Ohhh I Love This So Much!!! Him Purposely Getting Lost

Ohhh I love this so much!!! Him purposely getting “lost” 🤣

flora and fauna

1.4k / pairing: javier peña x f!reader

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summary: "Nature never did betray the heart that loved her." – William Wordsworth warnings/information:  MA 18+ (minors DNI), smut, oral (f!receiving), nature exhibitionism??? use of petnames (angel, baby, sweetheart, etc.), swearing, reader is able-bodied and wears athletic clothing A/N: this if for the summer lovin' 2024 writing challenge hosted by @pedgito @chaotic-mystery and @amanitacowboy! thank you for having such a fun challenge to start off the summer right! and thank you for letting me join and post a lil late <3 banners made by @saradika-graphics!

It’s Javi’s fault, really. He was the one who decided to disregard the hiking trails and reroute your course. 

He’d never admit that he was wandering.

“You’re lost, aren’t you?” 

He huffs loudly and plants his hands on his hips, brand new hiking boots coming to a halt on the desire path he was determined to follow. 

“Lost is a bit of an exaggeration. We’re exploring.” 

“We’re lost.” 

You yank the folded-up map of the state park out of his hands. The sight of random splatters of green and blue alone is enough to make Javier groan. 

“Point to where we are. Please. Just for my sanity.” 

Javier slowly pushes the aviators he’s wearing to the tip of his nose, looking between you and the map. Both sets of eyes scan across the map before Javi yanks it loose from your fingers. He does the worst thing imaginable and rotates the map a few times, not even sure which easy is up. 

“Come on, we’ll come across somethin’ we recognize.” He folds up the map and stuffs it in his pocket, taking your hand and exploring further through the landscape of trees. 

You follow the sounds of a beautiful stream, where the wildlife drink and the plants are vibrantly green. Javi kneels and splashes some water on his forehead and the back of his neck. Skimming your fingers along the top, you watch as the pretty ripples dance. 

Soon, getting lost was no longer frightening; it had become a blessing in disguise. Both you and Javi worked demanding careers, and stress relief for the two of you had become reduced to drinks at the local cantina or nights in watching the television. 

But this—a day out in nature, with the sun soaking into your skin and reviving something within both of you—was perhaps just what you needed.

By the late afternoon, Javi has you secluded in a wildflower field. You lay on your back, sat up on your elbows as you tip your head back and take in the sweet summer sun. Surrounded by butterfly weed and yellow coneflowers, it seems almost mystical as happy pollinators buzz around you and enjoy the sweet nectar the field offers. 

Javi’s lingering eyes have landed on his own source of nectar. 

“If we’re lost,” he starts, eyes lusting over as he takes in the sight of your skin below your hiking shorts and smirks, “then we can do whatever we want.” 

No- was he seriously suggesting this?

“Right now?” You whisper. 

You can’t deny the thought doesn’t make your stomach flutter with excitement. Doing it out here surrounded by the flora and fauna. 

Javi sits up beside you, his hand already skirting up the top of your warm thigh. Air is taken from your lungs, and you find yourself holding it, in awe of what he might do when no one is around. 

“This okay?” His gravely voice whispers. You purse your lips and look around, but there seems to be nothing more than literal birds and bees spying on you. 

With your shy nod of approval, Javi slowly peels down your brightly colored shorts and panties, allowing you to kick them off once around your ankles. 

Javi takes in your sweet skin and mutters something approvingly, your pretty pussy on display just for him - even out in the open like this. 

His fingers tentatively squish into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, pushing them apart wider to allow him more access. He sinks to lay on his stomach, fingers brushing along a path that trails with goosebumps.

A weak sigh leaves your parted lips as Javi spreads your folds with his index and middle finger, in awe of the arousal that’s already starting to flood your core. 

“I think you like doin’ it out in the open, princess,” his eyes meet your more desperate ones, teeth nibbling on your lower lip with anticipation. 

“What do good girls say?”

You extend your hand and run your fingers through his dark hair, allowing a shaky breath to leave you as sweat grows tacky on the back of your neck and the hinge of your legs. 

“Please, Javi, I want you.”

With a degrading smirk, he tuts almost disapprovingly. “So naughty. Want me anywhere I can have ya, huh?”

You nod feverishly, and that’s enough to get him to continue. 

He presses a pretty kiss against your pearl, feeling her twitch under even the lightest of his touches. Javi leans in once more and presses a longer, sloppier one on your pussy, sucking ever so lightly that has heat simmering across your skin. A long whine leaves the depth of your throat, your fingers weaving through Javi’s locks as you keep him close. 

He darkly chuckles and knows that your sense of patience is waning thin. 

“You want me to eat this pussy, angel?”

“Fuck,” you huff, “please, Javi, I’ve been good.” 

“You have, baby, you have.” He mutters and moves in closer. 

Javi doesn’t so much as eat you out as he does makeout with your cunt, holding your hand by his head and feeling the squeezes of what makes you feel good. 

He slowly lets go of your hand and nudges the tip of his finger against your entrance. You’re begging at this point for the heavenly stretch, nodding your head almost anxiously. 

He doesn’t start with just one; he knows you can take two. Your back arches with a gasp that enters the open field, and you instinctively put your hand over your mouth. 

“Come on, baby, I wanna hear you be loud for me. No one’s gonna hear you but me.”

It’s difficult to pull your hand away, but once you do, Javi continues to push two of his thick fingers inside your entrance.

The burn is insatiable, causing your stomach to clench with excitement. 

“Please,” you moan out into the grass, clutching the soil and flowers between your fist with need. 

He starts a steady pace, but soon, it’s picking up enough to make you moan his name repeatedly. 

You were free out here, with every other creature that was free and happily existing. This feels like a dream, one where your lover would take you in such a beautiful place. 

Javi is quick to bring you down to Earth, his fingers curling inside you and leaving you breathless as heat spills down your spine. He suckles your clit before returning to fluid circles that massage your throbbing clit, losing your breath with how good he’s eating you out. 

“M’close,” you whisper, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down your temple. When your open your eyes, you see the most ravenous thing you’ve ever seen; Javi’s pink tongue extended and flicking against your clit, his dark eyes lusted over, and his fingers making your pussy squirt amongst the wildflowers. 

“Fuck!” You whine, your legs shaking as your orgasm crashes against you, the knots in your stomach finally plucking loose. Your lungs fill with air as you cry out his name, Javi not stopping as he eagerly laps up your release. 

He grunts against your core, moaning lowly and watching in awe as his eyes roll into the back of his head. 

Your bleary eyes see Javi rut his hips against the ground, his fist at your hip clutching nothing but the roots of grass that he had ripped from the ground. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, pulling off your core and seeing his face smothered in your arousal, “Taste so fucking sweet on my tongue, baby.” 

The world soon begins to form around you, but not until Javi puts your panties and athletic shorts back into place, a shy grin on your face as you glance around out of habit, seeing only nature watching. 

Javi licks his lips and uses his forearm to wipe away any other lacquer, smirking as his eyes roam over your body. 

“We should really start finding our way back.” You trail off, attempting to find your balance as you wipe away the dirt on the back of your legs and hands. 

Javi playfully laughs and shakes his head, following you to stand. “We’re not lost. We’re like a mile from the car. I’ve been wantin’ to take you here for a while.”

You stop in your tracks, dumbfounded, glancing around a bit confused. 

“We’re not lost?” You try not to be shrill, but you’re quick to smack his pec with the back of your hand. 

“You think I would get us lost? Please.” He says jokingly, taking your hand and escorting you out of your perfect fantasy. 

Through the trail of trees and following the stream upwards as the sun melts against the horizon, it’s enough to make you wish you sort of did grow lost. Because maybe you both could stay like that forever. 

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Woohoo! I have been craving ice cream like crazy lately!!!

Who feels like a weekend activity?

It's hot outside, and you know what would help? Ice cream!

And you know what's even better than ice cream?

AN ICE CREAM SOCIAL! And this is your invitation!

How It Works: Send a scoop of ice cream or a topping to 10 inboxes (or more). You can choose a flavor that you think that blogger would enjoy or a topping that reminds you of them, or just a favorite of your own! You may send it simply as a message or even as a photo, a graphic, or a drawing - follow your heart!

With each ask, include an ice-cream-themed question for extra fun - if you need ideas, there are a few options down below. And here is the link to our Ranks page so you can find friendly faces to socialize with - Scouts are always up for shenanigans!

The Ice Cream Social will run today through Sunday. On Monday, everyone can build their sundaes with all the scoops and toppings they've received and share them on their blogs (if you want! You know we don't like a lot of rules here!). And I'll post the Ice Cream Socializer badge for you to claim!

(Not a Scout but still want to play? AMAZING! Just reblog this post and let us know in the tags that you'd like to ice cream socialize, too!)

Questions:

Which Pedro boy would you want to share a sundae with?

If you were going to name a flavor after your favorite Pedro character, what would you call it?

Hot fudge or caramel sauce?

Which character always gets a double scoop?

How many toppings are too many on a sundae?

Cone or cup?

Root beer floats: yes or no?

Which Pedro boy is the messiest ice-cream eater?

For real though! Thank you for reblogging ❤️

Some Broken Hearts Never Mend

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!actress reader

Warnings: Language, mentions of drugs, pregnancy, lovers to enemies, angst angst angst

A/N: Huge thank you to @noxturnalpascal and @beefrobeefcal for helping me with this! ❤️ I don’t usually do angst but trying to play around with it and I needed the practice. This is for @tightjeansjavi's June Writing Challenge. Also tagging @jay-zzle because she is my permanent cheerleader

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divider by: @saradika-graphics

The lights are flashing everywhere, hearing your name and Dieter’s being shouted left and right. Where to look, what to do, you love sharing this moment with him, watching his smile beam as the congratulations are being shouted out.

“I can’t believe this is real,” Dieter whispers in your ear with a smile, rubbing the bump of your belly.

Paparazzi is shouting out excitedly, seeing you two together along with your prominent bump on display. You both kept this news under wraps until you couldn’t hide it anymore. It’s too hot in the summer to try wearing the oversized hoodies you’d been wearing all spring. It was decided between both of your teams that the best thing for an announcement was to show up to Dieter’s premier with a dress that would show off your bump, letting the world know that Dieter Bravo was about to take on the most important role of his life - a family man.

“Dieter! Dieter over here!” You see Adam from Entertainment Tonight waving you both down.

You nudge Dieter, motioning towards the host, and make your way over for the first interview of the night.

“Hey guys! I’m just so excited to see you two! Wow,” Adam says your name, “You look absolutely glowing. Is there maybe a reason why?” he teases.

“Well, I don’t know,” you laugh, shrugging your shoulders, “Babe?”

“Hmm…” Dieter says, rubbing your bump, “I think because you’re having my baby?”

“I can’t believe it! First, you get this man sober, and now,” Adam says with an amusing smirk, “You’ve gotten him to have a baby with you?”

“She’s a witch!” Dieter exclaims with a massive grin, “I swear. She put me under some sort of spell!”

The interview went on for a little longer, delving into Dieter’s role and how he prepared for the movie. Interview after interview, the baby was brought up.

What are you hoping for? Boy or girl? Healthy.

Have you thought of any names? Yes, but not sure yet.

Do you know what the sex is? We want it to be a surprise.

The same questions were asked repeatedly until it was time to go inside the theater.

—

“Hey babe, I’m gonna be going out, hanging with some friends,” Dieter says, waltzing into the living room with his phone and keys. You pause the TV, scooting to the edge of the couch. “You don’t need to get up.”

“What friends?” You ask concern etched on your face. It always makes you nervous when he is going to hang out with friends solo. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Dieter, it was just that he’s had his fair share of relapses.

“Sam, Claudia, and Percy.”

You make a disgusted face as soon as Percy’s name is mentioned. Sam and Claudia, you trust. Percy, you do not.

“Babe,” Dieter starts, “I know you don’t like the guy but he just got out of rehab. No drugs will be around, everything will be just fine!”

“He just got out of rehab that was court-mandated, Dieter,” you seeth, “You really think he took that shit seriously?!”

“Baby,” Dieter sighs, placing a hand on your stomach, “You gotta watch your blood pressure. Not good for Peanut.”

Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.

This has become your mantra lately, the doctor was getting worried about your blood pressure and stress levels. He had said that it could cause early labor. Six months along, and you needed to start paying more attention to this stuff. The last thing you want is for Peanut to come before they’re ready.

“I just don’t trust him,” you explain, “The last time you hung out with him you relapsed and went down a rabbit hole.”

“I know,” he said, head dropping, “I’m sorry. I really am, but I promise it won’t happen again. There’s not supposed to be any hard drugs, maybe some weed but that’s it.”

“Fine,” you groan, “I mean it though Dieter, you can’t have any more slip ups. Gotta think about Peanut.”

“I’m always thinking about you and Peanut,” Dieter grins, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. “I’ll behave and be home before ten.”

Dieter wasn’t home before ten, or eleven, or twelve. It was nearing two in the morning when you finally heard the front door open. Sliding your feet into your slippers and grabbing his tattered green robe to wrap yourself in, you made your way to the living room.

“Fuck,” you hear Dieter say sniffling, “What the fuck did I do?”

“Babe?” You ask, coming into the living room, Dieter slumped on the couch, “Everything okay?”

“I fucked up,” he whispers, pushing his hands against his eyes, “I promised yo-,” he chokes on a sob, “I promised you I wouldn’t and I fucked up.”

“Dieter,” you sigh, approaching the couch to sit next to him, “Look at me.”

He shakes his head, looking down at his lap, fingers twitching against his face. He looks so helpless like this. You grab his hands, and pull them into your lap.

“Babe,” you try again, “Look at me,” reaching your hand to cup his cheek, forcing him to look at you. Watery bloodshot eyes stare back at you.

“I’m so sorry,” Dieter whispers, closing his eyes, a lone tear running down his cheek, “I should’ve listened to you.”

He tells you what happened. You nod in understanding, this was just a slip-up, you can forgive him yet again. You know it was just a bad judgment call to go out tonight. He will get through this just like he has every other time.

—

“Looks like you’re doing well, baby is right on track and appears to be growing as they should,” the doctor says, looking at your chart, “Only about two more months to go and then we can start looking to induce you. I want to see you in two weeks.”

You give a small smile and nod, rubbing your bump, slinging your purse over your shoulder, willing the phone inside to buzz as you make your way to the receptionist’s desk, making small talk with her and getting your next appointment set. You thank her as you take the appointment card, sliding it into your purse as you walk out the door.

Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.

Dieter’s been missing, three weeks to the day now, and no one can find him. His management team and assistant have been on a hunt trying to find him but of course, Dieter has gone off the grid. Last you knew paparazzi had gotten pictures of him somewhere in Europe, but that was last week. His PR team and your own told you not to look at the pictures but you couldn’t not see them when a pregnancy craving hit and you got ice cream late one night.

Dieter Bravo, Trouble in Paradise?

Sources close to the actor state he’s not ready to be a father and ran from his relationship to [redacted], fellow actress who is pregnant with Bravo’s first child.

The small article included pictures of Dieter exiting a club with one arm around a blonde woman’s shoulders and the other arm around a brunette man’s waist. The three of them were walking down the sidewalk. The final pictures in the article showed Dieter kissing both of them.

Stars has tried to reach out to each of the couple’s publicists for comment with no response at this time.

You felt your heart breaking in the middle of the checkout line. He was the one to bring up having a baby. He was the one to convince you to get pregnant. He was the one who time and time again reassured you this is what he wanted and only wanted it with you. 

You felt so stupid, like a poor pathetic girl, when everyone had warned you about him. They’d all told you so many times. Dieter Bravo is a mess. Dieter Bravo can’t be tamed. Dieter Bravo isn’t  meant for relationships. As it turns out, they were all right, and you’d just ignored every warning given to you.. Dieter had kept using after the last slip-up. What was an accident became once a week, then three times a week, and then turned to daily use. Slowly but surely you were giving up, giving up on the one person who you trusted the most.

He made you feel loved, cherished, and special. He always made you feel like no one else could compare to you or your love for each other. Now though, he makes you feel like a fool. He makes you feel like the dirt underneath his shoes. He makes you feel like… like, like—

Your thoughts are interrupted by the buzzing in your purse. The number wasn’t one you recognize but you answered anyway in hopes it was Dieter.

“Hello?”

“Baby,” Dieter’s voice sounds through the phone, “I wanna come home.”

“Dieter?” you ask, “Where are you?”

“I’m at an airport in Paris,” he says sniffling, “I wanna come home.”

“Come home, please,” you beg, “Just come home.”

—

Dieter came home the following day, detox in full swing. He was shaky, sweaty, and puking, and you were staying by his side the entire time. Doubt begins to crawl into your brain, this being the fourth or fifth time you’ve helped him through detox. Is this going to be how your life plays out? Private doctors, in and out of your home like a revolving door. Make sure he’s comfortable, providing you with the necessary instructions to get Dieter through this so he doesn’t have to go to a facility again.

“I think he should consider going to rehab again,” Mark, his manager, says.

“Mark, I don’t know what else to do,” you sigh, shaking your head back and forth. “He doesn’t want to go. He told me every single hiding spot he has here at home and I went through all of them and flushed everything.”

“Just think about it, think about your baby and your own health,” Mark says firmly, “I’ve worked for Dieter for many years and this isn’t going to be the last time this happens.”

“I know,” you whisper, tears threatening to spill over, accepting defeat. You hadn’t meant to fall in this deep with Dieter if you’re being honest with yourself. It was supposed to just be a summer fling but as time went on he squirmed his way deeper and deeper into your heart, making room for himself to curl up inside, and making himself a nice little home there. It was becoming too much to handle, the stress weighing you down more as the days passed by.

If anything was going to prepare you for a newborn it might as well be this. Dieter shouts for you from the guest room in the middle of the night, waddling through the doorway you see him sprawled out on the bed. A thin sheen of sweat covers his chest, turning on the bedside lamp he winces.

“Baby,” Dieter groans, reaching out for you, sitting on the bed you give him your hand, “I love you. I love you more than anything in this world.”

“I know, D,” you murmur, the tears already threatening your waterline as he grasps your hand like it’s his only lifeline, “I know.”

“Hey,” he says perking up some, “Once I’m through with this we should go on vacation somewhere!”

“D we can’t,” you sniffle, rubbing the hand he isn’t holding onto against your nose.

“Why not?”

“Peanut,” you say, giving him a small smile.

“We’ll just take Peanut with us,” he smiles, moving one of his hands to rest on your stomach.

“That’s not really how it works, D,” you groan, “We can’t just up and leave whenever we want to. Not with Peanut.”

“Fine,” Dieter says firmly nodding, jaw going rigid, “Guess it doesn’t matter what I want to do then.”

“No,” you whisper, “It doesn’t.”

For the first time in your entire relationship, Dieter looks angry. He lets go of your hand and rolls over, his back facing you.

“Dieter,” you say softly, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Would you consider going back to rehab?”

Dieter doesn’t respond. When you repeat yourself he just grunts and shoves your hand off his shoulder.

Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.

The next morning when you wake, he’s gone again. A note with his chicken scratch left on his bedside table.

You’re right. Checking into White Oak again. Things will get better. I promise ❤️

Love, D

—

It took four days. Four days for Dieter to check himself out of rehab and go missing again.

“I can’t fucking do this anymore!” You wail into the phone, leaving yet another voicemail on Dieter’s brand new phone, “Dieter, I need you to come home. Please. If not for me then for Peanut.”

“Fuck!” You shout, throwing your phone across the room, and beginning to pace back and forth. There is nothing you can do besides wait. Wait and hope that Dieter’s not lying in a ditch somewhere. You can feel your heart breaking into a million pieces.

You reach down, trying with all your might to grab your phone and then you feel it. A sharp pain in your groin and liquid rushing down your legs.

“Ahh!” You groan out, the pain sending you to your knees, reaching for your phone and dialing 911, waiting to be put through to a dispatcher, “No, no, no. This can’t be happening. It’s not time yet, it’s not time,” you clutch your stomach, telling the dispatcher you need an ambulance and your address.

Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.

While you lay on the floor waiting for an ambulance to arrive the only thing you can think of is Dieter and how he should be here. You pick up your phone one more time and try calling him again.

“Hey, it’s Bravo, can’t come to the phone right now but you know what to do after the beep.” Beep.

“Dieter, I’m going into labor. An ambulance is on the way. I need you, please,” you continue through tears, “I’m so scared and I need you. Please come back. Please.”

—

It’s almost been a month since you’ve been home from the hospital. Dieter still hasn’t shown back up, has yet to meet his beautiful baby in person. You started seeing a therapist to help you process everything you’ve been through with Dieter. Looking over at Peanut sleeping peacefully in the bassinet beside your bed, you can’t help thinking about how it’s so unfair to this little baby to have a father who would choose drugs over them, but there’s nothing you can do besides be the best parent you can for Peanut. 

It startles you to hear a crashing sound coming from the kitchen. Slowly making your way out of bed to grab the baseball bat from the closet, you glance over at Peanut one more time before leaving the bedroom to see who dared disturb your peace.

“God damn it,” you hear Dieter groan, “I could’ve sworn I had some in here.”

You try to calm your heart rate, peering around the doorway to see Dieter rummaging through a kitchen drawer. He’s finally shown up. Not for you, not for his baby, but only to try and find drugs. He’s literally only here for the damn drugs. Your therapist had warned you about this moment.

Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.

“Where the fuck is it?!” Dieter hisses, still not noticing you in the doorway, flipping on the lights.

“Gone,” you state firmly, setting the bat against the wall, and crossing your arms, “I flushed everything.”

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Dieter shrieks, facing you in the doorway but barely focusing on you. “You had no right to do that!”

“I did it because you asked me to when you were detoxing the last time.”

“I never said anything like that,” he seethes, stalking towards you, pointing a finger in your face, “I would never ask you to flush my shit.”

“Dieter, where have you been?” you ask, noting his blown-out pupils, and the wild look in his eyes. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Needed some space,” Dieter scoffs shrugging, “It’s not that big of a fucking deal.”

“Peanut.”

“The fuck?” Dieter asks, looking at you with malice in his eyes.

“Peanut,” you grit through your teeth, pointing down the hall, “You fucking promised me, Dieter. You promised.”

“Oh get off your high horse,” Dieter yells, “Don’t hold that against me when you baby trapped my ass!”

“I- what?” you say through gritted teeth, “You wanted this just as much as I did! It takes two to make a baby!”

“Fuck that!” Dieter laughs maniacally, “I never wanted to be a fucking dad!”

“D, you don’t mean that,” you say, shaking your head, tears brimming your eyes, “That’s the coke talking. You haven’t even seen Peanut, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I’m Dieter-fucking-Bravo, baby!” He shouts, throwing his arms up into the air, “I’m not gonna be held down by some relationship and a baby at home!”

“Fuck you,” you point to the door, face serious. “Get out of this house.”

“My fucking pleasure!” Dieter roars, walking out of the kitchen and slamming the front door.

—

Five years later.

Dieter was flipping through the channels, trying to find something interesting to watch on tv. His high was still lingering, not quite sober but not quite as high as that first hit. The ET channel starts blaring your name, with a picture of you, Peanut, and some guy.

“Looks like there’s an engagement in town,” the host says with a smile, “Looks like she’s got herself a type, but who is this mystery man? It’s rumored they met when he was doing some remodeling work on her house two years ago.”

“That girl’s been through enough!” The other host announces, “Bout time she gets her happy-ever-after!”

Wait, what? No, you’re his. His love, his fairy-tale ending, his forever. Dieter’s world is twisting sideways, Peanut is the spitting image of him. His baby, his baby he has never even met.

“No, no, no,” Dieter groans, picking up his phone to try and call you, the phone goes straight to voicemail. He tries calling your publicist next, again straight to voicemail. Next, he tries your manager, with the same results, over and over again until giving up and calling the one person he can trust.

“Mark,” Dieter cries into the receiver, “Please tell me it’s not true.”

“Dieter,” Mark grunts, “It’s three in the morning, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Is she really getting married?”

“Dieter,” Mark let out an exasperated sigh.

“I need to go back to rehab,” Dieter announces, “If I get clean and do all the steps she’ll have to take me back right?”

“Dieter,” Mark says firmly, “That’s not how it works. Let her go. She’s had to change her number fifteen different times now because you somehow keep getting it. Her entire team has your number blocked.”

“She’s the love of my life, Mark,” he whines, “I can’t just let her go. Starting tomorrow, I’m sober.”

Dieter begins cutting ties with most of his friends or really it was more cutting the people off who encouraged him to use. He went through the detox, he went through the steps as best as he could. He wants to impress you, he wants to get you back, get his kid back, fuck this guy who swooped in while he was away.

---

He’s six months sober. He hadn’t been sober for this long since before Peanut was born. Dieter found out from a friend of a friend’s friend where exactly you were living for the right price, Hollywood would never change. He makes the drive to your house, flowers in the passenger seat for you, and a teddy bear for Peanut. He’s ready to grovel at your feet if that’s what it will take. Pulling up to the curb he sees a nice suburban home. It’s nothing like what you two had shared, no ornate bushes out in the front yard, no massive gate surrounding the house keeping you caged in, kids freely playing in the neighboring yards. The front door opens and he feels like he’s been sucker punched. You’re standing there, staring daggers at him. He watches you leave the doorway, and as you walk towards his car he can’t help but think you look just as beautiful as the first day he met you.

He opens the car door, grabs the flowers and teddy bear, and gets out.

“Stop right there,” you state firmly, shoulders back and head held high, “What the fuck are you doing here Dieter?”

“I’m sober,” he says, “I thought- I thought maybe I could come and try to talk to y-”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You laugh, but not the soft laugh that fills him with so much light like Dieter remembers, this laugh doesn’t bring him comfort, it only brings him a sense of loss.

“I haven’t used in six months now, I’m trying to change, I really am,” he sighs, “I know I fucked up, I know I’ve been gone but I can’t think of you marrying someone else. I can’t”

“You’ve been gone?” You ask, shaking your head, “You were more than gone, it’s been five years. What did you think was going to happen Dieter? That I would still be in that house, taking care of our baby all on my own just waiting on you to come to your senses? Don’t act like you were just gone on a business trip, it’s been five damn years!”

“No, that’s-” he starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, “That’s now how I meant it.”

“Then how did you mean it?”

“I haven’t been good in a long time. The last time things were good was when I was with you.”

“And?” you ask, gritting your teeth together, “What does that have to do with anything? You left Dieter. You left me. Alone, pregnant, I almost lost Peanut because of you.”

He hates this, he never thought he’d see a side of you like this. Angry, mean, spiteful. You were always forgiving, tender, and always cared about his feelings. What happened?

“What happened to you?” Dieter asks, shaking his head, “When we were together you were never like this. You’re being so hateful.”

“What happened to me?” You shout, “Dieter, you! You happened to me!”

“Babe,” Dieter looks past you to the man at the door, “Everythin’ a’right?”

“Yeah, Joel,” you say giving the man a warm smile, the smile that was once for Dieter, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Daddy look at this!” Dieter hears a kid shout, and the man named Joel responds to the kid’s voice with a “Comin’ kiddo!”

“Is that-” Dieter swallows, feeling his mouth go dry, “Was that Peanut?”

“Yes,” you reply coldly.

“That’s not Peanut’s dad. I’m Peanut’s dad!”

“You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you never showed up for the birth,” you say stepping closer to him, “You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you decided to break into our home to look for drugs when they were a month old,” pushing against his chest, flowers and teddy bear falling to the ground, “You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you fucked off for the past five years. Don’t you ever call yourself Peanut’s dad, got it?”

“Biologically I am Peanut’s dad,” Dieter protests.

“You may be the sperm donor but that makes you just about as much of a parent as a toilet seat does,” you spit out, turning and storming off.

Dieter watches you walk away back to your home, his heart heavy with regret. You were the last reason he had to get sober and get healthy and you didn’t want him. He ruined it. 

He turns around placing his hands on top of his car, closing his eyes as his head fills with dark and sad thoughts when he hears a small voice say, “Momma, why was the man you have a picture of in your bedside table here? And why’s he look so sad?”

Dieter’s head perks up and a hopeful grin spreads across his face.

AHHH!!!!!! Holy fuck did not see that coming at all. GIVE ME MURDER DADDY!

🥵🥵🥵

Kryptonite | Dave York x Reader | One Shot

Rating: EXPLICIT/Mature

Summary: Running into Dave York changes your life and unleashes a new part of yourself.

Inspired by Kryptonite by 3 Doors Down

Tags: dark!Dave York, infidelity, Germany, song fic

Warnings: infidelity, violence and descriptions of violence, death (not Dave or reader), descriptions of blood, murder, self defense, explicit smut (p in v), oral sex (both m & f receiving), heavy groping, choking, smacking/hitting in a sexual manner, knife play, power dynamics, use of “daddy” in a sexual manner (minimal), consensual sex, possible dub con, cream pie

Notes: I wrote this one for the LOML @janaispunk for Christmas 🫶, though you won’t find it filled with Christmas festivities! Huge shout out to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for listening to my ideas, reading through it, and being an overall huge encourager!

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PAY EXTRA ATTENTION TO WARNINGS ON THIS ONE

Words: 7160

THIS STORY CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT AND DARK THEMES. IT IS NOT INTENDED FOR THOSE UNDER 18 YEARS OF AGE. MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT

“I took a walk around the world to ease my troubled mind.”

Dave York isn’t a bad guy. If one were to give him a chance, he would explain how he’s actually one of the good guys. He’s simply standing up for those who have been wronged by the fucked up system that abandoned the ones who do the dirty work. It’s all conjecture. How he rationalizes it all away. How he lets himself sleep at night, and go home to his wife and beautiful daughters. He does this for them. He isn’t a bad guy.

Yet, even he starts to see through his bullshit. He won’t admit it, but it’s getting harder to sleep at night. Tonight is one of those nights. That’s how he finds himself wandering the streets of a German city he can’t remember the name of.

The air is just verging on chilly, the breeze whipping at his typically well-kempt hair. He usually keeps to the shadows when he’s managing his side business, worried about being picked up on a camera, but it’s late now. He keeps out of the street lights, the stars shielded by the light pollution.

He inhales deeply. This time tomorrow he’ll be on a flight back to the States and slide into bed next to his wife. He’ll wake up, make lunch for the girls, and take them to school. The perfect all-American family. Dave loves them. His girls are his world. He is doing this for them. Every smile and giggle makes this all worth it. Alice and Molly deserve the world. Sometimes, he wonders if his wife knows. Carol hasn’t said anything, but sometimes he catches her just staring at him. Logic says she just loves him. How many times early on in their life together had he done the same thing? How long has it been since he looked at her with that awe?

If he’s honest, Dave doesn’t give his marriage much thought anymore. It’s something that’s just there like two planets orbiting each other but never intersecting. It’s something that’s just part of the persona of Dave York. The version of him his friends and family know. He is starting to wonder if that man still exists. He’s found himself feeling freer during his “work trips” than he does at home.

If it weren’t for his girls…

Dave can’t finish the thought as he collides with a woman in a blue dress and billowing feather boas wrapped around her neck. You.

“Oh shit!” Dave’s hands shoot out, steadying your form, one on each shoulder.

You let out a soft snort quickly covering it with a giggle. “Oh my god.” You try to sober but fail before another giggle takes over. You buzz with the carefree energy of someone a couple drinks into the evening but not wasted.

Any words forming in Dave’s head die there. Your eyes sparkle with mischief. Your smile leaves him stunned. He’s seen his fair share of women even as a married man, but never crossed the boundary of infidelity. Dave doesn’t label what is about to happen as infidelity because right now he isn’t Dave York from Arlington, Virginia, father to two and husband. Right now, he’s Dave York private gun for hire, or Patrick Smith born in Pennsylvania if you looked at his passport.

“I’m sorry,” you say. Dave’s hands don’t move from your shoulders. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Dave flashes a smile, the same one he used to pick up Carol years ago, but she’s the furthest thing from his mind right now. “I should be more aware of my surroundings. Especially with such a beautiful woman about.”

Your cheeks flush with heat. He has a sneaking suspicion that it’s not from the alcohol in your system. Dave has never been above sweet-talking to get his way during his time with the agency. “You’re American.”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Dave winks. You laugh. Dave swears he could listen to that sound every day if given the chance. “But are you with anyone? It’s late. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you out here all alone.”

You tilt your head to the side, life glowing in your eyes. Whether you’re always like this or it’s all alcohol-induced, Dave doesn’t know, but he wants to find out. He needs to know.

“And I’m supposed to trust you, Mr. America.”

He chuckles, looking up at the sky for a moment before bringing his gaze back to you. He can’t stop taking you in. You feel like a breath of fresh air in his stifling life. He smiles, the first time he’s felt fully himself in possibly years. “My name is Dave.”

You glance between his hand and his face, sussing out if he is trustworthy. He seems so, comes across as genuine. He’s a bit older than you, but handsome nonetheless with big brown eyes and the sincerity of a well-raised child.

You inhale deeply, choosing to be a little wreckless for once and jump head first into something. What’s the worst that could happen? You take his hand.

“I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon.”

It’s probably a stupid choice, but Dave gives you his number. His real number. He doesn't have enough time to see you again before he leaves Germany and he isn’t ready to let this go yet. He escorts you safely to your apartment, chatting idly over the 10-minute walk and the 30 minutes you spend on the front stoop. As he goes to leave, you stand on tiptoes, pressing your lips against his. In return, he pushes you against the front door, hands roaming up your sternum. You giggle at him like a smitten schoolgirl and hand him your phone.

Dave has a second number. He could’ve given you that one. He probably should have, but he wants easier access. He risks it. Dave is not a careless man, but he leans into the easiness of it in the moment. He kisses you again before leaving, much more chastely this time. He promises to see you next time he’s in town. He tells you he does business in Germany often. It won’t be long.

His veins buzzed with electricity the whole walk back to his apartment, his body alive in a way that feels almost supernatural. As he crosses the threshold, his phone pings with a text from an unknown number. Dave knows who it is before he looks at the text.

Over the next two weeks, Dave finds himself instantly reaching for his phone with each ping. The time difference is a pain in the ass but sometimes works in Dave’s favor. Like when Carol is sound asleep and you’re wide awake across the sea.

When the call comes through from a contact that they’re ready to move in on a target in Germany, Dave almost jumps up in celebration. He’s never hit the tarmac with his bags packed so fast. He tacks on a couple extra days to visit you.

Those extra days can’t come soon enough. He always prides himself on his ability to compartmentalize. He can tune out the rest of the world, get a job done with the precision of the assassin he is, and return to life as if nothing happened, but this time, he finds himself rushing through the process, eager to get to the finish line, eager to get to you.

However, when the night of the hit comes, he slips right into Dave York The Killer, cold, heartless, robotic. The crew is smaller this trip, the target not as high profile, but still a big payout. He forces himself to stay steady, forces himself not to speed through his progressions. The team doesn’t notice a difference in him. He takes that as a good sign. The target is asleep, alone, thank god.

Dave slides the knife into the victim’s chest. He’s lying if he says he doesn’t find a particular beauty in it. The firm pressure, the slice of the knife, the crimson blood. It’s always a rush, the planning, the practice, the kill, and Dave enjoys it all. This particular hit sends an extra rush of pleasure through his veins.

He takes the train to get to you, fighting the urge to show up on your doorstep in the wee hours of the morning. Dave York is not a patient man, but he somehow manages, pacing his hotel room still as he buzzes with the high of the night’s hit and the excitement of seeing you in the morning. You recommended meeting at a small cafe, but as Dave lays awake with the sun peeking through the curtains, he decides to surprise you at the apartment.

Dave has to force himself not to rush, which seems to be becoming a theme with him. He makes himself a cup of coffee in the hotel room and sits down drinking every drop until he can’t stand to wait any longer, leaving his hotel 30 minutes before he needs to.

Dave could’ve taken time to enjoy the city in daylight. He spends so much of his time in these destinations under the cover of darkness, missing the beauty, but he doesn't. He wants to believe he keeps to his training, keeping an eye out for someone following him and staying out of the view of cameras, but the truth is, he’s completely unaware of it all. His sole purpose is to get to you.

When your apartment building comes into view, he finally slows, aware of how early he is. Hell, he’s supposed to meet you there.

One of your curtains is open, giving him a faraway view into your apartment. Dave has fully accepted that he’s verging into creep territory, but he doesn’t care. It’s been two weeks since he’s laid eyes on you. That’s two weeks too long for him.

He holds his breath, waiting in anticipation for a glimpse of you, patience dwindling within a few minutes of waiting. The anticipation grows into anxiety. Did he come to the wrong building? That’s impossible. Dave never forgets places, even if he did, he would never forget yours. Are you home? Did you forget? He studies the window searching for any evidence of life. Has something happened to you? Oh god, has someone connected the two of you? Figured out his whole facade? He has half a mind to break down the door and go in guns blazing.

His phone pings. It’s the only thing that could break his concentration. Your name pops up, granting him instant relief.

See you in 20?

He smiles, glancing back up toward the window. You are okay. Everything is okay because Dave is a smart man. He knows how to cover his tracks, and you are a sacred treasure he wants to keep all to himself. He will hide you away, protect you from it all.

He catches the subtle flutter of the curtains. The world around him becomes nonexistent as his full attention is pulled toward the window. She moves into view, head whipping around as you search for a specific item. He smiles, all of the anxiety leaving his body.

Instead of responding via text, he hits the call button. The dial tone plays against his ear. She moves out of view, no doubt searching for her cell.

“Hello?”

A smile overtakes his face. Dave can’t remember the last time one did so effortlessly. “Look out your window, Darling.”

His voice sits low in his chest, sending shivers through your body. You pull back the curtain. Dave waves down below. “Are you stalking me now?”

“It’s not stalking if you showed me where you live.”

You bite back your smile, heat gathering in your cheeks. “We were supposed to meet there.”

“I couldn’t wait.”

“Give me two minutes.” You say and the line goes dead.

Dave watches you zip away from the window. The swinging of the curtains is the only indication you were ever there. His chest tightens as he waits. Dave York considers himself a patient man, but he checks his watch for the 5th time in two minutes.

Then your door swings open. You come barreling toward him, a smile plastered to your face. It’s contagious as Dave chuckles, spinning you around like an episode of The Bachelor. His lips are warm against your cheek. “I’ve missed you, darling.”

A shiver runs down your spine as your feet plant on the ground. Dave’s warm brown eyes meet yours. “How can you miss someone you’ve hardly seen?”

“How can someone not miss you?” He laughs, fingers weaving with yours.

“You lie, Dave.”

“I could never lie to you.” He winks.

Dave holds your hand all the way to the cafe. He pays for your meal. He’s engaging, charming, making conversation, desperate to know everything he can about you. You’ve never felt such intention from another person.

After the cafe, you walk through town, hand in hand in broad daylight. The conversation continues to flow as naturally as a river. Dave is captivated. There’s no other word for it. He wants you. He never wants to leave. He thinks he may need you for survival.

You steer your steps toward your apartment. There’s a time and a place for subtlety. Today is not that. Dave picks up on it, catching the dilation of your pupils, feeling the shift between you.

But when you make it to the door, Dave plays the gentleman, asking when he can see you again. You cut him off with a kiss, tongue quickly delving into his mouth. His large hands plant solidly on your hips. You pull him inside. Dave remains respectful, but commanding. You eagerly submit to him. He stays the night.

“After all I knew it had to be something to do with you.”

Dave is losing it. One might argue that’s a bad thing. He’s not so sure as his mind is overrun with flashes of you. He’s quick to check his phone each time it dings. He knows better than to assign you a specific tone, but he wants to, even knows which one he would choose.

His team is building quite the reputation in the gun for hire business. They’re turning down jobs, having to play the cautious game of balancing their time between murder and families. They can’t arouse suspicions. They take turns staying stateside, sending in different crews depending on the job and need. Dave accepts every job within a quick train ride of you. He goes on each one. Sometimes it’s just him. Those are the easiest. He doesn’t even need to tell the team. It makes it easy to slip in, add more red to his ledger, and run to you with his hands dripping, metaphorically of course.

He can never stay more than the weekend, usually no more than a night, but you take every moment. He’s a drug you crave, an addiction you can’t kick. In fact, you don’t want to. It doesn’t matter if you never get more than a stolen night here and there, you’ll take whatever you can get running your hands over his toned muscles, tracing the scars littered over his body, some new and red, some old and faded.

It gives him an air of danger that sends a rush through you each time, like there’s darkness embedded in each scar and it seeps into you. The feeling should unnerve you. It doesn’t.

You want to ask, but you bite your tongue. They seem almost glaring compared to the person you know. Dave is sweet and gentle. The most violence you’ve seen in him is the intense fly hunt you went on last weekend as it buzzed intently around the two of you on the couch. You wonder about the stories behind each nonetheless. He’ll tell you when he’s ready.

He leaves again. He always does with the promise of returning soon. He can’t give you a date. He never can. His phone rings as he walks out the door. You catch the flash of a couple on his screen and a woman’s name drops from his lips. He doesn’t know you see it. Carol.

“But still your secrets I will keep”

You’re drenched. Sweat gathers across your naked skin. Dave thrusts into your dripping pussy, cock soaked in your juices. Your moans marry together, echoing off the walls of your apartment at 2 o'clock on a Thursday afternoon.

You called out of work when he appeared on your doorstep without a warning. He seemed broody, crashing his lips onto yours with more force than you were used to, setting your body ablaze in a new way.

Dave’s hips snap into yours with greater force than usual, his grip a little tighter, but it doesn’t hurt. Not how you expect it to. You like it, this rough side, the way his large hand pins both your arms to the mattress. “You’re taking me so good, Darling. Like a good little girl.”

His words strike a chord within you. Your walls tighten around him. You’re close. You know it. He knows it. His fingers run through your sopping folds, flicking at your clit with skill and precision. Your back arches. You feel like you need to crawl out of your skin. “I’m almost there.”

“I know, baby.” He keeps pace, pushing you closer and closer.

The invisible line snaps as waves of pleasure roll over your body. Dave keeps going, so close to his own release. He’s relentless, prolonging your own orgasm.

“I want to finish inside you. Fill you up like a dirty little whore.” Your cunt clenches around him. You’re not sure why his words affect you the way they do, but you love it. He moans. “Please, Darling.”

“Yes,” You hiss, feeling as if your orgasm has started over. “Please, fill me up.”

“Fuck!” Dave thrusts into you. Once. Twice. And then he buries himself into you, filling you with every drop he has.

Once the high settles to a mild thrum and you’ve cleaned up, you sit on the bed, fresh sheets below you, watching Dave as he gathers his things off your dresser. The sex was different this time, good, mind altering.

Dave has yet to put a shirt on. There’s a scar along his back that disappears beneath the waistband on his jeans. You’ve seen it before. You know all his scars, and you’re gathering his secrets too.

“I hope that wasn’t too much,” Dave says, back still turned to you. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he turns to you, with worried eyes. You saw a piece of him today that no one has seen before. Of that, you have no doubt.

“No, I liked it.” A small smirk quirks your lips. “I wouldn’t be opposed to trying some new things.” Heat pools in your belly again. That same darkness flashes in Dave’s eyes. You want to pull it out and learn it.

He chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind for later.”

He pulls on his shirt, turning his phone back on. Your heart drops, popping the bubble. “You can’t stay.”

Dave sighs. You catch the guilt hanging off of him. “I’m sorry, Darling.”

“It’s okay…”

Dave bites his lip. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise. I-”

“I know you’re married.” It rolls off your lips without a second thought. You’re not sure where it comes from.

Dave’s face pales, tongue going dry as sandpaper. “Darling-”

“And I don’t care.”

The color fills his face again as he steps over to you. “How do you know?”

You shrug, laying back on the bed. “She called you when you were leaving last time. I did my research, Dave York.”

Dave isn’t sure what to think. In his line of work, it’s scary to know you found him on the internet. It’s a safety issue. If something ever happened to Molly and Alice… but he’s trusted you with much more than anyone else.

“You mean it? You don’t care?” He searches your eyes for any doubt, but finds none.

“You’re the one traveling across the ocean to see me. I also think you’re not just ‘working for the government’.”

There’s a deep growl low in his throat. He oozes evil like your favorite book to movie villain, sending shivers through your body. He cups your neck, using force to pull your lips to his. It’s hot and needy like he didn’t just spend the afternoon buried inside of you. His tongue shoves its way into your mouth, fighting with yours. He grabs your ass kneading it in his palms.

Then, he pulls away, voice gravely in your ear. “One of these days I’m going to tell you every single evil thing I’ve done, and you’re going to like it.”

You gasp, toes curling. He keeps eye contact with you, searching for any sign that you might reject him for it. You don’t ask. You don’t scoff. You believe him. You’ve seen the slivers of evil before, felt them. You’re beginning to wonder if they’ve seeped into you too.

Then he’s gone, disappearing like a ghost.

“I picked you up and put you back on solid ground.”

Adrenaline pumps through your veins. Your heart pounds in your ear. You can’t tell much in the dark, except there’s a man in your apartment, clad in black, and it’s not Dave.

You clutch the kitchen knife to your chest, thankful for Dave’s obsession with keeping things sharp. His boots are steady on your hardwood floors, leaving you to wonder if you’re safe huddled in the corner, or if you should sneak up behind him. Dave taught you to attack only if you are sure you can land a debilitating blow by surprise. You’re not a trained fighter. You’re not an assassin. You’re pretty sure Dave is.

Then, you see your chance. A small opportunity where you know you’ll be hidden in the darkness, not exposed by the open window. You know which floor boards to avoid.

You expect it to go by in a blur, but your mind feels clear. The exposed point on his neck calls to you like a beacon. The artery. He’ll bleed out before he knows what’s happening. Dave’s voice echoes in your head.

Your knife sinks into his neck, slicing skin and tissue like it’s softened butter. You pull the knife out, it drips with crimson blood. He tumbles forward, your lamp shattering into a million tiny pieces as he falls forward.

“You bitch!” He manages to his feet, blood spurting out of his neck. He tries to cover it with his hand, but he’s already losing color in his face. He stumbles toward you. You easily step out of his path, sinking the knife into his chest cavity. It’s more difficult, but you know when you hit his lung.

You watch him fall to the floor, air wheezing from him like a punctured balloon as he coughs and sputters. He’s trying to speak, but can’t. You cock your head to the side, watching it happen, watching the life drain from his eyes, listening to his final breaths. You did that. You took down a man bigger than yourself with two quick blows, without hesitation.

You can feel the thick, red blood dripping off your fingers, soaking into your clothes.Your chest heaves. The knife clatters to the floor. You turn your hands over. You should want this off of you, scratching at the skin to remove it. Instead, you just stare in awe.

Dave appears, heart racing as he takes in the scene. He was gone for only a few hours. A quick job in a neighboring town. “Darling?”

You don’t respond, still inspecting your coated hands. He puts a hand on your shoulder, desperate to know that you’re okay. You jump, eyes blow wide.

“What happened?”

“I don't know. I woke up and he was here… I just- I did what you taught me.”

Your eyes focus on him. He’s in weird clothes- tactical gear. He probably killed someone tonight too.

“Are you okay?”

Your eyes snap back down to your hands. Are you okay? You don’t remember getting hit or knocked over, just the steel blade sinking into flesh over and over and over.

“Darling, look at me!” His hand wraps around your neck and your back hits the wall.

Your eyes snap to him. Your heavy breaths mingle together in the deafening silence that coats your apartment. His eyes are dark. Darker than you ever remember seeing them. You think, maybe, there’s a hint of cruelty floating in them.

“You’re okay.” His eyes scan over you to assure himself as well. He reminds himself that blood is not yours.

Your eyes drift back toward the body. The body that used to house a person with a life and family and-

“Look at me.” Dave’s voice is commanding, forcing obedience. The other side of him is coming out. This is not the Dave you know. It’s the one you’ve caught glimpses of. The one he told you about. This Dave is a monster. A monster you should run from.

“You did nothing wrong. He would’ve killed you.” His hand presses into your neck again. “You did the right thing.”

You thought this moment would break you, losing your Dave, but this Dave is yours too. You thought the monster would scare you. It’s everything you’ve ever stood against, but you want the monster.

A thrill shoots through you, unlocking a deep urge. The world should be blurry, hazing like the TV shows when someone experiences a trauma, but it’s buzzing around you instead. Your senses feel heightened.

Dave says your name. You look up at him. Time stands still. He knows you know. It’s a question of if you will accept it. You shouldn’t. You’re too good for him. He shouldn’t tarnish you, but he catches that look. It’s everything he feels after a kill. The adrenaline rush, the buzz of life through your veins. Maybe he didn’t tarnish you. Maybe he unlocked something in you. Your bloodied hands tangle in his thick hair as he surges forward lips colliding with yours.

This is wrong, so wrong. Another man’s blood is literally on your hands as they tangle in Dave’s hair. You should be disgusted with yourself. This is wicked. You’ve run from the wickedness your entire life. Now you feel like you should have embraced it. He bites your lip, so hard there’s a metallic taste in your mouth. It only spurs you on. A familiar ache grows in your core. Your teeth nash against his, meeting each of his tortuous movements.

His hand squeezes your neck just enough to make your head go dizzy. You should hate this. You should despise this, but your cunt clenches again. “You like that don’t you?”

He loosens his hold, the blood rushing back quickly. It’s a new rush, crashing over the edges of your heightened senses. You feel as if every nerve ending in your body is on fire and you never want it to stop.

His rough voice presses to your ear as he caresses your exposed neck reminding you how fragile your own life is. “The little slut likes when I get rough.”

You whimper at his words, your underwear growing wetter with each passing second. His knee presses between your thigh, granting some tension to your aching core. You move your hips against it. “Not so fast, Darling.” He tightens his grip on your neck, pressing you further against the wall. “You think just because you killed him you’re in charge now?”

Another whimper falls from your lips. An involuntary tear seascapes the corner of your eyes, beginning its descent. Dave’s eyes flicker to it, head cocking to the side. His eyes look different- wild verging on insane. You should be scared, but it’s still Dave. You trust him. Then his tongue is against your cheek, wiping it away with a long, slow swipe. Your nipples pearl under your thin nightshirt.

He whispers in your ear. “I'm in charge. Do you understand?”

You nod.

“Good.”

He produces a knife out of thin air. It’s one you’ve seen before. He’s sharpened it at your kitchen counter. He brushes the tip along your collarbone. Your eyes track its every movement. It’s not enough to cut you, but enough that you can feel how sharp it is. Your heart thuds harder, but your hips move against his knee of their own accord.

He clicks his tongue, forcing the knife down in a single swift movement. You cry out, expecting to feel pain, only to find your chest exposed and your nightshirt torn down the middle. He hand gropes your breast, squeezing it like a stress ball. A gasp falls from your lips as his finger runs over your nipple.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

By your neck, he leads you in front of him to the bathroom. He kicks the door shut, pressing you against it. He produces the knife again, running it through your pajama shorts. The scraps fall to the floor, leaving you in the delicate lace pair of underwear you wore in anticipation of Dave’s arrival.

His tongue clicks appreciatively. The tip of the knife traces over the lace. You whimper, eyes falling closed. He falls to his knees.

“So pretty.” Dave presses his mouth to your clothes cunt. He works his tongue over the thin fabric, pulling it between his teeth. It’s just enough to tease and not enough to provide relief.

“Dave.” It comes out so hoarse you don’t recognize your own voice.

He grins up at you, pulling the knife through your underwear with a rehearsed flick of his wrist. They join your shorts on the floor. You’re bared to him while Dave is fully clothed.

You catch the blood in his hair, splattered on his clothes. It’s drying on your skin now. You know you should be repulsed by it, but the thought of what you did still makes you buzz to life.

“Stay right there.” He eases to his feet. “I mean it. Don’t move.”

He turns on the shower, pushing the hot water all the way. As steam starts to fill the room, Dave removes his clothing item by item. He’s not making a show of it per se, but he is commanding, concise. He pulls another knife from his belt and sets it on the counter. Your breath catches and he makes eye contact. A whisper of a smirk plays on his lips. “Standing so still for me, darling.” You squeeze your legs together, feeling the familiar squelching between your vaginal lips.

You eye the knife a moment longer, biting your lip. Something about it calls out your name. You’re not sure if you should grab it and find the nearest person to plunge it into or if you want Dave to use it with you, on you.

Dave catches the glimmer in your eyes as you eye it. A newfound excitement tugs in his belly. A whole new world is opening before him. One where he doesn’t have to hide all this shit from you, one where you might enjoy it too. You’re not shutting down after killing that man, his body cooling on your living room floor. You liked it. He likes it.

He kicks off his boots and socks. His pants follow. Your eyes travel over his body. The scars make sense now. You still don’t know what Dave does, but you know it’s bad. There’s a small band across his ankle that houses another knife. You should hate him for all of this, kick him to the curb. Instead, your cunt is soaking, and you’re not sure you’ve ever wanted him more.

He chuckles as you eye the knife on his ankle. It’s the only thing he wears other than his briefs now. His dick bulges, usually pulling your attention, put you can’t pull your eyes away from the knife.

Pulling off his underwear, Dave comes back over to you, pressing his body against yours. His teeth scrape over the veins of your neck and he bites down on your earlobe as his hand tangles in your hair.

You release a soft yell. You barely recognize the man in front of you, but it doesn’t matter.

He grips your thigh, hiking it over his hip, running his dick through your sopping cunt.

“You like my knives, Darling?”

You nod as pleasure plays like a movie across your body.

He gips your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Use your words.”

“Yes.” It barely comes out.

His brows raise in amusement. “Would you like me to use them?”

“You won’t hurt me.” You say it as a statement.

Flashes of his softer side show before he clamps them down. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Yes.” It’s almost a yell.

Without hesitation, he grabs the knife off the vanity, pressing it to your neck. “On your knees.”

You obey coming face to face with his hard cock. The knife stays against your delicate flesh.

“You know what to do, baby.”

Again, you obey, taking it into your mouth. The knife is cool against your neck, the only reminder it’s still there. You don’t know how it never pierces your flesh either by dumb luck or expert skill.

Dave’s hips thrust forward, almost triggering your gag reflex. Tears fall from your eyes. Curses sputter from Dave’s lips as he uses your mouth. “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You breathe from your nose, forcing yourself to nod.

“Shit!” Dave curses, pulling out of your mouth. “I’m going to paint that pretty pussy of yours.”

Your cunt clenches as a small moan tumbles from your lips. He chuckles, hand closing around your neck once more as he ushers you into the shower.

The water is hot, burning against your skin as if it might melt your skin off. Dave holds you under the water. Your breath catches as your body screams out. The water beneath you runs red as the blood washes from your skin.

Your back hits the cool tile wall granting relief from the scalding water. He lathers soap over the parts of your body still stained red, fingers occasionally brushing under your breasts, tweaking nipples.

“You’re so beautiful, darling. Even covered in blood.”

You whimper again, senses overloaded from the trauma, the rush, the teasing. “Dave, please.”

“Please what? You have to use your words, Doll.”

Your walls constrict again, desperate to be around something. Your arms and legs are heavy with need. He’s never used that term with you before. It should be degrading. It is, but it sets another wave of pleasure. You wonder if it’s possible to orgasm virtually untouched. If it is, you’re close.

“Fuck me.”

His tongue clicks as he floats around yours, almost taunting you. He grabs your boob, hard enough it should hurt. It does a little, but pleasure overrides the pain.

“Ask nicely, Doll.”

His finger trails over your collarbone traveling between your breasts and down across your hip. Your thighs squeeze. His palm slips around as he grabs the back of your thigh, kneading it.

“I said.” His words come out like a punch. Concise. Almost sharp. “Ask. Nicely.” He pushes your thigh over his waist, forcing your supportive leg to your tiptoes.

You feel his cock near your entrance, brushing your pussy lips. You moan, hips bucking. He pushes against your neck, running your head into the tiles behind you. “You little slut. You think you can just take it.”

You gasp. “Please.”

“What do you want?”

“I want your cock inside me, Daddy.” It tumbles out of your lips before your brain catches up.

He thrusts his cock into you, sheathing himself fully, hitting the deepest parts of you. Then he’s gone, making you feel empty but only for a second until he enters you again. His hand squeezes tighter around your neck. You come for air as he continuously splits you apart thrust by thrust, pulling out almost fully each time.

Your moans are loud, drowned out by the steaming shower. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes. Dave pays you little mind, shows little care as he continues with a brutality you’ve never encountered, a brutality that only makes you soak his cock. He doesn’t slow. You don’t want him to. He never touches your clit, but you're propelling forward, chasing that high in a way you never have.

The pitch of your voice steps up. The spasm starts in your stomach traveling down to your core as you flutter around Dave’s cock. Your supporting leg shakes. Still, he never eases up, working you through your orgasm.

It hits you like a punch to the gut, a scream piercing the air. Your scream. Dave doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stutter. He keeps pace, chasing his own release.

With each thrust, you yell. You hear the squelching of your sopping cunt against his dick over the roar of the shower. His continuous movements extend your release until he finally buries himself inside you, coating your pussy with his cum. “Such a perfect little doll for me.”

You let out a final whimper as he pulls around, dropping your leg. Your knees buckle. You barely keep yourself upright, legs tingling and shaking.

Dave kisses your cheek. The softness causes a sense of whiplash. He glances over your body, making sure the blood is cleared from your skin and hair. He rinses the blood from his hair as your brain slowly returns to the world. You expect to be exhausted, and you are, but there’s still that low buzz deep within your body.

You killed a man. You took a life. You should feel bad. There’s a fucking body in your living room, but all you can think about is the rush. You liked it. Watching Dave, you wonder if he feels the same way. There’s no doubt to you that he’s taken lives before. You wonder if he knows how many.

The water stops. Dave dries you off with the soft bath towel. He helps you into his soft white t-shirt and tucks you into bed.

“I need to make a call.” He kisses your head and shuts himself in your bathroom. You hear him on the phone, but his words are muffled by the door.

You lay on your back, sheets cool against your hot skin. Staring at the ceiling, you can still feel the blood dripping from your hands, hear the piercing of the knife. You heart rate picks up. What would it be like to do that again? Would you feel the same rush of adrenaline? Would it feel better?

Dave comes out, tossing his cell on the nightstand and sliding under the covers. His hand covers yours.

“What about…?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s taken care of.”

You don’t ask. He probably knows people. His fingers drift over your cheeks and jaw. They skim lower, following the same path down your neck as your arteries. They feel cool against your skin, drawing patterns where you anticipate bruises tomorrow.

“Did I hurt you?”

He’s almost back to the Dave you know, soft and kind, but you still catch the edges of his dark side. He’s more of a blend now. You think you might be getting the real, true Dave now.

“No,” you shake your head. There was pain. You’ll be sore tomorrow, sport a few scrapes and bruises, but it doesn’t feel like he hurt you.

Dave kisses your forehead, fingers tracing your collarbone now. A question forms in your head, gnawing at the corners of your brain.

“Dave?”

“Hmmm?” He sees distracted, entranced as he follows his hand over your skin, skimming the tops of your breasts. Your nipples tighten making you curl your toes with a familiar tug of desire. How are you ready to go again after that?

“What if I liked it?”

His eyebrow quirks. “The sex?” he pinches your hardened nipple making you gasp.

“All of it?”

His palm stops. The pitch of his voice deepens. “All of it?”

You bite your lip, nodding.

“Use your words, Doll.” He cups your breath, teasing your nipple more. His breath is hot in your ear. “Tell me what you like.”

“I-” Can you really say this out loud? Will it blacken your soul? Or is it already charred and damned.

“Tell me.” He smacks your chest like a parent might smack their child’s hand away from an electrical outlet.

Your pussy clenches as you squeeze your legs together. He smacks your other breast in the same manner. You gasp, practically yelling out your answer. “Killing him.”

The air stands still. For a second, you expect a look of disgust to cross Dave’s face. Instead, a smirk grows. “You liked that?”

You nod, not able to say anything else. Dave climbs on top of you, kicking away the covers. He pushes his hand up your sternum, kneading your breast before running it back down. He repeats the motion, rotating between the two. Moans grow in your chest. He bites your earlobe.

“Did you like the way the knife slid into him?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Dave growls in your ear.

“Yes, Daddy,” you repeat between moans. Your sopping hole drips onto the sheets below you. Dave’s motions steadily grow in intensity.

“Did my doll like the way her body felt alive? Like you absorbed that bastard's energy.”

Tears drop from your eyes. You want him again. You need him again. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Does my doll want to do it again?”

“Yes, Daddy.” You practically scream. You should be ashamed of the answer. You should be ashamed that there isn’t an ounce of hesitation in your being.

“Fuck,” Dave says, shoving your legs apart. He pushes his cock inside you again. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll make sure you will.”

Dave moves inside you. It’s not as violent, not as torturous as earlier, but it’s just as satisfying. The promise of more ignites a fire inside of you.

Dave takes you to the brink, pushing you until you pass out from exhaustion, spent, used, and sated.

“I’ll keep you by my side with my superhuman might.”

When you wake up the next morning, the body is gone. The lamp you broke is replaced and a new area rug is delicately placed in your apartment. Not a speck or splatter of blood can be found anywhere. Dave stands in the kitchen gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He cooks eggs on the stovetop and a steaming cup of coffee sits on the counter.

You wrap your arms around him. He hums. His skin is warm beneath your cheek, heart beating against your palm. “I like the rug.”

“Me too.”

“Kryptonite”

Yesss!!!! Ugh! Why’d Sophie have to act like that?! But then Frankie’s little speech?! UGH! My heart!!! 😍🫠

6. baby, if your love is in trouble

Frankie Morales x female reader | let's get lost chapter 6

Summary: You and Frankie aren’t together anymore but you’re in a good place. However, spending a week together for your mutual friends’ wedding on a luxury resort might challenge that slightly and realising you’re still in love with your ex is a sure-fire recipe for disaster … Tropes: it was always you, getting back with the ex, beach!Frankie (you know *that* photoshoot) miscommunication, only one bed, good parent Frankie Chapter Warnings: 18+ MDNI, mentions of alcohol, some difficult conversations and some kissing(you’ll have to keep reading to know which order that is), allusions to TF canon events, brief discussions or references to addiction recovery, lolabee typical flangst. Word Count: 4.4k Notes: The next chapter is the last full one (there may be an epilogue) so we are very close to the end now. Thank you so much for all your patience and love with this fic, I cannot tell you how much it means to me. Also this chapter is dedicated to @undercoverpena because her art for this fic (and our chat about it afterwards) really reminded me why I love this fic and helped get me out of a little block I had, even if she made me cry (in a good way, honest) - ily jo!

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Time is strange on vacation. The time leading up to it drags, every second feels like an hour, every hour feels like a day. It’s exhausting and draining which only makes you need the break more. Time seems to pass normally - well, almost normally - at the start of a vacation. It's usually somewhere around day two, when the post travel fatigue finally abates, that time changes again. It goes too fast, so just as you finally start to feel relaxed, it’s almost over.

You know the end is coming. Soon Benny and Lia’s wedding will be over, soon you’ll be on a flight home and then you and Frankie will go your separate ways. Back to an empty house that’s haunted by what could have been, to a job that you don’t know if you love, to a life you feel like is existence when it could be so much more.

You don’t want to leave here, not when you and Frankie feel so unresolved.

There are memories of the day before in every inch of this hotel room. The bed that Frankie took you apart so expertly on, the bathroom counter he kissed you against in a way that makes kissing feel like a small world. You remember it was good before, but not like that.

Love.

You still love Frankie. It’s not an easy epiphany; it’s messy and painful and raw. That’s love though. It’s a dangerous yet fragile emotion.

You love Frankie. Did you ever truly stop? When you hated him, when you were furious and your relationship was nothing but scorched earth, it was always more from heartbreak than hatred.

There’s part of you that wants to scream triumphantly, to run into his arms and declare it to the world. It wants to live in this vacation bubble fantasy forever.

You’re a parent though and Clara changes everything. You both need her to have stability in her world, to be able to have her parents as a strong foundation. You’re sensible and scarred and oh so reliable now.

Love isn’t pragmatic, it’s wild.

This morning you questioned if it was enough, if the love could be enough between the two of you to repair those wounds and fill between the holes of your breakup, of Will’s wedding, of the lost trust and bitterness on every side.

“You look serious,” Lia says, a nervous expression covering her face as she sips her drink.

You blink, shaking your head like it can shake away the gremlins in your mind. “Sorry, I was a million miles away.”

The sun warms your skin as you look out at the bright blue around you. Sparking, azure contrasts with the bright white of the catamaran. There’s music playing softly by the bar, light chatter around you and a sense of peacefulness.

“How are you feeling? Are you ready for tomorrow?” you ask, focusing on Lia - definitely not Frankie.

No, you’re definitely not paying attention to Frankie who is just in your eyeline and is wearing a suitably loud shirt that’s completely unbuttoned, allowing a peek of his tanned skin, the faint hints of hair below his navel racing down to -

You jolt at the sudden reminder of what you were doing just a couple of hours ago. The feeling of his skin against yours, the weight of his body that was so welcome. He looks relaxed though, a bottle of soda in his hand, head tilted back as he laughs.

Is it just you who’s panicking? No, no, you don’t think it is. You notice how he looks away just for a moment, the way his free hand is tapping against his leg nervously, the feeling that if you look away maybe he’ll steal a glance at you too.

You hear your name and look back at Lia, even more guilt rising. This, this is exactly what you wanted to avoid.

“Did you and Frankie have an argument?”

“What?”

“Well, you seem out of it and I caught you looking at him just now and … I thought things were better?” You hear the unspoken words ‘please don’t ruin this, please don’t ruin my wedding too’.

“We’re fine,” you say, “Good. It’s all good.”

“I know it must be awkward sharing with him, but you’ve nearly made it through the whole break!”

“Honestly, Lia, we’re fine. Good. Yeah, it’s not a thing.”

“I just - I’m very intuitive, I can feel tension when you two look at each other.” It’s the other type of tension, you think. The type of tension when just a few hours ago he was inside of you, where he was tracing kisses along your jawline. It’s the type of tension that only happens when after that you panic and make everything worse.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Frankie and I are -”

“Fine?” Lia squeezes your arm. “Just, just don’t let it fester.”

You want to tell her everything, you desperately crave her advice. You want to sip a cocktail and giggle with her about what happened, have her console your panic. This vacation isn’t about you though. It’s for her, for her and Benny. So your anxieties and secrets will have to fester, it’s the only way.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Nothing … relax Santi.”

“I’m not fucking relaxed when …” Santi says something you can’t hear.

“I was there, I remember.”

“Just, she’s not gonna ….” You need to get closer so you can hear more.

You edge just a little closer, feeling the condensation around the soda bottle as you lean just a little more so you can make out their words. You feel guilty but it’s a chance to finally understand where Frankie is in all this, especially after what’s happened today. It’s probably wrong to admit, but this feels like a litmus test of where this all could possibly end up, if there really is hope.

“She’s the mother of my child, Santi, she’s the person I love.” Frankie is so firm, so quietly assertive and matter of fact about this it takes your breath away.

He loves you. He still loves you and for the first time, maybe it does feel like enough. The warmth surges through your body and you smile to yourself.

“Love?” Santi spits. “After Will’s wedding? After that breakup? You might forget it was my sofa you crashed on, but I saw it all, Frankie.” And there’s the reality crush you were waiting for.

“I was high, I was high and it was a shit night for everyone and I’m sorry about that. It’s the past though. You’ve all gotta stop talking about it, stop waiting for her to react. It’s not right, Santi, not for her and not for me.”

“It’s not you, it’s-”

“She’s on eggshells, and so am I. We’re so scared of being the ones who wreck another - you have no idea what’s in her head. The pressure -” You watch how Frankie runs a hand through his hair, how he leans against the wall of the cabin.

He gets it, you think, he actually understands what’s happening for you and how you feel.

“Must be a lot for you.”

“Not just me, like I said.”

“Okay, I hear you.”

“Good.”

“You know, the way you’re being, it’s like you’re …” Santi pauses and looks at Frankie seriously “Frankie, oh shit. Oh shit. You two fucked?”

You freeze - how has Santi worked it out? Will everyone else now? The tension twists your stomach into knots. Is it that obvious?

“Don’t, Santi.”

“I warned you, I freaking told you that sharing a room was a bad idea.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever..”

“So, what now? Are you getting back together?”

“I don’t know. It’s not just up to me, right? It’s not that simple. Besides, it only happened today - it’s not been, we haven’t even had a chance to figure it out yet.“

“Oh, you slut, Frankie,” Santi teases affectionately. “So, I don’t even know what to say, bro. But you say you love her; she looks at you like … I don’t know. Sounds like you’re overcomplicating it. Isn’t it that simple?”

“There’s Clara - I can’t bring her down, bro, I just can’t be that fucking guy.” You watch as Frankie wipes his eyes roughly and wish you were closer to him so you could squeeze his arm and reassure him. You hadn’t realised he was worried about the same thing as you.

You hear your name being called and immediately cringe as Frankie looks around, a slightly startled expression on his face. Santi doesn’t say anything but he squeezes Frankie’s shoulders as he walks away.

He sees you standing there and just shakes his head a little - it’s not angry, it’s almost affectionate in fact. “You two are gonna be the fucking death of me, I swear,” he says in a whisper.

You don’t reply, you just wait because you know Frankie’s going to find you in a moment..

“How much of that did you hear?” Frankie asks when he spots you. He runs one hand in his hair and leans slightly against the door jamb. His eyes are downcast, avoiding you and you want to see them, to know what he’s thinking.

“Nothing.” It’s a terrible lie, the sort of tone Clara uses when she sneaks cookies or candy.

He says your name, draws it out teasingly as he cups your face to meet his eyes. He’s so warm, radiating body heat and ease. Comfort. It’s a pleasant warmth that eases your knotted stomach.

“I may have heard something about you being a slut,” you tease,” “And that maybe you’re worried about messing it all up too.”

“You didn’t know that?”

“I have been having my own existential crisis if you hadn’t noticed!”

“Yeah, your brain whirs pretty loud when those happen.”

“I’m always whirring,” you say.

He pulls you closer, one hand resting casually on your hip and he’s close enough you can smell the sea-salt on his skin, the slight ghost of his cologne and suncream too. You look at the hand on your skin, follow every detail of it up until you meet you his eyes. You catalogue every detail on the way; a mix of freckles, sun-stained skin and muscle, the stubble that just hours ago was on you, memories of it against your thighs intrude your soliloquy.

”I - I didn’t mean to make things awkward with you and Santi. I didn’t realise he … he had such a problem, with us, I mean. With me.”

“He doesn’t. Not really,” Frankie says softly, “How would Lia initially react? Santi is the one I went to after we broke up and maybe - maybe it’s hard for him to look at some of the triggers for back then. It’s not an excuse, I was - you know I relapsed before Clara, but it wasn’t bad then, it wasn’t as bad. It was just a few times and I was in meetings and dealing with it and then - then well, you remember what happened.”

“Oh.” You remember Frankie’s ashen face when he returned from Colombia. You’d been furious with him - exhausted from sleepless nights with Clara and an aching, terrifying fear that you were going about your life when Frankie was lying dead somewhere. It had been a catalyst for your relationships end, of course, but what it really did was light a spark for Frankie’s addiction. You wondered for a long time if Frankie ever came back to you or if he’d died like Tom, just in a less invisible way.

He’s back now though. He’s here.

He’s here.

You lean into him, kissing him lightly on the lips. A confirmation of the moment, of the feeling between the two of you. A reminder that you’re here too.

“I love you too,” you whisper.

“You heard that? I - if you want the truth, I never stopped. I’m not sure I could ever stop being in love with you,” Frankie admits.

“I’m scared of this, of what happens if it goes wrong again.”

“Then at least we tried, right? At least we know, because this limbo isn’t right either, baby. I think - I think we can do it this time. I’m clean and I don’t want to go to back, not when it risks Clara, not when it risks you. I don’t like the me back then.”

“I definitely got a lot wrong too.”

“We’ve got this.”

Frankie pulls you tightly against him, one hand entwined in yours as meets your lips again briefly.

“You and me?” you say, more as a question than a statement.

“You and me,” he repeats.

“We tell them after the wedding, we’re not taking over another wedding, Frankie.”

“That works for me.”

He kisses you again, deepening the kiss, as the two of you pour all the words you want to say but that get stuck in your throat into this moment. He spins you against the wall of the boat, moves his hand down from your shoulder to your chest, to the edge of your swimsuit and although he’s barely touching you, it immediately sends heat and shivers to your stomach. Frankie’s always had an effect on you, always been able to tease those sounds and crescendos of pleasure that seemed so far away before.

There’s something about his smile when he notices the effect he has on you. The hint of surprise in his eyes combine with a steely confidence, a slight cockiness that he is the one causing this, that you’re responding to him.

He moans into your mouth as you pull him closer against you yet, wanting to move somewhere else, somewhere you can be alone.

You stumble slightly and Frankie grabs your arm, places the other on the wall to steady yourselves. A tangle of limbs and the two of you smile. His phone falls out of his pocket, the sound echoing around you.

“Shit,” he says quietly.

You both spring apart and look around nervously. Close, so close. You wait for the voices, for one of your friends to call you or worse, to come over.

“We should -”

“Yeah, yeah. Uh - we should.”

You lean back against the wall and shut your eyes, willing your heart rate to slow down, letting the adrenaline burn off.

She’s the person I love.

Maybe, just maybe you were wrong earlier. Perhaps love is enough.

The rehearsal dinner is an informal affair. Lia and Benny deliberately opted for an earlier dinner time so that Clara could be part of it and have already said they’re eschewing as much of the formality for the rehearsal as they can.

It’s considerate and thoughtful and you’re so glad you’ve been able to make this wedding trip work as a family vacation too.

Of course, in practice, scheduling the dinner for just a couple of hours after getting back from the boat trip is far more stressful than they may have anticipated. Especially with a toddler.

“I wanted to stay in kids club,” she cries to Frankie, face screwed up with tears and arms folded.

“I know, baby, but you’ll get to go after the wedding.”

“Tomorrow?”

“No, tomorrow’s Uncle Benny and Aunt Lia’s wedding.”

“This isn’t fair,” she cries, “we were making puppets!”

Frankie looks up at you helplessly. You’re half-dressed, your dress unzipped and no-makeup yet, your hair still damp from the shower.

“Clara, we need to get ready for dinner now,” he says steadily.

“Daddy’s right, Clara, it’s time.”

“No.”

“Clara,” Frankie says, a hint of firmness slowly coming through in his voice. He looks exhausted but he’s meeting your daughter’s eyes, trying to gently assert that she needs to get moving. “It’s time to get ready now. You will get to go to the kids’ club again, but not right now. Now, we’re going to dinner and when we get back, you can watch one episode of your show before bed, okay?”

”Okay.” Clara had clearly forgotten she’d already negotiated that episode of her show earlier in the morning.

Frankie smiles at you as Clara toddles over to you, ready to comply.

“Need a hand?” he asks, pointing at the zip.

“Sure.”

Your eyes watch Clara carefully choosing between two pairs of shoes as Frankie comes up behind you, touches the back of your shoulder before he glides the zip up and gently kisses the side of your neck.

“Frankie.”

“She’s not looking,” he says in a low voice, “and that fucking dress always destroys me.”

You smile, “I know.”

“Why, are you planning to seduce me?”

”Maybe, haven’t decided yet. Play your cards right and perhaps you’ll see….”

Frankie laughs, low and with genuine happiness. He claps his hands together lightly as he moves over to Clara.

”C’mon, princesa, let’s get this show on the road.”

The dinner was a success and now everyone is milling around the bar, enjoying the sunset and each fleeting moment of this vacation.

Clara's on Frankie's hip as he talks to Will and Benny, one of his arms on Benny's shoulder as they all laugh.

You could get used to this again.

You're still at the table, having spent most of the dinner talking with Lia who is now working the rest of the party.

You take a sip of the dregs of your drink and shut your eyes, letting the moment sink in.

There's the sound of a chair being pulled next to you.

You open your eyes to see Sophie sititng next to you. She's wearing a stunning dress that seems to match the sunset and her makeup is immaculate as ever. You don't feel self conscious though, don't feel the usually creeping doubts rising.

You feel a little different actually. Maybe it's relaxing, maybe it's the vacation, maybe it's hope.

Sophie looks at you carefully and lowers her wine glass. “I know you are a good friend to Lia and that you care about Benny.”

“Of course.”

She leans closer to you, a subtle hint of alcohol and fruity cocktails radiating around her. “I also know that despite what you say, you and Frankie - you aren’t over. You still want to be with him. Everyone knows he’s not over you. I’ve seen your face this week.”

“What are you saying Soph?”

“If you two want to figure things out, to see if there’s something still there, then you guys do that. You’re both adults.”

“I’m sensing a but here.”

“I love you both. I do. It’s just you and Frankie are like storms. You’re beautiful and powerful and sometimes a little inspiring too. You endure and you survive, but you leave wreckage in your wake. Wreckage and destruction no-one wants on their wedding day. Trust me. I lived it with you that day.”

You burn with shame as her words land. The memories of Sophie and Will’s wedding feel like an albatross around your neck, something that can never be forgotten or erased.

You’re sick of it - it makes you think your friends will never truly support you and Frankie reconciling, despite Sophia’s words. If they’ll always be watching, guarded and waiting for the chaos or storm, then how can you and Frankie ever relax.

“What are you saying?” you ask in a low voice.

“I’m saying that this is Benny and Lia’s moment. I’m saying that I can’t - I can’t sit by and watch them go through what I - what we … you know what I’m saying. Not while you and Frankie are in a vacation bubble that isn’t - it isn’t real,”

“Things are different. We’re both different. Frankie’s clean now too.”

“I know, and I can’t pretend I know how it felt for you that day, or the ones that led up to it. I know you’ve been through a lot too. I just - Benny’s like my little brother and I know Will can’t say this to you, but we’re all worried. So, I’m going to be the bad guy, but it’s out of love, I promise. I promise. I love you both so much, and I love Benny and Lia too.”

“It wouldn’t be like that. It wouldn’t - that was a - we hit rock bottom, but it wouldn’t happen again.”

“You can’t know that,” Sophie says simply, “So I am begging you, please don’t pull us all back into that storm. Think of Clara.”

The final punch meets its target.

You feel deflated, completely and utterly deflated. You avert your gaze to the paved stones beneath your feet, blink back tears.

In a way, Sophie’s right. You can never know it won’t happen again, that’s love though, right? You have known for years that they saw you and Frankie’s demise as wreckage they were pulled into, that you two became the problem friends as you both lashed out after the breakup, trying to retain control of the uncontrollable in the only way you knew how. You knew this deep down.

It hurts though. It is agonising to realise that every one of your anxieties and fears here was correct, that your friends still treat you with kid gloves, that you and Frankie will always be the problem couple. Even if you get back together, even if it’s perfect, everyone will be waiting for the storm to hit.

“Oh no, I’ve overstepped, I’m sorry. I - I - I’ve drunk too much. Ignore me. Wine makes me funky,” Sophie says, looking panicked.

If it’s a fight, if love is truly a battle, then you need people in your corner. You need to know that the people you love are rooting for you as well, that there is a support network. You require someone to encourage the two of you as things get tough, as you do battle against your anxieties, Frankie’s demons and anything else life throws at you and to know they won’t judge either of you.

It’s clear now that your friends are not in your corner though. Instead, they view you and Frankie as adversaries, not allies, and they’re always waiting cautiously for the next round of hits to land.

How do you try again if no one else really wants you to? If they all think the worst?

You ruined Sophie’s wedding. What on earth makes you think you deserve a happy ending with Frankie after that?

You needed Sophi’s buy-in, you needed her support. You hadn’t realised that until now, but it’s clear. You knew it the moment Sophie started speaking to you. There’s an anxious and scared version of you that requires your friends’ validation, their support that trying all over again is a good thing, that it won’t fuck up your daughter, or your friendships all over again.

Without this, you’re at sea without a buoy, without a lighthouse. You’re floundering in the dark in a lifejacket and rapidly realising hope alone won’t get you to land.

“I need to go,” you say, brushing Sophie’s hand of your arm and heading down towards the beach.

You walk across the sand nervously. You’re hoping the sea will have answers, will calm you down. The sound of waves lapping in and out is like someone soothing you, saying it’s going to be okay.

You sit down rest your head against your knees. You just need a minute, to let it out.

So you do, you finally let yourself break.

Several minutes later, you hear footsteps behind you and a concerned voice saying your name,

You look over to see Frankie. His top three buttons are unbuttoned and his brow is furrowed as he takes in your general demeanour.

“Where’s Clara?” you sniffle.

“Lia’s taking her back to our room, and we’ll meet her there. She also said she needs an early night with the wedding tomorrow. Hey, hey what’s - what’s wrong?”

“I think we’ve made a terrible mistake, Frankie, I’m so sorry,” you manage to say before you burst into tears. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Frankie pales, sinking next to you. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t think any of our friends want us to get back together - how can they all be wrong?”

“Santi isn’t all our friends. I told you he’s projecting his own shit.”

“It’s not just Santi!”

“Who said something? What the fuck did they say? This is our relationship, okay? It’s not theirs. They don’t have a say.”

“When we ruined their wedding, they do.”

“So, it’s Will or Sophie. What did they say? I’m going to fucking -”

“And storm into the rehearsal dinner and prove their point, yell at Sophie? Cause a scene and have tonight go down as yet another of our disasters?”

“You’re crying. Sophie had no right to -”

“I’ve had wine, it’s fine. It’s just hot and I’m worried about going home and - I’m fine. It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“It’s a reality check. I hadn’t realised. I thought they’d be happy for us, but perhaps they can’t be.”

“They’ll see,” he says desperately, “we’ll show them it’s real. That it’s different this time.”

“Frankie, I need to know, what happens when we go back?” you ask.

He sits down beside you and takes your hand. “I want to say something smooth, talk you through how I’m going to woo you, and I am going to woo you, tell you that it’s all going to be great.”

“Good start.”

“I can’t promise that though, not right now. Not knowing what you’ve just said. I want to think our friends will be happy for us, but they might not be. Or they might be cautious. It’s us though, it’s you and me. I know that this vacation has reminded me of how much I lost, how much I want every day back with you and Clara.”

“If our friends aren’t supporting us, how do we even carry on? What do we do? Do we cut everyone we love -”

“No.”

“So what then, Frankie?” You barely recognise your voice between your sobs and the way it’s so shrill, so desperate. You had finally made peace with your decision, finally thought that maybe this was all going to be okay. That there was a future outside of this vacation bubble.

Frankie is silent for a moment. You feel how he’s rubbing your back, soothing you as you purge your emotions.

“You forgave me, right?” he says softly after a moment.

“What?”

“For the relapse, for the mess I put us all through, for not talking to you. It took time, it took months, but you did, right?”

You nod.

“Maybe it’s like that for them. And if it’s not, we’ll show ‘em either way. I just - I’ve only just got you back. Please, don’t go anywhere yet. We won’t tell them, not until we’re home, until we’re sure. That way it can’t affect us, can’t bring us down when we’re trying. Don’t give up on us because of Sophie’s drunken idiocy. Please.” He pulls you tighter to him, one arm wrapped around and the other hand reaching to wipe away tears on the side closest to him. His hands are warm, radiating comfort and peace as you feel so adrift.

Maybe he’s the rock, maybe he’s the buoy. Perhaps that is what you are to each other as well?

You laugh, an ugly half-sobbing sound. “Okay, okay, I won’t. I promise.”

Tag List

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What I was writing during my lunch break earlier today! 👀🤣

I just wanna grind against someone’s bulge rn is that really too much to ask????