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trinkets01 · 5 months

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I read this at like 4am and literally cried so much 😩 I love how in love he is with her

star boy [dieter bravo x f!reader (peach)]

summary: After six months of having Dieter Bravo all to yourself, the world starts to turn again. For Dieter, this means film festivals and in-person press tours, and taking on all the new projects that had been postponed. For you, all it means is trying to figure out where you fit in, or if you're even part of the puzzle at all. rating/warnings: E [angst, fluff, smut (PIV, oral, anal sex), mentions of the pandemic, I am making up a bunch of shit about how the entertainment industry works, switchy dieter but mostly subby baby, switchy reader, reader is described as wearing a peach dress for an event, no physical descriptions otherwise] wc: ~11.8k. I said what I said. note: welcome to the longest thing i've ever written and released into the wild at one time. please check out cool girl if you haven't because you will absolutely be lost. I've spent like six months on this beast, and I cannot tweak it anymore. my eyes are crossing looking at it. please enjoy it, these two are deeply personal to me. i am sorry for the lack of memes but the shady website i used to make the fake IG messages tried to kill my laptop so we'll just pretend, ok? ok. thank you to @starlightmornings for reading this literal monster, and to everyone who's ever listened to me talk about these two. also, reminder i don't have a taglist, please follow @ezrasbirdie-updates and turn on notifs instead. ok bon appetite<3

masterlist | series masterlist

It’s midafternoon and you’re still in this California king bed. You’ve only left once for the bathroom this morning, and when you returned, a long, muscular arm shot from beneath black bamboo sheets, pulling you back into bed. His lips were on you before you could tell him good morning.

“Dieter,” you murmur, running your hand through the soft fluff of his hair. He looks up from between your legs, his eyelids drooping and his chin shiny with slick.

“I’m busy,” he says, flicking his tongue out and lapping at your clit. You’re writhing with overstimulation, but you don’t really want him to stop. It’s your last day in his too-big house, and he’ll be doing the press circuit and a couple of festivals to promote a film he’d done before the pandemic. And after that, he’s signed on to three projects, back-to-back. He was so excited when he told you, and you were thrilled for him.

“Serious roles, baby,” he’d said. “I could get another Oscar with at least one of them.”

The next and a half of his life is all planned out. You need to soak up as much of each other as you can.

But you also need to talk.

“Dieter,” you say again, a little more insistently, and his head snaps up, eyes big and soft at your shift in tone.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, crawling up to kiss your lips. You can taste yourself all over him.

You have to talk.

“What’s gonna happen with us?” You ask.

He swallows and scratches his chin before he lays his head down on your chest. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, like, it’s gonna be months without seeing each other. Especially when you start working. We haven’t gone that long since we got together.”

“But we did this before. Remember? When I was in England. We did okay.”

“That was different,” you sigh, ruffling his silky tresses and kissing the top of his head. “We were just friends. We weren’t in love.”

“I was,” he counters, looking up at you again. He sits on his knees and pulls your fingers to his face, brushing them against his patchy beard. “I was in love with you.”

“We weren’t a couple, Dee.”

He leans over your torso to kiss you again, and goddammit, you are helpless to those sticky sweet marshmallow lips of his.

“It’s gonna be fine, peach. It’s just a couple of months, and we’ll talk every day, and I’ll send you all the possum pictures I can find. And we’ll be okay because we’re the best. You trust me, don’t you?”

And of course you do. If someone had said a year ago that you’d trust Dieter Bravo with your heart, you’d have taken them to the hospital to check for brain damage. But here you both are, and he’s done nothing but prove himself for the last six months.

It’s a chaotic kind of routine; he spends time at your place, and you spend time at his, and he asks you to move in with him, and then you ask him to move in with you, and it never really gets resolved.

But the important part is that you’ve been together all this time. What happens when he’s far away from you, surrounded by beautiful people and expensive champagne and designer drugs?

Will you just have to sit and wait and hope he doesn’t forget about you?

“Hey,” he says, waving his hand in front of your face. “Come back to me, baby. We’ve got this.”

But you’re not sure you do.

“I don’t wanna lose you,” you say, annoyed at the tears stinging the corners of your eyes. “What if you forget me?”

“Baby,” he says, smoothing the tears from your cheeks with his big thumbs. “How could I forget you? I love you so much.”

His voice is small and raw—he sounds hurt. You hadn’t thought about how your doubt might make him feel at all.

“Oh, Dee. I know you love me. I’m sorry. You’re so good to me. I just…promise you won’t answer any other weird Instagram messages from random girls?” You ask, nosing his cheek.

“Only one girl I want,” he says, sliding his fingers through the mess he’s made between your legs, pressing into you and groaning at the whimper it pulls. “Haven’t I done a good job showing you how much I need you?”

He repositions and pushes himself inside of you, watching your eyes roll in the back of your head with each slow, easy thrust.

“That’s my girl,” he says. “You don’t need to worry about a thing, peach. I’m always gonna take care of you.”

“Fuck,” you whine.

“And that, too,” he whispers.

Dieter misses her immediately; the moment he gets in the air he’s thinking about the way her fingers slot between his and how she fits so perfectly against him when they sleep. She should be next to him on the plane. It should be the two of them and Delilah, but no. He’s an ocean away from her.

Again.

Does she miss him, too?

Probably not just yet. She’s less needy than he is. She’d argue if he said that out loud, but it’s the truth. He’s been hooked on her from that very first video call. And maybe even before then, too.

The weeks crawl by, and he finds himself with free time he didn’t used to have during these press tours. He used to go out and party, find some warm body to fuck for the few days he was in whatever city, and leave without really remembering any of it.

Now he goes back to his hotel and locks himself in his room waiting for her to tell him she’s awake.

Sometimes she calls and he’s got his cock in his hand already, and he listens to her whimper his name. Sometimes if he’s lucky he can get her to show herself, but he never pushes her. He’s happy with whatever she gives him.

He makes notes of all the museums and galleries and historic sites he wants to take her to when this is all over and he can whisk her away on romantic trips.

He tries to sketch her, but that hurts too much. He’s always sketched her when she’s in front of him, bare and soft and vulnerable. That’s when she tells him all those secret things he keeps close to his heart locked away like little treasures.

Dieter’s been in love before, but not like this. Never like this. He has to remember the situation’s only temporary—he’ll be back with her soon. And they’d figure it all out together, even when he has to leave for other jobs.

After a few weeks, though, he’s starting to lose it.

Dieter loves acting—really, he does. There’s nothing like a really good script with an intriguing role to bring to life. He just wishes it didn’t come with so much bullshit afterward. And he’d gotten used to doing this shit via Zoom, anyway. He could do interviews with no pants on if he wanted, and spend the breaks in between kissing his girl.

Dieter thought, truthfully, that Edge of Love would be shelved. It was a mid-budget romantic drama he filmed somewhere between winning his Oscar and a few months before the pandemic hit. It would have come out in 2020, but, well—things happened. He’s not surprised to be doing any promotion for it at all.

Marathon interview days are his least favorite activities. Eight to ten hours of answering the same questions over and over, pretending like he’s perfectly fine being grilled about his love life by people whose names he doesn’t know and will never speak to again, and not even being able to do a single line is almost goddamn intolerable.

And worse, she hasn’t answered him today.

She hasn’t even checked the message. He found a very weird possum to send to her, and she hasn’t even looked at it.

His co-star, Sophie Neptune, stares at his bouncing leg. “What the fuck is going on you with, Bravo?”

“Nothing,” he says, putting his phone away and standing up to stretch. “How’s—what’s his name—Steve?”

“My husband is fine, but I know you don’t care about that, so stop trying to change the subject. What’s going on with you? You’ve been a mess all week,” she asks, checking her perfectly styled blonde hair in a compact mirror.

“Just…girl stuff,” he says, perfectly aware that “girl stuff” is not an acceptable answer for a man in his forties. Sophie raises her eyebrow.

“Are you having drama with some twenty-year-old again?”

“No—look, I didn’t have drama with a twenty-year-old. I didn’t know she was twenty, okay—this is not about anything like that. I…miss my girlfriend. She hasn’t texted me back.”

Sophie stares at him for an uncomfortable amount of time.

“Did you get body-snatched?” She asks, and Dieter scowls at her. “What’s so unbelievable about that?” He demands. This interview room is getting stuffy, the chairs more uncomfortable by the second. The ugly carpet scuffs against his shoes as he paces back and forth, trying not to check his phone again.

Why hasn’t she answered him?

Sophie smiles softly. “Where is she right now?”

“Well, she’s in—oh.”

Right. It hits him that it’s the middle of the night where she is.

“Oh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess…”

“She’s just asleep, Dieter. Happens with me and Steve all the time.”

Dieter sits down and folds his arms across his chest. “How do you do this? We met online and didn’t even see each other in person for months after and it was fine.”

“Love makes it a little harder,” she says. “But it makes it easier, too.”

A PA sticks their head in. “Next interviewer’s here, guys.”

“Thanks!” Sophie says, flashing a smile before turning back to him. “You guys public yet?”

“We’re not not public,” he says, thinking hard about it.

“Talk about her,” Sophie says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You don’t need to go into detail, but you can work her in there. People love that shit, you know? Good publicity and she’ll feel acknowledged.”

Talk about her. He hadn’t even thought about it before—he’d never been in a relationship he wanted to talk about. Or with anyone that wanted to talk about him.

“My girlfriend loves it like this,” he says when the interviewer comments on his slicked-back hair.

“My girlfriend picked it out,” he brags about the pinky ring he’s wearing. This isn’t technically true—he begged her to choose between the eagle and the wolf-but he likes talking about her.

After a couple of hours, he can’t make himself stop talking about her. Sophie’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Have you met his mystery girl?” Some intern from Buzzfeed inquires.

“Nope,” she says. “But I hear she’s amazing.”

He gets back to his hotel room that night, jumping when his phone finally buzzes.

Dieter wastes no time in calling her. “Peach!”

“Hi, baby,” she says. She’s still sleep-rumpled, and he wishes he could be there to wrap himself around her and wipe the goop out of her eyes. She hates when he does that. “How was your day?”

“I have to ask you a question,” he asks, breezing past her inquiry.

“What’s up?” “I…so, you know I'm home in like a week?”

“Mmhmm. Finally.” She’s stretching, her little moans distracting him from the topic.

“I, uh, so the premiere is the week after. Would you wanna come?”

She props the phone up on that aloe vera plant on her coffee table and looks at him with a frown. It feels like someone’s doing backflips in his stomach.

“Are you…you’re sure? Like, you wanna make this official?”

“Is it not official?” He asks. He could really use a drink. Or a pill. Or something.

“No, I mean, of course, it is. For us. I didn’t know you wanted to, like…make it all public, I guess.”

“I thought—it’s not like we’ve been secret, right? Because if that’s the case then I just told a whole lot of people a big secret—”

“What are you talking about?”

“I talked about you all day today! In every interview! My girlfriend this, my girlfriend that. Sophie told me it helps her when she’s missing her husband,” he says. Maybe he’d completely misread this whole thing.

“You did?” She asks, but she doesn’t sound mad. “Aw, baby. I just…like, yeah, I didn’t know if you’d want to be public about our whole thing.

“But I love you,” he protests. Sometimes she says things like that and he wonders if he’s done something to make her feel like he’s ashamed of her. He pushes his sketchbook out of the way and leans back on the headboard.

“Drawing again?” She asks.

“I tried,” he says miserably. “Every time I try it makes me sad.”

“You don't always have to draw me if it makes you sad,” she says. Delilah pops into the frame and settles on her lap, and he misses the little family he’d made so much his heart might burst.

“You’re all I think about. Making me crazy,” he says. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she says. Her eyes soften as she pets Delilah and she picks her phone up to bring it closer to her face. “Listen, yes, I’d love to go with you to the premiere.”

“Oh, thank God,” he breathes.

“I don’t think I have anything to wear, though,” she continues, biting her lip. If he was there he’d tug it from between her teeth and kiss the indentations.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of all of it. Can you get some time off?”

“Technically no, but as long as I get my work done it’s fine. I’ll have to leave Delilah with Taylor, though. Seems like we’ll be busy.”

He refrains from begging her to move in with him again.

“I just can’t wait to see you,” he says.

“I know, Dee. Me either.”

They grin a little dopily at each other, and he tells himself it’s almost over; they’re almost there. It’s their first big, long break, and they’ve almost made it through.

“So,” she says, taking a sip of her coffee. “What did you say about me? To the interviewers?”

“Oh. A lot. Like, a lot. I didn’t say your name or anything but in about three days you’re gonna be my mystery girl. And then I’ll show you off to everyone.”

“Yeah?” She giggles.

“Yeah. Take your shirt off.”

“Dieter!”

Have you ever been this nervous?

No, definitely not. This is a real movie premiere, with cameras and interviewers and expensive clothes and—would you actually be with him? You haven’t even thought to ask him how it all works, but he’s assured you over and over he’d taken care of everything.

It’s kind of exciting to see him in full movie star mode.

You got ready early in the day, too nervous to sit around and smoke as Dieter had, even after he tells you to sit down and chill out because these events can be long and you need to save some energy.

“That’s the problem, Dee,” you explain. “I have too much energy.”

“I know how we can burn that off,” he says, advancing toward you with a look you’re weak to resist.

“Absolutely not, sir. Not when I just got my hair right.”

“My girl can fix it. She’s a genius,” he murmurs, crowding you into the kitchen counter. “Come on. Let me help you relax.”

“Jesus Christ. You’re insatiable,” you chide, but with no real bite. He’s already got his hand down your leggings, cupping you with his big hand.

“Not my fault you make me so crazy,” he says, biting your earlobe. “I just wanna make you come, baby. That so wrong of me?” He’s teasing you over your panties, whispering softly in your ear. “Hm? That wrong of me? Just let me make you feel good.”

If you say no, he’ll stop, which makes you want it more. He moans in approval as your panties grow damper, and he’s just about to slide his fingers inside of them when his phone makes a loud chirping noise.

“Fuck!” He whimpers into your neck, looking up at you with big apologetic eyes. “That’s my real serious alarm, peach.”

You wrap your hands around his wrist and pull his fingers to your lips, scattering kisses across them. “Go shower, Bravo. I need to put my dress on.”

Dieter pouts a little and kisses you one more time before pulling away and adjusting himself. It does nothing to hide his desire for you, his cheeks tinged a soft pink as he drags his eyes up and down your form shamelessly.

“Might wanna do something about that, baby,” you tease.

“You’re killing me, sweetheart,” he whines. But he turns around and heads to the bathroom where he’ll surely indulge himself to take the edge off.

Dieter’s sexuality had been almost overwhelming at first, and you worried yourself sick that you wouldn’t be able to keep up with his appetite. That he’d find out you weren’t as sexual as he might want or need you to be.

It hadn’t been a problem yet, though. He touched you in ways that made you bloom; worshipped you so much that you couldn’t help but want more. On the rare occasions that you’d been tired or sick, he simply held you from behind, trailing kisses down the back of your neck until you relaxed and fell asleep.

He just wanted to be near you.

And God, you wanted to be near him, too.

You slip into the dress Dieter bought you and admire it in the mirror. It’s pale peach with a fitted bodice and a tea-length tulle skirt so poofy you can’t help but twirl around. It even came with a matching mask. Dieter catches you as he steps out of the bathroom, a towel slung low around his waist, accentuating his soft tummy.

“Wow,” he murmurs. His hair drips water droplets onto his strong shoulders and you glance at the clock to see if there’s enough time for something—anything. He’s so beautiful and reverent and it’s driving you crazy.

There’s definitely not.

Ugh.

Time moves even faster after he gets his slacks on. The driver arrives and you’re whisked into a large black SUV like some government official being secreted away to a bunker. Dieter holds your hand all the way there, kissing your manicured fingertips while he explains some of the process.

“We’ll get ready across the street. And the room’s mine, so we can go back afterward, and I can make you come so hard so many times we’ll have to ask for new sheets.” He whispers the last part in your ear as your driver pulls up to an extravagant hotel across from the theater.

“Stop that,” you giggle quietly. “We’re around people.”

“I don’t care, peach. I’d eat your little pussy in front of all these people if you’d let me,” he murmurs. “I want you so bad.”

“You’re gonna ruin those expensive slacks if you keep it up, Dee,” you say, and he nips at your neck, careful to avoid smudging any of your makeup.

People are already crowded outside the theater, taking pictures and holding up signs to catch the actors’ attention—mostly for Dieter, but there are a lot for Sophie, as well. You’ve met Sophie exactly once, and while she was perfectly nice and welcoming, you got the suspicion she didn’t think you’d be around for long. You don’t know if that says more about Dieter or you.

You’re still not looking forward to being anywhere near her during any pictures.

“Shower’s big enough for two,” Dieter calls from the bathroom. Black marble, a rainfall steam shower, and Dieter’s lascivious grin greet you as your poke your head inside. It’s definitely big enough for two. You can see the wheels in his head turning already.

The hotel room itself is huge with separate living and sleeping areas and a sizable balcony. Crisp white linens on the bed and brown leather furniture in the living room—it all seems a bit excessive to use as a glorified dressing room, but Dieter always likes going big.

“I see that,” you murmur, grinning back.

He curls himself around you in front of the mirror and you pull out your phone to snap a picture. His head’s turned so that his nose is nuzzled against your cheek, a playful grin on his face to match your own. Maybe you’ll post it later tonight.

When his assistant, publicist, stylist, and groomer crowd the room, the need for a large space becomes more evident. Everyone has suitcases full of stuff—styling tools, moisturizers, concealer, hair putty, extra shirts and pants. You do your best to stay out of the way, tucking yourself into one of the leather armchairs in the corner and watching his transformation into Dieter Bravo, Movie Star.

It’s been a long time since you even thought of him as Dieter Bravo, Movie Star. For half a year he’s just been Dieter Bravo, Man Who Sings Lana Del Rey Half-Naked in the Living Room.

It’s around the forty-five minute mark of trying not to take up precious space that a chasm of doubt opens in your stomach. Any time you think there might be some way for you to help, an assistant or stylist jumps in to do it before you can even get up. Because of course they do—they’ve been doing this for years. You’re not really needed in this part of his life.

And that’s fine—it should be fine, anyway. You don’t need him interfering in your job.

Dieter’s attention span is terrible at the best of times, and he’s listening intently to some spiel from his publicist you understand exactly none of all while his hair is twisted and prodded and poofed. His stylist is steaming a white tuxedo jacket and fussing at him to get out of the slacks he’s already wrinkled.

He’s wearing the boxers with the raccoons and possums you got him for his birthday, and that lightens the lead weight in your throat. Out of all the outrageously expensive gifts from his rich and famous friends, those boxers were his favorite. He looks over at you and smiles, and the chasm closes a bit more.

“Doing okay?” He asks, but the door swings open and Sophie Neptune walks in before you can answer. She makes a beeline toward Dieter, waving hello in your direction.

She is a dream with her long blonde hair flowing around her shoulders and soft pin-up curls in the front; glowing in an off-the-shoulder cobalt blue dress, floor-length and sleek, her black stiletto Louboutins peeking from the bottom. She’s only here for a few minutes, teasing Dieter for wrinkling his pants again—you swallow, wondering how often she sees him half-dressed, exactly—before she’s pulled out by her own team because it’s time to go.

Finally. Dieter slips back into his newly unwrinkled pants and button-up, his white jacket accentuated with a black bow tie. He looks like a movie star, all right.

You glance in the floor-length mirror, suddenly feeling like you’re wearing a prom dress.

Playing dress up.

He starts to leave, and you mean to follow, but his publicist stops you.

“Where are you going?” He asks, eyebrows raised.

“I—well, I mean, Dieter—”

“You’ll meet him in the theater later. He’s doing interviews with Sophie now.”

Dieter just waves back at you and mouths “See you soon!” from the doorway.

“Oh,” you mumble. There’s nothing else to say.

His assistant, Emmy, a sweet twenty-something, walks with you across the street. No one looks in your direction, too focused on the arrival of the lead actors.

“It’s just in here,” she says, opening a side door.

“Is it always this crazy?” You ask.

“Yup,” she sighs. “I think it’s a little crazier because people are happy to do this stuff in person again, too.”

“I guess so,” you murmur.

“Are you okay here?” Emmy asks.

“All good.”

She leaves you there in a kind of reception area where very important people in suits and evening gowns that cost more than your car are networking and sipping cocktails.

You just don’t belong here.

It’s only a little longer, and he’ll be in here with you, you remind yourself. And it’s not your night. It’s his night and Sophie’s night and the rest of the cast and crew’s night. You weren’t even with Dieter when this was filmed.

You wander the room a bit and grab a glass of champagne before going to a window that overlooks the red carpet.

It’s hard to describe just how beautiful Dieter and Sophie look standing next to each other, her arm draped across his shoulder, his hand resting on the small of her back. Their chemistry is obvious even from here.

They make sense together.

It’s all press, it’s all publicity—your brain knows this. That doesn’t stop your heart from sinking to the floor when he leans down and presses a kiss to her shoulder; when she turns and gives him a soft, sensual smile.

They’re flirting for the cameras. You know that.

Right?

Emmy interrupts your thought spiral to guide you into the theater and show you to your seat. Her eyes widen when she realizes you’re sitting next to a complete stranger.

“Where’s, um, where’s Dieter sitting?” You ask, trying to keep your voice even, knowing full well that she does not get paid enough by your boyfriend to deal with whatever meltdown you might be on the brink of.

She points to the row in front of you, a few seats to the left. You can’t even lean forward to touch his shoulder.

“Thanks, Emmy,” you say, trying to snap yourself out of it.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and she means it.

“No, no, it’s not your fault. I think Dee and I just had some bad communication.” You take a deep breath, trying to settle yourself. He’d never really told you what you’d be doing or where you’d be sitting or how much you’d really see him tonight. And to be entirely fair to him, you hadn’t asked. You’d just assumed.

But Dieter always made you feel like someone. He always made you feel like you mattered, even when you’ve always felt a little invisible to the world. He went out of his way to make you feel seen. It just never occurred to you that it might not apply in all areas of his life.

Would it be like this every time? You waiting for hours for the possibility of seeing him? Would you ever get to sit next to him at one of these things?

You sit there for a while, feeling very silly in your poofy dress you’d loved so much this morning, and wonder if you’ll see Dieter at all tonight. If he mingled with executives and whoever else after the red carpet, which he’d mentioned was common, he’d probably come in just before the screening started. And he’d sit all the way down there next to Sophie, and maybe he wouldn’t even look at you.

You’re suddenly having a hard time breathing in this dress, and you might suffocate under this mask. The walls are too close, the ceiling’s too low, and there are too many people filing into the theater. The perfectly-fit bodice of your dress squeezes your lungs together, and you’re horribly aware of the way your tongue sits thick and dry in your mouth. If you don’t leave right now, you’re going to throw up on these beautiful red velvet seats.

Stumbling out of the theater, you run right into Emmy.

“What’s going on?” She asks, holding her hands out to steady you.

“I’m just not feeling well,” you say, shaking your head. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Emmy doesn’t believe you for a second. “It’s not him,” she says quickly. “They have to sit together—”

“I know,” you cut her off. “I think this dress is too tight or something.”

She shifts back and forth on her feet. You really don’t need to make this girl’s night more difficult.

“Just let him know I was feeling sick and I’m gonna go lay down at the hotel,” you say. “If he notices.”

You shouldn’t have added that last part, but it slipped before you could stop yourself. Emmy scrambles for the right words, but you squeeze her arm and smile.

You feel her eyes on your back as you find the side door you came in through and slip out into the setting sun.

After an eternity on the red carpet, Dieter’s close to a breakdown. He’s hot and tired and starving and he wants to see her. Interviewer after interviewer asks where she is, why isn’t she your date tonight, and all he can say is “She’s inside somewhere.”

Emmy hands him a bottle of water, and he chugs the whole thing, wiping his mouth and looking around for a woman in a peach dress.

“Is she already in the theater?” He asks. Emmy wrings her hands together in a way he doesn’t like at all. He narrows his eyes. “Where is she?”

“She, um, left. She said to tell you she didn’t feel well,” Emmy says, chewing her lip. “If you noticed.”

“Shut the fuck up; no she didn’t. Where is she?” He asks. Because she would never just leave. That isn’t like her at all. Why wouldn’t he notice her being gone?

“Okay, um, I think maybe she was confused about some stuff happening,” Emmy starts.

“Confused about what?” He asks, folding his arms, heat rising up his neck and cheeks.

“Well, like how long she was gonna be alone. And then the two of you weren’t sitting together. And maybe she thought she’d be on the carpet, too, I don’t know,” Emmy says, wincing like he’d explode with the wrong wording.

“It’s only been—” He glances at his watch — “Fuck, two hours?”

“Yeah.”

“They wouldn’t let me go, Em,” he says, like pleading his case to her would help. “And I was gonna be right next to her the rest of the night!”

“Um, about that, actually, they had her sitting one row back and, like, five seats down and you’re sitting next to Sophie,” Emmy says.

“What?” He asks through gritted teeth.

“I thought you knew that!”

This is a disaster. Dieter had specified wanting her next to him. His manager was supposed to make sure of it.

“Fuck. Fuck! And she said she thought she’d be with me out there?”

“No,” Emmy says. “Not in so many words. But I think maybe she—I mean, you did say you’d show her off, Mr. Bravo.”

He pulls his phone out, determined to find out where she is. His texts won’t send, and his calls goes straight to voicemail.

“I gotta go, she’s not—”

Emmy doesn’t try to stop him, but his publicist catches him before he makes it to the door.

“You can’t go anywhere, Bravo,” he says. “You’re contractually obligated to attend this entire event or you’ll be out a shitload of money, and we’ve just gotten your whole image cleaned up.”

Dieter’s seething. He wants to burn this whole fucking theater down to get to her, image be damned.

“Just have a seat,” Emmy says, pushing herself between his publicist and himself. “I’ll find her. Don’t worry, I’m sure she’s totally fine. I’m sure she’s at the hotel.”

He takes a deep breath and nods. “Find her,” he pleads, turning back to the auditorium. He stops and turns to glare back at his publicist. “Or I will take all this coke in my suit pocket and snort it in front of every studio executive while thanking my publicist for all the work he does.”

“Sorry,” the woman at the front desk says. “We don’t have anyone checked in under that name.”

Your heart drops. Dieter told you he’d put your name on the room, too. You hadn’t thought to get a room key before you were herded out. “It’s, um, it might be under Dieter Bravo,” you say timidly, but you don’t have much hope. She looks you up and down, you and your poofy dress, and gives you a sardonic smile.

“You’re here with Dieter Bravo?” She asks.

“I’m his girlfriend,” you say, already preparing for whatever comeback she has for you.

“I’m sure,” she says, looking you up and down. “Be that as it may, you’re not on any room for anyone, and I can’t just give you keys for celebrities that may or may not be here. Sorry.”

You can’t even really be that angry with her as you walk out of the hotel. You wouldn’t have believed you either.

The problem is that everything but your phone and a tube of lipstick is in your purse upstairs. The tiny clutch in your hand is all you have. You suppose you can just order a Lyft, but as you glance up and down the crowded street, you don’t even know how a car could get to you easily. Half of the street is shut down completely.

Dieter says it’s always like this.

You take a deep breath—all you need to do is get to a less crowded area. Your phone is fully charged, thank God, and you know perfectly well how to operate your Maps app. It’ll be fine. Just a mile or so in your heels, and you’ll be fine.

The soonest pickup is in one hour, and you realize as you're typing in the address that you don’t know the house number. You know the street name, but the house number has disappeared from your mind completely. You type in four numbers and hope for the best.

It’s a nightmare waiting for that car.

You do your best to ignore the stares at your over the top outfit and fight off any “hey, baby” that comes your way, and by the time the black sedan picks you up, you’re close to a panic attack.

It takes another thirty minutes to get back to Sherman Oaks, and by the time he drops you off in front of a large, modern home that is most definitely not Dieter’s, your adrenaline has started to wear off. You’re a few blocks away, at least, but you recognize your surroundings. Shoes in hand, because you can’t take those heels anymore, you set off to find your way home, reciting the keypad code in your head.

The house is so quiet. There’d been so much noise all night, and now everything’s silent. You swallow, throat tightening as you walk up to his room, wondering if he’d noticed you were gone at all.

You’re not even sure if you have a right to be upset.

All he’d done was ask you to go to the premiere. He hadn’t said anything about you walking the red carpet with him, and you felt foolish now that you thought about it. Of course you wouldn’t have been a part of that. You’re no one.

That shower for two he’d been so excited about wrenches its way into your mind, the water pouring over his fluffy hair and some faceless other woman. Sophie Neptune, the girl at the reception desk, Emmy—he could have any one of them.

The door to his room is open, the bed still rumpled from that morning. He’d woken you up with the softest kiss he’d ever given you. It’s late, and you’re so tired, but you can’t sleep in there. It smells like him in there.

There’s a guest room across the hall, clean and white and almost antiseptic compared to the owner’s suite. The mattress isn’t quite as soft, and your mascara leaks all over the white pillowcase as you let yourself sob against it, but that’s fine. You can’t feel him in here at all.

Emmy couldn’t find her outside, or at the hotel, or anywhere.

“The lady in the lobby said she wasn’t on the hotel room, so she couldn’t let her in,” Emmy’d whispered to him in the theater an hour into the show.

“Fuck. She was-I put her on the room, goddammit,” he’d said desperately. “I’ve gotta go, I can’t—fuck this, they can fine me, I don’t give a shit.”

He’d left and run across the street, dodging autograph seekers and photographers with the skill of someone who had plenty of reasons to move through the world unseen. Her purse was still in the room, along with her wallet and keys and that fidget toy she likes so much, and the little jacket she brought in case she got cold. He grabbed her belongings and checked his phone again, but there was nothing. Every call refused to go through. He couldn’t even get her location to show up. Too many people in one place clogging up the cell towers.

The traffic’s awful, too. It takes hours to get back to his house, but eventually he’s able to find her location, and he lets out a long, slow breath when he sees she’s made it back. The driver tells him to have a good evening, but Dieter can barely hear him as he bolts from the car, throwing a hundred-dollar tip at him and racing to his front door.

“Peach?” He calls, spying her shoes on the floor next to the couch. She doesn’t answer, so he tries her real name, pulling off his jacket and shoes and the goddamn bowtie, throwing them all in a crumpled pile his stylist will for sure fuss at him over.

Nothing.

Their bedroom’s empty, and she’s not in the bathroom. Dieter panics, checking the balcony and the pool and only calming down when he doesn’t see her floating face down.

He’s just about to go check the sauna when he sees the closed guest room door. His heart lurches into his throat when he opens it and finds her there still in her dress, curled up with mascara stains all over the pillowcase and sideways tear tracks on her cheeks. Why would she sleep in here? As he slips into bed with her, part of him wants to let her rest, but the other part needs to know what happened.

Curiosity wins.

“Baby,” he murmurs. “Sweetheart, wake up.”

Her eyes flutter open, puffy and swollen. He smiles gently at her, and for a moment she looks like she always does in the morning—sleepy and soft and happy to see him. But he watches that joy fade from her features as she takes in her surroundings, and her eyes well up with tears.

“Oh,” she chokes out. “Dieter, I’m so—I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened. I tried to go to the hotel and wait there and they told me I wasn’t on the room and then my phone wouldn’t work, and all I could do was get a Lyft, and I—all my stuff is at that hotel.” She babbles on, trying to explain, and he tries to ignore the sting in the back of his eyes. “I feel so silly. I got so upset over nothing.”

Dieter pulls her as close to him as he can, shushing her softly and kissing her forehead.

“I have all your stuff, baby,” he murmurs. “You’re allowed to be upset. Will you come to bed and we can talk about it in the morning?”

She nods against his chest and lets him help her up; lets him lead her into their bedroom and unzip her dress. It piles around her feet, and he realizes with a sharp pang that they didn’t even get a picture.

She’s quiet as he finds her makeup pads and wipes her face with them.

“Why’d you go sleep in there?” He asks as casually as he can. She’s quiet for a moment. “Hurt to be in here without you. I was being dramatic,” she says.

Dieter doesn’t know what to say, but it hurts that she’s downplaying her feelings. It hurts that she can’t just be completely honest with him.

He pulls her naked into bed with him, but just wraps himself around her, ignoring his cock for once. She melts into him and falls asleep almost immediately, and Dieter tries to do the same.

He doesn’t want the conversation that comes tomorrow. If he stays awake, maybe the morning won’t arrive, and he can stay here in this limbo wrapped around her warm, soft body forever.

You don’t want the conversation, either.

The two of you dance around it all morning. He orders breakfast before you wake up, and in the kitchen you find him in an apron and boxers, removing the food from takeout containers and transferring them onto the bone china plates he rarely uses.

He’s ordered your favorite Starbucks drink, and he carefully avoids talking about last night at all.

“Dieter,” you murmur, reaching across the table to squeeze his gesticulating hand. “Are we gonna talk about what happened?”

He falters and nods, eyes growing so round you just want to apologize and tell him it won’t happen again and you’re so sorry for being so, so silly.

But you want it to work with him, too.

“Can…can you tell me what happened on your end?” He asks, wincing like you’re about to land a blow to his pretty face. So you tell him, gently, about the discouraging sequence of events. You tell him you’d gotten confused—that when he asked you to be your date you thought it meant something it didn’t.

“I guess I just didn’t realize I wouldn’t even be able to sit next to you. I thought…”

“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” he insists. “You were supposed to be next to me the rest of the night.”

You nod. “I think we just didn’t communicate, or I misunderstood. I wish I’d known, you know?”

“Known what?”

“That I’d be so pushed away, I guess. I get that it’s obvious now, you’re supposed to be with your co-star, but I don’t know that much about these things. It…hurt a lot at the time. Feeling like no one.”

You’ve moved the conversation to the couch, cradling his head in your lap. He sits up and crawls onto your lap to hold your face in his hands. “What do you mean?”

“It’s like I was no one, Dieter. And I wasn’t ready to see you touching her like that,” you tell him. “I didn’t realize that was part of it.”

Dieter frowns, brows knit together. “I don’t…you know I’m an actor. You know that’s the PR,” he says.

“I know. It just felt so…you spent all this time talking about me, and then when I wasn’t useful anymore for interviews you kissed all over your co-star.”

“It wasn’t like that! I wasn’t—I meant everything I said,” he argues. “I’m sorry, baby, but that’s business. That’s my job. We have to play it up; it’s marketing.”

You don’t know what you’d wanted to hear, but that didn’t make you feel any better.

“So I just have to suck it up?” You ask, not bothering to hide your disappointment.

“That’s not what I’m saying!”

“That’s exactly what you’re saying, Dee.” You curl up against the couch, arms folded. “You wanted to know what happened. That’s what happened. And then I couldn’t get into the hotel room because you didn’t even put my name on it, and I looked so stupid in this dress all alone.”

Dieter kisses your cheeks and chin, pulling your hands to his chest like he’s trying to absorb you. “I can’t…I can’t change how things are done or what studios want me to do. But that won’t ever happen again. I won’t ever let you feel alone like that again.”

“I know you mean that when you say it,” you murmur. “And it’s not your fault. I just…don’t know if I can do that.”

Dieter stiffens. “Can’t do what? What do you mean?”

You take a deep breath. “I mean…Dieter, this whole thing. I don’t know if I’m meant to do it. Like, celebrities date each other for a reason, right? Maybe this kind of thing just doesn’t work.”

“Baby,” he says, not bothering to keep the panic out of his voice. “Baby, no. You’re—no, we can do this together. We got through the whole press tour, remember?”

You give him a watery smile. “I know. I know that. But when I saw you and Sophie standing together—I dunno, it made sense. I wouldn’t have looked right next to you. I would have looked ridiculous.”

“No,” he says, giving a fervent shake of his head. “No, you looked so beautiful. I’m such an idiot; I can’t believe—you have to believe me. I will never let that happen again.

“Dee,” you say, holding his thick wrists in your hands. “I believe you. It’s not just that. I’m not just, like, hungry for the spotlight or whatever. I don’t—like, I don’t know if can handle…I just…need some time, okay?”

It feels ridiculous to tell him you don’t know if you can deal with him doing so many projects. He’s an actor, and you signed on for this. You’d been so naive.

You’re supposed to be here another week. You’d wanted to see him so badly, but now you need to think, and maybe talk to Taylor. Staying here with him in his big house is an illusion—that’s not what it’s really like.

He’s close to tears when you leave the next day, begging you to stay just a little longer. He wants to make it up to you. You just don’t know how he can. You’re not even sure there’s anything to make up for.

Things don’t always work out the way you want them to, no matter how much it breaks your heart to admit it. You kiss his forehead and tell him you love him because he needs to hear it. It’s not a breakup; you just need some time to think.

“Think here,” he begs. “Think here, I won’t bother you, I’ll go get Delilah and fly her out here. And Taylor, too. Whatever you need.”

What you need is to be away from him. How are you supposed to focus when he overwhelms your senses like that? He’s so all-consuming—raspberry kush and CK All invading your lungs as you breathe him in, the whimpers you pull from his chest when you linger on his bottom lip, even the salty aftertaste of his collarbone on your tongue.

He’s too much in all the best ways, and if you don’t leave him right now he’ll pull you back and what if you end up resenting him for it? What if it only gets worse?

“I’ll call you when I get home, okay? I promise,” you say as the car pulls into the driveway.

“Stay. Stay here, please stay here.” He presses his forehead against yours, nosing your cheek and taking a long, shaky breath. “You’re my home.”

His words knock the wind out of you. “Dee…” You murmur. He looks at your suitcase and then the car.

“You’re really gonna go?” He asks. You nod, tearing up. You tell him you love him, you promise to call him again, and then you leave. He stands at his door in a purple robe and watches the car disappear, and you wipe your eyes quickly.

“Airport?” The driver asks.

You nod and look away.

A week later, Dieter’s about to start another marathon interview session. His cardigan itches, his pants are too tight, he hates these fucking shoes. Sophie’s glaring at him as he stomps around, checking his phone every few minutes.

“Do you have a meeting you’re late for or something?” She asks. “It’s gonna be a long day if you don’t chill out.”

He stops and glares back at Sophie, misdirected anger dripping from him.

“Seriously, Dieter, what’s going on?”

He slumps down in his chair and rubs his forehead.

“Girl stuff,” he pouts.

“Again? Already?”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” he says, trying to deflect, but Sophie’s always been good at seeing through him.

“Seems like it is,” she says. “This the same girl you were so excited about a couple of weeks ago?”

He nods, scratching the side of his head, and gives in. “We had a fight the night of the premiere.”

“Oh, hon. Is that why she wasn’t there?”

He cringes. “She was there. She left before we got done on the carpet.”

And suddenly, Dieter’s telling her everything—the whole messy event, how she’d left him to think, how she’s been so quiet ever since. Even when she FaceTimed him it felt like he was a stranger to her.

She sent the raccoon, though. Like clockwork. It had given him more hope than he cared to admit.

Sophie listens, nodding her head in all the right places, emitting only a soft “aw” when he told her he’d begged his girl to stay.

“I don’t know what to do,” he says, covering his face with his hands. “What if she’s right? What if it doesn’t work?”

Sophie sits back and checks her watch, nodding as if she’s decided there’s enough time to tell him what he needs to hear. “I’m gonna be totally honest, Dieter. If you told me this a couple of years ago when we were filming I’d have told you to let her go.”

He wilts, his hopes disintegrating into ash.

“But,” she continues, and he perks up again. “You’re not that guy anymore. You spent half that press tour just waiting for her to call you. You didn’t even go out and hook up with anyone. And you weren’t inappropriate with me at all.”

“When was I ever—oh,” he says, quickly dropping his objections when he remembers his habit of hanging around her trailer like a tomcat before Steve visited the set and scared the shit out of him. He grins sheepishly. “Yeah. Sorry about all that.”

“I know you are,” she says, patting his arm. “I don’t know if that change is all yours or if you just love her that much, but it sounds like she’s had some kind of effect on you. And I don’t believe that we’re not meant to be with regular people or whatever. Steve’s an accountant.”

“He is?”

“He is!”

“But you’ve been together since before, right?”

“Nope. We met at a Christmas party six years ago.”

Dieter sits back and stares at her. A PA pops in to tell them it’s time, and Sophie flashes her brilliant smile.

“It can work,” she says. “But you have to talk to her about stuff. This is a weird business. If you’re kissing me for PR, you need to tell her beforehand.”

He scrubs a hand down his face, and the first interviewer comes in just as his phone dings.

Good luck today! Love you. 🦝

Attached is a picture of the two of them in the bathroom at the hotel the night of the premiere, and her grin is so beautiful and soft. He’s not fully dressed, but it’s something. It’s something.

The interviewer notices his big, dopey smile. “Good news?” He asks.

“Fucking incredible,” he says.

You’re miserable.

You’ve spent a week trying to figure out what you’re supposed to be thinking about. He’d been away from you for six weeks, the longest he’d been gone so far, and you just left? After he begged you to stay? After he called you his home? Were you crazy?

And now you don’t know what to do. He seems happy to hear from you, if cautious in the way he talks. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do.

After you sent him a good luck text, he sent a smiley face back, and you have no idea what that means. You try to keep yourself busy with anything—work, reading, collages.

Weird that you find yourself Googling “celebrities that married normal people.”

Not that you expect to marry him or anything—the phrasing is just easier. That Pinterest folder full of wedding ideas isn’t for him specifically. It’s just a coincidence you made it three weeks after the first time you met him in person.

Matt Damon.

Keanu Reeves.

Jon Stewart.

Jennifer Lawrence.

Sophie Neptune.

Sophie Neptune??

Sophie Neptune, 36, is married to Steve Parker, 40, an accountant.

Holy shit, what?

“Delilah, you’re seeing this, right?” You ask your dog who perks up at the sound of her name. She sniffs the phone, and lays her head back down. She has, unfortunately, not learned to talk.

It took a few visits for Delilah to warm up to Dieter, but eventually she’d decided he was her human, too. The thought of her napping on his chest makes your heart ache.

In the accompanying picture, Sophie’s in a red evening gown looking every bit the movie star, standing next to tall, husky man with a salt-and-pepper beard in a black tuxedo. He is, indeed, just a guy.

You take to Instagram again because you need to know. You simply must know.

And there he is in her profile picture, a little blue checkmark certifying authenticity. She’s kissing his cheek. Sometimes he’s in red carpet pictures, and sometimes he’s not. Most of the time he’s in the background gazing at her like she’s the brightest star in the sky.

You could have had a whole week with your own star, too. You lean back on your couch and stare at your aloe vera plant.

He loves this stupid plant. He loves that you’ve kept this plant alive for so long. When you tell him they’re easy plants, almost impossible to kill, he waves his hand at you.

“I’ve never kept anything but myself alive my whole life,” he’d said. “And you have a dog and a plant.”

“And you,” you’d reminded him. He’d wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

“And me,” he’d murmured.

Fuck. This is stupid. This is ridiculous. This is the worst decision you’ve ever made.

How much are flights to L.A.? And how hard is it to get a seat for a dog?

Dieter always took care of this. Every time.

Fuck fuck fuck.

It’s not cheap, and you have no idea how you’re gonna pay your credit card off, but you manage to find a flight that leaves at five a.m.

You’re running around your apartment trying to find clean clothes to pack for a couple of days—it’s as grand a gesture you swing, for now—when your phone rings. You check the time—almost midnight.

It’s Dieter. A pit opens in your stomach, your insides swirling with anticipation—you don’t know if it’s the good or bad kind as you lift the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” You ask, voice shaking.

“Hey, peach,” he says in that soft, gravelly voice. “You at home?”

“Yeah, I was just—”

But there are three knocks on your door before you can finish your sentences. Your heart leaps into your throat as you scramble to the door, not bothering the check the peephole. Delilah goes berserk, barking at the unexpected intruder.

Dieter stands in front you, bags under his eyes and wearing a silver cardigan that is definitely not his. You pull him inside.

“You’re here,” you murmur.

“I know,” he says. “I know you said you needed sp—”

“No,” you stop him, clawing at the cardigan and pulling him in for a kiss that he happily returns. “No, I was stupid, I didn’t need space. I just ran. I just got scared and I ran.”

“I should have—should have told you—I was stupid. I was so stupid—” He says, and you’re shushing him and he’s kissing you and Delilah’s still barking and you’re crying—why are you crying? “Oh, baby, no, don’t cry. I came to apologize.”

He cradles your jaw, kissing your cheeks and your forehead. You look up at him and laugh. “I was gonna come apologize to you, too.”

He knits his brow and shakes his head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I bought a plane ticket for me and Delilah and we were gonna—I was, I mean—apologize. You know, like—like in the movies. Like this.”

Dieter gives you a sheepish grin. “Really?”

“Really!”

Delilah jumps insistently on his legs.

“Say hi to her before she loses it,” you say. Your hands are shaking as he kneels to the ground and gives her a kiss on the head.

“Hey, girl. I missed you, too. It’s good to see you,” he says gently. She licks his hand, pleased with the acknowledgment, and rolls over for belly rubs. “A little later, okay? I gotta talk to mama.”

You ignore the way he says “mama” in that sweet voice. Looking around, you see no bags. “Where’s your stuff?” You ask as he gets to his feet.

His sheepish grin returns, and he rubs the back of his neck. “Didn’t bring anything. Nic let me borrow his jet.”

“Who’s Nic?”

“Nic Cage,” he says. “He owed me a favor.”

“And you used that favor to come see me?”

You don’t wait for him to answer. You know you need to talk, you know there are things the two of you need to work out, but you need to feel his mouth on yours. Dieter doesn’t resist at all when you pull him by his shirt collar and slot your lips between his. He just melts into you with a soft whimper.

Dieter’s backing you into the bedroom and kicking the door closed, overwhelming your senses again, reacquainting himself with the way you taste and feel and smell. His hands sneak up your torso and peel off your shirt, and he groans at the sight of your bare breasts. He kisses down your chest, flicking his tongue around each nipple as he kneels down in front of you to pull your leggings off of you.

Soft waves of hair slide easily between your fingers as he pushes his face between your legs and breathes, kissing your pussy through your already-damp underwear. You’ve been away from him for so much longer before, but this is different, like your body knows the last time he touched you could’ve been it.

He slides your panties down your legs and stuffs them in his mouth, looking up at you through thick lashes with wide, brown eyes.

You’re in charge.

“Oh, baby,” you murmur, stroking his cheek. “You want that tonight?”

He nods vigorously as you tug at his hair, pulling him back to expose his thick neck.

“Spit those out,” you say and he pouts, but does as he’s told. He dives toward your cunt, mouth open and tongue out, but you yank him back from that, too.

“I’m in charge, remember?” You remind him. He nods and holds still, but stares at your pussy like he hasn’t eaten in weeks. “Get naked, and then get on your back and get comfortable. I’m gonna sit on your face and use your tongue to get myself off. And you don’t touch yourself until I say you can, yeah?”

He gives an eager nod and licks his lips as you let his hair go. He scrambles onto the bed, pulling his clothes off haphazardly and laying on his back, feet planted firmly on the mattress. His cock juts up, his head just peeking out of his foreskin, red and weeping. You crawl up his legs, kissing all the way up, unable to resist engulfing him with your mouth on the way up.

He makes a noise like he’s been punched, gripping the sheets with his fists to hold himself still, but you pull off and giggle before he can really react. Shimmying the rest of the way up his body, you plant your knees on either side of his head. Dieter’s hungry eyes fall on your pussy again and you lower yourself to his soft, thick tongue. He moans as you start to move, curling his hands over your ass and digging his fingers into your cheeks.

He feels so fucking good, running his big hands over you as you grind yourself on his mouth, your swollen clit bumping his nose every so often. His arm slides under your leg and he slips two fingers inside you, slapping your ass hard with his other hand.

You want to fuss at him, tell him you’re using him, but it feels too good. Your hips buck faster, and every time he moans into you it pushes you closer.

“Come hard for me, baby girl,” he growls as he strokes your g-spot, muffled by your cunt. “Wanna drink from you. Gimme all of it. ‘M so fuckin’ hard. So fuckin’ hard, wanna fuck you so hard, please, missed your pussy so much—”

His pleas go straight to your cunt, your hips rocking back and forth so fast the headboard slams against the wall no matter how tightly you hold onto it.

“Keep—doing—that—” You whimper, almost there, almost at the edge, almost where he wants you. Your vision goes white, ears ringing as your cunt pulses around his fingers.

“Now. Now you can touch yourself,” you breathe as you come all over his face, his cheeks wet with you. He doesn’t move his fingers, just works you through it, murmuring obscenities about what a sweet fucking girl you are. His other hand wipes through the mess you’ve made on his face and moves to his cock, his arm jerking as your hips slow and your breathing evens out. He sticks his tongue back out, searching for your taste, and you move back.

“Baby,” you giggle, and he looks up and smiles.

“Too much?” He teases, licking his lips and stroking lazily at himself as you pull off of his fingers.

“Mmm.”

He’s still tugging at himself, and as beautiful as he is when he does this, you have other plans.

“Stop, please,” you say, and he obeys. He always listens so well. You crawl between his legs and look up, and he is the picture of debauchery—lips and chin and cheeks shiny with you, hair mussed from your fingers pulling his hair, breathing hard as he looks at you through those soft, heavy-lidded eyes.

You press soft kisses to his shaft and he pulses against you, whimpering as you coat his cock in saliva and take him down your throat.

His leg shakes as you drag your fingernails up and down his thigh, moaning at the way his cock bulges in the back of your throat. You pull off and smile at his whimper of protest, gazing up at him with your bottom lip in a teasing pout.

“I wanna make you feel good, baby, so I want you to choose, okay?”

“Okay,” he sighs, running his thumb over your cheek. You climb up and straddle him, dragging your dripping wet pussy over his cock and nosing his cheek.

“You wanna come in mouth? Or in my ass?” You whisper in his ear, grinning at the choked moan the second option pulls from him. Before Dieter, you hadn’t even thought of it. Now, though? Anything for him. He comes so hard every single time you let him, and you want to make him feel amazing.

“Oh, fuck, baby, really? Really?” He asks.

“So the second one, then?” You giggle.

He looks at you with those big, brown eyes, frowning a little as he tries to figure you out. “Do you…are you sure? You want that, it’s not just—”

“Dieter, I like that. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t, yeah?”

He breathes out and kisses you again. “Fuck. Fuck, yes, okay. God, you’re so—I fucking love your tight little asshole. I love all of you—oh, fuck, yeah—”

He kisses you again and again, open-mouthed and wet until he pulls away and digs through your drawer for your lube and the bullet vibe. One thing he insists on is feeling you clench around him when you come.

It’s almost gentlemanly. This is a vulnerable act for you, and he understands that.

“I got this,” he murmurs, rolling you on your tummy and pulling you up by your hips. “I got you, peach.”

He drizzles the lube on his fingers to warm it, dipping his head and licking your rim first, and lets out a pleased rumble at your taste.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and licks at you again. “Taste so fucking good.”

Dieter pulls away and his fingers replace his tongue, rubbing softly and murmuring sweet nothings as he opens you up. You press the vibrator against your clit, whimpering at all the sensations happening at once. He slips a finger inside of you and waits for you to relax, repeating the process with more lube and the next finger. It doesn’t take much—it’s not your first time, after all.

His cock is so much bigger than a finger, though.

“Relax, baby,” he says. “Relax. You’re so fucking sexy, sweetheart. So good to me, letting me put my big fucking cock in your ass.”

You whine at him, eyes rolling into the back of your head as he slides into you with aching gentleness. He reaches around to squeeze your breasts, his big hands skating over your belly and mound and any soft part of you he can reach.

Once he’s seated, you take a deep breath. “Gonna move now, pretty girl,” he says, and all you can do is nod. Your mouth drops open as he fucks into you, and you feel him everywhere as he mumbles at you.

He’s always a talker, but what spills from his mouth is less filth and more a declaration. It makes your pussy gush even more than his usual depravity.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, baby. Every single bit of you—so beautiful—so perfect—I’d give up everything. I’d give up everything for you. Wanna live between your legs, baby, please—please—gotta believe me. This sweet little ass is all mine, yeah—mine—” He grits out, possessive and pleading at the same time. You can hardly breathe with the vibe pressed against your clit, pulsing and wet and needy. Dieter’s movements are equal parts pleasure and pain as he stretches you out.

“I need you, sweetheart. I need you so bad, I missed you so bad, Couldn’t—stop—thinking—about—you,” he pants. “You don’t understand how much I need you. Strangling my dick, baby, so fucking tight—oh, fuck, fuck I’m not—you gotta come. You gotta come for me, I gotta feel you—please, please, please-”

His begging sends you over the edge and you cry his name again, and he’s not far behind you. He blankets you with his whole broad body, skin damp and hot against yours, and he all but roars when he spills, nipping your earlobe as he throbs inside of you.

He whispers that he loves you over and over until he softens and pulls out, his seed spilling out and down your thighs. He dips his head between your legs again and looks.

He always has to look.

“You’re so proud of yourself,” you giggle. “Did everyone before me put up with this?”

“Never gave a fuck about looking with them,” he says, rolling you over and running his fingers over your body. “Like seeing what I do to you.”

“Hey,” you say, pulling his chin to look at you. “I love you, too, Dee.”

His eyes cloud over as he takes a deep breath. “I’m—I’m sorry I didn’t explain everything.”

You kiss him again because you hate the sad look on his face. “I’m sorry I assumed.”

“No, look. Look, I should have told you. I said I’d show you off. I meant that. I don’t know what happened with the fucking seats, I’m so pissed about it. Everything got all fucked up. I know you don’t—I know you don’t believe me,” he says, his voice faltering, but you put your fingers to his lips.

“I’m sorry I ran away and I’m sorry I didn’t let you apologize. I won’t ever do that again,” you promise. He nods and opens his mouth, then closes it again like he’s fighting with himself about something. “What is it?”

“Can I just…if you…please just move in with me. I won’t ask you to quit your job, ever, and we can even keep your apartment here. Look, you can keep paying rent and Taylor can live here or something. And if you hate it, you can come back. And if you don’t, you can break the lease or whatever when we get married.”

Your mouth drops open just slightly at his tirade. “When we what?”

“When…you know? When we get…if we get married.”

“You wanna get married to me?”

“I’ll marry you today, tomorrow, last week,” he says. “You’re it for me. There’s no one else.”

“You mean that?” You ask quietly.

“I mean it so much. I love you. I love you so much. I’ll do whatever I need to do. I’ll stop doing all the drugs and I’ll take fewer projects and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.”

You sit up and stretch, and he looks up at you, anxiety etched on every line of his forehead.

“I need a year,” you say.

“A year?”

You nod. “A year. I want to keep doing it like this for a year. If it works—if it keeps working like this for another year—and we get through mostly unscathed, I’ll move in with you.”

Dieter grins and stretches out like a lazy cat. “We can do a year. I can do a year. A year is nothing when we’re gonna be together forever, you know?”

You smile at the way he says, earnestly and with no self-consciousness.

“Yeah,” you say. “Exactly.”

“Okay. I can do that. And I—okay, then you—you have to understand where I’m coming from sometimes. And that—that sometimes it’s hard to be with me because of the whole famous thing. And there are some things I can’t control, but I’ll do everything I can to make you comfortable. Okay?”

“Fair enough,” you say. “That was good. The feelings you just expressed. That was really good.”

“Yeah? Really?” He says, grinning proudly. You pull him toward you, wrapping his long arms around your torso.

“Really.” He settles his cheek on your chest, cradling your breast in his hand and wrapping his lips around your nipple. You bop his nose gently, but he ignores you. “You are insatiable.”

“Mmmm,” he murmurs. “Let’s go take a shower so I can eat your pussy under the water. And then we can cuddle.”

“I have a five a.m. flight to catch,” you giggle as he pulls you up and toward the bathroom.

“Oh, yeah. Well. Let me pay for those, okay?” You start to object, and he holds up his hand. “You also have to let me be your rich boyfriend sometimes.”

You roll your eyes. “All right, baby. Fine.”

He smiles. “Amazing.”

#fic rec

567 notes · View notes

trinkets01 · 5 months

Text

This was so cute 😭 just her and Javi hanging out taking care of the baby was everything I didn’t even know I needed! K you never cease to amaze me with your writing 🙌🏻

Worth The Wait - Part 9

Pairing: Javier Peña x Diosa (f!reader)

Word Count: 6.5k

Summary: After Javi and Steve get suspended for a week, you help Javi babysit.

Warnings: Canon AU, Soft!Javi, Javi with a baby, Fluff, Smut (fingering, anal play, p in v doggy style)

a/n: This chapter has been posted on ao3 for a few months now, so some of you may have already read it over there.

Worth The Wait - Series Masterlist

With Diana Turbay being accidentally killed in the same raid meant to rescue her, it changed the original plan the Presidente Gaviria had. At the pressure of Diana’s parents and the Colombian people, he decided to cave in to Escobar’s demands. What that meant was a prison that Escobar built for himself to spend his agreed upon time in. But you, Javi, and Steve knew that it meant shit – the man would still be able to run his cocaine empire from inside.

Then news hit your trio that Search Bloc was being disbanded and Carillo was being transferred to Spain, so the three of you immediately went to find him at his headquarters. It’s there that Carillo revealed aerial photos of said Escobar’s prison, ones that the DEA couldn’t get otherwise. You and your partners saw for the first time that it wasn’t a prison by any means, more like a vacation spot if the soccer field was anything to go by. Carillo then confirmed what you all suspected, he was moving more cocaine than ever while inside.

If only there was a way to prove it to Presidente Gaviria.

Steve’s sharp eyes and southern upbringing have him spotting a pigeon coop on the aerials. The new information leads to a stakeout 3 miles out from the prison until Steve was able to shoot one of the pigeons out of the sky and Javi read the note attached to its leg. Something about a delivery via the tunnel.

Escobar had built a tunnel under the jail. And if he was moving cocaine through it, what was stopping him from coming and going that way himself?

A late night of food and beer in your kitchen with Javi and Steve was spent looking over those damn photos again. CIA used what technology they could and came back with the same – there were no indication of a tunnel. But the three of you had that damn note about it, so where was it?

Steve groans and rubs his fingertips against his eyes, “Fuck, I’m callin’ it a night. Gonna go cross-eyed if I look any more at these damn things.” He finishes off his beer and stands up, clapping Javi on the back before giving your shoulder a squeeze, “Thanks for the food, partner. See you guys tomorrow.” He walks himself out and you hear the door close behind him.

Javi sits back with a heavy sigh and pulls the cigarette free that had been sitting behind his ear. You hold up one of the photos to look at it for the thousandth time as you hear the click of the lighter before the smell of nicotine meets your nose. Javi leans his elbow on the table and rubs at his forehead, “He’s right. Let’s give it a rest for the night. Fresh eyes tomorrow.”

“It’s here…somewhere,” you gently argue, “I feel like we’re right on the cusp of spotting – whatever it is.”

“Diosa, you’re tired, so am I. We’re worth shit right now,” He takes a drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke out of the side of his mouth. He leans over and rubs your knee, “Come on, how about a hot shower?”

Your eyes don’t leave the photo as they roam along the entire image, “Thought you said you were tired?” you tease with a soft smirk, knowing your boyfriend very well.

A tired grin forms on his handsome face, “I’ll only fuck you if you ask.”

The picture gets placed down on the table and you look at him, “I’m too tired,” you give a little laugh and stand up, moving to sit on his lap that he happily welcomes you to. He secures an arm around your waist as he leans you both forward to stub out his cigarette in the ash tray. Sitting back, he rubs his palm from your lower back, up your spine, until his fingers are burying into your hair at the nape of your neck.

You tenderly pinch his chin between your thumb and forefinger, kissing him slow and sweet, “But we can still make out in there?”

“Never a question,” he grins against your lips as he gives you another kiss. As he brushes some hair from your face, you lightly drag your fingertips along the current stubble along his jaw, “I’ll meet you in there, I just want to clean up a bit more first.”

“You got it,” he leaves another kiss to your lips and then you’re standing up, allowing him to do the same. His large hand smooths over your ass as he’s leaving the kitchen and heading down the small hallway to your bedroom.

The plates from dinner are collected and placed in the sink for later, the condiments are put back in the fridge. You then look over the pictures once more, sliding some out of the way with a fingertip until something clicks in your brain.

Hurriedly, you start plucking each photo off the table, eyes pinpointing to the same spot on each one and finding the same damn thing. With several photos in your hand, you rush into your bedroom to find Javi tossing his shirt onto the bed, eyes finding yours at your abrupt entrance.

“Javi, what about this? It’s not a tunnel, but it’s in every picture,” you walk over, standing close and point to the yellow truck, shuffling through the photos to point out it out in each one, “You would only have a truck coming and going for deliveries. ‘Delivery via the tunnel’” you repeat the note, “The man is using fucking pigeons, he wouldn’t be above using codes.”

Javi’s arm slips around your waist as he looks at the pictures, “It’s a fucking truck,” he nods, “The tunnel’s a fucking truck.” An excited grin on your face makes him match it with one of his own. His palm fits to your cheek as he cinches you closer into him, “Brilliant and beautiful,” he compliments before kissing you good.

With the discovery of the truck, it allows the three of you to ambush it on a trip back from the prison and get a camera set up inside so he can discreetly snap photos of what and who he’s delivering. The photos provide a mountain of evidence of Escobar violating the terms of his prison stay. Believing that the photos were all you needed to get Escobar put in a real prison, it turned into another dead end with Presidente Gaviria refusing to do anything about it, preferring to allow Escobar the freedom of deliveries as opposed to bombings throughout the country.

Huddled around Javi’s desk, the three of you talk quietly.

“It’s our only play left,” Javi insists.

You and Steve nod, with Steve reminding, “Noonan will be pissed.”

Javi nods and sits back in his chair, “Which is why you’re not coming with us,” his eyes on you.

Steve looks between you both as annoyance takes over your face. You hit Javi with an angered look, “Excuse me?”

Javi leans forward, elbow on his desk as his hand points to you while he explains, “There’s a good chance Noonan’s going to rip us a new one over this. She’s not stupid at who to look at once the photos hit the papers. Steve and I can play dumb all we want, but it’s the truth. You being the only female DEA agent here, there’s an unfortunate chance it could go even worse for you should she take it to anyone higher up. I hate to say that, but you know I’m right, querida, we’ve talked about it before.”

The more he talks, the quicker the anger melts away as you realize he’s right, much to your dismay. The three of you are supposed to be partners through and through, something you have no problem with. If you were a man, you’d be marching to that newspaper office right next to them. But you’re not, and that fact makes you have to tread more carefully in the name of your career. The fact that despite Javi’s tunnel vision for Escobar, he’s still thinking of the way consequences could affect you reminds you how lucky you are to have him as a partner, both professionally and romantically.

Standing with your arms crossed, you keep your eyes on him as he speaks, only to shake your head in aggravation when he finishes.

“It feels like I’m copping out in the sake of my career. We said we’d be all in – all three of us.”

Javi nods once, “We did, which is why we’re both telling you that we’re okay with you sitting this one out. No hard feelings, Agent.” The use of your rank instead of a usual pet name means more in that moment than you would have guessed.

“Steve?” you look to him for confirmation.

Murphy instantly nods, “Jav’s right. Being all in means also looking out for each other when it counts. And this is one of those times. We got this, partner.”

The aftermath resulted in not only the newspaper printing the photos, but the media picking up the story and running it on every channel. It all culminated in the three of you being called to Noonan’s office. As soon as she held up the newspaper with clear anger, Javi immediately shifted to the edge of his seat and declared your innocence in it, something that Steve quickly backed him up on – just like they said they would. She seemed suspicious, but when Javi pushed her to get surveillance video from the embassy or even from the newspaper office to prove you weren’t there, she finally relented and excused you as your partners stayed behind. When they finally get back to the office, you find out that she was submitting complaints against them in Washington in addition to suspending them for a week.

With Escobar in his own prison fortress, along with his men, there’s no real leads coming in anymore. And with no distractions from your partners, any lingering paperwork got done all in a day. At the end of it, you can’t wait to see Javi – a full work day without seeing him was even worse than you expected.

As soon as you walk into your apartment building, you head straight for his door and give a couple quick knocks, trying hard not to stand there smiling in anticipation of seeing your boyfriend. Except, there’s no answer and when you listen at the door, there’s no movement. Another couple knocks and then you notice that it’s dark underneath the door. The man barely sits still, so it shouldn’t be too surprising that he isn’t home. It’s not like you expected him to wait around all day for you, but part of you wishes he would have let you know where he was going. With your line of work and the information that his informants provide at times, if he’s out chasing a lead than he’s automatically in more danger than if he just stayed here.

Disappointed that you won’t be seeing him tonight, you walk to your own apartment and let yourself in. As you drop your bag on the small table by your door, you hear paper crinkle below you. Lifting your boot up, you spy a folded piece of paper not far from the bottom of your doorway.

It’s Javi’s handwriting and as your eyes scan the note, a smile grows on your face –

“Diosa, Missed you today. I know work couldn’t have been any good without me. Come by Murphy’s when you’re home. Tío Javi’s on duty and I have dinner for you. <;3”

Quickly, you change into leggings and an oversized t-shirt and make your way upstairs to Steve and Connie’s. When Javi answers your knock and opens the door with Olivia in his arms, you swear your uterus moans. Not only seeing this strong man holding the sweetest baby, but he looks so good doing it. With his arms flexed from supporting her, his biceps are pushing the hem of his sleeves up; his shirt is slightly shifted to reveal a bit more of his normally exposed chest, and add to that the sweet way he’s looking at you and you actually find yourself at a loss for words.

Having children had never been something you ever gave much thought, especially with the kind of career you’ve pursued, but seeing Javi with a baby actually makes you wonder if you should.

“Tío Javi, huh?” you smile.

Javi grins, “Tía Diosa, right on time.”

As you walk in and he closes the door behind you, you run a gentle hand over Olivia’s hair and smile at her, “Hey sweetheart,” giving her little cheek a kiss. Javi sinks his fingers into your hair and tenderly combs them through until he’s cupping the back of your head.

Looking to him next, you play with the fastened buttons towards the bottom of his shirt, “I missed you, too, today” referring to the note he left you. He slants his mouth over yours with a sweet, savoring kiss.

When you start to feel his lips leaving yours, you quickly mumble wait against his mouth and cup his cheek, keeping him still as you continue the kiss for just a bit longer. His lips curve against yours briefly before losing himself in you. The hand at the back of your head moves to slide along your lower back and then lower until he’s cupping your ass. When you finally end the kiss, your lips barely leave his. A tender nudge of your nose to his, you take a second to regain your breath as he leans his forehead on yours.

The plush of his lips leave a kiss to your forehead while he gives your hip a squeeze, “Amor, take this little angelita and I’ll go heat up the food.” Javi’s so gentle in the way he passes Olivia to you, extra careful with such a precious life. When you situate her in your arms, you’re speaking softly to her as she smiles at you – you aren’t aware of the way Javi takes a second to look at you interacting with her before walking into the kitchen. You follow behind him, asking him about his day as you watch him pull out a bag and a couple beers from the fridge. The name of the café on the side of the bag is a favorite of yours. Not only did Javi wait for you before eating, but he made sure to order some of your favorites.

“Javier,” you say at the sight, “God, you’re the best. Thank you, baby,” you smooth your hand along his lower back as he pops open the beers then grabs plates and utensils.

Your boyfriend pauses his task to wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you more into his side as he kisses your head, “First day without having me to look at across the way. Figured you deserved something special,” he teases.

“Hah, what about you not having me to look at?” you bump his hip playfully and step back from him to give him a raised brow, a smirk playing at your lips as Olivia babbles.

Javi crowds you with his hands on your hips, “Believe me, Diosa, it was torture all day. Why do you think you’re here right now? I didn’t want to wait until later tonight to see you. You being here is my something special.”

The warmth of your hand slips inside his shirt and rests against his collarbone as he presses a kiss to your waiting lips. Olivia squeals and giggles at nothing, prompting the two of you to laugh into the kiss and Javi pulling from you to sweep a tender hand over her small head and press his lips there, “You tell her, princess.”

The sight makes you swallow a whimper at how sweet he is and how attractive it is to see this paternal side of him. Shaking yourself out of it, you give her little arm a gentle shake, “Hey now, us girls have to stick together.”

Javi chuckles as he goes back to plating the food for the microwave. You give a playful smack to his ass before giggling and grabbing your beer as you walk into the living room with her. After taking a sip, you place the bottle on the dining table then walk over to Steve’s radio and fiddle with it until you find a station with some upbeat music. Speaking excitedly and playfully to Olivia, she’s soon enough bouncing in your arms at the music and you laugh as you slowly spin around with her, bopping along to the music with her.

The music instantly draws his attention as he pushes some buttons on the microwave, setting it off to reheat. Sipping his beer, he rests a hip against the countertop as he watches you with Olivia. When you’re both laughing, and you’re moving around with her, a smile sits on his face. As his eyes stay on you two, there’s a slow sensation of something that starts in his chest and seeps throughout his body, down to his toes. There’s an almost déjà vu feeling that he’s watching his future right now. He can see it so clearly – you dancing with a child in your arms, one that looks like a perfect mix of you and him, in the kitchen of his Pop’s house back in Laredo. It’s that future with you that feels like true peace.

The shrill beeping of the microwave shakes the image from his mind as he takes the plate out and puts in the second one. Glancing over at you, you’re none the wiser to his staring as you laugh at the cute giggles coming from the sweet little girl. Javi grabs a fork and knife and brings the heated plate over to the table, “Baby, food’s ready. Start eating while it’s still hot, I’m right behind you,” he motions with a thumb at the microwave currently going.

“Thank you!” you smile and turn the music down as you walk over and seat Olivia in her high chair at the table before taking your own seat. Javi grabs a pacifier and comes around to place in Olivia’s mouth, who happily takes it.

Chewing on a bite of food, you watch as he heads back into the kitchen to grab his plate that’s now finished heating. He takes a seat next to you and scoops up some food as he looks at you, “Good?” taking a bite.

With a nod, ”It’s delicious!” you practically moan, taking another bite. As you chew, you admire him for a minute before swallowing and saying, “You’re really good with her, Javi.”

A humble shrug, “Like I’ve said, as the oldest kid in the family, there was always a baby cousin around to help take care of.”

“Still, it’s incredibly sweet to witness.”

“You’re not so bad at it yourself, amor.”

“You’re definitely more of a natural…it’s sexy,” you grin as you take another bite, avoiding his gaze that you know is on you. There’s a smug smirk on as he chews, eyes locked on the side of your face.

“Sexy? Diosa, you getting baby fever?”

“More like watching-Javier-Peña-taking-care-of-a-baby fever,” you smirk, Javi giving a soft chuckle before gripping your chair and sliding you closer to him. With the gentlest touch, he cups your chin and kisses you. When it ends, he looks in your eyes, “I love seeing you with her, too.”

“You sure I’m doing this right?” you glance at him before looking back down at Olivia in your arms.

On the couch, seated on Javi’s lap, you keep the hold of Olivia the way that Javi had placed her in your arms. In your other hand is her bottle of formula that he had heated up.

His arm is curled around your waist as he nods against your shoulder. He reaches out and pushes the bottle a little lower in your hold. Smiling, you watch as she sucks on the bottle, one of her little hands touching yours and her other reaching up to nothing.

The phone rings on the table next to the couch, and Javi picks it up, “Peña,” he answers automatically, but it’s the exact way he answers his desk phone so it makes you give him a humored look before looking back down at the little girl in your arms.

It’s easy to know it’s Connie from his side of the conversation. You listen as Javi gives a play by play of his care for their daughter so far but you tune him out as you start to imagine this as a possible future for yourself. One that includes the man you’re sitting on.

“So, everything’s good then?” Connie asks.

Javi looks at you and presses his mouth briefly to your shoulder before the hand at your waist reaches up to smooth across your temple as he smiles softly at the way you’re looking at Olivia, “It’s perfect.”

His conversation is done shortly after, the phone getting placed back in its cradle when you slowly pull the now empty bottle from Olivia’s mouth, “Okay, she’s done, now I have to burp her, right?” you turn to look at him. Javi tucks your hair behind your ear and nods with a gentle grin, “Yup,” he takes the empty bottle from your grip and places it next to the phone, “Just hold her up to your shoulder and give her back some gentle pats until she let’s one out.”

It was exactly why he had draped the teddy bear covered towel over your other shoulder before putting her in your arms. As you slowly lift her up, Javi’s large palm hovers behind her body just in case, but you place her just right. As you give gentle pats, you look to him, “I’m not doing it too hard, right? I don’t want to hurt her,” you fret.

Javi’s arms snake around your waist, shaking his head, “Amor, you’re doing great.”

When Olivia lets out the cutest burp, you look to Javi excitedly at your achievement.

Javier has Olivia on the changing table as you stand in the doorway, keeping a good few feet away.

“Why again am I the one doing this when you’re the one who fed her?” he playfully glares at you as he unbuttons her onesie. As the fabric peels away from her diaper, he turns his head with a pained expression.

With the most innocent smile you can make, “Because you love me and you’ve been around more babies than I have. I promise though, I’m watching and learning.”

Javi raises a brow in your direction, “Uh huh,” then he turns back to the little girl and peels back her diaper only to get hit with the most unpleasant odor.

“Fuck!” he exclaims as he turns and presses his nose to his shoulder.

You gag as you pinch your nose, the smell so pungent you get a whiff of it too. Slowly, you take a few more steps back. The movement has Javi’s eyes go to you, “Oh no, no. Don’t you keep getting further. Come here, querida. If you love me, you’ll come over here and endure this with me.”

“Okay, now that’s not fair,” you groan and practically mope into the room and standing next to him where the odor is at its worst and the sight of the brown mess is overwhelming. The fabric of his shirt serves as your mask when you press your nose against it, mumbling against him, “Please, please take the lead on this.”

Javi presses a kiss to your head, “No way. We’re a damn good team, Diosa, so let’s show her that.”

Propping your chin on his shoulder, “I hate that you made that sound cute. What do you need me to do?” You straighten up next to him and look at the baby and her mess.

The warmth of his hand circles your wrist and brings it up to hold both of Olivia’s ankles, “Lift her legs up a bit and out of the way and I’ll take care of the rest, mi corazon,” he compromises.

“Have I ever told you what a kind man, you are?” you bump his hip gently. He shakes his head with a laugh, “Yeah, yeah,” he teases. As you do your part, Javi pulls the soiled diaper out from under Olivia and balls it up before tossing it in the trash. With the most tender touch, he uses several baby wipes to clean her up, which is exactly when she starts to cry. Without prompt, you pout and move closer to look down at her, petting her head as you speak softly to her. When that doesn’t work, you give her legs a little wiggle and start speaking more excitedly to her.

Javi listens with a loving grin as he continues to take care of her. He dusts her with baby powder and pulls out a clean diaper when he watches you blow a raspberry on the bottom of her feet which sets Olivia off with giggles.

Laughing yourself, “That’s our girl,” you praise her. Javi pauses as he realizes the way you called her our girl. What’s more is the way his heart flutters at it.

“How we doing, mi amado?” you check in with him. It brings Javi back to focus and he nods, “We’re almost in the clear,” and he skillfully slips the new diaper under her butt and fastens it into place. He rebuttons her onesie and claps his hands, rubbing them together, “Honey, we have a clean baby again.”

You look at her cute face, “You’re all better, sweetheart. How lucky are you to have such a wonderful Tío?” you pick her up and settle her against your chest. Looking to Javier, “And how lucky am I to have such a wonderful man take on such a mess all by himself?” you laugh, walking back over to him.

Javi’s fingers clutch your hip as his hand slides along your jaw. He tilts your face up just enough to slant his mouth over yours.

It was together that you played with her on the floor of the apartment before putting her down for the night. You step out of the bedroom first, with Javi gently closing the door as he follows you out.

Turning to face him, “We are a damn good team,” you repeat his earlier words as you slip your arms around his waist. Javi smiles and takes your face in his hands, “Told you,” he presses two quick soft kisses to your lips. His thumbs caress your cheeks as you look into his eyes, “I was thinking since you took care of dinner, it’s only fair I take care of dessert.”

Javi presses his lips to yours in a longer kiss than before, “So considerate, mi Diosa. Show me, honey.”

Taking a step back, you grip the hem of your tee and pull it up over your head to reveal that you’ve been without a bra the entire night. Javier’s eyes grow darker at the sight of your bare chest.

“I’ll let you do the honors of my bottom half. There’s something missing there, too,” you smirk. With an aroused growl, Javi steps forward and picks you up by your waist making you laugh. He walks forward until he’s seating you on the counter, a heated kiss is shared between you as you feel his large hands mold to your breasts, squeezing gently and kneading them.

“Fuck, amor. You have no idea how hard I am already,” he growls before kissing along your neck.

Tilting your head as he nips your sensitive skin, you close your eyes as you breathe, “I better feel for myself,” and you blindly reach down to cup that impressive hard length of him through his jeans. Just feeling it has you grow even wetter between your thighs.

His thumbs rub your nipples until they bud and you shiver when the warmth of his mouth covers one of your breasts, the plane of his tongue smoothing along the hard peak. Once he finishes sucking on the one, he shows your other the same love.

“Javi, baby, I’m so wet. Please,” you beg for any kind of touch down there. His plush lower lip drags along your collarbone as he trails kisses back to your neck before his lips find yours in a passionate kiss.

His hands run up and down your thighs as his tongue slips past your lips. With your arms snaked under his, you gently scratch his back as he licks into your mouth.

When his lips barely pull from yours, your noses still settled together, he asks against your lips, “You need me to take care of you, Diosa? Want me to fuck you right here in our friend’s apartment?”

“Yes, baby,” you easily respond, “Need you touch my pussy so bad,” you give a little whine.

He gives you a bruising kiss before taking a small step back and pulling you forward by your hips until he slides you slowly off the counter. As he slowly crouches, he pulls your leggings down with his descent to reveal your naked bottom underneath. That handsome nose of his presses to your curls as he breathes in deep while he continues to pull your leggings all the way down, taking a tender hold of each ankle to pull them free of the fabric.

The warm wet swipe of his tongue against your pink folds has you gasping before he’s looking up at you and gives your thigh a tap, “Turn around and lean on the counter.”

Doing as he asks, you turn and lean on your forearms, excitement buzzing in your veins when you feel him spread your legs a little further apart. Those slightly calloused palms of his smooth from your calves to the back of your thighs and his lips press kisses along your cheeks. When his teeth take a nip, you jerk with a giggle. It soon turns into a moan when his tongue sinks into your pussy.

“Oh fuck,” you whimper in pleasure.

The way he slides it through your juicy cunt, moaning against your folds as he devours you has your body erupting in goosebumps and your eyes closing in pure bliss. There are swipes of it as he licks at you in between fucking it into you. You stretch your arm out to grip the furthest edge of the counter as you reach back with your other to grip his hair. The coolness of the countertop against your naked tits an added sensation.

“So fucking good, Javi,” you praise with a moan, “More, baby, please.” His hands massage your ass cheeks until you feel him pull them apart and then the warmth of his tongue trails from your pussy to your puckered hole.

“Oh! Oh my fucking god!” you jolt, never having experienced this before with any man. He spends several seconds licking your tight ring before you feel his absence, “How was that, baby?” that sexy deep voice of his asks from below.

A shudder rocks your body as you fight the urge to shove his head back against you, “So fucking amazing,” you answer with a heavy breath.

Javi smiles, “Good,” and then the familiar warmth is back between your cheeks, except this time you feel two of his fingers penetrate your cunt. With his tongue giving attention to your usually neglected hole paired with his thick fingers fucking you, the only thing you hear is the wet suctioning sounds of his fingers pumping between your legs and the muffled slurping sounds from Javi’s face buried in your ass.

Your building orgasm is already so intense that you can only imagine what it will feel like when it crests. As the coil in your belly gets tighter and tighter, you hand in his hair flies to grip the other edge of the counter you’re pressed against.

Swallowing in your already dry throat, you manage to find the energy to quickly plead, “I want to cum on your cock, baby. Fuck, I’m so close, please, give me your cock, Javier.”

He hears your dirty words loud and clear, “Fucking hell, amor,” he groans as he quickly pulls his soaked digits from your pussy and stands up. You’re barely coherent as you hear the metal clinking of his belt being undone and the sound of his zipper being pulled down. He punches a loud moan from your throat when he slams his cock inside of you.

“Yes!” you cry out, knuckles white from your hard grip as every thrust has your chest sliding against the countertop.

Slap, slap, slap, slap fills the kitchen as his naked hips pound against your ass. Javi’s fingers dig into your hips as he yanks you back onto him with each thrust. Every sexy little moan from your mouth spurring him on.

Then without warning, his thumb presses against your puckered hole and the desperate sound of pleasure that you emit has him smiling to himself. Sweat sheens along your body as the added pressure from his thumb has your body truly throbbing with pleasure.

“Fuck, amor, that’s so good! Don’t stop, don’t stop!” you plead as you push up on your hands slightly. You feel him falter only slightly when he leans forward to press a sloppy kiss to your shoulder before he’s straightening back up and continues to slam into you from behind. Suddenly, his arm is slipping under your chest and he yanks you up to be flush against his chest, hand gripping your breast. The thumb at your ass is moved so his hand can grip your hip as his other hand slips around your body and thumbs at your clit as he continues to punch the air from your lungs with each hit of his cock inside of you.

“Fuck yes!” you cry out as your hand instantly grips the back of his neck and you press his hand harder against your tit.

Javi’s grunts are louder to you now as his nose nuzzles your jaw, “Fuck, Diosa. You’re starting to grip me good. Fucking cum for me. Soak me the way I like it, honey.”

All you can manage is a weak nod as your eyes roll back into your head and your legs start trembling.

“Fuck,” thrust “Come,” thrust “On,” thrust “Amor” thrust.

It’s his last sharp thrust that pushes you over the edge. As your body quivers in his hold, you’re screaming out in pleasure to the point he has to cover your mouth at the risk of waking up Olivia. It doesn’t stop him from continuing to fuck into you with dirty praises until he’s groaning against your ear and filling you up with his spend.

The hand between your legs moves to grip your hip as he keeps a hold of you as your body is weak from your orgasm. Panting heavily, you keep your head back against his shoulder as you wait for your body to gain some strength back. Javi’s kisses are warm against your jaw and cheek. You manage to turn your head towards him, where his lips are eagerly on yours in a wet, sloppy kiss that you love. Sliding your hand from his nape to his cheek, you lick inside his mouth as he deepens the kiss.

“Dessert was delicious, baby,” he mumbles against your lips making you both smile into the kiss.

His hands skim your skin as he slides them both up to your chest, gripping your tits. After a few seconds of palming them, he reaches up to take your hand at his cheek and he guides it between your legs. He has you feel where he’s still seated inside you - having you caress your spread lips and the base of his cock, your fingers getting sticky with his cum that has overflowed out, “Have you ever felt anything more perfect together?” he whispers against your lips.

When he feels your pussy clench at his question, he hisses deliciously against your mouth before capturing your lips in a deep kiss. When his lips slowly pull from yours, you’re bringing your cum coated fingers to your mouth, seductively sucking them clean in front of him.

“Mmm,” you hum appreciatively.

“Mi diosa sucia,” he moans (My dirty goddess).

“Promise to take me home and make me even dirtier?” you run a wet finger along his sharp jawline.

This time it’s his cock that twitches inside of you at your question as he growls “Sí”.

By the time Steve and Connie comes home, you’re re-dressed and sitting on one end of the couch as Javier sits at the other end, the television holding your attention or so it would seem. Your legs may have been draped across his lap mere seconds before you heard their key in the lock.

Connie walks in first, “Javi, thanks again for –“ when she spots you, she’s a little surprised before smiling at your always welcome presence, “Hey, don’t tell me you missed these two that much,” she jokes as she drops her purse on the counter – in the same spot your tits were pressed against an hour earlier.

“’Course she did,” Steve answers for you, “Who wouldn’t miss us? Right, Javi?”

Javi chuckles, “Right. We’re pretty likeable, Connie.”

“Debatable,” you respond with a grin making Connie laugh, “Actually, I was pretty beat after being the only one doing work today and was home when Javi called to pick my brain about any leads. He mentioned he was babysitting so I figured I’d just come hang with him and the cutest baby in the world.”

The proud parents smile at your compliment of their precious daughter. Connie looks between you, “She wasn’t too much trouble, right?”

“Not at all,” Javi shakes his head.

Standing up as you get ready to leave, “She was so good,” you smile, “How was your date night?”

Steve grabs a beer from the fridge, popping it open against the counter’s edge where your hip bones were slightly bruised by Javi fucking you against it.

Connie smiles and sits down, “Really great. Really needed.”

“Glad you guys had a good time,” Javi nods, standing up too. Nodding, “You two really deserved it. Well, Connie more than you, Steve.”

Steve sips his beer, “Won’t argue with you on that.”

Javi purposefully walks past you to touch your hip as he passes, “Well Olivia’s been down for about an hour and a half. We’ll get out of here and let you guys enjoy the rest of your night.”

After more thank you’s from the married couple, you and Javi casually leave their apartment. Alone in the hallway, Javi slips his hand around yours, intertwining your fingers and leads the way downstairs with you.

With a promise to keep, he takes you straight to his apartment where you two will definitely be enjoying the rest of your night.

#go read the fic #worth the wait series

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