining the rest of her tea. You feel bad, but at the same time you know what you're talking about. You've seen the hypocrisy of Hollywood taking down women for entering into high profile relationships with notorious bad boys. Mia is too talented to have that happen to her.

While she doesn’t say anything further, you don’t miss the way she continues to stare at Dieter.

Ireland is gorgeous. You've rented a car so the time not spent working on Dieter work is spent exploring the Emerald Isle. You love the verdant surroundings, the amazing locals, the landscapes that take your breath away.

You meet so many kind people, many of them tourists. When they hear your accent they want to take you for a pint and a chat but you always decline. You don't want to have to explain why you don't drink.

Most evenings are spent going over lines with Dieter for the next day’s shooting. Otherwise it's scheduling his meetings, checking in with Diane about his sponsorship posts. And while you grow happier by the day out here, Dieter is quite the opposite.

After the first week you noticed him looking a little down in the mouth. You told yourself it was just a bad mood. But now almost two months in he's become unbearable. Snapping at you, spending a lot of time in his art room. He doesn't want to run lines with you anymore, he hires an acting coach that arrives looking frazzled and they seclude themselves in the office for hours.

At first you assumed they were fucking, but the few times you've passed by to get to your bedroom you can hear them running lines. Dieter always sounds so frustrated, near his breaking point.

You wonder why he stopped running them with you. Was it the sex? It was just a one-time thing.

Dieter continues growing worse, now more snappy and irritable than usual. His morning mediation has ceased entirely. He smokes cigarettes in the garden outside, even in the drizzly afternoon weather.

It all comes to a head when you're woken from a dead sleep to the sound of the front door being slapped and your name being called.

"I wanna fuck again," Dieter tells you, his mouth tainted with whisky when you open the door. He pulls up your shirt, kissing your belly sloppily. "Take off your shirt this time, I wanna see your tits."

You're in no mood. You shove him off of you angrily because you know this horny, loud, rapidly moving Dieter. He's very familiar.

"You're on something."

Dieter shrugs, his eyes on your expanded chest. He wants to see your tits so fucking badly he can't stand it. His hands go to cup them, his mouth parted. “Did a bump with some of the crew. No biggie.”

“Dieter!”

“What?” he challenges. “Just being the guy you always think I am. Some addict loser.”

You feel your face fall at this admission. You think back to how you accused him of buying drugs that day. The hurt look that had crossed his features.

"You can't do this Dieter," you tell him as you jerk back away from his outstretched fingers. "You promised."

"Don't nag me," he scowls when he can see you're keeping your clothes on.

"I'm telling you the facts," you reply. "You promised Diane! And even if you didn't, you told me you wanted this kid."

"I do!"

"Then what the fuck are you doing? You want this kid to end up with some junkie for a father?" You're practically hissing. "Late to set, doing hard drugs, what is going on?"

Dieter tries to turn from you but you grip his shoulder, spinning him.

"Tell me!"

"They don't like me here," Dieter barks out at you, causing you to recoil from him. "They don't think I'm good enough to be in this movie. I can see it in their eyes!"

Animosity drops from your shoulders like an unwelcome jacket. Immediately you soften.

"Dieter," your tone is gentle. "Why would they have hired you if you weren't talented enough?"

"I do action movies, not this Jane Austen shit," Dieter moans, throwing himself into the couch. "I'm no good."

Suddenly the agitation, the long hours spent with his acting coach all makes sense to you.

"I've seen your stuff Dieter," you tell him. "It's great when you really put your heart and soul into it."

His large eyes are so hopeful staring up at you.

"I mean it," you say, your hand reaching out instinctively towards him. He takes it, pressing his cheek into your touch and letting his eyes fall shut.

His stubbled cheek nuzzles against your palm, like an eager cat desperate to lay claim. Suddenly it's too familiar, too domestic and you whip your hand back from him. His dark eyes dart open with a snap.

"You're just saying that," Dieter says, feeling rejected as you pull back from him. "Just saying it to make your job easier."

He pushes himself from the couch, ignoring your calls for him to stop and come back, to talk this out. He slams the door to his bedroom and you can only assume he's locking himself up to do more of whatever he bought.

Fuck what am I gonna do?!

You can't call Diane, it's far too late back in the US and even if you did what can she do?

You scroll through the list of names in your phone. You don't want to get Dieter in trouble with the director or the-

Your thumb hovers over the name MIA ROWE/JOSH in your contact list. You type hurriedly.

[6:55pm] Is there any chance Mia could come by to talk Dieter off a ledge? He's panicking about the movie and I'm outta options.

[6:55 pm] JOSH:One sec. I'll ask.

[6:58 pm] JOSH:Yep. Now good?

When Mia arrives shortly after looking glamorous even in her jeans and sweater, you thank her profusely.

"I don't know how much you know about Dieter and his drug use-" you start, stopping when she raises a wavering hand.

"I know enough," she promises you. "My dad was an addict."

Oh. You worry now that this is far too much for her.

"He's been acting weird the last few days," she confides hanging up her jacket. "I suspected. Honestly I'm relieved that you called."

Relief floods you. "He's in his bedroom, do you want me to-"

"No no, you relax," she says giving you a wink. "I've got it from here."

Dieter is lying on his side when the knock comes to his door. His coke is gone and so is the elated feeling that goes along with it. Now he feels snippy and angry. Your disappointed face flashes in his mind and he winces.

"Go away."

"Dieter?"

That's not your voice. He twists to look over his shoulder at Mia slowly cracking the door open.

"Can I come in?"

What the hell.

"Yeah. Sure."

He forces himself to a sitting position, his head hung to the side as she sits next to him on his bed.

"Your PA told me you're upset about filming and-"

"That I'm the worst fucking actor on set? Yeah."

Dieter throws himself dramatically back onto the bed.

"You're not."

Mia smiles gently at him, her blonde locks falling into her eyes. She takes his hand gently in hers, rubbing his tattoo softly. He softens, raising himself to a sitting position again.

"I'm just as nervous as you are," she confides, her hand over his. "Every day I go to set I'm terrified they'll tell me I'm bad or that they're going to replace me."

"You?" Dieter says in shock. "Yeah right."

"I'm serious," Mia insists. "You're so good, Dieter! Better than I thought you were."

It's been so long since he heard these words from a colleague. It makes him feel good, makes him feel in control. She's smiling at him and she's so pretty.

"I was so excited to work with you on this," she confides. "And I promise you've exceeded everyone's expectations. Everyone talks about how good you are in this."

"Really?"

"Really."

Dieter is like any actor, he's all ego and hearing her say these sweet, wonderful things is warming him.

Her hand goes to his curls, gently carding her fingers through his hair. Her intention is very clear, she didn't just come here to comfort him. She wants him. It feels like so long since he's been wanted like this.

He's been good. No parties and until tonight no drugs. No women or men. He's been like a fucking saint. You yourself don't count. You pretty much told him that when he fucked you. So what's the harm in a little playing behind closed doors?

His mouth crashes into Mia's, hands around her back in an instant. She welcomes the kiss with a whimper, her hands circling his waist as he deepens the kiss.

This feels really good. Mia is beautiful and so gentle. She accepts his touches, enjoys how he wraps himself around her. She doesn't pull away like you do.

He pulls her onto his lap, letting her grind against his already aching erection as they continue to kiss. She's got her hands in his hair, gripping and tugging as they kiss. It drives him fucking wild.

His hands go to the button of her jeans but before they can do more, Mia gives a soft laugh, pecking him on the cheek and standing.

"Got carried away."

"I liked it."

"I'll like it more when I know it's not the coke," she tells him honestly.

"It's not."

"Guess we'll find out," she says smiling as she heads for his bedroom door. "I'll see you on set tomorrow then."

"Yeah," Dieter smiles dreamily. "You will."

You don't know what Mia said to Dieter but he's a changed man. For the rest of the month he is on time, professional and sober. Most nights he's over at Mia's rental having dinner (and you assume fucking). He's been very covert, never spending the night, never touching her on set in a way that's not professional.

Last week he began wearing cologne and you notice his customary Crocs are traded in for dress shoes.

"Mia's taking me to this Thai place," Dieter tells you with a smile one evening as you finish up your debrief about the intimacy coordinator scenes next week. "Then we're running lines at her place."

"But that's-" our thing your mind finishes for you. You hold in the frown and just nod, telling him to have a good night as he waves goodbye.

And that's when it starts. This feeling of being left behind.

It's what you wanted.

Yes, you wanted Dieter to stop treating you like a delicate thing. Wanted him to stop smothering you with attention. You wanted him out of your hair so you could stop having to sneak around with Josh.

Except now you sort of miss Dieter.

You miss his annoying way of chewing gum, making it crack against his molars. You miss how he leans over the back of the couch when he walks by and catches you watching something that interests him. You miss how he asks how you're feeling and the delicate way he cups you tummy when you let him.

You even miss the cigarette smell that occasionally clings to his favorite cardigans (although that changes when it begins to make you sick).

You think about inviting Josh over here tonight. So far it's been frantic kissing against pub walls and one remarkably disappointing phone sex experience that left you more frustrated than anything.

You're just so paranoid he's going to be able to tell you're pregnant that you've been holding back.

You walk to the bathroom, having to pee again. For the first time in a while you take a look at yourself. Your clothes are so very baggy and you go to great lengths not to look at your naked body. So when you pull up the t-shirt and stand to the side you're shocked at the difference.

You look pregnant.

Your stomach is pronounced. You can definitely see it swell and the sight takes your breath away. You touch your belly, rolling your hands over it and giggling nervously as you stare at your reflection.

Holy shit. There's a baby in there.

For a while it just looked like you were permanently bloated. But now at five months you can definitely tell this is not a food baby.

You look at yourself a moment longer before pulling out your phone. You rest a hand over your belly, and take a photo of you in the mirror's reflection. You smile serenely, shocked at how natural you look in this pose.

You consider keeping it for yourself but this is a nice memory to share on the app. Dieter loves shit like this and he's been making your life easier as of late. Besides you won't keep this memory. It will be scrubbed from your mind the second the kid is born. No mementos needed. But Dieter deserves them.

You walk back to the main room, hands absently rolling over your stomach. You're asleep on the couch when Dieter arrives shortly thereafter. You feel his hands on your arm, gently nudging you awake. You blink, rubbing the sleep from your eyes to see him standing above you next to the couch. You glance at the clock on the wall.

"Why are you home so early?"

"I saw the app alert," Dieter says breathlessly as if he’s run the entire way home. "I can't believe - can I see? Touch it? Please?"

He came all this way, leaving Mia's early just to see your belly?

You nod with a yawn, lifting the shirt up over your belly. As Dieter takes in the swell of your stomach his eyes blow wide. He drops to his knees beside you on the couch, large hands roving over your expanded flesh.

"Fuck, he's really in there."

"Ultrasound wasn't proof enough?" You tease stretching.

"Photo is one thing but actually seeing this? Feeling it?" He marvels, shaking his head. "Just makes it so real. My baby is in there."

You nod, swallowing. "How was your night?"

"Good," Dieter answers before looking dreamy. "Mia's amazing."

"Mmm."

You watch as he presses an ear to your belly, his eyes closed as he listens. He's listening to the sound of your pregnant belly. Before you can stop him he's turned his head and pressed a soft, tender kiss to the side of your abdomen.

"I love you," he murmurs to your belly, eyes closed. "I love you my little baby. And when I finally meet you I'm gonna spoil you and take you and over the world."

Your heart goes to your throat as you blink back tears.

"You're never gonna go without," he promises quietly. "We're gonna be so happy."

For the first time since this all began you start to imagine Dieter holding his child. A tiny thing with curly hair that gurgles up at him. A mixture of you and the sweet man cradling your belly like its spun glass.

"Are you okay?" Dieter asks, large eyes concerned.

"Yeah, why?"

"You just look upset.”

“Just tired you lie, rubbing at your blotchy face. “Anyway. How was dinner? Must be good since you’ve been hanging with Mia a lot lately.”

“Yeah,” Dieter breathes with a wide grin. “She’s really great.”

“Mmm,” you nod, your attention on the muted television.

"She likes kids," Dieter adds.

"Oh good," you nod, shuffling your foot anxiously against the coffee table. "That's great, Dieter."

"What do you think of the name Karl-Jose if it's a boy or Mila-Ana if it's a girl?" Dieter asks, his eyes trained on your stomach. "You know, to honor my German and Latin roots."

"You can name it Lemon-Pillow Bravo for all I care," you answer honestly. You continue looking at the muted TV not really taking in anything, but desperate not to fall into the endless warmth of his eyes.

As far as you're concerned this kid growing inside you is a job. You're not getting attached.

"What’s your background?" Dieter asks curiously, his hand still resting on your belly. "That can factor into-"

"Why would it?" You ask frowning. "I'm not any part of this child's life remember?"

Dieter’s face which had been full of such joy moments earlier quickly sobers.

"Right."

The hand slips from your belly and you watch as he stands, moving to his art room, leaving you in silence as you bite back tears.

"It's TikTok live," you explain for the twentieth time in the last hour as Dieter’ hair stylist heads out the door. "Its promotion for the comedy you filmed last year, remember? Ninja cowboy?"

Dieter winces as he recalls that drunken nightmare. A job for a friend that went way over budget and way over filming schedule. He knows it's going to be shit which is why he's using Dieter to gain favorable press before the release.

You glance over to see you employer looking pensively at his breakfast. He's dressed with the clothes his stylist sent over and thanks to his grooming team her in Ireland he looks good in his charcoal sweater and curls brushed back and defined with gel.

"I hate this stuff," Dieter announces as he takes a bite of toast. "Can't you just do it for me?"

He's tired bags under his eyes that the makeup artist who just left tried to cover to the best of her abilities.

Dieter was at Mia's late last night going over lines and making out heavily. He's trying to take things slow with her but it’s hard. She's so eager to be with him, never shying from his touches. It feels so good to be wanted.

"That's not how it...works," you say wincing and putting a hand over your sternum.

Dieter notices immediately, almost choking on his dry toast in his effort to get to you. His hands fly to your clavicle.

"You okay?"

"Calm down," you say pushing him gently back away from you. "It's just heartburn."

"I was just trying to help," Dieter mumbles, throwing himself back into his chair.

It's so frustrating with you sometimes; you blow so hot and cold. It makes him feel unsure and anxious (when he's not turned on out of his mind.) Mia is so much easier and she's so warm all the time. She can also be a bit naive because at her age she doesn't have much life experience.

Mia loves to hear all about Dieter though, loves to talk about the movies of his she loved watching growing up. Mia hangs on his every word and Dieter can't deny that he loves it. It feels good to be adored.

So then why does he still crave your attention? Why does he flush when your eyes linger on his face? Is it really just that you're carrying his baby or is it something more?

Even now he feels his heart pick up as you come up sit next to him at the table.

"If you really wanted to help, you'd focus and get ready because you're going live on the MGM account in like three minutes," you say with frustration, your mouth in a curl of frustration. The baby has been keeping you up lately and its making you feel irritable.

That and you desperately want Dieter to take you to bed again.

But that can’t happen. The lines are getting too blurred for him, you can see that. Plus you’re pretty sure he’s with Mia and she’s been really good for him over here. You don’t want to screw that up.

"People will ask you questions here," you say pointing to the phone screen you've set up on the tripod in front of him. "Make sure at least every fourth question ties in to the movie. Release date, co-stars, that kind of stuff. Just don’t Rampart it."

You notice Dieter nodding at you in the phones display along with the large smear of grape jelly at the corner of his mouth.

"Come there," you say with a roll of your eyes as you turn to him.

In habit you grab his face, thumb coming to rest on his lower lip to swipe the jelly there as you smile at him in mock exasperation.

Dieter leans forward; eyes never breaking from yours before his mouth comes crashing into yours. His hands are on either side of your neck, pulling you to him.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he rasps against your mouth before pressing his lips to yours more fully once more. This is when you would have pushed from him. But instead your lips parted so he could lick into your mouth, making you whimper.

At the sound Dieter groans and you realize your hand is carding through his curls, messing them up.

The beep of your phone alarm goes off startling you both into breaking apart. Dieter pulls back, his dark eyes scanning your wide-eyed gaze.

"Dieter what-"

Fuck. He read that wrong. He fucking overstepped. Fuck.

"I'm sorry," Dieter says quickly. "I just thought-"

"-I was getting the jelly off your mouth before the live."

He snatches his hands back as if he's been burnt.

"That's good. That's great," Dieter stammers before wiping at his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "Better?"

"Yeah, totally," you stammer as you look back at the phone. "Okay, it's starting in two minutes. I'm gonna sit off to the side here in case you get desperate. But for the most part pretend that I'm not here okay?"

Dieter hates doing press, especially when he's somewhere without the guidance of an interviewer. He's so easily distracted, so prone to saying the wrong thing. His PR guy spent the last hour going over his talking points and what to avoid but this just makes Dieter more stressed, convicted he's going to fuck up.

Dieter nods, sitting facing the phone before swallowing and wincing. "Fuck why is my throat so dry?"

"I'll get you some tea," you offer before you go to the kitchen and start the kettle. You try not to think about how your lips are tingling from the kiss.

Things are getting complicated. This was just supposed to be a release based thing. Nothing about that kiss felt impersonal; in fact it felt decidedly intimate. Your second alarm goes off, it’s about to go live. You cross the kitchen to stand beside him.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

You step out of frame before pressing the red button on the phone and motioning to Dieter.

"Okay, go."

You walk back to pour the water over the teabag and you can hear Dieter behind you greeting everyone and thanking them for attending.

You come back to the table with the teacup to see Dieter shooting the phone and then you a stricken look.

"Jesus," Dieter mutters as streams of text scroll by. "What the... what the fuck do I -"

You roll your eyes off-screen, trying to speak softly to him. You mouth the words exasperatedly.

"Don’t swear! Just take a deep breath, look at the questions and answer them."

Dieter feels panic overtaking him. There's so many questions, so many names. He feels his heart starting to hammer anxiously.

"You've got this," you whisper.

Dieter looks at you and he feels his heartbeat returning to normal. There's something grounding in your expression, the same thing he sees you every time you hold his gaze. That steady, calming presence that tells him he'll be okay. You're the only person who gets to him like that.

"Okay," he says after a beat and you watch as he transforms into the confident, brash Dieter you've always known.

"Let's do this shit." He gives a broad, crooked grin to the phone and picks one of the questions at random. "Okay Pdcv2344 asks 'did I enjoy my nude scene in the Colossal Indemnify flick I made."

Dieter lifts a brow and shoots the camera a sardonic look.

"It was a nude scene with Gal Gadot pretending to ride me. What do you think?"

You roll your eyes and hold in a laugh from where you sit opposite him at the table. He goes on like this several more questions before he clears his throat. You remember the tea steeping at your elbow and fish the bag from the mug.

You hand him the mug, only your hand showing briefly in the screen. Dieter shoots you a grateful look as he takes it from you.

"Thanks baby," Dieter murmurs with a smile at you before his attention is drawn back to the scrolling messages. "No, I didn't wear a eyeliner in Cliff Beasts 2."

You feel your face twist into a grimace at the term of endearment used so publicly. You can only hope no one observes or brings it up. Dieter doesn't seem to notice the misstep. He's sipping his tea and answering questions. He seems to be enjoying himself until somewhere in the fifteen minute mark.

"What the fuck?"

You look up from your phone to see Dieter squinting into the phone. He's confused because digital sunglasses keep whipping over his eyes.

You raise your brows at him.

"These sunglasses keep going on my face when I'm trying to talk," Dieter says pointing at the camera. "Is that me? Am I doing that?"

"Those are gifts," you tell him with a smirk. "They're sending you gifts."

"Huh? How are fake sunglasses a gift?"

You hold in a giggle at this. Sometimes he really does amuse you.

"I thought you used TikTok all the time?"

"Not the lives. Are they using their own money for these gifts? Like real money?"

"Yeah."

"Fuck no!" Dieter frowns at the camera. "Don't send me gifts you guys. I have money. Don't waste yours.”

Dieter frowns when glasses and now a cowboy hat keep appearing digitally.

"Fuck, now there's a cowboy hat!"

"Okay well you can turn the gift option off," you tell him trying not to laugh at how stressed he seems. "Just press-"

"Can't you just do it?" Dieter asks, his baleful eyes pleading at you off-screen. "Please? You're so much faster."

You cringe at the thought of being seen but you nod, swinging around into the chair beside him. Dieter glances at you in the reflection of the camera and smiles.

"Hey everyone, this is my assistant," Dieter tells the crowd introducing and pointing at you as you give an awkward wave. "Best one around. I can't do anything without her."

"It's true," you chirp with a laugh. "I'll be one sec folks; just here for some technical difficulties then you can get back to asking Dieter questions."

You take a moment to press the buttons disabling the gifts option. Dieter watches you, amused at the flush on your cheeks. You hate being in front of the camera.

"There you go, no more cowboy hats or sunglasses," you murmur with a soft smile at him that he returns. His eyes drop to your mouth a moment before he nods.

"Thanks," Dieter murmurs with a smile, watching you slide back to the opposite side of the table, sure not to let anyone see your belly.

Dieter drags his eyes away from you to look back at the questions.

"Hey, Granguy66 wants to know if you're single," Dieter says with a waggle of his brows in your direction. "What should I say?"

You swallow, feeling suddenly strange. You know it's a joke, a laugh. But you feel odd replying in earnest. You decide on your response and deliver it with a grin.

"Say that Ninja Cowboy is coming to theatres this Friday so they better buy their tickets now."

[2:44 pm] JOSH: Thought you'd want to see this. Mia said to send it to you.

It's a photo of the cast of the film smooshed in the back of a carriage. Everyone is laughing. Dieter's hair is brushed and he's got a grinning Mia Rowe tightly against him, leaning over his lap to make sure the photographer can see her.

Dieter looks happy and relaxed and the sight of it makes you smile at the photograph. But at the same time it makes your stomach twist uncomfortably.

[2:45 pm] Thanks for sending this. Glad to see he's doing well.

[3:11 pm] Mia says that she and D are going to dinner tonight. He wanted me to tell you he forgot his phone and can you charge it?

[3:14pm] Of course he did. Yeah, I’ll charge it and have it ready for him before dinner. Can you tell him?

[3:14 pm] He’s asking if the rental needs more Bubble bath?? Wtf?

You smirk to yourself. Your check in code.

[3:14pm] Dieter just really loves baths. Tell him we’re all good here. All stocked up.

You glance down at your silenced phone and frown when you realize you've missed a call from your mother back home and guilt goes through you. You've been going all over Ireland, having amazing sex with Dieter and being distracted. You just send her texts and photos and the occasional email.

Your mother picks up on the second ring.

"Hi honey."

"Hey mom," you bite the inside of your cheek. "Sorry I haven't called lately."

"Oh that's no problem," your mom assures you. "I know you're busy. I just wanted to know if you're doing okay today."

Something in her tone stops your feet. The way she says ‘today.’

"Why wouldn't I be?"

There's a heavy pause then your mother's soft voice. "It's your father's birthday."

A feeling like a punch to the gut makes you wince. You erased it from your calendar, not wanting the reminder. But of course she hasn’t forgotten, wants you to remember them. You worked so hard not to think about these milestones with your dad gone but your mom seems to fixate on them.

"Right."

"Are you lighting a candle?"

"I will tonight."

"Good."

Your mother is big on lighting candles for those you've lost. She started with your grandparents and now your dad. It makes you sick looking at those flickering flames. Tears are starting at the corner of your eyes and a few PA's walk by giving you a friendly wave that you mirror weakly.

"Mom I have to go. I'm needed on set."

You hang up before she can say more but instead of the set you head for the shuttle. You don't want to be here anymore. You don’t want to think.

You want to forget. You want to pretend that you're fine. You want a distraction.

You push into the rental a short while later, your back and feet aching, your eyes swollen from suppressing tears into the cuff of your jacket. You need to just relax and forget about the world a moment, feel comforted.

You run yourself a bath, the scent of coconut bubbles filling the room. You strip down and slip into the bath, relishing in the warm water that surrounds you. You inhale deeply, cherishing the comfort of the coconut scent and gently lapping water. You turn the faucet off when it reaches just below your collarbone.

Your mind is busy though, despite the serene surroundings. You grab your phone next to the tub on the counter and settle back into the bubbles. You should be productive since you’re still technically on the clock.

For some reason the photo of Dieter and Mia is playing in your mind over and over. You click on instagram, searching up Mia's name and finding it there with its blue checkmark. She posts the normal things young women her age do; her doing yoga, shots of her at sunset, coffee drinking with friends, her dressed up for the Oscars. You're about to close out of the account before you see that she's posted something to her story. You click on it, feeling your breath leave you.

Her blonde head is on his shoulder and he's making one of his classic weird smirks at the camera she's holding up in front of them. She's written "This guy just makes me laugh all day" and tagged his account that he hasn't updated in months.

They look so... close.

You don't want to look at it anymore. You close out of the app and open up Reddit instead. You scroll into the Dieter Bravo subreddit. A habit you haven't indulged in for weeks due to distraction. The top post however has your eyes flying open.

Dieter Bravo secret affair? 5K upvotes, 4.8 replies.

Fuck have they learned about Mia’s crush on Dieter? Or is this all speculation like it was when Dieter was photographed with Bad Bunny? You click on the link, reading the paragraph starting the discussion and feel your heart clench.

Dieter Bravo is totally in love with his assistant. Look at these screenshots from his live.

One is you in the frame, focused on getting Dieter to understand the mechanics of the live gift feature before you're turning it off and one is when you just finished explaining gifts to him. He's got his

You can't help but feel your cheeks heating at the sight. While you were busy trying to help Dieter with his phone it seems he was busy staring at you.

And then there's the screenshot of your hand in frame handing Dieter his teacup. And the subtitle underneath: thanks baby.

You sort the comments by top, eyes scanning the thousands of comments in the discussion.

Holy shit the way he looks at her.

I heard he's dating some guy in Germany

How old is she?

My friend signed an NDA but she told me that Dieter totally fucked her in his hotel room after doing coke off her tits.

You can't tell me he's not smitten

He’s not the type to settle down so I hope she doesn’t fall too hard

He looks so hawt there

It's giving soulmates

She's cute! I hope they're happy together.

She's his employee!!!!! Stop being gross and assuming based on nothing!!!

Get urself a guy who looks at you like that

He called her baby. BABY. I'm fucking feral.

I love him your honor.

They're clearly fucking

She dresses like shit

This is how my husband looked at me during our first date. Fifty two years and three kids later he still looks at me that way.

For some reason this is the comment that stills your fingers.

You re-read it and your pathetic hormone-filled mind creates a tapestry of a future you’ll never have. One of you and Dieter older, watching your child playing in the pool. Dieter is looking at you with adoration as you press a kiss to his waiting mouth.

Stop it stop it stop it.

You need to forget this. You turn on your music, finding a blasting piece by NIN and let it overwhelm your brain. Your head tilts back against the tub, your eyes falling shut. In this moment you feel your mind fixed on the music, you feel your muscles releasing. You just want to stay in this moment forever…

“Hey you in there?”

Your eyes jolt open to see that the sky outside the small window is dark and the water you sit in is tepid. How long were you out for? You glance at the door with blurry eyes, hearing the gentle knock turning urgent and Dieter fumbling with the knob.

“Hey are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you call out, scrambling out of the tub and tugging on a robe. “Sorry, yeah I fell asleep.”

You twist the knob open and look at him towering over you in the doorframe, his dark eyes heavy with worry.

“What’s going on? You okay?”

“Just tired,” you say about to say more when your eyes fly open in realization.

“Shit! I forgot to plug your phone in!” you say, moving past him to plug it in now in the kitchen where he left it. He inhales the scent of coconut from your skin as you sail by and feels his stomach twist pleasurably.

He watches you fumbling to plug the charger in and it flashes green, showing its charging. It’ll be a bit before it’s finished though. Fuck, you only have the one job here in Ireland; be Dieter’s assistant. You fought so hard to keep your job and you’re completely fucking it up these days.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Hey hey,” Dieter grabs your elbow, noting the sheen to your eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Just a shitty day,” you say sighing heavily. “I’m really sorry about the phone.”

“Fuck the phone,” Dieter says with a shrug. His dark eyes are scanning your face. He can see that you’re upset. “I wanna know what has you so upset.”

He sounds so earnest, like he actually cares. Sometimes it’s hard to forget that he’s a really good actor.

“Nothing,” you insist with a false smile. “I got some of your dress shirts sent back from the cleaners. They’re hung in your closet in case you want to change. And uh-“

Your words falter as you look up into Dieter’s face to see him staring at you with an unfocussed look in his eyes. He’s staring at your chest and you glance down to see the deep vee of the robe has exposed much of your cleavage.

The realization should embarrass you, but if anything it makes your breathing come out shallow. The familiar thrumming is back between your legs, making you press your thighs together tightly. Dieter observes this, eyes moving shrewdly from your hips back to your face.

"You need some help," Dieter says huskily and it isn't a question. His hands are already at your waist, thumbs hovering over the sash of your plush robe.

"No...I...."

"I told you if you need release you come to me," Dieter murmurs. "Anytime you need it."

"But your dinner with Mia," you tell him worriedly.

"You come first," he says without thinking. His hands have already begun untying your robe. His eyes dart to your face. "If you want it."

"Yeah," you nod, feeling overcome. "Yeah, I want it."

The second the words leave your mouth he's tugging your robe open

You easily succumb to Dieter's mouth and hands and it's not long before he has you beneath him in his large bed, both of you naked and writhing in the expensive sheets. He's already made you come with his mouth and now his cock hits deliciously deep.

"I can't.... You're so fucking wet," he breathes into your mouth, eyes fixed on yours as you gaze up at him. "So fucking tight."

"Dieter," you groan, allowing him to suck your tongue into his mouth. He kisses as deeply as he fucks before pulling back and brushing the hair from your face looking at your kiss-swollen lips and heavy lidded eyes.

"You're so gorgeous when you let go," he murmurs gently, his hips moving lazily over yours.

You don't want to look in his eyes for too long. It makes it too intimate so you touch your forehead to his. The two of you watch where he enters you, soaked in your arousal. Your belly protrudes deliciously and Dieter realizes that this may be the last time he can fuck you in this position.

"We look so good," Dieter groans, brows saddling. You can't reply, your eyes are cheating to the back of your head now because the pleasure is building.

He fucks you hard into the mattress moaning into the crook of your neck all manner of vulgarities. You cling to him; arms wrapped so tightly around his neck you worry you're suffocating him. But he's not complaining, he's kissing your neck, hips rolling against yours.

The only sound in the room is your combined panting and the sound of his flesh hitting yours as he withdraws and sheaths himself completely over and over and when he comes he does so holding your body tightly to his.

"You didn't come," he pants with a frown. He can tell. He didn't feel that sweet fluttering and clench around his cock. He wants it.

"I didn't care about that," you tell him, kissing him gently. "I just wanted... I just wanted to feel you."

You can't explain it better than that but Dieter doesn't press you. He looks at you with a serious look before nodding and withdrawing from you. You go to leave the bed and go to your room but Dieter holds you to him.

"Stay here a little longer,” he huffs gently against your earlobe.

In this bed you won't be alone. You won't have to distract yourself in your room. You won’t have to think about the bad things.

"Okay."

You’ve forgotten about his date with Mia. Forgotten about everything awful with your Dad. All you feel and think right now is about Dieter and how good he smells and feels wrapped around you.

Dieter feels how you relax into his arms, something you’ve never really done. Just laying with you here in his bed, in sheets that will now smell of you has his heart aching instead of his cock. He could do this for hours, just holding you.

“Would it really be insane?” Dieter asks before he can stop himself, his voice huffing along the back of your neck. “I mean, you’re carrying my kid. Would us being together-“

Panic overtakes you. What the fuck is he suggesting? This is exactly why you didn’t want this to happen. Dieter is such a romantic at heart, so easily swayed if he’s fucked someone. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. And you refuse to be another phase for Dieter, even if he doesn’t know that’s what he is going through.

“Dieter I’m your employee,” you snap, interrupting him. “And after this baby is out of me I won’t even be in the same city as you.”

Dieter feels his body go tense. “Since when?”

“Since I agreed to do this for three hundred thousand dollars,” you inform him. You can practically hear the wheels turning in Dieter’s head as you say this.

“What does that matter?”

“I’m going to pay off my mom’s mortgage and I’m going back to school in Sacramento.”

“Wait, what the fuck? Sacramento? Since when?”

Suddenly the bed feels oppressive and Dieter’s arms feel constricting. You pull away from him, going to grab your robe. He watches your body move from the bed, a vessel of fertility and beauty and mystifying frustration.

“Wait, can’t we talk about this?”

“No,” you say sharply, tying the sash around your waist. “Dieter we talked about this being a release-based system. Not a romantic relationship.”

Dieter feels as if he’s been slapped.

“What about Mia? She’s waiting for you at some restaurant right now.” You glance at the clock before crossing your arms over your chest. “If you leave here now you can still make dessert.”

“You want me to go?”

“You should.”

A coldness enters Dieter’s eyes at that bitten off reply and he nods before pulling himself from the warmth of the bed. You watch him move through the room in his boxers, closing the door behind him with a firm finality.

[Personal Diary D. Bravo – 21 weeks]

Places I want to take Baby Bravo

Chile (show him where I grew up)

Disneyland (when he’s old enough)

London: maybe he’ll get an accent

Fiji – mini island (no paps)

Places I want to take her

Chile

Hawaii –

Buenos Aires (teach her tango)

Italy (she loves pizza)

Anywhere she wants

Today Dieter is filming in Powerscourt.

You are pacing outside the set; far away enough that you won't disturb filming as you finish up a phone call with Diane back home, setting up a sponsorship meeting that Dieter is in the running for. You hang up the phone just as you wander around the back garden of the palatial estate they’ve rented for this scene.

You’re about to turn back and head inside, your feet are getting swollen these days. But movement catches your eyes and you pause.

Two figures are tucked away behind the building; Mia leaning back against the wall, eyes tilted up coquettishly as she takes a puff of the cigarette. Dieter has one palm flat against the wall above her shoulder, angling himself towards her.

You can't hear what they're saying to one another but you watch them both laugh passing the cigarette between themselves. It reminds you of the teens in high school who would sneak off at lunch, sharing smokes in secrecy.

It feels intimate, like something you shouldn't see. You watch him smile at her, his dark eyes soft as he moves his lips to hers and you hold your breath as she meets him halfway, mouth pressing against his.

You know what that mouth feels like. Soft and strong. Tasting of whiskey or cigarettes or that mint gum he's always chewing. You feel a longing sigh escape you.

You feel something in your gut twisting and you realize it must be the baby. You turn away before you have to watch anymore of this, your face in a grim line. You take a seat back inside on the set, wincing as the staff go to retrieve Dieter and Mia from outside.

The two of them come back onto the set with secret smiles on their faces.

“Hey,” Dieter says coming to squeeze your shoulder gently. “Did you get a hold of Diane?”

“Yep,” you force a smile on your face. “She wants us all to face time later tonight.”

“I might have plans,” Dieter murmurs, his eyes sailing to Mia getting her lipstick touched up. She feels his gaze on her and casts a small smile in his direction.

You feel a sickening sensation in your gut and you clear your throat, trying to come off as casual. You twist the ring on your finger, the one he gave you, and try not to look upset.

“We’ll work around your schedule.”

The scene begins as Mia wanders into the library to see Dieter in a drunken rage before he grabs a chair and throws it brutally through a mirror. You watched that scene being filmed a few weeks ago, but this is the second part.

You watch the power in his shoulders and muscles twisting under his lawn shirt as he throws the chair off-screen. He spins back around; dark eyes fixed on a cowering Mia dressed in a flimsy nightdress who backs enticingly against a bookcase.

“And now,” Dieter drawls, his voice husky. “I get what’s mine.”

He goes to Mia, gripping her by the back of the neck and kissing her fiercely. Mia feigns horror, trying to back away from him, but all too soon her arms are coming to wrap around his neck as he grips her thigh, urging it around his waist.

You can’t watch this.

You slide off the chair and head to the shuttle, needing to go back to the rental.

When the director calls cut shortly after and Dieter’s eyes rise to where you were sitting, he's deflated to see the chair empty.

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