This fic is fighting me because I’m going through some things this week….but here’s a little taster of what’s to come:
“In your confusion it takes you a minute to identify little huffs and breathy whimpers from Dieter. Panicking that he might be in pain, you rip the curtain open with more force than it really needed.
A nurse is standing pressed close to Dieter’s bed. Both men’s heads snap to you, and it takes a moment for your eyes to drift down, where the nurse’s arm has disappeared into a very obvious tent in the bedcovers.”
Warnings: rpf, language, gun mention, food mention, smut, fingering, choking, unprotected p in v, handjob, let me know if I missed anything[if this is not your cup of tea just scroll past]
A/N:It’s been 4 months, I apologize for the time it took for me to be able to get my head back where I needed for this series. To everyone who has stuck by me, thank you, I hope this chapter gives you all I left you hanging with and more xo
Thank you to @danniburgh we talked about this forever ago and it helped me get through this and @purplepascal042 thank you for looking over this for me
——-
You wake up to the sun shining in your face, a weak groan escaping your lips, eyelids too heavy to open. Your body felt sore in a way you hadn’t felt in so long and it made you want to curse the sun for intruding on your sleep. The grogginess in your brain is begging you for more sleep, wondering if you had forgotten to shut your curtains properly. You never let this much light come through. God why is it so bright in here.
You open your eyes, trying to focus on the room around you, something felt off, the golden light flooding in too bright. It made your eyes hurt and you tried to turn away from it. An arm around your waist prevents you from moving and you freeze for a moment, before your half asleep brain reminds you of where you were. You relax into Pedro’s grip, blinking a few times, vision still sleep blurred, trying to become more alert, a soft yawn escaping your lips. You try turning your head away from the light pouring in through his thin curtains as your eyes adjust to the lighting.
Summary: After a botched raid, you and Javi both need a cigarette. Sitting together on the sidewalk outside the embassy, you find out you both need each other too.
Pairings: Javier Peña x DEA Agent!Reader
Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, friends to lovers | Word Count: 3k
Warnings: canon-typical violence, ptsd, smoking
A/N:Somebody called for “local gruff DEA agent is secretly a softie with the girl he loves” with a side of angsty love confession? This one’s for you! ♡
“Javi. Cigarette.”
He cast you a sidelong glance as you sat next to him on the edge of the sidewalk, his gaze lingering only a moment before he reached into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a pack of smokes. He handed you one, flicked his lighter on for you, and frowned at you.
“What?” you said around a drag. The nicotine immediately flooded your system, quieting some of the shaking in your hands that you were trying very hard to hide.
He shook his head. “Since when do you smoke?”
You held the cigarette between two fingers and pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes, warding off a headache.
“You’ve only known me for a few months, Javi,” you said. You’d started at the embassy a little over six months ago, put on Javi and Steve’s intelligence team by Ambassador Noonan. Though you stayed in the office at the embassy most of the time, you’d gotten to know both men very well. Perhaps too well, in Javi’s case.
summary: A series of vignettes centered on your relationship with one Javi Gutierrez, who tears you apart in the most wonderful way after stumbling into your life ten minutes before you finish your shift at Blockbuster Video. chapter summary: In which Javi takes you on vacation. rating: E [spoiler-ish for TUWOMT, SMUT, vaginal fingering, oral sex fem receiving, mentions of BDSM, slight intimidation by an asshole] pairing: Javi G x f!reader word count: ~2.4k note: All right. It’s happening! Thank y'all for sticking with this. At this point, the movie is important for context, particularly with Javi’s family involved. This one’s a little longer for certain reasonssss. It might also help to be slightly familiar with the movie Secretary, but it’s not, like, required. ETA I love @starlightmornings for the beta always.
Mallorca is the most beautiful place you’ve ever been. There’s no other way to describe it—it’s incredible. Javi’s cliffside compound overlooks the clear sapphire waters of the Mediterranean sea, and every morning you’re served café con leche with a side of fruit on the balcony of your apartment. Twice a week, Javi takes you to the beach. He insists you need the vitamin D, despite how often you sit poolside.
You think, though, it’s an excuse to be with you. It’s something he can put on his schedule and have Gabriela explain away to his father as a meeting. You have yet to meet his father, and as Gabriela explained it, it’s better this way.
“He is a foul-tempered man,” she said. “I would advise you not to wander.”
You’ve started to suspect that “olives” doesn’t exactly cover everything Javi works with, but you’re a little afraid to ask now.
It’s been two months to the day since he’d swept you off on a private jet to this paradise. The warm sand glitters in the sun as you dig your toes in, fidgeting and worrying about the conversation you want to have with him. You can’t just keep living off of him, no matter how disposable his income is.
“What is it, ángel?” He asks, picking up on your nerves. The sunlight bounces off his sun-bronzed shoulders and you wonder—has anyone ever told him how absolutely god-like he is? He squints at you and smiles, shaking his curls back with his hand as he rolls to his side, propping himself up on his elbow to face you.
**
She’s been distant the last few days. Lost in her thoughts, drawing in on herself. Quiet. Unusually quiet. Overall, he’d describe her as fairly reserved, but not with him.
It’s troubling.
So he asks.
“It’s just…” She starts, staring out at the calm water. “It’s been a couple months now. And not that I’m not having an amazing time here with you…it just feels like I’m using you.”
He raises his eyebrow. “When was the last time you had a vacation before this?”
“I was eleven.”
“And the last time you took time off?”
“I’ve never taken time off.”
“Perhaps it is fine to use me, then, if I am offering,” he says. She sighs in that exasperated way of hers, and he grins.
“Javi—”
“You are my guest. You cannot use me if I am offering this to you, yes?”
That is not quite true, he knows, but he wants to give her this.
“Maybe you are bored,” he teases. “All this fun is dulling your senses. Is there anything you have found yourself wanting to do?” She lays back on the beach towel and throws her arm over her face, like she’s too embarrassed to admit it. “Tell me, ángel, or I will tickle you until you do,” he threatens, creeping toward her with wiggling fingers. She folds over into a defensive position, but it’s too late. His fingers have found the curve of her hip, and she squeaks in surprise.
“Fine! Fine, I’ll tell you!” She gasps, fighting him off. He pulls her into him as she laughs, sand flying everywhere, and he wraps his arms around her shoulders, drinking in the sigh she lets out. “I always wanted to write a screenplay.”
“Really?” He asks.
“Is that stupid?”
“Not at all.”
“Would you read it if I did?” She asks shyly. Of course he’d read it. He’d read it and he’d produce it and he’d pay all the damn actors with his father’s money if it made her light up like this. He’d be her date to the premiere, he’d threaten all the movie critics if they didn’t give her perfect reviews, he’d—
“Javi?” She asks. He’d been quiet for too long.
“Of course,” he says. She leans back with a contented sigh.
“What movie should we watch tonight?” She asks, changing the subject. He knows better than to push it.
“Face/Off?” He asks hopefully.
“What’s with you and Nic Cage lately?”
“I do not know what you mean.”
She stands and rolls her eyes, holding her hand out to him. “C’mon, goof.”
**
You’d been impressed with his home theater in Florida.
Here, though, he had an entire theater built for him as a birthday gift. If he wanted, he could have hired full-time staff, but he said it felt too extravagant.
Right. The fully functioning theater itself didn’t fall into that category.
But you love the theater, so you don’t tease him about it. The armrests on the seats come up and you can cuddle with him. And sometimes, if you’re lucky, he’ll kiss the top of your head.
He’s been cautious since you got here, and while you’ve appreciated it, you’d like for him to be a little more aggressive. There’s obviously something between the two of you. When he wraps his arm around you so tentatively, the loud thump of his sweet heart makes a lump swell in your throat.
You’d like him to kiss you again like he did before.
It’s dark as you make your way to the theater building. The only sound is the faint crashing of the waves on the rocks below you. You’re almost there when the unexpected movement from the corner of your eye startles you.
“Hola, Miss America.”
Lucas.
You’ve interacted with Lucas a couple of times, but Javi’s kept you separate from his family. At first, you’d thought it was something you’d done—like maybe you were too poor for him to want to be seen with you. But now that you’d spoken with him a few times, you’re pretty sure it’s because Lucas fucking sucks.
“Lucas,” you gasp, your hand flying over your heart. “God, you scared the hell out of me.”
He’s sitting on a bench, half-hidden in shadow, the smoke of his cigarette curling around the frosted tips of his hair. “Apologies.”
“It’s okay.” You shrug and turn back to the little stone path that leads to the theater doors.
“Miss America,” he says again, the taunting lilt in his voice growing ever more obvious. You turn around and give him a plaintive glare as he stands and makes his way to you. He’s standing much too close, staring down at you with those bright green eyes. He looks at you like you’re naked, like he can see right through you.
“Ángel?”
Javi’s voice rings through the courtyard, and you exhale. Lucas glares at his cousin.
“Shouldn’t let her wander around here like that, primo. Never know who could be out here.”
Javi’s behind you now, his big hand clasped over your shoulder. For a moment, they stare at each other, chests puffed out like fighting dogs.
“Come on,” Javi says, gently taking your hand and pulling you with him.
Only in the theater’s haven do you say, “That was fucking weird, Javi.”
“Ignore him. He is a dick.”
“Why to me?”
“He is jealous of things he cannot have.”
The statement rubs you the wrong way. “I’m not a possession.” You fold your arms. Javi turns around at the tone in your voice, rushing to your side with big, pleading brown eyes.
“Of course not, ángel. I did not mean to suggest otherwise. Come, let me make you some popcorn. I know you like mine the best.”
He’s right.
**
She’s upset. She should be.
Fucking Lucas. He’d always been so jealous of Javi—always. When they were children, after Lucas’s parents died and Javi’s family took him in, he’d wanted everything Javi had. And the younger boy was glad to share.
Perhaps it was the grief of losing his parents, or maybe he was just always rotten, but Lucas did not want to share. He wanted to take and own, even if it meant hurting his cousin. And now, despite his best intentions, she’d become one of those things that Lucas wanted.
It wouldn’t do at all.
But he wouldn’t worry her with that now.
The movie was blaring and loud and everything they needed to take her mind off of the incident in the courtyard. He raised the seat arm up and she settled against his side, still damp from her post-beach shower. She smelled like the jasmine soap he’d bought for her.
“I just don’t know how I feel about Nicolas Cage,” she says when it’s done.
“Well, what would you like to watch next, then?”
“Do you have anything with Maggie Gyllenhall? I just watched Stranger than Fiction and I really like her.”
Javi checks the library and comes up with something his cousin’s friends had ordered.
“Secretary?” He says.
“Never heard of it.”
Javi smiles. Watching something new with her is always special.
**
You should have looked the goddamn movie up beforehand.
Javi’s sitting upright next to you, completely stiff and staring at the screen like an alarmed baby deer as James Spader smacks Maggie’s ass while she’s reading a letter out loud. It’s upsettingly erotic, and you cannot stop squirming in your seat. But you’re much more concerned about the man next to you.
Not that you think he’s some innocent little virgin—you know for a fact he’s not after a drunken game of truth or dare. You also know, though, that he grew up Catholic, went to Catholic school, and got all the Catholic guilt that came with it.
“Javi?” You whisper.
“Hnngh?” Is the noise that comes out of his mouth. It’s so inelegant you almost laugh.
“Everything…okay? Do you wanna watch something else?”
He whips his head in your direction so fast you’re afraid he’s hurt himself. “Why? Why would I do that? There is no problem. I am perfectly fine with this.” He gestures wildly toward the screen, a laugh that you think was meant to be casual erupting from his throat.
“You seem a little uptight.”
“I am not uptight,” he protests, putting his arm back around you. He’s even stiffer than he was before, if that was possible. His fingers hover awkwardly near your bare skin. “I am fine.”
He relaxes, eventually, but the movie does not let up. The whole BDSM thing isn’t something you’re usually into, but overall vibe and the idea of an older man bossing you around in bed is not entirely unappealing. Especially if he uses his I-mean-business voice.
You’re all pressed against his warm chest, squeezing your thighs together for some relief. His breathing is a little shallow, and during a particularly bright scene, your eyes are drawn to the outline of his cock in his jeans.
Then you fucking whimper, because how can you not?
He hears you—of course he does—and looks into your eyes.
“Ángel?” He whispers. You blink, and his lips are finally—finally—on yours. The kiss is less cautious this time. This time his tongue demands, it does not ask, and maybe it’s the energy of the movie, but you open yourself to him, submitting to whatever he wants.
He groans at every little whine that comes from you, pulling you onto his lap again. “Is this okay?” He asks, remembering himself, and all you can do is nod vigorously. Javi holds your face in his hands, brows knit in a question. “Ángel, would you let me touch you?” He kisses your cheek. “Would you let me make you come?”
Your brain’s melting down, fuzzy from the question and how good his hands feel on you. “Please,” you murmur. “Yes.”
You climb off and he’s pulling at your panties, moving them aside and pushing your legs apart until he gets to your dripping wet core, sliding his finger up and down your lips. He spreads your slickness around, finding your clit and rubbing lazy, firm circles. The movie isn’t loud enough to drown out the squelch of you as he inserts a finger and moans.
“Thank you,” he whispers against your lips.
“You can always have me, Javi,” you breathe as he brushes a spot that leaves you gasping. He’s everywhere—kissing you, licking the hollow of your throat, shockingly skilled fingers pressing and curling into you relentlessly.
“Ángel, let me—can I taste you?” He asks, big brown eyes begging and how on Earth could you ever say no to that?
“Yes.” He drops to his knees on the floor in front of you, rucking your panties down and splaying you open. For a moment, he only looks, the movie screen lighting your glistening cunt.
“Beautiful,” he sighs. “You’re so beautiful.”
His soft praise hits deep in your heart, and you think, maybe—maybe you’re in love with him. And then his mouth is on you, hot and wet and you can’t think of anything but his tongue and the sounds he’s making into your pussy. He slides two thick fingers into you, groaning at the way you clench.
“Good girl, that’s it. Take what you need,” he says, encouraging the way you fuck down onto his fingers, the flat of his tongue lapping against your clit. He thrusts his hips against the chair, looking for any alleviation, and the movement sends a new rush of arousal through you, gushing onto his fingers and mouth.
“What do you need, ángel?”
“Just—keep—like that,” you cry, feeling the clench of your pussy around his thick fingers. You want him to fuck you, want to be full of his cock, but your first time can’t be here in this theater.
It means too much.
“Take what you need, whatever you need,” he whispers. “I love this.”
It’s the tenderness, the sincerity in his voice that sends you over the edge. You almost scream that you love him, because you do, and God, you need him to know. He sighs in front of you, murmuring praise, pulling away from you to prevent any overstimulation. You come back down from your high and he pulls his fingers from you, licking them clean.
“Perfect,” he whispers, kissing your thighs.
You reach down and softly catch his jaw with your hand, eyes heavy lidded as you smile at him. First times are always filled with apprehension—did he like it? Was it okay? Were you okay?
“Did you…was it okay?” You ask timidly.
He surges up and kisses you hard, teeth gnashing against your mouth like he needs to prove it. Your taste on his lips pulls at something inside you.
“More than,” he says, nuzzling into you. “Perfect.”
“Should we…should we continue this somewhere?” You ask, biting your lip. His enthusiastic nod fills your heart, and suddenly, everything is different.
Summary:When Javi Gutierrez relocates to New York, he discovers the joys of watching bad movies with you, while also falling in love along the way.
Word count: 9,005
Notes:Huge thank you to @ezrasbirdie for beta-reading this beast of a one shot and for letting me yell in the DM’s about this story I’ve had this idea for a while and I’m so glad to be finally sharing it with you all. This is a very meta fic with more than a few references. I hope you all enjoy it
Reblogs/comments appreciated
Warnings:Spoilers for The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent andPaddington 2, class inequality, swearing, feelings, one mention of sugar daddies (jokingly), minor miscommunication, mutual pining, kissing, non-explicit sexual content
rating: M (18+ Soft!Javier Peña, feelings, making out, suggestive language, ass grab, teasing Javi.)
word count:5600+
A/N: Hi there! I was blown away by the response to part one! Thank you all SO MUCH. I’m having to split this chapter into 2 parts because it is long. It’s the second date, and we see Javi’s POV. Keep in mind this is post-Colombia and post-S3 Narcos. Javi is tired and lonely, and trying to figure out what to do with himself. There are a lot of feelings. This is as always dedicated to my love, @juletheghoul and thank you to my amazing beta @invisibleismyname.
A smile had been permanently etched on your face since you’d woken up, your mind replaying the events of the day before, over and over again—the grocery store, the bar, the truck—you’d practically floated through your day, feeling so giddy as you thought about him, as you thought about Javi. Charming, sweet, hot, Javier Peña.
You genuinely liked him. A lot, and how couldn’t you? He was lovely, easy to talk to, and seemed to genuinely like you too, which made your heart flutter at the thought. You hadn’t felt this way about someone in so long, and you were a bit surprised by how quickly this man had wormed his way into your heart. It scared you a little, but the excitement overpowered that feeling. You’d spent hours getting to know him, learning about him, and as each new piece of information was revealed to you, you found yourself falling harder and harder.
Omg I LOVED this!!! How comfortable they are with each other- how much cielito reassures him! Oh Javi, you gorgeous little dummy you’re WORTH the wait!
summery:Javier Peña wanted to wait three dates before fucking you—his way of trying to do things right. It’s sweet, very sweet, but you’re horny. You’re both horny. The two of you know how this third date will end, you’ve just got to get through dinner and a movie. You can wait a few more hours, right?
rating: E(18+!!! THIS IS SMUT. With a sprinkle of plot. Unprotected P in V (wrap it up), creampie, oral sex (m & f receiving), vaginal fingering, praise, edging, squirting, body worship, dirty talk, multiple orgasms (so many), spit mention, teasing, (1) light bite to Javi’s buttcheek, spanks (playful), aftercare, post-sex smoking, so much kissing, Soft Javier Peña, fluff, softness.)
pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader
word count: 11k+ (I apologize.)
A/N: The third date got out of hand and I’m going to split it into 2 chapters. (Sorry!) This first part is reader POV. I love the response to this series so much! Thank you for reading! I’ve outlined more chapters and some one shots, with a pretty good idea about where I want things to go. I always welcome asks and dm’s. This is, as always, dedicated to my bestie and inspiration @juletheghoul and shoutout to my beta @invisibleismyname who I love with all of my heart. Thank you again for reading and commenting!
When Javi had said the last three words, you’d sucked in a breath, eyes widening as your mouth made a perfect ‘O’, taken aback for a moment by the reveal. He told you it was a term of endearment similar to sweetheart or darling, but your mind was focused on those three simple words, shining bold and bright in your brain like a blinking marquee in Time’s Square. Knowing the translation made it seem much more intimate than something like honey or sweetie, and he’d bestowed it upon you on the first date, as if he’d determined right away you were special to him—that you’d be someone special to him. The words, the knowledge, it made you feel like you were going to melt into a puddle, your whole body just overcome with a warm and fuzzy feeling.
AN: No thoughts, only thots about meeting Frankie at a party you were reluctant to go to in the first place. There’s infidelity here - so if that’s not your jam no worries! Enjoy!
Pairing; Frankie Morales x f!reader
Warnings; Infidelity, (18+ no minors) piv sex (wrap it up), swearing, dirty talk, unhappy marriage - mentions of divorce.
Her lips were parted slightly, her eyes dilated and her pulse was almost visible on the delicate skin of her neck and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.
Idk how you do it, but you really just have this way of pulling me into a scene. Like I can smell the beer and hear the music and see Frankie’s sweet pleading face. I loved this and man I hope he calls her soon. He deserves something nice.
Thanks bb - I’m happy it came across well, thank you for reading!♥️
AN: No thoughts, only thots about meeting Frankie at a party you were reluctant to go to in the first place. There’s infidelity here - so if that’s not your jam no worries! Enjoy!
Pairing; Frankie Morales x f!reader
Warnings; Infidelity, (18+ no minors) piv sex (wrap it up), swearing, dirty talk, unhappy marriage - mentions of divorce.
Her lips were parted slightly, her eyes dilated and her pulse was almost visible on the delicate skin of her neck and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.
AN: No thoughts, only thots about meeting Frankie at a party you were reluctant to go to in the first place. There’s infidelity here - so if that’s not your jam no worries! Enjoy!
Pairing; Frankie Morales x f!reader
Warnings; Infidelity, (18+ no minors) piv sex (wrap it up), swearing, dirty talk, unhappy marriage - mentions of divorce.
Her lips were parted slightly, her eyes dilated and her pulse was almost visible on the delicate skin of her neck and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.
My wife hasn’t looked at me like that in years.
“Sorry? I didn’t quite catch your name.” He instantly likes her voice and tries to imagine what she’d sound like in bed and for the first time in god knows how long he isn’t ashamed of himself.
“It’s Francisco - you can call me Frankie.” He shakes her hand, holds onto it probably longer than he should and he knows his dimple is staring her in the face with the way he’s smiling. “How do you know James?” He gives her a once over, almost subtly and he’s happy to see her fluster a tiny bit.
“Oh um - ha I actually don’t - I came with a friend. Maureen - do you know her?” She fiddles with her dress, smoothing it down with her plump lower lip between her teeth. It’s endearing and he wants nothing more than to pull her close - to nuzzle at the hollow of her throat but she looks at his hand when he takes a sip of his beer and the spell is broken. She sees it, he knows she does and there’s nothing he can say.
Fuck.
“Oh, I’m sorry - I didn’t realize.” She frowns a little staring at his wedding ring, more flustered than before but now it’s out of embarrassment and he feels cruel, like he’d led her on in some way.
“Yeah, that’s - sorry that’s-” He doesn’t know what to say to this lovely thing in front of him.
Technically, yes I’m married but my wife has been cheating on me for years, I just got the proof I needed a couple of days ago and I’m going to divorce her ass. Wanna fuck?
“There you are, have you seen my purse?” His wife came in right on cue and then he was alone with her, a swirl of a skirt left in the pretty woman’s wake - he sighed loudly, not that his wife commented on it - or even noticed for that matter. “There it is - oh look - your buddies are here! Why don’t you catch up with them?” She didn’t look at him as she said it - too busy fixing her lipstick and he knew then that her side piece was here.
He felt nothing.
“Sure honey.” He spoke the words to her back as she walked away from him - he couldn’t even remember when he stopped watching her go.
-
The heat was crawling up your body, warming the apples of your cheeks with embarrassment and your legs couldn’t carry you away fast enough. You moved through the crowd of people you didn’t know, winding through the little groups of them while scanning for Maureen, hoping to catch a glimpse of the red shirt she’d been wearing - relief washing over you when you finally saw her.
“Hey- where’d you get to?” She smiled big, looking for the drinks you were supposed to grab. “No drinks?”
“Sorry- There were a bunch of people waiting so I came back.” You did your best to smile through the lie. “I’ll try again in a few.”
If he’s not still standing there.
Your stomach dropped at the thought of running into him again, a groan threatening to claw its way out of your throat. Why did he have to be so handsome? Why did he have to be exactlyyour type? Tall and broad, with that cute dimple and those soft waves- marriedwaves.
Why did you flirt back?
This question annoyed you a bit, it burned brightly in the back of your mind while you tried - genuinely tried to listen to Maureen chatting about - well whatever the hell she was chatting about.
You saw his wife walk past the two of you then, a very pretty woman with gorgeously thick hair and Ruby red lips lost in conversation with a burly blond man, if he’d told her that you’d flirted then it would only make sense that she’d glance at you but mercifully she didn’t. Thank christ.
Maureen laughed and pulled you away from your thoughts, introducing you to a few of her friends from college and you busied yourself trying to remember their names, muddling through polite conversation while also counting the hours until she’d be ready to go. It wasn’t so bad though- they weren’t so bad. Her friends, while maybe a bit pretentious, were all in all nice enough and it wasn’t hard to find common interests with a few while she made her rounds until your bladder pulled you towards the bathroom.
The door to the powder room on the bottom floor was locked, in use. Goddamn it-
“There’s a bathroom just up the stairs and to the left-” One of the hosts saw you standing there and came to the rescue “-please feel free.” With a polite thank you, you climbed up further and further until the door was opening before you. The scene inside froze you in your tracks, it was the blond burly man and Francisco’s wife in the middle of a hook-up.
Your mouth gaped open for half a second before you shut the door - unsure if they’d heard you, unsure if they even cared.
Couldn’t even be bothered to lock the door???
You ran down the stairs as quickly as you could, almost crashing into the person just coming out of the powder room and after a nervous shuffle from both of you, you were safely tucked away in the enclosed space. After relieving yourself, and splashing your face with cool water came the time to rejoin the fray - maybe if you could make eye contact with Maureen, she would see the discomfort on your face but that was a dead end - she was nowhere to be found.
I need a cigarette.
-
He was standing alone on the porch of the house, taking in the cool night air and it seemed as though the Gods or the fates or whoever was responsible for the day was thoroughly enjoying your discomfort.
“Oh - hi.” He smiled his dimpled smile and it was almost too much - you didn’t know this man, you had no idea what was happening in their marriage but what you did know for sure was how fucking disrespectful it was of this woman to fuck another man while her husband was here. “You okay?” His head tilted, concerned, beautiful.
“Yeah. Sorry um - you wouldn’t happen to have a smoke would you?” Fingers crossed he’d say yes.
“No sorry - I quit a long time ago.”
Fuck me sideways, seriously.
“No worries.” You stood there, gawping at him as he leaned his hip against one side of the railings. His smile faded and a neutral realization took its place.
“Was it with a blond man?” His words were stones in your stomach, boulders being dropped from a great height.
“What?” You hoped against hope that he wouldn’t make you do this.
I shouldn’t have fucking come out here.
“It’s okay - it wouldn’t be the first time. It’s funny - I didn’t want to divorce her until I had the proof and I got it a couple of days ago.” He sighed big but it didn’t seem sad or heartbroken. “I’m not naive, it’s nothing new.”
“I’m sorry - I don’t know what to say. Are you going to confront them?” The idea of him storming upstairs and pulling them out of the bathroom for everyone to see made your skin crawl with anxiety.
“Oh no, nothing so dramatic as that, I don’t care to - haven’t cared in a long time.” He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just please don’t look at me like that.” You frowned.
“Like what?” It was your head that tilted now.
“Like you pity me - I’m okay, in a couple of days I’ll serve her with the papers and it’ll be done. For now I’d much rather you looked at me the way you did before you knew I was married.” He straightened as he spoke - taking a few slow steps towards you.
“And how did I look at you before?” He was so tall, so broad and handsome.
“You looked at me, like you wanted me.” He watched your mouth, licking his bottom lip as he spoke and suddenly it was too hot - your skin was too warm and your tongue followed the example set by him and swiping along your bottom lip.
-
His grip is almost bruising, but his hands are so much softer than you would have thought and after a harder thrust one of them is sliding under your bra to hold the weight of your breast.
“You feel so fucking good.” His voice is hoarse, the words clipped as he groans them into your ear. The plush swell of your ass is pressed up tight against his groin, his cock punching up into you in the back of his truck.
I am letting a married man fuck me in the back of his truck, in a suburban neighbourhood.
The thought bleeds out of your brain with every snap of his hips, with every swirl of his fingers on your swollen clit. Your slick is dripping out around him, soaking the panties he roughly pulled down to fill your aching cunt. His cock sliding in so easily with how aroused you are and it takes everything not to scream out from how good it feels.
“Feel how fucking hard you made me baby.” He picks up speed, pushing the air out of your lungs with the force of it - your eyes roll back - mouth a wordless ‘O’ as he steals the thoughts out of your head with the slip of his cock and the swirl of his fingers. “Talk to me baby- tell me it feels good.” He pulls you up, his hand moving up to cradle your jaw and bring you towards him in a misaligned kiss. All tongues and pants as he doubles down on his efforts to pull you apart.
“It’s good - god it’s so fucking good.” Your words are almost slurred and he lets out a breathless laugh before he bites at your ear.
You’re racing towards your orgasm, the tingle of it spreading from your center out through your limbs and when he pinches your clit between his two wet fingers you fall off the cliff. Euphoria burns through your veins, cunt clenching around him hard enough to make him groan from deep in his throat.
“Where do you want it?” He grits it out through mashed teeth and you pull away, bending forward as best you can.
“On my ass.” You pull your dress up past your hips, displaying yourself for him shamelessly.
“Fuck-”He sounds pained and you can’t help but look back as best you can, the pain in your neck is worth the vision of him, his eyes down watching as he pumps his cock against your ass. One of his hands gripping you and with a shuddering moan he paints you in himself. “Jesus baby- fuck that’s pretty.” He rubs the sensitive tip through the mess on your skin before finally finding a tissue and wiping most of it away.
The cab is steamy when you exit, your hair a mess, his shirt untucked but both of you giddy with post orgasmic bliss - wordlessly parting to join the party but not before saving your number in his phone.
After the blood has cooled and it’s time to go, he catches your eye at the door with a wink and a promise and as you walk out with Maureen you hope he’ll call soon.
Requested?: Yes from this ask - I loved Speak!!’ Ezra is such a dad. Maybe when your done with all your other requests can you do a part 2 where it’s set after the movie where they make it to the station and Ezra teaches her how to speak and maybe she tells him why she didn’t talk. You could come why she didn’t talk before
Author’s note: I slightly changed it to where she knows how to speak yet refuses.
I don’t give permission for my work to be posted on another site with the exception of tumblr and AO3 (where I post the stories myself). If you find it elsewhere then it has been stolen.
After finally getting off the Green by ambushing a group of people to obtain their vessel, you, Cee, and Ezra make it back to the station. Medical personnel were there to greet the three of you. You and Cee watched as Ezra was carted off to have his arm further examined while you and Cee sat in the medical bay, only for observation and to get the two of you fed and hydrated.
Cee consoled you, “It’s okay, Y/N. We are fine. We’ll make it; we’ll survive. We always do.”
You had simply nodded, taking in more food and water. You then sighed and signed, “I know.” It felt as though you haven’t eaten and drank in years when it had only been a couple of weeks since the last decent meal you shared with your father and Cee on the Green before your father died.
The captain had come by to inform you and Cee, Ezra was doing fine and would eventually be given a prosthetic arm since he was an essential digger. She also informed the two of you, you and your older sister could use some rest before you started work back on the station and Cee left for the next departure to another planet to find resources to keep the station afloat until it returned to Earth in three months.
Once you and Cee were cleared from the medical bay, you made your way back towards your living quarters, which was going to feel smaller yet bigger since it was just you and Cee now. The two of you didn’t do much for the first day back except sleep, which your body desperately needed since you had barely slept a wink since Ezra walked into you and your sister’s life down on the Green.
You thought about Ezra often. Wondering how he’s doing, wondering what he’s doing. You had spoken in front of him, something you hadn’t done in ages since you could remember. Yet you do remember…you and Cee had just lost your mother and you blamed yourself, even though Cee never blamed you for her death, she always blamed your greedy hungry father for her death. You were closer to your mother whereas Cee was close to your father, mainly because Cee enjoyed going on digs and you preferred to stay behind and work on what you do best - the station’s comms system.
It’s where Ezra finds you, one day, while he’s roaming the station, trying to get his bearings back along with using the prosthetic arm the station’s doctor got him. “Afternoon, Y/N,” he remarks, his brown eyes looking at you. “Though we never know what time of day it really is up here.”
You simply nod and continue working. Getting your hands in between wires, fingers feeling them, as you make sure they are plugged into the right component. You feel Ezra hovering over you, so you look at him and motioned him to go away but he stays.
“I just wanted to see how you’re doing,” he informs you. “I ran into Cee in the mess hall.” He begins to ramble, “I guess I should watch out for the two of you. Seeing as I,” he lowered his voice to utter, “killed your father.” His voice returns to its deep timbre, “Yet he deserved it; he was tryin’ to swindle me, and I didn’t like that.”
You know he’s yammering on; most people do when they found out you don’t respond, don’t speak. It’s not like you were born with a disability, you choose not to speak because of your voice because it’s what caused…you shake your head pushing aside the thought before you truly think of it.
“What?” Ezra’s voice draws you out of your haze.
You look at him and sign, “Nothing. Please…let me work.”
“I’ve been learning more sign language since I’ve been held up.” He pauses. “Vids…even Cee. I might not know much now but eventually, I will, and we can have an actual conversation.” he chuckles, thinking the two of you will be like two peas in a pod.
“Great,” you sign with a bit of sarcasm in your motion. Of course, Cee would visit him. She and Ezra got along tremendously.
Ezra chuckles, “Even though you didn’t say it, I can feel the disdain you have.”
You roll your eyes and find the tablet needed. You begin to move your fingers against the touch screen, feeling at peace because this is what you do best. Your throat itches to speak, you had done it once before in his presence, but it was after he had helped you and he wasn’t being helpful this go around. You wish he’d just go away.
“I want to do what’s best for you, and Cee. Let me be your guys’ keeper. Gods, that sounded horrible. I mean, let me watch out for the two of you since you have no one.” Ezra declares.
Keeper? The word sticks out like a sore thumb. You’ve had enough of the man and want to return to your solitude. You place the tablet aside then stand. You sign, “You know nothing about me and Cee. As you mentioned you killed our father, yet…yet you did watch out for us afterward.” Your breath is heavy from signing furiously. “Just because you are an adult does not make you, our parent.”
Ezra swallows. He barely understood any of the signs since you moved your hands hurriedly. He knows you want to speak; you did speak to him though it was only once. “Look,” he licks his lips, knowing he’s never once done what he’s about to do, “I’m sorry. I…I didn’t mean to intrude. I was simply helping you and Cee. I’ll leave you alone.”
You watch him walk away with a hung head. Did you just watch and hear Ezra express feelings, other than greed? You shake off the thought then return to your work. You don’t need another parent. You had two and they were gone. All you have is Cee, no one else matters.
——-
Time passes by quickly as you continue with your work on the station. You don’t mind it though since Cee has accompanied Ezra on a couple of digs. Cee had been hesitant to leave you alone, but you informed and reassured her you would be fine. After all, working on the station’s comms made you feel at ease, it brought you back to yourself once again.
Ezra stayed away from you. Only doing simple greetings if he ever crossed your path. You had ignored him since the fleeting moment you had shared deep within the station when you yelled at him through your hasty hand movements. Cee could sense something was off when the three of you sat in the mess a couple of times eating dinner. She didn’t press either of you about what had happened, fearing it would evoke an argument. Though it didn’t stop her from divulging information to Ezra when he told her about the confrontation when they were on a dig together.
“She’s the youngest. So, I must watch out for her. But she is the smarter one,” Cee had chuckled. “She loved learning about everything, didn’t want to get her hands dirty,” Cee had informed him. “Y/N was close to our mom. I was close to our father, we always enjoyed going on digs. My sister stayed behind to work on the station cause our mom worked on the station. She followed in our mom’s footsteps, I followed in our father’s.”
Ezra had glanced at Cee, acknowledging why Y/N was defensive with him all those many moons ago. “She’s protective of you, and herself.” Ezra had chuckled and shaken his head. “She’s in her element back on the station.”
“She is,” Cee had replied. “It’s her world, her comfort zone. And the digs are mine.”
Ezra had only nodded in response, realizing he had disrupted you in your element. He hadn’t pressed Cee for anything else after that.
Ezra now moseys about the station. The months have flown by and in a few days, they would be returning to Earth and as Cee informed him on their last dig, she and Y/N would be going to see their family and he was more than welcomed to accompany them. He liked the idea of a found family, especially since he had looked after Cee and Y/N, though it was mainly Cee. He never had much of a family growing up and now he had one.
But an eerily feeling plagued Ezra. He had to make amends with you; he had to make sure you and he were on good terms before going on another journey to who knows where to meet the people who’ve helped raise you and will continue to raise you since both of your parents are gone.
He finds you in the belly of the station as he had done all those days ago. “Y/N,” he utters as he approaches, keeping up his defenses, afraid you might attack with your quick signage.
You stop what you’re doing and look at the man. His hair is slightly shaggier now; the blond speck is still present. The beard covering his face seems to be thicker with hints of gray. “What?” you sign. You knew he was tagging along with you and Cee once the station touched down on Earth. You had been mad at Cee for days on end until you realized you couldn’t persuade her to uninvite Ezra.
“I…I,” Ezra stammers, unsure of what to say. He ponders, “Why can’t you use your voice to talk?”
You sign slowly, “Why…does…it…matter…to…you?”
He had learned enough sign language he could almost be fluent in it, especially since Cee helped him. They didn’t have much else to do on digs when they found gems. “Cee said you were close to your mother. She says you blamed yourself for the longest time.”
“If it wasn’t for me, she’d be alive,” you sign, not holding back since Cee and Ezra have spent an abundance of time together. “I feel responsible.”
“What happened?” Ezra inquires. He then signs, “Use your voice. Please.”
Tears sting your eyes. It was because of your voice she had died. You avert your eyes and begin moving your hands out of habit, “My father…” You stop yourself and lower your hands. “She,” your voice cracks; it’s hoarse and your throat grimaces at the sensation of speaking. You wipe away your tears. “My father asked her to come along on a dig, years ago. She didn’t want to go down; she loved the station yet he persuaded her, and I wasn’t old enough to remain on my own so I went as well.” You pause, remembering the details. “We ran into trouble. Dad told us to keep quiet, Cee and I. Mom was back at the campsite. It wasn’t far from where we ran into a group trying to hijack Dad’s cache of gems.” You pause again.
Ezra takes a step forward, “It’s okay, Y/N. You can tell me.”
You look at Ezra; your eyes glazed over with tears. “Because of my voice, she died. If I…if I hadn’t spoken she would still be alive.” You begin to sob, “I had to warn her! I couldn’t lose her. The three of us couldn’t lose her! But Dad…,” your voice becomes incoherent because your sobs are uncontrollable.
Ezra gathers you gently in his arms, hugging you as softly as Cee has always done. He pets your hair soothingly, “It’s not your fault. Never was your fault.” He knows it was her father’s. If it wasn’t for that bastard, Cee and Y/N’s mother would still be alive. He pulls you apart from him. “It was your father’s. And I am sorry you lost her. Sorry, you lost a true parental connection when she was taken away from you.”
You nod profusely, wiping at your tears with the long sleeve shirt you have on. You hated being emotional even for a person of your young age.
“I promise nothing will happen to you. I will protect you and Cee. You two are the only family I have,” Ezra lopsidedly smiles, pulls faintly back, and looks at you, “and I’ve never really had a family before. So, this is new for me. But I want to let you know, you and your sister will be protected, taken care of.” Ezra searches your eyes, “I am not replacing your parents. They will always be your parents.”
“I know,” you cry softly, finding reassurance in his words.
“Good.” He hugs you again. “The three of us will always have each other.”
And he was right. All three of you had one another, whether on Earth or back in the Great Beyond. The three of you are family and you had the one thing back you thought lost forever - your voice.
Hey guys!! I just wanted to know that I’ve made a new much prettier taglist form. Feel free to signup
Although, I must warn you, if you were previously on it you have to sign up if you want to stay on because everyone who doesn’t sign up will be removed. I’ll assume those who don’t sign up again want to be removed.
Summary: You have a surprise waiting for Javi when he gets home.
Word count: 1000+
Rating:E (18+ only)
Warnings:Explicit content, smut, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, creampie, squirting, cum eating, biting, hickeys (if you squint), scratching, hair pulling, kissing, established relationship, bad language
Reblogs are highly appreciated — please help support your writers
Javi is out for the morning running some errands and he won’t be back until around noon, meaning you get the house to yourself for the whole morning. Lucky for you because the set of black lingerie that you ordered is supposed to arrive this morning. It’s Javi’s favourite–he had seen you looking at it on the Instagram shop page a few weeks back and expressed how much he’d love to see you in it. You bought it to wear for him, you’re hoping to surprise him when he gets home.
The doorbell rings. You rush to the front door–hopes are high, that it will be the lingerie. Looking through the peephole, you see a postman standing outside your front door with a package. Your stomach flutters with excitement, it’s here and you can’t wait to see the picture on Javi’s gorgeous face when he finally sees you in it. You open the front door and take the parcel off the man, then sign his small touch-screen–this shows that you’ve received your delivery. You shut the door as the postman walks away, and then run up to your room to unwrap your parcel.
You rip the box open and tear the packaging off. You smile happily at the lingerie set–they look so much better in person than they did on a phone screen. They look so delicately beautiful and brand-new, definitely worth the valuable price.
Your sights dart across the room to the alarm clock that sits on the bedside table; 11:45, it says. Javi will be home fairly shortly, so you decide it’s best to get changed into the set now. Now in the set, you look into the mirror, admiring the way it clings to your figure so perfectly. Although, you know you’ll be out of the set quicker than you got in it when Javi sets his eyes on you.
Your phone pings; I’ll be home in a few minutes, hermosa, it reads–the message is from Javi. You throw your phone back onto the bedside table, then grab your beautiful, black, silk robe, putting it over you. After that, you vacate your room, going down into the living room. You sit down on the sofa, in a position that will be so tempting to Javi, as you wait patiently for him to arrive.
“Honey, I’m home!” Javi shouts, closing the front door behind him.
“In here,” You call with a seductive tone in your voice.
Javi enters the living room, his eyes immediately landing on you–a sinful smirk, creeping upon his lips. You smirk also, matching his own, as you untie your robe, revealing your surprise for him. His smirk disappears, replaced with a look of need, and desperation. He gradually walks over to you, his chest rising and falling rapidly, craving to savour every inch of your stunning body.
Javi crawls on top of you, kissing you passionately. You tangle your fingers into his thick, brown curls as your tongues glide over each other, continually. Javi shifts his lips, leaving a trail of soft open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, occasionally nipping on the soft flesh. He continues his teasing kisses and nips down to your sternum, then to your lower tummy, where he halts and gazes up at you–as if to ask permission to go further.
“It’s okay, baby, you can keep going,” You say, your voice soft and reassuring. He pressed another kiss on your tummy, before putting his head in between your legs. He peppers soft kisses across your inner thighs, prompting you to permit a few soft moans to flee its crevices. Javi moves his head further up, pulling your panties to the side. He drags his wet tongue through your folds and proceeds to lick your needy clit. Loud moans fill the room, as Javi adds two fingers, thrusting them in and out of you as his tongue continues to work against your clitoris. With each rugged thrust, his fingers brush off that perfect spot deep within you, pushing you closer and closer to your release.
“Oh fuckfuckfuck, Javi, I’m gonna cum!” You cry out in pleasure, prompting Javi to speed up his vulgar movements, bringing you to your orgasm, whimpering in pleasure as your milk his thick fingers. He gradually removes his fingers from your cunt, raising them to his mouth and licking them clean–permitting a moan of satisfaction to flee his mouth.
“Do you want to keep going, or are you too tired?” Javi asks you softly, as he gently strokes your cheek.
“I’m good, Javi, I can keep going,” You respond, stroking the hand he placed upon your cheek.
With that being said, Javi removes all of his clothes rapidly, and then he gradually slides inside you. He wastes no time, thrusting, jaggedly in and out of your moistened cunt. Neither of you take your eyes away from each other for a second, savouring every gorgeous facial expression the other makes as his cock bounces against your g-spot, perfectly. His lips find yours again in a very heated kiss. You clasp your fingers into his thick curls again, tasting him, as he slides his rosy, wet tongue into your mouth. He shifts his mouth to your neck, biting and sucking, as he speeds up his thrusts a little.
You feel a fire building in your lower abdomen, as you come near to your orgasm. You’re so close–so very close. With each thrust he provides you with, the incredible sensation accumulates.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuck–Javi, I’m gonna cum!” You cry out, digging your nails into his shoulder blades, slightly dragging them.
“Yeah?” Javi smirks. “Do it then. Be a good girl and show me how much I can make you cum.”
Those words–those filthy words–and that’s what did it, that’s what pushes you over the edge into total ecstasy, clamping down hard on him, as you cum hard over his long, thick cock.
“Oh–fuck, oh fuck,” He lets out a guttural moan. “I’m gonna cum–can I c-cum inside you?”
You permit him. Providing you with one last thrust, he releases a pleasure-filled whimper and pours his load of cum deep inside you, painting your walls white.
The thrusts have stopped. Both of you are panting, trying to catch your breaths, as you hold each other close.
“I love you, hermosa, you never fail to surprise me,” Javi murmurs, before pressing a soft kiss upon your forehead.
Summary: The title is a lie. Time to get high with Dieter and take a bubble bath. Crack!fic, obviously.
Warnings: SMUT, PIV sex, oral and fingering (f receiving), just a skosh of anal fingering, drug use, questionable decision making, but is it though?, just kidding MAKE GOOD CHOICES, these are just ao3 tags now tbh, there’s one thing I didn’t mention so pls enjoy the cracker jack prize inside
A/N: First Dieter fic! Thank u my darling @ezrasbirdie for looking over this deranged drabble, these bananas r for u
You’re lying on your back in bed next to Dieter, staring at the crown molding on the ceiling of the hotel room as the haze of smoke drifts into view.
Dieter sighs, setting his joint down in a small metal tray on the table after offering you another hit. You’re already pleasantly relaxed; and you’d waved him away before rolling onto your side next to him.
Word Count: 11.9K. LISTEN. This installment contains a large portion of what originally would’ve been a one-shot when I was in the early planning stages of this fic. And then, as per usual, I couldn’t control myself, and well, here we all are.
Rating:E | Semi-explicit PiV smut; drug & alcohol use; references to canon-related drug OD; language. My blog is 18+ only!
Warnings: PiV sex & sexual situations, alcohol & drug use, food mentions, pining & yearning, self-doubt, a little angst, feelings, some fluff… honestly, this has a little bit of everything.
A/N: All my love to @radiowalletand@astroboots who both allowed me to throw several tantrums while writing this. Sometimes it takes a village, and I’m so blessed to have you both with me on this ride.
———
Redding, California | May 2022
Without fail, the first day of filming always made her nervous.
It didn’t matter how much she prepared, how many deep breathing exercises she did, or how long she spent reviewing her lines—nerves bubbled in her belly like a pot simmering on a stove, creating a thick haze she had to act through.
As expected, Dieter appeared unbothered. He walked into hair and makeup (his call time an hour later than hers, she noted, with only a hint of jealousy) with an extra-large latte in one hand, phone in the other, and a smudge of charcoal pencil rubbed into his scruffy chin.
Of course he’d been drawing beforehand. He never reviewed lines the day of.
He’s always had more confidence than her.
It’s why he has an Academy Award, and you don’t, she thinks bitterly.
The director calls ‘action’, and Dieter slips into character as easily as taking his next breath, delivering his lines flawlessly. He’s an incredible force to witness—focused, comfortable, natural—he could’ve done months of prep or none; it’s impossible to tell.
She suddenly feels woefully inferior, and it only worsens when she misses the dialogue cue he feeds her.
“Shit, sorry–”
“Cut! Let’s try that again.”
She thinks maybe the director already regrets their talent choices for the film, and it sends her head spinning with thoughts of inadequacy. They should’ve picked someone who could take up as much of a scene as Dieter can, someone who has actually had decent work in the last few years, someone who won’t drag the whole thing down–
“Cut!”
Shit, she missed the line again.
The crew around her murmurs—imagined harsh whispers of doubt in her abilities, like they’re just now finding out she’s a fraud—she feels exposed, stark naked in front of a crowd. She sucks in a shaky breath, the world narrowing in, and two warm palms land on her shoulders.
“Hey, take a breath.”
It’s the lifeline she needs to stop her spiral dead in its tracks.
Dieter dips his head, eyes meeting hers, and he’s all warm encouragement and gentle smile in one short sentence.
“You’ve got this,” he reassures, the tenor similar to how it sounded two decades ago, with a hint of smokey age at the edges. On a shuddery exhale, she cracks a quiet inside joke.
“Pay isn’t shit this time around.”
A laugh breaks from his chest, lifting her spirits and giving her the confidence boost she needs.
“Even less of a reason for them to be pissed off,” he responds with a grin, and they both find their marks.
“Ready to try again?” the director asks, and she notices that they don’t seem annoyed at all. She nods, and the director calls ‘action’ once more.
They get the scene in the very next take.
———
The first few weeks of filming had been hectic. Some sets were half-built, wardrobe required constant adjustments and alterations, and a few filming locations had yet to be finalized. It was the nature of the beast, particularly with a project that leaned more independent, but he liked that about it. It made him feel young again, like he was just starting out.
It kept him on his toes.
And so did she.
Aside from her brief stumble on the opening take, she’d been the brilliant thespian he’s witnessed through her career. She was professional, engaging—the ebb to his flow at each of his winding curves. They played off each other perfectly; his relief was palpable when they picked up their natural chemistry as if it were shiny and new; something solid, sturdy, and unbroken despite years of dormancy.
She was cordial, lukewarm, and sometimes even friendly with him between takes. He savored every smile that stretched beyond her carefully crafted shell; felt the warm imprint of her palm on his forearm for hours after he made her laugh at a stupid joke. She had even pressed herself into his side during a night shoot, teeth chattering from the evening chill, seeking the body heat he willingly shared.
He wondered if she was always like this with her co-stars—friendly touches were a great, safe way to build up a little intimacy before filming scenes—or if (perhaps a little too hopeful) she couldn’t keep herself from touching him.
She kept her distance outside of filming hours, though.
She thwarted his attempts at rekindling their friendship—not cold or unkind, but also not filled with platitudes of another timeorsorry, not tonight. Each invite to dinner, coffee, a drink, or even a fuckinghike had been met with a polite but firm no thank you. It stung, more than he’d like to admit, but he supposed it was his penance, his cross to bear after abandoning her.
Maybe karma had finally come for him, putting her just on the other side of a wall and somehow more unavailable now than she’d ever been with an ocean between them.
They’d been set up in apartments by the studio—a duplex with a shared yard, two units side by side in a quiet, secluded part of town—and he rarely saw her aside from her morning dashes out the door for a quick jog, or if they had the same call time.
So, he soldiered on, content enough to make a great movie, pulling their careers back from the brink of death.
She had set boundaries. He was going to respect them.
Funny, he thinks, maybe therapy doeshelp.
Healthy coping mechanisms, he echoes in his head. He’d discussed them with his therapist, things to keep him occupied outside of work so he doesn’t spiral into unhealthy escapism so hard. Except that there wasn’t much of interest to him in Redding unless he wanted to hike or look at nature or drive the two hours to the tiny hometown he hadn’t visited in ages. He’d never been much of an outdoorsy type. He knew it was unfair to write the place off, but everywhere felt too small and dull after twenty years in LA.
Thankfully, filming kept him busy, long hours punctuated by small windows of sleep, and he was grateful because boredom was dangerous for him. It led to stupid choices and heavy consequences, and he was trying to be smarter.
On their first filming break—a long weekend for Memorial Day—he spent Friday pacing his apartment, listening to a Jamiroquai album, drawing more mountain ranges than he could get his eyeballs on (landscapes were his mortal enemy), and perusing the nearby grocery store for something for dinner.
Still a hopeless cook, he moseyed down the snack aisle, his gaze landing on a familiar white can with a blue cap.
He grinned, eyes lighting up behind his sunglasses, and quickly filled his basket with the essentials. The idea formed in his mind, maybe from boredom, possibly from his burning desire to spend more time with her and mend their friendship; he didn’t care to dwell on his reasoning, only to hang onto a glimmer of hope.
When he gets into his car, he taps out a text to her, quietly thankful she’d slipped him her number in case of emergencies.
Don’t make me regret giving it to you, she’d also said, though her lips curled into a playful smirk he recognized from their youth.
His thumb hovers over ‘send’ for only a moment before he taps it.
Picnic lunch in the backyard tomorrow?
He watches her type, then pause, then type, then pause. He prepares for rejection, a bitter thought clawing into his mind that she would need to run his invite by her PR team first, calculate if her reputation could handle his.
He silently scolds himself for being an ass.
Just when he thinks she’s chosen to ‘leave him on read,’ as the kids say, her response appears.
You know what? Sure, why not?
———
Perhaps against her better judgment, she agreed to lunch.
She was tired of doing everything everyone expected of her.
She knew he was lonely; she could practically feel it through the wall between them; she heard him pacing in the evenings, music playing in the background. She saw he’d been trying, in all senses of the word, and she continued to cold-shoulder him into oblivion over… what, exactly?
Something so old she no longer carried a fiery torch of anger, just the grief and regret of things she didn’t say.
She could use a real friend, at least. They both could.
She’d been lonely, too. She’s been lonely for ages now.
Her answer to his text had been met with a million and one follow-ups:
Are you sure?
Yes.
You’re not going back to LA for the long weekend?
No.
(To who? she thought)
Wine preference?
Something cheap, for old time’s sake.
It unleashed a flurry of texts—she would’ve never guessed he could carry on conversations via various blue and white bubbles, but they messaged back and forth for most of the evening. It was harmless fun, catching up while still avoiding the glaring elephant in the room; a bit of friendly banter back and forth as she giggled into her bed covers. He still had his delightfully weird sense of humor she adored, sharpened to precision over the last twenty-plus years. He sent her photos of paintings he had recently completed, and she responded with pictures of meals she finally learned to cook during the pandemic.
It was nearing midnight when she ended the stream of chatter with a simple I’ll see you tomorrow, D.
And now, tomorrow has arrived.
Dieter’s in their shared backyard, blanket tucked under one arm, canvas bag looped around the other, his signature sunglasses perched low on his nose. She spots him through the sliding glass door, nearly bouncing on the balls of his bare feet, a giddy swoop flowing through her lower belly. In the glitter of sunshine, he looks so much like a grown-up version of the boy who used to wait for her outside the diner in the early mornings while she wrapped up shift change.
She steps out into the yard; it’s sunny and warm but not sweltering, the perfect day to be outside. He greets her with a smile, his thumb hooking into the handle of the canvas bag perched on his shoulder as if to prevent himself from reaching out to her.
She wants to hate how she wishes he would.
“So, what’s the occasion?” she asks quietly, biting the inside of her cheek against a pulse of awkwardness. It’s so easy for her to drop her polished guard around him, and it makes her feel more exposed than she’s been in a long time.
He bites his lip, tipping his head back, afraid to admit the truth.
He gives it to her anyway.
“Yeah, uh… If I stay in that apartment by myself any longer, I’m gonna go fuckin’ crazy… ier.” His brows thread, tongue poked and pressed between his teeth, all awkward limbs and soft vulnerability. A pang of guilt collects in her chest—she’d let it grow and fester if he didn’t also look so incredibly endearing.
And if he wasn’t so god damn relatable.
“Yeah,” she huffs a soft laugh, pressing her sunglasses up her nose to hide her eyes, “same.”
He visibly relaxes.
She steps forward, feet swishing through the grass, and gestures to the ground. He snaps into action, unfurling the blanket with a flick of his wrists, spreading it out across the grass. He settles atop it, one long, toned arm motioning for her to join him.
“It’s no Echo Lake, but it’ll do.”
She laughs, the tension between them loosening, and takes her spot next to him, tucking her legs into a neat criss-cross. “God, I haven’t been there in years.”
“Me either. Don’t think we could get away with it now.”
She hums, watching as he pulls items from the canvas bag—pepperoni in suspicious packaging, a can of Easy Cheese, butter crackers. Her belly flutters when, for just a moment, he’s twenty years younger with a lot less weight perched on his broad shoulders.
“Really?” She points to the questionable culinary display between them, failing to hide her grin. He quirks a brow in her direction—half playful, all hope.
“I still can’t cook,” he admits with a shrug. She tips her head back, an unladylike guffaw bursting from her chest, catching the final curve of his broad smile when she looks back at him.
“And here I was thinking you were being nostalgic.”
His eyebrows raise, and he tilts toward her, dropping his voice into a stage whisper. “Hmm, just like that gift basket was simply congratulatory?”
She feigns innocence, pretending to be more interested in her nailbeds than his words. “That could’ve been anyone; it was sent anonymously.”
She holds back another smile for as long as possible in a sudden game of chicken as their eyes lock in a silent, playful challenge. One of his eyebrows wings up knowingly before he chuckles and shakes his head, accepting defeat. He reaches back into the bag, revealing an aluminum can, and presents it with theatrical flair.
“For the lady.”
“Wow, wine from a can. That’s fancy,” she teases gently.
Dieter only shrugs and pulls a can of seltzer from the bag. He catches her eyeing it curiously and sweeps his lip with his tongue.
“I’m…trying to take it easy,” he says by way of explanation, eyes flitting to the can in her grasp.
It takes her by surprise—he’d been trying in even more ways than she knew.
“Oh,” her tongue trips, inelegant and clunky in her mouth when she doesn’t know what else to say. A snarky quip would be cruel, but sickly-sweet sympathy feels hollow.
She settles for curiosity.
“Witheverything, or…?”
He huffs an ironic laugh, opening the can of seltzer to take a long pull before setting it down and stretching his long legs across the blanket with a sigh. Tilting back on his hands, he tips his head toward the sun, squinting against the warm rays even under the protection of his sunglasses.
A drop of carbonated water sits nestled in the crease of his bottom lip, begging to be brushed off with a featherlight thumb or even her own bottom lip—a memory she usually keeps tucked away until she’s alone late at night. It figures, she thinks, with the first cautious tendril of rekindled friendship, she’s already thinking about kissing him.
Maybe she never stopped thinking about kissing him.
Among other things.
It’s been too long. Dating was hard when you still carried a torch for someone else.
She’s always wanted to write off his past behavior as foolish when, in reality, she’s no better herself. The only difference between them is that he acted on his impulses. She was always too afraid.
She’s still too afraid.
“All of them, I suppose,” he finally answers, a few breaths after she assumes he wouldn’t. “In the beginning, it made it a little easier to handle… everything,” he gestures vaguely, and she knows exactly what he means by everything. Their world is not normal; money and fame, an existence that often feels so devoid of anything genuine it borders on insanity. There are days she feels like a zoo animal, something to be gawked at by the masses whenever they please.
Entertainment, existing only to be consumed and then disposed of.
Nothing more.
She doesn’t expect sympathy, would never dream of asking for it, knows how fucking unhinged it would make her sound to complain about her life and what kind of access to the world it provides.
It doesn’t stop her from feeling hollowed out and sucked dry.
She knows Dieter understands, too.
“It’s hard to slow down, you know?” He says it like an apology, a quiet acknowledgment that he’s used the perks of fame to cope with its emptiness while she rejected them, suffering alone and in silence.
She bites her lip and shrugs. “I never indulged much.”
He eyes her suspiciously. “We used to smoke weed in my bathtub all the time.”
She nods, wrestling with a dreamy smile. She wasn’t sure he remembered much of anything from their summer together.
“I’m surprised you remember.”
The remark has too much bite, and she presses her tongue to the roof of her mouth against a bitter wave of guilt. There’s still so much unsaid between them, and it oozes out through the cracks in her veneer whenever she’s around him because he’s always been the only one she can speak to freely. His stare is heavy, forcing her to busy her hands with opening the can of wine and taking a sip.
It tastes like shit—over fermented and syrupy sweet, a hangover in the making—but she doesn’t mind.
“I remember everything from that summer,” he admits with a low rasp, drawing her attention. When she meets his eyes, they’re laced with memories and wrapped in pain from her insinuation.
Fuck, maybe she is an ice queen.
Setting her drink down, she reaches for the spread between them. She offers him a salty, buttery cracker covered in the cheese-like substance, topped with an over-processed pepperoni, just the way he liked it all those years ago—her silent apology. He takes it with the delicate dexterity of an artist’s fingertips, popping the questionable concoction into his mouth with little preamble.
“Me, too,” she replies softly. He wipes a hand across his worn tee, the collar stretched, golden skin glowing in the sunshine. His gaze shifts, staring at the opening of his drink. He remains quiet, even though she can hear his gears turning.
She makes herself the same stack of over-processed, nostalgic bliss. She can’t hide her groan when it passes her lips, bursts of salt and cheese and a hint of spice melding together. She washes it all down with the shitty wine, and suddenly, it’s the summer of 2001 again. He hums, agreeing, setting out to make another. She assumes it’s for himself, but he presents it to her instead. She takes it with a grin and a playful wink, watching the corners of his mouth form into a smile.
Sighing contentedly, he leans back until he’s propped up on one elbow. She sneaks a glance at the plane of his torso; it’s more filled out now, but she can still recognize all the dips in his formerly lanky frame she used to explore with her lips. His shirt rides up as he adjusts his legs, exposing a sliver of tan skin that lures her eye line to the trail of wiry hairs leading into the waistband of his shorts.
She tries to hide her pavlovian response.
She presses her sunglasses back up her face, taking another sip of wine, blaming it for the flood of heat in her cheeks.
Silence falls around them, similar to the ones they used to foster together routinely—him with his sketchbook, her with a novel. While still tinted with awkwardness, there’s far less pressure for them to maintain appearances than they’re used to. They polish off the sleeve of crackers, snack sets made and passed back and forth, fingertips occasionally brushing, sparks of electricity on each pass.
Dieter breaks first. Silence always drove him crazy long before it ever got to her.
“So… why the goody-two-shoes bit?”
She didn’t expect the question, but it didn’t surprise her either. He asked it like he’s been dying to know, the much-needed answer to a riddle he’s tried to solve for two decades.
She licks at a salt crystal stuck to the corner of her lips; it reminds her of seawater-laced kisses and a smile more gorgeous than an oceanside sunset. Finishing her wine, she tucks her knees up, resting folded arms across them, and heaves a sigh.
“On my first big movie, I got some advice about public image and privacy from a few veterans. It seemed like the best way to handle things at the time,” she starts, ignoring how right they’d been with the never-fuck-your-male-costaradvice.
The rest had been a bit of a crapshoot.
“You always were smarter than me with that stuff. It must be nice, not having what everyone thinks is your life splashed everywhere.” His jaw ticks with the statement, annoyed but not jealous.
“It must be nice, having the freedom not to care what people think.”
Dieter laughs bitterly at that. “Freedom? A fishbowl is still a cage.”
She never thought about it that way, but he’s right. Their opposing publicity choices still landed them in similar places—two sides of the same coin.
“I always thought it would protect me. This perfect shell to keep the real me safe,” she pauses, emotion choking her. “But it just isolated me.”
He nods, pointing a finger in her direction. “Now that, I can relate to.”
“Oh, come on, everyone wants to be around you,” she teases, wine-warm fingertips pressing into his shoulder.
“Yeah, for a good time and a chance at their fifteen minutes. They want to party, do some drugs, have some sex,” he says that part quietly, an apology inscribed within the words as he speaks them. “No one wants to watch movies from the 40s, eat a box of mac ‘n’ cheese, or look at weird art.”
She twists onto her hip to face him, knees barely brushing his shorts-clad thigh. His hand twitches, moving to touch her leg before he pulls back, pressing his sunglasses up the curve of his nose.
“I do,” she admits with a grin. Through his sunglasses, he looks optimistic. She ignores how it causes her heartbeat to knock against her sternum.
“Still?” It’s a hushed question, like he’s afraid she’s merely appeasing him.
“Of course I do. I love those things.”
“We should do them sometime.” He says it casually, like it wouldn’t crush him if she said no, even though they both know it would.
“Yeah, we should.” Simple, honest, direct. She means it, and he knows it.
He settles onto his back, linked hands cradling his head, eyes squeezing shut behind tinted lenses. His cheeks sit high on his face, an etched smile keeping them there. She pushes away their lunch scraps, mirroring him on the blanket—back flat, hands behind her head, wine-filled smile warming her features.
Silence washes over them again, sunshine soaking into their pores and making them both feel lighter in their chests—the sacred act of merely existing together, under no pressure to perform anything other than breathing. It’s nice, she thinks, not to worry about looking sloppyortoo tired or any of the other insults the media machine loves to say about women for daring to exist in the world.
When she’s with Dieter, none of that matters. It never did.
Eventually, a cloud passes overhead and temporarily breaks the sunshine. She cracks open one eye to catch a glimpse of the moon, making itself known even in daylight. She smiles and laughs to herself.
“Hey, D?”
He hums, sounding like he’s on the precipice of sleep, quickly clearing his throat before responding, “Yeah?”
“How’s the stargazing here?”
His grin tells her everything she needs to know.
———
Redding, California | June 2022
That lunch had been like opening a door they both previously considered nailed shut.
As summer warmed the air, they fell back into something resembling their old easy friendship, making up for lost time—sometimes with chatter, sometimes silence—but always comfortable.
They were careful, Dieter mindful of tarnishing her good reputation despite her reassurances, and stayed within their temporary homes. They kept their back doors unlocked, tiptoeing through the shared yard to slip in and out unseen by potential prying eyes. It was thrilling in its own way, like teenagers sneaking out to break curfew, though instead of getting up to no good, they watched old movies and ate pints of ice cream.
Sometimes they’d order take out, deliberately avoiding that same order they’d shared the night that began their end. Sometimes, she would cook, showing off the new skill she’d picked up in quarantine. Over dinner, he would make her laugh between sips of wine with a joke or a story from one of his many previous projects. He found he could enjoy a drink or two in her presence, never experiencing the nagging desire to overindulge to fuel his front of the fun-loving party boy.
It was refreshing not to be switched on all the time.
When they had later call times, they would share quiet morning coffees in the backyard, her nose in a book or her script, his hands smudged in black charcoal while he drew, the soft scribble of pencil on thick paper filling gaps between morning bird song.
He would coax her into that same backyard on clear nights, pointing out his favorite constellations. He’d been right all those years ago—the stargazing in NorCal was leagues better than anything they could’ve ever seen in LA.
One evening, they split an edible—giggle-dry mouths and warm, tingly limbs sprawled out on a blanket under the star-dappled sky, trading old and new banter back and forth. He teased her for her firm stance on social media (‘it’s rotting our brains, D’), and she shot right back with clever quips about his concerns over Bluetooth and brain waves.
Their laughs slowed into hushed whispers, quiet confessions told across weighted puffs of soft breath, vulnerabilities dangled out for the taking in small, measured acts of trust. They shared failed experiences in dating, brushes with the ugly power-hungry types in Hollywood, the roles they didn’t get, and how it still gutted them.
She admitted how devastatingly lonely she’d been during the pandemic.
He admitted how insanely bored he’d been and where it led. What it almost led to.
Through the choke of held-back tears, the rumors she had heard confirmed, she asked only one question—why?
“I went from one trap to another; guess I was trying to get free,” he answered truthfully, eyes full of remorse.
“You never did like a cage.”
“How’d you know?”
She huffed a dry laugh, lifting one eyebrow best she could through the syrupy warmth of THC. “No strings attached? That’s a classic.”
He grimaced. “I’m sorry. Back then, I thought every relationship would be a cage.”
She curled into his side with a flimsy excuse of warding off the non-existent nighttime chill, draping weed-heavy limbs across his body. He pressed his nose to her crown, breathing her in, wondering what fancy shampoo she switched for the cheap coconut one from his memories.
“It’s funny,” she whispered, her breath tickling his neck, “I think the last time I felt free was with you.”
Without a second thought, his lips landed on her forehead; an old reflex resurrected to bring her comfort.
“Me, too,” he confided, pulling her close and listening to her breaths as they slowed into sleep.
A sense of peace washed over him, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. He knew it was foolish to let himself sink into it; he couldn’t shake the quiet dread at the back of his mind that it might be fleeting, that it was all one long dream, despite the tangible proof of her body curled into his. He blinked against a sting of tears, eyes focusing on the pinpricks of light mottled into the inky canvas above—a perfect backdrop for a dream—and let himself drift slowly into slumber.
They woke the following morning to sunrise and songbirds, wrapped around each other, dawn-fuzzy gazes and shy smiles shared between them before ordering breakfast and showing up to set ten minutes late—no LA traffic to blame.
They walked into the hair and makeup trailer together to curious glances, extra coffees for the crew in tow as an apology. Dieter cracked a joke; laughs erupted from everyone in the trailer, and all was forgiven.
———
Redding, California | July 2022
Summer rolled on, and with it, filming progressed.
Their mended friendship had only improved their on-screen chemistry. They captured several scenes on the first take, her desire for perfection driving him to strive for the same. She enjoyed his improv moments, pivoting with him flawlessly as if the new words had been the ones written in the script all along.
They didn’t stray far from one another between takes, excitedly examining their character motivations or why they chose a particular intonation in the last take. Sometimes their voices would dip lower, discussions of which movie to watch or where to order food from when the day wrapped, careful conversations had when others were out of earshot. When no one was watching, she would lean into his side and link her fingers with his, and he’d toss an exaggerated wink her way, drawing a laugh from her lips.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had so much fun on a set.
Some script adjustments came in ahead of the fourth of July holiday weekend. She didn’t bother to finish reading them before slipping through the back door of his apartment to talk shop, the faint scent of patchouli incense greeting her.
She smiles to herself.
Some things never change.
She finds him sitting at the kitchen island, his nose in his sketchbook, a beer on his right, a manila envelope with his script changes on his left—still unopened. He’d showered recently, hair mussed and damp, with no attempts to tame his wild locks; it’s endearing that he still didn’t care for maintaining appearances or keeping up with fashion trends, despite several brands chasing him with lucrative offers of a full closet for a photoshoot.
He always did clean up nice, she had noted through the years, images of past photoshoots and red carpet looks floating in her mind.
A song switches over, and she immediately recognizes the music pouring from his phone, the small, tinny speaker doing a disservice to Coldplay’s sophomore album.
“This album was the only thing I listened to for six weeks when it first came out,” she tells him in place of a greeting, throwing her newest script copy on top of his. He sits up, reaching for his beer, pointing the neck of the bottle toward the fridge—a silent offer to help herself.
“It’s a good album,” he agrees as she grabs a beer from the fridge, handing it to him to open even though it’s a twist-off cap. He makes quick work of it, pressing the cold bottle back into her hand, fingertips brushing hers with a warm spark that settles in the base of her spine.
That’s been happening a lot recently.
She attempts to quell her quiet desire, keeping the conversation flowing.
“It’s a great album. It came out when I was shooting my first big film. I’d get back from a long day of filming and just lay on my apartment floor and listen to it. It always reminds me of that time in my life.” She sighs wistfully, taking a sip of beer. It borders on the edge of too hoppy for her tastes, the bitter hit making her tongue curl against her teeth, but she doesn’t care enough to complain.
“I listened to it a lot when it first came out, too. It’s always reminded me of you.”
She waits for the inevitable joke or cheeky grin to accompany the admission with bated breath, something to cut the tension between them whenever things start feeling like more than just friendship, but it never comes, sending her heartbeat into her ears.
His casual confession—that he’d thought of her beyond their summer together—turns her insides loose and liquid. It’s not the first time he’s insinuated he thinks about her, but it is the first time he’s admitted it so boldly.
She reaches for her drink, hoping the liquid courage will soothe her suddenly parched throat.
He shrugs after a beat—perhaps the only explanation she’ll get tonight.
She’s too cowardly to admit the same. The album makes her think of him, too; in another imagined life where they stayed friends, stayed together, lying on the floor of his old apartment and listening to the album together. Even now, she can picture how they would’ve stayed up until 3 AM with his old AIWA stereo pumping the music into the small, cozy space. They’d analyze lyrical nuances between sips of cheap wine, listening and relistening to get them right; the ubiquity of iPhones and Google still ages away.
She blinks the dreamy fantasy away, takes another sip of beer, and taps the manila envelope on the island between them.
“Have you looked at your script changes yet?” It’s a skilled conversation move back into safer topics, but she knows it’s futile as soon as she sees the look on his face.
“Youknow the answer to that,” he says with a grin, eyes tracking down to his half-finished sketch. “I’ll look at them later. We’ve got a few days off anyway.”
Her eyes follow his, curiosity getting the best of her. “What’re you working on?”
He shrugs, setting the pencil down.
“I suck at landscapes, so I’m trying to practice. I’ll never understand how Bob Ross did it and made it look so easy.”
“He used paint, for one,” she jests, biting back a grin that spreads wide when he rolls his eyes. She points her beer bottle at him. “It’s possible he was also an alien.”
“Now you’re speaking my language.”
“Well, I’ll believe Bob Ross was an alien before I believe you ‘suck’ at drawing landscapes,” she replies, padding around to his side of the island to peer over his shoulder. “Could’ve fooled me.”
He shifts in the chair, making space for her next to him, and she wordlessly steps into it. Her side grazes his, a brief tingle of electricity running up her spine; she ignores it by asking him a question.
“May I?”
He nods, sliding the sketchbook toward her, his silent permission granted. A thrill runs through her—for how much of Dieter’s life he lives in loud, bold color for everyone with a shark-like camera lens to see, his art might be one of the few things where his privacy rivals hers.
“This sketchbook is pretty old. I’ve had a lot of long drawing breaks in the last decade.”
She flips to the start, paging through a decade’s worth of work; full to the brim of charcoal and graphite, subjects of all sorts—a creepy graveyard landscape, abstract shapes, light streaming through a window with a surprising amount of warmth from just the stroke of a pencil.
He’s just as talented with pencil and paper as he is in front of a camera.
She turns the page, a surprised ‘oh’ dropping from her mouth.
“Shit, I forgot that was in there–” Dieter moves to pull the book away, but she reaches for his wrist, halting him.
She leans closer, brows threading together as she takes in the life-like drawing on the page, her own eyes staring back at her.
It’s a stunning display of his skill, how beautifully he captured her on paper. She looks ethereal, like he drew her through the blurred haze of a dream, and it immediately feels like she’s reading the pages of his journal—private thoughts for his eyes only.
He stills, his breath locked in his chest, but she can feel the intensity of his eyes on her. Her thumb strokes the inside of his wrist as she appreciates the amount of detail he used to capture her on paper. She turns toward him, meeting his eyes.
“You prettied me up, thank you.”
He makes an awkward noise, his jaw shifting with confusion.
“I draw what I see,” he whispers, gaze dropping to her lips for half a breath. His eyes dart back down at the page, and she follows.
She spots the date in the bottom right corner, next to the messy scrawl of his initials—his very own maker’s mark. Warmth blooms in her stomach, spreading into her chest as she puts all the pieces together.
“You drew this 10 years ago?”
“I told you, I took a lot of breaks–”
“This was the day after you won your Oscar–”
“You looked so pretty that night, and I–”
Words fall away, his heated eyes drifting back to her lips, and the warmth in her belly slides down into her hips, her blood immediately spiked with arousal.
She swears the air sparks between them, thick like ozone before a thunderstorm.
Shewantshim.
It sits there now in the center of her belly, louder than it’s been in years. He’s all she’s ever wanted; desire sharpened to a pinpoint; it would be unbearable if she didn’t welcome it so willingly.
In one quick move, her hand twists into the front of his tee, pulling him in to meld her lips to his. It’s messy, a little clumsy, the angle awkward from his perch in the chair. He stiffens, a noise of surprise catching in his throat, and she pulls away just enough for her mouth to hover over his, their foreheads pressed together.
“What is this?” he asks breathlessly, hands floating over her hips, a tremor running through them. Her laugh breezes across his full bottom lip.
“A kiss, you idiot.” It’s affectionate, her fingers twirling in his collar to tug him even closer, but his eyes go wide and wild like he’s locked in a dream. She draws back, wondering if she’s made a mistake and read the moment wrong. “Unless you don’t want–”
“No,” he says with conviction, finally allowing his palms to rest on her sides, “I definitely do. I never thought you’d want–”
“Well,I do, so come here and kiss me, Mr. Bravo.”
She pulls on his collar again, and this time, he goes willingly, lips meeting hers. It’s shy, tentative at first; the soft brush of plush lips, a set of shaky exhales, a shared, warm gaze under hooded eyes, his thick fingers curling into her shorts. She brings one hand to his stubbled jawline, encouraging his mouth to slant over hers. He breathes into her open mouth—a raspy, shuddery whisper of oh my god against her lips—before cradling her face in his palms and seeking her tongue with his own.
Her only thoughts are him—the hoppy hit of beer on his lips, the cheap green apple shampoo he’s always used mixed with an expensive-smelling cologne she can’t place but has savored more than she’d like to admit the past few weeks, the warmth of his palms seeping into her cheeks. It’s a heady rush that would set her off balance if they weren’t clinging to each other so desperately.
He whimpers, and it goes right through her, every nerve-ending lighting up with buzzing electricity. It’s nothing like the kiss they shared for the camera a few weeks ago—awkward, uncomfortable angles that look good on film, people shouting directions, an intimacy coordinator with firm instructions on how to kiss as if they were clueless—this one is real, familiar, like knowing the way through one’s hometown no matter how long it’s been between visits.
Refusing to break the kiss, he stands, and the stool kicks out behind him, clattering against the floor. Startled, she pulls away.
“Wha–”
“Don’t worry about it,” he growls, recapturing her lips and deepening the kiss. His hands cup her face again, fingertips cheating into her hairline, and he uses his solid body to cage her against the island’s edge. The counter digs into her back, but she doesn’t care, fingers spearing into his shower-damp hair to pull him flush against her.
He’s everywhere, invading her senses—inhaling her exhales, swallowing her breathy pants, chasing the taste of beer and summer on her tongue—his hips press to hers, and then she feels him, hard beneath the thin material of his shorts.
Her blood sings, and she clenches around nothing.
The kiss becomes smooth and fluid; it’s a dance they both know by heart, stuck in their memories from twenty years worth of quiet longing. It’s soft puffs of warm breath and desperate whines and rediscovery, a return to each other, a return home.
Eager for him, she lets one of her hands slip under the hem of his tee, her fingertips dancing along the top edge of his shorts, and he breaks the kiss with a gasp.
“Should we… talk?” he asks, dotting her face in sweet pecks, his scraggly beard dragging against her soft skin.
“Later,” she breathes, craning her neck to allow him access to it, arousal gathering at the apex of her thighs, soaking into her underwear, “after.”
“After?” It’s less a question and more a confirmation that they want the same thing; he sucks a kiss into the spot where her shoulder and neck meet while waiting for her response. She moans, feeling him twitch against her belly in response, and nods, her fingertips hooking into the band of his boxer briefs.
“Please,” she begs, unwilling to ask again.
“Fuck,” he utters, finding the hem of her shirt and guiding it over her head. His lust-dark eyes drop to the swell of her breasts, and she watches as his tongue nestles in the crease of his bottom lip, contemplating his next move while he catches his breath.
She shoots him a sultry smile, sex-kitten eyes, and pouty lips, arching her back just so, and it has the desired effect. With a pleasured sigh, his mouth drops to her chest, groans planted on the curve of her breasts as he presses hungry kisses into her skin.
His hands move to the button on her shorts, and she temporarily halts his progress.
“Your bed? We’re not young anymore.”
He nods, scooping her up with a soft grunt, his back giving a small protest as he walks toward his bedroom. She laughs into his shoulder, repeating they aren’t young anymore, but she loses all words as her back hits the mattress and he crawls over her, the weight of his hips pressing into where she wants him most.
He wastes no time, hips grinding against hers, providing a delicious weight and friction where she’s soaked and throbbing. He kisses her again, and she could drown it in, in him—the slow roll of his hips as it blooms pleasure up her spine, his hands roving her exposed skin, leaving tingles in their wake. Even the soundshe’s making pull her deeper into his current, whispered adorations (baby, gorgeous, beautiful), pants and grunts and groans, expressions of awe (oh my god andoh, fuck); it’s been so long, she thinks she could come from listening to him alone.
They strip each other bare, muted apologies for rounder, aging bodies met with enthusiastic compliments and desirous kisses across planes of skin. They let themselves get lost in it, in each other; the discovery and rediscovery of mapped sensitive spots paired with loud, sloppy kisses; sighs and gasps and moans filling the room, the rustle of the sheets as he slides her firmly under him, her throaty laugh when a pillow he haphazardly shoved away flops onto her face.
He shushes her with his mouth and uses his hand to draw different noises from her lips, sliding two fingers through her center. His head falls to her chest when he feels how wet she is—how wet he’s made her. She cants her hips up, seeking friction, and he delivers, fingertips expertly circling her clit until she’s crying out against the wall of his chest, and he’s grinning like the cat who got the canary.
Through the blissed fog of her orgasm, she kisses him until he’s breathless; when she breaks it, she begs for him, fingertips wrapping around his hard cock and lining him up at her entrance.
His first slip inside her is everything, weighty and full with a stretch that sends sparks to her toes; he cradles her head in his hands and weaves a pleasured groan onto her tongue when his hips nestle within hers.
“Fuck, I missed this,” he murmurs against her temple like he might tattoo the words there if she allowed it. “I missed you,” he adds, a golden thread of emotion stitching them tightly together.
Her palms press into his shoulders, encouraging him to move, and words fall away.
Their bodies used to snap tightly together like pieces of a brand new puzzle—edges clean, sharp, and unmarred. Now, their edges are softer, a bit frayed, but still made to lock in place, a perfect fit even after the passage of so much time.
He tries to draw it out, wants to make it good for her, for both of them, but she hooks her heels over his thighs, and he loses the last drops of brain power he possesses.
They quickly find the easy rhythm they once knew so well, buzzing electric and fiery warmth with each desperate, eager thrust of his hips. Her nails claw into his back, hushed pleas of please, baby spurring him on as they breeze over his ear, words he’d only heard in his dreams and fantasies.
The world drops away, time measured in heavy breaths and quickened heartbeats, kisses exchanged like a secret currency only for them. She comes first with a bitten-off gasp of his name, squeezing and pulsing around him until she pulls him over the edge with her, his face buried in her neck as he fills her with a choked cry.
They melt together on the mattress, sweet adorations and soft kisses shared in a post-orgasm euphoria—curved smiles, breathy laughs, the brushing back of hair—each movement is simultaneously newly exciting and achingly familiar.
She thinks she should feel worried that they let things get messy once more, but everything feels so right in the moment, just like it’s always felt when she’s with him; she doesn’t have the presence of mind to care.
She’s gotten pretty good at handling messes, anyway.
———
They spend the remainder of the evening in his bed, rediscovering each other as the sun dipped well below the horizon. While the stamina of their early twenties was gone, their passion for each other was not, fueled by two decades worth of desire.
He couldn’t remember the last time he wanted someone to stay in his bed (it was her, it’s always been her, only her), but he kept her there, pulling orgasm after orgasm from her until she begged him for a break, in the same tone etched across his eardrums—exhausted, but completely satisfied, sending a wave of pride through him.
In the afterglow, they tackle one of the final hurdles of their past.
He didn’t mean for it to happen like this, their bodies pressed together under the too-warm duvet, unwilling to separate long enough to kick it away, choosing to enjoy the prickling waves of heat flowing between them.
“I meant it earlier. I’ve missed you,” he confesses, repeating the words without the easy excuse of the heat of the moment. They’d sat on the tip of his tongue since she glared at him during the table read, a rare show of her true feelings under her carefully crafted mask; it had served as a beacon of hope that this hollow industry hadn’t stripped away her entire personality, the one he knew and secretly cherished.
She’s gone so quiet that he wonders if she’s asleep. He’d almost believe it if not for the way she’s holding her breath, and he realizes why a moment too late.
“Then why didn’t you call?” The question carries no heat, and still, it burns him.
It’s his turn to hold his breath.
She tilts her head, looking at him from where she’s nestled into the crook of his arm, silently pleading for an answer. There’s no anger in her eyes, but he almost wishes there was—it would be easier to bear than her raw, honest display of heartache.
“I did,” he starts, tongue thick with guilt. “When the towers fell. You didn’t answer.”
Her brows knit together, eyes narrowing as her mind drifts back to then,twisting through time and weaving the unknown pieces together before she heaves a bone-tired sigh.
“I went out for a run to clear my head.”
Dieter’s blood runs cold. “Oh.”
Shit.
“I– I thought you were screening your calls.”
“I was, but I would’ve picked up for you,idiot.” She taps his nose, all tender affection, but he’s already on the precipice of a spiral, groaning as the realization sinks in.
He’s been a colossal fucking idiot.
Her fingers dance along his jawline, drawing his eyes to hers. He wants to bask in the intimacy of her touch, press his cheek into her palm and let the warmth of her skin seep into his, but her eyes reveal she has more to say.
“You could’ve left a message, Dieter,” she whispers, all the hurt she’s held onto bleeding into her tone. The way her sharp tongue curls around his name nearly shatters him.
She’s right. He could’ve. He should’ve. The fact that he didn’t has haunted him for an eternity.
“Yeah, you’re right. I don’t know why I didn’t…”
Silence fills the small space on the pillow between them. It’s uncomfortable—heavy and suffocating—making him want to crawl out of his skin. Go find a fifth of whiskey and some white powder, stumble home with a nameless, good-looking stranger, and get lost in them, no tricky conversations to be had besides kicking them out afterward.
Hecan’t go back to that life. Not now, when they’re this close to something that feels like reconciliation, like coming home.
He shakes his head, willing the truth to form on his tongue.
“Actually, that’s a lie. I knew I fucked up. I should’ve called when I landed in Berlin, and I could give you a million reasons why I didn’t, but they’d just be tired old excuses. The truth is, if I had heard your voice… I would’ve been on the next flight back to LA.”
His exhale is heavy, breathing away the weight of guilt he’s carried as penance for the last twenty years. Her hand strokes a delicate pattern across his bare chest—he tries not to think about how it hadn’t been that long ago when someone else’s hands carved the same path in his skin after saving his life.
After giving him a chance to make amends, giving him the chance to be here, like this, with her—somewhere he never thought he’d be again.
He’s been such a fucking dumbass for far too long.
“You wouldn’t have come back to LA. There’s no way I would’ve let you no matter how much I missed you,” she murmurs.
“You missed me?” He knows the question is silly; the signs are there when he reels back through his memories. Her quiet support through the years—their eyes locking across every crowded room they shared, the one and only after party she ever attended, the gift basket, the longing in her eyes as she fixed his bowtie backstage—he wants to choke on how fucking foolish he’s been.
“Of course I’ve missed you. You were my best friend,” she pauses, a tear glittering in her eye. His thumb catches it before it can slide into her hairline. “You still are.”
That admission breaks him, because he feels the same way.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” his voice breaks into a dry sob, and she shushes him, coaxing him to nestle over her. Wordlessly, he rests his head on her chest, ear pressed over her heart, counting the steady beats that used to lull him into a peaceful sleep. Her fingers card through his sex-wild hair, and he can’t think of a single high that’s ever felt better.
“I forgive you. I already did a long time ago; I just didn’t realize it until recently,” she whispers, nails running over his scalp, sending a wave of chills across his back. “I hope you forgive me. I didn’t need to be such a cold bitch for so long.”
He laughs in disbelief. She would think she had something to apologize for. “No, I deserved it, and then some.”
He props up onto his elbows to kiss her properly, something deep but slow and unhurried, savoring it after spending so much time dreaming about whether or not he’d ever kiss her again.
“Hey, D?” she asks, breaking the kiss. He hums, his lips mapping a path across her jaw and neck. “What’re we gonna do now?”
He wants to laugh again. She’s always been worried about what comes next instead of living in the moment. Though he supposes it comes with the territory—both this life they live and whatever fucking miracle happening between them.
“I don’t know,” he tells her honestly, and she cracks a silly grin.
“Me either.”
They fall into laughter, and she tucks herself along his side, nestling deep into the sheets.
“Sleep on it?” he asks quietly, kissing the crown of her head. She nods, pressing her face into his neck. It’s nearly the same position he’d held her in the night he told her he was leaving—like she was trying to become part of him so she’d never have to lose him—and it carves right through him. He tries not to think about how they’re only a few weeks from returning to LA to wrap up shots in the studio and what that might mean for them.
Now who’s getting ahead of themselves?
Her breathing evens out, the sound of his most cherished lullaby, and he allows it to pull him under the veil of sleep alongside her.
———
In the muted grey light of pre-dawn, her phone chimes. Dieter groans, shoving his face into his pillow, as she squirms away to silence the alarm.
“Whyyyy?” he whines, reaching across the bed for her. She props up on one elbow, sleepy eyes studying his face.
“Yoga,” she offers in a sleep-thick voice as her only explanation.
“Fuck that. Let me sleep another hour, and I promise to bend you into as many positions as you’d like.”
She hums, something that sounds like a low, amused laugh, but still hesitates, legs creeping toward the edge of the bed like she might actually leave it. He reaches for her, one arm wrapping around her torso, and pulls her close, a gasp falling from her lips. Through the fog of his sleep-addled mind, he whispers the words he’s never said to anyone. The words he sometimes wishes she would’ve said, back when he was too terrified to admit he wanted to hear them.
“Please stay?” It’s a weighty request, all his vulnerability perched out onto a limb for her to take and either crush or cradle.
She’d been understandably cold toward him in the past, but never cruel.
Thankfully, he’s only met with affection, one palm curling over his jaw, her thumb stroking his cheek as she smiles, pillow lines still imprinted across her face.
“I’ll stay,” she breathes with conviction, and he lets himself believe she means it beyond that moment. She brushes her lips to his. “But you’d better make good on that promise.”
He chuckles darkly, encouraging her to turn in his arms and press her back to his front. He wraps one arm around her, nestling his lips over her ear, a low rasp poised to devastate her in the best way.
“Oh,I will.”
———
Redding, California | August 2022
The end of summer and on-location filming was near the horizon, but that didn’t stop them.
For the most part, they maintained professionalism on set, Dieter honoring her desire for privacy. He learned a few things from her, like striving to be more subtle and biting his tongue against every thought that filtered through his mind instead of just spitting it out for anyone to hear.
But she learned from him, too. She was a little less tight-lipped, more friendly, and less worried about a cloudy spot or two on her polished finish. She found it made things… easier, freeing almost, not to be so concerned with her public reputation all the time.
She still valued privacy above all else, but Dieter made convincing arguments for occasionally bending the rules.
It’s probably the only reason she let him pull her into her trailer for a quickie when a set repair required a delay in filming for part of the day. Even then, he still took care to be discreet—one large hand clamped over her mouth while the other pumped two fingers into her wet core, begging her to come for him before anyone noticed their absence. After they finished, he checked for curious onlookers, sneakily slipping from her trailer back to his own, everyone none the wiser.
When the days wrapped, they eagerly made their way home, slipping into a routine: a shared shower, filled with soft kisses and sudsy shampoo; food, eith
Warnings:Fluff, mutual pining, Din being clueless, Established sexual relationship, live sick idiots, mild reference to smut.
A/N:req by @sturkillerbase for idiots in love. “You’re so cute. What did you just say? I said you look like a boot.”
Comments and reblogs really appreciated
Din couldn’t breathe.
He couldn’t think, he couldn’t focus. He felt hot under all that beskar and he was vaguely aware that Cara was talking to him - rambling on about staying here, settling down. Why is that when she said that, all he could think about was you.
You, the mechanic he had taken on almost a year ago. You, who had broken down all his walls and pierced him straight in the heart. You, whose hands knew exactly where to touch to comfort him. You, who came along and filled that missing piece of his puzzle. You, who was currently playing with Grogu and the other children - putting thoughts of you holding a baby of your own in his head, his baby.
“If you stare longer, you’ll burn a hole into the side of her head.” He fell forward slightly, startled by what Cara had said before quickly recovering.
“What are you talking about?”
She smiled up at him - that sly smirk she always has around him - her eyebrow quirked. “The only person you’re fooling is yourself, Mando. Plain as day that you love her.” He’s just as bad as she is. She stood then, coming to stand beside him - her gaze drifting over to you.
“You better tell her before someone else snaps her up,” she says with a tilt of her head in your direction. Din follows her line of sight to find one of the local men talking to you. His hand reaches out for you and touches your arm and you laugh at whatever he’s said. It’s like a knife has been thrust into his gut - twisting around for extra effect.
You turn then - as if you can feel the heat of his gaze - and catch him staring. A sweet smile spreads across your face and you wave at him. Din clenches his fist as a wave of anger or jealousy - he’s not quite sure - washes over him. I can’t watch this. He moves away from Cara and storms off, leaving you staring after him with a confused look on your face. Your eyes meet Cara’s and she just shrugs before walking off. Maker, these two love sick idiots.
***
Sometime later, Din arrives back at the hut - having spent most of the day avoiding you - to find you dressed in a skimpy dress. He’s frozen in the doorway at the sight of you - dress clinging to the curve of your breast, flowing out at the waist. You look ethereal.
There’s a slit in the dress that he hadn’t noticed until you move. He can see the skin of your leg all the way up to your thigh and it’s making it impossible to breathe. Suddenly, the beskar armour weighs heavy on his shoulders - all he wants to do is reach out and touch you. Really touch you. Without the armour, without the gloves - without the barrier between you both.
“Din! Are you ok? You’ve been gone all day, Grogu was upset he couldn’t find you.” You’re standing directly in front of him now and he lets his eyes roam over you - hidden behind the safety of the visor. He can feel the heat coming off you - searing into his skin. Your scent - apples, cinnamon and something indescribably you - fills his nose from under the helmet and his brain short circuits.
“You’re cute!” He freezes. Did I say that out loud?
“What did you say?” You say with a soft smile on your face. You know exactly what he said.
“I said you look like a boot.” Trying not to laugh, you reach out to touch his arm but before you can - he pushes past you making his way behind the curtain separating your shared space. You stare at the space he occupied seconds ago, mind reeling. Does he feel the same way? Turning to follow him you’re interrupted by Omera and Cara entering the hut.
“Ready to dance and get drunk on spotcha?” Cara says as she wiggles her hips. They both stand staring at you, waiting for a response. “Eh..can you give us a minute?”
They share a look before turning back to you and nodding. “Can you take Grogu?”
“Sure”, Omera says as she bends down to pick him up. Once they leave you turn towards the curtain, heart racing. I need to know.
***
Din paced the length of the small space he occupied - embarrassment flooding his veins. Dank ferrek!
He’s ruined things now, he knows he has. You’ll think he’s an idiot and leave. Everyone leaves. The only one consistent thing in his life is Grogu and he doesn’t have much of a choice. I need to get out of this. Din begins pulling off his armour - piece by piece - throwing it on the ground haphazardly. He hears Cara and Omera talking and he figures you left for the celebration. It’s safe!
With both hands on either side of his helmet; he lifts it off. Holding it in his hands, he stands there and stares into the visor - his face reflected back at him. The mandalorians are his family, took him in when he was most alone in the world - he owes them his life. They are also his curse. Living by a strict creed that allows no one to see his face, not even the ones he loves.
You can never get too close. How could you when there is a barrier of beskar between you both. In the last couple of months he’s longed to find a peaceful planet somewhere in the galaxy - quite like Sorgan - and settle down with you and Grogu. Maybe you’ll agree to marry him and you can have a child of your own. She’ll never love you.
“Oh Din I’m…I’m so sorry…I didn’t mean…”
Din turns towards your voice to find you w or h your back turned away from him and your hand covering your eyes. She saw my face! You have two options here, kill or marry.
Din tosses his helmet. The loud thud as it hits the floor echoes throughout the hut. He moves toward you now, slow and steady - like any quick movements will spook you. He reaches out to touch you and his heart races upon contact. He loves the feel of your warmth under his touch. Searing into his skin.
“Mesh’la, it’s ok.”
“No! No, I made you break your creed. I’ve ruined everything Din. I’m sorry…so sorry,” you say with a sob. He turns you around and places his hands gently on your cheeks.
“Mesh’la please, look at me.”
“No. I can’t. I…I won’t. I can leave…I won’t tell anyone what I saw…please don’t kill me.”
His heart clenches tight. I could never kill you. “I won’t kill you. I can’t, even if I wanted to. I…I love you Y/N and I want you to see my face properly, so please look. He pulls your hands away but your eyes are shut tight. “You can’t be a Mandalorian anymore Din, I made you….I’ve ruined it all…”
“I can still be a Mandalorian. I love you and I want you to see my face. I want to give you that. Give you all of me. Marry me?” He whispers beside your ear.
Slowly you open your eyes and you’re met with the most beautiful brown eyes you’ve ever seen. You take him in. His hazel eyes, his brown hair that’s slightly dishevelled from the helmet and the light facial hair he has along his jaw. He was beautiful.
“Will you marry me?” Your eyes search his, and you see the sincerity in his gaze. A smile spreads over your face.
“I love you too Din. I have for a long time. Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Din reaches down and his lips touch yours in a soft kiss. A moan slips past your lips and he devours it with his. Pulling back he leans his head against yours - his eyes gazing into yours. “Just repeat after me. Mhi solus tome, Mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde”
You repeat what he says word for word and then he reaches into his back pocket and places a ring of beskar into your finger. “What did we say?” Din smiles - his eyes glued to the ring, his ring, adorning your finger before looking straight at you.
“We are one when together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors. They are mandalorian vows.”
“So we’re married now? That was easy.” He chuckles before his lips meet yours again in a heated kiss. His hands begin to roam a little and you can feel him harden against you. “Maybe we should start working on those warriors?”
A growl emanates from deep within his chest as he grabs your ass tight, pulling you close. “How long do you think we have?”
“Hmm, I’d say maybe an hour before Cara comes to find us.”
Just a few quick questions to find out what the reader wants from me and my writing.
Everyoneeee! I mean everyone needs to check this amazing kickass gorgeous writer’s work out!! You will not be disappointed at all, I promise youuu! And she gots new ones to come, so come along on the beautiful breathtaking ride!
Ps.
Ekkkk! I’m so excited and can’t wait to see what you’ll create with the other fandoms! I already know they’ll be amazingly breathtakingly badass! ( but always, never rush or push yourself to get stuff done.. Do what makes you happy and such. )
Aahhh stop you are amazing and I appreciate you so much. I swear you get a kick out of making me emotional
I’m excited to write for other fandoms (and a little nervous) but I will still mainly be a pedro girl
Warnings:Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, oral (both receiving), angst, mentions of drinking blood, cursing, enemies to lovers.
Summary:You and Max have been working together for the last year and there is only one thing you have in common - you both hate each other! Now you are both in competition with each other for Ted’s job. Who will win? Who will lose? Will you both realise that’s there’s a fine line between love and hate?
I have been patient with myself to read the last part of this chapter to see what it is exactly that Reader’s father does and my hand actually shot to my mouth with surprise - I love it. You finished this off amazingly Char!! Thank you .
Ha
I’m glad you liked it my darling - it took me a minute to come up with something totally embarrassing for him and completely satisfying for her
Warnings:Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, oral (both receiving), angst, mentions of drinking blood, cursing, enemies to lovers.
Summary:You and Max have been working together for the last year and there is only one thing you have in common - you both hate each other! Now you are both in competition with each other for Ted’s job. Who will win? Who will lose? Will you both realise that’s there’s a fine line between love and hate?
Max insisted on driving and honestly, you were grateful - your anxiety was becoming overwhelming and you would not have had the focus to drive safely.
Fidgeting with your fingers - something you did to try to calm yourself when you were like this, you closed your eyes briefly and took a deep breath inwards, trying to calm your racing heart. Please let this day go off without an incident from Dad.
Max threw a sideways glance at you, a worrisome feeling settling in the pit of his stomach with what he had just heard in your mind - he’s never seen you like this - and it wasn’t something he wanted to get used to either.
“Everything ok, toots? You seem a little on edge.” Opening your eyes and looking in his direction, you gave him your best fake smile. “I’m fine, promise.”
“Hmm, and if I believed that, I’d believe anything.” Max narrowed his eyes on the road and insisted that you share what’s on your mind without trying to pry it out of you. “Come on, you can talk to me, Toots. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye but I care about you and I want to help if I can.”
“I appreciate it, Max, I do, but you can’t help me. My family - more specifically my father - is a fucking pain in my ass and he hates me.”
“Come on he doesn’t hate you, parents don’t hate their kids - they can get angry, sure, disappointed, but not hate.”
“Ha, you don’t know my father. I’ve never been able to do anything right, not in his eyes anyway.” The words spilled from your mouth like it was normal, it was normal and it shouldn’t be, but it’s something that you’re used to now.
“Then why don’t we just say fuck it and not go. I’ll drive us anywhere?” Max countered with a different idea, a much better idea than attending this wedding that you’ve dreaded for months. If only it were that easy.
“I can’t. The irony of it all is that I’m constantly seeking his approval and if I don’t show up - I’ll be disowned.” Shooting down the suggestion, Max reaches over and places his hand on your thigh, giving it a quick squeeze. “I could just kill him?”
Erupting into a fit of giggles, it really shouldn’t have been funny but your emotions were all over the place. You’re laughing so hard that you could barely see Max through your watery eyes. God, I love you.
The laughter died off with that thought, amusement had been replaced with another worry. You were so caught up in the moment that you forgot that he can listen in if he wants to, so the question was, did he hear it?
Max is frozen. He definitely heard it and he kept his eyes straight ahead with doubt circling his mind. Did she just say what I think she said?
***
Arriving at the venue - an overpriced hotel with too many sparkly chandeliers - you take a deep breath before exiting the car. Max appears at your side, wrapping an arm around your waist as you both make your way inside.
Fake smiles and formal greetings are made as you pass distant relatives and family friends; people that you only ever see at events like this. Max can already hear your heart begin to beat fast again and he leans down to whisper in your ear, “it’s ok, breath, I’ve got you.”
Fuck!If you didn’t already love the man, you certainly would after that. A simple yet meaningful gesture of reassurance in a time that you really needed it made you feel weak in the knees. You smile up at him with appreciative eyes. “Thanks, for coming with me. I’m glad you’re here, Max.”
There’s that flutter in his chest again and he battles with himself silently. Say it! Say it now before you lose your nerve. “There you are, you’re late.” Max’s thoughts of saying what’s on his mind were halted as he followed your gaze to see an older man approaching - small, slightly rounded stomach and the only resemblance you have to him are your eyes. Those gorgeous eyes that Max loves so much.
“We’re not late, half the guests haven’t even arrived yet by the looks of it.” You defended yourself and Max to your Dad, but he fired back. “Don’t take that tone with me-” Your father stopped mid sentence, looking at Max with scrutiny, “-and who is this?”
Immediately taking action, the vampire moves his hand from around you and goes to shake his hand, making sure to squeeze tight. Your fathers face scrunches in pain a little before you nudge his side. “I’m Max Phillips, Y/N’s boyfriend. It’s a pleasure to meet your sir.” He doesn’t say anything as he turns his gaze back to you. “Your boyfriend can’t sit up front with us.”
“Why not?” You realtialted, to which your father retorted. “He isn’t family.” Your blood boiled with the audacity of this man and you fought back, again. “Max is my boyfriend, he’s my family.”
“He still can’t sit with us,” your father states before getting distracted by some guests, turning away from you and ending this discussion. I’m going to fucking kill him. You try to storm after him but Max wraps his arms around your waist, stopping you. “He isn’t worth it baby. How about you go sit with them and I’ll find a seat at the back.”
“Hell no! I’m sitting with you, come on.” You wrap your hand in his and pull him along to the back where you take your seats. Max can’t help the smile that spreads across his face. I am so fucking proud of you.
***
The ceremony is beautiful. Your sister is a stunning bride and her husband Gerry absolutely adores her. Even though you’ve always been the shadow in her light, constantly compared against each other, you’re happy for her. “Ever thought about it?” Max whispers in your ear as you make your way to the reception hall.
“Though about what?” You asked. Turning to face him as he jerked his chin outwards with his answer, “This. Marriage?”
“Hasn’t every girl at some point.” He gives you an incredulous look and you roll your eyes with a half smile on your face. “Ok yes, I’ve thought about my wedding. Happy?”
“Yup.” He turns his attention away from you to the sign displaying the seating arrangements. What the hell, why is he asking that? “Have you thought about it, Max?”
The man laughs, sounding shy. “Not until recently.” What?He grabs your hand and leads the way to your table. Even though Max doesn’t need food to survive - for obvious reasons - he still has a few mouthfuls. I need to blend in sometimes toots he’d said, and you couldn’t help but smile at the concentration on his face as tried to act like a regular sociable human.
I could get used to this, you thought and ducked your head, forgetting once again that he can hear you. Though, Max looked at you, as if he were about to say something but a voice cut him off. “Y/N! There you are, I’m so happy you came. I know this was hard for you so I appreciate it.” Your sister - the bride was the voice that cut him off.
Pulling you in for a tight hug with a bright smile, she’s breath-taking, always has been. “Claire, this is Max my..”
“Her boyfriend,” he speaks for himself with a wink before pulling Claire in for a hug too.
“It’s lovely to meet you Max,” She beams, then pulls back to look at you, “my sister failed to tell her little sister she was dating. Don’t pay any attention to our father, he can be…well difficult. Anyway, better go mingle. Don’t leave without saying goodbye, ok?”
“I won’t.” Max nodded as the bride walked away. “She seems nice.” You glared at him then. “Well she’s married now, so hard luck.” Max looks at you with a confused expression. Without questioning it, he simply listens to your inner monologue instead. Everyone always thinks she is better than me - funnier, smarter, prettier. Of course Max would think the same.
“Yeah she’s pretty, I’d be lying if I said otherwise but in a cute way.” Acting quickly, Max tells you what you need to hear, “Definitely not my type. You are my type. You’re not cute, you’re gorgeous, you don’t put up with my shit and put me in my place, and you are amazing in bed. You do this thing with your…”
“Ok enough.” You say putting your hand over his mouth, a blush on your face. “Thank you.”
As the day progressed, your nerves slowly easing off with Max’s soothing presence and reassuring gestures, you started to actually enjoy the celebratory atmosphere and put your own worries aside, to be there for your sister.
Occasionally she and Gerry would lock eyes with you, raising their glasses with a nod and almost every time, your father would scowl. When dinner was served, you and Max just enjoyed your own company, giggling at his remarks about your dad. The champagne helped a bunch too, loosening up the tension in your body and mind.
“I need to take a leak, toots,” Max kissed your cheek and pushed his chair back to stand, “I’ll be back shortly.” Sitting alone with just your thoughts, you concluded that this day wasn’t all too bad and you were thankful that Max accompanied you, he made it better in every way possible.
However, with a quick glance over to the head table and noticing that your dad was not there, you instantly sighed with a plea under your breath, “Please Max, if my dad is in the restroom, don’t cause a scene.” Using his absence as an opportunity, you stood from your chair also and walked over to chat with your sister and brother in law.
“Hey, you. Getting lonely over there?” She leaned up from her seat, opening her arms wide for another hug. “Yeah, you could say that. Max is in the restroom,” you smiled and leaned in, kissing her cheek. “Please tell me Dad is at the bar?”
Pulling back and greeting Gerry, the look on your sister’s face confirmed your worries and you immediately started fidgeting with your fingers again. “Stop that,” Clair noticed your anxiety straight away, she always does, “and don’t worry. I’m sure Dad won’t cause a scene on my wedding day.”
It’s not Dad that I’m worried about. Nodding to her, you put on yet another fake smile and kept looking to the gents restroom, dreading for Max to reappear with blood dripping down from his fangs, but to your absolute surprise, the men walked out together - laughing?
Both you and Claire shared a look of concern, and even Gerry voiced his opinion on the sight, “Huh. That’s weird, a minute ago he wouldn’t shut up about Max now they’re best buddies.”
“Oh that’s good old Max. He has a way with… charming people,” Laughing to the couple nervously, you made an excuse to leave and go back to your own table while Max and your father stood at the bar, ordering a round of drinks and being rowdy about it. This can’t be good. What have you done Max?
The man turned to look at you with your thoughts, winking with a cheeky smile before turning his attention back to your dad. Clearly he has glamoured him, put him under some sort of compulsion. Though, you can’t complain considering how happy and laid back he looked, so Max must have said something right.
A couple moments later, Max came to join you at the table again, your father walking past with a waving smile and a glass of whiskey in his hand. No, you certainly can’t complain about the compulsion, he’s in a better mood.
“You’re not going to ask about your dad?” Max sat down and leaned into your side, placing a chaste kiss to your cheek. “No.” keening at his touch, your hands roamed the expanse of his thigh beneath the table cloth. “Don’t need to know, just really grateful for the result, Max.”
“Oh yeah? How grateful?” He smirked. Tensing with the touch of your deft fingers trailing up his thigh, Max hummed deeply and whispered sweet nothings against the shell of your ear, drawing out a soft sigh to escape past your lips. “I’ll show you later in the bedroom,” you say, biting your lip. “I’ll do that thing that you love.”
Max groaned eagerly, his gaze was intense with impatience for the night to hurry up and come to an end. You gave his thigh a quick squeeze before retracting your hand at the sounds of a microphone being tapped excessively, followed by someone speaking into the thing. “Can everybody hear me ok?”
Marc, the best man, prepared his speech. You and Max paid little attention as his hand kept sneaking up your thigh now, payback for your actions mere moments ago. Marc went on to talk about his younger days with Gerry, specifically of the time where he first met your sister and how he knew that his buddy was in love at first sight.
You did finally pay attention when your father made snide remarks here and there, fueled by alcohol no less. Or was it? As Max nipped a path of kisses along your neck, without a care for who sees, your eyes narrowed in on Gerry, on his red angry facial expression.
When he snapped his head to the side to reprimand your dad quietly, you knew something else was going on. It wasn’t just the alcohol. “Um, Max?” Tilting your head with a quiet whisper, you now want to know exactly what the vampire had done. “What did you say to my dad in the restroom?”
“Told him to relax, have a good time…” Placing a wet kiss to the back of your ear, your eyes threatened to roll shut as his hand inched closer to your heat. “…Told him to squash whatever quarrels he has with you and let bygones be bygones.”
“Uh-huh.” That didn’t sound too bad. However, it didn’t explain why your dad was being a bit of a dick about the best man’s speech, so you persisted with Max. “Anything else you might’ve said to him that you’re not telling me?”
“Hmm,” Max smirked against your skin. “Let’s say it’s my gift for you. A little payback.”
Just as you were opening your mouth to protest, you stopped to gasp when the man had made contact with your core, finding your panties hot and damp. Max’s touch had a much more prominent effect on you, far more than you yourself anticipated it would.
A broken whisper of his name bubbled up from your throat as he started to pull your panties to one side. Your cunt clenched around nothing as he slid a digit through your slick folds with ease. “Look at you, toots. So wet for me and I barely touched you.” Max degraded with a dark chuckle, pulling his hand back, you whimpered with the loss as he brought his finger to his lips and sucked the evidence of your desire.
At the sound of music filling your ears, you tore your eyes away from Max’s dark taunting smile and looked to the dancefloor. Claire and Gerry were rising from their seats and walking out hand in hand. It was the first dance and it couldn’t have come at a better time, Max was becoming feral. You’ve seen that look in his eyes before.
Max wrapped an arm around your waist, resting his hand to your hip with a grabbing squeeze and you leaned into his touch with a question. “Are you finished teasing me now?”
“Not even close, baby.” The man laughed. Looking at the dancefloor as cool as a cucumber, like he hasn’t just had his hand between your legs then tasted a sample of your juices off his finger, Max jerked his chin outwards, “But first we have a show to watch.”
“Don’t you mean the first dance? It isn’t a show Max,” You corrected him, jabbing a finger into his ribs playfully as your own little payback for him playing games with you. Giggling to yourself when he jolted with the action, he repaid the favour by tickling your sides, causing your hands to reach out onto his chest with a plea, “Ok-ok. I yield. Please stop that.”
Granting your wishes, Max resorted to just resting his hand on your hip again, but he brought his other hand up from under the table to look at his watch, sparking your intrigue, “What’s up?”
“I told you, we have a show to watch,” Max replied nonchalantly, “Patience, babe. Your gift is coming any minute now.” Instantly turning your head to face the head table, your father was not there and your stomach dropped with dread. Oh God, Max what have you done?
***
The sound of a mic tap draws your attention and you look up to see your father on stage looking around nervously. “Stop! Stop right now.”
Everyone gasps at your fathers interruption. Gerry is being pulled back by Claire who whispers something to him. “That’s it Claire, tame that beast of a husband. Bloody sham of a wedding. Cost me a fortune, ungrateful bitch. I need everyone to quieten down, I have something I want to say to my daughter, Y/N.”
You can feel people’s eyes drift to you and a worrisome feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. Max’s hand - the one resting on your thigh - squeezes gently in reassurance and you meet his gaze for the briefest moment before turning back to your father. Max hopes he’s done the right thing. That you won’t hate him after this.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the way I’ve always treated you. For making you feel like you were never good enough and always comparing you to your sister Claire. You are far better than her in every way. You’re beautiful, strong willed, independent and amazing at your job and any man would be lucky to have you.”
“John!” You hear your mother gasp out in outrage. The only thing you can focus on though is Max. How these are his words coming from your fathers mouth and how you want nothing more than to grab his face and kiss him hard. I love you. You let the words linger in your mind, knowing full well he can hear but you don’t look at him, you don’t want to see the rejection on his face.
Suddenly your father drops to his knees and starts barking. Barking!He begins to move around on all fours, licking himself and sniffing some of the guests’ asses. He throws himself onto his back and waggles his arms and legs in the air - looking for a belly rub?
Your hand shoots to your mouth and Max looks to you now, worried he’s gone too far but then he feels you shake beside him. Is she laughing? You can’t control it anymore, the laughter falling from your mouth as you hold your stomach. Max feels a sense of relief. “Did I do good?”
“That was amazing. I love you…” You gasp, having realised you said it out loud. It’s out there now and you can feel him stiffen beside you. Tears form behind your eyes threatening to fall at any moment. Well done, you’ve ruined it all now. Max’s hand grabs your chin and suddenly his lips are on yours, kissing you passionately. “I need you, now.”
“Let’s get out of here.” Max stands and reaches for your hand, leading you out to reception. “I need a room for the night.” What is he doing? Max leans into you - his breath hot on your skin. “I want you to fuck you so hard, everyone in that reception hall knows who you belong to.” A shiver runs through you and your cunt is aching with anticipation. Oh yes please.
Summary: After years of hiding, Din finds his girlfriend on a planet with a child.
Warning: Fluff, Angst
Word Count: 1.8k
a/n:. Requests are open.
Three suns ruled over the land and the clouds in the hues of murky waters had travelled away. Tall trees protected the inconspicuous cottage of light stone. Smoke rose from the chimney, letting the inhabitants of the village know that someone lived in the nondescript building on the outskirts in the far south by the lake of hundreds of waterlilies.
Flowers of various colours grew out of the dark soil, bordered by a holey fence in light tones. The woman, dressed in the long dress in light shades, looked through the tinted window flanked by long curtains and witnessed her daughter sitting under the lonely tree playing with her dolls of straw next to the sandpit. The cake Y/N had baked was on a plate on the round table with two identically looking chairs of wood.
Smiling, the young mother strolled through the kitchen towards the open door leading into the house and leaned against the frame, unable to take her eyes off of her daughter playing in the shade of the tree. Her heart ached, realising her little sunflower had grown fast. She didn’t have to count, had placed six candles on the cake of fresh strawberries and slices of apples. Y/N pushed herself off the wood and stepped into the light of the fading suns.
“Hey my little sunflower.” Y/N breathed.
Laughing, she halted in front of her daughter, playing with the three dolls. The dark brown eyes immediately settled on Y/N and again a dagger pierced through her aching heart, felt how it broke each year a little more. Guilt dripped from her parted lips, but Y/N knew she had done the right thing. No child should be raised in a spaceship, and Y/N knew they would have taken her daughter away the moment she was born. A veil of sadness rested over her features. Tears tried to block her view of her child, but Y/N was proud she had escaped before anyone could find out she was carrying the creation of deep love.
The memories of the early morning when she had disappeared returned and Y/N remembered the moment as if it had happened yesterday. In great haste she had fled, was heading for a planet far away from war, from ships, destruction and hunters trying to kill them all. Sometimes when darkness ruled with iron fist over the fields, Y/N wondered if she had made the right decision, but whenever Y/N looked out the window and saw her daughter playing in the garden with an unmistakable smile on her face, Y/N knew she had done the right thing.
“Mama, don’t cry,” Eloise breathed, thought she understood the sadness in her mother’s gaze.
Gently, the young girl placed her hands on her mother’s cheeks and brushed the hot tears away.
“I don’t mind that you gave me a doll as a present and the cake you baked and the dress you made is wonderful, I’ll show it to my friends’, they’ll surely want you to make them one too.” laughed the girl, wanting to cheer her mother up, thinking she knew the reason for the falling tears.
“I’m not crying because of you, my sunflower. I’m fine. The suns are blinding.” Y/N tried to talk herself out of it, but she couldn’t, couldn’t fool her daughter.
“Come here mum, I don’t mind and I want to eat the cake tonight and later I will read the book and I heard the stars will be out today so we can stay out here in the garden.”, “That’s a beautiful idea and I’m already looking forward to it.” replied Y/N.
The girl with the long dark brown hair rose from the meadow and let go of the dolls reflecting a small perfect family, Y/N couldn’t give her. Spreading her arms, Y/N immediately understood what her daughter desired and embraced the dark-eyed girl, hugging her tightly and pressing her firmly to her chest.
“Mummy?” the girl breathed into her mother’s ear.
Fear was evident in her troubled voice.
“Is everything alright?”, “I’m scared, mum, there’s a strange-looking man. He is looking at me and you.” Eloise stammered.
Suddenly Y/N´s eyes widened. Swiftly she turned and then gulped. The suns were no longer blinding, clouded by a dense layer of wandering clouds yet she shielded her eyes with her right hand, thought her eyes were fooling her. Y/N would recognise him clad in heavy armour among billions. Her heart stopped beating. The cloak was long, swayed back and forth in the rising breeze. Y/N’s fingers clawed into the flowing material of the dress of her daughter, forcing her to stay behind her, trying to protect her with her body, would protect her with her life.
“Don’t be afraid my sunflower, stay behind me.” Y/N demanded in a stern tone.
Y/N knew there was no point in leaving, to run away.
“Who is that man?” “You don’t have to fear; I will protect you and if he gets too close, then hide in the house. Run away and don’t come out.” Y/N instructed calmly.
“And what about you?”, “Didn’t you hear me?” she said sternly, and Eloise nodded.
His breathing was heavy, recognised the woman he still loved from the depths of his heart. How many years he had spent with searching for Y/N, Din no longer remembered but knew it had to be many, more than five. Anger spread through his chest. Under his mask, he grimaced, had noticed the girl, knew the woman, his wife had found a lover, a new man.
“How can I help you?” Y/N asked unsure what to say.
Y/N tried to be emotionless, didn’t want to show fear and agony, knew she had to be strong but her lower lip betrayed her.
“Why did you leave me?” it escaped him.
Warmth spread through her heart. The last time she had heard his was a long time ago, so long, seeming for forever. The words were harsh and dripping with venom yet there was love lurking in the shadows. Din didn’t want to waste a second with asking useless questions, needed answers as fast as possible.
“I’m sorry.”, “You’re sorry?” he cried.
Y/N flinched, feeling her daughter’s fingers digging harder into the flowing dress.
“I had to Din, I couldn’t stay. I had to leave everything behind.” Y/N tried to reassure him.
“Because of who? How could you do this to me? I love you.”, “You betrayed me!” he screamed from the deepest recesses of his soul.
Sadness was evident in his breaking voice. Threateningly he approached her but Y/N did not flinch, making herself taller, knowing Din had noticed the girl. His senses were clouded and eyes dilated. Darkness rooted in them, dark and dooming. Words dripping with hate, an enchanted potion escaped, but Y/N felt no hate nor fear, had fallen in love with the dark eye’s moons ago, knew he would never hurt her.
“I have wasted years of my life looking for you! I’ve destroyed ships and planets just for you, to find out that you live on a lonely planet and you’ve found a new man. I thought you died.” hatred oozed from his voice.
“I didn’t cheat on you Din. I would never do something like that. Please believe me, I love you, I have always loved you.” Y/N said.
She felt fingers digging into the long dress but suddenly the touch disappeared. Eyes met on a battlefield, he made it impossible to look away. Tears tried to cloud her vision.
“Get away from my mama!” echoed a shaking yet firm voice.
Fists collided with the steel of the armour in dark hues. Small hands tried to push him away, and the man allowed it, looked down and suddenly he saw clearly. The story became clearer.
“Eloise.” she breathed her daughter’s name.
A mask covered his face, but Y/N thought she could see the confusion in the eyes settling on the girl who stood protectively before her mother, arms wide, forbidding him to come closer. Tears adorned her face and her cheeks were painted in a light red tone. Firmly Y/N pressed her daughter tightly against her, hugging and breathing loving words into her ear.
“Everything is all right. You don’t have to be afraid of him. He’s actually a nice man.” Y/N whispered in her ear, reaping the words over and over again.
Dirt covered his dark trousers. His hands slid to the helmet and dropped it to the ground. He couldn’t believe his eyes, thought his helmet made him see other things, but he saw the colour of his eyes, saw the tone of his hair and his tan skin. Closely Din studied the crying girl in the arms of the woman he loved. The next breeze carried away the veil of hate and anger. Din recognised the eyes and noticed Eloise had his nose and hair. A soft smile spread on his lips, found the answer why Y/N had disappeared and realised he was a fool for believing she had left him for another man. His thoughts humoured him. Hesitantly, Din took one step and gathered courage. Pride filled his chest. With long steps, he slowly went towards them, not wanting to frighten the little girl, and dropped to his knees three steps away from them.
“I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered, lifting her gaze.
She knew there was no point in hiding the truth behind a layer of twisted tales.
“No, I’m sorry,” Din spoke out.
Love was the only emotion Y/N could see in his eyes. He took off the gloves covering his fingers and let them fall to the ground next to him. The sand was rising with the dust. Slowly Din crawled and halted again as the gazes met and smelled the faint smell of spring lingering in the air. Carefully, his right hand approached her face, wanting to remove the tears he had summoned.
“No, Eloise, you don’t have to be afraid of him. He won’t hurt me.” Y/N said in a loving yet stern.
The little girl listened and nodded, wanted to rise and protect her mother from the touch of the stranger.
“I had to go. I had to leave. Please forgive me.”, “I understand, but I would never have left you alone. The two of you. You should have told me. I would have fled with you if you had told me or I would have made sure they wouldn’t take our child away.” the Mandalorian breathed.
The question didn’t need to escape, had found the answer in her eyes. Smiling, Din faced the young girl, reached out and his heart quickened as his daughter placed her small hand, miniature compared to his, in his palm and Din knew he had found his home.
Synopsis:The aftermath of the dreamstone still shines prominent within the world, and Max. Still trying to piece together his former self as the world starts to heal, Y/N remained through his side - through it all. This was Max’s turn to be with Allister this weekend, but he didn’t feel like him, the real him. Though through the trauma, and the sadness - Max starts to come back, not just to you but for his boy too. Your love, is back.
Summary: Big changes have come to the US Embassy—including a new boss for the DEA. Steve deals with the fallout from his arrest. The agents move to Medellín. Ari and Javi cannot find any time alone, and Javi begins to worry Ari doesn’t want him anymore. Ari makes a monumental decision. A failed raid costs the lives of many and results in the return of a familiar face.
Pairings: Javier Peña x OFC Ariana Morgan—DEA Agent and daughter of Pablo Escobar
Fandom: Narcos
Rating:Explicit 18+ ONLY
Word Count: 6,739
Warnings: language, misogyny, angst, SMUT, PiV sex, unprotected sex, kissing, jealousy, prostitution, violence, death, blood…let me know if I missed anything, and I’ll happily add it here!
A/N: Yay! A new chapter! This one takes us to the end of Season 2 Episode 2. I’m gonna try to speed through some of the plot in the next couple chapters. I want to get to the point I need to be in the main storyline to progress the romance. It’s hard to eliminate certain things though…need them for the story to make sense, so please be patient with me. I’m gonna make the chapters longer to help…it’s all planned out, so it’ll work out eventually. Lol
I included conversations from the episode to help anyone who hasn’t seen it or hasn’t watched it in awhile. Sorry if it feels redundant if you’ve seen the show a million times like me.
As always, feel free to let me know if I need to correct the Spanish translations!
“My title might be ‘ambassador’, but that’s some bullshit politician’s word,” Arthur Crosby, the newly appointed US Ambassador to Colombia addressed the room. He sat at the head of the table. Directly across from him at the other head of the table sat Lou Wysession. On either side of Crosby were Bill Stechner—the new CIA station chief, and Claudia Messina—the new DEA attaché…otherwise known as their new boss. Between Stechner and Wysession sat the two CIA operatives, Owens and Russell. Next to Messina was Edward Jacoby from Centra Spike. Javi was next to Jacoby, Ari sat between Javi and Wysession.
After Escobar escaped from prison, the Colombian government was scrambling to right that wrong. Gaviria went on TV and declared Escobar a narcoterrorist. He also accepted the help offered by US President George Bush. Which meant there were some shake ups at the embassy. Crosby—a tough as nail former Navy guy—had brought everyone in to make sure they were all on the same page.
“I know what it means to be on the front lines,” Crosby continued. “And everybody in this room wants the same thing: to take down Escobar. Now, as a veteran of numerous conflicts, I learned one immutable truth: the only way to succeed is by working together, by communicating, by sharing intelligence, and collaborating.” He gestured to Messina. “Uh, this is Claudia Messina. She is the new DEA attaché. She’ll be taking over all DEA operations in-country. Messina?”
“Thank you, Ambassador,” Messina replied. She turned her head to address the table. “The DEA will be opening field offices in Cali, Cartagena, and Barranquilla. As far as the Medellín team is concerned, they will be housed out of CNP headquarters until further notice.” Javi groaned inwardly. Bunking at headquarters was going to be a pain in the ass.
“But only some personnel changes have been made,” Messina added. Ari shot Javi a worried look. What the hell was she talking about? Before he could think too heavily on it, Crosby was speaking once more.
“Alright, now as far as long-term intelligence is concerned, that’s under the purview of the CIA, the station chief, Bill Stechner. Bill, you have anything you’d like to add?” The surly, balding man sniffed once.
“I’m good,” he replied in a bored tone. Javi’s eyebrows went up. This guy was clearly an asshole.
“Alright,” Crosby continued, “who’s here from Centra Spike?”
“I am, sir, Edward Jacoby,” Jacoby replied, raising his hand slightly.
“Alright,” Crosby acknowledged him, “let’s get Centra Spike back in the air immediately. I want to know every word these assholes say and all information flows through me, and I will disseminate as I see fit.”
“Yes, sir,” Jacoby agreed.
“When Escobar sticks his fucking head out, we’re gonna nail that son of a bitch,” Crosby promised. The meeting wrapped up. Javi and Ari quickly followed Messina out of the embassy. Javi was really concerned what she meant by personnel changes.
Synopsis:Being a personal assistant meant you needed to help Dieter out with all of his tasks - but never did you imagine you’d become another tick on his list.
Warnings:Smut, Hate Fucking, Angst, Asshole!Dieter, Dieter Bravo himself needs a tag, Hair Pulling, Choking (slightly), Spanking, Rough Sex, P in V, Unprotected Sex, Camera Sex, Public Sex, Fingering, Dieter hits it from behind, Age Gap (Dieter is about 40-45 while the reader is close to 24-25), Making Fun of His Name (LMAO who is actually going to scream Dieter during sex??????), Name Calling on Both Ends, Mentions of drug use (cocaine specifically), Covid-19 Pandemic talks,
Rating:E
Author’s Note:Happy The Bubble release day! I had to break my hiatus for this!
Summary:Marcus Moreno, head of the Heroics, meets Missy’s new teacher.
Word Count:1,881
Rating:G
Warnings: None, it’s a meet cute!
A/N:@creativekat and I came up with the idea to write a story together and see how it went. This is the result. We really enjoyed ourselves and will definitely be doing it again!
You stood at the small mirror above the sink in your classroom, double checking your appearance. You were dressed professionally but comfortably in a pair of fitted trousers, sweater, and ballet flats. Your hair was pulled away from your face, though you toyed with the idea of taking it out of its ponytail. You did that, but then decided it looked more “put together” pulled back. So, you gathered it at the back of your head and secured it once again.
Once you were satisfied with your appearance you took a deep breath and began to run through your motivational mantras, “You can do this. Sure, you aren’t a Heroic … but, that doesn’t make you’re unimportant. You have skills. You’re smart. You deal with kids five days a week. What’s a few meetings with their parents?” With a sigh, you added, “Their Heroic parents.”
My first post on tumblr and I thought it deserved to got to the author who’s writing got me on tumblr in the first place!! I absolutely love this series so far and cannot wait for more!!
First of all, this, THIS, is a huge HUGE compliment and I am CRYING at your generous words.
I cannot take complete credit for this story because my wonderful co-author @creativekat is the genius behind many moments in this story!
Thank you so so much for loving my work and loving on my blog I hope you have a wonderful upcoming week!
^^My exact reaction when @the-purity-pen showed me this! Thank you so much for your kind words and appreciation for our story. We’ve been having such a great time collaborating on this and I’m so grateful knowing there are others out there who love it as much as we do!! <3 <3 <3
content:consensual gunplay (it ain’t loaded but it’s A Gun™), blowjob, fingering
a/n: listen this is absolute depraved filth and I’m not even INTO this kink??? what?? I guess I got inspired by my own damn headcanon post yesterday lol. keep in mind this isn’t softboy Catfish, this is adrenaline junkie, always-chasing-the-next-high Catfish.
“Oh,fuck,” Catfish gasped out, cradling the back of her head with his hand like it was something fragile. She had her lips around the head of his dick and her hand wrapped around the rest of him, looking up into his eyes with admiration.
In his other hand, his handgun glinted in the gentle sunlight from their bedroom window, the barrel of it pressed against her throat. He dragged it along her neck, watching her throat work as she swallowed against the cold metal and around his cock, taking him deeper.
“Fuck,” Catfish moaned, “That’s it, baby. Just like that.”
The hand cradling the back of her head moved to cup her cheek, wiping away a tear forming at the corner of her eye. “Can I fuck your mouth, baby?” He cooed, stroking her chin reverently with the barrel of his gun. She moaned around him and nodded, taking her hand off of him and closing her eyes.
“No, look at me,” Catfish chided, and she opened her eyes again, looking up at him. “That’s a good girl,” he practically whispered before tangling his fingers in her hair and thrusting roughly into her mouth, the head of his dick hitting the back of her throat. She swallowed against her gag reflex, taking him deep–something she had practiced on Catfish many times now–as Catfish groaned out his pleasure.
“Oh, fuck, fuck,” he growled, fucking her mouth in earnest now, his gun digging into her neck. She choked and swallowed around him, tears welling up and threatening to spill over. She moaned and shifted her weight back and forth on her knees, reaching into her panties with a shaky hand in an attempt to relieve the built-up pressure. Catfish looked down at where she was touching herself and back to her face, where she was valiantly trying to keep her eyes open to look at him.
“Gonna cum down that pretty throat of yours, baby,” he said through gritted teeth, his hips moving faster and more erratic now, “gonna–fuck!”
He came down her throat with a final shout and she dutifully swallowed it all, breathing harshly through her nose as he held her face against his pelvis. When he finally came down from his high, he gently pulled out of her mouth, hissing from the overstimulation.
He tucked himself back into his jeans and then offered her a hand to stand up. She took it and pulled herself up on trembling legs as Catfish led them both to the bed. He sat down and took her with him–she straddled his thigh and kissed him fiercely.
Catfish pressed the handgun into her palm. She took it with a wicked grin and pressed the barrel against his neck, right below his Adam’s apple, mirroring what he had done to her just moments ago. A groan rumbled through Catfish’s chest, returning her sly smile before leaning in to kiss her. He snaked his hand down between them, unceremoniously pushing the sodden gusset of her panties to the side before sliding two thick fingers inside her right up to the knuckle. She gasped, the walls of her cunt fluttering around him.
Catfish smiled against her mouth, pressing his thumb against her clit and driving her to madness.
“Good girl,” he said, voice rough and low, the gunmetal glinting against his throat.
