#dieter bravo x y/n

[mypoisonedvine]

𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙩 || dieter bravo x camgirl!reader

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || being quarantined in his hotel room has dieter getting a little stir crazy, and when the drugs run out, he has to find a new vice. that's how he found you.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 || 5k

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || smut (18+ only; phone/video call sex, use of toys, male and female masturbation), sex work (obviously, look at the title), dieter being down astronomically bad with a burgeoning housewife kink, basically nothing to do with the movie he's from whatsoever it's just porn with almost no plot

(my challenge for @the-slumberparty this week was to write a fic that has a bouquet of flowers somewhere in it! leave it to me to find a way to include that in something so insanely smutty...)

He couldn’t stop watching you—both right now, in this moment, and just generally.

Right now, he couldn’t take his eyes off the way your cunt slid up and down on the glass dildo, your walls gripping every ridge and detail of the toy, your arousal coating it and running in droplets down to the base.

And for the past two weeks, your videos had been his obsession.  Maybe it technically qualified as a porn addiction—but it wasn’t just about that.  He didn’t watch anyone else, and he didn’t even jerk off every time he watched one of your videos; sometimes he just liked hearing your voice, feeling less alone in quarantine in his hotel room.

Most people just put on sitcom reruns or the local news to make a hotel room feel less empty, but that didn’t work for Dieter.  Maybe being an actor ruined the illusion of scripted TV for him—and as for the news, well, nobody would be comforted by the news these days.

So he turned to the only comfort he could rely on when all else failed: masturbation.  But he didn’t like to do it without something to watch, and normally he would just find a video he liked and work with that, but something tempted him to try a cam site… and now he was never turning back.

You weren’t the first girl he saw, it took a little scrolling, but something about your channel caught his eye.  It didn’t take even a full stream before he was addicted: you scratched every itch.

First of all, though he didn’t want to be too shallow, he couldn’t deny that your body was just his type.  It felt like he could stare at you naked for hours and never get bored—and it drove him crazy that he couldn’t touch you, couldn’t turn you around and look at every inch of you.  Instead he just had to lay back and let you show what you wanted; in a way, it was like a dominance thing—he was a victim to your whims, he could only get what you offered and that was it. 

That said, you never left him wanting, that was the second thing he couldn’t resist about you.  Your videos were… indulgent, maybe that’s the word he was looking for: it was so much more than just a girl rubbing herself in front of the camera and calling it a night.  You spent a while talking with the viewers and reacting to comments, sometimes while undressing if you weren’t already naked; then, you upped the ante bit by bit, teasing yourself and him until it finally culminated in you bringing yourself to the peak over and over—until neither of you could take anymore.  He wasn’t just satisfied after watching you, he was exhausted, in the best way.

And lastly, this one was probably just him projecting, but you seemed… sweet?  Kinky, sure, but with something real about you—kinda that girl-next-door vibe.  Maybe it was because you started some of your videos in normal clothes—not lingerie, not a sexy nurse outfit or whatever people are into these days—just a baggy band t-shirt and shorts or an old hoodie and pajama pants.  It was hard not to imagine you as his girlfriend during those streams.  Actually, once he let himself do it, he couldn’t stop—and it got him harder than anything else.

Perhaps Dieter had a bit of a reputation, and most would say he wasn’t very… sentimental with women.  They wouldn’t be wrong, but they’d be misunderstanding him a bit.  Truth be told, he was a pretty sensitive guy, and he’d always wanted a real relationship, it was just difficult with his career.  Love is sort of like eating healthy: maybe you like to cook, maybe you like green beans and chicken breasts, but when a bag of potato chips is right there, you know what you’re probably gonna end up eating.

And Dieter really did go through ‘em like potato chips.  It was easier that way.  He got used to expressing his emotions through acting, and when emotions become your career, it’s a lot harder to be vulnerable for free.

Sometimes he wished he’d met you in person, somehow.  (Then again, right now he was wishing he could meet anyone in person.)  But if he’d met you in person, he would’ve probably just hit on you, convinced you to sleep with him, and then gone back to his same old habits—you would’ve just been another meaningless night.  Instead he was trapped in this hotel, using his laptop like a window to the outside world, and you had become his vice.  Even drugs couldn’t do for him what you could; the high you brought him was incomparable.

He told you just as much; sure, he felt like kind of a loser, but he started commenting on your streams hoping to get a reaction.  I think I’m addicted to your videos.  It was just one in a long string of adoring, horny comments that floated up alongside your video that day as you were casually touching yourself—one hand teasing your breast, pinching and circling the nipple, the other between your legs as you gently rubbed your clit.  You hadn’t noticed his comment that time—or if you had, you didn’t say anything—but the next time, you saw it.  You’d been using a vibe, taking it on and off your clit so you could edge yourself: that alone was a feat of self-discipline he couldn’t imagine.  Can’t wait to see you cum, he’d written, too worked up himself to really wonder if it was clever or interesting.

You smiled, a little breathless laugh coming out more through your nose than your mouth.  “Can’t wait to see you cum,” you repeated, “me either, buddy.  Shit.  Need to come so bad.”

Hearing you read his comment made him actually anxious—like an adrenaline rush, like when he was a kid and hadn’t gotten rid of his stage fright yet.  You had such an effect on him; his heart was still racing when he finally came—he managed to wait until you did, only because he didn’t start jerking off until the last minute.  Having to keep his throbbing dick out of his hand was an enormous task, but he knew that once he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop.  And it was worth it, to come with you; he loved hearing your moans as you came, imagining how you’d sound if he was fucking you—imagining all his come painting your stomach or ass or even going inside you…

And now, right now, he was imagining that last thing—imagining filling you with his come.  You rode that glass dildo beautifully, and when he moved his hand at just the right pace, he could watch and feel the way you would ride him.

“Mm, y’like that?” you moaned, looking back at the camera—damn, if you looked back at him like that while you were on his cock he’d be a fucking goner.

“Yeah,” he panted, in real life, because responding to you aloud was a bad habit when he was close to coming.

“Wanna come in me?” you encouraged, and he bit his lip as he nodded; he wanted to shut his eyes from the pleasure, but he couldn’t miss a second of you picking up the pace as you bounced on the toy.  “Wanna fucking come inside me?”

“Yes, fuck, yes,” he panted out, starting to fuck up into his hand when your pace felt teasingly slow (even though it was already getting so much faster).

“C’mon baby, I want it—come in me, nice and deep,” you begged, voice getting shakier as your own orgasm neared.  “Can you come with me?  Please?  Just fill me up right as you make me come—fuck, so good—”

“God, baby,” he whined, tightening up his stomach to try not to come instantly.  Thankfully, he only had to hold out a few more seconds before he heard you start to make those undeniable moans: when you came, you were loud.  He fucking loved that.

“Yes, yes!” you screamed, and he swore he could see the way your pussy squeezed that toy, he could see the shiver that ran up your spine—he’d give anything to feel that squeeze on his cock, to feel that shiver under his hands…

Come painted his hand, splattering onto his chest and thighs; if only he’d had the thought in advance to take his robe off entirely before he did this, now he was going to have to send some very shameful laundry to the front desk.

“Fuck, that was intense,” you laughed breathlessly as you started to recover.  He could tell you were still a bit shaky as you lifted yourself off the dildo— and he winced, the last drop of come squeezing out of his slit, when he saw the way your pussy was left gaping for juuust a moment by the toy.  Then one squeeze and it was like you were back to normal; she’s fucking incredible, he thought to himself, finally taking his hand off of his softening dick.

Panting, he felt the slightest tinge of shame in the back of his mind.  Not just shame, actually, but loneliness: he watched you smile and turn to face the camera again, reading the slew of filthy praises in your comments, and he just wished it was the two of you— in real life, alone, holding each other…

But this was easier, this was so much easier.  Being alone meant there was no one here to judge him, and that was worth having no one to wrap up in his arms in a time like this.

As he snagged a tissue from the bedside table to wipe himself off, he listened to you read and react to some comments.  “Thanks, guys,” you beamed as you were overwhelmed with so hot and I just came so hard and you’re perfect.  “You flatter me, stop it…”

He had to bite his lip when you started to play with your own tits, seemingly out of nowhere.

“They’re so sensitive after I come,” you explained with a giggle, then a moan as you pinched and teased the buds.  “Have any of you ever tried that?  Playing with your nipples?”

Dieter laughed as the comments poured in: what? that’s fucking gay all the way to I’m doing it right now for you my queen

“Oh god, has it been an hour already?  I think I need to hop off, guys,” you announced.

Instantly the chat was flooded with pleas of don’t go!! and ten more minutes and how much do we tip for more time?

“If anybody wants to keep the conversation going, private chats are on sale on my page right now,” you explained with a friendly smile.  “But if not I’ll see you tomorrow!  Or, you’ll see me.”

With a flirty wave to the camera, the image froze and blurred; STREAM ENDED popped up on the screen.  It was already trying to suggest other streamers live right now that he could watch, but Dieter only sighed and shut his laptop.

Seven seconds later, he opened it again.

“Private chats…” he mumbled to himself remembering what you said.  He knew that you offered other services on your page, but something about you mentioning it this time got his attention.  As he considered for a second if he should’ve washed his hands before touching the trackpad, he navigated to your page and looked at the menu of additional services for purchase.  The list was long: private chats, as you’d mentioned; custom videos anywhere from 15 minutes to a concerningly-long two hours; a subscription to daily nude pictures, sent via Snapchat; even used panties available for shipping anywhere in the US and Canada.

He was originally just going to get a custom video, but as he scrolled through more options, he saw one-on-one video chat, and he got that feeling again—the adrenaline rush.  It took him a second to even compose himself enough to read the description.

Do you hate having to share me with all the other viewers during my streams?  I’d love to have some personal time to get to know you better, and do exactly what you’ve been dreaming of.  You can use voice if that’s easier for you than text—top fans can even turn their camera on if they so desire.

A half-hour video chat was only $75— that sounded like a steal to Dieter right now— and they were available to book as soon as tomorrow.  The idea made him feel all tingly and weird, but weird in a good way.

Top fans can even turn their camera on…

His constant engagement with your page for the last couple weeks had earned him the ‘top fan’ badge.  When he imagined showing you his face, his body, he got unexpectedly anxious, though; he wasn’t a particularly shy guy, but this was a delicate issue.  What if you recognized him?  What if you were a fan?  That would be weird— in a bad way.

Or what if you were a fan and you were overcome with the need to send him free videos, free pictures, even being willing to meet up with him sometime?  That would be… convenient, certainly, in some ways; but the thought overwhelmed him, and he decided that if he was going to buy one of these chats, his camera would have to stay off.  Just not worth the trouble.

He decided something else, too; a strange instinct, but one he was too deep in his post-orgasmic haze to resist.  He wanted to send you a gift.  Mostly, he hoped it would set him apart from other viewers— give you two something to talk about during that call.  If he bought you a toy from your wishlist, maybe you could use it for the first time for him… that would be incredibly hot.

Or maybe he’d buy you something more normal, like a nice throw pillow for the bed you laid on for some of your videos… the domesticity of that certainly attracted him.

But then, he had a simpler idea.  When in doubt while giving a gift to a woman, why not stick to the classics, right?

There was a P.O. Box for fanmail and gifts on your page, and he pulled up another tab to search: can you send flowers to a po box?

Just because he was a whore didn’t mean he wasn’t a romantic.

~

“I have to say, I get a lot of gifts… never gotten flowers before.”

His heart warmed to hear you say that— but it didn’t stop racing.  This felt different: having you here, in only a t-shirt and panties as he’d seen you many times, but knowing it was just for him… he loved it, but it was a little scary.  In a good way.  “Do you like them?” he asked.

“Yeah!” you smiled, fiddling with the stems as the vase sat beside you.  “Pink roses, lilies, orchids… you’re gonna spoil me, Hector.”

(Yes, he gave you his real name.  Ironically, he used it to hide who he actually was— but he liked hearing you say it.)

“Not that I mind,” you added with a wink.  “Do you mind if I have these in the background of my next stream?  They'll match the toy I'm gonna use."

"O-oh, yeah, sure,” he choked.  “What toy are you gonna use?”

You smirked a little, to the point that he almost felt stupid for asking that— but you didn’t mind showing him, in fact you had it ready and showed the baby-pink toy off for him.  His throat got a little tighter when he saw the U-shape of the toy; didn’t take a genius to imagine where that would go… and already his mind was jumping ahead to how you’d look with those silicone ends penetrating both your holes—

“Looks like fun,” he managed to get out, and you looked pretty proud of yourself for making him a bit flustered.

“Do you wanna turn your camera on?” you offered suddenly after you’d set the toy aside.  “No pressure, of course.”

He went through a whole rollercoaster when you asked that.  Because yes, he did—sort of.  But would it just make things more complicated?  What if you were uncomfortable with him being famous, thought he might expose you or something—or, more concerningly, what if you exposed him?  Or what if you just berated him with dumb fan questions when he was trying to forget about his life right now?  “Uh,” he stalled, “is it okay if I don’t, this time?”

“Of course, it’s all up to you,” you replied.  “I’m just a little curious… you have a sexy voice.  Gotta wonder if it matches.”

He didn’t even know if you would think he was sexy—he certainly hoped so, but maybe you had a type of your own.  Maybe you were a lesbian, how should he know?  “Thanks,” he hummed, “you too—but, you know, all of you is sexy.”

“Aw shucks,” you said as you struck a pose, putting your hands under your chin and batting your eyes to complete the sarcastic impression of innocence.  He laughed, and it reminded him why your videos were so special— ‘cause you made him laugh like that.  “You know, a lot of people book these chats because they have a specific kink they want me to try for them,” you explained.  “What about you?  Why’d you book this?”

“Is it weird if I just… kinda wanted to talk to you?”

His heart skipped when he saw your reaction—the shy, tender smile that appeared on your face.  “No, that’s not weird,” you replied, and for some reason it was how incredibly sweet you looked right then that made his cock jump in his boxers.  “We can talk about whatever you want.”

“Can we talk about you?”

“Not much to talk about,” you shrugged, smirking a bit; of course you were teasing him, he didn’t even mind.

“I really doubt that,” he chuckled.  “Is this your only job?  Do you do anything else?”

“I, uh, used to do something else,” you answered, “but then they found out about this.”

“Oh, that sucks…”

“Nah, worked out for the best.  Started making way more when I had more time to put into it,” you nodded.  “I like this a lot better, actually.  No sick leave, but no dress code, either.”

“Yeah, that’s a plus,” he nodded, even though you couldn’t see him.

“What about you?  What do you do?”

“Um… I’m an actor,” he replied.  He considered lying, but couldn’t come up with anything else.

“Oh, that’s really cool!” you smiled.  “Wouldn’t have seen you in anything, would I?”

“Probably not,” he laughed off your question.  “Do you, um, have any hobbies?  You must not have a lot of spare time, with people paying for chats and custom videos and all…”

“I take a few days off, here and there,” you nodded, “mostly I just like movies and stuff.”

That made him even more anxious that you would know who he was.  He still hadn’t decided if that would be a good thing or a bad thing, though.

“I like to cook,” you added. 

It was starting to feel like you were intentionally targeting his newly developed girlfriend fetish.  Instantly his mind was flooded with all this domestic bullshit: shopping with you for ingredients, coming home to a fresh dinner, waking up to you in the kitchen wearing his shirt and flipping pancakes.  “I like to eat,” Dieter replied, “we’re so compatible.”

You laughed, and if this was all just some act where you pretended to think he was funny and interesting, it was the best acting he’d seen in a while.  “Are you flirting?” you noticed, raising an eyebrow as if to point out how fitting-yet-bizarre it was for him to be hitting on you—because he didn’t need to, you were his for the half-hour regardless.  But he liked this better, and he loved making you laugh.

“Maybe,” he offered cryptically in return.

“Is that what the flowers were for?  Are you trying to seduce me?” you accused with a grin.

“Those were just to get your attention,” he admitted.

“Hector, honey,” you cooed, making his heart skip.  “You already have my attention.”

That excited him and his dick, which was now making a tent in his boxers as it waited for some of your promised attention; somehow, just casually-flirtatious conversation with you was almost hotter to him than the usual stuff.  Maybe he was just a little burnt out on all that by now— because talking to you had become much more valuable than seeing you naked.

“Just tell me one thing about you,” you bargained.

“Alright,” he agreed.

“Are you hard?”

He swallowed.  “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice sounding weaker than he meant it to.  You smirked a little.

“We don’t have to,” you assured him, “but if you’re interested, why don’t we get off together, hm?  Does that sound okay?”

Was it a good sign that you were initiating this, or did it just mean you were getting impatient with him?  God, it didn’t matter—he was gonna do whatever you wanted.  “Okay,” he answered.  “Yeah—that sounds… more than okay.”

Biting your lip slightly, the way you looked at the camera almost made him feel like you were sizing him up—even though all you could see was a black screen.  “Are you touching your cock already?”

“N-no, I… I still have boxers on,” he replied.  “Should I?”

“No, you should rub it a little through the boxers,” you instructed.  “That’s what I’m gonna do—touch my clit through these panties.  It’s even more sensitive when I do that, don’t ask me how.”

“R-right, okay,” he nodded.  He already liked taking instructions from you more than he thought he would.  His hand spread out over the bulge in the cotton, a sigh slipping from his lips as he started to find the right amount of pressure so he wouldn’t get too into it too fast.

His eyes were transfixed on the way you spread your legs, and he swore your panties already looked a little damp…

Your finger traced delicately over the seam of your pussy, and his balls tightened up at the way you sighed as you teased yourself.  “You should play with your tits, too,” he informed you, his own voice sounding shaky as he tried to hold back from just getting his cock out and jerking off as fervently as he wanted to.

“You’re just full of good ideas, huh?” you joked, taking your free hand and pinching yourself through your shirt.

“Then here’s another one for you,” he offered, “take something off.”

“Shirt or panties?” you asked.

“Dealer’s choice.”

You smiled and surprised him by lifting your hips, pulling your underwear down your thighs before kicking them off to the side.  For some reason, even though he gave you the choice, he expected you to take the shirt off first; and there was something surprisingly sexy about you still having that casual t-shirt on and nothing else.  (Likely, it was because it made it easier to imagine you just wearing one of his shirts…)

It added a new thrill to the now-familiar sight of your pussy— not that he ever got bored of that view.  “Can you— can you spread it for me?” he panted, nearly whimpering when you took two fingers and scissored apart your lips.  “Fuck, got such a pretty hole, baby…”

He saw it flex as you heard the compliment, and he couldn’t help but moan quietly.  “Yeah?  Have you thought about how good it would feel?” you encouraged with a sigh.  “How good this hole would feel on your cock?”

“Every fucking day,” he promised.  

“Then take it out,” you instructed breathily.  “Start touching your cock, and think about what it would be like if I was there touching you instead.”

Though he was glad to do as you’d said, pulling his throbbing erection from his boxers with a sigh, he had to disobey one of your commands.  “No, m’thinking about a lot more than that,” he replied, and you cracked a smile as you rubbed your clit faster.  “Thinking about being— fuck— inside you…”

You hummed happily; after all that teasing, he was so sensitive and worked up that it felt like he was already fighting to hold himself back.  He certainly couldn’t keep his pace down— right away he was stroking himself quickly, struggling to keep it together.

“Thinking about how fucking tight you are,” he added with a groan, loving the little whimper you let out in return.

“Hector, baby,” you moaned, and he hadn’t heard that name said that way in a very long time.  “This might be over sooner than I thought if you talk like that…”

“Good,” he decided, “it’s not gonna take me very long, either— you always make me like that.”

“How would you fuck me?” you asked, panting, rocking your hips against your hand.  “Tell me how you’d fuck me, baby.”

“Fuck, I—hard,” he choked out.  “So fucking hard—”

“Mm,” you moaned encouragingly.

“And I’d eat you out,” he decided, “before and after.  I’ve been dying to know how your pussy tastes.”

“After, huh?  Is that with your come inside?” you wondered.  “Or did you wanna come on my tits?”

“Inside,” he groaned.  “I’d eat my—fuck—eat my come out of you, I don’t care.”

“That’s dirty,” you purred, “I like it.  I like a man who can clean up his mess.”

“Never liked coming inside that much until I started watching your streams,” he admitted.  “Now it’s all I can think about—coming inside you.”

“Fuck,” you moaned, “want you to think about that when you come for me now, okay?  Can you do that?”

“Yeah,” he promised, moving his hand faster and feeling that tension in his gut that told him the breaking point was approaching.

“Think about filling me up,” you continued, “giving me all that come, so deep inside—”

“Fuck,” he hissed, “are you close too?”

“Baby, I’ve been trying not to come since we fucking started,” you admitted— and maybe it was a lie, but he bought it joyously.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he gasped, “I’m gonna come so hard— fuck yes— gonna come for you…”

“Do it,” you begged, “I want you to, I want you to come, Hector.”

“You— you should come, too,” he countered with a shaking gasp, his cock already starting to flex as he knew he was seconds away from losing it.

“I will,” you promised with a smile, your voice itself turning every word into a moan, “I’m gonna come with you, baby, fuck— lemme hear it, wanna hear you come—”

He came with a grunt, squeezing down on his cock with his fist as come launched out in long pulses; “F-fuck, I’m coming, ahhh fuck,” he narrated— normally he wouldn’t say something like that, but you had asked to hear it, so…

“Me too, I— oh!” you shouted, and he watched with heavy eyes as you tossed your head back, hips rocking up into nothing— your hand was a blur over your pussy but he swore he could see it pulsing and clenching, creamy slick leaking slowly from your hole.

The last of his come came out as a fat droplet running down his shaft, making his fingers unpleasantly sticky as the ringing in his ears subsided and he began to slowly come back to reality.  You were panting, pushing yourself just a bit further until your whole body jolted and you quickly pulled your hand away.

“God,” you groaned, “that was… draining.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, laughing a little at how wrecked his own voice sounded.  

“I wish I could just, like, take a nap right now,” you admitted with a tired grin.

“I mean, you could— we’re almost out of time…” he noticed.

“No, I— yeah, I could, but I have something after this,” you replied, and he felt a little twist in his chest.  He didn’t blame you at all for it, but it made him jealous to think of you hopping right on to your next call— it made him feel like he was just one of your thousands of fans, which is not how he wanted you to think of him at all.

“Another call?” he assumed.

“No, just private chats,” you corrected, which somehow made him feel a little bit better, “and I should probably post a few things for my Snapchat— we’ll see.  I will definitely need a break before my stream tonight, though… will I see you there?  Proverbially?”

He smiled a little.  “Yeah, definitely.”

“Drink plenty of fluids before then,” you winked.  “Thanks for calling, Hector… I hope we can do this again sometime.”

It’s an upsell, she’s not actually into you, she’s not actually into you, he tried to force himself to believe.  But it was so much easier, so much more fun, to imagine that you really liked him— that those flowers stood out enough for you to realize that he’s different.

You both said your polite goodbyes and the call ended.  He was definitely sleepier than he anticipated after all that— you said you were, too, which made him just want to have you here even more so you could fall asleep on his shoulder and he wouldn’t have to be alone in this bed for the seemingly-thousandth time in a row.

Exhausted to the bone, some impossible mix of satisfied and starving for more of you, Dieter sighed and shut his laptop.

Seven seconds later, he opened it again.  He wanted to book his next video call before he passed out.

~

thank you so much for reading! if you're interested in a second part to this, please let me know by reblogging or maybe even leaving a comment! you can read my other works for pedro pascal characters here or check out my full masterlist here

[guess-my-next-obsession]

8, 10, & 24 for mr dieter bravo?? 🍾

Amazon

pairing: dieter bravo x afab!reader

rating: E (18+ only, unprotected piv, amazon position so kinda sub!dieter, dirty language at the end)

wc: 200

prompt: 8. i can take it. // 10. spread your legs wider // 24. you can do better than that

dieter masterlist

“Spread your legs wider,” you scolded as Dieter laid on his back, his thighs hardly spread far enough for you this “amazon” position he proposed you should try tonight to work.

“Sorry, I’m not an expert at laying spread eagle,” he snapped as he grabbed the back of his knees and forced them to his chest. You tentatively reached for his cock and gave it a few strokes before moving close enough to him to line yourself up. Slowly sinking down on his cock, both of you let out a content sigh. Afraid to move wrong and break his dick in half, the rocking of your hips slow and careful. Dieter allowed it for a moment, but your ever-honest lover wasn’t going to hold his tongue forever. “You can do better than that,” he sighed, and you could see his hand twitch as if he meant to give your ask a smack.

“What if I break your dick or something?” you asked in a breathless pant, the slow pace maybe not working for him, but it was more than working for you.

“I can take it. I promise,” he urged. “C’mon, baby. Fuck me like you mean it.”

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[psychedelic-ink]

We Fall Like Snow ║ Masterlist

completed

summary: After the events that took place at the Cliff Beasts set, needless to say as his bodyguard (and friend) you became overprotective of Dieter. You have all your worries under control until you accidentally flip over a young fan by grabbing her wrist, causing the media to stir with speculations as to why. Luckily Dieter's family arrives in the nick of time, scooping you both from New York to their cozy cabin; however winter wonderland can't last forever and you need to face the consequences of your actions sooner or later.

pairing: dieter bravo x bodyguard!ofc; Amina Addams, second person pov

genre: romance, hurt/comfort, winter fluff, smut, friends to lovers

chapters marked with ** indicates smut

⠀MLISTS .  LIBRARY . PLAYLIST . AO3

Main Story

Part One - Jingle Bells

Part Two - Snowdrops

Part Three - Frostbite**

Part Four - Mistletoe**

Part Five - Subzero**

Part Six - Permafrost**

Part Seven - Hiemal

Part Eight - We Fall Like Snow**

Drabbles

Little Drummer Boy

Dieter wants the same nail art as you.

[noisynaia]

9 to 5

[Dieter Bravo x Reader] One shot

summary: You’re the personal assistant of washed-up academy award-winning actor Dieter Bravo. It’s your day off and you were supposed to be on a date, your first date in ages, but a text from Dieter have you ditching your date to come to him.

word count: 4.3k 

rating: E

pairing: Dieter Bravo x afab!reader 

note: Soft Dieter Bravo. A little jealousy. Body worship. Cunnilingus, thigh-riding, unprotected P in V (with use of contraception (please wrap it irl!)). Brief description of past overdose (nothing too graphic, but please don't read if it is a topic that upsets you! <3). No use of (y/n). The reader uses she/her pronouns. Reader is implied to be curvy and having hair, but no other physical descriptions are used. This has not been beta-read and English is not my native language. (18+, minors please don't interact)

crossposted on my ao3

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Can you come over..?   

Your grip on the steering wheel is tight. You feel bad for Alex… Alec..? No, Alex! Yeah, Alex! Right..? Jeez, you left the restaurant 10 minutes ago and you already forgot the guy's name, real classy of you… Not only did you leave him at the restaurant, but you can’t even remember his name. You had tried to ignore the text, you really had. Dieter’s text had come just as you walked into the restaurant. Alex seemed sweet, and you had to admit he had looked real sweet too. He worked as a personal trainer so he definitely looked… Sharp. But you couldn’t really focus on anything he was saying, you kept thinking about Dee, and then you couldn’t focus because you got mad at yourself for thinking about him instead of listening to Alex.

You had gone into this date hoping for a good time and maybe for a little action in the bedroom. It had been too long. But instead of going home with your stupidly attractive date, who actually seemed like a nice guy, you are now on your way to your boss’s place. Ending the date early, excusing yourself, you had told Alex that you had gotten a text from a friend that had concerned you, which wasn’t actually a lie. You trusted Dieter to not do something stupid, but you knew him better than probably any other person and you know he isn’t always in the best headspace and that the last 6 months have been hard for him. And you couldn’t get the image of him in the ambulance out of your head. You were the one who had found him, luckily you always have naloxone in your purse. You had been told that it had been the thing that saved him.

The wait for the ambulance had felt like hours, you had been sitting with Dieter’s head in your lap, you had thought you might lose him. It was the scariest thing you had ever experienced.   

You’re using this to defend your choice about leaving Alex at the restaurant. You had actually looked forward to this date. You were proud of the outfit you had picked out. A simple black dress, timeless and classy, but on the shorter side, giving a good view of your legs and hugging your curves in all the right ways. You had finally decided to treat yourself and get those Jimmy Choo’s you had been dreaming about for so long. The look is giving the impression of effortless sexiness. 

You had put effort in, a lot of effort, spending hours on your hair and make-up.

You let out a sigh. You never really feel that sexy, most days you’re simply too busy with work to put in the effort to make yourself feel good, the fact that the man you work for will attend business meetings in a worn-out bathrobe doesn’t exactly help on your own motivation when it comes to making an effort to look nice. When the weekend finally comes around you’re usually too tired from your work week to do anything fancy, or you had to assist Dieter at some event or something. It always seems like there is something you have to do. 

But, fuck… You looked so good tonight. And you had also felt good when you took the last look at yourself in the mirror, before you left to go on your date. 

You have had to listen to your friend’s complaints about your lacking dating life for years now, and you had finally given in. Your friend Gina had set you up with one of her coworkers. It was just a silly blind date, but you had decided to go all in after finally agreeing on going. It also wasn’t a complete blind date, your friend had shown you the guy’s Instagram profile, and you had to say he was hot. You had not let your hopes be high on the ‘this could be the one’ department, that wasn’t really something you were looking for right now. 

… Workin' 9 to 5, what a way to make a livin'

Barely gettin' by, it's all takin' and no givin'

They just use your mind and they never give you credit

It's enough to drive you crazy if you let it …

“I swear sometimes, Dieter… You're driving me fucking crazy! I actually have office hours, did you know that, huh? 9-5 from Monday to Friday, Dee!” You push past him the second he opens the door for you and you see that he is okay. Of course, he’s okay. He texts you all the time to get you to come to hang with him. Very unprofessional, you keep reminding him. (And yet you always end up dropping what you’re doing to go to him…)

You hang your purse on a hook, take off your new stilettos and grab the pair of slippers that you know he has just for you. You are very familiar with his penthouse apartment, not bullshitting either yourself or him by pretending you aren't comfortable enough with the place to not just walk in and make yourself at home. The only room you are not familiar with is his bedroom and the attached bathroom.        

“You can’t call or text me If it isn’t an emergency! ” You huff as you grab a slice of the pizza sitting on the kitchen island before jumping up to sit on the counter. The food at the restaurant had been good, but the portions had been way too small and you had not stayed for dessert.       

“Seriously, you have to stop calling me every time you’re bored or need someone to entertain you.”    

“You could have just texted me back that you didn’t want to come.” He says, now with his own slice of pizza in his hand. “I thought you were busy or maybe napping when you didn’t text back. Looked like you were busy..?” He is eyeing you up and down 

Right, you hadn’t even texted him back… You could literally have gotten fucked your brains out right now by a greek god if you just had texted Dee if he was okay. Instead, you had left only and had driven straight over here. 

“Yeah, I had a date tonight…” 

“Wait, that was tonight!? Sorry, I wouldn’t have asked you to come if I knew you were busy .”

“My job is to keep you in check, Dieter, being busy is my default at this point.” 

“Isn’t your job to be my friend ?” He says with a fake hurt demeanour, clasping his hand over his heart like what you just had said had hurt him deeply.” 

“My job is to be your assistant, Dieter. You need to call your real friends”

“I know, I know …” He throws his hands up in surrender abandoning his half-eaten pizza slice in the box. 

“The problem is that If I call any of them they’ll bring an eightball and then I’m back in the shitter.” His tone is weaker than normal.   

Your heart clenches. You have spent much time with him over the years, and even though you like to keep up the pretend game, that you find him annoying and obnoxious. You care very deeply for him. He might even be one of the closest friends you have. But you have especially spent much time with him the last 6 months, you know that the image he keeps up for most people is simply a facade. You are one of the few people that know the real Dieter Bravo. The Dieter that wears his heart on his sleeve. The Dieter that has bad days where he barely can get out of bed in the morning. The Dieter that loves to stay up until late at night with you watching silly rom-coms or trashy reality tv.   

“Then they're not your real friends Dee…” Your voice is low as you have dropped your act about being mad at him. 

He simply shrugs. Staying silent for a moment. You want to say something more, but the lump in your throat keeps you from doing so.   

He finally breaks the silence. “I was actually about to put on a movie.” Pointing his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the living room.

…9 to 5, for service and devotion

You would think that I would deserve a fair promotion

Want to move ahead but the boss won't seem to let me

I swear sometimes that man is out to get me …

You end up deciding on a movie that Dieter insists should be so bad that it’s good. 

You sit at each corner of the couch, Dieter in one corner and you in the other, a bag of KitKats between you. The conversation back in the kitchen is still hanging heavily between you. You have a hard time focusing on the movie and it seems like Dieter does too. 

He is the one to break the silence again. “I really am sorry for ruining your date. I would never have texted you if I knew…” 

You shake your head, you’re not mad at him anymore, not that you really had been mad at him at any point. “He was sweet, but honestly a bit boring too. I don’t know, we would probably not have been a good match anyway. And I know you have felt a bit, y ou know … Lately. You didn’t force me to come, I’m here because I want to be here.” You sigh, before continuing. 

“And seriously… I am really proud of you. You have almost been clean for half a year now, that’s really great, Dee.” You glance over at him on the other end of the couch. 

“Well, let’s see how long it lasts, I don’t have a great record of people being proud of me” His hands are fidgeting with the edge of his cardigan.    

“It’ll last… And if it doesn’t then we will take it from there. I have gone through enough shit with you through the years to give up on you now.” And you really mean that. You could never give up on him, even though you have tried.  

“Well, I did promise you I would never put you through that again…” He says, matter-of-factly, but his voice is both lower and softer than his normal tone of voice. His eyes fixated on the tv screen, clearly avoiding eye contact. You are okay with that, you don’t think you would be able to keep your act up if he looked at you right now.   

The memory washes over you, Dieter laying lifeless on the floor.    

You had been crying. “Never do that again Dieter. Don’t you dare ever do that to me again!”

You feel your eyes getting stingy, the warning of tears. 

“Eat your chocolate old man.” You say softly. Throwing a KitKat at his face, without turning your gaze from the tv. It is your turn to actively avoid eye contact, but you can feel his eyes on you.     

You sit in silence for a while after that, the only sounds in the room, besides the ones from the tv, are the occasional crackling of chocolate wrappers being opened. It is not common for Dieter to be this quiet though. He usually can’t keep his mouth shut when you watch movies together, always commenting on the plot or the acting or something . Even though he is an oscar winning actor, he has very bad film-watching etiquette.  

But the silence keeps stretching out before Dieter finally breaks it. You thought that you had reached a point in your relationship with Dieter Bravo where you couldn’t be surprised by any of the wild shit he could say, but this catches you off guard.    

“I have wanted to fire you for a long time, you know.” He says it so casually. 

What?! You tore your eyes from the movie, turning your entire body towards him.  

“But, besides the fact that I'm very flawed and fucked up, I have not managed to be that selfless yet. I should let you go, but I just keep clinging me to you.”

He has not moved, as he tell you this, his feet still on the coffee table and he is still looking at the tv. 

“What the fuck Dieter?! I work my fucking ass off, I’m literally sitting on your fucking couch on my fucking weekend, right now when I could be fucking a frigging personal trainer and then you say you want to fire me?!”  

“Yeah, I know and that isn’t fair. I ask too much of you… I just think you deserve better, okay.” 

Is he serious?! He has been thinking about firing you. You decide to ignore the reasons he is giving you, you can’t process them right now. Anger is the only emotion you’re letting yourself feel right now, the hint of desperation with which he spoke is gonna give you hope if you don’t keep your emotions in check. The chance that he could feel about you as you do for him. The deep feelings you had realized was between when you had looked at him on the ambulance stretcher, the fear of actually losing him had made you realize just how important he is for you. So you let the anger control you.         

“I can’t even remember the last time I saw a dick, yet I blew off my date to come here. You can’t fucking fire me!”  

“I know, but it’s not…” He sighs, throwing his hands up in the air with frustration. “I like you okay… I really, really like you and it is making me selfish, okay!”

The feelings you have for him, the feelings you have had for a long time but have ignored and buried deep inside of you, are flaring up.  

“You like me?!” 

He nods. “I like you…”

You can’t take it anymore, the bag of now mostly empty KitKat wrappers lands on the floor as you throw yourself over the couch towards him. Your lips crashing together. He’s tasting sweet like the chocolate he has been eating. 

His arms are around you, holding you close against him. You're deepening the kiss, letting your tongue slip between his teeth. It is sweet but needy. You can’t help but grind your hips softly into him.     

“I like you too, Dieter.” You whisper against his lips, as the two of you break for air. Your words make him crash is lips back on yours in a hungry and desperate kiss. He is devouring you, mapping out the inside of your mouth with his tongue, like an explorer on a mission, all the while you slowly rock your hips against him. You can feel the effect you have on him.

“What if I assist you, for a change, huh?” His low voice is making a shiver go up your spine and it’s making your cunt clench.

You are straddling his left thigh, your short dress scrunched up, exposing the skin of your own thighs. His hands are on your hips, fingers digging into your soft skin in the most delicious way. A moan escapes from your mouth as you feel the muscles of his thigh flex under you. 

“Fuck, Dieter, I...” You murmur, feeling the fabric of your panties getting damper and damper against the soft fabric of his pants.

“It’s okay, sweetie … I got you.” His thumbs are drawing circles over your hips as his grip firms. Dieter begins to move your hips. He is moving you slowly at first, but the sounds you’re making as your clothed pussy is being rubbed against him make him eager to pick up the pace.

“So fucking sexy, doing so good for me.” Dieter is cursing under his breath and the grinding gets sloppier.

“Fucking hell … I,  fuck , ne-need… I need you, Dieter” You lock eyes, hoping the plea of your gaze can convince him about how much you want him. His brown eyes are burning you, his hands coming to a still.  

He nods, eyes still locked with yours as he moves you, switching position so you’re under him with your back pushing down into the soft couch. He is kissing you again as his hand dives down your panties. 

“Fuck , baby, you’re dripping . Soaking wet baby. My sweet girl. All soaked, just for me.” His mouth leaves your mouth. He licks your inner thigh before gently biting down on your soft skin. He is pulling your panties down your legs. “My sweet, sweet girl… too sweet for fucked up bastard like me.” He kisses your other thigh. “Want to taste you, baby. Want to eat you out until morning.” He lifts his head, locking eyes with you again. Soft brown eyes, pleading with you. “Can I sweetheart? Can I taste you?” 

You swallow hard, his eyes are dark with need and desperation. He looks at you like he has been stranded in a desert for days and your pussy is the water that will save him.

“Mm…” You nod, feeling your arousal pulsing through your cunt at the mental image of Dieter’s tongue between your thighs. 

He swallows hard at your response, soft eyes still locked with yours. “ Fuck , sweetheart, you sure you want this.” Not letting himself begin before he has gotten a verbal go from you. 

“Yes, Dee. I’m sure .” You bring your palm to his cheek, stroking your thumb along his stubbles “I want this Dee, want you .” This is all he needs to hear.                 

Your eyes roll to the back of your skull when Dieter buries his head between your thighs. He slides his tongue through your wet folds before pushing it into you with a groan when he tastes you. He is taking his time, letting his tongue flicker through your folds for a long time before sucking down on your clit. He keeps going like this for a while, but your sounds are driving him crazy, and something in him goes feral. 

He now goes at you with such devotion and affection it makes you wanna cry. The thought of how much he seems to enjoy himself makes you even wetter. “ Oh , fuck … Fuck, Dieter, you’re so …” You whine, but choke on your own pleasure sounds looking down at him. 

His face buried beep between your thighs. He has lost the cardigan, giving you a full view of his bulky arms. His moustache is tickling your sensitive skin, and it is so hot . His thin t-shirt is hanging loose giving you a look at his chest. You bury your fists in his fluffy curls, making him groan against your heat, the vibrations from it make your toes curl. He is now flicking his tongue over your clit with a determination that has you seeing stars. You can’t keep his name from falling from your lips, over and over again. His name is your orison, his skilled mouth is the deity to which your prayer is devoted. 

His grip on your thighs tightens as your own grip on his hair does too. You fall over the edge, waves of pleasure washing over you. Dieter hums into you as your legs shake and your cunt clenches, he never stops lapping into you as your orgasm unfolds.

“So good , my sweet girl, tasting even sweeter than I had  imagined.” He pants as his mouth finally detaches from you.  

He climbs up over your body. “Fucking hell, baby. You’re so perfect” Dieter whispers against your skin before he softly bites down on your neck, it makes a moan escape from deep down your throat. He keeps himself occupied with your neck for a while, kissing and sucking on your pulse point. It has you whine out with pleasure. You can feel his hard dick against your stomach. The thought of his thick hard cock is making your mouth water.   

“I need you inside me, Dieter...” You whine. You feel how his cock twitches from your confession.

“You sure baby?”

“Very sure. You haven’t been with anyone since your last check, right?” You know he is clean since you are the one dealing with his doctor appointments.“I haven't been with anyone either and, uh, I have an iud, so…” So you can fuck me raw . You don’t say that part out loud. 

You’re still under him. He is looking down at you, gently pressing you down into the softness of the couch.      

“No, I…” You swallow hard before continuing. “I wanna ride you, Dee.” You mirror the desperation he had spoken with when he had asked permission to eat you out. You're rising up towards him “Please, let me ride you, Dieter?” You whisper into his ear, you can barely recognise your own voice so low and husky with desperate need. 

“Fucking hell , baby… You can’t say things like that, you’ll have me cream my pants like a fucking schoolboy.” You can’t help but let out a soft giggle. You switch positions for the second time and you're back in the same position as when you were riding his thigh.  

You’re leaving matching kisses on the tattoos on his forearms. You throw your leg over him  Flattening your hands on his chest, spreading your fingers as wide as possible in an attempt to get as much of him as possible. You slide your hands under the hem of his t-shirt, exposing his soft stomach, showering it with kisses and licking along his happy trail. You love his stomach, you know he is a little insecure about it, as he had gotten a more healthy appetite after he got clean and had lost the defined muscles of his youth. So you are devoted to showing him just how beautiful he is in your eyes.

You are grinding down on him, making your cunt slide up and down the underside of his hard-on, which lies thick and throbbing over his belly, it’s twitching under you.    

You readjust yourself and begin to slowly slide down on him. You’re really taking your time, both so you can get used to the impressive size of him, and enjoy the sounds he’s making for you as you slowly take more and more of his cock. Your walls are stretched in ways you don’t think they have ever been stretched before.  

“Fuck baby. You’re so perfect” Dieter whispers. “So fucking good and sweet to me. Always… Always so good to me.” 

You begin to bounce down on him. His hands are on your hips, but he occasionally slips them back to your ass, squeezing the soft skin with his hand. It makes you go wild.

His hips meet you hard with each bounce as he thrust up into you, burying so deep inside you it has you screaming. The sounds of your skin slapping and your wet cunt getting fucked are ringing through your ears. Your arms have begun to shake and you finally can’t take it anymore as you collapse onto him. Your lips meet in a sloppy, hungry kiss while you keep slamming down on him while he simultaneously thrusts his hips up into you. You reach your climax with your lips on his, moaning into him. He keeps fucking up into you while cum around him. Hands firmly on your hips, bouncing you up and down on his cock, helping you ride out your orgasm. 

“I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you…”

Tears of pleasure are wetting your eyes. After needing this for so long, wanting him for so long - longer than you have ever been able to admit to yourself. 

You feel how his dick twitches inside you as he comes undone. Fucking his cum deep into you. The warm seed covering your walls. He finally removes his hands from your hips, sneaking them around your back, hugging you against his chest. You lie like this for a little while, both of you catching your breath.  

“Should we start the film over? We missed a lot of it.” You giggle.  

“Nah, don’t think I can focus right now…” He squeezes you tight, pulling you against his bare chest, planting a kiss on the top of your head “I’d rather focus on you.” 

You nuzzle your face into his warm sternum. “Maybe we could hit the shower then?”    

“Oh, we suddenly can, sweetheart.” He answers, moving his arms so he has one under your knees and the other under your back, lifting you up bridal style. You laugh softly as he carries you to the master bathroom.

… Waitin' for the day your ship'll come in

And the tide's gonna turn an' it's all gonna roll your way …

You are laying in his bed now, tangled up together in the soft sheets, half asleep and smelling freshly of his lemon body wash. Your dress has been replaced by one of Dieter’s t-shirts. Your hand are in his hair, mindlessly scraping his scalp with your fingertips, and his hands stroking your back.    

“I think I’ll be quitting.” You whisper before leaving a loving kiss on his lips. “Can’t have you keep fucking your assistant.” You add against his mouth. 

“So, this wasn’t a one-time thing?” He sounds stunned and hopeful his voice dropping an octave.    

“Nah, I don’t think it was.” You tell him with a soft smile.   

His lips are back on yours again. The kiss is so sweet, you can feel him smiling against your lips.

“Guess I’ll have to look for a new assistant then. No one is gonna be as good as you though.” He nuzzles his nose against your chee. "But maybe you could still come along to the award shows, red carpets always makes me nervous, you know and you're very calming for my nerves, sweetheart… "

"That would make the press think we’re dating."

“Would that be so bad?” He whispers, sounding both serious and nervous. The implications of what he's asking are making your stomach do a flip and warmth spread through your chest. He wants to date you!?

“No, It wouldn’t.” You answer and you mean it.

“Even though I’m not some young hot personal fitness trainer guru person…” He rambles jokingly, but you can hear a hint of seriousness and uncertainty.

You can’t help but laugh at that, warmly. It’s a silly thought as if you could ever want someone that wasn’t him. Why be with anyone else when you could have him. Not because he is a famous actor or because he is some sort of perfect person. But because you could have the real him, the version he usually doesn’t show others, you being one of the few that get that side of him.  

“Dieter, you are literally on the sexiest men alive list, you have a fucking Oscar statuette on your bathroom shelf.” You shake your head with a grin. “Besides, that wouldn’t be you.”

"Cool, cos there are no others I'd rather bring." He kisses you again and it is sweeter than ever.

[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 8

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Chapter 8: Would You Rather

Chapter Summary: You and Dieter spend the day together.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 7k+

Content / Warnings: alternating POV, talk about addiction, grief, communication problems, confrontation, piv sex, homophobia, spanish homophobic slur, infertility, automatic writing, ghostie better back off, fluffy fluffy feeeeeeelings

Notes: Chapter title from "Would You Rather" by Phoebe Bridgers. Hey so about what I said when I started this series about putting out a chapter every week... I've found that it's not very realistic for me. It doesn't usually take me more than one or two weeks to finish writing a chapter, but I'll put them out when I'm done with them! Thank you so much for understanding and for reading. I appreciate you!!! Also I got a little behind on replying to people's nice comments, and if that's you, you'll be hearing from me tomorrow most likely lol THANKS AGAAAIN!

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When you wake up to the braying of your phone’s alarm, snuggled into the heat of Dieter’s naked body, the sun hasn’t even begun to peak over the horizon. The world is still drenched in darkness. His forehead rolls against the arch of your back as you breathe, the oil from his pores slick on the shared spot. Soft puffs of his sleeping breath spread over your spine and make you tingle. 

You close your eyes and find that, if you’re still enough, you can feel the steady beat of his heart echo across your skin. 

The night before replays in your head. Parker’s show. Dieter’s confrontation. The way he pushed you to your breaking point. The way he made it up to you. 

You wonder if he’ll bring it up again, or if he considers the point of contention to be healed. If you’ll ever get the courage to tell him that it’s not just his wandering attention that hurt you. How do you tell him that his publicized cocaine binge picks away at your brain just as much? 

You wonder if this stitched up wound will just be infected by lingering doubt and unasked questions. If your vigilant throat will keep the ache locked away in your chest. If an abscess will grow and rot until it’s too late for antibiotics and it swallows you whole. 

The alarm goes off again. 

I have to get up. 

For a moment, you consider quietly gathering your clothes and slinking out of the room. The comfort of running away and hiding where it’s safe, at a distance far, far away from him, entices you. Maybe the overall net hurt of abandoning him would outweigh that of letting him in your life again. 

Then you hear him snore, his slackened lips making a boioioing noise on the exhale. You take a deep breath, your intermingled scents wafting off the stark white sheets that were dampened by sex and sweat. The tickle of his bed head against the nape of your neck. 

Your chest tightens. 

Maybe the overall net joy of letting him in your life again would outweigh that of abandoning him. 

You wriggle around to face him, drag your fingers through his hair, and kiss his forehead. His lungs expand at the contact. A dry hum sounds from his throat. You cup his cheek and drag your thumb against the grain of the gray patch in his beard, then press your lips to the tip of his nose. At this, he hums again and smiles. 

“I have to go,” you whisper. 

“No,” he croaks, one eye squinting open as he frowns, “Stay here, baby.”

His deep, sleep-drenched voice tugs at your heart. You sigh, “I have to work.”

“Lemme come with,” he mumbles, his limbs waking to pull you closer. 

“Do you really want to?” 

He hums and nods, “When do we gotta go?”

“Like now,” you chuckle. 

Dieter groans and rolls onto his back, then stretches his hands and feet as far away from his body as they’ll go. When he sits up and gets out of bed, your eyes follow, admiring the soft edges of him in the darkness. 

“Want some clothes so you don’t have to put a fucking tuxedo back on?” he asks you as he hovers over his open suitcase, rifling through its contents, then adds, “You fancy motherfucker?” 

Sitting up and stretching, you yawn, “I suppose.” 

He tosses a pair of drawstring sweatpants and a soft t-shirt onto the bed for you, then starts tugging on clothes. The bedside lamp clicks as you twist its knob. Its light floods the room. 

You wince away from the brightness and stand up out of bed, “You really don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to. You can sleep in and come over later.” 

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” he smirks at you, gaze dropping to your tits for one last peak before you pull his shirt over your head. 

“No,” you scoff, “I just- y’know, I don’t want to make you think you have to-”

“Trust me, sweetheart,” he threads his arms through a black hoodie, “I want to.”

You walk around the bed and approach him, linking your hands behind his neck, “If you say so.”

His puffy, dark eyes meet yours and they linger for a tender moment. He leans forward and kisses your forehead, then in a mumbles against your skin, “You’re making me breakfast and coffee though.”

“Deal,” you chuckle. 

Cool autumn air wafts into the apartment through the open windows, counteracting the heat that’s been radiating from the oven all morning. The two air masses dance and swirl with the music from your stereo and the steam rising from cookies laying out on the cooling rack. Dieter is sitting at the counter across from you, sketching and keeping you company while you bake. 

“Would you rather freeze to death or be burned alive?” he asks without looking up from his paper. 

You tilt your head to the side and scrunch your face up towards the ceiling, tapping your index finger to your chin, then shrug, “Freeze to death.” 

“It would take so long, though,” Dieter glances up at you with a furrowed brow, “Wouldn’t you rather just,” he makes a hand gesture like an explosion, “Get it over with?” 

“Mmm, no, I hear the delirium from hypothermia fucking rules,” you pick up one of the cookies off the plate between you and split it in half. The soft craters and layers inside are exposed. 

With a frown, he sets down his pencil and grabs a cookie. He stares at it as he considers this, but then declares, “I’d still choose fire.” 

“Interesting,” you nod in acknowledgment. 

Dieter bites off a chunk of the cookie, moans and nods, then takes another bite before setting it down on the counter. He wipes the crumbs off his gray t-shirt, then picks up his pencil again. 

“Would you rather take a vow of celibacy or a vow of silence?” you ask, then sink your teeth into the cookie’s thin crust. It gives way to the squishy middle. You hum and wiggle your shoulders in approval. 

Dieter sits up straight, then shakes his head, “Burned alive.” 

“Not an option,” you chuckle. 

He crosses his arms and pushes his mouth to one side, then glances up at you, “Can I break the vow?” 

“No, you physically cannot break the vow.” 

“Fine,” he sighs, “Vow of silence.” 

“Same,” you snort, taking another bite of cookie.

“Would you rather your crush be able to read your mind or have access to your internet history?”

“I’d never subject you to this horror show,” you point to your forehead, then ponder out loud, “But, on the other hand, if you had my internet history, you’d see how many times I’ve googled your name.” 

After the words leave your mouth, you wince at yourself. All the blood rushes to your cheeks. 

He raises his eyebrows and leans forward expectantly. A shit-eating grin spreads across his face as he asks, “Oh yeah?”

You bite down on the bottom lip of your smile and shake your head. He props his chin up on his fists and leans even closer. 

You fold over onto the counter, hiding your face. The pencil clatters against the countertop, then his barstool squeaks and groans as he stands up and makes his way around the counter. 

“That’s adorable,” he chuckles as his hands snake around your waist from behind. He mumbles against your neck, “You still have to answer the question, sweetheart.” 

“Oh my god,” you shake your head. His fingertips tap against your belly as he waits patiently for you to continue. 

“Internet history.” 

“Agreed,” he responds. His lips tickle your neck, “Really, if you can read someone’s mind, you can ask them about their internet history and get all the details.” 

“Bingo.” 

The oven starts beeping, so he lets you go and returns to his seat while you pull out the sheet pans and plop them onto their designated spaces on the countertop, each marked by dark green hot pads. After tossing your oven mitts down and turning off the oven, you lean over the counter towards him again, “Would you rather get rich in a way that disappoints your family or just make enough money to live?”

“Well I already do one of those things, so,” he mutters. His eyes are narrowed in concentration as he shades the humanesque figure on his paper. 

You frown at him, “Really? Your family doesn’t like that you’re a famous actor?” 

“Nope,” he enunciates the P sound with a loud pop that draws your eyes to his plush lips, “Pa is very traditional, machismo. You know, with his upbringing, and being a Marine and all that, he thinks what I do is…” he stops drawing and gnashes his jaw to the side, trying to find the right word, finally settling on, “Shameful.” 

You hum and nod. He resumes drawing. As he talks, you study the gentle tics that pinch and stretch his face. 

“According to him, acting is something that gays and women do,” Dieter’s words are tinged with spite and exasperation, “ Maricón, he’d always call me. Which is like a, uh, slur for gay people. Fucking asshole ” 

Fury on his behalf flares in your veins. Your vision tinges red when you imagine his father calling him this. You try to remain calm and neutral as you ask, “Is your whole family like that?” 

“Mostly, yeah. Ma is supportive, but he doesn’t like it when she talks to me,” the corner of his mouth shrugs up into his cheek, “When I visit, he and my brother don’t talk to me, really. It, um… it’s pretty fucking shitty.” 

“How many siblings do you have?” 

“Just my older brother, Tomás. And he’s the golden child, you know. He’s just like Pa. A colonel in the marines and very,” he beats his fist against his chest and makes an exaggerated stern face, “manly.” 

You nod sympathetically and meet his gaze, “That fucking sucks. I’m sorry, Dee.” 

His lips purse into a pout and he sighs, “So yeah. Rich and disappointing, it is.”

The way his eyes seem to flatten at the mention of his family squeezes your heart into a pulp. You want to hold him and absorb all the bad, like a healing stone. You want him to feel peace and belonging. You want him to see that he deserves it. 

“I think it’s really great that you followed your dreams instead of letting some sad asshole dictate your happiness,” you tell him, reaching across the counter to offer your hand. 

“Thanks,” he takes it and gives you a squeeze, a wistful smile creeping across his face as he sighs, “What about you? Rich and disappointing or just enough to get by?” 

“Mmm, well, I’m a disappointment and barely make enough to get by,” you smirk, “So I think I’d rather be rich about it.” 

“Business isn’t going well?” he questions. 

“I mean,” you scrunch up your face and shrug, “It’s fine. I’m able to make it work. But I lost a lot of clients when people had to start picking up versus delivery. And Ethan drained our savings buying blow before he died.” 

“He did?” Dieter frowns. His thumb smooths a circle against yours. The motion soothes the uncomfortable stretch of opening up to him. 

You nod and raise an eyebrow, “Also, I don’t know if you know this or not, but being a drug dealer doesn’t really come with life insurance or a retirement plan.”

“Oh, really?” he asks, voice dripping with sarcasm. A grin spreads across his face and warms you. 

“I know, it’s kind of shocking,” you roll your eyes and smirk. The playlist broadcasting over your speakers ends. Quiet settles over the two of you. It’s just his thumb grazing yours, both of you staring at the clasped hands. 

“You know, I can help you-”

“Absolutely not,” you shake your head. 

He tilts his head and scrunches his nose up, “Why not?” 

“I’m not gonna let my…” you falter here, mouth hanging open in limbo, unable to verbalize what the next word should be. 

My what , exactly? 

“Boyfriend?” he finishes. 

Your gaze flicks to his and you see that his dark eyes are soft and hopeful. Heat creeps up your neck, onto your cheeks. Your heart starts pounding heavy in your chest. You can’t stop the giant smile from beaming across your face, “Is… that what you are? My boyfriend?”

His thumb works faster against your hand now. He shifts in his seat with a shrug, Adam’s apple bobbing as he inquires, “Is that what you want me to be?”

Regardless of the voice in your head telling you to play it cool, you can’t get the smile to dim, or lessen the giddiness that’s bubbling in your chest. His tongue darts out across his lower lip and he mirrors the goofy ass grin on your face, dimpling his cheeks. 

You stammer, “That would be, um… that would be… yeah. Yes.” 

“Ok,” he beams, “You’re my girlfriend, then.” 

“Ok,” you try to clamp your lips between your teeth in an attempt to smother the smile, but fail. It breaks free and lights up your face. 

“Fuck, come here,” he mumbles, pushing his stool back and making his way over to you. His palms cup your cheeks as he holds you against the counter, pressing his lips to yours. 

The kiss is ripe with a hot, desperate kind of want. Its urgency drips down your back and settles between your thighs. Your hands creep up the loose cotton of his t-shirt, delighting in the heat of his body on your palms. He hums, leaning hard into your touch, tongue sliding soft and wet against yours. 

A moan rumbles inside your throat. His hands trace the outline of your body, fingertips ghosting along the goosebumps lacing your arms, under the hem of the t-shirt you borrowed from him, trailing across the excitable skin of your abdomen. The gentle touch leaves quivering muscles in its wake, sparks of pleasure igniting a fire inside you. 

“Bedroom,” you mumble against his mouth. He pulls back and grabs your hand, squeezing your palms together like he can’t stand to part the skin-to-skin contact for even a moment. A grin breaks out across your face as you watch the way he shuffles through the kitchen, down the hall, through your bedroom door. 

You turn around to close the door, and his arms wrap around your waist. His lips press into the crook of your neck, then his tongue rolls against your pulse and you whisper, “Oh my god, Dee-”

“Mmm,” he hums, “Can’t fucking get enough of you, Lua, you know that?” 

His teeth catch your earlobe and you gasp, a delicious ripple of ecstasy trickles down your spine. You anchor your hands in his hair, nodding in agreement. He drags his tongue along the shell of your ear. Your knees buckle beneath you as a rush of euphoria floods your brain. 

Dieter pulls you back up, the puppeteer yanking your marionette strings taught. You turn around and barrage him with hungry kisses, urging him backwards. 

Each blind step the two of you take is accented by lust-drenched panting. Both of you tug at the other's clothes, ripping off shirts and pants and underwear until there’s nothing left and he’s tumbling backwards onto your bed, pulling you down after him. 

You clamber on top of him, settling your hips on his. A hand lands at the nape of your neck and he pulls you in for another kiss. You whine into the feeling of his mouth against your own. The thick length of his cock parts your swollen pussy lips and grinds against you, earning a moan from your throat as the flames of pleasure lap away at your insides. 

You lean back enough to bring his face into focus. Your fingers comb through his hair as you study his face, admiring how his lust-blown eyes drag across every inch of your body. He bites his bottom lip and meets your gaze. 

His hands slide up your thighs, hips thrusting upwards, and he purrs, “Fuck, you’re so goddamn beautiful,” he brings one hand to your cheek and brushes the pad of his thumb against your lips, “Just fucking look at you.”

Dieter’s words are dripping with raw wonderment. He’s looking up at you like you’re some kind of divine miracle he’s been blessed to witness. Your heart throbs in your chest. 

You let yourself sink into the warmth this man evokes. It's like wading into a hot spring, the way it sears your skin and soothes your aching soul. Your fingertips trace the contours of his face in an attempt to etch this moment into your long-term memory. His eyelids flutter and his lips part. A smile creeps across your face. 

He drops his hands to the tops of your thighs, caressing them as he grins up at you, “What’re you smiling about?” 

“You’re really goddamn beautiful, too, Dee,” you coo, eyes flicking down to his lips for a moment before meeting his gaze again. Desire saturates his features, heating the air between you, reeling you both in until your foreheads press together. 

When you capture his lips in yours, he groans into the kiss. He rolls his hips, sliding his slick, twitching cock over your clit. You reach down and guide him to your entrance. His mouth gapes open, breath hitching as you sink down onto him. Gravity lowers you down, the electric stretch of him pulling a whimper from your throat. 

“Holy fucking shit,” he chokes out. His digits dig into your thighs. All ten pressure points radiate a sinful ache. You moan against his lips and start rutting up and down the length of him. And, fuck, every single nerve ending he rubs along floods you with a high-frequency pleasure that makes your ears buzz. 

He hums, trailing hot, wet kisses from your mouth, to your jaw, to your neck. His lips vacuum seal against your pulse and he sucks the skin between his teeth. A shudder echoes down the middle and you run your fingers through his hair, cooing, “That’s so good, baby, yes- yes, fuck, Dee I fucking love it.”

With a wet pop, his mouth departs your neck and he rumbles, “Wanna leave my mark on you-“ his teeth bite down on the round of your shoulder. The sharp sting intertwines with the sheer ecstasy of him filling your cunt over and over again, and you let out a choked sob. 

“Want everyone to know you’re fucking mine,” he growls, gripping your thighs even tighter. His greedy confession vibrates between the layers of your skin, “Aren’t you, Lua?” 

You whimper and nod, swallowing hard, eyes fluttering shut as he starts to fuck up into you. His cock drags back and forth over something so fucking delicious, it overrides your brain, and all you can think is more of that, more, more. Your fucking heart races and you break out in a sweat. 

“Tell me, baby,” his hands slide to your hips, where he tightens his grasp, “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Dee,” you mewl, “All fucking yours- oh my fucking god-”

“I’m yours, too, you know that?” he pants, “You know how much I fucking care about you?” 

“Yes-” the word come out in a choked sob, and you whimper, “Fuck, that is so good, don’t fucking stop, baby.” 

You fold over and press your lips to his, moaning into the kiss. Your hands roam to the sides of his face, thumbs grazing the patchy facial hair on his cheeks as you rest your sweaty forehead on his and take his cock. 

“Your pussy is fucking perfect, Lua” he husks, voice bouncing with each thrust, “Like fucking heroin, I swear to fucking god-”

“God I fucking love it when you talk dirty to me,” you growl, then nuzzle against his neck, catching his salty skin between your teeth and sucking on it. 

He moans and bucks his hips up into you. A muffled cry sounds from your throat as the shock wave of impact compounds on the already mounting pleasure and he starts panting, “Yeah? You fucking love that, baby? You like when I cram my fat cock in that sweet pussy then tell you how good it fucking feels? Hmm?”

Your wrecked sob is buried against his neck, the edges of your mind peeling up as the ecstasy at your center starts to throb and grow. You release his neck and hover above his mouth as you moan through gritted teeth, “Yes, I fucking love it, don’t stop-”

“I wouldn’t fucking dare. Won’t stop 'til I feel that tight cunt squeeze the ever loving fuck out of me-“ 

A gasp expands your lungs as a wave of pleasure starts to swell, “Oh- oh, holy shit- ”

“Yes- oh my god- that’s it, baby- there we go,“ Dieter purrs, driving into you at a maddening pace, “Fuck yes, that’s it.” 

Ecstasy crashes down on you, and your whole body quivers under its impact, pulling a strangled noise from your throat. He moans and his hands fly to your face to pull you in for a needy kiss, snapping his hips against yours, gasping against your mouth as he finds his release. 

Your bodies slow their writhing and go slack. All those tingling muscles relax. You rest your head on his chest and melt into a puddle on top of him, eyes drifting closed as a satisfied smile creeps across your face. Dieter hums and lays one hand on the small of your back while the other pets your hair. 

In the noise’s inflection, you can hear him smiling, too. 

The thud of his heartbeat against your cheek, the warmth of his skin flush on yours, the motion of his palm rubbing into the base of your spine, it leaves you weightless and euphoric. 

Your bones buzz with this sensation that you can’t quite put your finger on. 

Like when you were a kid biking around the deserted streets of your hometown on a summer night. Wind blowing through your hair, cooling your sticky, sweat-drenched skin. Laughing as you and your friends took turns trying to navigate your bikes without touching the handlebars. When time was meaningless because all that existed was the moment you were living. 

It’s on the tip of your tongue, fluttering in your chest in an attempt to make itself known. 

Dieter’s lips press against your forehead and he mumbles, “I could stay here forever.”

It hits you then. That feeling like sunshine and freedom and living. 

Happiness. 

Dieter is hunched over his sketchbook, eyes flicking up to the closed door that always seems to steep his soul in ice. The yellow, chewed-up pencil pinched between his fingers seems to move on instinct, skipping over his consciousness completely as the graphite tip glides across the buttery paper. 

You’re only a few paces behind him, handing off a box of cannabis-laced apple cider donuts to a client, but the melodic tune of your chit chat seems miles away. 

A dark wall. An antique mirror. A pallid, silver-haired man inside the mirror, staring at him with vacant eyes. 

The door to your apartment shuts. A metallic thunk from the deadbolt jolts him out of his trance. As he studies the illustration made in his fugue state, his spine stiffens. He chucks the pencil across the counter and pushes the stool out behind him to stand. 

Of course, he recognizes Ethan.

Not just from the flashes of his face that grip Dieter’s heart like a hawk’s talons, but from that hazy period between winning an Oscar and COVID-19 lockdown. 

The tall, angular man who arrived at a rooftop party in Greenwich Village with armfuls of edibles that blew Dieter’s mind. Ethan was only there for a short time, but strangely enough, meeting him is one of the only remaining memories Dieter has from that night. 

He approached Dieter, who was shoveling a pot brownie in his face over a garbage can, with a disarming smile as he pointed to the dessert, “Good, right?” 

Dieter hummed and nodded, trying to quickly chew a mouthful in order to respond. 

“No worries, man, sorry for sneaking up on ya while you’re eating,” he chuckled and waved one hand in a dismissive gesture, then pinched a joint between his full lips. The orange flame of the lighter illuminated his face as he lit it. 

By this time, Dieter was able to swallow the brownie and clear his throat, wiping his chocolate-tinged fingertips on his dress pants before extending his hand, “Dieter Bravo.” 

“Ethan,” he gave Dieter’s hand a firm shake, then held the joint out to him in offering. 

Dieter accepted it, taking a few puffs as Ethan gave a sharp nod towards the party’s epicenter, all lit up and crowded, “Having fun?” 

His eyes scanned the party, noting how nobody seemed to be dancing, and how everyone kept looking at their phones, as if waiting for another Saturday night party option. He shrugged and passed the joint back, “Something to do.” 

“Fuck, dude, that bad?” Ethan laughed, the low notes coming out short little bursts from his belly. He took a puff off the joint and passed it to Dieter, “You’re an actor, right?” 

“Yeah,” Dieter responded as he pinched the joint between his lips and inhaled. 

“I like your shit, man,” Ethan grinned and took the joint back. 

“Thanks,” he smiled and nodded in acknowledgement, then gestured to the display of edibles, “I like your shit, too. How is it… fudgy and crispy?”

“Fuckin’ a, right? My girl bakes everything, she’s a fuckin’ genius at that shit,” Ethan shook his head and grinned. 

“Amazing,” Dieter nodded. 

“So tell me-“ Ethan stopped to inhale, giving Dieter a moment to brace for whatever question the man was loading. On the exhale, he asked, “What’s your favorite shape?” 

Dieter’s head jerked back and he laughed, “Favorite shape?” 

“Weren’t expecting that one, were ya?” a shit-eating grin spread across Ethan’s face and he passed the joint. 

“Well, no,” Dieter stammered and took a hit, then scratched his chin and shrugged, “but obviously it’s a triangle.” 

“ Obviously , he says,” Ethan laughed and slapped his own knee, “That’s good shit. Triangles are fucking cool.” 

“They are fucking cool, aren’t they?” Dieter chuckled and passed the joint. 

Ethan took one more hit, then dropped it on the cement paver of the rooftop patio and smashed it with the toe of his shoe, “Listen man, I gotta dip, but if you ever wanna order anything, text me or gimme a call. I can deliver to most places within city limits.” 

He held out a white business card that was completely blank except for a ten digit phone number handwritten in black ink. Dieter took it from him and nodded, “Right on.” 

“Nice talkin’ to ya,” he gave a quick wave and turned to go. 

“Wait-“ Dieter called out, then when Ethan turned around, he asked, “What’s your favorite shape?” 

“Circle, hands down,” he answered. 

Dieter met with Ethan every once in a while after this to buy edibles. He admired how easy-going the man was, and of course, the quality of the product. He never put much thought into the encounters, because at the time, they were just drug deals.

But now, as Dieter finds his infatuation with you growing wider as each second passes, he has been trying to remember more about your late husband. Any kind of clue to explain how the Ethan he met on that rooftop ended up trying to end both your lives. 

There’s something lingering at the edge of his memory, fuzzy and out-of-focus. It weaves its way between the tendons in his neck and pulls them tight. 

“Are you ok?” you come up from behind him and hesitantly rest your hand on his bicep. 

When he glances over at you, you’re searching his face, eyes gleaming with concern. His shoulders slacken and he shakes his head, confessing, “I don’t know what the fuck just happened to me.” 

“What do you mean?” you frown.

Dieter’s eyes dart between your face and the page. His throat feels tight when he swallows, then clears his throat, “I don’t know how to explain it. I was drawing, but I was totally fucking zoned out, and-”

Your gaze falls to his open sketchbook. You drop your hand loose to your side and take a step towards it. He sees your whole body go rigid as you study it. 

“Did… did you go in that room?” you question, spinning around to face him. His stomach twists in a knot when he recognizes the fear in your eyes. 

He stammers, “N-no, I wouldn’t…” 

Your body relaxes as you process this information, brow furrowing as you sigh, “No, I know you wouldn’t.” 

His nerve endings feel raw and exposed, skin crawling as the silence creeps into his ears like nails on a chalkboard. 

“Is that what it looks like?” Dieter gestures to his sketchbook, then runs a hand through his hair. 

You nod and fiddle with the drawstring of his pajama pants that you’re still wearing. 

“I swear, Lua, I don’t know what happened, it was fucking weird,” he runs a hand down his face and shakes his head, “I- I didn’t mean to scare you or anything.”

“No, I know,” you step towards him, hooking your hands at the back of his neck, “I’m sorry.” 

Dieter wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer, eyes flicking to the doorway he despises, then back to your face, “No need to apologize, doll.” 

Your eyebrows press together, gaze unblinking. One of your thumbs starts oscillating against the skin at the nape of his neck. The comfort of your embrace seeps into his bloodstream, sedating his adrenaline-fueled heart. His eyes blink shut and he takes a deep breath as his muscles start to slacken. 

“Do… Do you need to leave?” you ask him quietly. 

His eyes snap open and meet yours, brow furrowing as he frowns, “I’m not leaving you.” 

A smile stretches across your lips and your face gets all flushed, then you stammer “I- I just mean- um, I don’t want you to feel like you have to be here-“

“Mmm, no, see,” Dieter smirks and brushes his thumb against your cheek, “We have plans for a shitty movie marathon and I fully intend on keeping that date.”

“Ok, but-”

“I think your boy just needs to mind his goddamn manners,” Dieter raises an eyebrow and nods towards the spare bedroom. 

You tilt your head and frown thoughtfully, “Have you asked him to leave you alone?” 

“Does- does that work?” 

“I dunno, maybe? Maybe he doesn’t, like,” you scrunch your nose up and shrug, “Know ghost etiquette?” 

He laughs and shakes his head, “Ghost etiquette?” 

“I don’t fucking know!” you start laughing from your belly, head falling back towards the ceiling as the melody fills his heart to the brim. He just fucking beams at you as you bring your gaze back to his and smile, “I don’t know, I’m just…” your smile starts to fade and your eyes drop to the floor, “I’m sorry he’s fucking with you.”

He presses his forehead against yours and mumbles, “I’m fine, sweetheart, don’t worry.”

When the term of endearment rolls from his lips, it doesn’t taste like it has hundreds of times before. It’s gooey and saccharine, melting across his tongue like those chocolates that come in shiny red heart-shaped boxes. 

You hum, fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him in for a kiss. Your lips are soft and warm, moving leisurely against his. And, fuck, this makes it all worth it. The nights he spent wide awake, aching with want, tortured by the thought of someone else touching you. Flying across the country to track you down and argue with you in the street. Even dealing with the intrusions from your dead husband. 

When you pull back to meet his eyes, your hands cup his cheeks, thumbs grazing against his facial hair, “That was my last customer. Do you wanna run some errands with me?” 

“Would you rather be abducted by aliens or stranded at sea?” Dieter asks. Your head is cradled by his belly, body stretched out across the grass, perpendicular to his. 

You’re holding a blood red leaf above your head with one hand while the other is clasped warm against his. The sun hovers in the cloudless sky off to the west, heating him to comfort despite the crisp air on his face and the cool earth beneath his back. There’s a pile of plastic bags next to him, the results of this afternoon’s supply run. The two of you couldn’t resist stopping at the park across from your apartment to bask in the sun before starting on dinner.  

“Abducted, hands down,” you answer, closing one eye as you move the leaf close to your face, then further away, “You?”

“Beam me up, baby.”

“Would you rather be trapped in a room with one million tarantulas for ten minutes or be forced to eat ten tarantulas in ten minutes?” 

“Are they alive or dead?” 

“Alive, obviously,” you drop your extended arm to your side and look over at him. 

“Fuck that,” he groans, “Do I have to?” 

You raise an eyebrow at him and smirk, “Them’s the rules.” 

“Shit, I guess… I guess trap me in the room and hope one of them puts me out of my misery quickly,” he responds, stomach churning at the thought of eight million furry legs crawling around him.

“That’s a good point,” you frown, then look back up at the sky, “Same.” 

“Would you rather never have kids, or have triplets that have to be in the same room as you until they turn 18?”

As soon as the question leaves his lips, his stomach flips with regret. Just one second too late, he remembers you telling him that you’re infertile. His body tenses as he tries to figure out how to shove his foot in his mouth at this angle. 

You release a heavy sigh, then shake your head, “I, um…”

“I’m- fuck, I’m sorry,” he cranes his neck to look at you, “I’m an ass, I completely-”

“No, it’s ok,” you reassure him, although your somber tone implies that it is not , in fact, ok. With a shrug, you answer, “I’ve always wanted kids. Gimme the Velcro babies.” 

The muscles in his throat tighten as he contemplates what to say next, smoothing a circle against the back of your hand with his thumb. 

Dieter considers answering his “would you rather” question, but it morphs into “would you rather Lua think you don’t want kids when she does, or think you want kids when she can’t bear them?”  

It’s more impossible than the tarantula question. 

He also considers asking why you can’t have children. Not that the answer would affect his feelings for you. It’s just something that, like every other part of you, sits at the back of his brain, piquing his curiosity. He has this burning desire to unfold you and lay you flat, to hear all your stories ad nauseam, to memorize every single line of your verbal autobiography. He wants to know you better than he knows himself. 

Instead of letting either of these things leave his mouth, or worse yet, changing the subject, Dieter waits. He stays quiet, but present, thumb grazing against your hand to reassure you that he’s there. 

“I was a stepmom, though,” you say eventually, glancing up at him, “Ethan had two kids with his ex-wife.” 

“Oh yeah? Do you still get to see them?” 

“No,” you chuckle, “Miri didn’t really like Ethan having them, so I didn’t see them much. I think I spent more time with them when we were sitting shiva than the five years Ethan and I were together.” 

Dieter hums in acknowledgment, then asks, “Why didn’t she like him having them?” 

“What, besides our very legal business dealings?” you snort. After a beat of silence, you roll on your side to face him, “That’s… not true, actually. She doesn’t know about that.”

He studies your thoughtful expression. You tuck your interlaced hands between your cheek and his belly and avert your gaze, then start picking at individual blades of grass from the earth with your free hand, “Ethan was… an addict. She put up with a lot of shit before they split. And after they split, before we were together, there was a night where he got fucked up and left the kids at his apartment. They were only 4 and 8. Miri came to get them the next afternoon and they were still there alone. He said he completely forgot about them. They were all pretty fucked up about it.” 

“Holy shit,” Dieter breathes.

“I know, it’s so fucked,” you shake your head, “So yeah, I get it. I never held that against her or anything. She was just trying to protect her kids.” 

You glance up at him, surveying his face as he listens intently, then return your attention to ripping blades of grass from their roots, “When we got engaged, she tried to warn me. But I didn’t listen. I thought I knew him better. I did lines with him occasionally, and he didn’t go off the deep end like that, so I thought he changed. Or like it was different because he was with me, like I cured him or something,” you scoff and roll your eyes, “So dumb.” 

“It’s not dumb,” Dieter frowns and squeezes your hand, “People change.” 

You crinkle your nose and go silent. 

A deep ache hollows out his chest. In that quiet moment, as he watches your face sag with skepticism, he vows to make a true believer out of you. 

“Hey,” he mumbles. 

Your eyes flick to his. Electricity trickles down his spine and capsizes his stomach. 

“Thank you for sharing with me.”

A smile stretches across your face and you nuzzle against his hand, “You’re welcome, love.” 

He licks his lips, takes a deep breath, then says, “And, um, thank you… for giving me another chance.”

You nod and hum in acknowledgment, but your smile falters a little as you search his face. Hurt still lingers in the background of your features. His guts twist when he recognizes it. 

“Sleeping with Katie was… fuck, I regret it every goddamn day.” 

“Dee, it’s ok,” you mutter, gaze dropping to the grass. You pinch a few at a time now, ripping them away, their corpses growing into a small, green haystack. 

“ No , it’s not,” he asserts, and your eyes flit to his again as he spouts off, “You know why? Because I knew how I felt about you, and I did it anyway. And then I fucking-”

“Dieter-” you sit up and fold your legs under your body, releasing his hand to place a palm on his sternum. 

He follows suit, pushing off the cool earth to cross his legs and lean close to you, “No, Lua, we have to clear the air. Otherwise it’ll keep fucking lingering and eating away at us.” 

You think about this for a moment, brow furrowed as you pluck a few more blades of grass. Then you look up and meet his eyes, nodding, “Ok.” 

“Ok,” he grins and straightens his spine, then beckons you closer, rumbling, “C’mere, beautiful.” 

You crawl into his lap, wrapping your legs around him and linking your hands behind his neck. He can smell the notes of vanilla and macadamia wafting off your skin and hair, see the conflict of this intimate kind of confrontation creasing your forehead. 

His fingers grip your sides gently and he sighs, “I fucked up. I went on a fucking bender. It was embarrassing, how I acted. I’m…” he shakes his head and meets your eyes as his face slackens, “Fuck, so ashamed. And I didn’t know-”

“It’s ok, love,” you assure him, pressing your forehead to his. 

“But that’s what it was with Ethan, wasn’t it? Coke?” 

You nod.

He slides his hands around your waist, cradling your spine in his interlaced hands, pulling you closer as he swears, “I promise that’s the last time.” 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you mumble. 

The impact of your statement makes him wince. 

“Listen, I know you don’t believe me. And that’s fine, Lua, it really is,” he pulls back to meet your eyes again, “I mean it, though.” 

You search his face, then nod, “Ok.” 

The two of you stay here like this, gaze locked, steeped in the heat of vulnerability. Dieter relishes the way this invisible tether between your soul and his seems to thicken and pull taut. Adoration swells his heart until his chest aches at the excess luggage. 

“I, um…” you swallow hard, take a deep breath, then tell him quietly, “I’m sorry for icing you out.” 

He hums in acknowledgment, pulling you closer until your bellies are pressed together. 

You nuzzle into the crook of his neck and sigh against his skin, “I felt so… I don’t know, rejected? Like… embarrassed that I felt something when you didn’t.” 

Dieter rests his cheek on your head and his eyelids flutter closed as he listens to you. 

“It fucking hurt. And that scared the shit out of me,” you confess, your voice shaky and damp, “I didn’t think…” you sniffle and wriggle your face against the collar of his jacket, “I didn’t think I would feel like this again. Especially so soon.” 

His arms squeeze around you, hugging you as he admits, “I didn’t think I would either.” 

In the distance, he hears geese honking in their flock, flying south for the winter. A brisk gust of air rustles the plastic bags laying on the ground a few feet away. They’re filled with apples, snacks for tonight, dry ingredients that needed restocking, and deli sandwiches. His stomach rumbles and a chill raises goosebumps across his skin. 

As if you can read his mind, you mumble, “I’m fucking freezing. Let’s go make some soup.”

[ Next Chapter ]

[thot-of-khonshu]

Ooooo requests are open! I love reading everyone’s different take on my favorite raccoon 🦝 Dieter!

Dieter freakin’ Bravo!!!!

I love this character so much because he's so unabashedly freaky. A truly fluid king who's down for anything.

Including using a vibrator on you while he fucks you in the ass.

This is truly filthy. I'm sorry. But I'm also not.

It Takes Two

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F! Reader

Rating: 18+ Explicit

Summary: You never know what meets you during a night out in New York. Sometimes it's cocktails, sometimes it's Oscar winner Dieter Bravo stuffing both of your holes.

Content: Drug use, unprotected sex (p in v), anal sex, sex toys, DP, dirty talk, squirting, anal creampie

New York is a strange town. One minute, you're having cocktails with girlfriends in the Financial District and the next, you're at a rooftop party in Tribeca because your friend knows someone who knows someone who knows Keke Palmer.

While your friends are schmoozing and stargazing, you're smoking a joint and looking across the city view when a disheveled man shows up next to you asking for a hit.

You would've told the bum to fuck off if that bum wasn't Academy Award-winning Dieter Bravo who's stumbled up to you as if he doesn't know how he got to this party or why he's here.

Regardless, you share some jokes, and meaningless conversation until he asks the inevitable. You know his reputation, you're not dumb, but it's Friday and you're bored so why the fuck not?

"Do you wanna have sex with me?"

An hour later, his large fingers were gripping hard at your waist, positioning you at an angle where you could take him deep. The hard slapping of skin filled the room as Dieter thrusted into you furiously and he let out a guttural moan.

Dieter was huge. It was hard to fit him all in and when you did, he kept hitting a spot so frequently that you knew you were ready to cum soon. You moved your fingers down to rub at your clit when Dieter moved it for you, stopping for a moment to look in your nightstand drawer.

"Looking for something?" You asked, shocked that this stranger would dig into your personal items. He came back up with your pink Rabbit, grinning triumphantly.

He turned it on, moving it down to your clit rubbing small, satisfying circles.

"I've been in enough nightstand drawers to know where this should be. This amazing creation that's gonna help me fuck you." Dieter sighed.

He moved down to your ear and whispered, "Have you ever been fucked in the ass, sweet girl?"

You admitted you had only done it once or twice with a college boyfriend, you both were horribly inexperienced and you didn't enjoy it because he didn't know what he was doing.

But it was Friday, you were no longer bored; you had Dieter Bravo in your bed so why the fuck not?

"Do you want my cock in your ass while I fuck you with your toy?" Dieter asked, and you let out an involuntary moan. He got up briefly, reaching into his robe that was strewn on the floor, locating a tiny bottle of lube in the pocket.

He stroked himself with it, lining himself up at your ring with one hand, inhaling a joint with his other.

He blows smoke into your open mouth as you take the base of his cock with your hand and begin to stroke it, slowly guiding his cock into your ass.

"Oh fuck" Dieter sighed above you, watching you swallow all of him. His hips slowly began to rock, gliding back and forth into you as you tried to make sense of the sensation. "Look at how greedy your ass is, taking all of my cock."

You couldn't say anything even if you had tried, your insides were squirming, feeling his thick cock mold your ass as a deep pulsating sensation rocked through you. Like a well-trained musician picking up an instrument, Dieter was able to find a rhythm inside of you.

"Are you almost ready for our guest?" He grinned, you rolled your eyes, feeling yourself get more comfortable with the movements inside of you and how different it felt.

"Use your words." He thrusted deeper and you let out a moan.

"Fuck yes Dieter, please." You screamed out, he let out a chuckle as he took your Rabbit and circled it in motion towards your clit and your hole.

You felt him slowly enter it into you as he continued to shallowly thrust into your ass and by the time that he'd brought the vibrator up to the hilt inside of you, you'd felt so dizzy with pleasure you didn't know how you would go back to regular sex.

You cursed out as he nodded sympathetically. "I know, it's so much. But you're such a good girl for taking it all. I'm gonna take good care of you and this pretty pussy and remarkable ass."

Without struggle, Dieter thrust inside of your ass wildly as he thrust the vibrator in and out of you with his free hand. Your hips are thrashing about, in constant motion to chase the high Dieter's cock and your toy have given you. You look up and Dieter is lost in pleasure.

"Fuck, you take it all so well. I'm not gonna last long, I'm gonna cum inside of that beautiful ass. You'd like that wouldn't you?"

"Yes, Dieter, fuck. Nobody's every fucked me like this. It's so much." You screamed out. You weren't going to last much longer either, you felt the pleasure in the pit of you, waiting to release.

Somehow Dieter managed to fuck you even faster, the toy and his cock in hasty rhythm as you let out a guttural cry.

When he released the toy from inside of you and liquid sprayed onto him, he groaned out, releasing himself into your ass. You both convulsed, feeling his hot cum flow deep into you. You could still feel both of your holes pulsing, phantom pangs of pleasure shooting through you.

Dieter climbed off of you, heaving as he lit the joint back up, offering it to you first to inhale. He grabbed his phone from his robe and a small pang of disappointment hit you, figuring he was calling an Uber to head home.

"I'm ordering food, do you want anything? We're gonna need our strength if I'm gonna do that to you all night."

[in-a-daddy-state-of-mind]

A Really Bad Day

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x actor!reader 

Summary: Dieter comforts you after a bad day.

Word Count: 895 (Drabble)

Warnings: Some angst. Mostly just fluff.

Notes: I’ve been having a rough go at it so this is mostly what I wish Dieter would say to me. As always interactions with the post are appreciated as well as feedback!

“FUCK”

You yell out as you throw your bag on the corned of the room not thinking about how things inside it could break. Dieter immediately jumps from his place on the couch at the sound of your yell and the loud door slam.

“Woah, what’s wrong, kitty cat?” Dieter questions going up to you quickly.

Even the nickname that is supposed to be endearing and comforting feels annoying to you today. It had all gone to shit and you were about ready to give up on your stupid life.

“What isn’t wrong? It’s all so fucking dumb.” You say allowing him to embrace you.

His larger figure enveloping yours in a crushing hug is the first comfort you feel today. His body is like a natural furnace that always radiates heat no matter how cold the day is. You love Dieter’s hugs. They are always the best.

“The audition didn’t go well, I take it?” He questions once again to which you only nod against his chest.

It’s not only that the audition didn’t go well. The audition had gone stupendously bad. Your manager had given you the wrong sides to read from, you made a complete fool of yourself, and the tied executives hadn’t even bothered paying attention to your fiery disaster. It was embarrassing. You were dating one of the most famous actors in the world and you couldn’t book the gig that would finally give you your break.

“Hey, look at me.” Dieter says taking you away from the embrace so you could look in his eyes.

He wipes away a single tear falling from your eyes.

“I know you’re frustrated, okay? This job is infuriating. I mean look at me! I’ve won an Oscar and there are still parts I can’t book.” Dieter says calmly never breaking eye contact with you.

“Yes, but you already have a career. You’ve already made the movies that make you recognizable. You can actually make a solid living out of this.” You argue back trying to not cry more.

“And it continues to be infuriating that there are roles I genuinely would love to play but can’t. That’s just how it is, kitten, unfortunately this industry is cruel.”

You take a deep breath and take in what he’s saying. You know Dieter also never had it easy. When he was coming up it was still very hard to imagine that a Latino could be a leading man and a heartthrob. Heck, nowadays people still found that hard to believe.

It was a cruel and unfair industry set in an equally cruel and unfair world but when you looked into Dieter’s eyes and saw the amount of love radiating from them for you it all seemed… easier. It wasn’t perfect but having him right there, feeling the weight of his hand on your shoulder and knowing that this man would bend over backwards to make you happy just made it all a little better.

“I just want to do right by you. I don’t want you to date a failure.” You admit with more tears coming out of your eyes.

“Oh my god, that has to be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!” Dieter says making your laugh. “I don’t think you’re a failure! I think you are one of the most talented actresses I’ve ever met! And you know all that is keeping you from a big role is one phone call from me.”

“You know that’s not how I want to make it into this industry.” You reply.

“I know. I respect the heck out of you for it.” Dieter says bringing you back into a hug.

He had offered many times to get you a huge part and you know he could do it. Deiter had connections in places you couldn’t even imagine. But this was supposed to be your success. Your life. You didn’t want to owe Dieter that much and you wanted to carve your own path.

“Believe me, I think the world of you. I see what you’re doing and I see how hard you’re trying. That’s all you can do, baby, try your best. Which, by the way, is more than enough. Some shit is just out of your hands, okay? But believe me  soon enough those Hollywood bozos will realize how brilliant of an actor you are.” Dieter almost whispers kissing the top of you head.

He always knew just what to say to you. Well, maybe not always. You still remembered when you first met on the set of some B-action movie he was making after the Cliff Beasts fiasco. You were just a background actor so when THE Dieter Bravo came to talk to you it was almost unbelievable. That was until he gave you some cheesy one-liner that was corny as hell and asked you out. You thought he was cute and found his attempt charming so you said yes and well here you were. Months later with the best boyfriend you had every had.

You break away from Dieter’s embrace and kiss him longingly which he replies with enthusiasm.

“Thank you.” You say as soon as you break the kiss.

“Don’t mention it.” Dieter replies with his Academy Award Winning smile. “Do you want to order some comfort food and watch trashy tv shows?”

“Mr. Bravo, you read my mind.”

[laureliciousdefinition]

Behind Closed Doors | Dieter Bravo X reader

Summary: Post-red carpet with Dieter.

Rating: 18+!

Tags/warnings: smut (what else is new), oral (f receiving), genitalia description, swearing, softie dieter

A/N: this is dedicated to my sweet love @guess-my-next-obsession bc I blew up her dms over this idea and she enables me to write stupid stuff like this hehehehe

Enjoy!<3

The large front door closed with a thud and you let out a long sigh, the kind that puffed out your cheeks. You leaned back against the wall of the foyer, fiddling with the buckle on your high heel until it finally came loose, then groaned quietly at the feeling of your bare feet flat on the tile beneath you. Down the long hallway to your right, you heard Dieter moving around in your shared bedroom.

“God, I’m glad to be out of those heels. My ankles were two steps away from breaking.”

You moved into the bedroom, having to kick your dress up slightly since it was now dragging on the floor without your extra inches.

“At least you weren’t in a stupid bow tie. Remind me to fire my stylist.” Dieter grumbled from the en suite bathroom, hastily stripping out of his suit.

As a part of the ongoing process of rehabilitating his image, Dieter’s team had been pushing him to go to more public events as a way to show he was doing well. He’d been wholly against the idea at first, not feeling a need to seek validation in the public eye, but you’d recently started attending things with him, making them a little more tolerable. He knew you enjoyed going- mostly for the sake of making fun of the other celebrities there- but also because some of the events were for various charities that you actually cared about and regularly donated to.

“I’ll be sure to tell Dee you said that,” you snorted, flopping back onto the bed and turning your head towards him.

“Don’t even think about it.”

He shrugged on an old t shirt, still in his boxers and long black socks. With a grunt, you raised yourself back up, moving to where he stood in front of the well lit mirror. He took your hand into his, gently pulling on your arm until you were situated in front of him and he wrapped his arms around you from behind. He rested his chin on your shoulder, eyes closed softly. You turned your head a little, just enough to press a small kiss into his tousled hair. Before you’d left for the event, one of his stylists had attempted ‘something different’ with his hair, before they both ultimately decided that his signature messy look was the only way to go. It had been difficult not to stick your hands in it all night, his messy curls sinfully tempting.

“You were the only good part about going to this stupid red carpet tonight.” He murmured against your exposed shoulder.

“Oh, come on now. It wasn’t that bad,” you squeezed his forearms where they sat on your stomach. “It certainly wasn’t our worst event. And besides, you look hot.”

Dieter’s torso bounced as he laughed before speaking. “Says you.”

He gently kissed your shoulder, then raised his head and switched to the other side. He peppered soft pecks all across your shoulders and back, bringing a smile to your face.

“Look so fucking pretty. Don’t think I’ve told you enough.”

You giggled softly as he continued pressing soft kisses into your skin. This was probably your favorite version of Dieter; the media had created this image of him where he was this eccentric almost-playboy who didn’t do relationships, but that was far from the truth. When it was just the two of you, he absolutely lavished you with his affections. He made it known that you were the only one he wanted.

He pulled back from you, meeting your eyes in the mirror. After laying a gentle peck on the sensitive area behind your ear, he carefully removed the dangly earring that sat in the lobe. Once he’d repeated the action on the other side, he placed the set of earrings on the counter and returned to his spot behind you.

Dieter ran his hands up and down your arms in a comforting manner, breathing in your perfume at the nape of your neck with a large inhale. He then set to work removing all the pins from your hair, tossing them haphazardly onto the counter near your discarded jewelry. The pieces of your hair that had been held back now fell to the sides of your face, allowing him to gently run his fingers through it. One of his rings caught slightly and caused you to wince with a laugh; he apologized with another kiss to your cheek.

Now that your hair was free from its confines and your earlobes significantly less weighed down, you stood quietly in the softly lit bathroom only in your dress. It was a particular favorite of yours; simple, but elegant, a long, strapless black gown with dainty white buttons running down the back. It was understated but classy, pairing well with Dieter’s white suit jacket and black bow tie. And now, as he stood behind you and struggled to undo the top button, you couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“They’re fake buttons. There’s a zipper.”

“Oh thank fuck,” he breathed out. You felt him push on the buttons slightly, poking around your upper back until he finally grasped the zipper.

He pulled it down leisurely, creeping his way down your back until the zipper stopped, just above your bottom. The fabric sat loosely against your skin now, not yet exposing anything to him. Dieter pressed his face into the bend of your neck into your shoulder, burying it there with an open mouth kiss. Your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of his warm tongue slowly moving over the area, your head tilting automatically to the opposite side to allow him more room. As he continued his ministrations, you felt him take a gentle hold of the dress and begin to shrug it down your body until it pooled at your feet. When your eyes opened again, you were completely bare before him.

His head raised, eyes now tinted with something devilish.

“Turn around.” He spoke quietly, gently tugging on your arm to guide you.

You spun around, linking your arms behind his neck. The two of you moved into each other at the same time, lips connecting passionately. He hummed into your mouth when your fingers slid into the back of his hair, scratching at his scalp idly. As much as you loved being under his gentle affections, you loved this even more; his tongue pushing into your mouth and tangling with your as if he’ll never get enough, hands sliding all over your body because he can’t decide which place he wants to grasp first. It was dizzying in the best way possible.

“Wanna make you feel good,” he mumbled between kisses.

“Hmm?” You responded melodically.

“I said,” he pulled away from your lips, locking his deep eyes onto yours. “I wanna make you feel good.

The intensity of his gaze was too much to bear, finding yourself speechless under it. He was looking at you with such a mixture of want and love- a wave of heat shot down your spine and to your core. His fingers found yours again, intertwining them and squeezing.

Keeping his gaze on you, he began to slowly move down until he rested on his knees. He dropped one of your hands and caressed the back of your leg before lifting it over his shoulder.

“I love you.”

You looked down at him with low lids, breath coming out in short pants. You didn’t even realize you hadn’t responded until he gently nipped your thigh, causing you to snap back to the moment.

“I love you too, Dieter.” You spoke breathlessly.

He smirked up at you before pressing his nose against your mound, running it through the soft hairs there. As he did this, his lips pressed against your clit just enough for you to feel it, making you let out a deep sigh. He repeated the action a few times before moving in with his tongue. He gave you a long, flat swipe that drew out a moan.

Although only a few minutes had passed of this, you already felt a tightness low in your belly. Dieter knew this, of course, and being the devil he is, chose to slip his middle finger into your burning entrance.

“Jesus,” you whispered.

From this angle, your legs were pressing together, making it an extra tight squeeze.

His finger curled, pushing into something sensitive within you. Sliding in his ring finger with ease, he continued curling against the spot and began lapping at your clit again. The combined sensations took over your entire body, the leg not braced over his shoulder starting to shake. Your hands desperately grasped at the counter, unable to hold yourself up fully anymore. You moaned loudly, voice breaking.

“Fuck, let me hear you baby,” Dieter spoke into you, doubling down with his tongue.

Through your foggy brain, you glanced down, only to find him pressing the heel of his free palm into his cock. He was getting off on this. The mere idea of that sent a new wave of wetness through you, soaking fingers as they pumped deep inside of you and created a vulgar squelching noise.

You weren’t even sure which noises were actually coming out of you in that moment. He was overwhelming you, your brain swimming with thoughts of lust and how good this felt and him. There it was- up, up, up until- he stopped.

“No,” you whined, covering your eyes with your arm.

He chuckled, kissing the top of your thigh. With a grunt he tried to stifle and a crack of his knees, Dieter rose to his feet again, cupping the back of your head and pulling you in. You tasted yourself against him as your lips moved together.

“Calm down, I’m gonna fuck you.”

Your eyes rolled and you smiled at him, taking a steadying breath as he pulled his boxers and shirt off. He returned the smile for a moment, only for it to be replaced with a bite of his lip as he lined himself up to your entrance.

He let out a soft groan, sliding into you slowly. Your head fell toward, your forehead now resting on his shoulder and your arms clutching at his sides. Dieter caged you in with his arms, grinding his cock up into you. You were beyond any noise at this point, your jaw seemingly stuck in a dropped position. He was letting out sweet noises that swirled around your ears and pushed you further and further, quickly approaching your climax once again.

“God, so tight.” He gritted out, maintaining his steady speed.

“Dieter,” you whimpered.

From this angle, with both of you standing, he was dragging his pelvis against your clit, only adding to the building sensation.

“Ah,” he hissed. “Not gonna last much longer. Too fucking good.”

You nodded sharply. “I’m so close, cum with me,” you begged.

He began to speed up. His hips were snapping into yours, the skin slapping together. It stole the breath from your lungs, eyebrows furrowing and nails digging into his sides.

“I’m gonna cum. Dieter, fuck- I’m-“

“I’m coming,” he bit out.

Riding through his orgasm, he thrust up into you harder than before, and you finally let go. With a loud cry you pulsed around him, your vision blacking out momentarily.

The two of you stayed there for a moment, both of your chests heaving. He placed idle kisses to your collarbones, arms still holding you to him.

After you caught your breath, you spoke, wearing a playful look.

“So… we’re gonna order food, right? I’m starving.”

Dieter smiled against you, laughing and shaking his head.

“Fuck yeah we are.”

Feedback/interactions always appreciated<3

Tagging my usual peeps, lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future dieter/any other works!

@iamskyereads @guess-my-next-obsession @wildemaven @grippingbeskar @wheresarizona @kirsteng42 @jedifarmerr @extraneous-trip

[mypoisonedvine]

𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨𝙤𝙢 || dieter bravo x camgirl!reader (part three; finale)

read 𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙩 (part one) and 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙢 (part two) first!

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || he can't believe you're really here— now he has to just try not to blow it... figuratively speaking.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 || 5.7k

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || smut (18+ only; unprotected sex, oral f receiving, multiple orgasms/overstimulation [for reader], creampie), sex work (however dieter technically does not pay the reader for sex, just her flight to visit him c:), mentions of covid-19 pandemic, soft dieter being soft, emotions!! lots of 'em!, extremely sappy/fluffy ending (oops?)

He wasn’t sure who he was more worried would get recognized: you, or himself.

It was his idea to go out to dinner first, in fact he’d insisted on it.  Going out to dinner in times like these was a bit iffy, but thankfully the place had outdoor dining and you’d both already tested negative— for more than just the virus…

It was a beautiful evening to eat outside, but it made him even more anxious that any passerby might know him either of you from your respective works; so far, no one had said anything though.

As he watched you take a sip of your sparkling water, he realized that he hadn’t had a crush on anyone in a long, long time.  He hadn’t had sweating palms and a racing heart and a dry throat over someone since probably high school.  By the time he was in his BFA program, he was so focused on his craft that he didn’t find himself worrying much about that sort of stuff— and if he wanted to get someone into bed, it didn’t seem like much to stress over.

This was different.  This wasn’t an issue of getting you to sleep with him, although he certainly hoped you wouldn’t renege on the intentions you’d stated before— this was about getting you to like him, maybe even (as he would’ve put it back when he last had a crush) ‘like like’ him.

“Was your flight okay?” Dieter asked compulsively to fill the silence, proud of himself for thinking of something to say.

“Still good,” you nodded.  “You asked me that when we first got here.”

“Right,” he sighed, “sorry.  I forgot.”

“It’s fine,” you laughed, setting your glass down on the white tablecloth.  “I’m nervous, too.  But in a good way.”

He smiled.  “Yeah— I’m just really excited that you’re here.  And it’s still kind of weirding me out that you’re… you know, real.”

“It’s definitely trippy,” you agreed.  “When you see somebody over video chat a lot, they look sort of surreal in real life.”

“Are you… speaking from experience?” he wondered, lowering his voice a bit.

“Yeah— but not this kind of experience,” you clarified.  “I’ve never met anyone from my work before— I told you that.”

“Right, yeah— I believe you,” he assured.  “Have you ever flown overseas just to meet someone before?”

You laughed, looking down for a second.  “No, I haven’t,” you answered, “but this isn’t the first time I’ve been, you know, wined and dined by somebody…”

“Well, I figured this wasn’t your first date,” Dieter scoffed.

“No, I mean— well, yeah,” you hummed, “but I, um… before I started camming, I was actually a sugar baby.  So I’ve had my flights paid for before, is what I mean.”

He widened his eyes a little, but nodded— hoping to look more intrigued than overwhelmed.  “Oh, wow, that’s— I don’t know a lot about that, honestly…”

“I was about to ask if you’d ever had a sugar baby before,” you smirked, “guess not.”

“Yeah, no,” he shook his head, “not my— not for me.  Not before, I mean— is that what you want?”

He got a little nervous that you would only want that— a relationship built on money.  He was more than happy to drop some cash on you— he’d offered to pay for everything for you on this trip, it only seemed fair when you had to come all this way— but he got a sick feeling in his stomach imagining that that was all you wanted from him.

But then again, he just said he didn’t know a lot about it, maybe it wasn’t like that… he just felt like it was another performance, and that was the last thing he needed from anybody.

“O-oh, no— not with us,” you answered quickly, blinking a few times, and he sighed with relief.  “I mean, it was nice— it wasn’t all old guys and crazy finance douchebags like people think,” you explained with a laugh, “but it was… it was hard work, in its own way.  ‘Cause another misconception is that it’s sex in exchange for money and gifts— it’s not, not the way I did it at least.  Those guys wanted the ‘girlfriend experience’... that’s the most profitable thing, whether it’s online or in-person.”

Dieter cleared his throat; can’t blame them, I guess…

“But, you know, they didn’t have the time for a genuine relationship, so it was like giving that emotion but never receiving it,” you continued, “and that was exhausting.  Not to mention most of them had other girls involved… I’m not a jealous person, but you know, that’s obviously not what I want for myself in the end.  So I switched to camming, worked out well with the pandemic and everything…”

“I’m sure,” Dieter agreed.  “So, um… maybe this is kind of a forward question, for a first date, but… what do you want for yourself in the end?”

You seemed to get a little more shy, then.  “Well…” you began softly.  “Despite what you’ve seen me do, I’m a pretty traditional girl.  I want a serious relationship, I want a lifelong commitment, I want… a family, probably.”

It was hard not to feel a lump in his throat when you said that, even if his emotions were conflicted at best.

“I mean— that doesn’t have to be you,” you rushed out, “I’m just saying… that’s the end goal.  I have a lot of time for that, in my opinion.”

“No, right,” he agreed.  “So then, I guess the obvious question— and probably a much easier one— is what’s your goal for tonight?”

You raised an eyebrow.  “I already told you my goal for tonight.”

He swallowed thickly.  He remembered your last message before getting on the plane pretty clearly: boarding now. hopefully i can get some sleep but i’m pretty wired ngl. just thinking about getting there and jumping your bones. i want you to fuck me so hard i can’t walk (or think) straight.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t have minded at all if you just took me straight to the hotel,” you smirked, “but dinner is nice.”

“Yeah, I— I thought about it,” he admitted.  “But… can I be honest?”

“Always.”

“I wanted this to be more than just… that,” he said.  He wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to tell you, but he hoped it wouldn’t bother you too much.  Thankfully, the gentle smile creeping up your face seemed to indicate that it wasn’t particularly offensive.

“So, what do you want this to be?” you pressed.

“We can figure that out as we go,” he offered, “we should get to know each other better— for real.  But that night that we stayed up until three just talking after what was supposed to be a one-hour call—”

He saw you smile even wider as you remembered it.

“I haven’t felt close to anyone like that in—” he began, but it all stopped as the waiter suddenly appeared from thin air.

“Your tortellini, ma’am,” he said as he set your plate down in front of you, and you offered an intrigued ‘ooh’ as you examined the dish, “and your langoustines alla busara,” he finished as he set Dieter’s food down.

“Thank you,” you offered the server with a polite nod, but Dieter could only muster a hum— he was a little miffed that the guy had managed to interrupt such an important moment.

“Anything else I can get for you two?” he asked, looking back and forth.

You looked over at him to check first, before shaking your head and replying, “No, I think we’re alright.”

“Excellent,” he beamed.  “And— can I just say one thing?”

You both paused, not sure what to make of that.  “Uh, sure,” Dieter decided, since the waiter seemed to be looking at him.

“I loved you in Hunger Strike,” he said excitedly; Dieter tensed up, wanting to look at you to gauge your reaction but suddenly too afraid of what he’d find.

“Oh, thank you,” he mumbled out, “that… means a lot.”

“I mean, it really moved me,” the waiter insisted, even though Dieter just wanted this interaction to end promptly.  “You were so— I’m really not trying to intrude, but is there any way I can get your autograph?”

Then he looked at you, and he couldn’t quite read the expression on your face— amusement, maybe, with a hefty dose of discomfort as well.  You looked away and took a long sip of your drink.  “Uhh,” Dieter choked, looking back at his adoring fan, “you’ll get my autograph when you bring the check.”

Seeming to realize that he had gone too far, the young man straightened up and cleared his throat.  “Right, uh— enjoy your meal.”

Scampering away, he left the both of you behind, along with all that tension he’d created.  How come he got a escape a situation that was his own fault, and Dieter was stuck here wondering if you would be upset that he didn’t tell you who he really was— or if you’d reveal you were a crazy stalker-fan the whole time— or if knowing he was famous would change your interest in being with him (if you even had any)?

“I’m… sorry about that,” Dieter finally offered to you, and you started to smile.

“Don’t be,” you chuckled, “it was kinda funny.  Do you usually react so… badly, to that kind of thing?”

He coughed a bit.  “No, I— are you not…?  Do you know—?”

“I saw the movie, Hector, I don’t live under a rock,” you admitted.

“Oh.”  Not sure what to say next, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “What did you think of it?”

Shrugging, you answered with a simple ‘eh’.  There was a pause before he began to crack up— and then you did, too. 

“So, I’ve been worrying about all you finding out about my career for nothing?” he assumed, and you nodded.

“I didn’t recognize you right away,” you explained, “but I put it together before we planned all this.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he wondered.

“I mean, I didn’t think I needed to, really,” you shrugged again.  “It’s just your job.  I was ready to talk about it if you brought it up— if you wanted to vent about work or something— but you never did, so I figured it must not be relevant.”

“Does it… change anything between us?” he asked nervously.  “Do you feel weird about going out with a movie star?”

“Mm, I don’t know about star…” you smirked, making him laugh again— and that was the part that was the same as always.  You still made him laugh, and now that the two of you were really talking again, it felt just like that night that you talked for hours— but even better.

When the plates were cleaned and the bill was paid, the two of you walked back to his hotel— he’d picked this place in part because he could see it from his window.  But that brief walk back was one of his favorite parts of the night so far, only because he’d slipped his arm around you, and you leaned into him: in that moment, he felt more normal than he had in a long time— and yet, at the same time, special in a way he’d never felt before.

~

“I tried to clean up in here, but—”

“Isn’t there housekeeping for that?” you wondered.  

“Yeah, but… I’ve had the ‘do not disturb’ sign up for the past week,” Dieter explained.  “Didn’t want anyone to come in while we were talking…”

“Right,” you smiled, finishing your examination of the room and turning to face him again.  The door shut on its own; you were looking at him with every light in the room reflected in your eyes.

He stepped closer to you, and wrapped his arms around you, and— why were his palms so clammy?  “I don’t think I’ve been this nervous to kiss someone since… since maybe my first ever kiss,” he recalled, and you laughed softly.

“Yeah, me either,” you whispered back, and he ran his hand over the curve of your hip.  “Who was your first kiss?”

“Uh, Sandy something… Brendan, I think— no, Brennan… Sandy Brennan.  We sat next to each other in History class in seventh grade,” he recalled.  “What about you?”

“I mean, unless you count a peck or two from my kindergarten boyfriend,” you chuckled, “my first real kiss wasn’t until high school— Gregory Cho.  But I wasn’t that nervous… actually, I was sort of ready to get it over with.”

“There was someone I was really nervous to kiss in high school, too,” he recalled, “but that was… different.”

“Who was it?”

That name was much easier to recall.  “Alex Brooks.”

“Was she super pretty?  Or popular?” you pressed, wondering what had him so nervous, what made it different.

“Both,” Dieter replied quickly.  “And… he was captain of the basketball team.”

You didn’t react strongly, but he still noticed it.

“Is that—?” he began to ask.

“He sounds like a real catch,” you smiled.  “Was he a good kisser?”

“Yeah,” Dieter laughed, “for a high schooler.  I guess things don’t feel as special now as they did back then— just some decent making-out in someone’s dad’s truck was the coolest thing, now it’s like— it’s all right there, you don’t have to…” he trailed off, but started a new sentence.  “I mean, even you— I’ve seen every part of you, but I just really met you for the first time.  And somehow I’m so afraid to kiss you.”

You were still smiling, but it changed, and you reached up to rest your hand on the back of his neck; it made him shiver in the best way.  “If you’re afraid, then it must still be pretty special.”

You kissed him, after all that; he would’ve felt bad for making you wait, if he wasn’t so fully engrossed in kissing you back and pulling you closer and breathing in deeply against your skin.  

For a long time, that was all it was— just one, amazing kiss.  Just his lips on yours and the gentle dance of trying to go further without going to far; just your hands holding tightly onto his shoulders as he gripped your waist through the dress.

You started to pull him across the room by his shirt— towards the bed— and broke away to speak; he tried to chase your lips for more, but stopped when you bit your lip and rested a finger on his chin.

“You haven’t seen every part of me,” you corrected him— even though he barely fucking remembered saying that after a kiss like that.  “I mean, my body, sure, but… not who I really am.”

“Then show me that,” he pleaded.  “That’s what I want— you, everything.”

You smiled wide and kissed him again, the two of you toppling onto the bed together.  

He’d been thinking about doing this since the moment he saw you: pulling up the bottom of your dress so he could pet your thighs, enamored with the smoothness of your skin.  “Baby,” he purred when he caught sight of your panties— what little there was of them.  The lace just gave him a glimpse of what was beneath, a tease of your perfect little cunt.

“God, I need you so bad,” you groaned as you pulled him down for another kiss; he’d been hard since you wrapped your arms around him, and he could swear he was already throbbing by the time he rocked his hips against yours.  “Fuck— feels even bigger than it looked…”

“Maybe your computer screen wasn’t big enough,” he joked, making you laugh lightly before another moan came out when he rocked down on you again.  “What do you want, beautiful?”

“You… you know what I want…” you panted, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Humor me,” he encouraged, moving in to kiss your neck— and loving the way you squirmed under him.

“Want— want you to fuck me,” you whimpered, “want you to make me— fuck— yours…”

He groaned deeply as he rutted his hips into yours harder, finally taunting you to the point that you had to reach down and start opening his pants.  “So eager,” he mocked playfully, as if he wasn’t going to ravage you the second you were done getting his cock out.

In fact, he almost tore your dress as he pulled it down to expose your chest, barely finding the time to appreciate the view of your tits before latching his mouth onto them.  “Oh fuck,” you gasped, and he smiled around the pert nipple in his mouth; these had seemed sensitive from the way you toyed with them as you touched yourself, but it was heaven on earth to confirm his suspicion himself.

“Want me to make you mine?” he prompted again, voice muffled by your delicate skin in his mouth, and you whimpered as you nodded.

“Yes— please—” you begged.

“Not sure I can do that,” he warned, and you gave him a confused look.  “You’re already mine, you told me yourself.”

You giggled, arching your back slightly as the tip of his tongue drew circles on you.  "I did say that, didn't I?"

"Mhm," he confirmed.  "Hard to forget."

"Well, m'still yours," you offered, "but I need you right now, I'll do— fuck, anything, just—"

"You don't need to do anything," he assured, looking up at you as he moved his mouth from your breast down a little lower, "just lay back and I'm gonna take care of you."

You bit your lip and nodded.

"Second I saw you I wanted to kiss you all over," he sighed.

"Well, I've got a couple ideas of where you can start," you smirked.

And yes, he would love to start there, but he needed to do his best not to rush this.  So, smiling up at you first, he began his journey.  His lips and tongue explored your body on his way down: a kiss here, a lick there, a playful bite when he felt extra naughty.  "You're so fucking beautiful," he mumbled against you.

"Yeah?  You too," you sighed.

He didn't think of himself like that— handsome, maybe, certainly aware of his better angles, but beautiful felt strange.  But he liked it, especially when you said it.  Especially when you said it while he was slotting his face between your legs.

It was even prettier up close, and the smell was fucking intoxicating: tangy and musky and sweet, heady, earthy, human.  And he knew you'd taste even better.

So he dove right in.  Maybe he should've started with your clit, that would've been the obvious choice, but his instincts led him to just slide his tongue right into your hole.  If nothing else, it certainly seemed to take you off guard, and you gasped as you grabbed onto his hair with both hands.

"Baby, fuck, that's— oh god, you can't imagine how many times I thought of this," you admitted, breathing heavy already.  He smiled against you, then gave you one big lick from the furthest down his tongue could reach all the way to the very top— all while holding fierce eye contact with you.  "Fu-uuuuck," you choked, dropping your head back just as your eyes rolled up.  "That's so… just do that again, please…"

He did it a few more times, noticing the way you seemed to get more impatient with each one, until your hips were chasing after his tongue.  "Stay still, baby, don't you trust me to do this right?" he purred, holding tighter on your hips.

"Yeah, I just— been so long," you whimpered.

He just did his best to find what made you scream the loudest and keep doing that— you were so sensitive, he just had to press his tongue down flat on your clit and move it in circles and you’d start shaking and sobbing and begging.  He moaned into you every time you tugged on his hair, having to rock his hips against the bed to appease his attention-deprived cock.

"You're… so amazing," you panted, "I— fuck! Oh god, I can't remember the last time someone—"

You never finished your thought, because he started fucking you with his tongue and you were too busy moaning his name, but he couldn't believe what a waste it was that nobody was eating this pussy on a regular basis.

"Gonna— oh fuck, yes, gonna come," you warned, "I… I'm gonna come so fucking hard…"

You started shaking, and he started fighting to keep you as still as he could so his work wouldn't be interrupted.  For a second he wondered if you were already coming or not— but then you made this noise, and your cunt clamped down on his tongue, and you cried out his name; it was perfect, it was the most beautiful moment he could ever imagine.

When it became too much, you went from tugging his hair to pushing him away with it, and he grinned up at you with a breathy laugh.  “Fuck, baby,” you whimpered, and he saw the tear streaks on your temples and cheeks.  He traced one with his thumb before kissing you again— deep and hungry, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

He hummed when your hands reached down to work on getting his pants off— eager and shaky, he certainly related to that.  As soon as your hand wrapped around his cock, he moaned, just from that.  He was almost embarrassed about it, until you bit his lip in playful encouragement.  "Does that feel good?" you purred.

"Yeah— your hands are better than mine," he laughed breathlessly.  

"How about this?" you raised an eyebrow, swiping your thumb over his slit, and he groaned as he rocked into your touch.

"God, baby…" he groaned.  As good as it felt, he found the strength to grab you by both your wrists and pin them down by your head.  You grinned, struggling just a bit, and moaned as he slid his cock against your soaking pussy.

“Don’t tease me,” you begged, “feels like I’ve been waiting forever.”

But he wasn’t teasing you— he was psyching himself up.

Believe it or not, he actually felt pretty nervous about this part.  Not for a lack of experience— for the entirely opposite reason.  Dieter had been with a lot of people, and for the most part, it was all… the same.  It all blended together— he only remembered those people from when he was a kid because he was a kid, and his romantic encounters were so few and far between.  He could remember details of his various partners from the last few years— Crystal who had a clit piercing, Marvin who begged to be choked, Cameron who seemed to enjoy giving him a blowjob even more than he enjoyed receiving it— but this, the actual sex, it was generally pretty interchangeable.  

So, he was worried that after all that build-up, after all the yearning and fantasizing and talking, that this would be the end of it being special— and you would just turn into a hook-up with a slightly more interesting backstory than the rest.  

As valid as that fear was, it was far from enough to stop him now, not when you were looking up at him and tightening your fists as he kept you pinned and silently begging for him with your eyes.

He had to let go of one of your hands to guide himself inside, but he interlaced the other with your fingers while he did it— and then, with one strong push, he was fully within you.

“Oh my god,” he gasped, “you feel… different.”

You raised an eyebrow, chuckling a little.  “Uh, different than what?”

Than everyone else.  “I— I don’t know,” he breathed, “I’m not making sense.”

“Not really,” you agreed with a laugh.

“Hard to think straight right now,” he defended.

It wasn’t just that you felt different— it was that this felt different: being with someone he really cared about, that he wanted to impress, that he wanted to see after this was over.

Someone that he never wanted to let go of.

“You feel so fucking perfect,” you whimpered, “fuck, don’t stop— feels so good—”

One of the benefits of making you come on his tongue first was that he knew it wouldn't be that bad if he didn't last too long now— though that wasn't why he did it.  In fact, this was rarely his issue, if anything sometimes he struggled to finish for unclear reasons.

But even if he could get away with finishing quickly, he wanted to make this last as long as he could.  He never wanted this to end, actually.

As he found his pace— not too speedy yet, but with a bit of his eagerness showing— he kissed you again, deeply and hungrily.  He wondered if he'd ever done this before: kissing during sex.  He felt like he probably had, and yet he couldn't remember it— maybe that said more than anything.

This, on the other hand, was very memorable.  He slid his arms under you when your back arched, he held you tight and close and drank in every one of your moans through that kiss.

For how many times he’d pictured fucking you, he never really imagined it like this… and he thought he’d imagined it every way before.  But he realized that he’d mostly imagined it a bit kinker— you riding him, or him fucking you while you were bent over the table in his room, or 69’ing or something.  This was passionate, and sorta slow; this was his hips grinding on yours with every thrust so he could keep rubbing your sore clit; this was making love, he realized— if it wasn’t, he couldn’t imagine what was.

“I— fuck, baby— think I’m gonna come again,” you warned him with the most beautiful whiny sob.

“Fuck, already?” he smiled, and you nodded feverishly.  

“Just… don’t stop, please, just like that— fuuuuck!” you choked, and he gasped every time your walls clenched down on him.

“You’re so fucking perfect, fuck,” he grunted, moving a bit faster and not letting up on the pressure from his pubic bone on your clit, even when you actually screamed under him.  “You’re so amazing, oh god, I—”

He heard it before he said it: I think I love you.  He stopped himself before blurting it out— maybe he’d tell you after, but he wasn’t so far gone to forget that this wasn’t the right time.  You’d think he didn’t really mean it, that it was just the delirium talking from how incredible you felt, but he knew it was so much more than that.

He shut himself up by kissing your neck— not too hard, but plenty to leave a mark, and make you squirm in the process.  Your hands wrapped around his back and your nails dug into his skin, but he couldn’t even feel the pain of it, he couldn’t feel anything but the sticky, resplendent heat of your body.

“So much fucking better than the goddamn dildos,” you said suddenly, and he laughed against your skin.  

“Do you miss all those people watching you come?” he wondered.

“No, fuck no,” you panted, “there’s nobody else but you.”

He couldn’t help but fuck you faster when you said that— you should’ve known better than to stroke his ego that way.

“Fuck!” you sobbed.  “Hector, baby, you’re so— oh god, I don’t know if I can take it—”

“Shh, you can,” he promised, “you can do anything, you can come for me again—”

“Oh fuck, I— I might,” you admitted shakily, “but then I’ll— I’ll fucking pass out or something.”

“No, you’ll be okay,” he promised, cooing at you softly.  “You’ll be so good for me, I know you will— just come for me one more time, baby, tell me what you need to come again.”

“I… just a little time is all I need,” you answered, voice breaking.  “I swear I’ve never— I’m not usually so— fuck, it’s just you—”

“I know,” he assured, loving the way you babbled praises but worried it would distract you from coming again; and if you didn’t soon, there wouldn’t be time before he lost it.  He was already barely able to keep his composure just from how beautiful you looked like this, let alone how you felt.  “I know, just let it happen, I know it’s right there for me— just come for me, beautiful—”

You dragged him down into a sloppy kiss, and he felt it— those incredible pulses inside you, waves of slick coating him until he felt sticky all the way down his thighs; your sobs were more precious than anything he’d ever heard.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he praised, fucking you even faster now as your head fell back limply.  “I can’t h-hold back anymore, I need to—”

“I know,” you said to him this time, “it’s okay, please— want you to…”

“You still— oh my god…” he choked, losing his train of thought for a moment.  “You still want me to come inside you?  Wanna be full?”

“Yes,” you whined, “yes, baby, please— wanna be so full of your come, I want everything—”

"Fuck, okay," he agreed, gasping as he tried to keep up his pace despite the growing pressure inside.  "I'm really fucking close…”

“I’m yours,” you told him again— and then he went from ‘really fucking close’ to ‘already fucking there’.  He came inside you with a long, whimpered groan; his head dropped onto your shoulder while each pump filled you, trying to catch his breath but feeling like he’d never find it again.

Admitting he loved you during sex wasn’t a good idea, but saying it immediately after wasn’t that much of an improvement.  Now, though, he was too exhausted to keep his mouth shut.  “I think I love you,” he blurted out suddenly.

For one incredibly long second, you didn’t react at all.  You looked up at him, and he hesitated to even look back because he didn’t want to see anything less than ecstasy on your face.  “Oh,” you said, “cool.”

He wasn’t sure what reaction he anticipated, good or bad, but it wasn’t that.

“Let me know when you know,” you suggested.

“No!  No— I know,” he insisted, reaching up to hold your face, “I know.  I love you.  I think I did even before you came here, but… it just seemed so crazy.  We don’t know each other as well as we should for that, right?  But I feel it— I feel something that I just can’t explain—”

“Hey, slow down,” you laughed, “I feel it too.”

The way you smiled at him, resting your hand on his chest— was he glowing?  He felt like he was actually glowing.  “Good,” he decided.

“Let’s get to know each other better, then,” you announced.  “Start from the beginning, the whole thing: parents, siblings, school, favorite movies, worst dates, hot dogs or hamburgers—”

“No, you start,” he pouted, “you’re more interesting.”

“Me?  Please, I’m just your average camgirl titty streamer, don’t worry about it,” you scoffed.

“And I’m just some lame old Oscar winner,” he shrugged.

But both of you talked— all night, actually.  You never fell asleep, he was never even that tired— you kept him so full of energy he didn’t even notice how long it had been until the sun started to come up.  And then you kept talking at breakfast.  And then you fucked again, and talked some more after; he knew it had to end, eventually, but he didn’t even want to think about it.  He didn’t want to think about you going home and letting something so perfect end.

He told you just as much on the last night— assuming you didn’t switch your flight home to a later day again.  You’d just been laying in his arms after another bout of passionately desperate fucking, both of you half-asleep but not wanting the separation of even just unconsciousness, and he blurted it out.

“Don’t leave,” he pleaded under his breath.  “I don’t want you to go.”

“I know you don’t,” you returned softly.  

“I don’t want this to end.”

You were quiet for a while, turning over on your side to face him, tracing your fingers over his chest gently.  “It doesn’t have to end, just because I leave,” you mumbled.  “I know it’s crazy, but we can be together, even if we’re not… together.  I mean, I’m certainly not gonna be with anybody else—”

“Me either,” he said quickly, before he could change his own mind with the doubts— the voice in his head that said he could never settle down because he’s too fucked up.  “I only want you.”

“It’ll suck, being far away from each other— but you’ll be back Stateside eventually, right?” you assumed.

“God, I hope so,” he sighed, “if the world doesn’t end.”

“If it does,” you whispered, moving in closer, “I hope it’s tonight.  I wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else but here.”

It was a romantic thought, but as he kissed you, he realized he’d never wanted the world to end less than he did right now.  He never longed for an apocalypse or anything, even on nights that his doubts and anxieties made him yearn for oblivion just for himself, but just now he could’ve cried thinking about everything falling apart tonight.  Whether it be by fiery explosion or a quiet, instant disappearance, he couldn’t let armageddon happen now— now that he had you.  For the first time, he saw himself having a future, in a way he never had before.  Existing as a ‘celebrity’ meant being on the edge of irrelevance at any moment, knowing this could all go away overnight and you’d just be ‘that guy who was in that thing that one time’.  

But this time, he stood on a precipice of something wonderful, of something natural, and it was the most beautifully terrifying unknown.  It was tomorrow.  Tomorrow, you’d get on the plane; tomorrow, you’d leave, because the world wasn’t going to end tonight.  But his life was going to start tonight, and he didn’t have to face it alone anymore.

[moralesispunk]

Kinktober Day Fifteen - Overstimulation // Dieter Bravo

Kinktober Masterlist / @the-purity-pen

Warnings: unprotected sex, kissing, edging, overstimulation, oral (m receiving), praise kink

Word Count: 800 words

Dieter Bravo is a man who gets what he wants when he wants it and right now he's been begging you to let him come for… forty-two minutes if the clock on his bedside table is correct; this isn't counting the time you spent slowly building him up that he wasn't complaining about. 

You sink slowly back down on his cock, the muscles in his neck straining as he throws his head back into the pillow and his hands strain in the silk ties around his wrists. 

“Fuck- please,” he groans, his head turning and burying into the pillow before you taking his chin in your fingers and turning his face back up to you. 

“Watch me, Dieter. Only good boys get to come.”

He groans louder, one hand coming to rest on his chest and the other on the mattress by his head as you start to ride him hard. His cheeks are flushed a bright pink, his eyes racing over your body as he watches your mouth fall open and your tits bounce when you lean over him. 

“Oh god, oh fuck,” he groans, his teeth gritting and eyes squeezing shut. 

“Open your eyes Dieter, I want to watch you when you come.”

His eyes finally open again, staring into yours when you dig your nails into the flushed skin of his chest. 

“Please. Please, please, please,” he cries.

“Didn’t know you knew that word before tonight, Dieter,” you tease him breathlessly, your hips grinding down on him and building you both up higher and higher.

Just because he hasn’t come yet doesn’t mean you haven’t; you’ve used him twice now, soon to be your third, but the way his voice sounds when he begs has you taking pity on him. It’s so raspy and whining, pulling at the last of your resolve as you drag your hand down his chest and towards your clit where you know it won't take much to make you come again.

“Come for me,” you gasp, your fingers pressing against your clit and throwing you over the edge. “You can come, Dieter.”

The groan he lets out is almost animalistic, his whole body shuddering beneath yours as he moans your name again and again, and again until you silence him with your lips pressed to his.

The kiss is messy, both of your bodies still riding the waves of pleasure as he fills you, but you somehow manage to keep your hips moving and Dieter hisses, gasping your name against your lips in a warning.

“What is it?” You tease, slipping his cock from your pussy and letting it fall against his stomach as you kiss down his chest and settle between his legs.

His cock twitches when you look up at him, his hands pulling against the silk ties again when you wrap your hand around the base and kiss and lick over his length.

“I c-can’t-”

“You were so desperate to come now you don’t want me to play?” You tilt your head as you look up at him, licking slowly up the underside of his cock and kissing back down from the tip as his legs shake.

He hisses and whines in overstimulation, his thighs tensing and shaking by the sides of your head.

“You look so cute like this,” you hum, taking the head of his cock inside your mouth and sliding your hands up and down the inside of his thighs as he groans your name.

With one hand pressing against the inside of his thigh and holding his legs open as the other wraps back around his base, your mouth and hand working him past the point of overstimulation as his cock stays hard in your hand. You aren’t sure what the endgame is when you start, if he even can come so quickly again, but then his body shudders and tenses beneath yours as he tries to gasp a warning and he fills your mouth. 

You keep working your mouth over his until his hips pull away from you and he tries to shuffle up the bed, your mouth eventually pulling away as you sit back on your heels and grin down at him.

“I hate you,” he groans.

“No, Dieter.” You shake your head, crawling over his body and straddling his stomach as you untie his hands - the hands that come to settle on your hips as soon as they are free and he pulls you down into a kiss. “I don’t think you,” you mumble against his lips.

[psychedelic-ink]

85 and 97 with Dieter 😩🫶

hope you enjoy <333

prompt list: prompt #85 I’m going to fuck you so hard you’re gonna forget that guys name,”  and #97 “i don’t care what you do just fuck me”

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

genre: smut

word count: 373

summary: Dieter's jealous.

warnings: jealous!dieter, fingering, grinding, piv, dirty talking, dieter refers to himself as daddy once

MLISTS .  LIBRARY. TAGLIST

Honestly, you had meant nothing by it.

But now, as Dieter has you pinned against the rough surface of the wall, you’re starting to think that maybe…just maybe…this was your intent all along.

His breath is hot against your ear, forcing a shudder up your spine. He towers over you, chest flushed against your back, he pushes, the wall pushes out the rest of the air that lingers in your lungs. Dieter grinds his hips, movements stuttering, he makes you feel how hard and hot he is, his hands around your waist tightens.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard you’re gonna forget that guys name,”

He smells of scotch, cannabis and chocolate. Your smile widens into a smirk, you fucking knew Dieter was the jealous type.

“I was just dancing,” you say innocently. Dieter doesn’t buy into your soft tone, he growls and a loud tear follows. Your poor black stockings didn’t stand a chance. “I don’t care what you do, just fuck me,”

“Jesus fucking christ,” Dieter’s lips follow the curve of your ear, tongue leaving a wet trail. “You’re going to be the death of me, sweetheart.”

His fingers slide into your first; thick, long, sensual. He scissors then curls his fingers, smiling broadly as you brace yourself against the wall and whimper. His cock twitching, he pulls out his fingers and gathers all the slick you have to offer, coating himself with it. You feel the fat head of his cock pushing inside, heat licks the bottom of your spine, your teeth grinding together as he buries himself into you completely. Your legs shake. It’s intense. Pleasurable. Painful. Your eyes roll back, tits pushed up against the wall, your body crushed under his weight.

“Better cancel your appointments for tomorrow,” Dieter purrs, slightly pulling back his hips, he slams into you, a shout of his name dropping from your lips like led. “Because this is what happens to bad girls. Girls who flirt with men just to get a rise out of their daddies. You’ve been bad haven’t you?”

“Fu-uck,” you gasp. “Yes, fuck, yes okay I’ve been bad. I didn’t do it on purpose,”

Your mind is in a daze, his lips touch your cheek.

“That didn’t sound like an apology.”

[the-fic-baker]

Kinktober Day 6

Prostitution/Sex Work - Underwear - Tentacles

A/N: This is late oops. Wrote this as a birthday for myself ;) although I’m not doing each day here is the full list by @absurdthirst

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: 18+, smut, panties and male masturbation.

Working away from his girl was a lot harder than he’d thought. Almost every night was spent on the phone with you, one hand on his cock. Hearing your moans got him off more than any porno he could find. Unfortunately tonight you were unavailable, out for a work party. After a few hours of roaming around his hotel room, bored out of his mind, he decided to rummage around his suitcase hoping to find a loose pill or half-smoked joint he’d hastily discarded or hidden. What he found was much better.

A pair of your panties that he’d packed along with his clothes. He never really paid attention to what he haphazard threw in there. They were from a cute pink set accented with lace trim, Dieter bought it for your birthday. He quickly found they still held your scent. With that, a brilliant idea spawned within his now lust-filled mind.

How nice would it be to receive a hot video of your boyfriend pleasuring himself with your underwear? Perfect

The camera was set, lights were dim and Dieter was already half hard. He pressed record and laid back. “Just wanted to show how much I miss you.” He remarks, legs spread over the silk sheets. If there was one thing Dieter could do effortlessly, it was putting on a show.

Holding the soft fabric against his face, allowing the sweet scent of your cunt to consume him. He slowly reaches down, brushing past his nipples, to reach for his cock. Now hard and heavy in his palm.

“Fuck babe,” he shudders. “Miss that sweet pussy right now, wish I could be with you right now, eat you out till you scream for me.” His hand gently stroking now, lube a poor substitute your juices he now craves so bad.

His mind fills with the feeling of your slick walls around him. The way you’d whimper for him as he hit that deep spot within you. He starts speeding up as he remembers the last fuck he gave you on the kitchen counter before he had to get in the cab to go to the airport, panties (much like the ones he’s holding) pushed to the side in the rush to be inside you. He reminisces of how you begged for him to cum inside, saying how you’d feel him for days after he left.

“Can’t wait till I see you babe,” he groans. “Need you so fucking bad.” He brings the panties closer against his face as his orgasm speedily approaches. “Fuck you smell so good.” His pace quickens and his hips buck. He lets out a deep cry that if not for the fabric shoved so close to his mouth would alert the neighbours. Cum covers his stomach and chest, thick ropes of splashed against soft skin.

He lays for a moment, basking in post-orgasm bliss and looks to the camera. “Thanks for that baby.”

After cleaning and a quick edit, he sends the video and heads to the bar, excited to see your reaction when he returns. When he comes back he’s rewarded with a pic of you wearing a thoroughly soaked thong. And a message

Came home early, will call later

Xx

[midgardianminx]

Art Walk

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x reader (reader’s gender not explicitly stated/no use of pronouns). 

Summary: A Dieter Bravo (artist AU?) meet cute. Is that what this is?

Rating: M (18+) - while this fic is not explicit, this blog is. Minors be gone.

Notes: Hi. I was really down about my unused theatre degree when I wrote this, and needed a little Dieter comfort. This is self-indulgent and all mistakes are my own. Enjoy!                                                        

Cross-posted on AO3

It had been years since you’d ventured out to an art walk. Not because you didn’t love them, but because you felt like a fraud at this point. You’d graduated with your art degree nearly a decade ago and had nothing to show for it. You had been sucked into the “stability” of corporate America (what a joke that was) and have slowly been having your happiness and creativity drained since.

You’d stumbled on it accidentally. You were going to grab takeout from your favorite hole in the wall downtown. Parking seemed to be harder than usual and the streets were more busy. As you approached your destination you noticed the packed alleyway. Vender tables lined the street and people were milling about in every direction looking at the different trinkets and knick-knacks. Drawn like a moth to a flame, you began to wander down the alleyway, completely abandoning your initial mission for food.

It felt like a fever dream. Everywhere you looked you saw artists pouring their soul into their work. Chalk art decorated the street. A graffiti artist was bringing a crumbling wall back to life. You ventured into a small studio space filled with art on the gallery walls. People gathered in a crowd to take in the performance art happening before your eyes.

As the crowd dispersed, you finally felt like you could catch your breath and something inside you came to life.

- - -

He took notice of you immediately. He was pulling out the uneven cut of burlap that would act as his canvas when he first spotted you. You were impossible to ignore. You took in your surroundings as if your life depended on it; as if everything would disappear if you blinked. And although your stare seemed distant and almost unfocused, he could see something come to life the longer you looked around. You disappeared into a small art gallery, but even with you out of sight, he couldn’t forget that look in your eye.

- - -

You left the small gallery and found yourself back in the alley. The streetlights had turned on in the time you had been inside and your body felt a steady buzz of excitement. The sound of a band caught your attention and you wandered in that direction hoping to find the source and taking the opportunity to take in more of the art booths along your path.

You didn’t reach your destination, never finding the source of the music. Instead you were stopped in your tracks by the sight in front of you. His curls were a mess on top of his head. His shirt and pants hung loose and comfortably on his frame. You didn’t even question the Crocs because they seemed so right for him.

Your feet were taking you to his space before your brain could even catch up. It was as if there was an invisible string attached to your core and you were helpless to fight against the pull. You finally managed to take your eyes off the artist and caught sight of the wrinkled canvas he was working on.

It took your breath away. You stood in awe as you took in the piece of art that wasn’t even completed but was already perfect in your eyes.

It was the alley, but not in a literal sense. You couldn’t explain it, but it was as if the artist had climbed inside your mind and witnessed what you saw felt when you first stumbled upon this place. You imagined that to others it may just appear to be a collection of shadows accompanied by bright colors. Abstract. Others would see it as abstract, but for you it was clear as day. It was this alleyway on this night.

You were so transfixed by the piece that you hadn’t even noticed the artist had stopped painting and was now focused on you. After a few moments he cleared his throat which snapped you out of your trance. Heat began to creep up your neck to your face, and you didn’t know if it was because you had been caught staring at his work or because now that you could see him fully you were taken aback by his beauty. That’s the only way you could explain it. Beauty. Maybe not in the traditional sense, but beauty nonetheless. His curls were tousled and loose, as if his fingers had been raking through them. His face was warm; decorated with scruffy facial hair and laugh lines that hinted at a life well lived. You noticed the sun glasses propped on his head and thanked your lucky stars that they resided there so that you could fully appreciate his eyes. They were soft and kind and had a spark of mischief behind them. If you thought his art was beautiful, you now realized that it didn’t hold a candle to the beauty of the artist himself.

He was smirking at you now. Fuck. There was no denying that you had just spent the last several seconds gawking at this complete stranger. And although embarrassment began to flood your system, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it.

“Hey” he said. One word. He said one word to you and you held onto it for dear life. Trying to play it cool, but failing miserably, you managed to mumble a “hey” back.

“You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you rushed out on a shaky breath. “I’m sorry for staring, it just really spoke to me.”

“Never apologize for appreciating art, or beauty. I won’t.” His eyes were locked on you as he said this and you couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by that. You broke eye contact when you could feel the heat returning to your cheeks.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you here.” He said lazily, bringing your attention right back to him. He was cleaning a paintbrush on his shirt, which was already patterned with splotches of paint and other stains.

“Yeah it is. Just kind of stumbled upon it by accident.”

“Well you fit here.” He stated matter-of-factly.

You couldn’t help the nervous laugh that escaped you. That feeling of being a fraud slowly returning.

“You don’t believe me.” He stated plainly, it wasn’t a question.

“Sorry, it’s just I haven’t been in the art scene for years, so it’s hard to believe I fit.”

“You can doubt yourself all you’d like, but I’m right. It may take some time for you to believe it, but I like a challenge.”

Another nervous laugh escaped you. “That’s all well and good, but I don’t even know your name.”

“Hmm. No, I don’t suppose you don’t Moonbeam.”

The nickname knocked the wind out of you. You had only just met this man and yet you felt the trajectory of your life had now been changed.

“Dieter Bravo”

“Huh?” You asked, having forgotten the current direction of your conversation, too hyper-focused on the nickname he had bestowed on you.

“My name. Dieter Bravo. Now you know it.”

“Dieter Bravo'' you repeated, testing out the name for yourself. The smirk returned to his face, and his warm eyes darkened. Fuck. He loved the sound of his name falling from your lips. He wanted to hear all the ways you could utter his name.

“Di” you said, cutting in on his thoughts and trying the nickname on for size. At the sound of the nickname it was now Dieter’s turn to be breathless, totally caught off guard by the way it made him feel. He recovered quickly.

“Yeah Moonbeam. You can call me Di.” He winked and said with that signature smirk you’ve so quickly grown accustomed to seeing him wear. Yeah, you were in trouble, there was no doubt about that. And although you had no way of knowing it, Dieter was feeling the same way. You may have stumbled upon the art walk accidentally, but he didn’t believe in accidents or coincidences. The universe brought you to him, there was no doubt about that in his mind. You were meant to come into his life and he just knew that going back to a time before you wouldn’t be possible, not that he’d ever want to. He too knew he was in trouble, but knew it was going to be the best kind of trouble he could experience.

[batdarkladyvampir]

At the Garden Inn - Part 5

Dieter Bravo/curvy female reader

Part 4

Warnings: negative self talk regarding weight, slight mentions of verbal abuse, mentions of Dieter’s experience in The Bubble

Sorry this took so long! I knew where I wanted them to go, but getting there was a different story!

Also, thanks to the lovely @ukyokuonji​ for the review of dieter’s endearment for you <3

--

You spent the morning trying your very best to be productive, but you kept getting lost in your thoughts about Dieter. He seemed to actually be somewhat interested in you, but you couldn’t be quite sure what he was actually interested in.

You had never been into casual flings and random hookups even after your divorce from your dick of an ex-husband and weren’t looking for that now. From everything you’d seen about Dieter, he was the king of hookups and casual flings.

You sighed and rubbed your forehead. You were getting too in your head. It’s not like he propositioned you.

Your phone buzzed and you grabbed at it eagerly.

[Mr. Lucas]: Why didn't you tell me Dieter Bravo was staying in my hotel?

You sighed. Of fucking course. You picked up your office phone and dialed him.

“Well?” he answered.

“I didn’t know I needed to inform you of all our guests. Besides, Dieter is trying to be discreet.” You fudged the truth a little, but figured the man would back you up if needed.

“Oh, Dieter, is it? Well, I’m the one who signs your paychecks, so we’ll stick with what I want. And what I want is to know when movie stars are at my hotel.”

What the actual fuck? Who was this man? Mr. Lucas was a bit of a goober, but never really rude, or even generally involved much with the running of the hotel. You always sort of figured it was a money sink for him for tax purposes or something like rich people did.

“I’ll be sure to inform you of any more that stay with us.” You tried to sound as sincere as possible, and thought you did a pretty good job.

“Never mind that. I want you to add Cissy to the schedule for some bar and breakfast shifts while he's there. Text me the times she needs to be there.” He hung up.

Ah. That would be why he cared. Cissy, his pride and joy, the spoiled little twit that he wanted to have you train on running the hotel about a year ago after she’d come back to town with her tail between her legs when Hollywood didn't work out. She was beautiful as could be but “dumber than a box of rocks” as your blunt maintenance manager liked to say.

She wouldn’t even try to learn anything, just played on her phone, after informing you that she didn’t need to work because her daddy was rich. You’d eventually just added her as an “extra” on bar and breakfast shifts and let her do her thing.

She was definitely more Dieter’s type. You sighed and added her to the schedule and shot a text to Mr. Lucas with a picture of the new schedule.

As you were about to go back to work, Layla stuck her head through the door. “Dieter’s at the front desk asking for you.” She gave you the most shit eating grin as she said the words.

You groaned. Of course he'd be ready for coffee now, when you were in a shitty ass mood. “Do you want me to tell him you're busy?” she asked, uncertainly.

“No, I’ll be right there.”

She walked back to the front and you took a moment to take a deep breath and straighten your clothes. You followed Layla and as you came from the back office you saw Dieter chatting with Vicky, another of your desk agents. When he saw you, his face lit up into a wide grin. He was so heartbreakingly gorgeous with his wild curls going everywhere, his worn tee-shirt, and a cardigan that looked well loved.

You tried to smile back, but knew you weren’t as successful as you had hoped when his grin dimmed a bit. “Is this a bad time?”

You shook your head and walked over to him, “no! Not at all. It’s a great time for a break, actually.”

Dieter’s smile brightened again and he led you through the lobby to a table that was tucked away from both the front desk and the bar. It was also situated in such a way that allowed observation of the entire lobby without being obvious. It must have been where he was earlier, watching you at breakfast.

Does he not want to be seen with you?

He interrupted your thoughts by leaning in conspiratorially, “hopefully they won’t be able to find you and pull you away from me.”

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you, at both his words and his joyful and silly manner. “Thank you for thinking of that.”

You sat at the table but Dieter remained standing. “I’m going to go grab our coffee at the bar. What do you want?”

“Oh, I can come-”

He shook his head. “Nope, you've been working all morning. What do you want?”

You grinned at him. “Just tell Mary it’s for me.”

He laughed and disappeared over to the bar area that served as a small Café during the daytime hours. He came back quickly with your iced drink and his drink.

“Now,” he said as he sat down, “what’s got a frown on your beautiful face?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. You started to answer when he touched your hand softly. Your eyes snapped up to his and he had an uncommonly serious look on his face.

“Why do you do that when I compliment you?”

You blinked. “Do what?”

He sighed and shook his head. “Never mind. So, what has irritated you today?”

You weren’t sure, but he seemed slightly annoyed. “The owner. He found out you were staying.”

“And that's a bad thing?”

You laughed softly. “It is when he forces me to put his daughter on the schedule in the hopes that you'll fall in love with her pretty face.”

He raised an eyebrow then grinned widely. “Jealous, mi colibrí?”

You laughed again. “Dieter, if you fall in love with her, then I highly underestimated your intelligence.”

He let out a snort. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

You shook your head. “You underestimate yourself, I think.”

Dieter looked a bit flustered and took a sip of his coffee. “I think you have a higher opinion of me than I deserve. My last relationship started because I fell in love with the only person who had enough brains in her head to actually help and save my life during my OD. The rest of the fuckers had the idea to put me in a bathtub filled with ice. Hardly knew the girl at all. And when the obviously deeply flawed relationship ran its course, my solution was to propose.”

You mulled over what he just told you. “That was Anika?”

He nodded, scratching at his beard. “That would be the one.”

You grinned at him, but it was strained. “At least she didn’t embezzle enough money to put you in prison and all but ruin your career.”

He blinked at you. “What happened, Hummingbird?” There was a hard edge to his voice that you hadn’t ever heard before.

You felt heat rush to your cheeks at his tone, and the endearment. “My Ex-husband. He helped himself to the company credit card I had at my last hotel. By the time I found out, he racked up tens of thousands of dollars of charges.”

“But why would that put you in prison?”

You shrugged. “I was responsible for that card. I didn’t actually go to prison. I was able to prove to my bosses that I had no knowledge of the purchases. I was lucky they were as nice as they were. They gave me a severance when they let me go, even though they really didn’t have to.”

He snorted, seeming to be skeptical of their benevolence. “And your ex?”

You shrugged, “They were able to get some restitution from the sell of our assets. They were satisfied with that. He was my ex by that point anyway. He left when I stopped paying his bills. Said that was the only reason he was with a fat bitch like me.”

Dieter let out an honest to god growl. “Are you fucking joking?!”

You sat back at his vehemence. “Um…no?”

He sat forward and grabbed your hand as he said your name in the most serious tone you’d heard from him. “Did he say that kind of thing often?”

You bit your lip and thought about lying. You settled on minimizing. “Occasionally.”

He swore under his breath. He seemed like he wanted to press the issue but then he changed the subject. “How did he ruin your career? You’re running this hotel.”

You gave him a crooked grin. “Oh, yes. Running a stand-alone hotel in the middle of bumfuck Arizona is my dream.”

He let out a loud laugh, saluting you with two fingers. “Touché.”

After taking the last sip of your iced coffee, you turned the conversation back on him. “So what was your meeting about?”

He waved a hand. “My manager and agent pestering me when I’m going to be back and to grumble about having to deal with PR issues. Like I don’t fucking pay them to do that shit. Plus, I’m not even getting into trouble.”

You laughed. “Not much trouble to get into here, really.”

He shrugged and stroked the back of your hand, drawing your attention to the fact that he hadn’t actually ever let it go after he grabbed it earlier. It was so comforting that you hadn’t even noticed. “I don’t know. I think you could be trouble.”

Your breath caught in your throat at the hungry look in his eyes.  “Dieter..I..”

His lips curled into a lazy smile, making you think of a cat toying with its prey. “Don’t worry, mi colibri. I mean the good kind.” He brought your hand to his lips and once again kissed your knuckles.

“Oh.” Oh? Fucking oh? Really fucking eloquent.

“I’ve stolen your words? Well, this would be a good time to see if you’d like to have dinner with me? All you have to do is nod.”

You blinked and nodded.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice again in that low growl you heard over the phone. “I’ll text you later to make plans.”

With that, he left the table and disappeared to the elevators, leaving you sitting there still shocked. Did you have a date with Dieter Bravo?

--

Tag list: @nicolethered​ @imtryingmybeskar @gizmogurlie41786​ @adancedivasmom​  @ruhro7​ @a-trial-run-on-paper​ @prolix-yuy

[supernaturalgirl20]

What’s a month?

Part 6

Pairings: Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, PinV sex, oral (both receiving), angst, mutual pining, hidden feelings, mentions of drugs and drug abuse, divorce, fluff.

Summary: Dieter needs some time away from Hollywood, and the drugs, and the ex- wife. So his PR team have sent him to a remote cottage in Ireland to take a breather. You are a journalist and your boss has sent you on a wild goose chase. What happens when your both booked into the same cottage with the r man who broke your heart?

A/N: this is the last part except for the epilogue 😭

Part 5

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

The remaining last few days on the island were spent within the walls of the cottage. Cosy movie nights lounging on the couch, sex on the kitchen table, shared meals that you’d both cooked together, sex on the floor beside the fire, helping D with his script for the new movie, sex against the glass doors. You couldn’t keep your hands off each other.

Today was the last full day on the island - Dieter, had to go back to LA to begin filming and you, had to get a new assignment. Stirring awake - hand reaching behind you, seeking his warmth - you find his side empty. Strange! Dieter is never up before you.

Sitting up - gently rubbing the sleep from your eyes - you listen to see if you can hear him in the kitchen, but you’re met with silence. Odd. Deciding to get out of bed, you grab his cardigan and some cosy bed socks and shuffle into the living area. The table is laid out for breakfast and a note is left.

Morning baby,

Just had to pop into the village to check emails, I’m hoping I’ll be back before you wake, but if not, I’ve left breakfast in the oven. You just need to reheat it.

Love you

D

Ps. Get dressed, I’ve got plans today 😉

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. He was so adorable. I’m going to miss him when we leave here.

***

Dieter had been staring at you sleeping for at least the last hour. God you looked beautiful like this. He didn’t want to leave, he wanted to stay right here but he had had something to do. Slipping out of bed- cardio to not wake you, he quickly dresses and leaves for the village.

His first stop is to a Jerry. He’d spoke to him about a small trip he wanted to take with you and Jerry had kindly offered his boat. “Don’t worry lad, I’ll be at the dock waiting. You just bring that lass of yours.” Dieter had said his thanks before he headed to the cafe for the picnic basket. Then onto William.

“Well lad, what are you doing here so early in the day? I thought you’d be snuggled up to that beautiful lass of yours.”

“I was but this is important and she can’t know about it, not yet. Is it possible to book the cottage for exactly a year from now?”

“Aye, I don’t see why not? What’s the occasion?”

Dieter blushes and goes quiet but he’s sure William already knows as he winks at him, “oh I get it, mums the word.” He thank him and then dropped off the basket with Jerry before making his way back to you. Don’t fuck this up Dieter. You have to both be back here in a years time.

***

Your managed to have a quick shower and dress when you heard the front door open and close. “Baby, you ready?”

“Yep,” you say, as you make your way out of the bedroom, finding Dieter at the table packing food into a back pack. “Where are we going?”

“That would be telling.” His eyes scan over you before he turns back to his task. “You might want you to put a jacket on, oh and bring a swimsuit.” He stops his motions, a sly smile on his face, “or not, I won’t mind,” he says waggling his eyebrows.

“You are insatiable D.” You say with a smile on your face as you run to grab what you need. “Only for you. Now come on, Jerry is waiting down at the dock for us.” Walking hand in hand, you finally arrive at the dock and you almost faint at the sight of the boat.

“You have got to be kidding me? D, I am not getting in that.”

“You did arrive here by boat you know?” He says teasingly.

“Yeah, but that was big enough and didn���t look like one wave would take it out. I’m not getting on that D”. He puts the back pack into the boat before pulling you close - one hand around your waist, the other cupping your cheek. “Baby, it’s gonna be ok, I promise. We’re not going far and Jerry had sailed these waters for years,” he says looking to the man for reassurance.

“Eye lass, you’ve nothin to fear, I promise.”

“I love you and I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Do you trust me?” He’s looking at you now, a smile on his face and his big doe eyes pleading with you. “You know I trust you.”

“Come on, I’ll hold you the whole time.”

Dieter helps you in and he sits back pulling you into his lap. His arms wrap around you, holding you close and you’ve never felt more at home. Jerry stays as close to the shore as he can and the scenery is absolutely breathtaking. “You should take some pictures,” Dieter whispers in your ear. “I don’t have my camera.”

He moves one of his arms from around you and rummages in his back pack. Turning to see what he’s doing he hands you your camera. “Figured you might need it.” I love you so fucking much. I don’t deserve you. “Thank you,” you say placing a soft kiss on his lips. His arm moves around you again as you snap some pictures.

Jerry begins to move the boat towards the shore and you gasp at the sight before you. A small secluded beach sits nestled into the edge of the island - only accessible from the sea. Turning, you find Dieter already looking at you - those brown eyes holding something in their depths. Your breath hitches.

He leans down and captures your lips in a heated kiss before pulling back just a little. “Do you like it?”

“Like it? Dieter I love it. How did you find this place?” He tilts his head towards Jerry, “Mr romantic here, told me.” You turn to Jerry then and he smiles at you both. “Aye, this is where I brought my Mary back way when, matter of fact this is where we first…” he coughs then and a blush creeps up his neck and settles on his cheeks. “Never mind..I’ll come back in about an hour or so, have fun,” he says with a wink as he claps Dieter on the back.

***

Dieter had packed a bag of goodies as well as made a picnic basket- which he had given to Jerry to put in the boat. You both ate and swam and just revelled in each other’s company. As time slipped by the though, you couldn’t help the sinking feeling that had settled in your stomach.

You’d both be flying home tomorrow and home didn’t mean the same place for you both. If he asked, I’d go home with him in a heartbeat. Hell, we were practically living together before. Laying back in the sand, the chill of the Irish weather began to set into your bones as you shivered slightly. Dieter noticed and rolled over on top of you, encasing your body with his.

“What are you doing D?” You say, running your fingers crossed brought his wild hair. “I’m trying to keep you warm. Is it working?”

“I can think of another way.”

“Oh yea…” he groans out as your hand slips past the band of his swim shorts, grasping his cock in your hand. “Ngh…baby don’t tease.”

“Who said anything about teasing? I want you to fuck me right here, D. He wasted no time in pulling your swimsuit away from your cunt, slowly sliding in. Fuck! You both groan as his fill you to the hilt with his thick cock. It’s fast and with each thrust he buries you further into the sand. You come together with a shudder.

You both stay like that until you catch your breath. “Come live with me. When we get back stateside, I want to live together.”

“What?! I mean…you really wanna live me?”

“Yeah baby, I do. What do you say? We can live at my house in Sherman oaks or we can buy something together, our home.”

You’re crying now, unable to stop the tears as the cascade down your cheeks onto the sand bellow. “Yes, I want that too.”

***

Dieter closes the door to the cottage and you both stand staring at each other for a moment. “Thank go our agents decided to play matchmaker.”

“Yeah. I still can’t believe it.” Jerry pulls up and starts putting the cases into the boot of the truck. Dieter take me your hand in his and you both make your way towards the truck. Away from the small, beautiful cottage that fixed everything. You hoped that things really would work out for you both and that someday, you would both come back.

“Come on baby, let’s go home.”

Epilogue

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[themand0lorian]

AND THE OSCAR GOES TO… (3)

BEST VISUAL EFFECTS

Summary: Visual effects create the illusion of something there when it's not. Is this all a trick of the eye?

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (no Y/N)

Rating: Mature

Words: ~5700 (AO3)

Tags: Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Drug Addiction, Death of a sibling, Past Relationship, Flashbacks, Strangers to Lovers to Enemies to ???

Notes: Maybe after this things can start to look up for these two, huh???

TW for this part: underfunded schools, general allusion to 9/11/tragedy, rehab/mental health discussions, overdose talk

New York City, 2003

In the same way you frequented Uncle Louie’s, Dieter was a fixture in your classroom, too. It started with small things; stopping by at the end of the day to walk with you back home when you stayed late with a student. Helping you hang decorations over the summer before the next class rolled in. You tried to make things special; for a lot of the kids, this was their escape for the day. A chance to be kids and learn and not be so weighed down by the hand they were dealt. Some of the parents could barely get their kids out of the house dressed, fed, and on time—sometimes through none of their own fault—and you always wanted them to feel safe and loved when they were with you. Lord knows how many coats, mittens, hats you thrifted or scrounged up over the years; granola bars or bars of soap or a clean baby wipe offered without comment. These kids were little humans, and they needed someone on their side. Even if it meant taking some of your meager teacher’s salary to better their days.

Ten is always a tricky age. Still a kid to grown-ups, basically a grown up to younger kids. Some started sprouting in inches overnight, some had other bodily functions that they didn’t expect—some didn’t, and felt worse. Sometimes they still cried when their knees scuffed, sometimes they were trying to be tough. Either way, you were a lifeline for them; a chance for them to grow and explore and figure out who they were. To have fun—as much fun as the curriculum allowed, anyway.

It started on Halloween. You always went all out—decorated the classroom with spooky cutouts of bats and pumpkins, hung streamers from the ceiling. You planned a little party with Lizzie’s class for after lunch, with green punch in a witch’s cauldron and toilet-paper-mummies and even little masks the kids could decorate and wear if they didn’t have a costume that year. You didn’t have any volunteers to help out—something you had fretted over the morning of as you redid your costume one more time. You tried to pick relatively easy ones—always homemade, since it was cheaper that way, and something the kids would recognize. Last year you were Spongebob, which was a big hit. The year before, Ursula from The Little Mermaid—that had maybe been over the top.

This year, you were going to be Lilo from Lilo and Stitch. The kids loved the movie—talked about it all the time. Several lesson plans had been altered to be about Hawaii or surfing, kids seeing themselves in Lilo’s broken and put-back-together family or Stitch’s rowdiness. You even had the kids “hula dance” when you noticed them getting too fidgety. So a giant red tshirt from the thrift store with hand painted leaves, flip flops, and a flower for your hair, you were set. You even had a little plush Stitch to come with you. You didn’t necessarily look like Lilo in your face, but you think it came across.

Still, Dieter wished you luck, a quick peck before your flourished out the door with four bags strung through your hands.

The kids were brimming with excitement, in awe of the little piece of the holiday you brought into the classroom. You tried to make your lessons that day a bit spooky, but it was clear you were losing them. The party came quickly, yours and Lizzie’s class squeezing into one room. But it was difficult for the two of you to keep up with 50 kids, dole out punch, organize games. You felt a little overwhelmed, especially when Matt came up to get another cookie.

“Miss—are you dressed up, or is that your real clothes?” You puffed out a breath, a bit defeated, but before you could answer, your classroom door swung open, shocking both you and the students.

There stood Dieter, decked out in head-to-toe blue, two large pink ears clipped to his unkempt hair and an eyeliner button nose drawn on.

“She’s Lilo, of course! My best friend!” He supplied, coming in with a big smile as some of the kids ooh-ed and aah-ed. He strung his arm around your shoulders as you looked at him incredulously.

“What are you doing here?” “Heard you needed help,” he smiled, eyes on you with a look you could only pinpoint as adoration. “Louie’s was slow. Here I am.” He could feel your shoulders sag in relief, a big smile across your face. Your knight in shining armor.

“Here you are,” you murmur, lost in the moment until one of the kids runs up to start asking Dee about life as an alien.

To his credit, he plays the part. You didn’t know he had even seen the movie, but he fills in all the best details while helping to wrangle kids into games, glue sparkles onto masks, or dish out snacks. He even started handing out Kit-Kats—no doubt making a stop for his favorite before coming in—to each kid who said “Trick or Treat!” knowing they wouldn’t be going around once they got home. Overall, it was a memorable, fun, happy day, one you hoped the kids would remember.

Remember they did. It took all of about two days for them to ask when “Mr. Dee” was coming back. They pleaded and begged, clearly developing a new favorite. Dieter had never been super into children, but he liked them well-enough, and he was happy as a clam when you told him they were asking after him.

That’s how he became a regular in the classroom. Sometimes he would stop by on half days, when free lunch wasn’t provided, with pizza and water. Sometimes he came to read to the kids as a guest reader—they were infinitely more excited for him than Dr. Partridge, who had just finished up the last guest reading spot with a book about George Washington. Dieter always wowed them, big and animated as he changed his voice or walked around the room. You tried not to be jealous of their new favorite—even when Jennie shyly gave him a string bracelet she had made after school, insisting she made it just for him and blushing when he thanked her sincerely.

“Do I sense some competition?” You murmur to him jokingly, glancing down at the string tied to his wrist.

“Never,” he replies simply, a chaste squeeze of your hand. “Unless it’s for who’s their favorite. Then it’s no competition.” You hit his chest playfully, watching as he helped hang some of the kids’ art in the hallway.

He always seemed to know just when to step in—when you told him about the kids not believing in Santa, many of their parents struggling too much to keep the spirit alive, he bust into your classroom holiday party in a rented red suit, allowing each kid to tell him what they wanted before handing them a little book of puzzles and mazes from the dollar store. He answered questions easily, whether they be why some people celebrated different holidays (you had covered them the last few days) or why Santa never seemed to come to their house. For so many of them, the biggest gift they got that year, was the day of celebration at school.

When you fretted over the art program being cut—worried about what other after school activities would come to fruition—he volunteered readily, easily leading a makeshift version of the Wizard of Oz. He even convinced some of the kindergarteners to act as the munchkins, and he beamed when they all took their final bows. The mess-ups, the forgotten lines, the number of times he had to go out on stage and hold a kindergartener’s hand so they would say what they needed to—none of it mattered.

To either of you.

Dieter had a big heart. You knew that about him, of course. But you loved watching this side of him too. Considering the future—would he want kids of your own? Would he coach their baseball teams or attend dance recitals? Or would he be too busy being the big Hollywood star he was meant to be?

Dieter had gotten a few more roles since Jason died. He had an agent now, booking him small gigs on pilots and minor recurring characters. He wasn’t exactly recognizable, but he was doing well, and he was happy—even when pilots went unaired or characters were quickly killed off. He truly did everything with his full heart—even waitering at Louie’s—as you both fell further into your routines. He supported you a year after Jason’s death, acting as your anchor when you had to nervously give the dedication speech for a park bench in your hometown. You supported him when yet another pilot went nowhere, encouraging him to get the next one. You had fun staying in, had fun going out with friends, had fun just being together. You were both so hopelessly, endlessly in love with each other, you’re surprised you didn’t see it coming.

Dieter had a particular fondness with one of your classes—the first one he had helped out with, with Jennie and Matt and all the other kids trying to find their way after their home was rocked by a national tragedy at a young age. Even as they moved up a grade, you kept in touch with them, supporting them when they needed it, and eventually, most of them had cited you as their favorite teacher in their 5th grade yearbook. When the time came, you had been asked to give their graduation speech—it was a small thing, mostly for their classmates since you knew their parents wouldn’t make it, but you still fretted over your words like it was your inauguration speech. Dieter watched as you nervously dressed and redressed the kids, as you adjusted little caps and gowns that had been used in the ceremony for the last twenty years—you had asked him to come, to be your calm—which he was always good at. He sat in the back, dutifully watched as each 5th grader’s name was read out, clapping for all of them. He listened to your speech with rapt attention. He gave Jennie a big thumbs up when she stood to lead the pledge of allegiance, proudly displaying the bracelet she gave him, still tied to his wrist. He was probably more into the whole thing than the few parents who were able to make it.

Which is why it was so puzzling when, in the craze of getting caps and gowns Lysol-ed and put away and kids sent home and goodbyes and short yearbook signatures, you couldn’t find him when you were ready to head out. Most of the kids had left, a few stragglers around, and you looked around confusedly until Lizzie came up to you, holding out a few last caps.

“Hey—can you throw these in your closet? Mine is packed to the brim.” You nod, ignoring her broad smile with a shrug and walking toward your classroom instead, ready to stow a few more things in your closet which was already packed with enough stuff to cause an earthquake if pulled the wrong way. You notice the door cracked open to your room—not how you would’ve left it—and roll your eyes.

“Lizzie, did you forget—” Your words get caught in your throat as you step into the classroom, the items you were holding falling to the floor; each of your students stands there with a piece of construction paper, clearly drawn or painted or decorated by each of them with their own flair. Each of them have wide smiles as they fidget excitedly. They’re standing there in a distinct order—the large black letters over their drawings spelling out “Will you marry me?” while Dieter is down on one knee in front of them, presenting a ring box to you as he nervously smiles.

“Sweetheart—I know—I know I’m just another failing actor-turned-waiter in this big city. A nobody. Still, you’ve loved me anyway, all this time. You’ve always been my number one fan, even when I wasn’t even sure I would continue doing this. We’ve gone through too much already, but I can’t imagine going through it with anyone else—I don’t ever want to go through it with anyone else. I’ll be honest--finding you in that dumpster is the best thing that ever happened to me.” A few of the kids snicker behind him as he chuckles; you have tears in your eyes, a hand over your mouth, but you huff in amusement too as he says your full name. “I promise I will always love you. I will always be with you. You will always be my number one—in love, in life, in everything. Will you marry me?”

You take a moment to look at the scene in front of you; Dieter presenting a beautiful ring, down on one knee; the kids eagerly smiling and squirming, awaiting a response; the sun starting to set, streaming through the classroom windows. Nothing could be more perfect—Dieter couldn’t be more perfect. It’s why the answer comes out of you with a shout.

“Yes!” You choke out, and he crumples in relief, finally standing to you. He begins to slip the ring on your finger as you speak. “Of course I’ll marry you, Dee—I—oh, God,” you stutter, watching as he slides it on. “I promise, I love you so much—I’ll always love you as much as I do in this moment,” you sob, and he laughs lightly, tears pooling in his eyes as he pulls your face to his for a passionate kiss; his arms encircling you like he’ll never let you go as you move as one, lips locked--

Only to be broken up by a chorus of disgusted children.

“Hey—isn’t a lady allowed to kiss her future husband?” You ask jokingly, looking to the kids, and Dieter preens.

“No!” Jennie huffs, stomping a foot, and you both laugh as Dieter pulls you into another embrace and kiss.

 New York City, Present

You end up taking the next day off from work, emailing sub plans to Lizzie and then turning off to the world as you led into the weekend. Dieter showing up again, after all this time—it feels like he’s tilted your world off its axis. Again.

He had a knack for doing that. For waiting until things felt still, for waiting until you’re calm and happy and able to forget about him, push him to the edges of your mind until he whisks in like a storm, disrupting the quiet you worked hard to make. You used to love that about him; the way he would knock you off your axis, only to right you again; always the knight in shining armor. But now—now it’s been years. And you like your axis how it is.

You heard some things about Dieter throughout the years—it would have been hard not to. You never sought it out, but printed on magazines in checkout lanes and entertainment news on the TV while you got your nails done, or just by word of mouth, he always lingered. International superstar, Hollywood villain—none of it felt like the Dieter you knew. You watched as he rose in the ranks, taking on bigger and bigger projects, walking red carpets with beautiful women and giving interviews—even after you left, he always seemed fine. Happy. He never faltered in his career, never became reclusive with a broken heart. It all just cemented your decision; you had been holding him back. He could finally get everything he wanted—be who he wanted to be, who he was supposed to be—without you in the picture.

You watched the public downfall of his career from afar. It started with a very messy, very public breakup—another beautiful, rich actress accusing him of everything under the sun; he was never sober. He threatened her. He called her names, he ruined her life—none of it sounded like the Dieter you knew, but you supposed you didn’t really know him at the end, anyway. Still, you held out hope that it was all some ruse.

He fell into the drugs more after that; at least, according to the tabloids. She was right, he was never sober anymore—though he always claimed he had it under control. There had been stints of rehab that he didn’t complete, wild benders with alcohol and women and more drugs—every promise he ever made seemed insignificant. There was rumors he OD’d on a film set—some D-list threequel, four-quel, five-quel that barely even made it to screen. That was where he met his latest blond—young, pretty thing. “Normal,” like you. It made you want to vomit.

It wasn’t that you held on hope for him—no matter what your heart whispered late at night. It wasn’t that he was a stranger, the man you thought would always be linked to you. It was that these women—this life he was leading—he never once reached out to you. Checked on your parents, asked how that shitty park bench in your hometown was holding up. You thought, at first, that he might—the ball had to be in his court. You knew you’d never get close to Hollywood superstar Dieter Bravo. He needed to get to you.

So you stayed in the same apartment; kept the landline for way too long. You knew it was a long shot, knew your life wasn’t a shitty rom com—even if he did star in one—but still. It was like he completely forgot about you.

So you tried to do the same. Tried to move, realized you couldn't afford it, ended up staying; ditched the landline; pulled yourself up, alone. You poured yourself into your work—PS 365 always the same—and ignored the pain in your heart until you could compartmentalize it like another lesson plan. Everything you had learned about him had essentially been against your will, stuck in the same compartment until it was close to bursting, poured out over wine nights with Lizzie or alone in the dark.

She knew not to ask when she saw you on Monday. Lizzie, for all the things she heard, for everything she knew, was a saint. She never leaked it to the press, never pushed when you were wrung dry. She did her best to keep all things Dieter Bravo out of your life—as much as she could—and just be a steady, loving friend, even when things fell apart.

That, of course, didn’t stop her from giving you a pointed look when you walked into the teacher’s room for lunch.

“Don’t say it, Liz,” you sigh.

“I didn’t say anything,” she mumbles innocently around her salad. “I just—is everything okay?” “He’s fine. I stayed until he woke up and then left.”

“Okay—” she huffs. “But what about you? Are you okay?”

“I’m not the one who overdosed on school property—” “I don’t care. You’re the one I care about,” she retorts, and you shrink a bit. “He has the whole world to care about him and how he’s doing. You have me.” Dr. Partridge walks in, eyeing your table, and you wither.

“I—I’m okay. Or I will be. I don’t know,” you shrug, and watch as the principal makes her way over, calling you by your last name.

“I trust that—things—have been dealt with?” She gives both you and Lizzie a look, and Liz rolls her eyes.

“Yes, ma’am,” you murmur, breaking into your own lunch. “Won’t happen again.”

“I’ve brought in counselors for the children—some are rightfully upset.” “I understand that, Anya,” you retort. “But I did not ask him to come here. I did not ask him to come back and ruin my life again. He knows where I work—it’s the same classroom as twenty years ago. So if you’re trying to blame me for this—”

“I’m not,” she replies quickly. “I—I just think—” She pauses, gathering herself. “The counselors are here. If you need them.” You soften a bit; Anya had always been like a second mother, a mentor, a professional advisor for you. She didn’t deserve your ire, but she also did everything by the books, and for as fiercely as she loved and protected her school, she would have anyone’s neck for potentially ruining things.

“I’ll think about it,” you placate, and she walks away, satisfied, as Liz rolls her eyes again.

“You were saying—you’re not okay?”

“Liz,” you sigh. “I—I’ll get there, you know? I just—it’s brought up a lot of things. He did what he does best—swoops in at the last minute to try to fix everything. But some stuff—I don’t know if it can be fixed,” you offer honestly. “I told him if he gets clean—then maybe we could talk. But we both know—he’s probably already forgotten what happened and is on to the next catastrophe,” you roll your eyes, noticing that Lizzie has stopped mid-chew to pull out her phone. “What?” “I saw this on Instagram yesterday—” she continues scrolling as she speaks, pulling up something before handing her phone to you. On her recommended page is a picture of Dieter looking particularly haggard, walking into a white building. The location is tagged as the Tribeca Opioid Center—opening the link, you see it’s another rehab program. You look between the phone and Liz in shock.

“I—I’m sure it’s just his team making him clean up his act. The press from overdosing in a school could not have been good--” you try to explain.

“Maybe,” Liz offers, as the school bell rings. You barely touched your lunch. “But maybe not.”

The rest of the school year moves as it always does, albeit a bit more focused on safety. The kids are shaken up, and you spend some time going over what to do in an emergency, how to get help and find trusted adults, and a watered-down version of what drugs can do to you to assuage their fears until you can fall back into your routine. Unfortunately, with the state of the world, they were all too familiar with tragedy, and were able to put the preparation information away in their brains until they needed it to get back to spelling tests and kickball.

Soon enough, it was like Dieter had never happened. Lost in standardized testing and end-of-year recommendations and IEPs, you could almost forget how upsetting it was to watch him almost die. To sit in that hospital room. To see him again.

You could almost get lost in the routine, until you shuffled through your mail on the four-floor walkup to your apartment, and saw a letter addressed to you with the return address only listing “TOC.”

You ripped it open in confusion, anticipating another request for donations or a credit card offer with awful rates. But you stop in your tracks just outside your door, dropping the other items in your arms when you pull out a hand-written letter in familiar scrawled capital letters.

Sweetheart—

I did what you asked. It was time. Seeing you again, even like that—it was like you opened my eyes again. You always knew how to do that.

I’ve been here for almost 90 days now—a new record for me. This is one of the last steps we have—to write a letter to someone we’ve hurt because of our drug use. The next one is supposed to be to someone who inspires us to be better—I decided to kill two birds with one stone.

I’m sorry. There are no better words to convey more than that. I am so, truly sorry for all the hurt you’ve been through because of me. I was hurting too, and I guess—that’s why this all started. With the pain pills. At least that’s what the therapist says. I was trying to deal with my hurt, and nothing seemed to work, until it did. And then I couldn’t stop.

I don’t want to bore you with all that. I’m almost done here—a few more weeks. I made a promise to you, and I intend to keep it—I want to get clean. I need to get clean. I think I’m getting there.

I suppose I intended to keep all those promises we used to make, but this time I really

When we go to group, so many of these guys say this is the hardest thing they’ve ever done in their life. They’re right—it’s hard. Really hard.

But the hardest thing I ever did in my life is watching you walk away and knowing you weren’t coming back. I would do this a thousand times over if it meant that never happened. Even all these years later, it’s you who inspires me. In my job, in my life—in everything.

In a few weeks, they’re having a thing. They call it a “graduation” since it’s the end of the program. I know you’ve been to a lot of those—usually a bunch of 11-year-olds—but I included an invitation here. I know I fucked up and I don’t deserve you there. But I’d like you there, if you want.

-D

There were two things you refused to tolerate in your classroom; lateness, and giving up on something without a good reason.

Unfortunately, you had already ruined one of those things—the subway shut down mid-ride, leaving you stranded for 45 minutes somewhere underground while the teenager next to you blasted music from a speaker and the old woman across from you read the paper, huffing and mumbling over every new headline. Eventually, they had fixed whatever the problem was, the trains starting to move again, but the damage was done.

The second, you were close to ruining as well—alarm bells rang in your head as you ran the three blocks to the building, up the stairs, and checked in at the main office. You persevered all the way until you reached the room, but then, it was like your feet were cemented to the floor.

The room was nice, unassuming. Bright, though you guessed the large windows were tinted from the outside for privacy despite being several floors up. TV’s lined the top of the walls, playing various outdated sitcoms or the news. Several tables were set up, silver metal bolted to the floor along with the attached chairs. One long one along the back wall held snacks and drinks, mostly untouched—but each table held families in varying degrees of conversation. Kids sitting on laps, wives and husbands holding hands. Everyone full of congratulations and pride. Families.

And at a table off to the side sat Dieter. Alone. No one to celebrate with, to pat him on the back. And you realized—maybe you had made a mistake.

You weren’t his family—not anymore. You weren’t anything to him but the woman who saved his life. Sure, you had poured over his letter—analyzed every crossed T and dotted I, practically memorized the words until you could hear them in his voice. But you shouldn’t have come.

You turn to leave, lost in the shuffle of the other families and friends but then you hear it—your name, from his lips. And you look up.

And you can almost see Dieter from 20 years ago in that face, standing in his spot at the table. The sheer hope; the happiness. The awestruck, goofy smile, the wide eyes with a few more wrinkles. He somehow looks 20 years younger and fifteen years older from how you remember him, but the unbridled joy he radiates at seeing you—you make your way to his table.

“I—I can’t believe you came,” he offers quietly. He moves to hug you, but you both dance around each other, settling after no greeting at all.

“You asked me to,” you reply smally. You both sit there awkwardly; Dieter drums his hands on the table as you both fidget. Something hangs over you both, but discomfort seems to cloud either of you.

“You—you look great,” he tries, an innocent smile.

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” You huff sarcastically, and he shakes his head.

“Not when you look like that,” he gestures. He can still make your heart skip a beat after all these years.

“You look good, too, Dee. Healthy,” you add, and he releases a sardonic chuckle. “I mean it. You look good.”

“I feel good,” he replies simply. “Well—better. I’m still—the road doesn’t end here,” he scrubs a hand over his face. “Still gotta keep up with everything, you know?” You don’t, not really, but you nod anyway.

“I hope you do.”

“I will,” he assures you. “I promise.”

“Dieter, don’t—“ You bite your tongue before you can get into it, not wanting to ruin the moment, but it seems to spill out anyway. “—Don’t make any more promises. Please.”

“Baby—” “Dieter, no,” you try, a little more forcefully. He snaps his mouth shut, shaking his head and mumbling. “You said if I got clean, we could talk.”

“Is that why you invited me here?” You narrow your gaze. “To prove you could get clean?” “That’s really what you’re asking?” He asks incredulously. “Everything that’s happened and that’s your question?”

“No—I have so many questions, Dee. But I thought we could start there.” He huffs, scrubbing a hand over his scruff. Most of the other families have left by now, eager to get home, but you shift uncomfortably in the metal chair. Your heart is in your throat, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the swooping pain of heartbreak—to fade and be forgotten in the fray.

“I asked you here because everything I said in that letter was true. You are—were—my inspiration, and I wanted—I don’t know. I just—I needed to see you.”

“Is that why you came to my classroom?”

“I don’t even know if I knew I was going to your classroom. I—I was so rough, it was like my feet just led me there.” You nod, fiddling with your fingers in your lap. “I’m sorry—I know it was fucked up. To make you go through all that, after Jason and everything—I really didn’t intend to—”

“No one intends to overdose, Dieter,” you mumble, and he deflates.

“I know. And I’m sorry. There’s really nothing else for me to say but that.”

He looks sadly sincere, but without an acceptance of his apology, you both begin to look around awkwardly. The tension between you is clear, like some unmoving rock, and you watch one of the TVs in the corner to distract you a moment. An older movie is playing—daytime TV—about a substitute teacher trying to turn his elementary school class into a rock band. You chuckle a bit, watching as the man tries to teach his students to play guitar.

“You know, I always thought you’d be a good Dewey,” you try, throwing a lifeline as you raise your eyebrows toward the screen. Dieter looks at it, then back to you.

“I almost was,” he admits sheepishly, and you pin him with a look to explain. “I had a callback for that movie. Would’ve been my first starring role.”

“I don’t think I knew that.” “You didn’t,” he admits. “It—uh—they wanted me to fly out to LA for a week. It was the same week as Jason’s dedication ceremony, and you needed me there—” Your face falls, and he quickly compensates. “I told them 'no.'”

“Dee—” You start, tears beginning to form. Losing out on a role like that—even just the opportunity for it—would’ve been a big deal. It could have put him on the map well before he actually “made it,” would have launched his career.  A huge sacrifice over a speech in a local park to your family and friends that made you nervous. “You know I would’ve told you to go if I knew—” “I know,” he cuts you off. “It’s why I never told you. I wanted to be here. For you. With you.” He looks around, trying to brush it off, but you finally reach a tentative hand over the table and lock your fingers with his.

“Thank you, Dieter.” He nods, squeezing your hand back. For the first time since you walked in, he smiles—really smiles—even if it’s small.

“I would do it again in a heartbeat,” he admits. You both sit quietly, enjoying each other’s company a bit more now that the ice is broken, your hand in his. A clinic worker begins clearing things from the tables, signaling the time to leave.

“What will you do now?”

“Uh—not sure,” he admits, running a hand over his neck as he stands with you to walk you out. “I—I don’t know if I should go back to my house in LA. I just—there’s a lot of memories there. Triggers. And hiding spots. I think—it might be too tempting.” You nod in understanding. “Plus, I have to keep up with my therapist here, so—I don’t know. Maybe a hotel for a while.” You turn to look at him, approaching the exit to the clinic. He stops, looking back at you with some level of familiarity in those chocolate eyes; some level of fondness that can’t be extinguished. You take a deep breath, then take the plunge your heart has been waiting for.

“You know—the spare bedroom is free.”

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