#dieter bravo x afab!reader

[sp00kymulderr]

just a touch

Dieter Bravo (x afab!reader)

980 words

warnings: m masturbation, afab!reader mentioned, writer Dieter being horny af, unedited.

Does anyone else ever spend all their day thinking about...

Dieter Bravo jerking off.

About how he draws it out for hours because he loves to be teased, even if he's teasing himself. He'll watch something filthy (he's got a great selection of porn, some homemade) or look at those nudes you sent him. But he refuses to touch himself the whole time, as he gets harder and more desperate for it.

He likes the luxury of getting off in bed, on his expensive soft sheets, or in the shower with the warm water running all over his body. He gets really sensitive the longer he holds off, so he'll give it as long as he possibly can. If he really wants to drive himself crazy, he'll force himself to go do something else after getting all turned on from whatever he chose to watch - something super mundane like read his many emails, or tidy up whatever mess was left out last night.

Usually though, he'll go to the big full length mirror in his bedroom, slowly take his clothes off, appreciate his own body. He spent a long time struggling with his body image, but nowadays he loves what he sees. His broad chest, the softness of his tummy, and then the bulge in his pants before he slowly peels them off. He's never been anything but proud of his dick. As far as cocks go he's got a pretty one, everyone always says it. He's still not touching it, not now as he appreciates the view of it in the mirror. His hands might come close, as his fingers softly feel their way around his own body, mapping paths you've taken as you've explored him yourself. He'll play with his nipples, pinch at the sensitive parts of his torso and grasp his stomach, appreciate the soft feel of it. He wishes you were there right now, but he'll make do with what he's got. Himself.

Finally...oh finally he makes his way on to his bed, sat with his back against the headboard with his legs spread wide. The mirror is angled just right, so he has a good view of himself from there. He's a little flushed, cheeks reddened. He's leaking precum, made himself so fucking desperate for his own hand. He looks really good, and he knows it.

He'll use whatever is closest, spit or lube or lotion. He isn't picky. Sometimes he'll use a toy too, depending on what he wants to feel and how quick he wants to get off. He loves playing with things that vibrate but they tend to make him come quicker than he likes so he doesn't use them too often - better when you're trying to overstimulate him to tears. Usually he'll use a butt plug when he's on his own, he likes his ass nice and full as often as it can be.

Now he takes himself in his hand, and the moan he makes at that first touch is sinful. He starts off painfully slow, teeth gritted in concentration as he tries to zone in on every single thing he's feeling as his fists glides up and down his cock. He'll think of you now the most, of the drag of your cunt up his dick. Or the warmth of your mouth on him. He'll bring up every memory he has of you and him together, the way you look when he's in you. The way you cry out as he thrusts into you for the first time. God, he can't take it this slow anymore.

As he quickens his pace, the noises he makes would make anyone blush. Dieter is never quiet like this. He loves to be heard, even if it's only him who can hear it right now. More, and more, and more. His free hand is playing with his balls, gentle tugs and squeeze that makes him tense dangerously and groan in pleasure.

Will he slow down now, calm himself down before he starts up again? Well, he'll try but at this point he's possessed by the need to come. He tries to be good, he really does. The way you like it, every last drop teased out of him but holding off for as long as he possibly can You tell him to be good, but you're not here right now and he can't quite bring himself to be that good.

He'll confess later, you can punish him if you want.

He's gasping out, a needy thing, beautiful noises of absolute heady pleasure. Eyes zoning back in just enough to watch as he brings himself to the edge. His favourite part to watch, as his movements falter and his balls tighten and with a loud cry he's spilling ropes of his cum onto his lower belly, onto his fingers, wherever it goes. Messy, he loves it that way. He pulls out every last drop he can, until its too much.

His head falls back against the headboard, eyes squeezing shut as he heaves out heavy breaths while his body trembles slightly from the climax. After a moment or two, he'll bring his hand up to his mouth and lick it clean. Dip his fingers into the mess he made and taste himself. It makes him groan, he tastes so fucking good. You always tell him the same, and he knows you're not lying.

In the time it takes him to regain his thoughts, he's laid himself down on the bed properly, sprawled out and a little dozy. He gets sleepy after he's come, but not enough to actually fall asleep. He just likes to bask in the feeling for a little while while he recovers. He bury his face in the pillow that still smells of you, and close his eyes and just enjoy the moment.

And if he really needs it today...he'll make it all happen again in a couple hours.

[oogaboogasphincter]

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.”

main masterlist 🍑 join my taglist!

💘taglist: @pascalpanic @maievdenoir @pedrostories @your-voice-is-mellifluous @uncassettodiricordi @harriedandharassed @scentedcandletidalwave @oscar-wilde-thing @kiki13522

[joels-shitty-puns]

Jingle My Bells

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Reader

Summary: You and Dieter surprise each other with Christmas presents, and then earn your places on the naughty list.

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY!! (MDNI). Smut. P in V sex (protected). 69 (oral m and f). Face sitting. Kissing. Cussing. Terribly dirty holiday puns. Food mentions. Descriptions of genitals and arousal. Mentions of Christmas, but not religion.

Other: Reader is AFAB, but few descriptions otherwise. Established relationship. Celebrating Christmas.

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, Dieter was stirring, ready to tear off your blouse…

“Dieter! For fuck’s sake. Let me just finish these cookies for tomorrow and you can have my undivided attention,” you turned your head from the mixing bowl to kiss him. He hummed, practically a whine, as he pinched you on the ass.

“Did you finish decorating the tree?” you asked, trying to give him an activity.

“Yes…” he sucked on your neck.

“Did you use all the glass Christmas balls?”

“Mmmm, baby, I got all the Christmas balls you need right here,” he thrusted his hips against your behind. “They're gonna be blue pretty soon though..”

“Dieter!” You giggled. “Get outta here. Are the lights up?”

“Yes,” he growled, nibbling your ear. “But there's something else that’s up, too.”

“Yes, yes, I get it. You’re horny. But we have things to do before tomorrow.” 

“You're the only thing I wanna do before tomorrow... Everyone else can stay home,” he kissed your shoulder, hands scooping around the cheeks of your ass.

“These will be ready in maybe 30 minutes. Why don't you go watch the Grinch or something?” You kissed his nose.

“Well I do love that green curmudgeon and his heart. But I've got something else growing 3x its normal size,” he winked. 

“DIETER!!! Don't ruin the Grinch for me. Now keep it up and I won't give you any attention later. You'll have to take matters into your own hands.”

He gave a dramatic gasp. “You wouldn't! Don't you wanna have sex with me?” He asked, similar to the way he asked to have sex not long after first meeting each other. Along with everyone else in the vicinity…

“Yes, I do. But I have. To get. This dooooone,” you grumbled, punctuating each part of your sentence. “Here. Lick the beater. That'll make you happy.”

“Mmmm I do love cookie dough… but the only thing I wanna lick right now is-”

“DIETER!!!” You laughed.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled, making eye contact with you as he ran his tongue slowly up one of the metal lines of the beater, swirling it at the top where they meet. Your eyes drift to his lips. That tongue. The magic in which he knows how to use it. You sigh, deep in the memories of prior rendezvous. He smirks, deeming his beater-licking seduction as successful.

“Maybe after you finish baking, we can eat those cookies while you milk me,” he winked, scurrying out of the kitchen.

You shake your head, loading up a pan with cookie dough.

You were just finishing cleaning the dishes while the cookies baked, wondering where Dieter ended up. It was too quiet.

Walking into the living room, you found him, his usual green robe over his body, surrounding his shirtless belly and a pair of red plaid boxers. A Santa hat was slung haphazardly over his mess of curly hair.

You could see him fiddling with something above the fireplace and you walked over to see what he was doing. “Really, babe?” You laughed, noticing that he had arranged the block letters of “let it snow” to say “le tits now.” 

“You're such a child, D,” you giggled and kissed him, tasting the chocolate from the cookie dough on his lips.

“Come on, that meme is hilarious, and you should have expected I'd do this when you bought these,” he smirked.

“Yeah, yeah..” you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him deeper. He licked the inside of your mouth, making you moan into the kiss. Kissing down your neck, he squeezed your breast with one of his hands, letting his thumb play with your nipple through your shirt. “Dieter…” you whined breathlessly, “I'm still waiting on the cookies.” 

He groaned. “Fuck the cookies… I just want you.” He massaged your breast again, nipping at your chin. “Let me dick your halls,” he wiggled his eyebrows at you. 

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “How many of these dirty Christmas jokes do you have? Did you buy a joke book or something?”

“These are alllll me, baby.” He smacked your ass. “And I'm just getting started.”

The oven beeped, interrupting your make-out session. “FINALLY!!!” Dieter yelled, throwing back his head. 

He followed you into the kitchen and stood by as you pulled the trays out of the oven. Grabby hands reached for a cookie. “Careful, it's hot,” you warned.

“Mmmm, not as hot as you,” he bit into a cookie, chewing and huffing with his mouth open, trying to not burn his mouth.

As you scooped the last cookie onto the cooling tray, he grabbed your hand and threw the spatula on the counter. “Finally! I've been waiting all night… I have a surprise for you.”

“Do you!? Well it just so happens I have one for you as well,” you winked.

The two of you walked to your respective hiding spots before ducking away to separate bathrooms. Walking out in your red satin robe, you sat on the bed as he came out in his usual green robe, completely tied and wrapped around his body.

“Well…” he gave a come hither motion with his fingers. “Unwrap your gift, baby.”

Standing up and walking over to him, you began to untie his robe, him doing the same to yours.

“Oh. My. Gosh,” you gasped.

Dieter was laughing, the biggest grin on his face. Apparently the two of you had the same idea.

Under your satin robe, you wore a set of lingerie, Christmas themed. The bottoms had a mistletoe over the crotch, and on each nipple, a mistletoe dangled as well.

Under Dieter's robe, he wore basically just a string around his waist, with mistletoe dangling at the belt above his dick.

“Well… I guess we think alike,” you laughed, walking towards him to stroke below his mistletoe.

“You know what the rules of mistletoe are, baby..” he kissed your neck. “We can't have you ending up on the naughty list. You might end up with something rock hard in your stockings.”

“Oh don't worry. You know I'm a good girl,” you ran your palm over his cheek, still stroking his cock, now fully hard. “Let me suck your candy cane,” you ran your tongue across his lip. “Besides, according to mistletoe tradition, you've got some kissing to do too, baby,” you purred.

“Oh I intend to. Santa won't be the only one coming tonight,” he nibbled your ear, fingers swiping through your folds to gather some of your arousal before rubbing circles over your clit.

You grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the bed and having him lay on his back at the head of the bed. “69 me, baby” Dieter groaned, pulling you by your waist towards his face. “Gonna pay a visit to little saint dick?” he asked as you arranged your body to hover over him, mouth towards his cock.

“Nothing about you is little, D,” you cooed, licking him from base to tip and swirling around his slit. His hips jerked as he pulled you down over his mouth. “Sit on my face. I need to taste you better,” he pleaded.

Giving a wiggle in front of his line of sight, you sat down fully, resulting in a moan from you both, and a fresh drop of arousal directly to his lips.

“Fuuuuck, Dieter, that's so good,” you moaned, dick in your mouth as he swirled his tongue around your clit, occasionally pumping two fingers in your hole. You were getting close. Leaning in to ride his face, he pulled you down, mumbling under your cunt. “Yeah baby, ride me. Ride my face. Ride it like a sleigh,” his hips thrust, causing you to drool over his cock, mixing with a pool of precum on his balls.

“Dieter, I'm gonna-” the grinding of your hips was getting more and more sloppy.

“Come for me, baby. Come on my face.” He angled his fingers a little bit more, hitting that spot that drove you absolutely wild.

“FUCK, fuckfuckfuck, Dieter!!!!” He kept thrusting his fingers, licking your clit and sucking, occasionally removing his fingers to use his tongue. You came with a shudder, squirting on his face and losing all control as he guided your hips with his arms, still using his tongue to work you through it. “Fuck, baby, that was so good.”

You stopped grinding and crawled off his face, him quickly turning you around and kissing your lips.

You could taste yourself in his mouth. You both pulled away breathlessly. “Fuck. That was so fucking hot. You taste amazing.” He grabbed your ass cheeks, spreading them ever so slightly with a squeeze, letting the cool air graze your hole, causing you to whimper.

“Need you inside me,” you kissed him, desperate for more.

He pulled you into his lap, the head of his cock resting against your clit, causing you to hiss and unintentionally jerk your hips forward, resulting in a moan from him.

“Condom?” You ask, pointing to the night stand.

“You don't want me to fill you up? Have some cookies and milf next year?” He smirked, cocky, his tongue poking in the side of his mouth. “Maybe let it snow on your tits?” he asked, giving your breasts a squeeze and angling his head down to suck on each nipple.

“No, D,” you laughed. “Tonight I want my present wrapped.”

He laughed, rolling on the condom before gesturing to his festive penis. “Where on earth did you find a green and red one?” you laughed.

“Never underestimate my sexual prowess, baby,” he flipped you over so that he was on top.

“I wouldn't dare,” you kissed, sucking his lip and spreading your legs as he slid into you. At the feeling of him bottoming out against you, you both sighed, him giving you a second to fully adjust before he began to thrust. In and out. In. And out.

You scratched his back as he pulled your thighs up higher, hitting a deeper angle inside of you. “Treat me like your little ho, ho, ho,” you moan, nipping at his ear.

“Fuck,” he groans, panting. “You're so fucking sexy baby. Taking me so well. Fuck, just like that. Right there.” He thrust. In, out, in, out. “Fuck, squeezing me so nicely. I'm gonna cum, baby. Give me one more.”

He angled his cock towards your g-spot once again, hitting it over, and over, and over again. Your stomach was tightening and you could feel yourself getting closer, the coil ready to snap. “Come on, baby, I know you're almost there. Cum for me.” He thrust harder, hitting that spot again and reached between you to draw quick circles around your clit with the rhythm of his cock. 

“There you go,” he pulled you closer, “just like that. Let it all go.” You shook, liquid pooling from your cunt, spent and feeling so, so good and warm. With a few more shaky strokes, he thrust hard into you and you felt him twitching inside as he filled the condom up. Both of you coming down from your highs, he collapsed on top of you, kissing your neck, your jaw, and your ear, before meeting your lips in a frenzy.

“Horny Holidays, baby.”

“Happy hornydays, Dieter,” you laughed.

“We need some post-sex cookies,” he growled, rolling you over above him only to smack your ass, before rolling back on top and climbing out of bed, not bothering to get dressed. You watched his cock swing and his butt jiggle as he scampered to the kitchen, coming back with a heaping plate full of cookies.

“D, that's practically all the cookies,” you laughed, taking one off the plate.

“Guess we'll have to make some more.” He winked, taking a bite. “I wouldn't mind repeating what followed, either. I'd love to really stuff your stocking,” he added with a grin.

“You're insatiable!” You smacked his arm.

“Only for my Santa baby,” he kissed, pulling you to sit on his lap while you indulged in treats.

“I love you Dieter,” you ran your hands through his curls.

“I love you too, babe,” he pulled you closer to punctuate the statement with a deep kiss, both of you sighing and pulling away to eat more cookies until you eventually both dozed off.

The end! Happy holidays 😂 let me know what you think :) reblogs are apprectiated

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

Writing a long Dieter one off and “Hate me Harder” is so fucking apt right now.

So if hating me helps you love yourself

Then do your worst, baby, give me hell

Hate me harder, hate me harder

[freelancearsonist]

I Was Fixed On Your Hand of Gold

➔ Lucien Flores x afab!Reader - 1k

➔ When Lucien gets bored, his hands start to wander. OR Lucien uses his fingers for good evil underneath the table at dinner with your friends.

➔ Rated MA for exhibitionism kink, fingering (r receiving), pet names (baby), references to smoking/nicotine use, no use of y/n, reader has female anatomy but no pronouns used. [please let me know if i missed any :)]

➔ i don't know anything about this man other than that he looks scummy and i'm in love with him. thank you to the dieter bravo brainrot club discord server for feeding my madness and to @shakespeareanwannabe for proofreading this incoherent horny babble <3 title is from 'would that i' by hozier wow what a surprise another cece fic named after a hozier song

“Don’t. Fucking. Move.”

It’s growled so low in your ear that you could almost believe it’s imagined. But with the way his fingers are dancing against your burning skin, tracing little circles along the length of your thigh, there’s nothing but intention in his voice–regardless of how raspy and deep it is.

Eager fingers push your skirt out of the way, impatient yet calculated. He moves slowly and with deliberation, careful not to show anything above the tablecloth.

“Don’t ignore your friends, baby,” he murmurs low into your ear so only you can hear.

It reminds you of where you are, and why this can’t happen right now. There’s five other people gathered around the table, all smiles and camaraderie and little sips of cheap wine. It’s been a good evening, really. But they’re your friends, not Lucien’s. He won them over within five minutes of meeting them and he’s been bored ever since. And when Lucien gets bored, his hands start to wander.

It’s wrong and you should really stop him. You should push his hand away before his nomadic fingers can climb any further up your thigh than they already have. But he finds the wet spot that’s pooling against your panties, and there’s no denying how much you want it.

It takes every ounce of your restraint not to moan when he finds your clit. It’s like his fingers gravitate to it, like there’s some kind of magnetic pull–even through the barrier of your panties, the cocky bastard doesn’t struggle at all.

He doesn’t even blink. His thick, practiced fingers swirl against the seat of your panties with ease and he doesn’t react even remotely when his fingers immediately come away soaked.

You’ve never been so wet in your life, watching him chuckle at the story your best friend is telling across the table and all the while pretending that his greedy, heavy fingers aren’t pushing your panties aside to swipe through the gathering slick.

Your knee jolts before you can control it and knocks against his thigh, thankfully not causing any noticeable disturbance to the rest of the table’s occupants. But the look he gives you is enough warning–head tipped down, dark eyes impossibly darker, jaw set. He looks dangerous, and it makes your traitorous cunt soak his fingers even further. He’ll only tell you once: if you can’t sit still, you’ll be going home aching and unsatisfied.

You need to come so bad in this moment that you feel like you might cry–so, despite feeling rather like a scolded child under his gaze–you lock every muscle in your body to the best of your ability and let the horrible, delicious onslaught continue.

You swallow thickly when you feel the first real press of his finger. It swirls from your clit down to your entrance, and that’s all the warning you get before he slowly, torturously presses it into your cunt.

He lets it rest, just for a moment, knuckle deep–he knows that even this single finger is a slight stretch. After a moment or two to adjust, he withdraws completely and you have to fight back the whine that builds in your throat. But before you can betray your impatience he’s back, overwhelmingly so, two fingers pressed deep and curled in the exact way that he knows will make you shatter. It’s cruel to do this to you right now, to find that most sensitive spot when you can’t moan or even shudder in reaction to the delicious onslaught of pleasure.

His fingers are relentless–there’s a skilled craft to the way his arm stays completely motionless while his middle and ring fingers flutter and scissor against your g-spot.

Your thighs shake from the sensation the closer he brings you to release. As much as you try to ignore it–to focus on the current story about something that happened in a grocery store parking lot last Thursday–he’s bringing you to the brink so fucking fast that there’s no denying it. There’s no hope for composure, especially once his calloused thumb joins in to swirl tight, rapid circles over your clit.

Above the table, you make eye contact with one of your closest friends and laugh breathlessly at the meaningless story they tell. They never even suspect that below the table, you’re squeezing and fluttering around Lucien’s hand as the most intense orgasm of your life sweeps through you.

It takes a solid few moments for you to be able to breathe normally again. And Lucien, the smug bastard, just leans back in his chair and spreads his leg comfortably, free hand resting behind his head in the most casual manner possible like he didn’t just make you come all over his fingers. And then, when he’s sure no one is looking, he brings his right hand up to his lips and sucks his fingers deep into his mouth–looking directly into your eyes as he does so. He licks every drop of your cum from his digits so carelessly in front of your friends that it nearly makes you come again.

You think he’s had his fill. Your head stops swirling and he laughs along with your friends and you think he’s done. You’re wrong. 

He takes your hand in his and laces your fingers together, guiding you ever-so-slowly to palm him through his loose sweatpants. His cock is straining, hard and insistent, against the thick cotton fabric–it makes you squirm in your own seat a little bit.

He’s impossibly casual about your touch as he wiggles a half-spent pack of Marlboros from his breast pocket.

“Go ahead, baby,” he mutters right into your ear. “Take care of your fuckin’ mess.”

And who are you to decline after he so generously took care of you?

➔ Want to see more from me in the future? Follow @freelancearsonist-updates and turn on post notifications to be notified when I post new fics!

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[lincolndjarin]

Good Manners

main masterlist ✧ kinktober masterlist ✦

kinktober : day one - afab!agent!reader x dieter bravo

prompt : cock warming [ 18+ mdni ]

word count : 0.8k words

summary : dieter is a brat.

warnings, etc. : cock warming (obvi, but also like barely any LMAO), male masturbation, reader is described as wearing glasses and having manicured nails, sort of sub!dieter

a/n : happy first of october!! can't believe it's finally here!! so uhh if you saw that is was originally day two no you didn't lmao, i'm still editing a lot of them so they're likely to change in order lmao

“You whine too much.” You stare at him over the rim of your glasses that have slipped down your nose. 

“If I have to read one more fucking script I’m gonna lose it.” He throws the binder in his hands across the couch. 

Not a great sign considering he’s two scripts deep into a pile of well over a dozen. 

“Just a few more, then we can order food and take a break.” You’re shuffling through papers trying to sort out his contracts.

Not like he cared about the money.

He only did a movie if he liked the script. 

Which he hated reading. 

“Can you at least sit closer to me?” His voice shifts up a bit, he gets so nasally when he whines.

There’s a reason you’re on the other couch. 

 “If I sit closer you won’t get anything done.” You push your glasses up the bridge of your nose, shooting him a warning glare.

“I’m already not getting anything done.” He throws his head back, spreading out on the couch. 

“And who’s fault is that?”

“Just come sit with me.” He’s practically throwing a tantrum with the way he stomps his foot and crosses his arms in front of him. 

“Use your words Dieter, I know that’s not what you really want, I’m not giving it to you unless you ask properly.” You’ve told him this a hundred times already. 

“Come sit on my cock.” He grumbles almost petulantly. You tilt your head down staring at him over your glasses with your eyebrows raised expectantly, when you clear your throat he sits up a little straighter. “Please?”

“You need to work on your manners.” You look down at the spreadsheet you’re struggling to fill out. “Touch yourself, when I’m done with this I’ll deal with you.” You begin chewing the end of your pen as he lets out an obscenely loud moan. “What do we say, Dieter?”

“Thank you.” He’s already shoved his sweatpants halfway down his thighs.

“Thank you, what?” 

“Thank you ma’am.” You watch as he enthusiastically spits in his palm. 

“Mhmm.” You try your best to return to your work but he isn’t making it easy on you. 

Dieter Bravo, the actor that he is, always putting on a show. 

You know he’s trying to speed you up and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t working. Letting his head fall back with a moan straight out of a porno as he spits on his hand, reaching down to cup his balls before stroking himself languidly. 

After a few minutes of listening to him whine, you finally look up, watching him with an uninterested look as he thrusts his hips upwards, fucking his fist as he stares at you with wide pleading eyes. He fucking loves this. It’s his favorite game, over the years you were shocked to learn that Dieter Bravo, alleged lover of attention, got off on being ignored by you. Nothing made him harder than when you disregarded him. 

He lets out a familiar keen as you watch him, you bullshit your way through the rest of the form you’re working on, not looking up as you speak. 

“If you come I won’t touch you for a month.” It’s an empty threat but you know he’ll take it seriously. He squeezes the base of his cock with a groan, his chin falling forward to rest on his chest as he lets out a breathy whimper. 

You collect all of your papers, making your way across the room, and setting them down on the couch next to him.

“I expect you to read every single one of those Dieter, I mean it.” You slide your panties down your legs, stepping out of them before hiking up your pencil skirt and straddling his lap. 

“Yeah, of course-“ His voice trails off into a strangled cry as you waste no time and sink down onto his length. You close your eyes for a moment, relishing in the feeling of fullness as he squirms a bit beneath you, adjusting himself. 

“I mean it.” You compose yourself quickly, frowning as he rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, I know-” You grab him by the jaw, your manicured nails leaving little crescent marks on his chin. Once his attitude dwindles you release him. 

“You will sit still and you will read your scripts, you will not speak unless it is to tell me you are done and you will not touch me without permission. If you’re good I might let you come.” You click your pen to accentuate your point, already getting back to work as you start filling out another form against his shoulder. “Is that understood?” You don’t bother looking at him, you already know what expression you’ll see plastered on his face. 

“Yes.” He sounds awfully satisfied with himself. Now you turn to face him, setting the tip of the pen underneath his chin to make him meet your gaze. 

“Yes, what?” Just as you suspected, he’s grinning from ear to ear, his eyes half closed as he leans back with a pleased look on his face, picking up one of the unread binders. 

“Yes, ma’am.” His cock twitches eagerly inside of you the moment he says those words. 

“Good boy, now read your scripts Dieter.”

a/n : this had basically no cock warming in it bc i'm feeling silly w these prompts but whatever lmaoo. happy first of october !!

[thosewickedlovelies]

Conversation Pit | Dieter Bravo x afab!Reader

Rating: E for Explicit

Summary: You’re viewing a mansion with Dieter, and it has a conversation pit. Does he have the discipline to keep his hands to himself?

Tags: friends with benefits, SMUT: Dieter’s favorite dom appears 👀 could it be someone we know?; mmf threesome, piv sex, semipublic sex but don’t worry, edging (m receiving), references to sex work

Word count: 4,112

Note: Listen. This fic was supposed to be conversation pit fucking and then it evolved into something else. I did not do her justice. I’ll come back to you baby.

This is the same universe as Coping Mechanisms. There's no plot connecting the two fics, but I recommend reading it if you want more sexy Dieter smut 😏😌

Masterlist

“It feels like a little much,” you say. Your neck aches from craning to look up at the many elevated features of this house. Or rather, this mansion. The sprawling, avant-garde chandelier in the foyer. The ocean-themed mosaics undulating across the domed ceiling of a bathroom. An enormous space lined with hanging walkways and tunnels and little nesting spots, for who knows how many cats.

This latest hallway is nice, though. Rustic wood beams pass overhead at a more average height, providing a sort of cozy, normal feeling for the first time since you entered. Here’s hoping they lead to a similar design style in the next room.

“I dunno, I kinda like it.” Dieter slings an arm around your shoulders. “Lots of walls to paint, you know? I could make it my own.”

“True,” you concede. “There are way more rooms than I was expecting, though. Like maybe more than even you could paint on your own.”

“You’re right about the rooms, actually.” The realtor gives you an sheepish smile over his shoulder. “The owner’s kind of a character- it took some real convincing to get them to send us any pictures at all, so they missed a few things. But they left the house in great shape, right?” He beams winningly.

This realtor has shown you and Dieter a few houses by now. He’s pretty okay for a chummy salesman type. His methods at least included giving you space to think and discuss, which you appreciate.

Not that discussion between you and Dieter was really necessary. He was the one buying a mansion, not you. He just wanted you here for impulse control, and a second opinion. “I trust your judgment,” he’d insisted. 

A lopsided smirk overtook his face. “Even with your choice of fuckbuddy.”

You’d rolled your eyes. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Dieter had shrugged. “Fuckbuddies, friends with benefits, booty calls. We know what we are.”

“Coping mechanisms?” you added drily. 

He’d given you a wounded look- always so effective with those big brown eyes of his. “We can be friends and coping mechanisms.”

You’d laughed at that, and now here you were, touring the quirkiest LA mansion you’d yet seen together this week. Or maybe offbeat was a better word. You didn’t really have any idea how to describe these places. Homes, but also playgrounds of the rich and famous. They’d do the place up how they wanted (or how some expensive designer wanted) and then left the next person to clean up the mess- to paper over whatever was now deemed- *shudder*- out of fashion.

Or to paint over, you muse, thinking of Dieter’s impromptu artistic urges.

“Now, you may think you’ve seen the showstoppers of this house, but this next room might just make you reconsider.” Standing before a door at the end of the hall, the realtor pushes it open and stands aside with a flourish.

Your mouth drops open. 

It didn’t just open up, as the rest of the house seemed to. This room also opens down. The beautiful wood beams do continue overhead, and the entire back wall is windowed, making the space feel both grand and homey at once. Bright sunshine streams in. The glass wall looks out over the backyard, which is less of a backyard than an entire valley, wild and forested, without a trace of the other mansions you’ve been informed are tucked into the hill. On the left wall of the room rises a stone brick fireplace; on the right wall, tall bookshelves. The sandy carpet underfoot looks thick and cozy.

And in the dead center of the room: a conversation pit.

Your mouth falls open again.

Is that even what it’s called? The word has a strange texture in your mind. Yes, a conversation pit; that architectural relic of the 70s. A great round depression, a huge circular couch set right into the floor.

It’s hideous.

Dieter hurtles through the door, down the short staircase, and bounds right into the pit. “Hey, check this out! A conversation pit, sweets! Have you ever been in a house with one of these?”

The realtor is prattling on about the other features of the room, something about adjustable lighting and special outlets. 

“I haven’t.” You approach more slowly. The staircase below the door hugs the wall, presumably so that anyone who falls down it doesn’t carom straight into the pit. The carpeting is so luxurious that you almost feel bad about walking on it with shoes. 

You carefully descend the two additional steps down to Dieter’s level. “This feels like a safety hazard.”

“Whaat? No way, it’s so cool! Like we’re in some classy old 70s porno.” In an instant Dieter has whirled to face you, grinning, a wily gleam in his eye. 

Your eyes widen with what you hope is a forbidding look. “No, Dieter. Absolutely not.”

The realtor’s cell phone trills, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Excuse me, let me just check this.” He fishes it out and answers, and his eyes light up. 

“You guys think about the house, okay? I’ll just be a minute.” The realtor heads back up the stairs. “Heya, Brad. No, no, I’m not busy…” He shuts the door behind him.

Dieter pounces.

“Dieter Bravo, you stay right there-”

The pupil in the eye of the pit is a cushy ottoman, which Dieter leaps over with unexpected grace. Your brain and your feet have different ideas on where to go; instead of fleeing, you stumble backward and fall to your ass on the sofa.

“Tell me you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”

“Dieter-”

“This room would be perfect for sex parties.” He’s practically glowing with excitement. He leers down at you, his shapely mouth turning up suggestively.

“D, that happened one time! And it wasn’t even planned, it was only because everyone drank too much of that Romanian liquor that Alexandra’s mom made her.” 

The taste of cherries had haunted you for a month afterward. It was nothing like the syrupy-sweet maraschino flavor that smacked of childhood sundaes and red dye 40. This stuff was as black as the fruit itself and tasted of summer at its height, thick and ripe and heady.

Normally you’re not so keen to head off Dieter’s sex-related whims, but something about this moment, this room, feels different. Like your body can sense how little convincing it would take for you to give in.

Like Dieter can sense it.

“But it could happen again.”

Dieter crouches and pulls on something near the floor, and suddenly your feet are propped several inches higher off the ground. You blink, and in a fluid movement Dieter is kneeling between your legs, at the perfect height to put his mouth to your ear.

“Just imagine. You’re sitting here, just like this. I’m sitting here. Just like this.” His hand trails up your thigh. You swallow.

“The lights are low, low enough to see the stars in the sky outside. Maybe we have some music playing. Lying right there are John and Diana.” Dieter nods to the plush carpet inches from your face. “I know you liked watching them last time.”

As if in a dream, your head turns to look where he indicated. Your face heats furiously at the memory of your two attractive friends, and the heavy glances all four of you had shared that night.

“He’s fucking her, slow and easy. She’s watching us while he does. Maybe she’s telling you to join in- to let me make you feel good, like she’s feeling.”

Dieter’s low, husky voice is a potent aphrodisiac, and so is the picture it paints. The taste of cherries seems to coat your tongue. You fight down a little noise of want in the base of your throat, your body tightening and squirming. Your fingers dig into the couch cushions.

“We can invite Samya and Vish again. And maybe Dani and Riley. They’re so hot.” Dieter sighs, briefly indulging in his own fantasy. 

Dieter’s hand has settled into a familiar shape- his thumb resting on your clit, but his fingers curled so the knuckles rest where they would normally slip inside you. Where they’d definitely be able to slide in right now. You can’t decide if you should thank or curse your past self for not wearing a skirt this morning.

“Remember how we could hear everyone? No one was hiding or acting shy, just enjoying themselves. Laughing and moaning…” Dieter’s voice drops to a whisper. “Diana was so wet you could hear it every time John thrust into her.” 

His lips brush your ear. “And so were you.”

His teeth graze your neck and you can’t stop your moan. He sucks on the sensitive skin just the way you like, his thumb bearing down, and your head drops back.

The bright blue sky brings you back to your senses. 

“Dieter!” You squirm away, gasping for air. 

He immediately retreats. He remains kneeling on the foot rest as you pull your legs up and together, attempting to regain some composure. 

“I think that courtesan part you played went to your head,” you say shakily. 

Dieter’s last role had been a four-episode appearance in a new fantasy period show. He’d played a queen’s favorite courtesan in her harem; but upon hearing inklings of a coup, she’d sent him away, leaving the audience with tantalizing hints that he wasn’t just a mere prostitute. The show’s first season had been a huge success, and though it had been renewed for more, the reappearance of Dieter’s character was still only rumor. 

Clearly he had picked up a few things from his character. You send him a half admonishing, half grudgingly impressed look.

Seeing that you’re not truly upset, he relaxes. “You like? There’s more where that came from.” Dieter walks his fingers up your calf. He smiles temptingly, his eyes still blown dark and beguiling. 

Huffing incredulously, but unable to resist smiling in turn, you shake your head.

“Ookay. I’m just saying, it sounded like our guy was gonna be a while. Especially if Brad is whose PA I think he is.” Dieter shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. “Wouldn’t hurt to do a little test run.”

“Dieter Bravo, I am not having sex with you in a house we’re viewing.” You laugh, a bit high despite yourself off the endorphins from Dieter’s fantasy. 

You turn and rise, making to clamber right over the back of the couch.

Dieter gasps. “Wait!” All trace of seduction is gone from his voice. You only make it halfway out of the pit, your knees where you’d just been sitting and your hands on the floor beyond the back of the couch. 

“Babe, this is the position we’ve been trying to find! Look-” He’s hushed but excited. Dieter scrambles up behind you, his hands appearing on either side of your own, his chest flush with your back. One of his knees further compresses the cushion beneath you. When you twist your head to look, you see that his other foot is leveraged on the footrest. 

Dieter groans your name, low and pleading. “Tell me you wore these pants for a reason.”

You gasp as his fingers dip beneath the waistband of your pants. LA weather means loose fitting bottoms, and high waistlines mean cinched elastic instead of button clasps. Dieter has no trouble sliding his hand into your pants and cupping your sex in a way that makes your elbows buckle.

“Dieter, we can’t.”

“Please, sweets, I’ll make you feel good- I won’t even come, this one will just be for you,” he promises. “You know I can be quick.” His voice goes velvety and dark with promise- with reminder.

Damn, but you did know. Dieter was a dedicated study; it didn’t take long before he could make you come faster and in more ways than any partner you ever had. The speed came in handy more often than you’d think. The man was insatiable, and his appetite could flare at any random moment- no matter how inopportune.

His persuasions are working. Your cunt throbs to have his hand so close and yet so far away through the barrier of your panties. You’re already wet from his earlier efforts, and the heavy drape of his body over yours brings your desire howling to life again.

“Hmmm?” Dieter traces a light circle around your clit.

You grit your teeth. The realtor could be back at any second. 

Dieter flattens his hand over your cunt, rubbing just so.

Your resolves breaks. “Fuck, fine- but quick,” you implore.

--

“Oh, this is going to take so long,” you assure him. Dieter moans, helpless to your designs, the binds on his wrists holding fast. “What’s wrong, D? You didn’t seem to care about coming earlier.”

“Please, please let me come. I’ve been so good, your pussy feels so fucking good…” Dieter rambles, sobbing, his eyes rolling back in his head as you sink down on him again, achingly slowly, taking him as deep as you can. Dieter tries to help, his hips surging upward like he can’t get far enough inside you. That could well be the case, given that his ankles are tied together as well.

He moans again.

“Mmn, you’re so pretty like this,” you sigh. Dieter’s chestnut locks are tufted from your grasp and dark with sweat at his temples. Red blooms in his cheeks. His lips are kiss-swollen, teeth-bitten from trying and failing to hold back his cries. His body is thick and strong beneath you, and you attempt to spread your thigh still wider, take that little bit more of him inside you.

Dieter makes a choked sound. He turns his head to the side, desperation all over his face.

It’s been hours since Dieter seduced you into coming around his cock in the conversation pit of the house you were viewing. As promised, he’d been quick- you hardly had time to break a sweat before he brought you that familiar hot rush of release. You needn’t have bothered worrying, though. The realtor took so long on his phone call that your panties had nearly dried out again by the time he returned.

But true to his word, Dieter didn’t come, and you’re pretty sure his hard-on hasn’t flagged once since then. Some part of him had been touching you through the entire rest of the house tour that neither of you had realized was still ahead. He was so worked up he’d canceled lunch at his favorite diner, and then looked agonized when he remembered that you hadn’t taken the car with the privacy screen. 

You follow his gaze. “What do you say, Ezra? Should we let him come?” 

Dieter’s favorite dom is sitting in an armchair off to the side, observing, loosely guiding, your activities and stroking himself with leisurely enjoyment.

Abandoning his own biology temporarily, Ezra approaches the bed. “A hard decision indeed, gem. But in my professional opinion, I believe that you should come once more before we allow dear Dieter the privilege.” Dieter’s eyes are glazed, bleary with desperation. You’d had one orgasm since the start of this session, but another sounded fine to you. 

“Should it be on his cock this time?”

“Hmmm. How would you feel about takin’ your pleasure on my cock first? Darlin’ Dieter got to experience it earlier; this time he can only watch, as a consequence of rushing his partner to the end so crudely.”

Surely that’s a little harsh. “Aww, I wouldn’t say it was crude. I did enjoy it,” you coo at Dieter, stroking his face reassuringly. Relief shines in his face, your words like a sunbeam breaking through the gathering clouds of his sudden anxiety.

“Oh, of course. My apologies; it was not my intention to imply otherwise. Nevertheless…” Ezra reaches over your thighs to give Dieter an apologetic stroke; then he runs his broad palms slowly up your body, Dieter’s eyes following like a starving man before a feast. Maybe like one of those ancient myths he's always drawing inspiration from- who was that one guy? Tantalus. Ezra tweaks your nipples and you shiver atop Dieter’s cock.

It had been your idea to text Ezra. On the car ride home, you’d suggesting upping the stakes, since Dieter had been so naughty in the house. He’d essentially already been edging himself since the conversation pit- why not make it a real challenge? (And maybe a little bit of a punishment, for being so cheeky.) Dieter had looked so torn, you might have asked him to choose between microwave chicken nuggets and taquitos for the rest of his life. But in the end Ezra was free, so you invited him over at three o’clock sharp.

Dieter sounds so anguished as you lift yourself off his cock that you think he might actually cry. You click your tongue. “You heard him, D. Consequences.” You lean down to kiss him, giving Ezra space to climb onto Dieter’s legs behind you.

“Stay there a moment, sweet,” Ezra requests.

Your breasts brush Dieter’s chest, and he automatically tries to lift his torso to meet you, forgetting that your hands are holding down his shoulders. He whines.

“Naughty Dieter, always pushing the rules. Trying to fuck me where other people might see.” You nibble at his neck and ear between murmurs. “Now you’re the one who has to watch.”

Your breath hitches as you feel Ezra’s cock notch at your entrance. “There we are, sweets. Sit back for me now, nice and easy.” His hands guide your hips, and you ease backward onto Ezra’s cock. A breathless moan falls free as you sit up, his length thick and full inside you. So joined, you shuffle forward just a bit- until Dieter’s cock rests against your sex. Dieter’s mouth falls open, mesmerized by the sight. He twitches, the movement brushing your clit, and you whimper. 

“Mm, I thought you might like this, gem. If it sounds amenable to you, we’re goin’ to use darlin’ Dieter’s cock to make you come like this, slow enough for you to enjoy every second of it, and then, and only then, are we going to let Dieter come.”

It’s delightfully ​​jarring to feel a cock inside you as well as outside against your clit; despite the pleasure winding heavy along your limbs, you manage to answer. “Perfectly amenable.”

Ezra cups his hand over Dieter’s cock and nestles it between your labia, coating it in your arousal and Dieter’s. The velvety ridges of him rub snugly against your clit- especially as Ezra begins to move. He starts gradually, thrusting into you with just enough force that you rock against Dieter’s dick at the same time. 

Oh, fuck. This is more stimulation than you usually get via both methods at once- it won’t take long for you to come like this. You moan in approval.

“Does that feel good, gem?” Ezra asks.

His thrusts aren’t forceful. Rather, they’re constant, unceasing strokes along something inside you that makes your vision blur; and all the while he holds Dieter’s cock against your clit like the perfect toy.

“F-f-ffucking incredible,” you stutter. “Keep going, like that.”

Ezra rumbles in approval. Dieter’s eyes are as round as saucers as he watches his dom pleasure you with both their cocks, and he spills out a steady babble of praise. “Oh fuck, you’re so hot, sweets. Look so good like this. Can use my dick whenever you want…” Every muscle in his body jerks and strains, but whether trying to come or in effort to stop himself coming you can’t tell, and you stop trying as Ezra’s movements pour brain-numbing pleasure directly into your skull and down your spine.

You squirm and sob at the onslaught of stimulation. There’s no escape- not that you really want it. You can feel your peak approaching, a tingling creeping up every limb like vines about to fruit.

“Dieter- Ezra-”

“Ah, the end is nigh, is it, sweet? Go on then, let it come- give us everything you got.”

Ezra’s poetry is obliterated by the roaring in your ears. Something breaks open inside you, spilling bliss through every crack and crevice of your body. You quake and keen in Ezra’s arms. For long, long minutes, it feels like it physically rocks you, pleasure pulsing in an endless flood. Distantly you recognize that it’s Ezra’s movement creating the rocking sensation, prolonging your pleasure for as long as he knows you can last. You finally go still only when he does, the rushing pleasure slowing to a trickle.

Sagging into Ezra’s arms, you shudder as the bliss tapers off. As your breathing slows, other sensations come back to you, including that of something clinging to- or maybe dripping from- your thighs. Dieter.

Your paramour is gazing at you, awestruck, a familiar dopey, dazed grin pulling at one corner of his mouth. You make a questioning sound.

“You comin’ set him off, sweet. That was some mighty, powerful pleasure, if I do say so myself.” Ezra’s rasp in your ear sounds thoroughly satisfied. “It seemed unduly cruel to deny dear Dieter any longer after such good behavior, so I took the liberty of takin’ care of him.”

Indeed, Ezra’s hand is wrapped more fully around Dieter’s cock, though both are now somewhat obscenely mashed against your sex and covered in his spend. “Oh, good,” you sigh.

Ezra chuckles. “I’ll give us a wipedown, gem. Then you can untie his hands, if you wouldn’t mind, and I’ll get his feet.” 

You blink yourself slightly more alert. Dieter didn’t like being tied up for very long after the fun stuff was over. “Mhm. Okay.” 

You help Ezra wipe the various fluids from all three of you. Your brow knits at the sensation of him pulling out of you, but Ezra appears unperturbed, humming an idle tune as he rotates to unbind Dieter’s feet. You turn your focus to doing the same to his hands.

A serene, almost cherubic, expression lay over Dieter’s face; with his eyes closed and his breathing deep and steady, he looks halfway to sleep. When you lean back from untying him, his eyes are open. You start.

Then you chuckle. “Hey, D. Feeling okay?”

Dieter lengthens his already long limbs and then contracts them in a wiggly stretch. He rolls over toward you, resting his head on your thigh. “Mmhmmm.” 

He looks for all the world like he intends to fall asleep right there. Honestly, the man resembles a giant cat sometimes. Or maybe some other, more exotic animal. Actorus libidinous.

A ferocious rumbles issues from what you can only assume is Dieter's stomach. His eyes fly open. "I'm so fucking hungry."

He appears astounded by this fact. Or maybe by the fact that he forgot his hunger in the first place- it’s truly a testament to how worked up he was that all other needs fled his mind so completely. (You made him eat a granola bar before Ezra arrived, but still.)

Ezra returns from the ensuite, and your eyes widen. Your hunch earlier was right- he didn’t come. Ezra’s still-hard cock bobs as moves around, flushed a deep red and still smudged with your arousal in places.

Dieter spots it as Ezra begins getting dressed, and his eyes go round. “Whoa, Ez, did you not come? Why didn’t you tell us?”

Ezra’s mouth quirks. Sifting through the scattered clothes on the floor, he extracts a pair of pants and begins turning them rightside-out. He gives an arch shrug. “What can I say, starlet? Your perseverance inspired me. I enjoy a good edging session myself; I thought I might wait until I arrived home to take care of it.” Ezra pulls his jeans on without anything beneath and fastens them snugly over his erection.

Ezra was an old hat at this profession. He didn’t entertain feelings of awkwardness or shame. If he wanted something, he asked for it. 

“In that case, send us pictures,” Dieter says. His eyes wander Ezra’s sturdy, shirtless body with wanton admiration.

“That costs extra.” Ezra sends them a saucy wink. He reaches for his shirt without a hint of discomfort.

“Worth it.” Dieter rolls onto his back with a great sigh. His mostly-softened cock flops over with the movement, dribbling a bit more fluid as it does.

Now dressed, Ezra comes over to say his goodbyes. First he hands Dieter a tissue, nodding toward his dick. Then he gives you both a kiss on the forehead.

“Perhaps this time I might allow the debt to be paid with some of the takeout you’re about to order.”

Thanks for reading! 💕💕💕

You grin. "We'll schedule your delivery for an hour from now."

The Romanian liquor is real and exactly as delicious as it sounds- it's called 'visinata', which means '[thing] made from cherries'. I highly recommend making a Romanian friend and having them bring you a bottle of their mom's homemade stuff, although I cannot promise that it will lead to sex parties. That was just wishful thinking on my part 😬🤷🏻‍♀️

Dividers by strangergraphics

[sp00kymulderr]

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x afab!reader

Warnings: 18+. Sickly sweet fluff, unspoken love, kissing, mentions of sex

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: Dieter wakes up to you.

A/N: comments and reblogs forever appreciated! To follow for fic updates only go to @sp00kyupdates​ or see taglist details on my masterlist. Credit to banner maker.

It’s early. Too early to fathom. The breezy white curtains of the hotel room are thin and through them shines just a slither of dawn light. There’s the beginnings of the cheeping of birds outside of the window - left open to peter out the stuffy air in the room from last night. It had been hot, so hot, he’d cracked a window open just to cool the burning skin a little. It hadn’t helped.

Dieter raises his head from where it is buried between the pillow and your shoulder and groans softly, his eyes squinting and his head banging as soon as he lifts it just a little.

“D…” he hears you murmur when you feel him stir and it’s enough to make him drop his head and bury his face down against your neck and shoulder. His scruff tickles and his breath is hot. You make a little noise of annoyance that’s so damn cute to him and Dieter smiles against your skin but doesn’t move.

For a while he is still and closes his eyes again, just breathing you in. You smell of sex, of him, and fuck if he’s going to be able to fall asleep again when he realises that. He feels his stomach tighten in arousal and kisses your neck lightly. You mutter something unintelligible again and roll away from him on to your side.

“Too early” you finally say gently, dozy and sweet and perfect.

Dieter grumbles slightly but doesn’t push it. Instead he moves on to his back and stares up at the ceiling when he slowly opens his eyes.

God, his head hurts. Last night had been a whirlwind; it had started with booze, and ended with the hottest sex of his life. The middle was murky but he knew for sure that it had been something sensational, like every moment with you.

He listens to your soft breath as you sleep and that sweet noise calms him to no end. You’re so fucking beautiful it makes him ache. The words don’t get to be said out loud, but Dieter knows his heart beats faster for you and your touch. His jittery brain jumbles words like ‘like’ and ‘want’ and ‘love’ and ‘soulmate’ in ways that he thinks might scare you off, so they’re kept secret in his never-quiet mind.

There’s a lot between the two of you but it’s always been kind of foggy; a random hookup at a boring after party that turned into occasional booty calls and eventually whatever this is - monthly check-ins to a hotel in the nearest location you could meet for uninterrupted weekends of euphoria. 

And it is euphoric. Sure he’s been dramatic once or twice, but there’s no exaggeration in that thought as he ponders last night and what he can remember of it. His eyes squint as the blurry memory becomes a little clearer in his head; you bent over the useless little hotel desk; that would explain all the stationary on the floor. Him on his knees between your spread legs for so long; which he supposes is why they ache now. There’s wine stains on the table, the bottle knocked over in the eager moment of finding the bed between molten hot kisses. Starlit memories flit in deep purple plumes through his cloudy mind; your warm body on his, your pretty lips pressing against his throat, the drag of teeth and tongue against his burning skin. 

He smiles at the flickering memory. You enticing him all angelic on the pristine white bed sheets that now lay bunched around you and partially hanging off the bed. Your face half-pressed against those sheets when he’d had you from behind. Yeah, he remembered that. You practically drooling onto the bedding as he turned you into a beautiful mess. His favourite masterpiece. But you’d had your payback on him not long after, the torturously slow roll of your hips - your hands grasping hard enough to mark as you leaned back and rode him slowly til he was near tears.

There are wet towels on the hotel room floor. He thinks for a moment, hand absentmindedly reaching down to where he feels himself twitching with the memory. Yeah, there had been a shower after that…an attempt to cool down and calm down, but it had ended in another untamed encounter - you held up against the cool tiles of the shower wall, legs wrapped around him, desperate and aching until he made you cry in pleasure. No wonder his back hurts today, but it all seems worth it at the memory of your face as he’d made you come again.

He feels unstoppable with you.

Dieter looks down at you now, your peacefully sleeping form making the sweetest little noises in your slumber. God, he feels privileged to get this view of you. It’s better than anything; no awards or good script or large sum of money compares to the thrill of you. He’d throw every single damn trophy away as a way to show you how much you meant. You'd just laugh at that though, you would give him that brilliant smile, and tell him he was an idiot. He couldn’t argue on that.

He blinks his eyes awake a little more and turns on to his side, facing you. He can never fight the urge to be close to you. He doesn’t get enough time with you. It’s never been talked about but he ponders on the future as the orange glow of sunlight starts to flood through the gaps in the curtains. 

He has to touch you, it’s like he’s scared he’ll forget what you feel like if he goes too long. Your warm skin makes that familiar yet unspeakable feeling flutter in him. Dieter’s fingers run a gentle line from your shoulder and down your side, tracing the curves your body has. He is enraptured. Has been since the first moment. It probably isn’t healthy, all things considered.

All things considered. He’s not in the position to have a real relationship - flitting from spot to spot, taking job after job, like he has something to prove in his career. He does. Besides, you’d never made a mention of making things more. 

Not a mention, but there were moments in your kiss that he felt things were already at that more. Whatever that meant.

Even if it isn’t a relationship you take it seriously, every moment with him. You take him seriously and god it’s like a breath of fresh air after all the people in his past who wanted him for reasons that were not him. You listen, you care, you want to hear about his thoughts and ideas and his art, not just gossip and get wasted and use him as some show of status. Whatever this thing is, it isn’t just some silly fling for either of you. It’s special, it’s important. Always had been, always will be. He’d like to keep this thing going forever, he’d never let it end. 

Lost in his thoughts, Dieter doesn’t notice you stir until your entrancing voice mumbles out.

“Daydreaming, pretty boy?” 

He turns to look and gives you a lopsided smile. Your hair is a mess and there’s smudged mascara under your eyes. Still gorgeous. Always gorgeous, he thinks.

It's like the breath comes back to him fresh and full as he sees you half-awake and there with him. You're mesmerizing when you're sleeping by his side, tucked up in your dream world, but you're dazzling when you're awake and real and there with him. Sometimes the glassy flit of his gaze upon you makes him feel like he's high, just off your presence. No one’s ever done that before.

"Daydreaming..." he sighs, leaning down to nuzzle tenderly against your cheek and give you a gentle kiss now that you're hopefully more receptive to it. 

"Yeah? About me?" You ask with that cute smile that had first enticed him, the one that tells a whole story of who you are.

"You..." he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then to your temple, "Last night..." he adds in a lazy low hum, his lips landing back on yours with something that is far more precious than either of you can give word to.

"Last night" You sigh, stretching your tired and still achy body, noticing his eager glance as the sheet pulls down over the swell of your breasts.

He sees a bite mark left on you from him and gives a groan, half hard and fully wanting, but too tired to act on it.

"C'mere" you mumble, laying a hand on his shoulder and pulling him down fully. His head lands softly to rest on your chest facing away from your head, and the tickle of his breath on your skin makes you sigh. He gives a happy huff as he watches your nipples harden against his warm breath.

"Had fun last night, baby" You tell him, gentle, as your fingers trail up the nape of his neck and through his untamed hair. He moans a little as you massage very slowly against his scalp with the tips of your fingers.

The touch of his hand on your stomach makes you shiver pleasantly, and he rests it on your lower belly with no intention of taking it anywhere else right now. Just skin-on-skin. 

Just you and him.

Dieter is happy like this. Cared for. Made for you, in ways. He's molded to you, to the feeling of you with him. It doesn't happen enough. You linger on his skin for weeks on end and yet Dieter never has enough of you. He wanders through his life from point to point waiting for his next dose. He's alive when with you. Resting in between.

"What if we stay another day?" He mutters, unmoving as your fingertips stay sweetly pressing on his scalp.

"Baby...we both have work to go back to. You know I can't do more than a weekend" You tell him, but he knows you well enough now to note the hesitancy in your voice when you deny him.

"Fuck 'em" Dieter says with resolution "We can be sick. Laid up in bed. We can spend the whole day like this, then it’s hardly a lie. I’ll get that desert from room service, your favourite"

Your hum of contemplation is soft against his ear, a melody that eases the headache from the excitement of last night.

"The one with the cherries?" You ask, and he doesn't even need to look at you to know there's that pretty little smile on your lips again.

He turns anyway, kissing the tops of your breasts goodbye before he sits up and faces you again. He feels the sparkle of hope bubble in him. One more day this time…maybe next time he can convince you to stay at his place. Stay for a week.

Stay forever.

“The one with the cherries” He repeats, swiping his thumb over your cheek to remove the smudge of makeup there. 

You grin and nod and Dieter’s heart does a little stutter. Another day with you, that’s all he could want.

“Okay. One more day” It’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said, in his ears. Plays like a symphony.

Dieter doesn’t answer with words, expression breaking out into a bright smile - not the one he shows on red carpets but the real one - the one that’s a little lopsided, a little dopey. The one that’s just for you, now.

He lays back down beside you and kisses sweet and familiar against your neck. Your skin tastes like sweat and him as he trails down between the valley of your breasts, a subtle nip of teeth right next to that mark he left last night. His movements are slow, lazy, loving.

A tapestry of adoration laid against your skin as he listens to your slow breath above him.

"Dieter" You whine quiet, tugging on his hair just slightly. 

He travels back up with lips and tongue desperate to taste every peak and dip of you. Kisses your chin and then nibbles it with his teeth before you’re pushing him to how you want him.

He smiles at your insistence to move him, pushing him back onto his side of the bed and directing him to lie on his side, so you can wrap yourself around him. Protective. Affectionate.

He feels the press of your breasts against his back, as you mold your shape into his, holding him close with that familiar feeling of your hand over his heart. It beats surprisingly slowly, he's suddenly hit with the weariness of an early morning after a late night, of too much of everything but never enough of it.

The kiss you leave between his shoulder blades before you nuzzle your head there makes him sigh out loud, something happy and breathy and true.

"Another day. Just one more" You tell him again, eyelashes fluttering against his skin and it makes him want to cry, just a little when your breath gets soft again as you hold him like you want to keep him safe from everything.

One day there'll be more than just another day. You know it, it's in the way you tenderly lay yourself against him with arms wrapped tight like you'll never let go. He knows it, it's in the way his breath comes easy only when he has you by his side.

He's yours. Given to you, his own heart. Dieter doesn't think the words even need to be said, just felt. Just like this.

[oogaboogasphincter]

After the Beep | Dieter Bravo x afab!reader

gif by @joelmjller

In your absence after last night’s rendezvous, Dieter has some fun with dirty voicemails.

word count/rating/warnings - 2800+ // swearing, recreational drug use (weed, reader and dieter both use), alcohol (only dieter) EXPLICIT 18+ ONLY: masturbation (m), anal play/fingering (m receiving), edging/orgasm denial (m), descriptions of oral (m and f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (use protection irl obvi), anal sex (f receiving), mentions of strap-ons and gaping (?:!/!:), idiots in love sorta

a/n - this is such a strange fic? idk if i like the style i went with (not my usual)?? there are so many things in here that are just not me lol but i wrote about it anyways??? i hope you enjoy! <3

A hungover Dieter jolts awake when a strong, cold breeze whips through the open patio doors, skimming across his uncovered ass and raising goosebumps in its wake. He grumbles, blearily reaching for his sunglasses and jamming them on his face crooked before reluctantly slumping out from the sheets. As he goes to shut the offending doors, he pauses a moment and remembers that he's forgotten where he is. The absence of car horns, construction ambience and groans from other waking bodies staggers him further into disorientation. He squints out at the pristine backyard that greets him - exotic foliage manicured to the nth degree, a crisp swimming pool gleaming fierce in the morning sun, and not another soul in sight.

Ah, yes, he's at his actor friend's "getaway" house while he's in town for... what was it? Not an interview (it'll be a while before the next one since he botched the last so bad), not a movie (at least hopefully not, any and all scripts have been completely obliterated from his mind for the time being), what was it...

He closes the glass doors and absentmindedly scratches his stubbly balls, still staring out at the calm, confined water even though his pupils are hurting. The softness of his t-shirt against his fidgeting forearm surprises his delayed senses, as he doesn't remember putting it on when he went to sleep...

And suddenly all his questions are answered.

You.

He's in town because he wanted to see you. Dieter's not one for committal, romantic feelings, but his honesty wins over his ego when he admits that he needed to see you. Although you began simply as his favorite bootycall of this specific city, he grew fonder of you than he ever has for anyone else he has a similar exchange with. No matter the carnal options, no matter the city or time, he found himself requesting you over and over again. Whenever he tried to quench his thirst with another body, another substance, another side job, he was left parched and belittled.

You make him feel free. Not only because you aren't in the public eye (although that does help ease his paranoia when he's on a downward spiral), but because of the way you give him the space to be himself. He doesn't have to put on a performance for you, nor is he prohibited from expressing his innermost desires. He never once felt in your presence that he had to think too much about or hide what he was doing. You'll be there to listen, always, like he is for you. You tried to explain to him once that it was the least you could do, but common courtesy and decency doesn't extend far or hold very much genuine meaning in his industry, so it confuses him. You intrigue him; the way your mind works, he wants to translate your brainwaves to puzzle pieces and figure out how to put you together over and over again.

On a less heartfelt note, in combination with all of this - he's had some of the best orgasms of his life when he's with you. Maybe the trust correlates with lowered inhibitions, but your talents alone speak for themselves.

He grins to himself, eyeing the only article of clothing he's wearing: his shirt that you had fallen asleep in last night.

Minutes after he called you and told you he was in town, you were rapping on this unknown front door and pouncing on your tipsy lover. Winding your arms tight around his broad shoulders to bring him down to your height, wasting no time licking into his mouth, and hiking your leg up over his hip, almost tumbling the two of you over, he picked you up and took you straight to the bedroom. Hours upon hours passed, and you finally gave your sweaty skin a break by slipping on his worn shirt, relishing in the cool yet thin barrier it posed between your heaving chests.

Unfortunately, to Dieter's whiney dismay, you couldn't call off work the next day. You stretched away from his slack body with a teasing groan while it was still dark in the morning, giving him a show of taking off his shirt and throwing it at his face in retaliation to his smack on your ass. You thought he had fallen asleep before you left, but he dismally watched you leave, his heart bursting as you tried to keep quiet for him, and pulled the shirt on inside-out for your lingering smell and warmth to lull him back to sleep.

Before his brain can recall the explicit details of your rapturous night together, his cock is standing at attention. He was half-hard when he woke up, but now the veins that run alongside his length are rigid and his tip is a warm red, bobbing in the air. You were so ravenous for Dieter last night, and his energy sluggish thanks to a couple of drinks, that you had taken the reins and snatched every moan, groan and whimper you wanted from him.

Both being switches - and the previous rendezvous you had being him pinning you against the bathroom sink at his favorite restaurant, yanking your hair and making you stare back at yourself in the mirror, crumpling in his arms as you took his relentless pounding - it was a nice change-up.

But Dieter hates repetition.

Now all hot and bothered by racy thoughts of you, he swings the patio doors back open and plops down on the bed, resting his aching back against the headboard (he came to reason it wasn't just his aging muscles, you really had ridden him to oblivion.)

He artfully runs both hands over his naked groin, fingertips skating up his shaft and encircling the head in a tight ring, pulsing his frenulum once, twice, then releasing with a pent-up groan. He bobs himself a couple times, chuckling at his own absurdity. With the house all to himself, nowhere to be, nothing worthwhile to do until you get off of work, he chucks his sunglasses onto the sheets beside him. Oh, he's going to have some fun this morning.

It might be technically closer to afternoon, it's hard to tell in this city that always suns, but he doesn't care. He does care to take advantage of the circulating breeze pouring from outside into the room, and before settling deeper into the bed to begin his session, he leans over to the nightstand and grabs a joint.

Thank you, earlier Dieter, he congratulates on the first inhale, glad that he busied his depressed self after you left this morning with rolling more than what was necessary. He pauses to spit into his dominant hand, slicking up his cock from base to tip, and starts moseying to his peak. With a loose fist gliding up and down his shaft, he smokes for a bit and waits for the high to fully infiltrate his systems. He prefers being sober or only slightly influenced when he's with you; he wants to experience you unabashed, and you entrance him so much you're in a classification all of your own. But he needs to quell his sadness over your absence or else he won't reap the fruits of his own taxing labor.

The last tendrils of smoke are swept out of the room on his final exhale and with his increased relaxation comes down the barrier to his creativity. He locates his phone (hidden under a pile of Kit Kat wrappers that you nagged him to throw away) and calls you, the weed muddying his memory that you're on-call elsewhere. The robotic audio of the default voicemail message makes him grunt, but when the recording begins, his imagination sparks.

"Hey baby," a salacious grin works its way across his face, "I was just jerking my schlong, thinking about you and your pretty eyes, your gorgeous tits, that evil little smile..."

Your mischievous giggles ring in his ears, his strokes picking up speed. His tongue darts out to catch the drop of spit that has worked its way onto his parted lips, a flash of embarrassment running through him even though you can't see him (and would take utter delight in the fact that you literally make him drool),

"A-and, uh," he splutters before snapping back to his controlled, teasing tone, "and how much you wrecked me last night. I'm forever grateful, honey bun, you know that - but it hurt when you left this morning."

He mock-pouts, "You broke poor old Dieter's heart. I-I think you're gonna have to make it up to me."

His tone takes an abrupt, dominating turn. He growls into the receiver, "And I think I know exactly what I want you to do."

An image floats up through the haze in his mind: the underside of your soft belly, breasts and that conniving smile he mentioned baring itself in the moonlight. From last night - you rid his face until you thoroughly soaked him, that patchy scruff that's dappled along his strong jaw drenched in your arousal. He smirks, thinking of how you have ten hidden bruises dotted across your ass from his fingertips digging into your flesh to grind you down harder against his rabid tongue. Your overstimulated shriek of his name echoes in his head as he devises his plan for you.

"First, I want to fuck that narrow throat of yours," his hand on his cock shifts to grip the top third, his thumb rubbing over his head. He groans into the phone, knowing it'll stoke your voice kink.

"It's only fair since you fucked my mouth so good, I get to fuck yours."

He smears leaking precum around his head, adding more pulsing pressure to his motions, "I'm going to shove my cock down your throat, fuck you until I make you gag."

He imagines the wet, firm but giving sensation he's simulating with his hand to be the back of your throat, pushing up against its velvety smoothness again and again until you tense around his length, only tightening your oral grasp, swallowing around him and sucking him back further.

"And you're going to be a good girl for me and take it. Every last inch I feed you."

The daydreams are so vivid - his thick fingers gripping your hair, his hairy mound tickling the tip of your nose as his hips rock back and forth, your chin dripping with just as much wetness as his was...

He lets go of his cock entirely, edging himself. He can't cum this early - the fun has only just begun.

Dieter glances at his phone nestled in the sheets, and thankfully so, because he's reached the voicemail time limit. The line disconnects, but he dials you back in a flash, eager to tell you more of his dirty story. He rolls his eyes through the default message, although he's grateful you're still busy and didn't pick up, because this would've been a little awkward to interrupt him mid-smut. He continues his naughty monologue.

"You're already so good to me, Bunnicula, you really are," his words are gravelly and elongated with lust as he stretches his dick, admiring its robustness (don't mention the ridiculous nickname he has for you, it stems from your feral desires to fuck each other like rabbits and your penchants for biting.)

"You drive me fucking bonkers when you lick my asshole," one hand stays wrapped around his girth while the other travels down to his scrotum, inching past the sack and reaching his taint as he adjusts his position to something more... accessible. He massages the patch of skin with trembling touches, mimicking how you tease him. Because you don't just dive right in, no, you get your man crying for more.

Just like your tongue's path, he circles around his hole, dropping his head back into the pillows with a moan. The veins in his neck protrude and surge with restraint, the palm on his cock revving from its idle and jerking quickly from base to tip.

"The way you wiggle your tongue in there- goddamnit, baby," he chokes out, pressing the tip of his index into his ass, working it in a slow but strenuous orbit to open himself up. His jerking eases considerably, edging himself again. Against his back's wishes he leans over and spits heaping onto the area of interest, his body too fixated on throes to stop his ministrations and find the bottle of lube. Besides, he's never been afraid to lean masochist.

"I'm gonna give you the same treatment, open you up, nice and slow... because you're gonna fit my whole cock in your asshole," a fresh rivulet of precum leaks and spirals down his painfully erect length with his wriggling finger swallowed up to the knuckle. He bites down on his plush lip, that broad ribcage reverberating with hums of ecstasy. He focuses on the stretch of his own opening and fantasizes about how much more you'll have to take.

"If I can take your strap, bunny, you can take me. It'll feel so good, I'm going to fuck your tight, little hole until you're begging me to never stop."

He lays on the mock charm thick, "But bad girls who abandon their lovers in the morning for work don't get what they want: I'm gonna pull out, and you're gonna gape for me."

Another end of voicemail, another staved-off orgasm. Dieter lets go of his cock like it's on fire and slides his finger out of his ass, grateful the line is dead and you don't hear his pitiful whine of loss opposite his despotic words.

He breaks for a moment of reprieve before he starts teasing himself again, his resolve floundering at meek levels. All of this teetering on the cliff has quashed his energy - he's stumbling in smoke for a climactic finale to his lewd tale. His power to dominate is dwindling, the relaxing chemicals floating in his bloodstream luring him to last night, to let you take over and him sit (more like lay down and gawk) to watch your magic unfold.

He calls you a third and final time, already stroking his twitching shaft at a determined pace.

"I can't do all the work though, baby - I want you to ride me to your heart's content, just like you did last night. Mount me," his eyes close, fighting the urge to roll back and succumb to to his orgasm. Just a few more words, Dieter, and you can finish.

"Ride it," he pictures your hands pressing down on his chest, slipping momentarily out of your greedy stronghold from laborious perspiration.

"Bounce on it," your breasts jumping with your motions, your pert nipples taunting his hungry teeth.

"Grind down on it," your dance slowing to a gyrate, your figure swaying dangerously close to his trigger.

"Drench my cock with your cum until it fills my lap," he replays your screams in his mind, layering them with the gush of your arousal if you have the wherewithal - or Dieter allows you - to sneak your quivering hand down to your aching clit. He can feel it where his sweat pools now; your juices will gather right between his hips to lap up later.

"While you're raining down on me, I'm gonna shoot my load, stuff your sweet cunt full of my-"

The three minute limit is met again as Dieter's heart jolts.

"C-cum!" he shouts, littering his abdomen with streaks of his sticky, hot release. He's mumbling your name over and over again, addicted to you. His arm is fatigued, but his nerves are astronomically alight, so his body goes on autopilot while his vision spots with black, fucking his fist until every last droplet of his pleasure is tapped.

When he begins atmospheric entry, he lies slumped against the headboard, sedated. His entire being just feels like a void of television static, blue screen, buffering, for a solid few minutes. A dribble of his spend running down the slope of his belly shocks him back to life, its path rippling tingles.

Before he can fool himself into thinking he loves you - remember, this is Dieter Bravo: International Tramp - he picks up his phone.

He sends the text and removes his soiled shirt, reaching over to the nightstand to get another joint.

As his highs swirl into one euphoric daze, he wishes you were here now, if he had to choose one moment from his entire fantasy. Dieter likes to cuddle with strangers, gets paid to do it for his job sometimes, so the absence of post-coital snuggling, especially when it would be with you, is always difficult.

You rarely have the opportunity to smoke because of your job, but he imagines sharing it with you, watching you melt further into bliss through the calming clouds. You get handsy, giggly hugs never failing to lead to more heated touches...

His phone lights up with a message from you:

Maybe he is in love with you, if maybe means most definitely. All that's left to do is wait for you to come home and for the two of you to deliver on both your promises.

main masterlist | join my taglist!

💘taglist: @pascalpanic @melody13522 @tenderwhat @maievdenoir @pedrostories @your-voice-is-mellifluous

[joels-shitty-puns]

A Brief "Coming Soon"

(To a rectangular screen near you)

Fics I have planned!

Key to Your Heart: Two bonus "tracks"

Requests: three! So sorry if you are any of those anons! I wish I could message you personally but I'm just gonna hope you see this. They'll happen, I promise!

New Series:

°Dieter Bravo x Animal-Trainer!Reader

°Joel Miller x Lifeguard!Reader (deeper subject in this)

°Frankie Morales x Best-Friend!Reader

All of these are subject to me getting my ass in gear and my brain may change its mind. But maybe this will hold me accountable lmao. Let me know if you're interested in any of these ❤️

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

Vi's Fic Recs Week One

First up, thank you all for your submissions, self or otherwise! It was really nice to share y'alls work and I can't wait to do the same next week!

In order of posting:

Something in the Shadows | Joel Miller x Reader (dubcon read the warnings) | @jksp10writes / @jksprincess10

Just You & Me, Darlin’ | joel miller x f!reader | @pedroslittlelady

Favorite Bounty | Din Djarin x afab!bounty!reader | @pedroshotwifey

Sunshine | Dark!Joel Miller x Reader (read the warnings DDDNE) | @kewwrites

Endurance | Frankie Morales x Reader | @schnarfer

The Slip Up | Javier Peña x F!Virgin!Reader | @pascalssbabyy

when we begin again | Joel Miller x F!Reader | @covetyou

Somewhere To Run |Sherrif!Joel Miller x Reader | @punkshort

Chubby!Frankie Morales x F!reader Masterlist | @beefrobeefcal

The Melting Point | Frankie Morales x Baker!Reader | @penvisions

Fuse | Din Djarin x Reader/Ezra x Reader/ Din x Reader x Ezra | @marisferasiop

Foolish | Joel Miller x F!Reader | @lady-bess

well, tough luck... | Young!Dieter Bravo x Reader | @sin-djarin

Nothing That I Didn't Know | Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x reader x Santiago 'Pope' Garcia | @for-a-longlongtime

Homecoming | Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x reader x Santiago 'Pope' Garcia | @astroboots

The things I do for you | Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader x Frankie “Catfish” Morales | @writefightandflightclub

Honor and Obey | Frankie Morales x Santiago Garcia x Santi’s wife! Reader | @magpiepills

To Be Explored Later | Francisco "Catfish" Morales x Santiago "Pope" Garcia x female reader | @legendary-pink-dot

Love Spell | Joel Miller x F!Reader | @strang3lov3

Able | Joel Miller x disabled F!Reader | @ladamedusoif

Party Trick | Dieter Bravo x pornstar!Ezra x f!reader | @tightjeansjavi

Devotion | Cult Leader!Joel Miller x F!Reader | @noxturnalpascal

Was it All A Dream? | Din Djarin x F!Reader | @beskarandblasters

Trust | Din Djarin x gn!Reader | @wannab-urs

Wings. Fire. Magic. | Dragon Trainer Joel x Female Reader | @mountainsandmayhem

Untrustworthy | Boba Fett x f!Reader | @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

Roads | Joel Miller x fem reader | @milla-frenchy

27! That's an amazing amount of fics for one day!! Amazing stuff folks!

Get your submissions in next week - drop me an ask! I'll start scheduling them on Thursday!

[freelancearsonist]

salt, shot, lime

➔ Dieter Bravo x afab!Reader

➔ 2.3k words

➔ You meet your celebrity crush in a bar; he turns out to be a lot more fun than you expected.

➔ Rated MA for protected p in v, public sex acts/public nudity (they fuck in a bar y’all), body shots/alcohol consumption, pet names (baby, honey, sweetheart) // reader has female anatomy (afab - no pronouns used), wears a bra, is generally able-bodied but is otherwise a blank slate.

“Go on. Don’t be shy.”

Your fingers work slowly at the buttons of your blouse, so readily and eagerly baring yourself to this man who–for all intents and purposes–is a complete stranger.

He’s familiar, though; to you, not the other way around. Dieter Bravo lives very publicly, after all. You follow him on Instagram and Twitter; you see bits and pieces of his life throughout yours. When he approached you at the bar, he had no clue who you were. But you knew him.

And now he’s eyeing you over the rims of his sepia-lensed sunglasses, ringed fingers idly tracing the rim of the empty shot glass that sits on the counter next to him. He looks at you like he wants to know you, and that’s exactly why you’re in this position.

This is crazy. This shouldn’t be happening at all. But he’s hot, and he’s interested in you. And you’re not nearly drunk enough to not understand the risks and consequences associated.

You can see the gulp that traces down his throat as you set your shirt on the counter and it gives you the willpower you need to keep from crossing your arms over your chest to cover yourself. Dieter fucking Bravo is effected just from this simple view of you in your cute yet simple bra, and it’s the headiest confidence boost you’ve ever received.

“You’re so pretty, baby.” His voice is breathless, lips parted in awe. “Fuck.”

The bartender clearing his throat and setting down a tray next to Dieter’s right hand is enough to snap the actor out of his dazed reverie. Dieter clears his throat and wrenches his eyes away from your half-naked torso, scanning the contents of the tray before humming his satisfaction.

“Ready, honey?” He asks, and you hum your approval as you lean back over the bar.

This is the first time you’ve done this, and you don’t think Dieter follows standard protocol. Or maybe he does—it’s not like you would really know, this isn’t your typical Saturday night activity—but there’s hardly anything that can be called standard about the way his wet tongue laves quickly and wetly over your sternum to give the salt something to stick to. Just that little bit of contact is enough to make you squirm, and it takes every out of restraint you possess to sit still for him as he pours the shot into the dip of your belly button.

It’s messy and sticky and not very comfortable, especially when you position the lime between your lips, but you’ve never been so turned on in your life.

He gives you a look—dark and pleading—and you take a deep, aroused breath as you nod your consent.

Again, his tongue is between your breasts, but this time it’s languid. He takes his time and flattens the length of the muscle against your skin to collect every last grain of salt.

Then he purses his lips and slurps the tequila from your belly button—but really, all you can focus on in the moment is the weight of his hand resting dangerously high on your thigh under the guise of steadying himself. His fingertips are so close yet so achingly far from where you’re wettest, and the smirk on his face says he knows it.

Finally, after a moment that seems to last at least three years, he moves up your body and bites into the lime waiting between your lips.

With him this close you can smell the heady, woodsy scent of his cologne, and it only serves to turn you on further as he sucks the juice from the tart fruit.

The way he takes the lime from you with his teeth and spits it out on the countertop should be a crime but you really can’t be fucked about it because suddenly he’s kissing you. You could isolate all three flavors on his tongue if you cared to, but you don’t in the slightest. All you can really focus on is those hands as they slide up your sides and come to rest at the base of your skull, thumbs swiping simultaneously over your cheeks to anchor you while he licks deeper into your mouth.

The cocky bastard actually smirks against your lips when you moan. The sound is soft but it only serves to motivate him; he shoves his tongue deep into your mouth like he’s trying to lick your molars as your hands wind around his neck to tug him closer to you.

And then, just as suddenly as he started kissing you, he pulls away.

“Your turn, sweetheart.” There’s just a faint little smirk to his lips, but it’s enough to make you want to smack him. It’s also enough to make you want to suck him so deep into your throat that he never fully recovers.

And fuck, you really want to tell him fuck it and ask if he wants to get out of here, but you also want to give him a taste of his own medicine.

You nod to the bartender, who sets down another shot for you. And then you nod to Dieter’s chest, and he starts tugging his baggy shirt over his head without a word.

He’s pretty. You’ve always admired his physique, sure, but it’s even better in person. There’s an unkempt quality to the smattering of hair on his lower stomach, and the soft curve of his belly has you eager to get your hands on him.

You haven’t even gotten your shot yet, but you’re hoping and praying that he’ll want to drag you into the bathroom to have his way with you after this.

He leans back and lets you prep him–smiling slightly at how careful and neat you are about laying the salt and pouring the shot. There’s a tender reverence in your touch that makes his heart pound in a way it hasn’t in years.

“You good?” You ask, looking into his dark eyes when he takes off his sunglasses, neatly folds them, and sets them on the bar.

You watch his throat bob around a thick swallow, and then he nods; and you can’t help the sick satisfaction you feel over how breathless he already is. Too easy.

You make a point of dragging your nails over his treasure trail, under the guise of steadying yourself, as you lick the salt from his firm chest. You spend a little more time there than strictly necessary; but you want to get him clean, after all. And if your tongue trails off course to drag over a taut nipple–

“Oh, fuck!” His voice is muffled from the lime wedge perched between his lips; he’s so sensitive that his hips actually jolt at your ministration, but your hand on his lower belly steadies him to assure his shot isn’t wasted. “Baby that’s not fair–”

His protest is breathy and trails off into a useless little whine when you move down to suck the tequila from his belly button. You can actually see the way his cock springs to life under his trousers in your peripheral vision, and you think you deserve an award. A big world cup-style trophy, with an inscription that reads “I made Dieter Bravo hard just from licking his fucking belly button”.

He spits the lime out before you even get a chance to taste it, but that’s okay because you’d rather taste him anyway.

His grip is firm as he cups your face in his big, meaty hands and pulls your lips to his. There’s a desperation to this kiss–a frantic meeting of lips and tongue and teeth as he tries to pull you closer to him than it’s physically possible to be. And you let him, let him take everything you so desperately want in return as you feel the scratch of his beard against your chin and the firm grip of his hands guiding the angle of your head.

“W-we should… take this somewhere more private,” you pant when you finally muster the courage to pull back for air.

He shakes his head, and you feel a twist of disappointment in your gut. But then he looks over your shoulder; you hear a deep, guttural voice–and before you know it, the entire bar is empty. Not a soul in sight, not even the bartender

“This private enough for you, honey?”

You nod dumbly, still kind of starstruck over such a powerful display of the way the entire world dances to Dieter Bravo’s tune.

He pulls you in for another deep kiss, this time backing you up into the bar counter. You can feel the insistent press of his arousal against your hip like this, and it makes you moan needily into his open mouth.

“Wanna fuck you,” he murmurs into his mouth, rolling his hips against you in a way that makes you moan again. “Please baby, lemme fuck you.”

“Fuck me,” you murmur back with a nod.

You’re definitely not normally the type that would strip down completely in the middle of a bar to fuck some man you just met, but there’s something about him that has you disregarding all common decency to toss aside your bra and wiggle out of your jeans so he can see every inch of your exposed skin.

It’s all worth it for the pleased moan he makes when he takes you in with his eyes, hungrily eating up miles and miles of flesh that he wants to touch and kiss and appreciate. But there’s not enough time, not here; so he lifts you up sideways onto the bar like you’re weightless and then presses you to lay down flat against the counter top, completely ignoring the sticky glass-sweat rings that press little cold patches into your flesh.

You get a good view of him as he loses the rest of his clothes, flinging them to the corners of the room with a ferocity that makes you giggle. The sound brings a smile to his face, too; and then he jumps up onto the sturdy bar counter with you, spreading your legs with eager hands so he can slot his hips between yours as he continues to kiss you.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he grumbles as he shamelessly ruts his hard cock against your wetness–his voice is so deep it’s almost gravelly. And then he produces a little foil packet from seemingly thin air and winks at you like a hammy cartoon character. “Safety first.”

He’s so silly it’s sexy, and he laughs with you as he presses his lips back to yours. He fumbles a little bit as he tries to roll the condom onto his impressive length while simultaneously kissing you, so you reach down with steady hands to help him; he whimpers at the way you take his girth into your hands and so easily sheathe him.

“M’not gonna last long,” he whispers as he lines up with your entrance, and you’re surprised he can’t actually feel the way it makes your cunt sob with arousal.

“That’s okay,” you reassure, one hand coming to tug firmly at the curls that compose the nape of his neck. “Just make it good.”

He nods, gently bites at your lower lip, and then he thrusts into you smoothly all the way to the hilt.

There’s a bit of a stretch to accommodate him and it makes you moan; the feeling of your tight heat sends a physical shudder down his spine.

“Oh, fuck–” he scoots his knees up further towards your ass, shoving himself as deep as he can get while simultaneously trying to let you adjust to his sudden intrusion. “Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so good–”

You feel the slight scrape of his thick curls against your clit, and it yanks a desperate little moan from your lips. “Move, Dieter, fuck me–”

He’s nothing if not obedient. The first needy little thrust is hard enough to jolt your entire body–he scoops a hand under your head to soften the blow, and then he starts moving with reckless abandon.

It’s hot, it’s sweaty, it’s desperate. He thrusts hard and deep into your soaked core, mouthing uselessly at your mouth and jaw, whimpering with each rut of his hips. He watches your face when he can actually keep his eyes open and finds the exact spot that makes you writhe and squirm underneath him, angling his hips to hit it with relentless accuracy.

He looks pussydrunk, it’s the only way to describe the expression created by his glassy eyes and his parted lips. He nuzzles his face in between your tits and looks up at you like you created the moon and the stars, like you’re something to revere. You’re scared that if he keeps looking at you like that, you’re going to fall in love with him.

“I’m close, Dieter…” you warn, the hand that's not clutching desperately at his messy hair reaching down to put your favorite kind of pressure on your clit.

He tilts his head down and watches to the best of his ability, making mental note of exactly how you like to be worked over–storing that information away for next time. He so desperately wants there to be a next time.

He feels it a second before you do and angles his hips just right to hit that toe-curlingly pleasurable spot right as you come. It sends you sky high, the way he pounds mercilessly into you while the pleasure ebbs and flows over you.

He comes hardly a minute later, grunting and whining and cursing under his breath as his balls draw up and he empties himself into the condom, shoved as deep inside you as he can physically get.

There’s a long, heavy moment of silence as you both pant and try to come down from the clouds. He scatters little feather-light kisses over your sweat-slicked chest, and then he looks up at you with those big brown puppy eyes you’re starting to adore.

“You wanna grab dinner?” He’s so earnest in asking, like he’s not balls-deep in your cunt right now.

It’s so ass-backwards that you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up your throat, but you don’t consider any other answer than, “Yeah, sure.”

It’s worth it just to see the smile that lights up his face. “Amazing.”

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