#diego x reader

"you're acting weird."

"i'm not acting weird."

"you absolutely are."

"maybe you're weird."

you narrowed your eyes at him.

he grinned.

that grin alone should have warned you.

still, you followed him through the nearly empty stadium.

the seats stretched endlessly around you, illuminated by the golden glow of the setting sun. it was quiet without the crowds. peaceful.

diego walked beside you with his hands shoved into his pockets.

for someone normally full of energy, he was strangely nervous.

you noticed immediately.

his leg bounced whenever he stopped walking.

he kept rubbing his palms against his jeans.

he checked his pocket at least five times.

you raised an eyebrow.

"diego."

"yes?"

"what's in your pocket?"

his eyes widened.

"nothing."

"you're a terrible liar."

"thank you."

you laughed.

"that wasn't a compliment."

he just smiled nervously.

eventually he led you toward the middle of the field.

the grass felt soft beneath your shoes as you walked.

then he stopped.

completely.

you looked around.

"okay, what am i looking at?"

for a moment, diego didn't answer.

instead, he stared out toward the empty stands.

his expression softened.

"you know," he said quietly, "when i was a kid, this was everything."

you looked at him.

he was smiling.

not his usual playful smile.

something softer.

something emotional.

"i used to sit in places like this and imagine it," he continued.

"imagine what?"

"all of it."

his eyes moved across the field.

"playing professionally."

"representing my country."

"hearing people chant my name."

you smiled.

because you knew how much football meant to him.

it had always been his dream.

his first love.

the thing he'd dedicated his entire life to.

diego looked down at the grass.

then back at you.

"this is where my dreams came true."

your chest tightened.

his voice sounded different.

shakier.

more vulnerable.

"diego..."

he took a step closer.

"every important moment in my life somehow came back to football."

you listened quietly.

"every goal."

"every win."

"every achievement."

his smile grew.

"and then i met you."

your breath caught.

suddenly your heart started racing.

because now you knew.

you knew exactly where this was going.

diego laughed nervously.

"don't cry yet."

"i'm trying not to."

"you're already crying."

"i know."

he reached up to wipe away a tear that had escaped.

his thumb brushed your cheek gently.

then he took a shaky breath.

"for years, i thought football was the biggest dream i'd ever have."

his voice cracked slightly.

"but then you became part of my life."

another tear slipped down your face.

diego smiled through his own watery eyes.

"and somehow every dream got bigger."

your hand immediately flew to your mouth.

he laughed softly.

"yeah, i'm emotional too."

then, before he could lose his nerve, he dropped to one knee.

your entire world stopped.

you stared at him.

at the ring.

at the man you loved.

the man whose hands were visibly shaking.

"oh my god."

diego laughed.

"that's usually a good sign."

tears blurred your vision completely.

he looked up at you with the biggest smile you'd ever seen.

"i've scored goals in front of thousands of people."

"i've played in huge matches."

"i've stood in packed stadiums."

he shook his head.

"none of that has made me as nervous as this."

you laughed through your tears.

he took your hand.

holding it carefully.

like something precious.

"you've been with me through everything."

"the good days."

"the bad days."

"the moments i doubted myself."

his eyes never left yours.

"you've celebrated every victory with me."

"and you've picked me back up after every loss."

your heart felt like it might burst.

"i can't imagine my future without you."

his voice softened.

"i don't want to."

the stadium seemed impossibly quiet.

just the two of you standing in the place that meant so much to him.

the place where his dreams had started.

and now where he was asking for another one.

"mi amor," he whispered.

his eyes shining.

"will you marry me?"

you didn't even let him finish the question.

"yes."

diego blinked.

"yes?"

"yes!"

he laughed.

you laughed.

both of you crying so hard neither could speak properly.

"yes, diego."

he slipped the ring onto your finger with shaking hands.

then immediately stood and pulled you into his arms.

you collided against his chest.

both of you laughing through tears.

he spun you around right there on the field.

holding you so tightly it felt like he'd never let go.

when he finally set you down, he pressed his forehead against yours.

completely overwhelmed.

completely happy.

"best answer i've ever gotten."

you smiled.

"better than scoring a goal?"

diego pretended to think.

"much better."

and standing there together in the middle of the stadium where his childhood dreams had become reality, he kissed you softly.

because for the first time in his life, diego realized football wasn't the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.

you were.

The hotel where you stayed was part of a hotel chain owned by a very wealthy American contact, which was lucky for you. The lobby had a characteristic aroma of mild cleaning products and citrus fruit fragrances, which made the environment feel refreshing. This freshness was reflected in most of the hotel guests, who were renowned figures in the feed, agricultural production, and livestock industries. Seeing all those people gathered together was like entering a mine full of diamonds, ready to be pocketed by you.

A wry smile had to be suppressed.

you clasped your hands behind the back, taking light steps as you approached the counter to request the room has had reserved.

“101, please...” You handed over the form, dragging the paper to the receptionist, who inspected the document.

The man was below average height, with gray hair — what little remained on his head — and a standard navy blue uniform.

“Ah, yes, just a second!” he said in a cracked voice before ducking under the wooden counter and returning with a labeled key in his bony hands. “Here... Please feel free to request room service!”

Took the key and tucked it into your pants pocket, turning subtly when you heard a conversation between two important figures, a man and a woman — who you assumed was the wife — chatting pleasantly, with occasional laughter. Remained leaning against the counter for a few seconds, just listening to whatever they were saying. If you wasn't mistaken, those were Mr. and Mrs. Monsoon. “The best thing Steel did was organize this race! This month alone, I sold 14 horses, 10 of them to some of the racers,” Mr. Monsoon laughed triumphantly, addressing a man with whom he was chatting happily. 

“I heard that some of our partners took advantage of the opportunity to promote themselves with the race ads,” Mrs. Monsoon whispered in her husband's ear. “Here's to our business!”

And they toasted together, the clinking of glasses giving him an unpleasant ringing in his ears. She rolled her eyes distractedly, looking away at whatever it was, the marital energy of the two already making her feel nauseous.  “At least if Diego were here, he would make a stupid joke about... No! Not at all, Diego is another fool!” You shook your head to dispel the thoughts. 

“Isn't that him? ... It can't be.” The woman with the glass in her hands stirred, dragging her husband toward her. Before he knew it, they were within arm's reach, too close to pretend he hadn't seen them.  “How can I help you today, ma'am?” Asked, tipping the hat in greeting to the couple, trying to sound as professional as you could.  'Don't forget, [Name], the diamonds, the diamonds...' Repeated tirelessly to yourself.

“You must be [Name], am I right?” She extended her hand, which he held delicately but firmly, bowing to the somewhat older woman. “I've heard a lot about you and your father's company!” You feigned pleasant surprise in your deceitful eyes. 

“Have you? Well, I'm delighted to hear it.” The feigned friendliness dripped from his words like acid. “Your husband is lucky to have such a... Well-informed lady by his side. Forgive me, but you are...?” The woman's husband laughed softly, possibly flattered by the comment. He formally offered a firm handshake. 

“The Monsoons, you must have heard about us through Stephen,” he boasted. “We were very impressed with your latest interviews. Knowing that your company sponsors such a successful jockey brings great renown to your family's legacy. You must be aware of that.” The man graced you with flattery. 

“I am flattered by your recognition,” you said, placing his hand on his chest, solemn and modest, as should be. There was a hint of humor in your features, but the couple did not question the reason directly. “But I must say, I am only doing my job. Soon I will inherit my father's company, so I must maintain the standards required to perform the role.” “It's really very noble, Mr. Promoter, it's a real gift to find such a respectable sponsor at such a young age.”  “Not at all! I'm just... a dedicated promoter.” You savored the words as if they tasted like cherries in syrup. The contractual hunger almost made your hungry.

“Spare me the modesty.” The man placed his hand on his shoulder, patting it for too long for his liking, yet he refrained from complaining. “I hope it doesn't sound rude to ask, but I would like to ask you something.”

For the first time that day, felt caught off guard. The idea of what was to come left you in a dangerous predicament, leaving him with only two paths he could take. 

Path A) You would listen carefully to the favor requested by the man, and if you accepted, could use this as a pretext to establish a beneficial partnership with the couple's affiliation; from what he knew briefly about their family, they had owned a very promising equestrian ranch for at least two generations. And path B) would be to deny the man's request, thus leading to a somewhat awkward farewell and ending any chance of forming a partnership. Which of the two was the right path?

“I'm all ears.” A polite smile crossed his face, feeling the muscles in your cheekbones tense with displeasure at such a forced action.

Diego picked up the pace after crossing the finish line a few days ago, Silver Bullet maintaining a considerably fast pace on the rocky and gravel road. He hated them. He was used to the soft grass under Silver Bullet's hooves, and now here he was, diligently climbing up the damn rocky road.

 Diego feared that such an inconvenience would break the young horse's horseshoes, so he stopped at the nearest town to pick up supplies and replace his horseshoes with more resistant ones.   Second place. He gasped with anger. He thought of those two words with disgust. Disgust for the second place he had obtained, and disgust for [Name] for mocking his performance. 

“That little whor... damn him!” he muttered to himself on the road, keeping a hardened expression as he approached the town's station. Now that he had earned his rightful place, he could rub it in [Name]'s face. 

That made him anxious. Better yet, excited. He would love to embarrass the damn Promoter, just as [Name] had done to him. If he was correct—and he was—the promoter would still be around to figure out the next steps the race would take. Not only that, he knew that wherever that bastard was, he was trying to form new alliances in his business circle. 

Diego could barely contain his irritation. The promoter annoyed him, not only because of his obvious energy, but also because he was exceptional in his field. Diego hated being self-conscious, but he knew he had made the right decision when he joined the [Name] family. Diego just needed to move the right pieces to get a valuable percentage of the company.

Diego just needed to... “seduce” him, for lack of a better word. Diego was no fool; he knew how to seduce men and women, and he could brag about it. But the prosecutor was a different case.  Diego pushed the thoughts away, as if he were delirious just thinking about the possibility. He had been more nervous since taking over Scary Monsters, acting impulsively out of pure instinctive savagery. As much as he liked the light and carefree feeling, he knew he had to restrain himself; he couldn't allow himself to lose control.  In a few minutes, Diego had reached the checkpoint, leaving Silver Bullet to have his horseshoes changed while he set out to find supplies for the next few nights. He crossed a few cobblestone streets, passing confidently through the crowds that formed as he was recognized, which was enough to quicken his pace. He was in a hurry. He just gave slight nods with his warm smile.

“Let's see, beans, matches, maybe some coffee too...” He reviewed the list as he walked, doing some mental calculations.  To be completely honest, he hated having to spend his own money on these little inconveniences. But he loved it when [Name] paid for him. He would dare to say that it made him almost ecstatic—excuse the expression.

Diego cleared his throat with a cough, getting the bizarre inconveniences out of his head. Just thinking about doing something obscene with the prosecutor... He threw his purchases on the store counter harder than he should have, startling the salesperson and a few customers behind the shelves. Diego cleared his throat. “I... I want it wrapped to go,” he said, feeling embarrassed.

With everything he needed in hand, Diego stored everything in the bags where he organized his supplies. Still with his calculations in mind, he figured out how many days it would take until his next stop, where he would spend more money. His expression soured at the thought. He needed to get more money.  He threw the bag on his back and headed to the stables where he had left his beloved Silver Bullet. He crossed the city to the open area of the stalls, finding his horse where he had left it, but with his keen hearing, he couldn't help but notice a commotion in the round pen behind the stalls. He heard the neighing of a disobedient horse and an authoritative voice that made him anxious.  Diego raised an eyebrow, giving his Arabian horse one last pat before walking away. He had heard that irritating voice before. Sneaking through the stables, he approached with slow, calculated steps, although he doubted that whoever was there would hear him coming. He stopped at the doorframe, stood with his arms crossed, watching the scene unfold before his eyes. At least it was some entertainment to keep him occupied on that dull afternoon.

To Diego's surprise, you were riding a beige Akhal Teke, without much success, as the horse only obeyed your commands when generously rewarded. You were bribing him with treats and sugar. Diego smiled mockingly. Approaching to keep his arms resting on the round fence.

“Do you remember what you once told me? Could you refresh my memory” Diego began, revealing his presence, pointing his index finger upward as if trying to reflect, while you turned to face him in disbelief. “Was somenthin' like... I don't ride horses?”

“Shut up, fool,” you muttered, frowning, knowing exactly what he was doing. But Diego continued, his smile growing even wider when he saw the embarrassment on your face.

“Oh, yes! If I remember correctly,” he snapped his fingers, “you said, ‘I don't ride horses because I'm afraid of horses~'” Diego mocked. 

You let out an angry snort and turned your back on him. But if you think Diego would let this opportunity pass him by, you are completely mistaken. 

“Now I'm very interested, tell me, Promoter,” Diego commented. Walking with agile steps and his hands clasped behind his back, he circled the fence while you dodged his advances. “Are you going to offer to explain why I come to this town, see a prickly commotion, just to find you riding this hot-blooded horse?”

“Why should I?” You tried to laugh, but your hands were shaking as the horse began to stir again. “I can very well ride a horse when I feel like it.”

“But it turns out you never feel like it, Promoter, you don't even ride the tamest mares!” Diego pointed out, only to hear a sharp neigh from Akhal. “Promoter, I'd get off if I were you.”  “Thanks for the advice, professor,” you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes. 

You thought about considering the opinion of a professional, but when it came to Diego, you decided to try to calm the animal down. 

Diego leaned back against the fence, quite amused by your lack of control. The last thing you would do was follow Diego's advice. Just to get a mocking smirk from him later? No way!

“Are you staying here?” the blond asked with an arched eyebrow, probably willing to make small talk. 

“Maybe,” you shrugged, which made Diego click his tongue. “I'm supposed to train this Akhal for the daughter of some... acquaintances.” 

Diego chuckled softly, but you heard him, and immediately glared at him, offended. 

“Will you explain why you're laughing, Mr. Brando?” You approached the fence, only for Diego to absentmindedly stroke the animal's muzzle. As expected, the Akhal seemed to like him more than you.

“You? Train him?” He put his hand under his eyes, incredulous. “You know, Promoter, I thought you had no sense of humor, but you're proving to be an exceptional jester today.”

“Why are you even here?” you asked, almost accusing him. “Shouldn't you be running at this hour? Falling off a cliff or something?” 

Diego raised his hands in surrender, playing with you, he had that smug smile of, well, always, just to make a vein pop out in your jugular. 

“Calm down, Promoter, I'm just doing some shopping,” he explained promptly. “You don't want your bosom buddy to have a burnout, do you? We all need a... break.” 

You got off your high horse, still skeptical of Diego, who continued to follow you outside the fence.  You couldn't say why, but the way he prowled around you seemed predatory. 

“Besides, I have an hour's bonus,” he made a point of boasting, following behind you. “But, well, you must already know that, right?~” Although you tried to ignore the jockey's presence, he continued to brag about his victory.  Removing the stirrups was a challenging task, considering that Diego was there, staring at his own hands with feigned disinterest, one arm casually thrown under an empty bay, and your patience with you quickly disappearing as you sat hunched over on that tiny stool with Diego chattering away nonstop. 

And you weren't the best stable boy, by the way. A beginner's mistake would be enough ammunition for Diego to make jokes until sunrise. “I'm well aware, thank you for refreshing my memory,” you rolled your eyes, impatient with the blond's jokes. 

Suddenly, he stood behind you, holding your shoulders as if giving you a massage, his chin approaching the shell of your ear.  “Whenever you need it, Promoter,” Diego purred like a damn cunning feline. “Don't I deserve generous recognition?”  You felt like laughing, finally finishing untying the cell's harness. Of course Diego would come to take something from you. As if your day wasn't already bad enough.  You raised your head to face Diego, who hovered behind you, still holding your shoulders, as if he were doing you a favor. His gaze was almost tender, rubbing circles on your back, light and steady. You stared at him doubtfully. 

“Tell me, you know horses well, can you tell me what's wrong with this one?”

Diego laughed softly, remembering how you seemed to struggle to even move the animal. You were terrible at riding. In a funny way. In a way that wouldn't make him call you incompetent, but rather laugh at you as if you were an idiot. 

“Are you talking about Akhal, who you tried to handle pathetically earlier?” Diego pondered, looking away at the pale animal. “Please, you ride like a lady, and I don't mean that in a good way.”

“His name is Fallou, and his owner wants to use him as a riding horse,” he explained. 

“What a waste of potential,” Diego assessed, running his hand down Akhal's neck, the smooth coat between his fingers, soon getting the horse's attention. It was no surprise that the animal responded to Diego's touch almost immediately. “He would have been a great racehorse, but he's restless and fearful.” 

You raised your eyebrow, noticing his silence, Diego continued.  “He's spontaneous and explosive. It will take much more than a few rewards to make him enjoy having someone on riding him.” Diego stared at Fallou, running his hand over the restless horse's muzzle, while giving him a brief lesson, rambling on in his own thoughts. 

Leaning against the wooden beam, you crossed your arms and sighed with your neck tilted upward. 

“Yeah, you should know a lot about that.” That's what came out of your mouth absentmindedly. You didn't think much of it until you caught Diego's gaze in your direction; he looked disturbed. “What?” 

Diego cleared his throat, leaving the horse for a moment and walking toward you until he stopped in front of you, leaning in slightly until he was less than an arm's length away, his face hovering over yours again. Looking at you carefully. A small smile spread across his face; was he enjoying himself...?

“Yeah, let's just say I'm pretty experienced in that area, yes.” 

“Alright, the next photoshoot is moved to…” You check your watch as you approach, tone crisp and professional. “2 in the afternoon.”

You offer him a polite smile—nothing more, nothing less. The same smile you give the stylists, the photographers, the assistants. The same one you’ve given him since the day you started managing him.

James nods, forcing himself to appear unfazed. “Great. Well, I’ll be outside if you need me.”

He waits. For a pause. A glance. Anything.

But you’re already turning away.

Gone.

His shoulders drop as he exhales a dramatic sigh, staring at the empty space where you stood just seconds ago.

“Didn’t even get a damn word in…” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

You were going to be the death of him.

And he can’t just let this go on.

This was supposed to be easy. A look, a compliment, a little charm—yet nothing seemed to faze you. And the worst part? It only makes him want your attention more.

Maybe he’s been going about this the wrong way. Maybe it’s not about making you swoon. Maybe it’s about making you look at him.

Really look at him.

And he isn’t above playing dirty to make that happen.

James starts small.

First, it’s the little things. Making sure he’s always in your peripheral vision, conveniently stationed wherever you happen to be. Leaning a little too close when you’re discussing schedules, letting his fingers brush yours when he hands you something.

Then he escalates.

He starts dressing sharper—switching to fitted shirts that highlight his build, rolling up his sleeves just enough to showcase his forearms. He purposefully runs a hand through his hair when he knows you’re looking.

Nothing.

No reaction.

You remain unfazed, completely immersed in work.

So, James changes tactics.

If looking good won’t work, he’ll try something else. One that's way off his base, being completely honest about his feelings.

It happens late one evening. You’re at your desk, finalizing tomorrow’s schedule, when James steps in.

“Alright, I give up,” he announces, hands on his hips.

You barely glance at him. “Good to know.”

“No, I mean it.” He strides closer, stopping just in front of your desk. “I’ve tried everything, and you’re still treating me like I’m just another name on your damn clipboard.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “DG—”

“Let me take you out.”

That finally makes you pause. You look up, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

“A date,” he clarifies, leaning down, palms pressed against your desk. “One date. No business talk. No work. Just you and me.”

You let out a short laugh. “DG, you’re only interested because I don’t throw myself at you like everyone else.”

He doesn’t even deny it. “And? Is it working?”

You shake your head, amused. “You’re impossible.”

James smirks, sensing a crack in your armor. “Come on, just one date. If you hate it, I’ll back off.”

You stare at him for a moment, considering. He looks so damn smug, like he’s already won—but beneath that, there’s something almost… hopeful in the way he watches you.

With a sigh, you finally say, “Fine. One date.”

James straightens instantly, a small victorious smirk spreading across his face. “You won’t regret it.”

You roll your eyes, already regretting it a little. “We’ll see.”

And for the first time since you met him, you find yourself actually looking forward to whatever he has planned.

The two of you hit it off during a sparring session. You’re usual partner is out sick and if he’s honest, he needs the cash because his vigilante shit isn’t cheap. You give him a run for his money, he likes that. There’s not many people who can land a punch on him, less who can take one but your technique is almost flawless and your resilience impresses him. He learns not to underestimate you.

It turns into a regular thing, you need to burn off a little steam and he’s game. He keeps it safe, keeping his distance until you catch him on the jaw with a punch that turns his fucking head. He doesn’t even think, he just reacts. The adrenaline surges through his veins and before he knows it, he has you on your back in the middle of the ring. The two of you are breathing heavy, your hips pressed together, your skin is flushed. He looks down at you, the brightness in your eyes and those parted lips…

He can’t help himself. He leans down and kisses you. It’s fervent, full of fire and passion that ignites something deep down in your veins, your hands run through his hair dragging him closer…

He loses track after that, who does what to who. It feels like a daydream, a hazy collection of emotions and the stark contrast of him fucking you in the middle of the ring. He likes you he realises as the two of you sit in an overnight diner, sharing breakfast as the sun comes up. He likes the fact that you make him laugh, that you gesture manically with your hands when you speak, that you lean in close when you tell him one of your stories. He can still smell your perfume on his skin when he heads back to his bunk.

It's only once, he tells himself the next day in the shower.

Maybe twice, when he fucks you so hard on his makeshift bed the fucking thing breaks.

The last time, he promises himself after he takes you in the shower, hands roving over your skin as the water cascades over the two of you.

It’s never the last time.

The truth is you’re an addiction, one that he can’t seem to kick no matter how hard he tries.

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