Pedro Pascal Characters - Tumblr Posts - Page 5
Goober
Summary: On a stormy night, a dog makes a dash for the garage. Frankie is insistent, like all dad's, they are not keeping that damn dog.
Warnings: Cussing, fluff, puppy madness, Nora seems to need her own warning in this fic cause she is sassy!
A/N: Happy Frankie Friday!!! Another installment of the Parents to Lovers AU! Thank you so much @noxturnalpascal for betaing for me ❤️❤️ @jay-zzle, my side kick for all these stories, my personal moodboard maker, one of my best friends that I would have never even met without Pedro Pascal existing, once again thank you for making the moodboard AND the other thing(wait til y'all get to the end)
Masterlist||AO3||Parents to Lovers
divider provided by @saradika-graphics

The thunder was getting closer and closer. You can smell the incoming rain on the air as you close the kitchen window.
“Girls!” You shout, approaching the living room doorway “Did you remember to bring your bikes in the garage?”
“I did!” Missy says quickly, returning to the game on her tablet.
“Uhh…” Nora hesitates, fingers fidgeting against her own tablet, “I forgot.”
“Nora! How many times have we talked about this?”
“Sorry,” she shrugs, “I just forgot.”
You groan, putting your shoes on and making your way to the garage. Frankie won’t be home for another hour or else you’d send him outside to get the bike. Opening the garage door you see the rain already starting to come down in sheets. Thankfully, Nora’s bike isn’t that far from the open door, but running towards it you see something dash past you into the garage.
“Fuck,” you mutter, grabbing the bike and wheeling it into the garage, “Now I get to deal with whatever creature decided to run into here for shelter from the storm. Thanks Nora, you’re the best!”
A clap of thunder sounds just then, causing you to jump, and you hear a whimper at the edge of the room. You reach for the switch on the wall and when the overhead lights come on you see a dog huddled in the corner.
“Hey little baby,” you say sweetly, crouching down and stretching out your hand, “It’s just a little thunder, nothing to be scared about.”
The dog slowly begins to move closer to your outstretched hand. You notice the floppy ears, short legs and long body. Another clap of thunder and the thing darts over, shaking and whimpering.
“Hi there,” you coo, “Let's get you some place warm and dry, huh? That sound good?”
The dog’s tail starts to wag a little as you continue talking to it, grabbing a towel as you begin to attempt to dry the dog off.
“Are we a boy or a girl?” You ask, lifting a leg to check, “Congrats! It’s a girl!” You say to no one but yourself.
The dog begins licking your face as you wipe her paws more to get the mud off.
“Aww, you’re just a sweet girl, aren’t you?” You coo, as the dog continues to lick your face, “Yes, yes you are! Okay, I think we’re good to go inside now.”
You gently scoop the dog up in the towel and carry her inside, bringing her into the living room.
“Is that what I think it is?!” Nora shrieks, smacking Missy’s arm to get her attention from her tablet.
“Hey, calm down, she doesn’t like loud noises,” you explain, “This little girl ran into the garage because of the storm.”
“She’s so cute!” Missy excitedly whispers, “Does she have a name?”
“Well I don’t see a collar so I don’t know,” you say, placing the dog in the middle of the living room.
The dog’s tail begins to wag harder when the girls slowly slide off the couch to approach her, and you notice her peeing on the carpet.
“Shit,” you hiss, quickly going to the laundry room for a towel, laying it on the carpet to soak up the mess. She’s much more enthusiastic seeing the girls than she was seeing you. You sit on the couch watching the girls interact with the puppy.
“Hi,” Missy whispers, reaching her hand out for the dog to sniff, “You’re very pretty.”
“Yes,” Nora agrees, stretching her arm out, “Pretty and smooshy!”
The dog eats up the attention stretching out on the floor to show her chest and belly. Missy and Nora begin petting her, taking turns rubbing her tummy and scratching behind her ears.
“Momma, what kind of dog is she?” Nora asks, looking at you.
“It looks like she’s what’s called a basset hound,” you grin. You’d always wanted one growing up and thought that whoever owned this girl was the luckiest person in the world. You needed to call Frankie before he got home, that way he could maybe stop somewhere to get a collar, leash, and dog food. You pull your phone from your pocket, tapping on his contact info.
“Hey babe,” he sighed, “Think we’re almost done here and then I’ll be home.”
“So,” you say, getting up and walking to the kitchen so the girls wouldn’t hear, “I need you to do something for me before you come home.”
“What kind of ice cream do you want now?” He laughs.
“It’s not a craving this time,” you whisper into the phone, hand rubbing across your barely there bump, that news you hadn’t shared yet with the girls, “Not a bad idea though, Ben and Jerry’s Salted Caramel.”
“Sure thing,” he says, “I’ll be sure to ge—“
“No babe,” you interrupt, “Seriously that’s not what I was calling about. I need you to get some puppy food, a leash, and a collar.”
“Do what now?”
“Puppy food, a leash and a collar,” you repeat, “and the Ben and Jerry’s! I’ll text you what I said, love you, bye!” You say quickly before hanging up and texting him the list. Your phone pings a second later.
Frankie: What the fuck?!
—
“Babe,” Frankie shouts, entering the kitchen, “I got the st—“
The dog ran into the kitchen, looking up at Frankie, giving a single bark.
“Well, hello,” he says, dropping the small bag of dog food on the table, hesitantly the dog inches closer to Frankie, tail tucked between her legs, sniffing his boot.
“Dad, look!” Missy says, pointing at the dog.
“I see,” Frankie says, eyebrows raised.
“Can we keep her?!” Nora asks, bouncing from foot to foot.
“Absolutely not!” Frankie says, putting his hands on his hips, “She looks pretty young, probably has a family around here somewhere.”
“Obviously they don’t care about her though,” Nora argues, “They left her out in a storm!”
“Yeah,” Missy agrees, nodding her head, “That’s just mean to do to a baby dog!”
“Now, now girls,” you say, placing a hand on each of their shoulders, “Sometimes dogs get loose when they’re scared and just run off.”
“We’ll make some flyers and post them around the neighborhood,” Frankie says, “Until we can find the owners we’ll make sure the little thing’s fed and taken care of.”
“She’s not just a thing, Frankie,” Nora grumbles, stomping past you to the living room, the dog and Missy following right behind her.
Frankie takes in a deep breath before slowly letting it out. You walk towards him, grabbing him around his waist and pulling him close, breathing him in.
“It’s gonna be okay,” you whisper into his neck, placing a small kiss there.
“Why’s she gotta be so damn stubborn like her momma?” Frankie hums, grabbing a handful of your ass.
“Everyone says she looks like her dad so guess that means she has to have my attitude,” you say, shrugging your shoulders with a laugh.
—
“Are you sure we can’t just keep her?” Missy asks while you’re stapling one of the flyers to a pole.
It’s been a couple days since the dog arrived. You’d gotten the flyers made and now you were all walking around the area with the dog and posting them up in numerous places. You’d already hit every business downtown that you could. Now it was time to hit the neighborhoods around you.
“I’m sure,” Frankie said in a stern tone, “We are not keeping her.”
“But I already picked out a name,” Nora pipes up, flicking the leash lightly in her hands like a whip, “Goober!”
“Nora don’t do that with the leash,” you say, “You could hurt her.”
“Don’t name her!” Frankie groans, “She’s not our dog!”
“Why Goober?” Missy laughs, as you all continue to walk.
“Well,” Nora says, looking down at the dog who cocks her head to the side like she was waiting for the answer as well, “Just look at her! Mom always says I’m a goober when I do something funny and she just looks funny!”
“I like it,” Missy says with a small smile.
“No,” Frankie said, “Her name is not Goober.”
The dog barks, ears perked up, wagging her tail, and looking directly at Frankie.
“Oh,” you laugh, “Babe, I think she just told you you’re wrong and that her name is, in fact, Goober.”
“Stop it,” he says, pointing at you before hanging up another one of the flyers.
—
“Would it be such a bad idea to keep her?” You ask while filling the dog’s food and water dish. The dog is patiently waiting for you to place them on the floor for her.
“Yes it would.”
“Frankie,” you groan, hand on your stomach, and bending down to set them on the floor, “She’s so cute though!”
“Doesn’t matter how cute she is,” Frankie shakes his head, “We shouldn’t keep her.”
“Babe,” you say flatly, “It’s been a week and a half and we haven’t heard a single thing from anyone!”
“Good morning, Mom!” Nora beams, coming into the kitchen, “And good morning Princess Goober!”
“Morning,” Missy grumbles, “Goober!” She says perking up a little and petting the dog on the head.
“Stop calling her that!” Frankie says sternly, “She’s not our dog. End of discussion.”
“Oh,” Nora says, glaring at him, “Morning Frank.”
“Are you guys ready for school?” He asks, ignoring Nora’s glare.
“Yeah,” Missy yawns. Nora just grumbles still glaring at him.
“Alrighty then,” you hum, “Come here. Hugs!”
Both girls embrace you one either side, giving them both a tight squeeze before letting them go.
“Have a good day and Nora,” you smile, “Please behave.”
She rolls her eyes, following Missy into the garage with a huff. Frankie shakes his head, walking towards you, wrapping his arms around you.
“That girl’s gonna give me more gray hairs than the baby,” Frankie mutters into your temple.
“That makes the both of us,” you laugh, giving him a chaste kiss before he’s off to take the girls to school and go to work.
—
“Goober!” The girls shriek, bursting into the house through the garage. Goober’s tail starts wagging like crazy and she pees all over the floor.
“Goober Goo!” You groan, “Not again!”
Goober just looks at you, panting, tongue hanging out to the side.
“Can we take her to the backyard?” Missy asks, putting her backpack on the hook.
“Sure,” Frankie grunts, bending down to clean up the pee. Goober pokes her head under his armpit, while he wipes the pee up and begins licking his face, “Okay, okay. Yes, I see you.”
“Think she likes the way your beard tastes, Dad,” Missy giggles.
“Must be leftovers in there,” he grumbles, rubbing Goober’s ears.
“Oh! Watch this!” Nora exclaims, “Come here Goober! Come here!”
Goober pushes past Frankie’s arm, walking in her pee to get to Nora.
“Damn dog,” Frankie mumbles, motioning for you to hand him the Clorox wipes.
Goober plops down in front of Nora. She grabs one of Goober’s ears and begins to scratch the inside of it, causing Goober’s back leg to violently shake.
“What is she doing?!” Missy asks, starting to giggle.
“You found her puppy spot!” You exclaim with a laugh.
Frankie looks up to see what you are all laughing at, watching the saggy dog’s body jiggle and starts laughing.
“What the hell?” Frankie laughs, shaking his head, “Think she is a Goober afterall. Go on, take her outside now, I’m sure she’s got more pee in her. Don’t want her pissin’ in the house more than she already has.”
The girls take her outside, taking turns throwing the floppy stuffed animal they gave her that she had ripped the stuffing out of.
“Babe,” You smile watching the girls play with Goober outside, “I think we have a dog now.”
“I think you’re right,” Frankie groans, standing up, throwing away the Clorox wipes and throwing the towel into the hamper in the laundry room.
“We can’t get rid of her,” you pout, “The girls love her too much. Frankie, I love her too much and no one’s claimed her!”
Frankie finishes washing his hands at the sink, turning around, crossing his arms with a big sigh.
“Fine,” he sighs, “We’ll keep the damn dog.”
—
“What ya making, babe?” Frankie asks, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, “Smells really fucking good.”
“Spaghetti,” you grumble, “Only thing the girls seem to want to eat right now.”
Nora rushes into the kitchen, observing the fridge, rearranging some of the pictures on it.
“What are ya doin’ kid?” Frankie asks, looking behind his shoulder.
“Moving some stuff around,” she says snarkily, “This coupon is expired. Can I throw it away?”
“Yes,” you and Frankie say at the same time.
“Cool,” she says, throwing it away and running out of the kitchen.
You continue stirring the sauce, trying not to let the smell get to you.
“Need me to take over?” Frankie asks, kissing your temple.
“Oh my god,” you huff, “Please.”
Frankie laughs softly, kissing the spot on your neck that meets your shoulder. Then moves you to the side when Nora and Missy come rushing back in. Goober following closely behind them.
“I think we should put it here,” Nora says, pointing to the empty spot she made.
“What if though,” Missy says, rearranging different pictures, creating a new empty space, “We put it here?”
“Hmm, yeah, I like that better,” Nora agrees.
Missy grabs one of the magnets off the fridge, placing a new picture on the fridge, right alongside the picture of the four of you together, underneath the picture of Missy and Nora, and above the picture of Frankie with the guys.
“There!” Nora beams, “Goober is on the fridge, that means she’s family!”
“No take backs!” Missy says, pointing at Frankie.

Oh youuuu! ❤️❤️❤️ Wouldn’t have it any other way! ILY 🥰
Goober
Summary: On a stormy night, a dog makes a dash for the garage. Frankie is insistent, like all dad's, they are not keeping that damn dog.
Warnings: Cussing, fluff, puppy madness, Nora seems to need her own warning in this fic cause she is sassy!
A/N: Happy Frankie Friday!!! Another installment of the Parents to Lovers AU! Thank you so much @noxturnalpascal for betaing for me ❤️❤️ @jay-zzle, my side kick for all these stories, my personal moodboard maker, one of my best friends that I would have never even met without Pedro Pascal existing, once again thank you for making the moodboard AND the other thing(wait til y'all get to the end)
Masterlist||AO3||Parents to Lovers
divider provided by @saradika-graphics

The thunder was getting closer and closer. You can smell the incoming rain on the air as you close the kitchen window.
“Girls!” You shout, approaching the living room doorway “Did you remember to bring your bikes in the garage?”
“I did!” Missy says quickly, returning to the game on her tablet.
“Uhh…” Nora hesitates, fingers fidgeting against her own tablet, “I forgot.”
“Nora! How many times have we talked about this?”
“Sorry,” she shrugs, “I just forgot.”
You groan, putting your shoes on and making your way to the garage. Frankie won’t be home for another hour or else you’d send him outside to get the bike. Opening the garage door you see the rain already starting to come down in sheets. Thankfully, Nora’s bike isn’t that far from the open door, but running towards it you see something dash past you into the garage.
“Fuck,” you mutter, grabbing the bike and wheeling it into the garage, “Now I get to deal with whatever creature decided to run into here for shelter from the storm. Thanks Nora, you’re the best!”
A clap of thunder sounds just then, causing you to jump, and you hear a whimper at the edge of the room. You reach for the switch on the wall and when the overhead lights come on you see a dog huddled in the corner.
“Hey little baby,” you say sweetly, crouching down and stretching out your hand, “It’s just a little thunder, nothing to be scared about.”
The dog slowly begins to move closer to your outstretched hand. You notice the floppy ears, short legs and long body. Another clap of thunder and the thing darts over, shaking and whimpering.
“Hi there,” you coo, “Let's get you some place warm and dry, huh? That sound good?”
The dog’s tail starts to wag a little as you continue talking to it, grabbing a towel as you begin to attempt to dry the dog off.
“Are we a boy or a girl?” You ask, lifting a leg to check, “Congrats! It’s a girl!” You say to no one but yourself.
The dog begins licking your face as you wipe her paws more to get the mud off.
“Aww, you’re just a sweet girl, aren’t you?” You coo, as the dog continues to lick your face, “Yes, yes you are! Okay, I think we’re good to go inside now.”
You gently scoop the dog up in the towel and carry her inside, bringing her into the living room.
“Is that what I think it is?!” Nora shrieks, smacking Missy’s arm to get her attention from her tablet.
“Hey, calm down, she doesn’t like loud noises,” you explain, “This little girl ran into the garage because of the storm.”
“She’s so cute!” Missy excitedly whispers, “Does she have a name?”
“Well I don’t see a collar so I don’t know,” you say, placing the dog in the middle of the living room.
The dog’s tail begins to wag harder when the girls slowly slide off the couch to approach her, and you notice her peeing on the carpet.
“Shit,” you hiss, quickly going to the laundry room for a towel, laying it on the carpet to soak up the mess. She’s much more enthusiastic seeing the girls than she was seeing you. You sit on the couch watching the girls interact with the puppy.
“Hi,” Missy whispers, reaching her hand out for the dog to sniff, “You’re very pretty.”
“Yes,” Nora agrees, stretching her arm out, “Pretty and smooshy!”
The dog eats up the attention stretching out on the floor to show her chest and belly. Missy and Nora begin petting her, taking turns rubbing her tummy and scratching behind her ears.
“Momma, what kind of dog is she?” Nora asks, looking at you.
“It looks like she’s what’s called a basset hound,” you grin. You’d always wanted one growing up and thought that whoever owned this girl was the luckiest person in the world. You needed to call Frankie before he got home, that way he could maybe stop somewhere to get a collar, leash, and dog food. You pull your phone from your pocket, tapping on his contact info.
“Hey babe,” he sighed, “Think we’re almost done here and then I’ll be home.”
“So,” you say, getting up and walking to the kitchen so the girls wouldn’t hear, “I need you to do something for me before you come home.”
“What kind of ice cream do you want now?” He laughs.
“It’s not a craving this time,” you whisper into the phone, hand rubbing across your barely there bump, that news you hadn’t shared yet with the girls, “Not a bad idea though, Ben and Jerry’s Salted Caramel.”
“Sure thing,” he says, “I’ll be sure to ge—“
“No babe,” you interrupt, “Seriously that’s not what I was calling about. I need you to get some puppy food, a leash, and a collar.”
“Do what now?”
“Puppy food, a leash and a collar,” you repeat, “and the Ben and Jerry’s! I’ll text you what I said, love you, bye!” You say quickly before hanging up and texting him the list. Your phone pings a second later.
Frankie: What the fuck?!
—
“Babe,” Frankie shouts, entering the kitchen, “I got the st—“
The dog ran into the kitchen, looking up at Frankie, giving a single bark.
“Well, hello,” he says, dropping the small bag of dog food on the table, hesitantly the dog inches closer to Frankie, tail tucked between her legs, sniffing his boot.
“Dad, look!” Missy says, pointing at the dog.
“I see,” Frankie says, eyebrows raised.
“Can we keep her?!” Nora asks, bouncing from foot to foot.
“Absolutely not!” Frankie says, putting his hands on his hips, “She looks pretty young, probably has a family around here somewhere.”
“Obviously they don’t care about her though,” Nora argues, “They left her out in a storm!”
“Yeah,” Missy agrees, nodding her head, “That’s just mean to do to a baby dog!”
“Now, now girls,” you say, placing a hand on each of their shoulders, “Sometimes dogs get loose when they’re scared and just run off.”
“We’ll make some flyers and post them around the neighborhood,” Frankie says, “Until we can find the owners we’ll make sure the little thing’s fed and taken care of.”
“She’s not just a thing, Frankie,” Nora grumbles, stomping past you to the living room, the dog and Missy following right behind her.
Frankie takes in a deep breath before slowly letting it out. You walk towards him, grabbing him around his waist and pulling him close, breathing him in.
“It’s gonna be okay,” you whisper into his neck, placing a small kiss there.
“Why’s she gotta be so damn stubborn like her momma?” Frankie hums, grabbing a handful of your ass.
“Everyone says she looks like her dad so guess that means she has to have my attitude,” you say, shrugging your shoulders with a laugh.
—
“Are you sure we can’t just keep her?” Missy asks while you’re stapling one of the flyers to a pole.
It’s been a couple days since the dog arrived. You’d gotten the flyers made and now you were all walking around the area with the dog and posting them up in numerous places. You’d already hit every business downtown that you could. Now it was time to hit the neighborhoods around you.
“I’m sure,” Frankie said in a stern tone, “We are not keeping her.”
“But I already picked out a name,” Nora pipes up, flicking the leash lightly in her hands like a whip, “Goober!”
“Nora don’t do that with the leash,” you say, “You could hurt her.”
“Don’t name her!” Frankie groans, “She’s not our dog!”
“Why Goober?” Missy laughs, as you all continue to walk.
“Well,” Nora says, looking down at the dog who cocks her head to the side like she was waiting for the answer as well, “Just look at her! Mom always says I’m a goober when I do something funny and she just looks funny!”
“I like it,” Missy says with a small smile.
“No,” Frankie said, “Her name is not Goober.”
The dog barks, ears perked up, wagging her tail, and looking directly at Frankie.
“Oh,” you laugh, “Babe, I think she just told you you’re wrong and that her name is, in fact, Goober.”
“Stop it,” he says, pointing at you before hanging up another one of the flyers.
—
“Would it be such a bad idea to keep her?” You ask while filling the dog’s food and water dish. The dog is patiently waiting for you to place them on the floor for her.
“Yes it would.”
“Frankie,” you groan, hand on your stomach, and bending down to set them on the floor, “She’s so cute though!”
“Doesn’t matter how cute she is,” Frankie shakes his head, “We shouldn’t keep her.”
“Babe,” you say flatly, “It’s been a week and a half and we haven’t heard a single thing from anyone!”
“Good morning, Mom!” Nora beams, coming into the kitchen, “And good morning Princess Goober!”
“Morning,” Missy grumbles, “Goober!” She says perking up a little and petting the dog on the head.
“Stop calling her that!” Frankie says sternly, “She’s not our dog. End of discussion.”
“Oh,” Nora says, glaring at him, “Morning Frank.”
“Are you guys ready for school?” He asks, ignoring Nora’s glare.
“Yeah,” Missy yawns. Nora just grumbles still glaring at him.
“Alrighty then,” you hum, “Come here. Hugs!”
Both girls embrace you one either side, giving them both a tight squeeze before letting them go.
“Have a good day and Nora,” you smile, “Please behave.”
She rolls her eyes, following Missy into the garage with a huff. Frankie shakes his head, walking towards you, wrapping his arms around you.
“That girl’s gonna give me more gray hairs than the baby,” Frankie mutters into your temple.
“That makes the both of us,” you laugh, giving him a chaste kiss before he’s off to take the girls to school and go to work.
—
“Goober!” The girls shriek, bursting into the house through the garage. Goober’s tail starts wagging like crazy and she pees all over the floor.
“Goober Goo!” You groan, “Not again!”
Goober just looks at you, panting, tongue hanging out to the side.
“Can we take her to the backyard?” Missy asks, putting her backpack on the hook.
“Sure,” Frankie grunts, bending down to clean up the pee. Goober pokes her head under his armpit, while he wipes the pee up and begins licking his face, “Okay, okay. Yes, I see you.”
“Think she likes the way your beard tastes, Dad,” Missy giggles.
“Must be leftovers in there,” he grumbles, rubbing Goober’s ears.
“Oh! Watch this!” Nora exclaims, “Come here Goober! Come here!”
Goober pushes past Frankie’s arm, walking in her pee to get to Nora.
“Damn dog,” Frankie mumbles, motioning for you to hand him the Clorox wipes.
Goober plops down in front of Nora. She grabs one of Goober’s ears and begins to scratch the inside of it, causing Goober’s back leg to violently shake.
“What is she doing?!” Missy asks, starting to giggle.
“You found her puppy spot!” You exclaim with a laugh.
Frankie looks up to see what you are all laughing at, watching the saggy dog’s body jiggle and starts laughing.
“What the hell?” Frankie laughs, shaking his head, “Think she is a Goober afterall. Go on, take her outside now, I’m sure she’s got more pee in her. Don’t want her pissin’ in the house more than she already has.”
The girls take her outside, taking turns throwing the floppy stuffed animal they gave her that she had ripped the stuffing out of.
“Babe,” You smile watching the girls play with Goober outside, “I think we have a dog now.”
“I think you’re right,” Frankie groans, standing up, throwing away the Clorox wipes and throwing the towel into the hamper in the laundry room.
“We can’t get rid of her,” you pout, “The girls love her too much. Frankie, I love her too much and no one’s claimed her!”
Frankie finishes washing his hands at the sink, turning around, crossing his arms with a big sigh.
“Fine,” he sighs, “We’ll keep the damn dog.”
—
“What ya making, babe?” Frankie asks, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, “Smells really fucking good.”
“Spaghetti,” you grumble, “Only thing the girls seem to want to eat right now.”
Nora rushes into the kitchen, observing the fridge, rearranging some of the pictures on it.
“What are ya doin’ kid?” Frankie asks, looking behind his shoulder.
“Moving some stuff around,” she says snarkily, “This coupon is expired. Can I throw it away?”
“Yes,” you and Frankie say at the same time.
“Cool,” she says, throwing it away and running out of the kitchen.
You continue stirring the sauce, trying not to let the smell get to you.
“Need me to take over?” Frankie asks, kissing your temple.
“Oh my god,” you huff, “Please.”
Frankie laughs softly, kissing the spot on your neck that meets your shoulder. Then moves you to the side when Nora and Missy come rushing back in. Goober following closely behind them.
“I think we should put it here,” Nora says, pointing to the empty spot she made.
“What if though,” Missy says, rearranging different pictures, creating a new empty space, “We put it here?”
“Hmm, yeah, I like that better,” Nora agrees.
Missy grabs one of the magnets off the fridge, placing a new picture on the fridge, right alongside the picture of the four of you together, underneath the picture of Missy and Nora, and above the picture of Frankie with the guys.
“There!” Nora beams, “Goober is on the fridge, that means she’s family!”
“No take backs!” Missy says, pointing at Frankie.

Goober is a menace even in fiction! 🤣
Yessss! I’m so excited to see this little family grow 😍
Goober
Summary: On a stormy night, a dog makes a dash for the garage. Frankie is insistent, like all dad's, they are not keeping that damn dog.
Warnings: Cussing, fluff, puppy madness, Nora seems to need her own warning in this fic cause she is sassy!
A/N: Happy Frankie Friday!!! Another installment of the Parents to Lovers AU! Thank you so much @noxturnalpascal for betaing for me ❤️❤️ @jay-zzle, my side kick for all these stories, my personal moodboard maker, one of my best friends that I would have never even met without Pedro Pascal existing, once again thank you for making the moodboard AND the other thing(wait til y'all get to the end)
Masterlist||AO3||Parents to Lovers
divider provided by @saradika-graphics

The thunder was getting closer and closer. You can smell the incoming rain on the air as you close the kitchen window.
“Girls!” You shout, approaching the living room doorway “Did you remember to bring your bikes in the garage?”
“I did!” Missy says quickly, returning to the game on her tablet.
“Uhh…” Nora hesitates, fingers fidgeting against her own tablet, “I forgot.”
“Nora! How many times have we talked about this?”
“Sorry,” she shrugs, “I just forgot.”
You groan, putting your shoes on and making your way to the garage. Frankie won’t be home for another hour or else you’d send him outside to get the bike. Opening the garage door you see the rain already starting to come down in sheets. Thankfully, Nora’s bike isn’t that far from the open door, but running towards it you see something dash past you into the garage.
“Fuck,” you mutter, grabbing the bike and wheeling it into the garage, “Now I get to deal with whatever creature decided to run into here for shelter from the storm. Thanks Nora, you’re the best!”
A clap of thunder sounds just then, causing you to jump, and you hear a whimper at the edge of the room. You reach for the switch on the wall and when the overhead lights come on you see a dog huddled in the corner.
“Hey little baby,” you say sweetly, crouching down and stretching out your hand, “It’s just a little thunder, nothing to be scared about.”
The dog slowly begins to move closer to your outstretched hand. You notice the floppy ears, short legs and long body. Another clap of thunder and the thing darts over, shaking and whimpering.
“Hi there,” you coo, “Let's get you some place warm and dry, huh? That sound good?”
The dog’s tail starts to wag a little as you continue talking to it, grabbing a towel as you begin to attempt to dry the dog off.
“Are we a boy or a girl?” You ask, lifting a leg to check, “Congrats! It’s a girl!” You say to no one but yourself.
The dog begins licking your face as you wipe her paws more to get the mud off.
“Aww, you’re just a sweet girl, aren’t you?” You coo, as the dog continues to lick your face, “Yes, yes you are! Okay, I think we’re good to go inside now.”
You gently scoop the dog up in the towel and carry her inside, bringing her into the living room.
“Is that what I think it is?!” Nora shrieks, smacking Missy’s arm to get her attention from her tablet.
“Hey, calm down, she doesn’t like loud noises,” you explain, “This little girl ran into the garage because of the storm.”
“She’s so cute!” Missy excitedly whispers, “Does she have a name?”
“Well I don’t see a collar so I don’t know,” you say, placing the dog in the middle of the living room.
The dog’s tail begins to wag harder when the girls slowly slide off the couch to approach her, and you notice her peeing on the carpet.
“Shit,” you hiss, quickly going to the laundry room for a towel, laying it on the carpet to soak up the mess. She’s much more enthusiastic seeing the girls than she was seeing you. You sit on the couch watching the girls interact with the puppy.
“Hi,” Missy whispers, reaching her hand out for the dog to sniff, “You’re very pretty.”
“Yes,” Nora agrees, stretching her arm out, “Pretty and smooshy!”
The dog eats up the attention stretching out on the floor to show her chest and belly. Missy and Nora begin petting her, taking turns rubbing her tummy and scratching behind her ears.
“Momma, what kind of dog is she?” Nora asks, looking at you.
“It looks like she’s what’s called a basset hound,” you grin. You’d always wanted one growing up and thought that whoever owned this girl was the luckiest person in the world. You needed to call Frankie before he got home, that way he could maybe stop somewhere to get a collar, leash, and dog food. You pull your phone from your pocket, tapping on his contact info.
“Hey babe,” he sighed, “Think we’re almost done here and then I’ll be home.”
“So,” you say, getting up and walking to the kitchen so the girls wouldn’t hear, “I need you to do something for me before you come home.”
“What kind of ice cream do you want now?” He laughs.
“It’s not a craving this time,” you whisper into the phone, hand rubbing across your barely there bump, that news you hadn’t shared yet with the girls, “Not a bad idea though, Ben and Jerry’s Salted Caramel.”
“Sure thing,” he says, “I’ll be sure to ge—“
“No babe,” you interrupt, “Seriously that’s not what I was calling about. I need you to get some puppy food, a leash, and a collar.”
“Do what now?”
“Puppy food, a leash and a collar,” you repeat, “and the Ben and Jerry’s! I’ll text you what I said, love you, bye!” You say quickly before hanging up and texting him the list. Your phone pings a second later.
Frankie: What the fuck?!
—
“Babe,” Frankie shouts, entering the kitchen, “I got the st—“
The dog ran into the kitchen, looking up at Frankie, giving a single bark.
“Well, hello,” he says, dropping the small bag of dog food on the table, hesitantly the dog inches closer to Frankie, tail tucked between her legs, sniffing his boot.
“Dad, look!” Missy says, pointing at the dog.
“I see,” Frankie says, eyebrows raised.
“Can we keep her?!” Nora asks, bouncing from foot to foot.
“Absolutely not!” Frankie says, putting his hands on his hips, “She looks pretty young, probably has a family around here somewhere.”
“Obviously they don’t care about her though,” Nora argues, “They left her out in a storm!”
“Yeah,” Missy agrees, nodding her head, “That’s just mean to do to a baby dog!”
“Now, now girls,” you say, placing a hand on each of their shoulders, “Sometimes dogs get loose when they’re scared and just run off.”
“We’ll make some flyers and post them around the neighborhood,” Frankie says, “Until we can find the owners we’ll make sure the little thing’s fed and taken care of.”
“She’s not just a thing, Frankie,” Nora grumbles, stomping past you to the living room, the dog and Missy following right behind her.
Frankie takes in a deep breath before slowly letting it out. You walk towards him, grabbing him around his waist and pulling him close, breathing him in.
“It’s gonna be okay,” you whisper into his neck, placing a small kiss there.
“Why’s she gotta be so damn stubborn like her momma?” Frankie hums, grabbing a handful of your ass.
“Everyone says she looks like her dad so guess that means she has to have my attitude,” you say, shrugging your shoulders with a laugh.
—
“Are you sure we can’t just keep her?” Missy asks while you’re stapling one of the flyers to a pole.
It’s been a couple days since the dog arrived. You’d gotten the flyers made and now you were all walking around the area with the dog and posting them up in numerous places. You’d already hit every business downtown that you could. Now it was time to hit the neighborhoods around you.
“I’m sure,” Frankie said in a stern tone, “We are not keeping her.”
“But I already picked out a name,” Nora pipes up, flicking the leash lightly in her hands like a whip, “Goober!”
“Nora don’t do that with the leash,” you say, “You could hurt her.”
“Don’t name her!” Frankie groans, “She’s not our dog!”
“Why Goober?” Missy laughs, as you all continue to walk.
“Well,” Nora says, looking down at the dog who cocks her head to the side like she was waiting for the answer as well, “Just look at her! Mom always says I’m a goober when I do something funny and she just looks funny!”
“I like it,” Missy says with a small smile.
“No,” Frankie said, “Her name is not Goober.”
The dog barks, ears perked up, wagging her tail, and looking directly at Frankie.
“Oh,” you laugh, “Babe, I think she just told you you’re wrong and that her name is, in fact, Goober.”
“Stop it,” he says, pointing at you before hanging up another one of the flyers.
—
“Would it be such a bad idea to keep her?” You ask while filling the dog’s food and water dish. The dog is patiently waiting for you to place them on the floor for her.
“Yes it would.”
“Frankie,” you groan, hand on your stomach, and bending down to set them on the floor, “She’s so cute though!”
“Doesn’t matter how cute she is,” Frankie shakes his head, “We shouldn’t keep her.”
“Babe,” you say flatly, “It’s been a week and a half and we haven’t heard a single thing from anyone!”
“Good morning, Mom!” Nora beams, coming into the kitchen, “And good morning Princess Goober!”
“Morning,” Missy grumbles, “Goober!” She says perking up a little and petting the dog on the head.
“Stop calling her that!” Frankie says sternly, “She’s not our dog. End of discussion.”
“Oh,” Nora says, glaring at him, “Morning Frank.”
“Are you guys ready for school?” He asks, ignoring Nora’s glare.
“Yeah,” Missy yawns. Nora just grumbles still glaring at him.
“Alrighty then,” you hum, “Come here. Hugs!”
Both girls embrace you one either side, giving them both a tight squeeze before letting them go.
“Have a good day and Nora,” you smile, “Please behave.”
She rolls her eyes, following Missy into the garage with a huff. Frankie shakes his head, walking towards you, wrapping his arms around you.
“That girl’s gonna give me more gray hairs than the baby,” Frankie mutters into your temple.
“That makes the both of us,” you laugh, giving him a chaste kiss before he’s off to take the girls to school and go to work.
—
“Goober!” The girls shriek, bursting into the house through the garage. Goober’s tail starts wagging like crazy and she pees all over the floor.
“Goober Goo!” You groan, “Not again!”
Goober just looks at you, panting, tongue hanging out to the side.
“Can we take her to the backyard?” Missy asks, putting her backpack on the hook.
“Sure,” Frankie grunts, bending down to clean up the pee. Goober pokes her head under his armpit, while he wipes the pee up and begins licking his face, “Okay, okay. Yes, I see you.”
“Think she likes the way your beard tastes, Dad,” Missy giggles.
“Must be leftovers in there,” he grumbles, rubbing Goober’s ears.
“Oh! Watch this!” Nora exclaims, “Come here Goober! Come here!”
Goober pushes past Frankie’s arm, walking in her pee to get to Nora.
“Damn dog,” Frankie mumbles, motioning for you to hand him the Clorox wipes.
Goober plops down in front of Nora. She grabs one of Goober’s ears and begins to scratch the inside of it, causing Goober’s back leg to violently shake.
“What is she doing?!” Missy asks, starting to giggle.
“You found her puppy spot!” You exclaim with a laugh.
Frankie looks up to see what you are all laughing at, watching the saggy dog’s body jiggle and starts laughing.
“What the hell?” Frankie laughs, shaking his head, “Think she is a Goober afterall. Go on, take her outside now, I’m sure she’s got more pee in her. Don’t want her pissin’ in the house more than she already has.”
The girls take her outside, taking turns throwing the floppy stuffed animal they gave her that she had ripped the stuffing out of.
“Babe,” You smile watching the girls play with Goober outside, “I think we have a dog now.”
“I think you’re right,” Frankie groans, standing up, throwing away the Clorox wipes and throwing the towel into the hamper in the laundry room.
“We can’t get rid of her,” you pout, “The girls love her too much. Frankie, I love her too much and no one’s claimed her!”
Frankie finishes washing his hands at the sink, turning around, crossing his arms with a big sigh.
“Fine,” he sighs, “We’ll keep the damn dog.”
—
“What ya making, babe?” Frankie asks, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, “Smells really fucking good.”
“Spaghetti,” you grumble, “Only thing the girls seem to want to eat right now.”
Nora rushes into the kitchen, observing the fridge, rearranging some of the pictures on it.
“What are ya doin’ kid?” Frankie asks, looking behind his shoulder.
“Moving some stuff around,” she says snarkily, “This coupon is expired. Can I throw it away?”
“Yes,” you and Frankie say at the same time.
“Cool,” she says, throwing it away and running out of the kitchen.
You continue stirring the sauce, trying not to let the smell get to you.
“Need me to take over?” Frankie asks, kissing your temple.
“Oh my god,” you huff, “Please.”
Frankie laughs softly, kissing the spot on your neck that meets your shoulder. Then moves you to the side when Nora and Missy come rushing back in. Goober following closely behind them.
“I think we should put it here,” Nora says, pointing to the empty spot she made.
“What if though,” Missy says, rearranging different pictures, creating a new empty space, “We put it here?”
“Hmm, yeah, I like that better,” Nora agrees.
Missy grabs one of the magnets off the fridge, placing a new picture on the fridge, right alongside the picture of the four of you together, underneath the picture of Missy and Nora, and above the picture of Frankie with the guys.
“There!” Nora beams, “Goober is on the fridge, that means she’s family!”
“No take backs!” Missy says, pointing at Frankie.

Goober will accept all snoot boops! I’m glad you liked it! ❤️
Goober
Summary: On a stormy night, a dog makes a dash for the garage. Frankie is insistent, like all dad's, they are not keeping that damn dog.
Warnings: Cussing, fluff, puppy madness, Nora seems to need her own warning in this fic cause she is sassy!
A/N: Happy Frankie Friday!!! Another installment of the Parents to Lovers AU! Thank you so much @noxturnalpascal for betaing for me ❤️❤️ @jay-zzle, my side kick for all these stories, my personal moodboard maker, one of my best friends that I would have never even met without Pedro Pascal existing, once again thank you for making the moodboard AND the other thing(wait til y'all get to the end)
Masterlist||AO3||Parents to Lovers
divider provided by @saradika-graphics

The thunder was getting closer and closer. You can smell the incoming rain on the air as you close the kitchen window.
“Girls!” You shout, approaching the living room doorway “Did you remember to bring your bikes in the garage?”
“I did!” Missy says quickly, returning to the game on her tablet.
“Uhh…” Nora hesitates, fingers fidgeting against her own tablet, “I forgot.”
“Nora! How many times have we talked about this?”
“Sorry,” she shrugs, “I just forgot.”
You groan, putting your shoes on and making your way to the garage. Frankie won’t be home for another hour or else you’d send him outside to get the bike. Opening the garage door you see the rain already starting to come down in sheets. Thankfully, Nora’s bike isn’t that far from the open door, but running towards it you see something dash past you into the garage.
“Fuck,” you mutter, grabbing the bike and wheeling it into the garage, “Now I get to deal with whatever creature decided to run into here for shelter from the storm. Thanks Nora, you’re the best!”
A clap of thunder sounds just then, causing you to jump, and you hear a whimper at the edge of the room. You reach for the switch on the wall and when the overhead lights come on you see a dog huddled in the corner.
“Hey little baby,” you say sweetly, crouching down and stretching out your hand, “It’s just a little thunder, nothing to be scared about.”
The dog slowly begins to move closer to your outstretched hand. You notice the floppy ears, short legs and long body. Another clap of thunder and the thing darts over, shaking and whimpering.
“Hi there,” you coo, “Let's get you some place warm and dry, huh? That sound good?”
The dog’s tail starts to wag a little as you continue talking to it, grabbing a towel as you begin to attempt to dry the dog off.
“Are we a boy or a girl?” You ask, lifting a leg to check, “Congrats! It’s a girl!” You say to no one but yourself.
The dog begins licking your face as you wipe her paws more to get the mud off.
“Aww, you’re just a sweet girl, aren’t you?” You coo, as the dog continues to lick your face, “Yes, yes you are! Okay, I think we’re good to go inside now.”
You gently scoop the dog up in the towel and carry her inside, bringing her into the living room.
“Is that what I think it is?!” Nora shrieks, smacking Missy’s arm to get her attention from her tablet.
“Hey, calm down, she doesn’t like loud noises,” you explain, “This little girl ran into the garage because of the storm.”
“She’s so cute!” Missy excitedly whispers, “Does she have a name?”
“Well I don’t see a collar so I don’t know,” you say, placing the dog in the middle of the living room.
The dog’s tail begins to wag harder when the girls slowly slide off the couch to approach her, and you notice her peeing on the carpet.
“Shit,” you hiss, quickly going to the laundry room for a towel, laying it on the carpet to soak up the mess. She’s much more enthusiastic seeing the girls than she was seeing you. You sit on the couch watching the girls interact with the puppy.
“Hi,” Missy whispers, reaching her hand out for the dog to sniff, “You’re very pretty.”
“Yes,” Nora agrees, stretching her arm out, “Pretty and smooshy!”
The dog eats up the attention stretching out on the floor to show her chest and belly. Missy and Nora begin petting her, taking turns rubbing her tummy and scratching behind her ears.
“Momma, what kind of dog is she?” Nora asks, looking at you.
“It looks like she’s what’s called a basset hound,” you grin. You’d always wanted one growing up and thought that whoever owned this girl was the luckiest person in the world. You needed to call Frankie before he got home, that way he could maybe stop somewhere to get a collar, leash, and dog food. You pull your phone from your pocket, tapping on his contact info.
“Hey babe,” he sighed, “Think we’re almost done here and then I’ll be home.”
“So,” you say, getting up and walking to the kitchen so the girls wouldn’t hear, “I need you to do something for me before you come home.”
“What kind of ice cream do you want now?” He laughs.
“It’s not a craving this time,” you whisper into the phone, hand rubbing across your barely there bump, that news you hadn’t shared yet with the girls, “Not a bad idea though, Ben and Jerry’s Salted Caramel.”
“Sure thing,” he says, “I’ll be sure to ge—“
“No babe,” you interrupt, “Seriously that’s not what I was calling about. I need you to get some puppy food, a leash, and a collar.”
“Do what now?”
“Puppy food, a leash and a collar,” you repeat, “and the Ben and Jerry’s! I’ll text you what I said, love you, bye!” You say quickly before hanging up and texting him the list. Your phone pings a second later.
Frankie: What the fuck?!
—
“Babe,” Frankie shouts, entering the kitchen, “I got the st—“
The dog ran into the kitchen, looking up at Frankie, giving a single bark.
“Well, hello,” he says, dropping the small bag of dog food on the table, hesitantly the dog inches closer to Frankie, tail tucked between her legs, sniffing his boot.
“Dad, look!” Missy says, pointing at the dog.
“I see,” Frankie says, eyebrows raised.
“Can we keep her?!” Nora asks, bouncing from foot to foot.
“Absolutely not!” Frankie says, putting his hands on his hips, “She looks pretty young, probably has a family around here somewhere.”
“Obviously they don’t care about her though,” Nora argues, “They left her out in a storm!”
“Yeah,” Missy agrees, nodding her head, “That’s just mean to do to a baby dog!”
“Now, now girls,” you say, placing a hand on each of their shoulders, “Sometimes dogs get loose when they’re scared and just run off.”
“We’ll make some flyers and post them around the neighborhood,” Frankie says, “Until we can find the owners we’ll make sure the little thing’s fed and taken care of.”
“She’s not just a thing, Frankie,” Nora grumbles, stomping past you to the living room, the dog and Missy following right behind her.
Frankie takes in a deep breath before slowly letting it out. You walk towards him, grabbing him around his waist and pulling him close, breathing him in.
“It’s gonna be okay,” you whisper into his neck, placing a small kiss there.
“Why’s she gotta be so damn stubborn like her momma?” Frankie hums, grabbing a handful of your ass.
“Everyone says she looks like her dad so guess that means she has to have my attitude,” you say, shrugging your shoulders with a laugh.
—
“Are you sure we can’t just keep her?” Missy asks while you’re stapling one of the flyers to a pole.
It’s been a couple days since the dog arrived. You’d gotten the flyers made and now you were all walking around the area with the dog and posting them up in numerous places. You’d already hit every business downtown that you could. Now it was time to hit the neighborhoods around you.
“I’m sure,” Frankie said in a stern tone, “We are not keeping her.”
“But I already picked out a name,” Nora pipes up, flicking the leash lightly in her hands like a whip, “Goober!”
“Nora don’t do that with the leash,” you say, “You could hurt her.”
“Don’t name her!” Frankie groans, “She’s not our dog!”
“Why Goober?” Missy laughs, as you all continue to walk.
“Well,” Nora says, looking down at the dog who cocks her head to the side like she was waiting for the answer as well, “Just look at her! Mom always says I’m a goober when I do something funny and she just looks funny!”
“I like it,” Missy says with a small smile.
“No,” Frankie said, “Her name is not Goober.”
The dog barks, ears perked up, wagging her tail, and looking directly at Frankie.
“Oh,” you laugh, “Babe, I think she just told you you’re wrong and that her name is, in fact, Goober.”
“Stop it,” he says, pointing at you before hanging up another one of the flyers.
—
“Would it be such a bad idea to keep her?” You ask while filling the dog’s food and water dish. The dog is patiently waiting for you to place them on the floor for her.
“Yes it would.”
“Frankie,” you groan, hand on your stomach, and bending down to set them on the floor, “She’s so cute though!”
“Doesn’t matter how cute she is,” Frankie shakes his head, “We shouldn’t keep her.”
“Babe,” you say flatly, “It’s been a week and a half and we haven’t heard a single thing from anyone!”
“Good morning, Mom!” Nora beams, coming into the kitchen, “And good morning Princess Goober!”
“Morning,” Missy grumbles, “Goober!” She says perking up a little and petting the dog on the head.
“Stop calling her that!” Frankie says sternly, “She’s not our dog. End of discussion.”
“Oh,” Nora says, glaring at him, “Morning Frank.”
“Are you guys ready for school?” He asks, ignoring Nora’s glare.
“Yeah,” Missy yawns. Nora just grumbles still glaring at him.
“Alrighty then,” you hum, “Come here. Hugs!”
Both girls embrace you one either side, giving them both a tight squeeze before letting them go.
“Have a good day and Nora,” you smile, “Please behave.”
She rolls her eyes, following Missy into the garage with a huff. Frankie shakes his head, walking towards you, wrapping his arms around you.
“That girl’s gonna give me more gray hairs than the baby,” Frankie mutters into your temple.
“That makes the both of us,” you laugh, giving him a chaste kiss before he’s off to take the girls to school and go to work.
—
“Goober!” The girls shriek, bursting into the house through the garage. Goober’s tail starts wagging like crazy and she pees all over the floor.
“Goober Goo!” You groan, “Not again!”
Goober just looks at you, panting, tongue hanging out to the side.
“Can we take her to the backyard?” Missy asks, putting her backpack on the hook.
“Sure,” Frankie grunts, bending down to clean up the pee. Goober pokes her head under his armpit, while he wipes the pee up and begins licking his face, “Okay, okay. Yes, I see you.”
“Think she likes the way your beard tastes, Dad,” Missy giggles.
“Must be leftovers in there,” he grumbles, rubbing Goober’s ears.
“Oh! Watch this!” Nora exclaims, “Come here Goober! Come here!”
Goober pushes past Frankie’s arm, walking in her pee to get to Nora.
“Damn dog,” Frankie mumbles, motioning for you to hand him the Clorox wipes.
Goober plops down in front of Nora. She grabs one of Goober’s ears and begins to scratch the inside of it, causing Goober’s back leg to violently shake.
“What is she doing?!” Missy asks, starting to giggle.
“You found her puppy spot!” You exclaim with a laugh.
Frankie looks up to see what you are all laughing at, watching the saggy dog’s body jiggle and starts laughing.
“What the hell?” Frankie laughs, shaking his head, “Think she is a Goober afterall. Go on, take her outside now, I’m sure she’s got more pee in her. Don’t want her pissin’ in the house more than she already has.”
The girls take her outside, taking turns throwing the floppy stuffed animal they gave her that she had ripped the stuffing out of.
“Babe,” You smile watching the girls play with Goober outside, “I think we have a dog now.”
“I think you’re right,” Frankie groans, standing up, throwing away the Clorox wipes and throwing the towel into the hamper in the laundry room.
“We can’t get rid of her,” you pout, “The girls love her too much. Frankie, I love her too much and no one’s claimed her!”
Frankie finishes washing his hands at the sink, turning around, crossing his arms with a big sigh.
“Fine,” he sighs, “We’ll keep the damn dog.”
—
“What ya making, babe?” Frankie asks, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, “Smells really fucking good.”
“Spaghetti,” you grumble, “Only thing the girls seem to want to eat right now.”
Nora rushes into the kitchen, observing the fridge, rearranging some of the pictures on it.
“What are ya doin’ kid?” Frankie asks, looking behind his shoulder.
“Moving some stuff around,” she says snarkily, “This coupon is expired. Can I throw it away?”
“Yes,” you and Frankie say at the same time.
“Cool,” she says, throwing it away and running out of the kitchen.
You continue stirring the sauce, trying not to let the smell get to you.
“Need me to take over?” Frankie asks, kissing your temple.
“Oh my god,” you huff, “Please.”
Frankie laughs softly, kissing the spot on your neck that meets your shoulder. Then moves you to the side when Nora and Missy come rushing back in. Goober following closely behind them.
“I think we should put it here,” Nora says, pointing to the empty spot she made.
“What if though,” Missy says, rearranging different pictures, creating a new empty space, “We put it here?”
“Hmm, yeah, I like that better,” Nora agrees.
Missy grabs one of the magnets off the fridge, placing a new picture on the fridge, right alongside the picture of the four of you together, underneath the picture of Missy and Nora, and above the picture of Frankie with the guys.
“There!” Nora beams, “Goober is on the fridge, that means she’s family!”
“No take backs!” Missy says, pointing at Frankie.

Yes! I’m so glad they wore Frankie down 😍
Goober
Summary: On a stormy night, a dog makes a dash for the garage. Frankie is insistent, like all dad's, they are not keeping that damn dog.
Warnings: Cussing, fluff, puppy madness, Nora seems to need her own warning in this fic cause she is sassy!
A/N: Happy Frankie Friday!!! Another installment of the Parents to Lovers AU! Thank you so much @noxturnalpascal for betaing for me ❤️❤️ @jay-zzle, my side kick for all these stories, my personal moodboard maker, one of my best friends that I would have never even met without Pedro Pascal existing, once again thank you for making the moodboard AND the other thing(wait til y'all get to the end)
Masterlist||AO3||Parents to Lovers
divider provided by @saradika-graphics

The thunder was getting closer and closer. You can smell the incoming rain on the air as you close the kitchen window.
“Girls!” You shout, approaching the living room doorway “Did you remember to bring your bikes in the garage?”
“I did!” Missy says quickly, returning to the game on her tablet.
“Uhh…” Nora hesitates, fingers fidgeting against her own tablet, “I forgot.”
“Nora! How many times have we talked about this?”
“Sorry,” she shrugs, “I just forgot.”
You groan, putting your shoes on and making your way to the garage. Frankie won’t be home for another hour or else you’d send him outside to get the bike. Opening the garage door you see the rain already starting to come down in sheets. Thankfully, Nora’s bike isn’t that far from the open door, but running towards it you see something dash past you into the garage.
“Fuck,” you mutter, grabbing the bike and wheeling it into the garage, “Now I get to deal with whatever creature decided to run into here for shelter from the storm. Thanks Nora, you’re the best!”
A clap of thunder sounds just then, causing you to jump, and you hear a whimper at the edge of the room. You reach for the switch on the wall and when the overhead lights come on you see a dog huddled in the corner.
“Hey little baby,” you say sweetly, crouching down and stretching out your hand, “It’s just a little thunder, nothing to be scared about.”
The dog slowly begins to move closer to your outstretched hand. You notice the floppy ears, short legs and long body. Another clap of thunder and the thing darts over, shaking and whimpering.
“Hi there,” you coo, “Let's get you some place warm and dry, huh? That sound good?”
The dog’s tail starts to wag a little as you continue talking to it, grabbing a towel as you begin to attempt to dry the dog off.
“Are we a boy or a girl?” You ask, lifting a leg to check, “Congrats! It’s a girl!” You say to no one but yourself.
The dog begins licking your face as you wipe her paws more to get the mud off.
“Aww, you’re just a sweet girl, aren’t you?” You coo, as the dog continues to lick your face, “Yes, yes you are! Okay, I think we’re good to go inside now.”
You gently scoop the dog up in the towel and carry her inside, bringing her into the living room.
“Is that what I think it is?!” Nora shrieks, smacking Missy’s arm to get her attention from her tablet.
“Hey, calm down, she doesn’t like loud noises,” you explain, “This little girl ran into the garage because of the storm.”
“She’s so cute!” Missy excitedly whispers, “Does she have a name?”
“Well I don’t see a collar so I don’t know,” you say, placing the dog in the middle of the living room.
The dog’s tail begins to wag harder when the girls slowly slide off the couch to approach her, and you notice her peeing on the carpet.
“Shit,” you hiss, quickly going to the laundry room for a towel, laying it on the carpet to soak up the mess. She’s much more enthusiastic seeing the girls than she was seeing you. You sit on the couch watching the girls interact with the puppy.
“Hi,” Missy whispers, reaching her hand out for the dog to sniff, “You’re very pretty.”
“Yes,” Nora agrees, stretching her arm out, “Pretty and smooshy!”
The dog eats up the attention stretching out on the floor to show her chest and belly. Missy and Nora begin petting her, taking turns rubbing her tummy and scratching behind her ears.
“Momma, what kind of dog is she?” Nora asks, looking at you.
“It looks like she’s what’s called a basset hound,” you grin. You’d always wanted one growing up and thought that whoever owned this girl was the luckiest person in the world. You needed to call Frankie before he got home, that way he could maybe stop somewhere to get a collar, leash, and dog food. You pull your phone from your pocket, tapping on his contact info.
“Hey babe,” he sighed, “Think we’re almost done here and then I’ll be home.”
“So,” you say, getting up and walking to the kitchen so the girls wouldn’t hear, “I need you to do something for me before you come home.”
“What kind of ice cream do you want now?” He laughs.
“It’s not a craving this time,” you whisper into the phone, hand rubbing across your barely there bump, that news you hadn’t shared yet with the girls, “Not a bad idea though, Ben and Jerry’s Salted Caramel.”
“Sure thing,” he says, “I’ll be sure to ge—“
“No babe,” you interrupt, “Seriously that’s not what I was calling about. I need you to get some puppy food, a leash, and a collar.”
“Do what now?”
“Puppy food, a leash and a collar,” you repeat, “and the Ben and Jerry’s! I’ll text you what I said, love you, bye!” You say quickly before hanging up and texting him the list. Your phone pings a second later.
Frankie: What the fuck?!
—
“Babe,” Frankie shouts, entering the kitchen, “I got the st—“
The dog ran into the kitchen, looking up at Frankie, giving a single bark.
“Well, hello,” he says, dropping the small bag of dog food on the table, hesitantly the dog inches closer to Frankie, tail tucked between her legs, sniffing his boot.
“Dad, look!” Missy says, pointing at the dog.
“I see,” Frankie says, eyebrows raised.
“Can we keep her?!” Nora asks, bouncing from foot to foot.
“Absolutely not!” Frankie says, putting his hands on his hips, “She looks pretty young, probably has a family around here somewhere.”
“Obviously they don’t care about her though,” Nora argues, “They left her out in a storm!”
“Yeah,” Missy agrees, nodding her head, “That’s just mean to do to a baby dog!”
“Now, now girls,” you say, placing a hand on each of their shoulders, “Sometimes dogs get loose when they’re scared and just run off.”
“We’ll make some flyers and post them around the neighborhood,” Frankie says, “Until we can find the owners we’ll make sure the little thing’s fed and taken care of.”
“She’s not just a thing, Frankie,” Nora grumbles, stomping past you to the living room, the dog and Missy following right behind her.
Frankie takes in a deep breath before slowly letting it out. You walk towards him, grabbing him around his waist and pulling him close, breathing him in.
“It’s gonna be okay,” you whisper into his neck, placing a small kiss there.
“Why’s she gotta be so damn stubborn like her momma?” Frankie hums, grabbing a handful of your ass.
“Everyone says she looks like her dad so guess that means she has to have my attitude,” you say, shrugging your shoulders with a laugh.
—
“Are you sure we can’t just keep her?” Missy asks while you’re stapling one of the flyers to a pole.
It’s been a couple days since the dog arrived. You’d gotten the flyers made and now you were all walking around the area with the dog and posting them up in numerous places. You’d already hit every business downtown that you could. Now it was time to hit the neighborhoods around you.
“I’m sure,” Frankie said in a stern tone, “We are not keeping her.”
“But I already picked out a name,” Nora pipes up, flicking the leash lightly in her hands like a whip, “Goober!”
“Nora don’t do that with the leash,” you say, “You could hurt her.”
“Don’t name her!” Frankie groans, “She’s not our dog!”
“Why Goober?” Missy laughs, as you all continue to walk.
“Well,” Nora says, looking down at the dog who cocks her head to the side like she was waiting for the answer as well, “Just look at her! Mom always says I’m a goober when I do something funny and she just looks funny!”
“I like it,” Missy says with a small smile.
“No,” Frankie said, “Her name is not Goober.”
The dog barks, ears perked up, wagging her tail, and looking directly at Frankie.
“Oh,” you laugh, “Babe, I think she just told you you’re wrong and that her name is, in fact, Goober.”
“Stop it,” he says, pointing at you before hanging up another one of the flyers.
—
“Would it be such a bad idea to keep her?” You ask while filling the dog’s food and water dish. The dog is patiently waiting for you to place them on the floor for her.
“Yes it would.”
“Frankie,” you groan, hand on your stomach, and bending down to set them on the floor, “She’s so cute though!”
“Doesn’t matter how cute she is,” Frankie shakes his head, “We shouldn’t keep her.”
“Babe,” you say flatly, “It’s been a week and a half and we haven’t heard a single thing from anyone!”
“Good morning, Mom!” Nora beams, coming into the kitchen, “And good morning Princess Goober!”
“Morning,” Missy grumbles, “Goober!” She says perking up a little and petting the dog on the head.
“Stop calling her that!” Frankie says sternly, “She’s not our dog. End of discussion.”
“Oh,” Nora says, glaring at him, “Morning Frank.”
“Are you guys ready for school?” He asks, ignoring Nora’s glare.
“Yeah,” Missy yawns. Nora just grumbles still glaring at him.
“Alrighty then,” you hum, “Come here. Hugs!”
Both girls embrace you one either side, giving them both a tight squeeze before letting them go.
“Have a good day and Nora,” you smile, “Please behave.”
She rolls her eyes, following Missy into the garage with a huff. Frankie shakes his head, walking towards you, wrapping his arms around you.
“That girl’s gonna give me more gray hairs than the baby,” Frankie mutters into your temple.
“That makes the both of us,” you laugh, giving him a chaste kiss before he’s off to take the girls to school and go to work.
—
“Goober!” The girls shriek, bursting into the house through the garage. Goober’s tail starts wagging like crazy and she pees all over the floor.
“Goober Goo!” You groan, “Not again!”
Goober just looks at you, panting, tongue hanging out to the side.
“Can we take her to the backyard?” Missy asks, putting her backpack on the hook.
“Sure,” Frankie grunts, bending down to clean up the pee. Goober pokes her head under his armpit, while he wipes the pee up and begins licking his face, “Okay, okay. Yes, I see you.”
“Think she likes the way your beard tastes, Dad,” Missy giggles.
“Must be leftovers in there,” he grumbles, rubbing Goober’s ears.
“Oh! Watch this!” Nora exclaims, “Come here Goober! Come here!”
Goober pushes past Frankie’s arm, walking in her pee to get to Nora.
“Damn dog,” Frankie mumbles, motioning for you to hand him the Clorox wipes.
Goober plops down in front of Nora. She grabs one of Goober’s ears and begins to scratch the inside of it, causing Goober’s back leg to violently shake.
“What is she doing?!” Missy asks, starting to giggle.
“You found her puppy spot!” You exclaim with a laugh.
Frankie looks up to see what you are all laughing at, watching the saggy dog’s body jiggle and starts laughing.
“What the hell?” Frankie laughs, shaking his head, “Think she is a Goober afterall. Go on, take her outside now, I’m sure she’s got more pee in her. Don’t want her pissin’ in the house more than she already has.”
The girls take her outside, taking turns throwing the floppy stuffed animal they gave her that she had ripped the stuffing out of.
“Babe,” You smile watching the girls play with Goober outside, “I think we have a dog now.”
“I think you’re right,” Frankie groans, standing up, throwing away the Clorox wipes and throwing the towel into the hamper in the laundry room.
“We can’t get rid of her,” you pout, “The girls love her too much. Frankie, I love her too much and no one’s claimed her!”
Frankie finishes washing his hands at the sink, turning around, crossing his arms with a big sigh.
“Fine,” he sighs, “We’ll keep the damn dog.”
—
“What ya making, babe?” Frankie asks, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, “Smells really fucking good.”
“Spaghetti,” you grumble, “Only thing the girls seem to want to eat right now.”
Nora rushes into the kitchen, observing the fridge, rearranging some of the pictures on it.
“What are ya doin’ kid?” Frankie asks, looking behind his shoulder.
“Moving some stuff around,” she says snarkily, “This coupon is expired. Can I throw it away?”
“Yes,” you and Frankie say at the same time.
“Cool,” she says, throwing it away and running out of the kitchen.
You continue stirring the sauce, trying not to let the smell get to you.
“Need me to take over?” Frankie asks, kissing your temple.
“Oh my god,” you huff, “Please.”
Frankie laughs softly, kissing the spot on your neck that meets your shoulder. Then moves you to the side when Nora and Missy come rushing back in. Goober following closely behind them.
“I think we should put it here,” Nora says, pointing to the empty spot she made.
“What if though,” Missy says, rearranging different pictures, creating a new empty space, “We put it here?”
“Hmm, yeah, I like that better,” Nora agrees.
Missy grabs one of the magnets off the fridge, placing a new picture on the fridge, right alongside the picture of the four of you together, underneath the picture of Missy and Nora, and above the picture of Frankie with the guys.
“There!” Nora beams, “Goober is on the fridge, that means she’s family!”
“No take backs!” Missy says, pointing at Frankie.

The pistachio crumb?!?! 🤣😂🤣
God I love you’re writing so much Kiki! You have such a way with story telling that is both hilarious and down right hot 🥵 🫠

DEEZ NUTZ feat. Dieter Bravo & f!actress reader
a @happypedrohours challenge fic | Rated: 18+ | word count: 1,522 warnings: no fat men in this fic, smutty smutty smut smut, slight angst/enemies eventually leading to smashing pissers, pistachio theft, pistachios in places pistachios should be A/N: Thank you to @strang3lov3 + @sweetenerobert for their eyes and minds 💜


If you’d told your last-year self that you were going to be stuck on a film set in Oklahoma with the Dieter Bravo for nine weeks during one of the hottest summers on record, past you would be just as unimpressed as current you with the situation. Dieter was known for being out there in his methods and morals, and he did not disappoint. In fact, in every way you were warned about him, no one could have prepared you for how exhausting and annoying he was to work with. But you seemed to be the only one with an issue with him, given that everyone else on the set took his different and strange ways of approaching anything in stride and good humor.
By the third week, you thought you were going insane with how little notice everyone paid to him and his antics, and how much he got under your skin. There were times that he teased you or tried to play around, making you understand – even for a moment – what his allure was; but then he’d take it a step too far and you’d immediately be reminded that he was a thorn in your side.
You hated that you couldn’t get enough of him.
“Fuck off, Dieter!”
“What?”, he snapped, trying to catch up as you stormed out of the sound stage and into the parking lot filled with trailers. “Oh, come on! You can’t be serious!”
You snarled and clenched your fists, stomping towards your trailer. For a man with so few pockets in his wardrobe, you had no idea where Dieter managed to store all the audacity he carried.
Just as you got to the steps of your trailer, he grabbed your elbow, stopping you from opening the door.
“Are you really doing this? Did you really just storm off set? It’s not even 10 am!”
You glared at him, ripping your arm from his hold. Narrowing your eyes, you spit out at him, “Fucking cute that of all the people to ask me that, it’s you.”
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!”, he breathed out harshly. “It was just a fuckin’ kiss!”
“Just a kiss? No. No, Dieter, I am not mad about a fucking kiss.” You turn around and step towards him, finger digging into his chest, forcing his retreat. “I am a professional and I can handle when you pull your bullshit, but you giving me directions on how to accept your kiss? That was you – once again! – overstepping your boundaries.”
“I – no! I was just giving you some point– “
“Pointers?!”
“I’m committed to the craft! I take rehearsals seriously!”
“No. No no no. Dieter, you are an entitled shi – what?”
The smile that crept across his face stopped you in your tracks and he leaned back, crossing his arms.
“What?”, you yelled, face pulled into a scowl and his smile opened up as he laughed.
“You liked it.”
You instantly saw red, feeling the dangerous buildup of animosity and need boil over inside you; your whole body felt 10 degrees hotter than before at his blatant and upsettingly correct assessment. Dieter’s smile continued, seeing how you reacted to his declaration. He took a step forward and leaned in, and said lowly before walking away, “Don’t worry, baby. I liked it, too.”
*****
You spent the rest of the day keeping as far away from Dieter as possible. Thankfully, he seemed to take the hint – or at least his assistant, production staff, and the entire crew did and kept him occupied between shots and during breaks.
Finally able to decompress in your trailer before your car would be there to pick you up, you put on your headphones and listened to a meditative app to try and de-Dieter your mind, body and spirit before moving into your weekend. In doing so, you missed the many messages from your driver telling you he was stuck in traffic. What you didn’t miss was the banging on your door.
You ripped your headphones off and pushed the door open, knowing exactly who knocked that obnoxiously.
“What, Dieter?”, you barked.
He flashed you a grin and pushed past you into your trailer. You rolled your eyes with a growl and turned to look at him.
Dieter held his hands up and gave you an apologetic and small smile. “Look, I know you’re mad at me, and I know today was – you got pistachios?” His eyes were trained on the small charcuterie board on the kitchenette counter, and he looked perplexed. “I didn’t get any pistachios.”
You scowled at him as he moved over to the counter and grabbed a handful of the little green, de-shelled nuts and shoveled it into his mouth. “What do you want, Dieter?”
“Pish-tah-shos.”, he said muffled, mouth full and chewing. “Ma fuh-ken fa-reet.”
You jaw clenched and your mouth pursed so tightly, your lips turned white. You weren’t sure who was more infuriating: Dieter with his nut lust or you with your Dieter need.
He cleared his throat after he swallowed, and his big stupid brown eyes looked at you, wide and apologetic. “Like I was saying, I know you’re mad at me, and I know today was a lot, but I want to clear the air. I want us both to be in a good vibrationary stasis with each other so we can harmonize our chi’s.”
You tilted your head as you stared at him, confusion written on your face, not really sure what he just said to you.
“Fuck it.”, he threw his hands up, facade dropped. “I like working with you and you’re hot. Sorry I was an ass.”
The tension you didn’t realize your body was holding released, and your shoulders dropped to a neutral position. And Dieter wasn’t stupid - he saw the relief wash over you and his mouth tugged on one side with a smirk, nodding at the double bed in the back of the trailer.
“You wanna have sex with me?”
*****
Dieter had made you cum no less than four times with his mouth before he finally sunk into you, hips flush with one another. The long groan that left his mouth was accompanied by his eyes rolling back in his head and a dopey half-grin bloomed on his face.
If it weren’t for the delicious stretch and pressure he was creating in your own body, his euphoric state would have brought you there on its own. You urged him to move and he let out a content sigh before he looked down at you, eyes soft and hazy.
“Don’t rush me, baby. I worked hard to get here, I’m taking all the time I need to get the most of your sweet pussy.”
You squirmed and whimpered, pathetically trying to coerce him into giving you something more than a cockwarming, and all you got in response was a deep, throaty chuckle, rumbling from the depths of his chest.
Leaning forward, he captured your mouth with his and you tasted yourself and pistachios - an odd combination that you never thought you’d have to decipher and put words to in your mind. Dieter pulled out, barely leaving the tip touching you, then slammed it back in, the force shoving you up the bed. And he did it again… and again… and again, setting the pace and speeding up.
He grunted, “Taking Daddy so well -”
“No… no ‘daddy’ shit.”, you groaned back.
“Sorry… thought I’d take a chance… should’ve called it.”, he panted, “Don’t look like a Daddy’s Girl.”
“D-Dieter - just shut up.”
He smiled as his unruly curls moved and his huffing breath panting out of him in time with his thrusts. His brows then crossed in concentration as his hands dug into your hip and thigh, holding you in place as he pounded into you. Any further communication between you was wordless, conveyed with your eyes, sounds and hands pushing and pulling one another.
Your orgasm began to crash down on you, and Dieter suddenly pulled out, leaving your hole clenching on nothing and your climax fizzling out. Before you could ask ‘what the fuck?’ at his sudden removal, his own spend splooshed on your mound, hot and sticky.
“Fuck… I’m sorry.”, he panted, sitting back on his knees and wiping his face with his large palm. “You got a good pussy, baby. I just couldn’t help it and raw doggin’ is fun and all, but not chancing any little DB’s running around.”
You nodded slightly out of breath yourself. “It’s fine. I mean, you made me cum already and I-”
Your sentence was halted by Dieter lowering his face to the crux of your thighs and licking up his cum. Slack jawed and in awe, you watched him clean you up with his tongue.
When he dipped his tongue into your sensitive folds, he stopped and his eyes went wide. You felt him lick at something then he sat back, chewing on something.
“What-”
“Pistachio crumb. Must have left it behind when I was down there earlier.”
Your face skewed in amusement and disgust and Dieter just smiled.
“Waste not, want not.”, he smugly proclaimed before diving back in.

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🫠🥵😍
This was so hot!
GOOD GIRL || Joel Miller x f!reader
Summary: you get caught in the rain on your way to Professor Miller’s house and your lesson gets derailed.
Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, fluff, big age gap (reader’s in her early 20s, Joel’s in his late 40s), insecure reader, soft!Joel, praise, f!oral, unprotected piv, belly bulge, use of a morning after pill, slight Professor kink, power imbalance. Joel can pick up reader, reader has hair. Pics are only for the mood, reader has no physical description.
Word count: 7,9k
A/n: this is for @undercoverpena ‘s April Showers Challenge. Big thank you to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing. Hope you all will enjoy it💖
MASTERLIST
You are rushing along an empty suburban street caught in a warm summer rain. Soaked strands of hair are sticking to your face and you brush them off, feeling your clothes getting wet too. Drops of water are trickling down your naked thighs as your skirt rides up and your shoes squelch with every hurried step.
The rain isn’t too heavy and you might have enjoyed it some other time but not now, not when you’re running late for your lesson at Professor Miller’s house. You could have waited it out under a tree but by the look of it, the pouring won’t stop soon.
You didn’t want to make Professor Miller wait. He is already doing you a huge favor, tutoring you a few hours a week in preparation for another year at college.
You decided to switch majors and, being a good friend of your mother, Professor Miller agreed to help you so you could catch up on what you had missed and get more confident in the new field.
Frankly you wouldn’t be late if you hadn’t been running circles in your room, trying to decide what to wear. Of course, you had a crush on Professor Miller. He was handsome, intelligent, nice and much older than you. But you’d never act on it because you couldn’t even imagine him looking at you like that. So you weren’t choosing anything to attract him that day. All you wanted was to look nice. You always wore formal clothing out of respect for him. One time you put on a band tee and a pair of ripped jeans for your lesson and felt terribly out of place next to the perfect Professor Miller. After that you swore to yourself to look presentable at his lessons.
You’re looking very far from presentable when Professor Miller opens the door to you now. Yet there’s not a trace of displeasure in his warm gaze.
“Oh, sweetheart, you’re soaked!” he exclaims, eyes widened behind his black-rimmed glasses.
“Forgot my umbrella, so sorry,” you mumble, stepping inside. You take off your wet shoes and put on the slippers you always wear in his house. Seeing that you’re dripping water on the floor, you silently curse.
As a striking contrast to you Professor Miller looks impeccable. Beautiful dark curls are combed back, a black sweater over a white dress shirt and black slacks make him look like he’s on a red carpet rather than in a suburban house on a Saturday.
He rushes away, mumbling something about towels, and you peek into the hall mirror to check the damage.
What you see makes you want to jump out of the window - your mascara is running, the hair’s wet and disheveled but what makes your heart drop to your stomach is your white blouse, soaked, stuck to your torso and completely see-through. Your chest is fully exposed except for your white lacy bra which isn’t much help either as you can definitely see your nipples.
Your hands dart to cover yourself but you don’t want to attract more attention to it, so you try to cross your arms over your breasts as casually as possible.
“Here.” You jerk, hearing Professor Miller’s beautiful voice and take a towel from him with a quiet ‘thank you.’
“Can I use the bathroom?” You ask, hugging the towel close to your chest.
“Of course, take your time. Join me in the office when you’re ready.”
You love Professor Miller’s guest bathroom. All of his house actually. It’s always neat and feels warm and cozy. Every piece of furniture seems thought through, the colors are rich but calming and you often find yourself wishing to stay here longer.
You clean your face up and dry yourself as well as you can. Your hair is still damp, but the skirt is not that wet. On the other hand your blouse still makes you wanna cry. At some point you contemplate asking Professor Miller for a spare shirt but this seems very inappropriate.
So you take a deep breath and decide that you can cover your almost exposed breasts with a book or something else.
You walk to the office and hastily join Professor Miller at his desk. A cup of hot tea is waiting for you next to a stack of books.
“Take a seat, sweetheart,” he says, patting the chair next to him and you plop down awkwardly, trying to hide your indecency. “Drink this. It’ll help you to get warm.” His gaze slides over you fast, not sticking to anything in particular, and you ease up a little.
He starts the lesson by checking your homework and explains your mistakes. You nod but hardly listen to him. So close to Professor Miller you feel disappointed in yourself, looking like an idiot who forgets to check the weather before leaving the house.
A light breeze hits your back and you shiver.
“Oh, I’ll close the window.” Professor Miller rushes to stand up, but you stop him with a hand on his arm. As if electrified by the feeling of his firm muscles under your touch, you dart your hand back, as your cheeks burn and you say,
“It’s ok. I love the sound of rain.”
“But you must be cold? Here, take my cardigan.” You object but he doesn’t listen, grabbing it off his chair and putting it over your shoulders.
“Thank you,” you breathe out, wrapping yourself in it as his scent envelops you. He smells of vanilla and cardamom and you can’t help but take a deep breath of him. He smiles, but you don’t notice it.
A couple of times during the lesson Professor Miller seems to lose his train of thought and you blame your look for it. He must be thinking that you look like a stray wet dog and your mood gets worse.
When he stands up to get a book from his home library you use the pause to apologize,
“I’m sorry again for looking like this. I should have waited the rain out but I was running late.”
He turns to you, standing at the wall full of books, and shakes his head, a warm smile on his handsome face,
“What are you talking about? You look great.”
“Ehm…I doubt it. I bet I’ve left a puddle in your hall like a wet dog.”
He chuckles, then grabs the necessary book and returns to the desk. He sits down and turns slightly towards you. His knee touches your naked thigh and you press your legs together, feeling the tingling between them. With a new wave of embarrassment overtaking you, you close the cardigan over your chest. He doesn’t look down but instead searches for your eyes.
“You look amazing, sweetheart, you always do. And I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. It’s just rain.”
The sun peeks through the clouds for a second, and when its golden rays fill the room, you notice how beautifully Professor Miller’s eyes sparkle behind the glasses when the light shines on them. It takes your breath away and you lower your gaze with a smile. His praise makes you feel warm and fuzzy and your heart sings at the sincerity in his voice.
“Thank you.” Your quiet words are barely audible because of the sound of the rain outside.
Professor Miller takes a deep sigh. “Sometimes when I look at you…I wish I was younger.”
Your jaw nearly hits the floor as you look up at him and stumble, “W- what… why? Really? Why?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, my back wouldn’t give me so much grief.”
You’re nodding with a fake smile, disappointed by his answer. He’d never look at you this way, in a different way. He’s perfect and you’re …well, you. He interrupts your self-deprecation saying softly, “Sweetheart, you worry too much. You, young people, don't understand how lucky you are. You have the whole life ahead of you, you’re free of regrets, sorrows. And the youth passes so quickly.”
You’re staring at him now, lips half parted, and then suddenly blurt out, “I am afraid. Almost all the time.”
“Of what? Why?” He asks, looking concerned.
“I don’t know. Of… everything.”
You turn slightly to him on the chair but quickly avert your gaze and stare back at the open window. The thrumming of the rain outside makes it easier to talk, as if it is accompanying your words.
“I’m afraid of my future. How wonderful it can be or how unhappy I might become. I study hard thinking …wishing the result will give me happiness but what if it doesn’t. I worry about my future career, but I’m not even sure I want it. I.. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
You feel wetness coating your eyes and glance at him. He’s looking at you with intent, his brows slightly furrowed in thought.
You sniff, turning back to the desk, and stare at your fingers fumbling with the corner of Professor Miller’s cardigan.
“Sweetheart, no one knows what the fuck they’re doing.”
Your head whips up and you gawk at him with widened eyes. You’ve never heard him swear and never thought you ever would. He smiles, as if finding your reaction amusing.
“I might look all put together but I’m just like you. Scared, unsure… hell, we all are. No matter the age, I doubt it ever goes away,” he says placing his heavy hand on your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze, “But you can try to focus on the present, enjoy the moment, enjoy yourself.”
The sadness in your eyes makes him chuckle bitterly, “My intent was to help but it seems like I’ve done the opposite.”
“No, it’s fine. I appreciate you telling me this but I doubt I can do that.“
He watches you for a few moments and suddenly his face lights up and a charming lopsided smile twists his lips. You almost giggle at how mischievous and joyful he looks.
“I know what we should do.” He gets up and offers you his hand.
You look up at him confused but so much joy is radiating from him, you can’t say ‘no’. You take his hand and your whole body vibrates with skin on skin contact. You’re overwhelmed by his and your confession, by the unexpected turn your lesson took, and your heart is fluttering in your chest.
You follow him to the living room, your hand in his, and come up to the French windows which lead to the back yard. He lets go of your hand and you fix his cardigan that’s slipping off your shoulders.
Professor Miller opens the windows and a flow of humid slightly cold air rushes into the room and you wrap the cardigan tighter around your torso. The rain got heavier and you see little puddles on the patio.
He turns to you and says, louder than usual, so you could hear through the drumming of the shower.
“You know what I want to do now? What will make me happier?”
He starts walking backwards out to the wet patio and you open your mouth and giggle,
“Oh my god, Professor! What are you doing?”
He shoots you a wink and steps under the heavy rain. Then he tilts his head up, closing his eyes and exposing his face to the drops, falling from the sky.
“Please, come back inside!” You walk up to him, still standing under the cover of the roof. You place your hand on his shoulder and grab him lightly. “Come back inside, you’ll get cold. I’m not sad anymore, I promise.”
Just a few moments under the downpour are enough to drench him and when he looks at you, his glasses are all wet, curls are stuck to his forehead, his sweater is soaked.
“Do you like walking in the rain, sweetheart?”
“Well, sometimes yeah, I guess, but…”
“Great!”
With that, he grabs your hand on his shoulder and pulls you out onto the wet grass. You gasp, feeling the rain drops on your face and body again, your clothes and slippers getting wet slowly but surely. You try to get back inside but he quickly closes the windows and stands in front of you, not letting you through.
“Come on, sweetheart, enjoy this summer rain with me.”
“I will but maybe inside the house?” you plead, trying to cover your head with your hands.
“And where's the fun in that? C’mon,” he returns your pleading gaze with his own, placing his hands on your shoulders, “Let’s enjoy the moment. Do what you want. Don’t worry about the future. Live now.”
His hands leave your shoulders and he steps up closer, making you walk further from the cover of his house. Watching him prowl towards you like that, with a charming smile, his hands in the pockets of his slacks, sends a surge of arousal through your core and you feel yourself getting wet not only from the rain. You stop and he does too, an arm length from you.
You two are standing in the middle of the backyard, smiling at each other, while the heavy rain is soaking your clothes, drawing wet paths down your faces.
You follow his lead from a few moments ago, looking up and closing your eyes. You feel the drops caressing your skin, kissing your eyelids, nose, lips and then sliding down your neck. For a moment you let go of your fears and hopes that weigh on you rather than motivate you and just feel, taking a deep breath.
When you open your eyes a few moments later, there’s something different about the way Professor Miller is looking at you. His cheer is gone and he’s serious again but not in his usual ‘I’m a professor’ way. His gaze is focused on you, dark eyes tracing your features with quiet hunger.
“What would you like to do right now?” He asks you, tilting his head to the side. The answer comes to you like lightning and you act on it immediately.
You take a step, reach up and kiss him. It’s just a peck but you stay there for a few seconds pressing your wet lips to his.
He breathes in sharply against your mouth and the realization of what you’ve just done hits you like a freight train. You part from him and step back, your eyes filled with terror.
You’re staring at each other for a few long moments, only the sound of rain and your pounding heartbeat breaking the silence. You open your mouth to dump all possible apologies on your tutor but you have no time to do it because in the next moment Professor Miller kisses you.
One hand on your neck, the other on your arm he’s kissing you, keeping you close, but not grabbing you. You can stop it any second. You don’t. You revel in the feeling of his lips gently caressing yours. They taste like rain. His thumb is sliding along your jaw and your pussy aches with need. You’re cold from the rain but burning up inside for him at the same time. A shiver runs through your body and his lips leave yours.
“Let’s go back inside. You are freezing,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. You curse your body for interrupting the most beautiful moment of your life but follow him when he takes your hand in his and leads you back into the house.
You’re dripping on his carpet in the living room until Professor Miller brings towels and you dry yourselves. He takes off his sweater and you swallow loudly when he rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt exposing his big forearms. His tousled wet curls take your breath away. One curl falls on his forehead and your heart hurts from how handsome he looks. He places his glasses on the coffee table and asks you,
“Would you like to change? I can give you my shirt. Or find something of Sarah.”
After discarding his soaked cardigan, you look down and see your sheer wet blouse sticking to your breasts but you don’t feel uncomfortable or embarrassed any more. You shake your head, wanting him to see you, all of you. The realization makes you gush and your pussy tingles, making you press your thighs together.
“God, you’re shivering, you can get sick,” he fusses over you and he’s right, you’re trembling all over, but not only because of the rain-drenched clothes. Your whole world is upside down. You shoved your crush on Professor Miller into the furthest corner of your heart, being scared of it. You were always good at limiting and controlling yourself, at making yourself feel less, not acting on your desires.
Until today.
Shaking legs bring you to the sofa and you sit down. He takes a blanket from the side of it and wraps you in it, rubbing your arms and back over the material, trying to warm you up.
He’s so close to you. You stare at his wet face, lashes stuck together, lips shining with the rain or your saliva or both.
It feels like a dream that you don’t want to end. His hands leave you and you look at each other. His gaze slides down to your lips and your heart flutters. You wonder if you have enough courage to kiss him again.
Suddenly you hear a loud thunder and jump in your seat. You look around and it’s like you finally woke up. Your heart freezes at the thought, ‘You kissed Professor Miller! You kissed your fucking tutor! Your mom’s friend! Fuck!’
Your head whips back to him. “I’m so sorry,” you mumble, trying not to burst into tears, your throat getting squeezed with embarrassment. “I…I don’t know why I’ve done it. I must have lost my mind. I’m sorry. Thank you for taking pity on me, Professor.”
His hand darts to your shoulder but he swiftly puts it away.
“First of all, call me Joel, please …and what do you mean by pity? I didn’t take pity on you. I acted inappropriately but… I wish you could see what I see when I look at you.”
You drop your head and murmur under your breath, “A complete mess?”
He sighs and takes your hand in his. His big warm palm engulfs it completely and you look up at him, not being able to contain yourself anymore, as tears well up in your eyes. His voice is warm and soft and so pleasant you wish he’d never stop talking.
“You’re a wonderful young woman. Intelligent, kind, capable of anything you’ll set your mind to. Your future is bright, I'm sure of it.”
You smile and tears roll down your cheeks.
“And you’re very beautiful. I hope someone tells you this.”
You sniff, eyes downcast, and shake your head, making your tears fall. Joel gently takes your chin between his fingers and tilts your head up so you would look at him. His face is blurry with all the wetness in your eyes. He cups your cheek and brushes a tear away with his thumb.
“Well, then let me do it. You’re the most beautiful woman I know.”
Your heart stops. At least you think so because what you’re hearing can not be real. You died and went to heaven otherwise it’s unbelievable that Professor Miller… Joel is telling you this.
You’re gawking at him and he chuckles before taking his hand away.
“I love that I can see all your emotions on your face.”
You hastily close your mouth and try to collect yourself while a whirlwind of feelings swirls in your stomach.
“And I don’t regret kissing you.”
You search his face for a sign of a joke, but find none. He looks and sounds serious and you feel yourself lean closer to him.
“Me neither, Joel,” you whisper, his name sweet on your tongue, and lean forward a little. It takes him a second to meet you halfway and kiss you. He takes the lead and moves his lips slowly and gently against yours but you feel that he’s holding himself down by the way he breathes, the way his lips move faster and with more vigor until he stops himself. You feel hot wrapped in the warm blanket so still glued to him you unwrap yourself and it pools at your feet.
“You’ll get cold,” he mumbles against your lips and you shake your head no, still kissing him. You don’t want it to end so you desperately cling to him with only your lips touching.
Another thunder shakes the house and you feel his hand on your naked knee. You part your legs and scoot closer to him and his thumb brushes your inner thigh. Your whole body erupts with chills.
“Sweetheart,” he whispers as his lips leave yours, “Your legs are ice cold.” He puts his hands on your arms, “And you’re still shivering, poor thing.”
You’re about to explain that it’s not because of the rain or wet clothes, at least not only. It’s him, his plush lips on yours, his warm hands gliding over your skin, his eyes looking at you so differently from what you’re used to. All of it makes every cell in your body vibrate, your stomach churn, your core burn with arousal.
But before you can tell him all that, he says something that makes you stop in your tracks, “Would you like to take a bath?”
For the hundredth time today you’re staring at him with your mouth agape.
“H-here? In your house?” you stumble, blinking at him.
“Yes. There's a nice tub upstairs in my bedroom.” He hears himself and hastily adds, “It’s not like that. Ehm… You can take it and I’ll wait for you here. I’m afraid you’ll get sick because of my carelessness.”
His beautiful brown eyes are pleading you to agree. You don’t want to leave him but your sodden cold clothes make the offer of a hot bath sound better with every second.
So you nod and he beams at you. In a second he’s walking upstairs and you’re trailing behind him, your hand in his. He leads you to his bedroom and you quickly look around, seeing that it’s perfect like the rest of his house, simple but cozy. You follow him to the en-suite bathroom and he starts the water. He explains to you how to make it colder and hotter like you’ve never seen a bathtub before but you don’t get offended or annoyed. He’s nervous, it’s visible and it makes you jittery too. Suddenly the idea of being alone without him makes you sad and your heart aches.
The tub fills up fast and while he’s telling you about the bath salts and towels you interrupt him,
“Can you stay?”
Now it’s his turn to gawk at you.
“When…until it’s full?” He asks and you shake your head.
“No, when I take it. Can you stay with me?”
He swallows loudly and takes a step closer to you.
“Sweetheart, I’ve crossed so many lines today. I’m not sure I can cross this one.”
“You told me to do what I want right? And I want you to stay with me, Joel,” you say louder, trying to feign confidence, before taking a step to him.
“Are you sure?”
You look deep into his eyes, so close that you can see your own reflection in them and reply,
“I'm not sure about anything in my life… but I'm sure that I want this,” you say, drawing an invisible line between your hearts with your finger, and add, “Really badly.”
His dark eyes are darting between yours as if he’s looking for a trace of doubt in them. He won’t find any. He’s reading your features and they probably tell him something because in the next moment he slowly leans to you. The kiss is soft but the more you taste him the more confident you get.
So you press your body to his and he groans when your lower belly touches his bulge. Your heart and pussy flutter when you realize how big and stiff he is. Is it because of you? A part of you can’t believe a man like him can be interested in you but his body can’t lie.
“Sweetheart,” he whispers, pulling away but, in an attempt to interrupt something you don’t want to hear, you raise your hands and start unbuttoning your wet blouse.
Joel’s eyes are glued to your fingers, working their way up your top. Soon your belly is revealed, then sternum and your breasts, covered by the bra. You slide the blouse off your body and it pools at your feet.
“You’re so beautiful,” Joel whispers, as his hand slowly lifts to your breast and he brushes your nipple through the thin lace of the bra with his thumb. It’s already perked up from all the kissing and the cold and you whimper, your body vibrating with desire at the slightest touch of his big hand.
You get impatient and take your skirt off too. You’re standing in front of him wearing nothing but a lace white set and Joel growls like a hungry wolf. You bite your lip, hearing the sound of his desire for you.
His gaze slides from your face to your breasts, belly, hips, legs and up to your face again. He seems to make a decision because soon he starts unbuttoning his shirt too.
“I’m going to hell,” he mumbles as the expanse of his chest is revealed to you and you salivate seeing his golden skin, soft belly, happy trail that leads down. Your clit twitches when he unzips his pants.
Soon his clothes join yours on the floor and he places his hands on your waist. You try not to look at the huge tent in his boxers but fail miserably. He smiles and pulls you into his arms and you hug his middle. He’s big and hot against your cold skin and your whole body erupts in goosebumps.
“Still shivering, poor thing, let’s get you into the hot water,” he whispers and his hands slide to your back. He searches for your eyes and after you look up and nod, he unclasps your bra and takes it off you.
His chest is heaving when his gaze moves down to your naked breasts but he doesn’t stop stripping you. With his fingers hooked in your panties, he waits for your permission and then slides them down. They fall on the floor around your feet and you step out of them.
His eyes are completely obsidian now and his hands dart to you but he stops himself.
“Could you help me?” You ask and turn around before offering him your hand. He takes it and you step into the full tub. The water feels scolding hot at first but all your senses are focused on Joel and you lower yourself into the hot water. Sitting in the middle of the tub you look at his bulge, which is at your eye level now.
“Join me, please,” you plead and he mumbles soft “yeah,” before pulling his boxers down. His cock springs free and your pussy buzzes with anticipation and fear because he’s really big and thick.
Joel gets in the water behind you, his legs bent at the knees by your sides. He puts his hands on your shoulders and pulls you to lie down against his chest.
You rest your back on his warm broad chest and he wraps his arms around your waist. You feel his cock twitch against your lower back and a quiet whimper escapes your lips, “Joel.”
He almost purrs hearing how you said his name. You feel his heart beating hard at your back. His body, so big and strong, envelops you, warms you up better than the hot water around you and you feel like it’s where you belong, in his arms, reveling in his warmth, his softness, ready to give him anything he’d wish for.
The ache in your pussy gets harder to ignore and you squirm between his legs. He takes a sharp breath and bucks his hips against your butt. You feel his lips at your temple as he plants a kiss there.
“You’re so hot,” he praises you as his hands slide up your body and he cups your breasts. He palms your pebbled nipples and you moan, pressing your thighs together.
Then you tilt your head to the side and back and look up at Joel. His face is twisted in pleasure, eyes blown, and he lowers his head and catches your lips with his. This kiss is different from the ones you’ve shared before. Craving, impatience in every stroke of his lips, every swipe of his tongue, and you drown in pleasure of his caress.
Suddenly it’s not enough for the both of you. Without saying a word to each other you sit up and turn around while he helps you shift in the tub with his hands on your waist. You’re facing him now, standing on your knees, and he takes in your wet naked body before whispering,
“Let me make you feel good, sweetheart.”
You breathe out a soft ‘ok’ and in a second he lifts you up and sets you on the edge of the tub in the corner. You lean your back against the cold tile wall and shiver. Joel notices your reaction and starts pouring the water over you so you’d warm up again.
When you say that you’re not cold, he stands on his knees in front of you, his hands planted on the edge of the tub by your sides. He cages you in between his broad torso and the wall and your pussy pulsates for him.
“Could you spread your legs for me, please?” he says, sitting down on his heels, as his chest is pressed to your knees.
You slowly do what he asked and your pussy blooms for him, folds opening up to his view and Joel’s breath hitches and he llicks his lips at the sight.
“Oh, my,” he mumbles and glances up at you, "You have the most gorgeous pussy, sweetheart." That word on his lips sends a fiery wave through every inch of your body and you whimper, when he moves into the space between your legs, spreading your thighs wider with his broad torso.
His plush lips parted, eyes blown and restless, he takes you in - his gaze hastily runs over your face, breast, belly, cunt as if he can't get enough of you. He reaches for your face and kisses you deeply and passionately. His hand brushes against your aching pussy and you moan.
"My sweet girl," he whispers against the corner of your mouth and his soft lips move down to your neck, collar bone, chest. He's swirling his tongue over your nipple, his hand kneading your breast while you are running your fingers through his damp curls.
Soon he gets to your pussy and when his hot lips touch you there you almost come against his mouth.
“You’re sweet all over, honey,” he mumbles against your twitching clit, hunching down. Then he grabs your ankle in the water and lifts your leg.
“Put your foot on the edge, yeah, like that, good girl.” You’re completely exposed to him now but your desire shuts all your insecurities and you ache to show him every inch of you without any shame.
Soon you’re moaning and writhing on the edge of the tub as his tongue is dancing over your clit before his lips close around it and he gently sucks on the bud, keeping your folds spread with his thick fingers.
You’ve never felt more euphoric in your life and he approvingly hums against your pussy, when you whisper his name again and again, alternating it with whimpers and soft ‘yeah’s’.
“Damn, I can come just from hearing you, honey. What are you doing to me?” He says, looking up at you from between your thighs, eyes glistening. He looks completely pussy-drunk and it must be taking everything from him not to spill his seed into the bath water right now.
You give him a little apologetic smile and he continues pleasuring you. Joel’s caresses are slow and gentle, he’s almost edging you but when you start moving your hips, searching for more friction, he reads your signal immediately.
“Need more, sweetheart?”
You nod eagerly and with his hands on your inner thighs he starts devouring your pussy, his growls full of lust. The flat of his tongue is rubbing against your clit, then the warm muscle plunges into your crying hole as his nose nudges your clit and soon you’re screaming, shaking with the hardest climax of your life.
Joel laps at your juices, generously dripping into his greedy mouth as you’re digging your fingers into his broad shoulders, clenching around his tongue when he slides it inside you.
“Yeah… like that. Oh, my good girl,” Joel mumbles, his words muffled by your pussy.
When your climax dissipates, you rest your head back against the wall and he stays between your legs, peppering kisses on your inner thighs. His palms glide up and down your legs as you’re catching your breath.
When you look down, your eyes well up with tears when you see this big, gorgeous, intelligent, hot man on his knees in front of you. A voice inside your head reminds you that he’s much older, your parents will kill you, you’re fucked. But you push all your fears away when he gently helps you get back in the water and sets you on his lap.
Straddling him, you look into his eyes. You’re feeling a myriad of emotions but the brightest one makes your heart sing - you finally feel like yourself, confident, free, happy.
“Thank you,” you whisper with a smile, grateful for the pleasure but also for the self assurance he gave you.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” He returns your smile with the warmest grin and pulls you into his embrace before kissing you. His big arms envelop your torso as you melt against his chest.
His cock twitches between your bodies and the fire in your core ignites with a new force.
“I want you inside,” you whisper, nuzzling his neck.
“Oh, darling… I wish for nothing more but … I’m afraid to hurt you.”
You sit up straight and drop your gaze into the water. His cock looks painfully hard and huge and you take a sharp breath, imagining it piercing you.
“I wanna try,” you say with confidence.
He searches for any doubt in your eyes again and then nods. Joel helps you to stand on your knees in the bath, holding you steady with his hand on your hip, the other holding his cock at the base.
“Start slowly and if it hurts… stop any second, ok?”
You agree, positioning yourself right above his waiting cock and begin lowering your hips.
You feel his hot tip bump into your clit and, feeling a burst of pleasure, you grind against it a few times. You both moan at the sensation and Joel tightens his grip on your body.
His handsome face twisted in pleasure might be the most beautiful thing you’ve seen. You don’t tear your eyes off him, wishing the image got sealed in your memory forever.
You shift a little, nudge your hole with his fat head and start sinking on his throbbing member.
He’s big. Really big.
You widen your eyes as his length parts your folds and slides inside you, surprisingly easily thanks to your recent orgasm.
Joel leans back against the tub and watches your pussy swallow him in the water, his brows furrowed, half-lidded eyes set on the place where you two are slowly joining.
You lower yourself further as your walls spread, trying to accommodate his member inside you. It hurts a little but you’re so aroused you hardly notice it.
Joel moans when you’re finally flush with him, his cock filling your wet heat perfectly.
“Fuck, ohhh, fuck… I’m sorry for all the cursing, honey, but your pussy feels fucking incredible.”
You smile at the praise and clench around him making him squeeze his eyes shut.
“You’re not a virgin, are you?” he asks with his eyes still closed.
You shake your head, but hastily add ‘no’, realizing he can’t see you.
“I’ve had a boyfriend. But he dumped me pretty quickly.”
He looks at you, brows furrowed, as he hears a slight sadness in your voice.
“His loss, sweetheart,” he says, gently taking your neck between his palms.
His gaze slides down your body to your pussy.
“Hnggg, you’re so tight.”
“Sorry. “
“What? No, it’s .. Gosh, I can’t think straight when you …look like this, wrapped around my cock. I’m in heaven.”
His warm hand rises to your face and he cups your heated cheek. You nuzzle into it smiling against his palm. Then you move your face a little and when you feel his thumb at your lips you part them and take it into your mouth.
His cock throbs deliciously inside you, and he moans as your tongue swirls over his thick finger.
“Oh my god, you naughty thing. You’re going to be the death of me.”
You smile around his finger and roll your hips a little. You both almost scream at the sensation. His thumb slips out of your open mouth as a wave of pleasure rushes through you. You seem to feel his cock everywhere. You can’t stop now, not with the way his thick length massages your pussy on the inside, sending bolts of ecstasy through your body.
You start fucking yourself on his stiff cock and you both fill the room with groans and whimpers, adding them to the soft splashing of the tub water.
He tilts his head back and squeezes his eyes shut while you feel another climax building.
“Oh, Professor,” you moan and he groans, clenching his teeth,
“Don’t.”
“What?” You ask and bite your lip, seeing that he’s deep in the pits of lust just like you are.
“Because I won’t let you stop calling me that,” he groans and your heart sings at the implication of you two doing it again in the future.
Not giving him any respite you breathe out, “It feels so good, Professor,” and start bouncing on his throbbing cock.
Joel moans but then holds you down.
“Baby, are you on the pill? I can’t… I’m gonna come soon.”
“No,” you reply through panting and he furrows his brows,
“Shit… not sure I have condoms,” he says, his eyes darting between yours. He clears his throat and adds, “I haven’t been with anyone for …some time now.”
You feel like he wants to apologize and you shut him up with a kiss.
“It’s ok. I’ll get Plan B. I want…want it inside me,” you whisper against his lips and sit up, starting to move again. You roll your hips, feeling your clit rub against his soft belly, and whimpers escape your parted lips again and again.
“Fuck, look at you,” he mumbles, watching your body slowly move on him. He’s almost drooling as his palm slides from your neck to your chest, over the swells of your breasts, brushing against your erect nipples, caressing the soft skin of your belly. He dips his hand in the water and presses it to a lump right over your mound and moans,
“Oh, fuck, I can feel my cock right here… do you feel me deep, baby? Tell me.”
“Yes, Professor,”
“Shit, I’m not gonna last, gonna fill you up.”
Looking down, you see it, the bulge in your belly moving up and down, his cock inside you stretching your skin.
With a loud moan, you clench around him and it sends a chain reaction making your pussy vibrate and contract, as another climax starts shaking your body.
“Yeah, baby, just like that… squeeze my fat cock, my good fucking girl.”
Not being able to hold any longer, Joel erupts inside your core, jets of cum spurting against your walls. You feel hot from the water and his heated body and now there’s warmth inside you too, your pussy’s getting filled with him.
You’re fucking yourself on his exploding cock while he’s sucking on your neck, and then he holds you so tight, it gets difficult to breathe. Every cell in your body is screaming with pleasure and you wish this moment never passed, he was inside you forever, holding you close.
When you both feel your climaxes subside, Joel leans back against the wall and pulls you to lie on his chest. You stay like this for a few minutes, plugged by his cock and full of his seed. You breathe in the scent of his skin, your hands on his chest as he rocks you like a big strong wave, slowly breathing in and out. You feel an immense affection towards him, and your throat gets squeezed with upcoming tears. You try to hide them from him but when you sniff he gently cups your cheek and makes you look at him.
“Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?” he asks, looking you over with worry in his gaze.
“No, I’m just… I’m just happy. I’m sorry.”
You smile at each other until he takes your face in his big hands and plants kisses on your eyes, cheeks, nose, chin, lips. You giggle when his facial hair tickles your delicate skin and he laughs with you.
Your bodies relaxed, hunger satiated, you stay in the bath for a few more minutes while he’s pouring water with his hands over your shoulders to keep you warm.
When the temperature lowers, he gets out of the tub and brings you a big fluffy towel while you shamelessly watch him move naked and wet around the bathroom. He helps you to get up and you bite your lip when his cock twitches at the sight of your body on display for him. He clears his throat and starts gently drying your skin. The memory takes you back to him drying you in his living room, before you crossed the line with him and you marvel how much changed between now and then.
You feel happy for the first time in a long time but also scared of what happens next. What if he goes back to being just your tutor, what if he doesn’t want to see you at all, what if your parents find out… The thoughts rush through your mind and he reads your face again and asks, “What is it, sweetheart?”
You shake your head, driving away your fears. Joel wraps you in the towel and you gasp when he lifts you. He laughs, carrying you to his bedroom, and then lowers you gently on the bed.
“Get under the duvet, sweetheart.”
You listen to him and get comfortable in his bed. The sheets smell of him and you can’t help but gush again. He brings your clothes and you sit up reaching for them so you could put them on but he stops you.
“Stay here. I’ll go get you the pill,” he says and makes you lie back down. After getting dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, Joel tucks you in and kisses you gently before leaving.
You hear his car drive off and fall into the comfort of his bed. You close your eyes for a second suddenly feeling tired.
You wake up from soft kisses to your forehead, cheeks, lips.
“I hate to wake you up, honey, but your parents are worried.”
You sit up rubbing your eyes and holding the duvet over your naked breasts. You see the pill and a glass of water on the nightstand and take it.
“They called?” You ask, swallowing Plan B.
“Yes, I told them you needed to do some extra exercises.”
You giggle but he looks upset. Your fears come back again.
“You regret it,” you whisper, as your eyes well up with tears.
In a second you’re in his big arms and he whispers against your cheek,
“Never, baby. I don’t. But I can’t help but feel guilty. I should know better. I feel like I’m robbing you of your time. You should be someone young, someone who can give you more.”
You search for his eyes and take his face in your hands.
“No, I don’t want anyone else. I want… I need you.”
You kiss him and pull him to lie over you on the bed. You’re making out holding each other close. The rain has stopped and you can hear birds chirping outside through an open window.
“Fuck.. I need to go,” you whine, parting from Joel and reaching for your clothes at the foot of the bed.
“Language, young lady,” he scolds you with a smirk. You bite your lip and purr with a sultry tone, “Sorry, Professor.”
You love how this word makes him shiver with arousal now.
He adjusts himself, cursing under his breath and his dark eyes are watching you while you’re giving him a little show while putting on your clothes - gliding your hands over your body, slowly slipping into your panties and bra. When you slide your arms into your already dry blouse, he gets up to button it up for you. Soon your lips gravitate towards each other and it takes a lot from you to part from him again.
You go downstairs and Joel offers to drive you home but you politely refuse.
“I’ll walk. I love the smell of the air after rain,” you smile ready to leave, standing at the door, “besides someone told me to enjoy myself more so I’m gonna follow his advice.”
You smile at each other and he gives you a farewell kiss, hugging you, before whispering in your ear, “My sweet girl. Thank you.”
You look deeply into his eyes and ask,
“See you on Thursday?”
“Yes, but you’re going to study.” Your widened sad eyes make him chuckle as he adds, “Among other things.”
You beam at him, peck his lips and walk out of the door, feeling wings behind your back.
*****
Thank you for reading!🌺
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Masterlist
Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @survivingandenduring @missannwinchester @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @littlemisspascal
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I absolutely loved this! Their relationship, the tension between them as time went on, then finally getting together?! Ugh! Beautiful!!!!
Girl Next Door

Summary: Javi and his roommate. That's it.
Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader
Rating: Explicit (18+ only please)
Warnings: explicit sexual content, brief mention of blood/injuries resulting from a physical altercation, brief mentions of violence
Word Count: 7.4K
Author's Note: Thanks to @undercoverpena for feverishly brainstorming with me one afternoon and then generously handing over all the ideas, and another thanks to @legendary-pink-dot for teaching me what a granadilla is.
The coffee pot isn’t quite done brewing but Javi’s tired of waiting. He grabs the carafe and pours his cup to brimming, ignoring the bitter-scented sizzling of the last few drips hitting the burner. He’s barely had one sip before the shirtless man waltzes into the kitchen.
Tall. Lean. Prettier than he would have expected. Javi squints at him over the rim of his coffee cup.
“Morning.” The man smiles affably until he meets Javi’s narrowed eyes. He swallows the wide grin and points at the cabinets. “She said to grab her coffee?”
“Cups are there.” Javi angles his chin towards the cabinet by the sink and watches the man extract a chunky blue ceramic mug. You hate that one, but Javi’s not in the mood to help out Pretty Boy, especially now that he can see the fine lines scratched down the man’s back.
You like to leave a mark.
“So –” the man replaces the carafe and lifts the mug, trying another tentative smile in Javi’s direction – “you her roommate?”
“Husband.” Javi tips the rest of his coffee into the sink and leaves the cup on the counter, letting himself enjoy one brief glance at the man’s shocked face before he turns toward the door. “Tell her we leave in twenty.”
“Javier Peña is a fucking comedian.” You slide into the passenger seat of Javi’s car, fingers flying over the buttons of your blouse. “He believed you.”
Javi smirks, pulling away from the curb as you buckle your seatbelt. “Stop sending your boytoys out to the kitchen for your coffee and I’ll stop fucking with them.”
“Stop lurking in the kitchen every morning.”
“It’s my fucking kitchen.”
“Our fucking kitchen.”
Javi had thought the two-bedroom apartment had been a stroke of luck when he’d been assigned it – well, luck or an oversight. But either way, for two years, he’d savored the extra space and the privacy. That is, until you showed up – the new Intelligence Research Specialist, on a three-month detail – and McClintock in Mission Support decided that Javier Peña’s second bedroom was just the place to temporarily house you.
Which would have been tolerable, if that three-month detail hadn’t been extended twice already. You’d been living with him for ten months, and neither of you pretended the arrangement wasn’t indefinite now.
“And I need my coffee, Jav.” You grin at him, pushing your hair away from your forehead and securing it with a bobby pin you fish from the cupholder. “I had a late night.”
“I heard.” He always hears. The walls in the apartment must be fucking cardboard. He swears he can hear every breath you take, every murmured word, every goddamned moan.
You flip down the visor and smooth on lipstick – a flushed deep pink. Javi can’t help but glance at you – the widened eyes, the mouth parted in an O – and he wishes he couldn’t still hear your last-night sounds echoing through his head.
“You know –” you snap the cap back on the tube with a decisive click – “if they bother you, you could always just have your coffee at the office.”
He flashes you a dirty look, and you laugh, shrugging. “I’m just saying, Javi: it’s a choice.”
---
“A choice.” Javi rubs the heel of his hand against his forehead as he takes a long draw on his cigarette. “Says it’s a fuckin’ choice.”
“What’s a choice?” Steve looks up from the desk across from Javi’s, his eyebrows lifted.
Javi shakes his head at his partner, hearing the click-click of your heels coming across the tiled floor.
“I told him it’s a choice to hover around our kitchen every morning and harass my company.” You drop a file on Steve’s desk, flipping it open to a blank form. “You and Grumpy have to fill this out. I need it back this afternoon.”
You sashay away, the scent of your coconut shampoo lingering in the air despite Javi’s haze of smoke.
“Trouble in paradise?” Steve lifts the paper from the file, grinning broadly.
“Give me the fuckin’ form.”
---
“First dibs on the shower.” You hurry past Javi as he unlocks the door of the apartment, lightly shouldering him into the door frame.
You dump your bag and coat on the couch, kick off your shoes as you cross the living room, and he hears your skirt hit the floor in the hallway.
“It’s not a fuckin’ race,” he calls out after you, but the only answer is the slam of the bathroom door.
He closes the front door, locking the deadbolt, but it’s just clicked into place when a tentative knock rattles it. He twists the lock and jerks the door open.
“Yeah?” Shit. It’s the delivery kid from his laundry service. The startled boy thrusts the bag and an armful of pressed shirts at Javi with a look of terror widening his eyes.
“Lo siento, Matias.” Javi takes the bag and digs into his front pocket, extracting a few folded bills. “Gracias.”
The teenager takes the money with a quick nod and bolts down the hallway, and Javi locks the door a second time. He carries the laundry to his bedroom. The bathroom door is right across the hall from his door and he can hear you singing as he hangs the shirts up in his closet. His jeans are folded in neat stacks at the top of the laundry bag; he puts those away next, then tips out the jumble of socks and underclothes.
“Fucking hell.”
Amidst his undershirts and a handful of boxers are tiny scraps of lace and silk and cotton – barely enough fabric to cover anything. Every color of the rainbow in solids and flowers and polka dots – there must be a dozen pairs of panties here. This isn’t the first time you’ve snuck your laundry into his, but usually it’s a few blouses or a couple of skirts – not this. He gathers them in his hands – tries not to think about how soft they are or how seeing them on his bed is making his jeans feel tighter – and carries them to your room. It’s just next to his – practically identical, except yours looks somehow messier and more inviting at the same time. Bottles of perfume vie for space with jewelry on your dresser top; your perpetually-open closet spills out a dozen pairs of the high-heeled pumps you seem to love. And your bed is never made. When he mentions it, you always laugh.
“I’m just going to use it again tonight, Jav.”
He dumps the panties into a heap on the center of your rumpled coverlet and stalks out. He’s just finished putting his laundry away when he hears the shower turn off – finally his turn.
He lurks in the hallway, and at last the bathroom door opens. You’re wrapped in a dark blue towel that barely overlaps and just grazes the tops of your thighs. You’re scrunching another against your hair, head tilted to the side. Drops of water still sparkle along the tops of your shoulders and in the hollow of your throat, and the thick cloud of coconut- scented steam that rolls out behind you is sweet and familiar.
“You leave me any hot water?” He tries to scowl, but you squeeze past him, your damp, warm skin brushing his arm, and he can’t. Fuck, you smell good.
You disappear into your room, but your voice carries out to him. “If you want hot water, you’ve gotta move faster or join me.”
He thinks about that the whole time he’s showering – thinks about you, here moments ago, your body bare and sleek and wet. Your razor is perched on the edge of the tub, a smear of shaving cream still on the handle. Just looking at it makes him hard. He’s picturing his hands on you finding everywhere you’re silky-smooth when he comes, his face tilted into the barely-tepid spray.
---
Javi downs the last swig of his coffee and drops the cup on the kitchen table, then grabs his jacket from the back of the chair. It feels heavy as he slides it on, the pocket landing on his hip with a weighted thud. He digs his hand in – extracts a bright orange fruit.
“Jav!” For once you’ve beaten him to the front door. “C’mon!”
He strides to the entryway, holding up the granadilla with two fingers and a thumb. “The fuck is this?”
“It’s called food, Peña.” You grin and pull the door wide. “You should try it some time.”
---
Javi’s on his second glass of whiskey and a fourth cigarette; the air is turning faintly blue with the hazy smoke as he rests his still-booted feet on the coffee table.
“Good God, Javi.” You wave your hands in front of your face as you walk into the room, adding a few coughs for dramatic effect. “Open a window.”
He tips back the whiskey and lets the last mouthful burn its way down his throat, then stands up. He crosses the room and yanks open one of the windows. The humid breeze stirs the curtains, carrying with it the noise of Medellín after dark. “New dress?”
You lean into one hand on the wall, your fingers buckling the strap of your high-heeled sandal around your ankle. “Why? You wanna borrow it? Not your size.”
He feels wobbly for a minute when you begin to slide on the next shoe. Must be the whiskey on an empty stomach. That’s what he tells himself at least, even as his eyes stay locked on the supple weight of your breasts straining against the fabric as you bend over to fasten the tiny buckle.
You narrow your eyes at him. “You have dinner?”
He takes a drag on his cigarette by way of an answer.
Your head shake is reproachful. “Those are going to kill you.”
There’s a knock at the door and he watches you grab your small clutch off the table. He allows himself the fleeting thought: he doesn’t want you to leave. But you’re already halfway to the door.
“You coming back tonight?”
You glance back at him, the expression on your face curious. “Why?”
He points to the array of deadbolts and chains that line the edge of the door – the only things that let him close his eyes at night. “Don’t wanna lock you out.”
“Oh.” Your fingers brush the slide chain; its cheerful musical jangle belies how much the two of you depend it. “No, go ahead and lock up. I’ll see you tomorrow. I mean, it’s the weekend, right?”
Javi wants to retort that it must be nice to get a weekend, but you’re already sliding your arm through the elbow of the man on the other side of the door, your voice pitching low and sweet to him.
The man laughs, then startles briefly when he catches Javi’s glare turned on him. “‘Night, Peña.”
Javi thinks he might recognize the man from the Embassy but couldn’t even guess his name. So he just gives a tight nod and closes the door a little harder than he means to. He moves through the locks one by one, trying not to hear the sound of your heels moving away.
---
He’d only meant to spend his Saturday morning catching up on paperwork, but by the time he fields nine phone calls and a thick file marked ‘Official’, it’s nearly four in the afternoon. He stops at the little market on the corner – picks up two packs of cigarettes – then hoofs it up the stairs to the apartment, already thinking of the hot shower he’s going to take. Before he even reaches the landing, he hears it: the thumping drums and swinging trumpets of the porro music you love. He isn’t surprised you don’t hear the door open over the cacophony, but he’s glad of it. It means he gets to stand there in the doorway, the tension of his day ebbing away as he watches you.
You’re stretching high in front of the window, a spray bottle in one hand and a rag in the other, wiping the glass to a brilliant shine, but he only sees the way your hips swing from side to side, only sees the flex of your calves as you lift onto your toes to reach even higher.
“Looks good.” His voice startles you and you spin, a grin breaking over your face.
“I cleaned.”
He doesn’t tell you he didn’t mean the windows, because at that moment he realizes you’re wearing one of his undershirts over a pair of cutoff jean shorts; the nearly-sheer ribbed fabric clings to you, makes his tongue feel too thick to speak. He swallows hard. “What can I do to help?”
Your smile gets wider. “Stop being so messy.”
He rolls his eyes at you and you laugh. Most mornings he has to dodge at least 4 pairs of your shoes to even make it to the front door; there is one messy person in this apartment and it isn’t him.
“Smells good in here.” The air is lemon-bright; a handful of pretty flowers stand tall in a water glass on the coffee table. “But why?”
You put down your spray bottle, and half-flop onto the couch, your arms stretching over your head as you sigh. You cut your eyes sideways. “Maybe I want to be a better roommate.”
“Couldn’t be worse.”
You laugh and toss the cleaning cloth at him. It bounces off his chest and lands on the floor with soft thump. “Fuck you.”
He bends to pick up the wadded fabric and drops it on the table, then falls back onto the sofa. He’s not next to you – there is a full cushion between you, a no-man’s-land of Naugahyde – but the intimacy of sitting here with you isn’t lost on him. Most of the time you two only pass through rooms, circling at a distance. This feels different. Feels nice.
He stretches his arm along the back of the couch, then wrinkles his forehead. “Where’s my afghan?”
You frown. “That was yours? It didn’t come with the place?”
He shakes his head. “Where is it?”
Your eyes are wide and worried. “It was so itchy, Javi. And it smelled like old goats. I threw it out.”
“My abuela made that.”
“Oh, fuck.” Your hands fly to your mouth. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”
“Can’t believe you threw it away.” He makes his face sorrowful, keeps the corners of his mouth still to not give anything away.
“Shit.” You fly off the couch and down the hallway. He can hear you in your room – the frantic slamming of drawers, the creak of your closet door being yanked wide open. You’re back in a moment, holding out a fuzzy heap of fluffy pink. “Here.”
He takes the blanket – it’s silky-soft, a thousand times nicer than that cheap acrylic throw he’d picked up at a market his first month in town.
You reach a hand out to pet it fondly. “I know it’s not the same, but it’s really nice and it’ll make me feel better if you just take it. I’m so sorry, Javi.”
He can’t stand how worried you look. “I’m fucking with you. That afghan was a piece of shit.”
“Oh, thank God.” You try to yank the blanket away as you grin, relief easing the creases around your eyes. “‘Cause I really didn’t want to give you my blanket.”
He doesn’t let go – holds the soft fabric in his hands and tugs it until you are forced to step closer, practically into the space between his legs. He looks up at you, letting his voice drop low. “But what if I get cold?”
You catch your lip between your teeth, then give the blanket a firm pull until he finally releases it. You lean past him, over him, your arms stretching along his shoulder, your body so close he can smell the heat of your skin. Slowly, you drape the blanket over the back of the couch: smoothing it with deliberate fingers. Taking all the time in the world.
Letting him breathe you in.
“We’ll share it.” You stroke the fabric one more time, then straighten. He watches a little shiver roll through you, and then you take a deep breath and step back. “Since I cleaned, you order dinner. How about that place off the plaza?”
---
You sidle up next to Javi at the bar, signaling the bartender for another drink. “If you don’t go home with her, I will.”
Javi glances towards the pretty brunette he’d been talking to. She said she just needed to tell her friends she was going to stay for another drink; he’d done this enough to know what that meant.
“Thought you’d already found your company for tonight?” Javi looks past you to the man who is watching you with an expression of bewildered good fortune. “Harrison? Again?”
“Some performances deserve an encore.”
He rolls his eyes and you smile, your eyebrows lifting. “Have fun with your girl. Don’t come home tonight.”
---
Javi’s still waiting for sleep to come when he hears your key in the front door and the dulcet lilt of your voice echoed by the deeper tones of a man’s. His ears track the two of you as you move through the dark apartment; he hears the click of your bedroom door closing.
He’d kissed the pretty brunette against his car outside the bar, but he couldn’t muster up the energy the rest of the night would take. He’d driven her home, made up some bullshit about an early morning, and then had come back here to this fucking empty apartment and tried to sleep. But he realizes now why he couldn’t. He’d been waiting for this: for you coming home with fucking Harrison from the ambassador’s office.
Music creeps through the wall, tinny and up tempo, guitar and percussion and harmonizing voices. He’s glad. The sound gives him something to focus on: something other than the hum of you and Harrison, your low conversation punctuated by the sparkle of your laughter.
Time passes. Javi pulls his extra pillow over his head, and squeezes his eyes shut, and thinks maybe – maybe – he can sleep like this. At least until the door creaks open and small bare feet shuffle across the wooden floor. He can see you silhouetted in the darkness – stays still and watches you slide open his nightstand. Your hand rifles around inside and he hears the crinkle of the condom as you slip one from the box.
“The fuck you doin’?” He snaps on the bedside light and almost smiles when you jump back with a startled squeak. Eyes wide, hair mussed, lipstick kiss-faded – you clutch the crisp gray dress shirt closed with your free hand, pulling it tight into your body.
He watches the look on your face shift from shock to annoyance. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“In my bed?”
You push the drawer shut with a definitive thud, the silver condom wrapper bright between your fingers. “Here. Don’t tell me she turned you down.”
Javi pushes himself up in the bed to lean against the headboard with a smirk. The sheet is barely at his waist, the washed-soft cotton molding to his cock – which is getting harder by the second as he lets his eyes move up your bare thighs. This sheet and Harrison’s fucking shirt: that’s all that stands between your skin and his.
Your eyes drift from his face to the expanse of his chest, and then lower – the fine edges of your teeth settle into the plump of your lip.
“You always steal from me?” He taps the top of the nightstand and you jerk your gaze back to his face, eyes wide and a little wild.
“Borrowing.”
“Don’t want it back.”
You wrinkle your nose. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“I don’t.”
“Okay, then.” You stand up straighter. “Thanks.”
He watches you turn – you nearly reach the door before you spin on your heel and march back towards him. You drop the condom on his nightstand.
“You ruined the mood, Grumpy.” You lift your chin, your expression dismissive, but he can see your pulse racing in the side of your throat. “I’d just be over there thinking about you in here. Listening.”
“If you’re in there thinking about me –” Javi flits his tongue over his lip, his eyes never leaving yours – “then he’s not doing his job.”
The air sparks for a moment. You tilt your head, start to speak. But then a huffed exhale and you’re gone, slipping back out his door and closing it soundly behind you. He can hear the rumble of conversation through the wall, but not the words. It’s not hard to figure out, though, when the heavy tread of a man’s dress shoes follow your bare feet to the front door. There are a few more words and then the sounds of the locks clicking back into place.
He hears you pass his room – wonders for a moment what would happen if he met you there in the hallway, wonders what you might be wearing now that Harrison and his shirt were gone. But he stays in his bed and listens – the hushed thump of your door, the creak of your bed, the sudden quiet of the radio snapping off.
It’s silent then. Until it’s not.
At first he thinks he’s imagining it and he holds his breath, straining to hear. Fuck. He’s definitely not imagining it. It’s a moan, breathy and high, and he fucking knows: it’s for him. It has to be, after what you’d just said about thinking of him in here. About thinking of him listening.
His hand is already on his cock – he smears the leaking precum over the head with the palm of his hand, then wraps his fist around the length, but the rest of him stays still. He doesn’t want to miss a single sound that’s passing through the wall. He squeezes his eyes shut – lets the whimpers and whines surround him, listens to them shift to louder, faster, needier.
He knows when you come. He’s heard it before. But this time is different: this time you’re coming for him. When he hears your hoarse cry – hears it twist into a throaty moan – he tries to picture what you look like. He can just see it: legs spread, fingers buried in your pussy, pretty mouth open wide. It’s enough: he comes then, too, spilling onto his hand and stomach. And he lets you hear him – hear the groan that almost becomes your name.
You’re quiet after. He is, too. He falls asleep wondering: what would have happened if he had knocked on your door?
In the morning he finds a note by the coffee pot: ‘Early start. Caught a ride in with Williams. Don’t worry about me after. Have plans.’
The coffee pot is full. His favorite cup is next to it. He leaves without touching either.
---
By the time he makes it home, you’ve come and gone, though the scent of your perfume hangs sweet in the air. Javi sags onto the couch, his fingers already rolling the spark wheel of his lighter as he holds it to the cigarette between his lips. While he smokes it and a second one, he absent-mindedly strokes the throw blanket on the back of the couch.
It still smells like you.
---
Four days of avoiding each other must be enough. When he walks into the kitchen before work, you’re finally there – no early starts, no tiptoeing in after he’s gone to bed. He’d barely even seen you at the office – just your back, shoulders set, always moving away. But at last: here you are, smiling at him.
“What’s that?” Javi narrows his eyes at the small paper sack you’re holding out to him. The top is folded down and he can just make out your scrawl across the brown paper: ‘Grumpy.’
“Lunch.” You shake the bag at him until he takes it, then turn and pick up an identical one from the counter.
“You made me lunch?” He’s surprised. More than surprised, he realizes – pleased.
“You need to eat more.” You reach out a hand. Two fingers brush the buckle of his belt, and the intimacy of the gesture freezes him. “Last hole on this belt, Jav. Can’t just live on cigarettes and fury.”
Even after you withdraw your hand, he can feel the pressure of those slender fingertips. “I can try.”
You laugh. He likes that, making you laugh – likes it more than he should. You walk past him, your shoulder just brushing his. “C’mon. Can’t be late.”
At the office, Javi drops the bag on his desk and picks up a file, pointedly ignoring Steve’s smirk.
His partner persists. “How’d you convince her to do that?”
Javi doesn’t respond, his eyes trained on the report in front of him.
Steve snorts and slides another file across the space between them. “Better tell the little lady she’ll need a ride home tonight. We got a lead.”
---
You must have heard his key in the lock.
Because somehow you’re already there, your fingers turning the doorknob from the other side, and when he sees your face – all worried lines and shadows – he’s momentarily confused.
But then he remembers: because of your job, you always know what’s coming, even before he does. You knew what tonight might turn into.
“You’re okay.” You say it once. Then again, lifting it into a question. “You’re okay?”
He nods. The lead had felt like nothing – just another fucking goose chase in eighteen months of goose chases. But on the darkened street the energy had suddenly shifted: the radios crackled to life with warnings made useless by the fact the bullets arrived first. He still isn’t sure what it was exactly. Maybe they were set up. Maybe they were spotted. But the night ended with three bodies turning cold on the sidewalk and all Javi could feel was relief that it wasn’t him or Murphy.
“Come on.” Your fingers are feather-light on his shoulder as you guide him past you, locking the door behind him. You keep your hand on him, pushing him ahead of you into the living room. “Do you need a drink?”
He shakes his head. “Need a shower.”
His shirt is stuck to his skin: wet with sweat from the hot Colombian night, sharp with adrenaline and fear. He can smell it, can still feel it pulsing in his veins. He needs it gone.
“Okay.” You keep guiding him, palms flat to his shoulder blades, to the small bathroom. The smile you give him is careful. Soft. “Saved the hot water for you. Thought you might need it tonight.”
You reach past him, pushing open the shower curtain and turning the taps. The sleeve of your robe – a short silky thing, all bright flowers and lush leaves – grazes his arm and he closes his eyes for a moment. He lets the cool slip of it pull him back from that hazy, choking street and into this bright, clean room.
Javi lifts his hands to the buttons of his shirt and you wince. His knuckles are scraped, bleeding a little – there had been scrabbling, punches thrown when everyone collided in the humid darkness – and you bring your gentle fingertips to hover over the backs of his hands.
“Let me.” Your whisper is mostly breath as your fingers move to his buttons. You work them open, top to bottom, slipping his shirt hem free of his waistband. The buttons undone, you push the shirt off his shoulders and down his arms, gathering it into a neat bundle you place on the counter.
There is a bruise darkening his shoulder – he remembers the thud of his body hitting the side of the car as he dove towards it at the pop-pop of gunfire. Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth as you frown at it. “That doesn’t look good.”
He manages a half-smile. “Not what I want to hear when my shirt comes off.”
Your eyes flash back to his face, relief lifting at your cheeks. “There he is.” You raise your hand, the curve of your palm shaping itself to his shoulder. The heat of your skin radiates against the bruise, soothes the ache. “Does it hurt?”
“Not much.”
“Good.” You glance at the shower, where steam is starting to thicken and twist, then flick your eyes towards his belt. “I think it’s hot now.”
He reaches for his buckle just as you do, and your eyes go wide and flustered as you stammer. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have –”
“I got it.” He watches you turn, your back to him now. In the mirror he sees your lashes resting against your cheeks, your eyes cast down. He toes off his boots and kicks them to the corner, then pushes his jeans to the floor. Your gaze flicks up for a moment at the sound of his belt buckle hitting the tile, almost meeting his in the mirror before sliding away again.
He runs his hand under the cascade of droplets – just hot enough – and steps into the shower, pulling the curtain almost closed behind him. He tips his face into the spray.
Waits.
It’s not long.
“Javi.” The shadowed silhouette of you on the shower curtain is close enough to touch. “Javi, can I…”
He doesn’t need you to finish that sentence. “Yes.”
There’s the silken swish of your robe falling and then here you are: warm skin along the length of his back, your hands moving over his ribs to rest on his chest. Your cheek is on his shoulder, and he feels your lips move as you speak. “I was worried.”
He brings his hands to cover yours – lets his body lean into you. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I was afraid…” You let your words trail off, your arms tightening around him. He feels your inhale, then the rush of words. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come back. And I needed you to come back.”
He wants to turn around – wants to slide his hands up your arms and cradle your face between them and kiss you – but he’s afraid the spell of this will be broken if he moves. So he just glides his fingers over yours, tracing the edges of them where they rest against his chest. He feels your breath rock him gently, the swells of your breasts pressed into his skin, the heat of you reminding him: he is here. He is alive.
And you needed him to come back.
“Javi.” Your mouth shapes his name in the water coursing over his shoulders. “I think I’m going to kiss you now.”
He lets you turn him in the small shower. Your hands move slowly up his arms, over the tops of his shoulders, to his throat. Your fingertips skate along his jaw; your thumbs sweep droplets of water from his eyebrows, his lashes, his mustache, before you cradle the point of his chin and tilt his mouth to yours.
The spark of it: it feels like electricity firing through his nerve endings, waking him out of his stupor. In barely a breath he’s kissing you back, his hands spread wide on your hips to pull you tight into him. You exhale fills his mouth as you mold yourself into his body, fitting like a perfect puzzle piece. Your tongue parts his lips, seeking his; he groans at how sweet you taste.
He hadn’t let himself think how much he wanted this. How much he wanted you. But now that you’re here in his arms – he squeezes you tighter, lets his teeth find the tender point of your tongue – he can’t imagine letting you go.
“Javi, can we –” You swallow your words, eyes wide as you seek his. Your hands are moving again: down the plane of his chest, along the ridges of his ribs, skating back up his back to finally tangle your fingers into his wet hair. You try again. “Come to my room. Will you? Come with me?”
He nods. He doesn’t trust himself to speak right now, doesn’t trust that the truth of how he feels about you won’t tumble out in a wild rush. So instead he simply lets you lead him. From the shower – a quick haphazard swipe with a towel – to your room, both of you leaving wet footprints amid scattered drops that look like rain.
Your room is dark, curtains drawn. When you peel yourself away from him to click on the dim lamp in the corner, he finally sees you: all of you, bare and still wet and here for him. You turn to face him – the lamplight throws shadows along the edges of your curves, and his eyes devour you. The set of your shoulders, the lush weight of your breasts. The slope of your belly, the flare of your hips. And your face: chin lifted, eyes flashing and dark, looking at him like you’ve never wanted anything more.
You’re fucking beautiful.
“Baby.” He didn’t mean to say that as he moves towards you. You didn’t expect it either – he sees that in the way your eyes go wide – but then you smile. No, you fucking glow, lifting your arms to slide them around his neck, face tilted up, letting him walk you back to the bed. He eases you down, and bends over you: presses his face into the softness of your stomach, and says it again. “Wanted this, baby.”
You arch into him, your nails scratching against his scalp as he kisses a meandering path across your belly. “I wanted this, too, Javi. For so long.”
He groans into your skin, stretching over you. Cradling your tits in his hands, he moves his mouth up, up, up, until he finds your nipple – sweeps his tongue against the pebbled tip, sucks it against the edges of his teeth. Goosebumps chatter over your skin, still shower-damp, and you whimper, writhing beneath him on the wrinkled sheets.
“Sweet.” He drags his tongue across the shallow valley of your chest to capture your other nipple. “Taste so sweet.”
You bend your knee, sliding it from beneath his body, hooking your calf around his hips. Then your other leg shifts, too, moving until he is secured in the space between your thighs. He chokes back a grunt when he feels his cock brush against the velvet of your inner thigh, but then you wiggle – a gasp falls from you as the length of him settles against your soaked pussy.
“Oh, fuck.” You rock your hips, sliding slick and hot along the underside of his cock, and he has to squint his eyes shut against how the sensation pulls at him. “Need you to fuck me, Javi.”
“Let me taste you, baby.” He tries to stay in control, but he can’t help letting his hips press you down into the mattress, pushing you open even wider beneath him. “Know you taste so fucking good.”
Your response is all breath. “You don’t have to.”
He jerks his face up to look at you – your lip is caught between your teeth again – and you repeat it. “It’s okay. You don’t have to.”
He narrows his eyes at you and lets go of your breast to slide his hand down the smooth curve of your belly and push it between your bodies. The scattering of hair over your mound is soft and then his fingers are sliding into your folds: so goddamned wet it nearly makes his eyes roll. “Don’t have to, baby. Want to.” Your hand flies to your mouth, your teeth settling into the back of it, when he gently nudges the tip of his finger into your opening. “Can I?”
Your nod is quick.
“Tell me, baby.” He pushes the finger deeper – watches your head rock back on your pillow as your brows knit together with a whine. “Tell me.”
“You can.” Your hand still muffles your mouth, but your voice is certain. “Please.”
He smiles at you, easing down your body, letting his finger slip from the heat of you. He slides his hands down the backs of your thighs then pushes them beneath your hips, tugging you towards the end of the bed. Satisfied he has you where he wants you, he drops to his knees. You spread out before him like this, him kneeling in front of you: it feels like worship.
He wants to look at you: pretty and swollen and slick, blooming like a flower. But you smell so goddamned good. He leans in and kisses your inner thigh – lets the stubble of his jaw scrape you and feels the shiver race through your body. Another kiss, another shiver, and then he lets his tongue map the terrain of you: slide slow through your folds, sweep soft against your bundle of nerves, then lower, to dip into your entrance. You whine, your hips rocking toward his mouth.
“Knew it, baby.” He eases two fingers into you then – feels you clutch them, all silken heat. “Knew you’d taste good.”
And you do. Sweet and tangy – he feels drunk on you, his mouth open wide, his groans muted by your wet warmth. His cock is aching, leaking, and he wants so badly to feel you around him, but the sounds falling from your lips keep him hungry for you. His tongue circles your clit as your slick gathers thick at the base of his fingers where he’s fucking them deep inside you.
“Oh.” The word sounds dragged from your throat, etched with need. “Just like that.”
He isn’t sure which feels better when you come – the way you clench down on his fingers or how you flood his mouth – but he knows what he’ll always remember: his name, again and again, carried on the wave of your moans.
“So perfect, baby.” His lips are wet with you – chin and nose, too, but he likes it, likes being covered in you. “So good for me.”
Your fingers are pulling at his hair, seeking the edge of his jaw, and you’re halfway sitting up as you try to drag him onto the bed with you.
“Javi, please.” Your eyes are wild and unfocused as you tug at him. “Please.”
He rises from his knees and stretches over you, but your hands flatten on his chest and push him down onto the mattress next to you. “Stay.”
You bolt from the room, feet thudding on the floor and he hears you next door: hears his nightstand drawer opening and then slamming shut. Then you’re back, with a smile approaching bashful as you hold up one of his condoms. “Borrowing again.”
He returns your smile. “Anytime for this, baby.”
Javi takes it from your fingers as you climb onto the bed, tearing the foil wrapper as your mouth slides against his throat. He moves quickly, unrolling it down his length. He starts to shift onto his side to ease on top of you, but your hand is on his chest again, holding him down.
“Let me.” You straddle him, and he holds his breath as you move your hand down his stomach to grip his cock. You lift your hips, dragging the tip of him through you until he’s slick and wet, and then you angle him just right: a tiny wriggle of your hips, your hands flat on his chest, and then you’re slipping down him, down, down, down, until he’s buried inside you.
“Fuck, baby.” He grits his teeth, his head spinning at how tight you are around him. “Hold still a minute.”
You do. Or you try, but your brow is furrowed as you barely rock against him – little shifts that clutch and squeeze. “Feels so good. Feels so good, Javi.”
“I know, baby.” His eyes move fast between your face, mouth parted and eyes half-closed, and the spread of your legs across his hips. “Look so pretty like this.”
His words loosen a smile from you, your sly eyes dropping to meet his. “You like how I look fucking you? So surprised.”
He smiles back. “Yeah. Wanna see it a lot more.”
You start to move then, rising and falling on him, your face tilting down to watch his cock disappear inside you over and over. “So do I.”
He watches, too – watches how you stretch around him, watches the flex of your thighs as you lift yourself, watches your tits sway, watches sweat gather on your skin as you ride him. Your hand slides down your stomach and he feels your fingers split around him, capturing the slick that is soaking you both.
He watches you settle those fingers against your clit and nearly groans at the sight. “Gonna make yourself come on me, baby? Gonna let me feel it?”
You nod, hips moving faster over him. “Uh-huh.”
He plants his feet and bends his knees, fucking up into you now, the rhythmic slap of your bodies barely audible over your moans. Those goddamned moans – he’s heard you so many times, but Jesus Christ, it’s nothing compared to seeing you. He reaches to palm your tit – lets it spill through his fingers, pinches your nipple between his thumb and pointer. You whine, your fingers moving faster against your clit.
“You’re gonna make me come, baby.” He forces the words through his clenched jaw, fighting to keep control. He doesn’t want to come before you. He needs to feel you first.
“Oh, fuck.” Your eyes squint and your head falls back – he can see your pulse racing in the hollow of your throat. “Right there. Right there, Javi.”
He keeps fucking you, just the same, trying to give you what you need, and then you cry out: a wordless sound that shatters around him. And he fucking feels you then, squeezing him, making you so tight he can barely move inside you.
“Fuck, baby.” He is right behind you – two more thrusts as deep as he can, and then a third, holding himself buried inside you as he comes, his hips lifted flush against you. “Goddamnit.”
Your breath is panting, fast and shallow, and you collapse into his chest, your face nuzzling into his neck. You kiss him there – the hollow beneath his ear, the thrum of his pulse, the line of corded tension that is easing now. He wraps his arms around you, his hands smoothing over the damp skin of your back. He feels your heartbeat slow down. Feels it rein in his.
“I better—” he doesn’t want to leave you yet, but his cock is softening inside you – “get rid of this.” He grips the base of the condom and gently slips from your heat, then eases you onto your side. He pushes himself off the bed, uncertain what is next.
You bend your arm, tucking it beneath your head, and give him a careful smile. “Come back. If you want.”
He nods, moving quickly to the bathroom, and then just as quickly back. Your smile widens and you pat the bed. He stretches out next to you, and you fit yourself into his side, your fingers moving gingerly over his tender knuckles.
“I didn’t mean to—" You stop, then take a breath and try again. “This wasn’t because of tonight.”
He glances down at you. “Wasn’t?”
“No.” Your voice is soft. “I think tonight just…gave me a reason.”
He strokes his fingertips down the valley of your spine. “Didn’t mean to make you think you needed a reason.”
You laugh. He feels it in his chest. “Wish I’d known that before.”
“How long before?”
You press a kiss to his shoulder – a loud smack – and then grin up at him. “Months, Javi. Months and months and months.”
He rests his lips against the top of your head. “Fucking glad to know now.”
You sigh and slip your arm across his body to tuck your fingers beneath his ribs. “I think you should sleep in here.”
“Yeah, baby.” He lets his eyes ease closed – lets the warmth of your body pull him toward rest. “I think I should, too.”
Oh this was absolutely wonderful! I love reading stories in Joel’s POV 😍 You did a fantastic job conveying his feelings for reader! Just UGH! Then throwing Javi into the mix as well?! 🫠
Privates

Joel Miller AU x Javier Pena x AFAB Reader/You
Word count: 9k
Joel takes a second job at the local strip club, hoping to cover Sarah's fees for her fancy new private school. He just has to make sure no one's gettin' too rowdy, and watch out for the girls. It would be really simple. If it weren't for you.
Warnings: porn with plot, this is a Joel Miller story but it's about a strip club so obviously Javi is there, reader is a stripper, no shame get your dollars ladies, MMF, Oral (f receiving), slow burn then smut, also a couple of other cameos, reader has limited physical descriptions other than in reference to her lady parts, this is really filthy even for me, pining while Joel really trying to hang on to some semblance of morals, Javi says maybe two words? Explicit. Minors DNI.
He thought his hearing was bad before he took the job, that years of construction work; drilling, hammering, screaming at Tommy for fucking up the A-frame, would be the thing that robbed him of one of his more essential senses. But it turned out it wasn’t that, it was the incessant bass, the thrum of the sub-woofer reverberating around his skull. The way he felt it jolt his spine, Mikey the DJ hell-bent on obliterating the patron’s ability to think straight with sound alone, as if the watered down booze wasn’t toxic enough to cloud their judgement.
But Sarah needed to go to the fancy school, the one with the uniforms and the shiny brochures, and he hadn’t figured it would be all that mentally taxing. He could do without the late nights at his age, but he got paid after-hours rates to basically walk around and look menacing, and only once or twice a night did he have to actually step in and boot a guy. Sarah had just joined the debate team. Like she needed any help with arguin’.
He'd only told a handful of friends, Tommy so that he knew if he was late to a job it wasn’t because he was on a bender but just because he was working late, a couple of the guys at poker night because he thought they might get a kick out of it. They had, immediately asking him to get them in without the cover charge. He’d refused, but in a good-natured way, and so far they’d steered clear of the place.
He wasn’t sure why he was shy about it, if that’s what it was. Giving the air of authority, trying to be respectful while the girls did their work. He mostly ignored the stage, felt his cheeks burn if he happened to look up to see a girl bent over, thong waving in a guy’s face. He scanned the floor, walked the halls outside the privates, kept his eye on the clock and the bar, waited for his break so he could take a load off and get away from the kick drum assaulting his temples.
The guys kept telling him he’d won the lottery, lucked out on a dream job. And he would agree, except for you.
He’d met you on his third shift, right when he was allowed to walk the floor without a supervisor. He was already learning how to read the floor, how to pick up on cues from the girls that a guy was trouble, was figuring out that just standing with a scowl on his face and his black shirt on in a darkened room was often times enough to keep a blowhard in line. He was getting used to the girls tipping him at the end of a shift, although it felt weird to take their money when he’d just seen how they made it. He was getting used to the dull ache in his knees, in the soles of his feet, reminding himself not to complain when he saw the six-inch plastic heels the girls traded in.
He was learning that each girl picked their music, that often times the songs they chose reflected their dance personas, the girls dancing to pop songs going for the cutesy vibe, the girls dancing to heavy guitar riffs and shouty lyrics dressed up in black and red lace, dangerous and menacing. He was getting used to the way the room shifted in response to whatever was going on stage, was noticing he needed to pay more attention when the younger-looking girls, the blondes in pigtails, took to the stage.
He felt the room go quiet, a kind of hush when your name was called. The shift was enough to make him pause, mid-stride, moving his gaze from a man trying to buy a drink for a girl he suspected was under 21, to the stage. The heavy bass hit him in the chest, the stage lights purple and red, when you emerged, thigh first, from behind the tatty little red curtain. You were all hips and cleavage, all gentle curves and smooth lines, skin glowing and buttery soft under the stage lights. You moved slowly, your hands ghosting over your breasts, as you made eye contact with every patron in the room, your red painted lips curling into a knowing smile as you regarded them, as you took purchase of them, as you measured them and found them all wanting. You were selecting your prey, he could see it in your eyes, and he was fully prepared for your gaze to skip over him, to see his outfit of black and his number around his neck and know that he was a non-starter, except that as soon as your eyes landed on him they stared there, and he could swear you added an extra little wiggle in your hips for him, an exaggerated dip as you held the pole to you and swivelled around it, as you winked at him, fucking winked right there in public like it wasn’t the most obscene thing you could have done in this environment, and he felt it then, that the two of you were in it together, that you had let him in on the grift, that if you were his Bonnie he would do everything he could to be your Clyde.
He turned as you got busy, gave you the privacy he felt you deserved as you shimmied your skirt down, and he found he had no idea where to look now, had forgotten his rotation, had been thrown completely from his rounds. He wanted a shot of hard whiskey, the proper shit that they kept for the high-rollers, he wanted to go out the back to the employee bathroom and dunk his head into the sink. He wanted to march up that stage and pull you off it, bundle you into his car and disappear with you into the night, his fingers nestled in your wet, wanting cunt as he drove, claiming it back from all the men you’d ever shown it to.
He balled up his fist, wondering what exactly had just fuckin’ happened to him, lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck. Out of the corner of his eye he could see you revolving around the pole, your legs curling into the air in front of you so that, if he were to look, he would get a perfect view of Eden between your thighs.
He figured he should check the back room. It had probably been a while since anyone had.
--
You weren’t there every night. From askin’ around, none too subtly he suspected, he’d learned you were studying your master’s degree, taking classes in the daytime then coming by to work some shifts. You’d been there for a while, degrees are long and hard to get, and you mostly kept to yourself. Sometimes on slow nights you read your textbook in the dressing room until someone dropping cash came by. He felt his pulse quicken at this, at the earnestness of it, the innocence in it, and he resolved then that it would go no further. He would stop. He wouldn’t check the roster to see which nights you were working, wouldn’t watch the back door until he saw you appear, bundled up in a winter jacket and a heavy bag over your shoulder, in sneakers and jeans and somehow all the sexier for it, wouldn’t make shitty mistakes on the job site because he was distracted, waiting for your next shift to roll around, wouldn’t stalk the floor sullen and moody on the nights you weren’t in. He would do none of that, because he was too old for a schoolboy crush, because you were both working professionals, colleagues even, because it could never go anywhere without some sort of destruction, because Sarah was doing so damn well in her new school.
He watched out for you. That was his job, to watch out for all the girls. He watched out for you when you started to approach a guy who was already four drinks deep and threatening to get handsy, stepping in before you got to him to redirect him to a glass of water, then the door. He watched out for you when another girl got too drunk or too high and started causing a scene right beside where you were standing at the bar, pulling her away gently by the biceps before she could shatter a bottle and ricochet any glass into your general direction. He watched your back when you were in the privates, kept a respectable distance outside the open doorway, the little U-shaped couches meaning often times all he could see were the guy’s legs, sometimes the cream of your thighs as they dangled over his, the curve of your calf easing into the point of your heel. He watched out for you as you retreated to the dressing room for a break, kept an eye on the door to make sure no patrons tried to slip in while you were resting. He steered clear of the dressing room itself. That was your private space, you and all the girls. He had a little office back there, but he would just make sure to take everything he needed with him at the start of his shift, take his breaks in the back room amongst the toilet rolls and broken sound equipment.
He watched out for you when he wouldn’t let you tip him, figuring you needed it for school, gently pushing your hand away when you tried to pass him a twenty at the end of every shift.
--
Sunday nights were dead. Most of the girls never worked it, preferring instead the busier nights, the bucks’ parties and the bigger crowds. There was only a small subset of girls who worked the Sundays, the ones who tended to have regulars come in to visit them, the ones who liked the chilled-out vibe a little more, who used the downtime to practice new tricks on the pole or discuss hair removal and boob jobs right there on the floor. Those were the nights when he felt everyone was a little more themselves, that the grift was a little lesser, when the patrons were generally more well behaved so the girls could let their guards down. No one felt like getting up to all that much bullshit on a Sunday.
But his feet didn’t know any of that, protesting all the same despite the more relaxed vibes, and he was hovering behind one of the booths on the floor resting his hip on it to ease the pressure off one foot for a moment, before shifting his weight to the other. This little method meant he could stay standing, more or less in the same position, for sometimes up to an hour. But on the quiet nights, with so many empty booths around, it was all the harder to resist just sinking down into the cushions and stopping the blood pooling in his shoes.
Candy Jane was on stage, shifting her hips without much conviction, a couple of regulars already with their girls. He could see you, propped up in a corner booth, your eyes on the stage but unmoving. He thought you looked tired, wondered if your feet were hurting as much as his were, and he thought long and hard about sliding in beside you, pulling you into his lap and nudging your head onto his shoulder.
You looked up, then, swivelling your eyes to him and he felt his stomach drop. He was about to start another round of the privates just for something to do but you were getting up on your feet, strolling over to him, the singles and twenties strapped to your thigh by your garter.
‘Joel,’ you said, grabbing his hand and pushing him into a booth behind him. ‘Come sit by me, I’m bored.’
He had seen you flirt with the patrons, a kind of hyper-sexualised bunny thing that promised them every sexual desire they could ask for without ever actually delivering, the art of the tease so acute in you that none of them seemed to even realise they’d been played. He marvelled at that, always kind of admired it, at the street smarts of the girls extracting money from the men who thought they had any power in the situation. He looked at you now, sitting an arm’s length away from him, and felt almost entirely under your spell.
‘Not s’posed to sit on the floor when I’m workin,’ he said, almost apologetic, and you shrugged your shoulders at him.
‘It’s dead, Joel-y,’ you said, and you weren’t flirting with him now, you were just yourself, and he liked you all the better this way, all the more for the earnestness of you, for this version of you none of the other men ever got to see.
‘Just don’t be offended if I have’ta get up and leave quick,’ he said, and you smiled at him.
‘I don’t think you could ever do anything offensive,’ you said, and you were kind of teasing him but also really meant it, and you watched him blush, shifting his body in his chair to face a little further from the stage. ‘Why don’t you watch?’ you asked, rolling your ankles and feeling the tendons stretch. You were hoping your regular would show up soon so you could finally earn something, the house fee already putting you in the red.
‘S’not right to watch, not here for my…jollies,’ he finished, and you grinned at him.
‘Your jollies?’ you teased. He huffed out a shy laugh, looking down at his lap.
‘Y’know what I mean,’ he went on. ‘M’workin’, we’re all workin’.
‘You aren’t curious to take a peek?’ you asked, leaning closer to him. If he was a better man, he would have been able to resist the urge to peak down the top of your dress, the silly little spandex straps barely holding you in, your tits heaving with your breath and with how heavily you were teasing him.
‘Course I am,’ he confessed, almost hissing it out over the bass thumping through his body.
‘A man of principles,’ you appraised, moving back to give him a little break, wondering if he was hard yet. You knew he watched you closely, knew that he lingered outside the doorway for you more than any other girl when you were in a private, knew that he was going out of his way not to look at you when you danced on stage, and the innocence of it, the thrill of it when you had everyone else’s attention except his, it fascinated and annoyed and scolded you, tickled you around the collarbone. You watched as he scratched at the salt and pepper patches dotting his jaw, at how he swallowed so hard his muscle ticked and strained under the force of it.
‘Why don’t you take my tips?’ you asked. Candy’s dance slot was nearly over, and you were waiting to see Destiny. She’d promised to show you one of her new pole tricks hanging inverted, and even after all this time you still hadn’t worked up the courage to do that.
‘You need to save ‘em up, get your degree,’ he answered, without thinking, finding it so hard to think through the want for you, for the proximity of you, now that he could smell your perfume and feel your body heat along his side.
‘You know about that?’ you asked, surprised.
Oh shit, he thought. Just like that he’d fucked it.
‘One of the other guards, he mentioned it. Said he saw you reading a textbook one time,’ he covered, as quickly as he could given the circumstances. You nodded at him, as if this satisfied you, but he wasn’t sure if he’d actually pulled it off. His throat was dry, and it was so hot in the club, was it always this hot in the damn club? First chance he got he was gonna call his HVAC guy.
‘What are you studying?’ he asked, but you were smiling then, eyes bright and over his shoulder.
‘Hey, Javi!’ you squealed, giggling and rising from the booth, pushing your chest out and wiggling towards the man Joel had come to recognise as your regular. The lucky bastard always wore aviators, his jeans so tight Joel was surprised he didn’t burst a button when he got a hard on, his moustache quirking up in greeting to you. Joel wondered if you would ever squeal and rush towards him like that, not caring for one second that it was just part of the grift.
--
You’re not on shift, haven’t been on shift for a week, and his bones itch under his skin, his feet pacing up and down the carpet outside the privates, patrolling the floor like it insulted him. He hates that he checks the roster at the start of every shift and doesn’t see your name listed, hates that he’s worried about you; that you’re sick, that you’re hurt, that you’ve fucking left. He’s useless at his real job, nearly degloving his entire hand with a band saw he was so distracted wondering if he’d see you that night. This can’t go on, and he knows that, but he just needs to know what happened to you, just needs to know that you’re OK, and then he can get back to being dead inside.
Because that’s what you’ve done to him, he realises. You’ve made him feel alive. He can’t resent you for it, you didn’t know it was what you’d done, but it sets his teeth on edge and it unnerves him in a way that makes him consider quitting, finding another club, maybe not a titty-bar, maybe something he can actually put on his resume. He considers it while simultaneously knowing he won’t do it, would never do it, that he’s too far gone even while he can’t go any further.
He stops checking the roster. It hurts in a way he can’t quite get his head around, a pain he doesn’t have any room to accommodate sitting tight and hot in his chest. He keeps his eyes on the patrons and the clock. He takes his breaks in the back room. He feels tired down to the bone.
--
Two weeks after he’d last seen you, he starts his shift the way he always does, going into the back before too many girls arrive to put his bag in his locker and fill his pockets with whatever he’ll need for the rest of the night. He’s busy trying to put a protein bar in his pocket in such a way that it doesn’t look like he has a hard on when he hears footsteps behind him.
‘Joel-y’, you say, and he swings his head towards the sound so hard he thinks he hears something snap. You’re smiling at him, dressed in your jeans and a Fleetwood Mac tee, and he has to consciously remind his heart to keep beating. You’re holding one of your enormous heels in your hand.
‘Where have you been?’ he blurts out, not caring that he sounds needy. You blink at him, surprised.
‘You missed me?’ you ask, and you’re teasing him but he doesn’t care, because he’s glad all over that you’re back and he’ll take all the sass in the world from you if you just stay there.
‘You didn’t…’ Didn’t what, he thinks. Didn’t check in with me? Say goodbye? There’s no reason why you would have. Didn’t promise you weren’t grossed out by him, that he’d made you so uncomfortable you’d gone to work at another club? ‘You didn’t mention you were taking a break,’ he said, eventually.
‘Oh, I had mid-terms,’ you say, breezily. He’s stepping out of his little office now, trying to put space between you before he says something else blatantly insane and stupid, hoping to go back to just looking at you from dark corners while he furtively hopes you don’t see.
‘Wait,’ you say to him, grabbing him by the arm. You hold your shoe up, and he can see where the strap has come away from the base. He takes it from you, feels the brush of your fingertips as he does it, tries to ignore the little flip in his tummy.
‘Leave it with me,’ he says, stepping towards the backroom where he knows there’s superglue. ‘You got another pair?’
‘Yeah, but those are my favourites,’ you say, looking up at him carefully, watching his face for something. You haven’t got your heavy stage make-up on yet, haven’t curled your hair into gentle waves, and you’re so beautiful like this, he thinks, when he can see the actual colour of your lips, your cheeks.
‘Twenty minutes,’ he says. You smile at him. He wonders if you’ll put your hand on his arm again. You turn away.
--
In the backroom he sits on an upturned milk crate, holding the strap to the base so the superglue will affix to it. If he had his tools he would try and nail it down, but there’s a chance he could shatter the base and these heels seem expensive for something that makes all you girls look so darn cheap.
Your shoes are so small in his hands, and he imagines just for a second its your foot he’s cradling in his lap. He has the presence of mind just enough to wonder what fucked up version of Cinderella he’s trying to live.
He checks the strap, pulls hard on it three times, before he’s satisfied enough to give it back to you.
--
He realises his error, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. He had mentioned to the guys at poker that Sundays were the quiet ones, that the music was just low enough to be able to think, that the girls mostly entertained themselves while their regulars paid them to chat, sometimes to dance. Where you could always get a seat at the tipping rail, could even swing a three song dance out of a twenty if the girl was bored enough.
He feels the drop in his stomach when he sees them, approaching the bar en masse. He can’t remember where you are, he’d lost sight of you between the booths on the floor and the privates, and he tries to remember what time your stage slot was, having checked the roster again despite swearing black and blue he wouldn’t. They haven’t seen him yet, and he wonders if he can just slip out the back and make a break for it, tell them he was sick so he wasn’t working, and they need to fucking call him first. He knows them, knows that they’re not bad guys, that they’re here to keep him company and maybe see some butt while they’re at it. But it stirs in him a deep panic, that they will see you, that they’ll get their eyes on you before he’s really even let himself have a chance to, before he can make you all his own.
A silly little delirious part of him, right at the back of his skull, whispers that it’ll make your wedding really awkward. He shoos it away like an errant mosquito.
Benny sees him, then, is waving him over.
‘Joel, we made it!’ he yells over the music, the guys turning to him to welcome him into the circle. Tommy is already at the bar ordering the beers, but he nods to his big brother. Joel worries for a second that you’ll like his brother better, before he remembers you don’t even like him at all.
He stalks over to him, his jaw aching from the strain, while he looks through the darkness to try and find you. He’ll just have to run interference for a while, keep them busy while you work the floor, try and bundle them back out into the cold before your stage slot.
‘Gentlemen,’ he says, laced with irony, and they’re slapping him on the back, welcoming him in. He reminds himself these guys are mostly Tommy’s friends. Wouldn’t be that sad if he never saw them again.
Frankie tries to hand him a beer but he pushes it away. ‘Workin’.’ He says, simply.
‘More f’me,’ Frankie grins from under his cap.
‘So where’s the best place to sit?’ Benny asks, surveying the room. There are a couple of girls walking the floor, Amber on the stage twisting her hips to the music while staring out over all of their heads.
‘You gotta tip if you sit on the rail,’ Joel says, simply, and Benny nods.
‘I got singles!’ Pope says, ever the responsible one, always the one planning. ‘Sorry, hermano, not enough for you.’ Joel grins at him. Pope can stay, he thinks. Pope will keep his mouth shut.
‘Look, you sit in that booth there,’ Joel says, pointing them to the centre of the room, ‘you can see the stage perfect. You wanna tip a girl though, you gotta get up onta the rail, make sure they know about it.’ He leans in a little, like he’s sharing a secret. ‘These girls work real hard. Make sure you treat ‘em right, ok? They’re good girls. Smart girls. You don’t come here just to look and not sling ‘em some hard earned.’
‘Yes sir,’ Pope says, making a salute that Joel considers might actually be real. He can’t be sure. Tommy was the one who spent a few years in the army with them, not him.
‘Vamos!’ Pope calls, rounding them up and shoving them down onto the cushions. Now Joel just needs to figure out where you are.
--
You keep fuckin’ evading him. One minute you’re in a private, the next you’re at the bar chatting to a patron, trying to get him to buy off the top shelf. Electra is on the stage, and Tommy is entranced by her, the bills practically falling out of his hands while she bends to pick them up with her teeth. It’s distracting Joel, trying to keep an eye on them while also trying to keep distance between you, and the boys are inviting girls over to them, beckoning to them from the stage to come sit by them, and he knows it’s not long before your dance slot is up, knows that as soon as they see you they’ll want you, that they’ll beckon you over, that you’ll fuckin’ go.
He can’t be everywhere, can’t keep doing his job while also trying to manage this situation, has to keep pacing the privates to keep the other patrons in line. He never thought there’d be a time that he wished that fuckin’ Javi guy would show up just to keep you out of sight for a while.
They keep calling to him, too, trying to get him to come over and sit down no matter how many times he explains to them he’s working, that the girls need him to keep an eye on things. Will’s trying to keep a straight face but he’s snickering up at him, and Joel wonders what’s so damn funny.
‘Bet you do keep an eye on things,’ he grins, a little shit-eating thing that makes Joel’s hand curl into a fist. He shakes it loose, the music making it so hard to think, jarring his nervous system. He’s about to say something, about to find a reason to throw the lot of them out, when your name gets called over the loudspeaker. You’re being called to the stage. You’re up next. On the stage.
He has approximately thirty seconds to do something. He is completely rooted to the spot. At the tipping rail his little brother is waiting, dollars in hand. He thinks he might pass out or puke, possibly both and not in that order. His head is swimming. ‘Not like this,’ he thinks. He just doesn’t want you to meet his friends like this.
‘Holy shit,’ he hears Pope say, and he turns to the stage. Your thigh is appearing around the curtain, the shoe he fixed for you running up and down its raggedy edge. You’re all swagger and tits tonight, your hair swept over one eye, and he’s transfixed for a second, completely unable to move, as you shimmy up to the centre of the stage, take the pole in your hand and swivel, kicking your legs out behind you so that you corkscrew down to your knees. Pope is moving to the tipping rail, Benny following close behind. Tommy is leaning forward on his elbows, pulled in by you almost on instinct, and you’ve clocked him now, crawling on your hands and knees towards him.
For a second, Joel sees you pause, studying Tommy’s face, before you search for him in the crowd. You’ve noticed the family connection, and he freezes, terrified of your reaction. Are you going to be angry? Feel betrayed? Hurt that he’s brought his friends here to ogle you, to watch your hips shimmy and your tits bounce? Has he broken some kind of professional code, could he get fuckin’ fired for this, will you never speak to him again? He tries to communicate to you with his eyes that he didn’t bring them here, that he doesn’t want this, that whatever the fuck’s going on with these guys he wants no part in it. He wants you to know he sees you, you in jeans and a tee shirt, that it’s that you he wants.
For a long moment you stare at each other, Joel’s pulse heavy and thick in his ears. You lean back, rear up so that all your weight is on your knees. You run your hand up your side and into your mouth where you bite down on your index finger. You keep your eyes fixed right on his. You wink.
--
So, this is what its like to have a heart attack, Joel thinks. It’s slower than he expected. It’s been hours, and the guys are still here, and by some stroke of divinity or possible the opposite, so is he.
The number of times he’s reminded the guys they have work in the morning. How he’s complained that the music is giving him a headache, and man that pounding base makes it hard to think, and wouldn’t it be fun if they all went to a sports bar, see if the replay of the Knicks game is on? But they can’t leave yet, won’t leave, because they want to see you on stage again, want one last look at your creamy thighs and your bucking hips before they go home and jerk off thinking of their tongues in your cunt. He’s going to have an aneurysm right here on the goddamn floor of this fuckin’ strip club. Sarah’s gonna find out where he’s been workin’ all this time.
The one thing his brother has done for him, the one thing Tommy has done right in his life, is to lay down a rule before they got there that they can’t get any private dances.
‘Didn’t come out here to see ya’ll with hard-ons’, he reminds them, and they snicker but begrudgingly agree, and Joel won’t lie that he feels a surge of pride in his fuckin’ idiot baby brother and his one good idea.
Joel knows the girls are on a roughly two-hour rotation, that by the end of the night all of them will have been on stage about three times. The only problem is that if a girl’s in a private she gets skipped until she’s ready, so sometimes some girls might even need to do more. It seems especially cruel to him that if a girl’s having a bad night, not reeling anything in, not making any money on her own that she gets paraded out even more to the baying crowds of disinterested patrons. He’s seen a few girls with tears in their eyes on the way to the dressing room, complaining of an off night. He’s been around long enough to know that these happen, that there’s no rhyme or reason to them really, just that sometimes that particular girl just isn’t flavour of the night. He’s never seen it with you, though. Never seen you fail to take a man by the hand and lead him down the dark corridor to the u-shaped couches if you deem him worthy. It burns him up with jealousy and also he’s proud of you for it. His good girl taking no prisoners.
He wonders if he can tell the DJ to take you off the rotation, if you’ll notice if you just don’t get called again, but he also knows it would be messing with your money, that Pope and Benny and Will are making good on their promise to tip well. That you’ve got bills and a college degree to earn, that the fact that he’s sick in the guts with a jealous want doesn’t matter, should never be part of the equation when it comes to you.
He does another round, still hoping to see you, still hoping to find you in a private somewhere, but you’ve made yourself scarce and he wonders if it’s because of him, because of his friends being here, worries that he’s embarrassed you. There’s only one other place you could be, tucked away in the dressing room hiding out, unless you’ve just got dressed and left completely, not even bothering with the attempt to tip him tonight.
He shouldn’t but also he needs to, knocks hard on the door and calls out that it’s him before he pushes it open. With all the lights on around the mirrors the place has a warm glow, and he scans quickly to make sure he’s alone before he pushes himself into the room. You’re not here, either, which means he doesn’t know where you are, and he feels a little flare of panic in his sternum. He rests his hand on it, trying to steady his catching breath. He should check the roster. Maybe you had an early finish.
He nearly steps on you when he rounds the corner into his little office. You’re lying flat on your back on the floor, headphones over your ears. For a terrible second he thinks you’ve passed out in here before he realises you’re tapping your feet, your head swaying back and forth to the music only you can hear. He leans down and pushes, gentle, at your shoulder. Your eyes snap open and you startle, pulling the headphones free.
‘Jesus,’ you say, and he steps back again, hangs around the door.
‘Sorry,’ he says, hands up in appeasement. ‘Didn’t mean to scare ya.’
‘No, no, I’m sorry,’ you say, scrambling to stand. Your heels are catching on the carpet and you waver, Joel coming forward to steady you. ‘Sometimes I come by here and stretch out my back a little, the heels are…hard work,’ you say, and he realises you’re blushing, that you think he’s mad. He shakes his head at you, brows saddled.
‘S’ok,’ he says, not letting go of your arm.
‘You’re just not normally in here,’ you say, and you look up at him then, fixing your eyes on his.
‘You can come here any time you like,’ he says. Wants to add that everything you ever wanted he will get for you, that anything you ever asked he would do.
‘-nks,’ you say, feeling shy all of a sudden, realising the size of his hands for the first time.
‘I didn’t know they were comin’,’ he says, trying to keep his voice steady, and you blink for a second, trying to understand. ‘I didn’t invite ‘em, they just showed up.’
‘So, he is your brother,’ you say, smiling now. Joel nods his head at you, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
‘He’s cute,’ you say. ‘Runs in the family.’
Joel grunts at this, can’t quite believe he’s heard it, tries really hard to think straight. You’re wearing practically nothing in his little office on a quiet Sunday night while his brother and four of his friends throw dollars at random half-naked women. It’s a lot to take in.
‘They’re not getting dances,’ you observe, and Joel shakes his head.
‘Their decision, outta respect or somethin’, I guess.’
‘Respect for you?’ you clarify.
‘Each other, I think.’
‘Oh, that’s silly,’ you say. He feels the heat up his neck, a bloom of something worrisome in his tummy. ‘That’s like going to Disneyland and not getting on any of the rides.’
‘I’m gonna have to beg you to rephrase that,’ Joel says, and you grin at him. He can see that flirty sex bunny emerging in you again, can see that you’re up to somethin’, his brain too addled with the smell of you in his office to figure what.
You’re so fuckin’ pretty when you smile, your little dimple on your right cheek popping up when you’re thinking of something sneaky. He wants to kiss it every morning in the warm light of dawn. Wants you wrapped up in his sheets, hair stretched over his pillow, his hands on your tummy and your breast while he eases his fingers between your thighs.
‘Breaks over then, I guess,’ you say, and you’re practically bouncing out of the room now, his brain working just enough to remind him to follow you. He’s three or four paces behind, alarmed at how fast you can go with those heels on, and he sees it now, that you’re making a beeline for them, that you’re a woman on a mission to finally tip him over the edge, to send him right to his grave.
He can only watch, helplessly, trying to figure which one you’ll reach for. Prays it’s not Tommy. Or Will. Or Benny. Or fuckin’ Frankie. For some reason he thinks Pope might be OK. He watches, his pulse hard and racing in his throat, as you approach, six paces from them, then four, then three. Tommy’s noticed you, is pushing back his chair.
And right before you get to them, right before you’re within grasping reach of his brother, you turn, pivot on your heel to the bar, where fuckin’ Javi is waiting for you, cigarette hanging out of his mouth and beer in hand, one knee cocked to the side. You melt into his arms, resting your head on his shoulder, and somehow Joel is relieved and also it’s so much fucking worse then he could ever imagine, burns him brighter than if you had chosen one of his friends, knows that it’s both a lifeline and a spool of barbed wire you’ve thrown him, knows that he’s latched onto it anyway, can feel the tug and tear of his skin.
--
He's hovering outside the privates. His friends have finally packed it in, it’s nearing 1 AM, and in all the commotion he’d forgotten that his feet are killing him, and they’re really crying for his attention now. But he ain’t leavin’ you alone with that Javi guy, doesn’t trust the way his shirts never fuckin’ fit.
He’s so tired, the adrenaline of the night leaking out of him just to leave him wavering and empty, and he feels like he’s on his last nerve, the stress of the evening, the strangeness of it, wearing him down to the stub. But your little shoe sat right in the palm of his hand, but you went to this office to relax when you thought he wouldn’t know about it, but you fuckin’ winked at him like the rest of the room wasn’t even goddamn there, and he ain’t leavin’ you now.
And if he leans on the wall a little, takes the weight off one foot and transfers it up into his shoulder, if he cocks his head to the side, he can just peek you, see Javi’s tight jeans and the plush of you bottom as you grind it on him, your arms up over your head to make your sweet little tits sway in his face.
He shouldn’t be hard at work. Shouldn’t be leaning like this, crowding himself into the corner to get a better look. He knows there are camera in the hallways, as much to keep an eye on the staff as to keep a watch on the patrons, and he knows that somewhere footage is being collected of him right now peeping in on you. He doesn’t fuckin’ care. He can see the way your stockings are banding too tight across your thighs, and he wants to sooth the skin with his tongue, pull the nylon off you and kiss his way around the angry red rings in your flesh. He can see your hips rocking to the music, your hair swaying down your back. Your hands moving to grasp behind you, pushing your chest up and out into Javi’s face.
And he sees it then, the way Javi’s hands are hovering, lifting off the couch and threatening to come down on your skin. The club has a strict no-touchin’ policy, it was drilled into him on his first day. That’s an infraction worthy enough to get him booted out of here, never allowed to set foot in this fine establishment of dirty tomfoolery ever again. Joel swallows, his eyes now fixed on Javi’s hands, waiting for the moment they brush against your soft, glittering skin, takes a step forward towards the doorway, doesn’t even notice that you’ve pivoted, your hands on Javi’s knees as you grind your bottom down, leaning back to rest your head on Javi’s shoulder. Locking eyes with Joel.
His cock is throbbing in time to the music. The bass thrums in his chest. You hook your knees over Javi’s, first the left then the right, and push them open just enough to give Joel a tease. You’re still in your thong but it’s enough for Joel to see the sheen of the fabric, that you’re wet down there in the valley between your thighs. He licks his lips, a hand coming to rest on his chest, as he gazes at you with the kind of want that sets your nervous system on fire.
You’re swivelling your hips on Javi, can feel that he’s hard underneath you, but you want it to be Joel, want more than his eyes on you now that you’ve got them, want his hands and his tongue and his cock. You whimper, and you hear Javi groan behind you, as if any of this is for him. Javi pulls his knees further apart, unknowingly opens you up for Joel, and there’s a moment where you feel more naked then when you’re topless in front of fifty strange men. Joel has stripped you bare, to the quick. You can see how fast he’s breathing by the way his hand rises and falls on his chest. You time your movements to it, jerk your hips as if he’s breathing his touch into you from across the room.
Except he’s mad, now, you can see the way his brows have furrowed, the way his jaw has set, and you’re too hot and too overwhelmed to realise until the last moment that Javi has his hands on you, is cupping your breasts from behind, trying to reach from behind to tweak your nipples, pulling you further down into his chest to rub more fully on his cock.
Joel’s with you in four strides and you reach for him, both arms lifting up to his as he wrenches you free, screams at Javi to back off, pulls you behind him and shields you with his body while he threatens to beat Javi to a pulp before throwing him out onto the street, then beating him to death where the cameras don’t point.
‘You don’t fuckin’ touch her,’ he’s yelling, and he can feel that his throat is raw, dry, but he can’t fuckin’ think over the crushing beat in his ears, realises after a couple of stilted moments that it’s not the music that’s deafening him but that it’s his heart, that he’s vibrating with fury and want, that Javi has backed up a bit on the couch and lifted his hands in the air but hasn’t scurried away, that he’s not scared or worried at all, that he got to put his hands on heaven and will do nothing to apologise for it, and something snaps in Joel, something feral and needy and primal, something that has been chewing at the bars of its cage for months.
He pulls you to him and you gasp, can feel Joel’s pulse through your back as he manoeuvres you to rest on his chest, lifts one foot up onto the couch while he strips your thong from you, spreads you open for Javi, your body weight leaning on his as he holds you with just one arm around you.
‘This is how you fuckin’ touch her,’ Joel seethes, pushing his hand down over your belly and onto your waiting cunt, cupping your slit and teasing the slick gathering there up and over your clit. You gasp, the leg you have planted on the floor shaking as he strums, gently but somehow so firm, and you can feel yourself opening up to him, your cunt wet and aching, trying to draw him in.
‘You seein’ this, see how wet she gets for me?’ he’s saying, and you glance down to see that Javi is indeed watching, shock on his face and locked in a kind of paralysis, his eyes flicking between your cunt and Joel’s furious face. ‘You couldn’t get this from her,’ Joel is saying, and you’re leaning back into him because your knees are definitely going to buckle, but he holds you firm and steady, and you lift your face up to the ceiling and gasp.
Joel isn’t thinking, just listening to you, just letting his fingers finally touch what he’s dreamt about for months. Your sopping cunt is probably dribbling onto his pants and he doesn’t care, wants it there, wants you deep down in the fibres of the fabric where he’ll never scrub you free. You gasp again when he pushes two fingers in, feels your walls expand to accommodate him, raises the heel of his palm to ease the stretch by rubbing quick little circles on your clit.
‘Slide right in,’ he says, his unhinged commentary gritting out over the music, loud enough for just you and Javi to hear. ‘S’what happens when you’ve got her achin’ for ya,’ he says matter-of-factly.
You’re rolling your hips now, unable to help yourself as you arch your back, wanting to twist in his arms and sink your teeth into his neck, lick and lave at his collarbone, keen into his skin until the sound of it attaches itself to his bones.
‘Look at that pretty cunt,’ Joel is still saying, almost frantic now, the heat on his skin making it impossible to think of anything else, anything so complex as consequences. He’s lost in the touch of it, in the way Javi is looking at him imploringly, the way he can see that this pompous fuckin’ arsehole is getting a schoolin’ on pleasuring a woman, in the way you’re gasping and whimpering just for him. ‘S’mine,’ he says, twisting his fingers up to the knuckle in you, hooking into the spongey spot he knows will make you see stars.
He wants Javi to beg him to stop. Wants him to get down on his knees and apologise, wants him to swear he’ll never come back. But he’s distracted, because you’re calling to him now, the sound of your sweet cries of his name echoing through the vacant halls of his brain.
‘Joel-y’, you’re whimpering, babbling. ‘Joel-y, please,’ and you’re not even sure what you’re asking for, just that he’s torturing you, setting you on fire right here in the privates, that the pleasure he’s wringing from you is too much, too overwhelming, that you want to collapse into him but you’re still trying to bear some of your weight, that your thighs are wobbling and your body is screaming at you to let go but you can’t, not in this position, no matter how good it is, because you can’t get purchase, you can’t grind, the heel of his hand is too blunt on your clit.
He can sense it, that he’s trapped you right where it’s too much and not enough, and a part of him wants to leave you there, wants to make you feel what he’s felt all those weeks he spent waitin’ for ya, checkin’ that fucking roster like a goddamn fuckin’ dog, causin’ all those little fuck ups at the job site thinkin’ about this little cunt wrapped so tight around his knuckles.
But he’s not cruel.
‘Lick it,’ he barks out, gesturing down your body to Javi while he pushes you forward, shifts your weight more fully to the couch. You instinctually hook your knee over Javi’s shoulder, the extra leverage finally giving you purchase enough to properly move. ‘Suck her little clit ‘til she fuckin’ soaks me,’ Joel says, and there’s no arguing with him, not that you would, not that Javi would by the look on his face.
He's looking uncertain, like this might be a trap, and you reach down and grab his hair in your hand. ‘Please, Javi,’ you say, and he’s on you then, without further hesitation, his lips catching your little bud and grasping it between his teeth. You scream, feel Joel jostle you until your head is twisted around to bury in his neck, and you can feel more than hear the little rasps of encouragement as he talks you through it.
‘Such a good girl f’me,’ he’s saying, and you’re barely registering it, but your cunt is listening, clamping down hard on his fingers as Javi grips you with his mouth. ‘Teachin’ us both a thing or two, ain’t ya, baby? Showin’ us just how to treat a sexy little cunt like yours.’
You’re going to die. You’re going to burst into flames. There’s just no question in your mind that this is how you go, but you just fucking hope that you’ll get to come before it happens. It’s like every single nerve ending is now in your pussy, like you are only breathing Joel and Javi, your body sandwiched between them as you grip Javi’s head to you and twist in joyous agony against Joel’s chest.
‘Wanna hear you, baby,’ Joel’s whispering again. ‘Wanna hear it when ya come f’me.’
You open your eyes, look down your body to Javi, where he’s watching you, his eyes travelling up your body to rest on your face. He’s palming his cock, you can see the way his arm is moving up and down slowly, and you can feel Joel throbbing behind you.
‘Don’t look at him,’ Joel admonishes, and you slam your eyes shut, turn again to bury your head in his neck. ‘He can’t help ya,’ Joel goes on. ‘S’just there to make you come, baby.’
God it’s fucking debauched, is what it is. It’s filthy and sweaty and you’re so wet, and you feel sexier than you ever have, feel the power in your body and in your desire, feel the way you have finally, finally brought something feral out in Joel. You’re going to come, because Joel has determined that you are going to, and you just know without him even telling you so that he won’t let you go until you have, until he is satisfied that he has wrung out every last whimper from you, until you are sated and he is confident his job is done.
Javi’s licking hard at your clit now, sometimes sucking on it, and you slam your hips down onto Joel’s hand when he does it, rock your knee to bring Javi closer to you, try to swallow him with your cunt and your hands in his hair.
You can’t get enough breath to warn them. It’s just going to happen, they’re just going to throw you over the edge and into the abyss and you can’t even tell them they’re about to do it. Joel sees it though, feels the way your cunt is gripping him.
‘Do it, baby,’ he’s gritting into your ear, catching every roll of your hips so you won’t fall. ‘Show him what it’s like when I wreck you.’
And you do, then. Harder than you ever have in your life, your lungs pillowing out in your chest to suck in all the air available to them, your wails lost to the music as streams of your slick press into Javi’s face, where you soak him and Joel behind you, shivering and convulsing as you topple over the peak, dimly aware of Joel’s words in your ear as you go, calling you his pretty girl, his beautiful, perfect girl. His girl, his girl, his.
--
There are too many broken workplace safety rules to count, so Joel doesn’t bother. He knows he’s lost his job, that the cameras will have picked up all of that, that as he drops his ID badge and set of keys on the desk in his little office that it was worth it, that you were worth it. He’ll get another job, find a bar open just as late as this one even if it’s further out of town, will travel and will keep Sarah in school and will keep the memory of your sweet little cunt fluttering around his fingers locked up tight in the back of his brain for when the nights are cold and lonely.
When he drives you home, bundles you up in his car and puts the heater on full blast to keep you warm, you tell him that you finished your degree weeks ago, that you were lying about the mid-terms, that you had actually been down in Florida helping your mother move your grandpa into care. It hadn’t seemed necessary to talk about them in that environment, you said, and he rests his hand on your knee because he understands, and also because he likes you.
He doesn’t ask for your number. Knows you probably wouldn’t give it to him, is too afraid that you’d regret everything that you did together, that you were humouring him with even letting him drop you home, that this isn’t even your house.
He only found it later, written in your neat writing, your number and your real name, when he was stripping his pants off himself and dumping them into the hamper, his come collected on the inside where he exploded as he rutted against you, as he listened to your desperate, whimpering cries for him.
He tacks the little piece of paper to the mirror, memorising the digits in case one day it falls. He isn’t gonna call it. He just wants it there, a reminder of you and what you’ve made him feel, how you’ve lifted him, freed something in him. He just wants it there. Proof that you were real.
They deserved a dog! 🥰
Goober
Summary: On a stormy night, a dog makes a dash for the garage. Frankie is insistent, like all dad's, they are not keeping that damn dog.
Warnings: Cussing, fluff, puppy madness, Nora seems to need her own warning in this fic cause she is sassy!
A/N: Happy Frankie Friday!!! Another installment of the Parents to Lovers AU! Thank you so much @noxturnalpascal for betaing for me ❤️❤️ @jay-zzle, my side kick for all these stories, my personal moodboard maker, one of my best friends that I would have never even met without Pedro Pascal existing, once again thank you for making the moodboard AND the other thing(wait til y'all get to the end)
Masterlist||AO3||Parents to Lovers
divider provided by @saradika-graphics

The thunder was getting closer and closer. You can smell the incoming rain on the air as you close the kitchen window.
“Girls!” You shout, approaching the living room doorway “Did you remember to bring your bikes in the garage?”
“I did!” Missy says quickly, returning to the game on her tablet.
“Uhh…” Nora hesitates, fingers fidgeting against her own tablet, “I forgot.”
“Nora! How many times have we talked about this?”
“Sorry,” she shrugs, “I just forgot.”
You groan, putting your shoes on and making your way to the garage. Frankie won’t be home for another hour or else you’d send him outside to get the bike. Opening the garage door you see the rain already starting to come down in sheets. Thankfully, Nora’s bike isn’t that far from the open door, but running towards it you see something dash past you into the garage.
“Fuck,” you mutter, grabbing the bike and wheeling it into the garage, “Now I get to deal with whatever creature decided to run into here for shelter from the storm. Thanks Nora, you’re the best!”
A clap of thunder sounds just then, causing you to jump, and you hear a whimper at the edge of the room. You reach for the switch on the wall and when the overhead lights come on you see a dog huddled in the corner.
“Hey little baby,” you say sweetly, crouching down and stretching out your hand, “It’s just a little thunder, nothing to be scared about.”
The dog slowly begins to move closer to your outstretched hand. You notice the floppy ears, short legs and long body. Another clap of thunder and the thing darts over, shaking and whimpering.
“Hi there,” you coo, “Let's get you some place warm and dry, huh? That sound good?”
The dog’s tail starts to wag a little as you continue talking to it, grabbing a towel as you begin to attempt to dry the dog off.
“Are we a boy or a girl?” You ask, lifting a leg to check, “Congrats! It’s a girl!” You say to no one but yourself.
The dog begins licking your face as you wipe her paws more to get the mud off.
“Aww, you’re just a sweet girl, aren’t you?” You coo, as the dog continues to lick your face, “Yes, yes you are! Okay, I think we’re good to go inside now.”
You gently scoop the dog up in the towel and carry her inside, bringing her into the living room.
“Is that what I think it is?!” Nora shrieks, smacking Missy’s arm to get her attention from her tablet.
“Hey, calm down, she doesn’t like loud noises,” you explain, “This little girl ran into the garage because of the storm.”
“She’s so cute!” Missy excitedly whispers, “Does she have a name?”
“Well I don’t see a collar so I don’t know,” you say, placing the dog in the middle of the living room.
The dog’s tail begins to wag harder when the girls slowly slide off the couch to approach her, and you notice her peeing on the carpet.
“Shit,” you hiss, quickly going to the laundry room for a towel, laying it on the carpet to soak up the mess. She’s much more enthusiastic seeing the girls than she was seeing you. You sit on the couch watching the girls interact with the puppy.
“Hi,” Missy whispers, reaching her hand out for the dog to sniff, “You’re very pretty.”
“Yes,” Nora agrees, stretching her arm out, “Pretty and smooshy!”
The dog eats up the attention stretching out on the floor to show her chest and belly. Missy and Nora begin petting her, taking turns rubbing her tummy and scratching behind her ears.
“Momma, what kind of dog is she?” Nora asks, looking at you.
“It looks like she’s what’s called a basset hound,” you grin. You’d always wanted one growing up and thought that whoever owned this girl was the luckiest person in the world. You needed to call Frankie before he got home, that way he could maybe stop somewhere to get a collar, leash, and dog food. You pull your phone from your pocket, tapping on his contact info.
“Hey babe,” he sighed, “Think we’re almost done here and then I’ll be home.”
“So,” you say, getting up and walking to the kitchen so the girls wouldn’t hear, “I need you to do something for me before you come home.”
“What kind of ice cream do you want now?” He laughs.
“It’s not a craving this time,” you whisper into the phone, hand rubbing across your barely there bump, that news you hadn’t shared yet with the girls, “Not a bad idea though, Ben and Jerry’s Salted Caramel.”
“Sure thing,” he says, “I’ll be sure to ge—“
“No babe,” you interrupt, “Seriously that’s not what I was calling about. I need you to get some puppy food, a leash, and a collar.”
“Do what now?”
“Puppy food, a leash and a collar,” you repeat, “and the Ben and Jerry’s! I’ll text you what I said, love you, bye!” You say quickly before hanging up and texting him the list. Your phone pings a second later.
Frankie: What the fuck?!
—
“Babe,” Frankie shouts, entering the kitchen, “I got the st—“
The dog ran into the kitchen, looking up at Frankie, giving a single bark.
“Well, hello,” he says, dropping the small bag of dog food on the table, hesitantly the dog inches closer to Frankie, tail tucked between her legs, sniffing his boot.
“Dad, look!” Missy says, pointing at the dog.
“I see,” Frankie says, eyebrows raised.
“Can we keep her?!” Nora asks, bouncing from foot to foot.
“Absolutely not!” Frankie says, putting his hands on his hips, “She looks pretty young, probably has a family around here somewhere.”
“Obviously they don’t care about her though,” Nora argues, “They left her out in a storm!”
“Yeah,” Missy agrees, nodding her head, “That’s just mean to do to a baby dog!”
“Now, now girls,” you say, placing a hand on each of their shoulders, “Sometimes dogs get loose when they’re scared and just run off.”
“We’ll make some flyers and post them around the neighborhood,” Frankie says, “Until we can find the owners we’ll make sure the little thing’s fed and taken care of.”
“She’s not just a thing, Frankie,” Nora grumbles, stomping past you to the living room, the dog and Missy following right behind her.
Frankie takes in a deep breath before slowly letting it out. You walk towards him, grabbing him around his waist and pulling him close, breathing him in.
“It’s gonna be okay,” you whisper into his neck, placing a small kiss there.
“Why’s she gotta be so damn stubborn like her momma?” Frankie hums, grabbing a handful of your ass.
“Everyone says she looks like her dad so guess that means she has to have my attitude,” you say, shrugging your shoulders with a laugh.
—
“Are you sure we can’t just keep her?” Missy asks while you’re stapling one of the flyers to a pole.
It’s been a couple days since the dog arrived. You’d gotten the flyers made and now you were all walking around the area with the dog and posting them up in numerous places. You’d already hit every business downtown that you could. Now it was time to hit the neighborhoods around you.
“I’m sure,” Frankie said in a stern tone, “We are not keeping her.”
“But I already picked out a name,” Nora pipes up, flicking the leash lightly in her hands like a whip, “Goober!”
“Nora don’t do that with the leash,” you say, “You could hurt her.”
“Don’t name her!” Frankie groans, “She’s not our dog!”
“Why Goober?” Missy laughs, as you all continue to walk.
“Well,” Nora says, looking down at the dog who cocks her head to the side like she was waiting for the answer as well, “Just look at her! Mom always says I’m a goober when I do something funny and she just looks funny!”
“I like it,” Missy says with a small smile.
“No,” Frankie said, “Her name is not Goober.”
The dog barks, ears perked up, wagging her tail, and looking directly at Frankie.
“Oh,” you laugh, “Babe, I think she just told you you’re wrong and that her name is, in fact, Goober.”
“Stop it,” he says, pointing at you before hanging up another one of the flyers.
—
“Would it be such a bad idea to keep her?” You ask while filling the dog’s food and water dish. The dog is patiently waiting for you to place them on the floor for her.
“Yes it would.”
“Frankie,” you groan, hand on your stomach, and bending down to set them on the floor, “She’s so cute though!”
“Doesn’t matter how cute she is,” Frankie shakes his head, “We shouldn’t keep her.”
“Babe,” you say flatly, “It’s been a week and a half and we haven’t heard a single thing from anyone!”
“Good morning, Mom!” Nora beams, coming into the kitchen, “And good morning Princess Goober!”
“Morning,” Missy grumbles, “Goober!” She says perking up a little and petting the dog on the head.
“Stop calling her that!” Frankie says sternly, “She’s not our dog. End of discussion.”
“Oh,” Nora says, glaring at him, “Morning Frank.”
“Are you guys ready for school?” He asks, ignoring Nora’s glare.
“Yeah,” Missy yawns. Nora just grumbles still glaring at him.
“Alrighty then,” you hum, “Come here. Hugs!”
Both girls embrace you one either side, giving them both a tight squeeze before letting them go.
“Have a good day and Nora,” you smile, “Please behave.”
She rolls her eyes, following Missy into the garage with a huff. Frankie shakes his head, walking towards you, wrapping his arms around you.
“That girl’s gonna give me more gray hairs than the baby,” Frankie mutters into your temple.
“That makes the both of us,” you laugh, giving him a chaste kiss before he’s off to take the girls to school and go to work.
—
“Goober!” The girls shriek, bursting into the house through the garage. Goober’s tail starts wagging like crazy and she pees all over the floor.
“Goober Goo!” You groan, “Not again!”
Goober just looks at you, panting, tongue hanging out to the side.
“Can we take her to the backyard?” Missy asks, putting her backpack on the hook.
“Sure,” Frankie grunts, bending down to clean up the pee. Goober pokes her head under his armpit, while he wipes the pee up and begins licking his face, “Okay, okay. Yes, I see you.”
“Think she likes the way your beard tastes, Dad,” Missy giggles.
“Must be leftovers in there,” he grumbles, rubbing Goober’s ears.
“Oh! Watch this!” Nora exclaims, “Come here Goober! Come here!”
Goober pushes past Frankie’s arm, walking in her pee to get to Nora.
“Damn dog,” Frankie mumbles, motioning for you to hand him the Clorox wipes.
Goober plops down in front of Nora. She grabs one of Goober’s ears and begins to scratch the inside of it, causing Goober’s back leg to violently shake.
“What is she doing?!” Missy asks, starting to giggle.
“You found her puppy spot!” You exclaim with a laugh.
Frankie looks up to see what you are all laughing at, watching the saggy dog’s body jiggle and starts laughing.
“What the hell?” Frankie laughs, shaking his head, “Think she is a Goober afterall. Go on, take her outside now, I’m sure she’s got more pee in her. Don’t want her pissin’ in the house more than she already has.”
The girls take her outside, taking turns throwing the floppy stuffed animal they gave her that she had ripped the stuffing out of.
“Babe,” You smile watching the girls play with Goober outside, “I think we have a dog now.”
“I think you’re right,” Frankie groans, standing up, throwing away the Clorox wipes and throwing the towel into the hamper in the laundry room.
“We can’t get rid of her,” you pout, “The girls love her too much. Frankie, I love her too much and no one’s claimed her!”
Frankie finishes washing his hands at the sink, turning around, crossing his arms with a big sigh.
“Fine,” he sighs, “We’ll keep the damn dog.”
—
“What ya making, babe?” Frankie asks, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, “Smells really fucking good.”
“Spaghetti,” you grumble, “Only thing the girls seem to want to eat right now.”
Nora rushes into the kitchen, observing the fridge, rearranging some of the pictures on it.
“What are ya doin’ kid?” Frankie asks, looking behind his shoulder.
“Moving some stuff around,” she says snarkily, “This coupon is expired. Can I throw it away?”
“Yes,” you and Frankie say at the same time.
“Cool,” she says, throwing it away and running out of the kitchen.
You continue stirring the sauce, trying not to let the smell get to you.
“Need me to take over?” Frankie asks, kissing your temple.
“Oh my god,” you huff, “Please.”
Frankie laughs softly, kissing the spot on your neck that meets your shoulder. Then moves you to the side when Nora and Missy come rushing back in. Goober following closely behind them.
“I think we should put it here,” Nora says, pointing to the empty spot she made.
“What if though,” Missy says, rearranging different pictures, creating a new empty space, “We put it here?”
“Hmm, yeah, I like that better,” Nora agrees.
Missy grabs one of the magnets off the fridge, placing a new picture on the fridge, right alongside the picture of the four of you together, underneath the picture of Missy and Nora, and above the picture of Frankie with the guys.
“There!” Nora beams, “Goober is on the fridge, that means she’s family!”
“No take backs!” Missy says, pointing at Frankie.

Well damn, this was written beautifully! The way you captured his grief 😭
12:32 PM (Marcus Moreno Drabble)

Rating: PG
Summary: Marcus likes to think he's moved on with life.
Tags/Warnings: Grief, loss of a spouse (Wife), fluff
Notes: Written off the prompt "I've always wondered why it had to be you" as an exercise with with some friends where we were assigned a prompt and Pedro boy and given 30 minutes to write. Thanks to @saradika-graphics for the divider!
Words: 700
Author Master List | Daily Clicks for Palestine & Other Resources

Marcus goes every Thursday at 12:32 pm. Rain or Shine. Sleet or Snow. Sometimes when he was still the leader of The Heroics, he’d have to miss his standing date, but his watch would ding in reminder instead.
Now that he’s retired, he never misses it.
Every Thursday at 12:32 pm, Marcus visits Marissa Moreno’s grave with a bouquet of her favorite flowers and a tuna melt. The exact day and time he spotted her across the greasy spoon he frequented, favorite sandwich inches from his mouth. The exact moment his life changed forever.
He’d been young and arrogant at the time, twenty-two and ready to take the world by storm as the dashing young superhero he was. Marcus is confident, always has been, but the moment she came over and asked him if he needed a refill, his mouth went dry and he stumbled over his words like a damn fool. It was two months of tuna melts before he finally pulled it together enough to ask her out.
She had laughed, his favorite sound in the world, the prettiest music to his ears, and winked at him. “Took you long enough.”
Marcus never looked back after that. They got married a year to the day after he first saw her. They’d welcomed Missy into their lives a few years later, and life was perfect. A dream. Marcus knew he was the luckiest man in the world. He treasured his wife and daughter. He still does.
He still feels the sharp jab of pain in his heart every time he thinks back to that rainy Tuesday night.
“I’ll be back by 10.” She had smiled at him as she dropped her lipstick into her clutch. Mom’s night out. He’d made a good attempt to keep her home with sultry words and a kiss that required her to reapply her lipstick. Had he known it would be their last, he’d have never let her go.
She’d kissed Missy’s head, declared her love for both of them, and rushed out of the house. At ten o’clock, she wasn’t home. Marcus hadn’t been concerned at first. Then, the clock hit eleven. At twelve, her phone had gone straight to voicemail. Before he could call Christine, there was a knock at the door.
He caught the flash of police lights painting the walls of his home before he ever saw the police officers. He’d known. It felt like a dream sequence. He didn’t hear a word the officers said.
The next year of Marcus’s life had been like that. A living dream that to this day, he can only recall in blurs and flashes. Finally, one day he’d walked into that diner, sat in the same booth, and sobbed. His poor waitress. Apparently, it had been her first day. That had only made him cry more.
Marcus can’t tell you how long he cried in that diner. Only that it was daylight when he walked in and the black of night greeted him when he emerged.
He’s done better since then. He’s been better since, now 20 years removed from the night that took his wife from him.
He keeps her up to date on everything. His life, Missy’s life. He laughs over some trouble the twins got into and cries over the fact that she doesn’t get to be here for it. He tells her how much Missy reminds him of her in everything. Her mannerisms, her glow. She’s always been the bright shining, light leading him out of the darkness, just like her mother.
He likes to think he’s gotten past it and moved on with life. He doesn’t tell her how he wakes up missing her each morning, the sheets cool on her side of the bed, or that he still sets her coffee mug out on the table each morning. He tells her he’s okay, when deep down he doesn’t know if he ever will be again.
He sets a hand on top of the tombstone. The ache never dulls. Despite the countless times he’s said goodbye, the words always echo in his head with tears flicking in his eyes.
Why did it have to be her?

Yessss!!!!! I loved this so much!!!!

Tommy Miller's Stall feat. Marcus Pike & f!Reader
Prompt: Marcus Pike + BBQ + "It's a Surprise. Close your eyes."
a @pedgito challenge fic | Rated: 18+ | word count: 2,852 warnings: swearing, talk of drinking beer, eating, bathroom stalls becoming shrines, Barbequed meats (consumed), broken AC, lack of air circulation, sweating, oral (m receiving), pork steeple in ham wallet (unprotected), bathroom shenanigans, pre-term ejaculation, cumming undone too soon, grey t-shirts
A/N: I know I am a day late with this and I know bc of that, it's probably not going to be included in the challenge, but I needed to release this! Apologies to @pedgito for my tardiness. This is not the previously met Marcus - he's a Marcus all of his own.
Thank you to @strang3lov3, @noxturnalpascal & @bitchesuntitled for their love and support.


Traveling for work meant Marcus got to know all the random hole-in-the-wall eateries and Miller Bro’s Boy Howdy BBQ in Austin was one of his favourites. He loved the laid-back atmosphere and the story of why Joel & his brother Tommy bought the place from the previous owner – Tommy lost his virginity in the bathroom to a line cook named Rhonda and begged his brother to help him buy this drive of a restaurant and save it from demolition. There was even a plaque in the stall where Tommy ‘became a man in Summer ’89’.
Over the years, he’d gotten to know the menu and the Miller brothers. Joel was more aloof, preferring to stay in the kitchen or at the BBQ pit out back, while Tommy was happy to sit out with the customers like they were old friends, playing cards or sharing a few stories and laughs with them. The few times that Marcus had interacted with Joel were mainly to compliment him on the menu and tell him how much he liked the place; Joel would grunt and nod in thanks and head back into the kitchen.
There was another reason he liked coming to this place – you. From the first time he laid eyes on you as he darkened this place’s doorway six years ago, he knew he was hooked. You’d flashed your smile at him, flipped your hair and told him to, “Take any available seat, handsome. I’ll be right wit’cha!”
He’d learned that your nickname was ‘Peaches’ on account of your penchant to recommend the peach and bourbon barbeque sauce that was house made. He also learned that Joel kept an eye on him when you were around - he would catch Joel narrowing his eyes at him through the kitchen service window when you were at his table taking his order. It used to make Marcus nervous, thinking he might get something extra hidden in his food, but he decided that it was too delicious to care.
He'd taken a temporary position in the Austin office and for the last six months, he’d eaten at Miller’s every night and it was apparent. Marcus had assumed you were being kind when you called him handsome, especially now that he was barely fitting into the oversized summer attire he’d packed in late December before he’d come out to Austin and discovered that eating large portions of charbroiled meats at least once a day would alter your waistline so drastically.
His middle had filled out enough that the suits he wore throughout the day had to be tailored repeatedly before being fully replaced to accommodate his new weight. And the summer clothing he was wearing, formally loose-fitting for the heat, were anything but. So, when you winked at him when he entered today and said that you’d be with him in a minute, he internally reminded himself that you were just doing your job.
Marcus sat heavily down and slid into the booth, then waited for you to come over to his table. As he sat, he noticed how warm the dining area’s temperature was and took in the slight sweat ring and patches that were forming on your grey Miller Bro’s Boy Howdy BBQ branded shirt. He also realized he didn’t hear the tell-tale whirling and churning sounds of the too-old AC unit that normally filled the vacant spaces between conversations. He looked up to the vent in the corner, and the streamers that normally danced in the airflow hung limp, and he wiped the back of his hand over his damp forehead. He was getting hot.
“Hey handsome.”, you smiled, a slight weariness in your eyes but your smile shone bright. “Usual or you wanna see the menu?”
Marcus smiled back, and not wanting to make you work any harder, nodded and responded, “The usual please, Peaches.”
His eyes trailed down your body, landing on your butt as you walked back to the service window, then smiled to himself. He looked up, then made direct eye contact with Joel who only offered a scowl followed by a judgemental head shake before he disappeared back into the depths of the kitchen.
*****
Marcus was sweating. After finishing his meal, Tommy had come around and sat with him, ordering more barbequed goodness and beers, telling him the beer was ‘on the house, ‘cause the fuckin’ AC shit the bed.’ This exclamation was followed by you reminding Tommy that the AC was broken because he spent the repair funds on a ridiculous crystal duck as a gift to impress a woman – a woman who happened to be the AC repair tech’s wife.
Even with the cool beer, Marcus felt overly hot. A belly stuffed to the brim with smoked and charbroiled meats while sitting in a hot, stuffy room with still air was getting to him. As Tommy stood, slightly wavering on his feet from all the beer he was consuming to match the beer he was giving away to customers, he heavily patted Marcus on the shoulder and muttered, “Take it easy, big guy… I’ll be back ‘round soon.”
*****
You were hovering around Marcus’ table, checking in on him and Tommy, and every time you moved towards the kitchen with another order, Joel would shake his head at you, much like he would at Marcus.
“One of y’all better make a move soon… fuckin’ pathetic.”
You huffed in response, cheeks heating up. “Shove it, Joel. Mind your business.”
“Jesus, Peaches! It’s my fuckin’ business if I’m payin’ you by the hour and have’ta watch this horse shit pussy footin’ between you and fat boy over there. Just go sit on his lap an’ get it over with.”
You gave him a warning glare and a smug grin tugged at one side of Joel’s mouth. He nodded to you, signaling to look and you saw Tommy leaving Marcus’ table.
“Gonna close early on account of the heat and the fact that I’m fuckin’ done roastin’ myself in this kitchen.” You heard Joel chuckle behind you. “Get’er done, Peaches.”
*****
Marcus stood and stretched after he finished his beer, feeling the weight he'd consumed in his stomach, and looking down, he could see the bulk of it, too. You watched his stand and stretch, exposing a sliver of his rounded-out middle between his shirt and shorts.
Tommy tsk’d, startling you. Turning around, you were met by his slightly drunk, glazed eyes, and a dopey smile. “Joel’s right, Peaches. Just bite the bullet and take that man for a ride in my stall.”
“Oh my god, Tommy!”, you exclaimed with a frown a little too loudly, shoving him back.
Tommy laughed and handed you a shot of bourbon. You rolled your eyes and slammed it alongside him. He then grabbed your shoulders, turned you to face Marcus’ direction and said in your ear quietly. “No harm, no foul in helpin’ him take in the sights Austin has to offer, Peaches.”, then shoved you towards his table.
You caught yourself from stumbling and cleared your throat as you approached him. Marcus turned and looked at you; a small smile spread on his face before a pink blush crept up his cheeks as he tugged his shirt down, closing the slight gap his stretch had caused.
You could feel the energy, electrifying and crackling like a late July thunderstorm, raging in the space between your bodies, pulling you together with a gravitational field that would rival the one caused by Jupiter’s giant spot. Marcus opened his mouth to speak but any words he was going to say were lost in his throat as you moved forward and kissed him. The soft exhale that came after his surprised gasp tasted like beer and barbeque sauce on your tongue that pushed against the seam of his lips. His hands, sticky and smoky, were tethered up in your hair, holding your face against his as he deepened the kiss, granting your tongue entrance in your tongue’s long anticipated dance.
You barely heard Tommy spit his beer out and sputter out choked coughs as Joel grunted then nodded in approval at what you and Marcus were up to. After depriving yourselves of full breaths for long enough, you parted, panting, staring at one another. Marcus’ shoulders and chest were heaving and his lips, parted and pouted, were wet from your combined saliva. His face was flushed, glistening in the low glow of all the tacky neon lighting adorning the walls, one side of his face pink from flamingos with sunglasses on, the other side flickering orange and yellow from the broken Corona promotional neon sign. He was beautiful.
At that moment, you didn’t think what you looked like, completely enraptured by the huffing and panting man sweating in front of you.
“Peaches…”, Marcus murmured, eyes wide and pleading. “I wanna do this right. I-”
You couldn’t let him finish, not if his next words could dampen the fire that had erupted in your core, making your hole twitch hard enough that you felt it in behind your belly button. You shook your head and shushed him, pressing your index finger against his lips. You grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the men’s washroom, directly into Tommy’s stall.
Thinking back, you would wonder how differently things would have gone if you’d pulled Marcus into a private area that wasn’t designed for single occupancy. The stalls in this restaurant were small, given that the original design of the washrooms did not include stalls at all, and Marcus was no longer a small man. But good god, the feeling of your body pushed up against his as he was backed against the stall door, mashing your mouths together.
You were still taking the lead in this dance, setting the pace and motions, while Marcus finally allowed his hands to touch more than anywhere above your collarbone. He gripped your waist with one hand and the other pushed its way between your bodies to clumsily try and shove it down the front of your pants. You both awkwardly tried to undress one another as you kept your lips and tongues attached, panting and grunting. If someone walked into the bathroom, they might assume there were two dogs quietly fighting over a piece of beef in the stall.
Once your jean shorts were open, Marcus wasted no time in shoving them down enough to shove his barbeque-tinged fingers into them. He eventually found what he was looking for when the tip of his finger grazed your sensitive and twitching nub, eliciting a gasping moan from you as you involuntarily bucked your hips. It was what tipped you over the edge, prompting you to swing him around and fumble with his button fly. He pulled back and his hands gently held yours, halting your mission to get his pants off.
“Marcus…”, you panted against his mouth.
“I haven’t… it’s been a while since…”, he stumbled through his words.
It seemed like time was slowing and you smiled softly at him. “Close your eyes.”
He hesitated, sucking in a breath nervously. “Why?”
“It’s a surprise. Close your eyes.”
His brows twitched and did as he was told and you sank to your knees, sliding your hands down his torso and thighs, and he let out a soft whimper once he realized where you were headed. Once on your knees, you pushed up his shirt and pressed a kiss right below his belly button and steadied yourself with your forehead against his full and rounded out stomach, your hands now free to get his shorts opened and down. His cock was pushing an impressive bulge in his grey boxer briefs, and you could see where the tip was pressing, a dark, damp patch at its peak.
Pulling down his underwear, his cock popped out and slapped up against his heavy underbelly, and without any hesitation, you grabbed it and sucked the tip into your mouth.
Marcus moaned out a surprised gasp and his hand gently rested on the crown of your head.
“I-oh fuck! I won’t… I wont last long. Peaches, please, honey.”, he whined, his fingers curling into your hair ever so gently.
He wasn’t kidding when he said he wouldn’t last long. His balls had just started to lift and tighten as you pulled off, and you looked up at him, marveling at the sight above you. Marcus was leaning back against the stall door, and you could only see his tented brows above his closed eyes before his belly obstructed the view.
Standing up, you smoothed your hands over his middle and leaned in to kiss him. He smiled against your mouth, and took a chance in moving away from the door and his arms wrapped around your body, pulling you into him. He maneuvered the both of you, now facing the stall door, ready to push you against it, to get on his knees for you, and pulled your shorts and underwear off completely.
But you stopped him, shoving his shorts and boxer briefs down his thighs, and pushed him back to sit on the toilet.
He fell back on to the lowered seat with a grunt, and you straddled his lap.
“Marcus,”, you breathe out as you start to seat yourself upon his cock. “I’ve wanted this for -oh god! for so long…”
He nodded frantically, and his fingers dug into your hips once your hips were finally flush with his.
“Oh…oh fudge…”, he moaned, clenching his eyes closed.
His breathing was quick and staggered, and his hips twitched and bucked under you. All you had done was allow your pussy to swallow his cock whole. He wasn’t kidding when he said that he wouldn’t last long, and the strain that reddened his face and the sounds leaving his mouth as you began to rock your hips slowly, trying to give him some time to adjust, but you needed to move.
“P-Peaches -”
You shushed him, and gripped his shoulder, starting to pick up the pace. His cock felt amazing - not too big or thick, but absolutely a perfect fit for you - just like him.
“Peaches - please, baby!”
Marcus tried to slow you down, tried to hold you down, tried to gain leverage by grabbing anything he could, tried shifting underneath you, but you were determined. You hushed him again, reveling in the harsh way he finally gripped your waist and hip with his large hands, and the rhythm you’d found bouncing on his cock. It was hitting just the right spot at just the right angle, and you could feel the early stirring of your climax.
But the sound of the toilet flushing from him sitting forward enough to set the sensors off and the loud, long groan that Marcus let out, followed by the feeling of warm cum shooting into you made you still in his lap.
He gripped you tighter, panting ‘Peaches!’ over and over, and pushed his face into your t-shirt covered chest, and his belly contracted and relaxed at an alarming pace.
“Oh god… oh no. I’m-I’m so sorry!”, he whined and whimpered into your cleavage, still unloading spurt after spurt into your pussy. “Oooooh! oh my go-I’m sorry…”
He panted out grunts and groans, and his face twisted against the front of your t-shirt in blissful agony with his brows furrowed and his mouth open. Wet, hot breaths and saliva heated up your chest, and his hips bucked a few times, the final drops of cum finally spitting out.
“P-Peaches - I’m sorry.”, he murmured, weak and breathless. “I-I couldn’t - it’s been a-a while… for me.”
You sat silently, feeling his cum leaking out of you. You’d never had a man cum that quickly before. Sure, you’d had guys finish first, but this was a record, and yet, you weren’t mad. You couldn’t be.
“Marcus – “
“Just too pretty... I-I tried… I-“
“Marcus – “
“I didn’t mean to… just so pretty and I-“
“Marcus!”
He finally pulled back and looked up at you, his big brown eyes pleading for mercy. “I really like you and I wanted to do this right; ask you out properly, and - “
“Take me home and finish me, Marcus.”
“I just - wait, what? You want me to-”
“Take me back to your place. Make me cum.”
His eyes widened in disbelief, and his mouth moved slightly, but no words came out, only small, confused breaths.
“I like you, too, and-”
“I want to take you for dinner first.”
You smiled and huffed out a laugh. “You just ate!”
He nodded, raising his brows and offered a small shrug. “Well, yeah, but you- uh, well you got me working up an appetite. And I -”, he looked a little bashful as he continued. “I want to - uh - perform well and I can do that after we get some food in and the beer out of my system.”
You pressed a sweet kiss onto his lips and both of you couldn’t help the giggles that started.
The door to the bathroom opened and slammed against the wall; Tommy’s slurred voice boomed out, “You two done? I wanna piss’n my stall.”

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Una Noche En Medellín | Javier Pena x f!Reader

summary: a long day playing pretend at a wedding leads to... exactly what you'd expect.
pairing: javier pena x f!reader
ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. javi smoking, mention of a fictional pregnancy, ONE motherfucking BED BABY! mention of previous p in v, fingering, brief f!oral. this is pretty tame, y'all. reader has hair.
wc: 2.4k
an: this is my entry for the summer lovin' challenge thought up by the wonderful @pedgito, @chaotic-mystery and @amanitacowboy <3 i can literally only apologise for this being so late. i scheduled it in the wee hours and got my dates SO wrong.
my brief was a wedding, javi, and the moodboard you can see in the header. this was so much fun, and my first time posting for our fav dea agent - i hope you enjoy!
divider from @saradika-graphics

The fabric of your dress clings uncomfortably to your skin, sweat glistening under the warm lights of the hotel as you step into the elevator. Hair damp at the nape of your neck, thighs chafing a little as you shift on aching feet, you turn from your tired reflection in the mirror back to the closing doors.
You watch, drowsy, as Javi presses the button to the tenth floor, one thick finger lighting up the numbers. The same hands that have been on you all evening, long into the night. Squeezing, holding, twirling. He stands with his back to you now, shoulders tense and squared. If you didn’t know better, you’d think you’d pissed him off.
You slump a little against the mirror behind you as the elevator swoops and glides upwards, watching as he pinches the bridge of his nose.
Neither of you had thought it’d be easy. But neither had you thought it would be so exhausting.
Exhausting to remember the details of your cover, to explain that the reason you weren’t drinking was because you’d recently discovered you were expecting your first child. Exhausting to navigate the knowing looks and slaps on the back, the hands on your non-existent bump, trying to make it look convincing. Following Javier around the room, his hand in yours; whispers pressed into the conch of your ear, your hairline - intel exchanged, wrapped in the pretence of humour and affection. Bodies pressed together in a way that should have been unprofessional, but not in a way that was unfamiliar.
The mission had been a success.
Under fairy lights and between bubbles of champagne, blanketed by the heady heat of Medellín, you’d wound your web. Dancing and talking, sharing cooing compliments with the other guests, letting people watch and believe as you’d kept each other close, the proximity of Javi coming so easy with the thump of bass and threat of danger. Recognising the faces taped and pinned to corkboards in the office, matching voices to crackled radio frequencies, red string to red crosses.
Never standing in one place for too long, never speaking English, never looking surprised, always looking so in love. Draped across his lap with one hand on your hip and the other splayed against the small of your back. Your face tucked into his neck as you relayed information against his jawbone. His kisses to your shoulder as he told you Steve and Carillo were already on their way to the targets’ addresses. Not out of each other’s sight for more than a minute.
It had been so easy it was almost laughable.
The cartel’s informant would be on his way to his hotel, and his impending arrest, now. The rest of the guests, the family and friends, would soon catch wind and begin to disappear, to turn on each other. And it would be like you and Javi were never there. Blending with the disco lights, melting into the shadows.
For now, all you need is some rest.
The elevator bell dings for the tenth floor, and you watch as the doors slide open with a quiet hum. Javi turns his face, barely, to make sure you’re still with him, hand twitching at his side as though he wishes to reach for yours.
It’s hard to turn the performance off.
Instead, he runs a hand through his hair, wedding band glinting in the light, as he steps out into the hallway. You follow, reaching into your purse for the key card, watching the slump of his broad shoulders stride up the hall, the sweat-curled hair at the nape of his neck. You’d been running your fingers through it twenty minutes ago, cooing something about wanting to take him to bed that had only been a half-lie. He’s been warm and firm against you all night, always within reach. There’s not a scrap of your dress or an inch of your skin that doesn’t smell like his aftershave. And you’re not too proud to admit how much that turns you on.
He leans against the doorframe with one arm when you reach your room, lips lifting in a smirk.
You pull a face at him as you swipe the key card and open the door.
‘What?’
He shrugs as he watches you step into the darkness, waiting only a moment before following and flicking on the light.
‘Just - didn’t think you had it in you, cariño. Never thought you could dance like that.’
You scoff at him as he closes the door, leaning against the coolness of the wall to unclasp and take off your heels.
‘Surprises are part of the job, Peña,’ you grin, ‘Didn’t think you’d be so good at pretending to enjoy a wedding reception.’
‘I’ve had practice.’ He quips, unbuttoning another two of his shirt buttons, white linen against the gold of his skin, sweat gathered at the hollow of his throat. Something burns in your chest - wanton and willing.
He flips on another light as you throw your heels to the side, pausing in the mouth of the room before it opens to the sleeping quarters. You press a palm to his warm back, trying to urge him forwards before he speaks.
‘You’ve gotta be kidding me.’
You step from behind him to stand at his side.
Illuminated, glowing in the bedside light before its backdrop of glimmering city lights, is a single, king-size bed; crisp white sheets neatly tucked beneath the mattress.
You bite your cheek, looking at Javi. His stormy brow, his clenched jaw.
‘This was supposed to be a suite.’ You murmur.
You want to be angry. Want this to be the thing that ruins an otherwise successful day. But you’re so warm, so tired. You only want a shower and a place to sleep. And you’ve had many worse places than this to do exactly that.
‘We could call the front desk,’ Javi says, as a yawn pulls at your jaw, ‘See if they can switch us to a room with two beds.’
You shake your head, and he glances at you, surprised.
‘It’s late, and bad for our cover. We can share.’ A small frown teases between his dark eyes. You raise an eyebrow at him. ‘We’re fake married, remember?’
You step past him, smoothing the sheets with your hand. Cool. Soft. You could lie down now and die happy.
There’s the distinctive shnick-whoosh of a lighter behind you, and when you turn, Javi’s face is lit by the soft glow of a cigarette.
‘How could I forget,’ he says, breathing out a rush of blue smoke, ‘When mi esposa has been the life of the party all evening.’
You purse your lips playfully.
‘I thought you enjoyed being my husband, Alejandro.’
A sultry smile softens his features.
‘Sure, cariño.’
You wink at him as he brushes past you, linen against silk. He smells so good. Clean and masculine, something so Javi cutting through it that you can feel that burning move from your chest to pool between your legs.
He breezes through the curtains shrouding the balcony, and you turn into the bathroom, inspecting the array of toiletries, and the towels, fresh and white, waiting for you. You turn the shower on, setting the water to cool before reaching for the zip at the back of your dress. You twist fruitlessly for minutes, but the heat, the dampness of your skin makes the fabric hard to adjust, the zip impossible to catch. A well of frustration rises up your throat, and you clench your jaw.
Hands pressed against the porcelain of the sink, you look into your own eyes in the mirror. Tired, hot. Not too proud to ask for help.
Javi is stood on the balcony, forearms resting against the railing, smoke curling around his strong silhouette. He turns at the sound of the curtains moving behind you, and you smile as he leans back to watch you approach.
His appraising look is appreciative. Sexy.
You turn your back to him, to those eyes.
‘Unzip me?’
You wait for what feels like an eternity. Rocking slightly where you stand, breath catching in your lungs. Every muscle in your body tightened in anticipation.
Goosebumps break out over the small of your back as his fingers trace the line of the zip, up, up to your shoulders. They skim the fabric there, catching your bare skin before settling at the slider. He pulls, slowly. So close you can feel his breath on your neck. Pulls it all the way down so that the dress falls loose at your chest, so it would take only the smallest movement for the garment to drop to the floor.
His palms slip beneath the silk, curving around your waist. On instinct, yours follow, catching and holding them in place as you sigh at the feeling of his nose tracing your neck. His thumbs stroke the contours of your back.
‘Que linda, bebita.’ He breathes, and you fight the moan surging up from your belly. You hum, leaning into him even as you whisper,
‘I didn’t say undress me.’
A short burst of air at your shoulder, a barely noticeable kiss against your hot skin to disguise his amusement.
‘Wasn’t going to.’
It’s your turn to huff a laugh.
‘We can be professional for a night.’
‘We can.’ He murmurs, and the heat of his body behind yours is lost almost immediately. You sway a little, a smile on your lips as you step back towards the bathroom. You know Javi is watching.
He always is.
He told you. That night in Bogotá, bodies pressed against, pressed into each other. Your legs wrapped around his waist, claw marks red-raw up his back as you’d moaned and cried for him. The wet squelch of your cunt as he worked you open, as he fucked you, as he crooned into your mouth how you’d been all he’d thought about since you stepped into the bullpen. So fucking smart, so capable, so sexy. How you’d been driving him crazy - lips crushed against your temple as you clenched around his cock.
That whole night, how good it had been, how heady. No one had ever made you come like that.
You’d not called the next day, having slunk out of Javi’s room some time in the early hours of the next morning. He’d never asked you why you hadn’t stayed. You’d never spoken of it again.
It was stress relief. Never anything more than two people blowing off steam. Never anything more than two people giving into an obvious attraction.
But that night doesn’t seem so far away as you wash away the sweat and soap from your body, as you rinse the shampoo from your hair. Doesn't erase how you feel him watching, how close he feels, even separated by the door.
And though the shower is cool, your blood still runs hot. Pumping and burning with want in your veins, arousal so strong it makes you giddy as you wrap a towel around yourself, leaving the bathroom in a cloud of steam.
Javi is sat on the edge of the bed, naked save only for his boxers. The sight of him takes your breath away.
He's so broad, hard and soft in all the places he needs to be. And he's so pretty. Perfect little pouty mouth, deep, dangerous eyes. There’s no cigarette dangling from his lips, nothing in his hands as he clasps them between his spread knees. You think about sinking down between them, pressing your cheek against the bulge outlined below the smattering of hair at his navel.
You step towards him, and he watches with blown, hungry eyes.
You stop in front of him, still wrapped in the towel. He reads your mind like he always does. In the bullpen, the offices, the field. With a gun or a cigarette or a pen in his hand, Javier Peña knows what you need. He parts the towel, sliding his palms across your naked hips, holding you before him. You can’t breathe, can’t speak. It’s too hot in the room, in your body. You can feel slick sliding against the tops of your thighs, spread right up to your clit. So wet it should be criminal.
Javi clicks his tongue, moving his hands so he can spread you open with his thumbs. He pouts at you, small tilt of his head.
‘Pobrecita.’
You'd roll your eyes if it were any less true, if he weren't swiping one thumb through your wetness, over your clit. You suck a breath in before moaning brokenly. He grins, wolfish, up at you.
‘What were you thinking about in that shower, cariño?’
You smile down at him, eyes half-closed.
‘You.’
He hums, moving his thumb again. You shudder, knees giving a little. His hand at your hip tightens.
‘Good girl.’ He coos.
Your hand flies to his shoulder with a garbled cry as he presses tighter, moving the digit faster. He knows how to work you, knew before he'd even touched you. You're on fire, pussy tightening as your hand travels up his neck, before tangling with the curls at his nape.
That's it.
You can hear how wet you are. The only sounds in the room are the buzz of the city below, your fast breathing, and the movement of Javi’s fingers. He’s building you up to it, astoundingly fast. The sight of him, sat on the edge of the bed, spellbound by what he’s doing to you, the noises you’re making, the sight of you bared to him. Makes you want to touch him, too.
Does that feel good, bebita?
So good, Javi.
But just as it seems so close, as you can feel yourself start to clench and pulse and twitch, he slows. Slows the rhythm of his thumb right down to deep, languid circles, keeping you right on the edge as he loosens the towel and lets it drop to the floor, as he leans forward to reverently press his forehead to your belly. He breathes in deeply, and you flex your hips towards him. He nips at your skin, and you whine as he laughs.
‘I think about it,’ he breathes, voice deep and thick, nuzzling into the crease of your thigh, ‘That night in Bogotá. Tell me you think about it, too.’
You hiccup, nodding. Fisting his short hair.
‘All the time,’ you gasp, ‘All the time, Javi.’
He groans, moving to lick a hot, wet stripe through your folds, right up to your clit. It’s like fire, electricity. Your body jolts against him, every nerve ending bending towards him, flinching into this sweet torture.
His lips are shining with your arousal when he pulls away to look you in your eyes.
‘Let me have it. One more night, in Medellín. Let me have you.’

Some Broken Hearts Never Mend
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!actress reader
Warnings: Language, mentions of drugs, pregnancy, lovers to enemies, angst angst angst
A/N: Huge thank you to @noxturnalpascal and @beefrobeefcal for helping me with this! ❤️ I don’t usually do angst but trying to play around with it and I needed the practice. This is for @tightjeansjavi's June Writing Challenge. Also tagging @jay-zzle because she is my permanent cheerleader
Masterlist||AO3
divider by: @saradika-graphics

The lights are flashing everywhere, hearing your name and Dieter’s being shouted left and right. Where to look, what to do, you love sharing this moment with him, watching his smile beam as the congratulations are being shouted out.
“I can’t believe this is real,” Dieter whispers in your ear with a smile, rubbing the bump of your belly.
Paparazzi is shouting out excitedly, seeing you two together along with your prominent bump on display. You both kept this news under wraps until you couldn’t hide it anymore. It’s too hot in the summer to try wearing the oversized hoodies you’d been wearing all spring. It was decided between both of your teams that the best thing for an announcement was to show up to Dieter’s premier with a dress that would show off your bump, letting the world know that Dieter Bravo was about to take on the most important role of his life - a family man.
“Dieter! Dieter over here!” You see Adam from Entertainment Tonight waving you both down.
You nudge Dieter, motioning towards the host, and make your way over for the first interview of the night.
“Hey guys! I’m just so excited to see you two! Wow,” Adam says your name, “You look absolutely glowing. Is there maybe a reason why?” he teases.
“Well, I don’t know,” you laugh, shrugging your shoulders, “Babe?”
“Hmm…” Dieter says, rubbing your bump, “I think because you’re having my baby?”
“I can’t believe it! First, you get this man sober, and now,” Adam says with an amusing smirk, “You’ve gotten him to have a baby with you?”
“She’s a witch!” Dieter exclaims with a massive grin, “I swear. She put me under some sort of spell!”
The interview went on for a little longer, delving into Dieter’s role and how he prepared for the movie. Interview after interview, the baby was brought up.
What are you hoping for? Boy or girl? Healthy.
Have you thought of any names? Yes, but not sure yet.
Do you know what the sex is? We want it to be a surprise.
The same questions were asked repeatedly until it was time to go inside the theater.
—
“Hey babe, I’m gonna be going out, hanging with some friends,” Dieter says, waltzing into the living room with his phone and keys. You pause the TV, scooting to the edge of the couch. “You don’t need to get up.”
“What friends?” You ask concern etched on your face. It always makes you nervous when he is going to hang out with friends solo. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Dieter, it was just that he’s had his fair share of relapses.
“Sam, Claudia, and Percy.”
You make a disgusted face as soon as Percy’s name is mentioned. Sam and Claudia, you trust. Percy, you do not.
“Babe,” Dieter starts, “I know you don’t like the guy but he just got out of rehab. No drugs will be around, everything will be just fine!”
“He just got out of rehab that was court-mandated, Dieter,” you seeth, “You really think he took that shit seriously?!”
“Baby,” Dieter sighs, placing a hand on your stomach, “You gotta watch your blood pressure. Not good for Peanut.”
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
This has become your mantra lately, the doctor was getting worried about your blood pressure and stress levels. He had said that it could cause early labor. Six months along, and you needed to start paying more attention to this stuff. The last thing you want is for Peanut to come before they’re ready.
“I just don’t trust him,” you explain, “The last time you hung out with him you relapsed and went down a rabbit hole.”
“I know,” he said, head dropping, “I’m sorry. I really am, but I promise it won’t happen again. There’s not supposed to be any hard drugs, maybe some weed but that’s it.”
“Fine,” you groan, “I mean it though Dieter, you can’t have any more slip ups. Gotta think about Peanut.”
“I’m always thinking about you and Peanut,” Dieter grins, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. “I’ll behave and be home before ten.”
Dieter wasn’t home before ten, or eleven, or twelve. It was nearing two in the morning when you finally heard the front door open. Sliding your feet into your slippers and grabbing his tattered green robe to wrap yourself in, you made your way to the living room.
“Fuck,” you hear Dieter say sniffling, “What the fuck did I do?”
“Babe?” You ask, coming into the living room, Dieter slumped on the couch, “Everything okay?”
“I fucked up,” he whispers, pushing his hands against his eyes, “I promised yo-,” he chokes on a sob, “I promised you I wouldn’t and I fucked up.”
“Dieter,” you sigh, approaching the couch to sit next to him, “Look at me.”
He shakes his head, looking down at his lap, fingers twitching against his face. He looks so helpless like this. You grab his hands, and pull them into your lap.
“Babe,” you try again, “Look at me,” reaching your hand to cup his cheek, forcing him to look at you. Watery bloodshot eyes stare back at you.
“I’m so sorry,” Dieter whispers, closing his eyes, a lone tear running down his cheek, “I should’ve listened to you.”
He tells you what happened. You nod in understanding, this was just a slip-up, you can forgive him yet again. You know it was just a bad judgment call to go out tonight. He will get through this just like he has every other time.
—
“Looks like you’re doing well, baby is right on track and appears to be growing as they should,” the doctor says, looking at your chart, “Only about two more months to go and then we can start looking to induce you. I want to see you in two weeks.”
You give a small smile and nod, rubbing your bump, slinging your purse over your shoulder, willing the phone inside to buzz as you make your way to the receptionist’s desk, making small talk with her and getting your next appointment set. You thank her as you take the appointment card, sliding it into your purse as you walk out the door.
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
Dieter’s been missing, three weeks to the day now, and no one can find him. His management team and assistant have been on a hunt trying to find him but of course, Dieter has gone off the grid. Last you knew paparazzi had gotten pictures of him somewhere in Europe, but that was last week. His PR team and your own told you not to look at the pictures but you couldn’t not see them when a pregnancy craving hit and you got ice cream late one night.
Dieter Bravo, Trouble in Paradise?
Sources close to the actor state he’s not ready to be a father and ran from his relationship to [redacted], fellow actress who is pregnant with Bravo’s first child.
The small article included pictures of Dieter exiting a club with one arm around a blonde woman’s shoulders and the other arm around a brunette man’s waist. The three of them were walking down the sidewalk. The final pictures in the article showed Dieter kissing both of them.
Stars has tried to reach out to each of the couple’s publicists for comment with no response at this time.
You felt your heart breaking in the middle of the checkout line. He was the one to bring up having a baby. He was the one to convince you to get pregnant. He was the one who time and time again reassured you this is what he wanted and only wanted it with you.
You felt so stupid, like a poor pathetic girl, when everyone had warned you about him. They’d all told you so many times. Dieter Bravo is a mess. Dieter Bravo can’t be tamed. Dieter Bravo isn’t meant for relationships. As it turns out, they were all right, and you’d just ignored every warning given to you.. Dieter had kept using after the last slip-up. What was an accident became once a week, then three times a week, and then turned to daily use. Slowly but surely you were giving up, giving up on the one person who you trusted the most.
He made you feel loved, cherished, and special. He always made you feel like no one else could compare to you or your love for each other. Now though, he makes you feel like a fool. He makes you feel like the dirt underneath his shoes. He makes you feel like… like, like—
Your thoughts are interrupted by the buzzing in your purse. The number wasn’t one you recognize but you answered anyway in hopes it was Dieter.
“Hello?”
“Baby,” Dieter’s voice sounds through the phone, “I wanna come home.”
“Dieter?” you ask, “Where are you?”
“I’m at an airport in Paris,” he says sniffling, “I wanna come home.”
“Come home, please,” you beg, “Just come home.”
—
Dieter came home the following day, detox in full swing. He was shaky, sweaty, and puking, and you were staying by his side the entire time. Doubt begins to crawl into your brain, this being the fourth or fifth time you’ve helped him through detox. Is this going to be how your life plays out? Private doctors, in and out of your home like a revolving door. Make sure he’s comfortable, providing you with the necessary instructions to get Dieter through this so he doesn’t have to go to a facility again.
“I think he should consider going to rehab again,” Mark, his manager, says.
“Mark, I don’t know what else to do,” you sigh, shaking your head back and forth. “He doesn’t want to go. He told me every single hiding spot he has here at home and I went through all of them and flushed everything.”
“Just think about it, think about your baby and your own health,” Mark says firmly, “I’ve worked for Dieter for many years and this isn’t going to be the last time this happens.”
“I know,” you whisper, tears threatening to spill over, accepting defeat. You hadn’t meant to fall in this deep with Dieter if you’re being honest with yourself. It was supposed to just be a summer fling but as time went on he squirmed his way deeper and deeper into your heart, making room for himself to curl up inside, and making himself a nice little home there. It was becoming too much to handle, the stress weighing you down more as the days passed by.
If anything was going to prepare you for a newborn it might as well be this. Dieter shouts for you from the guest room in the middle of the night, waddling through the doorway you see him sprawled out on the bed. A thin sheen of sweat covers his chest, turning on the bedside lamp he winces.
“Baby,” Dieter groans, reaching out for you, sitting on the bed you give him your hand, “I love you. I love you more than anything in this world.”
“I know, D,” you murmur, the tears already threatening your waterline as he grasps your hand like it’s his only lifeline, “I know.”
“Hey,” he says perking up some, “Once I’m through with this we should go on vacation somewhere!”
“D we can’t,” you sniffle, rubbing the hand he isn’t holding onto against your nose.
“Why not?”
“Peanut,” you say, giving him a small smile.
“We’ll just take Peanut with us,” he smiles, moving one of his hands to rest on your stomach.
“That’s not really how it works, D,” you groan, “We can’t just up and leave whenever we want to. Not with Peanut.”
“Fine,” Dieter says firmly nodding, jaw going rigid, “Guess it doesn’t matter what I want to do then.”
“No,” you whisper, “It doesn’t.”
For the first time in your entire relationship, Dieter looks angry. He lets go of your hand and rolls over, his back facing you.
“Dieter,” you say softly, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Would you consider going back to rehab?”
Dieter doesn’t respond. When you repeat yourself he just grunts and shoves your hand off his shoulder.
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
The next morning when you wake, he’s gone again. A note with his chicken scratch left on his bedside table.
You’re right. Checking into White Oak again. Things will get better. I promise ❤️
Love, D
—
It took four days. Four days for Dieter to check himself out of rehab and go missing again.
“I can’t fucking do this anymore!” You wail into the phone, leaving yet another voicemail on Dieter’s brand new phone, “Dieter, I need you to come home. Please. If not for me then for Peanut.”
“Fuck!” You shout, throwing your phone across the room, and beginning to pace back and forth. There is nothing you can do besides wait. Wait and hope that Dieter’s not lying in a ditch somewhere. You can feel your heart breaking into a million pieces.
You reach down, trying with all your might to grab your phone and then you feel it. A sharp pain in your groin and liquid rushing down your legs.
“Ahh!” You groan out, the pain sending you to your knees, reaching for your phone and dialing 911, waiting to be put through to a dispatcher, “No, no, no. This can’t be happening. It’s not time yet, it’s not time,” you clutch your stomach, telling the dispatcher you need an ambulance and your address.
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
While you lay on the floor waiting for an ambulance to arrive the only thing you can think of is Dieter and how he should be here. You pick up your phone one more time and try calling him again.
“Hey, it’s Bravo, can’t come to the phone right now but you know what to do after the beep.” Beep.
“Dieter, I’m going into labor. An ambulance is on the way. I need you, please,” you continue through tears, “I’m so scared and I need you. Please come back. Please.”
—
It’s almost been a month since you’ve been home from the hospital. Dieter still hasn’t shown back up, has yet to meet his beautiful baby in person. You started seeing a therapist to help you process everything you’ve been through with Dieter. Looking over at Peanut sleeping peacefully in the bassinet beside your bed, you can’t help thinking about how it’s so unfair to this little baby to have a father who would choose drugs over them, but there’s nothing you can do besides be the best parent you can for Peanut.
It startles you to hear a crashing sound coming from the kitchen. Slowly making your way out of bed to grab the baseball bat from the closet, you glance over at Peanut one more time before leaving the bedroom to see who dared disturb your peace.
“God damn it,” you hear Dieter groan, “I could’ve sworn I had some in here.”
You try to calm your heart rate, peering around the doorway to see Dieter rummaging through a kitchen drawer. He’s finally shown up. Not for you, not for his baby, but only to try and find drugs. He’s literally only here for the damn drugs. Your therapist had warned you about this moment.
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
“Where the fuck is it?!” Dieter hisses, still not noticing you in the doorway, flipping on the lights.
“Gone,” you state firmly, setting the bat against the wall, and crossing your arms, “I flushed everything.”
“Why the fuck would you do that?” Dieter shrieks, facing you in the doorway but barely focusing on you. “You had no right to do that!”
“I did it because you asked me to when you were detoxing the last time.”
“I never said anything like that,” he seethes, stalking towards you, pointing a finger in your face, “I would never ask you to flush my shit.”
“Dieter, where have you been?” you ask, noting his blown-out pupils, and the wild look in his eyes. “What the fuck did you do?”
“Needed some space,” Dieter scoffs shrugging, “It’s not that big of a fucking deal.”
“Peanut.”
“The fuck?” Dieter asks, looking at you with malice in his eyes.
“Peanut,” you grit through your teeth, pointing down the hall, “You fucking promised me, Dieter. You promised.”
“Oh get off your high horse,” Dieter yells, “Don’t hold that against me when you baby trapped my ass!”
“I- what?” you say through gritted teeth, “You wanted this just as much as I did! It takes two to make a baby!”
“Fuck that!” Dieter laughs maniacally, “I never wanted to be a fucking dad!”
“D, you don’t mean that,” you say, shaking your head, tears brimming your eyes, “That’s the coke talking. You haven’t even seen Peanut, you don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I’m Dieter-fucking-Bravo, baby!” He shouts, throwing his arms up into the air, “I’m not gonna be held down by some relationship and a baby at home!”
“Fuck you,” you point to the door, face serious. “Get out of this house.”
“My fucking pleasure!” Dieter roars, walking out of the kitchen and slamming the front door.
—
Five years later.
Dieter was flipping through the channels, trying to find something interesting to watch on tv. His high was still lingering, not quite sober but not quite as high as that first hit. The ET channel starts blaring your name, with a picture of you, Peanut, and some guy.
“Looks like there’s an engagement in town,” the host says with a smile, “Looks like she’s got herself a type, but who is this mystery man? It’s rumored they met when he was doing some remodeling work on her house two years ago.”
“That girl’s been through enough!” The other host announces, “Bout time she gets her happy-ever-after!”
Wait, what? No, you’re his. His love, his fairy-tale ending, his forever. Dieter’s world is twisting sideways, Peanut is the spitting image of him. His baby, his baby he has never even met.
“No, no, no,” Dieter groans, picking up his phone to try and call you, the phone goes straight to voicemail. He tries calling your publicist next, again straight to voicemail. Next, he tries your manager, with the same results, over and over again until giving up and calling the one person he can trust.
“Mark,” Dieter cries into the receiver, “Please tell me it’s not true.”
“Dieter,” Mark grunts, “It’s three in the morning, what the fuck are you doing?”
“Is she really getting married?”
“Dieter,” Mark let out an exasperated sigh.
“I need to go back to rehab,” Dieter announces, “If I get clean and do all the steps she’ll have to take me back right?”
“Dieter,” Mark says firmly, “That’s not how it works. Let her go. She’s had to change her number fifteen different times now because you somehow keep getting it. Her entire team has your number blocked.”
“She’s the love of my life, Mark,” he whines, “I can’t just let her go. Starting tomorrow, I’m sober.”
Dieter begins cutting ties with most of his friends or really it was more cutting the people off who encouraged him to use. He went through the detox, he went through the steps as best as he could. He wants to impress you, he wants to get you back, get his kid back, fuck this guy who swooped in while he was away.
---
He’s six months sober. He hadn’t been sober for this long since before Peanut was born. Dieter found out from a friend of a friend’s friend where exactly you were living for the right price, Hollywood would never change. He makes the drive to your house, flowers in the passenger seat for you, and a teddy bear for Peanut. He’s ready to grovel at your feet if that’s what it will take. Pulling up to the curb he sees a nice suburban home. It’s nothing like what you two had shared, no ornate bushes out in the front yard, no massive gate surrounding the house keeping you caged in, kids freely playing in the neighboring yards. The front door opens and he feels like he’s been sucker punched. You’re standing there, staring daggers at him. He watches you leave the doorway, and as you walk towards his car he can’t help but think you look just as beautiful as the first day he met you.
He opens the car door, grabs the flowers and teddy bear, and gets out.
“Stop right there,” you state firmly, shoulders back and head held high, “What the fuck are you doing here Dieter?”
“I’m sober,” he says, “I thought- I thought maybe I could come and try to talk to y-”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” You laugh, but not the soft laugh that fills him with so much light like Dieter remembers, this laugh doesn’t bring him comfort, it only brings him a sense of loss.
“I haven’t used in six months now, I’m trying to change, I really am,” he sighs, “I know I fucked up, I know I’ve been gone but I can’t think of you marrying someone else. I can’t”
“You’ve been gone?” You ask, shaking your head, “You were more than gone, it’s been five years. What did you think was going to happen Dieter? That I would still be in that house, taking care of our baby all on my own just waiting on you to come to your senses? Don’t act like you were just gone on a business trip, it’s been five damn years!”
“No, that’s-” he starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, “That’s now how I meant it.”
“Then how did you mean it?”
“I haven’t been good in a long time. The last time things were good was when I was with you.”
“And?” you ask, gritting your teeth together, “What does that have to do with anything? You left Dieter. You left me. Alone, pregnant, I almost lost Peanut because of you.”
He hates this, he never thought he’d see a side of you like this. Angry, mean, spiteful. You were always forgiving, tender, and always cared about his feelings. What happened?
“What happened to you?” Dieter asks, shaking his head, “When we were together you were never like this. You’re being so hateful.”
“What happened to me?” You shout, “Dieter, you! You happened to me!”
“Babe,” Dieter looks past you to the man at the door, “Everythin’ a’right?”
“Yeah, Joel,” you say giving the man a warm smile, the smile that was once for Dieter, “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Daddy look at this!” Dieter hears a kid shout, and the man named Joel responds to the kid’s voice with a “Comin’ kiddo!”
“Is that-” Dieter swallows, feeling his mouth go dry, “Was that Peanut?”
“Yes,” you reply coldly.
“That’s not Peanut’s dad. I’m Peanut’s dad!”
“You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you never showed up for the birth,” you say stepping closer to him, “You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you decided to break into our home to look for drugs when they were a month old,” pushing against his chest, flowers and teddy bear falling to the ground, “You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you fucked off for the past five years. Don’t you ever call yourself Peanut’s dad, got it?”
“Biologically I am Peanut’s dad,” Dieter protests.
“You may be the sperm donor but that makes you just about as much of a parent as a toilet seat does,” you spit out, turning and storming off.
Dieter watches you walk away back to your home, his heart heavy with regret. You were the last reason he had to get sober and get healthy and you didn’t want him. He ruined it.
He turns around placing his hands on top of his car, closing his eyes as his head fills with dark and sad thoughts when he hears a small voice say, “Momma, why was the man you have a picture of in your bedside table here? And why’s he look so sad?”
Dieter’s head perks up and a hopeful grin spreads across his face.
🥰😘🥰😘
Thank you very much Beef ❤️ Always thankful for you and your constant willingness to help me! Trust me, doubt I do an angsty thing for a minute that shit made me so sad! 🤣
I NEED MY FLUFF!!!

Some Broken Hearts Never Mend
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!actress reader
Warnings: Language, mentions of drugs, pregnancy, lovers to enemies, angst angst angst
A/N: Huge thank you to @noxturnalpascal and @beefrobeefcal for helping me with this! ❤️ I don’t usually do angst but trying to play around with it and I needed the practice. This is for @tightjeansjavi's June Writing Challenge. Also tagging @jay-zzle because she is my permanent cheerleader
Masterlist||AO3
divider by: @saradika-graphics

The lights are flashing everywhere, hearing your name and Dieter’s being shouted left and right. Where to look, what to do, you love sharing this moment with him, watching his smile beam as the congratulations are being shouted out.
“I can’t believe this is real,” Dieter whispers in your ear with a smile, rubbing the bump of your belly.
Paparazzi is shouting out excitedly, seeing you two together along with your prominent bump on display. You both kept this news under wraps until you couldn’t hide it anymore. It’s too hot in the summer to try wearing the oversized hoodies you’d been wearing all spring. It was decided between both of your teams that the best thing for an announcement was to show up to Dieter’s premier with a dress that would show off your bump, letting the world know that Dieter Bravo was about to take on the most important role of his life - a family man.
“Dieter! Dieter over here!” You see Adam from Entertainment Tonight waving you both down.
You nudge Dieter, motioning towards the host, and make your way over for the first interview of the night.
“Hey guys! I’m just so excited to see you two! Wow,” Adam says your name, “You look absolutely glowing. Is there maybe a reason why?” he teases.
“Well, I don’t know,” you laugh, shrugging your shoulders, “Babe?”
“Hmm…” Dieter says, rubbing your bump, “I think because you’re having my baby?”
“I can’t believe it! First, you get this man sober, and now,” Adam says with an amusing smirk, “You’ve gotten him to have a baby with you?”
“She’s a witch!” Dieter exclaims with a massive grin, “I swear. She put me under some sort of spell!”
The interview went on for a little longer, delving into Dieter’s role and how he prepared for the movie. Interview after interview, the baby was brought up.
What are you hoping for? Boy or girl? Healthy.
Have you thought of any names? Yes, but not sure yet.
Do you know what the sex is? We want it to be a surprise.
The same questions were asked repeatedly until it was time to go inside the theater.
—
“Hey babe, I’m gonna be going out, hanging with some friends,” Dieter says, waltzing into the living room with his phone and keys. You pause the TV, scooting to the edge of the couch. “You don’t need to get up.”
“What friends?” You ask concern etched on your face. It always makes you nervous when he is going to hang out with friends solo. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Dieter, it was just that he’s had his fair share of relapses.
“Sam, Claudia, and Percy.”
You make a disgusted face as soon as Percy’s name is mentioned. Sam and Claudia, you trust. Percy, you do not.
“Babe,” Dieter starts, “I know you don’t like the guy but he just got out of rehab. No drugs will be around, everything will be just fine!”
“He just got out of rehab that was court-mandated, Dieter,” you seeth, “You really think he took that shit seriously?!”
“Baby,” Dieter sighs, placing a hand on your stomach, “You gotta watch your blood pressure. Not good for Peanut.”
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
This has become your mantra lately, the doctor was getting worried about your blood pressure and stress levels. He had said that it could cause early labor. Six months along, and you needed to start paying more attention to this stuff. The last thing you want is for Peanut to come before they’re ready.
“I just don’t trust him,” you explain, “The last time you hung out with him you relapsed and went down a rabbit hole.”
“I know,” he said, head dropping, “I’m sorry. I really am, but I promise it won’t happen again. There’s not supposed to be any hard drugs, maybe some weed but that’s it.”
“Fine,” you groan, “I mean it though Dieter, you can’t have any more slip ups. Gotta think about Peanut.”
“I’m always thinking about you and Peanut,” Dieter grins, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. “I’ll behave and be home before ten.”
Dieter wasn’t home before ten, or eleven, or twelve. It was nearing two in the morning when you finally heard the front door open. Sliding your feet into your slippers and grabbing his tattered green robe to wrap yourself in, you made your way to the living room.
“Fuck,” you hear Dieter say sniffling, “What the fuck did I do?”
“Babe?” You ask, coming into the living room, Dieter slumped on the couch, “Everything okay?”
“I fucked up,” he whispers, pushing his hands against his eyes, “I promised yo-,” he chokes on a sob, “I promised you I wouldn’t and I fucked up.”
“Dieter,” you sigh, approaching the couch to sit next to him, “Look at me.”
He shakes his head, looking down at his lap, fingers twitching against his face. He looks so helpless like this. You grab his hands, and pull them into your lap.
“Babe,” you try again, “Look at me,” reaching your hand to cup his cheek, forcing him to look at you. Watery bloodshot eyes stare back at you.
“I’m so sorry,” Dieter whispers, closing his eyes, a lone tear running down his cheek, “I should’ve listened to you.”
He tells you what happened. You nod in understanding, this was just a slip-up, you can forgive him yet again. You know it was just a bad judgment call to go out tonight. He will get through this just like he has every other time.
—
“Looks like you’re doing well, baby is right on track and appears to be growing as they should,” the doctor says, looking at your chart, “Only about two more months to go and then we can start looking to induce you. I want to see you in two weeks.”
You give a small smile and nod, rubbing your bump, slinging your purse over your shoulder, willing the phone inside to buzz as you make your way to the receptionist’s desk, making small talk with her and getting your next appointment set. You thank her as you take the appointment card, sliding it into your purse as you walk out the door.
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
Dieter’s been missing, three weeks to the day now, and no one can find him. His management team and assistant have been on a hunt trying to find him but of course, Dieter has gone off the grid. Last you knew paparazzi had gotten pictures of him somewhere in Europe, but that was last week. His PR team and your own told you not to look at the pictures but you couldn’t not see them when a pregnancy craving hit and you got ice cream late one night.
Dieter Bravo, Trouble in Paradise?
Sources close to the actor state he’s not ready to be a father and ran from his relationship to [redacted], fellow actress who is pregnant with Bravo’s first child.
The small article included pictures of Dieter exiting a club with one arm around a blonde woman’s shoulders and the other arm around a brunette man’s waist. The three of them were walking down the sidewalk. The final pictures in the article showed Dieter kissing both of them.
Stars has tried to reach out to each of the couple’s publicists for comment with no response at this time.
You felt your heart breaking in the middle of the checkout line. He was the one to bring up having a baby. He was the one to convince you to get pregnant. He was the one who time and time again reassured you this is what he wanted and only wanted it with you.
You felt so stupid, like a poor pathetic girl, when everyone had warned you about him. They’d all told you so many times. Dieter Bravo is a mess. Dieter Bravo can’t be tamed. Dieter Bravo isn’t meant for relationships. As it turns out, they were all right, and you’d just ignored every warning given to you.. Dieter had kept using after the last slip-up. What was an accident became once a week, then three times a week, and then turned to daily use. Slowly but surely you were giving up, giving up on the one person who you trusted the most.
He made you feel loved, cherished, and special. He always made you feel like no one else could compare to you or your love for each other. Now though, he makes you feel like a fool. He makes you feel like the dirt underneath his shoes. He makes you feel like… like, like—
Your thoughts are interrupted by the buzzing in your purse. The number wasn’t one you recognize but you answered anyway in hopes it was Dieter.
“Hello?”
“Baby,” Dieter’s voice sounds through the phone, “I wanna come home.”
“Dieter?” you ask, “Where are you?”
“I’m at an airport in Paris,” he says sniffling, “I wanna come home.”
“Come home, please,” you beg, “Just come home.”
—
Dieter came home the following day, detox in full swing. He was shaky, sweaty, and puking, and you were staying by his side the entire time. Doubt begins to crawl into your brain, this being the fourth or fifth time you’ve helped him through detox. Is this going to be how your life plays out? Private doctors, in and out of your home like a revolving door. Make sure he’s comfortable, providing you with the necessary instructions to get Dieter through this so he doesn’t have to go to a facility again.
“I think he should consider going to rehab again,” Mark, his manager, says.
“Mark, I don’t know what else to do,” you sigh, shaking your head back and forth. “He doesn’t want to go. He told me every single hiding spot he has here at home and I went through all of them and flushed everything.”
“Just think about it, think about your baby and your own health,” Mark says firmly, “I’ve worked for Dieter for many years and this isn’t going to be the last time this happens.”
“I know,” you whisper, tears threatening to spill over, accepting defeat. You hadn’t meant to fall in this deep with Dieter if you’re being honest with yourself. It was supposed to just be a summer fling but as time went on he squirmed his way deeper and deeper into your heart, making room for himself to curl up inside, and making himself a nice little home there. It was becoming too much to handle, the stress weighing you down more as the days passed by.
If anything was going to prepare you for a newborn it might as well be this. Dieter shouts for you from the guest room in the middle of the night, waddling through the doorway you see him sprawled out on the bed. A thin sheen of sweat covers his chest, turning on the bedside lamp he winces.
“Baby,” Dieter groans, reaching out for you, sitting on the bed you give him your hand, “I love you. I love you more than anything in this world.”
“I know, D,” you murmur, the tears already threatening your waterline as he grasps your hand like it’s his only lifeline, “I know.”
“Hey,” he says perking up some, “Once I’m through with this we should go on vacation somewhere!”
“D we can’t,” you sniffle, rubbing the hand he isn’t holding onto against your nose.
“Why not?”
“Peanut,” you say, giving him a small smile.
“We’ll just take Peanut with us,” he smiles, moving one of his hands to rest on your stomach.
“That’s not really how it works, D,” you groan, “We can’t just up and leave whenever we want to. Not with Peanut.”
“Fine,” Dieter says firmly nodding, jaw going rigid, “Guess it doesn’t matter what I want to do then.”
“No,” you whisper, “It doesn’t.”
For the first time in your entire relationship, Dieter looks angry. He lets go of your hand and rolls over, his back facing you.
“Dieter,” you say softly, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Would you consider going back to rehab?”
Dieter doesn’t respond. When you repeat yourself he just grunts and shoves your hand off his shoulder.
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
The next morning when you wake, he’s gone again. A note with his chicken scratch left on his bedside table.
You’re right. Checking into White Oak again. Things will get better. I promise ❤️
Love, D
—
It took four days. Four days for Dieter to check himself out of rehab and go missing again.
“I can’t fucking do this anymore!” You wail into the phone, leaving yet another voicemail on Dieter’s brand new phone, “Dieter, I need you to come home. Please. If not for me then for Peanut.”
“Fuck!” You shout, throwing your phone across the room, and beginning to pace back and forth. There is nothing you can do besides wait. Wait and hope that Dieter’s not lying in a ditch somewhere. You can feel your heart breaking into a million pieces.
You reach down, trying with all your might to grab your phone and then you feel it. A sharp pain in your groin and liquid rushing down your legs.
“Ahh!” You groan out, the pain sending you to your knees, reaching for your phone and dialing 911, waiting to be put through to a dispatcher, “No, no, no. This can’t be happening. It’s not time yet, it’s not time,” you clutch your stomach, telling the dispatcher you need an ambulance and your address.
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
While you lay on the floor waiting for an ambulance to arrive the only thing you can think of is Dieter and how he should be here. You pick up your phone one more time and try calling him again.
“Hey, it’s Bravo, can’t come to the phone right now but you know what to do after the beep.” Beep.
“Dieter, I’m going into labor. An ambulance is on the way. I need you, please,” you continue through tears, “I’m so scared and I need you. Please come back. Please.”
—
It’s almost been a month since you’ve been home from the hospital. Dieter still hasn’t shown back up, has yet to meet his beautiful baby in person. You started seeing a therapist to help you process everything you’ve been through with Dieter. Looking over at Peanut sleeping peacefully in the bassinet beside your bed, you can’t help thinking about how it’s so unfair to this little baby to have a father who would choose drugs over them, but there’s nothing you can do besides be the best parent you can for Peanut.
It startles you to hear a crashing sound coming from the kitchen. Slowly making your way out of bed to grab the baseball bat from the closet, you glance over at Peanut one more time before leaving the bedroom to see who dared disturb your peace.
“God damn it,” you hear Dieter groan, “I could’ve sworn I had some in here.”
You try to calm your heart rate, peering around the doorway to see Dieter rummaging through a kitchen drawer. He’s finally shown up. Not for you, not for his baby, but only to try and find drugs. He’s literally only here for the damn drugs. Your therapist had warned you about this moment.
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
“Where the fuck is it?!” Dieter hisses, still not noticing you in the doorway, flipping on the lights.
“Gone,” you state firmly, setting the bat against the wall, and crossing your arms, “I flushed everything.”
“Why the fuck would you do that?” Dieter shrieks, facing you in the doorway but barely focusing on you. “You had no right to do that!”
“I did it because you asked me to when you were detoxing the last time.”
“I never said anything like that,” he seethes, stalking towards you, pointing a finger in your face, “I would never ask you to flush my shit.”
“Dieter, where have you been?” you ask, noting his blown-out pupils, and the wild look in his eyes. “What the fuck did you do?”
“Needed some space,” Dieter scoffs shrugging, “It’s not that big of a fucking deal.”
“Peanut.”
“The fuck?” Dieter asks, looking at you with malice in his eyes.
“Peanut,” you grit through your teeth, pointing down the hall, “You fucking promised me, Dieter. You promised.”
“Oh get off your high horse,” Dieter yells, “Don’t hold that against me when you baby trapped my ass!”
“I- what?” you say through gritted teeth, “You wanted this just as much as I did! It takes two to make a baby!”
“Fuck that!” Dieter laughs maniacally, “I never wanted to be a fucking dad!”
“D, you don’t mean that,” you say, shaking your head, tears brimming your eyes, “That’s the coke talking. You haven’t even seen Peanut, you don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I’m Dieter-fucking-Bravo, baby!” He shouts, throwing his arms up into the air, “I’m not gonna be held down by some relationship and a baby at home!”
“Fuck you,” you point to the door, face serious. “Get out of this house.”
“My fucking pleasure!” Dieter roars, walking out of the kitchen and slamming the front door.
—
Five years later.
Dieter was flipping through the channels, trying to find something interesting to watch on tv. His high was still lingering, not quite sober but not quite as high as that first hit. The ET channel starts blaring your name, with a picture of you, Peanut, and some guy.
“Looks like there’s an engagement in town,” the host says with a smile, “Looks like she’s got herself a type, but who is this mystery man? It’s rumored they met when he was doing some remodeling work on her house two years ago.”
“That girl’s been through enough!” The other host announces, “Bout time she gets her happy-ever-after!”
Wait, what? No, you’re his. His love, his fairy-tale ending, his forever. Dieter’s world is twisting sideways, Peanut is the spitting image of him. His baby, his baby he has never even met.
“No, no, no,” Dieter groans, picking up his phone to try and call you, the phone goes straight to voicemail. He tries calling your publicist next, again straight to voicemail. Next, he tries your manager, with the same results, over and over again until giving up and calling the one person he can trust.
“Mark,” Dieter cries into the receiver, “Please tell me it’s not true.”
“Dieter,” Mark grunts, “It’s three in the morning, what the fuck are you doing?”
“Is she really getting married?”
“Dieter,” Mark let out an exasperated sigh.
“I need to go back to rehab,” Dieter announces, “If I get clean and do all the steps she’ll have to take me back right?”
“Dieter,” Mark says firmly, “That’s not how it works. Let her go. She’s had to change her number fifteen different times now because you somehow keep getting it. Her entire team has your number blocked.”
“She’s the love of my life, Mark,” he whines, “I can’t just let her go. Starting tomorrow, I’m sober.”
Dieter begins cutting ties with most of his friends or really it was more cutting the people off who encouraged him to use. He went through the detox, he went through the steps as best as he could. He wants to impress you, he wants to get you back, get his kid back, fuck this guy who swooped in while he was away.
---
He’s six months sober. He hadn’t been sober for this long since before Peanut was born. Dieter found out from a friend of a friend’s friend where exactly you were living for the right price, Hollywood would never change. He makes the drive to your house, flowers in the passenger seat for you, and a teddy bear for Peanut. He’s ready to grovel at your feet if that’s what it will take. Pulling up to the curb he sees a nice suburban home. It’s nothing like what you two had shared, no ornate bushes out in the front yard, no massive gate surrounding the house keeping you caged in, kids freely playing in the neighboring yards. The front door opens and he feels like he’s been sucker punched. You’re standing there, staring daggers at him. He watches you leave the doorway, and as you walk towards his car he can’t help but think you look just as beautiful as the first day he met you.
He opens the car door, grabs the flowers and teddy bear, and gets out.
“Stop right there,” you state firmly, shoulders back and head held high, “What the fuck are you doing here Dieter?”
“I’m sober,” he says, “I thought- I thought maybe I could come and try to talk to y-”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” You laugh, but not the soft laugh that fills him with so much light like Dieter remembers, this laugh doesn’t bring him comfort, it only brings him a sense of loss.
“I haven’t used in six months now, I’m trying to change, I really am,” he sighs, “I know I fucked up, I know I’ve been gone but I can’t think of you marrying someone else. I can’t”
“You’ve been gone?” You ask, shaking your head, “You were more than gone, it’s been five years. What did you think was going to happen Dieter? That I would still be in that house, taking care of our baby all on my own just waiting on you to come to your senses? Don’t act like you were just gone on a business trip, it’s been five damn years!”
“No, that’s-” he starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, “That’s now how I meant it.”
“Then how did you mean it?”
“I haven’t been good in a long time. The last time things were good was when I was with you.”
“And?” you ask, gritting your teeth together, “What does that have to do with anything? You left Dieter. You left me. Alone, pregnant, I almost lost Peanut because of you.”
He hates this, he never thought he’d see a side of you like this. Angry, mean, spiteful. You were always forgiving, tender, and always cared about his feelings. What happened?
“What happened to you?” Dieter asks, shaking his head, “When we were together you were never like this. You’re being so hateful.”
“What happened to me?” You shout, “Dieter, you! You happened to me!”
“Babe,” Dieter looks past you to the man at the door, “Everythin’ a’right?”
“Yeah, Joel,” you say giving the man a warm smile, the smile that was once for Dieter, “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Daddy look at this!” Dieter hears a kid shout, and the man named Joel responds to the kid’s voice with a “Comin’ kiddo!”
“Is that-” Dieter swallows, feeling his mouth go dry, “Was that Peanut?”
“Yes,” you reply coldly.
“That’s not Peanut’s dad. I’m Peanut’s dad!”
“You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you never showed up for the birth,” you say stepping closer to him, “You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you decided to break into our home to look for drugs when they were a month old,” pushing against his chest, flowers and teddy bear falling to the ground, “You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you fucked off for the past five years. Don’t you ever call yourself Peanut’s dad, got it?”
“Biologically I am Peanut’s dad,” Dieter protests.
“You may be the sperm donor but that makes you just about as much of a parent as a toilet seat does,” you spit out, turning and storming off.
Dieter watches you walk away back to your home, his heart heavy with regret. You were the last reason he had to get sober and get healthy and you didn’t want him. He ruined it.
He turns around placing his hands on top of his car, closing his eyes as his head fills with dark and sad thoughts when he hears a small voice say, “Momma, why was the man you have a picture of in your bedside table here? And why’s he look so sad?”
Dieter’s head perks up and a hopeful grin spreads across his face.
Yes he does! We know how much I love Dieter and it was so hard to write him this way 😭
I might? But it’ll be awhile 🤣😂
I love you!!! ❤️❤️❤️

Some Broken Hearts Never Mend
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!actress reader
Warnings: Language, mentions of drugs, pregnancy, lovers to enemies, angst angst angst
A/N: Huge thank you to @noxturnalpascal and @beefrobeefcal for helping me with this! ❤️ I don’t usually do angst but trying to play around with it and I needed the practice. This is for @tightjeansjavi's June Writing Challenge. Also tagging @jay-zzle because she is my permanent cheerleader
Masterlist||AO3
divider by: @saradika-graphics

The lights are flashing everywhere, hearing your name and Dieter’s being shouted left and right. Where to look, what to do, you love sharing this moment with him, watching his smile beam as the congratulations are being shouted out.
“I can’t believe this is real,” Dieter whispers in your ear with a smile, rubbing the bump of your belly.
Paparazzi is shouting out excitedly, seeing you two together along with your prominent bump on display. You both kept this news under wraps until you couldn’t hide it anymore. It’s too hot in the summer to try wearing the oversized hoodies you’d been wearing all spring. It was decided between both of your teams that the best thing for an announcement was to show up to Dieter’s premier with a dress that would show off your bump, letting the world know that Dieter Bravo was about to take on the most important role of his life - a family man.
“Dieter! Dieter over here!” You see Adam from Entertainment Tonight waving you both down.
You nudge Dieter, motioning towards the host, and make your way over for the first interview of the night.
“Hey guys! I’m just so excited to see you two! Wow,” Adam says your name, “You look absolutely glowing. Is there maybe a reason why?” he teases.
“Well, I don’t know,” you laugh, shrugging your shoulders, “Babe?”
“Hmm…” Dieter says, rubbing your bump, “I think because you’re having my baby?”
“I can’t believe it! First, you get this man sober, and now,” Adam says with an amusing smirk, “You’ve gotten him to have a baby with you?”
“She’s a witch!” Dieter exclaims with a massive grin, “I swear. She put me under some sort of spell!”
The interview went on for a little longer, delving into Dieter’s role and how he prepared for the movie. Interview after interview, the baby was brought up.
What are you hoping for? Boy or girl? Healthy.
Have you thought of any names? Yes, but not sure yet.
Do you know what the sex is? We want it to be a surprise.
The same questions were asked repeatedly until it was time to go inside the theater.
—
“Hey babe, I’m gonna be going out, hanging with some friends,” Dieter says, waltzing into the living room with his phone and keys. You pause the TV, scooting to the edge of the couch. “You don’t need to get up.”
“What friends?” You ask concern etched on your face. It always makes you nervous when he is going to hang out with friends solo. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Dieter, it was just that he’s had his fair share of relapses.
“Sam, Claudia, and Percy.”
You make a disgusted face as soon as Percy’s name is mentioned. Sam and Claudia, you trust. Percy, you do not.
“Babe,” Dieter starts, “I know you don’t like the guy but he just got out of rehab. No drugs will be around, everything will be just fine!”
“He just got out of rehab that was court-mandated, Dieter,” you seeth, “You really think he took that shit seriously?!”
“Baby,” Dieter sighs, placing a hand on your stomach, “You gotta watch your blood pressure. Not good for Peanut.”
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
This has become your mantra lately, the doctor was getting worried about your blood pressure and stress levels. He had said that it could cause early labor. Six months along, and you needed to start paying more attention to this stuff. The last thing you want is for Peanut to come before they’re ready.
“I just don’t trust him,” you explain, “The last time you hung out with him you relapsed and went down a rabbit hole.”
“I know,” he said, head dropping, “I’m sorry. I really am, but I promise it won’t happen again. There’s not supposed to be any hard drugs, maybe some weed but that’s it.”
“Fine,” you groan, “I mean it though Dieter, you can’t have any more slip ups. Gotta think about Peanut.”
“I’m always thinking about you and Peanut,” Dieter grins, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. “I’ll behave and be home before ten.”
Dieter wasn’t home before ten, or eleven, or twelve. It was nearing two in the morning when you finally heard the front door open. Sliding your feet into your slippers and grabbing his tattered green robe to wrap yourself in, you made your way to the living room.
“Fuck,” you hear Dieter say sniffling, “What the fuck did I do?”
“Babe?” You ask, coming into the living room, Dieter slumped on the couch, “Everything okay?”
“I fucked up,” he whispers, pushing his hands against his eyes, “I promised yo-,” he chokes on a sob, “I promised you I wouldn’t and I fucked up.”
“Dieter,” you sigh, approaching the couch to sit next to him, “Look at me.”
He shakes his head, looking down at his lap, fingers twitching against his face. He looks so helpless like this. You grab his hands, and pull them into your lap.
“Babe,” you try again, “Look at me,” reaching your hand to cup his cheek, forcing him to look at you. Watery bloodshot eyes stare back at you.
“I’m so sorry,” Dieter whispers, closing his eyes, a lone tear running down his cheek, “I should’ve listened to you.”
He tells you what happened. You nod in understanding, this was just a slip-up, you can forgive him yet again. You know it was just a bad judgment call to go out tonight. He will get through this just like he has every other time.
—
“Looks like you’re doing well, baby is right on track and appears to be growing as they should,” the doctor says, looking at your chart, “Only about two more months to go and then we can start looking to induce you. I want to see you in two weeks.”
You give a small smile and nod, rubbing your bump, slinging your purse over your shoulder, willing the phone inside to buzz as you make your way to the receptionist’s desk, making small talk with her and getting your next appointment set. You thank her as you take the appointment card, sliding it into your purse as you walk out the door.
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
Dieter’s been missing, three weeks to the day now, and no one can find him. His management team and assistant have been on a hunt trying to find him but of course, Dieter has gone off the grid. Last you knew paparazzi had gotten pictures of him somewhere in Europe, but that was last week. His PR team and your own told you not to look at the pictures but you couldn’t not see them when a pregnancy craving hit and you got ice cream late one night.
Dieter Bravo, Trouble in Paradise?
Sources close to the actor state he’s not ready to be a father and ran from his relationship to [redacted], fellow actress who is pregnant with Bravo’s first child.
The small article included pictures of Dieter exiting a club with one arm around a blonde woman’s shoulders and the other arm around a brunette man’s waist. The three of them were walking down the sidewalk. The final pictures in the article showed Dieter kissing both of them.
Stars has tried to reach out to each of the couple’s publicists for comment with no response at this time.
You felt your heart breaking in the middle of the checkout line. He was the one to bring up having a baby. He was the one to convince you to get pregnant. He was the one who time and time again reassured you this is what he wanted and only wanted it with you.
You felt so stupid, like a poor pathetic girl, when everyone had warned you about him. They’d all told you so many times. Dieter Bravo is a mess. Dieter Bravo can’t be tamed. Dieter Bravo isn’t meant for relationships. As it turns out, they were all right, and you’d just ignored every warning given to you.. Dieter had kept using after the last slip-up. What was an accident became once a week, then three times a week, and then turned to daily use. Slowly but surely you were giving up, giving up on the one person who you trusted the most.
He made you feel loved, cherished, and special. He always made you feel like no one else could compare to you or your love for each other. Now though, he makes you feel like a fool. He makes you feel like the dirt underneath his shoes. He makes you feel like… like, like—
Your thoughts are interrupted by the buzzing in your purse. The number wasn’t one you recognize but you answered anyway in hopes it was Dieter.
“Hello?”
“Baby,” Dieter’s voice sounds through the phone, “I wanna come home.”
“Dieter?” you ask, “Where are you?”
“I’m at an airport in Paris,” he says sniffling, “I wanna come home.”
“Come home, please,” you beg, “Just come home.”
—
Dieter came home the following day, detox in full swing. He was shaky, sweaty, and puking, and you were staying by his side the entire time. Doubt begins to crawl into your brain, this being the fourth or fifth time you’ve helped him through detox. Is this going to be how your life plays out? Private doctors, in and out of your home like a revolving door. Make sure he’s comfortable, providing you with the necessary instructions to get Dieter through this so he doesn’t have to go to a facility again.
“I think he should consider going to rehab again,” Mark, his manager, says.
“Mark, I don’t know what else to do,” you sigh, shaking your head back and forth. “He doesn’t want to go. He told me every single hiding spot he has here at home and I went through all of them and flushed everything.”
“Just think about it, think about your baby and your own health,” Mark says firmly, “I’ve worked for Dieter for many years and this isn’t going to be the last time this happens.”
“I know,” you whisper, tears threatening to spill over, accepting defeat. You hadn’t meant to fall in this deep with Dieter if you’re being honest with yourself. It was supposed to just be a summer fling but as time went on he squirmed his way deeper and deeper into your heart, making room for himself to curl up inside, and making himself a nice little home there. It was becoming too much to handle, the stress weighing you down more as the days passed by.
If anything was going to prepare you for a newborn it might as well be this. Dieter shouts for you from the guest room in the middle of the night, waddling through the doorway you see him sprawled out on the bed. A thin sheen of sweat covers his chest, turning on the bedside lamp he winces.
“Baby,” Dieter groans, reaching out for you, sitting on the bed you give him your hand, “I love you. I love you more than anything in this world.”
“I know, D,” you murmur, the tears already threatening your waterline as he grasps your hand like it’s his only lifeline, “I know.”
“Hey,” he says perking up some, “Once I’m through with this we should go on vacation somewhere!”
“D we can’t,” you sniffle, rubbing the hand he isn’t holding onto against your nose.
“Why not?”
“Peanut,” you say, giving him a small smile.
“We’ll just take Peanut with us,” he smiles, moving one of his hands to rest on your stomach.
“That’s not really how it works, D,” you groan, “We can’t just up and leave whenever we want to. Not with Peanut.”
“Fine,” Dieter says firmly nodding, jaw going rigid, “Guess it doesn’t matter what I want to do then.”
“No,” you whisper, “It doesn’t.”
For the first time in your entire relationship, Dieter looks angry. He lets go of your hand and rolls over, his back facing you.
“Dieter,” you say softly, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Would you consider going back to rehab?”
Dieter doesn’t respond. When you repeat yourself he just grunts and shoves your hand off his shoulder.
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
The next morning when you wake, he’s gone again. A note with his chicken scratch left on his bedside table.
You’re right. Checking into White Oak again. Things will get better. I promise ❤️
Love, D
—
It took four days. Four days for Dieter to check himself out of rehab and go missing again.
“I can’t fucking do this anymore!” You wail into the phone, leaving yet another voicemail on Dieter’s brand new phone, “Dieter, I need you to come home. Please. If not for me then for Peanut.”
“Fuck!” You shout, throwing your phone across the room, and beginning to pace back and forth. There is nothing you can do besides wait. Wait and hope that Dieter’s not lying in a ditch somewhere. You can feel your heart breaking into a million pieces.
You reach down, trying with all your might to grab your phone and then you feel it. A sharp pain in your groin and liquid rushing down your legs.
“Ahh!” You groan out, the pain sending you to your knees, reaching for your phone and dialing 911, waiting to be put through to a dispatcher, “No, no, no. This can’t be happening. It’s not time yet, it’s not time,” you clutch your stomach, telling the dispatcher you need an ambulance and your address.
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
While you lay on the floor waiting for an ambulance to arrive the only thing you can think of is Dieter and how he should be here. You pick up your phone one more time and try calling him again.
“Hey, it’s Bravo, can’t come to the phone right now but you know what to do after the beep.” Beep.
“Dieter, I’m going into labor. An ambulance is on the way. I need you, please,” you continue through tears, “I’m so scared and I need you. Please come back. Please.”
—
It’s almost been a month since you’ve been home from the hospital. Dieter still hasn’t shown back up, has yet to meet his beautiful baby in person. You started seeing a therapist to help you process everything you’ve been through with Dieter. Looking over at Peanut sleeping peacefully in the bassinet beside your bed, you can’t help thinking about how it’s so unfair to this little baby to have a father who would choose drugs over them, but there’s nothing you can do besides be the best parent you can for Peanut.
It startles you to hear a crashing sound coming from the kitchen. Slowly making your way out of bed to grab the baseball bat from the closet, you glance over at Peanut one more time before leaving the bedroom to see who dared disturb your peace.
“God damn it,” you hear Dieter groan, “I could’ve sworn I had some in here.”
You try to calm your heart rate, peering around the doorway to see Dieter rummaging through a kitchen drawer. He’s finally shown up. Not for you, not for his baby, but only to try and find drugs. He’s literally only here for the damn drugs. Your therapist had warned you about this moment.
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
“Where the fuck is it?!” Dieter hisses, still not noticing you in the doorway, flipping on the lights.
“Gone,” you state firmly, setting the bat against the wall, and crossing your arms, “I flushed everything.”
“Why the fuck would you do that?” Dieter shrieks, facing you in the doorway but barely focusing on you. “You had no right to do that!”
“I did it because you asked me to when you were detoxing the last time.”
“I never said anything like that,” he seethes, stalking towards you, pointing a finger in your face, “I would never ask you to flush my shit.”
“Dieter, where have you been?” you ask, noting his blown-out pupils, and the wild look in his eyes. “What the fuck did you do?”
“Needed some space,” Dieter scoffs shrugging, “It’s not that big of a fucking deal.”
“Peanut.”
“The fuck?” Dieter asks, looking at you with malice in his eyes.
“Peanut,” you grit through your teeth, pointing down the hall, “You fucking promised me, Dieter. You promised.”
“Oh get off your high horse,” Dieter yells, “Don’t hold that against me when you baby trapped my ass!”
“I- what?” you say through gritted teeth, “You wanted this just as much as I did! It takes two to make a baby!”
“Fuck that!” Dieter laughs maniacally, “I never wanted to be a fucking dad!”
“D, you don’t mean that,” you say, shaking your head, tears brimming your eyes, “That’s the coke talking. You haven’t even seen Peanut, you don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I’m Dieter-fucking-Bravo, baby!” He shouts, throwing his arms up into the air, “I’m not gonna be held down by some relationship and a baby at home!”
“Fuck you,” you point to the door, face serious. “Get out of this house.”
“My fucking pleasure!” Dieter roars, walking out of the kitchen and slamming the front door.
—
Five years later.
Dieter was flipping through the channels, trying to find something interesting to watch on tv. His high was still lingering, not quite sober but not quite as high as that first hit. The ET channel starts blaring your name, with a picture of you, Peanut, and some guy.
“Looks like there’s an engagement in town,” the host says with a smile, “Looks like she’s got herself a type, but who is this mystery man? It’s rumored they met when he was doing some remodeling work on her house two years ago.”
“That girl’s been through enough!” The other host announces, “Bout time she gets her happy-ever-after!”
Wait, what? No, you’re his. His love, his fairy-tale ending, his forever. Dieter’s world is twisting sideways, Peanut is the spitting image of him. His baby, his baby he has never even met.
“No, no, no,” Dieter groans, picking up his phone to try and call you, the phone goes straight to voicemail. He tries calling your publicist next, again straight to voicemail. Next, he tries your manager, with the same results, over and over again until giving up and calling the one person he can trust.
“Mark,” Dieter cries into the receiver, “Please tell me it’s not true.”
“Dieter,” Mark grunts, “It’s three in the morning, what the fuck are you doing?”
“Is she really getting married?”
“Dieter,” Mark let out an exasperated sigh.
“I need to go back to rehab,” Dieter announces, “If I get clean and do all the steps she’ll have to take me back right?”
“Dieter,” Mark says firmly, “That’s not how it works. Let her go. She’s had to change her number fifteen different times now because you somehow keep getting it. Her entire team has your number blocked.”
“She’s the love of my life, Mark,” he whines, “I can’t just let her go. Starting tomorrow, I’m sober.”
Dieter begins cutting ties with most of his friends or really it was more cutting the people off who encouraged him to use. He went through the detox, he went through the steps as best as he could. He wants to impress you, he wants to get you back, get his kid back, fuck this guy who swooped in while he was away.
---
He’s six months sober. He hadn’t been sober for this long since before Peanut was born. Dieter found out from a friend of a friend’s friend where exactly you were living for the right price, Hollywood would never change. He makes the drive to your house, flowers in the passenger seat for you, and a teddy bear for Peanut. He’s ready to grovel at your feet if that’s what it will take. Pulling up to the curb he sees a nice suburban home. It’s nothing like what you two had shared, no ornate bushes out in the front yard, no massive gate surrounding the house keeping you caged in, kids freely playing in the neighboring yards. The front door opens and he feels like he’s been sucker punched. You’re standing there, staring daggers at him. He watches you leave the doorway, and as you walk towards his car he can’t help but think you look just as beautiful as the first day he met you.
He opens the car door, grabs the flowers and teddy bear, and gets out.
“Stop right there,” you state firmly, shoulders back and head held high, “What the fuck are you doing here Dieter?”
“I’m sober,” he says, “I thought- I thought maybe I could come and try to talk to y-”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” You laugh, but not the soft laugh that fills him with so much light like Dieter remembers, this laugh doesn’t bring him comfort, it only brings him a sense of loss.
“I haven’t used in six months now, I’m trying to change, I really am,” he sighs, “I know I fucked up, I know I’ve been gone but I can’t think of you marrying someone else. I can’t”
“You’ve been gone?” You ask, shaking your head, “You were more than gone, it’s been five years. What did you think was going to happen Dieter? That I would still be in that house, taking care of our baby all on my own just waiting on you to come to your senses? Don’t act like you were just gone on a business trip, it’s been five damn years!”
“No, that’s-” he starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, “That’s now how I meant it.”
“Then how did you mean it?”
“I haven’t been good in a long time. The last time things were good was when I was with you.”
“And?” you ask, gritting your teeth together, “What does that have to do with anything? You left Dieter. You left me. Alone, pregnant, I almost lost Peanut because of you.”
He hates this, he never thought he’d see a side of you like this. Angry, mean, spiteful. You were always forgiving, tender, and always cared about his feelings. What happened?
“What happened to you?” Dieter asks, shaking his head, “When we were together you were never like this. You’re being so hateful.”
“What happened to me?” You shout, “Dieter, you! You happened to me!”
“Babe,” Dieter looks past you to the man at the door, “Everythin’ a’right?”
“Yeah, Joel,” you say giving the man a warm smile, the smile that was once for Dieter, “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Daddy look at this!” Dieter hears a kid shout, and the man named Joel responds to the kid’s voice with a “Comin’ kiddo!”
“Is that-” Dieter swallows, feeling his mouth go dry, “Was that Peanut?”
“Yes,” you reply coldly.
“That’s not Peanut’s dad. I’m Peanut’s dad!”
“You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you never showed up for the birth,” you say stepping closer to him, “You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you decided to break into our home to look for drugs when they were a month old,” pushing against his chest, flowers and teddy bear falling to the ground, “You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you fucked off for the past five years. Don’t you ever call yourself Peanut’s dad, got it?”
“Biologically I am Peanut’s dad,” Dieter protests.
“You may be the sperm donor but that makes you just about as much of a parent as a toilet seat does,” you spit out, turning and storming off.
Dieter watches you walk away back to your home, his heart heavy with regret. You were the last reason he had to get sober and get healthy and you didn’t want him. He ruined it.
He turns around placing his hands on top of his car, closing his eyes as his head fills with dark and sad thoughts when he hears a small voice say, “Momma, why was the man you have a picture of in your bedside table here? And why’s he look so sad?”
Dieter’s head perks up and a hopeful grin spreads across his face.
Ohhh I love this so much!!! Him purposely getting “lost” 🤣
flora and fauna
1.4k / pairing: javier peña x f!reader
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summary: "Nature never did betray the heart that loved her." – William Wordsworth warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), smut, oral (f!receiving), nature exhibitionism??? use of petnames (angel, baby, sweetheart, etc.), swearing, reader is able-bodied and wears athletic clothing A/N: this if for the summer lovin' 2024 writing challenge hosted by @pedgito @chaotic-mystery and @amanitacowboy! thank you for having such a fun challenge to start off the summer right! and thank you for letting me join and post a lil late <3 banners made by @saradika-graphics!

It’s Javi’s fault, really. He was the one who decided to disregard the hiking trails and reroute your course.
He’d never admit that he was wandering.
“You’re lost, aren’t you?”
He huffs loudly and plants his hands on his hips, brand new hiking boots coming to a halt on the desire path he was determined to follow.
“Lost is a bit of an exaggeration. We’re exploring.”
“We’re lost.”
You yank the folded-up map of the state park out of his hands. The sight of random splatters of green and blue alone is enough to make Javier groan.
“Point to where we are. Please. Just for my sanity.”
Javier slowly pushes the aviators he’s wearing to the tip of his nose, looking between you and the map. Both sets of eyes scan across the map before Javi yanks it loose from your fingers. He does the worst thing imaginable and rotates the map a few times, not even sure which easy is up.
“Come on, we’ll come across somethin’ we recognize.” He folds up the map and stuffs it in his pocket, taking your hand and exploring further through the landscape of trees.
You follow the sounds of a beautiful stream, where the wildlife drink and the plants are vibrantly green. Javi kneels and splashes some water on his forehead and the back of his neck. Skimming your fingers along the top, you watch as the pretty ripples dance.
Soon, getting lost was no longer frightening; it had become a blessing in disguise. Both you and Javi worked demanding careers, and stress relief for the two of you had become reduced to drinks at the local cantina or nights in watching the television.
But this—a day out in nature, with the sun soaking into your skin and reviving something within both of you—was perhaps just what you needed.
By the late afternoon, Javi has you secluded in a wildflower field. You lay on your back, sat up on your elbows as you tip your head back and take in the sweet summer sun. Surrounded by butterfly weed and yellow coneflowers, it seems almost mystical as happy pollinators buzz around you and enjoy the sweet nectar the field offers.
Javi’s lingering eyes have landed on his own source of nectar.
“If we’re lost,” he starts, eyes lusting over as he takes in the sight of your skin below your hiking shorts and smirks, “then we can do whatever we want.”
No- was he seriously suggesting this?
“Right now?” You whisper.
You can’t deny the thought doesn’t make your stomach flutter with excitement. Doing it out here surrounded by the flora and fauna.
Javi sits up beside you, his hand already skirting up the top of your warm thigh. Air is taken from your lungs, and you find yourself holding it, in awe of what he might do when no one is around.
“This okay?” His gravely voice whispers. You purse your lips and look around, but there seems to be nothing more than literal birds and bees spying on you.
With your shy nod of approval, Javi slowly peels down your brightly colored shorts and panties, allowing you to kick them off once around your ankles.
Javi takes in your sweet skin and mutters something approvingly, your pretty pussy on display just for him - even out in the open like this.
His fingers tentatively squish into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, pushing them apart wider to allow him more access. He sinks to lay on his stomach, fingers brushing along a path that trails with goosebumps.
A weak sigh leaves your parted lips as Javi spreads your folds with his index and middle finger, in awe of the arousal that’s already starting to flood your core.
“I think you like doin’ it out in the open, princess,” his eyes meet your more desperate ones, teeth nibbling on your lower lip with anticipation.
“What do good girls say?”
You extend your hand and run your fingers through his dark hair, allowing a shaky breath to leave you as sweat grows tacky on the back of your neck and the hinge of your legs.
“Please, Javi, I want you.”
With a degrading smirk, he tuts almost disapprovingly. “So naughty. Want me anywhere I can have ya, huh?”
You nod feverishly, and that’s enough to get him to continue.
He presses a pretty kiss against your pearl, feeling her twitch under even the lightest of his touches. Javi leans in once more and presses a longer, sloppier one on your pussy, sucking ever so lightly that has heat simmering across your skin. A long whine leaves the depth of your throat, your fingers weaving through Javi’s locks as you keep him close.
He darkly chuckles and knows that your sense of patience is waning thin.
“You want me to eat this pussy, angel?”
“Fuck,” you huff, “please, Javi, I’ve been good.”
“You have, baby, you have.” He mutters and moves in closer.
Javi doesn’t so much as eat you out as he does makeout with your cunt, holding your hand by his head and feeling the squeezes of what makes you feel good.
He slowly lets go of your hand and nudges the tip of his finger against your entrance. You’re begging at this point for the heavenly stretch, nodding your head almost anxiously.
He doesn’t start with just one; he knows you can take two. Your back arches with a gasp that enters the open field, and you instinctively put your hand over your mouth.
“Come on, baby, I wanna hear you be loud for me. No one’s gonna hear you but me.”
It’s difficult to pull your hand away, but once you do, Javi continues to push two of his thick fingers inside your entrance.
The burn is insatiable, causing your stomach to clench with excitement.
“Please,” you moan out into the grass, clutching the soil and flowers between your fist with need.
He starts a steady pace, but soon, it’s picking up enough to make you moan his name repeatedly.
You were free out here, with every other creature that was free and happily existing. This feels like a dream, one where your lover would take you in such a beautiful place.
Javi is quick to bring you down to Earth, his fingers curling inside you and leaving you breathless as heat spills down your spine. He suckles your clit before returning to fluid circles that massage your throbbing clit, losing your breath with how good he’s eating you out.
“M’close,” you whisper, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down your temple. When your open your eyes, you see the most ravenous thing you’ve ever seen; Javi’s pink tongue extended and flicking against your clit, his dark eyes lusted over, and his fingers making your pussy squirt amongst the wildflowers.
“Fuck!” You whine, your legs shaking as your orgasm crashes against you, the knots in your stomach finally plucking loose. Your lungs fill with air as you cry out his name, Javi not stopping as he eagerly laps up your release.
He grunts against your core, moaning lowly and watching in awe as his eyes roll into the back of his head.
Your bleary eyes see Javi rut his hips against the ground, his fist at your hip clutching nothing but the roots of grass that he had ripped from the ground.
“Fuck,” he breathes, pulling off your core and seeing his face smothered in your arousal, “Taste so fucking sweet on my tongue, baby.”
The world soon begins to form around you, but not until Javi puts your panties and athletic shorts back into place, a shy grin on your face as you glance around out of habit, seeing only nature watching.
Javi licks his lips and uses his forearm to wipe away any other lacquer, smirking as his eyes roam over your body.
“We should really start finding our way back.” You trail off, attempting to find your balance as you wipe away the dirt on the back of your legs and hands.
Javi playfully laughs and shakes his head, following you to stand. “We’re not lost. We’re like a mile from the car. I’ve been wantin’ to take you here for a while.”
You stop in your tracks, dumbfounded, glancing around a bit confused.
“We’re not lost?” You try not to be shrill, but you’re quick to smack his pec with the back of your hand.
“You think I would get us lost? Please.” He says jokingly, taking your hand and escorting you out of your perfect fantasy.
Through the trail of trees and following the stream upwards as the sun melts against the horizon, it’s enough to make you wish you sort of did grow lost. Because maybe you both could stay like that forever.

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For real though! Thank you for reblogging ❤️

Some Broken Hearts Never Mend
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!actress reader
Warnings: Language, mentions of drugs, pregnancy, lovers to enemies, angst angst angst
A/N: Huge thank you to @noxturnalpascal and @beefrobeefcal for helping me with this! ❤️ I don’t usually do angst but trying to play around with it and I needed the practice. This is for @tightjeansjavi's June Writing Challenge. Also tagging @jay-zzle because she is my permanent cheerleader
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divider by: @saradika-graphics

The lights are flashing everywhere, hearing your name and Dieter’s being shouted left and right. Where to look, what to do, you love sharing this moment with him, watching his smile beam as the congratulations are being shouted out.
“I can’t believe this is real,” Dieter whispers in your ear with a smile, rubbing the bump of your belly.
Paparazzi is shouting out excitedly, seeing you two together along with your prominent bump on display. You both kept this news under wraps until you couldn’t hide it anymore. It’s too hot in the summer to try wearing the oversized hoodies you’d been wearing all spring. It was decided between both of your teams that the best thing for an announcement was to show up to Dieter’s premier with a dress that would show off your bump, letting the world know that Dieter Bravo was about to take on the most important role of his life - a family man.
“Dieter! Dieter over here!” You see Adam from Entertainment Tonight waving you both down.
You nudge Dieter, motioning towards the host, and make your way over for the first interview of the night.
“Hey guys! I’m just so excited to see you two! Wow,” Adam says your name, “You look absolutely glowing. Is there maybe a reason why?” he teases.
“Well, I don’t know,” you laugh, shrugging your shoulders, “Babe?”
“Hmm…” Dieter says, rubbing your bump, “I think because you’re having my baby?”
“I can’t believe it! First, you get this man sober, and now,” Adam says with an amusing smirk, “You’ve gotten him to have a baby with you?”
“She’s a witch!” Dieter exclaims with a massive grin, “I swear. She put me under some sort of spell!”
The interview went on for a little longer, delving into Dieter’s role and how he prepared for the movie. Interview after interview, the baby was brought up.
What are you hoping for? Boy or girl? Healthy.
Have you thought of any names? Yes, but not sure yet.
Do you know what the sex is? We want it to be a surprise.
The same questions were asked repeatedly until it was time to go inside the theater.
—
“Hey babe, I’m gonna be going out, hanging with some friends,” Dieter says, waltzing into the living room with his phone and keys. You pause the TV, scooting to the edge of the couch. “You don’t need to get up.”
“What friends?” You ask concern etched on your face. It always makes you nervous when he is going to hang out with friends solo. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Dieter, it was just that he’s had his fair share of relapses.
“Sam, Claudia, and Percy.”
You make a disgusted face as soon as Percy’s name is mentioned. Sam and Claudia, you trust. Percy, you do not.
“Babe,” Dieter starts, “I know you don’t like the guy but he just got out of rehab. No drugs will be around, everything will be just fine!”
“He just got out of rehab that was court-mandated, Dieter,” you seeth, “You really think he took that shit seriously?!”
“Baby,” Dieter sighs, placing a hand on your stomach, “You gotta watch your blood pressure. Not good for Peanut.”
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
This has become your mantra lately, the doctor was getting worried about your blood pressure and stress levels. He had said that it could cause early labor. Six months along, and you needed to start paying more attention to this stuff. The last thing you want is for Peanut to come before they’re ready.
“I just don’t trust him,” you explain, “The last time you hung out with him you relapsed and went down a rabbit hole.”
“I know,” he said, head dropping, “I’m sorry. I really am, but I promise it won’t happen again. There’s not supposed to be any hard drugs, maybe some weed but that’s it.”
“Fine,” you groan, “I mean it though Dieter, you can’t have any more slip ups. Gotta think about Peanut.”
“I’m always thinking about you and Peanut,” Dieter grins, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. “I’ll behave and be home before ten.”
Dieter wasn’t home before ten, or eleven, or twelve. It was nearing two in the morning when you finally heard the front door open. Sliding your feet into your slippers and grabbing his tattered green robe to wrap yourself in, you made your way to the living room.
“Fuck,” you hear Dieter say sniffling, “What the fuck did I do?”
“Babe?” You ask, coming into the living room, Dieter slumped on the couch, “Everything okay?”
“I fucked up,” he whispers, pushing his hands against his eyes, “I promised yo-,” he chokes on a sob, “I promised you I wouldn’t and I fucked up.”
“Dieter,” you sigh, approaching the couch to sit next to him, “Look at me.”
He shakes his head, looking down at his lap, fingers twitching against his face. He looks so helpless like this. You grab his hands, and pull them into your lap.
“Babe,” you try again, “Look at me,” reaching your hand to cup his cheek, forcing him to look at you. Watery bloodshot eyes stare back at you.
“I’m so sorry,” Dieter whispers, closing his eyes, a lone tear running down his cheek, “I should’ve listened to you.”
He tells you what happened. You nod in understanding, this was just a slip-up, you can forgive him yet again. You know it was just a bad judgment call to go out tonight. He will get through this just like he has every other time.
—
“Looks like you’re doing well, baby is right on track and appears to be growing as they should,” the doctor says, looking at your chart, “Only about two more months to go and then we can start looking to induce you. I want to see you in two weeks.”
You give a small smile and nod, rubbing your bump, slinging your purse over your shoulder, willing the phone inside to buzz as you make your way to the receptionist’s desk, making small talk with her and getting your next appointment set. You thank her as you take the appointment card, sliding it into your purse as you walk out the door.
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
Dieter’s been missing, three weeks to the day now, and no one can find him. His management team and assistant have been on a hunt trying to find him but of course, Dieter has gone off the grid. Last you knew paparazzi had gotten pictures of him somewhere in Europe, but that was last week. His PR team and your own told you not to look at the pictures but you couldn’t not see them when a pregnancy craving hit and you got ice cream late one night.
Dieter Bravo, Trouble in Paradise?
Sources close to the actor state he’s not ready to be a father and ran from his relationship to [redacted], fellow actress who is pregnant with Bravo’s first child.
The small article included pictures of Dieter exiting a club with one arm around a blonde woman’s shoulders and the other arm around a brunette man’s waist. The three of them were walking down the sidewalk. The final pictures in the article showed Dieter kissing both of them.
Stars has tried to reach out to each of the couple’s publicists for comment with no response at this time.
You felt your heart breaking in the middle of the checkout line. He was the one to bring up having a baby. He was the one to convince you to get pregnant. He was the one who time and time again reassured you this is what he wanted and only wanted it with you.
You felt so stupid, like a poor pathetic girl, when everyone had warned you about him. They’d all told you so many times. Dieter Bravo is a mess. Dieter Bravo can’t be tamed. Dieter Bravo isn’t meant for relationships. As it turns out, they were all right, and you’d just ignored every warning given to you.. Dieter had kept using after the last slip-up. What was an accident became once a week, then three times a week, and then turned to daily use. Slowly but surely you were giving up, giving up on the one person who you trusted the most.
He made you feel loved, cherished, and special. He always made you feel like no one else could compare to you or your love for each other. Now though, he makes you feel like a fool. He makes you feel like the dirt underneath his shoes. He makes you feel like… like, like—
Your thoughts are interrupted by the buzzing in your purse. The number wasn’t one you recognize but you answered anyway in hopes it was Dieter.
“Hello?”
“Baby,” Dieter’s voice sounds through the phone, “I wanna come home.”
“Dieter?” you ask, “Where are you?”
“I’m at an airport in Paris,” he says sniffling, “I wanna come home.”
“Come home, please,” you beg, “Just come home.”
—
Dieter came home the following day, detox in full swing. He was shaky, sweaty, and puking, and you were staying by his side the entire time. Doubt begins to crawl into your brain, this being the fourth or fifth time you’ve helped him through detox. Is this going to be how your life plays out? Private doctors, in and out of your home like a revolving door. Make sure he’s comfortable, providing you with the necessary instructions to get Dieter through this so he doesn’t have to go to a facility again.
“I think he should consider going to rehab again,” Mark, his manager, says.
“Mark, I don’t know what else to do,” you sigh, shaking your head back and forth. “He doesn’t want to go. He told me every single hiding spot he has here at home and I went through all of them and flushed everything.”
“Just think about it, think about your baby and your own health,” Mark says firmly, “I’ve worked for Dieter for many years and this isn’t going to be the last time this happens.”
“I know,” you whisper, tears threatening to spill over, accepting defeat. You hadn’t meant to fall in this deep with Dieter if you’re being honest with yourself. It was supposed to just be a summer fling but as time went on he squirmed his way deeper and deeper into your heart, making room for himself to curl up inside, and making himself a nice little home there. It was becoming too much to handle, the stress weighing you down more as the days passed by.
If anything was going to prepare you for a newborn it might as well be this. Dieter shouts for you from the guest room in the middle of the night, waddling through the doorway you see him sprawled out on the bed. A thin sheen of sweat covers his chest, turning on the bedside lamp he winces.
“Baby,” Dieter groans, reaching out for you, sitting on the bed you give him your hand, “I love you. I love you more than anything in this world.”
“I know, D,” you murmur, the tears already threatening your waterline as he grasps your hand like it’s his only lifeline, “I know.”
“Hey,” he says perking up some, “Once I’m through with this we should go on vacation somewhere!”
“D we can’t,” you sniffle, rubbing the hand he isn’t holding onto against your nose.
“Why not?”
“Peanut,” you say, giving him a small smile.
“We’ll just take Peanut with us,” he smiles, moving one of his hands to rest on your stomach.
“That’s not really how it works, D,” you groan, “We can’t just up and leave whenever we want to. Not with Peanut.”
“Fine,” Dieter says firmly nodding, jaw going rigid, “Guess it doesn’t matter what I want to do then.”
“No,” you whisper, “It doesn’t.”
For the first time in your entire relationship, Dieter looks angry. He lets go of your hand and rolls over, his back facing you.
“Dieter,” you say softly, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Would you consider going back to rehab?”
Dieter doesn’t respond. When you repeat yourself he just grunts and shoves your hand off his shoulder.
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
The next morning when you wake, he’s gone again. A note with his chicken scratch left on his bedside table.
You’re right. Checking into White Oak again. Things will get better. I promise ❤️
Love, D
—
It took four days. Four days for Dieter to check himself out of rehab and go missing again.
“I can’t fucking do this anymore!” You wail into the phone, leaving yet another voicemail on Dieter’s brand new phone, “Dieter, I need you to come home. Please. If not for me then for Peanut.”
“Fuck!” You shout, throwing your phone across the room, and beginning to pace back and forth. There is nothing you can do besides wait. Wait and hope that Dieter’s not lying in a ditch somewhere. You can feel your heart breaking into a million pieces.
You reach down, trying with all your might to grab your phone and then you feel it. A sharp pain in your groin and liquid rushing down your legs.
“Ahh!” You groan out, the pain sending you to your knees, reaching for your phone and dialing 911, waiting to be put through to a dispatcher, “No, no, no. This can’t be happening. It’s not time yet, it’s not time,” you clutch your stomach, telling the dispatcher you need an ambulance and your address.
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
While you lay on the floor waiting for an ambulance to arrive the only thing you can think of is Dieter and how he should be here. You pick up your phone one more time and try calling him again.
“Hey, it’s Bravo, can’t come to the phone right now but you know what to do after the beep.” Beep.
“Dieter, I’m going into labor. An ambulance is on the way. I need you, please,” you continue through tears, “I’m so scared and I need you. Please come back. Please.”
—
It’s almost been a month since you’ve been home from the hospital. Dieter still hasn’t shown back up, has yet to meet his beautiful baby in person. You started seeing a therapist to help you process everything you’ve been through with Dieter. Looking over at Peanut sleeping peacefully in the bassinet beside your bed, you can’t help thinking about how it’s so unfair to this little baby to have a father who would choose drugs over them, but there’s nothing you can do besides be the best parent you can for Peanut.
It startles you to hear a crashing sound coming from the kitchen. Slowly making your way out of bed to grab the baseball bat from the closet, you glance over at Peanut one more time before leaving the bedroom to see who dared disturb your peace.
“God damn it,” you hear Dieter groan, “I could’ve sworn I had some in here.”
You try to calm your heart rate, peering around the doorway to see Dieter rummaging through a kitchen drawer. He’s finally shown up. Not for you, not for his baby, but only to try and find drugs. He’s literally only here for the damn drugs. Your therapist had warned you about this moment.
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
“Where the fuck is it?!” Dieter hisses, still not noticing you in the doorway, flipping on the lights.
“Gone,” you state firmly, setting the bat against the wall, and crossing your arms, “I flushed everything.”
“Why the fuck would you do that?” Dieter shrieks, facing you in the doorway but barely focusing on you. “You had no right to do that!”
“I did it because you asked me to when you were detoxing the last time.”
“I never said anything like that,” he seethes, stalking towards you, pointing a finger in your face, “I would never ask you to flush my shit.”
“Dieter, where have you been?” you ask, noting his blown-out pupils, and the wild look in his eyes. “What the fuck did you do?”
“Needed some space,” Dieter scoffs shrugging, “It’s not that big of a fucking deal.”
“Peanut.”
“The fuck?” Dieter asks, looking at you with malice in his eyes.
“Peanut,” you grit through your teeth, pointing down the hall, “You fucking promised me, Dieter. You promised.”
“Oh get off your high horse,” Dieter yells, “Don’t hold that against me when you baby trapped my ass!”
“I- what?” you say through gritted teeth, “You wanted this just as much as I did! It takes two to make a baby!”
“Fuck that!” Dieter laughs maniacally, “I never wanted to be a fucking dad!”
“D, you don’t mean that,” you say, shaking your head, tears brimming your eyes, “That’s the coke talking. You haven’t even seen Peanut, you don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I’m Dieter-fucking-Bravo, baby!” He shouts, throwing his arms up into the air, “I’m not gonna be held down by some relationship and a baby at home!”
“Fuck you,” you point to the door, face serious. “Get out of this house.”
“My fucking pleasure!” Dieter roars, walking out of the kitchen and slamming the front door.
—
Five years later.
Dieter was flipping through the channels, trying to find something interesting to watch on tv. His high was still lingering, not quite sober but not quite as high as that first hit. The ET channel starts blaring your name, with a picture of you, Peanut, and some guy.
“Looks like there’s an engagement in town,” the host says with a smile, “Looks like she’s got herself a type, but who is this mystery man? It’s rumored they met when he was doing some remodeling work on her house two years ago.”
“That girl’s been through enough!” The other host announces, “Bout time she gets her happy-ever-after!”
Wait, what? No, you’re his. His love, his fairy-tale ending, his forever. Dieter’s world is twisting sideways, Peanut is the spitting image of him. His baby, his baby he has never even met.
“No, no, no,” Dieter groans, picking up his phone to try and call you, the phone goes straight to voicemail. He tries calling your publicist next, again straight to voicemail. Next, he tries your manager, with the same results, over and over again until giving up and calling the one person he can trust.
“Mark,” Dieter cries into the receiver, “Please tell me it’s not true.”
“Dieter,” Mark grunts, “It’s three in the morning, what the fuck are you doing?”
“Is she really getting married?”
“Dieter,” Mark let out an exasperated sigh.
“I need to go back to rehab,” Dieter announces, “If I get clean and do all the steps she’ll have to take me back right?”
“Dieter,” Mark says firmly, “That’s not how it works. Let her go. She’s had to change her number fifteen different times now because you somehow keep getting it. Her entire team has your number blocked.”
“She’s the love of my life, Mark,” he whines, “I can’t just let her go. Starting tomorrow, I’m sober.”
Dieter begins cutting ties with most of his friends or really it was more cutting the people off who encouraged him to use. He went through the detox, he went through the steps as best as he could. He wants to impress you, he wants to get you back, get his kid back, fuck this guy who swooped in while he was away.
---
He’s six months sober. He hadn’t been sober for this long since before Peanut was born. Dieter found out from a friend of a friend’s friend where exactly you were living for the right price, Hollywood would never change. He makes the drive to your house, flowers in the passenger seat for you, and a teddy bear for Peanut. He’s ready to grovel at your feet if that’s what it will take. Pulling up to the curb he sees a nice suburban home. It’s nothing like what you two had shared, no ornate bushes out in the front yard, no massive gate surrounding the house keeping you caged in, kids freely playing in the neighboring yards. The front door opens and he feels like he’s been sucker punched. You’re standing there, staring daggers at him. He watches you leave the doorway, and as you walk towards his car he can’t help but think you look just as beautiful as the first day he met you.
He opens the car door, grabs the flowers and teddy bear, and gets out.
“Stop right there,” you state firmly, shoulders back and head held high, “What the fuck are you doing here Dieter?”
“I’m sober,” he says, “I thought- I thought maybe I could come and try to talk to y-”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” You laugh, but not the soft laugh that fills him with so much light like Dieter remembers, this laugh doesn’t bring him comfort, it only brings him a sense of loss.
“I haven’t used in six months now, I’m trying to change, I really am,” he sighs, “I know I fucked up, I know I’ve been gone but I can’t think of you marrying someone else. I can’t”
“You’ve been gone?” You ask, shaking your head, “You were more than gone, it’s been five years. What did you think was going to happen Dieter? That I would still be in that house, taking care of our baby all on my own just waiting on you to come to your senses? Don’t act like you were just gone on a business trip, it’s been five damn years!”
“No, that’s-” he starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, “That’s now how I meant it.”
“Then how did you mean it?”
“I haven’t been good in a long time. The last time things were good was when I was with you.”
“And?” you ask, gritting your teeth together, “What does that have to do with anything? You left Dieter. You left me. Alone, pregnant, I almost lost Peanut because of you.”
He hates this, he never thought he’d see a side of you like this. Angry, mean, spiteful. You were always forgiving, tender, and always cared about his feelings. What happened?
“What happened to you?” Dieter asks, shaking his head, “When we were together you were never like this. You’re being so hateful.”
“What happened to me?” You shout, “Dieter, you! You happened to me!”
“Babe,” Dieter looks past you to the man at the door, “Everythin’ a’right?”
“Yeah, Joel,” you say giving the man a warm smile, the smile that was once for Dieter, “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Daddy look at this!” Dieter hears a kid shout, and the man named Joel responds to the kid’s voice with a “Comin’ kiddo!”
“Is that-” Dieter swallows, feeling his mouth go dry, “Was that Peanut?”
“Yes,” you reply coldly.
“That’s not Peanut’s dad. I’m Peanut’s dad!”
“You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you never showed up for the birth,” you say stepping closer to him, “You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you decided to break into our home to look for drugs when they were a month old,” pushing against his chest, flowers and teddy bear falling to the ground, “You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you fucked off for the past five years. Don’t you ever call yourself Peanut’s dad, got it?”
“Biologically I am Peanut’s dad,” Dieter protests.
“You may be the sperm donor but that makes you just about as much of a parent as a toilet seat does,” you spit out, turning and storming off.
Dieter watches you walk away back to your home, his heart heavy with regret. You were the last reason he had to get sober and get healthy and you didn’t want him. He ruined it.
He turns around placing his hands on top of his car, closing his eyes as his head fills with dark and sad thoughts when he hears a small voice say, “Momma, why was the man you have a picture of in your bedside table here? And why’s he look so sad?”
Dieter’s head perks up and a hopeful grin spreads across his face.
Oh gosh don’t I know it!
Thank you so much! ❤️

Some Broken Hearts Never Mend
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!actress reader
Warnings: Language, mentions of drugs, pregnancy, lovers to enemies, angst angst angst
A/N: Huge thank you to @noxturnalpascal and @beefrobeefcal for helping me with this! ❤️ I don’t usually do angst but trying to play around with it and I needed the practice. This is for @tightjeansjavi's June Writing Challenge. Also tagging @jay-zzle because she is my permanent cheerleader
Masterlist||AO3
divider by: @saradika-graphics

The lights are flashing everywhere, hearing your name and Dieter’s being shouted left and right. Where to look, what to do, you love sharing this moment with him, watching his smile beam as the congratulations are being shouted out.
“I can’t believe this is real,” Dieter whispers in your ear with a smile, rubbing the bump of your belly.
Paparazzi is shouting out excitedly, seeing you two together along with your prominent bump on display. You both kept this news under wraps until you couldn’t hide it anymore. It’s too hot in the summer to try wearing the oversized hoodies you’d been wearing all spring. It was decided between both of your teams that the best thing for an announcement was to show up to Dieter’s premier with a dress that would show off your bump, letting the world know that Dieter Bravo was about to take on the most important role of his life - a family man.
“Dieter! Dieter over here!” You see Adam from Entertainment Tonight waving you both down.
You nudge Dieter, motioning towards the host, and make your way over for the first interview of the night.
“Hey guys! I’m just so excited to see you two! Wow,” Adam says your name, “You look absolutely glowing. Is there maybe a reason why?” he teases.
“Well, I don’t know,” you laugh, shrugging your shoulders, “Babe?”
“Hmm…” Dieter says, rubbing your bump, “I think because you’re having my baby?”
“I can’t believe it! First, you get this man sober, and now,” Adam says with an amusing smirk, “You’ve gotten him to have a baby with you?”
“She’s a witch!” Dieter exclaims with a massive grin, “I swear. She put me under some sort of spell!”
The interview went on for a little longer, delving into Dieter’s role and how he prepared for the movie. Interview after interview, the baby was brought up.
What are you hoping for? Boy or girl? Healthy.
Have you thought of any names? Yes, but not sure yet.
Do you know what the sex is? We want it to be a surprise.
The same questions were asked repeatedly until it was time to go inside the theater.
—
“Hey babe, I’m gonna be going out, hanging with some friends,” Dieter says, waltzing into the living room with his phone and keys. You pause the TV, scooting to the edge of the couch. “You don’t need to get up.”
“What friends?” You ask concern etched on your face. It always makes you nervous when he is going to hang out with friends solo. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Dieter, it was just that he’s had his fair share of relapses.
“Sam, Claudia, and Percy.”
You make a disgusted face as soon as Percy’s name is mentioned. Sam and Claudia, you trust. Percy, you do not.
“Babe,” Dieter starts, “I know you don’t like the guy but he just got out of rehab. No drugs will be around, everything will be just fine!”
“He just got out of rehab that was court-mandated, Dieter,” you seeth, “You really think he took that shit seriously?!”
“Baby,” Dieter sighs, placing a hand on your stomach, “You gotta watch your blood pressure. Not good for Peanut.”
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
This has become your mantra lately, the doctor was getting worried about your blood pressure and stress levels. He had said that it could cause early labor. Six months along, and you needed to start paying more attention to this stuff. The last thing you want is for Peanut to come before they’re ready.
“I just don’t trust him,” you explain, “The last time you hung out with him you relapsed and went down a rabbit hole.”
“I know,” he said, head dropping, “I’m sorry. I really am, but I promise it won’t happen again. There’s not supposed to be any hard drugs, maybe some weed but that’s it.”
“Fine,” you groan, “I mean it though Dieter, you can’t have any more slip ups. Gotta think about Peanut.”
“I’m always thinking about you and Peanut,” Dieter grins, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. “I’ll behave and be home before ten.”
Dieter wasn’t home before ten, or eleven, or twelve. It was nearing two in the morning when you finally heard the front door open. Sliding your feet into your slippers and grabbing his tattered green robe to wrap yourself in, you made your way to the living room.
“Fuck,” you hear Dieter say sniffling, “What the fuck did I do?”
“Babe?” You ask, coming into the living room, Dieter slumped on the couch, “Everything okay?”
“I fucked up,” he whispers, pushing his hands against his eyes, “I promised yo-,” he chokes on a sob, “I promised you I wouldn’t and I fucked up.”
“Dieter,” you sigh, approaching the couch to sit next to him, “Look at me.”
He shakes his head, looking down at his lap, fingers twitching against his face. He looks so helpless like this. You grab his hands, and pull them into your lap.
“Babe,” you try again, “Look at me,” reaching your hand to cup his cheek, forcing him to look at you. Watery bloodshot eyes stare back at you.
“I’m so sorry,” Dieter whispers, closing his eyes, a lone tear running down his cheek, “I should’ve listened to you.”
He tells you what happened. You nod in understanding, this was just a slip-up, you can forgive him yet again. You know it was just a bad judgment call to go out tonight. He will get through this just like he has every other time.
—
“Looks like you’re doing well, baby is right on track and appears to be growing as they should,” the doctor says, looking at your chart, “Only about two more months to go and then we can start looking to induce you. I want to see you in two weeks.”
You give a small smile and nod, rubbing your bump, slinging your purse over your shoulder, willing the phone inside to buzz as you make your way to the receptionist’s desk, making small talk with her and getting your next appointment set. You thank her as you take the appointment card, sliding it into your purse as you walk out the door.
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
Dieter’s been missing, three weeks to the day now, and no one can find him. His management team and assistant have been on a hunt trying to find him but of course, Dieter has gone off the grid. Last you knew paparazzi had gotten pictures of him somewhere in Europe, but that was last week. His PR team and your own told you not to look at the pictures but you couldn’t not see them when a pregnancy craving hit and you got ice cream late one night.
Dieter Bravo, Trouble in Paradise?
Sources close to the actor state he’s not ready to be a father and ran from his relationship to [redacted], fellow actress who is pregnant with Bravo’s first child.
The small article included pictures of Dieter exiting a club with one arm around a blonde woman’s shoulders and the other arm around a brunette man’s waist. The three of them were walking down the sidewalk. The final pictures in the article showed Dieter kissing both of them.
Stars has tried to reach out to each of the couple’s publicists for comment with no response at this time.
You felt your heart breaking in the middle of the checkout line. He was the one to bring up having a baby. He was the one to convince you to get pregnant. He was the one who time and time again reassured you this is what he wanted and only wanted it with you.
You felt so stupid, like a poor pathetic girl, when everyone had warned you about him. They’d all told you so many times. Dieter Bravo is a mess. Dieter Bravo can’t be tamed. Dieter Bravo isn’t meant for relationships. As it turns out, they were all right, and you’d just ignored every warning given to you.. Dieter had kept using after the last slip-up. What was an accident became once a week, then three times a week, and then turned to daily use. Slowly but surely you were giving up, giving up on the one person who you trusted the most.
He made you feel loved, cherished, and special. He always made you feel like no one else could compare to you or your love for each other. Now though, he makes you feel like a fool. He makes you feel like the dirt underneath his shoes. He makes you feel like… like, like—
Your thoughts are interrupted by the buzzing in your purse. The number wasn’t one you recognize but you answered anyway in hopes it was Dieter.
“Hello?”
“Baby,” Dieter’s voice sounds through the phone, “I wanna come home.”
“Dieter?” you ask, “Where are you?”
“I’m at an airport in Paris,” he says sniffling, “I wanna come home.”
“Come home, please,” you beg, “Just come home.”
—
Dieter came home the following day, detox in full swing. He was shaky, sweaty, and puking, and you were staying by his side the entire time. Doubt begins to crawl into your brain, this being the fourth or fifth time you’ve helped him through detox. Is this going to be how your life plays out? Private doctors, in and out of your home like a revolving door. Make sure he’s comfortable, providing you with the necessary instructions to get Dieter through this so he doesn’t have to go to a facility again.
“I think he should consider going to rehab again,” Mark, his manager, says.
“Mark, I don’t know what else to do,” you sigh, shaking your head back and forth. “He doesn’t want to go. He told me every single hiding spot he has here at home and I went through all of them and flushed everything.”
“Just think about it, think about your baby and your own health,” Mark says firmly, “I’ve worked for Dieter for many years and this isn’t going to be the last time this happens.”
“I know,” you whisper, tears threatening to spill over, accepting defeat. You hadn’t meant to fall in this deep with Dieter if you’re being honest with yourself. It was supposed to just be a summer fling but as time went on he squirmed his way deeper and deeper into your heart, making room for himself to curl up inside, and making himself a nice little home there. It was becoming too much to handle, the stress weighing you down more as the days passed by.
If anything was going to prepare you for a newborn it might as well be this. Dieter shouts for you from the guest room in the middle of the night, waddling through the doorway you see him sprawled out on the bed. A thin sheen of sweat covers his chest, turning on the bedside lamp he winces.
“Baby,” Dieter groans, reaching out for you, sitting on the bed you give him your hand, “I love you. I love you more than anything in this world.”
“I know, D,” you murmur, the tears already threatening your waterline as he grasps your hand like it’s his only lifeline, “I know.”
“Hey,” he says perking up some, “Once I’m through with this we should go on vacation somewhere!”
“D we can’t,” you sniffle, rubbing the hand he isn’t holding onto against your nose.
“Why not?”
“Peanut,” you say, giving him a small smile.
“We’ll just take Peanut with us,” he smiles, moving one of his hands to rest on your stomach.
“That’s not really how it works, D,” you groan, “We can’t just up and leave whenever we want to. Not with Peanut.”
“Fine,” Dieter says firmly nodding, jaw going rigid, “Guess it doesn’t matter what I want to do then.”
“No,” you whisper, “It doesn’t.”
For the first time in your entire relationship, Dieter looks angry. He lets go of your hand and rolls over, his back facing you.
“Dieter,” you say softly, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Would you consider going back to rehab?”
Dieter doesn’t respond. When you repeat yourself he just grunts and shoves your hand off his shoulder.
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
The next morning when you wake, he’s gone again. A note with his chicken scratch left on his bedside table.
You’re right. Checking into White Oak again. Things will get better. I promise ❤️
Love, D
—
It took four days. Four days for Dieter to check himself out of rehab and go missing again.
“I can’t fucking do this anymore!” You wail into the phone, leaving yet another voicemail on Dieter’s brand new phone, “Dieter, I need you to come home. Please. If not for me then for Peanut.”
“Fuck!” You shout, throwing your phone across the room, and beginning to pace back and forth. There is nothing you can do besides wait. Wait and hope that Dieter’s not lying in a ditch somewhere. You can feel your heart breaking into a million pieces.
You reach down, trying with all your might to grab your phone and then you feel it. A sharp pain in your groin and liquid rushing down your legs.
“Ahh!” You groan out, the pain sending you to your knees, reaching for your phone and dialing 911, waiting to be put through to a dispatcher, “No, no, no. This can’t be happening. It’s not time yet, it’s not time,” you clutch your stomach, telling the dispatcher you need an ambulance and your address.
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
While you lay on the floor waiting for an ambulance to arrive the only thing you can think of is Dieter and how he should be here. You pick up your phone one more time and try calling him again.
“Hey, it’s Bravo, can’t come to the phone right now but you know what to do after the beep.” Beep.
“Dieter, I’m going into labor. An ambulance is on the way. I need you, please,” you continue through tears, “I’m so scared and I need you. Please come back. Please.”
—
It’s almost been a month since you’ve been home from the hospital. Dieter still hasn’t shown back up, has yet to meet his beautiful baby in person. You started seeing a therapist to help you process everything you’ve been through with Dieter. Looking over at Peanut sleeping peacefully in the bassinet beside your bed, you can’t help thinking about how it’s so unfair to this little baby to have a father who would choose drugs over them, but there’s nothing you can do besides be the best parent you can for Peanut.
It startles you to hear a crashing sound coming from the kitchen. Slowly making your way out of bed to grab the baseball bat from the closet, you glance over at Peanut one more time before leaving the bedroom to see who dared disturb your peace.
“God damn it,” you hear Dieter groan, “I could’ve sworn I had some in here.”
You try to calm your heart rate, peering around the doorway to see Dieter rummaging through a kitchen drawer. He’s finally shown up. Not for you, not for his baby, but only to try and find drugs. He’s literally only here for the damn drugs. Your therapist had warned you about this moment.
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
“Where the fuck is it?!” Dieter hisses, still not noticing you in the doorway, flipping on the lights.
“Gone,” you state firmly, setting the bat against the wall, and crossing your arms, “I flushed everything.”
“Why the fuck would you do that?” Dieter shrieks, facing you in the doorway but barely focusing on you. “You had no right to do that!”
“I did it because you asked me to when you were detoxing the last time.”
“I never said anything like that,” he seethes, stalking towards you, pointing a finger in your face, “I would never ask you to flush my shit.”
“Dieter, where have you been?” you ask, noting his blown-out pupils, and the wild look in his eyes. “What the fuck did you do?”
“Needed some space,” Dieter scoffs shrugging, “It’s not that big of a fucking deal.”
“Peanut.”
“The fuck?” Dieter asks, looking at you with malice in his eyes.
“Peanut,” you grit through your teeth, pointing down the hall, “You fucking promised me, Dieter. You promised.”
“Oh get off your high horse,” Dieter yells, “Don’t hold that against me when you baby trapped my ass!”
“I- what?” you say through gritted teeth, “You wanted this just as much as I did! It takes two to make a baby!”
“Fuck that!” Dieter laughs maniacally, “I never wanted to be a fucking dad!”
“D, you don’t mean that,” you say, shaking your head, tears brimming your eyes, “That’s the coke talking. You haven’t even seen Peanut, you don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I’m Dieter-fucking-Bravo, baby!” He shouts, throwing his arms up into the air, “I’m not gonna be held down by some relationship and a baby at home!”
“Fuck you,” you point to the door, face serious. “Get out of this house.”
“My fucking pleasure!” Dieter roars, walking out of the kitchen and slamming the front door.
—
Five years later.
Dieter was flipping through the channels, trying to find something interesting to watch on tv. His high was still lingering, not quite sober but not quite as high as that first hit. The ET channel starts blaring your name, with a picture of you, Peanut, and some guy.
“Looks like there’s an engagement in town,” the host says with a smile, “Looks like she’s got herself a type, but who is this mystery man? It’s rumored they met when he was doing some remodeling work on her house two years ago.”
“That girl’s been through enough!” The other host announces, “Bout time she gets her happy-ever-after!”
Wait, what? No, you’re his. His love, his fairy-tale ending, his forever. Dieter’s world is twisting sideways, Peanut is the spitting image of him. His baby, his baby he has never even met.
“No, no, no,” Dieter groans, picking up his phone to try and call you, the phone goes straight to voicemail. He tries calling your publicist next, again straight to voicemail. Next, he tries your manager, with the same results, over and over again until giving up and calling the one person he can trust.
“Mark,” Dieter cries into the receiver, “Please tell me it’s not true.”
“Dieter,” Mark grunts, “It’s three in the morning, what the fuck are you doing?”
“Is she really getting married?”
“Dieter,” Mark let out an exasperated sigh.
“I need to go back to rehab,” Dieter announces, “If I get clean and do all the steps she’ll have to take me back right?”
“Dieter,” Mark says firmly, “That’s not how it works. Let her go. She’s had to change her number fifteen different times now because you somehow keep getting it. Her entire team has your number blocked.”
“She’s the love of my life, Mark,” he whines, “I can’t just let her go. Starting tomorrow, I’m sober.”
Dieter begins cutting ties with most of his friends or really it was more cutting the people off who encouraged him to use. He went through the detox, he went through the steps as best as he could. He wants to impress you, he wants to get you back, get his kid back, fuck this guy who swooped in while he was away.
---
He’s six months sober. He hadn’t been sober for this long since before Peanut was born. Dieter found out from a friend of a friend’s friend where exactly you were living for the right price, Hollywood would never change. He makes the drive to your house, flowers in the passenger seat for you, and a teddy bear for Peanut. He’s ready to grovel at your feet if that’s what it will take. Pulling up to the curb he sees a nice suburban home. It’s nothing like what you two had shared, no ornate bushes out in the front yard, no massive gate surrounding the house keeping you caged in, kids freely playing in the neighboring yards. The front door opens and he feels like he’s been sucker punched. You’re standing there, staring daggers at him. He watches you leave the doorway, and as you walk towards his car he can’t help but think you look just as beautiful as the first day he met you.
He opens the car door, grabs the flowers and teddy bear, and gets out.
“Stop right there,” you state firmly, shoulders back and head held high, “What the fuck are you doing here Dieter?”
“I’m sober,” he says, “I thought- I thought maybe I could come and try to talk to y-”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” You laugh, but not the soft laugh that fills him with so much light like Dieter remembers, this laugh doesn’t bring him comfort, it only brings him a sense of loss.
“I haven’t used in six months now, I’m trying to change, I really am,” he sighs, “I know I fucked up, I know I’ve been gone but I can’t think of you marrying someone else. I can’t”
“You’ve been gone?” You ask, shaking your head, “You were more than gone, it’s been five years. What did you think was going to happen Dieter? That I would still be in that house, taking care of our baby all on my own just waiting on you to come to your senses? Don’t act like you were just gone on a business trip, it’s been five damn years!”
“No, that’s-” he starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, “That’s now how I meant it.”
“Then how did you mean it?”
“I haven’t been good in a long time. The last time things were good was when I was with you.”
“And?” you ask, gritting your teeth together, “What does that have to do with anything? You left Dieter. You left me. Alone, pregnant, I almost lost Peanut because of you.”
He hates this, he never thought he’d see a side of you like this. Angry, mean, spiteful. You were always forgiving, tender, and always cared about his feelings. What happened?
“What happened to you?” Dieter asks, shaking his head, “When we were together you were never like this. You’re being so hateful.”
“What happened to me?” You shout, “Dieter, you! You happened to me!”
“Babe,” Dieter looks past you to the man at the door, “Everythin’ a’right?”
“Yeah, Joel,” you say giving the man a warm smile, the smile that was once for Dieter, “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Daddy look at this!” Dieter hears a kid shout, and the man named Joel responds to the kid’s voice with a “Comin’ kiddo!”
“Is that-” Dieter swallows, feeling his mouth go dry, “Was that Peanut?”
“Yes,” you reply coldly.
“That’s not Peanut’s dad. I’m Peanut’s dad!”
“You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you never showed up for the birth,” you say stepping closer to him, “You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you decided to break into our home to look for drugs when they were a month old,” pushing against his chest, flowers and teddy bear falling to the ground, “You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you fucked off for the past five years. Don’t you ever call yourself Peanut’s dad, got it?”
“Biologically I am Peanut’s dad,” Dieter protests.
“You may be the sperm donor but that makes you just about as much of a parent as a toilet seat does,” you spit out, turning and storming off.
Dieter watches you walk away back to your home, his heart heavy with regret. You were the last reason he had to get sober and get healthy and you didn’t want him. He ruined it.
He turns around placing his hands on top of his car, closing his eyes as his head fills with dark and sad thoughts when he hears a small voice say, “Momma, why was the man you have a picture of in your bedside table here? And why’s he look so sad?”
Dieter’s head perks up and a hopeful grin spreads across his face.
YESSS!!!! It needed to happen!

Some Broken Hearts Never Mend
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!actress reader
Warnings: Language, mentions of drugs, pregnancy, lovers to enemies, angst angst angst
A/N: Huge thank you to @noxturnalpascal and @beefrobeefcal for helping me with this! ❤️ I don’t usually do angst but trying to play around with it and I needed the practice. This is for @tightjeansjavi's June Writing Challenge. Also tagging @jay-zzle because she is my permanent cheerleader
Masterlist||AO3
divider by: @saradika-graphics

The lights are flashing everywhere, hearing your name and Dieter’s being shouted left and right. Where to look, what to do, you love sharing this moment with him, watching his smile beam as the congratulations are being shouted out.
“I can’t believe this is real,” Dieter whispers in your ear with a smile, rubbing the bump of your belly.
Paparazzi is shouting out excitedly, seeing you two together along with your prominent bump on display. You both kept this news under wraps until you couldn’t hide it anymore. It’s too hot in the summer to try wearing the oversized hoodies you’d been wearing all spring. It was decided between both of your teams that the best thing for an announcement was to show up to Dieter’s premier with a dress that would show off your bump, letting the world know that Dieter Bravo was about to take on the most important role of his life - a family man.
“Dieter! Dieter over here!” You see Adam from Entertainment Tonight waving you both down.
You nudge Dieter, motioning towards the host, and make your way over for the first interview of the night.
“Hey guys! I’m just so excited to see you two! Wow,” Adam says your name, “You look absolutely glowing. Is there maybe a reason why?” he teases.
“Well, I don’t know,” you laugh, shrugging your shoulders, “Babe?”
“Hmm…” Dieter says, rubbing your bump, “I think because you’re having my baby?”
“I can’t believe it! First, you get this man sober, and now,” Adam says with an amusing smirk, “You’ve gotten him to have a baby with you?”
“She’s a witch!” Dieter exclaims with a massive grin, “I swear. She put me under some sort of spell!”
The interview went on for a little longer, delving into Dieter’s role and how he prepared for the movie. Interview after interview, the baby was brought up.
What are you hoping for? Boy or girl? Healthy.
Have you thought of any names? Yes, but not sure yet.
Do you know what the sex is? We want it to be a surprise.
The same questions were asked repeatedly until it was time to go inside the theater.
—
“Hey babe, I’m gonna be going out, hanging with some friends,” Dieter says, waltzing into the living room with his phone and keys. You pause the TV, scooting to the edge of the couch. “You don’t need to get up.”
“What friends?” You ask concern etched on your face. It always makes you nervous when he is going to hang out with friends solo. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Dieter, it was just that he’s had his fair share of relapses.
“Sam, Claudia, and Percy.”
You make a disgusted face as soon as Percy’s name is mentioned. Sam and Claudia, you trust. Percy, you do not.
“Babe,” Dieter starts, “I know you don’t like the guy but he just got out of rehab. No drugs will be around, everything will be just fine!”
“He just got out of rehab that was court-mandated, Dieter,” you seeth, “You really think he took that shit seriously?!”
“Baby,” Dieter sighs, placing a hand on your stomach, “You gotta watch your blood pressure. Not good for Peanut.”
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
This has become your mantra lately, the doctor was getting worried about your blood pressure and stress levels. He had said that it could cause early labor. Six months along, and you needed to start paying more attention to this stuff. The last thing you want is for Peanut to come before they’re ready.
“I just don’t trust him,” you explain, “The last time you hung out with him you relapsed and went down a rabbit hole.”
“I know,” he said, head dropping, “I’m sorry. I really am, but I promise it won’t happen again. There’s not supposed to be any hard drugs, maybe some weed but that’s it.”
“Fine,” you groan, “I mean it though Dieter, you can’t have any more slip ups. Gotta think about Peanut.”
“I’m always thinking about you and Peanut,” Dieter grins, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. “I’ll behave and be home before ten.”
Dieter wasn’t home before ten, or eleven, or twelve. It was nearing two in the morning when you finally heard the front door open. Sliding your feet into your slippers and grabbing his tattered green robe to wrap yourself in, you made your way to the living room.
“Fuck,” you hear Dieter say sniffling, “What the fuck did I do?”
“Babe?” You ask, coming into the living room, Dieter slumped on the couch, “Everything okay?”
“I fucked up,” he whispers, pushing his hands against his eyes, “I promised yo-,” he chokes on a sob, “I promised you I wouldn’t and I fucked up.”
“Dieter,” you sigh, approaching the couch to sit next to him, “Look at me.”
He shakes his head, looking down at his lap, fingers twitching against his face. He looks so helpless like this. You grab his hands, and pull them into your lap.
“Babe,” you try again, “Look at me,” reaching your hand to cup his cheek, forcing him to look at you. Watery bloodshot eyes stare back at you.
“I’m so sorry,” Dieter whispers, closing his eyes, a lone tear running down his cheek, “I should’ve listened to you.”
He tells you what happened. You nod in understanding, this was just a slip-up, you can forgive him yet again. You know it was just a bad judgment call to go out tonight. He will get through this just like he has every other time.
—
“Looks like you’re doing well, baby is right on track and appears to be growing as they should,” the doctor says, looking at your chart, “Only about two more months to go and then we can start looking to induce you. I want to see you in two weeks.”
You give a small smile and nod, rubbing your bump, slinging your purse over your shoulder, willing the phone inside to buzz as you make your way to the receptionist’s desk, making small talk with her and getting your next appointment set. You thank her as you take the appointment card, sliding it into your purse as you walk out the door.
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
Dieter’s been missing, three weeks to the day now, and no one can find him. His management team and assistant have been on a hunt trying to find him but of course, Dieter has gone off the grid. Last you knew paparazzi had gotten pictures of him somewhere in Europe, but that was last week. His PR team and your own told you not to look at the pictures but you couldn’t not see them when a pregnancy craving hit and you got ice cream late one night.
Dieter Bravo, Trouble in Paradise?
Sources close to the actor state he’s not ready to be a father and ran from his relationship to [redacted], fellow actress who is pregnant with Bravo’s first child.
The small article included pictures of Dieter exiting a club with one arm around a blonde woman’s shoulders and the other arm around a brunette man’s waist. The three of them were walking down the sidewalk. The final pictures in the article showed Dieter kissing both of them.
Stars has tried to reach out to each of the couple’s publicists for comment with no response at this time.
You felt your heart breaking in the middle of the checkout line. He was the one to bring up having a baby. He was the one to convince you to get pregnant. He was the one who time and time again reassured you this is what he wanted and only wanted it with you.
You felt so stupid, like a poor pathetic girl, when everyone had warned you about him. They’d all told you so many times. Dieter Bravo is a mess. Dieter Bravo can’t be tamed. Dieter Bravo isn’t meant for relationships. As it turns out, they were all right, and you’d just ignored every warning given to you.. Dieter had kept using after the last slip-up. What was an accident became once a week, then three times a week, and then turned to daily use. Slowly but surely you were giving up, giving up on the one person who you trusted the most.
He made you feel loved, cherished, and special. He always made you feel like no one else could compare to you or your love for each other. Now though, he makes you feel like a fool. He makes you feel like the dirt underneath his shoes. He makes you feel like… like, like—
Your thoughts are interrupted by the buzzing in your purse. The number wasn’t one you recognize but you answered anyway in hopes it was Dieter.
“Hello?”
“Baby,” Dieter’s voice sounds through the phone, “I wanna come home.”
“Dieter?” you ask, “Where are you?”
“I’m at an airport in Paris,” he says sniffling, “I wanna come home.”
“Come home, please,” you beg, “Just come home.”
—
Dieter came home the following day, detox in full swing. He was shaky, sweaty, and puking, and you were staying by his side the entire time. Doubt begins to crawl into your brain, this being the fourth or fifth time you’ve helped him through detox. Is this going to be how your life plays out? Private doctors, in and out of your home like a revolving door. Make sure he’s comfortable, providing you with the necessary instructions to get Dieter through this so he doesn’t have to go to a facility again.
“I think he should consider going to rehab again,” Mark, his manager, says.
“Mark, I don’t know what else to do,” you sigh, shaking your head back and forth. “He doesn’t want to go. He told me every single hiding spot he has here at home and I went through all of them and flushed everything.”
“Just think about it, think about your baby and your own health,” Mark says firmly, “I’ve worked for Dieter for many years and this isn’t going to be the last time this happens.”
“I know,” you whisper, tears threatening to spill over, accepting defeat. You hadn’t meant to fall in this deep with Dieter if you’re being honest with yourself. It was supposed to just be a summer fling but as time went on he squirmed his way deeper and deeper into your heart, making room for himself to curl up inside, and making himself a nice little home there. It was becoming too much to handle, the stress weighing you down more as the days passed by.
If anything was going to prepare you for a newborn it might as well be this. Dieter shouts for you from the guest room in the middle of the night, waddling through the doorway you see him sprawled out on the bed. A thin sheen of sweat covers his chest, turning on the bedside lamp he winces.
“Baby,” Dieter groans, reaching out for you, sitting on the bed you give him your hand, “I love you. I love you more than anything in this world.”
“I know, D,” you murmur, the tears already threatening your waterline as he grasps your hand like it’s his only lifeline, “I know.”
“Hey,” he says perking up some, “Once I’m through with this we should go on vacation somewhere!”
“D we can’t,” you sniffle, rubbing the hand he isn’t holding onto against your nose.
“Why not?”
“Peanut,” you say, giving him a small smile.
“We’ll just take Peanut with us,” he smiles, moving one of his hands to rest on your stomach.
“That’s not really how it works, D,” you groan, “We can’t just up and leave whenever we want to. Not with Peanut.”
“Fine,” Dieter says firmly nodding, jaw going rigid, “Guess it doesn’t matter what I want to do then.”
“No,” you whisper, “It doesn’t.”
For the first time in your entire relationship, Dieter looks angry. He lets go of your hand and rolls over, his back facing you.
“Dieter,” you say softly, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Would you consider going back to rehab?”
Dieter doesn’t respond. When you repeat yourself he just grunts and shoves your hand off his shoulder.
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
The next morning when you wake, he’s gone again. A note with his chicken scratch left on his bedside table.
You’re right. Checking into White Oak again. Things will get better. I promise ❤️
Love, D
—
It took four days. Four days for Dieter to check himself out of rehab and go missing again.
“I can’t fucking do this anymore!” You wail into the phone, leaving yet another voicemail on Dieter’s brand new phone, “Dieter, I need you to come home. Please. If not for me then for Peanut.”
“Fuck!” You shout, throwing your phone across the room, and beginning to pace back and forth. There is nothing you can do besides wait. Wait and hope that Dieter’s not lying in a ditch somewhere. You can feel your heart breaking into a million pieces.
You reach down, trying with all your might to grab your phone and then you feel it. A sharp pain in your groin and liquid rushing down your legs.
“Ahh!” You groan out, the pain sending you to your knees, reaching for your phone and dialing 911, waiting to be put through to a dispatcher, “No, no, no. This can’t be happening. It’s not time yet, it’s not time,” you clutch your stomach, telling the dispatcher you need an ambulance and your address.
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
While you lay on the floor waiting for an ambulance to arrive the only thing you can think of is Dieter and how he should be here. You pick up your phone one more time and try calling him again.
“Hey, it’s Bravo, can’t come to the phone right now but you know what to do after the beep.” Beep.
“Dieter, I’m going into labor. An ambulance is on the way. I need you, please,” you continue through tears, “I’m so scared and I need you. Please come back. Please.”
—
It’s almost been a month since you’ve been home from the hospital. Dieter still hasn’t shown back up, has yet to meet his beautiful baby in person. You started seeing a therapist to help you process everything you’ve been through with Dieter. Looking over at Peanut sleeping peacefully in the bassinet beside your bed, you can’t help thinking about how it’s so unfair to this little baby to have a father who would choose drugs over them, but there’s nothing you can do besides be the best parent you can for Peanut.
It startles you to hear a crashing sound coming from the kitchen. Slowly making your way out of bed to grab the baseball bat from the closet, you glance over at Peanut one more time before leaving the bedroom to see who dared disturb your peace.
“God damn it,” you hear Dieter groan, “I could’ve sworn I had some in here.”
You try to calm your heart rate, peering around the doorway to see Dieter rummaging through a kitchen drawer. He’s finally shown up. Not for you, not for his baby, but only to try and find drugs. He’s literally only here for the damn drugs. Your therapist had warned you about this moment.
Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.
“Where the fuck is it?!” Dieter hisses, still not noticing you in the doorway, flipping on the lights.
“Gone,” you state firmly, setting the bat against the wall, and crossing your arms, “I flushed everything.”
“Why the fuck would you do that?” Dieter shrieks, facing you in the doorway but barely focusing on you. “You had no right to do that!”
“I did it because you asked me to when you were detoxing the last time.”
“I never said anything like that,” he seethes, stalking towards you, pointing a finger in your face, “I would never ask you to flush my shit.”
“Dieter, where have you been?” you ask, noting his blown-out pupils, and the wild look in his eyes. “What the fuck did you do?”
“Needed some space,” Dieter scoffs shrugging, “It’s not that big of a fucking deal.”
“Peanut.”
“The fuck?” Dieter asks, looking at you with malice in his eyes.
“Peanut,” you grit through your teeth, pointing down the hall, “You fucking promised me, Dieter. You promised.”
“Oh get off your high horse,” Dieter yells, “Don’t hold that against me when you baby trapped my ass!”
“I- what?” you say through gritted teeth, “You wanted this just as much as I did! It takes two to make a baby!”
“Fuck that!” Dieter laughs maniacally, “I never wanted to be a fucking dad!”
“D, you don’t mean that,” you say, shaking your head, tears brimming your eyes, “That’s the coke talking. You haven’t even seen Peanut, you don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I’m Dieter-fucking-Bravo, baby!” He shouts, throwing his arms up into the air, “I’m not gonna be held down by some relationship and a baby at home!”
“Fuck you,” you point to the door, face serious. “Get out of this house.”
“My fucking pleasure!” Dieter roars, walking out of the kitchen and slamming the front door.
—
Five years later.
Dieter was flipping through the channels, trying to find something interesting to watch on tv. His high was still lingering, not quite sober but not quite as high as that first hit. The ET channel starts blaring your name, with a picture of you, Peanut, and some guy.
“Looks like there’s an engagement in town,” the host says with a smile, “Looks like she’s got herself a type, but who is this mystery man? It’s rumored they met when he was doing some remodeling work on her house two years ago.”
“That girl’s been through enough!” The other host announces, “Bout time she gets her happy-ever-after!”
Wait, what? No, you’re his. His love, his fairy-tale ending, his forever. Dieter’s world is twisting sideways, Peanut is the spitting image of him. His baby, his baby he has never even met.
“No, no, no,” Dieter groans, picking up his phone to try and call you, the phone goes straight to voicemail. He tries calling your publicist next, again straight to voicemail. Next, he tries your manager, with the same results, over and over again until giving up and calling the one person he can trust.
“Mark,” Dieter cries into the receiver, “Please tell me it’s not true.”
“Dieter,” Mark grunts, “It’s three in the morning, what the fuck are you doing?”
“Is she really getting married?”
“Dieter,” Mark let out an exasperated sigh.
“I need to go back to rehab,” Dieter announces, “If I get clean and do all the steps she’ll have to take me back right?”
“Dieter,” Mark says firmly, “That’s not how it works. Let her go. She’s had to change her number fifteen different times now because you somehow keep getting it. Her entire team has your number blocked.”
“She’s the love of my life, Mark,” he whines, “I can’t just let her go. Starting tomorrow, I’m sober.”
Dieter begins cutting ties with most of his friends or really it was more cutting the people off who encouraged him to use. He went through the detox, he went through the steps as best as he could. He wants to impress you, he wants to get you back, get his kid back, fuck this guy who swooped in while he was away.
---
He’s six months sober. He hadn’t been sober for this long since before Peanut was born. Dieter found out from a friend of a friend’s friend where exactly you were living for the right price, Hollywood would never change. He makes the drive to your house, flowers in the passenger seat for you, and a teddy bear for Peanut. He’s ready to grovel at your feet if that’s what it will take. Pulling up to the curb he sees a nice suburban home. It’s nothing like what you two had shared, no ornate bushes out in the front yard, no massive gate surrounding the house keeping you caged in, kids freely playing in the neighboring yards. The front door opens and he feels like he’s been sucker punched. You’re standing there, staring daggers at him. He watches you leave the doorway, and as you walk towards his car he can’t help but think you look just as beautiful as the first day he met you.
He opens the car door, grabs the flowers and teddy bear, and gets out.
“Stop right there,” you state firmly, shoulders back and head held high, “What the fuck are you doing here Dieter?”
“I’m sober,” he says, “I thought- I thought maybe I could come and try to talk to y-”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” You laugh, but not the soft laugh that fills him with so much light like Dieter remembers, this laugh doesn’t bring him comfort, it only brings him a sense of loss.
“I haven’t used in six months now, I’m trying to change, I really am,” he sighs, “I know I fucked up, I know I’ve been gone but I can’t think of you marrying someone else. I can’t”
“You’ve been gone?” You ask, shaking your head, “You were more than gone, it’s been five years. What did you think was going to happen Dieter? That I would still be in that house, taking care of our baby all on my own just waiting on you to come to your senses? Don’t act like you were just gone on a business trip, it’s been five damn years!”
“No, that’s-” he starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, “That’s now how I meant it.”
“Then how did you mean it?”
“I haven’t been good in a long time. The last time things were good was when I was with you.”
“And?” you ask, gritting your teeth together, “What does that have to do with anything? You left Dieter. You left me. Alone, pregnant, I almost lost Peanut because of you.”
He hates this, he never thought he’d see a side of you like this. Angry, mean, spiteful. You were always forgiving, tender, and always cared about his feelings. What happened?
“What happened to you?” Dieter asks, shaking his head, “When we were together you were never like this. You’re being so hateful.”
“What happened to me?” You shout, “Dieter, you! You happened to me!”
“Babe,” Dieter looks past you to the man at the door, “Everythin’ a’right?”
“Yeah, Joel,” you say giving the man a warm smile, the smile that was once for Dieter, “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Daddy look at this!” Dieter hears a kid shout, and the man named Joel responds to the kid’s voice with a “Comin’ kiddo!”
“Is that-” Dieter swallows, feeling his mouth go dry, “Was that Peanut?”
“Yes,” you reply coldly.
“That’s not Peanut’s dad. I’m Peanut’s dad!”
“You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you never showed up for the birth,” you say stepping closer to him, “You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you decided to break into our home to look for drugs when they were a month old,” pushing against his chest, flowers and teddy bear falling to the ground, “You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you fucked off for the past five years. Don’t you ever call yourself Peanut’s dad, got it?”
“Biologically I am Peanut’s dad,” Dieter protests.
“You may be the sperm donor but that makes you just about as much of a parent as a toilet seat does,” you spit out, turning and storming off.
Dieter watches you walk away back to your home, his heart heavy with regret. You were the last reason he had to get sober and get healthy and you didn’t want him. He ruined it.
He turns around placing his hands on top of his car, closing his eyes as his head fills with dark and sad thoughts when he hears a small voice say, “Momma, why was the man you have a picture of in your bedside table here? And why’s he look so sad?”
Dieter’s head perks up and a hopeful grin spreads across his face.