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jay-zzle · 4 months ago

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A year later and here we are <333 thanks for your friendship and this lovely story, love youuuu💞💞💞

-im literally crying

Fresh Meat

Joel Miller x F!Reader wc: 3,452

Summary: Finally deciding to get your first tattoo, you go to the best in the business - Joel Miller. Warnings/Tags: MDNI 18+, No outbreak AU, Joel is a tattoo artist, Explicit Language, random female character(iykyk), reader has shoulder length hair, unprotected PinV, fingering(f!receiving), Joel Miller has a filthy mouth(I blame Pedro’s gym picture for this) , I went off memory on tattoo aftercare, reader is getting her first tattoo A/N: First, thank you for your eyeballs and help on this one @beefrobeefcal, @noxturnalnymph, @jennaispunk, and @strang3lov3. Second, this is a very belated birthday present for @jay-zzle who I have screamed about more times than I can even count. It all started with her making a random post looking for Pedro Pascal character fic recs and here we are over a year later! I would not even be writing if it weren't for her. I love you, I'm so very glad we met and I’m so happy you are in my life ❤️❤️❤️

Masterlist||AO3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

The thought has crossed your mind plenty of times. It wasn’t as if your family was against tattoos. It was just a lot to consider, between marking your body permanently, and the pain of a needle stabbing into your skin hundreds of times. What if you wake up one day, look at yourself in the mirror and hate it? What then? Laser removal is more expensive than a tattoo and, from what you’ve heard - even more painful.

You’ve done the research, asked the right questions and on your twenty-seventh birthday, you finally decide to bite the bullet and do it. You’re getting tattooed by the Joel Miller. He’s been in the tattoo business for over thirty years now. You studied his line work extensively, scrolling through his Instagram page for hours on end. His name is in tattoo magazines around the world claiming to be one of the best in the business. You steady yourself before grabbing the door handle, feeling the cool steel against your palm, before pulling it open to hear a ding above your head.

“Afternoon, sweetheart,” the platinum-blonde woman says, giving you a friendly smile. “What can I help you with?”

“Uh, J-Joel?” You stammer, eyes wide looking around the shop, colorful pieces of art plastered on the walls, the faint sounds of buzzing surround your ears like a mosquito searching for a spot to bite, “I’m su- supposed to meet-,” you clear your throat, shaking your hands against your sides, gripping the strap of your purse that rests across your body tightly, letting out a nervous chuckle, “Sorry, nervous. I have an appointment with Joel.”

“Ah!” She smirks, clicking around on the computer in front of her. “You must be his three o’clock! Girl, you got lucky with that cancellation. He’s been completely booked for the next six months!” She adds with a laugh, lightly smacking the counter before leaning her tiny frame against it. “Joel!” Her voice booms, “Your three is here!”

“Ah, fresh meat!” Joel’s voice echoes down the hall. “Think she can handle it, Miko?”

“I think so,” she shrugs, smiling while eyeing you up and down. “This your first?”

“Yeah,” you murmur shyly, eyes glancing at your shoes, kicking nervously at the checkered floor.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she beams proudly, “Joel will take good care of you!”

—

You sit in the chair, glancing around the walls of the room. Multiple magazine cutouts praising Joel’s work are hung in black frames, and beautiful artwork is scattered throughout the space. You notice a sticker plastered on the wall that says No Weenies Allowed and let out a soft laugh.

“So you’re wantin’ it behind your ear?” Joel asks. You jump at his sudden presence, stepping into the room. “Sorry, darlin’,” he smirks, “Didn’t mean to spook ya.”

“It’s okay.” You state, feeling your face heat up. “Uhm, yeah, I was hoping to get it behind my ear, like right here.” You rub the spot behind your ear with a single finger, dangerously close to your hairline. The messages you and Joel had swapped back and forth; he had mentioned possibly needing to shave some of your hair to do the tattoo.

“Ya mind?” He asks, sitting on a stool before you, studying where your finger sits.

“Go ahead,” you murmur, moving your hand away to make room for him.

Joel reaches toward your neck, gently brushing your hair back to examine the spot behind your ear. His hand rests gently against the side of your neck, covering most of it. Your breath hitches, feeling the warmth radiating from his palm. He hums, stroking his thumb against the spot behind your ear.

“Good news,” Joel smirks, his big brown eyes looking into your own, “Shouldn’t have to shave any of your hair.”

“Th- that’s good!” You stutter with a shy smile as his thumb continues stroking the spot behind your ear. “Is it a good spot for my first?” You ask, feeling your face get hot again.

“S’perfect.” Joel whispers, “No need to be nervous. I’ll take good care of ya.” He adds with a playful wink.

—

“A’right,” Joel starts, putting on a pair of black latex gloves and grabbing a razor. “You’re not allergic to anything, right?”

“No.” You squeak out, glaring at the comically small razor in his hand. “I thought we didn’t have to shave my hair?”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” He grins, “Jus’ gotta get the baby hairs off your neck. Won’t touch any a’ that beautiful hair on your head.” He grabs a bottle off the small table beside the chair, squeezing a small amount of the cool liquid out behind your ear before gently gliding the razor across your delicate skin.

“I noticed the ‘No Weenies Allowed’ sticker, but what if I am one?” You ask, a soft giggle escaping your lips. He moves to throw away the razor in a container labeled sharps on the wall.

“Nah, you’re a tough one,” he laughs, turning slightly to look at you, giving you a wink, “Can feel it in my bones. Gonna put the stencil on ya next.”

“Where did you get that, anyway? " you ask, pointing at the sticker in an attempt to distract yourself from the shiver running down your spine as he rubs more of the cool liquid onto your skin with a paper towel. His knuckle nudges against the side of your chin, turning your head slightly to the side, and he gently places the stencil against that spot behind your ear, smoothing it out firmly with the pads of his fingers.

You can feel your face growing warmer again. You knew Joel was attractive by the pictures you’d seen of him, but in person? The ink etched into his skin, the dark brown of his irises, the broad expanse of his shoulders, his gentle but firm touch against your skin, the easy way he can soothe your nerves, the way he walks you through the entire process, there’s no wonder why they say he’s the best in the business.

“My kid got it for me! Thought it’d be perfect for the shop.” He states, gently removing the stencil and fanning your neck with his hand. “Gotta let that dry for a bit.”

You let out a soft sigh, waiting for the stencil to dry, listening to him prepare the small table beside him. His fingers gently tap against your neck. “You can go ahead and look in the mirror. Make sure you like the spot; if you don’t, we can move it.”

You stand from the chair, walking towards the mirror, and turn your head trying to glance at the stencil placement.

“Shit,” Joel grunts, standing up “Wasn’t even thinkin’. Sorry, sweetheart, here.” He stands behind you with a mirror. He brushes your hair back, placing the mirror for you to see the stencil more clearly. Your smile is beaming as you see the outline on your neck, chancing a look at Joel in the mirror. His eyes meet yours, a soft smile on his face as his broad body stands so close behind you. “Like it?” He asks. You nod, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

“Just gotta get a couple more things ready.” He states, walking back to his stool, “Go’head and sit back down.” His biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt as he shakes a bottle full of black ink, squirting the ink into small containers on the table. Your mouth feels dry, watching him move around like an expert within the little corner of his shop. “I have to show you that this is a brand new needle,” Joel instructs, showing you the packaging of a needle. Your smile falters, eyes widening, staring at the needle, nodding dumbly as he opens it and places it within his tattoo gun.

“Okay,” he announces, fiddling with the tattoo gun in his hands, starting and stopping it randomly, “ya ready?”

You take a deep breath in, slowly letting the air escape your lungs before nodding. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” you murmur.

“Go ‘head and turn your head towards the wall for me, darlin’,” Joel says, his thick fingers lightly pushing your chin in the direction he wants you to go.

You close your eyes, taking deep breaths in and out, awaiting the feel of the needle against your skin.

“Here we go,” Joel murmurs in your ear, you hear the buzzing of the tattoo gun grow closer, feeling a slick ointment pressed into your skin, wincing when you feel the sharp needle pierce your skin. “Doin’ okay?” he asks, taking note of the grimace on your face.

“Doing okay,” you breathe out, resting your hands against your stomach, focusing on the rise and fall of your tummy. The needle strokes against your skin, creating a permanent fixture on your body for the rest of your life. The slight tinge of pain creates a wave of goosebumps to ripple across your flesh. Joel hums softly in your ear to the tune playing on the radio as he moves the needle with precision. Your nipples harden under your shirt, your face warming with embarrassment, hoping with everything in your being that your bra has enough padding to cover the traitorous peaks of your breasts.

“Doin’ good for me, sweetheart,” Joel murmurs, swiping the towel against your neck. “Just a couple more lines, and then we’ll be done.”

“Okay,” you squeak out, careful not to nod as he speaks, “This doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as I thought it would.”

“Yeah?” Joel asks, a cocky lilt to his voice, “Told ya I’d take good care of ya.”

“Yeah,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “Kinda feels good.”

“Careful now, you’ll get addicted!” He chuckles into your ear. The buzzing stops, and he wipes the towel against your neck again. “A’right, all done,” Joel murmurs, turning your chin towards him. Your breath hitches as you look into his deep chocolate eyes, pupils dilating before your eyes as his gaze travels down your neck to your chest. Clearing his throat before instructing you, “Take your time getting up, okay? Don’t need ya passin’ out on my floor thinkin’ you’re all fine an’ dandy.”

You give a slight nod of your head, averting your eyes from him quickly. Joel takes his gloves off and starts cleaning things off the small table.

“Ya a’right?” He asks softly, glancing over at you.

“Yeah, just worried about the passing out thing.” You murmur, holding in an anxious laugh.

“C’mere,” Joel instructs, holding out his hand. You grab it to help hoist yourself up from the chair. He keeps a firm but gentle hold of your arm, walking you towards the mirror. “Here, darlin’,” he gently coos, holding the mirror up behind you so you can see the permanent art on your body.

“Oh my god, Joel,” you breathe, feeling a lump in your throat, “It’s beautiful!”

Joel can’t contain his smile behind you, his pearly whites on display as he continues to watch you studying the art on your skin. You stumble forward towards the mirror, feeling a slight rush of headiness. Joel grips your hip, pulling your back flush to his front.

“Sorry,” you giggle, your hand shooting up, trying to cover the grin on your face. “I think I got a little too excited.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Joel hums, his thumb sneaking up the hem of your shirt, caressing the smooth skin of your hip. Your heart races from his simple touch. You glance in the mirror, watching as his eyes travel up and down your body. “This okay?” He asks, cocking his brow, his hand resting against your stomach, fingers tracing soft patterns above the waistline of your jeans. You nod dumbstruck, glancing away from the mirror to look at the door. “S’okay, baby,” Joel huskily whispers in your ear, “No one’s gonna come back here.”

He slowly blows on your new tattoo, feeling the cool air against your heated skin; a small whimper escapes your lips, back arching against his chest, your ass pushing against his groin. You can feel the outline of his stiff erection through the denim of his jeans. Joel lets out a soft groan, pulling you impossibly closer to him, his hand skimming down to the button of your jeans.

“Still okay?” He coos, teeth nibbling against your ear.

“Joel,” you whine softly, your hand grasping against the arm holding you, the other reaching behind you, slipping your fingers between the thick curls on the nape of his neck.

“You’re okay, pretty girl,” he growls into the crook of your shoulder, “You did so good getting your first tattoo.” One of his hands moves, gripping your chin and turning your face to crash his lips into your own. His tongue sliding between your lips, swirling the thick muscle around your mouth, claiming the soft moan that rolls out of your throat into his mouth.

“Fuck,” you gasp, chest heaving, your lips catching the corner of his mouth as the hand that was rubbing gentle patterns into your skin deftly works the button and zipper of your jeans open, slipping his hand down to feel the cotton of your underwear. Your hips buck as his thick fingers press firmly against your cloth-covered clit, a whine erupting out of you.

“Shhhh,” Joel smirks, nosing your temple, “Look in the mirror, baby. Did someone figure out that a little pain is nice?”

Your eyes close, head leaning back against his shoulder, warmth spreading throughout your body, wiggling against him as his fingers continue to rub circles against your swollen clit.

“I said look in the mirror,” he grunts, gripping your chin harshly forcing you to look at the mirror. A gasp escapes your lips, eyes widening as Joel’s dark eyes stare at you in the mirror. “You gonna let me fuck you, pretty girl?” He asks, firmly grinding his bulge into your ass.

“Yes,” you breathe out, swallowing thickly. Joel smirks, kissing your jaw. “Fuck,” you whisper, your thighs beginning to shake from the delicious pressure Joel’s putting on that bundle of nerves.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he softly groans against your skin. His lips placing soft kisses and gentle sucks against the crook of shoulder, making sure to be careful of your new tattoo. “So glad that fucker cancelled so you could come in,” Joel sighs, sliding his fingers under the band of your panties. “So fuckin’ wet, sweetheart,” he hums. “This all for me?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, trying to catch your breath. You can feel the band in your stomach about to snap. “Joel,” you mewl, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip to try and keep quiet, “Please.”

“Please what, baby?” Joel smirks, his index and middle fingers ghosting along your weeping hole as his thumb continues its pleasurable rhythm against your nub.

“More,” you beg, gripping the arm that’s down your pants, nails biting into his forearm. “Please -fuck- more. So close.”

“You gonna come, baby?” Joel husks against your hairline, “Come all over my fingers?”

You let out a pathetic whine, hips bucking into his hand and pleading desperately for more before feeling his thick fingers plunge into your tight heat.

“Fuck me, pretty girl,” Joel growls, moving his fingers in a syrupy slow rhythm, “Pussy’s just beggin’ to be filled, huh?”

“Yes,” you whimper, the band in your tummy getting tighter and tighter as Joel continues to spew filth into your ear. His fingers crook up, reaching that spot that very few before him have been able to find, bumping against it on every stroke in and out of your sex. “Oh god,” you moan out, “Joel, please, faster.” You can feel your walls clamping down against his fingers, just needing that extra bit more to throw you over the edge. Joel pumps his fingers in again, holding them at that spot, firmly swiping them back and forth.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, Joel, I’m gonna- I’m gon-” cutting yourself off as that band finally snaps, gushing all over his hand.

“Oh, baby,” Joel smiles, slick lingering between your thighs and sliding against your tummy as he removes his fingers, bringing the soaked digits to his mouth, sucking them clean with a lewd -pop- as they leave his mouth. “Taste so fucking good.”

You giggle, in shock, unable to believe that just happened. First tattoo and you got fingered by Joel Miller? You would mark this birthday a success as is.

“Now,” Joel says, clearing his throat, gently brushing your hair to the side, “In all seriousness. You need to make sure you keep this clean,” he states, you hear the jingle of a belt buckle and a zipper being undone before he’s grabbing your jeans and underwear, slipping them down your legs. “Mmmm,” he hums, peeking down to get a good look at your ass, gripping the root of his cock, swiping the tip between your soaked folds. “Feel so good, baby.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, glancing toward the door again.

“Uh-uh,” Joel tuts, gripping your chin to force your vision to focus back on the mirror. “You keep lookin’ here, a’right?” Your eyes bore into his dark orbs, nodding. “Good girl,” he grunts, notching himself at your entrance. “Just keep lookin’ in the mirror, don’t worry ‘bout anythin’ else,” he instructs, pushing his thick length into you.

“Fuck,” you gasp quietly, hands reaching out, landing on the mirror before you.

“Oh fuck, pretty girl,” He grunts, gripping a handful of your hair. “Look at ya,” he sneers in the mirror, taking in the fucked out expression on your face, “This what ya needed? This cock inside your tight little pussy?”

You whimper, feeling him saw in and out of you at a punishing pace.

“Where was I?,” he grunts, his hips smacking against the flesh of your ass, “Thas right, keep your tattoo clean.” Joel pulls his hips back, glancing down at his glistening cock. “Fuck me,” he whispers in awe. “Three times a day should be good,” he huffs, thrusting back into you, tugging on your hair. “You listening, baby? Shit’s important.”

You nod, trying to focus on his instructions.

“Need ya t’put a small amount of aquaphor on it during the day,” he groans, “Just enough t’keep it moist. Not a whole bunch though, don’t need your new ink as wet as this pussy.” Joel chuckles, watching the way your ass ripples as he slams back into your squelching cunt. “It gets itchy? Smack it - don’t - fucking - scratch - it.” He punctuates his instructions with powerful thrusts between each word. “Don’t fuck up my art, baby.”

“O-o-oh god,” you mewl, feeling your walls flutter around his length.

“Repeat it.” Joel commands, sliding his fingers down to your throbbing clit. “Need t’know you were listenin’, baby.”

“O-okay,” you stutter, taking a shuddering breath. “W-wash it, three -ungh- three times a day, a-a-and put on aquaphor.”

“How much aquaphor?” Joel asks, snapping his length into you sharply.

“Small amount, not a lot.”

“Not a lot like what?” Joel chuckles, gripping your hair tighter. His fingers swirling circles around your bundle of nerves.

“M-m-my pussy,” you moan, feeling so close to falling off that ledge of ecstasy.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Joel grunts, “Know you’re gettin’ close. Can feel that tight pussy squeezing my cock, baby.” You moan softly, nails sliding against the glass of the mirror, the walls of your pussy growing tighter with each of Joel’s thrusts, feeling a wave of pleasure wash over you, finally tipping you off that ledge.

“Fuck!” Joel shouts, loosening your hair in favor of gripping your hips tightly, pulling you roughly towards him half a dozen more times, chasing his own climax before he erupts, hot ropes of his come paint your inner walls. “So fucking good, baby.” He huffs, his head landing between your shoulder blades. Sweat clinging to both your bodies, trying to catch your breath.

“I’ll go over tattoo aftercare again,” Joel grunts, pulling out of your wet heat, twin groans escaping both of you, chuckling against your shoulder blades, “Don’t want ya missin’ anythin’ important I might have told ya.”

“Don’t think I could.” You smirk, giggling, feeling him fumble behind you, “Not with that sort of lesson.”

Joel turns you around, kneeling down to grab your pants. “Hey wait a minute. In our messages you said this was your birthday present to yourself, right?” He asks, smiling up at you.

“Uh, yeah.” You nod, avoiding his eyes, face warming while remembering your nervous rambling to him as he helps you right your clothes. “It’s today, m-my birthday is today.”

“Well then,” Joel stands, his hand gripping your jaw to tilt your face to his, giving you a tender kiss, “Happy fuckin’ birthday, sweetheart.”

NPT for those who seemed interested: @whocaresstillthelouvre @vichons @pinkypromisepascal

Thanks for reading! If you liked please comment or reblog letting me know!

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jay-zzle · 7 months ago

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Sober Dieter is everything that is right in this world. So sweet and hot, loved it 😍❤️

Three Months

Dieter Bravo x F!Reader wc: 4,490

Summary: Dieter wants to sleep with you, so you propose a deal. Warnings/Tags: MDNI 18+, best friends to lovers, mentions of drugs and alcohol, Dieter being well... himself, Dieter getting sober, fingering(f!receiving), unprotected PinV(be smarter than this IRL folks), I believe that's it but if I missed anything let me know! A/N: This would be my submission for my own Get Dieter Sober challenge! Don't forget peeps there's still time if you wanna submit something! Thank you @beefrobeefcal and @jennaispunk for lending their eyes for this one!

Masterlist||AO3

divider provided by @saradika-graphics

“Dee,” you let out a frustrated sigh, flinging yourself back on his bed, “We’ve been over this!”

“Oh, come on!” Dieter whines, “You’re hot, I’m hot. What would be the big deal?”

“Just because you want to fuck someone doesn’t mean it should be me!” You huff, rolling your eyes. Dieter flops beside you on his bed with a frustrated groan.

“It’s not fair,” he whines, laying on his side and propping his head up with his fist. “You’re my best friend! Why wouldn’t I ask you? It wouldn’t change anything just because we sleep together.” He tries to argue. “Plus, it’s not like we haven’t fooled around some.”

“We were both drunk,” you bark out a laugh, “I don’t think that counts. All we did was make out on your couch and you fell asleep dry-humping me.”

“Could try again.” He suggests, wiggling his eyebrows.

You’ve lost count now of how many times he’s tried this during your years of friendship. Dieter gets this wild hair up his ass convinced he wants to sleep with you, only for someone else to come along and occupy him. You roll on your side to face him. Eyes roaming the features of his face: his pouty lips with his bottom lip stuck out further as he begged, the aquiline shape of his nose, and lastly, his big brown eyes, bloodshot and wide pupils from whatever substance he took today. Pills, coke, booze, you name it, Dieter Bravo snorted or ingested it. You smirked, an idea forming in your head.

“How bad do you want to fuck me, Bravo?” You ask in a sultry tone, your fingers scratching through the scruff of his jaw, leaning into him, tracing your nose softly against his.

“Really fucking bad.” He breaths out, his lips ghosting over your own, stretching his neck, attempting to slot his mouth over yours.

“Then I’ll make a deal with you,” you smirk, running your fingers through his thick brown waves, pulling his head away from you.

“Okay.” He giggles giddily as you loosen the grip on his hair, “What are you thinking?”

“Three months — no drugs, no booze, no sex,” you let out breezily, “Then I’ll let you fuck me.”

“What?” Dieter all but shrieks, eyes widening at your proposal.

“You heard me,” you say, booping his nose with your index finger, “You want to fuck me so bad. Need to be sober for three months.”

“What am I supposed to do for three fucking months?” He asks, flopping onto his stomach on the bed.

“Be sober.” You shrug, letting out an evil cackle, and gently pat his back.

“Deal,” Dieter grumbles into his comforter. “Three months will fly by.” He huffs, shrugging. “I’ll be fine,” he mumbles more to himself.

—

He looks up from his phone, watching the party around him. Women and men gyrating on the makeshift dance floor. A week into this deal with you and he feels fine. He won’t cave. A handsome brunette offers him some random pill but he declines, making his way through the house.

“Hey, Dieter!” someone shouts from a room off the hallway he’s been walking down.

“Hey man,” Dieter said, popping his head in through the door. “Guess I found the chill party, huh?”

“Have a seat.” A skinny redhead with tits trying to spill out of her top says, patting the spot next to her, “We can have fun in here.”

Dieter gulps, nodding his head as his eyes take her in, making his way to the spot next to her on the couch. When he sits down, he feels his phone vibrate in his palm. He looks down to see you sent him a message.

I know you went to some party tonight. Don’t forget our deal.

Dieter: Why do you hate me?

I don’t hate you. 😘

Dieter: At a party with a redhead sitting next to me with tits the size of bowling balls. You hate me.

You can back out at any time.

Dieter: NO! Why’d sex have to be off the table?

“Want some?” The redhead asks, offering Dieter the joint in her hand. He shakes his head with a polite no thank you, redirecting his focus back to his phone. He chuckles, reading your message.

You got tested, doofus. I’m not going to sleep with you if you’re not clean.

Dieter: What if I get tested before we fuck?

No.

With a sigh, he pockets his phone, trying to pick up what is being discussed around the circle of people passing the joint around. He spends the rest of his time at the party in this small room, trying to steer clear of greater temptation down the hall. Dieter wouldn’t have even come to this party had his manager not forced him to. Something about socializing with some model and trying to get on a director's good side. Who the director and model were, Dieter had no idea. All he could think about was you, wondering what you were doing, if you were even serious about this deal.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna hit this?” The redhead purred, leaning into his side, her breasts brushing against his arm.

Dieter clears his throat, trying his best to avoid looking at her cleavage. “Nope. I’m good.” He murmurs with a shake of his head.

Since the moment he laid eyes on you, Dieter knew he wanted to fuck you and wasn’t about to lose his chance now.

—

“Being sober is so fucking boring!” Dieter whines, sitting on the opposite end of his couch, snatching the open KitKat off his coffee table. “I don’t get why people do this.”

“Dieter. It’s been a month.” You huff, rolling your eyes as he takes a giant bite off the chocolate bar.

“I’m jus-“ he continues to chew, “I’m just saying, it’s boring! I don’t know how you do this.” He says after swallowing the sweet treat.

“Find a different hobby,” you say, shrugging your shoulders, picking the lint off your leggings, “I don’t know what to tell you, ya big baby.”

“I’m not a big baby!” Dieter huffs, tossing the KitKat back onto the coffee table. “I don’t have any hobbies besides fucking, drinking, and drugs!” He says, leaning towards you, his arms caging you in against the arm of his couch. Your throat feels dry suddenly, taking in his steely expression, “How am I supposed to release all this stress?” He asks, quirking his brow, his mouth so close you can smell the chocolate on his breath. Dieter gently kisses the corner of your mouth, his lips making a soft trail from your jaw to your neck, “Hmm?” He asks, waiting for a response before his teeth gently scrape that spot behind your ear.

You let out a soft whine feeling his hard length against your thigh.

“No!” You bark out, gently pushing him away from you, attempting to catch your breath. “Not the deal, bucko. It’s only been a month.”

“Fine,” Dieter huffs, sitting back on the couch and folding his arms across his broad chest. “Then what the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” He asks, nodding his head towards the tent in his pants.

“You’ll be fine.” You say, giving him a pointed look and grabbing the TV remote to turn something on to distract you after whatever that was. “Do we need to watch The Lion King?” You ask, a grin spreading across your face.

“Why? So I can be even more confused about my feelings for Scar?!” He laughs, grabbing his crotch and adjusting himself. “He’s a bad guy but maybe he’d be fun.” He adds with a shrug

“You’re so fucking weird.” You laugh, shaking your head, nudging his shoulder with your own.

“Fuck off,” Dieter grumbles, scooting his hips down to get more comfortable and stretching his arm across the back, “Actually, no. Come here,” he says, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you closer to his side. You lay your head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent with a smile. He lets out a sigh, laying his cheek against the top of your head. “I like this,” he whispers as you find a movie to watch.

“What?” You whisper, scooting closer to him.

“New hobby.” He hums, placing a kiss on your head, “Cuddling.”

You roll your eyes, biting your lip to keep from smiling. You are really beginning to like this Dieter. Sober Dieter is a lot sweeter.

—

Dieter sits in his art studio, contemplating what to paint. The drugs tended to spark that creativity in him, his hands moving mindlessly until some weird fucked up masterpiece was sitting in front of him. Except now. Now he sits wondering what he’s even doing in the room he’s avoided for weeks upon weeks. Unable to make that same spark come to life, staring out the window to his backyard. Maybe I could do a landscape, he thinks.

“What the fuck am I thinking?” He groans, throwing the paintbrush down in defeat, “I’m not fucking Bob Ross.”

He grabs his phone, opening it to the first thing he sees, a message from his dealer.

Hey Bravo. Been a while man, you good?

His palms begin to sweat, fingers itching to respond. What would he even say?

Sorry, your highest-paying customer is sober.

Hey, yeah everything’s great!

Actually everything is really fucking bad.

Can I stop by?

Then a notification pops up that you shared something on Instagram, deciding to click on it, his focus is immediately on you. He smiles, seeing the selfie you posted. You, with your soft lips, your sweet smile, your eyes twinkle like you’ve got a secret you’re not ready to share. Just you.

Dieter had a hard time admitting to himself that he loved you. Not the kind of love shared between friends but more.

The first time it popped into his brain had been during a drug-fueled bender when you took care of him during and after, reminding him to drink water, laying in his bed with him because he didn’t want to be alone, scratching his back, and putting up with his demanding whines of discomfort.

The second time had been during a drunken night where he was trying to forget about his feelings. Only for him to wind up banging on your apartment door at four am, when he cried himself to sleep on your couch about how much he loved you, while you softly exhaled and shook your head with a pitiful face and told him - Dieter, you’re drunk.

The third time and when he finally accepted it was the following morning, waking to the sunlight shining brightly into your living room. His body and head feeling so achy, slumping off your couch, making his way to your room. He smiled watching you deep in sleep, comforter wrapped around your shoulders and legs sprawled out. He let out a soft sigh, his feet slowly padding to your bed, nudging your shoulder when he was close, softly whispering - scoot over - before slipping under the covers as you created space for him, observing the crease of your eyebrows as you moved, the little pout of your lips, and the twitch of your nose as you slept. This is what he wanted to see every morning for the rest of his life. You.

He let out an exasperated sigh, putting his phone down to stare at the blank canvas again.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed, quickly grabbing some paint and squirting red, yellow, blue and white to his pallet. Not even noticing the joint he’d left last time he was in this room on the side table as inspiration finally struck.

—

“Dieter!” You call out as you open his front door being met with silence as you make your journey further into the darkened foyer, “I got those tacos you like!” Trying to coax him out of wherever it is he’s hiding.

You’re certain he’s changed his mind on the deal you’d made. It’s been weeks since you heard from him, past the three month mark now and the only reason you’re here is because he hasn’t been answering his phone and worry was getting the better of you.

“Dee?” You try again, flipping lights on in each room you pass until you come to the kitchen, “This isn’t funny dude.” You shout, setting the bag of food on the counter before going in search of him.

Making your way deeper into his home, you notice a light shining from under the door to Dieter’s studio. You can hear movement on the other side of the door.

“Dieter?” You ask hesitantly, tapping the tips of your fingers against the door. “You in there?”

You hear a groan before distinctly hearing something plunk to the ground. Taking a deep breath, you push the door open to see Dieter lying on the floor in front of a blank canvas. Paint is splattered all over the place, his paint brushes skewed about, and a cup he kept close by lies on the floor, surrounded by a murky puddle of paint-infused water.

“Dieter,” you hesitate, approaching his still form. “Hey, man. Get up,” your foot reaching to kick against his leg lightly. His speech is slurred as he grumbles, something you can’t decipher. Well - at least he’s still breathing, you think, furrowing your brow.

“Come on, Dee.” You sigh, feeling defeated. Hunched over his form, “Let’s get you to bed.”

“No,” he murmurs as you turn him flat on his back. “Stay here,” he groans out, eyes tightly squeezed shut like a toddler who just got woken up from his nap, reaching his arms out towards you, waving them in the air until his hand makes contact with your arm. Dieter moves on his side pulling you down with him, wrapping one arm around your shoulders and the other around your waist, a satisfied hum leaving his chest.

“Dieter,” you let out an annoyed huff, “This is great and all, but uh- why the fuck are we on the floor?”

“Sleep,” he murmurs into your hair.

“I am not sleeping on the floor.”

“Shut up,” Dieter whines, tangling his legs with your own. “I want sleep.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head against his chest as he holds you against him. His breathing calms as you lay there in silence on the floor of his little studio, wondering what it might have been that he took this time.

“I made it,” Dieter huffs against your hairline. As if the thoughts in your head were seeping through like osmosis into his brain. “Three months. No drugs, no booze, no sex.”

Your head tilts up, eyeing him suspiciously.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he grins, bleary eyes raking across the features of your face.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Bravo.” You give a teasing glare. “So you really made it three months?”

“Mhm,” Dieter hums with a shit-eating grin. “Bet you didn’t see that happening.”

“No, I did not.” You comment, quirking your brow.

“I need to…” Dieter pauses, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, “I need to show you something.”

He gently moves you away, propping himself up to stand. “Ew,” he fusses, looking down at his soaked sock standing in the murky puddle of water. “Why’d you let us lay so close to that?!”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, giving him a pointed look.

“Right.” Dieter says bashfully, extending his hands to you, “Come on.”

Dieter gently pulls you to stand with him before taking a deep breath and leading you to the spot, the place he always puts his latest project to admire and contemplate, on the wall.

“So, I realized something during this three month stint.” He starts, clearing his throat before continuing. “I uh… Well…” he steps forward, turning on the singular light above the darkened spot on the wall, revealing a painting of you.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, shocked that this is what Dieter has been working on. A galaxy seeping into a meadow surrounding your face. The blues and purples of the galaxy blend in beautifully with greens and yellows of the meadow. The expression of your face stunning against the canvas. Is this how Dieter sees you?

“I’ve been working on this for weeks now.” Dieter mumbles shyly, scratching the back of his head, “I don’t know how to do this or how to make you believe me but…” he pauses, taking in a deep breath, “I love you.”

“Dee,” you murmur, taken aback by his confession, surging forward, wrapping your arms around his neck, one hand gripping the back of his neck to bring his lips to your own in a desperate kiss. Your fingers weave through his hair, gripping him to you tighter, sweeping your tongue against the seam of his lips he opens his mouth to let you in.

Your mouth trails down his jaw to his neck. “A- and not just like a friend but more than that. I know you’re probably gonna be all Dieter, you didn’t stick to the deal but I swear I did.” He hisses as the pulse in his neck thrums wildly against your lips, “I just-“ he gasps, feeling you lovingly bite against his pulse point, arms wrapping around your waist in a tight grip, “You initiated the bet - for me to get sober, and then I did. All these years I was doing all that shit to try and drown the noises inside my head but they aren’t so loud once I actually hear what they’re saying and the main thing they’re saying now is I’m an idiot for not being honest with you.”

“Dieter,” you let out an annoyed huff, looking into his melancholy russet eyes, “I love you too, okay? Now shut up.”

“Amazing,” he breathes out with a dopey grin, leaning forward to meet your lips again. You groan as his tongue slips between your lips, exploring your mouth with fervor. He guides you backward until the desk that sits in his studio bumps the back of your thighs. His hands glide down, cupping the back of your thighs, lifting you on top of the desk.

“Fuck,” you yelp, letting out a breathless laugh as his lips meet yours. Your hands reach for the bottom of his shirt, slipping underneath to feel the warmth of his skin against your palm.

“I love you,” Dieter breathes against your jaw, lips trailing down to your neck, “So fucking much.”

“Love you too,” you moan, bunching the shirt he’s wearing up his torso. He breaks away, letting you sweep it off him with a toss to the floor. Dieter grins, tugging your shirt off, reaching behind your back to undo the clasp of your bra with one hand, slipping the thin material off your shoulders to expose your chest to him.

“Nice,” Dieter hums, massaging your tits in his hands, brushing his thumbs across your nipples, “Always wondered what these bad boys looked like underneath.”

“Fucking christ,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “So fucking weird.”

He smiles devilishly before nipping your pert nipple gently, sucking it into his warm mouth, swirling his tongue around it. You let out a soft moan, feeling the ache between your thighs become more persistent. Fingers carding through the soft, wavy curls on his head, pushing at his shoulders.

“Off, " you demand as your hands grip the waistband of his pants, trying to push them down, “Off.”

“Easy,” Dieter smiles, slowly pushing his pants down, cock springing free and standing proudly.

“Fuck me,” you whisper in shock, taking in the sight of his length. Thick and long. You had a good idea, considering how many mornings you’d woken up with the thing poking you in the ass, but to see it hanging heavily between his thighs was monumental. He grunts when your hand reaches to touch him, squeezing him firmly at the base.

“Your turn,” Dieter hissed, grabbing your leggings. You let go of him, helping to lift your hips as he quickly tugged them down your legs. “Fuck me,” he utters, taking in the dark patch of your underwear, his hands rubbing up your thighs, teasing the soft skin of your inner thigh.

“Dieter,” you gasp, gripping his bicep, his thumb making tight circles around your clit against the cotton of your underwear. He hums, laving his tongue against your collarbone, licking a line up your throat as his fingers push the gusset of your panties to the side.

“Fuck,” Dieter pants, feeling the wetness between your folds. His fingers sliding up and down your seam, coating his fingers in your slick, teasing your entrance with the tips of two thick fingers.

“Dee,” you whine, breath hitching as your hips squirm on top of the desk when he pushes his fingers in torturously slow. “I need more.”

“You’ll get more,” he rasps, his fingers continuing their slow movements. In and out. In and out. In and out. His thumb moves to that bundle of nerves, alternating between sweeping back and forth and drawing firm circles around your clit.

You feel the pool of arousal building at the end of your spine, warmth spreading through your limbs like a wildfire. Your breath quickens as your walls tighten around his digits.

“Oh god,” you moan, gripping his bicep firmer, “Fuck. Dieter, you’re gonna make me come.”

“Come for me, baby.” He whispers against your ear. Fingers scrubbing against your walls faster, deeper until they hit that spot inside that feels impossible to reach on your own.

“Oh fuck!” You cry out, throwing your head back as the flames within consume you whole. Your back arching, pushing your chest against his, “Dieter,” you whimper, head resting against his shoulder as his fingers work you through your orgasm.

He scoops you up, flipping you over his shoulder, carrying you out the door of his studio, down the hall to his room.

“Dieter!” You shriek, giggling knowing he must be a sight to see right now. His heavy member bouncing between his thighs as he marches with you over his shoulder. “What about your back?!” You ask, grinning, taking notice of the walls of his room.

“Don’t fucking care,” he says, flipping you onto his bed, pushing your legs apart, creating space for him between your thighs. He crawls up the length of your body, arms resting on either side of your head. His cock pressing against your thigh, realizing what is to come next. “You sure you wanna do this?” He asks, his lips barely touching your own, breathing each other in, causing a dizzying arousal to pool in your tummy.

“Yes,” you breathe, hands trailing up the expanse of his back, gripping his shoulders. He grips his shaft; a breathy moan escapes you as he slowly strokes your seam with his tip. “Dieter,” you plead, nails creating half-crescent moons into his shoulders when his tip catches on your entrance.

“I got you,” he croaks, repeating himself as he pushes in, “I got you.”

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, feeling your walls make space for him inside your warmth. He lets out a hiss as your nails dig deeper into the skin of his shoulders, definitely leaving marks he’ll see tomorrow.

“Oh my god,” Dieter groans, his head coming to the crook of your neck, pushing his cock in deeper until you can’t decipher where you begin and he ends. You moan, feeling so incredibly full. You never knew sex could feel like this, and it’s barely even started. He holds still, allowing both of you to get used to the feeling of one another.

“Dieter,” you pant, squirming against him, “I need you to move.”

“Fuck me.” He grunts, feeling your walls clench around him. He slowly pulls out before thrusting back into your heat, his hips creating a slow, deep rhythm. “You’re so fucking perfect.” he whimpers, tongue flicking across your sternum. “So,” thrust, “fucking,” thrust, “perfect.” thrust. You release a broken moan into the room, the sound of skin slapping filling the air around the both of you.

“Harder,” you beg, “Dee, please. Harder.”

He releases a shattered breath, sliding one hand down your side and around your hip, bringing your leg up to rest against his ribs before snapping his hips into you.

“Dieter!” You scream out, back bowing off his bed. It feels so intense. His cock shredding up into you at this angle, hitting that spot perfectly just like his fingers. Your muscles begin to tense, thighs shaking as he continues thrusting into you at a frenzied pace.

“I’m not gonna last long,” Dieter admits, sitting up on his knees, grabbing your ankle to place your leg against his shoulder, staring down at you, watching your tits bounce with every firm thrust he gives you. “So fucking hot,” he groans, his hand sliding down your leg to your center. You let out a ragged moan as his fingers lightly pinch and pull your bundle of nerves, the impending wave of your orgasm getting closer and closer. “Need you to come, baby.” he all but begs, the muscles in his stomach tensing, trying to stave off his own orgasm, “I’m so fucking close.”

“I’m close,” you pant, nodding your head, “So fucking close. Kiss me.”

Dieter wraps your leg around his waist, collapsing on top of you, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss. The band in your stomach tightens more as your tongues massage one another, your walls fluttering around his cock, beginning to milk him for all he’s worth.

“Fuck,” Dieter whines, hips stuttering, feeling him pulsate inside of you, painting his come against your inner walls, pushing you over the cliffs edge as your pussy squeezes around him tighter. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck!” He whimpers, slumping against you, head resting between your breasts, trying to catch your breath.

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had,” Dieter murmurs against your sternum, placing a chaste kiss before peering up at you. “Worth the wait,” he adds with a wink.

“Was pretty good, Bravo,” you sigh with a nod. He lets out a hiss as you clench around him.

“Stop that,” he says, pulling out with a groan and flopping beside you on the bed, lying on his side, arm propping up his head, facing you. “Ya know, I really wasn’t looking forward to the whole being sober thing.” He admits, with a mock frown, “But it isn’t that bad.” he adds with a shrug.

“No, it’s not,” you laugh softly.

“I thought it would be worse than it was, but I kinda like it,” Dieter smiles, hovering over you, “Especially since it led to this.” He places a kiss against the corner of your smiling mouth, “And if I stay sober… will this keep happening?” He asks in a whisper, hesitantly awaiting your response.

“Dee,” you hum, “You got me. Just gotta take it day by day.”

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