A Little Sun part 6 Dieter!Bravo x f!Reader
rating: 18+
words: 8.4k
pairings: Dieter x f!Reader
tags: pregnancy, details of body changing with pregnancy, insecurity, mention of family death, mutual pining, idiots in love, soft dieter, fluff, lurve, angst, miscommunication trope, female masturbation, male masturbation, dirty talk (thoughts).
summary: You move in with Dieter after the fight with your mom and things get... complicated.
a/n: Y'all this thing has turned into such a fuckin' beast. Remember when I wanted it to be a one shot? Anyway, we're nearing the end with these two idiots in love but I think this one ends pretty damn sweet.
Also I think I'm in love with Dieter Bravo?
SERIES MASTERLIST
REBLOGS, COMMENTS, ENGAGEMENT ARE WHAT KEEP US FIC WRITERS GOING. PLEASE REMEMBER THAT IF YOU ENJOYED THIS.
Dieter doesn't even let you step fully into his home before he's got you in his arms, wrapping you in his warm embrace. Your suitcases clatter to the floor as you cling to him, burying your face in his neck and fighting back tears.
"You can stay as long as you want," Dieter promises you as one hand cups the back of your head. "Stay forever."
You give a watery chuckle into his shoulder, not quite ready to let go of him. You only break apart when the smell of European cigarettes wafts into the room.
You swipe at your damp eyes while Dieter turns to greet the tiny woman with a shock of white curls. She wears an oversized green t-shirt and loose khaki pants. She shuffles from place to place in her oversized moccasins.
"You remember Magda, right?"
"I think we've met a few times," you say extending your hand. The old woman gives you a look before shuffling over and placing her hand on your belly. You're in too much shock to pull back.
"A healthy boy," she tells you through a thick Eastern European accent. You and Dieter exchange looks of surprise.
"Uh yeah," you peer down at her shriveled frame, "How did you know that it was a boy?"
"I can tell."
She says it with a sage nod and then with that revelation she shuffles off to the kitchen, the feather duster still firmly lodged under her bony arm.
"She's the best," Dieter says says fondly before turning back to you with a look of expectancy. "Lemme show you where you're staying."
He takes both of your suitcase handles and jerks head to the left indicating you should follow.
You follow him out into his garden beside the pool. A place that you've never really visited much before. Most of your business has been conducted inside in his kitchen or in his office. You've heard about his guest house, how he had so many decorators come in over the years.
When you enter into it now, you're surprised at just how normal it seems. You were waiting for whips and chains and other strange memorabilia to line the walls. But instead it looks like something out of a Martha Stewart magazine. Crisp White's and Blue wainscotting. Overstuffed chairs and couches surround the coffee table from the photo he sent you. It's strangely tasteful.
It doesn't suit him at all.
Dieter must notice your surprise because he smirks before he rolls your suitcases towards the kitchen bar.
"Remember that Danish woman I dated for a couple months right after you started working for me?"
"Yeah, Lyda something.'
"Right. She wanted to start a career as an interior designer. I let her run the show in this place. Not really my taste."
"Not really mine either," You admit looking around the space. "It is beautifully done but I prefer the place we stayed in Ireland, like, that aesthetic. Old wood and big windows."
"I like that too," Dieter agrees. He sees you yawn and immediately feels guilty for keeping You up after such an emotional day.
"I'm going to have Petra whip you up something for dinner."
Petra is Dieter's chef who stocks his fridge with high end
"Dieter you don't-"
"You gotta take care of you and little Bravo remember?"
Dieter feels something in his chest bloom when instead of rolling your eyes you smile at him, nodding.
"Thanks Dieter."
You wake up the next morning in the plush duvet with your arms stretched above your head before rolling an absent hand down your swollen belly.
"Morning little boy," you whisper to the tiny being there beneath your fingertips. You give a groan as you gently roll yourself off the bed sliding into your slippers and pulling on your robe. Despite your devastation of what happened with your mother, waking up in this beautiful space on this gorgeously sunny day has you feeling hopeful.
This feeling is dampened slightly when you glance at your phone, looking to the calendar and seeing a date in the coming week starred. A date you have been dreading for months. Your birthday. The first one of yours since your father passed. Without your mom around this seems especially painful to consider. You close your phone, not wanting to think about it.
You spot a tall figure out the window and feel your cheeks flush. Something has shifted since Ireland. Something that terrifies you. The whisper of feelings that you're having a hard time repressing when you think of how he supports you.
But you push it from your mind. Your worlds don't match up. You’re serious, you take life seriously, you want to dedicate yourself to science. Dieter wants to fuck and party and grab life by the balls.
Plus he's with Mia and she makes him happy.
Dieter saunters across the backyard, narrowly missing the pool as he heads to the guest house. He's wearing an old t-shirt and sweatpants under tattered robe, his eyes hidden behind his sunshades. He's carrying a tumbler of whiskey in one hand and a smoothie in the other.
"Dieter it’s ten in the morning," you say as you open the sliding door to greet him.
"I'm still on Ireland time," he says giving you a waggle of his brows before setting the pale
pink smoothie down on the kitchen counter. "Breakfast when you're ready for it."
He sees you eyeing the smoothie warily and gives a deep rumbling chuckle.
"Petra made this one so you're safe. You like strawberries right?"
You take a tentative sip, before giving a soft moan of approval and drinking down the rest.
He rocks back on his heels a moment and despite the dark of his glasses, you can feel his gaze lingering on you.
"So... What're you up to today, Bravo?"
"You mean you don't know?"
"I'm officially no longer part of team Bravo remember?" You remind him with a sad chuckle as you place the empty glass back on the counter. "Diane cut my access to work emails and calendars."
"Shit that's right, I forgot." He looks at you with such a guilty expression. "I'm sorry."
"S'okay. I'm looking at this like a real non working vacation," you tell him honestly pointing out the window. "I figure you have a pool, there's a chef, a housekeeper, I brought books, what more could I ask for?"
"Plus you have a recreation staff," Dieter grins, taking you by the hand and twirling you gently towards him. "Dance lessons by the pool, movie nights, anything the customer wants."
"Hmmm an end to global warming?"
"Sorry that's only with the premium package."
You let out a loud laugh as Dieter joins you, spinning you into a hug. His mouth is only inches from yours and when the two of you realize this your mutual laughter ebbs.
Dieter wants nothing more than to press his mouth to yours, to taste you, to fuck you here in his home. But he knows it's not what you want. You don't want that from Dieter. You want somewhere safe to stay and he'll provide that to you.
Besides there is someone who does want his affection, his touch: Mia.
You swallow, your body poised and mouth slowly tilting towards Dieter before he seems to realize himself. He slowly extricates his arms from around you before reaching into his robe pocket, clearing his throat.
"Here's the key," Dieter tells you, holding it out to you. You take it, looking at the tiny Jameson keychain on it. The one that matches the one Dieter got you in Ireland that you wear on your own keychain. You smile at the sight of it before looking puzzled.
"A key?"
"For the guest house."
"I don't need to lock it," you chide even as you take it from him and toss it into your purse. "It's just you and me here right?"
"Yeah," Dieter hides the broad of his grin behind his whiskey glass. "Just you and me."
For the next several days Dieter tries to give you as much space as possible. He brings you a smoothie every morning citing that Magda is too busy. In the evenings he texts you to invite you over to the big house for dinner. Sometimes you join him, sometimes you’re just too tired.
You always go back to the guest house feeling a little bit down. You didn’t realize you missed sleeping in the same house, how Ireland made it almost feel like living together. Dieter’s place is so large it’s like you’re in separate neighborhoods.
Dinners are starting to be hard as well. Knowing you’ll be leaving to go back to the empty guest room. It’s a luxury, that’s for certain with its tall ceilings and plush bed. But it feels quiet without Dieter’s music or loud laughter.
And so you can admit to yourself that every morning he comes by with the pink smoothie and a big grin, your heart leaps a little bit. Like now, seeing him rushing over more frenzied than usual. He smiles, pushing the drink into your hand hurriedly.
“Here. Drink fast, I finished the nursery and want you to come look.”
“When did you have time to do the nursery?” You ask amazed as you follow him to the main house, smoothie almost drained by the time you reach his place.
“I’ve been in touch with this guy Diora from Albania over email since Ireland. He’s all the rage, super hard to get but he was really excited about trying his hand at a nursery. He just finished Criss Angel’s man cave and James Franco’s bedroom.”
Dieter sweeps a hand to the middle of your back, guiding you down the hall. When he opens the door with a flourish it takes everything in you not to gasp in horror. Your hand still rises to your mouth, though when you step into the room.
It looks like a sex dungeon.
Black and white striped walls, a beautifully ornate crib painted a ghastly red.
"Contrasting colors are good for baby’s retinas," Dieter says confidently. "I read it somewhere."
It takes you a few moments of staring at everything before you can speak.
"You have whips hung on the walls."
"Those are vintage skipping ropes," Dieter tells you aghast at your misunderstanding. You turn slowly, taking everything in. Finally you shake your head slowly.
"Dieter, this is totally inappropriate for a nursery," you say. "What baby would be happy here?"
Dieter takes a moment to glance around the space, his previous elation dimming with every word from you.
"This is what Diora suggested. He's the hottest designer right now."
"Of millionaire bachelor pads," you say as you look at a particularly ugly piece of metal hanging from the ceiling. "Not for a baby’s room."
"I'm not gonna have some tacky nursery with stuffed bears and shit,” Dieter defends. “I can't do it. Anyone who comes over and sees that'll think I've lost my edge."
The thought of being a father is immensely appealing to Dieter. The thought of being a loser Dad is not.
“Mia said it was cool,” Dieter shoots out. “I sent her photos.”
Mia is also in her early twenties, you want to snap. But you hold your tongue, trying to see the upsides to this nursery. Unfortunately you can see none. Everything is a safety hazard.
Dieter paces around the room, suddenly sour at the whole thing. He thought you’d be excited to see where the baby will be. Instead you’ve come in with your judgments and frowning face.
"Please let me... Dieter let me help you with this," you almost beg. "I just.... I know he's not mine but I can't stand the thought of him being in this... Baby prison."
I know he's not mine.
This hurts Dieter to hear it. He knows that you face no interest in being in this baby's life or his the week after you've given birth. But he can admit he's fooled himself with you being here.
But this? This is a project the two of you can work on. A potential to have more reason to have you in the house, not in that fucking guest house. He can only think of so many reasons to knock on your door apart from smoothies.
"Okay, sure."
“Okay,” you say looking relieved. “How about a pale blue or green? Then we can get a nice crib and some rugs and gauzy curtains.”
“That’s so boring.”
“And safe,” you emphasize. “You have to think of his safety, Dieter.”
Dieter pouts slightly in thought, trying to see the nursery through your eyes. He has to concede that perhaps this is a bit much for a newborn.
"Actually, you know what would look really beautiful on this far wall here?" You muse, looking at the space. "That painting you bought me for my birthday."
You think of the artwork hanging in your bedroom. The one of the woman looking out over the ocean, her hair whipping in the sea air. It’s the one thing you didn’t bring from home that you regret. There was something about that painting that made you feel relaxed.
"I didn't buy you that," Dieter says with a furrowed brow.
Your stomach sinks at this admission from Dieter and you wish you could take back everything. The intimacy of the moment, the vulnerability. He never even fucking bought the thing himself. Diane probably did and here you are pouring your heart out about it.
"Oh, uh-Or Diane or whoever-"
"I painted it for you."
All the animosity that had been brewing behind your sternum drains from you. A smile blooms immediately, your body tingling as you roll onto your side to fully face him.
"You did?"
"Yeah," Dieter is smirking at you from the shadows. "I love painting. You think I'd buy you a fucking painting?"
“I think I just assumed that you got Diane or whoever to ship it to me."
"Maybe if you were someone else," Dieter muses, his gaze wandering around the nursery. "Someone who doesn't do everything for me." He falls silent a moment. "You really thought I bought it?"
"Yeah."
"Didn't you think it was weird that the girl in the painting was you?"
Now you're stunned and it must show on your face because Dieter is chuckling softly now.
"You've had it hanging up your room for how long? Did you even look at it?"
"Of course I did, I do," you say in a rush, feeling embarrassed. You look at it every night you’re in your bedroom. "I just ... I never thought..."
"What?"
"I never thought you saw me."
Dieter blinks back at you, his dark eyes searching your face.
"I just mean you never even said thank you before this whole baby thing," you explain. "I've worked for you for a while and you kinda just expected I'd be at your beck and call all hours of the day and night, even on my days off."
"I'm sorry," Dieter whispers. "That was shitty of me."
"Why do you do it?
“I went through so many assistants I just assumed you wouldn’t be sticking around long.” Dieter looks ashamed as he says it out loud. “But then the longer you stayed the more I depended on you. I think… After a while I think it just felt weird to not message you.”
You both lapse into a thoughtful silence.
“You’ll manage just fine without me when I leave,” you tell him, needing him to know. “And if you’re ever feeling really lost and like you just need to talk to someone, you can always call me. Not as an employee, but as a friend.”
“Really? We’re friends?”
“Yeah,” you nod, heart hammering. “Friends.”
Dieter wakes up hard every morning for the next two weeks. He doesn't try to; he actively tries to think of other things before he goes to sleep. He watches documentaries, he reads art books, he meditates. He tries to push you from his thoughts so he can wake up normal.
But he always wakes up aching with the head of his cock weeping, flickering remnants of his dreams still floating around his subconscious. And those dreams are always of you.
Today he wakes up with the memory of his dream still lingering. You on your knees, his cock in your mouth and your eyes heavy lidded. As he shifts in bed Dieter realizes his boxers are sticky with previous release. A fucking nocturnal emission? How old is he?
And what's worse is that he's still fucking hard. Throbbing, actually He groans low in his throat and tries to ignore it.
You're here at his home. You're practically living with him. You're only a few steps from his back door. You're so close and yet so frustratingly far from him. He misses being in the same home as you, like the rental in Ireland. He misses the feeling of coming home after a long day on set and seeing your sweet face on the couch.
He wants that again.
Dieter rolls onto his belly to try and squash his current erection against the mattress. But that doesn't help, it just gives a delicious friction. He shifts again experimentally, groaning at the shiver that travels from the base of his spine to the tip. In his sleepy arousal he imagines that it's not the mattress but you that he's fucking.
"You like that?" Dieter murmurs, eyes closed as he rocks against his bed. "Like feeling me like that, baby?"
He pushes his hips into the bed, starting to rut when the pleasure increases.
You're so big, Dieter.
And suddenly he's thrusting against it, picturing your body writhing under him.
Need it, Dieter. Fuck me harder.
"Yes," Dieter groans into his pillow, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress. He thrusts furiously into the soft fabric of the bed, hips bouncing up and down on the mattress.
Need your big cock, daddy, your dream self moans. Need it deep.
"Fuck yes, baby. Take Daddy's cock. Take it and-"
His phone chirrups loudly on the table next to him, breaking him from the immersive fantasy.
A name and photo flash up on the screen.
Mia.
Immediately he feels guilty. Here he is humping his mattress to thoughts of you as his gorgeous, talented, funny, sexy girlfriend is calling.
He breathes rapidly through his nose, slowing his grinding movements. He rolls over in the bed, reaching for the phone.
"Hey babe," Dieter says, panting as he answers. He flips onto his back, willing his cock to go down.
"You okay? You sound like you've been exercising and I know that can't be true."
Dieter barks a laugh at that. He's about to reply when he hears a splash outside his window. Mia starts chatting in his ear but he's completely taken with the view outside his window.
You're in a bikini, gliding through the clear water of his pool. Dieter feels his mouth run dry at the sight, especially when you roll over onto your back, your belly protruding from the water like a beacon. Your hair dances around your head, your eyes closed, face tilted towards the sun. You have the sweetest little smile on your face.
You're so fucking beautiful.
"Dee? You there?"
"Huh? Yeah, sorry babe what?"
"I wanted to know how you're getting on? I've been staying off socials for the last little bit of the shoot trying to stay focused. I finally saw the photos from the airport. How is the poor thing holding up?"
"Stressed, but better."
"She must be happy to be at home away from all that madness."
Dieter feels his stomach clench. He knows he has to be honest with Mia, she's his girlfriend, she deserves to know. And yet he hesitates because he knows how it sounds.
"She's staying in my guest house, actually," Dieter offers in what he hopes is a nonchalant voice.
The warmth from Mia's voice is immediately gone.
"Pardon me?"
"She's, uh, in my guest house for the time being," Dieter adds, closing his eyes and bracing himself.
Mia shuffles on the other end before her voice reaches out to him confused.
"I thought you wanted a relationship with me, Dieter. Otherwise why did your agent go to so much trouble to confirm it? To do a splashy roll-out?"
"I do want it."
"But you have the employee you got pregnant living with you?"
"Not with me. In the guest house."
"This is weird, Dee."
He hears the concern in her voice and he feels his stomach drop. He doesn't want to lose Mia.
"Her mom kicked her out," Dieter explains quickly. "What was I supposed to do?"
"Pay for a hotel?"
The answer is so clear, so obvious. Why didn't he offer a hotel? He has the money. Why had it been so important for him to have you here?
Because then he could see you every day.
The answer is immediate but he won't admit it. Not now.
"The paps have been relentless," Dieter says finally. "They'll camp out outside of wherever I put her up. Not like here where I know she's safe away from the public eye."
"But-"
"She's not like us, Mia," Dieter insists. "She doesn't want fame and all that shit. She's just a regular person who's pregnant and alone. Her mom kicked her out, she's got no one else."
He can almost hear Mia softening over the phone.
"It's just hard, Dee," she says finally. "Especially when I haven't seen you in weeks."
Dieter feels a flutter of panic at how sad she sounds. He wants to make it up to her and has a great idea of how.
"Prague!"
Dieter bursts out with this, wincing when he hears how loud he is.
"Sorry, what?"
"What do you think about Prague?" Dieter corrects himself, rubbing nervously at his beard. "You're flying to LA next week for our magazine spread, right?"
"Yeah."
"And you've always wanted to go to Prague, right?"
"Yes."
"So let's do it. After the shoot let's get away from everyone and everything for a few weeks just us two."
"You'd really want to do that?"
"Of course."
He hears Mia weighing the choice on the other end of the line. He holds his breath until he can almost hear her smile.
"Okay Dee, let's do it."
“Amazing,” Dieter says grinning. “I’ll get Diane to send you the details. See you next week.”
He hangs up quickly, undressing and pulling on his swim trunks.
You’re floating on your back, sunglasses on your face, your body most submerged in the cool water. You hear the sound of a door opening and crack one eye open to see Dieter approaching.
Dieter never uses his pool. He got the house on a whim and didn’t even notice it had a pool until he officially moved in. But right now seeing your tits overflowing out of your bikini cups has him so utterly thankful to his former self.
He shrugs off his robe, sliding into the chilly water with an exaggerated brrrr. He swims over to you, sunglasses perched on the end of his nose.
“Looked so refreshing I had to join.”
“It’s so nice,” you sigh, your arms and legs out as you soak up the sun and enjoy the lack of strain on your lower back. “I never want to get out.”
Dieter paddles near you for a moment, wanting to remember this moment before he recalls his conversation with Mia.
“Well you’ll have the place to yourself the next couple of weeks.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, Mia and I are going to Prague like you suggested.”
“That’s so great," you say with a tightness in your voice. “When do you leave?”
“Next Thursday.”
Next Thursday.
Dieter stars to drone on about how Mia has all these restaurants and museums she wants to go to but all you can think of is that you’ll be alone on your birthday. The first one since your father passed. No mother to turn to. Nothing. You’ll be completely alone.
A sudden flutter begins in your abdomen and you give an absent smile, hand slowly sliding over your stomach.
Well, not completely alone.
From where you stand in your guest house kitchen you can see into the main house. Specifically into the dining room. At night when the landscape is dark and the lights are on inside you can see it very clearly.
Like tonight.
You can see him pacing inside the house, his tall frame gesticulating wildly. He's obviously going over some lines. He asked you to have dinner and run through them but you’d texted back some feeble excuse.
The truth is you need to separate yourself as much as possible from Dieter because you’re convinced that what you’re starting to feel can’t be explained away by hormones. This desire to be with him.
But he’s leaving with Mia in a few short days on some whirlwind romantic escape. You even showed him the best way to pack his fucking suitcase! The sight of a box of condoms at the bottom of it hidden by the toiletries bag made your throat tighten.
Despite this your eyes sail over to Dieter’s house again, watching him make a note on his script before running through the lines. He looks so sexy when he does it, totally lost in the moment. It reminds you of the character he played in Ireland.
Fuck, that insatiable need is coursing through your body again. The hormones kicking into overdrive as you feel your thighs press together at the memory of Dieter and that regency costume. He looked so good in it. You can almost hear his husky voice in your ear.
It's okay if you want it, baby. Lemme give it to you.
You throw yourself into your plush bed, your hands sliding down under your panties and working frantically against your straining clit.
Uh huh. Just like that. Gotta come on my fingers before you get this cock.
You throw your head back, thighs squeezing as you rut against your fingers. This phantom Dieter plays in your mind, his husky voice full of dark, delicious promise.
Gonna fuck such pretty sounds out of you.
"Dieter," you groan, unable to help yourself. It's pathetic how quickly and easily your orgasm overtakes you. It leaves you shuddering and whimpering, rutting into your fingers and then finally collapsing back as you stare at the ceiling.
What the fuck are you doing?
Despite everything Dieter is still your boss in some ways. He’s still the man paying you to have a child. Yes, he’s sort of a friend, but at the end of the day he still holds some authority over you.
You wish that last thought didn’t turn you on so much.
You’re still groaning when you hear the light tap of knuckles on glass and you jerk up in your bed, face flushed.
You wipe your damp hand on the sheets before slowly stumbling out of the bedroom. Dieter is standing there at the glass door, giving you a stiff wave. You move quickly, tugging the door open. The sound of cicadas and LA night traffic punctuate the formerly peaceful space.
“Is everything okay?”
“I’m really sorry to come over here so late but Magda just told me when she was cleaning this place this afternoon she saw a roach.”
“What?”
Immediately you’re moving towards him, glancing behind you in disgust. Your eyes sweep the floor and counters for any trace. Strange, you haven’t noticed anything and this place is kept perfectly clean.
“Yeah,” Dieter nods, looking tense. “So I gotta get this place fumigated ASAP.”
“Of course.”
“But the fumes are bad for the baby so you’ll have to move your stuff into the main house until it’s finished.”
“For how long do you think?”
“Dunno,” Dieter shrugs, motioning to the room airily. “I was gonna call a guy in the morning to get some quotes. Might be a couple weeks before they can get someone out here.”
A couple weeks? Dieter has enough money to have the place fumigated tonight if he really wanted to. You gaze up at Dieter about to say as such when you see the searching nature of his eyes and suddenly the shoe drops.
There’s no roach.
You note the tense way he rubs his fingers together, the way his brows rise and eyes go owlish the longer you stare at him.
“I’m terrified of roaches,” you finally tell him as you start to throw your stuff into your suitcases. “Can I move my stuff in tonight?”
“Would be the safest,” Dieter nods exaggeratedly helping you to pack. It takes no time at all before he’s helping you carry the suitcases across the yard and into his home.
The guest room is just as nice as the guest house with tall ceilings but slightly less homey. Dieter prefers marble floors and gold accents. Things he was taught as a child meant rich. The bed is lovely, but minimalist. You are however very impressed with the large bathtub and even bigger rain forest shower. You put your suitcases to the side, feeling Dieter watch you from the doorway.
“It’s still early you wanna watch a doc or something?”
You bite back the delighted smile that threatens to bleed over your features before you turn to face him.
“Sure.”
“Okay, you got your passport, the tickets are on your phone, your bags are packed,” the young man’s reedy voice lists off things from his checklist as the three of you stand in the kitchen the following week. Dieter is sitting on one of the stools dressed nicely and looking nervously from the paper to you, completely ignoring Rupert.
“Maybe I shouldn’t go.”
“Dieter.”
“What if you go into labor?”
“Almost three months early?” you force a laugh from where you stand by the fridge. “Then we have bigger issues than you not being here. Now c’mon. Mia’ll be here any second.”
Today is the photo spread for the movie Mia and Dieter starred in. It’ll run late so the lovebirds have decided on spending the night in a fancy hotel before shuttling off to Prague the next day. Dieter is always nervous about trips away but he realizes this is especially daunting since he’ll have no PA with him.
Diane has sent him someone new over during the week. A young man with bloodshot eyes and a nervous countenance named Robert or Roger. Dieter can’t remember. All he knows is that the kid does his job decently but he isn’t you.
But he promised himself that he would plan this trip for he and Mia. He researched the restaurants and hotels with her and booked it all. He got them the best seats in the plane and the nicest suite in the hotel.
But all he can think is that he’s going to be away from you for two weeks. Away from his son nestled safely in your body.
“I made a new tape for him,” Dieter says, suddenly snapping. He reaches into his pocket and slides the tape towards you. “Make sure he listens.”
“Yes, yes,” you say rolling your eyes.
The doorbell rings and Rupert immediately goes to answer it leaving you and Dieter alone. He watches you peering into the fridge trying to find something to satisfy your current craving of salty vanilla pudding.
“I don’t want to leave you.”
His voice is a quiet hum. Your mouth tries to form the words but all you can think of is Dieters warm eyes, his hands caressing your belly, the sweet timbre of his voice when he reads to you when you can’t sleep.
“I’m going to be okay,” you promise him softly as you glance over to him. “Now go say hello to your girlfriend.”
Dieter nods resolutely before bolting around the corner to see Mia. You hear his excited greeting and you try not to feel upset. Instead you dig around in the cupboard for something salty. You hear your name being called and you turn to see Dieter and Mia entering the room.
Mia’s eyes go round with shock at seeing you waddle towards her. You give a bright smile, despite the pang that goes through you at the sight of them hand-in-hand.
"Oh wow," Mia says when you waddle into the room holding a bag of chips.
"Weird right?"
"A little," she laughs. You join in, knowing how strange this entire scenario is. You feel like a baby hippo meanwhile Mia looks like she just stepped off the runway.
“So nice to see you,” she says, giving you an awkward hug as she avoids the bump. “I brought a little something for the baby,” she hands a wrapped gift to Dieter, “and one for you.”
Dieter unwraps the package, bringing out a first edition copy of Winnie the Pooh. Your eyes widen at the sight. That must have cost her a fortune.
“Thanks babe,” Dieter says warmly, kissing her. You look away, unwilling to watch and unwrap your gift from Mia which turns out to be a delicate crystal flower vase. Arguably one of the most useless things on the planet since you hate flowers. Dieter knows this and you think you catch a curl of amusement in his face.
“You didn’t have to do this,” you falter.
“I know,” she says sweetly. “I just saw it and thought of you.”
“It’s beautiful,” you say, careful not to exchange amused looks with Dieter across the room. You shoot a soft smile at Mia. “Thank you so much. I’ll go pop it in my room so it doesn’t get broken. Magda tends to be a little chaotic when she cleans.”
You turn, about to go down the hallway to the bedroom when you feel something like tension in the room. You don't know why you pause but you do.
"I thought you were staying in the guest house?" She asks you but her eyes are scanning Dieter’s face.
“She was,” Dieter explains, hoping his cheeks aren’t red. “But there were roaches.”
Mia’s face scrunches. “Roaches?”
“Yeah,” you finally fumble, rubbing absently at your stomach. "The guest house needed to be fumigated and that’s not safe for the baby. That’s the only reason I’m in the guest room. I’ll be out in the guest house as soon as the fumigation is over."
Mia nods, but you don't miss the lingering look there in her light eyes.
With Dieter in Prague for the next few weeks you have a lot of free time to yourself. The only problem is you have no one to spend it with. You can't be seen in public now without a bodyguard save for your short walks through Dieter's Calabasas neighborhood. Phone calls with your mom are no longer an option. So you spend most of your time scrolling through social media, watching movies and swimming.
Dieter has always been annoying but he's the kind of annoying that brings you comfort now. Without his loud presence in the house you start to feel lonely. A strange feeling you've never really experienced due to your busy lifestyle.
It makes you long for the sound of Dieter's record player in the art room. Makes you long for his brash laughter during a funny commercial. Makes you long for the way your voices worked against one another when practicing lines, the sound of him muttering to himself when he reads something that interests him in the paper, the way he rasps your name when he’s just woken up.
All the sounds of Dieter that you realize have come to be their own comforting symphony to you.
But he’s with Mia and that's how it should be. They're on the same level. And you know that these feelings are from your hormones. This warmth will fade the second this child is taken from you and is likely contributing to this lonely feeling that arises with you each empty morning.
He’s only been gone four days but those days seem to stretch into eternity. Your mind is usually so full and your schedule packed. But you’re almost annoyingly free right now. Dieter has made only one request of you and that is to update the app every day at least once. He says it makes him feel less guilty about leaving, even though you're the one who encouraged it.
So you do.
29 weeks
Cravings
SALT
Vanilla
pie filling
chips
peanuts
Missing
the ability to see my feet
Baby is size of butternut squash
The only thing that tethers you to Dieter are the sporadic text messages he sends you. Where you once found his constant need to stay in touch annoying, now you crave his random messages, re-reading them with a smile.
[1:44pm] D: I hate not speaking Czech. I feel like everyone is making fun of me and I have no proof.
[1:44pm]: You're being paranoid.
[1:44pm] D: I'm not!!!
[1:46pm] D: Okay maybe a little. Mia and I did an edible.
[1:46pm]: Dieter!
[1:46pm] D: Diane said no hard drugs! Edibles are natural.
You roll your eyes.
[1:47pm]: Whatever. Hope you're having fun.
You wish you could see his face when you recall Mia's instagram. You forgot you follow her. The second you click on her story you wish you hadn't. It's her and Dieter in a gorgeous spot in Prague chatting with the caption: Czech us Out! @BravoitsDieter
Your loneliness hits you on the fifth day quite acutely. And instead of turning to television or swimming you lay on your back in bed and stare up into the ceiling before your fingers fumble for your phone and you type hurriedly.
[6:08am]: I think he has your hair.
[6:12am] D: Huh? What?? Why?
[6:12am]: They say if the mother has lots of heartburn then the kid will have lots of hair. Right now I feel like my heart has been dropped in acid.
[6:13am] D: No way. I thought babies were always bald.
[6:13am]: Not always. I wasn't. Were you?
[6:13am] D: Dunno. Never saw baby photos of myself.
[6:14am]: Why not?
[6:14am] D: My mom cared about stuff like that. When she died my dad just put everything in the attic and tried to forget.
You didn't know that about Dieter. You've heard snatches of information from other staff that Dieters dad is a low life, but to not save photos of your kid? That seems cruel.
[6:14am]: I'm sorry.
[6:15am] D: NP.
[6:15am] D: Mia is taking me to a museum so I gtg ttyl
You frown at the phone.
"What a bitch," you murmur before stopping yourself. You think about how your baby can probably hear sounds outside the womb now and you feel guilty.
"No, actually, she's not a bitch. She's really lovely and she's so good for your dad."
Your hands drift over your belly slowly, subconsciously as you speak and soon your eyes follow suit.
"Strange to think you're just in there all snuggly," you tell your belly with amusement. You gasp when you think you can feel a slight flutter within you abdomen.
"Is that you?" You wonder aloud. "Can you hear me?"
The fluttering continues and you feel something in you shift. Your heart squeezes pleasantly. He rarely moves around for just you. It seems he's most active when Dieter is nearby.
"You're really in there," you laugh to yourself. "And you can hear me."
The lonely feelings begin to dissipate. You're not alone - you have your son to keep you company. You talk to him through the day. You make jokes about bubble having Dieters hair. You talk to Bubble about the book you read on the porch. When you watch a documentary you narrate for the baby.
You update the app with a cheerful photo of you making a heart over the bellybutton with your fingers. You think Dieter will get a kick out of it.
When you go to bed you put the headphones over your belly and hit play on the walkman.
"This is a new one from your Dad," you tell your belly wryly as you position the foam on either side of your bump. "So I apologize now if it's fucking annoying."
With a serene smile you go to sleep with his muffled voice against your skin. And when you wake up on the sixth day you feel good. It's not until you look at the calendar that you're reminded of Friday's date.
Your birthday.
The first one without your father. It makes your stomach drop.
As if all of California has gotten the memo the day is grey and drizzly. You spend most of the day napping and eating whatever Petra has put together. But by mid afternoon you’re feeling restless. You try walking around the block, but the weather drives you back inside. You try to distract yourself but nothing seems to work.
Petra and Magda have gone home for the day. It’s just you and bubble and right now it feels like it’s just you. You decide to order a pizza for dinner, and as you wait for your Hawaiian Delight to arrive you can’t help but reach out to the one person you wish was here.
[5:48pm]: How is Prague?
[5:50pm] D: Boring.
[5:50pm]: Only you would say Prague is boring, Dieter.
[5:51pm] D: In the airport now. Gonna go to Germany for a couple days. Mia really wants to see Cologne Cathedral and apparently they’re doing some once-in-a-decade tour event thing. I dunno. How’s the bubble?
[5:51pm]: Still here.
You don’t know why you’re both still calling him Bubble. The tabloids have made it impossible not to be aware that you’re pregnant after all. But there’s something sweet about referring to him as your little Bubble.
[5:52pm] D: airport is so fucking noisy and I'm so tired. found coffee though.
[5:52pm]: Make sure not to drink too much. You won’t sleep on the plane.
[5:52pm] D: U didn’t update the app today.
[5:53pm]: Sorry, been distracted.
[5:53pm] D:???
[5:53pm] D: How come?
You have no desire to get into this over text. Besides it’s not Dieters problem, it’s yours. And it’s not a problem it’s just. . . life.
[5:55pm]: Doesn’t matter. Here, this will have to do.
You attach a picture of your hand over your swollen bump and send it over.
You’re surprised when you see Dieter calling.
“Hello?”
“Why are you distracted?”
“Dieter don’t you have better things to do than call me about this?” You say rolling your eyes, but still delighted to be hearing his raspy voice. “Aren’t you in the airport?”
“Yeah.”
“Isn’t Mia with you?”
“She went to get another magazine for the flight. You gonna tell me what’s going on? Is it the Bubble?”
“No,” you say grunting as you lean back against the sofa.
“Then what is it?”
“It’s nothing. I’m fine!”
“Cmon,” Dieter cajoles. “You know I’m just gonna keep calling and texting until you tell me.”
“Its pregnancy brain,” you throw out, hoping this will satiate him.
“Liar. Your voice always does that clipped thing when you lie.”
You can’t help but feel a small smile cross your features. You hear the distant boarding call for his flight and you decide you might as well tell him. It’s not like he doesn’t already know that your dead is dead.
“It’s just… It’s my birthday. The first one since my dad died and ...."
You trail off. You hear silence on the other end of the phone and then a soft fuck.
“Dieter?”
“I thought it was next month,” Dieter is murmuring and you can hear him tapping on the phone. “Fucking calendar. Fuck. I thought it was next month same day. That’s what I have it as. Fuck. This is why I don’t program my own fucking electronics. Fuck.”
“Nope. Today,” you clarify, amused at how frazzled he sounds. “But it’s not your problem. It’s just this is my first birthday without my Dad and, my Mom isn’t talking to me and I realized I’ve worked so hard so long I have no real friends and…. It’s just…”
You break off when you feel tears starting.
“Anyway, not your problem,” you say forcing your voice up an octave. “I’m only telling you because you asked. I hope you and Mia enjoy your trip! I can’t wait to see photos.”
“Hey, wait-“
“I gotta go,” you say, brushing the stray tears that have escaped. “Pizza guy is here. Bye!”
You hang up the phone and then place it on silent. You don’t want to talk with him anymore. You don’t want to talk with anyone. You just spoke to Dieter but that doesn't stop you from missing him. It gets to the point where you pull up old interview footage with him on YouTube just so you can hear his voice and see his smile.
When the pizza arrives you pay the guy delivering it, but then you just shove the box in the fridge. You take a shower, letting the tears mingle with the steamy droplets before pulling on a new nightdress. You grab the walkman and headphones, about to put them on when you pad t the kitchen for a glass of water.
You walk back, about to retire to your guest room, walking past Dieter’s bedroom. You’ve rarely ever been inside it and never when he isn’t at home. But something about today compels you into it, something make you push open the door and walk to his bed.
The room is recently cleaned by Petra, the bed freshly made, the floors sparkling, his clothing put away. The fireplace is off but you switch it on, noticing his tattered green robe freshly washed and hanging on the back of the bedroom door. You don’t even think about it, you just pull it on over your sleep dress and stumble into his bed.
Dieter’s bed is so comfy, even better than the one in his guest house and room. You curl under the sheets, burying your face in his pillow. It smells like his expensive shampoo and the cologne he sometimes wears. It brings tears to your eyes.
You wish he was here.
You turn onto your back, tummy swollen and resting heavily. It makes you long for Dieter in all aspects. Not just to fuck, but to spend time with. He's so different from anyone you know. He doesn't follow rules or social norms. But when you're with him you feel calm and not judged. It makes you feel like you can let go.
"Your daddy really is wonderful," you murmur to your belly, stroking it. "You might hear bad stuff but you need to know what a good heart he has. He's so generous and funny and he loves so deeply. You're not even here yet and he's so in love with you."
You look at the walkman resting beside you, and instead of putting it around your abdomen something inspires you to put the headphones on yourself. You’ve never listened to the message before but tonight you do.
You slip the cheap foam over your ears, rewinding the tape and smiling when his voice sounds out over the tape.
“Hey little Bravo, this is your dad speaking. I just found out you’re gonna be a boy. Woah. My son. Uh, I need you to know that you are so special and that when you’re born we’re gonna have so much fun. I’ve already made a list of places we’re gonna go. And-“
It goes on like this for several minutes with Dieter excitedly detailing all his future plans for he and his son. You hang onto every word, enraptured with the life he has in store for his son. You imagine a future with Dieter holding a baby with his same wild hair. And in this future you see him reach for a woman, but she isn’t you. It’s Mia, and she looks so happy with them. The perfect family.
Dieter’s voice draws you back in.
“You need to know that your Mom loves you just as much as me. I watch her patting you and whispering to you all the time. She told me last week that you were the size of a head of cauliflower. Then she started humming a song about her cauliflower son.”
You laugh out loud at the memory of you swimming a few weeks ago humming a tune about a cauliflower son. You didn’t even realize Dieter was paying attention. You turn your attention back to the recording.
“I just want you to know how much I love you. I love you so so much. I’m so excited to meet you.”
You stop the tape, rewinding it.
“I just want you to know how much I love you. I love you so much.”
You sniffle, rewinding the tape again.
“I just want you to know how much I love you. I love you so much.”
Again.
“I love you so much.”
Again and again you rewind to hear that section. And as you finally drift off into sleep it’s to the gentle sound of the man you desire whispering how much he loves you.
Dieter arrives at home late, toeing off his sneakers as he yawns, scratching his belly before heading for his bedroom. The suitcase is left at the front door, tomorrow’s problem. He’s exhausted from the flight and he needs to get some sleep before he talks to you tomorrow morning.
He opens the door to his room, preparing to throw himself into bed when he notices the fireplace is on. He pauses, seeing you in your bed lying on your side sleepily soundly. A small smile curls onto his lips when he sees the bright yellow walkman in your hand, fingers loosely around it. What strikes him is that you're wearing the headphones; you don't have them around your belly.
Dieter is quiet, looking down at your peaceful sleeping face illuminated by your bedside table. One of your hands is splayed over your belly protectively and this makes him smile. He gently pulls the earphones from off your head, sliding the walkman from your grip and placing both on his nightstand.
He figures he’ll sleep in the guest room tonight, musing that you’re playing musical beds tonight.
You murmur something sleepily, something be doesn't catch. He takes a minute longer to look at you and then his face hovers over yours. He kisses you softly, an innocent press of his lips to yours.
"G'night baby mama."
You shift partly awake, arms reaching out to wrap around his neck. He grins, allowing himself to get pulled into the bed next to you. You’re so warm. You don't say anything; you just snuggle up against him, face nuzzling against his neck.
"Go back to sleep, baby," Dieter tells your sleepy frame. "Just turning the light off."
He presses a ginger kiss to your temple before his free hand clicks the light next to the bed.
"Okay, love you, g'night," you murmur, still mostly dozing.
Dieter is silent, unmoving as your words rattle around in his head. He waits until you're snoring before he finally replies.
"I love you too."
TAGLIST: @getitoutofmymindwrites @manuymesut @whirlwindrider29 @mostardentlypascal @lu62 @missladym1981 @heareball @sptbear @drewharrisonwriter @lizzie-cakes @daddy-dins-girl @moel-jiller @tammythr @guelyury @lilyevanstan1325 @lu62 @sptbear @staywildflowahchild @whirlwindrider29 @pedropascalsbbg @cherrycosmos392
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hi can you recommend the best way to break into the fanfic world on here? i'm new, yay, and don't know how the tagging system or anything works
thank you in advance!!
Hello Lovely Non! 🖤
Oooh! Exciting!! YAY! 🎉🎉 Firstly, welcome, welcome. How wonderful it is that you wanna write and share something with us all, that's so cool! ✨️
Look, Dieter's excited too!
I suppose the best way to break in, is to take the leap. I know, groundbreaking advice Jett, right? Hehe! 😆
From experience, these are all things I've learnt and had guidance on myself during my time on wacky Tumblr, so here are my pearls of wisdom for ya...
So you've written the fic. WOO! 🎉 Now what? Well, firstly, have a treat. Some cake or vodka, or both. You've earned it. 🍰
Then, when you're no longer hungover and throwing up cake, do these things:
And make yourself a banging banner of some kind, or use a picture/GIF. I'm personally more likely to be drawn to a fic to read if there's a cool banner, or you've made a mood board or have a GIF. Kinda sets the tone, you know? We love a bit of the ol' aesthetic. Like a bookcover, we're immediately drawn in with our eyes. Be creative, go nuts. Use the free trial of Canva to go design crazy.
Check it through for grammar and spelling as much as you can.
You can always have someone beta read it for you. And look at your formatting to ensure you don't have massive spaces between your paragraphs etc... When I copy and paste into Tumblr, it screws up the formatting from Google docs, just to test my already thin thread of patience further, no doubt... 😑 It's not a massive deal, but I guess presentation is a hook in itself, right?
Beware of glitches when saving your drafts on Tumblr too. The app especially loves to auto-post it when you hit save, 🤬 so double check you're saving it in draft, not in post, before you're ready to post it to the world.
Everyone has their owns tastes and comforts when reading fic, and quite rightly so. Variety is the spice of life. 🌶 And look, you'll NEVER please everyone. So don't even try. But what is important is that you give the reader a choice to read it or not.
⚠️🚫🔞👉🏻👌🏻 Ensure you list any trigger warnings.
Look, there's this age old debate that continually surfaces on whether we should list every single trigger or warning in our fic, or should we just... not? 🤔
The simple answer is, it's up to you, ultimately. Not everyone does this or feels the need to do this. I mean, published books don't, right?
HOWEVERRRRR. And it's a capital letter however. There are so many people who won't want to read stories about certain topics. Age Gap, Anal, Noncon etc...
Kinda looks like a sandwich to me... I'm hungry 🥪
I personally won't release a fic without listing all the triggers as I don't want any of my readers to encounter something that could be triggering for them later on. Yes, to some degree it can give away "spoilers" but it's up to you as the writer ultimately about how much you want to give away. If you fic contains Age Gap, you can simply write "Age Gap."
Use the Read More/Keep Reading divider.
It looks like this on the app:
Some people write a paragraph or two before they place it on, others hide the whole fic and just leave the intro/warnings etc... on show. How you do it is up to you, but please, please use it!
Nobody likes to scroll through a whole chapter of 10k+ words trying to get to the next post... nobody. Cue ranty Anons in your mailbox if you don't. We've all been there and made that mistake. 😬
Plus, using this will also hide any explicit or triggering content from immediate view. People more than likely won't read your fic if you don't have one of these on it.
# Tagging
Tagging - to tag or not to tag?
Tagging is a massive topic, but essentially it boils down to two types of tagging.
Tagging using a # which is at the bottom of each of your posts, and tagging people in your posts by using the @ and then their username.
So say, for example, you've written a Joel Miller fic.
Oh, hey Joel... we're talking about you handsome, not to you.
You can tag it "joel miller" or "joel miller tlou" or "joel miller x reader" etc... People can follow the tag, so they'll see your work in it if they're following it.
If you search the tag on Tumblr it'll tell you how many people are following that tag too, so you'll know which ones are more popular and will be seen by the most eyes.
Currently (as of writing this response) the 'Joel Miller' tag has 225k followers! 👀 So if you write a Joel Miller fic, you deffo want one of your first 5 tags to be that one!
Someone's popular, eh Joel?
@ Tagging
He loves it really.
☝🏻Note that the first 5 tags you use are the ones that Tumblr actually uses to make your fic show up in those tags too. You can put up to 30 tags on a fic and yet Tumblr only counts the first 5. Dumb, I know. 🤦🏻♀️ The rest is just for your own use to find it again on your blog.
If you search your own blog using "Joel Miller" everything you've ever posted with Joel Miller will come up. So you can use your own tags or words for yourself too. I use "Jett's fic recs" for example, when I re-blog someone's fic so I can find it again.
⚠️ And you can use tags to highlight triggers too, for example you can write "tw blood" for a blood warning. (tw = trigger warning) People can block tags so certain things don't show up in their feed as a way of shielding themselves from content they don't want to see/read. So if I've blocked "tw blood" I won't ever see your fic, even with all the other tags you use.
So be mindful of how you tag, not only for yourself, but for others too.
And essentially tags are how some people choose to comment and interact with you. Some people write mini fics in the tags! It's really quite fun. Just remember, there's a limit of 30 tags per post and put your best 5 first.
You can also tag users! You can offer up a tag list to users who you think might be interested in reading your fic (feel free to tag me, I'd love to read it!) A lot of writers have a bunch of regular readers who they'll tag @ username on their works. They're called tag lists. Readers may reach out to you to ask to be tagged too.
There's no shame in hyping your own work - you wrote it, be proud of it! 🙌🏻
Others choose not to do this and instead create a side blog for notifications of their works. It's up to you how you choose to do this, but if you tag specific people, chances are they're going to read your work because they want to.
You can tag up to 50 users on a single post, I believe. (Or at least it's 50 users and 50 links when I do my fic rec lists) I think it varies if you're on app or desktop. Someone will correct me if I'm wrong... but there is deffo a limit.
Reblog your own work for time zones.
So, I'm in the UK and the majority of my followers are in the USA, so when I'm in bed snoozing away, they're awake and reading smut at work.... 😏 So I'll schedule my fic to release at various points in the day and night so everyone can see it on their feed.
Keep it circling too, I'll go back and re-blog older works when more people follow me so they don't miss out. And as a writer, you'll want people to love your older works as much as the new.
And finally, some basic etiquette...
Please don't be disheartened if your fic doesn't get the traction you want right away.
It does not mean that your writing isn't good. We all started in the fandom with 0 followers and 0 reblogs. Its important to remember to write, first and foremost, for your own enjoyment. The right people will find you and love your work, it just takes a bit of time.
You can jazz your fic up with dividers and GIFs. Just ensure you give credit by @ tagging the person who made the divider you're using, if you choose to use one, and use the GIF search function on Tumblr for your GIFs, as they auto tag and credit the creator of the GIF for you. And that way, everyone stays happy. ✌🏻
And finally...
Interact with your comments and reblogs. People took the time to read your work, even just a simple thank you back is always appreciated and well received.
Re-blog, re-blog, re-blog what you love!
The like button is for bookmarking only. It does absolutely nothing to make posts get seen like it does on other socials. Re-blogging is what gets yours and others work seen and put on people's feeds on Tumblr. If you want people to re-blog your own work, you'll need to give back and re-blog theirs too. Tumblr is all about sharing in the form of re-blogs.
Love you! 🖤
✨️HAVE FUN!✨️
I'm so excited you're here and can't wait to read your fics! 🤗
Apologies if any of this you may already know, I just wanted to share what I've learnt in abundance.
And if you have further questions, feel free to reach out. I'm no expert, but I'll try and help if I can.
And if anyone else has any tips/hints/advice etc... feel free to share in the comments.
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would u do a part 2 of after the beep when bunny gets home from work? because it’s very much delicious and i ate it up with a little salt and pepper
Stress Relief | Dieter Bravo x f!reader
🩷 hiii anon! 🥺 i can’t even begin to apologize for how long this took me to get to you, i’m so beyond thankful for your patience <3 i hope i delivered for you! 🫶
After an agitating day, your boyfriend Dieter helps melt all your worries away by delivering on the dirty promises he left in your voicemails earlier that morning.
word count/warnings: 4.9k+ words EXPLICIT 18+ ONLY MDNI! // hurt (reader has a terrible horrible no good very bad day) then comfort, reader and dieter have a verbal argument (in which reader throws a pillow at dieter) but it’s quickly resolved, phone sex mention, dieter threatens to blackmail your boss lol, anal play (f!receiving; fingering, licking), anal sex (f!receiving), masturbation (f), oral (m receiving), recreational drug use (weed, reader and dieter both use but it’s not a factor in their consent), insane amount of pet names (baby, kitty, bunny, sweetheart, sugar, lady, girl) // ao3 link
(this can be read as part 2 to after the beep but it can also be a standalone!)
“Dieter!?”
You shout as you wrench the door open with your rain-slicked hand and kick it closed behind you, leaving a muddy bootprint on the crisp white wood. The roaring thunder fails to drown out your enraged call, but you’re left unanswered nonetheless. The house Dieter is staying at - one of his actor friend’s vacation homes - is darkened by the storm outside and seems to sigh at your anger, upset that you roused it from its storm-induced slumber. But Dieter’s rental car is in the driveway, so you know your boyfriend is here somewhere. You yank your soaked jacket off and don’t bother finding a peg for it, throwing it on the hideous accent chair that probably cost more than your rent.
Despite the boisterous thunder, the quiet inside swells to an intimidating glower. By now Dieter should’ve come lumbering out of whatever pit of candy wrappers or wrinkled pajamas he plunged himself into, but the air remains undisturbed. You keep your footsteps light as you walk around the unfamiliar house, peeking in and scanning each room for him.
“Hey, Diets?” you ask another room, devoid of any activity. Your anger has softened now, eaten away by a growing concern of what Dieter could’ve possibly gotten himself into between when you left to go to work this morning and now. You know he was upset that you were leaving, but he always is. Hell, his voice gains a whiney edge when you just want to leave his grizzly embrace for all of thirty seconds to go to the bathroom. He left you those deliciously vile voicemails earlier in the day, detailing exactly what his erotic plans were for you later this evening, but it had been radio silence since then.
More calls, no answers. Your mind races with options, getting more worrisome as your brain’s overthinking cogs are given more unresolved time to spiral with. Did he go meet up with a friend and forget to text you? Did he get let go of by a project, a studio - god forbid it isn’t his lawyer - and he’s drowning his sorrows with some chosen vice? Did he make one too many wrong friends on one of his many esoteric adventures and they have come back to haunt him?
You circle back to the living room, taking out your phone to call the friend that owns this house. Maybe Dieter got picked up by them to have drinks and that’s why his rental is still here? You dial the number with a crease in your brow, and as you lift the phone to your ear and it starts to ring, you spot your dastardly lover: dead asleep on the couch, curled into himself. Only his muss of graying curls bobs from the surface of a sea of pillows and blankets with every light snore.
Your rage is rekindled to its fullest extent as a bolt of lightning cracks across the sky outside. You swear you can feel your eye twitch as you stand drenched from head to toe in rain before your dozing boyfriend, swaddled in cozy, dry warmth.
“Dieter!” You take one of the pillows and lob it at him, hitting him right on the head. You don’t feel bad because you know it didn’t hurt him and it irks you when his eyes burst open, holding his hand to his forehead like it did. He blinks slowly, his eyelashes sticking together with sleep as he mumbles quietly, “What the fuck?” Then his eyes - those irritatingly gorgeous puddles of melted chocolate - widen when they take you in. His expression morphs into compassion and he shakes the blankets off, stumbling to his feet with lingering drowsiness.
“Bunny, what happened?” he asks, reaching for your arms to hold you. You take a step back from him, still steaming with anger. You get even more irritated when you feel the hot tears that prick your eyes every goddamn time you get upset. Stifling them back, you straighten your back and unleash your anger.
“What happened? What happened is that I stayed late at work, even though my boss was being a fucking asshole, and when I went to leave, my car battery died, and since I stayed late, everyone else had already left, and my boyfriend didn’t answer my fucking calls!” You jab a finger into the air, aiming at his chest. “So I had to leave my car at work because no tow or rental company would help me, and I walked here in the fucking pouring-down rain!”
You turn on your heel and slip against the marble floor, which you honestly should’ve seen coming but you’re too irate to think rationally right now. Dieter reaches his arms out again, wanting to steady you, but you beat him to it and stomp away angrily. With your face hidden from his sight now, you let your tears silently flow down your cheeks and blend with the fat raindrops on your neck. Dieter follows behind you, quickening his pace to match yours and subsequently slides in his slippers in your wet wake. He tries to get you to stop, sympathetically calling out to you by name.
You beeline for the bedroom and lunge into the adjoining bathroom. Just as Dieter catches up to you, he’s pleading, “Bunny, wait, just let me-”
You shut the door in his face and lock yourself in, leaning your back against it and crying into the darkness. You let yourself sob out loud, releasing all the pent up anger, frustration, sadness and shame you’ve been holding in all day and that hit its climax when you started arguing with Dieter.
Your sweet, beloved boyfriend.
The two of you haven’t officially labeled yourselves as of yet, but you know it’s more than the booty calls it began as. You… care about him. You never thought you’d see the snarky, charming jerk as anything but. However, over the past two and a half years you’ve shared a bed with him (among various other furniture and locations), he’s revealed a soft vulnerability that you were convinced he faked in order to come off to the public as empathetic, intellectual. But he’s the real deal; all those philosophical musings, whether fueled by questionable substances or not, were spoken from his heart. That four letter word that scares the daylights out of you both rings in your head, but you can’t bring yourself to say it.
Just because you don’t have the wherewithal to vocalize your feelings right now, it only serves to engorge the guilt you have for shutting Dieter out, both literally and figuratively. He’s only trying to help you, trying to provide a safe space for you to lash out, cry, or forget about your grievances, like he always does. With a sniffle and a deep sigh, you open the door and jump a little when he’s standing right there; he was waiting for you to be ready. He never left.
His genuine care for you makes your eyes well up and flood again, your voice hoarse as you begin, “I-I’m sorry, I just…”
Dieter holds his hand up in a sign of peace and softly interjects when you trail off, “Hold on. Before you say anything more, sweetheart, know that you have nothing to apologize for.”
Your last bit of resolve is blown to smithereens and you practically fall into his arms, where he catches you and envelopes you in his warmth. Openly sobbing again into his chest, Dieter presses his warm mouth against your temple and just holds it there for a moment, letting his touch calm you as he caresses your damp hair away from your face. When your spluttering gasps subside, he speaks quietly and compassionately, “I’m the sorry one. I had the balls to bother you earlier, knowing you were stressed and busy, and then being the lazy asshole I am, I fell asleep and was dead to the world for hours. I’m sorry.”
When you fish your face out of his shirt, the damp spot that your eyes made on the fabric makes you cringe. Dieter reads your discomfort and rubs his big palms up and down your back, silently pardoning you. He’s had much more vile substances on his person before, a few tears from his lover isn’t anything to make a fuss over. You shrug and collect your thoughts that finally have some sensibility to them, “It’s okay. I just had a bad day at work, they gave me so much extra shit because I scheduled a few days off so they were trying to wring me for all I had and were even pushier than usual and were yelling at me even when I was doing all the right things and what they asked and- and then my fucking car-”
You cut yourself off with a gasp, not having realized that throughout your spill you didn’t stop to breathe. Dieter strokes your cheek with the back of his fingers as he coos to you, the cool metal of his rings grounding you, “Hey, shhh. It’s over now, right? You just relax, baby, okay? Focus on taking some deep breaths, like we practiced. In through the nose and out through the mouth, remember?”
If you weren’t so distraught, it would make you chuckle. You were the one that had given him that technique to calm his own anxiety, and here you were forgetting your own advice. Dieter sets an example for you, breathing slowly through his nose and out through his mouth, and you follow along until your sobs stop catching in your throat. His hands never stop stroking you, sending waves of comfort through you. Soon, your body has stopped trembling because of your volatile emotions, but you shake in your skin from the cold rain that has seeped into your bones.
He notices and chuckles breathily, rubbing your arms to instill some heat into your blood. There’s a hint of mischief in his smile, one that you sense will swell into some menacing devilishness as the night deepens, “Let’s get you warmed up, hm?”
He sidesteps you to go deeper into the bathroom behind you, going to the bathtub which he takes a seat on the edge of and turns the faucet on. With his palm upturned, his forefinger points at you and wiggles in an upward motion.
“Off,” he instructs. His eyes rake over your dripping frame, following the cold droplets’ paths over the rain-soaked clothes that mold to every delectable curve of your body. His yearning stare wedges an extra beat into your heart rate and makes it hard to swallow.
Despite the unceremonious manner of your strip, your locked gazes are brimming with passion, ferocity, boiling with the heat of the night to come. Your sopping clothes land on the floor with a splat and Dieter sighs at your figure in all its nude glory, moving his hand to palm himself unabashedly through his pajama bottoms.
He leans back and swishes his finger through the water once the tub is filled, checking the temperature. He jerks his head toward the warm pool, “Come here, sweet thing.”
His fingers graze along your bare hip as you step into the bath and retract back to his cock when you sink down out of reach. The water feels heavenly, and fulfilling Dieter’s wish without the need of verbal instruction, you lean your back against the slope of the tub until the water’s surface meets the underside of your chin, letting out a deep sigh. You’re about to close your eyes when he brushes a stray hair out of your face, wrangling your attention to the sweet smile that graces his lips.
His voice is soft but firm in its sincerity, “I’ll have your car picked up and checked out.” Knowing you better than you know yourself, you’re about to pipe up to offer that he really doesn’t have to do that, that you’ll pay for the rest even if he insists on covering the tow. He leans in closer, so close you can taste his breath on your lips, robbing you of all thoughts other than the ones that spiral around him. “Don’t worry about any repairs it needs. I’ve got ya, sugar,” he supplies with a wink.
“Your boss will be receiving an unsightly letter to treat you better or else. There’s also a blackmail package available, featuring a rather smelly, heaping pile of a ‘substance’,” his fingers scrunch in allusive air quotes, “that Bravo Enterprises can’t disclose only for the purpose of ensuring surprise for the recipient, of course, that can be left on his desk. If the lady so desires.” You’re giggling before he’s finished, smacking him on the bicep that leaves a wet handprint on his t-shirt sleeve.
“I appreciate the offer, but no thank you. I don’t want to be fired, or jailed, depending on what this ‘substance’,” you mimic his air quotes, “is you speak of.”
“But,” you look up at him from underneath your lashes, shyly, “how could I have known my boyfriend would send in a letter of complaint?”
He kisses your forehead proudly, stroking your cheek with his thumb affectionately, “That’s my girl. Now, I want you to sit back and relax for a while. Let the stress of the day melt away.” His hands dip shallowly into the water to rub his thumbs into your collarbone, moving onto your shoulders to massage soothing circles there after that. His voice drops an octave, with a satisfying rasp that runs parallel to velvety smoothness, “I need you relaxed for what I’m going to do to you later, anyway.”
With your eyes closed, you smirk in anticipation. He gives a parting kiss to your cheek, leaving you to shed the stifling stress of the day on your own time. Before he does, he asks, “Want some?”
You peek one eye open and are being offered a little white rolled paper with a twist at the end.
“No thanks,” you shrug, “Maybe later.”
A little while later, there’s a knock on the door so soft you don’t hear it. Dieter pokes his head in, his boyish scruff rearranging into a smile when he sees your eyes still closed in peace. He quietly lays a folded bathrobe on the counter next to the sink and steals one last admiring glance at you before he ducks back out.
When the water has lost its warmth, you exit the bath and shrug on the thoughtful, fluffy robe with a smile, knotting the belt loosely around your waist as you go into the bedroom. Dieter is lying on his back on the bed, toying with a vibrator in his hands. The scene makes you chuckle and the playful sound draws his gaze. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, “Get over here, sweetness,” and you oblige, standing in between his parted thighs. The robe you’ve had on for all of sixty seconds becomes a redundant heap on the ground. Dieter’s hands cup your asscheeks, pulling you closer to him so he can envelope your nipple with his tongue. He bites down on your pert bud softly as you do the same to your lip, moaning through your teeth. His tongue drags a path across your chest to your other breast, where he laves his desperate tongue against the erect little peak there too. When he pulls back, he looks drunk off of you already.
He pats the center of the bed, his tone gruff and lost in his allegiance to your pleasure, “On your knees.”
Dieter puts the weight of his palm on your back, sculpting you into an arch. You’re on your knees but you’re also on your forearms, too. He kneels before you, sitting back on his haunches, and lifts your gaze up to his with a finger underneath your chin. “You remember what I said on the phone?” he asks, using his free hand to squeeze his bulge through his boxers. You nod, resting your cheek on his thigh and batting your lashes up at him. “Mmhm…,” you lick a stripe up the seam of the crotch, “You said you were gonna fuck my throat.”
He pulls his underwear down to his knees, freeing himself. The thick heft of him lightly smacks against your nose and a pornographic moan rumbles up from your center, whose emptiness is gnawing away at you. “Until I gag,” you tack on, remembering all his erotic details. His shoulders deflate with a sigh, his eyes shine with rapture, “Smart girl,” and he feeds you his cock.
You take it greedily, engulfing it in your hot, warm mouth. Harsh, helpless breaths escape his chest as he stumbles through the foggy abyss of ecstasy, regaining enough consciousness to thread his fingers in your hair and glide against your waiting tongue. “Fuck,” he whispers on every thrust, taking the time to rut in and out of your mouth until enough saliva collects to aid his descent down your throat. You take it all like a good girl, his good girl. His stubbly balls nestle against your chin when he reaches that impossible smoothness at your end and he anchors himself there, waiting for that godsent sound of-
You gag wetly around his length. Tears spill from the corners of your eyes as you try to look up at him, despite the compromising position. He helps you out and leans back so he can stare at you in amazement; his wrought expression has you dripping from both ends.
He ruefully retreats from your cavern and a thick string of saliva leaves the two of you connected. He swipes it from your lip with his thumb and drinks you down as he shuffles on his knees behind you.
Planting himself at your opening, he sighs contentedly as he settles in to patiently work you up until you go crazy. “Open up for me, kitty,” he rubs the backs of your thighs and you concede to lay your head down on the bed, splitting yourself for his ravenous eyes. You wiggle your ass back and forth when he doesn’t do anything but sit there admiring and your antics earn you an abrupt, satisfying, open-handed slap to your ass.
In his voicemail smut, he promised he would open you up, nice and slow, and he does just that at a tauntingly sluggish pace. His languid, sensual tongue draws rivulets up the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, before his warm breath ghosts across his tight destination at the peak of your apex. Your breath catches in your throat delightedly when his wet curiosity finds your hole at last, tracing it with his tongue then deftly swirling it around your perimeter. It makes you bite your lip and your breathing come more strenuously. You’re tight, you know that and he knows that, but you don’t doubt his capability to unravel you until you can take his whole length with no resistance.
His raspy, comforting voice murmurs into your cheek, echoing his promise, “Don’t worry, bunny, I’ll open you up. Nice and slow…” He starts with his tongue again, lubing your backdoor entrance until you can feel his heavy saliva slide down to your aching folds. You rub at your clit lazily while he massages your hole with his thumb, gradually exposing you to increased pressure. Your resistance fades in time with his patient ministrations, to the point where he can lick into you. You both groan out in relief, him at your taste and you in dire pleasure. He reaches to swap your hand for his and draws perfect circles around your clit while his tongue works magic against your hole, bringing you to the peaks of two orgasmic heights whose blissful slopes have you feeling relaxed afterward, like jelly. It takes a little while of licking into you for him to be able to slide his thick finger in there, wriggling it around.
It tickles more than you expected, making you giggle before you’re choked out with a moan as the ticklishness ignites into absolute pleasure. The tingles crawl up your spine, fizzing out in the base of your neck and skittering sparks of dopamine all over your brain.
He squeezes a second finger inside in between contractions of your muscle, convulsing and expanding in time with the merciless waves of ecstasy that pour over you. Dieter watches with rapt attention as you stretch around him, your impeccable body adjusting to him deliciously. When your body starts to pull him back in on every retraction of his fingers, his cock twitches. You’re ready.
He gets to his knees, stretching over to the bedside table to grab the lube - just for extra comfort. You whimper ceaselessly underneath him on all fours, your body on fire for him. You squirm with impatience, a fiery need for him to fill you to the brim thrashing through you. Hurried by your mewling, Dieter’s fingers slip against the bottle and knock it to the floor. “Fuck!” he spits, bursting you into pieces with laughter.
He regains possession of the bottle and settles your devilish attitude with a single smack to your asscheek. The cap pops open, the cold gel runs into his palm, and he warms it up in his hands before he coats you everywhere you’ll need it. Dieter gives himself a few additional strokes too, groaning at the thought of what’s about to come (quite literally).
He pushes his tip against your hole, testing you, relishing in the remaining pressure your body still keeps. It feels so good to be broken by him, like he’s knocking down a barrier you don’t have the strength to keep up anymore. You want to surrender and he lets you.
He pushes inside and you gasp sharply, immediately followed by warbling babbles of how good he feels, how big he is, how good it fucking feels! He eases into you slowly, gliding deeper until his hips are nestled against your cheeks and all he can see is his hairy base above where he’s buried inside you. His splayed hand runs from the nape of your neck down your curved spine. “Shh, bunny,” he soothes. His hand comes to a stop just above your tailbone, pressing into the small of your back to arch you further beneath him. You bend to his will and groan as the new angle seats him impossibly deeper inside.
Your pussy drips for him, warm and fresh, and your hips wiggle of their own accord to make his intrusion a pleasurable one. His fingers wind around your pelvis and hold you steady, tongue tutting at you over your shoulder.
“Move, goddamnit,” you seethe, on the verge of tears. You feel helpless beneath him, a prisoner to your own desire, and your voice comes out just as vulnerable despite its biting rage that he still hasn’t moved.
Upon hearing your desperation, he doesn’t make you hold out any longer. His first thrust is gentle, experimental, opening you up even further. Breath heaving, whole body shaking with every inhale that squeezes you tighter around him, “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…”
“Holy fuck,” he blurts out in an echo to you, staring down at his thick cock lodged in your tight hole.
Even as he starts to gain pace, he maintains a consistent degree of gentleness to his thrusts so as not to hurt you - that’d be no fun for anyone involved.
“Feel so good, bunny,” Dieter whispers breathlessly, neck craned up to the gods with eyes closed and imperceptible, breathy oh, oh, ohs flowing from his mouth on every plunge. Meanwhile, your face is smashed into the sheets, squealing with a sensation so pleasurable that is ill-monikered by “an itch that needs to be scratched”; this is more like a firework in the night sky that you jump to catch every singing ember of.
You grip at the bedsheets with white knuckles, grinding your teeth together. Dieter splays his hand on the crown of your head and lifts you up to release your stifled, heavy breaths, “Let go, bunny,” he encourages. Your resolve instantly weakens and your orgasm overtakes you swiftly, knocking you without warning. Wracked with blinding pleasure, every breath you take is either a scream, a desperate moan, or a wrecked sob for him to keep going!
He does, fucking you until you’re a mess beneath him. You faintly remember his threat on the phone, something like he’d pull out midway through your release and make you gape. But thank fucking god you appealed to his sympathy enough tonight that instead he treats you, keeping his length nestled in your ass for you to pulse around, choking on air as your heart pounds in your chest.
Not too long later, your reverie is dissolved when he lands a smack to your ass, “Good girl,” he purrs. He leans over your body, his breath cool on your feverish skin as it tickles your shoulder in a whisper, “Your turn.”
You whimper when he pulls out and stay stuck in your feline position, back arched like a cat and wishing he was still hitting it. Dieter lies down in front of you, his cock resting erect against his tummy and his stupidly big, pleading eyes beg for you. “Please, baby,” comes whimpering from between those plush lips.
You nearly choose to leave him dangling on the edge; after all, you know how much he likes to be cucked (and how much you like to cuck him). But you want him too badly. Like in his dirty dreams this morning that he analogged for you, you mount him and begin riding. His big palms ascend your sweaty skin to cup your breasts that bounce as your thighs work to propel you up and sink you down in quicker succession. He leans forward to take one plush mound in his mouth, flicking your nipple with his tongue - but you twist your fingers in his ruffled hair and tug him back. It felt good, but the devastated crease between his brows makes you feel even better. This push and pull, give and take of dominance and submission always had to equalize with you two; your egos were too prideful for the game to be finished with a clear decision.
With the score tied, you finally find the patience to slow down; you gyrate your hips, grinding down on Dieter and meeting his shallow thrusts in a symphony of movement. That is, until that biting urge deep in your tummy needs another orgasm thrown to it to be satiated and stop growling at you for more. You resume bouncing, not going as fast as you could but opting for a poignant, striking rhythm instead.
“Sweetheart, I’m gonna-” he chokes.
“Fuck yeah baby, do it,” you hiss like a temptress, watching the restraint drain from his eyes and give way to the unstoppable bliss that erodes him until he’s nothing but. You lift your hips up for him to pull out and he takes himself in hand, pumping feverishly as white hot cum spills into his lap. The muscles of Dieter’s stomach jerk in tandem with his spurting, even after he’s reached empty. He runs his hand down his sweaty, wrecked face, breathing haggardly as you roll off his lap and lower your mouth to his hips to lap him up. He tastes mostly salty with a hint of sweetness, viscous and easy to swallow down. It might not be your arousal your tongue cleans him of, like he fantasized earlier, but the sinful sight drives him up the fucking wall regardless.
Both of you lie there, him on his back and you on his chest, for a long time, just trying to catch your breath. Dieter reaches over to the nightstand for a joint and raises his eyebrow, asking your permission, which you give with a nod. He lights up and passes the smoke to you through parted lips, before handing over the rest of it for you to finish off. The thing about weed’s specific effect on you, that Dieter is very familiar with, is that it makes you feel warm, cuddly, and… aroused. With a mischievous giggle, you grind your wet folds against his thigh, asking for more, to which he grunts and gives a dry chuckle.
“I’m not 25 anymore, bunny, you gotta give me a little bit of time to recover.”
“What do you think I was trying to get off work for?” Your fingers waltz up his ribs with a mission to tickle him, but he catches on and swats you away with a smile. You love that shit-eating grin he gets, but it tarnishes your own when you’re hit with the thought that… you’ll miss it.
You turn your face away to look down at the burning paper, trying to disguise the disappointment in your voice, “You’re leaving soon, right?”
He sighs bitterly, but not at you, “Yeah, I am. But I was thinking…”
Your ears perk up so that you don’t mistake not even one word in his soft, raspy voice, “If you could, if you wanted to… you could come stay with me for a little while.”
You meet his eyes to gauge if he’s fucking with you - to your delight, he isn’t. “I have that fuck off huge house that production gave me with nobody in it but me and some makeup and costume people who are in and out for a few hours each morning. Ha,” he chuckles, raising his eyebrows in time with his words, “In and out.”
He can never take anything seriously for very long, but that’s the Dieter that you fell in- nopedon’tsayitthatwordistooscaryheonlyinvitedyoutocomestayforalittlewhilethatdoesn’tmeananythingseriousthatdoesn’tchangeanythingbetweenyoutwo. But the softened glimmer in his eye… it’s not a high from the weed.
“I’d love to.”
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