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theredwritingwitch · 2 years ago

Text

Fleetwood Day

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x fem!reader

Summary: The day starts with Dieter in his normal asshole mood, and then it starts again, and again, and again, and...

Word Count: 11K

Warnings: drugs, cursing, alcohol, stealing, fingering, creampie, vaginal sex, oral sex (female receiving)

Ratings: E

Author’s Note: Based off the movie Groundhog Day...also I’m tired and going on a trip tomorrow so sorry for spelling or grammar mistakes.

June 25

“If you wake up and don’t want to smile,” Dieter moans out with his head muffled into a pillow. The sun blazes through the open curtains as the alarm clock rings out. “If it takes just a little while,” the sluggish actor raises his hand and reaches his arm out, flopping it lazily through the air, missing the alarm as Fleetwood Mac continued to blare, “Open your eyes and look at the day, You'll see things in a different way.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dieter swore as he turns over and finally smacks the alarm off. He makes grabby hands around the side table as he finally grabs hold of his sunglasses and places them on his still closed eyes. Dieter lifts his head slightly as a text buzzes in through his phone, blaring the words “YOUR LATE.” Slowly he rises and squints, even with his sunglasses on, out through the window. He was late. Dieter doesn’t realize how much time had passed as he’s lounged in his hotel bed. Everything is too white, too clean, too bright in this hotel room. From the walls, the sheets, to the furniture; it was all that uniform look that never makes him comfortable. The trash, the loose clothes, bottles and stashes of wine and drugs though; that all makes him more comfortable. But today is a work day, he can't stay in bed. He scratches his beard and gives a quick glance at himself in the mirror. Shorts, a worn-out button up, crocs, and bed head. It’ll do.

He arrives on set for a photoshoot and interview for his latest movie 4 hours late. He doesn't bother explaining why he’s late, that he’s sorry, or that he’s thankful for everyone’s patience. Nope, Dieter stays grumpily silent, ready to go through the motions that he’s done so many other times; hair, makeup, pose for photographer, talk to interviewer, return to hotel room, drugs, sleep. No one really seems surprised by his tardiness, his disheveled looks, or his smoky smell. Dieter isn’t surprised everyone knows his reputation a little too well. They don’t even bother making conversation. But that’s no surprise since Dieter is shit at small talk, even to people he sees on a daily basis. He doesn't even seem to comprehend that you, his personal assistant, is also in the room. No hello, no hi, no nod, no questions or statements, no acknowledgment. But you’re used to that, that’s Dieter’s way of fumbling through life. You watch him doze off and slouch in the makeup chair, not bothering looking a bit professional. The photographer is particularly over this whole session, barely giving Dieter any instructions or advice. The interviewer tries her best not to look pissed; she tries a quick ‘this or that’ game that the internet will surely love. All in all the interview is…fine…it’s over at least, you wonder what work management will have to do to help this image look better. Dieter himself is lackluster, all this for a film he hardly likes, just to grab one more paycheck at the end of the day.

Not bothering to hide his yawn as he exits the photoshoot, clearly unconcerned by your shouting, Dieter instead looks forward to grabbing a bite to eat. He doesn’t bother waiting for the hostess to seat him and orders food that isn’t actually on the menu. Dieter adjusts his sunglasses as he waves off the annoyed waiter and looks out to the scenic sea before him. The PR team wanted the photoshoot over the cliffside village in Italy. It was picturesque. Quante with colorful houses, staircases that lead into the sea, narrow pathways flowing through the village; all real nice postcard shit. He has no idea what it all had to do with his latest movie, one where he plays some wandering stranger in the apocalypse.

Just as he considers taking a picture of the view to send to his mother, two figures sit in the seats across from him. His agent, Ben, doesn't ask permission to sit down and Dieter doesn’t care. He’s been with Ben for years, the man is completely used to Dieter’s ways and eccentricities. He’s all business; a big Hollywood man who knows how to talk the talk and walk the walk. Without Dieter, Ben would do just fine. Honestly Dieter guesses Ben only stays with him out of loyalty. On the other hand, Dieter stays with Ben because no one else will take him. He may be all about business but he’s a decent guy that knows how to handle Dieter well enough. Everyone likes Ben, especially when he has those simple social graces down. As Ben slides into his seat, he pulls out the chair next to him, letting the latest member of the team have the other empty chair.

You’re not exactly new new as Dieter had guessed when he first met you. But you are his newest PA, he had thought he could run you right over and get his way on most things. He does from time to time, especially lately. At the start, you had hounded him to get his shit together, be on time, look professional, and greet people. He complies every once in a while, but he likes to poke at you and lately you have been cracking. Dieter was really getting through life by the bare minimum. He has to give you credit though, not that he would ever say it out loud, you do your job well; you know how this business works and how a screw up like Dieter works. The last six months lacked any media disaster moments thanks to your quick thinking and planning. But you are definitely tired of him, he could see it in the way your face fell when you thought he wasn’t looking. He saw it at the photoshoot today. He’d seen that face on many others before and he stopped feeling sorry for it long ago.

“So, late again,” Ben sighs out, “Good thing you freshen up well I guess.” He reaches into his pocket and brings out his cell phone, not even bothering to look up at Dieter. “Or maybe my compliments should all go to the makeup artist and photographer.”

“Probably wouldn’t hurt,” Dieter mumbles as he stowes away his phone, forgetting all about the picture.

“No it wouldn’t hurt to tell someone they do good work. Maybe you should try to do that someday? You know, so I don’t have to come in after you and sweep up your mess every time.”

Dieter doesn’t even make eye contact with Ben as he swirls his glass of wine around and drinks it up.

“Well anyways, I read through the interviewer’s notes and everything looks fine. No worries there. The movie even currently has a 98% on RottenTomatoes,” Ben looks up at Dieter expectantly.

“Yea,” Dieter deadpans with a swirl of his fingers.

Ben scuffs and rolls his eyes to give you a familiar look. You and Ben have had a great many talks about Dieter Bravo. The two of you had several discussions about different tactics to deal with Dieter and even more discussions about leaving Bravo to someone else’s handling. You've been in the business long enough to have connections for better job prospects. You really have no love for Dieter, he wasn’t abusive or cruel, just plainly a lazy asshole. Leaving him would be easy. Ben, on the other hand, had been with him for years and was looking into other opportunities. That was a harder process for him, solely for the friendship he once held with Dieter, not that the friendship was broken but it wasn’t what it once was.

“So let’s talk about what to expect for the rest of the day,” you speak dryly to Dieter as he went on to eat his late lunch. “There’s a party going on in a local restaurant, a semi-formal event. We have a makeup artist on standby in your room. It’s a standard meet and greet. Nothing too special, just chat with some lucky attendees. That’s from 2-5. After that, you have the night to yourself. Do as you please as long as you're not getting into too much trouble, Dieter…Dieter?”

The Oscar winning star had stopped listening to you as soon as you mentioned the mandatory party. He’s really tired of parties, maybe that was out of character for his reputation, but he’s done with the loud music and bright lights. The people are even louder than the music and less interesting than the napkin currently on his lap, smudged with grease from his food. Dieter Bravo was wanted by every party but unwanted by everyone at the party. The man hates going out honestly, he may have become a couch potato with age. He longs for an afternoon in his robe, a long night with paint caked on his fingers, early morning beginning with a kit-kat, and a joint waiting for him at all times.

“DIETER.”

Dieter jolts to your loud hiss. He throws his hands up in defense.

“No snoozing till done schmoozing, no pot nor pill till I’m out of the mill…” Dieter pauses as his mouth hangs open in thought. You tap your finger as Ben shakes his head at his phone. “No nudity till after duty,” Dieter giggles at the last rule you had imposed on him.

Both you and Ben nod and sigh. It was always one step at a time with Bravo.

“Well now that’s been all sorted out, I’ve got a flight to catch. My wife is already disappointed that I’ll be late for our anniversary trip.” Ben stands from the table and roughs up Dieter’s hair as the actor brushes him off. You stand as well and walk Ben out of the restaurant, leaving Dieter to pick apart his food.

“Sure you want to leave already? We’re about to have so much fun,” the sarcasm was a normal attitude you and Dan shared often.

“Oh I’m sure, good luck with that,” Dan glances back at your charge. He grimaces and looks back at you, “Listen after the party, find some time for yourself. The village is beautiful and once Dieter is locked away in his room, you’ll be all clear to find your own get-away.”

“If he listens to me at all,” you roll your eyes as you remember how he acted earlier.

“Just try to get through the day, it’s only a couple more hours and then you're off the clock. You know once he’s back in his room, he won’t bother coming back out. He’s such a recluse these days.”

You nod and give him a quick hug before he leaves you to your charge.

You turn towards Dieter watching him tap at his wine glass to a waiter. The clock in your phone tells you it’s past noon already. Time to get this man-baby moving.

The world renowned actor Dieter Bravo does not ever move fast. He’s sluggish and mopey. You would consider his messy hair and pouty lips cute if he wasn’t ruining the day for everyone. Makeup and hair take too long that he becomes antsy. His pants itch, the shirt is a little too snug. The sunglasses don’t go with the outfit but he insists they stay. At the party he stays at the appetizer tables the whole time till you shew him away. He mumbles out half ass answers to everyone, only when he doesn’t shoo them away with his disinterests. The afternoon drags on, but at least he isn’t jumping into the sea in nothing but his birthday suite or snorting salt from a waiter’s serving tray. He got the salt confused with something else once… You’re always thankful for the small wins.

“No offense but I’m having trouble caring about your…well just you in general.”

Another guest walks away annoyed from Dieter as he lounges against the balcony railing. Dieter looks out to the sea, bored out of his mind. No one bothers him for the rest of his time at the party, all scared away by a moody actor. He blows out a puff of smoke from his blunt, contemplating if he’ll watch an old classic movie tonight or porn. You walk up to him, waving the smoke away.

“Dieter, could you please hold off on smoking till you're done with the party? No one wants to talk to a cloud of smoke.”

He doesn't even glance at you, just stuffs the blunt in his pocket, “How much longer?”

“Just a half an hour left. Then you’re free.”

“30 minutes,” Dieter pauses to bite his lip. “Yeah I’m gonna just leave now.”

“No Dieter wait!” You grab hold of Dieter's sleeve as he starts his way to the nearest exit, “30 minutes isn’t long, you can spend it at the appetizer table if you have to!”

This gives him pause, “That would work except I ate the majority of those apps. I was bored.” He pushes you off of him as he takes the stairs from the restaurant.

“Fine, how about 20 minutes. Then you can be off.”

“10 minutes,” he huffs out.

“15 and you take a picture with the owner,” you point at Dieter.

“10 and I take a picture with the owner,” he counter points at you.

“Deal,” you know that you won’t get a better deal.

Quickly the pictures are taken, the staff and crew are excited but Dieter cheaks out as soon as the camera is lowered. You watch him go quiet to his own adventure or hibernation. The ping of your phone gets your attention as you receive a text from another actor’s PA about a local’s cookout going on at the beach. Earlier in your time with Dieter, you had invited him to these small get-togethers, thinking he may enjoy the local atmosphere away from paparazzi. But he had always scuffed at the idea. Now you don’t bother, don’t even consider him in on the party. You roll your eyes, he can fend for himself for the rest of the night, you’ll have your fun.

Dieter strays here and there. He watches people enjoy their night. They laugh and sing, walking up and down the seaside village as they take in the lively night air. When he was younger he used to go out dancing late at night. He can hear the music playing at one of the open air restaurants, people swinging in and out of each others arms. Warm arms holding and caressing each other. They share drinks and tell stories all through the night. For a moment, Dieter considers spending his night in the corner of the bar, eavesdropping on everything he’s missing. But he doesn’t need to be seen as a creeper. He walks back to the hotel instead. Alone except for the cloud of smoke that engulfs him as soon as he enters his room. He sheds his clothes for his green puffy robe. He shares pills and other drugs with himself as he throws on some marine time documentary. The soothing voice of the narrator fills the room as Dieter lounges in his bed again. He doesn’t bother setting the alarm, you’ll come to wake him up.

June 25

“If you wake up and don’t want to smile,” Dieter moans out with his head muffled into a pillow. The sun is blazing through the open window as the alarm clock rings out. “If it takes just a little while,” the lethargic actor flops his outstretched arm through the air, nearing the alarm as Fleetwood Mac continues to blare out, “Open your eyes and look at the day, You'll see things in a different way.”

“Oh fuck off,” Dieter curses as he turns over and finally smacks the alarm off. He pushes several items out of the way on the side table as he finally grabs hold of his sunglasses and places them onto his blurry eyes. Dieter lifts his head slightly as a text buzzes in through his phone, blaring with the words “YOUR LATE.” Confused as to what he’s late for now, he scrolls through his calendar, looking over the schedule you had created for him. The same interview he did yesterday was showing up today. Same team. Same time. Same place. As well as the same party in the afternoon. Except his calendar says that yesterday is today. Today is June 25, but yesterday was June 25?

Dieter rubs his eyes and then glances about the room. His robe is in the same place as before, his clothes the same button down as what he remembered, even the drugs that he did last night were still on the side table. Dieter stands from bed and spins around the room taking every detail in, seeing that the mess he made from the night before is nowhere to be seen. It’s as if he never came back to his room last night and crashed.

Confused, Dieter shakes his head and grabs his phone and quickly walks his way through the hotel. He gets to the photoshoot where everyone is off doing their task and job. He sees the stylist prepping her station, the photographer switching lenses, the interviewer writing notes, and you type away at your phone. He nods a hello at you when you look up and slides into his chair for hair and makeup. The photoshoot and interview go as normal, or rather as they did the day before. Dieter even goes to the hotel’s restaurant and has the same decision with you and Ben.

Even the party this evening goes the same. Same music, same people, same food. He decides the day has been weird long enough and starts to leave when he feels you grab ahold of his arm.

“Just a half an hour left. Then you’re free.”

“30 minutes.” Dieter pauses as he realizes that’s what he said yesterday. “Yeah I’m definitely leaving now.”

“No Dieter wait!” You tug on Dieter’s sleeve “30 minutes isn’t long, you can spend it at the appetizer table if you have to!”

Of course you say that Dieter thinks, “I already ate the majority of those apps. I’ve got too much shit going on in my mind right now.” He looks toward the exit, fully knowing what you're about to say next.

“Fine, how about 20 minutes. Then you can be off.”

“10 minutes,” he says emotionlessly.

“15 and you take a picture with the owner,” you point at Dieter.

“10 and I take a picture with the owner,” he knows he’s won.

“Deal,” you smile and tug him forward.

Quickly the pictures are taken and the 10 minutes go by. He thinks about what he’ll do for the rest of the night as you interrupt his thoughts.

“Alright, you're free to go,” you smile effortlessly at him.

“Cool,” He pauses before he sets off to leave. You ‘ve always been a straight shooter with him, maybe you know something. “I’ve got a weird question for you, have you ever gone through a day that you swear you’ve already done?”

You hum and think for a moment, “Like when you’ve driven the same road again and again and you get to the point you don’t really think about what to do so much as your body just goes through the actions?”

Dieter smiles and nods, “Yes like that except it's not just the one particular time, it’s the whole day!”

“Oh kind of like déjà vu?”

“Yeah I guess so. It feels like I’ve been through this whole day twice now.”

“It probably means you need more sleep, that you’ve been doing gigs like this too much,” you laugh and shake your head at him.

He smiles back and scratches at his beard, “You're probably right, just weird déjà vu shit.”

“Rest Bravo, get some rest. Think you can take it easy tonight?” you ask him as your phone buzzes with a text.

“Yeah I can do that,” he mumbles as he slowly walks down the stairs and out the restaurant to his hotel, leaving you behind to type away at your phone.

Dieter doesn’t bother with the stray walk he took before, or what he thought he took the night before. Skipping the open air restaurants and dancing couples, he wonders what the hell he took last night that gave him some major déjà vu. He reminds himself that he needs to stay hydrated more often, that has to be it.

June 25

“If you wake up and don’t want to smile,” Dieter moans out with his head muffled into a pillow. The sun blazes through the open curtains as the alarm clock rings out. “If it takes just a little while,” the startled actor bolts his hand out of bed, barely hitting the alarm as Fleetwood Mac continues to blare, “Open your eyes and look at the day, You'll see things in a different way.”

“Fuck off,” Dieter curses as he turns over and finally grabs ahold of the alarm. It reads the same time as the past two days. There’s no way that's right though. That’s all just some déjà vu shit. He didn’t take anything last night, just hydrated like a good boy then fell asleep to some porn. He stares at the clock dumbfounded when a text to his phone buzzes, startling him. He peers slowly over to the phone, eyeing it as he reads the words “YOUR LATE.” He was late. Third day in a row late. Dieter doesn’t bother looking around the hotel room as he grabs his crocs and quickly shuffles out. The schedule still says that he has a photoshoot and interview, nothing is different. He curses himself and trips on his own feet as he enters the lobby.

He stops to ask a hotel employee what the date is. June 25. He dumbly nods his head, not daring to say it out loud but clearly thinking that yesterday was June 25. Dieter gives a nervous glance to the front desk and continues to the photoshoot and interview.

“What the fuck is going on…” the actor whispers to himself.

Upon arrival he finds the same people as before. All just going about their jobs, same old same old. Dieter sits in the chair for makeup as the artist gets to work, he’s wide eyed and tapping his fingers uncontrollably against the chair’s arms. It’s finally when he gets into his wardrobe that his scattered brain finally gets an idea. Dieter calls out to you.

You had watched him walk into the photoshoot late, he was obviously high on something. The way he looked bewildered at everything, the way he looked suspicious at everyone. He was twitchy and agitated. So it was to no surprise that he called out to you.

“What are you on?”

Your question sent Dieter into a tizzy fit.

“What am I on? I mean I took a bunch of different things last night,” Dieter trails off as he thinks over his days. “Or maybe it was the night before last night because last night, or tonight, I drank a bunch of water. But then today and yesterday all those drugs and the water I drank seemed to reappear this morning, which normally would be great but this whole day is… weird.” Dieter speaks fast as you stare him down.

“It sounds like a friend of yours just refilled your supply Dieter.”

He straightens out in his chair and lurches forward to you, “No you don’t get it. It’s not that the drugs are back but the music is the same, the people are all the same, and everything that happened yesterday and the day before yesterday is happening again.” He glances about the room as he leans into you.

“Ok let me ask again, what did you take last night?”

“It’s not last night, it’s tonight! Don’t you get it!” Dieter now hisses at you in a low voice. “Today happened yesterday as yesterday happened yesterday’s yesterday so today is yesterday’s yesterday.” He spreads his hands out before you as if he has given you all the information in the world.

“Ok…ok…” you study his face, contemplating what to do next. You had dealt with drunk or high Dieter on many different occasions but he was never this confused. Certainly he could be paranoid about things, but never to the point where he was really out of it. Normally he would grumble about upsetting the cells in his head but would get his work done once you butted him in the butt enough times. This was different, and very confusing. You decide to try a new tactic, “How about this, what are you taking tonight?”

“Not the same shit that I took earlier,” Dieter mumbles as he gets out of wardrobe and poses for the photographer.

He gets through the motions of the photoshoot quickly, knowing what he did last couple of times and even gets through the interview quickly. He answers each of the questions well enough although he now has a questionable paranoid look on his face. He looks extremely untrustworthy towards the interviewer, sending questions right back at her, really putting her off her game. As soon as he’s done, he changes clothes, talking high speed about bugs and implants that are fucking with his head. He moves fast to the door but pauses just before leaving, and just before you're about to yell at him to wait up, which surprises you entirely.

“Let's eat at a nearby restaurant.”

“Not the hotel’s restaurant?” you inquire as you walk with him.

“No, don’t trust it,” he mutters to you.

He tugs at your sleeve to keep track of you as the two of you speed walk across the street. You look Dieter up and down; this feels so incredibly strange for him. Sure, Dieter has gone on rants before about radiation from cellphones and technology messing up his brain, but he was never this paranoid.

“You should text Ben we‘re across the street, he’ll be looking for us,” Dieter commands.

“Ok?” juggling your cellphone and texting Ben where to meet you and Dieter, you take a seat with the actor watching his fingers drum against the table. He doesn’t order any food nor a drink and even when Ben joins you two he refuses any appetizers. Ben looks concerned at you, Dieter never turns food down.

“I don’t think it was the food, but I can’t be too cautious here,” he states as he leans in to you and Ben.

“Careful with what?” Ben questions.

“With the takeover of my mind,” Dieter lifts his hands up to his head and frizzles his hair out. Ben looks towards you as you lift your shoulders in a shrug.

“He’s been weird all morning.”

Ben nods in understanding, he looks back to his friend, “Right, what are you on?”

“I’m not on anything! Everything from the past tonights is back this morning!”

“Past tonights?”

“Yesterday is today as yesterday’s yesterday is also today,” Dieter states to Ben in the most serious tone you’ve ever heard him use.

Ben draws a circle into his temple, a pattern you’ve seen him do many different times before, “You mean your days are repeating?”

“That sounds like—” you begin to speculate.

“It is not déjà vu,” Dieter interrupts you.

“Ok, ok, if you’re so sure.”

“Maybe you just need to rest, drink some water—”

“Tried it, didn’t work,” Dieter interrupts Ben. “Look, there's an infinite amount of possibilities where someone could have bugged me, slipped something in my drink, and abducted me.”

“What?” you and Ben say in unison.

“The stylist could have slipped something in my hair, maybe the photographer zapped me with an invisible ray from their camera,” Dieter throws air quotes around the word camera as he continues ranting. “The hotel might have put a bug in my food or some serum! Someone at the party this evening could have slipped a weird serum into the appetizers.”

“Dieter there is no way—”

“After the party, I walked around the village. Someone could have easily abducted me and shot me with some shit!”

“Why would anyone want to bug you or drug you Dieter?”

“I know shit Ben, I know lots of shit.” Dieter leans back in his chair confidently.

“Like what,” Ben counters, clearly irritated now.

Dieter doesn’t say anything at first, but just squints at Ben, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Ben sighs and throws his arms into the air, “Listen I’m late for—”

“Your anniversary trip with your wife,” Dieter interjects with a smug smile. “You wanna know how I know that?”

“Because for the first time in a long time you actually care about someone else's life other than your own,” Ben answers. “I’m leaving, good luck with this crap.”

The smugness falls off Dieter’s face as Ben leaves the table and restaurant. He’s never talked to Dieter in that way before.

“Look I have no clue what’s going on with you, but I really think you should go see a doctor,” you place your hand on his arm and squeeze. Dieter’s eyes fall from where Ben was standing to you in what you would almost call a broken lost puppy look. You actually find yourself feeling bad for your stubborn actor. “Listen, I’ll cancel your appearance at the party as long as you go get checked out. How does that sound?”

Dieter’s lip quivers and he settles his hand on yours, he doesn’t squeeze but his large, warm hand holds yours. It’s been a long time since he’s held another person’s hand. He’s missed the feel of this sincere touch.

“Can you do that, Dieter? For me?” you question him with a small smile.

He makes eye contact with you and nods, “Yeah, I can do that.” He finds a local doctor to talk to, describing in the best and simplest way possible what his past days have been like. The doctor listens well enough, but doesn’t have much input to give Dieter, other than rest and relaxation. Dieter doesn’t think this is a bad idea. When he gets back to his room, he books a vacation in the Bahamas. He’ll sleep in the Caribbean, lounge while getting some messages, maybe even have a sunny detox. Dieter doesn’t get to sleep for a while though, he’s jittery and nervous. He walks in circles, even cleaning his room of trash, and squeezing his arm where your hand had touched him. Eventually exhaustion takes him, and sleep comes.

June 25

“If you wake up and don’t want to smile,” Dieter’s eyes bug out as he listens to the radio. “If it takes just a little while,” the rigid actor raises up as the alarm blares Fleetwood Mac, “Open your eyes and look at the day, You'll see things in a different way.” He scans the room realizing that everything he cleaned is now trashed again. “Don't stop thinking about tomorrow,”

Dieter bites down at his pillow as he watches his phone. “Don't stop, it'll soon be here,” Buzzing alive, a text comes in. “It'll be better than before,” Dieter leans over to look at what the text says, fully knowing what the message will read. “Yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone” He reads the words “YOUR LATE.”

Dieter spends his whole day at the bar talking to his new friend, the bartender.

June 25

The now melancholy actor spends his day high off his ass in his hotel room. He orders room service and doesn’t bother to answer his cell or the door when you and Ben try to get to him. He watches porn, reruns of black and white shows, and a nature documentary. Of course he indulges in all the drugs he has. They won’t go to waste. He even paints a little. He can’t remember the last time he painted.

June 25

Dieter starts his painting again, his hotel room has a large wall that is perfect for a mural. He orders and over eats food from the hotel’s restaurant, the bar down the street, the restaurant around the corner, and any restaurant or bar that looks remotely interesting. He’s never seen so much food in his life. The mural doesn’t look half bad either.

June 25

His arts skills are definitely coming back, with each day he practices more. He eats more, drinks more, and smokes more.

June 25

After painting another mural, he ventures out of the hotel. He explores the village for the first time. He avoids you and Ben but does find a pretty woman that wants to dance with him. He’s unsure at first. But some drinks are in his system and he swings around the bar widely with a pretty lady in his arms. He dazzles her with stories of Hollywood, and asks if she wants to see his mural. Soon he asks to paint her as she smokes his joint. The paint swirls around her naked body smoothly just as smooth as his cock slides in and out of her. He hasn’t been laid in forever, he indulges in this connection for the time being, even though he knows this woman isn’t truly interested in him for the real him. Also she won’t be here when he wakes in the morning.

June 25

He’s never robbed anything before, never stolen anything in his life. But boy was it a crazy rush when he took the entire cash register from the bar. He doesn’t need the money and he doesn’t know how to open the register to even get the money. But he feels crazy alive right now. He also understands how uncomfortable a jail cell really is now. At least he got his accordion lesson done earlier in the day.

June 25

An octopus actually touched Dieter’s arm! Honestly, scuba diving isn’t as hard as he thought it would be. Playing an accordion underwater is hard though.

June 25

He’s slept with a few different men and women in the last couple of weeks, but he wonders about you. He’s seen you on the beach, at a party a few nights in a row now. That one time he came up to you and flirted with you after he had ignored you the entire day, you had slapped him the second he uttered a word. He doesn’t blame you for that, but he likes to think his persuasive skills have gotten better, although you know him in a much more personal way than anyone else. He’s watched you drink, eat, laugh, and dance on the sandy beach. The stars glittered above you as you were completely carefree. No responsibility, not babysitting the asshole Dieter Bravo. He wonders if this is what you’re like most of the time, so free and lovely. He’s never seen you dance before, never seen you throw your head back and laugh. But now he has, a couple of different times since he’s been stuck in this loop. He pauses and watches every time he finds you down at the beach.

Dieter wants to join in and encircle you into his arms, swing you around as the musicians play on and on. He wants to make you laugh till your sides hurt. He wants you to place your hand on him again and squeeze. He knows he has no right, he knows so much about you now that he’s watched you for days. It isn’t right to just try to have you out of the blue. How well do you know him, he wonders. You know his habits but you’ve never talked about art or experiences. You haven’t really even talked about movies or desires. He’s got so many questions for you now, but you hate him.

June 25

Dieter returned to the scheduled interview, photoshoot, and party. You watched the man enter the room and announce to everyone that he was sorry for arriving late and was very appreciative to everyone for their patience. You thought that maybe the man was high, on some uppers perhaps. But he jumped into the makeup chair, giving the stylist instructions on what he thought was a good look for a Mediterranean look. You watched as he made easy small talk and pointed out different clothes he would like to wear for the photoshoot. Soon the man caught your eye in the mirror and motioned you over with a smile.

Of course you come, you’re curious for what had put him in a good mood. As soon as you shuffle over to him, he clasps your hand in his own hands.

“Can you do me a favor?” His dimples are on full display as a small smile turns to you.

“Well of course,” you stutter out confused then quickly backtrack, “I mean it is my job as your assistant isn’t it?”

“It is and you’ve always done such a great job at it. I want you to call Ben and tell him to get on his plane, his wife must be pissed that he’s late for their anniversary trip.”

“Oh yeah sure I’ll let him know.”

“And order some flowers and chocolates wherever they’re staying, please.”

“I’ll get right on that.”

You walk away from Dieter as you text Ben and order him and his wife some gifts. He’s excited to leave early but also curious at Dieter’s new attitude, but not curious enough to stay and question it. You stand back and watch the man at work, his poses are on point today as he communicates well with the photographer. Even the interview goes great as he gives fun and interesting answers to the interviewer. It would be any normal day for anyone else but for Dieter Bravo this is something else. He’s lively and talkative. He even gives you a few smiles and a wink throughout the process as he catches you staring at him.

His lively mood doesn’t falter. He buys you lunch and asks you question after question about you. What’s your family like? How was your childhood? What did you want to be growing up? He gets on the subject of school, where you ask him about acting. You are surprised to find that he went to school for art instead. You're even more surprised to find that he’s truly passionate about painting, offering to give you some lessons in the future. He snaps a quick picture of the two of you together with the sea in the background and sends it to his mom. Soon enough the clock ticks by and the two of you head to the party. Dieter swings back into superstar mode where he regales party guests with behind the scene stories. He makes everyone laugh and even takes a few different people dancing. Honestly, you begrudgingly say you're a little jealous that his attention is elsewhere. You admit that you found the talk the two of you shared this noon was really fun, but now as Dieter spirals his way through conversations, you see a glimmer of loneliness in the man. You can tell he’s drained from too much people time.

In all the excitement, you catch Dieter’s eye several times. He was having a bit of fun here at the party but going over the same conversations again and again is getting to him. He finds himself constantly looking over towards you; he would rather get back to that conversation the two of you were having earlier. He looks at his clock and realizes there’s 30 minutes left of the party. Good enough. Dieter calls over the staff and owner of the restaurant for a picture and leaves the party for where you're standing. Two drinks in hand, you were always well prepared for him.

“Tired?” you ask as Dieter takes one of the drinks from your hands and gulps it down.

“You have no idea,” he sighs out as he leans on the balcony railing.

“Actually I probably do.”

Your charge stops for a moment and then drops his head, “Yeah you definitely do, sorry.”

You spit your drink up a little, that’s the first time you’ve heard Dieter Bravo say sorry.

“Say again?”

Dieter looks up at you and leans forward. His hair still has the elegant curls from the stylist this morning and his lonesome yet playful eyes lock on yours. His broad shoulders almost entices you to run your hands up them as he blocks out your view of the party. A hand engulfs your elbow and with a small circular motion of his thumbs, you find yourself almost leaning into him.

“Do you wanna leave early and go for a walk? Just the two of us. I know this small hole-in-the-wall bar on the other side of the village.” There’s almost a hopefulness to Dieter’s eyes as he holds you to him.

“I…well…actually,” you stumble out your words trying to figure out if Dieter just asked you out or if something else is going on. Before your mind makes a decision, your phone buzzes with a text from a friend about another party going on. Dieter glances at your phone and backs off of you, part of you misses his warmth but the other part has no clue what is going on.

“Listen Dieter, I’ve got plans already and I need an early start tomorrow.”

Dieter nods his head as he looks down at his shoes, “It’s fine. Go be with friends, I’ll take a rain check.”

You watch him walk away, feeling like you kicked a small puppy. Maybe you should invite him to the party, but he’s always declined the offer in the past. You're conflicted if you’ve just turned down Dieter Bravo after such a good day. He honestly was so different and refreshing today, you would have guessed it was someone else. You look back down at your text and then glance back to where Dieter had disappeared. Maybe a night grabbing a few drinks with friends would help clear your head, you’ll figure this out tomorrow.

Dieter ends his day in bed again. The mural on his wall is of you sitting on the beach with stars glittering above you. He’s seen it in real life so many times, it’s all too easy for him to paint. The kit-kats run out soon into his gloomy state of couch potato. Even the Italian greyhounds he stole from some old lady while on his walk back to the hotel aren’t cheering him up as they cuddle around him.

June 25

From then on forward, Dieter goes to the interview, photoshoot, and party more often. He doesn’t go everyday though, he skips a few in favor of reintroducing himself to the locals. The actor goes around the village, memorizing everyone's names to memory. He asks questions of their wants and desires, their daily lives, their troubles and accomplishments. Dieter was a man that acted out stories but it wasn’t till these last couple days did he realize that everyone has a story to tell. It makes him wonder what your story is. He’s so desperate to find out.

Finally a day comes where he’s able to convince you to take it easy, he already knows his schedule, he can take care of himself. You insist on following him, just in case, which does please him. He starts the day grabbing coffee for the whole team, gifting the stylist new brushes, helping clean the photographer’s lenses, and reassuring the interviewer she should argue for more pay. At the hotel’s restaurant, he jumps into the kitchen helping the chefs prepare for the lunch time rush. On the walk to the afternoon party, he offers to climb a ladder for an older man to hang a sign. Dieter even jumps in to help a young woman with a small fussy child carry her groceries. At the party Dieter gathers a large crowd of party goers, giving them all relationship advice. He unexpectedly stays longer at the party than necessary, helping the staff clean, and thankfully saves the life of a man choking on leftover food. He walks you to your party on the beach, which you have no clue how he knows it was going on.

For a moment you contemplate asking him to join the party, but Dieter pushes you forward, stating he has a few friends to catch up with. You wave him off, almost sad to be turned down with your unannounced question. But you watch the once grumpy and lazy actor confidently stride off. He stops abruptly to catch a cat as she falls off a ledge above his head, sneezing as he settles her down to the ground and gives you one last wave for the night.

Unbeknownst to you, Dieter goes on with his night to give dance instructions at a small bar. He amazes the crowd and reignites the love life of a few couples. But Dieter has yet to reignite your love. He’s got time to figure you out though, plenty of time that he’s happy to spend with you.

June 25

You walk onto the set expecting people milling about their jobs, but as you open the doors to the room, you find it dead quiet and void of people. Except for one person. Dieter Bravo stands in the middle of the room with a large bouquet of your favorite flowers. He looks good in a light matching floral shirt and pants, his curls just gliding behind his ears, the exact way you’ve liked it the most.

“You’re late,” Dieter calls out to you with a large smile on his face.

“By 5 minutes. But you’re…” you shake your head in disbelief.

“Early. I know. Don’t expect it everyday though, this is hard work getting up on time.”

You giggle at his pouty lips, “So if we’re on time then where is everyone else?”

“Day off, or rather I told them to reschedule to a new location that would make sense for the movie they're interviewing me for. These are for you.” Dieter hands you the bouquet of colorful flowers. You smell the flowers without thinking and look up at him.

“What are you up to?”

“I want to treat you to a day off, and the only way you ever have a day off is if I take the day off.” Dieter doesn’t blink or look away from you as he states it so plainly, like he already knows the answer to the question before you think to ask. “I’ve got the whole day plan, and I know you love plans and schedules so,” he nods his head towards the doors, “let's get going.”

He doesn’t leave much room for argument as he leads you two away from the hotel, and you really don’t bother to put up much of an argument as you're so curious as to what Dieter is up to. As he tools your hand into the crock of his arm, he guides you through the Italian village streets. The two of you walk the narrow cobblestone passageway, past locals that call out to Dieter and thank him for various reasons.

You lean into Dieter after an old woman had kissed him on both cheeks, “What have you been up to Mr. Bravo?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“We’ve gone past at least five different people who’ve thanked you for different things.”

“Ah well, I got some work done this morning before I met up with you.”

You poke his side, making him flinch in mock anguish, “Work?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dieter brushes you off as he opens the door for you to a dingy looking home. “Just go straight back, I’ll be right behind you.”

Pausing for a moment, you step forward and do as he instructed, and only shake just a little when you feel the warmth of his palm on the small of your back. Dieter points to a pair of open doors around the corner, continuing your descent. As you walk through the doors, you're greeted with a lovely view of the village and sea. A gasp escapes you as you walk to the balcony and take in the view. A minute goes by before a tap on your shoulder brings you back to Dieter waiting patiently behind you.

“I know you’ve been wanting to see a better view of the town, so I thought breakfast and a view would do,” he motions to a small table with a beautiful display of breakfast treats. Even though your stomach calls for food, it's the mural behind the food that gets your attention. On full display of the building's outer wall is a bright and vibrant mural of the village and sea under a blanket of stars. You trace your fingers on the waves as Dieter takes a pastry from the table.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s gorgeous. Whoever the painter is did an amazing job capturing the beauty of the village,” you continue tracing the mural as you feel Dieter step into your space.

“Thank you. Took a lot of practice but I think I nailed it.”

“You did this!”

“Yeah I like to think of it as a vision into the future,” he eyes the particular part of the mural, he continues to eat his pastry, where a silhouette of a woman stands on the beach.

“A vision? I didn’t know you were a soothsayer.”

“You’ll find out later, I promise.”

You look at him now with your mouth hanging open. Dieter chuckles and pops that last part of his pastry into your mouth, licking his own fingers as he stares back at you.

“Come on, we can’t let these pastries go to waste,” he says as he takes your hand and sets you down to the table.

The rest of the day goes by in a similar manner, Dieter surprising you at every turn. He takes you to the beach and builds a giant sandcastle with you, amazing you with incredible hidden talent. Soon enough the two of you grab lunch with a local fisherman, who takes you out to sea where you both catch your own food. Dieter stands behind you guiding you on how to handle the fishing pole when the fish bites. Surprisingly, you don’t mind his arms wrapped around you. For the rest of the day, the two of you spend wandering the village, in and out of conversations with many random individuals who strike up a conversation with Dieter, only for him to give them apologies and return his attention to you.

He asks about your life, you ask about his. It doesn’t take long to get lost in conversation with Dieter, all too easy to get lost in the depths of his eyes and it feels like he’s gotten lost in your eyes as well. You don’t shy away from him when he pulls you under his arm for the walk. Maybe your mind is reeling with hundreds of questions about what is going on with Dieter Bravo but the day is too perfect to bother.

Soon enough dinner comes, and chef Dieter makes you a delicious sandwich. You laugh at him for making such a show out of his culinary skills, or lack of them, as he fumbles around the kitchen he’s rented out. You make a trade, you’ll teach him how to cook if he teaches you how to paint. He locks in the deal with a kiss to your hand.

Only a text on your phone startles you from your rose colored haze, a party on the beach. You look up at Dieter as he watches you with total adoration. He’s patient as you place your phone away and you smile at him.

“Do you wanna go to a party on the beach? Maybe just for a little while,” you slowly reach for his hand and interlock your fingers to his. The smile on his face is small, but it’s all too sweet to not see as he tells you yes.

Other members of the entertainment industry are at the party, but it’s a low key vibe. People sitting and lounging as music flirts through the air. Many friends welcome you and Dieter to the party, making small talk and trading stories. One local from nearby asks Dieter to play for them. You’re confused since you know Dieter doesn’t play an instrument, but the local brings out an accordion. The actor that you thought you knew so well plays a playful and lively tune for the party. People cheer and laugh, dancing to the beat as a band from the bar nearby comes in to join Dieter. You watch in amusement as this once frumpy and drugged out actor now leads the charge in a heart fluttering chorus. He’s lost himself in the music with the rest of the band, but as soon as the song is over his eyes make contact with you. You can’t help yourself to cheer and clap loudly like the rest of the party, which makes Dieter duck his head with a smile ready on his face.

The band takes over and Dieter leaves the spotlight to be with you, pulling you down the beach always to get away from the crowd. You cling to him as your bare feet splash through the water. Looking up at the lovely man, you watch as Dieter stops and places his hand on your hip, drawing you close as his other hand holds onto yours.

“One dance? Please?”

“I would never say no to a dance with you Dieter,” you respond as you two sway through the surf. The band’s music is just barely in range for your quiet tango. Placing his chin against your head, you're tucked into the warmth of Dieter's chest, a place you never thought you would be. It feels nice and just so right to be here with him.

“I’ve wanted this for a while now.” Dieter breaks the silence with his soft, low voice.

“Us dancing?” your voice is equally as hushed.

“Holding you.”

You don’t say anything right away, too in awe to talk. “Since when?” you squeak out.

His chest rumbles with a chuckle, “You know I’m not so good with time anymore, but I feel like it’s been too long.”

“Oh, you’ve never really given me any hints.”

“No, I suppose I didn’t in your memory.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been swimming with you; dancing with you. We’ve had several lunches and dinners together. Built tons of sandcastles, even painted together. But I was never able to hold you till this very night,” he strokes your back as you look up at him.

“Are these all dreams you’re talking about?”

“Dreams, visions, past lives, either or. Take your pick. It doesn’t matter. After the last couple of…weeks… I’m not sure. I'm only certain of one damn thing any more,” he places your hand on his shoulder as he tucks your hair behind your ear and holds your face to his.

“What’s that?”

“I’m going to have to relive this day over and over again, but I swear each day I’ll do everything in my power to show you that I’m utterly in love with you. Even if you don’t remember it in the morning, and I have to repeat every detail from tonight again, I swear it’ll be worth it to have this chance to hold and love you again.” A stray tear leaves Dieter's eye, but he doesn’t look sad, just completely enthralled and devoted.

And even as you don’t quite understand what he’s saying, you completely understand what he’s feeling. The mingling of your breaths, the entwine limbs, and unbreakable stare draws you into the man you once didn’t have a care for. Now, you really can’t help yourself as Dieter waits for your first move. You kiss him, smashing your lips to his. He envelops his arms around you wholly as you push your fingers into his hair. You’ve waited so long to run your fingers through his curls, enticing a moan from his lips to yours. He’s hungry you can tell, as he drives his tongue against your lips and tangles against yours. Just as you break apart for air, Dieter picks you up and swings you around against the surf, causing you to scream with delight as his lips attack your neck. It’s the scrape of his beard that causes you to gasp out.

“Dieter!”

He stops abruptly, “Do you wanna have sex with me?”

“Fuck yeah.”

It didn’t take long for you two to get back to his hotel room, Dieter incredibly thankful he remembered to clean this morning. Not a second is wasted as he strips yours and his clothes off grabbing kisses in between layers. The man can’t stop tasting you. You were, beyond a doubt, the best thing he has tasted, and he had really only tasted your lips so far. Without thinking, he lifts your naked body off the ground and places you, rather ungracefully, on the bed. Giggling into your hands, he kisses up your curves, between your breast to each nipple, and then up your neck and finally your lips. Taking a moment to center himself, he rests his head against yours.

Placing your hands to the sides of his head, you nudge your nose against his whispering to him that you were on the pill, which springs him into action again. Kissing and biting down your body to your nipple, he swirls his tongue around your perked peek until you arch your back into his mouth.

“Please Dieter!”

His large hand rounds and squeezes your breast as he lowers his mouth completely to suck on your reddening nipple until he believes your other nipple needs attention. Digging your nails into the bed, you huff out a moan while you throw your head back. He hums as he rocks himself against your thigh. Before he continues down your body, he rests his face between your breasts and squeezes them to his face. You realize what he’s doing and laugh, trying to gently push his face away.

“Did you expect me to be 100% a gentlemen tonight?” Dieter smiles up at you from between your boobs.

“No, I know you're really a goofball at heart,” you laugh and pat his head.

Dieter launches up to you, smashing a kiss to your lips and quickly leaving you a dopey smile as he bites at your belly then your thighs. He lifts one leg over his shoulder as his arm circles around your leg, warming your belly as he presses you down to the mattress. You don’t get much warning when you jerk and gasp out as you feel a large flat tongue lick up your folds and swirl around your clit. Your hips try to desperately buck up to Dieter’s hot mouth, unable to move under his firm hold. His tongue and mouth continue their dance upon your clit as he slowly strokes at your soft and wet folds with his free hand. Gently, one finger enters you as all your fingers tangle into Dieter’s hair. You feel him moan and rumble against you as you also feel a second finger fill you. Quickly Dieter’s fingers get to work, stroking at your walls causing you to flutter and echo his name to the walls around you both.

“Shit sweet girl, you taste so good when I have you like this.”

“Fuck Dieter.”

“Sorry not yet,” Dieter kisses your clit, “not done tasting you, but I’ll give you what you want soon.” He mumbles as he runs around your clit. “Shit you smell so good too.”

You're about to comment that no one’s ever said that to you before when, instead of words, another moan and curse comes out of your mouth just as Dieter presses three fingers now deeper against your walls. Returning a small amount of attention back to him, you tug at his hair.

“Fuck baby, I’m close,” you cry out as you feel the rolling pressure of his fingers against your quivering walls. “Can you get me there Dieter, can you get me there pretty boy?”

Dieter thrusts his erection deep into the mattress, “Shit, yes ma’am.”

Changing position a little, he takes his hand off you to trace tight circles around your clit while his tongue starts to lick at your fluttering pussy. His other hand pulls out of you so that he can push back into you, over and over. Now that there isn’t any force holding you down, your hips shift to the timing of his hand just as your nails run through Dieter bemused hair. Quickly the bright throbbing heat in you builds up and over as you cry out to Dieter while he carries you over the edge with his constant pressure. Backing his hand out of your heat, he licks and lightly bites at your soaking entrance till you plead for him to come up to you.

Obediently Dieter climbs up your body to give you a needy look as his desire is still wanting.

“Can I fill you up more, sweet girl? Do you think you can take more of me?”

It’s not really a question from him. It’s more so that he is pleading with you to take more of him as you feel him throb against your stomach.

You sigh out a “please” as he kisses you and takes hold of himself to slowly enter you. Pushing in little by little, the man pulls back and pushes in again. He lifts up his head and closes his eyes as he repeats the action. While he hovers over your body, lost in the tight space of your heat, you nudge your nose against the column of his neck, kissing and nipping at his freckles. Soon you feel even more full than you did with his fingers, as he starts to pound into you. You hang on to his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin.

“Feel so good Dieter, please don’t stop.”

Dieter groans and lowers his head into your neck. “Shit, think I’m gonna try to fuck you every day after this.” He throws your leg over his hip, not stopping his hips from snapping to yours. “Don’t care I have to do this whole day over again, I fucking will for you.”

You don’t understand what he means, but you can’t bring your brain to stop and piece it out as you feel the heat start to build again. Quickly you start to chant his name until he fully pulls out of you and flips you to your stomach. Loaming over you, Dieter’s arm comes around you as he leans over your shoulder, placing kisses to your back.

“Is this ok?” he asks while smoothing a hand over your hip.

“Only if you start fucking me again,” you smile back at him.

He gives you a quick sharp nip to your shoulder before lifting you ass to the air and pushing himself back into you. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust as he hastily picks up the rhythm he had before, but now brings his arm around to circle your clit. You can’t help yourself from pushing back into Dieter as he moans into your shoulder.

“Think you can cum again for me, pretty girl. Think you can let me fuck another organism out of you. Maybe let me fill you up?”

You gasp out and hang on to the headboard ahead of you.

“Will you let me fill you up? Would you let me fill you up tomorrow night too?”

“Shit Dieter, yes, do it now!”

“Fuck, well you’re the one who likes to plan.”

He buries his face into your hair as he picks up the pace of his fingers against your clit, and you begin to cry out begging for him. You close your eyes tight as a bright light hits your eyes and your cunt squeezes Dieter tight. He curses and his pace falters as he tries to continue pushing in and out of you. Not long after you finish, Dieter finishes inside you as well. You both collapse in a pile together, slugout in each others arms. After some more kissing and light petting, Dieter easies himself out of you and lifts out of bed for a wash cloth. He comes back to bed, finding you looking over his fluffy green robe. After you're both cleaned up, he helps you into the robe, liking how it engulfs you. Together, you both fall asleep after basking in the afterglow of the best day of your life. Dieter holds you, kissing to sleep, he tries all night to not fall asleep, afraid that you won’t be in his arms tomorrow.

He does swear, “Even if you're gone tomorrow, I’ll do the whole damn day over just to hold you like this again.” He closes his eyes and leans his head to yours, “But please be here tomorrow.”

June 26

“Can you understand me, baby don't you hand me a line,” a muffled moan calls out into a pillow. “Although it doesn't matter, you and me got plenty of time,” Dieter flops over to the side table, reaching his hand out. “There's nobody in the future, so baby let me hand you my love,” he knocks several things off the side table, completely missing the alarm. Groggily sitting up and leaning over he looks at the clock for the switch. Dieter shakes his head, he’s gotten too used to just unplugging and throwing the thing across the room, “Oh, there's no step for you to dance to, so slip your hand inside of my glove.”

“Hey, don’t turn it off, let it play. I love this song,” a rough sleepy voice speaks out. Dieter turns quickly to see you, smiling and cuddled up in his green robe.

“Hold me, hold me, hold me.”

Dieter places the radio down gently, “This is one of their better songs,” he whispers back to you as he tangles himself back into bed, back into you.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo/reader #dieter bravo/ you #Pedro Pascal #the bubble #dieterbravo/you #dieterbravo/reader

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oonajaeadira · 3 years ago

Text

YOU ARE AMAZING. YOUR READERS ARE AMAZING. YOUR HUSBAND IS AMAZING. KHJN IS AMAZING. AND ALL WOMEN WHO STAND UP FOR THEIR RIGHTS?

(gif by dieterbravo)

Rights and Wrongs

summary: “I’m not keeping it, Jack. I knew that before I called him and told him. I don’t know if I want kids, but I do know that I don’t want them now. Not like this. And not with him.”

Or: Whiskey helps you get an abortion.

pairing: Whiskey x f!reader

rating: M

word count: 6.4k

warnings: possible dead dove do not eat; unplanned, unwanted pregnancy; early pregnancy symptoms including vomiting; descriptions of what pregnant people have to go through to get an abortion in the state of Kentucky; abortion clinic protestors and physical and verbal harassment of patients; reader has a medically unnecessary but state-mandated trans-vaginal ultrasound; use of moderate anesthesia and recovery from anesthesia; allusions to past loss and trauma (it’s Jack, I’m assuming know his backstory); not super-explicit description of reader getting a surgical abortion; Jack being a little naive in the way well-meaning straight white dudes often are but also being pro-choice as f*ck

Author’s note:

*Fleabag voice* This is a love story.

Hey there folks. Please read the warnings on this one. I know that pregnancy can be a tough topic for a lot of people to read about. Everything I’ve described here is what you actually have to go through to get an abortion in Kentucky. (Or, well, it was, until two days ago when the Kentucky legislature overrode the Governor’s veto of HB 3, which has resulted in a complete stoppage of all abortions in Kentucky.) If this is not a thing you want to read about, for whatever reason, I respect that completely.

However, if you read this fic and think it might be a good idea to spout some anti-abortion nonsense at me in response, I am going to pre-emptively suggest you kindly shove it up your asshole instead.

Abortion is health care. Abortion is a human right. You will not move me on this. I wrote this fic because I have a lot of anger and fear and frustration that the human right to bodily autonomy is about to be completely gutted in my country. But I also wrote it because abortion is normal. People get abortions every day. And I wanted to write and read a fic where reader gets her happy ending with Jack and an abortion is how it happens.

Additional note: This fic is also a fundraiser! April is when many abortion funds host their biggest annual fundraisers, and you can help! For each note this fic gets between now and the end of April - every like, reblog, and comment, even the ones that are me replying to someone, and hell, I’ll include asks and DMs about this fic too - I’ll donate a dollar to the Kentucky Health Justice Network, a fund providing direct financial and other assistance to people in Kentucky who need abortions.

If this sounds like a journey you’d like to go on with me, then let’s go.

Masterlist.

———

This afternoon has been taken up by two phone calls you never thought you’d have to make.

The first to the Kentucky Women’s Health Clinic. The second to your ex-boyfriend.

The call with the clinic goes well, better and easier and kinder than you’d expected, even if their first available appointment is further out than you’d prefer. The call with Michael goes even more poorly than you’d thought it would.

He hadn’t been your ex for very long; only about two weeks. Your breakup had not been amicable; nearly three years of dating had come to a car wreck of a conclusion when you’d discovered explicit texts and photos of several other women on his phone, going back months. He hadn’t tried to argue with you when you’d confronted him; instead, he’d blamed you for his forays into infidelity. You worked too much. You were too focused on your career. You didn’t devote enough time or effort to your relationship anymore, so no wonder he’d started to look elsewhere. Never mind that this was the first time you were hearing these complaints.

You weren’t heartbroken so much as furious. Furious with him, but also furious with yourself for not seeing the signs and ending things sooner.

And now, calling to tell him about the…situation you find yourself in only leaves you feeling humiliated.

“So this is your ploy, huh?” He says after you’ve explained. “This is how you’re gonna try to get me back?”

Your mouth hangs open, and for a moment all you can do is splutter wordlessly in rage.

“Are you serious?” You hiss at him. “I already told you I wasn’t planning on keeping it, and you still think that this is some kind of plan to, what, trap you into getting back together? As if that’s something I would even want?”

The volume of your voice has now crept upward to a full yell, and you admit it makes you feel marginally better.

Your conversation devolves further from there into a full-on shouting match, much of which is a re-hash of the row you’d had when you broke up.

“See, this is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about,” Michael says at one point, his tone one of smug vindication. “You never put your personal life first. At the smallest inconvenience you - ”

“This is not an inconvenience,” you seethe. Why is this so hard for him to understand? “Listen, I called you to tell you about this because I thought you deserved to know, but I guess even after everything I still didn’t comprehend just how much of a selfish asshole you are.”

“Takes one to know one, honey.”

That does it.

“Fuck you.”

You hang up and sink down onto the couch, not making any effort to stop the tears from falling.

The sound of your name, followed by the closing of the front door, makes you jump.

Shit. Jack’s home. You’ve been his guest for the past two weeks, having had nowhere else to go on such short notice after moving out of Michael’s apartment.

“Everything alright, darlin’?” he asks, “I swear I heard you hollerin’ when I was still clear down the hall about somethin’ - ”

You try to wipe your face and pretend like nothing’s wrong, but the instant Jack sees you he rushes over.

“Hey, hey, hey, sweetheart - ” he crouches down to your level, reaching up to brush the last of the tears from your eyes, concern written all over his face. “What happened?”

You don’t want to burden him with this. Not after everything he’s already done for you.

Not when he’s been the best friend you could ask for the past few years, the two of you meeting and growing steadily closer after you’d taken a job at Statesman (the distillery, not the spy agency). Not when Jack’s always been so generous with his time and his friendship, a rock-steady presence in your life who has been there for you no matter the circumstances. Who insisted you come stay with him after your breakup in his spacious Louisville penthouse, who refused to let you pay him any sort of rent, who assures you you’re welcome to stay as long as you like until you figure something else out, and whom you’d had to talk down from going over to Michael’s place himself to have words with the man on your behalf.

To share this with him feels like too much on top of all of that. Especially when you know about the tragedies in his past. Part of you is afraid that if you tell him, he’ll turn away from you. That he’ll call you selfish, just like Michael did, or think you’re committing some terrible sin. That if you tell him what you intend to do, it will cause an irreparable tear in your friendship.

But it appears you no longer have a say in the matter. Not when Jack is looking at you like this and you know you’re not just facing Jack Daniels, your best friend, but Agent Whiskey, an elite secret agent who will know if you lie to him. You gulp in a breath and try to steel yourself for this conversation before words start tumbling out of your mouth.

“I’ll tell you, but Jack, let me just say that if anything I say makes you uncomfortable we don’t have to keep talking about it, I’m a big girl, and I can handle my own shit - ”

“Darlin’,” he says, in a quieter, kinder version of the firm, no-nonsense tone he uses to bark out orders to subordinates, “what’s wrong?”

Just rip the band-aid off. Just do it. Just tell him -

“I’m pregnant.”

Jack’s eyebrows damn near disappear beneath the brim of his Stetson. Whatever he’d been expecting you to say, it clearly had not been that.

He looks down at your stomach as though it will appear any different from the last time he’d seen it this morning.

“You-you are?”

You nod. “Yup, I’m knocked up but good.”

You can see the gears turning in his head as he runs through the implications of this revelation.

“And am I correct in assumin’ that the other responsible party in this scenario is Michael?”

You nod again.

Jack swallows and rubs at his chin with one hand, a gesture you’ve long since come to recognize as something he does when he’s nervous, though you can’t imagine why.

“Are y’all still broken up?” He asks, and there’s something tentative about it.

“We are,” you rush to assure him. “Believe me, we are. Something I’ve never been more sure of after the conversation I just had with him.”

Jack frowns at you. “Ah. And am I also correct in assumin’ that he did not take the news well?”

You can’t help but laugh at the enormous understatement, but there’s no real humor in it.

“I’m not keeping it, Jack. I knew that before I called him and told him. I don’t know if I want kids, but I do know that I don’t want them now. Not like this. And not with him.” You scrunch your face up into a grimace.

“It’s not-it’s not just that he didn’t take the news well, it’s that I told him I was pregnant, I told him I’d made an appointment for an abortion, and he thought I might be making it up to try and get him back. Do you know what he said to me at one point?” Tears prick at your eyes again, and it’s more from frustration than anything. “‘If you’re going to get rid of it, why are you even calling me?’ I felt he should at least know, and I’d hoped that maybe he’d be willing to help me through the process if nothing else. Abortions aren’t allowed to be covered by insurance in this goddamn state and they aren’t exactly the cheapest things in the world, but regardless, Jack, I told him I was pregnant and it was like, it was like - ”

You blink up at the ceiling, unwilling to look at Jack as the tears start to fall freely again. “It was like he didn’t even care.”

“Oh, sweetheart-” In one quick movement Jack sits down beside you and pulls you into his arms. “I’m so sorry. That bastard does not deserve you. He never did.”

You let yourself melt into Jack’s embrace, the oddly comforting smell of old cigars still clinging to the thick gray wool of his blazer, no matter how many times he gets it dry-cleaned.

“Took me two damn days to work up the nerve to call him, and that’s the reaction he gives me,” you grumble into the fabric. “Unbelievable.”

You feel Jack’s back stiffen.

“Wait,” he says, pulling away slightly so he can look at you, “you mean to tell me you’ve known about this for two days and you’ve been keepin’ it all to yourself?”

You open your mouth to try and explain, but Jack halts you.

“I’m not sayin’ you’re under any obligation to ever tell me anything, sugar, but this seems like a mighty heavy burden to carry all by yourself. You needn’t ever feel like you have to shoulder such a thing alone, you know that, right?”

You shrug, unable to meet his eye, suddenly becoming fascinated with the worn brown leather of the couch instead.

“I wanted to tell you,” you say, “but I was - oh god this might sound so stupid, but - I was scared. I wasn’t sure how you’d react, both to the news and to my decision about what to do. Because, you know - ”

You gesture vaguely, hoping he understands the reason for your trepidation. This was a man who, not long before you’d met him, had been willing to let millions die because of a grudge he’d held that was eating him alive. He hadn’t been successful, thank god, and he’d put in the serious, long hours in therapy while chained to a desk assignment for over a year before being let into the field again. But still, you’d hate to think you’ve reopened that wound.

Jack makes a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat. He tilts your face upward to look at him, then gently brushes your hair behind one ear.

“Darlin’, my past and my traumas are my responsibility. That pain of losin’ my family is always gonna be there, but what’s important is that it doesn’t control me anymore. So while I appreciate you lookin’ out for my feelings, the only feelings I am concerned with right now are yours.

“As for the nature of your decision - my family was taken from me. Me and my wife’s choices about when and how we wanted to have our baby boy were taken from us. The last thing I would ever want to do is to have that choice taken from anyone else.”

You swear you normally don’t cry this much. Perhaps you can just blame it on pregnancy hormones. But you didn’t realize until just this moment how much it means to you to hear Jack accept your pregnancy - and your decision to terminate it - without judgment. To find that your fear of your best friend rejecting you is unfounded. Your head drops against his shoulder as an unexpected feeling of relief washes over you.

Jack leans back on the couch, gently pulling you with him until you’re tucked safely under his arm.

“When’s your appointment?” He asks. “I can tell Champ I’m takin’ a day or two off work, I figure they won’t want you to drive yourself to and from the clinic. And I can be here for as long as it takes for you to recover.”

“Jack, you don’t have to - I don’t mean to ask this of you - ”

“You’re not askin’,” he interrupts, resting his free hand on your knee and squeezing, “I’m offerin’.” His broad palm spans so much of your thigh, his touch making you feel tingly and warm even through the fabric of your jeans. “I’m here for you, sweetheart. Now, tell me what you need.”

———

Three weeks. It’s three weeks between the time you tell Jack and your appointment, the severe imbalance of the supply of abortion services in your area compared to the number of people needing abortion care meaning lead times for appointment slots are lengthy. Every day is money out of your pocket, too, the delay in getting the procedure meaning that you’ll be far enough along that a cheaper medication abortion will no longer be an option. Instead, a significantly more expensive surgical abortion awaits you, which means your risk of side effects and complications, while still small, increases, as does your recovery time.

The feeling of helplessness you carry around constantly only grows as all you can do is wait for time to pass.

And in the meantime, you’re still pregnant, when you very much don’t want to be.

There’s no escaping the typical effects of a first trimester pregnancy that start wreaking havoc on your body. You can’t blame it, as much as you want to. Your body doesn’t know that this ultimately isn’t going to go anywhere; it’s not like there’s a pause button you can hit or a hold for abortion switch you can flip.

Through all of it, Jack is a saint. He’s endlessly patient and gentle, never getting upset with you when a mood swing hits and you snap at him for no reason (though you always feel terrible and apologize for it after). He fills the apartment with every snack and weird food combo you crave. He takes on chores you were used to doing yourself - washing your dishes, doing your laundry - when fatigue hits you so hard things like just getting into your pajamas and brushing your teeth take all your energy. He holds your hair back and presses a cool washcloth to the back of your neck when you’re hunched over the toilet from morning sickness, even in the middle of the night.

It’s during one such incident, about a week before your appointment, that you hit a breaking point.

It’s just after midnight, and you’ve been in the bathroom for half an hour. Everything about you is a sick, achy mess, and you’d be humiliated that Jack is sitting here on the tile floor next to you to see it all happen if you still had any energy left to care. You take a swig of water from the cup he holds out to you and swish it around before spitting it into the toilet bowl. You rest your forehead against the edge of the porcelain and let out a moan of pure frustration, the sound raspy and froggy coming out of your raw throat. You’re so exhausted and sick and absolutely done.

“I hate this, Jack,” you whine. “I hate this, I hate this, I hate this. I just want this to be over. I just want to stop feeling like shit. I just want my appointment to fucking get here, and I know this might sound callous, but I just want it gone.”

“I know, sugar,” he says, scooting over to rub a hand up and down your back, his other tracing a path along your arm. “I hate seeing you like this, knowin’ there‘s nothin’ I can do to make it better. But it’s gonna be okay. I promise.”

You think sometimes about the notion that he’s probably so good at taking care of you right now because technically he’s done this before. And in the deepest, most secret part of your heart you’ve started to wonder if this is what it would be like, to be Jack’s wife, to be having Jack’s baby. To have him take care of you because he wants you, because he loves you. It’s a fantasy that appeals to you far more than you’d like to admit.

There has always been something there, hidden under your otherwise platonic feelings of friendship towards Jack. But you’d only been with Michael a few weeks before meeting Jack for the first time, and while you found Jack handsome and charming and sweet, you’d buried any feeling that threatened to develop into a crush on the man deep, not wanting to jeopardize your new relationship.

But now, without the excuse of Michael to motivate you, and with more evidence than ever before right in front of your face of what a good friend, a good man, Jack Daniels is, whatever you’d suppressed has come roaring back with a vengeance, a dormant seed finally bursting free from the ground and rapidly climbing towards the sun. But it’s a development you’ll figure out how to deal with after your appointment. One problem at a time.

“You make it better just by being here, Jack,” you tell him. And it’s true.

Something flickers across his face, some flash of emotion you can’t place. He takes a breath and looks like he’s about to say something to you, but at that moment another round of nausea hits you, and any reply he might have made is interrupted by the extremely attractive sight and sound of you dry heaving for the third time that night.

———

“I don’t like the look of this, darlin’,” Jack says warily, eyeing the group of protestors on the sidewalk.

You shrug. “Neither do I, but if you want to get to the clinic, you gotta walk through that crowd.”

There are two abortion clinics left in the entire state of Kentucky. And every day that the clinics are open, people show up to protest and harass the patients. There’s about two dozen of them in front of the Kentucky Women’s Health Clinic today, nearly half of them standing with enormous signs depicting blown up images of bloody embryos covered in giant text with phrases like “BABIES ARE MURDERED HERE” and “CHOOSE JESUS” and references to Bible quotes you’re sure are in no way taken out of context.

State law requires that you give your consent to the procedure face-to-face 24 hours beforehand, but fortunately you were able to do it over Zoom the day before. For the better part of an hour afterwards you’d ranted at Jack about the information you’d been given, essentially a lecture dictated not by any medical professional, but by the almost exclusively straight, white, conservative men who made up the vast majority of Kentucky’s legislature.

It’s such condescending bullshit you’d shouted at him, suddenly having more energy than you’d had in weeks. That poor nurse had to tell me that medication abortions can be reversed, which isn’t true. She had to tell me at length about the adoption options in this state, as if adoption does jack shit to solve my “I don’t want to be pregnant anymore” problem, or mitigate any of the serious health risks of carrying a pregnancy to term. God knows how many years of education and training this woman had to go through to become a nurse, only to now have both of us be force-fed sanctimonious anti-choice, anti-science horseshit just because some crusty old men still haven’t come around to the fact that women are people.

But seeing the crowd outside the clinic now, you’re at least grateful you’d been able to jump through that hoop with a video call, instead of having to go to the clinic twice.

“Well then, if there’s really no avoiding’ those folks - ” Jack reaches over your legs to open up the glove box where his dual pistols are waiting. As nervous as you are, you still get a little thrill from his arm brushing across your thigh.

“Jack, stop.” You put your hand on his arm to still him. “I appreciate the thought, but you can’t bring weapons into the clinic. They’re understandably a little paranoid about that, you know?”

Understanding dawns on his face, and he looks abashed.

“Sorry, sugar,” he says. “I was just thinkin’ about giving those nosy nellies out there a reason to keep their distance.”

You give his arm a squeeze. “I know you were. But let’s just get in the door, okay? Whatever you do, don’t let them provoke you. I’m gonna be in no state to bail you out of jail if you let one of them get a rise out of you.”

He nods.

“Let’s go.”

The second you open your door, the noise hits you. People chanting and yelling, at least one of them into a bullhorn. Someone’s playing music through a portable amplifier that has both seen and heard better days. More than a dozen people swarm towards you and Jack the instant you’re out of the car, all of them pushing in way too close for comfort, and almost all of them men. Two clinic escorts in orange safety vests take up posts on either side of the two of you, providing you with what buffer they can and offering words of encouragement and distraction.

Jack doesn’t hesitate: he wraps one arm around you and tucks you in close to his side. Your arm automatically goes around his waist and you cling to him, turning your face into his jacket and breathing in the comforting smell of whiskey and leather and Jack.

Strong man protects you, whispers your lizard hindbrain despite the highly inappropriate timing, finding Jack’s presence achingly attractive even through the rising anxiety of walking through a hostile crowd.

You try to tune out the specifics of what the protestors are trying to shout in your ear, mostly variations on “don’t murder your baby” and “we can help you” and a good deal of yelling about God and Satan and repenting for your sins. But after a minute you realize that they aren’t just yelling at you. They’re also yelling at Jack.

“Don’t let her murder your baby!”

“If you do this, you’re going to hell!”

“Be a man, don’t let her kill your child!”

Your throat closes up in horror. Of course, of course they would assume that Jack is the father, with no thought at all to what the circumstances might actually be, how hurtful those words could be for him to hear. You wrap your arm even more tightly around him, feeling more guilty than you’d thought possible that you’d dragged him into this. But apart from the occasional “Fuck off!” when one of them gets too close, Jack says nothing to the protestors, instead walking quickly along the sidewalk with his spine ramrod straight, like he’s trying to use every inch of his build to appear as intimidating as he can.

You’re almost to the clinic when suddenly someone steps right in front of you, a middle-aged man big and bulky enough to make you stop in your tracks. He’s wearing a sweatshirt that reads “JAIL ABORTIONISTS.” Before anyone can do anything he reaches out and grabs your free hand that’s not holding a fistful of Jack’s jacket. He grips it tightly and tries to shove some kind of a pamphlet into your palm.

“Hey - ” you start to say, more out of surprise than anything else.

Jack reacts instantly, inserting himself between you and the protestor before the man can even start on his spiel with an honest-to-god snarl in your defense. He moves like he’s about to hoist the man up by the front of his shirt, but as the man lets go of you you manage to bring your arm up to stop Jack from doing anything to further escalate things.

Because you know from the look on his face, deep and sure in your bones, that if Jack had his way, the man who’d grabbed you would be dead.

Strong man protects you, purrs that stupid cavewoman part of your brain again, instead of being horrified by the notion of Jack killing someone for harming you.

“Don’t you touch her,” Jack growls, and you swear you’ve never seen him look more furious.

Several additional clinic escorts move to put more distance between you and the protestors and hurry you both the rest of the way inside.

As the door shuts behind you, the sounds of the people outside become muted. You inhale a shaky breath. Jack cups your face in his hands, looking you over to make sure you’re unhurt.

“You alright, darlin’?” he asks, with so much genuine concern in his voice it makes your heart ache. He gently runs his hands up and down your arms. “That son of a bitch didn’t hurt you, did he?”

But you barely hear him, immediately launching into a stammered apology.

“Oh my god, Jack, I’m so sorry, those awful things they were saying to you - ”

There’s a moment, then, where you both stop and look at each other, realizing you’re each far more concerned about the other’s well-being than your own.

“It’s okay, honey,” he finally says, and your tummy flips over at the unusual endearment. His voice gets low and quiet in the way that it does when he’s making a serious point. “You ain’t got nothin’ to apologize for. Those folks out there - it’s just ugliness for the sake of being ugly, for the sake of feelin’ more righteous than others. Nothin’ they can say can hurt me. But what I truly cannot stand - ” he lets his hands fall away from your face, but not before brushing the back of his knuckles along your cheek, “is when people do not mind their own fuckin’ business. And when they think they can put hands on the people I - on the people I care about.”

You smile tentatively up at him. “I like when you use your calm, Serious Jack voice on me.”

His mouth quirks up in surprise.

“Yeah?”

You nod. “Always makes me feel better.”

He pulls you into a too-brief hug. When he lets you go, he asks, “Alright, darlin’, ready to do this?”

If Jack is with you, you’re ready for anything.

“I am.”

———

The first part of your appointment feels remarkably similar to any other doctor’s visit, just with slightly more paperwork. You sit in the waiting room with Jack, filling out form after form and then waiting to be called back.

Finally, a nurse pokes her head out from the back and calls your name. You stand, and she sees you have someone with you.

“He can come back with you too, if you like,” she says, jutting her chin in Jack’s direction.

“Oh.” Shit. You haven’t talked with Jack about this, and you’ve already asked him to do so much, but after your awful experience outside, part of you really, really doesn’t want to be alone without him for the rest of this.

You turn back to him, trying to find the courage to tell him it’s fine, he doesn’t have to go with you, but once again, he reads you like an open book.

“Do you want me to go with you, darlin’?” he asks quietly, and you know once again he’s doing it to let you say yes to his question instead of having to ask him outright.

You curse yourself for not being strong enough to say no.

“Please.”

He stands, and lets his hand settle on the small of your back.

“Ladies first.”

———

The next hour passes in a blur of nurses coming into your exam room to take your vitals, have you fill out some more forms, and take samples for bloodwork. Finally, you get to talk to your doctor about the procedure itself.

Dr. Andrea Morgan is a tall, slender woman in her mid-fifties with an absolute riot of curly black hair tumbling over her shoulders. She has the reassuring, no-nonsense air of a physician who knows exactly what she’s doing, but also the kind demeanor of someone who understands how scary getting an abortion might seem.

You like her immediately.

Jack, on the other hand, has decided to fully embrace the role of your bodyguard, and proceeds to interrogate the poor woman like he’s on assignment for Statesman before he’ll let her perform what you know is a very common, very safe, relatively minor procedure on you.

Dr. Morgan takes it all in stride, talking the both of you through what the abortion will actually entail, what side effects to watch out for afterwards, and for how long to take it easy once it’s over. You’ve also elected to have her insert an IUD while you’re there, figuring you might as well do what you can to lessen your chances of ever being back in this situation again.

“Most people are able to resume normal activities within a day or two of their abortions,” Dr. Morgan tells you. “But depending on how your body adjusts to both the procedure and the IUD insertion, you may find an additional day of rest is necessary. Now this kind of IUD will start providing you immediate protection against pregnancy,” she holds up the t-shaped device, the version that’s made of copper, “however, you shouldn’t have vaginal intercourse for two weeks following the abortion to ensure everything heals up properly and there’s no risk of infection.”

Jack makes a muffled noise next to you and you glance over at him. For the past twenty minutes this man has listened and asked questions about your health and wellbeing and has sat through a truly shocking amount of discussion about your reproductive parts without blinking an eye, but for some reason this is the thing that now has the tips of his ears turning beet red.

If Dr. Morgan notices, she says nothing.

When all of your questions are exhausted, she lets you know she’ll be back to perform the procedure shortly, letting an ultrasound tech into the room.

“Now hang on a minute, sugar,” Jack says as the woman starts setting up, “what’s this about?”

You’ve actually been dreading this part more than anything else.

“We have to do an ultrasound before performing an abortion, sir,” the young tech says. She looks like she can’t be more than a year or two out of school, and you wonder at what bravery a person like her must possess to work at a place so constantly under threat. To know the risks of being injured or even killed for working in an abortion clinic are serious and real, and decide the work is worth doing anyway.

“An ultrasound?” Jack frowns in genuine confusion. “Lord knows I’m no doctor, but that seems a little unnecessary, don’t you think?”

“It’s required by state law, sir,” the tech replies, giving you a sympathetic glance. “We have to show the ultrasound as well as describe the fetus in detail. If we can detect a heartbeat, we have to play that sound too.”

Jack twists to look at you in horror.

“I know, Jack,” you say, aware that you’d have to go through this and already hating it.

“That is - that is just cruel,” he splutters in disbelief. “This is, what, some attempt at manipulatin’ folks into changin’ their minds? Or some sort of punishment for you makin’ your own damn decision about your life?”

“I’m not gonna change my mind,” you tell him, your voice somehow much calmer than you feel. “And it’s only a punishment if I choose to take it as one. If I choose to feel ashamed about this, and I don’t.”

Your inner rage is outwardly reflected on Jack’s face, and for a second he looks like he’s about to start arguing with the tech about subjecting you to this.

“It’s okay, Jack. I mean, it isn’t, but it’s something they have to do. If they don’t, they could be shut down for being out of compliance with the law, and that doesn’t help anyone.”

“I have to display the images and talk about them,” the tech says, “but you neither have to look nor listen if you don’t want to.”

She also offers Jack the chance to step out if either of you is uncomfortable with him being here for this part, but he shakes his head.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, sweetheart,” he says, and you desperately hope he doesn’t notice the little shiver that runs down your spine. If only he meant it in all the ways you want him to.

Because of the stage of pregnancy you’re in, the tech can’t just slather some jelly on your stomach and get the image she needs. Instead, she puts a condom and some lube on a small probe that gets inserted into your vagina. It’s about the same level of discomfort as getting a Pap smear, and knowing that there’s absolutely no medically sound reason for you to be in this position right now makes you start to shake with anger. This, beyond anything else you’ve experienced today, feels like a violation.

The tech makes some adjustments and fiddles with the machine, and then up on the screen next to you, there it is. A grainy image of, you assume, your baby, though it’s difficult for your untrained eye to make much sense of what you’re seeing.

“I’m going to start describing it now,” the tech alerts you gently. “This shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”

“Sugar,” Jack says, his voice low but steady, “look at me.”

You do. Jack’s sat himself down in a chair at your side, making him for once just a little shorter than you are. His eyes betray the outrage he still feels on your behalf, but you can tell he’s trying to tamp it down, aware that that’s not what you need from him right now.

“Don’t listen to her, listen to me.”

It’s an easy command to follow. You could listen to Jack’s warm, confident drawl all day.

“You have been so brave through all of this. I know your decision about what to do was an easy one for you, but then to face down all these hurdles bein’ put in your way, determined to not let anyone or anything keep you from makin’ your decision a reality? I have never, ever been prouder of you.

When this is over, I’m gonna take you home and you’re gonna rest for as long as you need to. We’ll order whatever takeout sounds good to you, and we’ll watch any movie you want.”

“Even The Parent Trap?”

That makes Jack smile for perhaps the first time all day. He’s never particularly cared for that film, one of your all-time favorites.

“Yes, darlin’, even that one. You are not gonna have to worry about a single thing after this. I’m gonna take good care of you.”

You’re glad they don’t have you hooked up to a heart rate monitor to broadcast the sudden rapid increase in your pulse. Jack’s already taken such good care of you. You think you may want him to do it forever, if he’d be willing to.

———

At last all of the preliminary hoops have been jumped through, and Dr. Morgan re-enters your room just as another nurse prepares to hook up an IV of mild sedatives into your arm.

The drugs don’t knock you out completely, but they do make everything look and feel like you’re drifting along underwater. You can see the slightly blurry shape of Dr. Morgan moving around between your legs, and you can feel things happening down there, but it’s like the part of your brain that allows you to actually react to stimuli has been switched off.

Suddenly, however, things sharpen enough that you register a serious amount of pain somewhere near your cervix. Your body tenses up and you whimper, going white-knuckled around the arms of the dentist-style chair they have you reclined in.

But when you look down, you realize one of your hands isn’t squeezing around the arm of the chair -

- because Jack is holding it.

Something else breaks through the haze then, a sound, and you realize it’s Jack, whispering more soft praises and talking you through it.

“You’re alright, darlin’, you’re alright,” he says, “You’re doin’ so well. It’ll be over soon, just keep hangin’ on to my hand, there’s a good girl. My brave, strong, precious girl. I’m right here, sweetheart.”

Jack.

How is it that this man is so perfect? Whatever did you do to deserve someone so selfless, so kind, so generous?

You love him.

The revelatory thought bursts through your mind like a beam of sun through clouds and oh god.

You love him.

You should tell him that.

You have to tell him that.

Right now.

You open your mouth and try to form words, but apparently the part of your brain capable of coherent speech has also been temporarily switched off, and what comes out is garbled nonsense.

He huffs out a laugh, and you feel his other hand come up and softly pet your hair away from your face.

“Hush, darlin’, it’s alright. Whatever it is, we can talk about it when you’re not so loopy from all these drugs, okay?”

Kind, handsome, and smart.

What would you ever do without him?

———

After the procedure Dr. Morgan keeps you in the room under observation for over an hour until she’s satisfied that the sedatives have worn off enough that you can go home. You’re still a bit out of it, which turns out to be a blessing in disguise because it means you don’t really remember walking out past the protestors a second time.

You must fall asleep on the ride home because the next thing you know Jack is opening the door on your side of the Bronco and undoing your seatbelt.

You try to brush his hands away and argue that you can do it yourself, but he just shushes you and hauls you into his arms. He carries you like that, bridal-style, all the way up to his apartment before laying you down gently on his couch. He covers you with a blanket as you start to drift off again.

But you fight it, just for a moment, struck by this nagging thought in the back of your head that you have something you need to tell Jack, though you can’t quite remember what exactly it is.

“Sleep, darlin’. It’s okay; I’ll be here when you wake up.”

The last thing you feel before you’re out like a light is the soft brush of lips against your temple.

Part 2.

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Taglist: @honestly-shite @ezrasbirdie @jazzelsaur @girlofchaos @oonajaeadira @magpie-to-the-morning @mandoblowmybackout @thirstworldproblemss @randeerenae @whataperfectwasteoftime @katareyoudrilling @sherala007 @pedroslilbitch @radiowallet @grogusmum @iamskyereads @bruxasolta @i-can-get-back-on @theredwritingwitch @green-socks @xoxabs88xox @steeevienicks @sergeantbannerbarnes @stardustsophia @churchill356 @peterfrauchen @baybrowne @hloke @lowlights @adancedivasmom @kirsteng42 @harriedandharassed @beecastle

#i love you leslie #our bodies our choice

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