#projecting; oh john how you are projecting | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

brotherblaze · 2 months ago

Text

doloroso ii —robert "bob" reynolds

—summary: You invite Bob to a makeshift picnic on the building helipad (sometimes makeshift patio) when everyone else is away. He realizes he doesn't know much about you. So, he decides to start somewhere.

—word count: 2,9k

—warnings: n/a

—a/n: bucky gets a b-plot because hey maybe I want to make a spinoff for bucky and reader's previous incarnation

—part 1 | AO3

Bob is improving. Slowly, but progress is progress. He keeps to his schedule and he takes his pills like a champ. He mingles with the team even when they bicker and threaten to throw each other from the top of the building. They have a fascinating dynamic and something inside you stirs every time you see them argue, see them help each other, see them sitting in silence in the same room, doing their own thing.

At times, they work like a well-oiled machine, other times they’re like a trainwreck in action. Try as you might, you cannot look away from them. Hard-headed, all of them, kind of assholes at times, but they make it work. There is so much care between them, so much reassurance buried under retorts with a soft bite to them. They orbit each other like binary stars.

Complete silence in the Watchtower feels foreign. The TV has been on for most of the day to project some artificial life into the place. It has done little to help.

You flip through the channels on the oversized TV (this thing could probably fit inside a movie theater). The collapse of cable TV really is a sight to behold; ads upon ads upon ads shoved down your throat at every turn, every chance. It's almost infuriating how they finesse product placements into shows and movies in a way that’s so incredibly unnatural. You turn it off in a huff.

“Wow, cable really went to shit.” Bob is standing at what should be the doorway if the open kitchen wasn't so open. He has a bowl in his hand. It smells sweet.

“I'm suddenly so glad I don't have a TV at home.”

“Seriously?” He lifts a spoonful to his mouth. Whatever it is, it crunches as he chews. “Bucky said they didn’t have ads back in the day. You paid for a subscription to see the channels.”

“Oh, so they’re double-dipping. You're gonna ruin your appetite, by the way,” you tell him as you stand, smoothing out the wrinkles on your pants. “I ordered takeout. I think it’s for the best.”

“I tried to cook once when they were away,” Bob pauses, scraping the spoon in his hand against the side of the bowl — how is he finishing that bowl already? — “and John almost suplexed me for messing up his spice cabinet.”

You snort and quickly cover your mouth with your hand. “Sorry. Any word on when they’ll be back?”

“Not yet,” Bob says. He shrugs. “It’s normal for them to be gone for several days at a time. Spy stuff, I guess.”

“And you’re alone here?” Your frown slightly, brows furrowed. “Isn’t it lonely?”

“Not — I mean, maybe. Sometimes.” Your eyes meet his from across the room. “But it’s fine, y’know. I’m not ready to go out there and they — they have their job to do.”

You hold his gaze and — he cannot look away. He should look away but there’s something about you that pulls him in like a whirlpool and he’s trapped and he’s trapped and he’s trapped like a rat in a maze. The feeling is all too familiar but he can’t place it. Then again, he remembers very little from after he got jabbed for his blood and waking up in OXE’s vault.

The ping of your phone breaks whatever spell you have on him. You look away first, pull your phone from your pocket and scroll through the notifications. “Food’s here.” You grab the throw blanket from the couch and fold it over your arm. “Can you grab it? They don’t deliver up here, right?”

Bob’s racing thoughts come to a screeching halt and he tries to ground himself back into his body, wiggling his fingers and toes. All in one piece. He wipes the corner of his mouth against his shirt sleeve and immediately cringes. “Sorry. Yeah — yeah, I’ll go grab it.” He leaves his bowl in the sink and rushes over to the elevator.

It takes longer than he would like to get the food. Not only does the delivery driver seem to wilt when Bob shows up, but he doesn’t want to hand over the food. Because the picture in the app is of you and not him. There’s something akin to disbelief that the driver doesn’t recognize Bob, that bubbles in his chest and then immediately this crushing weight pressing against his lungs. Because he’s a nobody next to the team, isn’t he? That’s what the driver was probably hoping for, to see Bucky or John or Yelena and not him. Just Bob.

The driver taps something on his phone and raises it to his ear and Bob fruitlessly tries to get a word in. The man confirms the address on the phone and then — his eyes gloss over. Somewhere in Bob’s mind, it pings as wrong and he simultaneously needs to flee, needs to get out of here right at this second, and grab the man by the shoulders to shake him awake, food be damned. The delivery driver thrusts the paper bag into his chest and turns around, stiff like a puppet on strings, and walks off.

Bob retreats into the elevator, finger spamming the button to the top floor until the doors close and the elevator begins its climb. There’s a jitter in his veins, blood rushing in his ears. He should’ve done something, he should’ve grabbed the man and shaken him awake. That’s what heroes do, right? But he’s Bob, just Bob, not what the rest of his team — his friends — are. Pain pulses behind his eyes and he pinches the bridge of his nose as he tries to will it away.

When the elevator dings and the doors slide open he nearly sprints out of the small confined metal trap. He doesn’t spot you at first glance.

“Patio!”

He scrambles across the room towards the sound of your voice, so alluring and the weight constricting his chest eases.

There’s a large candle on the center of the patio table. He can faintly smell citrus. You’re fussing with the throw blankets from the couch, draping them over the patio chairs and then folding the edges so they don’t touch the floor. You wave him over with a smile and Bob mutters a quiet apology for taking so long. He doesn’t want to go into the details, doesn’t want to go back to spiraling about being just Bob, so he just unpacks the food, trying to make out what’s in each container.

You sit and pull the throw blanket onto your shoulders, reaching for the closest container. Whatever’s in it, seems to be fine and you pop it open.

The sun has set. The city is alight even when the sky's still blue. Could the team get out of the city for the summer solstice? He makes a mental note to ask for their opinion once they get back. The two of you don’t make conversation as you eat but it doesn’t feel empty or awkward. He actually sort of enjoys it. The people below on the street are like small ants, all of them rushing somewhere, organized and disorganized at the same time. Cars honk. The billboards glare reds and greens and whites in flashing advertisements. Despite everything, Bob feels calm.

“I never realized NYC has so much light pollution. And noise pollution." Okay, so you’re not a fan. Bob can’t help but chuckle. When he realizes, he splutters, coughs. Like he’s trying to hide his transgression. You think back to the rooms you’d dragged him through.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he rushes to say, a string of apologies ready on his tongue but you don’t look at him like he’s managed to piss you off. The corner of your mouth is curled upwards, eyebrows raised slightly. He takes a moment to recalibrate. Different environment, different people, he reminds himself. “You’re uh… not from around here, huh?”

“Ha.” It’s something between a laugh and a snide comment and yet there’s no actual malice contorting your features. “No, I have a farm. Well, a sort of farm. Not far from a little seaside town.”

“A farm? Wow.” It dawns on him that he knows very little about you. You’re so proactive in conversations that the topic smoothly gets steered away from you every time. He turns his body towards you slightly. You mirror him. “Like, with cows?”

“Dogs.” You take a sip of your water. Your lipstick smudges against the rim on the glass. It catches Bob's eye. “I rescue them. Mostly from dog fighting rings. I have a whole network set up. Someone discovers it and if a case is bad enough, like, if they can’t get rehomed because they’re continuously aggressive and don’t respond to training, they come to stay with me.”

“So, they have retirement homes for dogs?”

You giggle, a hand covering your mouth. Bob’s ears flush. “Sort of. Yeah, I guess it’s technically retirement. There’s a lot of land for them to roam around. In the summer I usually take them to the sea to swim and in the winter we’ll go sledding on the ice if the ice is thick enough.”

“Oh, so you have seasonal activities,” he jokes and he doesn't even know where it came from but you laugh again and something in his chest flutters. He takes a bite from his kebab before he says anything stupid again. “So,” he starts again when a thought strikes him and immediately places his hand over his mouth. He forces the lump of food down his throat half-chewed because you’re looking at him like that again, with that small smile. He clears his throat once and washes everything down with water. Only then does he dare to speak again. “Is it a… passion? Rehabilitating dogs?”

“More like easy. Dogs are much more susceptible to being dominated than humans are. It’s easy for me to correct their behavior because of what I am. I figured why not give it a shot? Sometimes it’s good to be responsible for someone else; makes you get out of bed in the morning because you need to provide,” you say. “I know pet ownership isn't for everyone but…” you gently jab your elbow against his ribs, “I think it would do you a lot of good.”

“I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head slightly. His curls bounce. “Sometimes it feels like…” his expression fractures for a fleeting moment before he composes himself and gives you a wavering smile. “I can’t even manage myself, y’know?”

You don’t know. There it is again, that feeling in your chest, stirring, slithering, coiling around your organs. Something is missing. Something is wrong with you. So, you steer the conversation.

“Y’know, they make robot dogs now.” There’s a glint in your eye when you say it. He should rebut, refuse, thank you for the food and stand up and go crawl into his soft bed but the way you smile at him… “Those tiny ones with batteries, not the big ones they use for research and in the army — those are kind of creepy.”

“Oh, you mean the small purse robot dogs?”

“Exactly. Walker’s little hat is just the right size to carry one around.”

He laughs. He actually laughs and it feels good. He feels light and warm despite not picking up the throw blanket.

And then it’s silent between you again. A good silence. His nearly-finished kebab tastes better all of a sudden. He reaches for another one. You refill your water glass and then his, too. He mumbles a thank you between chewing.

When the food is gone and he feels full and fulfilled and so warm, sitting there on the patio with you, and you sit up to reach for something on the table, he catches the end of your throw blanket before it slides off your shoulders. He gently tugs it back up. Your fingers brush his as you grasp the two ends together in front of you. His entire face is on fire now. Maybe you won’t notice it in the dim summer night.

“The file Bucky sent on you,” you say. Bob’s thoughts screech to a halt and start racing, all at the same time. If the weight in his chest weren’t so crushing, he’d laugh at how you manage to make his thoughts mimic an episode of Looney Tunes. You read his file? There was enough for Bucky to put together a file on him and send it to someone? Wait, of course there was. He recounts his juvenile record, his involvement in OXE’s Project Sentry, his psychological evaluations pre-OXE and those more recent — that file must be thick. He swallows around the lump in his throat. “You traveled South-East Asia?”

That’s probably the last question he expected from you. There it is again; his need to recalibrate his thoughts and his presence and his existence in his own body. He rubs his palms together, taps the fingers on his right hand to his left to count them.

“Uh — yeah. Mostly looking for drugs.”

“Were the constellations really that different?”

“A little. The big ones are the same, just flipped.” He glances at the sky, and this is probably the darkest it’ll get. Not enough to reveal the stars. “Too bad you can’t see most of them in the city.”

“North Star,” you say, pointing to a star in the distance.

“That’s…” he considers if he wants to correct you (he really doesn’t) but you turn to look at him, head cocked to the side slightly. Like a curious dog. Maybe it is true that owners take after their pets but he wouldn’t know. “That’s actually Dubhe. Second brightest in the Ursa Major. That,” He reaches his finger out and attempts to draw the constellation, “is the North Star”. Your eyes follow his movements and then trace the sky again in that pattern, as if you’re actually able to see the stars that aren’t there in this light.

“North Star is the brightest one in the sky, right?”

“It’s the brightest star in the Ursa Major, but there are brighter stars out there.”

Your eyes meet his and there it is again, a crushing weight on his chest and his blood roaring in his ears. And then you blink once, twice, and the feeling eases, not as oppressive but still present and he can hear the sounds of the city again. You smile at him, tightening the blanket around your shoulders.

“Do you know any other constellations?”

Bucky stares at the locker. The steel is faded and scratched, the door bent. Someone has tried to put their fist through it. He pulls off his glove, traces his fingertips across the dumps and dents on the door. The padlock on it is rusted. It crumbles in his hand with ease.

The hinges on the door creak.

He never came in here with a specific plan. But he saw the sign next to the door and his body moved on its own accord. And now he’s here and he’s looting through a dead woman’s belongings. Truly, how low can he go?

There’s a half-empty bottle of perfume on the top shelf. He picks it up and lifts it to his nose. The rational part of him knows it’s gone stale and disgusting but the irrational part, the part that longs for a soft and warm hand of the very worst and simultaneously very best Handler he’s ever had, overrides it. He scrunches his nose when the smell does not jog a memory, does not bring comfort. Of course it doesn’t and his own thoughts jeer at his actions. Of a dog, pitiful and weak and utterly loyal.

He caps the bottle and places it back on the shelf. His fingers bump against something small and round. He reaches further into the locker, feels around the dust and cobwebs until he finds it. Small, cylindrical. Lipstick, he realizes. He stares at it, debates, wars with himself. He should leave it where he found it, not keep mementos like some sort of psychopath. He should burn this place to the ground and scrub his skin clean, shove his head back into that machine to powerwash his brain and scramble the lingering sentiment towards his Handler. Instead, he slides the tube of lipstick into his left chest pocket.

Her coat is still there. It’s not the one she was wearing when he… Bucky grits his teeth. Her mouth was always so warm. Even with his metal and flesh fingers prying her jaw apart.

He feels the softness of the fur coat between his fingertips. He recalls how much she loved velvet. She always wore velvet coats, no matter how impractical. Fur coats, though, were reserved for special occasions. Maybe she had plans that day he ripped her into pieces.

He takes care to fold the dusty coat over his flesh arm, turns and leaves.

He makes it out before the others. The summer air is stuffy this far inland and the heat of the day lingers. Still, it's better than the stale air of rot and death inside the bunker. The sky is littered with stars. Bucky traces the constellations with his eyes. Ursa Minor. Ursa Major. It feels like they’re laughing at him, at the way he clings to his goddamn Handler.

“Hey.”

Yelena stops next to him. She looks into the sky like he does, squints at the stars. If she notices the coat slung over his arm (of course hse notices, he chastises his thoughts), she doesn’t say anything.

“All done?” He asks.

“We should leave before Alexei loots someone’s skull to display on the fake fireplace at home.”

“What, you not a fan of his interior decorating choices?”

Yelena snorts.

banners by @/cafekitsune

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #robert reynolds x reader #sentry x y/n #sentry x reader #bob reynolds imagine #robert reynolds imagine #x reader #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts #sentry x you #thunderbolts x reader

164 notes · View notes

menlove · 4 months ago

Text

"Life After the Bastards: 30 Years On, Macca Tells All"

"Blamed for the break-up for the biggest band in history, Paul McCartney downsized rapidly to cultivate a successful pop smallholding. Yet a bountiful solo career was always dominated by two famous partners, he tells Paul Du Noyer."

i said i'd do this ages ago and then the horrors happened, but this is a written up version of an interview by paul du noyer with paul mccartney from mojo's july 2001 issue.

sidenote: this seems to be the source for the claim that john thought "dear boy" was about him, which is why i bought the magazine because i haven't been able to find a digitized version of the interview and wanted to get the context. but it's a very fascinating interview just in general so it's definitely worth a read!

Wings were a band who seldom felt the feathery end of the critic's quill, but this year we're seeing Paul McCartney's biggest effort so far to rehabilitate the second most popular group he ever belonged to. He's released a double-CD and a documentary, both called Wingspan, that tell the story as he would like it told. And you soon realise that there's more than a muso's pride at stake in this project. "The great thing is," he says, "it vindicates Linda. I know she wanted to do the Wingspan thing. She knew if it was laid out correctly, people would get the idea. With all the slagging off she got, like the famous tape at Knebworth..." (This illicit cassette, from the mixing desk of a live show at the outdoor venue, was for years a dependable source of satirical mirth in music business circles; Linda McCartney's off-key vocals circumnavigate the chorus notes of Hey Jude, while anonymous engineers hoot cruelly.)

"The truth was," her loyal widower continues, "she was doing this (he stands, raises his hands to clap above his head). She was being the big cheerleader: 'Hey Jude, naah-naah-na.' But you don't see the visual, you just here this out-of-tune voice, and I know she always wanted the record put straight. And this does. You see her playing. You hear her singing beautifully. And you see what she was to the group. You see why she had to be in the group. She becomes the ballsiest member of it..."

He settles back on the sofa, here in the Soho office of his MPL company. Around his neck is a slim pink tie of the kind that Elvis used to wear. On his feet are trainers that look less like a gesture to trendiness than a concession to comfort. Just behind him is the Art Deco statuette that appears on a couple of Wings LP sleeves. The other great thing about the Wingspan film, he says,was being interviewed by his daughter Mary. (That's her face you can see, peeping out from Dad's jacket on the cover of the first solo LP, 31 years ago.) "I'd never had such a long natter with her, as doing this. And I used to say to my kids, You're the only ones who never ask me about The Beatles. Their friends would come round and say, 'What was it like being in The Beatles?' I'd go (adopts pompous old git voice), Well, let me tell you... And my kids would all go out the room: 'Oh bloody hell, he's off...' That's how kids are, they don't want to hear about that shit. But their friends would, so I'd chunder on..."

In fact he chunders on about The Beatles a lot more than you might expect. Or about one Beatle in particular, at least. The World's Most Famous Living Liverpudlian is anything but reticent when it comes to the World's Most Famous Dead Liverpudlian. It's quite contrary of him, because for the first 20 years after the group split up, he showed a stubborn reluctance to discuss the subject with his interviewers. They wanted to ask about John Lennon; he wanted to discuss Back To The Egg... Then came a reconciliation with his past that culminated in the Anthology exercise, when the moratorium on Beatle-talk was entirely lifted. And now, in 2001, when the promotional agenda has switched back to Wings, you almost have to coax him off the subject of John Lennon. Is it just force of habit, or maybe the need to exorcise some kind of long-nosed, bespectacled, sharp-tongued ghost inside his head?

Taste restrains Paul from claiming any posthumous victories over John, though it's no secret that he still has some differences with Yoko that are as wide as the Atlantic that normally separates them. But he can't resist smiling at the irony of Lennon spending his last few years championing the sort of domestic cosiness that was once a derided part of the McCartney stereotype.

"Yeah, it's lovely. But you're right to say they were stereotypes. Everyone thought John was the hard, working class hero. As you know, if you look at his house, he was actually the middle class one, from Woolton. We were the scruffs. He had the full Works Of Winston Churchill: nobody any of us knew had that. A set of encyclopedias was the most that anyone in our class had. But he had The Works Of Winston Churchill, and he'd read 'em, I think.

"There were so many stereotypes of John. And I love the fact that in the end- it's one of the great blessings of my life, seeing as he got shot- that during the last year, we made it up. Thank God for that. I would be just so fucked up now, if I'd still been arguing with him and that had happened. I was thinking about it just the other day. It was cool that I'd started ringing him. We'd had a bread strike over here and I rang him and I was saying, What are you doing? He says, 'I'm breaking some bread.' Oh! Me too! Imagine, with the stereotypes, John and Paul talking about baking bread. He'd just had Sean, and he was talking about just padding round the apartment in his dressing gown, putting the cat out and changing the baby.

"And I'd been doing all of that, and as you say, I'd been stereotyped for it. It was really warm to be able to talk to him that ordinarily, finally. It was like we'd got back to where we'd been when we were kids. It was like we could actually talk about stuff that didn't matter, but somehow it did matter..."

Back in 1970 neither John nor Paul, nor George or Ringo, would find The Beatles an easy beast to walk away from. Paul and Ringo seem to be at peace with it now; John would probably have become so; George never has. Besides the legal wranglings and the personal rancour that persisted between them for a while, there was the unique problem of getting used to living in a world that you no longer ruled.

Pop in the 1960s was like a pyramid. At the top obviously, were The Beatles. Around them and just below, were Dylan, the Stones, the deposed King Elvis, and so on down to the broad base of innumerable also-rans. But pop in the 1970s was more like range of mountain peaks, topped by anyone from Elton John to the Sex Pistols. There was also no unified hierarchy any more, and there hasn't been one since. McCartney can't have found the new world order an easy proposition. But he overcame his doubts the same way that he overcame his blacker periods in The Beatles. In other words, he worked.

It's one of those first post-mop top albums that we discuss in detail today. McCartney (1970) and Ram (1971) were curiously anti-climatic in their day. The first was home-grown, small-scale, contentedly modest, like a record made for his private diversion. The second was sprawling and eccentric, full of unfinished tunes and nonsense rhymes. This was an era when former Beatles were still expected to return from the mountain bearing tables of stone (which Lennon and Harrison certainly attempted to do), not these gaudy, giggling indulgences. Three decades later, McCartney and Ram have endured far better than anyone expected.

It's typical of McCartney, though, that he's still insecure about their worth. He has a peculiar, wrong-end-of-the-telescope way of assessing his talent. He tries to talk up McCartney by telling you that "Dave Stewart really likes it", or boasts that a hippy van driver once yelled across the LA traffic, "Ram! Great album dude!" Recently his girlfriend Heather Mills put it this way: "He is a genius but doesn't realise it, which is delightful."

Towards the end of The Beatles you were dying to get back to playing live in a band, weren't you? But your first move is to go the opposite way and do a totally solo album.

Yeah. I couldn't have another band because I wasn't sure The Beatles had actually broken up. It was on the cusp: we hadn't broken up when I started it, so it was just me doing some solo stuff. And then we had broken up, but things hung on. It basically started from John's decision to leave the band, which came when I said I think we should get back together and do some little gigs. And he said, "Well I think you're daft and I wasn't going to tell you until after we signed the Capitol deal but I'm leaving the band." (Mimes an axe falling) That was, like, The Moment The Beatles Broke Up. But it wasn't in the open until a few months later, when I issued the McCartney album and did this press release with it, which virtually had the announcement. I finally blew the whistle on it. And John was annoyed, even though he hadn't said anything. It turns out, he told me later, that he wanted to be the one who announced it. He was jealous that I beat him to it. But I felt that three or four months was enough to wait around. Either we were just going to fuck about for another year, or we had to actually say to people, "You know what? About three or four months ago we actually broke up." So that was how that happened.

So in your head, The Beatles were still together when you were making McCartney. Whereas the outside world heard it as "What Paul did after leaving The Beatles." I think it seemed a strangely low-key record, as a result.

No. It was on the cusp. There were a lot of funny things around at the time. Allen Klein: he was the one I wanted to sue to get out of it all. But everyone said, "He's not party to any of the agreements, he's just an outside guy. So you'll have to sue The Beatles." So I got into this terrifying thing of having to sue them, scared more than anything of the fact that, as you say, people would just see this album come out, hear my announcement and then hear I was suing The Beatles, without knowing any of the context. So I knew I was in for problems. And I tried my best in the press to say, "Oh, blah blah blah, it was Allen Klein, blah blah." So it was a shitty time for me. The only option was to either let him take it all, and the guys just swim along with him, or fight it. He said I was fine, "Don't worry, McCartney loves me" and all of this. And I knew I was hating the bastard. But to get out of him I had to sue the guys. And, as you know, Liverpool, the mates, no matter how much we were arguing, it's one thing you don't ever want to have to do. So I knew the perception of me would, like, be deadened from there on in. And I suppose in many ways I've been fighting that for 20 years. But it was a clear choice: do that and possibly save it all- or even lose it and pay the lawyers' bills, which was not a terrific option- or just let Klein take it all. 'Cos the others were just with him, gung ho. So I took the option of suing him and had to live with that perception, including: "This is what Paul's done as his first move after leaving The Beatles." Which was actually the nicest bit of the perception: I did an album after The Beatles, so what? The worst thing for me was, I sued my best mates. But the thing is, looking back on it, they now say "Thank you, you got us out of it, we wouldn't have Apple, there'd be no Anthology, no I record, it'd all be in someone else's pocket now." It was the right thing to do, but I knew I was walking into the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Very scary, but it was one of those moments in your life when you have to do it.

And, of course, we were hearing McCartney just after Abbey Road, which was at the opposite extreme.

Very produced, yeah.

Despite the problems going on around it, McCartney sounds a pretty cheerful affair.

Yeah, it was, because of Linda. I was just starting with Linda and in my mind the album was my escape from it all. I'd get home, new baby, that joy... any readers who've got a new baby, it transforms your life. I hadn't had a baby before, though we had Heather from Linda's first marriage. Home was a great solace for me, and making this record was "Yeah, this is what I love to do." The rest, outside, was shit, but coming inside it was like a little cocoon. So I either made the album all at home or went down to a little studio in Willesden. Lin and the baby in the control room. Young married life is a very special time. And I always liked doing things on my own. I was the kid in Liverpool who sort of went on a bus to the next stop, to Penny Lane, and got off and just looked around: "Who lives there?" I still like that, it's in my personality to just go somewhere and watch people. Last night I took the Tube home. We went to the theatre, couldn't get a taxi anywhere in the West End. I really get a charge off that. George never used to. His dad was a bus driver. I'd say to him, even when we were famous, I love getting on a bus. He'd say (astonished), "The bus? Why? You've got a car!" But you're just looking at people. And now of course, with fame, they're looking at me a bit.

There's one or two on the Tube last night, cracking up laughing. Guy in a baseball cap, decides he's got to cool himself out, pull it together, gets off at the same stop: "All right mate? Good luck!" So that's where the record got its happiness. And when the time came to release it, I finally had to deal with Mammon, which was Apple. Ring them up and say, "Er, can I have a release date?" Neil [Aspinall] gave me a date. I was kind of boycotting Apple, and Suddenly Mammon decided to change my release date for (adopts sarcastic tone) the massive Let It Be album. And I'm, "You fucking bastards! I've got a release date worked out! How can you do this?" I can't remember what happened, but I certainly shouted loud enough. So it was Rage Against The Machine, me against them. That's why it was a good album for me, and it's pretty funky, some of the little pieces like Momma Miss America have a great sound on them. I was like a professor in his laboratory. Very simple, as basic as you can get, a joy to make. (Scans the tracklist) Teddy Boy was good, I'd tried to make that with The Beatles but no one was having much patience with me. Maybe I'm Amazed was about the biggest song on it. And Kreen-Akrore was about an Amazon tribe I'd seen, who were fighting for survival, I went into the studio and recorded the sound of a bow and arrow going past the mike. Even now that album has an interesting sound. Very analogue, very direct.

The next album, Ram, is famous for its supposed attacks on John and Yoko, isn't it?

Well, Too Many People was a bit of a dig at John, because he was digging at me. We were digging at each other in the press. Not harsh, but pissed off with each other, basically.

Have I misheard, or does it really start with the words "Piss off"?

Yeah. Piss off, cake. Like, a piece of cake becomes a piss off cake. And it's nothing, it's so harmless really, just little digs. But the first line is about "too many people preaching practices". I felt John and Yoko were telling everyone what to do. And I felt we didn't need to be told what to do. The whole tenor of the Beatles thing had been, like, each to his own. Freedom. Suddenly it was, "You should do this." It was just a bit the wagging finger, and I was pissed off with it. So that one got to be athing about them. Once you start, the ball starts rolling. There was a picture that we had for Hallowe'en of the two of us in silly masks that we picked up at a kids' shop in New York. I'm Wimpey out of Popeye, and Linda was another character which looked a bit Oriental. We heard later that they thought that was a dig at them, but it actually wasn't. So when John did a piss-take [in a postcard given away with his Imagine LP], he held a pig instead of the ram. This wasn't posed. Me and Linda decided to catalogue all our sheep, so there's a photograph of me holding every bloody sheep in the flock. Over 100 of them. I was supposed to be cropped out.

Is that where the title came from?

I remember driving up to Liverpool at some point and deciding that Ram would be a good title for an album, then the picture came, and you can "ram" a door down, and a "ram" is a male, like a stag. It just seemed like a good word. Monkberry Moon Delight I liked, so much so that it's in my poetry book. "My long-haired lady." Very '70s. Ram On is a cute little thing on a ukelele, 'cos I used to carry one around with me in the back of New York taxis just to always have music with me. They thought I was a freak, those taxi-drivers. Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey was an epic thing, a Number 1 in America, surprisingly enough. I like the bit that breaks in: "Admiral Halsey notified me, da-da-da, had a cup of tea and a butter pie." It's a bit surreal, but I was in a very free mood. I like all of that. It must have freaked a few people, 'cos it was quite daft. Back Seat Of My Car is very romantic: "We can make it to Mexico City." That's a really teenage song, with the stereotypical parent who doesn't agree, and the two lovers are going to take on the world: "We believe that we can't be wrong." I always like the underdog.

I think John might have taken Dear Boy as an attack on him.

Dear Boy wasn't getting at John. Dear Boy was actually a song to Linda's ex-husband. "I guess you never knew what you had missed." I never told him that, which was lucky, because he's since committed suicide. And it was a comment about him, 'cos I did think, "Gosh, you know, she's so amazing, I suppose you didn't get it.

The LP sounds like you had more tunes lying around than songs to use them in. A lot of the tracks are like medleys of different ideas.

Yeah, Long Haired Lady goes off a bit, Back Seat Of My Car goes off a bit, Big Barn Bed comes off Ram On, that's right.

No writer's block at that point, then?

No, I've been very lucky about writer's block, touch wood. It occurred to me the other day that me and John never sat down on, what was it, 295 songs me and John wrote? And on those 295 occasions, we never came away without a song, which is fucking phenomenal. The only time we nearly did, was Golden Rings, which became Drive My Car. It was "duh-duh duh-duh golden rings..." Um, this is not gonna compute. Finally, we had a ciggie and a cup of tea and our humour came back and Drive My Car came out of that. Some people analyse songwriting. I've never known about it. It's fingers crossed, every time I sit down to do it. I just dive right in and hope for the best, and it seems to work.

Were you feeling in competition with the other ex-Beatles, now?

Yeah, we were all in competition. Which was a weird thing, trying to avoid each other's release dates, like we'd avoided the Stones' release dates in The Beatles. When John or George released an album, I'd check it out, to see where he was up to. I think the truth, as a lot of people have said, is that we were missing each other. We missed the collaborative thing, of John saying, "Don't do that" or "Do that". Sparking each other off. For a while I was certainly very conscious of it. The only good thing was that I had been writing without John for a while, towards the end of The Beatles, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been. It was still a pretty big shock just not to be hanging out with these guys. 'Cos I'd hung out with them since I was 17.

Even when you were not writing together, on later Beatles records, there must have been a stage in the process where the others listened to your songs, and vetoed them or otherwise.

Exactly. John brought me Glass Onion. I remember him out in the garden in St John's wood saying, "What do you think of this?" We would just run it past each other, like you would run it past a mate or a producer. And he actually asked me, "D'you think I should put in this line about the Walrus was Paul?" I said, Oh yeah! It's brilliant. I just generally tended to agree with his stuff, and he tended to agree with mine- like in Hey Jude, i was going to knock out that line about "The movement you need is on your shoulder." He said, "You're not, that's the best line in it." So, often it wasn't negative but bolstering each other up. I might go through the whole studio experience thinking, This line's not right. But the minute he'd signed off on it, I thought, This line is ace! Similarly with him and Glass Onion. It was the strength of unity.

It's always striking that, of the four solo Beatles, George and Ringo got off to the strongest starts.

Yeah, George's All Things Must Pass. As he said, it was just like a diarrhea, he must have held it in for so long. And he had Phil [Spector] and a lot of really good people. And George was just so pissed off with us. I mean, all that anger just came out. Which is a good thing for an album, the "I'll show you" factor, which I had later in Band On The Run, when two of the members left the night before. So George and Ringo did get off to very good starts. John and I took it a bit hard, but all in all throughout the years we all did pretty well as single acts.

You formed a band for Ram, but it's not yet Wings.

Not yet, no. Denny Seiwell turns out to be in the band. Hugh McCracken who plays on a lot of it, who was nearly in the band. He came to Scotland to rehearse, but he was such a New York guy that he didn't really like to be away from America, and I can see that. New York is such a satisfying town, you can walk one block and get anything, whereas you can't do that in the Mull of Kintyre...

The first official line-up of Wings, which makes Wild Life, includes Denny Laine.

Denny came from The Moody Blues. I'd seen him when were out on tour with The Beatles and we'd played with them. My enduring memory is of one night up in somewhere like Edinburgh on tour, we'd had a few drinks and we decided that The Moody Blues would play The Beatles at snooker on this very beautiful, full-sized snooker table. Instead of being sensible and playing one at a time against each other, in a kind of league, they all got on one end of the table and we all got on the other, and I'm afraid the table got trashed. Oh shit. So I knew Denny, I knew we could get on personally and I liked his voice, particularly from Go Now, which I championed. I remember taking that around the BBC in its early days and saying, "Have you heard Go Now by The Moody Blues? It's my favourite record of the moment." And those producers would take notice of us. I was also used to having another lead voice in the group with me, so Denny became that.

And this time there's a friendlier song for John.

Dear Friend was to do with John, a bit of longing about John. Let's have a glass of wine and forget about it. A making up song.

Finally you do what The Beatles wouldn't agree to do, and get back on the road.

It seemed to me that for a band it's essential. We'd given it up in '67 with Sgt. Pepper when our new decree was, "The record will go on tour and we won't. We'll make a great record and send that out instead." But what happened after that was, we made some good records, but missed the stimulus of going out on tour. We missed seeing the whites of their eyes and getting a reality check: "They liked that one, they didn't like that one." And we hadn't done it for so long that my choice was, Either give up music, or continue to make it. I wanted The Beatles to go out as a live band, therefore I ought to go out as a live band. So we got a band and hatched the plan of going out on the university tour. Didn't want a big supergroup, a Blind Faith-style thing. I wanted to try and learn the whole thing again, hopefully learn some new things, rather than just repeat The Beatles things, which had all been done, and been about as successful as anyone in the world was ever gonna be.

But you took the informality to extremes, not even booking hotels.

No gigs or hotels or anything. Looking back, I can't believe we did that. We had the van, the dogs, the kids, and it was just madness. It was like I'd never been in The Beatles, I couldn't rely on any of that fame as a crutch. We went up to these universities, and fate had it that a lot of them were having exams. We didn't ring them up and ask if they'd be ready for us. And the other thing was we walked into power cuts: it was the time of the Great British Three Day Week. My image now is of trying to find our way around the dark North with a torch. Is anyone in? Like trying to find a gig in a mine. But we found a couple. Nottingham was one. Lancaster we played. Newcastle City Hall. Durham. When we did find places it was really cool. The students had a good time.

And you had the unfamiliar experience of handling money again.

Yeah, it had all been cheques and accounts and stuff, bank statements. And suddenly it was 50p on the door. So we came away with these bags of coins, which reminded me of Peter Sellers in Tom Thumb: One for you, two for me... We just counted them out in the van afterwards. Good experience, going through all those hardships, and it got us together as a band.

But that line-up wasn't to last, and nor did any Wings line-up. Why?

I've never actually thought about it. I know it happened but I've always blanked it. Probably, in my mind, a band is a democratic unit. Everyone has an equal vote, and in The Beatles for 10 years that had been the case. So if Ringo didn't like one of our songs, which wasn't often, Ringo could veto a Lennon & McCartney song. That meant everyone felt good about themselves. But in Wings that wasn't the case. I was the ex-Beatle. So I saw myself as the leader of the group, which I'd never been in The Beatles. There wasn't a leader in The Beatles. People had said that John was, and later people had said that I was, but neither of us ever acknowledged it. It wasn't the deal. People would ask, "Who's the leader of the group?" We'd say there wasn't one. I think once or twice in Hamburg, in the early days, John said, "I am." But we got pissed off, so it became a democracy. But Wings wasn't. It wasn't a dictatorship, but we weren't all equal.

By the '70s there was suddenly lots of other big acts: Led Zeppelin, T. Rex, Bowie, Pink Floyd, even The Osmonds in their way, or Abba. Was it difficult, as a Beatle, to adjust to the new landscape?

I knew it was going to be difficult. There was this thing of Follow The Beatles. You found yourself just one of the acts in the Hit Parade, rather than the undisputed leaders. But I knew by starting the group from scratch that we had to work our way up So anyone like Zeppelin or Bowie who'd been building during the '60s and had now arrived, naturally took precedence. You just had to understand that there are people bigger than you. And it gave us a benchmark. We thought, "We'll be as big as you one day." It was very weird for me, starting all over again. But it wasn't the world's worst thing. It was quite sobering, really. It's good to be knocked off your perch. There was a lot of that with Wings. Not only was I doing things for myself with the band, I was personally doing things for myself, living up in Scotland, mowing the field with my tractor. In The Beatles, the office used to buy your Christmas tree for you. Now I was buying my own Christmas tree. I enjoyed that . It's unhealthy to think you're the big cheese all the time. Within The Beatles, we each reminded each other that we weren't. But I think there is a big risk with stardom. I'd ring up a restaurant and say, Have you got a table? "Sorry sir, we're full booked." It's Paul McCartney here. "Oh! Certainly, Mr McCartney!" I've never been comfortable with it.

It seemed like you were uncomfortable with The Beatles' legacy for most of your time with Wings.

The thing about Wings was we bought into the myth that it could never be as good as The Beatles. I knew it was the world's most difficult thing to bite off. Everything we did was in the shadow of The Beatles, which had recently been this phenomenal band. So we did everything with quite a lot of paranoia. And it's only on looking back, that I think we did a lot of great work. You look at '76, we have this big, big tour, and at first everyone wants to know, "Is this gonna be a Beatles reunion? It's rumored that McCartney blah-blah-blah, George Harrison and Ringo Starr are going to join him on-stage, and John Lennon blah-blah-blah." So it was rumoured The Beatles were going to re-form. Even in our most successful year they were taking our success off us. It was, "Well maybe The Beatles will re-form, that would be good." But the great thing was that three weeks into the tour it was suddenly, "Who cares?" It doesn't matter. This is a great band. And at the end of it we go and set some big world record. So that's good to see. We did this thing that we set out to do. And we needn't have worried.

#paul mccartney #the beatles #wings #mclennon #this whole interview was super fascinating tbh....#like all the insane paul & john quotes aside it's just very interesting #i lost it at the story about the beatles vs the moody blues game of snooker lmfao #also saying here I don't think this is nearly enough to say john thought dear boy was about him #I think the interviewer maybe meant too many people bc that's what they were talking about before #did briefly go 'I should email this guy' and then I sat there like girl it's NOT that much of a mystery put it down

259 notes · View notes

crushpunky · 6 months ago

Text

a cameron family vacation: a travel day

masterlist | kook!reader masterlist

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

When Rafe invited y/n to his vacation to Italy, she wasn’t surprised. She had tagged along on numerous Cameron family vacations… mostly because Rafe refused to go if he couldn’t bring her with him. What she was surprised by, however, was that the Camerons had agreed to let Sarah bring John B with them. Seeing as y/n had the unique trait of being both friends with Sarah and Rafe (and also Wheezie), trips always just seemed to “work out” and go down without too much sibling infighting. But by throwing John B, Sarah’s romantic partner and someone Rafe couldn’t stand nonetheless, the sacred balance of the trip was immediately thrown into chaos.

It started on the plane when Sarah and John B opted to cuddle and giggle flirtily with each other for perhaps the entire duration of the flight.

“Can you cut that shit out? I’m trying to fucking eat here.” Rafe sneered, taking another bite of his apple. Y/n elbowed him, trying to prevent an argument before it inevitability would occur. The setup of the Cameron’s jet was a bit unfortunate, forcing y/n and Rafe to stare directly at the couple for the duration of the flight.

“I’m surprised you can even hear us over how loud you’re chewing.” Sarah snapped, her and John B straightening in their seats but their hands still entwined.

“Well I can see it and that’s enough.” Rafe scowled, taking a final bite of his apple before tossing the core into one of the nearby trash cans.

“Cut it out.” A harsh voice cut through the siblings’ bickering: Ward. Sarah and John B rolled their eyes before returning their gazes to each other. Y/n peered over at Rafe, noticing the way his hand gripped the armrest between them, and grabbing his hand softly. Rafe closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and sinking back into his seat.

“We’re almost to Italia.” Y/n whispered with a quirk of her brow. Rafe opened his eyes once more, peering at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Italia, huh?” Rafe teased, bumping his shoulder against y/n’s in a way that made her giggle as she rested her head onto his shoulder.

“Oh so you guys are allowed to mess around but—” John B started but was cut off when Sarah slapped his arm harshly. Rafe shot him a look, and if looks could kill, John B would be a dead man.

“Shut the fuck up you—” Rafe started, but was stopped when Wheezie stepped between the couple and Rafe and y/n, a jumble of yarn in her hands.

“Y/n I think I did something wrong.” Wheezie groaned, holding up her… blanket? Scarf? Y/n wasn’t quite sure. Just the past week Wheezie had spotted y/n crocheting and asked if she could teach her. So, the rest of the afternoon was spent teaching her to crochet and Rafe whining about how y/n wasn’t paying any attention to him (not that he would admit that).

“Let me see.” Y/n sat up, letting go of Rafe’s hand as she grabbed the mess of yarn from Wheezie. The two girls examined the situation closely, throwing out all sorts of terms that went over Rafe’s head as he watched. In spite of himself, he found a smile creep across his lips as he watched y/n go through instructions step by step, patiently answering any and all questions Wheezie asked.

“Thank you, y/n.” Wheezie smiled widely as she took the salvaged crochet project back from y/n and returned to her seat. Sitting back in her seat, y/n spared a glance at Rafe and noticed the cheesy grin on his face.

“What?” Y/n scowled.

“Nothing.” Rafe shrugged, putting the armrest between them up and resting his arm across y/n’s shoulders, pulling her into his side.

The sun had already begun to set when the jet finally landed, the travel party already feeling groggy from the time change and tense flight. Thankfully, the drive from the airport to the hotel was short, the Camerons filing into the lobby as the bellhops took their bags up to the room.

“Ok so the room situation is gonna be a bit different this time around since we have additional guests.” Rose said, handing out the keys to the hotel room. Y/n didn’t miss the bit of sharpness in Rose’s voice, likely directed at John B (and probably her too) as she watched her give them their keys. Sure she’d been friends with Rafe and Sarah for as long as she could remember, but that by no means meant she liked Rose or god forbid Ward.

“There are two single rooms and one double,” Rose explained as they made their way into the elevator. “Your father and I will be in one and Sarah and y/n will be in the other. The boys will be in the double—”

“Oh hell no!” Rafe scoffed, his voice nearly a shout as the doors to the elevator closed.

“What?!” Sarah put her hands on her hips, a scowl on her face. “Rose, we’re not children, John B—”

“Where am I gonna sleep?” Wheezie piped up, but was swiftly ignored as the Camerons continued to talk over each other.

“Mrs Cameron, do you know who your step-son is?” John B cringed as he looked at Rafe.

“Fine, then y/n and John B can share the double and you and Rafe can share the single.” Rose said to Sarah, which caused the groans from the group to grow louder. Y/n and John B looked at eachother, disgust painted on each of their faces.

“No, no, y/n is not sleeping with a fucking pogue!” Rafe snapped, which caused John B to scoff.

“Watch your mouth!” Ward gripped Rafe’s shoulder roughly, his tone causing a shiver to run down y/n’s spine. Luckily, the elevator’s door opened and Ward promptly released his son.

“Sarah and John B you will sleep in the double, with Wheezie… on the floor or with Sarah— I don’t care. Y/n and Rafe will sleep in the single. We won’t have any problems. I don’t want to hear any complaints.” Ward said sternly

“But Rafe gets to—” Sarah began.

“I don’t want to hear any complaints, understood?” Ward raised his brows, his sharp gaze passing over all of the Camerons and their guests before stepping out of the elevator. Y/n let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding before following the Cameron’s patriarch.

“At least we don’t have to share with Wheezie.” Rafe muttered, causing y/n to elbow him lightly in the ribs.

“I can hear you, you know that right?” Wheezie shot back with a scowl. Y/n giggled and Rafe ruffled Wheezie’s hair before throwing his arm over y/n’s shoulders as they stopped in front of the door to their suite. Ward unlocked the door, holding it open as everyone filed through. However, before y/n and Rafe could enter in, Ward stopped Rafe with another grip on his shoulder.

“We won’t have any problems with sleeping arrangements, will we?” Ward said, his voice low as his eyes darted between Rafe and y/n. Y/n’s eyes widened at his implication, Rafe’s cheeks flushing a soft pink before he quickly shook his head. They had shared a bed thousands of times at Tanneyhill, something about Rafe being too lazy to walk back and forth between his room and the guest room each time he inevitably couldn’t sleep and needed to talk to her in the middle of the night. Sure, Ward and Rose would shoot questioning looks at them when they’d walk down together in the morning or would hear giggles at two in the morning, but never had they been so… forward in their suspicions.

“No, sir.” Rafe sighed, his eyes avoiding his father’s as Ward’s grip finally loosened and he let the two of them into the room.

In typical Cameron fashion, the hotel suite was nothing short of spectacular. With a spacious living area across from a full kitchen, walls adorned with beautiful artwork, and, of course, plenty of crystal chandeliers, y/n felt a smile creep onto her face. She’d grown up well off, she was Kook of course, but there was something about this level of pampering that always made her head buzz… or maybe it was just because of the company.

“Y/n?” Rafe said with a grin, interrupting y/n’s admiration of the beautiful suite before guiding her into the room they’d be sharing for the week. Like the rest of the suite, the room was stunning. A king sized bed, large windows that looked out into the city, and a bathroom with perhaps the biggest shower y/n had ever seen.

With a huff, Rafe threw himself onto the bed, easing into the soft comforter with a groan. Y/n rolled her eyes before moving to unpack her suitcase. Once she was finished, she changed into her pajamas and finished up in the bathroom before heading back into the bedroom to finally get some sleep.

However, Rafe was already fast asleep, sprawled out across the entire bed. Having attempted to maneuver a drunken Rafe more times than she could count, y/n knew there was no point in trying to move him onto his own side or wake him up. So, with a couple strategic shoves to his side, y/n was able to finally make enough room for her to climb into the bed. One she was able to wiggle herself under the covers, she turned to look over at Rafe. His lips were a soft pink and his long lashes rested against his squished cheeks, a look of quiet contempt on his face as he slept peacefully. Y/n felt herself smile, pressing a light kiss to his forehead before drifting into a sleep much needed in preparation for the rest of the week.

#obx #obx au #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x kook!reader #kook!reader

268 notes · View notes

loverstrings · 1 month ago

Text

Something Like Home - Bucky Barnes x F!Reader | Platonic!Sam Wilson x F!Reader

In the sun-soaked calm of Delacroix, Louisiana, the world slows down for once—giving Sam, Bucky, and Y/N a moment to breathe. As Sam trains with the shield that now bears the weight of legacy, Y/N brings levity and light, her telekinetic powers flickering like fireflies in the Southern dusk. Between laughter, shield tossing, and quiet porch conversations, bonds are strengthened and love quietly blooms.

a.n - i was at work thinking about writing this LMAOOO but im happy with how it turned out. its so cute and fluff that it physical makes my heart melt. ooo project spindle edits have been made and will get posted tomorrow!! im so excited for you guys to read the next chapter!

| can be read as a standalone or apart of project spindle |

The shield gleamed in the golden light of Louisiana.

It had been days since the confrontation. Days since John Walker had been stripped of the title and the weight of it passed—finally, rightfully—to Sam.

Now, it rested against a weathered wooden railing on the Wilson family dock, catching bits of light off the water. Sam stood beside it, sweat on his brow, muscles taut from training. Y/N sat cross-legged on an overturned cooler, sipping from a bottle of water and watching with a grin that only grew each time he missed a catch.

“I think the shield’s mad at you,” she said with a lazy smirk.

“Oh yeah?” Sam caught it mid-flight this time, turning with practiced grace. “Think you could do better?”

“I know I could.”

He arched a brow, playful challenge blooming across his face. “One rule,” he said, holding up a finger. “No powers. You use that pink sparkle magic, you're disqualified.”

Y/N stood, rolling her shoulders with exaggerated drama. “Fine. No powers. Just raw talent and pent-up aggression.”

Bucky snorted from where he leaned against the railing, arms crossed and clearly enjoying himself. “This should be good.”

Sam stepped aside, holding the shield out to her like an offering. “Go on, then. Impress me.”

She took it, feeling the surprising weight, letting it settle in her grip. “Okay,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “Easy. Death frisbee. Nothing fancy.” Bucky said with a grin.

Y/N inhaled, planted her feet, and with one clean movement, flung it. The shield arced through the air perfectly—slicing across the open yard, hitting a tree trunk with a satisfying clang, and bouncing back cleanly.

She caught it on reflex, though the impact nearly knocked her on her ass. “Holy shit,” Y/N breathed, eyes wide.

Sam blinked. “...What the hell.”

“Told you,” Y/N said, panting a little, a smug grin stretching across her face.

“You cheated.”

“Did not.” She held out her hands dramatically. “Not a flicker.”

Bucky tilted his head. “I’ve never seen Sam look so betrayed.”

Sam was already walking toward her, mock horror written all over his face. “Alright, alright—new rule: No secret assassin training while I wasn’t looking.”

She giggled, clutching the shield to her chest. “I didn’t train. I’m just better than you.”

“You’re infuriating,” he said, taking it back from her, trying not to smile.

“You love it.”

Sam gave her a look, then passed the shield to Bucky. “Okay, Barnes. Your turn. Let’s see if you can beat Sparkle Fingers.”

Y/N groaned. “That’s not going to stick.”

“It absolutely is,” Bucky said, already winding up for a throw. “You just made it worse.”

They stayed like that for the rest of the afternoon—laughing, ribbing each other, tossing the shield around like it hadn’t just been a symbol of war and loss. For once, it felt like something else. Something hopeful.

The next morning came slow and warm.

By the time the sun was high again over Delacroix, the air had thickened with bayou heat, the kind that made the wood of the Wilson family boat steam where it met the water. Mornings bled into afternoons with the steady thud of tools—hammers tapping, wrenches clanking, old rusted bolts groaning their last under Sam’s determined grip.

And laughter. It was always louder with her around.

Y/N stood near the stern of the boat, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back messily, a streak of oil on her cheek. She was attempting—badly—to loosen a corroded panel, muttering curses under her breath when Sarah walked up behind her with a grin.

“You planning to sweet talk that thing loose or what?” Sarah teased.

Y/N jumped, then grinned back. “Hey, I was just about to get it.”

“Oh, I bet,” Sarah said, arms crossed. “You’re cute with all that fake confidence. Come on—I need backup. The vendor brought the wrong parts again and I need someone with a terrifying death glare.”

“I’m honored,” Y/N deadpanned, mock bowing.

She wiped her hands, tossed a wink over her shoulder at the boys, and let Sarah drag her down the dock. Sam raised an eyebrow as he watched them go.

“She likes her,” Bucky said, nudging a loose nail with the toe of his boot.

Sam squinted at him. “Sarah?”

“Y/N.”

“Oh, I know Y/N likes Sarah. But the real question is—” He dropped the wrench and leaned back against the hull of the boat, arms folded. “What’s your deal?”

Bucky blinked.

Sam smirked. “You and Y/N. Are we pretending you’re not already halfway in love with her? ‘Cause I’ve seen the way you look at her like she might vanish if you blink too long.”

Bucky paused for a beat, eyes fixed somewhere distant, toward the path Y/N had just taken.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said finally. “But yeah. I think I’m ready to try. With her.”

Sam tilted his head. “And does she know that?”

“She will.” Bucky scratched the back of his neck. “Just need to make sure I’m... not dragging her into something broken.”

“She already knows you’re broken,” Sam said. “We all are, man. But she keeps showing up. She’s not afraid of the mess.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said quietly. “She never was.”

They worked in silence for a few more minutes, the creak of the dock and the slap of water against the shore filling the space. Then:

“I’ll say this,” Sam added. “She’s been through enough. If you’re gonna be serious, be serious. She deserves that.”

Bucky nodded. “She’s getting all of me.”

“Good,” Sam said, handing him a wrench. “Because if you screw this up, Sarah’s the least of your worries.”

Just then, laughter rang out again—Y/N and Sarah returning, carrying a toolbox and a sack of parts. Sarah was smirking. Y/N had that telltale pink shimmer on her fingertips, barely noticeable.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Did you use your powers to get a discount?”

“Depends,” Y/N said, hopping up onto the dock. “You want the good news or the illegal news?”

Bucky grinned, catching her hand as she passed by him. She smiled at the contact—fingers brushing for just a moment too long.

And Sam? He just shook his head and muttered, “Lord help me, they’re so in love.”

That night, the Wilson household was alive with the soft chaos of dinner—dishes being passed, glasses clinking, laughter cutting through stories. The air smelled like spice and salt, like gumbo simmering in the kitchen and the marsh breeze rolling in through open windows.

“Okay, okay—but wait,” AJ interrupted, halfway standing in his chair. “Uncle Sam says you can fly, but I didn’t see any wings. Do you have wings like him?”

Y/N chuckled, resting her elbow on the table and leaning her chin into her palm. “No wings, kiddo. That’s all Sam. I’m a little more… glowy.”

“Glowy?” Cass piped up, wide eyed. “Like, sparkles?”

“Like fireflies?” AJ asked, visibly vibrating with excitement.

“Like this,” she said, and lifted her hand.

It started slow—a soft, warm pink mist gathering in her palm, coalescing into threads of light that danced upward like tiny ribbons. They shimmered gently in the air, humming with something ancient yet tender, until they formed a swirling little sphere that floated above the table, pulsing like a heartbeat.

Both boys gasped. Sarah froze mid-sip of sweet tea, her expression somewhere between impressed and “oh lord, not at the table.”

“It’s not dangerous,” Y/N said quickly, giving Sarah a sheepish grin. “Just... pretty.”

“Can I touch it?” Cass whispered.

“It won’t hurt,” she said, guiding the orb closer. Cass reached out, and it brushed against his fingertips like warm velvet before vanishing into a burst of glittery sparks.

“WHOA!” the boys shouted in unison.

Bucky leaned back in his chair with a lazy grin. “She didn’t show me that until, like, our fifth mission.”

“Fifth?” Sam scoffed from the head of the table. “You mean after she threw a Hydra agent through a cement wall.”

“Oh, don’t tell the kids that,” Sarah scolded.

Y/N smirked. “Fine, I’ll keep it PG. Only sparkles and floating fruit.”

As if to prove her point, she flicked her fingers and made a single grape rise from the bowl near Sam, floating it across the table like a tiny UFO before gently landing it in AJ’s mouth.

He cheered. “Best. Dinner. EVER.”

Cass was already halfway out of his chair again. “Do you do that when you fight bad guys? Do you make them eat fruit?”

Bucky nearly choked on his cornbread.

“She does a lot more than that,” he said, laughing. “But only if they’re really bad.”

“Are you two superheroes?” Cass asked suddenly, his gaze flitting between them with something like awe.

Y/N’s smile softened. “We try to be good people. That’s what matters most.”

Later, as the dishes were cleared and the sky darkened to a soft velvet, the porch swing creaked gently under Y/N and Bucky. The boys were still wide awake inside, retelling the “sparkle magic” story for the fifth time while Sarah rolled her eyes and quietly smiled.

“You’re good with them,” Bucky murmured, watching her face under the porch light.

“I like them,” she said, pulling her knees up and resting her head on his shoulder. “They’re loud, but honest. You can’t fake it with kids.”

He reached for her hand, gently rubbing his thumb across the inside of her wrist where that pink glow still lingered.

“You scared of them seeing who you really are?” he asked.

“I used to be,” she admitted. “But tonight felt... right.”

He was quiet for a second. Then he pressed a kiss to her temple and whispered, “You are magic, sweetheart. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

She smiled, her eyes already on him.

“You ever think about it?” he asked.

Y/N tilted her head. “Think about what?”

“Settling down,” he said. His voice wasn’t unsure, but there was a vulnerability in it—one that only surfaced when the world was quiet and his defenses slipped. “Stopping the running, the missions, the war.”

She let out a quiet breath, her fingers brushing along the edge of the swing’s armrest. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “I never used to. I didn’t think I’d get the chance. But now... maybe. With the right person.”

She turned, looking him fully in the face now. Her eyes, glowing faintly from the residual energy of her powers, locked with his.

“What about you?” she asked. “Will you ever settle?”

Bucky didn’t hesitate. Not this time.

“With you,” he said, his voice steady and low. “’Till the end of the line.”

Her breath hitched.

That phrase—so simple, so familiar—held the weight of decades. Of loss, survival, and choosing someone, again and again.

Y/N reached for his hand, interlocking their fingers like it was the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it was. The porch light above flickered once, like even the house was holding its breath for them.

“Guess that makes two of us,” she whispered.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel #marvel masterlist #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fluff

132 notes · View notes

meraki-sunset · 6 months ago

Note

so your crow strider au gave me inspiration for my own au, but i've built up the idea in my brain so much that now im scared to try to put it to paper (oops) did you ever deal with this while making crow strider? (and if you did, how you got over it would be much appreciated thanks fhdjks) also your art is cool :]

Hi, sure, i encountered a few blocks when writing CSAU and other projects. I think my method comes down to a couple rules

You need to know how the story ends from the start, so everything in the story leads to the end. Things can change about the contents of the story as you write it and you change your mind about the events that will transpire in it, but you need an end goal you can build your story towards. Most importantly, this is what allows you to add foreshadowing for said ending and structure the narrative in a clear direction. Otherwise, you might come up with a cool ending too late and regret some choices from past chapters that now don’t help this new ending you want

On that same note (and i’ll proceed to copy and paste from an old post) You need to have a Word document with a rough timeline of the events from start to finish. You need to know how it ends from the beginning and how they get there. It can be really, really vague, but it has to be there. It can go like

. They start the game, the trolls bother them.

.both games go to hell

.scratch

.trip, develop relationships

.new set of kids/teen drama

.old kids they get there

.to hell again

.John retcons everything

.new timeline

.they win

And that's homestuck simplified, Those are your Acts. With them, you will know where you're going and if you need to change something earlier. Everything will be constantly up to change of course, but you will be going from point A to point Z more easily.

From there, you go to every point in that list and create a Word document for all of them. I have them in different folders to have every act separated and in order.

A folder for each Doc for every Act, Numbered, and in each one make more lists like that one telling what happens, for example

WordDoc1 - ACT 1 "They start the game, the trolls bother them"=

.John needs to get his game

.introduce Rose

.introduce the trolls on pester chats

. John gets the game

.introduce Dave

.etc

And those are your chapters. Now you can know the extent of what you want to do and if it makes any sense.

I addition to that, every Folder can contain not only the Word document for the Act but also relevant texts and art that are connected to the Act, so evey folder is all about that specific act and any inspiration for it.

Another piece of advice I can give you is to hint at anything important. That's a rule of comedy; actually, the comedian usually closes the show with something related to the first things they said.

That works for everything, and makes people go, "Oh the thing! The meaningless thing they said earlier, it was a clue all along!"

Interconnect it like a web, and that web will stop the story from falling

Homestuck is so ridiculously interconnected that you lose track of the stuff and objects that repeat that have no way to be where they got to be, songs and people and events that are too similar to not be connected but nobody addresses, things like that make it feel like you're dealing with a universe and not just a line of events.

3. Yet another thing, it's something I'm still trying to assimilate, and is that less is more, sometimes things don't need to be said, specialy not bluntly, and an expression, a gesture, a flinch can summarize them. Backgrounds can be reduced, and ideas can be conveyed.

one example is, In homestuck, it's never said that Dave was raised with lack of food. He never sais it, but it's shown in how happy he was to find a warm bottle of juice in his closet, how there is only weapons on the kitchen and no sign of food, how he later sais he never learned what the purpose of a fridge was until he saw it on tv. If someone is lacking something, don't have them say, "i grew up without X thing" show what filled that space in the absence of X thing.

Instead of some character saying, "My dad was never there for christmas" have them say how they thrited for presents at the local goodwill, payed with their lawn mowing money and put the presents under the tree themselves for their siblings and mom.

4. Something that I always have in mind when writing the dialogs and sketching the scenes, is

"I have an idea; what's the easiest way for someone to get the idea, to get the feelings i want to transmit from the idea?" I made the art something I could handle drawing hundreds of times, simplified the coloring, the aspect symbols, the way I draw backgrounds, the way I write dialogs, etc.

That will save you time and work and could prevent you from getting stuck with a project too big to handle

5. This is the most important one: The first draft’s only purpose is to exist.

Writing is like playing darts sometimes; you only get closer to hitting the center by missing it and learning what not to do. That’s an actual rule on animation and a motto on the Disney office. “Get it wrong as quick as you can,” because when you learn what you’re doing wrong is when you start learnign what doing it right means.

If it helps, title your first draft “the dumb version,” because that’s what it is—the version to get the idea out of your head, and then you built over it.

On the same note, once you write "the dumb version" don’t correct it. Rewrite it. It’s annoying, I know, i know, but fixing and fixing a text only carries the mistakes from the first draft, and everything looks kind of disconnected, because it ends up being a Frankenstein text of all the versions of the story mixed together.

This also applies to art; that’s how I handle both writing and drawing; if it’s not working, hold onto the core idea, new page, restart.

Rewriting it puts it in perspective; it feels like a text of its own, with a clear intent in mind.

I think that’s all I have. Making a story is mostly about managing your strengths and weaknesses, organizing and not being scared of it not being perfect.

Hope this helps.

#writing advice #csau extra

169 notes · View notes

absurdthirst · 7 months ago

Text

The Thanksgiving Departure {Dieter Bravo x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.7k

Warnings: Vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, family issues, heartbreak, alcohol, Dieter being a dick, revelations of infidelity, dishonesty, pregnancy, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of breeding kinks, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex

Comments: Married to Dieter Bravo, Thanksgiving turns into the worst day of the year when he abandons you to go to Hollywood for his big break. Never divorcing you and deciding to stroll back into your life on Thanksgiving again years later

Happy Thanksgiving!

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Dieter Bravo MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Dieter sighs as he stares at his script. Another community theater project that he took when he got rejected from his latest audition for Law & Order. He rubs his forehead as the words blur together and he doesn't know how much longer he can do this. He wants to be successful. He wants to be famous...and rich. He can't do that in the middle of fucking nowhere. His hometown is picture perfect. Pumpkin patches in the fall, Christmas parade during December, flower show during spring. Town festivals and even a fucking gazebo in the town square. It's like a movie set but it's not the movie set he wants to be on. His entire life he's dreamed of Hollywood. His dad, before he died when Dieter was ten, showed him the greats. John Wayne. Cary Grant, Marlon Brando. He wants to be like them. A leading man. But he can't do that without going to L.A. "Hey baby." You coo as you walk into the kitchen, frowning when you see his script, "you want me to run lines?" You offer, leaning over to grab the papers, and he growls, shoving the papers across the table.

"No. No. I don't want to run fucking lines." His tone makes your eyebrows raise and you back away until he reaches for your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. "I'm sorry. Shit. I- I didn't get the part. The Law & Order part." He admits, feeling sorry for himself.

“Oh baby.” You soften slightly, knowing how much Dieter hates rejection. He wants so badly to be famous and you support him, but it’s honestly not realistic for where you live. Still, you encourage him to pursue his dreams. “They are missing out.” You step closer and wrap your arms around him to give him a hug from behind. “You are the best actor and would have made the show the highest rated episode of the season.”

Dieter huffs, shaking his head, "I love you, but don't flatter me now. I just - I want to give you the damn world and I can't do that stuck here. I know your mom is sick but baby, I want to go to L.A. I can do this. I know I can. I know I can make it." He whines, shaking his head and he turns his head to press his head against yours.

You sigh softly, knowing this is a conversation that has been going on for months. “I can’t- baby- mom needs us here right now.” You’ve been taking care of your mom for months, you and Dieter moving in and providing in-home care so she didn’t have to go into a care home. “When she’s better, we can look at moving out there.” You promise again. One thing that you love about Dieter is his persistence, but he’s also impatient. He doesn’t really want to wait, every day could possibly be his big break in his mind. “Besides, you don’t want to plan a move around the holidays.” You remind him. “Thanksgiving is in two days.”

Dieter doesn't respond, knowing that his dream is slipping away. Your mom doesn't seem to be getting better and you are young but everyone is asking when you're going to have kids. You just got married six months ago. He's not ready to have kids and all it takes is one slip up on your birth control and he's stuck in this two bit town. He pats your hand, "yeah. Yeah, of course. Let's focus on the holidays." He says but his tone doesn't match the smile he offers you.

You know he’s disappointed that you aren’t immediately jumping to pack your bags, but he will have to understand. “I’m baking your favorite pie.” You hum teasingly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Right after mom’s appointment tomorrow and your mother has already said that she’s bringing the turkey.”

Dieter eyes the script and he wonders about the tape he sent off last week for the role in a new TV show about a detective. He took a chance and auditioned for the lead. It’s a pilot, but could be picked up and he doubts he will get the part. He taps his fingers against the table and turns his head to press his lips to yours. He loves you, he really does, but he feels trapped. “Come here.” He demands, wrapping his arm around you and dragging you into his lap. “Fucking love your pie.” He smiles and presses his lips to yours.

Melting into Dieter easily, you kiss him back, straddling him. Your mother is upstairs resting after a particularly rough day and she will be asleep for a few hours. “I love you.” You coo, grinding down on him with a smirk when he groans. “You want to have sex?” Dieter finds it sexy when you just bluntly ask, so you have taken to doing just that.

Dieter groans, sliding his hand down to squeeze your ass, “yes. Fuck yes.” He smacks your ass and kisses your jaw. “Here or you wanna go to our room?” He asks against our skin, wanting you to decide but he’s already hardening beneath you.

“Here.” Spontaneity has been a little lacking lately with your mother requiring a lot of your time and you know that Dieter will enjoy it. “You can think about it when we are eating dinner here with the family.” You tease.

“You’re too fucking good to me. Think about your pussy while eating your pie.” He teases as he slides his hand under your shirt, “get your damn jeans off.” He demands as he pulls your shirt over your head.

You bite your lip as you stand up, pushing away from him so you can get undressed. “Strip down baby.” You beg, wanting to see him. Dieter has an amazing body, lean and naturally athletic, every time you see him you get wet.

He doesn’t hesitate to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it on the floor, and he stands up to strip his jeans. He never wears underwear so he kicks them aside and sits back down to watch you strip while he wraps his fingers around his cock, pumping himself. “You’re so sexy.” He murmurs, dark eyes watching you with lust. You’re still in your honeymoon stage after six months of marriage and Dieter is always ready to fuck his wife.

“Me?” You snort and shoot him a playful wink. “I’m the one with a hot, actor husband.” You remind him, reaching up and cupping your tits. “You want to fuck me? Or you want me to ride that pretty cock of yours?”

He scoffs at your comment about him being an actor. He wishes. He’s a community theater actor at best. He reaches for you to drag you into his lap, “come here and ride my cock, my beautiful wife.” He demands, groaning when you straddle him and he bends down to take your nipple into his mouth after he cups your tit.

Passion is something Dieter has in spades. He never fails to make you fall deeper in love with him. It’s not like you haven’t been together since you were almost too young for love, but it just keeps growing. “Dee.” You moan, fingers sinking into his short hair. “You should grow your hair out so I can pull it.”

"Can't." He murmurs against your sternum, his face buried between your tits. "I need it short for the show." He presses a kiss to your skin before he lathes his attention on your other breast. His free hand squeezes your ass, "fuck, you're so gorgeous. Wanna eat you out later." He declares after he bites down on your nipple.

You hum, knowing that he can’t grow it out right now, but you would love it. “God, Dee.” You whimper happily, letting him do what he wants while you grind down on his hard cock and roll your hips. You are wet and getting wetter, but he will still stretch you out.

He doesn't want to hurt you if you aren't wet enough so he slides his hand down to cup your cunt, his fingers easily finding your clit to rub slow circles on it.

You moan his name again, loving how he is patient with you. It doesn’t hurt that he’s got a big cock and he knows it. He’s proud of that fact, even if neither one of you has slept with too many people. “God baby, you touch me so perfectly.” You praise breathlessly. “My husband.”

He kisses up your chest until he's pressing his lips to yours while he continues to rub your bundle of nerves. "My sexy, beautiful, smart as fuck wife." He murmurs against your chin and he is throbbing with need for you. "You ready for me?" He asks, his tone a little whiny as he aches for you.

“Yessss.” You hiss, reaching down to wrap your hand around his cock. “I want to ride you, baby.” You pant, lifting your hips as he pulls his hand away and you position him at your entrance.

Dieter hisses as you start to sink down onto him. You’re so fucking perfect and he has always thought it. Ever since you were kids. You’ve always been the most beautiful woman in the room. His hands are everywhere, sliding along your body until he squeezes your ass, letting you adjust while you take him inside your tight cunt.

Dieter always feels amazing, you moan his name as you squeeze him with your muscles. “Fuck I love you.” You pant, kissing along his neck when he turns his head. “You’re my forever baby.”

He groans, helping you rock on top of him, “fucking love you too. So much.” He murmurs, squeezing your ass and his hands slide up your back to pull you even closer as you move on top of him. You’re on your tiptoes as you lift up and slowly sink back down onto his cock. No one has ever made him feel like this, like he is home, but it’s still in the back of his mind to want more from his career.

You don’t know what is rolling through Dieter’s mind as you ride him. All you know is that he feels incredible and you love the way he moans. The way he kisses you. He’s always been a passionate person but he truly makes you feel cherished when he’s touching you, praising you. “I love you. I love how you feel inside me.” You moan, grinding down on him.

Your moan makes him twitch inside you and he watches you as you ride him, taking what you want from him. “Love you too, baby. Tell me - tell me how much you love me.” He whines slightly, needing reassurance from you. He can be insecure and considering his lack of money due to his chosen profession, he feels like he can’t provide for you like he should.

You can tell that he is needy right now and you press your lips to his briefly before you caress his cheek. "To the moon and back." You promise him. "The only one I will ever be married to."

Your words have his heart racing and his stomach clenching when you look into his eyes and you stare at him like he’s the only person in the world, in your world. He loves it and he surges forward to reclaim your lips, needing to be as close as possible to you at this moment.

You love when Dieter is like this, needy and greedy for you. Holding you tight and kissing you like you are the only woman in the world. Even if he dreams big, what you have is real, it’s not an act. You kiss him back just as eagerly, pouring your feelings for him into that simple act while you bounce on his cock.

You take him so well and he groans into your mouth, his tongue sloppily sliding against yours. His hands are everywhere, greedy for you, and he knows you’ll be by his side no matter what. He loves that about you. He tries to get as much of you as possible and it’s so not enough.

Both of you dissolve into moans and grunts of pleasure, the pace picking up to where your tits are bouncing and you feel like Dieter is in your guts. Breathlessly panting praise for him and how his cock feels into his mouth as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to cumming.

He needs to feel you fall apart for him so he slides his hand between you, finding your clit to rub the sensitive bundle of nerves and he groans when you fall apart for him within a few swipes of his fingers. You clamp down on his cock and soak him, collapsing against his chest and he moves fast to wrap his arms around your body, rocking you on top of him as he seeks his own orgasm.

Dieter is frantic and greedy, bordering on desperate as he starts to shuffle his hips up. “I love you, I love you, I love you!” You cry out, gasping as he pushes it towards overstimulation. “Cum for me, baby.”

He falls apart as the command leaves your lips. His cock twitching as he paints your walls with his hot seed. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He pants as he stiffens beneath you, his face buried in your neck as he cums for you, only for you.

You whine softly, loving how you’ve stopped using condoms since you’ve gotten married. One day you will go off your birth control and start a family, but you’ve decided to wait until your mother doesn't need as much care and Dieter is better established. “I love you.” You whisper, running your fingers through his hair gently.

He pants, kissing your chin as he looks up at you, “love you too.” He murmurs, caressing your back as you embrace while the pleasure echoes through your bodies. He sighs and presses a soft kiss to your lips just as your mom calls your name from upstairs.

You sigh softly. “At least we finished this time.” You chuckle, kissing his lips again before you pull off his cock with a groan. “Coming!” You call up the stairs as you move to the sink to clean up quickly so you can redress.

Dieter sighs, shifting to grab his pants from the floor. He knows you are an incredible person to take care of your mom and moving in with her has helped you both to save up money, hopefully for a move to L.A, but his mother in law has been a cock block since he moved in. He watches you rush around and get dressed before you run upstairs and he redresses, looking down at the script on the table. The phone rings on the wall and he calls out “I’ll get it.” He answers and frowns when they say his name. It’s his agent. The one he’s scrapped money together to get some auditions booked. “You got it! You got the part!” He announces and Dieter’s eyes widen, “th-the lead?” He asks, wanting to confirm. “The lead!” His agent grins and Dieter’s heart thumps in his chest. He got the lead. He got it. He finally did it. He grabs a notepad to take down the details. “So you need to move to L.A. Read through for the pilot is the first week of December.” His agent says and after writing down the details, Dieter says goodbye. His grin makes his cheeks hurt and he shakes his head in disbelief.

When you come downstairs, his hands are shaking. “She wants some tea.” You announce as you walk to the stove and Dieter spins you around, pressing his lips to yours. “I did it!” He announces and you frown, “did what?” He chuckles, cupping your cheeks, “I got the part.”

“The part?” You’re confused for a moment before your eyes widen. “The part! That’s great baby!” You kiss him again.

“Yeah we have to be in L.A by December first.” He tells you excitedly, making your face fall into a frown. “In L.A?” You ask, hoping that he is joking. “Yeah, we can go out this weekend and see about getting a place.” He immediately starts rambling and you get more and more worried as he starts to plan out leaving and catching his big break before he finally takes a breath. “Baby….” You bite your lip. “I can’t move to LA. What about mom? What about our life here? My job?” You don’t want to say it out loud, but Dieter has never been the financially stable one of the two of you. You wanted him to chase his dreams and you had always thought once he got it out of his system, he would settle down.

His excitement falters and he stares at you, his brow furrowing. "I, uh, I thought this was always the plan. You know, us, moving to L.A. You working on your art. Me on acting. Our fucking dreams baby. Have you forgotten we have dreams?" He growls, stepping back from you, "or are we gonna fucking die in this goddamn town like our fathers?"

You rear back from the venom in his voice. “Of course I haven’t forgotten we have dreams.” You tell him, hating how he is looking at you. “But sometimes you have to put your dreams on hold. Mom is sick. What am I supposed to do? Leave her alone? Who would take care of her?” You demand. “How will you pay rent if the part falls through? Or the show isn’t picked up? We have stability here. I’m not saying we don’t dream, but I have responsibilities right now.”

Dieter frowns, taking in your words, and his heart breaks. He can’t follow his dream and be with you so he’s going to have to give up his dream. This is his chance, he feels it in his stomach, but he knows you won’t leave your mother. “I can’t stay here forever.” He murmurs, his dark eyes meeting yours.

“I promise it won’t be forever.” You murmur softly, relieved that he is seeing reason. You step closer and he’s not pulling away again. Reaching out and caressing his cheek gently. “Within the next couple of years, we will be chasing our dreams for real.”

Dieter nods despite the part being in the back of his mind but it’s Thanksgiving. Maybe you’ll see reason in a couple of days. He doesn’t phone his agent back to turn down the role, wanting to see how things go. You work on getting the tea ready for your mom and Dieter stands up, “I’ve got a rehearsal for the show later so I’m gonna go shower.” He leans in to kiss your cheek, heading upstairs to the bathroom with Hollywood in the back of his mind.

After taking your mother her tea, you start prepping Thanksgiving. It’s a huge relief to have your family bringing dishes so it’s not all on you. You know you will have a lot to do and taking care of things now will help. Humming to yourself as you make the pie Dieter loves, you smile to yourself. It’s going to be a wonderful holiday.

****

Dieter taps his fingers on the table, listening to your uncle ramble on about the election and he clenches his jaw, trying to not snap at him. "Did you vote for that piece of shit or not, Bravo?" Your uncle Frank asks and Dieter sighs, not wanting to get into an argument. "I don't really get into politics." He answers diplomatically and Frank scoffs, "if you guys value your future, you would pay more goddamn attention." Dieter picks up his glass of wine and takes a sip, glancing across the room to where you are rushing around to grab what everyone needs before you all sit down for dinner. "You need any help, babe?" He calls out and you shake your head, "no. No. I'm nearly done. Everyone sit down!" You demand and you carry the mac and cheese to the table while everyone admires the feast in front of them. Your mom wants to say grace so Dieter reluctantly takes your hand, keeping one eye open as he holds his mom's hand on the other side of him. Your mom clears her throat before she speaks, "thank you Lord for the food we are about to eat. Thank you for family, friends, and loved ones. Thank you for every day we wake up and see the sunshine. May we have many days to come." She finishes with a cough and Dieter sees a tear roll down your cheek and he lifts your hand to press a kiss to the back of it while everyone says "Amen." You clear your throat and smile, telling everyone to dig in.

The table is soon full of food and drinks and your aunt Susan decides to sour Dieter's mood. "So when are you planning on having kids? You two have been married for six months. I was five months pregnant by that stage." She giggles and turns towards you.

You feel Dieter tense beside you and your hand quickly slides under the table to squeeze his knee in reassurance. “We’ve decided to wait.” You remind everyone, the exact same thing you said when you were getting married. “Why? You’re married now, it’s time for you to start a family.” Frankie insists and you shake your head. “We have things we want to do before we have kids. If we even have them at all.” You add.

Frankie scoffs, "don't tell me that you are putting a family on hold so Dieter can become a fucking actor?" Dieter stiffens even more, knowing your uncle wasn't impressed by his career plans and thought he should get a real job to support you and any kids that come along. "I, uh, I got a part, actually. In a pilot, in L.A. It's about a detective." Dieter tries to defend himself and his mom chimes in with "really, baby? That's amazing. Oh I'm so proud of you." She coos, knowing how much her son wants to be an actor. Ever since he was a little boy it's been his dream but your family is relentless.

"Proud of him? What's he gonna do? Drag her to L.A and leave his mother-in-law when she's sick? She's got fucking cancer and her son in law is gonna fuck off so he can follow some dream and come crawling back here when he fails and get a damn divorce because he didn't put his goddamn family over his selfish ass. He will never be famous." Frankie shakes his head and Dieter drops his fork, shrugging off his mom when she rubs his shoulder and pushing your hand away.

“Uncle Frank, that’s enough.” You hiss, although you aren’t shouting because you want to keep the peace as much as possible. “No, it’s not nearly enough.” He snorts and you shake your head. “Your vision of our life doesn’t matter. If Dieter wants to try to make it big in Hollywood, you should be proud of that.”

"Don't." Dieter murmurs, clenching his jaw, and he shoves his napkin on the table, "I'm sorry. I - I gotta go to the bathroom." He declares and you frown, "babe" but he strides off without glancing back at you. He storms into your bathroom, leaning over the vanity to look at himself in the mirror.

"I have a fucking role. I know I can do it. I know I can be an actor. Just need a fucking chance." He hisses through his teeth. "All I need is a chance. I'll fucking prove that asshole wrong." He growls to himself and glances at his toothbrush sitting next to yours. He will never make it in Hollywood if he stays here. He will never prove them wrong. You'll get pregnant and he will give up on his dream. He'll lose his hair, go grey, get wrinkles, and a beer gut like every other fucker in this town. He will be a loser just like them. "I'm not a fucking loser." He mutters and grabs his toothbrush.

“Why do you have to be an asshole?” You hiss to your uncle as everyone else shifts uncomfortably. “The boy has to face reality.” Frank insists, frowning heavily. “He’s not going to be an actor. He needs to get a better job to support you instead of you paying all the damn bills and running yourself ragged while he pretends to work at that stupid little community theatre.”

Dieter rushes around your bedroom, packing essentials, and he grabs a piece of paper from your nightstand, scribbling out a message to you. You'll come to find him any second so his handwriting is awful. He slings his duffel bag over his shoulder and looks at the bed you share. Hopefully you understand why he's doing this. He loves you but he needs to do this for himself. He has to prove everyone wrong. He hesitates for a second when he sees your wedding photo as he turns towards the door and he sighs, shaking his head before he makes his way downstairs quietly. "You need to dump his ass. That Grayson boy wanted to marry you and he works at his daddy's dealership. He's got a career and he's gonna be a big deal in this town. Should've married him." Frank scoffs and Dieter swallows harshly, making his way down the hall to the front door. He opens it softly and steps outside, the cold air making him shiver and he gets in his car, not hesitating as he backs out the driveway and begins his journey. "L.A here I come." He mutters, knowing he will return to his hometown a fucking Oscar winner.

You finally have to leave the table. Not even your mother chiding your uncle has helped and you are sick of his damned opinions. “Dee?” You knock on the door to your shared bedroom, wanting to give him a chance to compose himself if he’s upset. He’s a lot more sensitive than most would believe. “Baby….” You open the door and frown when you don’t see him sitting on the bed and looking miserable. “Hun?” The bathroom light is off and you sigh. Thinking that maybe he had gone outside until you spot the paper on the bed. Stomach sinking in dread, you stare at it for a moment before you reach for the slip of paper. Hand trembling, you unfold it and see that Dieter has scrawled “I can’t wait for my dreams. I’m sorry.” You choke back a sob, realizing that he’s left and you don’t even know when he’ll be home.

****

"Fuckkkkk yessss." Dieter groans as he watches the woman take his cock into his mouth while her boyfriend slides into her from behind. It's a naughty sight he's familiar with and he fucking loves it. "Look so fucking gorgeous." He coos and the man smirks, "says the Oscar winning actor and People's Sexiest Man of the Year 2023." Dieter smirks, chest puffing slightly as the woman giggles as she squeezes his cock. "should get best cock of the year too." She coos and Dieter caresses her cheek, "fuck. You two are gonna make me cum with words." He smirks, "you free next weekend?" He asks, wanting to spend more time with his co-stars.

"We are going to New York. It's - fuck - Thanksgiving." The man reminds Dieter who frowns as his cock is pushed further down the woman's throat. Thanksgiving. Something he hasn't celebrated in the years since he left you during the middle of dinner. His assistant has probably booked for him to go to Hawaii again. "Guess I'll see you when you get back." He says and smirks when he shifts onto his knees to kiss his co-star.

****

"What do you mean the fucking flight is canceled?" Dieter growls at the check in assistant at the first class desk. He would travel private but holidays are fucking expensive. "I'm sorry, Mr. Bravo, but the flights have been canceled to Hawaii. The fires..." She trails off and Dieter scoffs, "what a joke. So what the fuck am I gonna do?" He asks her, eyebrows raised above his aviators. "We can get you a flight somewhere else. Or a refund. If you want to go somewhere, this flight is leaving at the same time as your previous flight." She turns the screen and his jaw drops when he sees the flight is to his hometown. "No. No. Not there. Anywhere but there." He demands and she nods, "I can issue a refund but-" Dieter cuts her off, "actually. Get me a ticket. First class." He demands, remembering that he hasn't seen his mom in years and his co-stars talked about how nice it is to go home for the holidays. He will go home and show everyone in that fucking town that he's back. The Oscar Winning Actor who won Sexiest Man of the Year 2023 is fucking back. "There you go, Mr. Bravo. Enjoy your trip." She hands him the ticket and he smirks, "oh I will."

****

“Mom, I really don’t feel like celebrating this year.” It’s the same comment you make every year, but you are always overruled. “Don’t be ridiculous.” True to what you had told Dieter, your mother had beaten cancer and was now happily in remission. You still live with her, not because you are taking care of her, but because you didn’t want to live alone after Dieter had left you. “Don’t worry, I’ve already invited Sean.” She assures you. “And Debra won’t mind him being there.” You roll your eyes, wishing that Dieter’s mother wasn’t also your mom’s best friend and automatically invited to every family event. Even if you were technically still family since Dieter would never sign the damn divorce papers.

Dieter takes his glasses off his face when he rings the doorbell of his childhood home and his mom answers within a few moments. "Dieter?" She gasps, shocked to see her son, "hi mom." He smiles and she squeals, surging forward to wrap her arms around his neck. "You're home. I can't believe it." She cries and Dieter embraces her. Despite his playboy reputation in L.A, he's always been a momma's boy. "I missed you. Let me look at you." She cups his cheeks and frowns, "you don't eat enough and you pierced your ear. And got more tattoos." She tuts, "but other than that, you are my boy." She kisses his cheek and lets go of him when he flushes, "mom." She steps back and ushers him inside, "come in, come in. I'm just cooking." Dieter follows her inside the familiar home and it hasn't changed.

"I'm just cooking for the dinner tomorrow." She explains and Dieter raises his eyebrows, "dinner?" She nods and says your mom's name, "it's Thanksgiving." She says with a giggle, "silly goose." Dieter frowns, "I, uh, I should probably stay here. I'll be fine." He promises and his mom nods, "yeah. She will be there." His mom never mentions your name on the phone when she discusses her best friend and her life. He heard about your mom beating cancer and he took a hit of coke to celebrate. "She's engaged. So it's probably best that you don't go." She says, still protective over you despite Dieter being her son. She was shocked when you came back in to announce that Dieter had left and she wanted to slap him silly for leaving the best thing to ever happen to him. Even if he was preoccupied with his dreams. "Engaged?" Dieter chokes, knowing he has no right to be shocked but his stomach twists. "She's happy." His mom says and Dieter scoffs, "happy. Still in this damn town. She can't be happy. Who's she engaged to?" He asks and Debra sighs, "Sean Grayson. He's good for her. Baby, I know...I know you left and wow, you've made me so proud seeing you as an Oscar winner and all but...it's time to let her go." She reaches for his hand and Dieter pulls his hand away before she can touch him.

"I want to meet him. I'm going to dinner." He declares, spinning on his heel to call around, see if he can at least get some weed from someone around town. "Oh boy." Debra mutters, knowing this year will be drama filled but maybe it will be good for everyone to get closure.

Waking up on Thanksgiving is always so damn surreal for you. You dread the day, wouldn’t do anything but hide in your bed if you had your way, but you can’t do that. Your mom only let you have the first year after Dieter left to sulk. After that, she had decided Thanksgiving would go on, and so would you. So you just wake up and stare at the ceiling, knowing that this would be the last year you would sleep in this bed. The same one you shared with Dieter although you had replaced the mattress five years ago. “Fuck.” You groan, looking over at the nightstand where another copy of the divorce papers are waiting to be mailed after the holiday.

Dieter wakes up with a groan as his mom bangs on the door to his childhood bedroom. "Dieter! We are leaving in twenty minutes!" Debra shouts through the door and Dieter winces as he rubs his cheek. "Ugh, shit." He rasps as he glances at the clock. It's nearly eleven. He managed to find some weed last night. Ironically the dealer was the same kid who would sell weed in high school and he was shocked when Dieter met him. "No way man, I fucking loved you in Hunger Strike. Here, some E on me." He shoved the baggies at Dieter who offered him a polite smile and paid him before smoking in his room like he used to do when he was sixteen. He rolls out of bed and showers, groaning at his reflection. He's older, wrinkled, graying hair. Everything Frank said he would be but he's famous. He's successful. That's all that matters and today, he gets to show that to everyone who doubted him. He dresses in nicer jeans and a button down, wanting to appear successful since they cost more than someone's rent for the month. "You ready, mom?" He asks and Debra nods, "are you ready?" She emphasizes and Dieter smirks, "let's go."

Even though you would rather be anywhere else, you come downstairs dressed nicely and make sure that you put on makeup this morning. Sean likes when you dress up for him and since this is the first Thanksgiving spent with him here, you make the effort. Hours later, it is almost time for everyone to arrive and you are putting your pie in the oven.

The drive to your mom's house is quiet and Dieter looks out at the town he left in the dust. It hasn't changed and he is nervous. He knows you must hate him. You've sent him divorce papers several times throughout the years but he has never signed them. He doesn't really know why. Sometimes he's gotten high or drunk and signed them but never mailed them. Sometimes he's ripped them up and had his assistant overnight them back to you. He should give you a divorce but he can't do it. Even if he doesn't know why. Pulling up on the familiar driveway, he adjusts his sweater and follows his mom to the front door, bracing himself as she rings the doorbell.

“I’ll get it!” You just texted Sean, so you are pretty sure that it’s Debra. If you can get the talk about Dieter out of the way before he gets here, you would feel a lot better. The last thing you want to do this year is be reminded all day that your husband left you. “Hi, Deb-“ your smile freezes as you open the door to your mother in law and find not only her, but your absentee husband standing on the doorstep with a disgustingly charming smile on his handsome face. “What the fuck?”

Dieter slides his eyes down your body, taking in the sight of you after so many years apart and God, you’re just as fucking beautiful. But you are glaring at him like he just shot your dog and he guesses he deserves that. “Hi honey. I’m home.” He jokes, unable to do anything else right now.

“Are you delivering the divorce papers in person?” You demand and he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “What divorce papers?” He feigns ignorance and Debra chuckles awkwardly. “Now, now, it’s Thanksgiving!” She reminds both of you before she calls out to your mom. “Where do you want the casserole?” She slides by you into the house and leaves you staring at Dieter.

“I wanted to come home and see everyone. Is there something wrong with that?” Dieter continues to smile, loving how affected you seem to be by his appearance. “I missed my mom’s casserole.” He pouts, “and you.”

You rock your jaw, seeing how Dieter’s smile has shifted to a smirk. “Missed me?” You snort and you know that you have to let him in or risk causing a scene. “I doubt that. Where’s that fitness model you were dating? And the hotel concierge?” You watch him shift and his arms drop to his sides, telling you when he’s feeling guilty. “Guess they couldn’t make it?” You don’t invite him in, but you turn and just walk away with the door still open.

Dieter clenches his jaw, knowing his flings have been well broadcasted and his relationship with Anika fell apart because she wanted to get married and he couldn’t explain why he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t tell her he was already married. He huffs and strides into your house, one he knows well but there are differences in decor since he was last here. Shutting the door behind him, he follows you down the hall into the living room where your family is gathered. “Uncle Frank.” Dieter grins, walking over to the old man to slap him on the back, “so good to see you.”

Your uncle Frank’s eyes widen in shock when he turns to see the man he had once called a loser standing next to him. Dieter is successful, famous and rich. He chokes out a “Dieter,” without swallowing his tongue. “You’re here for Thanksgiving?”

Dieter wishes there was a camera to take a photo of the man who ridiculed him so many years ago for chasing his dream. Dieter nods, “yes. Figured I’d come home and see everyone. How you doing?” He asks and Frank chokes out “I’m the same.” Dieter tuts and shakes his head, “that’s a shame. You’ve done nothing with your life.” He mocks and your aunt Susan comes over to him, “you were amazing in Hunger Strike. You really deserved the Oscar.” She says and Dieter grins, standing straighter, “yeah. Thanks. I, uh, I worked my ass off on that role.”

You walk into the kitchen, seething in anger that Dieter just waltzes back into your life and now it could ruin everything. “Why the fuck is he here?”

Your mom sighs, “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t know Deb was bringing him. Hell, I didn’t even know he was back home. What - what are you gonna do? Sean is arriving any minute.” As soon as she says that, the doorbell rings.

“Oh shit.” Your eyes close in frustration and you rush out of the room to open the door before anyone else. Luckily Dieter is letting your aunt fawn and coo over him, as if she’s not completely aware that he had broken your heart.

Dieter watches you rush past the living room down the hall and he offers your aunt a smile as she gushes over his movies. This is what he wanted. To return to adoration. To come back be someone. Not a loser. His grin is cocky as he accepts her praise until you walk into the living with Sean Grayson behind you. He hated that kid in high school. He was a jock who’d make fun of Dieter for being the weird theater kid.

“Listen, I don’t think it’s a good idea if we stay.” You murmur to Sean. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He huffs. “I’ve been looking forward to Thanksgiving with your family.”

Your family, especially Uncle Frank, all coo over Sean as he strides into the living room and your uncle reaches out to shake his hand. “So glad you could come.” He grins and Dieter rolls his eyes, he’s never been greeted like that by your asshole uncle. Sean makes the rounds to say hello until he’s facing Dieter. “Oh. Wow. Bravo. You’re back in town.” Sean says and Dieter nods, holding out his hand, digging his rings into his flesh a little harder than normal. “Yep. Back in town. Figured I’d have a small town Thanksgiving for once instead of trying to cool down in Hawaii.”

You bite your lip and watch your fiancé interact with your technical husband. He smiles that smarmy smile you’ve noticed he’s developed over the years when you’ve accidentally seen interviews and articles with him in them. The one that you can tell is fake. “I need a drink? Does anyone need a drink?” You ask. “Sean, why don’t you come help me, sweetheart?”

Dieter watches you walk off with Sean and Uncle Frank nudges the actor. “New man on the scene. You know, his daddy gave him the dealership. Boy is making good money and he bought her a hell of a ring. Much nicer than that tin you gave her.” Frank snorts and Dieter clenches his jaw and gives him a tight smile. “I wasn’t rich then. I could buy her a million dollar ring and still not touch the sides.”

“But why would you?” He asks. “You’re banging everything you can get your hands on. We aren’t so small town that we don’t know what you’re doing in Hollywood.” In the kitchen, you are rushing to get the wine glasses while Sean gets the wine. “I can’t believe Bravo came.” Sean snorts. “Got to be a shock to see your ex-husband here.”

Dieter snorts, wishing he had a cigarette or something to distract himself from the hell he volunteered for. He imagined you would be grateful for his return and he’s found you engaged to a fucking asshole who used to bully him. “True. You know, I was in a throuple.” Dieter smirks, “wore me out and I ended it because I needed to give my body a break, if you know what I mean.” He smirks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Frank curls his lip and turns away from Dieter, moving over towards his wife and leaning in to whisper something in her ear. “Yeah- uh, it’s kind of a shock.” You tell Sean, quickly opening the bottle he opened and pouring out drinks. “Just- um, please don’t talk about the wedding or anything?” You beg him. “I don’t want Dieter to try to bring up the past today. I don’t know if I can handle it.” Sean knows all about Dieter leaving you on the holiday and has been supportive of you so far. You can only hope that Dieter doesn’t run his fucking mouth. You’ve never actually told Sean you are still married to the actor, assuming he would get bored of whatever little game he had been playing and sign the damned papers. The judge wouldn’t grant you a divorce without Dieter present because of his fame and the wealth he has, despite you promising the old coot you just wanted the divorce. He had also been the one to marry you and Dieter forever ago and had a history of no divorces amongst the couples who had been married by him. It makes you want to tear your hair out.

Sean nods, coming over to you so he can rub your upper arms. “Don’t worry, baby. It’s gonna be okay. We won’t let him ruin this holiday again.” Sean murmurs, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “Just ignore him and if you want, I’ll kick his ass.” Sean smirks, “been wanting to do it since high school anyway.”

You frown slightly, hearing an anticipation in Sean’s voice that you didn’t like. You know they didn’t get along in high school, but that was so long ago. “No, nothing like that.”

Sean nods, "fine. Let's get a drink and ignore his ass." Sean reaches for a bottle of beer and opens it, talking a gulp. Meanwhile, Dieter is thanking your mom when she hands him a glass of white wine. He wishes it was stronger but he doesn't want to get sloppy. Today, he's here to show everyone that they were wrong.

You try not to even look at Dieter when you come back into the room, reassured by the kiss shared in the kitchen and the weight of Sean’s hand on your waist. “Dinner should be ready in fifteen.” You tell everyone, smiling but avoiding looking over towards Dieter and Debra.

Dieter's gaze drops to the hand on your waist and he shifts from one foot to the other. He knows he has no claim over you but he feels jealous. He talks to his mom who smiles at him, happy he's home, and finally, everyone is sitting down for dinner.

"So, Bravo, why'd you come back? To this town?" Sean asks after you walk into the kitchen to grab the salt and pepper. "To see my mom. To see everyone since I've been gone for so long." Dieter answers and Sean snorts, "yeah. Years. Looks like you've been busy too. Work wise and with partners." Dieter snorts, "true. I have been very busy." He smirks, "that's why I came home. I needed rest."

You look down at your plate after sitting down, pretending not to care about the conversation but it stings. A knife to your chest just like that time….you reach for your glass and take another gulp of your wine. Dieter had moved on, obviously, and so have you. It does no good to delve into the past. “Well, our small town is the perfect place for rest.” You manage brightly, picking up your fork again.

Dieter hums, “that it is. That it is.” Sean narrows his eyes slightly when he sees the way Dieter looks at you. “So what are your plans? Just hanging around? Or you gonna go out? We don’t need the town to be disrupted.” He bites at Dieter who chuckles and nods, “I’m used to signing autographs and taking photos. I just don’t want fans to be stalking me. I’ve had some issues back home with fans following me home. I did take one to bed once but she ended up being crazy.”

You shudder, forking up a bite of your food and holding it at your mouth. “I’m sure that after tonight Dieter will go back to LA where he belongs.” You look towards your fiancé. “Our small town is boring and there’s nothing here for him.” You’ll give him the papers again when Sean leaves.

Dieter shakes his head, “I wouldn’t say that. This town has its charms.” His dark eyes focus on you, “but enough about me. What about you two? Tell me how you met.” He orders, setting his fork down to take a sip of wine.

You are about to change the subject, but Sean actually reaches over and squeezes your knee. “Well, her car was on its last leg, a rolling road hazard really, so she came in to find another vehicle.” Sean explains. “Since dad turned over the dealership to me, I find that I actually like to be on the sales floor. I sold her on the idea of that pretty little car in the driveway and a date.” He chuckles at his own joke and you smile at him when he looks over, although your appetite is gone and your stomach is in knots.

Dieter chuckles, a fake smile on his face as he looks at you. You look a little sick, definitely look like you want to floor to swallow you up. “And do you make her cum?” Dieter asks bluntly, “because she used to love it when I ate her out.”

“Dieter!” His name is not only hissed by you, but by his mother, and your own. Your aunt gasping and your uncle grumbling about degenerate behavior while you wish you could just disappear. Sean stiffens but he looks over at you and smirks. “Well, I’m the one taking care of her now.” He turns back towards Dieter. “And I’m not talking about my fiancée like that.”

Dieter falters for a second upon hearing you’re engaged to that asshole but he recovers and smirks back, “so you eat her ass? She used to love that. Would make her drip onto the bed sheets.” He continues to push the boundaries and his mother slaps his arm, “I cannot believe you. Be quiet.” She pleads but Dieter stares at Sean, silently challenging the man you’re engaged to.

Your face feels like it’s on fire, thoroughly embarrassed by Dieter’s childish behavior and the very personal questions. Sean snorts and shakes his head. “You’re something else, Bravo.” He tells him. “It’s a good damn thing she didn’t stay in LA with you. You would have mortified her in interviews.”

Dieter leans back in his chair, his brow furrowing, "what are you talking about? She didn't come to L.A." He scoffs, "she never wanted to come to L.A. She wanted to stay in this shithole town and have babies and die having never achieved anything."

Sean frowns and looks at you. “I thought you said you met up with him in LA to give him the divorce papers?” He asks and you huff out a nervous smile. “I mean- I did, but I-“ Dieter chuckles. “Nope. Never happened.” He announces. “Dieter-“ you try to stop him, but he just smirks at Sean. “We’re still married.”

Dieter watches Sean's face drop and he chuckles, "she didn't tell you? She's still Mrs. Bravo." He reveals and his mom nudges him but this moment is so satisfying. To see that smug look fall from that asshole’s face. "We don't have a pre-nup so it's not financially viable for me to divorce."

“You told me you were divorced.” Sean’s eyes narrow towards you and you know that he’s pissed. “Baby, I’ve been trying to-“ “You know how I feel about shit like that!” He hisses, his chair scraping the floor as he pushes back from his plate quickly. “You’ve been lying to me. I can’t-“ he shakes his head and stalks around the table to edge towards the door. Leaping up, you rush after him, hoping you can explain.

Dieter smirks and his mom slaps his arm again, “why would you do that?” She asks and Uncle Frank scoffs, “because he’s an asshole.” Dieter hums, feeling satisfied to make Sean angry. “Well, let’s not let the food go to waste.” He declares and digs back into his food.

Outside you are chasing after Sean. “Wait! I can explain.” You tell him, making him stop and spin around. “You can explain how you’ve been lying to me?” He demands, his face showing how hurt and upset he is. You sigh. “I’ve been trying to divorce Dieter since I went to LA. But he refuses to do anything with the papers I’ve sent his lawyer, his agent, him directly.” You wave your arm around in frustration. “And the judge will not do anything until he does sign them!”

“So you accepted my proposal knowing you are already married? What were you gonna do? Be a bigamist?” He hisses and you shake your head, tears in your eyes. “I can’t- I can’t marry someone who lies to me and I need time. I- I’ll call you later.” He shrugs off your touch when you reach for him and he stomps over to his car, getting in and speeding off down the road.

You watch the car for a moment, angry and hurt, even though you know that he is right. You lied to him, afraid of losing the first stable relationship since Dieter had left you. Walking back inside, you find Dieter calmly eating Thanksgiving dinner like he hadn’t just turned your life upside down again. “Thanks for that, you fucking selfish prick!” You yell. “Why did you even come back here now? To ruin Thanksgiving for me all over? Mission accomplished!” You turn back around and rush out of the house again, tears streaming down your face.

Dieter scoffs and stands up, following you outside because he needs to say what he’s been thinking since he arrived. You spin around when you see him, telling him to leave you alone. “Like you really wanted to marry that prick. He just wants you to be a homemaker. Pop out his babies. He doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care about your dreams. I did, remember? But you didn’t follow your dreams. You stayed here to fucking rot in this fucking town.” Dieter growls, “you’re the one who gave up on us. Not me. I left to do what we always said we’d do. I had the balls to follow my dreams.”

“Fuck you.” You hiss, glaring at him and wanting so back to slap him. “Apparently following your dreams was also fucking other people!” You watch as his eyes widen and you laugh at the irony. “I went to LA, Dieter! A week after you mailed me your apartment key, I flew out to surprise you. Mom had just been told the cancer treatment had been successful and I wanted to tell you in person.”

Tears are streaming down your face as you tell him. “I crept into the apartment only to find your dick down some bitch’s throat while her boyfriend was fucking her. Allllllll while you moaned about how you were going to fuck them both. So I left.”

He flinches, remembering that night, and he wondered why his door was unlocked at the time but figured his guests hadn’t locked it. “I- I- what was I supposed to do? You didn’t want me. You made it clear that I didn’t matter when I got the part and you refused to follow me. Your mom could’ve come with us. I don’t - I refuse to apologize for living my damn life.” He growls back before he swallows and slumps, “I’m sorry. I- fuck - okay? I’m so goddamn sorry. I missed you. Whenever I got drunk, I’d pick up the phone and call you and you’d answer and - and I’d lose my shit and hang up. I fucked up. I shouldn’t have left but I achieved my dream. I couldn’t stay here and be called a loser by your family anymore. I had to prove myself and my chance came. I had to take it. No matter the cost.”

“No matter the cost.” You nod, feeling deflated. “That cost was our marriage. But I guess it was worth it, right?” You ask. “You get to fuck whoever you want, everyone wants to fuck an Oscar winner.” You turn around and rush off, wanting to be alone.

He lets you walk away this time, knowing how you feel and he can tell you hate him. He’s ruined everything for you because he was selfish and wanted to achieve his dreams. Your mom was sick, he should’ve stayed, but it’s too late to turn back the clock. He watches you walk off and feels a hand on his shoulder. It’s your mom. “I- I’m sorry. I ruined her life.” He murmurs and turns to look at his mother in law.

“You know, I was so angry when you left. On Thanksgiving of all days. She fell apart. Wouldn’t speak to me. Just helped me get better and I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for her, but I feel guilty. She never got to achieve her dreams. I held her back. And to know that I could’ve stopped you from your success is equally as bad. I hate you for leaving her but I love you for accomplishing your dream. When I was sick, I had so many regrets. I had to face death and I realized I didn’t do anything that I set out to do. After you left, I decided to do all the things that I wanted to do when I was better. I did all that and it’s because of you. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be regretting all the things I didn’t do. You are a great actor, Dieter, but right now, you need to be yourself and be honest. Do you want to be married to my daughter when you are in L.A and she has found someone who can give her what she needs? She wants children. She wants to be happy. She can’t do that if she’s constantly clinging to the past. Do the right thing.” She urges and Dieter sighs, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “I’ll go talk to her.” He promises, knowing where you are. Where you used to go. It doesn’t take long to walk to the park, finding you on the swing set you’d hang out at as kids.

You sniff as you kick at the rubber that they replaced the old sand with. It’s not nearly as satisfying as you had thought when you got to tell Dieter off and him being here has stirred up emotions you had thought you had buried deep enough. Sean is a good guy, but he isn’t Dieter. He doesn’t dream with you, and he can be annoyingly practical all the time. You hate how your heart had kicked in your chest when you opened the door to see your husband standing there. As if you sense his presence, you look up to see him walking towards you. Making you sigh softly and kick off to start swinging.

Dieter approaches you cautiously, not wanting to be screamed at again, and he sits down on the swing next to you. “Your mom talked to me. She’s still the same. Like my second mom.” He chuckles and glances at you until he turns his gaze to the falling leaves. “I’m sorry I’m such an asshole. I have been selfish and I shouldn’t have left. I should’ve stayed. Talked to you. Made a plan together.” He inhales deeply, “I’ll sign the papers. No arguments. I’ll let you go so you can be happy with Sean.”

You sigh, continuing to swing as you absorb what he is saying. “It doesn’t matter now.” You finally admit. “Sean’s first wife had an affair so he hates liars and cheaters.” You snort to yourself. “And technically, I’m both.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve really fucked up your life. I’ll sign the papers and get you one of those uh, what is it the models want, a Birkin bag.” He teases and you roll your eyes. “I won’t fuck your life any more. I’ll sign the papers.” He promises softly.

“Why wouldn’t you sign them before now?” You ask. “Seriously? I asked for nothing. Not one dime. No spousal support, no alimony, nothing. But you wouldn’t sign them while you were galavanting around the world and having public relationships with models.”

He looks down at his hands, the tattoo he got when he was eighteen of the circle you’d draw on his hand during class. He rubs the circle and sighs, “because I never stopped loving you. I know you won’t believe me and I’m not asking for anything but I thought if I signed the papers…it’s over. We are over. I didn’t want to face that when no one in Hollywood ever loved me. Not for me. Not like you did. I love you and I was selfish to keep you trapped in our marriage while I did whatever I wanted, whoever I wanted. I’ll sign the papers and I’ll talk to Sean. Tell him it was my fault. I threatened you to not sign the papers because I- I don’t know, because I didn’t want to give you any money. I’ll take the blame and you can be single and marry him, if that’s what you want.”

“You know you broke my heart, when you left?” You ask softly. “That's why I wouldn’t talk to you in the beginning. I was upset. If you had just talked to me about a plan that didn’t just include dropping everything, I would have gone along.” You continue to swing as you talk. “I wanted to be with you in LA. Wanted to help you make your dream come true, but you didn’t need me. You had everyone else.”

Dieter shakes his head, flexing his fingers, “everyone else?” He scoffs, “no one really wanted me. They wanted fame, money, connections. They didn’t give a fuck about me. The real me. I had to get lost in the haze of drugs and booze to feel something. No one has ever made me feel like you do.” He admits, “no one ever came close to you.”

“Poor Dieter.” You don’t murmur it sarcastically like you probably should have, despite everything you have to admit to yourself that you still love him. “You have everything you wanted and are more alone than ever.”

He knows he should put his walls back up and say his life is amazing but he is exhausted from pretending. “No one loves me. Not really. They only love what I can give them.” He sighs and rubs his hands.

“Your mom loves you.” You point out, even though you know that’s not what he means. Dieter huffs and you smile at his pout. “I still love you.” You admit. “It’s why I’m so fucking angry at you.”

Dieter clicks his tongue, “you still love me? Why? I’ve treated you like shit. Worse than shit. You should hate me. Fuck, I hate me.” He confesses, staring at the tarmac beneath his feet. “You deserve everything.”

“You can’t help who you love, Dieter.” You remind him, scoffing at both of you. “You broke my heart and refused to let me move on, but I watched the Oscars the night you won.” You confess. “Got drunk when I saw you making out with that model at the Vanity Fair after party.”

“I had - my PR needed me to date and make a name for myself until it became about me helping those girls make a name for themselves. I didn’t connect with anyone. Never had a relationship. Just one night stands. It was never serious. It was never you.” He closes his eyes and sighs.

“There’s no way I could compete with those women.” You scoff. “And men. They are gorgeous.”

Dieter chuckles humorlessly, "pretty but so fucking dumb. Trust me, baby. None of them had a lot of brain cells. They are beautiful but none of them wanted to talk about life. They just wanted to be seen with me and go on their way when they got what they wanted."

Some might call you stupid, but you feel bad for him. Dieter has always had this need to feel love, to be connected to someone. “I’m sorry that fame hasn’t been all you thought it would be.” You murmur. “I know that after I came back from LA, I- I just lost my passion. I couldn’t work on my art anymore. Everything was just dismal.”

“The grass ain’t always greener, huh?” He snorts and kicks his feet as he swings. “I’m sorry. I sent you that key when I was high and I always miss you when I’m high. I wanted to see you and figured that was one way to get you to L.A. I didn’t know…fuck, I wish I’d known.” He admits, “I, uh, I haven’t been with anyone for six months. Kinda lost the appeal. Casual sex. I miss how we used to be. Our sex.” He confesses, glancing at you.

“We had great sex.” You admit, never telling Sean that he didn’t quite measure up to your ex. That would have been wrong. “Maybe too good of sex.” You sigh again. “A month after you left, I found out I was pregnant. Or I thought I was.”

Dieter’s eyes widen, “you thought you were-? Did you-? I mean, I completely understand if you decided to, you know.” He finishes softly, his stomach twisting.

“No.” You quickly shake your head. “I, uh, lost the pregnancy a couple of weeks later.” You had confirmed with your doctor that it was likely you were in the early stages but it obviously wasn’t meant to be. He told you that stress could have caused it, or there was something wrong with the baby to not be viable. Either way, it had felt like the universe was telling you to let Dieter go. And then a month later you found him fucking another couple.

He hates that he wasn’t there, that he possibly caused it if you were upset by him leaving. “I’m so sorry.” He murmurs, “I know - there’s nothing I can say that will make that better or make it right.” He reaches for your hand to squeeze it, “I ruined your life. Your happiness.”

It’s the first time Dieter has touched you since he left so many Thanksgivings ago, but your heart still pounds and your skin tingles. “I wish we could have done things differently.” You squeeze his hand back gently.

Dieter nods, “me too. I wish I hadn’t fucked up. You are the best thing that ever happened to me.” He confesses and kisses the back of your hand, “even better than an Oscar, but…that time of our lives is over now. I know you can’t forgive me. I’ll sign the papers.” He promises, letting go of your hand.

You frown to yourself as you wrap your hand around the chain for the swing and push off again. “Do you remember that weekend we each told our parents we were going to stay at a friend’s house and we went to that little cabin your grandfather owned?”

Dieter frowns, the memory is one that got buried beneath the haze of drugs and booze but he remembers. “Yeah. Our first time.” He smiles, fondly reminded of the night you first slept together. “It was so fucking cold and I couldn’t get the fire started. Turns out having sex is a great way to keep warm.” He chuckles, starting to swing alongside you.

“That was the day I decided I was going to marry you.” You hum at the memory, smiling softly at the way a very young Dieter had panicked that he had ruined the moment for you. You had both been kids at the time, growing up together. “That’s a fun fact that the world doesn’t know about Dieter Bravo.” You tease. “You married the girl that took your virginity.”

Dieter chuckles, “Entertainment Tonight would have a field day.” He winks at you when you giggle, “it took me way too damn long to propose to you but I was scared you were gonna say no. Who wanted to marry a wannabe actor making his money in a community theater with no house? I was a shitshow.” He scoffs, shaking his head at himself.

“You were my shitshow.” You laugh, leaning back in the swing and kicking your feet higher. “It was us against the world back then, and I didn’t believe you would make it honestly, but I wanted you to try.”

“Hey. My improv was fucking great.” He defends himself playfully, “but I had to try. Even if I went to L.A and failed, I had to try. I couldn’t live life thinking what if. Imagine if I hadn’t gone? I’d be sat at the kitchen table with our kids wondering what could’ve been. I just wish you’d been by my side when I left.” He says as he swings.

“Hard to be by your side when you left without a word. Just a note on the bed.” There’s no heat in your tone, just irony. “It just- wasn’t meant to be.”

“And Sean is meant to be?” Dieter snorts. “Do you really want to marry that asshole?”

“He’s…..” you blow out a sigh, “safe.” You admit to him and to yourself. “I like him, he’s a good man……” you know you aren’t answering the real question and it’s ironic that Dieter is the only one to ask you that since you and Sean got engaged. “No.” You confess after a moment. “I don’t to want to marry him.”

Dieter nods, quiet for a moment as he absorbs your words, “I can’t sit here and lecture you. I have no authority in your life but you need to do what you want. Fuck everyone else. You sacrificed so much of yourself for everyone around you. Even me. I was selfish and you are still sitting here talking to me. Do what you want. Be selfish for once.” He demands, wanting you to be happy.

You want to be selfish and you drag your feet along the ground to stop yourself and hop off the swing. Turning towards Dieter, you grab the chain and pull him to a stop. His eyes widen and for a second, you both think that you’re going to slap him. He would deserve it. Instead, you lunge forward and press your lips to his.

Dieter is shocked when your lips smash against his and he reacts within seconds, wrapping his arms around you to drag you into his lap. As soon as your lips touch his, his muscle memory kicks in and he deepens the kiss. Reminded of so many kisses shared all those years ago.

You are shocked by how quickly Dieter clings to you. You’re angry at him, how could you not be? But you’ve missed him so much that it doesn’t matter right now. Your fingers sink into his longer hair and you moan, enjoying how it feels. You always wanted him to grow his hair out.

Your fingers pull on his hair and he groans into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and his hands slide down to squeeze your ass. He devours you, knowing this is wrong, and you’re going to push him away any second, but right now he’s greedy and he wants you.

You let yourself be taken away by the moment. Leaning into him, breathing him in. His base scent is still the same, woodsy and you swear he is still wearing the same cologne you had picked out for him years ago.

He knows you’ll pull away any second and he readies himself for that rejection as he leans back, pecking your lips until he kisses your cheeks and finally, your forehead. “I never stopped loving you.” He promises breathlessly, his hands sliding up your back. “I just wanted to make you proud but I fucked it all up.”

“You did fuck it up all up.” You won’t spare his feelings, but you reach out and caress his cheek. “But I am proud of you, Dieter. Every movie broke my heart and made me proud. Every role, even when you were on Broadway.” You sigh. “I went to your performance, the second week in.”

“You did?” He asks, eyes widening as he looks at you and his heart is pounding in his chest. He hasn’t felt like this in so many years. He hasn’t felt anything real for so long.

“I had to see it. You talked about Broadway the entire time you were at our local theatre. I honestly didn’t expect you to take the role, but when it was announced, I bought tickets.” You tell him. You cried through the entire thing, but people just thought you were moved by the performances.

He smiles softly, loving that you came to see him even if you hated him. You are kind enough to support him even when he ruined your life. “So what now? You gonna tell Sean you don’t want to marry him? I go home and we act like this never happened?” He asks quietly, worried that you’ll nod and send him away.

“I don’t know.” You bite your lip. “I don’t know what you want. You have a life in LA, a …..persona.” You add. “If you want that life, still….” You shrug. “I don’t think I can be a part of it.”

“Come with me to L.A. There’s nothing keeping you here. I want you to see my life and I want you to do something for yourself. Make your dreams come true. Paint. Do whatever you want. I’ll support you. I don’t give a fuck about my persona. I want to be with you and if you want to go home, if you get sick of me, I’ll book you a private jet straight back here.” He promises, “just give me another chance. Give us another chance.”

You lick your lips, staring at him and watching him start to shift nervously. “You want me to move to LA? Live with you?” He nods enthusiastically. “I do, baby, I want you to come be with me.” You lick your lips. “What do I have to lose?”

He nods, not allowing himself to get too excited. "And if you hate it, hate me, wanna come home...I'll sign the papers." He promises, nudging his nose against yours.

You snort. “I doubt that.” You tease, closing the gap to press your lips to his again. “I’ve never hated you, even when I hated you.” You had been so upset at him, but it’s only because you loved him so much. You still love him.

****

“Baby! Did you get the juice boxes?” You call out and Dieter strides into the dining room with the boxes for the kids. “Here you go.” He leans over to kiss the head of his three year old son before handing another box to your five year old daughter who opens it herself while saying “thanks daddy.” It’s so weird to hear that even now and Dieter can’t believe he’s a father. He smiles at his daughter and leans in to softly kiss you. “You need anything?” He murmurs against your lips, pulling back to look at you. “No. No. Sit down and eat.” You order and he sits down. “It looks amazing.” Debra compliments your mom who beams, so happy to be spending the holidays with her grandchildren. “Thank you.” She smiles at Dieter who is happy to be sitting here. So different from that Thanksgiving so many years ago. You had moved to L.A with him after your mom encouraged you and after that, you had decided to try and repair your relationship. It was easy to fall in love again and now, you have two kids.

You have everything you wanted back then, finding some small success as an artist, but you really prefer spending time with your kids, and your husband when he is away on location. You bring the family now and the press is marveling over the change in Dieter Bravo’s behavior. “Happy Thanksgiving everyone.” You raise your glass of wine but you don’t take a sip, smiling at Dieter mischievously. “Next year we will need to set another place at the table.” You announce. “Baby Bravo number three will be coming to a nursery near you in April.”

Your mom’s eyes widen as much as Debra’s and she grins, “that’s - that’s incredible, baby!” She cries and tears fill her eyes. “Oh my loves. Another baby.” Debra coos and reaches out to caress Dieter’s cheek before she smiles at you. “I’m so happy you both came back together.” Your mom sighs, loving how you and Dieter have worked everything out.

It hasn’t been easy, there have been times when you’ve been angry at Dieter, but he’s sober, you attend couples counseling and he has become your rock. “Thanksgiving miracles, huh?”

Dieter nods, “our miracles.” He murmurs, reaching for your hand to press a kiss to the back of it. You all dig in to the food and soon the kids are in bed after everyone is full, the house is clean, and your moms are watching tv. “You ready for bed, babe?” You ask and Dieter glances at the clock. “It’s only eight.” He frowns until you raise your eyebrows and his eyes widen, “oh yeah. I’m tired. We are going upstairs. Wifey needs all the rest she can get.” Dieter teases and your moms say goodnight while Dieter takes your hand and guides you upstairs.

You snort playfully and reach around him to slap his ass. “You almost didn’t get the drift.” You tease him. “And I thought you always knew when someone wanted sex.” Dieter huffs at you. “I didn’t think you would want it tonight.” He whines, defending himself.

You chuckle, “you know how horny I get when I’m pregnant.” You remind him and Dieter snorts, “but you’ve had turkey and pie.” He defends himself again as you make your way to the room you used to live in when you first got married. He opens the door and closes it behind you, groaning as he surges forward to press his lips to yours.

The years apart and the life that Dieter had lived in LA had just given him new skills to use on you. While it wasn’t perfect, you have to take the good with the bad. The good is that you have Dieter completely. Your arms wind around him and pull him close as you moan softly.

His hands are gentle but firm as he slides his hands down to squeeze your ass, pulling you against him as he hardens in his sweats. “Fuck. I love you.” He murmurs, kissing along your neck as he guides you backwards to the bed.

“I love you too.” You promise, trusting that he will make you feel amazing. “How do you feel about another baby?” You ask as you fall back into the bed.

“Happy as fuck.” He admits, “we have money. We have a big enough house. We can have as many babies as you want.” He teases as you lower to the bed and he shifts to kneel between your legs, “and you’re so fucking beautiful full of our babies.”

You have discovered that Dieter has kinks surrounding having kids now. Breeding, pregnancy, lactation kinks all have made for some amazing nights. You love the confidence that it gives you when he works with some of the most beautiful people in the world. He’s now the one that is showing pictures of his kids to his co-stars and inviting them to meet you, rather than asking if they want to do a line of coke with him. “You just love proving you aren’t sterile.” You tease, reminding him of The Inquisitor article that claimed all your children were born via sperm donor.

He snorts, “all conceived on my cock, baby.” He declares smugly and he reaches for the hem of your shirt, dragging it over your head. “You are gorgeous, baby.” He murmurs as he bends down to kiss your stomach, not quite a bump yet.

You hum, running your fingers through his hair again like he loves. He’s always sweet and considerate while you are pregnant and this will be your last baby, so it’s a special time for both of you. “All yours.” You promise.

He’s gonna get the snip before you have the baby, just so this is your last baby, and it’s bittersweet but he is going to enjoy every moment. He hooks his fingers in your leggings, dragging them down your legs and he groans when the scent of your arousal hits his nose. You’re so sensitive when you’re pregnant and he loves it. “All mine. And I’m yours. All of me.” He promises as he tosses your leggings aside and surges down to press his nose against your clit through your panties.

“Deeee.” You moan softly, loving the devoted look on his face as he looks up towards you. “I know I have you baby.” You promise, smiling down at him. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” He murmurs and hooks his finger in your panties, leaning in to slide his tongue through your folds. He loves the tang of your arousal when you’re pregnant. You taste sweeter somehow and he groans, reaching for your thigh to push it further away so he can slide his tongue into your cunt.

Whimpering with Dieter’s tongue inside you is as natural as breathing. Closing your eyes and letting him eat you out because he wants to. He loves doing down on you and hearing his name break from your lips. “Fuck baby, I love you.” You pant. “Deee.”

He loves hearing you moan his name. He laps at you, wanting to show you how much he loves you through his tongue. One hand caresses your stomach and the other pushes your thigh back to spread you more so he can bury his face In your pussy.

You don’t have to worry about waking the kids up, they are used to sleeping through anything although it’s usually just dinner parties and the two of you having sex. “Fuck, Dieter.” You moan. “Want to cum all over that stupidly handsome face of yours.”

He chuckles into your folds, knowing he's getting wrinkly and despite his co-stars in Hollywood investing in plastic surgery, he is surprisingly not interested in preventing aging. He is happy to be old beside you. His tongue laps at your clit, wanting you to fall apart for him.

Your hormones make you sensitive and in no time you are crying out in pleasure. Gasping out his name as your thighs cinch down around his head and your body shakes in pleasure.

He groans when you squeeze his head between your thighs, his hand reaching for yours as he works you through it. His cock is aching and he grinds against the mattress while he works you through your orgasm.

Dieter doesn’t stop until you are gasping and pushing his head away from you, clit aching from his attention and he pulls away with a playful smack to his lips. “I need you inside me.” You beg, reaching down and pulling him up. “I need my husband.”

He groans, shifting to hover above you, and he lets you pull his shirt over his head. He pushes his sweatpants down and his hard cock bounces as he kicks them aside while you throw his shirt on the floor. “Like this?” He asks, caressing your side and when you nod, he shifts to kneel between your legs, “I love you.” He murmurs as he grips his cock and positions himself at your cunt to push inside you.

The stretch of him is something that you will always love. Moaning as he fills you with a smooth, steady thrust that doesn’t stop until he is buried to the hilt and both of you are breathless. “Fuck.” You whimper, caressing his back as you squeeze him tight. “Feels so good baby.”

Dieter groans as he twitches inside you. You’re so damn hot and wet around his cock. “Fuck, I love you.” He murmurs, leaning down to kiss your lips. “Marry me again.” He murmurs, keeping still inside you.

You’re surprised when he says that. You’ve talked about it before, several times. He had always said that you should renew your vows, but you’ve never really planned anything else. “You want that?”

He nods as he stays still above you. “I want to renew our vows. Either before or after you have the baby. Whenever you want. I want a proper wedding. We got married at the courthouse when we were so young and I want to give you the wedding you deserve. A dress and a cake and - and a party like no one has seen.”

You giggle quietly. “It will have to be after the baby is born then.” You huff, knowing that while he has the money to pull off a wedding in weeks, you would rather enjoy the entire event rather than feeling rushed. “We’ll sell the pictures to People.” You tease, reaching up and caressing his face. “I love you.”

He snorts, nudging his nose with yours, “this will be for us. Our friends and family.” He promises and starts to move inside you. “I love you. So damn much.” He murmurs, sliding his hand up to squeeze your breast, shifting his weight to one arm.

He keeps his pace slow and loving, wanting you to enjoy it and sometimes the harsher thrusts aren’t what you want. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you move with him. Enjoying the way he fills you and never leaves you empty for too long. Slow lovemaking. “I love you too.”

He loves how you wrap yourself around him and he keeps his weight off your stomach while he rocks into you. It’s slow and sweet and he kisses along your jaw while he murmurs how beautiful you are. He knows how to make you moan and he grinds into your cunt, shifting his hips until he finds the angle that makes you moan his name. “That’s it, baby.” He coos, his back starting to ache but he keeps moving.

You breathlessly moan for him, finding it so sexy how he keeps the pressure up just like you need it. You know that his back is hurting and yet he keeps rocking into you at the same angle. “So good baby.”

He keeps the pace and angle as he pushes into you, wanting to feel you fall apart beneath him. He groans your name, “baby. Baby. Cum for me.” He demands, pressing his lips to your jaw, his breath puffing against your skin.

You let go of him and reach between you, pinching your nipple and making yourself fall over the edge. Crying out softly, your cunt starts to spasm around his cock and soak it with your juices.

He groans against your jaw as you cum around him, clamping down on his cock and he hisses. “Fuck baby. Feel so goddamn good. I - shit - I love you.” He murmurs, rocking you through it.

You whimper, eyes closed and your fingers dig into his shoulder. “Cum for me.” You beg softly. “I want you to fill me up.”

He grunts in response, thrusting into you at a sloppier pace than before as he feels that tingling in the base of his spine. His lips press against yours as he buries himself deep after several thrusts, muffling his groan while he paints your walls with his cum.

Even when he’s exhausted and happily riding out his high, Dieter collapses to his side so he doesn’t press too much of his weight on you. More considerate than anyone would have ever believed the selfish bad boy of Hollywood could be. “I love you.” You whisper in his ear with a smile on your face. “Happy Thanksgiving, love.” Thanksgiving had been a heavy burden for you, a reminder of your husband leaving you for years until he had come back to you on that same holiday. Now, you both give thanks for being together and more in love than ever. You accomplished both of your dreams and now all of them you still work towards are ones you want to accomplish together.

#pedro pascal #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo imagine #dieter bravo fanfiction

277 notes · View notes