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fanfictionalraven · 1 month

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Right Where You Left Me

Title: Right Where You Left Me

Summary: The reader, a waitress at the local diner, has become good friends with Dean. What happens when he disappears without a trace?

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Mary Winchester, Castiel

Word Count: 7,309

Warnings: Canon typical violence and peril

Author's Note: This story takes place through the events of the second half of season 12, starting with episode 9 "First Blood". It's also the first story I've actually written and published in nearly 6 years, so grant me a little grace please. Enjoy!!

“Ma’am? Ma’am?” A voice says. You snap from your thoughts and look at the people sitting at the table in front of you. You’d gotten distracted by the bell at the door, a new customer coming in. Not the one you were looking for though. Putting on your best smile, you shake your head slightly.

“I’m so sorry. Where were we?” You ask, glancing at the notepad in your hand.

“We were trying to ask you about the pie of the day,” the woman says. You nod and try not to sigh.

“Cherry,” you tell her. Dean’s favorite. They order two slices which you deliver to them quickly before going into the kitchen. “Stew, I’m taking a 10,” you announce to the cook. He waves a hand at you and glances at the clock.

“Make it 5,” he shouts as you slip out the back door. Leaning against the wall with a sigh, you slip the brace off of your wrist and roll the sore joint slowly, wincing.

“This job,” you mumble before pulling your phone from your apron. Going into your recent calls, you hit the name at the top. Dean. He wasn’t going to answer. He hadn’t in weeks after all, calls or texts. It rings…and rings…and rings. Just as you’re about to give up, the final ring is cut off.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice asks, curiously. Confusion and a million unpleasant thoughts sweep over you in an instant.

“I’m sorry. I was trying to reach Dean,” you say.

“This is his phone. At least, I think it is…who is this?” She asks. You sigh and run a hand over your face.

“My name’s Y/N. I…I work at a diner and Dean’s one of my regulars. I haven’t seen him in a while and…I was worried,” you tell her. You can hear the confusion in her voice when she responds.

“A waitress who has her customer’s numbers and calls to check up on them?” She asks.

“No. Well…yes, but…Dean’s more than just a customer,” you say.

“What exactly is Dean then?” She asks, a slight edge to her voice. What is Dean? That was the very question you’d spent countless nights asking yourself.

When Dean had first wandered into the diner and sat in your section, he was just another tip. Sure, the two of you had flirted but, to be honest, you flirted with most of your customers. You had bills to pay after all. He came back the very next night, claiming the pie had just been too good. On his fifth visit to the diner, he wandered in just as you clocked out and invited you to join him. You sat in that booth across from him for hours, laughing and talking. At the end of his seventh trip, you slipped your phone number to him on the back of his bill. He’d called you before his car was even out of the parking lot.

That was nearly a year ago and the two of you talked and texted regularly ever since. Sure, he’d go silent for a little while but then he’d saunter into the diner, give you a crooked smile, and ask for the pie of the day. Throughout that year, the two of you flirted, laughed, and teased each other. There had been a few occasions when he’d catch you as you were leaving, place a to-go order, and then you’d ride in his car out to some deserted spot to talk and eat. You’d gotten to know each other intimately. In an emotional sense that is. Dean always kept you at arm’s length. He’d never asked you on a real date. Your coworkers insisted he was probably married and just stringing you along. And now some strange woman was answering his phone and…

“Y/N?” The woman on the line says.

“Sorry. A friend. Dean’s…a really good friend,” you tell her. “Can I ask who you are?”

“I’m Mary,” she starts and you immediately let out a heavy sigh.

“His mother. Of course,” you breathe with relief.

“Yes,” she says, slightly surprised.

“He’s talked about you a lot. Where is Dean?” You ask. Now, it was Mary’s turn to sigh.

“We don’t know,” she tells you.

“What?” You ask. “It’s his job, isn’t it?” You didn’t know exactly what Dean did but he’d come into the diner beaten and bruised on a few occasions.

“Well…yes,” she says.

“Have you called the police?”

“Y/N, break’s over,” Stew calls from the back door.

“Give me a minute!!” You yell to him. He grumbles and slams the door shut. “You have called the police, right, Mary?”

“That’s not exactly an option,” she says, slowly.

“Well…what about Sam? Or…or Cas?” You ask. There’s the briefest of pauses.

“I’m…I’m here with Mary,” a second voice says.

“And Sam was with Dean,” Mary adds. Cas was there as well, listening to your conversation. You frown and pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to think.

“I want to help,” you tell them.

“I’m sorry, Y/N but…we don’t even know you,” she says.

“Well, then, come meet me. I get off at 8:00,” you say before giving her the address for the diner. “If you don’t show up, I’ll call the police and report them missing myself.”

“We’ll be there,” Mary says before disconnecting the line. You slip the phone back into your apron pocket and run your hands over your face. Sliding the brace back onto your wrist, you head back into the diner.

The rest of your shift drags on slowly. You don’t make nearly as much as you could have on tips, your normal perky personality absent. At 8:15, you finally manage to clock out, throwing your apron into the dirty linens bag. You rush out the front door and look around, phone in hand. The front doors of an unfamiliar car open at the same time. Mary, you recognize her from the old pictures Dean had shown you, gets out of the driver’s side, and the man you assume to be Cas gets out as well.

“Y/N?” Mary asks, watching you. You nod and rush over to the two of them.

“While I wish it was under different circumstances, it’s nice to finally meet you both,” you tell them, holding a hand out. Mary gives you a quick once over before placing her hand in yours.

“I wish I could say the same but…”

“Dean never mentioned me,” you say. It wasn’t a question but a statement of fact. You’d often wondered and now you knew for sure. You were a secret.

“So, what exactly do you know about their work?” Mary asks. You frown and shrug.

“Not much. I figure…best case, CIA…worst case, I dunno…the mafia,” you say, more than a little embarrassed. Mary smiles a little and looks down at the ground.

“Not exactly. It’s a bit more freelance than that,” she says.

“Like a bounty hunter?” You ask. Mary shakes her head, looking around.

“I’d rather not discuss it here. Would you be willing to go back to the bun…where the boys live and talk there?” She asks.

“Of course,” you agree, immediately.

***

Never get in the car with strangers. The age old advice rang through your ears as you rode in the back seat to wherever Mary and Cas were taking you. Of course, these two weren’t exactly strangers. They were at least Dean’s mother and best friend. You truly felt like you actually knew them with how much he’d talked about them.

Mary continues to drive as you watch the cityscape disappear. It isn’t too long before she’s pulling onto a desolate looking road. The road leads into a dark tunnel, only lit by the headlights of Mary’s car. Your eyes have to readjust when she pulls into a much more brightly lit area. Looking around, you find a room that appears to be a garage holding several very old cars. This much at least screamed Dean, relaxing you a little.

“You said they live here?” You ask, trying to wrap your mind around that statement.

“Yes. It’s an old bunker. Used to be home to a secret society, the Men of Letters,” she tells you. You nod and try to keep your face in check. You can feel her watching you in the rearview mirror.

“Are they in this secret society then? You ask as she parks the car.

“No,” she answers. “It died out in America decades ago. There is still an active branch in London though.”

“Douchebags,” Cas mutters. You both look at him and he glances between the two of you. “That’s what Dean calls them.” You let out a small laugh as the three of you get out of the car. Mary leads the way through the bunker quietly. You follow, looking around and trying to take in as much as you can. She leads the two of you into what you assume is a library given the shelves of books all along the walls.

“You drink?” She asks, holding up a bottle of brown liquid. You nod as you take a seat at the table. Admittedly, you were more of a wine drinker but you felt the impending conversation would require something stronger. Mary pours two glasses and sets one in front of you before walking around to the other side of the table. She takes the seat opposite you and looks at the glass, swirling it slightly. “You sure about this, Y/N? Once you know the truth, leaving it behind can be pretty difficult.”

“Please,” is all you manage to say. She nods and throws her drink back quickly.

“Alright,” she starts. “I come from a long line of hunters. Not the kind you’re thinking of. My family hunted monsters. Ghosts, demons, witches, vampires.” You strive to keep your face in check as you take a slow drink. This was not what you were expecting at all. “When I was 19, dating John, the boys’ father, a demon killed him and my parents. He offered me a deal. He would bring John back and we could live a normal life, as long as I gave him permission to enter my home in 10 years. I was suddenly alone and holding the dead body of the love of my life. I agreed. Ten years later, he entered my home and killed me. John took the boys on the road and they became hunters as well.”

Mary stops as you stand slowly and make your way over to the bottle she had used earlier. With shaking hands, you refill your glass before downing it quickly. This was insane. Mary was insane. There was no way this was real.

“Mary…I…you really expect me to believe all this?” You ask, looking back at her now. She shrugs slightly and looks at Cas. You’d forgotten he was even there. He’d been leaning against a bookshelf behind her, watching you. You look at him as he starts to make his way around the table towards you.

Panic quickly rises in your throat and you have to remind yourself that these are Dean’s people. At least…you’re fairly certain they are. You’d never seen pictures of Cas and the only ones you had seen of Mary were from when Dean was just a child. Now, this strange woman was trying to convince you that monsters were real and your friend hunted them for a living. Cas stops next to you and looks down at your hand.

“Why are you wearing that brace?” He asks. You blink, surprised. You’d half expected him to knock you unconscious.

“I, ummm…” You hold it up and shake your head. “Carpal Tunnel from work.” Cas nods and briefly touches two fingers to your forehead before you can even register the movement.

“You won’t need it anymore,” he says. You stare at him in disbelief before taking the brace off. For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel any pain as you roll your wrist in every direction. You look back up at Cas and then at Mary. She smiles and shrugs.

“Angel,” she says. You know the shock is clear all over your face as Cas helps you back to your seat. The three of you sit in silence for a little while as you process all of this information. You’re grateful for the time they give you.

“You, ummm…” You stop and look at Mary. “You said you died.” She runs a hand across her forehead and looks at you, debating on if you’re prepared for more information. You give her the best reassuring smile you can manage at the moment.

“God’s sister brought me back as a thank you gift to Dean and Sam for helping her reunite with her brother,” she says. You’re absolutely certain your jaw hits the table.

“Well…that was…nice,” you manage. “And they were on a…a hunt when they disappeared?”

“Lucifer had possessed the president of the United States,” Cas starts. “We were going to exorcise him and return him to his cage in hell.”

“Oh my god,” you mumble, immediately beginning to massage your temples. “This is…this is a lot.”

“Now you know why Dean never told you,” Mary says. You nod, still attempting to rub away the migraine threatening to explode behind your eyes.

“I, ummm…can I take a walk?” You ask. Mary nods, smiling a little. You hoped you were handling this better than she expected. You’re still shaking as you rise from your seat again and make your way down one of the hallways. Your mind thinks back over things Dean had mentioned about his work and, frankly, it lined up. He’d never given you a lot of details but now it was starting to make sense.

You stop in the middle of the hallway and glance around. Your curiosity gets the better of you causing you to push open the door in front of you. It was a bedroom, modestly decorated. You make your way into the room and find a familiar picture sitting on the bedside table. It was the photo Dean had shown you of him and his mother. Glancing around the room, you surmise that it must be his room.

You pull open the drawer of the bedside table and gasp. Inside you find several things, another gun, a handful of credit cards, and fake ID’s. But the most surprising thing was sitting right on top. You gingerly pick up the picture and can’t help but smile. It’s of you, sitting in the front seat of Dean’s car, laughing. You remembered when he’d taken it, one of the many nights you’d spent talking. You didn’t realize he’d had it printed and kept it so close. Maybe you were more than just a secret.

“Y/N?” Mary asks from the doorway. You look up at her and she smiles. “I was getting ready to head out when you called, a vampire thing in Missouri. Cas said he’d take you back.”

“Thank you for being honest with me,” you tell her. She nods once and leaves you alone.

The next few days pass relatively uneventfully. You call Stew and make up a story about a death in the family out of state, telling him you’ll need a week or two off. He reluctantly agrees. You stay at the bunker with Cas after that. Your days are spent diving into the lore books in the old bunker, learning anything and everything you can. Cas teaches you how to do “research”, showing you how to tell the difference between normal weird and supernatural weird. He shows you one of the spare bedrooms but you end up sleeping in Dean’s room instead.

The two of you are making your way to the library when you hear Cas’s phone ringing. He rushes ahead to answer it and you go over to a new shelf to find something else to study.

“What?” He answers the phone. “Dean?” The book you’d picked out slips from your hand and you rush to his side. “What, what happened? Wh-where are you?” You stare at him, tears stinging your eyes. He grabs a pen and pad off the table and quickly jots down a note. Rocky Mountain National Park. State Route 34. “Yes. – Wait, where? – Wait, what does that…” Cas sighs and sets the phone down, frowning.

“What did he say?? Are they okay??” You ask. He glances at you and shrugs.

“He sounded rushed. Like they were being chased,” he says. You nod and pick up the notepad, trying to hide the rush of emotions you were feeling.

“We’ve got to call Mary. Meet up with her and get to Colorado,” you tell him. He looks at you quickly and frowns.

“No, Y/N. It’s too dangerous for you to come along,” he says, taking the notepad. You shake your head, tears falling freely as you look up at the angel.

“Cas, please,” you beg. His resolve breaks instantly and he sighs, picking his phone back up.

“Dean would not approve,” he mumbles before calling Mary.

The two of you pull into a parking lot several hours later. Mary’s car is already sitting, waiting. She gets out and clenches her jaw when she sees you rise from the passenger side of Cas’s car.

“You got here quickly,” Cas remarks. Mary nods, eyes fixed on you.

“Yep. What the hell is she doing here??” She asks. Cas sighs and looks over at you.

“Mary, please. I won’t get in the way, I swear,” you tell her. Frowning, she shakes her head, her hands coming to rest on your shoulders.

“Y/N, it’s not about you being in the way. We have no idea what we’re walking into. I’m more worried about you getting hurt and what that would do to Dean,” she says. Swallowing hard, you set your jaw. Mary wasn’t going to see you cry too.

“Please. I have to be there. I need to see him with my own eyes,” you plead. She watches you for a moment, debating internally.

“Dean’s gonna kill us,” she says before turning to Cas. “We may want backup.”

“Crowley and Rowena?” He asks. She scoffs and you glance between them.

“The King of Hell and his mother, the witch?” She asks. You frown and shake your head.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” you comment. Mary smiles a little and looks at Cas.

“I hope we can do better than them.”

“I may have an idea,” he says. Mary nods and makes for the driver’s side of her own car.

“Good. Seat belts on. I drive fast,” she tells the two of you as you load into the car as well.

The British Men of Letters. That was Cas’s idea. Mary almost immediately pulls out, supposing “the demon and his mommy” don’t sound so bad anymore. You hang back, watching the situation unfold. The two Brits, Mick and Ketch from what you gather, offer their services seemingly free of charge. They make a few phone calls, getting access to a satellite of the area Dean had mentioned. Mary and Cas are able to deduce the direction they’re headed and a good spot to meet them.

The two cars move to the new location and you all unload once again. You look up at the night sky and think about the last night you’d spend with Dean. He’d picked you up from the diner at closing time and drove you out of town to a remote location. You’d both laid on the hood of the car, splitting the last of the pie of the day.

“Y/N,” Mary says, pulling you from your thoughts. You turn to face her and immediately launch into pleading again.

“Mary, please. I don’t want to wait here while you two go on…”

“Stop,” she says, holding her hand up. “That’s not what I was going to say. Dean’s already gonna be pissed we brought you. He’d kill us both if we left you with those two. Just stay close to us and if something goes wrong, run back here.” You manage a relieved smile and follow her and Cas further up into the woods.

The three of you come into a small clearing and it isn’t long before there’s a rustling in the brush. Cas and Mary both move into a defensive stance in front of you. You wring your hands as you wait. Cas takes a few steps closer to the noise just as Dean and Sam fall through the bushes. Your heart jumps into your throat at the sight of Dean and you almost break down crying right then.

“Sam, Dean,” Cas says, relieved. You can see the tension immediately leave Mary’s shoulders as she takes in the sight of her boys. Sam rises first and pulls Cas into a tight hug. His eyes land on Mary and he smiles.

“Mom,” he says, letting Cas go. He starts to make his way across the clearing towards her when you register the confusion on his face. Dean finally stands and hugs Cas as well. Sam pulls Mary into a tight embrace that she immediately returns. “Who’s this?” He asks.

“Y/N??” Dean’s voice rings across the clearing. You smile, swallowing back tears, and wave slightly. “The hell is she doing here??” His voice is thick with anger as he makes his way over to Mary. The venom in his words takes you by surprise. Mary raises her hands slightly.

“She was worried about you. Called your phone. I answered and she wanted to help,” she explains. You and Dean stand there, staring at each other. Dean’s eyes are full of a rage you can’t even begin to comprehend.

“How much do you know?” He asks.

“A lot more than I did a week ago,” you tell him. He shakes his head and looks to the sky before looking at his mother.

“Hey, Mom,” he mumbles, pulling her into a hug. She lets out a gasp of surprise and returns the embrace. Dean’s eyes never leave your face. “Let’s get out of here,” he says before walking straight past you.

You take a shaky breath and run your hands over your face. You had anticipated he’d be angry, of course. But you had hoped the joy of being together again would cancel that anger out at some point. Mary pats your shoulder before she starts to follow Dean. You debate on staying right there in the woods for a moment before falling in step behind them. Sam clears his throat slightly as you all walk.

“Mom, how did yall even find us?” He asks, attempting to break the tension.

“They helped,” she says, pointing to Mick and Ketch as they come into view.

“Dammit!! They know about her now too??” He groans, running a hand through his hair. “Y/N, get in the car.” You stare at him in disbelief for a moment. “Car. Now,” he demands. You wipe at your eyes furiously as you storm back to Mary’s car. Sliding into the middle of the back seat, you realize for the first time that the Dean you knew and this Dean, the real Dean, may not be the same person.

The five of them talk for only a moment before coming to the car. Cas takes the passenger seat quickly and Dean doesn’t hide the dirty look he gives him. You shake your head, unable to believe that having to sit by you in the car was that unsettling. Had you misinterpreted your entire relationship? Sam gets in on your other side and smiles at you, awkwardly.

“Y/N, wasn’t it?” He asks. You look at him and smile bitterly.

“Yes. It’s nice to finally meet you Sam. I’ve heard so much about you. And don’t worry. I know the feeling can’t be mutual. You’ve never heard of me before, have you?” You ask, letting your anger burst out for a moment. Dean’s hand tightens into a fist on his leg as he stares out the window. Sam’s awkward smile becomes apologetic before Mary changes the subject, filling them in on everything they’d missed.

Mary continues to drive on into the night. You catch Sam and Dean both nervously glancing at the clock at the front of the car. They seem to only be getting more anxious as the minutes tick by.

“So wait, you're hunting?” Dean asks his mother. She glances back at him in the mirror and shrugs.

“A little bit,” she says. Sam smiles and shakes his head.

“Yea, I knew you couldn’t stay away,” he teases.

The exact second the clock switches over to 12:00, midnight, the car dies. Mary eases it onto a bridge as she tries the key again.

“It’s time,” Sam says, getting out of the car. You look at him then over at Dean.

“Stay in the car,” Dean tells you. Rolling your eyes, you slide out right behind him, tired of being ordered around tonight. The others all get out as well and look around, taking in their surroundings.

“What’s happening?” Mary asks.

“Yea, Dean. Sup?” A new voice says. You all look over to find a woman standing in the middle of the bridge. You look around, trying to figure out where she could have possibly come from. Dean takes an immediate step in front of you, shielding your entire body. Instinctively, you step closer to him, your hand coming to rest on his back, assuring him you were there and okay.

“Billie?” Mary asks, recognition and confusion mixed on her face.

“The reaper?” Cas asks. You close your eyes, trying to think back over your studies. It wasn’t one of things you’d become familiar with but gauging everyone’s reactions, this wasn’t a good thing.

“I don’t understand,” Mary says, shaking her head. Dean sighs and hangs his head.

“Mom, that place…there was only one way we were getting out of there, and that wasn’t breathing,” he starts to explain. You glance around at everyone and notice the horrified look on Cas’s face. “So I made a call.”

“Dean talked to her and then Billie came to talk to me,” Sam continues the story. “And we made a deal. We’d get to die and come back one more time, but in exchange…”

“Come midnight, a Winchester goes bye-bye. Like, permanently,” Billie says, smiling. “And that is something I’ve been looking forward to for a long time.”

“No,” you whisper from behind Dean.

“Why would you –,” Mary starts.

“We were already dead,” Dean tells her. “Being locked in that cell with nothing…I’ve been to Hell. This was worse.”

“At least this way, one of us gets to keep fighting,” Sam finishes. You shake your head, taking a step away from Dean.

“No,” you say again. He looks over his shoulder at you and his anger has completely dissolved. “Dean, no.”

“Hi, Y/N,” Billie says, waving. You look at her in utter shock but Dean steps between the two of you again.

“Leave her out of this,” he growls.

“You don’t have to do this,” Cas says, shaking his head.

“Yea, they do,” Billie says. “We made a pact bound in blood, You break that, there’s consequences on a cosmic scale. So, who’s it gonna be?” She asks, looking between the brothers. Sam looks at Dean, then at you, and back to Dean who shakes his head.

“Me,” Mary says before either of them can answer. She turns to face Billie, pulling her handgun from her waistband. Sam and Dean both immediately object, stepping forward to stop her. Billie flings both of them away with a wave of her hand. You rush to Dean’s side and fall next to him, immediately checking him for injuries. He shakes his head and fights to rise to his feet again.

“You said come midnight, a Winchester dies?” Mary asks. “I’m a Winchester.”

“Works for me,” Billie says with a smile. Mary cocks the gun and raises it toward her head. Sam and Dean both object loudly again, fighting to get to her.

“I love you,” Mary sniffs. Just as she’s about to pull the trigger, a sharp pointed blade pierces through Billie’s chest from behind and she immediately falls dead. You stare in shock at the dead body lying before you. Cas stands over her, the blade in his hand dripping blood. Mary lowers her gun as Dean and Sam are finally able to get to their feet. Dean takes your hand, pulling you up as well. You begin to pale as you stare at the body.

“Cas, what have you done?” Dean asks, looking at his best friend in shock.

“What had to be done,” he says. “You know this world – this sad, doomed little world – it needs you…” Your ears begin to ring and you take a shaky step closer to Dean. His arm comes around your waist, eyes never leaving Cas as he continues to talk. Something about keeping all the Winchesters alive.

“Dean,” Mary says, pointing to you. “First dead body.” Dean looks down at you just as you go completely limp in his arms.

Dean runs his hands over his face before taking a long swig off his beer. A lot had happened in the last day; dying, coming back again, running, fighting for their lives, getting back to their family, you, Billie, you, Cas killing a reaper…you. That was really the only thing on his mind…you. He had so carefully built a relationship with you. A relationship based on half truths and secrets but a relationship nevertheless. Now, you knew the whole nasty truth. It was going to be Lisa all over again…

“Dean?” Mary asks, sticking her head into the kitchen. He glances over his shoulder and smiles a little. “Can I join you?” Nodding, he points to the empty seat across from him. She walks over, taking the seat quietly. He stares at the bottle in his hands. “Dean…”

“You shouldn’t have told her,” he tells her firmly. “It wasn’t your place. I didn’t want her to know. She was safer not knowing. Now…I’ll never see her again.”

“What? Why?” Mary asks, confused. Dean stands and throws his empty bottle into the trash.

“To keep her safe!!” He snaps, spinning on her angrily. “People around me don’t hang around too long. They either run or they die. It’s as simple as that. Especially the ones who mean the most to me. And she means…” He stops abruptly, emotion closing up his throat. Mary frowns as she stands and walks over to him.

“It only seems that way, Dean. Y/N, she’s…she’s strong. She took everything I told her in stride and she stayed. She stayed here with Cas and she’s been learning how to do the job,” she tells him.

“That’s even worse!! I don’t want her anywhere near this,” he says, fighting back tears. “If it was just normal hunter stuff then maybe but the stuff we deal with…Lucifer and Amara and God…I want her as far away from all of this as possible.”

“Don’t you think she should get a say in this?” Mary asks. He shakes his head, stubbornly.

“No. Soon as she wakes up, I’m taking her back home. I’ll never go back to that diner.. She’ll never see or hear from me again,” he says.

“What?” You whisper to yourself, standing just outside the kitchen door. You turn on your heels and rush down the hall towards the garage. Your car was there and you’d spent enough time at the bunker to know how to get out. You hadn’t heard much but you heard enough. Dean didn’t want to see you anymore, plain and simple.

***

Three months, five days.

That’s how long it had been since you last saw Dean. You’d left the bunker, rejected and heartbroken, and Dean had kept his word. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t come in for any pie. Life was back to normal. Boring, regular, normal. You found yourself reading into everything you saw on the news, wondering if it was a case Dean could be working at that very moment.

You’d volunteered to close down the diner for yet another night. Floors were mopped. Counters and tables wiped down. All you had left to do was lock up. Flipping off the lights, you step outside into the cool night air. You turn to lock the door when you hear footsteps coming up behind you. Damn it. You’d been so lost in thoughts about what you had believed was a werewolf in Michigan you hadn’t checked the parking lot first.

“Hello, love,” a heavy British accent says. There’s nothing familiar and certainly nothing friendly about the greeting. You stand frozen for a moment, weighing your options. You didn’t have many.

“We’re closed,” you say, not turning to face him yet.

“Not here for the pie,” he jokes. He’s closer than he had been.

“Look. My manager has already taken the deposit to the bank. I’ve got a few bucks in my purse and that’s it. I haven’t seen your face yet. You can turn around and leave, no consequences,” you tell him.

“Afraid not. Got a job to do. A message for your little hunter boyfriend,” he says. You let out a short laugh.

“You’re definitely barking up the wrong tree,” you say. His reflection is in the glass of the door now, standing right behind you. You take a deep breath and turn to face him finally. “Dean Winchester doesn’t care about me. Hurting me, won’t hurt him in any way.”

“We’ll see about that,” he says, brandishing a knife. You bring your knee up, hitting him in the groin. He grunts and doubles over, giving you enough time to run towards your car. Unfortunately, the blow doesn’t slow him down enough. Before you can make it to the car, he’s grabbed you by your waist, knife at your throat. “Any last words I can pass on to the Winchesters?” He breathes in your ear.

“Go to hell,” you spit at him. You feel the knife press harder against your skin as angry tears slide down your cheeks. What a way to go. Dying for a man who couldn’t care less.

Before the Brit can finish you off, a car whips into the dark parking lot, lights shining bright on the two of you. It takes your attacker by surprise and you feel his grip relax just enough. A sharp elbow to his abdomen has him letting you go. You fall to your knees as you attempt to run away. The car skids to a stop and you hear the voice you’d only dreamt of hearing again.

“Y/N!!” Dean yells as he runs at your attacker. He tackles him, knocking the knife from his hand as the two men hit the ground. Mary runs to your side as Sam runs to help Dean. You weren’t sure why. Dean had the upper hand, sitting atop the man, punching him in the face. Repeatedly. That’s when you realize, Sam wasn’t helping Dean. He was pulling him off.

“Dean, it’s over,” he tells his brother. “He’s dead.” Mary helps you to your feet, examining you as Dean makes his way over, wiping his bloodied hand off on his shirt.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Dean asks, taking your face in his hands. He looks you over and frowns at the knick on your neck. Running his thumb over it gently, he wipes the blood away.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, taken aback by his gentleness and concern. Before you can say anything else, he pulls you into a crushing hug. You gasp and freeze before slowly returning the embrace. Mary touches Sam’s shoulder and nods back towards the dead body. They slip away to deal with that and give you two some privacy. “Dean…”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I put you in so much danger,” he says, letting you go. “I didn’t know we were being watched. I didn’t know.”

“Dean, what’s going on?” You ask.

“The British Men of Letters. Turns out it was a join or die type of situation. They’ve been watching all of us for a while now. They knew about you before you ever knew anything,” he explains. “They had brainwashed Mom but we just got her back. Sam and Jody led a raid of the Brits’ headquarters. Saw the pictures of you, of us here. We got here as quick as we could.” He winces now and you finally register how badly beaten he looks.

“What happened to you?” You ask, knowing your attacker hadn’t even gotten one good swing in. He limps over to his car and leans back against the hood.

“Grenade launcher,” he says, pointing to his leg. “Bad fight with Ketch.” He points to the rest of himself.

“Gre...huh??”

“They locked us in the bunker. Shut off the air supply. It was our only way out. And it was freaking awesome,” he says, smirking now. You roll your eyes at him and try not to smile, fighting back that familiar feeling he always gave you.

“Well, thank you. I’ll be more careful. Try not to close up by myself anymore,” you tell him, crossing your arms. He nods slightly, watching you.

“Or you could come with me,” he says. You scoff a laugh and shake your head.

“You don’t have to babysit me, Dean. I’ll be fine,” you say.

“What?” He asks. You shrug, trying to give him a confident smile.

“I’m officially relieving you of the burden of my safety. Whatever happens to me, happens. Don’t let it get to your conscious,” you tell him, looking around for your purse.

“Y/N,” Dean says. He watches you walk over and pick up the discarded item. You throw it over your shoulder and look back at him. “Come here,” he says gently, holding a hand out.

“You don’t want me. I know that. Please stop this,” you say, looking down at the gravel under your feet. You hear him sigh and look up as he starts to limp towards you. “No. Stop. You’re hurt.” He rolls his eyes now before taking your face in his hands for the second time tonight. This time his eyes aren’t searching for injuries. They’re searching for answers.

“Why would you think I don’t want you?” He asks, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it before. You get lost in the green of his eyes for a moment before the memory of that night comes back.

“I heard you with Mary. You said I wouldn’t see or hear from you again. And I haven’t since I left the bunker that day,” you tell him, hating to relive those harsh words. He nods, his hands leaving your face. They don’t go far though, immediately coming to rest on your hips.

“Is that all you heard?” He asks. You nod, wishing he’d just let you go home instead of dragging this out. “I didn’t leave you alone because I didn’t want you. I left you alone because I needed to keep you safe, because I want you too much, because I care about you too much.” Your eyes fill with tears as you stare up at him. You had to have died and gone to heaven for him to be saying these things, the things you wanted him to say so desperately.

“You were so mad when you saw me…”

“Because I didn’t want you anywhere near this life. Hunting, especially the things we end up hunting, it’s dangerous,” he pauses and closes his eyes. “I had just made a deal with a reaper to die. Again. I’d already resolved myself to the fact I wasn’t going to get to say a proper goodbye to you, tell you how I felt, how happy you’ve made me over the past year…and then you were there, right smack in the middle of everything. I was furious, yea, but not at you. I was mad at myself. I never shoulda came back here to begin with.”

“I don’t understand,” you say, shaking your head. Nothing was making sense. Nothing but the feel of his hands on your waist. That was good. That was right.

“I fell for you so hard that first night I came in for dinner. I was just supposed to come in, pick up something for me and Sam, and head back to the bunker. But when I walked in and saw you…I had to know you,” he recalls. “I thought a couple of visits couldn’t hurt. I could just be a customer, see you, talk to you. Maybe you’d eventually learn my name. That third time I came in and saw you getting ready to leave I was devastated. So I asked you to join me, thinking there wasn’t a chance in hell. You’d just gotten off work. Surely you wanted to get out of there and get home. But you stayed and you sat with me and…I knew I was in trouble.” You’re crying now. You don’t know exactly when the tears started but they were falling quickly. Dean brings one hand up and wipes at each of your cheeks gently. “And then you gave me your number…man, I almost called you from the booth,” he laughs. You do as well, reaching up and taking his hand. You press a kiss into his palm.

“I never knew what we were. I was so confused,” you tell him.

“I’m sorry. I kept going back and forth. I told myself it was too dangerous, you were safer as my friend. But then I’d get you alone, in my car and…” His hand tightens slightly on your hip and he pulls you impossibly closer. “I wanted you so desperately.” His voice dropped lower and his eyes bore into your own.

“I wanted you too,” you just manage to whisper. His forehead is touching yours now. Your eyes flutter close as his breath washes over your face.

“No more secrets,” he says before finally bringing his lips in to meet yours. This isn’t a gentle, chaste first kiss. Your lips move desperately against his as your arms wrap around his neck. It was everything you’d imagined and nothing like you could have dreamed all at the same time. His lips were chapped but gentle. He tasted of mint and whiskey. The way his hands moved over your back, one sliding just beneath your shirt to caress the skin at the small of your back, was intoxicating. You force yourself to pull away, remembering that his family was in the near vicinity.

“I have one secret,” you admit. He looks down at you expectantly. “I freaking hate this job.” He laughs and shakes his head, kissing you once more quickly.

“Sweetheart, I got bad news. That ain’t a secret,” he teases. You laugh too as Dean looks over your shoulder at the diner. “This place is gonna go under without your pie. It’s the only reason anyone comes back.”

“Including you?” You ask. His smile turns into a smirk as he looks back down at you.

“Why do you think I’m keeping you at the bunker?” He asks. Laughing again, you try to step out of his arms but they only tighten around you. His face is suddenly serious again as he watches you. “But only if you’re absolutely sure. I can’t stress enough how dangerous this life is.” You smile as you take his face in your hands.

“Dean,” you start. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

With that, Dean kisses you once again.

You leave your diner key in the door and a note taped to the glass.

I quit. -Y/N

****

Tags: @roseblue373

#fanfic #fanfiction #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #reader insert #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean x reader #sam winchester #mary winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #cas #castiel #right where you left me #dean x waitress

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autistichalsin · 5 months

Text

Do you ever just... think about how Halsin's life at the Grove was not only lonely and full of pressure, but also so full of expectations that the image Halsin had to cultivate of himself was nothing like who he was?

Everyone at the Grove only seemed to know of him as a leader, scholar, healer, and powerful Druid. In truth, he hated the first, understood the importance of the second but did not actually enjoy it, was proud of the third but again, didn't consider it part of his identity, and rarely acknowledged the fourth as anything but a way to serve nature.

Even in the way they addressed him it quickly became clear it wasn't who he was. Halsin NEVER shows any comfort using the title of "Master Halsin"; it was a title the others used for him that he reluctantly went along with. The instant he leaves the Grove, he never uses it again. He's just Halsin.

He may have been fond of some of the Druids at the Grove, and most of the others were fond of him right back (hell, even Kagha, if she is pushed away from the Shadow Druids, and then learns that Halsin perished in the goblin pen, laments that she will really miss him)... but none of them saw him. What they saw was a mask he had to wear, a role he had to play, because he had to. Because he was forced to and no one wanted the role back. (And seriously, he was desperate to give it up. It took his Grove nearly being taken over by the Shadow Druids and Halsin having to leave to help end a potentially world-ending threat for them to agree to send a replacement. You can't tell me the guy didn't try to pawn the position off before, only for his Circle to say "no".)

The refugees see him as a protector (which he is) but as the leader, as the most powerful one. The Druids see him as a lot of things- a leader, good or bad; some see him as weak and a failure, others see him as beyond a reproach and someone to put on a pedestal; they see him as the BEST healer of all, the most POWERFUL Druid they know, the SMARTEST, the STRONGEST, an "elf with the presence of a bear"...

But the one thing he can't be around them is "just Halsin."

He couldn't even trust any of them with the full truth when he discovered the altered tadpole; Nettie had suspicions, but he didn't tell her the full truth, he immediately swore off telling Kagha with the reasoning that she would demand answers he couldn't provide (expecting too much from him), and in fact, he was so worried about this that he split his notes into two.

So then along comes the player, who first finds him in an extremely vulnerable position- being tortured by goblins. Halsin says in as many words that he didn't think anyone was coming for him. Halsin didn't think the people he was charged to lead and protect cared enough for him to mount a rescue mission- and he was tragically right. (Granted, for some it was a matter of fear, inexperience, etc, but the fact remains.) The player rescues him, treats him as an equal despite this (and that's what he wants, he wants to be an equal with some expertise to share, not a leader), helps him to correct what he sees as the biggest mistake of his life, possibly pursues a romantic relationship with him where they are kind enough to not even hold it against him where he loses control of his powers and accidentally polymorphs during sex, and, in the newly added post-Drow scene, offers him guidance and counsel on something he's been unable to talk about for over 100 years, admitting that he lost perspective on it for just this reason. He had no peers and was forced into a leadership role so stressful that it made him romanticize his past as a sex slave in his own head because he was that desperate to not be responsible for the wellbeing of others, to not be relied on- even if the alternative was being treated as literal property and his autonomy repeatedly violated. That's how desperate he was.

Halsin's entire arc is how he's been lonely and isolated, always in different ways, but still the same thing. Misunderstood and scorned for his size, or kept as a prisoner, or with few friends, or losing his peers, or being forced into a leadership role with no equals or friends to take care of him, or so focused on his leadership duties that the chance to have a family (which he wanted desperately) passed him by... just one thing after another.

And then people wonder why he falls in love with the player so fast. The player is literally EVERYTHING he has been wishing for for over 100 years, not just in the romantic sense, but for everything. All he wanted was someone who would let him be HIMSELF, no pressures or responsibilities he was woefully unequipped to fulfill.

#halsin #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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theold-ultraviolence · 1 year

Note

Hello my loveeeeee

I come bearing Aemond thots

So we know Aemond is observant and a man of few words so in relation to his wife I think he would have sooo many feelings about just the littlest things he notices about her but he can't figure out how to say it I imagined he's tried to a couple times but it didn't come out right poor thing

So he started writing her letters almost daily even though they see eachother every day just so he can get his words out 🤍

Whispers Unsaid / Part II

Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

A/N: CEE. When I tell you I've never ran to write a prompt THIS QUICKLY, I think I'm breaking a personal record here. This is the sweetest, most precious and unique concept ever and omg I hope I did it justice. Thank you for indulging me and for letting me explore more of Aemond!! Title is based on the song 'Hail to the King' by A7X, which is also the album that has been inspiring me when it comes to him. CW: suggestive language, no explicit content. Words: 2k.

“What are you doing, husband?”

You sigh from your spot on your shared bed, with an outstretched hand in search of his touch, only it lands beside you on the empty dent where the warmth of his form still lingers.

It’s late, and Aemond’s back is towards you, with his long hair cascading behind him like the silvery moonbeams that reflect on the ocean just outside of King’s Landing. Straight and stoic as always, he sits, illuminated by the triad of candles sitting on his desk as he’s calmly scribbling away on paper.

He stops as soon as he hears your quiet calling, and only turns halfway to grant you a little smirk. “Just some writing. Go back to sleep.”

“Just some writing, he says...”

He huffs out a quiet puff of air that’s just Aemond’s way of laughing, and you consider it a win.

At the beginning, the silence had unnerved you; it puzzled you, to be the one to take up the mantle between the two of you and prompt the conversation out of him for seldom did he utter a single word. It’s like Aegon had claimed all the bark upon being the first one to leave their mother’s womb and left no words to spare for Aemond or Helaena.

But in time, you learned that that’s just the kind of man that Aemond is, and it does not mean that he despises you, as you’d first believed as a newlywed, being one in need of affirmation to be at ease knowing their care is reciprocated.

Having been betrothed to Aemond had proved to be a blessing, despite it being a political arrangement. You’d grown too fond of him, too attached to his scent and the weight of his body against you. You’d often think about what would’ve become of you, hadn’t you been matched with someone as caring and devoted as he.

Albeit eternally silent.

So you made it your own little game, to try and pry a smile out of him with your quips, or a sigh of contentment with your caresses, anytime you could. This little laugh you treasure, as it’s a sound as rare as a King without a crown, or a Valyrian without a dragon

“May I enquire, your grace, if it’s something appropriate to share with your lady wife?”

You speak through a teasing smile and a giddy heart over the sight of his shoulders visibly relaxing and a dimple surfacing along the lines of his sharp jaw.

“Whispers unsaid, I believe,” he murmurs cryptically, and isn’t that the understatement of the era.

Everything that Aemond utters to you is restrained, often biting his tongue when he sees you changing into your dress in the morning, or walking down a stairwell while lifting up your skirt, like a proper princess. You wonder what he thinks of you, what passes through the intricate maze that is his mind, whenever he’s helping you put on a piece of jewelry, or tying up the laces of your slippers or squeezing your hand in his in a crowded room.

His gaze is the loudest, while his lips refrain from speaking.

And it is indeed far too late for either of you to be up, hence why your eyelids are dropping regardless of you aching to keep admiring Aemond, so you give up on coaxing the conversation out of him and ultimately mutter, “come back to bed, husband.”

“I’ll be there in a moment.”

You huff in a childlike manner, inching closer to his spot on the bed to absorb the remnants of his warmth, to inhale that characteristic scent that emanates from the crown of his head, imprinted on the pillow.

“You know I can’t sleep without you,” you dare confess. Only in the hour of the owl did you let these kinds of truths spill.

It’s true, you cannot. Not when your lives are marked by unrelenting stress, impending danger. He’s your anchor, at the end of the day. In his arms you seek the safety and softness that you need after so much endurance and you dread the moment he’ll be yanked away to war.

He nods and finally joins you, immediately cradling your face to his neck before his arms envelop you.

In a dreamy haze, you mumble, “one day you’ll have to tell me all about what you write…is it fiction? Is it prose? Are you writing about how you secretly despise your wife?” you yawn, making him humm amusedly before he’s lulling you to sleep by tracing his fingers all along your spine until you’re no longer conscious.

–

First you hear all the clattering noises about the room before you fully awaken, and the next thing you register is the lack of a firm body against your own under the covers.

Groggily, you call for his name, over and over again and louder each time until a pair of hands frame your face and thin lips tenderly plant themselves on your forehead.

“What’s going on?” you’re greeted first thing at dawn to a room bathed by shadows except for his sapphire eye, as bright as the sun.

“Off to clean up after Aegon’s messes, as always.”

“When will you be back?” one of your hands joins his atop your cheek as your brain tries to process what he’s saying, and you’re hit with the realization that he’ll be away from you for Gods know how long.

“I’ve no way of knowing. But I promise I’ll come back to you as soon as I’m able.”

“Promise me,” you plead, staring intently at his right eye and feeling the tiniest bit of relief when you see it twinkling with affection.

He nods before his touch leaves your face until he’s got a hold of your hand with both of his, depositing something right into it that he seals with one final kiss.

“If you need me, my lady, look under the dresser. There’s a chest there with something I think you might enjoy.”

You realize there’s a key dangling from a silver chain left in your open palm.

Before you can even question him, he gives you one last longing stare, and leaves out the door.

His last message doesn’t fully sink in as you’re more preoccupied with burying your head in your husband’s pillow.

And it isn’t until the end of this day – an excruciating one without his presence – that you kneel down to retrieve a heavy treasure chest made out of fine silver, which unlocks by the turn of the key that had been resting around your neck.

You bring it with you to the bed to study its contents, soon to realize that it contains piece after piece of paper, with dates inked on the corners, going back as far as the day you were officially married.

Your heart takes on a galloping beat as you read, as you go through each of Aemond’s secret letters to you.

“My lady, we are officially wed. I am eternally grateful to my mother and father for having agreed upon bethroding me to you. I’d had my eye on you for a long time. I’m almost certain they noticed for I’m not entirely discreet – aiding their final decision. I look to the fates that have been bestowed on the rest of my family and while I would have fulfilled my duty with honor, I am relieved and overjoyed that I get to be by your side until the end of our days. The only thing that frightens me is you becoming bored of my existence. I know I’m not the liveliest of princes, but I hope I can convey the affection that I hold for you in the best way that I can. You are the loveliest in the whole court – in the whole kingdom. I’m most fortunate to be yours.”

“Dear wife, you drive me wild. I wish there was a way to bottle up the sound of your laughter and your moans. It’s exquisite. I wish to keep it, turn it into an elixir to help me soothe the stress of my days if you are ever not around. Please, never stop whispering in my ear, never stop cutting your giggles short for fear of appearing childish. I yearn to hear you, I aim to please you, to make a home right in between your legs so you’ll always be pleased, and in turn, I’ll get to hear you. You hold utmost power over me, and you don’t even know it.”

“My darling, it’s the little things that make me adore you, so. The way your body elongates when you stretch out your limbs, first thing in the morning, and how the sun forms a halo around your hair as it peeks through our blinds. The way you lick your lips when I’m changing clothes after training, or when I step inside our rooms after a bath. It’s the intensity in your loving gaze, looking at me as if I still had both of my eyes – how you’ve never recoiled from the sapphire that replaces one of them. But I especially love the way your body curls around mine when we’re together in bed. I want to keep you that way, forever in my arms.”

Your heart swells with each letter and some even manage to heat you up from inside out, igniting a coiling around the pit of your stomach that has you all flustered like the young maiden you no longer were.

“Wife of mine, your beauty is truly sublime, at every hour of every day, no matter what garments you wear. Although I’m most keen on the kinds of dresses that are tight at the waist and make your breasts all plump and inviting. I both relish to show you off at court so that everyone can see that you’re mine, but loathe how the Watch Guards ogle at you. You’re mine, mine alone. Your every curve is mine to hold and fondle. Only I get to see what’s underneath. And that, my lady wife, is my preferred state to see you in. Naked before my eyes alone, sprawled on the bed with your legs opening up to welcome me in. It’s sublime, I repeat. How tightly you cling to me, how intensely do you pulse around my girth while your nails claw at my back. The day I lay on my deathbed, by Gods, I wish to see such a sight as I take my final breath.”

You’re poorly fanning yourself with your palm while walking a frantic circle around your room as you’re turning Aemond’s words around in your head.

So this is what goes through your love’s mind.

So this is what he’s been keeping from you.

There’s a whole universe contained in his mind that he can only let out through paper and ink. And now you’re even more desperate to have him here, to hold him and dote on him and compensate for all the words that fail to come out of his mouth when they're so eloquently handwritten.

On this night you don’t sleep. You’re up ‘till morrow comes and the air is crisp and you’ve gone through every single one of his letters – landmarks of your rather short time as a wedded couple, and pieces of the puzzle that used to be Aemond’s perception of you.

You’re still deeply immersed in your frenzy, for five more sunsets and sunrises until finally, you hear the lock of your bedchambers turning, and in comes your husband, bruised and battle-worn and perplexed for a second as you’re immediately on him, wrapping yourself tightly to him and peppering kisses on the corner of his lip until he catches them with his mouth.

“I love you, husband.” You exhale.

After a moment he replies, with the first full grin you see on his face without saying anything whatsoever.

Though that doesn’t trouble you anymore.

You simply return his key and eagerly lead him to his desk where he finds a brand new stack of the finest paper, blank and awaiting to receive his next stream of thoughts.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #female reader #reader insert fanfiction #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfiction #ewan mitchell #my writing

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theladyismyshepard · 4 months

Text

Stamp of Approval

(The party's most favored memory of your journey)

A little note on Wyll's piece: My original playthrough I invaded the Iron Throne Prison INSTEAD of attending the ceremony that Gorthash invites the party to, so if it doesn't make sense, I'm going off the logic of what I encountered with doing that

Shadowheart –

The growth in relationship between you and Shadowheart was a slow, methodical journey on your part. The curiosity would burn right below your skin, a need to reach out and seek for more. She wasn’t much of an open book, preferring to keep her secrets to heart, and you knew with just the wrong amount of prodding, it would push her further away, an irreparable rift severed between the two of you. It didn’t take much consideration to give her the space she wordlessly demanded, just a lot of willpower.

You ignored Lae’zel’s mocking comments comparing you to a “lovesick pup waiting hand and foot” when you made every effort to appease Shadowheart’s interests. It was always worth it to watch her face light up with inspiration when you took every measure to serve upon the Gods or learn of their works. Shadowheart absorbed the knowledge you ascertained and allowed it to fuel her guidance upon herself and the rest of the party. You try to reason with yourself that you would put in as much effort for everyone as you do for Shadowheart, but you also can’t deny that none of the others can cause a pool of heat to warm your very core with nothing but a polite smile.

She knew how to draw you in, she did so with no effort on her part when you encountered her bound form trapped inside a pod on the nautiloid. You weren’t exactly sure what she found so intriguing in you. You initially considered your unlikely title of “hero”, but you noticed she only had so much patience and approval with your habit of putting literally everyone ahead of yourself (and the cure) before deeming it too self-destructive.

However, it was glaringly obvious she would never disapprove of you taking on the responsibility of caring for the strays that crossed your path. Astarion and Lae’zel had a begrudging resignation for being slowly outnumbered by animal life, whereas Shadowheart and Karlach had an aura of child-like glee about themselves. You would never forget the first morning you had awoken in camp after you had first spotted Scratch circling the dead body of his former master and felt the overwhelming need to accept him as your own. He looked so jolly, as if there was nothing at all wrong in the world so long as you were by his side, and you couldn’t help but to unleash all of your love and affection onto him. Your attention was so absorbed, that you almost missed the small smile gracing Shadowheart’s lips along with the subtle crinkle around her eyes as she watched you. It was a look of raw approval which she smoothed out once she noticed your attention was on her.

As you scouted and looted throughout your travels, you came across a tattered stuffed bear one day. It was an impulsive decision to stop and store it away in your bag, a fleeting thought of Shadowheart was what prompted it. You weren’t aware of every bit of information that she could provide, but you did know that the huge gaps in her memory offered both a blessing and a curse. She wasn’t granted the best of childhoods, and you couldn’t help the thought of a young Shadowheart, alone and without the comfort of even a stuffed companion. The rush of adrenaline that came with the sudden need to give it to her, to watch the happiness brighten every corner of her face had you bouncing on each step back to camp.

You entailed the assistance of a couple members of the party: Karlach and Astarion. The vampire offered a delicate hand that was skilled in the craft of sewing to gently pull the stuffed bear back together. After you carefully handwashed the toy in the river that you camped near, Karlach took her duty very seriously. You couldn’t help the smile as her tongue poked out the side of her mouth in concentration as she balanced her heat accordingly to dry the toy of excess water without setting it ablaze.

That was some time ago, and as you gazed down at the well-used stuffed bear, you felt a bit foolish for the timing. The party’s mounting problems had a snowball effect, and once one situation ended, another began in its place. You stood outside of Shadowheart’s tent, where you had been for the past few minutes contemplating if you should grant her the space she required when processing things. You had just convinced her to let go of her parents, to end the struggle and curse binding the entire family to Shar. It was like poison coating your tongue, knowing how hard the road was getting to the House of Grief and everything that Shadowheart had given up for that exact moment, but it felt so wrong to go against the desperate pleas of her parents, begging you to end Shar’s torment for them all because they knew their daughter had not the strength for it.

“Did you want something? If not, I’m perfectly happy to just gaze upon you a while.” The greeting caught you off-guard and as you looked upon her false bravado, down to the pain swirling just below the surface, you could feel yourself start to break in guilt. You threw your arms around her, the stuffed bear squashed between your bodies, and apologized thickly.

“It was the right thing to do… even if I can’t bring myself to believe it just yet– oh… what is this?”

“I wasn’t sure if you had anything of comfort when you really needed it back then, so I wanted to make sure you had something now… It was cute, so naturally it reminded me of you,”

There was a newfound softness to her eyes as they darted all across your face, taking in the embarrassed red flare on your cheeks to the subtle sheen of sweat collecting atop your brow. As you attempted to joke and smile off the sentiment, her hands cupped the back of your neck as easily as if she had done so all her life, and pulled you down into a passionate kiss marred only by her building grin.

“I love it… I love you,” You were filled to the brim with warmth every time you looked over during your many months of traveling when it was all said and done and would spot the stuffed bear tucked into her own travel bag, refusing to leave it behind anywhere.

Karlach –

Your romance with Karlach roared to life fairly quickly, but that was to be expected with someone like her. When you’re living on borrowed time, and death was always a step away to collect it back, everything burned brighter, as did the relationship between you two. You could hardly remember a time when you had been led to believe her to be this devil reigning chaos everywhere she went. For she was the most adorable woman you had ever met, and her bubbly personality had you instantly head over heels.

You found Karlach easily inspired as you traveled and explored new areas of Faerun. The look of awe on her face made the whole situation feel as though it were nothing more than an adventure, a quest to ensure Karlach had seen it all and done it all. There was always a bittersweet ache lodged in your chest when you were granted the sight of sparkles in her eyes. Even more so when she thanked you for it… as if you shouldn’t be on your knees thanking her for her very existence.

After Dammon had informed the two of you of the severity of Karlach’s condition, you didn’t even dare approach the topic of her returning to Avernus. It was unthinkable to push her back into her worst nightmare that she fought tooth and nail to crawl her way out of. You pull yourself together because no matter how much it broke your own heart, no one was more cheated here than Karlach herself, and you had to be strong enough to soothe her pain, not the other way around (even though you knew her to be so selfless that she would). You keep her close when you all travel, making sure some part of you is always touching some part of her at all times, and you know she greatly approves of the physical contact when she randomly grins down at you from time to time.

Weeks worth of whispered words and frantic touches had your personal goals shifting. When you had first awoken on the nautiloid, you cared for little else aside from curing yourself of the tadpole taking shelter behind your eye, but as you heard more of Karlach’s life, you grew scornful of Zariel and Gortash. The purest of souls was the grandest treasure to the devil indeed, but Karlach was a Goddess that rose above while you yourself were falling. She didn’t even need to ask if you would help avenge her– that was a given. Your journey had taken you this way and that, pitting you against foe of every kind… You could handle descending into the Hells and waging wars on devils.

Because you already did… summoning the portal in the House of Hope led you directly to Raphael’s home in the Hells, and it revealed so much to you– the Orphic Hammer that aided in your quest to free Orpheus, the poor, demented soul of Hope, who guided you the whole way, and the glaring fact that Karlach felt the most at ease that you’ve ever seen her to be. Her breathing was easier, her movements weren’t jerky or rigid with pain so she wasn’t bouncing around to loosen herself up as she constantly did in the mortal realm. You could almost get used to the sight… almost. You also tried to ignore the fluidity of her being, seeing as you knew it to be short-lived, but as you noticed Karlach’s immediate attachment to Hope, you couldn’t stop the onslaught of design.

You bit your tongue after Raphael fell and after Hope thanked you tremendously with the promise of bringing sanctuary to her former prison. Once the party returned to Baldurs Gate, Karlach’s grunt of pain was immediate as were the flames dancing along her flesh. There was a single bead of sweat dripping down her temple that your eyes followed along with until they snapped to her pained smile. She tried so hard to comfort you despite her own agony, and you were starting to think it was because she didn’t know how to accept comfort enough to let you try and do the same. As you lean forward and carefully kiss the ragged breath from her lungs, you continue to bite your tongue.

You could not bite your tongue when she (in Karlach fashion) offered to take on the Astral Tadpole to gain the full Mind Flayer potential. She reasoned it would be an edge on the battlefield that they couldn’t pass up and went even further as to say that her time was running out anyway… She had not a selfish bone in her body, and that was why you found a selfish backbone for her. Karlach was made up entirely of soul and willpower, and you refused to allow her to give up what absolute little she had left. You would sooner die than let that happen, and while you would agree with anyone claiming your soul was to be damned to the Hells, you happily pushed the weight of the Astral Tadpole in Orpheus’ direction. Karlach was quiet on and off the battlefield following your call, and it was gnawing at you, knowing that it was bothering her.

“Copper for your thoughts, darling?” She can’t help but smile at her own words played back to her, and didn’t protest when you sat down next to her outside her tent.

“I just… It doesn’t make sense to me. My life is pretty much moot at this point, it’s just a matter of when. I could’ve had one last hurrah, yeah? A fighter till the end,”

“At the cost of your soul, Karlach? It was my decision in the end, if anyone is to be plagued with guilt it should be me, but I think you should know that I don’t regret it,”

“But why!” exclaimed Karlach in exasperation, her eyes misting over in a mixture of irritation and sorrow, “I’m dying anyway, soldier, there was no other option than-”

“Than changing your whole being?” You challenge, moving to where you were practically in her lap. “We’ve already sacrificed and fought for so much, Karlach, it’s time you get to rest, baby, and call me selfish, but all I want to do is rid ourselves of this parasite, and find a way to live a happy life with you.”

You could see the calm look on her face and immediately knew she was about to dive into a spiel about her impending death with as little condescension as possible, and you beat her to it, deciding that you no longer would bite your tongue, “Let’s both go back to the House of Hope… return to the sanctuary that Hope was creating out of Raphael’s old mansion, and until a more permanent solution for your engine is found, we’ll be happy because we have each other… right?”

Karlach blinked as her mouth opened and closed a few times, a perfect imitation of a goldfish as she processed what you just proposed. Her brow furrowed before relaxing before furrowing again. She held her pointer finger at the ready for an announcement that died on her lips, her finger drooping. You took mercy on her before looping your arms around her neck and bringing your lips together in a kiss to seal it. Karlach was beginning to lose hope as the days dwindled, you had seen the weight of resignation set heavily upon her shoulders as they began to sag. Now… you felt a newfound strength in resolve building within the muscles twitching beneath your hands, and it excited you. You knew your words had inspired her to live more than the bluest of oceans, the greenest of grasses, the freshest of airs. She wanted a life, no matter where it was, so long as you were at her side.

Minthara –

Your initial response to Minthara was that she was incredibly deluded by the will of this “Absolute”. She seemed so dedicated to this cause, and ready to dominate and bend the will of those who didn’t, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t send a shiver down your spine. She regarded you carefully, eyes trailing up and down your body and you could see your resulting quiver was passed through the connection of the True Soul if the darkening of her eyes were anything to go by. You felt as though you were trekking on ice and you could never properly find your footing when you were around her.

Her eyes followed your movements anytime you wandered around camp, whether it be to make small talk with your other companions or to put your mind at ease. Minthara was bold with her calculations and made no move to hide her intrigue. Any time you would look over and meet her eyes, it was always you who looked away first, your body rigid underneath the weight of her lingering gaze and mind scattered as you attempted to find your place in conversation once more. Astarion merely arches a brow in response, and you didn’t like this… this spell she had cast on you. You liked to think that you were tactful with your solution– by insisting she stay in camp while you and a few of the others scouted the area, covering as much ground as it took for nightfall to cast a dark blanket that you hoped Minthara would be nestled in, falling fast asleep by the time the party arrived back. After a while, you aren’t really surprised anymore when you see her lounged comfortably by the campfire, wine goblet in hand as if awaiting your arrival.

“Ah, the mighty hero returns from yet another quest… I have been awaiting your arrival,” You held a deep-seeded exhaustion, one that seeped down into your very bones, and you found yourself in no mood to either entertain her devious scheming or withstand the glowering disapproval if you found yourselves at a disagreement. “Come, sit before me,” It wasn’t a request so much as it was a demand, and despite yourself, you approached Minthara, standing before her and arching your brow in question. She rolled her eyes so hard you were almost afraid they would fall free from her head before her hand reached out and pulled you down to your knees. Despite your squawking and huffing, she twisted your form until you were sitting facing the fire with her body dangerously close to your back. Your eyes repeatedly glanced down at her legs that were resting on either side of you, surrounding you, and you were so absorbed in your staring that you flinched when you felt her strong fingers begin working at the knots twisting the muscles of your shoulders.

“What’re-”

“Relax…” her voice was sultry in your ear before you felt her hot breath against the back of your neck, “You harbor a lot of weight here… Your back must be incredibly sore from carrying the fate of this world.”

Your eyes flutter closed on their own accord and you couldn’t help the sigh that escaped your lips, and when you felt her smirk hiding in your hair, you knew you were falling right into a trap of some sort. Her purposeful hands wandered lower as she massaged little circles into her back, forcing you to straighten up, and once you did, her arms surrounded you before pulling you flush against her front. Your head fell back against her shoulder, and your obscured vision robbed you the sight of Minthara’s wicked smile as her eyes hungrily grazed down your body. Her hands recommenced their movements on your hips, and she smiled genuinely when she felt your muscles quivering at her slight touch.

Her hands found purchase in both of your pockets and as your brow furrowed, her teeth were latching onto your shoulder, leaving indentations that were shallow enough to disappear within the next few hours, and she soothed it by flattening her tongue and licking over the bite mark. Her skillful hands worked at the muscles of your thighs through your trousers, and you were soon melting, becoming putty in her palms. Minthara occasionally pressed kisses into your hair and it wasn’t long before your breathing was shallowing out.

“Some of us care little for this display,” drawled Shadowheart from her tent, her face scrunched in a grimace before she returned to her prayer.

“And some of us are enjoying it,” countered Astarion, his eyes flashing wickedly before a glare from Minthara had him raising his hands in a conceding gesture.

“Shall we take this to my tent? Lay you out in a way you might be more comfortable?” The request was hushed, though you two left little to no doubt of your intentions when you scrambled (she strode gracefully) to reach her one bedroll.

Throughout the hours of the night leading to first daylight, the scene shifted from her on top of you to you on top of her and it continued until you found yourself falling fast asleep with her still inside of you. Minthara managed to lull you into a sleep so deep that you didn’t even wake to her digging through the pockets of your discarded trousers before clutching at the jar containing the collection of illithid tadpoles you had discovered along your journey. She considered accepting them all for herself without even a thought spared to you. The unimaginable power, an unrivaled throne atop a whole world ready to serve her.

You mumbled something in your sleep, your eyes never opening yet your arms were out searching and you captured Minthara around her waist before pulling her in and curling around her unbalanced form. One arm was propping her up and the other grasped at your hand around her. She stared unblinkingly at your face for an entire minute as something shifted within her. You had the opportunity to expunge her existence from this plane just as you did with Priestess Gut and Dror Ragzlin, but you spared her. A foolish notion that Minthara herself would never have made if roles were reversed, but as she stared down at your peaceful face, the opportunity to strike glaringly obvious, she found that she wasn’t looking forward to the impending loneliness that was sure to follow your death.

Her goal of power and blood was still at the forefront, but she was picturing enough room that included you as well. And if you had any qualms about taking the Netherbrain’s influence for you two’s personal gain? Well… she had ways of persuading you.

Wyll –

Wyll was a knight in shining armor from your very first impression of him outside of the Grove, ready to lay down his life to defend the innocents trapped within. It didn’t take you long to deduce that he would die happily so long as he played the part of the folk hero. You acted hypocritical anytime you found yourself questioning his heroics and if it all was really worth it. You had your own role in saving the world that was forced upon you, and you understood the call to help when the lost and the damned begged you so brokenly.

Consider yourself surprised when you learned of this angelic man’s pact with a devil named Mizora. There was shame shrouding him after he broke his word to track down Karlach and drive a battle ax straight through the fire she called a heart once he learned that Karlach was a victim herself. His horns were forever a reminder of his dealings with a devil, and while he appeared to hate no one but himself, you felt no traces of regret through your connection. It was a choice he would make every time for Baldurs Gate and his father’s people. Even if that caused the very rift between him and his father.

Wyll was so considerate of a man that he understood the disapproval completely and accepted the banishment with no argument. He took on the persona of the Blade of the Frontiers in hopes of righting his hellish deed tenfold. If he were to die honorably in battle protecting those who couldn’t fight for themselves, then so be it. It wasn’t likely to save his soul in the end, not when it was tethered to a pact in the Hells. Wyll would tell you this to be his biggest fear after you had accepted his beautiful request to dance and you two spun all night long. It was a hollow fact to him, and you swore to yourself in the heat of that night that you would do whatever it took to free Wyll of his pact with Mizora.

As your relationship blossomed, you couldn’t help but to wonder if he dabbled in the ways of the Bard. His words held a melodic tune that sometimes left you entranced by the vibration of it rather than the actual words he was speaking. You would always remember the bashful look he wore one night when he approached you with a piece of parchment trembling the slightest in his hand, his eyes both seeking yours and then averting when he found them. Wyll cleared his throat and after rambling a bit until your fond laughter had him shaking his head, he began to recite poetry that you weren’t familiar with. Your smile softened as he pressed on, but then it slipped away as your mouth parted slightly with a heavy exhale once you realized it was about you.

His words spoke of your devotion, of your wits, of your beauty, and you found yourself melting at the fact that no one had ever written you a poem before, and yet this warlock, who used to be more eloquent when he was crafting spells than he was when he was flirting had found inspiration from you. You inspired a man who inspired so many people with his endless supply of positivity, and you wondered what exactly made you so lucky as to find yourself in an epic romance with Wyll Ravenguard, the man who could hardly be shaken, even while looking into the face of evil and terror.

You felt his jittery need to rush the underwater prison that Gortash had set to blow in search of his imprisoned and infected father. You nodded to Karlach and she was soon dropping from the opening rather than using the grimy ladder. With her warhammer cocked over her shoulder and at the ready, she went to work on clearing out the sahuagin that stood guard. Once she was out of sight, leaving behind a bloody trail, you handed Lae’zel every Arrow of Transposition you purchased and hoped her Misty Step would carry her the rest of the way after ordering her down the east corridor in search of prisoners. Wyll was nearly seething by the time you turned to him and before the command could even leave your mouth, he was already charging, the Dimension Door spell already crackling to life at his fingertips.

Time was ticking and for each enemy that was cut down, about five more appeared from the murky depths. You could hear the slapping of shoes against wet stone as everyone who was released made a frantic dash towards the exit. You couldn’t bring yourself to look back when you heard a woman who was intercepted by one of the monsters. Try as you might, the following ripping sound and resulting gurgle would haunt your dreams to come. It was an incredible gamble to invade the Iron Throne Prison, and once Gortash gave the final call, you knew that it was damn near impossible to save everyone. The sinking reality set in as you passed body after body while retracing your steps back to the exit hatch. Wyll frowned so deeply that it was bringing lines to his forehead. It was going against everything the Blade of the Frontiers stood for, this act of selfish grandeur to ensure his father’s life over all else.

The rotten taste of unfairness bit like acid on the back of Wyll’s tongue, and at this point, he shouldn’t be as shocked as he was to find out that his father wasn’t being held in the prison like he was led to believe by Mizora… Whatever possessed you to take her for her word was beyond you, and you had just about enough with that devil and her trickery. As the submarine filled with what Gondian survivors were remaining departed from the explosion, you couldn’t help but to ponder the comparisons between Mizora and Raphael to determine if you could handle a battle against her.

It seemed fitting that you found the Duke at Gortash’s side in Wyrm’s Rock Fortress during the final showdown with Bane’s Chosen. It was a ruthless fight, and while you tried several tactics to break the influence controlling the Duke, his curse proved unshakable and his strength was consuming you. It was only a matter of time before his sword was destined to cut you down, and as you craned your neck to give Wyll one last exhausted, resigned smile as you made the decision to put the Duke’s life before your own, Wyll found himself charging with a roar that sounded an awful lot like “NO!”

His own blade pierced the final blow that brought the Duke to his knees, blinking away the influence that muddled his mind. He sputtered as he looked from the hilt protruding from his chest to his son, who stood over him with a look of horrific realization. As he began swaying dangerously close to the point of toppling over, Wyll dropped to his side to cradle his father close, mindful of the blade. He sobbed and hiccuped past his rushed apologies, but his father blinked past the pain to acknowledge his son.

“There is more to this world than just gods and devils, my boy, and you are neither. I’m…”

The gargled whisper would remain unfinished forever, and it broke Wyll to pieces as he clutched at his father’s lifeless body. He sobbed even as Karlach delivered the final smiting blow to Gortash’s feeble body, and wasn’t even paying attention when she chopped off his hand for the tribunal to Bhaal. You awkwardly hovered above Wyll, unsure if he would even accept your presence after he killed his own father to save you, but you had a secret trick up your sleeve, one that you had been saving for just the right time, and one that you could only call upon once in your lifetime. Wyll was willing to make a great sacrifice for your life, it was only fair you did the same for his happiness.

“My love,” You whisper gently and only continue when his tear-streaked face looked up at you, “If you’d allow me, I would like to call upon Selune’s Opulent Revival and save your father.”

Wyll’s eyes widened as he felt a surge of hope warm his veins. He glanced between both of your eyes, searching for something that you weren’t entirely sure of before he was rearranging his father’s body. He couldn’t help his whimpered gag as he tore the blade free from his father’s chest to prevent complications. With the Duke lying flat against the ground, you got to your own knees, ready to summon your prayer that would call upon Selune’s power to revive and restore health. Wyll grabbed ahold of your hand before you could rest it against the Duke’s chest. He raised your wrist and pressed the most reverent of kisses to your palm before dropping another to the inside of your wrist. When you caught his eyes again, there was no hiding the adoration he had for you in this very moment.

Once the moment passed, you placed your hand over the still heart within the Duke’s chest, and dared not remove it until your lips paused at the end of your prayer, and there was a fluttering against the same palm that could still feel the press of Wyll’s lips.

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polakina · 11 months

Text

his undoing

pairing: steven grant x reader

rating: explicit

outline: you found Steven adorable and attractive, he found you assertive and attractive. The two of you were an unlikely pair about to intertwine.

warnings: dom/sub tones, sub steven (yay), masturbation, edgeplay, flirting, teasing, unprotected sex, fingering, mirror sex, hand jobs

requests are open! hope you enjoy, petals <3

masterlist

Dusty antiques and floor cleaner perforated your nose as you unlocked the door to step into the museum. Being the first person through the door really made you appreciate the quiet, the complete silence that greeted you as you walked along the tile floor, shoes clacking against the cold, hard surface. It was calming, being alone inside the content confinement of history. There really was no place you’d rather be than here.

Setting up for the day and making sure to do a sweep of the building before opening it to the general public, all you had to do now was wait for your staff to arrive. Donna got on your nerves a lot more than you wanted to admit, her patronising attitude and cruel demeanour wormed its way under your skin like a scarab beetle digging beneath soil. But you had to remain professional for the sake of keeping your title as ‘the boss’.

JB was quite possibly the worst security guard you’d ever hired, but you couldn’t let him go, not when there wasn’t anyone else to take the position if you did. So he stayed, and he watched videos on his phone while absentmindedly ignoring the passing public entering the museum. The place had never been robbed, and no one had ever tried to steal anything. But perhaps that was what JJ needed to finally realise that he needed to take his job seriously. A little fake robbery to boost his security skills.

You’d thought about it half-jokingly, convincing a friend to act sketchy inside the museum and see if JB would notice and escort them out. But you realised that your friend would probably “rob” the whole museum before he even noticed that anything was missing. So it was most likely a better idea to put a pin in that idea. For now.

But then there was Steven. Sweet, quite, adorable Steven. He kept to himself mostly, but he was a major history nerd and the kindest person you’d ever met. Even though he only worked in the gift shop, you’d caught him multiple times with the kids that had come on field trips and wandered off to the gift shops to look at the stuffed toys and pretty pictures. He told them fun facts and gave weirdly adorable descriptions of how people were killed in Ancient Egypt, often using his hands to demonstrate. It amused you, but also warmed your heart to see his interactions, and just witness how lovely he was with everyone, and how genuine. All he wanted to do was talk about the artefacts, all day every day if he could. If there was a position you could give him where he could do that, you would. But there weren’t any open positions as of yet, which you had to sadly remind him of every time he got the courage to inquire to it with you.

But there was something else about him that you liked. You couldn’t quite place your finger on it, but it was there. Of course, you tried not to think too hard on it. Any sort of workplace involvements were strictly prohibited. Besides, you were his boss, you were everybody’s boss. It would be…so inappropriate. Right? Yes. So it was wise to just not think on it at all, pushing it to the very back of your mind.

Eventually all of your staff came in and went about their respectable jobs, Donna of course, micromanaging everyone else when she thought you weren’t there. You’d have to do something about that eventually, but right now you had a giant stack of papers the size of the sarcophaguses in your museum that were waiting for you to flick through and sign. So you made your way over to your office on the first floor to do just that, purposefully walking through the gift shop to get there even though it took you out of your way a little. You ignored the way your heart dropped a little to see Steven nowhere to be seen, but you could hear him shuffling around in the storage room behind the desk. There wasn’t any reason for you to actually seek him out, so you pushed on, forcing yourself to walk to your office.

You felt as though the stack of papers grew with every sheet you cast aside. Were they multiplying? They had to be. There was no way you still had this many to read. You needed a distraction, or some sort of way to procrastinate for a few minutes. Anything.

It was a blessing to you when your office door was knocked on. Four little knocks rumbling through the wooden door. Only one person you knew knocked like that. Quiet and quick, they were. As though the person who knocked almost didn’t want to be called in.

“Come in,” you said, loud enough to be heard through the door. Quiet whispers and feet shuffles were your only response until the door knob twisted, a little rusty at first. You reminded yourself that you needed to oil that door knob before you were trapped inside the office from a faulty door.

Just as you had guessed, Steven popped his head around like a little meerkat sticking its head out of a burrow. “Hello!” He greeted in his consistently sweet voice, accompanied by that adorable smile.

“Steven, hi,” you smiled back, pushing your chair back to stand up. “Everything okay?” You leaned forward as Steven walked over to your desk, halting just on the other side of it with a few files in his hands. He seemed…nervous? It wasn’t often that he wasn’t nervous around you, in all honesty.

“Yes, oh yes, everything is fine,” Steven was quick with his words, with the way he spoke. Everything always felt sort of rushed, as though the words were coming out faster than his brain could register them. It was a little chaotic, but it was Steven’s way and had been since he started years ago. “I just brought up those files you asked me to get from archives. I know you said you wanted them before I left yesterday, but I completely forgot. Sorry about that. I thought I might have been able to catch you earlier this morning, but it’s been a bit hectic with the different school trips and stuff.” Even you sometimes had a hard time keeping up with him, but you always managed to push through it.

“Steven, it’s fine, don’t worry. I forgot too, it’s okay. But you came at the right time, I finally have space on my desk for more files,” you gestured to the little square space of wood that you could see of your once empty desk. It was cute to see Steven’s eyes widen as he finally saw the sheer amount of paper already on your desk.

“Oh, shoot, I didn’t realise you- that you already had work here. I can bring it back later if you want? Or…never, since I really don’t think you want any more work right now. Sorry. I probably should have remembered that you have these papers to sign. I can just-”

You were already laughing before he’d finished his sentence. Not at him, no never at him. Just at how flustered he got, how worried of the size of piles of worksheets and letters and documents filling your office. If you’d organise and collated everything a little neater, you probably wouldn’t have as much to do as you’d think. “Steven, it’s fine, it’s my job to work the documents. Just as it’s your job to be sweet with our customers and be the bright smile they see as they come into the shop. Mine’s just a little more boring. Here, I’ll take the files, they look a little heavy.” You held out your arms for the documents and Steven blinked a few times and it took him a few moments to move towards you and hand you the files.

Your eyes focused on the yellow filed papers, but his focused on you. Your fingertips brushed his as you took the documents from his hands, and you could almost feel the way he recoiled from your touch. You tried not to think about it too much. But he did. His ears went a little red and his lips turned up into the tiniest smile. God, he was acting like a school boy. Even on the way to work, he played the words like a mantra in his head. She’s your boss. She’s your boss. She’s your boss. But it still couldn’t stop him from thinking. Thinking never did any harm, did it?

“Was there anything else? Or is that it?” You asked, eyes looking over his face and taking note of his red-tipped ears, his puppy dog eyes that often captivated you whenever you spoke to him. They were like a trap. A trap that he didn’t realise he was setting, but somehow you were always caught in it.

“No, no that was everything, I-I think,” he rushed out with a quick grin. Steven held his breath as you set the documents down and leaned over the desk once again, placing your hands flat on the surface to hold yourself up.

“Everything alright? You seem a little..flushed.”

Steven just shook his head, a little unconvincingly if you said so yourself. But you didn’t press into it. “I’m all good. Pretty swell, actually. I’ll-um, I’ll leave you to it then, get back to the shop so I don’t miss anyone.” With a final smile he was gone, the last you saw of him being the back of his messy curled hair disappearing behind the door and closing it swiftly behind him.

It was cute, the way his ears and cheekbones flared red whenever he was around you. Whether it was because he was nervous or...something else, you couldn’t tell just yet. But there was something on your mind, you could feel it. Maybe you’d figure it out by the end of the day.

She’s your boss. She’s your boss. She’s your boss. She’s your fucking boss-WHY WASN’T IT STICKING?! Steven repeated his mantra over and over again with each step down the staircase leading back to the gift shop. He couldn’t think about you, not like that. He had though. In the past. He’d thought about you often. Too often. It was the reason his ears went red when he saw you, but he prayed you never noticed that. It would definitely embarrass him if you did.

He found you…assertive. Sure, you were the his boss. But he’d had bosses in the past, and none of them were quite like you. You had a way of commanding and calming an entire room by just walking in, your voice had such an authoritative tone to it, he never wanted you to stop talking. It wasn’t an occasional thing, but there were times when you snapped. There were times when your superiors had called to discuss what had gone wrong, or what you had to do to improve the workplace. Or when your plans to expand the range of antiquities had been rejected because the artefacts were to be sent of for auction somewhere in the middle of Italy. You hadn’t been in a good mood for the entire week, and it had caused you to snap at everyone, including Steven.

But what was strange was that…he didn’t hate it. That was the weirdest part. It should have offended him, or made him angry that you would act so pissed off like that. But it didn’t. It made him feel something, alright, just not what he expected it to. The way it made him feel small, made him feel insignificant in a way that made him feel a little fuzzy on the inside. It was a new feeling for him. Well, not entirely new, he’d felt it for a few months around you. But the snap and the angry gravelly tone in your throat when you told him to “get the fuck out of my office, Steven. I’m not in the mood for you right now.” He left that office with a racing heart and an aching he couldn’t quite alleviate. Not in work anyway.

It was so unprofessional. He couldn’t have these ideas and thoughts running around in his head. He couldn’t be thinking of you being so…assertive with him, and him liking it. could he? It felt wrong. But then again, it felt so right. You had come to him later that day, less full of anger and more full of guilt than anything else.

“I need to apologise for how I spoke to you earlier. It wasn’t right, I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you,” you had said. But all that raced through his mind in response was no, please. Take your anger out on me. I liked it. He physically had to shake the thoughts away.

“It’s alright. You were stressed and I came to you with more problems at the wrong time,” Steven explained, shrugging it off with his ever present sweet smile. I liked it I liked it I liked it I liked it. It played in his mind repeatedly. He tried so hard to ignore it. But it played like a broken record. Over and over again. Reminding him of how much he liked being ordered around by you.

You hadn’t been that unhappy since that day. Steven couldn’t deny that it made him a little sad. Hearing your voice bellow, the way you intimidated people a little when your voice was raised. It was a tad threatening at times, but he loved it. He often wondered what you were like outside of work. Were you just as assertive there, as commanding as you were within these walls? What he wouldn’t give for just a taste of that in the right situation. Perhaps other men, other women, had experienced your kind of authoritative tone in closed quarters, followed your orders with complete submission. He was jealous of them, to say the least.

Fuck, he shouldn’t have thought about you while at work. Not as in depth as this. It was shaping up to be a little bit of a problem for him in certain places. And there was no way in hell that he was going to make it home without taking care of his little…problem. Perhaps he could sneak into the toilets before he left for the day.

It was a miracle you hadn’t gotten any papercuts from all the papers you’d been sifting through together. You were ninety percent sure that your arse had created a perfect indentation into the velvet seat you’d been stuck in all fucking day. Standing up, you stretched your legs and stretched your arms over your head with a soft groan as bones popped in your shoulders.

Your jacket had been discarded hours ago, the summer heat in London particularly unbearable this year, contrary to practically every year before. So it left you in just your simple white shirt, the top couple of buttons popped open to let the air flow and cool you down. Glancing at the clock above your office door, you noticed that it was around the time where staff would be leaving. Perhaps you would be able to catch Steven before he left to go home. So you made your way down to the main viewing area of which was now almost empty. Donna was packing up her bag and JB was nowhere to be found, as per usual. But neither was Steven, to your surprise. Surely he hadn’t left yet, he was always the last one here besides you, taking his time to walk around the museum, observing the artefacts like it was his first time in the museum.

“Hi, Donna,” you smiled politely as she turned towards you with her constantly present neutral expression. Was she always this gloomy? Jesus, you should probably talk to her about that.

“Hey,” she responded, her voice dreary and clearly bored.

“Leaving?” You asked, and she nodded in response. “Has Steven gone home, or is he still around? I didn’t see him on the way down.” Donna pointed to the staff room towards the back of the building.

“He’s been in there a while, I think. Not sure why, but I’m certainly not waiting around for him,” she gestured, tossing her bag over her shoulder. You nodded, waving a goodbye as she made her way towards the exit.

“Alright, no worries, see you Monday, Donna,” you rolled your eyes as she tossed a half-assed wave behind her. Now it was just the two of you, no one else was left in the building. You made your way to the staff room to see if you could find Steven and see whether he was leaving yet.

“Steven?” You called out. No response. Where the hell was he? Not in the staff room, and you couldn’t hear any movement or noise in the staff toilets. You pondered to yourself, wondering if he’d left without anyone seeing, but that thought shot down when you noticed his bag hanging on one of the hooks attached to the walls.

So you set out to find him. He wasn’t in the shop or its storage room behind the desk, he wasn’t wandering the museum and its artefacts. That only left downstairs; the archives or customers bathrooms. Making your way down the marble steps, you were grateful to see the lights on downstairs. He was here. Somewhere. So you called out his name again, and was pleasantly surprised when you heard…something in response. It wasn’t a word per se. More like a noise. But it was him, you knew it was. The noise came from the men’s bathroom, and you felt very weird about going in there, but you were more curious as to find out why he was down here in the first place.

As you neared the door that was left slightly ajar, the noises became clearer and turned into words. “Fuck fuck fuck,” was all you could make out. Was something wrong? Your hand reached for the handle to push the door open further, but it was as though some invisible barrier stopped you, halting your hand on the handle, frozen to it.

Your name. You heard your name. Not in a way where you thought it could have been intentional. No, it reached your ears as a sort of whimper. He whimpered your name. You really didn’t know how to react, but you had to control yourself for the present moment, ignoring how it made you felt. You were now even more curious, so pushing through your little frozen moment you pressed against the door and it swung open quietly.

You’d never seen a prettier sight. Truly, you hadn’t. If it was in a different location, perhaps you’d have preferred it more, but right now you didn’t care. Steven, pants unbuckled and unzipped, hunched over the sink with his hand fisting his hardened cock, was quite possibly the last thing you’d expected. His face was flushed, ears still that deep maroon red, pupils blown out as his mouth fell slightly agape, your name the only thing on his tongue.

He was gripping the sink so hard that his knuckles were the same colour as the white marble counter, as though he was hanging on for dear life. You bit your lip at the sight, leaning against the doorframe with your arms folded across your chest. You shouldn’t be watching this, it wasn’t right. But who better to find him than the name of the person he was calling out to as he got himself off. You tried so hard to ignore the dull panging sensation between your legs as you took a deep inhale.

“Has anyone ever told you how pretty you looked like this?” At the immediate sound of your voice, all of Steven’s ministrations stopped, even his breathing, you thought. He didn’t look at you, not wanting to believe that you’d walked down here to find him masturbating with your name falling from his tongue. “Because if not, then they need to get their eyes checked.” You pushed yourself off the doorframe and took a couple of steps in Steven’s direction.

“I didn’t realise you’d-wasn’t expecting you-shit.” It was sweet, the way he tripped over his words, the blush from his ears reaching his cheeks. You just smiled, making your way over to him slowly, as though he was a timid animal and you were doing your best as not to spook him.

“You weren’t expecting me to…what? Walk in here and find you jacking off to the thought of me?” you suppressed another smirk as Steven’s eyes widened and he turned away from you even more. “Oh don’t be all shy now,” you leaned in to whisper your next words directly into his reddened ears. “I happened to like it, Steven. The way you sounded, your little whimpers and moans. All for me, were they? Getting off to the thought of me a regular thing for you?” Steven just nodded, not trusting himself to speak as your lips brushed his ear. “I thought as much. If I’d have found out sooner, perhaps I would have been able to do something about it earlier.”

Then you heard it fall from his lips. The one word that would give both of you what you wanted. Please. Please, please, please. It was whiny, desperate, needy. Perfectly explaining how Steven was feeling in that very moment. “Oh, honey,” you mused, leaning against the counter and cupping his jaw to make him face you. “You want me to do something about it?” All Steven could do was nod, his puppy dog eyes searing into your soul. “Use your words, baby.”

“Please, touch me,” Steven practically begged in a small voice, leaning into your touch. You just smiled and leaned in, pressing your lips to his softly. He kissed you back with more force, more desperation. But this wasn’t up to him. Sure, this was for him. But that didn’t mean he was in control here. You just had to remind him of that.

He whined as your lips left his, his mouth chasing yours but to no avail because you’d already pulled away. “Easy, baby. You’ll get what you want. But only when I see fit, okay?” You expected to see disappointment in his eyes, but you were surprised when they lit up with what looked like excitement. “So you’re going to be good for me?”

“Yes, I swear. I’ll be good for you,” Steven promised, his knuckles on the verge of breaking with the force he gripped the edge of the sink. So you smiled sweetly, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips before releasing his jaw from your grip.

“Good boy,” you whispered, noting the way he quietly whimpered at the praise. You moved to stand behind him, your hands coming up to hold his waist, causing him to inhale sharply at the contact. One of your hands moved further around to his stomach and slid down past his slightly creased white shirt. “You want me to touch you here?” Your fingertips ghosted over the base of his cock, noting how it twitched at your slightest touch. He was sensitive, needing from not cumming yet. You’d interrupted him before he could finish, and now you were going to use that to your advantage. “Aw sweetheart, already so needy for me? I’ll make you feel good, don’t worry baby.”

The second your hand wrapped around his cock, the sweetest moan fell from Steven’s lips and his head hung between his shoulders. It sent a shiver through your spine and wormed its way down between your legs. You planned on pulling more of those pretty noises from him before this was over. Moving your hand up and down his cock at a slow pace, you felt his hips jut forward to meet your speed. But you knew he needed more. Faster, or harder, or something. But this wasn’t something you wanted to rush.

“Baby boy, if you want to cum you’re going to have to do something for me,” your words stayed vague, but engaging enough to catch his attention. He looked up and met your eye through the mirror. “I want you to look at yourself through the mirror. If you look away, I’ll stop,” you asked, but there was no room for negotiation, and Steven knew that. So he obliged, his eyes flicking between you and himself in the mirror, trying his hardest not to look down at the way your hand worked around his dick.

“That’s it baby, you look so good like this,” you whispered into Steven’s ear reaching up to press soft kisses along the side of his neck, all the way up to the sweet spot behind his ear, feeling how he shuddered under your touch. “Want you to see yourself when you cum, see how pretty you are.” Steven was still hunched over as he looked into the mirror, his body pressing against yours as his hands fought to hold him up.

Your touch made him weak. It made his head fuzzy with only thoughts of you. Just you. Your voice sent all his blood rushing to his dick, your words making pleads and begs want to roll off his tongue until his words were reduced to whimpers just for you. Just for you to hear and act on.

Nights he’d spent with his own hand fisting his cock, images of you running through his mind as they brought him closer to the pleasure you made him feel by just occupying his every waking thought. The way you carried yourself around the museum, your presence as you stepped into a room, the way your voice travelled along the winding marble clad halls. Whenever you called out his name for help, it made him feel needed, wanted, willing to be there for your every beck and call. All he wanted to do was please you, at the time, only professionally. But after a while it turned into something more. After a while, when your voice called out, mad or in need of assistance, he wanted you to call out his name like that for different reasons. To order him around, give him instructions. Tell him what to do, tell him what you wanted to do. To do to him.

But now it wasn’t his hand around his cock. It was yours. Your delicate fingers deftly stroking and squeezing his cock in all the right places to make him squirm and come undone from your touch. It was your voice right in his ear, speaking praises that made him weak at the knees. You’re doing so good for me. My good boy. You want to cum?

He almost couldn’t believe it to be true. And the fact that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you? it made it all the more better. It was bubbling in his veins, the pleasure on the verge of flowing through his body, clouding his mind with absolute heaven.

“Baby, you want to cum? Want to let go? Hmm? Tell me,” you pulled his words from him. He nodded, making eye contact with you briefly before remembering the rules and looking back at himself.

“Yes, yes please. Let me cum, I’ve been so good,” Steven begged, his words choking on the last syllables as your thumb ran over his reddened tip to draw a bigger reaction from him. His hips ground more into your hand, needing more friction. Just a little to push him over the edge. Your smirk told a different story though.

“Oh so needy to cum, aren’t we, baby boy?” You teased, revelling in his gaspy moan as you tugged a little harder, feeling him grow closer with each passing second. But your hand slowed, slowed enough to pause his impending sense of bliss. You heard a broken please and it sent the feeling straight to your pussy. You held him there, the sense of pleasure almost unbearable and unreachable at the same time. It was almost as though you were testing how long he could hold on for, how long he could refrain from coming undone until it was painful.

“No, please don’t stop,” Steven whimpered, looking at you once more, his eyes pleading and desperate, irises resembling melting chocolate as he molded against you, his limbs almost giving up on him. “Please, please don’t stop now. Let me cum, I’ll do anything.” His moans and begs like music to your ears as he tried to convince you to let him cum. God, you wanted to. But it was so much more rewarding to see him work for it.

Steven couldn’t deny that this had been one of his several fantasies for a while now. Your entire control over him, over his undoing. Only your words and your actions could determine when and if he was even allowed to cum. He loved it, your command, your voice filling his ears and seeping into his brain.

His eyes were pricking with tears by the time you felt it was an appropriate time to let him undo beneath your hands. He was such a beautiful sight, the top two buttons of his shirt undone to expose his neck and the top of his chest, his eyes already looked fucked out and you were nowhere near close to being finished with him. “You’ve been so good for me, Steven baby. So just for that, I’m going to let you cum,” you could hear his sigh of relief as he felt your hand move faster, the other hand reaching to cup his balls. It was all over for him then. “And after that, sweetheart, I’m going to let you fuck me. You want that?” You peppered kisses along the side of his neck and down his shoulder as his breathing started to turn to breathy gasps for air.

He came hard, all that pent up tension finally able to be released, his body relaxing, elated as he finally fell apart in front of you. In front of himself. You were glad you made him look at himself in the mirror, because it made it so much hotter to see him cum like his. You could see all of him, his face flushed, his chest heaving, his arms flexed. “There you go, pretty boy. You did so good for me. Such a good boy.” Your hands moved to his waist, spinning him slowly to face you. He looked at you, eyes blown wide with the wave of ecstasy washing over him. You smiled as you grasped his chin gently between your fingers, pulling him down for a kiss. Your lips melted together, Steven groaned as you pulled his bottom lip between your teeth, taking control of the kiss to which he immediately obliged.

Steven turned the two of you so that your back was against the counter next to one of the sinks. You pressed against the counter, Steven pressing against you so you were trapped between the two. Steven’s hands roamed across your body, hesitant at first in case you stopped him. But when you didn’t do anything to halt his wandering palms, he touched you wherever he could before you decided that he wasn’t to let himself roam freely.

His palms trailed up your hips to grip your waist, his fingerprints burning into your skin as they wandered higher and higher. You cupped the sides of his neck, trying to stay composed as his fingers ghosted over your breasts, moving to the buttons on your shirt. “Please, can I…” He didn’t even finish the sentence before you were nodding, pulling him down for another kiss.

“Of course, baby,” you replied, moving your hands from his neck to the counter behind you, using your strength to push you up onto the flat marble surface. It was amusing to see how quickly Steven situated himself between your spread thighs, settling snugly with your legs framing his hips.

You pressed your lips against his once again and Steven began undoing the buttons of your shirt until they had all been popped open. He pushed the shirt off your body and took in the sight of you, his eyes lighting up like a kid in a candy store. “Can I touch you? Please, I want to make you feel good.” His voice was so pleading, so small, you couldn’t help but flutter a little at how much he wanted you when it was so evident in his voice.

Your ankles hooked around his lower back, pulling him flush against your body as you linked your arms around his neck. “You want to make me feel good? Want to be good for me while you fuck me?” Steven’s knees went weak at the words. He wanted nothing more than that. Nothing. And neither did you. “Well, come on Steven,” you guided his hands down your body. “You can’t fuck me while I still have pants on, can you?” You leaned back on your hands and watched Steven work, watched his hands make quick haste of the buttons and zipper of your pants, quickly pulling them down your legs and tossing them onto the counter behind him.

His mumbles against your neck vibrated up the column of your throat, mumbles of how pretty you were, how much he wanted you, how pleading he was to touch you, to fuck you. It turned you on just to know how much he wanted you, wanted this. One of his hands roamed up your thigh, gripping your hip and pulling you flush against his body. Steven was already ready to fuck you, his cock practically throbbing with want. His unoccupied hand drifted to the apex of your thighs, feeling how wet you were through your panties. It made him hard to know that he made you feel like that.

“Let me touch you,” Steven pleaded, raking his finger lightly across your damp panties. “Please, I’ll be so good. I want to touch you so badly.” It was ungodly what this begging was doing to you. It sent flutters down your spine, through your entire body, eventually all settling in your pussy. As soon as he saw your nod of permission, Steven wasted no time, not even taking the time to pull your underwear off. Instead he just pulled them aside, glancing down at your glistening folds, a guttural noise erupting from his throat at the sight of you. Steven knew better than to tease, so he got right to the point. Your head fell back as the pressure of his fingers dragged from your hole to your clit, collecting your juices on his fingers. Using your own wetness, he coated his fingers and pushed one into your dripping hole. You gasped at the feeling of how thick just one of his fingers were. Already you felt the sense of euphoria filling your mind like a hazy fog. Too soon. It was too soon. You had to keep your control somehow.

“There you go, baby boy. Doing so-aah-so good for me,” you bit your lip to suppress a moan, holding out to hide how good he was making you feel. All Steven wanted to do was make you feel good, he felt as though it was his purpose. And fuck, was he doing that job justice. Your toes were practically curling as a second finger slipped into your core, his digits working harmoniously, brushing deep strokes in a curled motion to find a spot to make your eyes roll into the back of your head. He wanted to please you. He wanted to make you see heaven. He eventually found it. His cock was once again rock hard at the gasping moan that escaped past your lips as his fingers angled into a part of you that set something alight within your core. “Fuck, fuck…right there, Steven.” One of your hands held up your weight as it rested flat against the marble surface behind you, while the other gripped his shoulder, holding him close.

Steven used this closeness to litter your neck with kisses, his lips dragging along your skin, teeth lightly grazing the column of your throat. You felt his teeth gently nip at your sensitive skin, so you felt it appropriate to remind him of the situation. Your hand which once gripped his shoulder found its way into his dark curly locks, tightening your hold on his hair to which earned you a quiet whimper as you pulled his head back away from your neck. You made sure to remember that. “Careful, pretty boy. You mark my neck and I’ll mark your entire body so that every time you look in the mirror or see yourself naked, you’ll be reminded of me and what I did to make you feel good.” Your voice was dangerously low, teasing him, daring him. He couldn’t deny that it turned him on incredibly quickly. Embarrassingly quickly, actually.

It tempted him, but you both knew that if that were to happen, it wouldn’t happen in a museum bathroom. You’d want him in a more private space, where you could take your time with him, take meticulous care in learning every inch of his body. Much to his delight, you kept a firm hold of his hair, gripping it tightly as you pulled him into a kiss. His fingers worked faster inside you, repeatedly hitting that one spot that had your vision blurring and your legs shaking. He was good at what he did. It got you wondering how much experience he actually had here, or if he was just going purely of feel and observation.

He kept note of every noise, every moan and every change in your expression as his fingers stayed buried deep in your sopping hole. Your control and his obedience made both of you hornier than either of you cared to admit. It was clear that this was not the only time that you would be in this position. It was just the beginning.

As his fingers brushed perfectly against that deep pleasure filled part of you, you felt your muscles tightening, a rush of ecstasy trailing up your body at a hasted pace. You were on the brink of pure bliss, the tingling of electricity shooting through your nerves just aching to make you feel all that pleasure. And Steven was pushing you over the edge. It shot through your body like a bullet. Your muscles clenching and contracting around his fingers, your back curving into a slight arch as your grip on his hair became a steel fist, unmoving and unbreakable. You let out a moan directly into Steven’s ear, and if he was not already trying to cum on the spot, he was certainly trying harder now. He felt your juices around his fingers, your body pulsating with delectation.

For a second only your breaths could be heard in the room, but your praises for him soon followed. He could only revel in them, the words, the pet names, all reducing him to putty in your hands to play with and move as you solely desired. Your lips almost let a quiet gasp slip through as his fingers retracted from inside you, the empty feeling soon making you crave him once again, a little too quickly. His face was buried in your neck after you released his hair, kissing along the skin gently before mumbling something you couldn’t quite hear.

You didn’t need to grip his hair again to make him look at you. Your voice would be enough to get his attention. “Steven, if you want to say something, you have to look at me, sweetheart,” you pried, smirking when he lifted his head to meet your eye. “Come on, baby. Use your words, or you won’t get what you want.”

That certainly convinced him to tell it to your face. “I need you. Please. Need…more.” Steven was hesitant to say it, his ears tinting pink at the tips. It sent electricity through your veins, hearing his yearning tone adjuring for you.

“Oh, you want more? So desperate aren’t you? Desperate to fuck me, baby? You want that? Come on, say it. I know you can, sweetheart.” Your words were his drug. He was already addicted. Nodding, he admitted his wanting thoughts, “yes, want to fuck you so bad. I want to make you feel good. Please, let me do that.” He was yearning for you. Eager to please. Eager to earn your praises.

So you pulled him close, close enough so he felt your breath on his cheek. “Now that you’ve felt what it’s like for me to cum on your fingers, how about I cum on your cock next? And if you’re good and do as you’re told, I might even let you cum inside me.” The whimper that exuded from the man between your legs stirred something inside you. something akin to primal.

His second whimper only became vocal when you trailed your hand down between both your bodies and wrapping it around his wanting cock, twitching in your fingers at your touch that was not yet just a distant memory. “I will, I’ll do as I’m told. I’ll be good. Just please…” It was getting harder and harder to deny him, to hold off until you’d seen he’d had enough. Therefore, you had to give him what he wanted because it was what you wanted too, you wanted it desperately, you just had the willpower to hide that. Nodding, you watched his eyes widen with anticipation as you guided him closer to your still sensitive pussy. He wanted nothing more than to be inside you right now, his face truly said it all.

The second he felt his dick push inside your wet walls, the man practically crumbled before you. His mind went numb and all he could process was how good you felt around him, how perfect and fuzzy it made him feel as he buried himself deep inside your pussy. Nothing made him feel this good, and you had barely started yet. He wasn’t even fully inside you, not yet pushed to the hilt and his whimpers and moans were already filling the room.

You were feeling all kinds of things in this moment. Pulling him closer, it made him immerse himself completely inside your velvety walls and Steven released a guttural groan that seeped into your ear and melted like honey. Wrapping your legs around his waist, caging him in, you pulled your bodies flush together. Your pebbled nipples brushed coarsely against the sleek fabric of Steven’s crinkled shirt and it sent shivers through your spine.

Buried at the hilt, Steven was already on the brink of releasing deep inside of you, and he hadn’t even moved yet. The poor man wasn’t going to last long, but there was no way he was cumming without your permission. The punishment perhaps wouldn’t be as pleasant. “Can I move?” you heard him whisper against your neck, his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you against him, the other gripping the edge of the white countertop.

You nodded, biting back a gasp as his cock shifted inside you, dragging out slowly until only the tip stayed engulfed in your warm before he pushed back in. Quicker. Harder. His thrusts were desperate and wanting, every ridge and vein of his dick scraping across your walls and sending shockwaves through your core until your every thought only consisted of him. Just him.

“Doing so good, Steven. So good for me,” you praised, feeling him clutch your body a little tighter. “But come on, pretty baby. I know you can do better than that.” You trailed your lips up his neck, pressing soft kisses in your wake until you reached his jaw. It was at that point that you felt him move harder within you, a powerful pace that could very well break the marble counter you were sat atop. “That’s it, baby, just like that.” And he didn’t stop, eager as ever to please you, to make you feel the most pleasure in those very moments. His pace stayed the same, unrelenting and unchangeable. Already so desperate for release, Steven was entirely drunk of the feel of your pussy clenching a vice around his cock.

He hit something devastating inside you, and it made you grip him tighter, a shocked gasp slipping past your lips as he rammed the same spot repeatedly with perfect aim. Steven’s fingertips held you so tightly you were certain that bruises were going to be tattooed into your skin, but you didn’t care. Not when his cock felt so good, when his whimpers melted into your body and flowed through it like a lifeline current.

“Want to cum,” Steven managed to breathe out between each drag of his cock, his hand on your waist trailing down to your ass and pulling you further into him to meet his thrusts, “please”. He was free roaming along your body with his hands, letting them wander. The desperation in his touch, the grasp his hand had on you. Your arms were slinked around his shoulders, one hand carding through the hair at the base of his neck and gripping the locks that collected there. But once you felt his touch roaming along you, and his begs in your ear, you shifted the hand on the nape of his neck.

Instead to moved it around his neck to wrap around his throat, your fingers pressing gently against his pulse point until you felt the throbbing beneath your fingertips. “You want to cum, huh?” Your voice was low and deep and it had a gravelly undertone. It certainly caught Steven’s attention. There was nothing in his eye or expression that indicated that your hand was not welcome where you had placed it. In fact, there seemed to be a sort of excited twinkle in his chocolate irises. “You don’t get to cum until I say so, okay? You make me feel good, and if I feel you’ve done that well enough, then perhaps I’ll reward you.” There was no space for him to retaliate, or for him to beg to get his way. If he tried, there was a chance Steven wouldn’t get what he so desperately desired.

So instead he nodded, his lips parting as you gripped his throat a little tighter. Not tight enough to cut off his airway, just to make the blood rush to his head and make his eyes roll to the back of his head in bliss. “So are you going to behave?” you whispered, breath hitting his face as he looked back at you once again.

“Yes,” he breathed out. You smirked, moving to loosen your hold on his neck, “good boy”. Surprisingly, he caught your wrist in his hand before you could fully let go. Shaking his head, he asked you to not move it, “please…keep it there?”

Your eyebrow cocked, not expecting such a reaction. But you did. You held his neck, gripping it firmly as he fucked you, his cock moving in and out of you, scraping against your walls and hitting your sweet spot. Your other hand gripped his shoulder, nails digging into the tough bone of his shoulder. With your nose nudging against his cheek, it gave you all the access you wanted to whisper your filthiness directly into his ear.

You could feel it. The stirring in your core, the build up about to explode. It was in the way your legs closed tighter around his waist, the way your walls gripped him and how your breathing became uneven and ragged. Steven could feel it too. So he held you more securely, unyielding and persistent to make you see stars. The tip of his cock itched that spot inside you that you were unable to reach yourself, and it was continually and consistently brushed against hard. Until your eyes saw black spots in your vision and you cried out in pleasure, the first time you’d let anything particularly vocal slip from you. It was all Steven needed to hear to push harder and faster, never letting up until you were cumming on his cock.

He felt your juices flood him, drowning his cock in your pleasure, in your bliss. Eyes flitting down between your bodies, Steven watched as your wetness seeped out of you. Nothing could have turned him on more than that sight. It fuelled his everlasting need for you.

“So good, Steven,” you breathed, letting your head fall against his shoulder, panting heavily as your muscles slowly began to relax around him. “You did so good for me, baby.” You kept your legs wrapped around his waist, ankles interlocked to cage him in. “Now, do you want to cum too?” He was already nodding before you’d even finished your sentence. “Yes, yes please, let me cum. I need it so badly. I’ve been good for you. Please, I need it. Need you.” Need you. Heaven to your ears. So you obliged. Letting him take what he so craved as his reward.

His thrusts were just as powerful now, but slowed to a snail’s pace. It didn’t take much stimulation of your sopping core for him to release inside you, spilling himself along your walls and painting your insides white. Still buried to the hilt, he stayed exactly where he was, not moving an inch as he regained breath into his lungs. Steven’s hold on you loosened on you slightly, but his touch never left you. No words were exchanged, the room only being filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing. You’d both gotten what you’d wanted, what you’d craved for so long, and more. But somehow you still felt as though there was more between you. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. You’d only just started this, and there were no plans to end it so hastily.

“Feel okay?” you asked Steven, removing your hand from his throat and tilting his head up with one finger under his jaw to make him look at you. He breathed a quiet yes, leaning into your touch as you cupped his cheek with the same hand. “More than okay,” he responded with a small smile. “And you?”

You just smirked brushing your thumb against his flushed cheek. “Good. I feel good. Come on, we should get out of here, sweetheart. Go somewhere else, yeah?” His eyes lit at the prospect of leaving here with you. So he nodded, groaning as he pulled himself out of you and watched his release drip out of you. Cleaning up and redressing, you both revelled in the shared comfortable silence, pressing chaste, soft kisses to one another’s lips as you got ready to leave.

“We can’t let people know about this, ever. You know that, right?” You had to make it known that this sort of…complicated situation you shared could be detrimental to you both. “We have to act normally inside these walls. As though we’re just colleagues. I’m still your boss, and you’re still my employee.”

“I understand,” Steven said, nodding as he grabbed his bag and as you buttoned the last few buttons on your short. “But outside of work…?” His tone was hopeful, and it made your insides flutter at his optimistic voice.

You smiled, turning to look at him with an upturned pull at your eyebrow. “Outside of work, we can explore more of this,” you mused as you trailed a finger down his chest. “But you do acknowledge, I’m still in charge. Or do you need a little reminder?” Your eyes never left his, a little daring twinkle in your eye.

“I-I’ll remember. I promise. I’ll always obey you,” he swore, gazing at you with his pretty puppy dog eyes. You smiled, satisfied. “Good boy,” you praised, taking his hand and leading him upstairs, “now let’s go. There’s still a lot that we need to learn about one another. And the night’s not over yet, baby”.

The two of you walked out of the museum without leaving a trace of anything that had happened. Heading out into the dead of night, you were right about one thing. The night certainly wasn’t over yet, you had only just begun.

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xomakara · 7 months

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Waiting For Your Love

SUMMARY | In which Mark is secretly your boyfriend, takes you to his place and wants to take your relationship to the next level PAIRINGS | Mark/Fem!Reader GENRE | college au, non-idols, fluff, soft, smut RATING | Mature LENGTH | 3,654 words AUTHOR’S NOTE | I had this one-shot saved on my computer for awhile. So why not just post it? I will definitely be writing a chaptered/series of Mark though lol. Plus my title makes no sense in the story’s context but who gives a care. I hope you enjoy it!

"Take it."

You blinked several times, looking at the notebook that was suddenly thrown on your desk. You looked up at the male who was the culprit, his dark hair framing against his forehead, his lips in a grimace.

What the hell was his problem? You continued to look at the notebook, wondering what in the world was in it. It wasn't yours, you knew that much. One of your friends perhaps? Maybe one of the other guys dropped it?

"Because you were sick the other day." Mark Lee softly said, your gaze going to his face. He noticed your hesitation and explained his actions. "I took notes and thought you might want them."

"Hey!" One of the male students yelled from across the room. "That was my job! You can't just take my job like that Mark! Gimme those notes."

Mark shook his head. "No can do. Y/N needs my notes, not yours."

"Why you little-" Renjun was held back by a few of the other males in the classroom.

You couldn't help but chuckle. Mark was sure concerned about your health. But why and how did he even know you were sick the other day? As far as you were concerned, Mark never paid you attention nor seemed somewhat interested in you.

But that was before.

Until you started dating each other for a good year.

Of course it was a secret to everyone in the classroom. Apart from two people that were Mark's roommates but you had to blackmail them to be quiet or hell would let loose. How would it sound if THE Mark Lee, the most popular underclassman at your college campus was dating a nobody?

You shook your head, brandishing that thought from your head.

You were somebody. Granted you didn’t hang out in Mark’s social circles but you had a few of your own. And you were widely popular within those circles.

You frowned, not showing that you were secretly happy that your boyfriend took notes for you. You shook your head and turned to your female friends as they barrage you for answers.

"I can't believe Mark gave you his notebook." Jaemi whispered, lightly giggling as she watched some of the males teasing Mark.

You didn't know that he could turn a slight shade of pink.

He never turned pink in front of you. It was kind of cute. He turned around slightly, giving you a small shy smile before returning to his desk. Suddenly plopping down on his chair, he placed his head on the table, no doubt trying to hide his embarrassed face.

"I can't believe he took notes." Sumin muttered in shock, as she poked at the book. It was labeled 'English', supposingly for English Literature since you both took that class. "That's a surprise right there."

"Well, Haechan has always told me that Mark is pretty smart." Rahee shrugged and gave Haechan a small wave. "Even though he doesn't show it."

"Really?" You asked Rahee. You knew your boyfriend was smart but you decided to play along. "He seems like a slacker to me."

"Despite what everyone may think, Mark is actually a pretty laid back guy." Rahee nodded her head and looked at the notebook. "But he's pretty considerate considering his reputation. He's not a bad boy, so you can relax Y/N."

"And you know how, Rahee?" Sumin nudged the girl. "From Haechan?"

"It's one of the perks of dating the underclassmen rep." Jaemi answered as she watched Rahee winking at Haechan. "She gets all the dirty details from him."

"But if Mark—" You never got to finish your question since Rahee disappeared. You noticed Rahee snaking her arms with Haechan and walked out of the classroom. No doubt trying to find a private place to make out. "That girl always runs off with him."

"What can you say?" Sumin laughed as she noticed your expression of disgust. "Is it that weird for Rahee and Haechan to be dating?"

"Not weird." You answered, suddenly looking down at the notebook again. You noticed Mark's doodles and had to suppress a chuckle. "More of 'I can't believe Rahee snagged a boyfriend before us.’ Why can't I get a boyfriend?"

"We have plenty of male classmates." Sumin chuckled. "One of them is bound to date you."

"No thanks." You shook your head. You already had a boyfriend but no one really knew that. "Xiaojun, Hendery and Yangyang already asked me and I turned them down."

"But there's still Renjun, Jeno, Jaemin, Chenle, Jisung, and all the other dudes." Jaemi listed out, the guys looking up from their classwork or conversation. Seeing as it wasn't important, they continued whatever they were doing. “Plus the upperclassmen like Jungwoo, Jaehyun and Winwin to name some.”

"You forgot Mark." Sumin muttered, looking at him as if he heard.

He was still asleep.

"No to all of them." You scoffed. You thought of your boyfriend and slightly turned pink. "Well maybe to some of them..."

Your other two friends started laughing. You had always believed that you'd be the first of your group of friends to get a boyfriend first. Rahee ruined it when she announced she was dating Haechan. You came second after Mark secretly confessed that he liked you and you two started secretly dating.

It was no secret that you were quite a good-looking girl. You had your share of admirers; from the bad boy greaseball Jaemin, heart throb Jeno, irritable Renjun amongst some. You turned them down all flat, none of them remotely interesting to you. You had high standards for a boyfriend, and sure the guys you turned down all met those standards but it just didn't feel right.

Until Mark swept you off your feet.

"Yo babe," Hendery slithered to your desk and sent you a flirtatious wink. "The boys and I are going to play basketball. Care to watch?"

"No, thank you Hendery." You refused. Sure you turned him down but Hendery still called you babe. He was one of the two boys you blackmailed. "Last time I went to watch a game, I got hit by the ball because Jisung wasn't looking at who he was passing the ball to."

"My bad!" Jisung called out, his hair sticking in odd places. "I thought I passed it to Chenle but he was too busy staring at Sumin."

"Yah! Are you saying it's my fault?" Chenle shouted. The boys shouted in unison that it was indeed his fault.

"That sucks. Maybe next time." Hendery muttered before moving on to your friend Sumin, who gave him the middle finger. He chuckled before waving and disappeared from the classroom with the boys in tow, Chenle whining on how his hyung just flirted with the pretty girl.

"Should we just go?" Jaemi asked as she looked around the classroom. It was empty apart from the three girls, Mark, Xiaojun and Yangyang. "They all left to play basketball."

"Let's go Y/N. Besides Rahee has some explaining to do." Sumin rose from her seat and went towards Xiaojun and Yangyang, both boys looking up from their books.

Suggesting they all go watch the game together, the two boys nodded their heads and shut their books. Since you were putting your things away, Xiaojun stopped before leaving the classroom, only to say, "Y/N. Can you wake Mark up before you leave?"

"Okay, Xiaojun." You nodded and gave him a thumbs up. Xiaojun was the other boy you had to blackmail. You actually threatened to get rid of his stuff if he spilt the beans.

Walking towards Mark, you couldn't help but stare at his sleeping face. His lashes were surprisingly long, his skin looked smooth, and his jawline looked absolutely chiseled. He was a handsome man and you always told him so. You shook him lightly, he rustled slightly.

"Mark?" You shook him again. "Mark, wake up."

"Hmm?" He groaned out, sleepily opening his eyes. Noticing it was you, he slowly smiled. "Well, hi there."

What was this sleepy smile about? He kind of took your breath away for a second. "Don't say hi to me like that. What if others saw?"

"Is there anyone else here?" He mumbled, lifting his head slowly to look around the room. Seeing as he was in the clear, he looked back at you. "It's just you and me."

When will he stop smiling like that?

"Mark, everyone is playing basketball." You let out, your voice somewhat small. "Did you want to go join them?"

"Do you?" He asked, his husky voice asked you.

Was his voice always this deep? You never noticed it before but his voice was definitely sexy and that was one of the top five traits you'd like in a man. You shook your head to stop thinking such inappropriate things but Mark took it as something else.

"Why don't we go to my place?" He suggested, standing up to grab his bag and then to take yours from your grasp. You tried to refuse him but he took it anyway. "Let me carry your things."

Walking side by side with your boyfriend had never been as exhilarating as walking home with Yangyang and Haechan. Mark made you swoon with his manly side and he would occasionally walk where the road met the sidewalk so you wouldn't get hurt.

He was caring and you fell for him hard.

You had to speak up. "Mark? Do you like me?"

"If I didn't, you wouldn't be my girlfriend right?" He replied back with a question. Stopping in front of the apartment he shared with Xiaojun and Hendery, he unlocked the door and ushered you in. Kicking off your shoes, you strolled into the surprisingly clean home and settled on the couch.

Mark followed after you.

"The guys will be back soon after the game." You whispered as Mark leaned towards you.

"They won't be here for a while." He whispered back before claiming your mouth.

Mark was kissing you.

The fullness of your lips pressing against his. He tasted the sweet flavors of your lips. He was fully aware that he was kissing you, but man, did your lips make him go crazy. One of his hands clutched your lower back whereas the other hand cupped the back of your head. Your hand rested on his shoulder as Mark's lips moved over yours.

At first it was an innocent touch of lips: gently, sweetly, and with an eye to innocence. But gradually the roaring in Mark's blood began to beat back the gentleman in him, and he started to taste you rather than kiss you. And tasting you was like an intoxication in which every touch made him hungrier. His fingers curled possessively into your sweet-smelling hair, and he bent his head, taking your mouth, that unbearably desirable mouth, with a growl that had nothing to do with gentlemanly behavior.

Your mind was drowning, whirling. His mouth was hot on yours- hot! How could it be hot? You felt as if all your most important senses were lost, whirling around so that all you could do was clutch his shoulders and hang on, fighting the strange sensations that kept sweeping over your body, making your knees tremble and an unwanted heat grow between your legs, and your forehead felt feverish.

In fact, your whole body felt feverish.

Mark pulled back. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"What?" You raised your eyebrows at him, your fingers coming to your lips.

"For kissing you." He clarified, his hand moving to cup your cheeks. "I just couldn't help myself. You look beautiful."

"Then don't stop." You muttered, looking into his eyes.

"If I don't stop then this will lead to things..." He stood up and walked a short distance to the kitchen.

You went after him and took his hands in yours. "Mark. I don't care if this leads to things. You want me and I want you."

"Oh."

"So just kiss me again. And whatever happens, let's just go with it."

Mark smiled, closing the distance between the two of you, as he settled his mouth over yours, felt you stiffen in a moment of surprise, then your hands crept up to his shoulders, slid gently around his neck, and you kissed him back. He could feel the rapid beating of your heart and the warmth of your small body pressing against him.

Mark tightened his hold against you, as he deepened the kiss, coaxing your lips apart, taking you with his tongue. His tongue touched yours and a jolt of heat went sliding through him.

He kissed the side of your neck, tasted the small shell-like rim of an ear, and kissed you again, cupping your ass and pulled you against his arousal. There was only an instant's hesitation before you melted against him, returning the kiss in full measure, your breasts brushing against the front of his shirt. He lifted you up and walked you to the kitchen counter.

Mark squeezed your ass and you yelped, his tongue sliding into your sweet wet cavern.

You writhed in his arms but had stopped when his hands covered your breast. You shivered in delight, the sensation new to you. You threw your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in his dark thick locks of hair. He brought you closer, opening your legs so he could stand between them. His hands were under your skirt, slowly moving up your legs to your waist, to the sides of your upper body. He threw your shirt off only to reach behind and unhooked your bra, your breasts coming from its confinement.

You crossed your arms when you felt air hit your nipples. You didn't know why you were feeling the way you were feeling. You colored up again, crossing your legs from letting Mark remove your skirt.

"You sure the guys won't intrude?" You muttered as you bit your bottom lip. Damn, you looked really hot when you did that. You looked him in the eye and saw the intense look he was giving you. "I don't want them to start blabbering their mouths like they always do. Especially if we start to fuck."

"I'm sure they won't intrude." Mark sexily pouted, his body coming close to you and trying to pry your legs open again so he can stand between them. "Besides, Hendery told me that he and Sumin are currently seeing each other and that they're going on a date. Xiaojun is going over to hang out with Yangyang and Renjun."

"Is that why you asked me to come over?" You asked, surprised that Sumin didn't tell you that she was dating Hendery.

"Yeah." Mark brushed his lips against yours. "I. Want. You. Very badly."

"Me too." You muttered against his lips. But instead of backing away from him, you set your lips on his and boldly kissed him.

Mark was thrown off track. He grasped your hips and pulled you closer to him, your short skirt making way for him to stand between them. He brushed his fingers against your wet panties, knowing that you were undeniably wet and was going to writhe beneath him.

"Say you want it. Say you want me. And only me." Mark muttered against your lips.

You knew what you wanted. This feeling that he was making you feel bold. You felt your body go on fire, your cheeks red, your arms wrapping around his neck and clinging to him.

As if your life depended on it.

"I want you Mark." You pulled back slightly, breathing heavy. “I want you to fuck me.”

He chuckled. He slid his hands up your legs and grasped the inside of your thighs to part them for easier access to your panties. "I'll have you screaming my name, babe."

"Where did you learn to say that‒" Mark silenced you by kissing you again and again. One hand worked his way to cup your breast, kneading the soft globes and raking his nails against your nipples. The other hand slid your panties to the side, his fingers brushing against your slit. "Oh my god..."

"Baby, you know what's gonna happen right?" He asked, his voice husky against your ear. He pushed a finger into you, his long finger being buried into your wet heat as he kissed your earlobe and kissed your neck. "You are so wet and tight, Y/N."

"Ah...oh god.." You had tried to push your legs together from letting your boyfriend touch you in the most sacred of places, but he was already too fast as you felt his finger in your deep core, his thumb teasingly rubbing your clit. "Please, Mark..."

Mark bit your ear again, his tongue swirling around. The one hand on your breast was teasing, cupping, kneading, squeezing, brushing his thumb against your nipple. His other hand was still teasing you down there, his thumb rubbing ever so sweet, his finger pumping into you ever so soft and slow. "Y/N... You are beautiful in every way... You are just fuckable."

You shivered at his words. You never imagined that he would see you in this way, naked and in his arms. You never imagined him calling you beautiful and saying that you were 'fuckable'. Where did he learn that from? Did he hang out with Johnny, the upperclassman? Hell, you never imagined that you were about to have sex with him. Having sex this early in the relationship was a weird idea for you, but it just felt so....

Right.

"Y/N..." Mark kissed you again, his tongue plunging into your mouth as he grasped your wrists and led them to the front of his jeans. His tongue battled with yours, brushing against the roof of your mouth, your teeth, your own tongue. It was like a battle of dominance.

Your hands at the fly of his jeans, you blinked your eyes in a daze and pulled back slightly. "Mark?"

It was more of a question than a demand or anything. Your voice held uncertainty, confusion, or maybe you were asking permission to just push his jeans off. He gave you a soft smile. "Do it. It's okay, don't worry."

You fumbled with his jeans and freed him, noticing his bulge. Your eyes widened, not believing that he was large and...just large. "Mark, I don't think you'll fit..."

"Trust me baby. It’ll fit." He chuckled as you said those silly words. Mark rubbed your back as one of his hands slid your skirt and panties off until you were just as naked as him. "We'll fit perfectly. Y/N, you and I were made for each other."

You just nodded as he pulled you closer to his body, the kitchen seeming small. You could feel the cool countertops beneath your ass, aware that his body was pressed against yours, his skin so hot, his hair damp from his sweat. "Well, if you say so…"

"Trust me." He muttered before taking your lips in his. "Y/N, baby... help me."

You didn't know what he demanded of you. Chuckling, Mark grabbed one of your small hands and wrapped it around his large, bulging cock. "Put it in, babe."

"Where?" You teased him, lightly squeezing his cock.

He sighed and lifted your legs to wrap around his waist. The tip of him was at your entrance, teasingly rubbing up and down your slit. "In your sweet pussy, baby."

You bit your bottom lip. You reveled in the way his cock felt in your hand, your fingers curling around the rigid flesh. You slid the tip of him, just slightly, Mark taking charge instead. He kissed you deeply, to catch your cry as he buried himself to the hilt.

"Fuck!" You cried out into his mouth, your body feeling full. He moved into you, softly at first, letting you get used to the idea of him in you, of his large length. You clung on to him, breasts plastered to his chest, legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he continued to move within you.

"Baby, fuck..." He breathlessly moaned out, increasing the motion of his hips as he continued to move in you. He went fast and deep, suddenly taking you hard, the sweat covering your bodies, making him even more turned on. He pumped harder, hitting that one spot you so craved until you cried out in mere pleasure.

"Mark!" You cried out, your climax immense as you were surrounded by intense pleasure. He cried after you, spilling his juices within your small body as you sagged in his arms. You rested your cheek against his chest and lovingly placed a kiss on his shoulder. But upon looking at his face, you suddenly went shy. "Oh god…"

Mark looked at you, a small laugh coming from him. "Do I have to give you a big hickey on your neck that says you're mine?"

"But then everyone will know that we're dating." You whined, giving him an adorable pout. You shook your head, threw your arms around his neck and gave him a deep kiss. "It’s okay. Because I'm yours."

"Can we lay like this for a while?" You asked.

As if it was a cue of some sorts, Xiojun's voice could be heard outside of the front door as he informed Hendery on what had transpired. "They're doing hanky panky in the kitchen."

"How do you know?"

"I opened the door slightly and saw clothes everywhere."

"Should we bust the door open?" You heard Hendery chuckle.

In the heart of the moment, you and Mark scrambled from the kitchen counter, laughing as you both searched for your strewn clothes.

"I love you." Mark muttered as he kissed your forehead, after gathering clothes. "I really, really love you."

"I love you too, Mark." You wrapped your arms around him as lips met with his. "Now show me again why you love me~ But this time in your bed."

#nct #nct stories #nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct dream #nct 127 #mark #mark lee #nct mark #mark smut #mark x reader #nct smut #nct mark smut

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slvt4lanadelrey · 10 months

Text

Prom Queen | Lorraine Day

Warnings: alcohol, drugs, trauma, swearing, kissing, forced marriage, shooting, scars, homophobia, sadness, abuse, mature themes, inappropriate comments.

Part Two | Prom Queen

Prom queen. Prom queen was such a silly little title that held a legacy worthy history behind it, every single prom queen grew up to have the riches of what the town offered.

Vicki Sherry, 1978, prom queen alongside her high school boyfriend, Thomas Knight. They were married before they even lived together, having a child at the modern age of 20. She had everything: a husband, a family, a filthy rich history in the small southern town you lived in.

1957, your own mother was granted the title of prom Queen, marrying her high-school sweetheart who was also your dad. Your older sister graduated, alongside holding the title of prom Queen.

Your older brother was the proud fiance of the prom queen.

Safe to say, becoming prom queen was a great deal for you, well your family. When senior year dragged around; then the final exams, then finally, Prom itself.

You were positively buzzing throughout the whole time. Dress shopping was magical, pulling up your dark dress and letting it settle down on your shoulders. You looked elegant, flawless; evident with how everyone stared with admiring eyes.

Nick Champion was your date, your boyfriend of the odd years. Your life was planning out to be picture perfect, everything so worshipable and peaceful.

That was how you presented yourself.

Perfect.

That was all for show: reality, your dad has a bad habit of getting drunk and leaving for days on end. Your brother didn't actually love his fiance, he loved what she could give him. Your mom was a low level druggy, your older sister popping out more kids than she could afford; even with the luxury of your last name holding a royalty within the town.

That left you, what was your sob story? Was it when your dad beat you black and blue for staring too hard at the neighbour's sun tanning daughter? Or was it when you made a comment about how Leon- your brother- how he should be ashamed of himself, which was met with a banishment of some sorts.

Or maybe, it was the fact Nick would grip your arm in crowded rooms and say anything he pleased to his friends. Christian you may be, to the school you attended you was nothing but a whore who let her boyfriend do anything he pleased. In reality, he'd barely gotten past kissing, let alone him fucking you.

No. The sob story you wore heavy on your chest, whenever you'd wear your cross: it would burn, scorching you for your deadly sins.

It was the fact in history class, sitting two seats down was Lorraine Day, easily the prettiest girl you'd ever laid your eyes on.

She made you nervous, just like how your mom described Nick would. She smiled at you, Lorraine with a toothy grin that resembled child innocence. She was always so kind, with her face crowded with scars from an event long in the past.

You weren't granted the privilege to see all of her face, she would normally wear a bandage that hid her true beauty. You'd slay every beast, stand up in a crowd of the most heinous homophobes that were so convinced homosexuality was the root to all evil. You'd drag a chair, place it in the middle of the room and scream at the top of your lungs that you were bewitched with the sinful thoughts of how soft Lorraine's skin would feel, how her lips would let out staggering breaths when you would kiss along her neck. How you would worship each part of her body, kiss along the olive tan and show her how much love she deserved. But that was just a dream, a sweet thought of what you'd actually want.

Instead, you'd be crowned prom queen, then married, and most probably end up bearing children that would grow to resent you and be born with the sadful fact of looking like their father.

"You look so hot, babe." Nick snickered out, pulling his crown further up his head. You smiled at him, pressing a kiss to his stubble filled cheek.

"Thanks, you look charming." You pressed down on his tux, ensuring he looked his very best. Pictures were to be taken next, so you had to make sure you both looked presentable.

"I always do." He commented, flashing his friend a smirk before poking his tongue to his cheek; you weren't dumb, you weren't some uneducated fool who would assume he meant a sweet gesture. No. Of course not, Nick was implying you'd give him a blow job if he acted swiftly, and played the role of the sweet loving boyfriend for the night.

He gripped your waist, spinning you around to show off your beauty to the crowd of classmates. He pressed sloppy and inappropriate kisses along your neck. You cringed, eyes searching the crowd to the only pair of eyes that could really tell when you weren't okay. Lorraine met yours, her smile hopeful and face once again bandged in bandages; what you'd do in order to see her whole face, to able to kiss her glossy lips just for one night, and the next you'd happily take the punishment of beheading, or even being brunt aflame; whichever your town thought you deserved.

She looked over with a sympathetic eye, holding a smile to her lips when yours faltered.

How could someone feel like home? You questioned yourself, the moment Lorraine's eyes fell from yours and towards the commotion of the songs beginning to bleed through the thickly laced atmosphere of the school gym.

Lorraine was home, she was a sense of peace in a life you knew you'd have to carry grief and live an unloving life.

The music took over the room, students pulling their partners towards the dance floor and letting the teen spirit take over. You ushered your apologies to Nick because suddenly you were plagued with the after taste of kissing someone you physically couldn't stand; the vomit worthy taste that lingered on your lips, the act so pure taking out of context for you being needy.

Nick was never the one that kept you awake at night, when the devil called and your teenage self was haunted with the desires of dragging your fingers along your cross covered chest, never was it Nick that helped you.

Lorraine flashed, the way she held you one summer afternoon when you almost passed out after cheerleading practice.

"God, Y/N, you scared the life outta me." The girl's breathing was almost as laboured as yours, struggling to gulp down the air that was right in front of her. She smiled down at you, hands roaming your lower stomach to stable yourself against her body. You shuffled closer to her, getting familiar with your favourite sight; her freckled face, eyebrows knitted together with a look of dismay on her pretty lips.

"M'sorry, Lorraine, didn't mean to be a bother." You whispered back, blush embedded in your features as she held you closed. Her finger brushed a loose strand hair out of your face, nuzzling her lips into your forehead and placing a small kiss at the crown of your head.

"Never. Never would you be a bother to me."

You heaved against the wall of the school music room, having a hard time to stabilise your own system. She was always on your mind, a Bible to a saint. She was there, always on your mind; not even in the back where you've hidden all your dirty lies and secrets that would kill to admit. No. She was front and centre, smiling with her dimpled gaze. Your teeth gritted, an attack festered in your chest at how brutal the panic was.

You couldn't focus, the whole room around you was suffocating your vision and making you see white dots. An all too well feeling dawned on you, you'd be someone's wife in the near future. You heard it yourself, Nick's booming voice echoing through your house rooms. He asked for your hand in marriage, which was met with applause by your mother and older sister. Leon wasn't sure, smelling the similarity within him and your boyfriend. Leon wasn't a good person, but he wasn't a bad brother either. Your father was out of his mind, easily four bottles down even on a Tuesday afternoon.

"Do what you want, she wouldn't listen to me anyways." Your own father grumbled, hushing the complaints of Leon. Your heart sank, skin burnt and eyes flooded with tears. Forever betrothed to Nick, Nick the one who made you have a reputation around school, the one who would call you names if you weren't in the mood to call him late at night.

You couldn't. You wouldn't marry such a man.

But you would at the same time: the security, the money, the name you would make for yourself. Your rank in society would rocket, you'd become better than a queen, you'd be the next God.

The door slammed open beside you, tumbling through the door was Lorraine like a deer in headlights. She caught a glimpse of your fragile body, shivering in the corner of the music room. She collapsed by the side of you, falling to her knees and cupping your trembling cheeks.

"Breathe, Baby, you gotta breathe for me." She never once asked why you were always found in such a state, maybe she knew what your fate held.

She placed your shaking hand on her chest, she breathed heavily to demonstrate what you needed to do for her. Her chest raised, your fingers pressed to her dress.

"Can you name five things around you? Can you do that for me, Y/N." You nodded, tears falling freely from your tear ducts, you looked around. Piano's, guitars, music books, stands. Then you looked back to her, gasping her closer to you. Her face, her undeniable beauty that held you in such a captivating way you weren't sure you ever wanted her to fade.

"F-freckles." You mustered with all your will, trying your hardest; but only for her, only ever for her.

"Yeah, yeah I got freckles." She smiled at you, her dimples now filling your eyesight. Your other hand reached up, fingers gently pressed into her cheek.

"Dimples." She giggled, flinching away from your hand, interlocking your fingers together with the hand placed on her chest.

"Okay, good. Three more, anything else? Maybe something that's not me." You frowned, your hand falling to the floor.

"Why would I waste my time looking at something dull-full when I can always look at you." Your air was knocked back into you, your eyes growing wider at how freeing breathing could be.

She flushed, her cheeks turning a perfect shade of red.

"Blush." You gripped her fingers, holding before she would fall apart just like you.

"Two more."

"Uh." You were stuck, there wasn't much to comment on with her face, that damn bandage that covered half her face hiding her away. She saw the way your eyes glared at her face, fear festered in her chest at what you wanted.

She took a deep breath, taking off her mask that truly did hide something as magical as gold. Her face was littered in a huge scar that blistered a bright red. She was insecure, beyond measure. She wanted to fall, wanted to cry to herself at showing her true self to you. The only person who was allowed to see her, without the coverage, was her mother.

Your finger landed on her face, skating over the new sight. You took it all in, watching with enchanted eyes.

Something as silly as being able to see someone's face, someone who you mopped and pleaded for each night. You were at peace, having the will to be executed tomorrow if that was the risk of seeing such a sight.

The corner of her lip was scarred over, webbed in a tight knot against her flesh. Left eye was left with a murky milky gaze, almost like nothing was behind the piercing brown iris. Her face was studying yours, watching for any glimpse of disgust; which never washed over you. Your lip trembled, your upper teeth talking home in the flesh for support.

"You still have to name two things, Y/N." You were lost in her features, miles away from home and any sense of pain. You were lost in her, the forest that was her beauty, you wanted to be stuck; forever condemned to look at such a masterpiece, you were so sure that Aphrodite herself took extra care crafting such a scene. Lorraine had always been a sight too precious and perfect for your heavy haze, but selfishness was a trait you had mastered by now. Your mouth was left a gap, breathing thick when she noticed how you couldn't possibly tear your eyes away from her.

"Two things, Y/N, or I'll leave." You gripped her hand, pulling you towards her in a hurry. She couldn't leave, you know she was only being half-hearted with what she said, but the fear cloned itself as disgust. Your eyes seized, lips dry from the lack of saliva damping the flesh. Her chest sank, heaving as your eyes shook with something she feared was dismay. You looked at her differently, like she was a monster.

"I love you." The words rolled off your tongue, poisonous venom intoxicating the air around Lorraine. Dots aligned within her mind, the gears grinding and finally connected with one another.

You didn't think Lorraine any different, you don't hold her accident against her. You thought she was a sight that mankind shouldn't be allowed to have been blessed with. Your eyes darted, turning away from their once was colour and into a darker shade willed with lust and desire. She was everything, and no one would ever compare. Fears were out the window, the nightmarish thoughts that honestly haunted both of your realities. You wanted her just as much as she needed you.

"You love me?" She whispered in her sweet voice, bitter sweet if anything. Just like honey, something so digested as sweet, but soon could turn bitter with just the foreign of touches. Someone without the taste of the sweet yellow glow could see it as a bitter treat, someone who has grown accustomed to the delicious addiction to what honey could taste like; what love could feel like.

You understood within the moments Lorraine pushed forward and pressed her lips into yours without another thought. You got why your father drank and why your mother smoked like it was second nature, because Lorraine was your nicotine, Lorraine was the burning after taste of alcohol. An addiction coursed through your veins, the knowledge you weren't getting over such a touch; Lorraine extending her fingers and wrapping it around your hair, pulling you that little bit closer to what you've always dreamed of.

"Dont." She husked against your lips, vibrating the both of you together. A ticklish shock ran through your bottom lip, a small laugh slithering through your parted lips.

"Don't ever think about Nick again, I want to be with you." She said it in such a way it made you believe you could be together. But just like Cinderella, the clock would strike 12 and you'd turn into the person your family designed; someone built to be a wife, and a mother. Not someone made to be a secret, or a stranger to society that would never accept them.

"I can't let myself dream." You pulled away, a strained sigh leaving a shallow part of your throat. You didn't want to reject her, you wanted to tell her how beautiful she was everyday until you were hit with the stroke of death but you couldn't.

"It wouldn't have to be a dream, there's- there must be a place we can leave?" She was hopeful, the cheerleader to everything fruitful.

"Your family—"

"They'd pull me apart, Lorraine." You wept, holding your face away from her soft hands. She wanted to comfort you, she wanted to kiss away the fear of never being good enough; you were more than good enough, she would hope that one day in some make believe world you would wake up and claim you was hers. You was her favourite shade of blue, her favourite song she wasn't able to listen to. The rush of a drug, cursing through her veins as the high took over; that was the effect of your laugh, the damage of how you'd smile at her.

She slumped down beside you, defeated.

"I love you too, you know." You smiled, offering her a glance of something better than the town the both of you were sadly born in. A generation full of people that weren't willing to learn, to understand the extent you'd go for just in order to see Lorraine smile.

"What are we going to do? I don't want to marry Nick, I don't think anyone In their right mind would." Laughter was a copy mechanism, smiling into the dimly lit room that now only let Lorraine's face become a silhouette. You wasn't sure how long the both of you stayed in silence for, long enough that the blaring sound of the music died.

I love you, you hadn't heard such a sweet thing to be told to you in many moons. You wouldn't care if she didn't mean it, if she said it in order to calm your mind; at least she said something.

Nick wasn't on your mind, he hadn't been for ages. Lorraine was present, your family was present, the town's daunting thoughts on people like you were present.

But how cares? Lorraine loved you, and you loved her. And all was well in the moment where you shared your first kiss with the person you loved with your whole heart. it was powerful, poetic even. You would honestly stare any god, and demon in the eyes and admit you'd willingly walk through hell just to feel the warmth of Lorraine pressed against you one more time, one last time.

But just like any sad song, any book that brought tears to your eyes; the moment died, and everything changed.

#jenna ortega #jennaortega #tara carpenter #lgbt #vada cavell #lorraine day #wlw #lorraine day x fem!reader #lorraine day x fem #Lorraine day x fem #lorraine day x you #lorraine day x reader #lorraine day x fem!#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x fem #jenna ortega x fem!reader

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rorywritesjunk · 5 months

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Lil Buggy's Big Adventure

Buggy only took his eyes off Lil for less than a minute before she vanished. Rating: G. Warning: A child gets separated from her parent, mentions of being abandoned by a parent. Zoro not being great with kids. Buggy doubting himself as a parent. A/N: Title comes from the One Piece episodes about Little Buggy trying to get back to his crew. At my job we get lost children from time to time and it really just takes less than a minute for it to happen. This was just a fun little thing to write.

No one was the perfect parent. Everyone made mistakes when it came to raising kids and no one was ever fully prepared to take on the challenge. Buggy was a pirate captain, he had been on the seas forever and felt he could handle most things, but losing his kid in the crowds while running errands was not something he could handle.

He took his eyes off his three year old for only thirty seconds. He thought someone made a rude comment about her and was ready to kill them, but turned out it was just some little old lady thinking Lil was the cutest thing ever. That was it. Buggy pulled his rage back and when he turned to where his daughter had been standing just a moment before there was nothing. She was gone.

He wondered how quickly he could mobilize the crew to find her before you found out. You were at a checkup for the one year old baby, Mae. Just a routine thing, and you had offered to bring Lil along, but Buggy wanted to get off the ship and stretch his legs a bit so a day out with his kid sounded like the best thing right then.

Now he was regretting it. How come you never lost sight of them? He sometimes wondered if you had Devil Fruit powers when he saw how you could juggle two kids at once. Granted, he was often seen with both girls strapped on him like a life jacket - Lil on his back and Mae on his front - but it was nothing to what he saw you do. Cook dinner while nursing Mae, or braiding Lil’s hair with both girls’ in your lap. You always seemed to know when Lil was about to get into mischief because you’d always appear to stop it, whether it was to keep her from pulling on Richie’s tail or climbing over board the ship (both of which happened before breakfast that morning). Was there a Devil Fruit power for being a Great Parent? Because clearly you had it and he definitely did not.

It had only been two minutes since he lost sight of his daughter but it felt like hours. He wondered where she could have gone. The streets were busy, people everywhere shopping for wares. Should he ask for help? Who would he even ask? The likelihood of these strangers stopping to listen to his situation seemed very unlikely.

Lil didn’t realize Buggy wasn’t with her until she walked down the sidewalk, turned a corner, and continued halfway down the street, holding the new stuffed sea cow he bought her. It wasn’t until she came up to a shop window full of candy that she turned to look at him, only to see he was nowhere in sight. Where did he go?

You had tried explaining to her that if she ever got lost that she should stay in one place and ask an adult for help, and she tried to remember what to do, but the order got mixed up. She didn’t ask anyone for help and kept walking. Her daddy would be easy to spot in the crowd, right? But everyone was so much taller than her and there were so many people walking that it was too much. She let out a quiet whimper as she stuck her thumb in her mouth, looking both ways on the sidewalk as she tried to remember which way she even came from.

“Hey kid, are you lost?” Someone asked her. She looked up, big fat tears rolling down her cheeks as she nodded, thumb never leaving her mouth. The person asking was young and she had bright orange hair. “Okay! What's your name?”

“Nami, do you really think we have time for this?” One of her companions asked. He had green hair and three swords on his person. Nami looked back at him with a glare. “What?! It’s lunch time and we’re hungry.”

“Doesn't she remind you of someone, Zoro?” She asked as Lil started to actually cry, wailing for her mommy and daddy.

“No.” He shrugged.

“She looks like Buggy the Clown, you idiot!”

“What?!”

The swordsman stared down at Lil in disbelief. Did someone actually reproduce with that clown? As he looked at her he could definitely see the resemblance from her nose, her hair, down to the scowl she was giving him as she sniffled. He grumbled and looked at the other three in their group.

“Who’s babysitting while the rest of us look for that lunatic?” ~

Zoro ended up babysitting. Luffy had offered to use his arms to raise her high above the crowds to see if Buggy could spot them, and that was before he suggested recruiting the toddler to the crew in case they didn’t find Buggy. Everyone shot that idea down immediately because he could drop her, and no one would have a toddler on a pirate crew.

Zoro leaned against the building, arms crossed as Lil stood beside him, sniffling loudly. The crying had mostly subsided but there was the occasional tear rolling down her cheek. He glanced down at her, making sure she didn’t disappear on him. There was a thought in the back of his mind, however. What if Buggy actually abandoned her? The guy was pretty unhinged and Zoro honestly couldn’t believe someone actually having kids with him. Did this kid get dropped off on his ship and the clown decided he didn’t want to deal with her? Were they actually going to have to take the kid onboard the Going Merry and raise her as a pirate?

He knelt down beside her, trying to get eye level with her. “Kid, did your dad abandon you?”

She tilted her head to the side with a frown as she removed her thumb from her mouth. “Daddy?”

“Yea, your daddy, Buggy the Clown, did he leave you here on purpose? You sure he’s looking for you?”

Lil’s eyes went wide and watery. Fresh tears started rolling down her cheeks as she let out a cry. That was not really Zoro’s intention, but he was trying to interrogate a three year old about her father. How could he have expected this to go? He stood up and looked around hastily.

“Stop crying and I’ll buy you candy! We’re right in front of a candy shop, so how about it?” He said, trying to calm the child. At the mention of the word candy she immediately stopped crying and grinned up at him. “If you stay right here I’ll come back with candy, understand?”

Lil nodded excitedly, bouncing a bit where she stood. Zoro sighed and stood up, wondering what he needed to buy to make her happy. He turned his back for a moment to look in the window, checking over the inventory he could see. If he bought Lil something he may end up having to buy Luffy something as well… and he couldn’t afford to buy Luffy the amount of candy he would want.

Lil turned away as well, eyes widening as she saw a mermaid in the intersection of the two roads. It had several large fishies at the bottom of it and the statues were spraying water out of their mouths. That was just so cool so she wandered away from Zoro, eyes wide in excitement as she went over to the fountain. She looked into the basin and saw real fishies, bigger than she’d ever seen before, and she couldn’t help but reach over the edge to try and pet one.

Zoro turned back to look where Lil had been and froze. She was gone. He tried not to panic. He was supposed to be watching her now he was just as bad as Buggy in losing sight of her, and as he stood in one place, frantically whipping his head around to see where she may have gone, the crowd parted at just the right moment and he saw her over by the fountain, feet off the ground as she began to go head over feet into the water.

He ran for her and dove to catch her just as a fist came flying and struck him across the face. He wasn’t able to grab her but another hand did, reeling her back as she squealed, “Daddy!” excitedly. Zoro stood up, rubbing his face as he glared in the direction of where she went.

Buggy stood there, seething as he glared daggers at Zoro. His hands reattached to his wrists and as he held his daughter in his arms.

“What are you doing with my kid, Strawhat?!” He demanded as Lil wrapped her arms around him. “Were you trying to kidnap her?!”

“What?! No!” Zoro shot back. “We found her alone on the sidewalk! You abandoned her!”

That was the wrong choice of words. The look on Buggy’s face was murderous and Zoro maybe momentarily regretted saying that. Buggy reached under his coat and pulled out his knives, gripping them between his fingers as he glared at the swordsman. He had to be mindful of having Lil in his arms when using certain Chop Chop abilities as he didn’t want to risk her getting in the way. He didn’t care what happened to Zoro. How dare he question his parenting skills?

“Chop Ch-”

“Buggy!”

Zoro and Buggy turned to see you walking up with a bag in one hand while the other rested against Mae’s back. The baby was sleeping against your chest peacefully. You held the bag up with a smile. “I went ahead and picked up lunch for us.”

“Mommy!” Lil squealed excitedly as she squirmed in Buggy’s arms. He set her down and she took off for you. He shot Zoro one more glare before he went to join you, taking the bag and baby from you as you picked Lil up and spun her around. The little girl wrapped her arms around your neck and buried her face against you. You chuckled and gave Buggy a kiss on the cheek as he stood next to you.

“What’s going on?” You asked, looking between Zoro and Buggy.

“Nothing.” Buggy grumbled as he turned his attention to his girls. “Let’s head back to the ship.”

You just nodded, gave a friendly wave to Zoro, and headed back in the direction you came from. Buggy lingered for a moment before glaring at Zoro.

“Thank… you for keeping an eye on her.” He said through gritted teeth; it looked as though it was physically painful for Buggy to say those words to him. “But don’t go near my kids again, Strawhat.”

“I don’t plan to, clown.” Zoro shot back as he crossed his arms. Buggy turned to follow after you, choosing not to pay attention when Lil’s head popped up over your shoulder to wave at Zoro. He grinned and waved back. Yea, he definitely didn’t want to babysit Buggy’s kids again.

The four of you were in your quarters. Mae was asleep in her cot while you lounged in bed with a book. Lil was curled up against you with her new toy, thumb in her mouth as she fought to keep her eyes open. She was convinced she was too old for naps, but after you settled down and Buggy stretched out beside you, Lil decided that she could lay in bed and not sleep, and it really didn’t take long until she was out like a light while you stroked her hair gently. You often did that to Buggy when he was moody and unable to sleep and you were pleased the trick worked on the girls.

“What’s on your mind, Buggy?” You murmured as you glanced up from your book. “You look like you sucked a lemon with how you’re scowling.”

He scowled at you, so you set your book down and reached over to run your fingers through his hair gently. He scooted closer, being mindful of the sleeping Lil.

“She got lost because of me.” He grumbled. “I lost her and one of those Strawhat punks had her.”

“Buggy, kids do this sort of thing.” You told him as he leaned into your touch. “And I’m glad someone you knew found her and not the Marines or something.”

“You’ve never lost her.” He mumbled. “You’re always right there and ready to get her. I turned my back for not even a minute and I lost her for almost an hour.”

You chuckled nervously. “I lost her on the ship three days ago, Buggy, while you were in a meeting. I had put Mae down for her nap and when I turned to look for Lil, she was gone. She disappears in a blink of an eye, and being at sea constantly makes it even more terrifying.”

“However, I found her just as you came out of the meeting. She hid behind the barrel that was next to the door and fell asleep.” You told him with a smile. “She had been saying she wanted to play with you but I kept telling her you would play after her nap, but she takes after her daddy when it comes to wanting something. She’ll do whatever she can before eventually giving up.”

“I never give up.” Buggy scoffed. You laughed softly and leaned down to kiss him on the nose. He turned red and glared at you. “Don’t compare me to a three year old.”

“Sorry, sorry, you’re right, you never give up, ever, but she’s three with no attention span.” You chuckled. “I just mean she’s so much like you, and I love that so much.” You smiled at him as you resumed playing with his hair. “So don’t worry, you’re a great dad and these two love you, and I love you, so don’t think for a second you’re a bad father because she got away from you.”

Buggy huffed softly and looked over at Lil. She was asleep, face smushed against your pillow with her thumb hanging out of her mouth. He was relieved she was safe, didn’t seem traumatized by the events of the day, and you weren’t upset with him, so he considered everything a win.

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x you #opla buggy the clown #opla buggy the clown x reader #opla buggy x reader #opla buggy the clown x you #opla buggy x you #buggy the clown x oc #buggy x oc #opla buggy x oc #opla buggy the clown x oc

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bellaxgiornata · 8 months

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Alright Matty, do I have your attention? The readers have spent the last week voting and I finally have your trash cat's name now. You ready for it?

FFTD Matt and Reader's new cat will be named Mittens! Thank you so much for the 200 of you who voted and helped pick their new ball of fur's name! I'm already working on the next installment for FFTD titled "The Stray" which might entirely be Matt’s POV as he interacts with the cat while Reader is briefly out and then when she comes back. I'll have to work up a conversation of how they name their trash cat now that he (yes, it's officially a he) has one!

If you're interested, there's a brief little unedited teaser of the very beginning of that installment below the cut!

Matt hunched over his steaming mug of coffee on the kitchen table, one of his hands running along his face as he tried to wake up. He was still dressed in only his boxers, finally crawling out of bed a little after he’d heard you leave the apartment. He knew you’d woken up early, excited to pick up the extra odds and ends for the cat that you’d excitedly ordered last night on your phone from the pet store just two blocks over. It had admittedly been adorable listening to how excited you got over picking out cat toys. A faint smile ghosted over Matt’s lips even now as he remembered the little shriek of excitement you’d made, grabbing at his arm beside you on the couch when you’d spotted sushi themed ones. Granted, Matt always thought you were adorable and found your excitement contagious. Drawing the mug of coffee to his lips, Matt could hear the soft patter of paws approaching him. He drank down the liquid before lowering the mug back to the table, his attention shifting to where he heard the cat sit down on the floor not too far from his chair. The soft swish of its tail back and forth was fast becoming a familiar sound around the apartment already. "She's not here right now," Matt told the cat. "So whatever manipulative face you've been giving her to get your way since yesterday? It won't work on me. Because I can't see it." A tiny mew met Matt’s ears, the cat's tail continuing to rhythmically move back and forth along the floor. "Yeah, you won," Matt told him. "Seems like you didn't belong to anyone after all those calls we made yesterday, so you get to stay here." He pointed a finger down towards the cat, his expression stern. "But don't think you get free run of this place destroying things just because she likes you so much. No scratching up the couch. Or knocking dishes off the kitchen shelves–especially the coffee mugs," he told the cat. "She's weirdly attached to a few of them. I don’t want her crying because you broke one." Another small meow met Matt’s ears and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. Pressing his lips firmly together, he fought the smile threatening to slip onto his face.

#fftd update info #fftd teaser #the trash cat has a name!!!#now I need to write the installment for it...#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock

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wardenparker · 1 year

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Bright Lights & Broken Dreams - pt 1

Dieter Bravo x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 19.6k Warnings: Drug and alcohol use (duh, it’s Dieter), mentions of dieting/food concerns, past pregnancy scare, young Dieter being a bit sleazy, the absolute sass of these two, emotional damage, self-doubt, puppy love, vaginal sex, protected sex, workplace quickie, one very determined slap, yelling/arguing, anger, mention of addiction. Summary: Taking a new film project at the last minute puts you in immediate proximity with the one man you swore you would never work with again - your old flame, Dieter Bravo. Notes: This story contains flashbacks! Nobody is underage, but it’s worth giving you a heads up, lovely reader, because this story jumps around in time.

It doesn't matter how many times you do this, each table read for a new project is always exciting. The feeling of giddiness starts in your toes and rolls all the way through you to the top of your head. It has you up and awake and ready to go this morning even without the coffee that is piping hot in your travel mug as you pull your car into one of the designated spots behind the soundstage in the studio lot. Ten years in Hollywood have been good to you - really good, if you're honest. And the years on Broadway had been amazing before that.

You've never taken for granted how impressive your resume is or how upward your career continues to climb, and that includes days like today. The studio had asked for you specifically, your agent said on the phone last night. Some timing issue with the original star that the director wanted and the producers were jumping on it to bring you in instead. No audition necessary, all contract terms agreed to with no questions asked. She even managed to negotiate a slightly higher salary for you than usual. Your best paid project to boot and it will be a character-driven drama. Surefire Oscar nominations. Everyone is over the moon about the project, she said. The only thing she didn't know was who you were playing opposite. Doesn't matter, you had told her cheerily. I'm a professional.

For the most part, the cast has arrived already when you walk into the room. There are some faces you recognize and some that you don't, but everyone is chatting merrily as they set themselves up at the table. Your coffee and water, pencil and highlighter all neatly frame the shooting script that the production assistant sets down in front of you when he also sets down your name tag - letting the other people in the room know who you are and who you're playing in the film. There's only one empty seat with five minutes left before the reading is set to begin, and you're busy replying to an e-mail about a public appearance to see the name on the tag of the person who will be sitting directly across from you.

Dieter Bravo.

******

Wincing behind his sunglasses, Dieter stumbles towards the conference room that has been designated for the table read. Unable to fathom why they insist on doing these damn things so fuckin' early. It's not like there's a scene that's going to be shot right after. Groaning, he reaches into his pocket to pull out the bottle where his aspirin, antacids and speed are all mixed together like a colorful little surprise every time he shakes some into his hand. "Goddamn." He huffs, popping a handful of them into his mouth, heedless of what they are and takes the already opened bottle of water that his long suffering assistant is holding out to him as she tries to hurry him along the sharply lit hallway. "Which one is this?" He asks, unsure of exactly what table read he is walking into. He barely pays attention to what his agent books for him anymore, just as long as he is working and there are the drugs he needs supplied, he is fine with whatever at this point.

"The working title is Ego Death." His assistant tells him, though she knows that isn't actually the question he's asking. 'It's the one filming partially in London and France." What he wants to know is where he's going. Where his partial vacation is going to be. This one, though, she doesn't mind so much. Working out of Pinewood Studios is actually one of her favorite places to be if they aren't filming at home in LA.

"Uh huh, uh huh." Dieter bobbles his head as he swallows the water and grimaces. He would prefer wine or a scotch to chase the pills but Desiree had demanded that he drink some water in the morning at least. To counteract all the non-water beverages he drinks later throughout the day. "Like France. The people seem to like me. I always get lucky in Paris."

“I know, Dee.” Of course, Desiree knows. She’s the one who has to fend off the angry one-night stands for a week or two afterward. Almost every single time. She sighs as they round the corner of the hallway. “Here we go. Conference Room C. The production assistant has me on call to come pick you up later, so I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Dieter shakes his arms and his head in an effort to clear his thoughts but all he does is make himself dizzy. Nearly tripping over the carpeted floor when he missteps and nearly goes crashing into the wall. "Fuck!" He yelps, waving her away immediately. "I'm good. Just..." He looks down at his crocks and huffs. "Fuckin' things are trying to kill me."

"Maybe next time you'll wear the tennis shoes I put out for you," his assistant suggests, knowing he never will. "Go on in, Dieter. You're actually on time."

"Why would I want to be on time?" He huffs, rolling his eyes and stopping short of the door so he can root around and look for the candy he had stuffed in his pockets. "Hey, can you get me some uh...some uh...shit?" He asks, forgetting the word for what he wants but he knows she will understand.

"Sweater pocket, not robe pocket." The little Italian hard candies that he likes are mandatory when he has anything to do that lasts more than an hour, like an edible fidget toy. Unfortunately, the fact that he's wearing a cardigan and a robe both with deep pockets means he loses track of things. "And being on time is respectful to your costars, Dee. And to the production staff. Which is why you are on time." She opens the conference room door pointedly. "I'll see you this afternoon."

He wants to grumble at her, point out that he is the star of this particular drama, but instead, he's turning towards the room full of people. Immediately cocking his head as he takes in the group behind the large, dark sunglasses. Smirking slightly at some and then his brows raise when he spots someone he never expected to see at a read through table with him.

You.

"You have to be fucking kidding me..." You look up when you hear the door open, expecting to see your final costar strolling in. Instead you're greeted with the vision of Dieter-fucking-Bravo being nearly shoved through the door by his assistant and your eyes dart down to the last remaining name tag. Dieter Bravo. It reads, and underneath it, his role. This is going to be an absolute fucking disaster.

You’re here. Quickly Dieter schools his expression into one of nonchalance and shuts down the urge to immediately ask why you are here. It’s pretty obvious when you are sitting across from the only empty seat. His seat. You’re his co-star. Dieter hisses under his breath and adopts a careless grin. “Hey everyone. Guess I made it. We can start.”

"Fantastic." The director is excited and nervous, trying his best to look and act in charge of this powerhouse cast that he's been lucky enough to assemble. This is his Oscar bait, right here in this room – the screenplay and the subject manner of the film are icing on the cake. "Welcome everyone. Good morning. The next few months are looking to be very exciting and we're going to get started quickly. This week is hair and makeup trials, costume fittings, and a few location details. Next week we'll be at Pinewood and we’ll finish with the location shoots in France. We're not wasting any time here."

"As long as there is time for playing, I'm good." Dieter jokes as he walks around to the swivel chair in front of a script book with his name on it. "Can't go to France and not play." He glances over at you, watching as you very pointedly look down at your script and inwardly scoffs at the very prim and fashionable outfit you are wearing. Everyone else is in casual clothes, but you are dressed to impress.

A reputation built on talent, hard work, and professionalism has made your name gold in this business, but Dieter never had to worry about any of that. The term nepo baby seems to have been invented just for him and that huge dynasty family of actors, directors, and producers that he's descended from. No wonder he has so little regard for everyone else's time. You shake your head to shake off the anger and flip open your script while the director talks on about plans for a speedy shooting schedule and getting ahead of the studio's timeline. It's the same stuff every director talks about in the beginning, and while you listen you jot down a few notes to yourself of questions you have and requests to pass on to your assistant. The most important being making sure that your hotel room is as far away from Dieter's as possible while you're on location.

Dieter pretends like he's not paying attention. He's good at that. A lifetime spent on stage and behind the scenes of sets leaves him with a sense of boredom when it comes to this kind of thing. Tapping his own pen on the script as he watches you scribble furiously like you are studying for a test.

"Alright, you all know how this works." When he's gotten through the speech that is meant to be inspiring and encouraging, your director sits down at the head of the long table and opens his own script. "Our first AD will read stage directions, you'll all read your roles, and we'll break for lunch before we touch base over questions and concerns." He is practically vibrating in his seat as he looks around. "Unless anyone has something they want to mention before we begin?"

"Yeah." Dieter twists lazily in his seat to look from the director towards you and he pulls his sunglasses down. "How did you come to work on this film?" He asks, smirking slightly as if he knows the answer. Conceited enough that he might just believe that you jumped at the chance to work with him again.

"I was asked." Sitting up straight in your seat, you reach for the travel mug full of coffee that you brought and instantly wish there was brandy in it as well. "I was told there was a timing issue with the previous leading lady, but now I'm wondering if she didn't pull out after finding out who she was going to have to put up with." Something you might consider doing, too, if you had found out before showing up here today. Now it would just give him too much satisfaction to feel like he won something, and you would never give him any satisfaction.

Snorting, Dieter grins as he looks around the room, not even caring that plenty of people are shuffling uncomfortably in their seats. "You mean the only one in this room with that little golden statue?" He asks, eyes finding yours again.

"And the only one who will shove it in everyone else's faces?" He would bring up your most recent snub in a room full of people just to be a dick. It was barely three weeks ago that you lost that Oscar and the wound is still fresh. Of course, it was freshest the next morning, when he had gloatingly sent a Better luck next time style note to your house. How the bastard had your address was beyond you.

"Nahhhh." Dieter shakes his head. "I keep that on display at home. I don't just carry it around." He chuckles quietly at his own comment and shrugs. "Sure that you'll get one, one day."

Your lips are pursed as you look down at your script after taking a sip of coffee, and you scrawl a note in the margins of your script to remind yourself that this would be an excellent picture to elevate yourself to executive producer on. If he's going to be petty, then you're going to be petty's boss.

Bored of bantering with you, Dieter drops his pen and grunts, reaching for his pocket to try to hunt down another one of those candies. Knowing that if he kept up, he would say something that he might actually feel bad about. Which was rare for him.

"Okay. Well." When your director clears his throat it's nervous instead of excited. "Let's get started, shall we?"

Unwrapping a candy, Dieter halfway listens as he opens the script and squints at the page. He needs goddamn glasses but he's too vain to get them and despite snorting powder and popping pills, the idea of sticking his fucking fingers in his eyeballs makes him squeamish.

It's a rocky start. You aren't vain enough to claim otherwise. And the looks on the faces of your castmates and the present members of the production team say so also. Dieter is tripping over his words despite not seeming to be overtly intoxicated and is causing the reading to take twice as long. By the time you get halfway through – to the scene containing a slap, a screaming match, and a smashed prop – you're feeling like this won't be acting at all. Starring in a movie opposite Dieter is going to be exactly as infuriating and maddening as you suspected it would be.

"Who wrote this shit?" Dieter scoffs, irritated with the way that the read is going. "It doesn't flow. It's gotta flow." He looks around for support from some of the other cast and then towards the director. "Not to act like an ass but who talks like this? We are supposed to be in the 1920's not the 1720's."

"Perhaps the problem isn't with the writing but with the reading." After the way he snarked at you in the beginning, you aren't about to let the director take Dieter's vitriol alone.

"Why don't we take a quick five?" He suggests, looking around to see relief on some of the actors' faces as they nod in agreement. "That's five, everyone. Grab a drink or a snack if you need it, bathrooms are down the hall."

Sneering at you, Dieter pushes away from the table and stomps off, needing to piss and to see why the hell the speed he had taken isn't working. Maybe he didn't manage to take any. "Fuck this."

"Hello?" Desiree wasn't expecting to see her boss's name pop up on the caller ID for another hour bare minimum, and she puts down the other half of her sandwich in resignation when she picks up the call. If Dieter is calling, something has upset him. "How's the reading going, Dee?" She asks with a pointedly cheerful tone in her voice.

"Get me the fuck out of this." Dieter growls, holding the phone away from his head. He hates the damn bluetooth built into every damn device. It fucks with his brain waves and he feels weird. "I don't give a shit how, I'm not doing this fucking piece of shit movie."

"You loved the script when you read it." His assistant frowns on the other end of the line. "You have a studio contract, Dee, and you already wriggled your way out of the thriller they wanted you to do. This is it. There's not a way out of this that doesn't involve you getting sued and losing a ton of work." She sighs softly, rolling through the possible things that could have upset him when she lands on the most likely. "Is there someone I need to push to have recast?"

Your name is on the tip of his tongue. Unease and unresolved issues with you curl and curdle in his gut and he opens his mouth to tell her exactly who he wants to have gone. But then he realizes if he does, you win. You would see it as a victory. "No." He grunts into the phone, sighing softly. "Fuck this."

"I'll see if I can arrange some extra goodies for you from the production staff." Desiree offers, knowing that getting him treats of any kind usually eases Dieter's grumpiness. "You contract riders were all agreed to, but there are always upgrades we can negotiate for. I'll see what I can manage. How does that sound?"

"I better get some KitKats too." Dieter huffs, pouting because he's going to have to deal with the sass and snark, the fucking attitude of filming with you. "Lots of them."

"I'll see what extra flavors I can get imported." As his go-to candy, the list of places to procure specialty KitKats and country-exclusive flavors is one Desiree can navigate with her eyes closed and half asleep.

"Okay." Dieter agrees after a long moment. "Hey, uh, can you schedule me an appointment for that surgery to fix your eyes?"

"I can..." Desiree pauses in thought. "I'll have to arrange it for during filming. We won't be able to get an appointment before you have to be on location."

"Do it." He grunts, rubbing his eyes. "Can barely see the fuckin' script."

"I'll pull what strings I have to." Any weakness Dieter actually admits to is worth noting, and she pushes her plate away to pull out her iPad. The agenda she keeps coordinates both of their schedules and even though he never actually checks it, it's invaluable to her. "You should get back to the reading, Dee. I'll take care of everything." After all – that is her job.

In the bathroom, Dieter leans in and stares at his reflection in the mirror. He blows out a sigh, able to see the wrinkles that are starting to crease his face, some of the gray that is starting to creep into the scruff on the side of his face. He's fucking 38 years old in two months. He's getting old. Maybe he'll get his ears pierced.

******

"Sam." As soon as Dieter is gone from the room, you slide out of your seat to go speak to the director. He's not too green in the business, but hasn't been around enough to be jaded yet, which gives you a little hope that he can be spoken to like a reasonable person. "Can I grab you for a second?"

"What's on your mind?" He asks, reaching for his bottle of water and twisting the cap off. Hoping that this tense atmosphere that has descended over the table read is just a one off. Maybe it would count as the trouble on set and the rest of the production would roll smoothly.

"First of all, I wanted to apologize." Humbling yourself isn't exactly a bad idea considering you were half the cause of the ruckus this morning, and you offer the director an appropriate frown. "Obviously that wasn't the first impression I had wanted to make on you, and it won't be repeated. I hope you can forgive and forget?"

"For what?" Sam shakes his head. "I knew that Dieter was going to cause waves. It's one of the reasons I wanted to work with him. He's unpredictable!"

“He certainly is that.” In a way that makes your chest clench on the verge of simply caving in. “I wondered if I could ask you something, Sam? Obviously I’m coming into this late and meeting people for the first time, but the script is wonderful.” Despite what some people say, you want to add, but keep your mouth shut since you just apologized for mouthing off. “I was wondering how your production team has fleshed out. And whether or not you might have room for one more?”

Sam tilts his head thoughtfully and seems to mull it over. "You know...I do." He hums, eyes lighting up. "I'll have to ask Dieter if he wants the billing. It'll go great with the studio."

“Not exactly what I had in mind when I asked.” It takes biting the inside of your lip to keep from saying something snarky or downright disrespectful. “Unpredictable is great for an artist. But not really what you want in someone controlling the purse strings, if you know what I mean.”

Sam rolls his eyes at himself and sighs. "Yeah. I can see where that would go wrong if Dieter decides to pull some kind of stunt." He agrees reluctantly before turning his gaze on you and studies you. "I'm assuming that you want the spot on the executive production team?"

“Otherwise what’s the point in asking?” You have a good reputation and an exemplary track record, so your desire to be Dieter’s boss aside – it’s actually not a bad deal for this young director. “I can get you some references if you’re on the fence, but I can assure you ahead of time that they’ll be glowing.”

Tapping the water bottle against his palm, Sam hums. "Yeah, send me an email and I will look it over tonight, okay?" He reaches out and pats your shoulder. "How do you feel about the role? Excited?"

“I really am, yeah.” In fact, the role had endless and exciting artistic appeal before you realized who you were playing opposite. “She’s an extremely intelligent and volatile woman, and I think the audience of people who will be able to relate to her is huge. You’ve got a great picture on your hands here.” As long as Dieter doesn’t fuck it up.

"I know you will be able to bring her to life." Sam offers, his own excitement for the film shining brightly as he starts to twitch. "We are going to make it happen. That Oscar that you should have won this year."

“That’s very nice of you.” Though you do wish people would stop mentioning it. The wound is still a little fresh. “I really think we have something special here. This summer will be a lot of hard work but really worth it.”

"Well, you go get a snack and some water, I'm going to go – uh, use the restroom and we will get the table read done." Sam nods towards you and steps around you to make a hurried rush towards the bathroom.

Satisfied that you saved a conversation that might have taken a very undesirable turn, you let yourself linger at the craft services table and make another cup of coffee to go with the pastry you don’t let yourself grab. You’ll be fine until you can get out of here and have something homemade. Fewer calories that way.

"They have anything with chocolate?" Dieter asks, stepping up beside you as he surveys the table. Slightly disappointed with the options today. If this shit keeps up, he will have to ask that another caterer is brought in. There's too much rabbit food here.

“No.” Tight lipped the second you realize he’s standing next to you, your shoulders tense but you exhale slowly to try not to show it. You know damn well he’s looking for candy and that there’s chocolate in some of the pastries, but you’re not going to tell him shit. “Looks like you’ll have to survive off something other than intoxicants for at least another couple of hours.”

"Well, shit." He grunts, scratching his belly and glancing over at you. "What's got your panties in a fucking twist?" He asks when you don't even look over at him.

“Don’t for one second think you had any effect whatsoever on my panties.” You bite out, focusing on not shaking with actual anger or frustration.

"Oh but I used to." Dieter chuckles and decides that he will blow up that bridge that he had been hanging on to. "So tell me..." he leans in and smirks at you. "How's the kid?" The sarcasm is lacing every word and he chuckles again.

“Go to hell, Bravo.” Without sparing him even a cursory glance, you turn on your heel and walk away. Just because you have to work with him does not mean you have to be sociable.

"So, good?" Dieter shouts after you, grinning at the way your back couldn't get any straighter if you had a board strapped to it. You don't even turn your head and after you walk out of sight, Dieter slumps slightly, the victory not as sweet as he had imagined it would be.

Without warning you’re twenty-one again and staring at the walls of your fifth-floor studio walk up the day after he left. Up and left without a word, not even to you. The pregnancy test in the trash and the telephone that never rings both taunt you, speaking volumes without ever saying a word. “Perfect.” You grit out, knowing very well that he knows you don’t have any children. Though he doesn’t know what happened at all.

******

"Hello, gorgeous." Dieter slides into the seat beside you and flashes you a charming grin, eyes lighting up when he sees the way your eyes flutter and your lip is pulled between your teeth. "I hear from a little birdie, you are going to be my co-star." He had seen your audition and actually told the producer of the play that you were his choice for the lead.

"H–hi." God, he's even more handsome in person, is the first thought in your head when you turn your head to see the former child star Dieter Bravo sidling up to you in the theater. You had gotten here early to try to set your mind straight before the first rehearsal but now it's already hazy from his smile. "Yeah, I–I'm playing Catherine." You're playing his wife – his wife – and it even includes an onstage kiss. It's enough to have your nerves on high alert, but you're so excited.

"Your audition was good, great even." Dieter praises, twisting in his seat and making sure you feel the full force of his smile up close. His mother always said his smile was what drew people in. At least when he was younger. Now that he's in his twenties, he's going through that slump that most child actors seem to endure, hoping like hell that he can spend a few years on stage before he gets his chance to show Hollywood what he can do as an adult. "I told Danny he was an idiot if he didn't cast you."

"You liked my audition?" Fresh out of acting academia, auditioning for Broadway of all things was a longshot, but here you are. Your very first Broadway audition turning into your very first Broadway show. With the world's most gorgeous stage husband, to boot. "I...that's so nice of you! I'm just– I'm so excited for this show. A–and to work with you. It's just...it's a dream come true."

"Yeah?" Dieter grins, already sensing the crush you have on him and liking the way your shy and eager smile makes him feel. "Well, we have to make sure that we make all of your dreams come true, Bambi."

"Bambi?" You knew you looked flustered, but do you really look so ridiculous that he's calling you a deer in the headlights? The idea is completely horrifying and you bite your lip again, unintentionally making yourself look all the more innocent and sweet.

"Fuck." Dieter groans, imagining that innocent look on your face as you look up at him from your knees with his cock in your mouth. "Sweet, innocent little doe eyes." He explains, reaching out and brushing a piece of pastry off your cheek from where you had already raided the coffee cart.

"Oh." At least it's nothing bad - nothing you need to be mortified over. Though your cheeks might completely catch fire if he touches you unprompted again. You weren't expecting it and you feel like you're going to spontaneously combust. "I–um...that's very sweet. But are you okay?" Concern shines through, knitting your eyebrows together temporarily. "You swore and it sounded like...pain? Maybe?"

Are you a virgin? Dieter's eyes sparkle and he shakes his head as he grins. "No, nothing I can't handle, though I might ask you for some assistance later on." He flirts.

"Oh, of course!" Nodding before you could possibly hesitate, you're leaning toward him in your seat like there's some kind of magnet drawing you in. "Did you want to run lines after rehearsal or something?"

Chuckling, Dieter nods. "Something like that." He confides, leaning in. "Think we need to run some chemistry tests." He suggests. "You know, so we don't fumble on stage."

"Oh, of course." Chemistry tests were something you had heard about from your friends who had already gone out to LA to audition for movies, but they were rare in theater as far as you knew. Or at least they never got called that. Working with a movie star was going to be so different, you could tell already. "That–that sounds like a perfect idea. The last thing we want is to hold up rehearsals being awkward on stage, right?"

"Sooooooo." God, you are innocent and Dieter's cock twitching in his pants at how quickly you agree to his idea. "I say we do our read through, and we go get dinner." He offers. "You know…talk."

"Right." Your head bobs in total agreement, pulse quickening at the idea of it. Just because you've nursed a little crush on him for about forever does not mean anything else. This is work. Your career. You're just incredibly goddamn lucky that you get to do it – the play – with him. "Yeah, absolutely. Get a...a foundation for knowing each other, right?"

"Right." Dieter grins and bites his lip. "It doesn't hurt that I think you're very beautiful." He admits with a small wink. You are pretty, you are fresh faced but he hadn't been lying. You did have incredible potential for someone right out of your acting class.

If you spontaneously combust on that spot, it will be from that wink and that wink alone. You can barely squeak out a "thank you" without feeling like your entire face is on fire.

"Awww, don't be shy." He coos, even though he loves it and wants you to keep being shy for him. This narrow window before you get comfortable with him is very finite and he wants to enjoy it. "You and I are going to get real close."

"It's such an amazing opportunity." Maybe for him things like this are old hat, but for you? This is a literal dream come true. It flies in the face of every time your parents told you acting could never be a realistic career choice, or every teacher who had told you that you weren't enough somehow. This is the big time.

Grinning, he leans back in his seat and picks up the drink that he had managed to snag before turning his attention to you. Only taking his eyes off you when the producer comes into the room. Casually sliding his arm around you and shuffling closer as the producer starts to speak. "Here we go." He grins, knowing that this will change both of your lives.

******

The hotel they have the cast and crew booked into is right in the heart of London, tidy modern rooms with all the amenities and specifically suited to dealing with large groups of long-term guests. The kitchen does room service 24-hours a day and there is a coffee machine in your room, along with a kettle and a microwave so you can do a few things yourself. It's a suite even if it's on the small side, and you don't mind that. This is work, after all. Not a vacation. If you want to have fun during your free time you can always go out. The view, at least, is fantastic. Sitting out on your balcony to enjoy the view, you're putting off unpacking just a little bit – until the French doors of the balcony next to you open. Why is Dieter in the room right next to you?

Groaning, Dieter opens the door and stretches, making sure that he scratches his stomach as he takes in the view. "Ohhhh shit, I love London." he shouts out, grinning when a few people down on the street below look up at him.

"So much for using my balcony," you grouse, immediately shoving out of the chair and going back inside. You'll have to restrict your usage to when Dieter is passed out or on set without you.

“Oh seriously?” The movement catches his eye and Dieter turns to see you getting up and puffing up like an angry ostrich as you stomp towards your slider door. “You can’t stand to be around me?” He demands, oddly hurt by the idea. “There was a time you loved being in my presence.”

Pausing halfway through the door, you look back at him with an expression that can only be described as undisguised hurt. You had been aiming for disgust and fallen slightly short despite your best effort. "Unbelievably enough, I grew out of it."

“What would you have had me do?” Dieter asks, flapping his hands in the air. “Stay?” He had the opportunity of a lifetime. The break that made him Dieter Bravo, actor and not just Dieter Bravo, child actor. He couldn’t have risked it. Wouldn’t risk it to be trapped by an obvious scam.

Tamping down the urge to just straight out scream at him, you cross your arms over the chest and force yourself to sigh out the angry breath you took. "You could have at least said goodbye."

Dieter frowns at you, unwilling to admit that he had fumbled that. Been unable to say goodbye in his panicked state. He barely remembers packing or getting on the fucking plane. Didn’t help he was blazed out of his fucking mind. “I said I had to go.”

"You told the production team. Not me." You correct him, biting out every word like the English language itself personally offended you. "You didn't say goodbye. You didn't return a single fucking phone call, text message, or e-mail. Nothing. What if I had been pregnant?" Feeling your voice rise, you squeeze your eyes shut and shudder on another deep exhale. "You abandoned me flat and made me the butt of jokes in interviews for years. How am I supposed to forgive that?"

“Forgive me?” Dieter looks personally offended by the question. “Don’t give me some sob story, you tried to baby trap me!” He huffs at you. “Who peed on the stick for you? Mandy? That girl was always pregnant. Sold the pee sticks for $30 bucks a pop to rope whatever poor bastard was on the fence with some girl.”

"I was terrified." The anger is right back on the surface in an instant, and you hate yourself for how close to tears you are. "I was so fucking–" In love with him, that's the real end of that sentence, but you veer off course rather than ever admit that to him. "Scared that I did two whole boxes of tests and went to a doctor the day after you straight out abandoned me. It was a false positive, you son of a bitch. Six of them, to be exact. It took an actual doctor's office to tell me I wasn't carrying a bastard's baby."

The rate at which Dieter deflates would almost be comical, robe tie dragging on the ground when his entire body just seems to slump. He’s held onto the idea you were trying to trap him for years, reminding him of why he was right to leave you without another word. His father’s words ringing in his ears. “Oh.”

"Oh." Your huff of disgust could rattle windows. "Is that all you have to say?"

Dieter frowns, not capable of processing the complex emotions that are trying to creep through his mind. Long repressed feelings threatening to bubble to the surface. He bites his lip and looks up at where you are staring at him. Still fuckin pretty but no longer the innocent 21-year-old you were when he met you. “Do you want—” he licks his lips and swallows, “–to have sex with me?” He asks, lifting his brows.

"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ." It doesn't even deserve an answer and you don't give him one, just turn to walk into your room, slamming the glass door behind you so it rattles so hard it threatens to shatter.

“Fuck.” Dieter hisses quietly, staring at your door for another moment before he decides that he is way too sober to deal with this new information. His emergency stash needs to be broken into and he has a feeling he will eat three KitKats for dinner.

This whole fucking production is going to be agony, you can feel it right in the front of your skull where your migraine is forming as you dry sob on the sofa in the front room of your suite. There's no way you can face anybody tonight – not with the way you're feeling now. It's going to be room service and an early night with aromatherapy, you can feel it.

******

He’s a hell of a lot more alert than he should be, all things considered. Taking several downers last night so he could get the image of your hurt face out of his mind. Grunting as he nurses his coffee and sits in the makeup chair for his call time.

There are twice as many shots of espresso in your travel mug this morning as there should be, but you had overheard some of the production team giggling about how handsome Dieter is as soon as you opened the door to your suite and it had caused you to turn right around and brew yourself a double dose to summon the strength to face the day. Your own assistant – bless her – is walking by your side trying to tell you about the shooting schedule for the day, but you feel like you're walking through fog. "Sadie, I'm sorry," you put one hand on her arm in the elevator and offer her an apologetic expression. "Will you give me that again? I'm not myself this morning."

“Are you alright?” Concern laces her expression as she looks up from her phone. You have been a dream to work for and she cares about you. Not because of her job, but because you don’t treat her like an accessory. “You’ve seemed…off since the table read.”

“I have absolutely been off since the table read.” You can admit that to her with ease. “I’ll be okay.” It’s a small reassurance, as you rub your eyes and lean against the elevator wall. “Just…what scenes are we shooting today?”

“The big argument.” Sadie explains, wincing slightly. It’s always tense when the high emotion scenes are filmed. “They felt like it would be good considering the…tension during the table read.”

“Ah.” You nod, knowing you’ll have no trouble getting mad at Dieter at any point. They always say that drawing from personal experience is the way to portray genuine emotion — well, that will be extremely easy. “I can’t say I blame them. It makes sense to get something that big when you’ve seen the tension first hand.”

“And hopefully that will get it out of the way.” She doesn’t know why there is tension between you and Dieter, but there are already rumors swirling between the production team.

“I sincerely doubt it.” You take a sip of your coffee and look at your assistant, knowing that she has as quick and shrewd a mind as anyone you’ve ever met. She’s more than your assistant – Sadie is your right arm. She’s your friend. “You have that face.” The elevator hits the bottom floor and opens, letting the two of you out. “There’s already talk, isn’t there?”

“Some.” She admits, biting her lip. “More…speculation than anything right now. But I’m sure that someone curious will find something.” If there’s something to be found is silently hanging after her comment.

You swallow a sigh and nod, heading through the lobby with her to the hotel’s parking structure where your rental car waits. “Why don’t you drive us to set, and I’ll tell you what happened? Better you should hear it from me than some gossipy PA.”

“It’s none of my business.” Of course, she desperately wants to know, but she also knows that being vulnerable is probably the thing you hate most with others. She gets the sense you’ve been hurt badly before.

“You’ve been my assistant – and my friend – for six years, you deserve the dignity of the truth.” This is the woman who has taken care of you, shielded you, catered to you, and protected you every single day without argument or complaint. She hears every rumor and knows which ones to squash versus which ones can be stoked. She fields requests from professionals in every area of life. She’s even fended off your father when he came looking for money on multiple occasions. The truth is the least you can do. “Most people in the movie industry don’t pay attention to theater,” you begin when you climb into the little Citroen that has been supplied for you by the production company. “But that’s where I started. After NYU, I got incredibly lucky and I went right to Broadway. The—” It brings back enough memories, vivid ones, that you have to clear your throat to go on. “The male lead was from a dynasty family. He saw my audition and had me cast. And then…promptly talked his way into my bed. I was just a kid and I really didn’t know any better. But he…he always knew exactly the right words. Exactly the right touch. You would feel like you were the only person in the whole world when he gave you his attention.”

Shit. Sadie’s face falls and she sighs softly. She was a huge fan of Dieter Bravo’s when he hit Hollywood as an adult. Enough to know that it sounds exactly like him. She hadn’t put the timeline together until it was laid out for her. “And it ended badly?” The fallout from a failed romance would definitely cause acrimony. Look at Lena Heady and Jerome Flynn.

“That’s a very polite way of saying it.” You look out the window and sigh at the rainy London streets moving by. “It started that first night and kept going the whole time. Until one day before call I…I told him that I thought I was pregnant and he took off without a word. That night his understudy went on and that was it.”

“Holy shit! Are you serious?” Furious on your behalf, Sadie huffs and shakes her head. “Asshole! I hope you enjoy slapping the shit out of him today.”

“Oh, I will.” There are probably few things you will ever enjoy as much in your life. “He had the nerve to say that I tried to baby trap him.” The accusation is still ringing in your ears from last night, and you’re only glad it’s not obvious how much you cried. It’s humiliating to admit that your days of crying over that asshole aren’t over. “I was twenty-one. Having a baby would have ended my career before it could begin.”

“Jesus.” Sadie snorts, shaking her head. “I know that there was a rash of that around that time, but that’s just…cruel.”

“So you can understand why I have been a little more tense lately.” You shake your head and fold your hands in your lap, trying to refocus your energy and not wallow. “I’m sorry if I’ve unintentionally said or done something to upset you while I’ve been distracted.”

“Not at all.” You were probably the best boss she could have ever asked for and in turn, she is highly protective of you. Anyone who wanted to paint you in a negative light would have to hear from her. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

“That’s very kind of you.” Of course it is. Sadie is an inherently kind person who takes absolutely no shit. It’s one of the things you loved about her right from the day you interviewed her. “I don’t know anything about his assistant, but it might be worth making friends early, if you can. He’s exactly petty enough to try to cause problems and he might use them for that.”

She smirks and looks over at you as if you are behind the curve. “We had drinks last night.” She informs you. “So I’m already on that.”

“Oh yeah?” If Sadie ever outgrows you as a client you’ll be damned upset about it. She really is the best. “What kind of poor suffering idiot does he have working for him?”

“His agent suffers no fools and knows exactly who her client is.” Sadie chuckles. “His assistant is very sexy, very gay and would probably do well working as a dominatrix if being Dieter’s assistant didn’t pan out.”

“Gay, huh?” That makes you huff a laugh under your breath, assuming it wasn’t done by accident. A lesbian would never have any interest sleeping with Dieter - making it the smartest possible choice. “Sexy in general or sexy your type?”

“Sexy as in definitely my type.” Sadie confirms with a grin. “She’s got Dieter down, so apparently a lot of his bullshit is just bluster. She says he’s a needy, surprisingly emotional, manchild.” She snorts. “Who talks about Bambi in his sleep.”

“What did you just say?” It’s a good thing that she was pulling up to a stoplight anyway, because Sadie slams on the brakes of the car in surprise and jolts both of you forward. “Did you just say Bambi?”

“What? Something wrong?” Your reaction is far stronger than amusement about a Disney movie. “She just said he cries about Bambi in his sleep, then refuses to talk about it and makes sure to get really blazed right after.” She huffs. “Maybe he dreams about his mother getting shot by a hunter.”

“I—um—” all of a sudden your throat has run dry and your head feels like it’s spinning. “He cries?” You ask, almost afraid to have it confirmed.

“That’s what she said.” The light turns green and she cautiously starts driving again. “Why? Does Bambi mean anything?”

"It–" Your voice wavers with uncertainty, making you pull in on yourself in a way you haven't done for years before this week. "I don't think I have to remind you that there are things you know about me that no one else in the world does."

“Of course.” This will be filed under Tell No One, apparently. A standard NDA is in place, but this is personal. “Not a word to anyone.”

"That's..." After not breathing a word of it to anybody for years, it feels disorienting to talk about. "That's what he called me...Bambi."

“Shit.” Sadie’s eyes widen and her head whips around to stare at you in shock. “You don’t think— no.” She shakes her head. “You think that he’s dreaming about you?” She asks quietly.

"I don't think anything." You murmur, slumping slightly in your seat as she pulls back into traffic to head to the studio. "But if his assistant brings it up again, will you try to remember what she says?"

“I’m planning on having dinner with her tonight.” She reveals and nods. “I’ll try to bring it up casually and tell you what she says.”

"Don't ruin your date with my bad decisions." If Sadie has actually found someone to spend time with despite her crazy schedule - which is your fault - and who understands how demanding her job is - also your fault - then you don't want to sully it with your own concerns.

“Are you kidding?” She laughs. “Talking about her boss’s antics is something she relishes.” She snorts playfully. “Especially since I’m an assistant too.”

"Have fun and don't break any NDAs," you huff a small laugh, glancing at her as she drives. "I'll look forward to some room service and Netflix tonight. You deserve to have fun."

“Why don’t you go out?” She suggests. “We are in London. Go to some pubs. See some sights.” It’s not a wild suggestion, but she doesn’t want you to feel trapped in your room.

"I guess I could." It would save you from being in the room right next door to Dieter for whatever naïve production assistant he talks into sleeping with him. You turn to watch Sadie again before batting your eyelashes at her hopefully. "Could I ask you to load some money onto an Oyster card for me today and tuck it into my wallet so I can go out after filming if I'm up to it?" It will save you from having to hang out at one of the machines, and moving quickly means you're more likely to blend in and not be recognized, although it is an extra stop for her to have to make today.

“Done.” Sadie will take care of that just as soon as she gets you into hair and makeup. Knowing that you will feel better when you go out and see some things that will interest you. Get away from Dieter. “I will even come up with a map to show where to go for some things you will like.”

"You're an angel." She really does take such impressively good care of you, it's unbelievable. "Put your dinner tonight on my credit card, okay? Take her someplace over the top, even if you have to use my name to get the reservation."

“Thanks.” She pulls into the parking lot where trailers and tents have been set up. The production team has been working around the clock to get everything ready and she sighs. “Well, now you just have to survive the first day.”

"Think happy thoughts for me." With a sigh of your own, you haul yourself out of the car and double check that you have everything before waving goodbye and heading for your trailer.

******

Dieter has his eyes closed, murmuring his lines to himself as Monique, a goddess of a makeup artist, finishes his look for the scene. Peaceful now that he’s had his coffee, he leans back in the chair with a small sigh.

You had desperately been hoping that he would already be done in the hair and makeup trailer before you went in, but when you open the door he's right there with his eyes closed and that stupid slappable smirk on his face and you bite back a sigh. "Good morning." Focusing on the fact that the production was amenable to bringing your own makeup artist along for the production, you give Rivkah a hug. "Ready to do this?"

"Absolutely." Rivkah gives you a brilliant smile and smirks over at where Dieter is sitting. "It won't be hard this time, huh?" She teases quietly as she starts to pull your hair back and pin it so that not a single strand will get in her way.

"Today might not be." You'll flip through your pages one more time while you're in the chair, but this fight scene is going to be a doozy. Thrown furniture, punching holes in walls, and throwing each other around a little in addition to the slap means that this scene will be the only thing you film today and that you'll have a stunt coordinator on sight, but it will be worth it to get some of this tension out.

"Ohhhhh don't lie." Dieter cracks one eye open and points it towards you. "You know you're looking forward to it."

"Slapping you?" You clarify dryly without even looking over at him. "I'm practically giddy about it."

"Mhmmm." Dieter hums knowingly and closes his eyes again. "Have to make sure I don't get too excited." He jokes, knowing that he doesn't actually like to be slapped around. He doesn't even like it when he stubs his toe. Pain isn't his idea of a good time. "Might need some breaks."

"I promise not to make Monique's job any harder than it already is." It only adds insult to injury that Dieter grew from a handsome and charismatic young man into an even more attractive and charming adult, but you know that the version of himself he presents to the camera is only one dimension of the man. He had been comfortable enough with you back then to let you see more than just that side of him, which had been one of the things that convinced you then that you truly had feelings for him. Now, it just means that you can bruise his ego a little with only a few words.

Dieter huffs, frowning slightly and then remembering the wrinkles in the mirror, immediately tries to relax his face. Hurt by the implication that he was hard to make look good, especially when you used to coo over him and tell him how fucking sexy he was. "Least your tits aren't saggy." He shoots back. "Get 'em done?"

"On what planet would I answer that?" There's no keeping the annoyance out of your voice, but at least you don't huff at him. "You'll never find out either way." But you do make a mental note to talk to the intimacy coordinator about modesty garments. Hopefully the director won't want to show too much skin.

He snorts, nearly about to remind you that he has seen everything, but he doesn't. Despite his reputation as a dick sometimes, he would prefer to keep that memory private. "Your loss, toots." He dismisses you, settling back into his chair and smirks up at Monique. "She thinks I'm pretty, don't you?"

"Of course, Dee." Monique smiles, coaxing Dieter's chin back into a straight line so she can finish his hair. She's worked in films and television for a decade and with Dieter for almost all of those years. She knows better than to express an actual opinion. Although, in this case, Dieter is handsome.

"See?" Almost as if it was validation, Dieter settles back with a smug smile on his face. "God I love your fingers in my hair." He moans softly. "I could sleep like this. Could I pay you to do that? Play with my hair while I sleep?"

"Not my line of work, unfortunately." It does make Monique laugh, though. A small chuckle from the middle of her chest. "Might make a bit more money if it was, though."

It's all you can do not to react, and you bite the inside of your lip hard while Rivkah starts brushing your hair. The sound of Dieter moaning shouldn't produce such a visceral reaction twelve years later, but apparently it does. That is embarrassing.

"Yeah you would." Dieter sighs out, stretching his legs and flexing them slightly. "God, I hate that trainer." He complains, massaging his thigh gently and hissing at the soreness. "You would think I would sleep better but noooo."

"Calprofen?" Monique gestures to the little kit under her work station that you have to assume is a first-aid kit. Everybody in this room knows he routinely takes things that are much stronger, but not one of you is going to provide it for him.

"Nahhhh." Dieter reaches into his pocket and pulls out an unassuming bottle of aspirin. "I've got some fuckin' Aleve here." Unlike his normal pill bottle, this one is simply the pain reliever. He makes it a point to not pop anything while he is on set. It's unprofessional in his opinion.

When you snort derisively in your chair beside him, it's a knee jerk reaction and not a calculated insult. There's no way what's in that bottle is just naproxen. Not with what you've heard about his pill popping or the obvious smell of pot that emanated from his hotel suite all last night.

Pausing, Dieter stares in the mirror at you for a second, glowering before he pops the Aleve in his mouth and grunts at the uncoated pill. He knows that the other illicit pills he takes aren't coated, but they make him feel a hell of a lot better than Aleve does.

"So, Riv." You shift your attention in the mirror to chat with the woman who has been doing your hair and makeup for almost everything for the last five years. "Planning to do or see anything fun while we're shooting? You always like London."

It's oddly insulting that you ignore him, making him sit back in his chair and cross his arms over his chest. Almost done with hair and makeup so he can go to costuming. Silently listening to you and your artist talk while he pouts.

It’s not that you don’t notice. You notice every second of it. The childish pout of a grown ass man who isn’t getting the attention he wants, so you keep denying him on purpose. Except it doesn’t feel nearly as good as it should, because there is an echo of Sadie’s voice in your head as she tells you that he cries for Bambi in his sleep and dopes himself to forget it. And now it’s guilt crawling in your belly instead of ugly satisfaction.

The second that Monique pats his shoulder, the signal for him being done, Dieter shoots out of his chair. Spinning around and reaching for her to kiss her cheek. "You are a goddess." He praises softly, giving her a wink. "One day, one day you'll give in." He teases playfully. He asked her to sleep with him years ago when they first met and she turned him down. He will joke about it, but he's not pushing for it. "Thank you, love."

“Go on and get dressed,” she shoos him out with affection, years of working together giving her an affection for the man that has grown into respect. When he leaves, though, she sits down in his recently emptied chair for a second before scurrying to clean up.

Why do you have to be working on this movie? Dieter curses his luck as he walks through the sea of trailers that have been set up, hands shoved in his pockets so he doesn't rub his face. He's gone twelve fucking years without having to deal with you face to face unless you count that one afterparty that he had spotted you across the room. Unsure of why he feels so goddamn guilty about the way your eyes had glazed up last night, as if you were telling the truth. You weren't. You are an actor. A fucking phenomenal one at that. You lie for a living and you had been lying about that. There had never been a baby. He reminds himself of that and shakes his head, eager to get today's filming in the can so he can go back to his room and get blitzed.

******

“Come in!” The knock on your dressing room door isn’t unusual, especially since you like to get to the theater early to go over your script and meditate before doing your hair and makeup and getting into costume. You’ve just turned the kettle off and poured an enormous cup – okay, bowl – of tea when the sound comes loudly and clearly from behind you.

"Heyyyyy." Dieter pokes his head into your dressing room and grins at you. "You busy?" He asks, raising his eyebrows and pushing inside the room because he knows you aren't. You always invite him in.

“Not too busy for you.” You immediately put down your brush and turn around to face the door when he comes into the room. Sure you saw him just this morning, but you have a day job that you go to in between waking up in his bed and coming to the theater each night.

"Mmmmm." Walking over towards you, Dieter leans in and drops a lingering kiss on your lips. "How was work?" He asks, knowing that you hate your serving job, but it helps pay the bills. He was lucky enough that the residuals from his work as a child paid for his apartment.

“Awful.” A little pout earns you another kiss, and you immediately move over to sit on the little loveseat in the corner with him. “Some lady accidentally spilled her screaming hot coffee all over me after giving me a bunch of attitude and then she laughed to her friends about it and didn’t tip a single cent.”

“Bitch.” Dieter huffs, annoyed with the woman on your behalf and shakes his head. “Hopefully you spit in her food.”

“Dee.” There’s a stray curl on his forehead and you smooth it away as you shake your head. “You know I would never do that.”

“I know.” He closes his eyes and leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. “You’re so good.” He huffs, as if it’s wrong that you are. You’re definitely better than he is but he also likes that about you.

“Only sometimes.” The tone in your voice is fully suggestive, as silky and sexy as you can manage without ruining it with a giggle. He likes that you’re a good girl, it turns corrupting you into a game.

“Other times you are very dirty.” Dieter growls, ducking his head down and nipping at your throat playfully. “My dirty Bambi.”

It earns him a reflexive little moan from you, mostly because he knows how sensitive your whole neck and shoulder area is, and you climb into his lap on the loveseat without a single moment’s hesitation. “Just for you,” you promise him, as if there ever could be anybody else.

Dieter chuckles and squeezes your ass, pulling you towards him. “God, you look so cute in this damn outfit.” He groans, knowing there is nothing especially sexy about the sweats and a tank top, but he is hard against your core.

“Dieter…” You’re a goner as soon as you feel that hardness underneath you and he knows that as well as you do. “Did you lock the door?”

“No.” Dieter huffs, kissing along your throat and pulling at your tank top, grinning when he can get his hand under it as soon as he wants. “Fuck no bra.” He breathes, happy when his hand encompasses bare tit.

“You have to let me lock it, baby.” It will mean climbing off of him for a minute, but the last thing you want is to be walked in on by your stage manager. Of course – it’s hard to focus on that propriety when he pinches your nipple just hard enough to make you squeal.

“Who cares if someone sees?” Dieter pouts when you pull away, but uses it as an opportunity to strip down. Pulling his shirt over his head before he unbuttons his jeans to push them down.

“I care.” It takes all of four steps to cross your dressing room, but when you turn back around after bolting the door, he’s already naked. “Fuck, Dee, you’re so sexy.” The expression of near-awe on your face is one he basks in. You know you’re the luckiest girl in the world that he would ever even look at you twice, those deep pangs of puppy love tell you so.

Dieter swears you are better than the best fucking drug he’s ever taken. Your near worship of him a high that he can’t replace. “Come over here.” He begs, wrapping his hand around his cock. “Do you want to have sex with me, Bambi?”

“I always want to have sex with you.” That’s been a constant truth for the last two months, and you’re not about to disguise it for a single second. Any day now he could snap out of it and realize that he deserves a hell of a lot better than you – and you’re not about to let that happen, so you snatch a condom out of your purse and drop your sweatpants to the floor on your way back over to him.

“Fuck baby.” Dieter groans as he watches you walk towards him, ripping open the foil packet with your teeth. “You are so sexy.” He praises. “So goddamn lucky.”

“Yes, I am very lucky.” Leaning back over him, you lean down to flick your tongue across the head of his cock, humming at the musky taste of precum before applying the rubber so you can climb back into his lap. “So fucking lucky you want me.”

“Not– not what I meant.” He groans, gripping your hips and pulling you closer. “Fuck, lemme have a taste.” He begs, right before he plunges his tongue into your mouth.

It’s messy and enthusiastic, like most encounters with Dieter are, and you pour a moan into his mouth while you reach between you to line the head of his cock up to your entrance, letting you sink down on him slowly. This is bliss – with this slightly weird boy and his eccentricities – but you still haven’t said out loud how you really feel about him.

Dieter’s breath bitches as you take him, closing his eyes in the sublime ecstasy of your cunt. “Shit.” He hisses, fingers digging into your skin before he slides them up to grope your tits. “Like velvet.” He groans. “Hot fucking velvet.”

“Biggest fucking dick on the planet.” It doesn’t feel like an exaggeration when it’s filling up every molecule of space in your pussy, but you have no idea if it’s true or not. Dieter knows that he’s the only person you’ve ever been with, but you’ve never said that you hope he’s the only one you ever will.

“Have you seen every dick on the planet?” Dieter still twitches and preens at your praise, rocking his hips up and pinching your nipples again.

“N—no—” Bouncing on his length takes your breath away and you love it, clinging to his shoulders desperately to hang on. “But you fill me up so full baby. It has to be.”

This was supposed to be something simple. A week, maybe a month. Something to fill his time and spark his interest…except, you have this…hold on him. The sex is spectacular and the conversations are surprisingly developed for the after coitus banter. He hasn’t moved on, instead deciding to gorge himself on you while this lasts. Trying to ignore that voice in his head that wishes it would never end. Telling him that it doesn’t have to.

These little stolen couplings in your dressing room never last long. They’re always a chase to a quick finish that has his face buried in your tits and your fingers in his hair and somebody’s hand eventually circling your clit while you ride him like a prized fucking stallion. Everything about it is perfect right down to the throaty moans that absorb into your skin and the way his cock jerks and pulses in your pussy until you both threaten to implode right there in the love seat. It’s perfect. He is perfect. And it takes everything you have to cradle his head in your hands and kiss him instead of saying it.

Dieter pants, grinning against your lips as the two of you try to catch your breaths. Happy that this has become almost automatic. He knows you well enough to touch you exactly how you need to in order to cum before he does. Most of the time. The times that he doesn't, he'll go down on you to finish you off. "You staying over tonight?" He asks, reluctant to pull away just yet. "Gonna go out with everyone tonight to have a few drinks."

“Absolutely.” His arms are tight around you and you wrap around his shoulders as you enjoy the aftershocks still making your pussy flutter every now and then. Just because these encounters are fast doesn’t mean they’re lacking in any way. “I—I may have brought some clean clothes from home…” you admit quietly, panting a little between kisses. “In case you asked.”

"Good." Dieter smirks and kisses your pulse. "But I do like when you wear my clothes too." You've had to borrow some sweats and things before, use his toothbrush. Which he usually doesn't like, but it's pretty cool with you.

“I can always accidentally forget them here and wear your clothes tomorrow.” It’s sexy that he gets a little territorial, and you’re never ever going to discourage it. “Might forget my panties, too.”

"No panties?" Dieter groans and his softening cock twitches inside you. "It's not my birthday yet." He grins and leans in to kiss you again. "Although, I'm never going to mind that."

“A dress and no panties is your favorite and we both know it.” Reluctantly climbing off of him so that he can tie off the condom, you snag another kiss from him and take your dressing robe off the hook by the door to wrap yourself up in.

“Easy access.” Dieter grins with a waggle of his brows. “You didn’t seem to mind it when I bent you over last week when we were reading lines.”

“I don’t mind it at all.” Not for one single second, and you sit back down with him again to prove it. “And I think the fact that I remembered my lines while you were fucking the life out of me should be able to go on my resume.”

“You did squeal your monologue.” He teases, shuffling his pants back up and leans back against the couch to offer you a spot to snuggle against you. “Think you should deliver it just like that.”

“Only for you.” The coo in your voice is just for him, too, but you don’t mind that. He’s reached a part of you that is just indescribable and you never want it to end. “That’s a Bambi Special.”

“Hmmmm.” Dieter grins and wraps his arm around you and turns to kiss your forehead. “Now, where do you want to block from today?” He asks seriously. “I think scene two needs a little work, don’t you?”

“That was my fault.” You’d fumbled last night and you know it, making you frown down at your hands – knowing that he deserves a better lover and a better scene partner than you are is humbling. Thankfully the recovery was quick, and there hadn’t been any critics in the house. “I’ll nail it tonight, I promise.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Dieter senses the way that you curl in on yourself. You’re a lot tougher on yourself than you need to be. “Just look me in my eyes.” He tells you, reaching out to cup your cheek. “Okay? When you stumble, look at me. I’ve got you.”

“I—okay.” You nod against his hand and swallow another apology, not wanting him to doubt you. To doubt that he can consider you an equal, even if his talent is more effortless. The problem is, staring into his eyes for one second too long, you just can’t keep your goddamn mouth shut and the woods come dripping out of it: “I love you.”

Dieter’s heart nearly stops, blood roaring in his veins and he feels almost lightheaded when he hears you say those three little words. “I love you too.” The words slip from his lips easily, almost too easily because he knows that’s what you want to hear. Even if that voice inside him tells him that it’s true, he offers you a silken smile and tugs you to him. “I love you too, Bambi.”

With a happy squeal, you practically launch yourself at him, throwing your arms around his neck and smothering him in endless kisses. That was not at all the reply you expected, but you’re thrilled to not have ruined things. You’ll make this good for him as much as you possibly can for as long as you possibly can. “You’re amazing, Dee. I’m so lucky you love me.”

“I’m the lucky one, Bambi.” Dieter promises between kisses. “Never doubt that.”

******

“You disgusting, two-timing piece of shit!” Under hot camera lights in an itchy costume with almost more Bobby pins than hair on your head, you know your eye make up is running but it works for the scene. The tears are genuine, streaking down your face as you – as your character – advances on Dieter across the tight set with fury in your face. “When you’d used me up, the bottle took my place, and at the bottom of that you found every other woman in Paris.” You’re seething, pouring every ounce of betrayal you actually feel into this moment, and when you raise your hand you know somewhere in your body that this slap will be very real. “How many other women have you abandoned for the sin of boring you, you bastard?!”

Crack.

The sound of skin on skin isn’t tantalizing at this moment, or enticing. It’s ugly, and violent, and leaves a welt on Dieter’s cheek as you crumpled in a sobbing heap like the script instructs. For a solid minute, the only sounds are your very real tears and Dieter’s sharp breathing as he deals with the pain of being hit until—

“Cut!” The director screams out across the set. “Print! One take, ladies and gentlemen!”

“OWWWWWWW.” Dieter wails, the look of fury instantly melting away into one of pain as he claps his hand over his cheek. “You were supposed to pull the slap.” He complains pitifully, his look wounded as he stares at you, “that really fuckin’ hurt!”

“Tell me you didn’t deserve it.” Your tears stop instantly, a professional even through real emotion, and you get back to your feet with dignity, still hissing at him. “Tell me you didn’t deserve it twelve fucking years later.”

He can’t say that he doesn’t deserve it, but he frowns at you. Glowering at the heat of the slap radiating as he his face throbs. “I need some ice!” He shouts to his assistant as he turns and stomps off.

Sadie appears at your side a second later with a bottle of water and a pack of tissues, and you thank her quietly before taking both to walk a few steps to your chair just behind the cameras. A perk of having an executive director credit is proximity. Access. It doesn’t matter that that didn’t feel nearly as good as you thought it would. That a loud part of you actually wants to see if he’s okay and apologize for it. It’s done now. He left, you slapped him for it. It’s done.

“Ow, ow, ow, it really hurts.” Dieter huffs as he takes the bag of ice wrapped in a towel to press his forehead. “Did she have to hit me so hard?” He complains as he rushes back to his trailer. Hurt that you would deck him in front of an entire set, he can’t deny that your performance was spot on.

“At least it was one take?” Desiree offers the only silver lining she can find as she follows behind him, shitting the door to his trailer and pulling out the bottle of anti-inflammatories so his cheek doesn’t swell up.

“Thank god.” Dieter flops down on the small sofa and shakes his head. “Otherwise I'd look like I went twelve rounds with Ali.”

“She’s dedicated to realism, I’ll give her that.” His assistant frowns, but holds out the pills and a drink to him.

“Fuck those pills.” Dieter scoffs and shakes his head. “Give me the good stuff. Or better stuff.” He doesn’t care if they technically haven’t called the day. He’s done.

“Dee…” Desiree bites her lip, still holding out the pills to him. “You still have another scene to shoot today. Two, if you do another one in one take.”

“Nope.” Dieter shakes his head. “Too bad. My face is swollen!” More than that, he doesn’t want to face those eyes of yours again. Not today, not without some chemical assistance.

“I’ll talk to Sam.” Desiree nods, recognizing a stubborn mood when she sees it, and knows that this isn’t going to go over well. It’s only the first day of filming.

“Fine.” Dieter is slightly mollified when he gets his way and looks up at his assistant. “Now where’s the other pills?”

A five second long staring match ensues before Desiree relents and goes to the trailer's smaller kitchen cupboard to retrieve the unmarked white bottle that contains Dieter's homemade cocktail of Pill Roulette. "Here." She hands it to him reluctantly. "I'm going to go talk to Sam. I'll be right back."

Watching Desiree walk out the trailer door, Dieter twists open the cap of the bottle and shakes the pill into his hand. Huffing when there’s only one pill that is what he wants, he still pops it in his mouth, it’s better than nothing.

Five minutes later she’s carefully walking back on set, wondering how badly she’s about to get screamed at for this. “Sam,” she approaches the director with feigned confidence, studiously avoiding getting pulled into any side conversations on the way there.

“Can you get Dieter here?” Sam asks as he looks up from his clipboard. “Lighting has everything set for the next scene. And good work to him for taking that slap. It looks great on camera.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Desiree shifts on her feet, noting that you are nowhere to be found. You must have gone to make up to get cleaned up. “Unfortunately, his entire cheek is swollen now, because of it.”

“What?” Sam frowns, contemplating the shot now that he is learning that there might be a physical reaction. “How bad is it?”

“It looks bad now, but it might go down quickly.” Trying to do right by her boss and the production, Desiree tries to find a compromise. “Give him a half an hour? See if it starts to fade?”

“Half an hour.” Sam nods. “Then he needs to be on set. Some swelling won’t hurt the shot.”

“I’ll make sure he’s here.” She nods and backs off smoothly, only taking off for his trailer again at a damn run once Sam can’t see her anymore.

In his trailer, Dieter is staring at the large welt on his face, wondering when the hell you learned to hit like that. Hissing as he leans in to touch the tender flesh. “You deserved that,” he tells his reflection morosely. “You’re worthless. A loser asshole.”

Two rhythmic knocks on his trailer door let him know that Desiree has returned, and she pushes inside with a sympathetic expression on her face. "I bought you some time, but Sam is determined to go on today." She tells him, hating the expression of self-loathing she sees on his face. Frankly, she sees it far too often. Anyone would think the drugs were a self-indulgence or a carelessness on his part, but it has more to do with intense depression and self-image issues than anything else. The drugs are how he runs away from reality. "How are you feeling, Dee?"

“Sore.” Dieter grumbles, looking away from the reflection and picks up the towel wrapped ice pack again. “Let me lay down and then we’ll shoot the fuckin’ scene.” He is too introspective right now to fight. Maybe playing the character will allow him some freedom from the thoughts taking over. Give him an outlet like acting is supposed to be.

"Half an hour." Desiree moves around the space, lighting his aromatherapy candles and turning on the white noise machine that helps him drown out some of the uglier and more intrusive thoughts. "I'll be back in twenty-five minutes to get you moving, okay?"

“Yeah.” Dieter slumps down on the sofa, still in his costume of a half undone suit and closes his eyes. “Thanks.” His voice calls out softly, nearly breathless as the pill starts to mellow him out.

"Of course." She's quiet when she shuts the door behind her, but Desiree sighs to herself out in the middle of the trailers. Twenty-five minutes is enough to arrange something nice for him tonight. She'll see what strings she can pull to put together a little surprise for him.

******

Dieter is nearly asleep when the knock comes on the trailer door twenty-five minutes later. Making him groan and shake his head, not wanting to open his eyes. “Go ‘way! Still hurts.” He grunts, even as he pulls away the mostly melted ice from his face.

"Let me take a look." His assistant insists, coming inside with a KitKat and a bottle of kombucha. His health really is an enigma sometimes.

“How bad is it?” Dieter asks, fearing that he might be wearing that handprint for the scene. “Maybe it’ll be good right? My character is supposed to be angry with her.”

"It's definitely pink, but I think Monique can dim that a little." It was a hell of a slap, and Desiree bites the inside of her cheek to keep herself from babying him or exclaiming too much. She really does like the man, otherwise working for him would be insufferable. "The worst thing is that your eye is bloodshot, but that's okay."

“Shit! Seriously?” Dieter bolts off the sofa to run for the mirror again. Groaning when he sees the tiny bloodshot vessels of his eyes. “Fuck, she hit me hard.” He huffs, shaking his head. “Is that going to affect my lasik?” He demands, looking back as Desiree anxiously.

"Your appointment isn't for two days," she assures him, not wanting to see the pout that will surely form on his face. "You'll be just fine by then."

“It better not.” Dieter huffs, already annoyed at the idea of using his precious few days off recovering from eye surgery, but it’s better than not being able to see shit.

"I made you a dinner reservation for tonight." Hoping to perk him up a little and give him something to look forward to, Desiree had hunted down a fairly elusive supper club that catered to artists and eccentrics as well as anyone who had the money to mingle with them. "I know you were bummed that you didn't get to go to Dashiell's last time we were here, but they had an 8 o'clock reservation open for tonight." The place is incredibly unique, offering a staged performance during dinner, followed by a live band and dancing for those who are interested, and a litany of art supplies for those who would rather sit and observe the dancers. The walls are littered with the art of patrons who have drawn, sketched, or painted the dancers and diners on previous nights. The catch, because of course there is one, is that the tables are all served sociably family style. Every table is for four, and if you go alone you'll be seated with strangers. But it's a great place to see and be seen, and Dieter is a spectacular artist.

“Good.” Dieter bobbles his head, immediately buoyed by that news. “Maybe I can get laid. I need that, I’m tired of my hand.” He huffs, feeling the need for someone to show him some attention, give him some affection. Even if it is fake.

"You usually don't have any trouble with that." The sigh of relief that Desiree breathes is silent but very real, and she offers her boss a smile. "I'll take you over to hair and make up and then I'll run back to the hotel to get you something nice to wear tonight. Sound good?"

“Fuck.” That brings a pout to his lips. “I have to dress up.” The desire to get laid outweighs the annoyance with dressing up. He can put on less than comfy clothes to get what he wants.

******

Sitting in your chair in the makeup trailer, you're really trying your best to maintain composure in the face of how emotional the last scene was and manage your conflicting feelings over how it went. Rivkah is getting you cleaned up and retouched with Sadie sitting nearby, and your angel of an assistant has even grabbed you a hot cup of herbal tea and honey to soothe your voice after all that screaming. The last thing you need is to be hoarse.

Dieter flings the door open to the makeup trailer, halfway inside before he realizes you are in the chair beside his. Stopping short and immediately looking towards Monique, not wanting to see the satisfaction gleaming in your eyes. “Can you do something with this?” He asks, gesturing to his face as he sits down and twists away from you.

"Of course." She's already been told what happened, of course, and what scene she needs to have him ready for, but she gives him a kind smile. "We'll have you looking rugged and intense in no time."

“Good.” He doesn’t glance over at you, twisting open his drink and taking a gulp of it before he puts it between his thighs so he can open his KitKat.

Rugged and intense? You manage not to laugh at it, but you had no idea that Monique was a miracle worker. There's the ghost of a remark on your lips to Sadie, but you catch her grinning down at her phone and nearly giggling, and your expression softens. "You talking to her?" You ask, not saying who in case Dieter would object to your assistants spending social time together.

“Yeah.” Sadie glances up and then slides her gaze over to Dieter. She bites her lip and then opens her texts to you. His face was swollen and bright red. Desiree said he looked like an Oompa Loompa with the makeup streaked over the welts.

You glance up at her and back down at your phone, hating the twisting in your gut and chest. It didn't feel nearly as satisfying as I hoped, you write back.

Sadie frowns, biting her lip as she sighs. Maybe satisfaction will come when you show him you aren’t the girl he thought you were.

Maybe. I hope so. The short reply comes with a nod before you put your phone away and close your eyes for Rivkah to fix your eye make up. You need to be back on set shortly and you can tell already that the afternoon is going to be an internal battle.

Dieter chews on his candy bar as Monique works her magic, closing his eyes and frowning slightly as he goes over the lines in his head. Trying to channel the anger right now isn’t hard to do with the slap you had delivered.

******

An hour later on set is when it comes to a head. This drama follows the ups and downs of a married couple as their marriage and mental health starts to devolve, and it certainly includes more than one fight. Yours was filmed in one take, but Dieter’s is being done in smaller pieces as he chases you around the apartment set. The stop-and-go is exhausting with the intensity of the scene you’re doing, but it’s working. In a purely professional way, the scene is working perfectly.

Dieter, for his part, doesn’t get upset when Sam wants the close ups of his face. The mottled expressions and anger glazed eyes as he rants and rampages and generally terrorizes your character. Resetting after each one, absorbing the praise, there haven’t been any retakes, just different angles for the shifts he has in mind. This one should be the last.

Hissing, Dieter grabs you by the arms and drags you closer to his face, well aware the camera is right to his left. “I never loved you!” he bellows, spittle flying out of his mouth as he practically shakes in fury. “I never loved you.” he repeats again, not shouting this time but just as firm in that resolve as he shoves you away and drags his hands through his disheveled hair. “How could I love you? You’re nothing, less than nothing and you’ll always be nothing.”

For as real as your fury was earlier in the day, Dieter's disgust and hatred seems to build from that same, very real place of personal experience. All of a sudden you're back on the loveseat in your dressing room after finding out he was gone – frantically trying to get ahold of him with one hand clutching your belly as waves of nausea rack your body. I never loved you feels like the most honest words he's ever spoken to you and even though it doesn't indicate you should be doing it anywhere in the script, you're crying again. Silent, stricken tears roll down your face as he shoves you away and you crumple, shoulders pulling in and eyes falling open in dismay and disbelief as Sam screams "Cut!"

“That was great, so raw, so real!” Sam gushes as he rushes out, Dieter instantly deflating and doing almost a full body shake. Hating scenes like those, he wants to get as far away from those emotions as possible, especially the feeling of his character about to hit yours. It’s disgusting.

“Thanks,” he murmurs quietly, looking over at you and wondering if he should check on you. You had turned away pretty quickly.

Thank god you have the forethought to sneak a handkerchief into the pocket of your costume this time, having found one in the costume trailer that worked for the period. It's all you can do to keep your shit together and not run away sobbing, hearing Sam heap mountains of praise on Dieter for being so cold and so cruel. When you hear him ask for another angle on the shot you shudder and recoil like you'd be hit worse than you clocked Dieter this morning.

“I don’t think we should.” Dieter shakes his head. “I think it would be better to play that as one continuous scene. Especially since the rest of this is so cut.”

The way it feels like he's rescuing you after that makes you physically nauseous, and you don't turn around. You're lucky you can manage to drop yourself into a chair and lean over to put your head between your knees and breathe deeply.

“Honestly, I think that if you reshoot this scene, you’ll lose the…magic, of it.” Dieter glances back over at you and worries that you are not doing so well and he decides that he will offer Sam something else. “Why don’t we do the bathroom scene? It’s a solo scene and it would play well after this.”

"Set's not ready for that yet." Sam shakes his head, finally looking over at you and realizing that you're looking a little green around the gills. "Hey, hey, sweetheart." He drops to his knees in front of you and puts one hand on your back. "You good? A little overwhelmed?"

"I'm fine." Pity is what does it. What makes you put your handkerchief away and hold back the last sniffle, putting your head up to look your director in the eye. If you look at Dieter you're afraid you'll say or do something unprofessional. "It's just a little side effect of the jetlag, I think. My stomach's off."

“Yeah, shit, okay.” Sam nods quickly. “We’ll put a lid on today. Call it early. You did amazing and I know it was a set of heavy scenes.”

"Perfect." Without another word you're hightailing it off the set and making straight for the costume trailer with Sadie hot on your heels. "I'm going out tonight," you tell her unilaterally, not slowing down for her to keep up with you. "Need to clear my head."

Dieter is slower to follow, the rolling of his gut not one that he likes, or is used to. Desiree comes up to him eagerly, handing him a bottle of water. “I have your suit here.” She tells him, making him shake his head. “I changed my mind.” He tells her. “You take the reservation. I can’t– not after–” he breaks off, feeling uneasy about even thinking about trying to flirt and take someone back to his room after that. “I’m just going to – you take the reservation and enjoy it with whoever you keep texting.”

"Are you sure?" Her boss isn't usually one to give up on an excuse for bacchanalia, so Desiree is immediately concerned. "Do you need a comfort night?" Normally that entails indulgent take away food and an expensive bottle of something to drink, after which he may or may not paint or just stare at the walls while he goes on a journey in his own mind.

“No.” Dieter frowns, restless and unable to say exactly what he wants or needs. “I’ll just grab an Uber and wander.” He frowns again, thinking about how you had rushed off. “Hey— uh, check on her.” He motions towards your trailer. “Please?”

"You want me to—" She tilts her head in momentary confusion but shakes it off. "Uh, sure. Of course. I'll be right back."

Dieter watches her rush off for a moment before he shakes his head. Costuming will come to his trailer to collect his garments. Right now, he needs a shower to wash the icky feelings away. And maybe another round of pill roulette.

******

"If that's Dieter, you tell him to go to hell." The knock on your trailer door is unwelcome and unwanted, and you can barely stand to look Sadie in the eye right now let alone anyone else.

Rushing towards the door, Sadie has every intention of telling whoever is on the other side to go away. Until she’s greeted with the face of Dieter’s assistant. “Oh! Uh, Desiree…” She says the name loud enough that you know who is there. “Now’s not a good time.”

"He asked me to check on her." Desiree's voice is quiet when she looks up at Sadie, eyes silently communicating her concern over the request. This isn't a social call by any means, but she can sense how important it is to him.

“She doesn’t want to see him.” Sadie answers just as quietly, figuring that Desiree must not know the history between you and her boss. “But she’s tough, she’ll be okay.”

"Who is it?" Not that you really care either way, but since Sadie didn't shut the door in their face you have to assume that it isn't Dieter himself come to gloat over making you sick on set.

“It’s Desiree.” It worries her that you were so in your head that you didn’t hear her before. Testament to how shaken you are by that scene.

You're quiet for a minute before sighing. "Let her in," you decide, blotting your freshest tears on a tissue before you sit up on the sofa. "It'll attract attention if you're talking in the doorway."

Desiree slips inside and bites her lip when she sees how truly upset you are. “Is there anything I can do for you?” She asks immediately, not sure why Dieter insisted on checking on you, but he won’t be happy to learn you are in tears. She can sense that without even knowing the details.

"No." When you shake your head it makes you a little dizzy from all the buzzing in your head, so you stop right away. "No, honey. Thank you for asking, though. It was just a hard scene, that's all." The kettle in your little kitchenette goes off and Sadie steps away again, going to fix you a cup of tea while still keeping a very steady eye on the conversation. "Actually?" Your head tips up again and you try your best to smile but it falls flat. "You can have a really good time tonight. That's what you can do. Sadie works her ass off and I can only assume that you do the same."

“I– we’re going to Dashiell’s tonight.” Desiree can’t even hide her excitement at that news. “I had made a reservation for– uh, my boss, but he doesn’t feel up for that tonight.” She feels guilty for bringing him up, but it’s never a bad thing to remind people that Dieter can be sweet sometimes.

“Well that’s fancy.” You won’t hide your surprise, but Sadie is glowing when she hands you your tea and you can’t help but smile. The first time you’ve smiled in hours - maybe all day. “Have some much fun, you guys.”

“I’m not leaving you just yet,” Sadie promises, though she smiles broadly at Desiree when she thinks you aren’t paying attention. “You still thinking you’ll go out tonight?”

“I’m honestly not sure.” After that, you’re not sure if you want to forget the world exists or just melt into it and forget you exist.

“You should.” Desiree comments softly. “There’s a great little tea and sandwich shop down from the hotel.” She offers. “It’s cozy.” She had to make a list for Dieter before they even got here, knowing how varied his tastes can be.

“Thank you. I’ll remember that.” She seems far too nice to have to put up with Dieter’s bullshit twenty-four hours a day. Hopefully she’s well paid for it. After a second, you look at Desiree again and seem to summon courage out of nowhere. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” She tilts her head curiously and wonders what you could possibly want to know. Especially since you don’t seem to like Dieter.

“I’m curious.” And you don’t mind admitting that it’s a morbid curiosity. “If you know about Bambi.”

“Bambi.” Her eyes widen and she bites her lip, curious as to how you know that name. “Dieter doesn’t talk about it.” She admits quietly. “Refuses to, gets mad if someone says something to him about it the next day.” She sighs. “Whoever Bambi is, Dieter has a lot of regrets about. Or they broke his heart. Maybe both.”

“I doubt it’s the second.” After the way he seemed to look completely through you as he growled the words in your face, it seems impossible. “Bambi was just another notch on his bedpost. Someone to keep the sheets warm while he was waiting for Hollywood to call.”

“Oh my god.” It clicks and her heart plummets to her shoes. “You’re Bambi.” She breathes out, feeling stupid for not putting it together sooner.

“I was.” You nod reluctantly. “A very long time ago.” A time that seems more and more like it belongs to someone else with every passing day.

“I’m sorry.” Desiree murmurs softly. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but I’m sorry.” Obviously it was bad, how it ended, but maybe there were some good times as well.

“Ask him.” You suggest, sitting back in your seat. “My version is bound to be different from his. But at least he still talks in his sleep.”

“I don’t know if he will tell me.” She admits quietly. “It’s like whatever happened, he’s greedily trying to keep that for himself.”

“Greedy might be the right word.” With a sigh, you look between the two women and shift over on the couch. “If you want to know, I’ll tell you the edited version. It might help with context.”

“You don’t have to tell us.” Desiree immediately blurts out, not wanting you to feel like you have to bear your soul to her. You barely know her and she’s your ex’s assistant.

"Just...whatever he says about me?" You grip your mug of tea and remain silently grateful that she didn't want to hear what could be considered incredibly good gossip. "Please take it with a grain of salt. I was very young then." Young, and oh so incredibly gullible.

“Bambi.” The nickname makes sense, and she nods. “I form my own judgments about people. He can be a handful on the best days but he–” she pauses, wondering if she should give you this information but ultimately decides you deserve it. “He’s a wreck of self loathing and desperation to be loved as he pushes people away. A rabid raccoon, if you will.”

"Rabid sounds about right." The description of him actually makes you laugh slightly, though it's more of a huff that shakes your shoulders. "Anyway, it's the age old tale of a girl and boy parting badly. That's all."

“He sent me to check on you.” She doesn’t know why that’s important for you to know about, but it seems like it is. “Make sure you are alright.”

"Are you sure he didn't send you to see how much damage he had inflicted?" It's not meant to be unkind, but you can't believe that Dieter would ever care enough to want to make sure you're okay. You'd put far more money on him wanting to make sure you were devastated.

Desiree frowns and shakes her head. “I’m not trying to change your mind about Dieter Bravo.” She promises you. “But he’s not the type of man to enjoy those scenes, but he’s not the type to check on his scene partner after either.” She draws out the scene for you. “So make of that what you will. And I’m going to tell him that you were laughing and drinking tea in your trailer when he asks.”

"Thank you, Desiree." She doesn't have to be kind, or listen to both sides of things, and she certainly doesn't have to show you any sympathy. "And really – genuinely – I hope you guys have fun tonight. Mine and Dieter's bullshit shouldn't have any effect on you guys."

“But if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call Sadie.” Desiree tells you, knowing that if Dieter calls, she will answer. It’s kind of like being a twenty-four hour babysitter for a grown up, but she’s paid really well to do it.

"I'll try not to have an emergency." You promise them both. "If it's an emergency and you don't call, I'll track you down and wallup you myself." Sadie jokes, just glad to see you smiling even a little bit after how broken you seemed coming off set.

Desiree feels like you need a hug, but she isn’t close enough to you to do that. Smiling softly and nodding. “I better go get everything done for the night so we can go.” She says after a moment. “Have a good night.”

“She seems nice.” You look to Sadie after the door closes, letting your mask of strength drop in front of the only person you fully trust.

“I think so.” She murmurs softly, giving you a concerned look. “I can cancel tonight.” She offers. “We can watch movies and eat junk with zero remorse.”

“Don’t you dare.” It’s exactly the kind of person that Sadie is, to offer to give up her night to comfort you, but you shake your head adamantly. “Dashiell’s is nearly impossible to get into and I still insist you use my card.”

Sadie hums, knowing she isn’t going to use your card for a night for herself. She doesn’t like doing that even when you insist. You are already generous enough. “Well, let me get you back to the hotel, then.” She says instead, knowing you don’t want to be here any longer than you need to be.

“I think a hot bath is in order before anything else.” And if you’re not feeling up to facing the world, you’ll just put on pajamas and crawl into that big bed and call for room service.

“I know you will enjoy that. I bought some of those bath salts you love last night.” She had planned on giving them to you today anyway so this seems fortuitous.

“You take such good care of me.” She does, and you made a promise to yourself years ago never to take advantage of her. Sadie is paid extremely well, showered with gifts, and given as much time off as you can manage to give while still maintaining a very active career. “I can’t ever thank you enough for being the best assistant in the world.”

“You make it extremely easy.” She promises with a grin and starts to gather her things to whisk you back to the hotel.

******

Almost two hours later, after a half a bottle of wine in a screaming hot lavender scented bath, you manage to get yourself dressed in clean clothes to search out the tea and sandwich shop that Desiree had mentioned earlier. If you can get your hands on any variation of a ham and Brie sandwich tonight, you’ll consider it a win.

Scratching his chin, Dieter stares at the image in front of him, his charcoal pencil tapping on the corner of the page as he studies it. The cooling jasmine tea and the extra large glass of pinot grigio ignored, along with a half eaten club sandwich. Needing to get the sight of your devastated face out of his mind.

The bell over the door chimes delicately when it opens and shuts, admitting a single person. The place is crowded but not unwelcoming, and the teenage hostess seats you without a fuss at the only empty table left in the dining room. It was good that you listened to Sadie, you decide, shifting your hands in your pockets to wrap your fingers around the thin book you brought. Just getting some fresh air will do you good, and fresh air away from Dieter will be even better.

Dieter licks his finger, smudging some of the lines to make them blurry, giving the curve of your jaw a softness that he’s always liked. Your eyes haunt him from the page. Drilling into him again and again as he can see the heartbreak in them. Making his heart burn and he reaches for the bottle for an antacid this time.

A cordial chat with the hostess stops cold when you see that the table she described as her very last is right next to Dieter fucking Bravo of all people. Your expression sours and you contemplate leaving all together but if you leave then he wins. And you’re not sure why you think that or where the thought came from but now it’s the loudest one in your head. Instead you thank the girl with a tight lipped smile and try to ignore the man just two feet away from you. You’ll have your dinner and you’ll be on your way. You’re a fucking adult, after all.

“Fuck.” He huffs under his breath, frowning down at the portrait that he is creating, putting the pencil back to the page as he isn’t quite happy with the image. It’s not what he’s seeing and he needs this. It’s cathartic, to steal a line from the half dozen therapists he’s seen on and off over the years. Mainly from the high priced drug rehab centers that he’s been to.

“No, thank you.” You respond dryly, picking up the menu that was left on the table in front of you but never looking over at him. Whatever he’s fine must be frustrating him. Good.

When Dieter is concentrating on something, he is fully emerged in it, blocking out the sounds around him as he works. Not noticing the movement as someone sits down to his right. Humming to himself when he manages to add depth to your distraught expression that was burned into him.

“Not even a pithy comeback or a bored laugh?” Putting down your menu and turning to look at him, you have a perfect – if accidental – view of what he’s doing. Your own face stares back at you from the sketchbook in his hands, tears and pain etched on the paper for his personal amusement. You see red immediately, reaching out to snatch the book out of his hands in anger, hissing “What the fuck?!” in the process.

Dieter jumps, startled out of his tunnel vision and his first reaction is annoyance. “What the fuck!” He hisses, glaring at whoever dared to touch his sketchbook as he whirls around and sees you. His face freezing and mouth dropping open in shock. “Oh– fuck–” he frowns in confusion as you glare at him. “What? What are you–”

“What the fuck is this?” You demand, clutching the sketchbook in two hands and keeping it just far enough out of his reach that he has to answer you if he ever has a prayer of getting it back. “Immortalizing the memory, are we? Planning on framing it to laugh at on a rainy day? I knew I should have hit you harder.”

He gapes at you like a fish, the surprise of you being in front of him along with the drugs he had taken making it take a little longer to comprehend what you are saying. Until he finally realizes you are accusing him of sketching your pain as some kind of sick thrill. “Give that back.” He hisses, reaching for it but he is out of reach, still sitting in his chair.

“No!” No way in hell are you going to let him keep this grotesque image, and you reach to tear the page out immediately. Hell, if this place had a working fireplace, you’d toss the whole book in it out of disgust. Except…once the page is out and in your hand, the ones remaining flap and you catch a glimpse of another sketch. Another sketch of you. “What the fuck is this?” Your hair is in an old style in this image – a style you haven’t worn since you were very young – and you swallow a sickening amount of bile as you start to flip through the pages. It’s you. The entire book is you. Image after image, younger versions of you as you were when the two of you met versus some others that you recognize as poses from films you’ve been in or promotional shots from red carpets or other events. They’re all you. “You have three seconds to explain this,” you bite out between gritted teeth. “Why the fuck do you have a book full of me?”

Dieter’s chair scrapes back, shooting to his feet as he lunges for the book. “Give it back!” He demands louder, not caring that people in the little shop are turning towards the two of you, chattering ignored because of the pounding of his heart and the rush of his blood in his ears. Cheeks flaming hot because you know. You’ve seen a book that no one else has seen. Ever. “Now!”

“Explain it.” Barely keeping the book out of reach, you shred two pages out of the binding indiscriminately. “What kind of a sick joke is this?” Heads are turning but you’re only seeing red, angry and devastated all over again for reasons you can’t put your finger on or analyze properly as your voice rises.

“Don’t! Fuck, don’t do that!” Dieter is frantic, panicking because of the pages you are shredding, hating that you are destroying the sketches he has spent so much time working on and looking at. Feeling like his security blanket is being stripped away from him like he was seven again and his father threw it in the fireplace and told him to ‘man up’. “Please.” He begs, breathing shallowly and feeling like he’s about to cry.

“Explain.” The demand is harsh, but the way he sounds like he might hyperventilate stays your hand from tearing at more pages. You’re angry, but you’re not trying to send anyone to the hospital.

“It’s– I just– I sketch to get the image out of my head.” Dieter’s own voice is small, quiet as he explains. “That’s it, that’s all. Just–” he swallows harshly and his outstretched hands drop to his sides. “Don’t ruin more of it.” His expression falls as he tries to shut himself off from the emotional connection to the book, knowing you will either keep it or destroy it completely in front of him.

“Why is it all me?” That’s what you don’t understand, and finally stop seething long enough to see the tears in his eyes and the slouch in his shoulders. As furious as you might be, this isn’t a fight in a script. It’s very real, and your confusion has brought you out of the angry haze long enough to see that someone has whipped their phone out. You’re being recorded. “Pay your bill.” You order under your breath, Shoving the sketchbook back at him and trying to compose yourself. “We’re going back to the hotel.” There’s no way you’re letting this go without a full explanation.

Dieter abandons the table and shuffles over the waitress, handing her his card and a murmured comment about the sandwich. His stomach is rolling as he tries to put the pages back where they were but he can’t. Swallowing down the embarrassment of you seeing this. Everyone else here, he doesn’t give a shit about. He doesn’t care about the scene, but you knowing about this makes him want to vomit.

The most you can think to do is apologize to the hostess for causing a fuss on the way out, but other than that you’re silent as you steer Dieter out of the restaurant and back up the block toward the hotel. There’s enough confusion jostling the anger in your mind that you can’t quite think straight, and the tense silence between you stretches right to the hotel elevator.

Dieter shuffles, his arm around the notebook as if you are going to rip it away from him again. Not sure what to say or why you are so damn angry at him. People draw you all the time, he sees it when he actually remembers the login for his social media accounts or he’s doing promotions for his upcoming movies. Forced promotions, because it was in the contract.

It’s not until you get him into your suite and lock the door that you can find the presence of mind to speak again, although the guilt of having him look at you like a kicked puppy is already gnawing at your insides. “Why?” You ask again, feeling your voice shake. “Do you have a sketchbook full of me?”

“Why not?” Dieter has finally hit annoyed, pissed that you destroyed his sketchbook, messed up his work. “It’s an old book.” He defends, even though he knows it’s a weak argument.

“That you kept for twelve years and decided to add to today, of all days?” His petulance isn’t exactly helping you have any sympathy, but mostly you feel…watched. Observed in a way you don’t like at all. Analyzed in a far more intimate way than a gossip column could ever manage.

“It’s not–” Dieter sighs and closes his eyes. “It’s not that old. I started it about nine years ago.” He confesses quietly. “A therapist told me that it might help.”

“Help what? Assuage your guilt?” It boggles your mind that he would ever have the need to talk about you in therapy, of all places, until you remember Desiree. “You do have guilt, don’t you?” Your voice softens perceptibly, turning curious. “That’s why you still dream about me.”

“How did you–” Dieter realizes he’s talking and snaps his mouth shut. Unwilling to give away if he had been dreaming about you or not. Instead he focuses on the why. “It helps. My brain is all fucked up.” He lets go of the book with one hand to motion to his head like he’s crazy. “She told me it could help get it out. What keeps rolling through my mind.”

“Somebody told me that you talk about Bambi in your sleep, that’s how I know.” While you won’t debate his mental health with him, you also won’t make fun of him for it. No one chooses depression or addiction. One look at his family is enough to show anyone what he’s dealing with – they’re worse than the Barrymores.

“Fuck.” Dieter’s jaw clenched and he shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter, I’m not stalking you. I just– I needed to get you looking at me like I’m a monster out of my head.”

“That doesn’t explain nine years’ worth of sketches, Dee.” It’s barely even a nickname, but it passes your lips without thinking.

“What do you want me to say?” Dieter asks, not sure what exactly you are looking for. You calling him Dee takes him back to the one fucking time he was truly happy, before he fucked it up.

“I—” Having him push back deflates you a little, and you realize you’re actually not sure. You have no clue what you want him to say. “I don’t know,” you admit quietly. And you hate not knowing.

Dieter acts like an ass, he knows this. He’s kind of proud of it most days. He is difficult and moody, ‘artistic’ as he likes to call it. But he’s broken. Full of anger and fear, begging for something to change and never being brave enough to try. “Do I feel guilt?” He asks, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course I do.” He huffs, unable to look at you right now while he reveals the deepest parts of himself. “Everyone I’ve ever fucking loved has left me or I’ve fucked it up. Self-sabotaged they tell me. I left the one goddamn person who made me feel normal, worth a damn, because I figured out that I was in over my head and I didn’t know how to handle it.”

“Someday you might want to tell them that.” Feeling exhausted by a day full of tension and yelling, you drop down in the nearest place to sit and grab a pillow like it was a teddy bear.

Dieter stares at you for a moment, sighing to himself and he knows that you hate him. He deserves it, but he turns around and walks towards the door of your room. Reaching for the handle, he looks over his shoulder. “I just did.” He rasps quietly and opens the door to slip out to his own room.

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