Tumgik
#dieter bravo/female reader
mypoisonedvine · 1 year
Text
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...)
Tumblr media
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
3K notes · View notes
chronically-ghosted · 4 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
i crawl home to her
rating: 18+ explicit
pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader
word count: 8.2K
summary: you bring dieter home to meet your family over the holidays.
warnings/tags: discussions of food, mentions of weight gain, brief biphobia, bad family dynamics, hiding parts of yourself to make yourself more palatable, dom!Dieter when his type-A girlfriend needs him to, smut in places it shouldn’t be, a family can be two people, bad jokes, mentions of marriage and kids, one light booty smack, peep the super obvious bob's burgers reference, minimal edited, you can pry the image of dieter in ugg's from my cold dead hands
a/n: i've caved and finally added to the evergrowing pile of "Pedro boy fucks you in your childhood home". @sp00kymulderr i told you i'd get it out today -- it might be tomorrow for you, but it's not yet midnight! i present to you part 2 of merry thanksgiving nonsense2023!
🤍Masterlist
Tumblr media
You nearly miss the exit off the gray-slushy highway because you’re trying to remember Aunt Gayle’s food allergies. 
And Uncle Rick’s preferred way of taking his coffee in the morning.
And the right detergent to use when washing your niece’s clothes, or else your sister will come after you with a hatchet. 
“Baby, you’re gnawing your fingernails bloody.” 
You blink, surprised to find your hand anywhere near your mouth, the other white-knuckling the steering wheel, and to your enormous embarrassment, he was right – you’d pulled up several hangnails, leaving tiny pink gouges, right under your immaculate holiday nails you got for the express purpose of looking presentable in all the inevitable Insta photos your sister demands every year. 
“Fuck,” you mutter and curl your fingers into your fist as if to hide temptation. From the passenger’s seat, Dieter frowns.
“Twizzler to make it better?” He spins the red, bendy candy enticingly. Your mind suddenly flashes back to the time you both got way too high on his new bong and he made the exact same motions with his dick. You had never laughed so hard in your life. 
The red candy whipping around in a circle, you groan into the steering wheel. 
“I’m turning around. This was a terrible idea.”
“What are you so nervous about?” Dieter half-way laughs. He pulls his Ugg-stuffed feet off the dashboard and sits up. Crumbs from the Starbucks Christmas sugar cookie spill off his “Kris Kingle My Jingle” sweater and onto the seat, but it’s those fucking earnest, curious eyes that always seem to rock your world. You occasionally don’t like to be touched when you’re stressed, so out of the corner of your eye, you see his hand waver before falling back in his lap. “It’s just dinner.” 
“Yeah, but it’s holiday dinner with my family. They’re all so judgy and mean and every time I come home for more than twenty-four hours, I’m reminded exactly why I fucked off to California.”
“Maybe they’re jealous you’re a hot shot director,” Dieter suggests. “Or that you have a ruggedly handsome movie star boyfriend.” Eyebrow raised, he twirls the Twizzler again and manages to bite it out of the air. You half-way expected it to smack him in the face. “They know I’m coming, right?”
You bite your lip, the last phone call with your mother still achingly heavy in your chest.
“You know what she asked when I told her I was bringing home the one and only Dieter Bravo as my boyfriend to meet my family?” You don’t need to look at him to see the furrow in his brow, the slight curve in his shoulders. You prop your elbow up against the window, rubbing your forehead with your fingers. “She asked if it was a career move. If I was dating you to get ahead in the industry . . . like I’m trying to sleep my way to the top.”
There’s a fraught silence. You listen to the wheels churn dirty black snow so you don’t have to look at him. 
“Then why in the world would you start with my dumb ass?”
Despite yourself and despite what’s coming, you smile. But you fight it, wrapping your lip up between your teeth. So he continues:
“If you really want to make it big, you gotta date someone at least forty years older than you. So, what? We’re talking seventy. But, wow, think of the money. Bet he has his dick dripped in gold just to keep it hard–,”
“Dieter!” You swat at him, smile too big to contain, and he grins, grabbing you by the wrist. “That’s terrible!”
“But I made you laugh, didn’t I?”
You smirk. “Barely. More like ha ha than a big chuckle.” 
He nips your palm, the rough hair on his chin scraping the soft skin. 
By some minor miracle and a forcible act of God, your mother is allowing you two to share a bedroom. Not out of respect for your relationship, of course, but there is simply not enough room to spare. You watch those perfect lips imprint themselves in the cup of your hand and you’ve never been more thrilled to have to share a double bed. God, you cannot be this wet before you have to look your mother in the eye. You retract your hand with a breathy exhale. 
“We don’t have to stay long,” Dieter says, a weight to his gaze that proves he hasn’t completely blown off your concern. He twists his body in the seat and crosses his arms, his shoulder pressed into the seat. He watches you with his head against the headrest. “I hate seeing you like this.” 
“I’m already on thin ice because we’re just staying two days.” You shake your head. “My sister and her family have already been there since Monday and plan to stay the rest of the week.” You inhale, hold, and exhale until you can feel your shoulders drop. “It’s just . . . I’ve worked so hard to make something of my life, to be someone I can be proud of, and it just doesn’t matter to them. They want me to marry a banker or something, and quit my job to do cutesy family blogging on Instagram. They’ve never, ever liked the real me.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you see something come over Dieter’s face. Not annoyance, or irritation, but as if someone kick started his brain. But it passes and he brushes the back of your hand resting over the gearshift with his fingers. 
“I like the real you,” he says quietly. “In fact, I really, really, really like the real you. I gotta keep you around. Who else is gonna remember the name of the best Chinese food place when I’m high?” 
Dieter is sweet, knows the wonders his smile can accomplish, with a twinkle in his eyes. A bit crude, a little distractible, but ultimately, well-meaning. However, he seemed physically incapable of maintaining sincerity. Which in the beginning, was also cute, but now, in a moment of crisis, it was boyish in a way that made you worried. A little scared. Like too much pressure and he’d break.
Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on? 
History says no. 
So, maybe you’d just carry everything. 
You smile at him and return your hand to the steering wheel.
“I’m not going anywhere.” 
Tumblr media
The car squeals as it stops in the driveway, wheels crunching the cold ice. You look up at your childhood home with the same unease and trepidation that’s been there since childhood.
“Go let ‘em know we’re here,” Dieter says as he unbuckles his belt. There’s still crumbs in the knit of his sweater. At least his sweatpants are clean. But there’s nothing you can do about those Uggs right now– 
His hand squeezes yours, centering the universe that’s spinning like the inside of a martini shaker. You can feel the weight of his gaze press into your chest – heavy, warm, forgiving. He smiles, then slides into a smirk.
“Chillax, bro. Your vibes are not gnarly.”
You huff, trying to offer a smile that’s not a grimace. This was such a bad idea. Maybe it’s not too late to go pay for one of those mail-order boyfriends and keep Dieter in his nice California, hippie plastic wrap. 
You hear your name being called from the porch and that smile fully plummets into a grimace. Gathering from that reserve of confidence that makes you look at male writers, directors, and (yes) actors and tell them they’re idiots and get the fuck off your set, you open the door and head around the corner to the front of the house. 
Yeah, in the face of your mother, that reserve is basically a trickle.
She’s waiting for you on the porch, red dish towel in hand. 
“I thought that might be you, darling! I’d recognize that squeak from that rust bucket anywhere.” She smiles, arms wide, as you bend down to give her a hug. You've had to bend down to hug your mother for years now and you still feel about two feet tall. “How are you? You’ve been good? You look pale, but you’ve definitely been eating, haven’t you?”
She pinches your cheek as if to show you all the extra fat you have on your face. 
“Where’s Dad?” You try not to look like you’re tearing your face out of her grip and glance into the surprisingly quiet house over her shoulder. “Aren’t Emma and Dan supposed to be here?”
“Your father is out finishing his latest woodworking piece. He’s been at it for days, no matter how much I beg him to help with the food or the house. It’s all on me again to save the holidays.” 
As it is every year.
“Your sister and her family went out to get more sweet potatoes. They eat sweet potatoes in California, don’t they?”
Here it comes.
“Yes, Mom, they eat sweet potatoes.”
“Oh good, I thought it’d be considered a carb.” She frowns, hands on her hips as if you’re about to get a proper scolding. “Now you told me you’re going to be bringing your fancy actor boyfriend. Damian Bravado, right? I cooked for exactly seven people, darling, a single empty chair will throw the whole thing off!”
“Yes, Mom, my boyfriend, Dieter Bravo, is here. He’s just in the–,”
Someone, distinctly not your boyfriend, or at least not the boyfriend you left in the car, waltzes up the front steps.
Rings gone.
Earring gone.
Gloves that would make Ryan Gosling seethe with envy covering the tattoo on his hand.
His hair slicked back and curling deliciously around his ears, his dark jeans cover the laces of maroon Timberland boots. His black turtleneck clings to his wide chest, the leather jacket broken in enough to be soft, but not so used there’s tears in the seams. And, to top it all off, his cream-colored scarf curled around his throat looks like it came out of a Hallmark movie.
Maybe you are in a Hallmark movie. Maybe on the way up the porch, you slipped and banged your head and all of this is a bizarre, weirdly-erotic dream. Maybe someone actually did call in a mail-order boyfriend who looks exactly like Dieter and the real one is hog-tied in the trunk of your car. Maybe – 
You’d heard of quick costume changes, but this is ridiculous.
“Debbie!” He calls out, like they’ve been best friends for twenty years. He flourishes a wrapped bouquet of flowers, bright red against the white snow, and hands them to her after bouncing up the steps. His cheeks are tinged pink, as if he’d run the block, but without a drip of sweat on him, he’s simply glowing with what could be presumed as the holiday spirit. 
To your never-ending and horrific surprise, your mother squeals as she takes the flowers. 
“Poinsettias! My –,”
“Favorite, I know.” You stumble out of the way when he leans down and kisses her on her cheek. “And they’re fake, so you can reuse them next year. But you’d never know it at $300 a pop.”
Okay, yes, this is a clone of your boyfriend, a walking holiday Ken doll – Dieter never, ever brags about money. 
“I’m not a banker or anything, but I like to spoil my girls.” 
The bastard winks at you. 
Your mother has turned to gooey, drippy putty in his hands. She’s redder than the hand towel and the poinsettias combined. She flounces, flutters, eyes springing back and forth between the ruby-red flowers in her hands and Dieter’s achingly handsome face – one that hasn’t dimmed that thousand gigawatt smile since he first arrived. 
“Oh, oh my goodness – well, this is just lovely – it’s so nice to finally meet you – I can’t believe she’s been hiding you from us all this time – please, please come in, you must be freezing!”
She backs into the house, still staring at the flowers, then as if she hadn’t been living here for the past fifteen years of her life, she bounces towards the dining room, then on a quick turn, heads for the kitchen, then turns again to the hallway closet. 
“Oh gracious – where did I put – it must be – come in and shut the door behind you – you know where your room is, darling, I’ll be back in just a second, I just have to – ah, these are spectacular –”
A door down the hallway finally swings shut and muffles your mother’s insane rambling. 
So dazed, you don’t see him move until he’s pressed you up against the glass etching of the door, his hand palming your hip and the other diving to cup the back of your neck. He tugs you down into his mouth before you have time to blink.
Jesus Christ, mint? His breath smells like mint??
God, he even fucking kisses like a Hallmark Prince. His mouth pulls you into him and your brain whites out – careless of the little whimper you make, careless of the fact that literally any one of your family members could walk in right now, careless that you’re teetering into him as if on string. Your breath flutters down his throat and he huffs through his nose. The tips of his fingers are chilly enough that you shiver at his touch.
He edges the bottom of your lip with his tongue before pulling back and tightening his grip in your hair. 
And there’s that Dieter smirk you are all too intimately familiar with. 
“How’m I doing?” He mutters. His gaze flickers between your eyes, your nose, and your kissed-pink lips. “I’d say I got Mama Bear on my side.”
Maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t always like this. Between the fresh breath scent in his mouth, the fragrance of his much-too expensive cologne permeating your senses, and his thick thigh shoved under your groin, you are embarrassingly boneless in his arms. You pluck your fingers over the soft leather collar at the back of his neck, just as much to inspect the jacket, as much as to release more of that delicious smell. 
“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” You mutter, smirking, as you wind your fingers into his curls. “Spoil my girls, what the fuck was that?”
“Ah, ha, ha, ha,” he gloats as he lowers his head to your neck. You expect a warm kiss in the length of skin you’ve exposed to him, but instead his teeth lightly tease your throat above your pulse point and you feel your knees buckle as your face warms. “I can be very charming when I want to be.” He squeezes your ass as if to make a point. 
You hold back a moan, flattening it to a shudder in your chest. You can feel his grin in your neck and he shifts you, pulls you closer and compresses you deeper into the wooden door. You can feel your conscious thought melting through your fingers so you blink, lick your lips, try to wiggle out from under his teeth.
“This isn’t a Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. This is Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” You gasp his name into the foyer of your childhood home when he licks you from the curve of your shoulder up under the soft place below your ear. Your hips jerk unconsciously, baser instincts seeking out the friction of his jeans, and you push against his biceps. “Dieter, she’ll be back any minute. She can’t – can’t see us like this.”
You’ve never heard him chuckle like the way he does, so darkly pleased with himself.
“Once I’m done schmoozing her, your father, your sister and her – what did you call him – cardboard husband, we’ll fuck in front of them and they won’t say a word.”
“Dieter!” You shove him just as your mother returns from the kitchen.
She frowns and you feel the scolding coming, the scent of Dieter so obviously entangled in you. You might as well be wearing a sign that reads, hi, yes, I’ve been recently groped why do you ask?
“Did you forget where your room is? Honestly, what would you do without me? Now, follow me and I’ll remind you.”
Tumblr media
Schmooze he did. 
From the same magical bag of weirdly specific and perfect gifts, Dieter presents a bottle of Buffalo Trace bourbon and two very illegal, but very Cuban cigars. Your father forgets to scowl in the face of some of the most expensive bourbon in the world. 
For your sister, he somehow senses that material objects won’t go as far, so he endears himself to your niece first. Asking her questions about her doll, about her school, what she likes to play with her friends and how crazy it is that hopscotch is his favorite game too. 
In twenty minutes, he’s on his hands and knees, black sleeves pulled up over his immaculate forearms, and etching out a hopscotch board with pink chalk. He nods and interjects while your niece runs around him, demanding a dragon in the corner, or a crown in another, and suddenly your biological clock starts blaring like an air-raid siren. 
“He’s so good with kids,” your sister mutters to you from the door to the garage. A single glance tells you she’s under the same effect of watching a hot man play with a child. You’re so aroused and confused you can’t even eye her with jealousy. 
“Mhmm hmm.” 
“When are you going to have some of your own?” 
And you’re back inside before you can see the look on his face as he lifts his head.
Tumblr media
It would be insulting to call it eerie. 
It’s not like he’s physically incapable of smelling clean, or dressing nice, or even combing his hair. You’ve seen him do it time and time again for galas and interviews. Hell, that time he took you on a date to get sushi in the tallest building in Toronto, he didn’t look that much different from how he does right now . . . and yet . . .
You feel your face scrunch in suspicion when he remembers your aunt’s food allergies, how your Uncle Rick likes his after-dinner coffee. 
Dieter might forget to put on pants, but he’s never forgotten the important dates of your relationship. He remembers what you were wearing the first night you kissed, but can’t remember to take out the pizza before it burns in the oven. 
This, this Dieter, feels wrong. 
You watch him laugh with your father and uncle by the fireplace with brandy in his hands as you work with your mother and sister to unwrap a dozen saran-wrapped pies. He comes by later and takes the stack of plates from your mother’s hands and assures her he’ll do the dishes, as thanks for such a wonderful meal.
This Dieter Bravo needs a smoking jacket and uses words like “wonderful meal”. 
Initial surprise at his near magical transformation from the car this morning long gone, you sit with this uncomfortable feeling, as everyone around you eats pie and laughs and looks all the part of a fucking Hallmark card for “joyful festivities”, long enough to finally understand it for what it is:
Anger. 
Shame. Guilt. 
Hot embarrassment. 
You look at the man who’s invaded your boyfriend’s body as he charms the pants off your mother and father, and ugly, heavy embarrassment boils over in your chest. Washing the knife in your throat down with your fourth glass of wine all night, you excuse yourself with the last bit of breath in your lungs before ducking upstairs, then stumbling to your childhood bathroom you once shared, and share again, with your sister. 
You lock the door forcefully in lieu of slamming it shut and sit down on the tile, your head against your knees. Rationally, there’s a part of you that knows this shouldn’t affect you like it is. Women would kill for a boyfriend like this – your sister very nearly jumped him in the garage. 
But that’s just the thing – this isn’t your boyfriend. This isn’t the man you spend your days and nights with and this isn’t the man you fell in love with. This isn’t the Dieter you want to show the world. 
A soft knock comes from the other side of the door and it breaks you out of your self-deprecating spiral. 
“Just a second,” you call out as you stand. You flush the empty toilet (this night is filled with ruses after all) and twitch the faucet on for two seconds. But when you open the door, you’re immediately cowed back in. 
“Dieter, what are you–,”
“Are you okay?” Beneath the veneer of the Million Dollar Man, his eyes are soft, coaxing the anxiety out of you. “You looked pale when you left.” He tucks an escaped strand of hair over your ear, watching how his fingers brush up against your skin. He gently tangles his fingers in your hair as he pulls back. He smirks. “Mom’s dressing wasn’t that bad.” 
White-hot shame blooms again and you turn your head from him, tugging your hair out of his reach. You catch his hurt expression out of the corner of your eye. 
“I’m fine. Just needed some air.” 
“You’re not a good liar. I’ve told you that.” His voice is clipped. Not irritated, but not interested in lengthy bouts of misdirection either.
“Well, I don’t feel like bearing my problems to Mr. Perfect.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He crosses his arms, shoulders swelling in the space of the tiny bathroom, and he leans on the sink. 
“It means you’re a better liar than me so I guess you’ll have to do it for the both of us.” 
You know it’s ridiculous to try and move around him – but maybe this Dieter wouldn’t care if you left angry. Even sober, he could manhandle you without a second thought, but between the heat of the drink in your throat and he’s blurred at the edges, you know you’re fighting a losing battle.
“Dieter, please, just –,”
He stands his ground, effectively blocking the door, and you huff, pushing up against his waist with your hands, your teeth bared behind your lips. He steps back, you think you’ve won a mile, but then his hands grasp so firmly around your elbows, your entire consciousness is pulled into where his fingers curl against your skin.
He gently, but seriously, shakes you slightly.
“Stop fighting me. You tell me what I did wrong and we’ll talk about this.”
The past two weeks of dread, and fear, and worry, and shame – shame that this is your family, this is how you go to pieces around them, this is all you can offer him – slam into your chest and your breathing hitches. The fingers at his chest dig into his shirt. The fourth glass of wine makes your eyes hot and tight.
“This isn’t you.” 
You grimace in the bright light of the bathroom and your confession. But beyond your closed eyes, his demeanor hasn’t changed. 
“What’s not me?”
A tear slips out the moment you open your mouth, your throat closing and gagging on your words. You swallow and try again, eyes peeling open to stare at the curve of his shoulder. 
“You’re Dieter Bravo. You dry-clean your favorite pajamas to preserve the material. You do astrology charts of people who piss you off to find out how to best get back at them. You paint until four in the morning and sleep in our bed until I wake you up–,”
Your heart thrusts its way into your airways and cuts off your ability to speak. You know you’re not making a lot of sense, but all you can think of right now is how much you want to peel this fucking black, Steve Jobs-esque, goddamn ugly-ass turtleneck apart with your bare hands. Like freeing a mermaid from a net. He squeezes your waist, his broad palm settled in the curve of your lower back. 
“Darling, I don’t see why this has you so sad –,”
“They won’t fall in love with you like I did.” You lift your watery gaze to him, unable to stop the spilling of tears. You always got teary when you drank a bit too much, but fuck, if you didn’t love him so much, you wouldn’t be so mad . . . at yourself. “I hate that you feel like you have to do this to be accepted by my family. I hate that they can’t see what makes you so special to me. I hate . . . I hate that they don’t see the real you.” 
And out of nowhere, he smiles. 
Never one to shy away from bodily fluids, Dieter kisses your tear-soaked cheeks, his hands rising up your back, taking their time to press into the curve of your hips, the bones of your ribs, the high arch of your spine, before settling on your cheeks. He kisses your wet mouth, thumbs against the corners of your lips like a soft leather bridle. He holds you, just like that, until your heart eases, stops racing in your chest, and you lean more into the kiss, chasing instead of hiding. You wrap your fingers around his wrists as he pulls away.
“With all due respect, this is just another gig for me.” His gentle smile hides no bitterness, no anger. No disgust. “I know what people like this are like, how they think, what they want. What they value.” He smears away the cold tears from your skin with his thumbs. “It’s fun, in a way, to infiltrate their little circles. It’s all fake, it’s all bullshit, and fortunately I’m fantastic at bullshit.”
You let out a watery laugh and he reaches behind you for some toilet paper to dry your tears. He blots your eyes for you before you can even take the tissue. 
“You’re not forcing me to do anything, baby,” he murmurs. “My family was exactly the same way, so I know how the game is played.”
“Yeah, and you don’t talk to them anymore. I just wish I had your bravery to cut them out of my life like you did.” 
Dieter’s mouth twitches. “Well, that had more to do with the fact that I like to occasionally make out with boys, than dysfunctional family dynamics.”
You squeeze his forearm as he continues to clean your face, trying to catch his eyes but they’d gone hard where a moment ago they were soft. He thinks, using the silence to carefully fix your make up with his thick thumb under your eyelashes to lift off the smeared mascara. 
He didn’t talk much about his life before Hollywood, but when he did, you understood why he was so closed off about it.
“Let’s put it this way: they did the cutting off, not me. And even if we have to be completely different people, your family still talks to you. I’m not saying that to guilt you, or compare trauma scars, but . . . most times we can’t pick who we love, but sometimes we have to.” 
You nod, a sense of ease washing over you. His small, I don’t know if I should say this but I’m gonna smile widens across his mouth. 
“It’s okay if they don’t see the real me, because I know you do.” He finally pulls away the tissue, his mouth pulled up in sweet earnest. “What can I do to make you feel better?”
A physical string connected between your ribs and his could not have tugged you faster. Tripping into his wide, warm chest, you drop your head onto his collarbone as you wrap your arms around his torso tighter than his own rib cage.
“Just . . .”
His bulky arms pull you into his chest, the bristles of his beard scratching at your temple. It’s not until you sink away from your own thoughts, into the silence in the bathroom, that you realize your breathing is synced with his. 
That realization hits you particularly hard, that without trying, without meaning to, you become one with him – you turn and bury your face into the pulse of his neck. If you can get to his heartbeat, maybe that’ll calm you too. Dig through the crust of the earth and end up in China. You shift in his arms, and he does too. Dieter cups the back of your head, thumb rubbing the arch of your skull. His entire arm circles your back. 
“What do you need, hm, baby? What can I give you, huh?”
You know he doesn’t mean it like that, but the girth, the weight of his voice has your toes curling in your shoes. His rasp is so often used to light that first spark. 
“Dieter –,” the moment shifts and so do you. You squirm, itching for his face in your hands, his mouth over yours, but he holds you steady. Holds you firm. So firm, you can feel he’s half-hard in his jeans. 
Oh. 
Maybe he did mean it like that. 
You press your tongue against his pulse point, your fingers splayed across the back of his rib cage, and he shudders. You’re about to bite down, when his hands peel your fingers from his back and pinch your wrists in one single, meaty grip. Heart suddenly thundering in your chest, he steps back to allow for just enough room to turn you – barely any at all – and pushes you face down on the sink counter, your wrists clasped over your ass behind you.
Cold marble pressing up against your tits, your face turned towards the window and the towel bar where you used to hang your Barbie swimsuits when you were seven, you feel his other massive palm dip under your sweater and press flat against the ridges of your spine. He hums when you let out a small whine. Flexes his fingers when you wiggle your ass against him. You seek out the marble with your cheek, heat rising under your skin, arousal suddenly burning hot in your low belly. 
“This is what you need, hm, baby? Need me to touch you? To feel you?” He murmurs. Dieter always did like playing with his food. You nod helplessly, cheek sticky against the marble. He shifts his hips into the crack of your ass, with just enough pressure to have you bucking back against him, but not enough to find relief from the stirring between your legs. 
He strokes your hair away from your neck, fingers brushing over your collarbone, gaze languid and slow. Like he can see where he needs to pluck to unravel you. 
“Why is my baby so tense?” He muses quietly, patronizing. His hand maps your spine in a single palm, edging slowly up your back until, with two fingers, he pinches your bra open. You feel the snap of the release and you rub your nose against the edge of the counter, whimpering. “Don’t I take care of you?”
You gulp. “Y-y-yes, you treat– treat me so good. I want it.” 
He has you pressed too tightly against the counter to slip his hand down your front, the edge pinching your hips. So, instead, with your hands still pinned against your tailbone, he palms your ass and rubs a thick finger down between your legs and up over the seam of your jeans. The whine building in your throat breaks into an open moan when he presses your zipper teeth into your clit.  
“Want what? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.” 
“F-fingers – tongue – fuck – y-your cock. Anything inside me.” 
The surprised, breathless chuckle that reverberates down to the button of his jeans seared against your ass has you bending, stretching, just for a glimpse of his face in the mirror. 
His mouth open, tongue curling back and forth over his bottom lip, he’s hungry. Wants so much. Can’t satiate this need without something between his teeth. Grinning around a mouthful of incisors. Patience has never been Dieter’s strong suit. 
With a firm jerk around your wrists, your back arches up off the counter, shoulders pinched, hands caught low near his groin. You know he wants you to watch him touch you in the mirror – he’s stopped before when you close your eyes – but it’s hard to look at the woman reflected back at you, with her bleary eyes, mussed hair, heaving chest, and exposed belly button where his hand hovers between the waistband and a green sweater, and recognize yourself. 
  “No one can take you from me. Do you understand?” He dips his head, arched nose dragging up the curve of your neck, breathing hot through his teeth against the lines where your hair and your skin meet. You can’t help but arch up into his waiting mouth. “Not your family. Not mine. You’re so greedy for me – who else is gonna make you feel this good?” 
“N-no one, Dieter, no one can.”
His hand rising under your sweater, thumb first at your belly button, then up between the spread of your ribs, and finally, it catches under the wire of your bra and he tugs it down. The material rubs against your sensitive nipples – it almost stings, your body pulled taught like a bowstring – the straps falling low off your shoulders, but your sweater keeps it from falling off completely and he goes no further. You whine, eager for something other than the scratch of the bra – something warmer – and push your sensitive tits into his soft hands, but his hand drops, fingering the waistline of your jeans instead. He ignores what you want to show you what you need. 
This is a thing he did. He watched you wind yourself up with deadlines and scheduling and meetings and arguments on set and and doubt and worry and fear and then he took it upon himself to tire you out enough that all of it shattered – crashed and consumed under the white noise in your head. Dieter liked to play however you needed it.
You can feel the seam of his jeans hover just beyond your fingertips, as though his hips swing unconsciously forward while he nips and sucks on your neck. God, you’d give anything to have the weight of him between your palms. 
When he speaks again, you realize at some point you squeezed your eyes shut, forgoing sight to chase the sensation that sparks across your skin every time he touched a new bare patch of skin on you. He pulls his head up from fixating a tender purple blush just below where your sweater covers your shoulder to catch your gaze in the mirror. Panthers do not watch with such hungry eyes. 
“Arms up.” It’s not a command, a request, but the words drip from his mouth, rich and sweet. He lets go of your wrists and your arms flutter above you, his fingers already rolling up the edge of your sweater. He drags it up, snagging your loose bra with it, and peeling them both off you. The immediate heat of his chest on your bare back is so hot, it burns cold. 
“Dieter,” you cry, nipples hardening in the cold air, goosebumps spiraling out along your skin. He’s there for you in an instant. 
He bites the soft, invisible hairs at your jaw, thick paws coming up to clutch your breasts, the sudden swap in temperature making your head swim. He pulls you against his chest, a new outer skin that breathes and moans and gasps, one that has a steady heartbeat your own has synced to. 
With his eyes fixated on you in the mirror, he molds your breast to his palm, rounding your nipples with his thumbs before sliding down between the curves of them. He licks the back of your neck. 
“Face down, baby,” he says. 
“But it’s cold,” you huff, pouting. You smooth your hands over his, his angular wrists, his broad thick forearms entombed in long back sleeves, then settle with your fingers in his hair. His height over you has your torso stretched, your tits bare and ripe, and he palms your stomach to the top of your ribs in two hands. He grunts when you twist his curls, keeping his head still so every bruise and wet spot on your shoulders and throat are all too visible. “Don’t you want to see all your good work?”
He blinks, slow and purposeful, his eyelids heavy, mouth parting. You can’t be sure of his decision, of what he wants, what he’s going to give, when his hands arch up the cradle of your arms, soft enough to tickle below your elbows, then around your wrists. He’s done this enough for you to know he wants you to let go.
You do. 
Fast as venom moves from fangs to flesh, he plants your hands on the counter, forcibly gripping the edge. This is how you hold on. 
He steps up against you again, iron-hot cock pressing without hesitancy between your ass cheeks, and unbuckles your pants without preamble.
“I’d rather just show you.” 
Broad hand bending your shoulders forward, fingers pressed flat over your shoulder, you gasp when your tits make contact with the cold counter, and an instant later, he’s filling your open mouth with his fingers. He wets them against the slip of your tongue and grabs your jaw. 
Your mind fracturing like cracking ice, you don’t hear the zip of his jeans, the groan as he takes himself out – barely feel the rub along your wet slit, the arranging of his fingers around your bare hip, the widening of your stance with his ankle. 
But you do feel it when he’s suddenly hilt-deep inside of you. 
You lurch forward with the weight of it, whining as though scalded at the sudden blinding pressure of pleasure and pain, and you slap a palm against the mirror to keep yourself from shattering through it. Behind you, Dieter looks like someone dislocated his kneecaps. 
“You good, baby?” He pants, drawing his hand out of your mouth, wet spit between his fingers as he cups your hanging breast. The sensation bleeds hot, then cold. Unable to help himself, he nuzzles your shoulder blades. 
You nod, eyes shut, the magnetic north sense of you spinning wildly off-kilter as you try to gulp in as much air as you can. You know you’re about to lose it anyway. He stands upright, not so much as inching out of you, when he plants his feet and nestles your ass against his hip bones, hands wiggling you further down his cock. 
“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” 
It’s said with such wonder, a breathless reverence, that you think he might not have realized he said it out loud. You glance over your shoulder, turning your head instead of finding him in the mirror. 
The facade of the Brooklyn banker is gone. Your Dieter stares, awe-struck, at the body he’s got impaled on his cock like it’s the first time he’s seen a naked woman. Soft, pliant, eager to please, your Dieter lets you collar him, peg him, and give it to you exactly as you ask.
“How do you want it?” The phrase is so familiar, so intimate when spoken from his pink lips, you shudder, a Pavlovian response that’s got you drooling somewhere else than your mouth. He lifts his gaze and finds you staring. 
There is no one else in that moment. Not a single living soul besides you and him in this white-tiled bathroom. You can almost hear the absence of people ringing in your ears. His open, hot mouth draws your eyes away from his and you want every bit of him as stuffed up inside you as you can handle. Twisted around, you lick his bottom lip over your shoulder before offering your tongue for him to suck.
He groans, and you breathe in intimacy you’ve never experienced before. A flushed ache rises from your chest, a precursor to the aches he’ll leave you with by morning. 
You tip your head back and thumb the bristly skin against his chin.
“Hard, baby. Please.”
For all his faults, for all his forgetting, Dieter switches brain waves as fast as you do, tethered together like the gravitational spin of space rocks in the wake of a gleaming comet.
“Okay.”
He distracts you from the pain of that first rough thrust by biting down on your shoulder.
His motions are short, targeted, and right up into the cradle of your cervix, the pace driven, unrelenting and hard. You shake with the force of them, as fragile as silverware on a table near the drop of an atom bomb. 
“Oh – fuck, Dieter–,” 
He pins your arm that had touched his chin to your chest, then his chest to your back, sealing your damp skin to his shirt. The curl of that wretched black turtleneck scratches deliciously against your low back. 
Grunting in low, short bursts, Dieter sabotages his own breathing by crushing you so tight to his chest. He sucks on your neck as if to draw the oxygen straight from your blood. The fingers on your hip steady you, just for his cock wrecks your insides. 
“You wan-na – ngh – you wanna know why it doesn’t bother me?” 
Each word is spat out from between his teeth. He’s giving you your requested punishment as much as he is sprinting after his own release.
“Tell me. Tell me please.” Your voice is scraped raw, breathless and gooey at the same time. 
“Because when you’re my wife, they won’t be able to do a fucking thing about it.” 
Around him, your cunt squeezes, his words sending shocks through your nerves. You whine as if he’d smacked your ass. 
“I fucking felt that. You like that. You want that. You want my fucking cock every day.”
Again, he plants your hands on the cold counter. 
“Push back against me, baby.” You anchor yourself, ass out, elbows and knees locked. “That’s it, that’s my fucking good girl.”
He lifts his body up right, off your sweaty neck and back, and with both hands pinching your waist, he yanks you up and down on his cock in long, rough thrusts, knees bending with enough force to send you onto your toes.  
“Gonna have to take it. Just – fucking – take – it –,”
His leaking cock drives up against that spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll back and body tense again and again, but yanks back before that hot feeling swells. It’s so close you’re dizzy from it. 
You want to fuck yourself on his cock but you can’t time your aching hips right, so you stop trying and bend forward more, exposing more of your cunt to him. 
“Dieter, please –,” 
“Baby, you gotta be quiet. I know you feel good, but you can’t let them hear us.”
The words are out of your mouth, breaking through the thick, drowning fog and through the hindbrain barrier.
“Fuck them. Let them hear.” 
Dieter’s hips slow, punch not as deeply, as if he’s curious what you’re going to say next.
“Take off your shirt. I wanna feel your skin.” 
He listens immediately, a very good boy at heart, and the first press of his soft chest against you nearly has you coming then. 
“Harder again, please.” 
Again, without a second’s hesitation, he kisses your ear before grappling your shoulder with one hand and your hip with the other and he takes up his position as owner and keeper of your sloppy cunt. 
You cry out, high and wrecked, some semblance of sanity knowing you’re being far too loud, and he bucks the words out of you.
“I wanna suck on your earring, Dieter.” He grunts as he doubles over as if trying to yank back an unrestrained and early release. He rubs his damp forehead in the patch of soft skin by your shoulder blade. 
“Say it again.” 
With every rock of his hips, you swing up higher, and higher, your thighs tensing, nails scraping the counter. 
“Wanna put it between my lips and suck until you’re cherry red. I wanna choke on your rings. So far down my throat I gag. Wanna – wanna – lick your tattoos – all of them – ‘til the ink blurs from my spit. I –,”
The noise he makes is pained, weak, a man at the end of his rope.
He pops your ass. “Shut up. You’re gonna come now.” 
His sweaty palms slip against the soft skin of your hips, and he keeps slipping with no leverage. 
“Stand on your toes.” You do and for an absurd second, you think he’s going to pick you up in a bear hug. He wraps his arms around your rib cage, his face nestled into the hot, sticky curve of your neck, in the flipped image of when he takes you after your legs get sore from riding him. Your tits spilling over his forearms, he keeps the ludicrous bend in your spine as well as the short, rough pace. You reach your fingers around the back of his head and hold on for dear life. 
The change in angle has stars blowing across your eyes, has you whimpering strings of pleas, veneration, and curses all threaded together. His own thighs shaking, he rubs the pads of three of his fingers across your clit and you’re over the edge. 
“Oh – oh, shit –,”
The electrical storm that’s been building one wiry shock at a time finally bursts and you go rigid from head to toe, turning to marble, to steel, bright and sharp. You can feel your own release dribble down your thigh, Dieter stuttering behind you.
“Wait – fuck,”
He tries to speed up, or press harder, but he’s coming so hard you feel it expand your cunt and ends up just making a leaking mess. The sensation shivers you through another minor wave. The crest goes high, then crashes, and you slump forward, cold nips be damned, and he follows you down a second later. 
The heated weight at your back and hard, cool marble squishing your tits is too much for your dazed brain to handle. Any looser and you might slip off the edge of the earth. 
Dieter seems to be in a similar state. He not so much pulls out of you as he goes weak-kneed to the floor. A single tug on your hip has you stumbling down with him.
Despite the garland around the stairs, despite the smell of cranberries in the air, despite the veneer of perfect holiday wholesomeness, it’s the slick layer of sweat, grime, and cum over your skin that has you finally smiling. 
You recognize you have been gone far too long – there’s not enough spiked hot cider in the world to ignore two missing bodies and a locked door. Dieter puts his barefoot preemptively up against the door frame and you giggle into his shoulder. 
“Oh, there’s the sound I’ve been missing!” He nuzzles you, a blissful smile breaking open his face, sunlight over storm clouds. He wiggles beneath you, trying to tug you on top of him, but with your jeans constricting your thighs, and his barely below his hips, all it really accomplishes is the two of you rolling around on the bathroom floor.
In a heap of limbs, slick skin, his knee catching the button of your jeans, you bump your nose against his chin, there’s something bright building in your chest – it’s twisting your mouth, pinching your cheeks – his fingers grab your elbow, his eyes lock into yours – 
And you’re laughing. 
You’re laughing too loud, all pretense gone. You can’t honestly care what they’re thinking downstairs.
He manages to get you under him, his damp hair clinging to his temples and tangling down in frizzy strands. 
“I’m gonna say this and I need you to actually hear me.” 
You nod, grinning up at him and lightly tracing his clavicle. 
He swats at your hand and holds it to your chest. 
“Don’t wait until it’s that bad, okay?” You chuckle and he bites the tip of your nose. “Listen to me, you little goblin, I’m trying to be serious for a second.”
You settle under him, fingers intertwining with his over your chest. Sincere Dieter is a beautiful thing to look at. 
“This holiday bullshit can be a lot. Spent a lot of them either in coke up to my eyeballs, or in the bathroom the next day. It fucking sucks that these are the people we can from, but we can’t change that. What’s important is the family we build right now–,”
Your mouth drops open, his words suddenly illuminating a future that had always seemed so blurry and distant. 
“Dieter, I –,”
“I’m gonna marry you someday, so let’s start with us.” He kisses the back of your hand. “We carry each other, okay?” 
You nod, the white light of that future searing a hole in your chest, exposing your heart to the open air, and bringing tears to your eyes. You nod, more assured, before kissing him on his bottom lip.
“Okay.” 
The next few minutes play out just like they would if you were at home: cleaning each other up, trying on clothes only to realize he grabbed your sweater instead, and bumping affectionate kisses wherever they could reach. 
At the top of the stairs, you don’t know what awaits you in the living room. What exactly you’ll be returning to. Who will catch you and who won’t.
But it doesn’t matter. His hand is around yours and he’s grinning petulantly against all the world. 
Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on? 
Your heart says yes. 
487 notes · View notes
prolix-yuy · 5 months
Text
Crawling Back to You
Pairing: Incubus!Dieter Bravo x Virgin F!Reader
Summary: Have you no idea that you're in deep?
Word Count: 8.2k
Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, religious corruption kink, bastardizing prayers, brief drug use, mentions of alcohol consumption, grinding, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, breaking a hymen, descriptions of blood, biting and drawing blood, pheromone incubus anatomy, size difference/kink like whoa, monster transformation, monster fucking, PiV sex, wildly unrealistic sex, kind of dubious consent in the way that she has no idea what she's getting into so Dieter checks in A LOT, consent is sexy and monsters especially should ask for it, Reader has no idea what she's doing when it comes to summoning an incubus.
Notes: Like most things Dieter's involved in, it takes twice as long but you reap the most rewards. A little late for Halloween, but spooky season is 24/7 and I needed to put this out into the world as soon as possible. Very special gold star mutual thanks due to @ezrasbirdie who gave me the prompt for this story and then talked me through some of the ideas she had. Religious corruption kink is super new for me, not being raised in a formal religion, but it was incredibly interesting to explore in this way. Apologies for the sacrilege, friends, it's all in the pursuit of sexyness.
A big disclaimer! This is not a blueprint for losing your virginity! This is some wildly unrealistic sex, especially for someone who has never experienced PiV intercourse before! Please be safe and careful with your bodies. While we thirst over these scenarios and would love to take monster cocks, always practice safe and fun sex with partners who care about your comfort.
A second disclaimer that in this fic, the Reader defines losing her virginity as experiencing penetrative sex and breaking her unbroken hymen. Virginity does not look the same for every person, and each individual's circumstances may be very different. Virginity is also a social construct that has some gross stigmas around it, which we'll be briefly addressing. I've also kept the reader's age unspecified (18+ of course) but that she has gone to college, so whatever age you may be reading this, your own sexual journey moves at your pace and if/when you define that you've passed this milestone, that's the right time for you.
Cross-posted on AO3
Tumblr media
The lines chalked into your hardwood floors glow with a sudden and panic-inducing heat, smoldering as a phantom breeze whips around your kneeling body. The lights in your apartment flicker and dim as a sooty haze hangs around your ankles. Springing to your feet, you frantically search for something to smear the careful symbols to nonsense while a crackle of electricity raises all of the hair on the back of your arms and neck.
It’s much too late to go back now.
Something pulls in the center of your chest as the room expands and contracts like a great beast breathing. You try to stand strong but the tremble in your frame chatters your teeth. Suddenly the room plunges into darkness, and a crack echoes in your ears before the light swells back to full strength. Bracing yourself for what may be in the circle you foolishly copied, you peel open your eyes. 
Then, your mouth falls open, because never in your wildest dreams did you expect Dieter Bravo, famous actor, to be sitting in the middle of your half-assed summoning circle.
“What the fuck?”
He looks just as bewildered as you do, cross-legged on the floor and pulling his lips from a turquoise bong cradled in his lap. He’s wearing sunglasses - did you spirit him here from halfway around the world? - and an open silk bathrobe patterned with roaring tigers. The waterfall of folds bundle in his lap, and for a mouth-drying moment you wonder if he’s got anything on beneath. Then he shifts, billowing a cloud of skunky smoke at your ceiling and placing the bong at arms length. 
Well, he is wearing socks at least, pulled halfway up his legs and under Crocs. You don’t know whether to laugh or choke on your tongue.
“What the fuck to you too,” he grumbles, creakily getting to his feet and dusting little frills of ash from his shoulders. It’s now easy to see he’s sporting tiny black boxer briefs, and your eyes fight to land anywhere but there. They finally find the book, opened to the page you scoffed over until your finished glass of wine goaded you on.
“This can’t be happening,” you finally squeak out, shifting on the balls of your feet as you spin and press your fingers into your cheeks. 
“Sure is,” Dieter says, one hand on his hip and looking at you with naked curiosity. He’s swept back the robe on one side, showing off the shapely curve of his thigh, the soft definition of his stomach, how large his hands…
“I didn’t…I couldn’t have…you…go back,” you stammer, heart and head pounding. Does this mean you’re a witch? Did you honestly summon something with a book you rented from the library? Nothing makes sense with this man staring at you - practically leering - as you contemplate whether you’re having a dusty-old-book-based hallucination.
“Breathe, baby,” Dieter purrs, hands making soothing motions in the air between you. Taking in a big breath and letting it out explosively, you follow Dieter’s motions to sit down with him. The floor is hard and unforgiving on your bottom, but you criss-cross-applesauce with him as he leans back on his hands.
“Normally when I show up, people aren’t all that surprised,” he says, and his voice is raspy and sonorous in the room. You swallow hard, finding comfort in twisting the hem of your pajama shirt in your palms.
“Well, it’s pretty damn surprising to have THE Dieter Bravo in my living room,” you say, a momentary swell of pride when you realize your sarcasm hasn’t flown the coop with your sanity. Dieter chuckles, tilting his head onto one shoulder.
“Who were you expecting?” 
“Honestly, no one. Nothing,” you lie. Half-lie. You were hoping for something pretty specific.
“Very cute, but let’s not pretend we don’t know what’s going on here. I know exactly what you were hoping would pop up in this pretty little circle of yours.” 
Your eyes wander to his inner thigh, then snap to a symbol on the floor. 
“I thought…” You sigh, ducking your head. “I thought I was summoning some sort of…sexy demon. At least that’s what the book said.” 
“An incubus,” Dieter offers, and you nod. 
“But clearly something went wrong, because you’re here, somehow.” You scrub a hand over your face. “No idea how I messed up this bad. I didn’t even know you could mess up this badly.”
“Oh, you didn’t,” Dieter says in a carefree voice. “Mess up, that is.” You arch an eyebrow at him.
“But I got…you.”
Dieter leans forward, elbows on his knees as he cocks his head with a knowing smile. In the dim light of your apartment his eyes seem even darker than before.
“Exactly what you asked for. At your service.” He tips his head, tongue slipping from between his plush lips to swipe along his full lower one. A sudden patter of arousal grips your hips, and he half closes his eyes and breathes deep.
“That can’t…you’re Dieter Bravo.”
“Yes.”
“You’re an…incubus.”
“Also yes.”
The next question blurts out of your mouth too quickly to stop.
“Why?”
His laugh is just as quick and breaks some of the tension digging into your spine. The warmth of it wraps your head in cotton, smiling along. 
“Oh, starlet, I should be pissed as hell to be pulled away from that fantastic party I was about to ruin, but this is turning out to be much more fun.” Your cheeks warm at the affectionate name. “How many people do you think summon incubi these days? A demon’s gotta get by.” He’s sliding closer to the edge of the circle but not moving past it. A small voice in the back of your mind notes that he might not be able to.
“So…acting,” you say, not without a little smirk. He seems to like that, smile stretching wider and crinkling the corners of his eyes.
“What, should I be slinging burgers?” he asks with another snort of laughter. “C’mon, don’t tell me it doesn’t make sense. Beautiful people, sex appeal galore, fast living and high octane relationships? I haven’t been hungry in ages.”
Your hands still in your lap, studying your fingers as you let the silence linger. Dieter allows it for a time before his voice pulls you back.
“But you summoned, and I came. You must have a reason.” 
Now that the silly half-buzzed fantasy is mere feet from you, saying it aloud is daunting.
“You’ll…you won’t get it.” 
His eyebrows lift in slow surprise. 
“Try me.”
You're turned on more than you’ve ever experienced in your life, and Dieter’s nostrils flare as his jaw ticks.
“I was having a drink. A couple,” you correct, the dregs of the bottle giving you away. “And I was just hating the way I was feeling about everything going on and I looked at this book and it seemed like a funny thing, to try and summon a demon…”
“Incubus, get it right,” Dieter purrs, and the air thickens.
“I didn’t think it would work,” you protest, hands coming up to cradle your temples. 
“But you hoped, enough to do all this work on the one day of the year when magic is easiest to grasp,” he teases, tilting his head to the side to catch your eye. It’s definitely not helping the situation that he’s Dieter Bravo, solid C-list star who’d captured your attention in more than one of his movies. Thoughts of his dark eyes and full lips drew your hands down your body on more than one occasion before…
Dieter growls low and frustrated. “Let’s cut to the chase, starlet. You’re laying out a buffet and I can’t even have a taste.” You blink owlishly at him before he smirks, licking an incisor. “I can smell how much you want me.”
Shock slams your mouth shut, face burning. Your traitorous body has failed you again.
“You called and I answered. I’m still in your circle, so you could send me away, but I doubt you know how to do that.”
He’s right. You’ve trapped him here. With little old you.
“Or, you could tell me what you really wanted when you spent all this time writing all these little symbols so carefully.” Dieter’s fingers dance along the chalk lines, smile turning cheekier. Steeling yourself, you let the truth out into open air.
“I called you because…I’ve never had anyone before.” 
Dieter’s face remains cooly neutral, but you can see his nostrils flare briefly. 
��You’ve never…”
You shrug, self-deprecating smile cutting through the awkwardness.
“I’ve done some things, by myself, but never…I’ve never had sex with anyone in the…classical way.” The words are starched and wooden but hit a chord with Dieter. He repositions to sit back on his knees, hands splayed on his bare thighs. The smooth expanse of his chest begs to be touched.
“I thought I smelled something special here, and I was oh so right,” he rasps, nipping at his lower lip while he drags his eyes over your body. “Human virginity is a social construct, but inexperience in pleasure? Being allowed to revel in your body discovering all the ways it can feel? That is a rare treat.” 
You don’t expect the sudden rush of emotions at Dieter’s eagerness. Years of people either finding you broken or fetishizing your “purity” had given you an even larger complex than you thought. 
“It’s not…fucked up that I’m doing this?” you ask. 
“What sounds better to you, letting some Chad fumble through trying to pleasure you when his dick can barely handle your sweet cunt, or allowing someone with centuries of experience give you everything you ever desired?”
Your aforementioned cunt knows which one she wants.
“May I ask why you’ve waited until now?” he says, interrupting your railroading thoughts. Shyness and shame clouds your eyes.
“My parents were very religious. Lots of ‘thou shalt nots’ and ‘obey thys’. But I wanted to be a good daughter. So badly.” Dieter’s eyes are darkening as you speak, fingers pressing divots into his thighs. “So I did everything they said. Followed all the rules. And I grew up their perfect little girl. Never got caught sneaking out with a boy, never drank or smoked or anything.” 
“How…boring,” Dieter comments. It stings between your shoulders.
“Yeah, that’s pretty much all I heard when I went to college. That I was boring for not liking weed. A buzzkill because I was nervous about breaking rules. And sex…”
Here you swallow, your lower lip trembling before you bite it back. 
“I thought I was doing everything right. Everyone told me I was doing everything right. And then I get into the real world and nobody wants…” Looking up you catch a softer expression on Dieter’s face, true understanding blunting the lust.
“How have these fumbling fools tried to pleasure you?” he asks, and maybe the wine is still thrumming in your veins (it’s not), but your tongue is looser than it’s ever been.
“Grinding mostly. I think they’ve…cum…but I don’t. Not like when I do it myself.” 
Dieter snarls softly. “Fuckers,” he rumbles, an oncoming thunderclap crackled with electricity. 
“Every time I feel like I’m damaged goods,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I thought maybe this would…fix me.”
The lights in the room dip low as Dieter chuckles. Darkness seems drawn to him, settling around his shoulders like a fine stole.
“Betrayed by the God you worshiped so faithfully,” he muses, rolling his shoulders and licking his lips. “Don’t worry, starlet, I’ll take care of you tonight.”
“Can I…do anything for you?” you ask. Dieter’s smile softens, tutting quietly.
“Believe me, you’ll be perfect,” he praises, the heat in your cheeks even more unbearable. “Like I said, I’m rarely hungry anymore, but your arousal will be delicious. I’ll gorge myself on your peaks and leave you sated…and ruined for any after me.”
That should be a warning. It only makes your want greater.
“Okay,” you breathe out. Dieter’s smile widening again. Are his teeth…sharper?
“Now we can fuck to our heart’s content in this summoning circle here,” Dieter says, tapping his finger in the air. Motes of copper light and sparks rain down from an invisible barrier. “I’ve had more challenging obstacles. But if you would like me at my best, break the circle starlet.”
Standing back up, you retrieve a cloth from your kitchen table. When you return Dieter is standing in the center, prowling ever so slightly in his tiny prison. You move to wipe the line connecting the circle when…
“Are other celebrities incubi?” you ask, kneeling in front of him with open curiosity on your face. Dieter’s predatory smile quickly shuffles to confused and incredulous.
“I mean, maybe, I don’t keep close tabs.”
“Tom Hiddleston could totally be one. Or Robert Downey Jr. Heck, maybe Marvel just employs incubi to keep their revenue going…” Leaning down, you move to wipe the mark. 
“Strange little starlet,” Dieter chuckles, and a warm breeze tickles the back of your neck. With one swipe the circle is broken.
“Hannah Waddingham would totally be…” you start to say, nerves tumbling words from your lips, but thankfully Dieter’s stop them. 
He moves so quickly for a moment you’re sure he’s going to devour you, tear you limb from limb for imprisoning him. Instead he crashes your mouths together, hand firm on the back of your neck as his broad shoulders press you on your back. His hips slot between your thighs so smoothly you’re arching into them before you can think straight. Once your head is carefully lowered to the floor his hands find your wrists and press them above your head, maneuvering your thighs to wrap you around his waist. The dizzying feat of agility pales in comparison to his kiss.
Dieter commands your mouth to submit, tongue hot and lewd between your lips. You’re afraid you’ll choke on your own but he strokes delicate paths into the lush depths that keep you barely breathing. His lips are plush and yielding, pulling away to drag against the corner of your mouth or teasing the edge of your lips. And his teeth. You’d had boys clack against you, or press them harshly against your lips. Dieter knows exactly when to scrape them against your tongue, how much pressure to put with your lower lip trapped, the anticipation of them sliding against your skin before he dives in again. 
“What a soft, pretty thing you are,” he rasps, and there’s a deep grinding quality to his voice now. Like stones moving slowly past one another, it vibrates straight to your clit as he inhales deeply behind your ear. 
“Dieter…” you manage, his face lifting from his ecstasy to study your own. His eyes are somehow losing the edge of white, expanding into inky blackness. He lazily laps at his lower lip, and when you lean up to kiss his chin he snarls and presses deep into your apex.
“I’m sorry, starlet, I forgot you’ve been waiting to break promises,” he teases, sliding a hand down to knead at your ass. As quickly as you were laid out you’re suddenly in the air, legs wrapped around Dieter’s waist as he carries you out of your living room. His strength has you feeling light as a feather, barely a nuisance as he searches out a place for his plans.
“The bedroom.” You motion to a half-opened door and Dieter’s knowing smile precludes entering. 
“Eager, aren’t we? What if I wanted to lay you out for everyone to see?”
The image of your body laid bare, covered in moonlight and monstrous hands, flutters your eyes as the bedroom door shuts behind you.
“No, tonight you will remain in my confessional,” he says, kneeling down on the bed and letting you fall back into the mess of pillows and sheets. 
“You’re very fond of religious metaphor,” you rib, rubbing your thighs together as Dieter sheds the robe and his Crocs, a brief moment of clarity bubbling a giggle up your throat. Dieter’s motions slow as he regards you again, kneeling between your legs.
“Maybe I am rather fond of…corruption,” he husks, the word lighting on your skin like sparks. “Maybe I like seeing you forsake all for me.” 
If he asked, you just might. The high of his attention is so great.
“But in this moment, what I mean is we will speak no lies in this room.” His hands trail down your thighs, and now your body remembers it has no experience from here. You shake, heart pounding as Dieter crawls up your body with only brief brushes to guide his way. “My promise is that you will know pleasure as great as I can offer. And you will tell me everything you think, and feel.”
He hovers over your body, broad enough to block the paltry light through your window.
“Would you like to be pleasured?”
“Yes, Dieter, please.” 
His smile is wicked, and the scrape of his fingernails up your ribcage arches your back. In a fluid slide of his fingers your shirt is over your head and tossed into darkness, leaving you bare-chested under him. He hums with appreciation as his face descends, curved nose dragging along your tender skin. Time hangs in the balance as you tense for what may come, but Dieter only traces dizzying paths with the tip of his nose and the fullness of his lips. Up one side of your ribs, placing kisses at intervals, then along the underside of your breast. His hot breath warms skin, nipples hardening sharp and sensitive at the scratch of his facial hair. Then down the center of your stomach, a long and cyclical detour around your bellybutton. Stomach trembling, he hushes you as his fingers slide under your waistband and bunch your sleep shorts and underwear in his hands. 
Another fluid drag and you’re nude, still swimming in endorphins at Dieter’s skilled touch. It’s only when hot palms wrap around your knees and begin easing them apart do you balk. Instinctively you clamp your legs together, heat flooding your face. Dieter tuts, smoothing his hands up and down your jittery thighs.
“What are you afraid of, starlet?” he asks, ghosting his fingers over the apex of your sex. Just the brush against your mound steals your voice, that same hot shame and anxiety pulling you in on yourself. When you don’t answer, Dieter commands more firmly, “Look at me, sweetheart.”
Dragging your eyes from the ceiling back to him doesn’t help. He’s all mischievous eyes and knowing smiles, pressing a kiss to both of your knees as he rests his chin on them. 
“I can make it easier for you,” he says, fingers finding a soft crease in your hip and stroking along it. “Give you something for the nerves, for any pain. I’ll only let you feel good here with me.” 
You take two more grounding breaths and ease the pressure on your knees.
“”Sorry, I’m just…no one’s ever…” you say, but before you can explain your woeful inexperience he’s wedging his way between your legs and holding your thighs open in his firm tight grip. 
“I’m the first to taste this forbidden fruit?” he asks, and you clench involuntarily. He waits as you gather yourself enough to nod. A deep, dark chuckle falls from his lips. “Starlet, you have no idea what you’re in for tonight.”
The question claws up your throat but no sooner has he glanced at your pussy he’s diving in to press his tongue deep and sweeping through your folds. The velvet slither arches your back off the bed, a strangled cry earning a satisfied hum between your legs.
“Holy shit, Dieter, oh my god,” you rasp as he flicks his tongue in fast swipes over your clit. It’s foreign and taboo, so much wetter and softer than your fingers and you can barely stop your hips from bucking into his mouth. One hand presses you down to the bed, his chin tilting up to catch your eye. Slick shines his mouth, and your pussy throbs when you realize his eyes are the shiny black of nightmares and creatures used to the dark. 
“No god here, sweetheart. Only me. Only take my name in vain,” he growls, and the rush of blood in your ears speeds up when you realize the hand pressed on your abdomen spans the width of your hips. Black-tipped claws indent the flesh, prickling your skin just shy of pain. Dipping low again, Dieter swirls at your entrance and prods in, nose pressed tight to the button of your pleasure. The supple stretch is unfamiliar, pulling at a primal need to let him fill you. It tightens your thighs and shudders you against him as he forces you down again, the bite of claws a sharper warning. His jaw doesn’t stop, plunging and delving into you as deep as he can manage. 
“Dieter, it’s never…oh fuck, it’s never felt this good before, please…please, I can’t stand it,” you beg, a rush of slick coating his tongue. Now a true snarl seeds your cunt, and in the charcoal dark his silhouette thickens, shoulders broadening under your knees. He pushes you further up the bed, pulling even greater cries from your chest. Dragging his tongue from your sopping hole, he sucks greedily on your clit, hands wrapped around your waist to lift you half off the bed. Suspended and flowing with arousal, your hands unclench from the sheets and circle his wrists. The skin is hot under your palms, and they dig deeper in at your scrabbling touch. It’s not enough, so with a boldness you pull from a dizzying depth you bury your fingers in his curls. 
At first touch they’re soft. Long enough to wind around your fingers. You give a gentle tug and swear you feel a shudder around you. But as you bury them deeper another sensation tickles your palm. Something unyielding and curved, smooth like bone. Two protrusions fit in the webbing of your thumb and forefinger, short enough that the blunt tip brushes your knuckles. Horns, you think. A demon is eating me out and he has horns. And where you might have tried to wake yourself from a nightmare at this thought, instead you wrap your fingers around them and tug.
Like lightning something changes in Dieter. His lips tear from you with a roar that fills the room, your mind, spreading like forest fire and drying your mouth out. You hold on as he drops you back to the bed, the sound still ripping from his throat. Then there’s pain, supernova-like in intensity and scorching through arousal and fear. Your eyes snap down to Dieter’s mouth, but it’s no longer defiling your pussy. It’s clamped hard on your inner thigh, air puffing sharply through his nose. The pain radiates, and you realize he’s bit you. Not an overzealous love bite, you can feel the puncture of incisors and pump of blood into his mouth, the same pattern as your racing heart. Your hands release his horns, pushing you up as your mouth drops open in horror. 
“Dieter,” you gasp, but with his horns released the pressure abates. His eyes open slowly, catching your terrified face. The curve of his brow morphs from surprise to apology to determination. Then a thumb presses firmly to your clit and circles it, washing pain away with pleasure teetering right on the edge. His fangs remain in your thigh as you stare at him, incredulity on your face but pleasure rocking your hips. He adds pressure to the bite again, speeding up his fingers as your brain struggles to differentiate one from the other. 
Then, just as your spine begins tingling and your fingers go numb, one slick finger penetrates your cunt, smooth and deep, barely noticeable compared to the symphony of sensations. Like a reward, Dieter gives you the final stroke that crashes your orgasm over him, slamming you back to the bed as pain and pleasure and shame and exhilaration floods your brain. You barely register Dieter’s jaw releasing, fingers working you through your orgasm as the slow laps of his tongue lull you back to your body. Every muscle quivers, attempts to sit up failing twice before you manage to come up to your elbows. 
Between your legs Dieter is pressing devotions to the spot he bit, open-mouthed kisses with peeks of tongue soothing the injury. His finger is still inside, a lazy caress of your walls foreign but not unpleasant. Finally he lifts up to his knees and turns his attention back to your face.
“I’m sorry, starlet, you got me a little too riled up there. I’ve fixed it, but you might be sore tomorrow.” A bloom of teeth circle your inner thigh, but no blood oozes out. You felt the pop, felt him inside you, and somehow he’s taken it back. “Can’t have you injured because of me, not very professional.”
“I hope it stays,” you pant, fingertips tracing the dark marks. The tenderness arcs down your spine. 
“Fuck, you’re made for sin, starlet,” Dieter purrs, and now your attention can turn back to him. Grounding yourself with a healthy, “oh fuck,” is the only way you can fathom what he’s become.
He towers over you even kneeling, broad body only more tantalizing as he’s grown in stature. The well-known triangle tattoos you’d seen in paparazzi photos are joined by swirling patterns up and down his arms, concentric rings and text you can’t read patterning his skin. Where only wild curls were before now jut two smooth horns, curved away from his face and looking suspiciously similar to a goat’s. His skin almost steams in the room, wisps of smoke or condensation haloing his silhouette like an ominous aura. 
Then his hand flexes again and you realize how full you are with just one finger inside, even observing how thick and wicked they’ve become.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, and there’s only a hint of teasing now as he works his finger inside.
“It’s…okay,” you gasp, staring at the place where you’re connected. His thumb ghosts over your clit again, but so soon after your high it’s over sensitive, making you hiss and tremble. 
“Shhh, starlet, just relax. Thought it would be better to take advantage of the pain.” With a final stroke that lights up your nerves he slips out, holding his fingers up for you to see. They’re wet with your arousal and a little blood, a lot less than you thought. “Now that’s out of the way, we can take our time giving you the best fuck of your life.” With a knowing smile, he pops his fingers into his mouth and licks them clean. 
“Fuck, you really are…an incubus,” you say, acquainting yourself with the dull ache of your loss. There isn’t much fanfare, no swelling of emotion. If anything, breaking your hymen is probably the least memorable part of your night. Dieter’s smile falters briefly, and in a dizzying turn of events he shrinks back, closing in on himself. Ducking his head, you might think he was embarrassed, or shy. It looks stranger than the horns on him.
“Yeah, sorry about that. Touching the horns got me a little too worked up. Let me open you up on my fingers for a little while longer, that’ll give me enough time to…change back.” His smile is sheepish now, hands roaming your thighs and stomach. Instead of the skin-crawling terror you thought that would instill, you’re practically preening under his touch.
“Is this you? This form?” you ask, and you let your boldness move to your hands. You stroke your fingertips over his, investigating the smoothness of his claws, how the joints of his fingers are more pronounced than yours. He scoffs an uncomfortable laugh.
“Uh yeah, mostly. But you’ll have a lot more fun bragging that you lost your virginity to THE Dieter Bravo,” he redirects, shaking his head like he’s annoyed he’s not that man yet. 
In your brief and paltry handful of intimate moments, you never considered yourself bold. You’d let men touch you until your discomfort was too much, or your embarrassment pulled to the forefront. You never asked for the touches you enjoyed, or sought out the pleasures you dreamed of. But now, with a creature that’s endearingly vulnerable before you, your voice is finally strong enough to be heard.
“I’d like you to stay this way,” you say. Sitting up further, you skim your hands up his arms to cup his face. Your touch snarls his lip briefly before he settles.
“You can’t handle that, starlet. I’ve kept my human form reasonable, but you will not be able to take my cock,” Dieter husks. Tugging your wrist down to his waist, you palm him through fabric barely able to contain him. Thick and long in your hand, he drops his head and thrusts against you and gets bigger.
“Ruin me, then,” you whisper, filthy and naive into his ear. “I’ve waited all this time, saved myself for no one but you. Make me take no lover but you. Make me pray to you for ecstasy.” Leaning in to the metaphor rewards you. With a dangerous rumble he pushes you flat on your back, one hand wrapped around your throat.
“You want this, starlet? All of it?” he grits out, sickening cracks and pops echoing in the room. His hips force yours wide, planting his other hand by your head and carefully watching your face. The shine of his fangs whips your heart into a gallop, more ink dancing on his skin as he transforms from something beautiful to something magnificent. The room darkens perplexingly until you realize wings spread from his shoulders, thin light gleaming through the stretched web of skin. His aura crackles with molten motes, a whiff of fire and smoke making a home in your lungs. When he looks back at you, half familiar and half transcendent, his roguish smile brings one to your lips.
“Strange little thing, wet and ready for me,” he croons, removing his hand from your throat. A rip of stitching signals he’s as nude as you are now, and your eyes widen when the heavy length of his cock rests on your mound, curving past your navel and thicker than your hand can circle. 
“Say you want Dieter Bravo back, and I’ll have just as much fun wrecking you in that form,” he says, but there’s something cautious between you now. A shimmer of anxiety and distrust. You’re holding a thread of something truer than he intended to give you, and if you drop it you’ll never find it again.
“Can you help me make it feel good?” you ask, sliding your palms along his chest. Without proper pupils it’s hard to track his expression, but you think it’s awestruck.
“Of course, starlet. You’ve learned to cum from pleasure and pain, but I won’t have you suffer more than necessary.” Dieter leans down and cups your head, bringing your nose to his neck right where it meets his shoulder. “Breathe,” he instructs, and you inhale deep. Below the smoke and heat you smell sweet new earth, lush and fruitful. It makes your mouth water, clutching at his shoulders as he begins rocking his hips against yours. His monstrous cock slips in the wet mess between your legs, slicking the underside generously.
“Fuck, you arousal is so delicious, I could taste you for centuries,” Dieter whispers. Lifting up, he smiles at your dazed expression and wandering hands. They trace his features, lingering on his lips. “How are you feeling now?” 
You want him inside you, filling you up to bursting, to breaking. The need is hotter, all-encompassing. It’s surety that he won’t hurt you, that you’ll be shown pleasure beyond anything you’ve experienced. It’s lust but also trust. 
“Can you kiss me?” is what you say, and Dieter’s smile is a touch softer before he leans down and claims your lips. 
You swear you hear a hiss when he touches you, his skin scorching but not enough to burn. Parting his lips and nudging your jaw open, he traces the inside of your lower one with the tip of his tongue. One hand cups the back of your head, cradling you to his mouth, and with a forbidden thrill you realize his hands are now large enough that his fingertips caress the perimeter of your face. The threatening pressure of claws in your skin arcs arousal back in your cunt, winding your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck.
“Tell me if it hurts,” he orders, and with a magnificent beat of bat wings his silhouette glows with dancing light much like a breath sparking fire to life. The warm hue of his human skin has gilded to gold, tattoos moving along the dips and peaks of his body. Eyes black and fathomless, his smile is a lifeboat in a raging ocean. He lets the heavy weight of his tongue wet his lower lip as your eyes widen, hefty cock lifting from your mound to press at your entrance. Scrabbling fear overtakes you, and you clutch at Dieter’s shoulders as the pressure mounts. 
“Again, starlet,” he croons, but his voice is the rumbling of great stones moving over one another as you inhale deep of his scent. Cool water pours through your limbs, easing your muscles and letting your legs drop open wide. His other hand presses at your lower back and arches you off the bed, resting your thighs atop his own. Then, with a controlled push his head breaches you, wrenching a wrecked moan from deep in your chest. He stops as soon as he’s engulfed in your heat, the only betrayal of his own state residing in the long exhale of breath that tickles across your chest.
“Fuck, you’re so tight. Tell me if you need me to stop,” he grits out, but you shake your head and roll your hips. It’s sloppy, inexperienced, but he moves ever so slightly within you and it punches a groan from between Dieter’s clenched teeth. 
“Please, Dieter, more,” you beg, his claws tightening around you again. Another measured advance, another wail, more snarling and groaning from the creature stuffing himself inside you. Whatever aphrodisiac he’s fed you is working magnificently. You’re full, the pressure intense, but the pain is dull and quiet. He’s watching where you’re joined so closely, stretched obscenely around his cock, waiting for your thighs to unclench before backing out and pressing deeper in. 
“Touch your clit,” he gasps, “Rub that pretty clit so you can take all of me.”
Your fingers are nowhere as decadent as his tongue but they pull bursts of ecstasy close to the surface. Venturing a look down, you’re dismayed to see he’s barely halfway there, so much more of his pulsing cock still to take. He already feels like he’s in your stomach, battering against your lungs. Tears spring to your eyes, lower lip wobbling.
“It’s not going to work,” you whisper, and even with the knowledge that Dieter could turn human at any point you still wallow in the rejection you anticipate. Not good enough for anyone, not even the person you called for.
“Shhh,” Dieter soothes, easing you back down to the bed. He tugs over pillows to tuck under your hips before covering you with his body, still looking in your eyes even at his towering height. “Breathe. Do you want me to stop? I can let you rest, change back to my human form. If you can take all of this…” His hips twitch forward, a soft cry tumbling out. “...then you can take my human cock perfectly.” With a tenderness your eyes water for, he strokes his thumb along your cheek. “Do you want me to stop?”
It’s already so much, so intense and mind-blowing, but you can’t help yourself. 
“I want all of it, Dieter,” you say, consequences be damned.
Much in the same way touching his horns unleashed something in Dieter, hearing those words unlocks something even more primal and greedy in his face. Dropping down to his elbows, he presses your face against his neck. 
“Bite,” he orders, the word igniting every pleasure center in your body. “Hard, starlet, give me one as good as I gave you.” The words are barely out before you sink your teeth into the crook of his neck, but instead of blood or other ichor you’re flooded with pleasure. The sensation rips an orgasm out of you, hips bucking on his cock. You register Dieter pulling out to the tip before slamming his hips into yours, seating himself fully inside your throbbing cunt. You don’t know how your body makes room for him, how you’re not screaming (well, maybe screaming some), but he’s inside you and littering your body with, “oh fuck, oh fuuuuucks” as he swirls his hips. 
“I did it,” you coo in pleasure-dipped delirium, head flopping back on a pillow as Dieter starts thrusting into you in slow passes.
“You sure fucking did sweetheart, look at that perfect pussy taking my monster cock,” he praises, now sliding along your clit with focus. The overstimulation rolls right into desire again as your cunt learns how to gorge itself on pleasure. 
“It feels…good,” you say, bearing down on his thrusts to meet him with a little more force. He purrs in admiration, starting to speed up ever so slightly. 
“Yeah? Like how good you feel all stuffed full?” Dieter asks but it’s nonsense now, his focus pulling between your face and his cock pumping in and out of you. There’s a little more pain now, places where his cock brushes that zip sharp up your spine, but it’s far from unpleasant. In fact, you might like it. Maybe really like it. 
“More, Dieter. Want to feel you. Please,” you moan, restraint flickering in Dieter’s eyes. 
“Fuck, baby, you can’t say shit like that when I’m so deep in you, I won’t be able to…” His thought falls off as his thrusts speed up, a little more force at the end each time. It’s kissing at something devastating inside, something clawing its way to the surface through years of shame and dread.
“Please Dieter, I’ll beg for it. I’ll…” Your brain wraps around a wicked idea. “I’ll pray for it.”
That does the trick. Dieter’s lips curl back in a snarl as he rears up to his knees, wings spreading to fill the room with only him. Hands gripping your hips, he looks down at you not like a lover, but like a fallen god. 
“Then do it, starlet,” he challenges. His smile is cool, but his cock twitches in your cunt. You have him. 
“Glory be to you, Dieter,” you say, and hellfire light erupts around him. Dragging himself out of your cunt, he holds tight as a bowstring.
“And to your…fucking massive cock,” you continue, eyes rolling back as he fills you to the brim. “And to your true form, in all its beauty,” you add, softer now, drawing his eyes back up to you. Time hangs as he studies your face before dipping down and sealing your lips with a kiss that means too much for words. When he lifts away you finish the prayer.
“As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be.”
Dieter’s smile glints.
“A-fucking-men,” he rasps, giving you just enough time to press your hands against the headboard before he starts railing you. 
You’re lost in pleasure and ache and sin and Dieter pounding recklessly into your cunt. His grip paints bruises along your waist, battering thighs marking the inside of your hips. His claws dig into your flesh and sharp scrapes tighten your nipples. Hands roam up over your breasts, around your neck, pressing your wrists into the bed as ominous splintering and cracks echo in your ears. 
“Another before I cum on your tits, sweetheart,” he pants, spitting down onto your clit and circling it with vigor. You cry out, hips bucking as the thickness of his cock impedes on your quivering walls. “It’s so close baby, just cum around me. Let me feel you cum on all my cock this time.” 
“I can’t,” you cry out, shaking and sobbing around him. Dieter tuts, his rapidly increasing slap-slap-slap of thrusts maddening. 
“You can, and you will starlet. You didn’t think you’d take my cock. I didn’t think you’d take it, and look at you now. So you’re going to cum. You’re going to cum now.”
The order shakes the room, pictures rattling on the wall as a final flick hurtles you off into oblivion with Dieter’s roaring triumph right behind. He’s somehow still fucking his cock into you even though you’re so tight it almost hurts to be cumming so good. A final crackling roar and you’re achingly empty, followed by a hot splash of cum across your stomach. Then another cresting your breast, and more and more until you’re covered in it, sticky trails sliding to pool in your bellybutton and drip over your sides onto the covers. Dieter is gasping above you, glowing like a sacred artifact as he pumps the last drops from his cock. 
You close your eyes once and it’s a mistake. As soon as you let your eyelids touch exhaustion grips you, fighting your desperate attempts to reopen them. It’s battling this bone-deep tired when you experience Dieter’s return to a human form. The horns receding, tattoos fading to just the ones that grace tabloid pages. The wings fold away, and soon a sexy as hell rumpled and soft body replaces the supernatural one. 
“Wore you out, starlet?” Dieter Bravo asks, kneeling between your parted knees with a rakish smile. You try to return it with a nod but your whole body is heavy, the mess barely bothering you. Dieter hums thoughtfully, and in a few moments a warm washcloth is cleaning up his cum.
“Side effect of my influence, helps a lot in the moment but it’s got some pretty strong sedative properties. Good for a speedy exit.” His chuckle sounds faraway now, even as you try to clutch at it.
“Stay,” you manage to croak out, hands seeking his body. You find his hair again, nose buried in your sex as he licks softly at your folds. The building ache there creeps back down to something dull and manageable.
“Our contract is up, can’t stay once you’ve given me what I’m owed.” Dieter’s lips start leaving small kisses along your abdomen, fingers soothing your skin. “Even if it was very, very good.”
“Please,” you try again, racking your rapidly puttying mind for anything to keep his hands on you. 
“Even when you say it so sweetly,” Dieter says, but there’s melancholy now. It glances off your fingertips as sleep pulls you under. 
In the between world of dreams, you think he says something more to you, but Morpheus snatches it away. 
Tumblr media
Hail, starlet, full of grace, Dieter is with thee. 
This might be the silliest thing I’ve ever…well, hmm…
Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, all those delectable orgasms you gave me.
Holy starlet, bringer of…something special.
Pray for this sinner.
Tumblr media
There’s blood on your sheets when you wake, though less than you expected. There’s also less pain, though the ache takes your breath away when you sit up too fast. Hobbling to the bathroom with the cool pink of morning light guiding, you inspect your body in the mirror. 
You don’t look much different than before. Some strange notion of losing your virginity making you suddenly appear “mature” is dashed away. Maybe there’s a little glint of a secret in your eye, but not much more. Actually, surprisingly not much more. You expected bruises, scratches along your body and love bites marring your landscape. Instead your canvas is unblemished, no marks or injuries to hide. It’s almost as if he’d never been there.
Sitting down on the toilet, you wonder if maybe he wasn’t. That you dreamt up debauchery due to food poisoning or someone spiking the punch at the Halloween party. You couldn’t possibly have summoned an incubus. 
A dark mark inside your thigh catches your attention, and any doubts dissipate. A ring of teeth, four larger fangs prominent, marrs the inside of your thigh. Brushing your fingertips over the circle, the skittering thrill of those memories settle in your chest. 
You ride on the endorphins for a few days, a handful of people noticing. A work friend tries to interrogate you on it but “a lady never tells” is a saucy enough reply for her to give an approving look. You buy a new bed online, the base of yours splintered to ruin, but you keep the cracked headboard like a souvenir.
Online dating doesn’t seem as daunting now that you’re not so worried about the dreaded “first time.” You even accept a few dates, meet some generally nice men with generally boring personalities. They don’t make your heart race like a certain celebrity whose name you googled briefly before slamming your laptop shut. They certainly don’t kiss like him, or make sexy little jokes or terrify you as much as intrigue you. 
So for a while you try to move on. There’s no other option, right? Dieter Bravo the Movie Star would never give you a second thought. Dieter Bravo the Incubus surely has better things to do, more lascivious living. So you try to find something even remotely like what you felt that night.
It’s mid-November when you find yourself sitting on your living room floor again, piece of chalk in hand. You lit candles this time, bought black lace lingerie, made yourself up to feel pretty. It doesn’t help your shaking hands as you pull the rug off the summoning circle. Touching up a few spots, you settle by the broken line where you released Dieter. It all popped off when you completed the circle last time, so with a deep breath and a swipe of the chalk, you reconnect the chalk.
And you wait.
And wait.
A bulb in a lamp flickers but it’s brief. An errant breeze almost snuffs out a candle. But nothing happens. Your knees are sore, eyes watering but you blink the tears away. 
It was a long shot, you have to admit. A fluke chance, never to be repeated. You’ll have to settle for something bland, safe, loving but…
Nothing like Dieter.
You’re about to get up from the floor when one other idea tempts you. Something you thought he might have said before leaving you ruined.
Pray for this sinner.
Clasping your hands in your lap, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. 
It’s been a long time since you last prayed.
“Dieter…” you whisper. The fine hairs on your neck rise up, but you press on.
“Dieter, I pray to thee,” you continue, closing your eyes. “Come to me in my hour of need.”
A pause, then a final entreaty. “Please.”
A rumble creeps into your body, tiny puffs of candles snuffing out reaching your ears. You dare not open your eyes yet, too hopeful for disappointment. Instead you wait, and hope.
A hot hand, thick fingered and human, slides up your chest, over your throat and cups your chin. Relief floods your body, melting back against a solid chest and chuckling lips.
“Hello, starlet,” Dieter croons in your ear, wrapping his arm around your waist and tucking his head into the crook of your neck. Your fingers search for curls, burying in his hair as you lace your fingers with his.
“You came,” you breathe, sparks igniting on your skin as he presses a line of kisses from your shoulder to your ear.
“How could I not, when you prayed so sweetly?” he teases, tugging you back to sit in the cradle of his crossed legs. “Smart of you to try the circle, but outside of all hallow’s eve you don’t have access to enough power for that trick.”
“But you came,” you repeat, turning your face into Dieter’s ministrations. He nips at the side of your jaw, soothing it with his lips before murmuring a confession into your skin.
“I hoped you would call again.”
A thick emotion swells in your chest, and you spin in his grasp to crash your mouths together. The momentum knocks him backwards to the floor, letting you straddle his waist and feast on his ample lips. His hands roam your back, reverent in their paths. When you break to suck in lungfuls of sweet air he leans up to mouth at your neck, possessive hand on your ass urging you to grind against him.
“Have you let anyone else fuck you?” he growls. To your delight the anxiety and trepidation that colored your first encounter is nowhere in sight. You smile wolfishly down at him.
“How could I? You’ve ruined me for any man,” you tease, and under your body he writhes, the whites of his eyes trading for inky black. “Plus, one time is hardly enough to know if I even like sex. I’ve barely begun to explore.”
The fangs flash between his kiss-swollen lips, and under the promise of any delight you desire you glimpse the even more exciting fondness that will draw you back to him again and again.
“Then we have a lot of work to do.”
END
Tumblr media
Crawlin' back to you Ever thought of callin' when You've had a few? 'Cause I always do Maybe I'm too Busy bein' yours To fall for somebody new Now, I've thought it through
The Arctic Monkeys, "Do I Wanna Know?"
448 notes · View notes
psychedelic-ink · 11 months
Text
𝑯𝑰𝑮𝑯 𝑬𝑵𝑶𝑼𝑮𝑯
Tumblr media
pairing: dieter bravo x actress!reader x bodyguard!joel miller
genre: super duper explicit smut, actress & bodyguard au, minors dni
word count: 4.5k
summary: an afterparty, weed, drinks, a grumpy bodyguard, and an eccentric actor. What can go wrong?
warnings: mlm dynamics, threesome, blossoming feelings, messy two-person blowjob, piv, polyamorous, dieter has a praise kink, hair pulling, bdsm dynamics, high sex, getting high, this is an au where sarah was never conceived sorry, petnames all around (good boy/girl, sweetheart, darlin, honey), guidance kink, handjob, implied age gap reader being the youngest and joel being the oldest
a/n: you voted and here it is! This can be considered as a continuation of the drabble I wrote but you don't need to read that in order to read this. It just takes place in the same universe. enjoy! If you want to see more adventures of bodyguard!joel and actress!reader feel free to send requests xx
Tumblr media
Joel is a grump. 
He knows this. Everyone does. He’s been called many things before in this industry: unkind, an asshole, a fucker, a bummer, a grumpy old man. But despite all the negative feedback, he’s never been out of a job. When it comes to feeling safe and secure, everyone realizes that pleasantries aren't really a priority. After a while, he learned to let those remarks bounce off of him. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy having fun; it’s the fact that this industry is riddled with slimy, untrustworthy characters. You could be happily sharing a drink one moment, and the next you could find your drunken words being sold off to the highest bidder. He has a lot of stories, some of which he wishes he could forget about.
However, he's not a kid. Far from it, actually. So he also knows that not everyone fits the bill of assholery. He's met some nice people, worked for them, and thanks to those nice people, he met you— one of the biggest rising stars of your generation. You're actually quite kind— albeit a bit of a brat, but he's starting to realize that side of you might be reserved only for him. Most impressively, you've managed to knit yourself a loving, supportive circle. He met your family once and has a sneaking suspicion they had something to do with your good manners.
Family. He misses his. Tommy still lived in Austin, running a not-so-shabby bar. 
Joel used to pride himself on not getting involved in his clients' affairs, but with you, that proved difficult.
A sea of people crashes into him, pushing him in the opposite direction of where he's trying to go. These Hollywood parties, they're always the same - loud music, annoying lights, and foaming glitter always coming from somewhere. He catches a whiff of champagne and strawberries. Rolling his eyes, he helps a director he barely knows who stumbles and nearly collapses on the shiny marble floors. With one swift motion, he grips her torso and lifts her back up. She slurs a drunken thank you and moseys off.
He hates it when you drag him to parties, and he hates it even more when you disappear. By some miracle, he spots you sitting down within the awfully lit room. You're wearing a mermaid-style dress (at least, that's what you told him prior to the event), which hugs your curves in all the right places. The fabric is covered in pearls, giving it a shimmering, iridescent quality that catches the light and reflects it into his eyes - thank fucking god, or else he suspects he'd never find you in this crowd.
His relief in finding you is short-lived when he sees who you’re sitting with. 
Fucking Dieter Bravo. 
You know he doesn’t like the man. Of course, you would sit with him just to spite Joel. That’s what he hopes this is anyway, he’s praying to every god he can think of (which isn’t many) that this isn’t a blooming friendship, or something else. He doesn’t think he can handle seeing that man more than he has to. 
Ironically, Joel actually used to work with Dieter. It only lasted for about a week as Dieter was just too unpredictable and chaotic for him. A complete hedonist who was used to getting what he wants. Before Joel could resign, Dieter had fired him. Which was good, because Joel wasn’t sure if he would’ve actually gone and done it. 
Joel feels a mixture of excitement and anxiety as your entire face lights up upon seeing him. With an open smile, you wave frantically and point to the couch across from the two of you. It's a tight fit, and his knees brush against both yours and Dieter's as he sits. The actor is holding a joint loosely between his fingers, looking up to Joel and nodding in a way that resembles an informal greeting. Joel notices the vibrant pattern of his button-up, the chain around his neck, and the rings on his fingers. Dieter takes a drag then offers it to you. Your gaze briefly meets Joel's before you take it from him. However, you don't immediately bring it to your lips.
“Where were you?” Joel asks loudly, trying to get his words over the sound of the music. “You can’t bring me to these things and then just disappear on me.” 
“You’re right, I’m sorry.” you answer with an apologetic smile. Joel narrows his eyes and you bring the neatly rolled joint to your glossy lips. You take a deep, long inhale. He watches the way your body seems to melt unconsciously. You close your eyes. “I just saw Dee and you know his habit of disappearing as soon as you blink. Had to pounce him before that happened.” 
Joel’s eyes drop to where Dieter slides an arm around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. He rests his chin on your shoulder, his eyes fixed on Joel. Your eyes flutter open and much to Joel’s surprise, you extend the joint to him. 
“Don’t bother, sweetheart,” Dieter says, his lips too close to your cheek. Joel bristles unknowingly. “He has a stick up his ass.” 
“Dieter!” you hiss, glaring daggers. “Behave.” 
“I don’t smoke on the job.” Joel says, a bit smugly and enjoying the other man’s prominent pout. “Unlike some, I’m a professional.” 
Dieter scoffs. The joint still lingers between your fingers, your gaze snapping to Joel. You accusatorily point at him, your brows drawn together. “And you—” you warn. “Don’t act so high and mighty. You’re off the clock remember? I invited you here so you would loosen up a little.” 
What? 
“What?” he blinks rapidly. “Why on earth would I need loosenin’ up? And why would I want to loosen up with you lot? This ain’t exactly my scene honey.” 
“Because we’re friends, smartass.” you chide. The burnt tip of the cigarette is now closer to your fingers. With a sigh, Joel finally takes it, which provokes a burst of laughter from Dieter. 
“She has you on a leash!” Dieter points out, fingers digging into your hip and moving over the pearls. “That’s fucking adorable.” 
Joel grunts, “Shut up.” he takes the joint clumsily, holding it up to his lips. It’s been a while since he’s done this. When he does he usually prefers the privacy of his own home. Joel ignores the way your eyes are fixed on him, two wide eager eyes eating him up from head to toe. 
He takes a deep inhale, his lungs expanding with smoke. Joel can taste the champagne you left behind. Goosebumps rise over his skin, a tingle, and a buzz making him groan. He allows the smoke to linger inside him, then, without parting from the joint much, he exhales. It’s very subtle, but he notices both you and Dieter taking deep breaths, filling yourselves with his breath. He’s amused. His lips twitch as he takes another drag. Then he extends it back to Dieter. The actor doesn’t waste much time and wraps his lips around the butt of the joint deliberately slow. Joel fights the urge to roll his eyes. Dieter takes a deep breath, exhaling cannabis in a way that the smoke doesn’t move forward, it pours from between his lips, like a dragon’s mouth. 
Joel doesn’t think much of it, now feeling more relaxed than ever, he says, “You look surprisingly cleaned up. They groomed you well.” 
“Does it look like I care what you think?” Dieter snaps back, and Joel frowns. 
“I think the word you’re looking for is thank you,” you say, words directed at Dieter. Your eyes flit between the two tense men. “Also I'm starting to think you two have some history together.” 
“Didn’t your knight in shining armor tell you?” Dieter grins, rather smug. “He used to work for me.” 
You turn to Joel, brows pinched together with confusion. “You did?” 
Joel rolls his eyes, ignoring the way his cheeks heat up under your gaze. “It was a long time ago.” 
“I fired him.” 
“How come?” 
“Too distracting.” 
Joel breathes a little too fast, the air catching in his throat. He clears his throat, his veins alive with tension. It almost feels like it’s the only three of them now. The rest of the room fading and turning black. Joel leans forward, the already tight space becoming even tighter. 
“Excuse me?” Joel asks, his speech slurred. “What do you mean “too distractin’”?” 
Neither of them answers you. Actors, he thinking begrudgingly, a puff of air parting his lips. Dieter brings the joint to your lips and without taking it from him, you look at Joel. He watches as your lips brush against the length of Dieter’s fingers. Annoyance brews in his stomach. 
“Is he like this with you too? Oblivious?” Dieter asks you. You grin, teeth shining under the dim lights and you nod. The actor’s tongue pokes out from between his lips and swipes over his bottom lip. “Poor baby.” 
“You two are startin’ to get on my nerves,” Joel grumbles, crossing his arms across his broad chest. 
You stick your tongue out and Joel has half the urge to grab it between his fingers and teach you a lesson. He hadn’t noticed, but the joint had made its way back to him. Slightly confused and disoriented, he finishes it off. The last bit of it burning his throat and lungs. He’s incredibly flustered, heat crawling up from his chest to his cheeks. He doesn’t miss the way you and Dieter steal glances at each other, smiling giddily. 
Finally, you find Joel’s gaze, a Cheshire-cat like grin plastered on your face—he’s slightly creeped out by it actually. 
“How about we show you what we mean?” 
Joel should’ve said no. This is the last time he’s ever coming to one of these damn parties. 
Tumblr media
Joel wasn’t thinking much when Dieter led all of you to one of the many bedrooms in the residence. Your hand was clutched tightly around his, and per instinct, he had held on to you just as tight. And as soon as the three of them entered the stupidly large bedroom with an equally stupidly large bed, he found himself sitting on the edge with his pants down. The two actors knelt between his legs, eyes hungry and mouths flooded. 
He has to admit, it’s a rather enticing view. 
Dieter wraps his fingers around the base while you kiss the inside of Joel’s thigh. Heat settles at the base of his spine, his cock twitching and growing thanks to Dieter’s slow strokes. You drag your lips up, kissing his shaft before swirling your tongue around the head. A strangled moan leaves him. Joel’s gaze drops, only to see Dieter staring back at him. He holds his breath as the other grins from one ear to the other. 
“You like that?” he coos, darting his tongue out. He licks a clean stripe up, the curve of his nose brushing against yours. “God, the number of times I came in my pants thinking about this. . .” 
Joel’s quick to follow up, “You thought about this?” 
Your sudden bubble of laughter makes him frown. His lips become a tight line, his teeth clenched as he grinds the molars together. He watches as you ignore him and pull away. You cradle Dieter’s cheek, and as if he read your mind, the actor leans in, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. Joel tenses. His skin taut over muscle. His cock stands with attention, beads of precum rolling down his length. The thought of his taste lingering on your tongue, being passed to Dieter—his chest heaves, maybe he is too old for this. 
He sees Dieter shoving his tongue between your lips and you moan into his mouth, Dieter swallows the noises you make eagerly. Joel is surprised he’s not feeling any jealousy or protectiveness. Usually, when the actor attempts to make passes at you he puffs up like a rooster. But not his time. Dieter cups your face with two hands, tilting your head so he can kiss you deeper. Only then it dawns on Joel that the reason he was bothered before wasn’t that he hated the actor—though he still found him annoying—but because he wanted to be included. He almost laughs. Loneliness truly is a bitch. His fingers twitch and he makes a move to cup himself, he pouts when his hand is batted away by no one other than you. 
“No,” you say wetly with swollen lips. “We’re going to take care of you. Isn’t that right, Dee?” the second half of the sentence is directed at the actor who looks just as debauched. But he manages to nod anyway. Then your gaze moves back up to Joel. “Okay?” 
He’s lost for words for a brief moment, mouth opening and closing before he can find his speech again. “Okay.” 
It’s messy. Debauched. Downright sinful. And Joel is ninety percent sure this is all a dream and his alarm is about to burst through the speaker of his phone. Dieter purses his lips and spits into his palm, coating Joel’s shaft with a generous amount. You kiss the head and swallow him halfway, your nostrils flaring as you try to take more of him. Joel’s hand lifts to comfort you but Dieter beats him to it. The actor leans into your ear, smiling slyly. He pulls down the straps of your dress and exposes your breasts. Joel’s mouth feels dry all of a sudden. 
“That’s it, sweetheart. You’re doing so well,” Dieter purrs, Joel can barely hear him. “Just breathe through your nose, don’t rush it. He’s a big boy, isn’t he? Flatten your tongue and swallow. That’s it. . .” Joel’s arms buckle as you do what you’re told, his eyes rolling back. Dieter kisses your cheek and kneads your breasts, thumbs wiping over the pebbled nipples. “You’re making him so happy right now. Such a talented girl.” 
“Oh, fuck,” Joel groans, slightly thrusting into your mouth. Dieter meets his gaze and winks, a wide grin spread across his handsome face. 
Handsome. Joel finds Dieter handsome, always has. Though he always assumed he found him handsome in a more general way, the same way he found Oscar Isaac handsome. Some people just are. But he’s starting to think he might like the infuriating actor a bit more than he thought. Or maybe it’s just from the heat of the moment and the weed still buzzing in his veins. Regardless, he’s enjoying the view very much. God, what has he gotten himself into? 
You swirl your tongue and hollow your cheeks. More praise drips from Dieter’s lips. Without thinking much of it, Joel reaches out and touches the side of Dieter’s face. The actor stills for a moment, brows furrowing, a delicious shade of red coloring his cheeks. Joel drags the pad of his thumb down Dieter’s cheek and then cups him tenderly. 
“Good boy,” Joel says before his filter kicks in. “You’re doin’ so well too.” 
Dieter’s face is priceless. He’s stunned into silence, eyes wide and round, lips parted. A low chuckle trembles within Joel’s chest, he continues to trace his thumb up and down the contours of his cheek. Dieter leans into the touch ever so slightly, eyelids fluttering. You must notice the change in the air because you pull away and drag a pointed tongue down Joel’s length. Then you grip Dieter’s chin and guide him down. 
“Have a taste, Dee.”
Joel watches with bated breath as you guide Dieter down towards his aching member. The actor's lips part and his breath hitches as he takes in the sight before him. He looks up at Joel, his eyes dark, before finally taking him in his mouth, tongue swirling and lips tight. The actor's eyes never leave Joel's as he bobs his head, taking more and more of him into his mouth. Joel’s legs shake, his lungs expand, it feels too much, everything tumbling onto him like an avalanche. 
Joel's head falls back, his eyes closing as he feels the warmth of Dieter's mouth. He can hear the wet sounds of his mouth moving over him, the way his lips slide up and down his length, and he can't help but let out a low moan.
You reach out and grab Joel's hand, entwining your fingers. Your touch electric. Leaning over you capture Joel's lips with your own. He moans into your mouth, the pleasure almost too much to bear.
Dieter pulls back, a thin line of saliva connecting his lips to Joel's length. He looks up at Joel with a wicked grin, before taking him back into his mouth. Parting away from you, Joel groans, hips bucking up involuntarily. But when he sees Dieter grinding into his palm, his cock hard and aching under his pants, Joel tugs on his hair, fucking his mouth with shallow strokes. 
Joel’s eyes go wide when the other man chokes, the sound of it equivalent to someone raking their nails over his body. His stomach flips. Something raw and visceral awakening inside him. He thrusts deeper, the head going down the other’s throat. Dieter chokes again and Joel moans, loudly. His heart beating too fast. 
With the corner of his eyes, Joel watches your movements with a parted mouth. You dip lower and drag your lips up his shaft, your mouth meeting Dieter’s. You both mouth at him simultaneously, your tongues dancing. Joel fists the sheets. His eyes fixed where his cock disappears and reappears between their lips. The two moan at the same time, the reverberations seeping into the sensitive skin of his cock and making him shudder. His muscles grow taut. Precum heavily coating both of their lips. Dieter dips his tongue into the slit groaning at the taste, and you unbutton the actor’s pants, sliding your hand under his boxer briefs. 
“Oh god,” Joel swallows thickly, his voice hoarse. “I’m gonna come—” he can feel his body tensing, his breaths coming in short gasps as he gets closer and closer.
You pull away and Dieter follows. Instinctively, Joel pulls at Dieter’s hair, willing the other back to his cock. His cock twitches when Dieter’s eyes roll back at the blossoming pain. You climb up the bed, cradling Joel’s face before slipping his tongue into his mouth. It’s a quick one but leaves him breathless nonetheless. 
“I want you to fuck me,” you mutter, lips moving over his beard. “Will you, please?” 
Joel helps you up to your feet, his hands still shaking slightly as he pushes down your dress, finishing what Dieter had started. He dips down, sucking a nipple into his mouth. His cock drips at the way you moan for him. Dieter stands behind him, his fingers trailing down the center of Joel's back as he helps him out of his shirt. 
You reach for Dieter's pants, feeling the heat rising in your chest as you gaze into his eyes. He watches you intently, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. You slide the zipper down slowly, your fingers brushing against the growing bulge in his boxer briefs. 
Joel steps back, allowing you to guide Dieter towards the bed. He climbs up first, propping himself up against the headboard, his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding in front of him. You kneel on the bed beside Dieter, your fingers reaching for the waistband of his underwear. You tug them down slowly, revealing his cock, already hard and throbbing. 
Joel's breath catches in his throat as he watches you take Dieter's cock into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the head before sliding down the shaft. Then you pull away from him with a pop and lay down next to him, your head resting on his hip. Dieter’s hands smooth down your body, spreading your thighs. He holds Joel’s gaze as the older man’s mouth suddenly feels dry at the sight of you. 
Joel moves between your legs, his fingers tracing over your slick folds, making you moan softly. He positions himself at your entrance, his eyes locked onto yours as he slowly pushes inside you. He can feel you getting wetter with every inch. You claw at Dieter’s bicep and he shushes you, one hand moving to the swell of your breasts and holding it gingerly. The small hairs across Joel’s body stand up when you let out a sharp whimper. 
“Dieter,” you whine, eyes glossy. “H-He feels so good.” 
God, you’re shaking around him, your pretty pussy squeezing him. Joel grunts. 
“I bet he does,” Dieter murmurs, eyes looking at where you and Joel connect. He’s only halfway in. “Want me to play with your pretty clit, baby? You’re taking him so well.” 
You nod quickly and Dieter doesn’t make you repeat yourself. Joel swallows. Dieter begins to draw quick, tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. You gasp, your lips barely touching Dieter’s shaft. Joel feels you clenching around him, walls fluttering thanks to the actor. Dieter makes a point of brushing the tips of his fingers while attending to your need, and every time Joel feels it, his cock throbs. He buries himself deep inside you, forcing the air from your lungs. Your back arches beautifully, your nails leaving crescent moon-shaped marks into Dieter’s skin. 
Joel's breathing is ragged, his eyes locked onto yours as he pumps into you harder and harder. Your eyes flutter closed. His fingers dig into your hips, anchoring you to the bed as he pounds into you. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room. 
“Hold me,” you cry out, head turning to Dieter. Joel’s thrusts become harder, faster. “Shit—He’s in so deep.” 
Dieter obliges, wrapping his arms around your trembling frame as your body sways back and forth with the strength of Joel’s thrusts. 
“You’re taking him so well, sweetheart,” Dieter groans, his own cock heavy and dark between his legs. “You look so beautiful with him buried between his legs.” suddenly his eyes snap to Joel’s, and the older man falters a bit, his pacing becoming uneven. “Doesn’t she?” he asks him. 
“She does,” Joel grunts out a response. 
You let out a whimper, Joel can feel you convulsing. Your body growing taut and tense, you’re close. Joel’s not that far from it himself, dangling over the edge.  
“She’s such a good girl,” Dieter continues, eyes never leaving Joel’s. “Isn’t she?” 
“Jesus, she is. So fuckin’ good to me. Always.” 
And with that, Joel witnesses your fall from heaven.
He watches with awe as you writhe and convulse around him, your head thrown back in ecstasy. Your body trembles with every pulse of pleasure that courses through you, and your breaths come in short gasps. You arch your back, a low moan escapes your lips, and your body tenses up around Joel's length. Your fingers dig into Dieter’s forearms s as you ride out the waves of ecstasy that ripple through your body. Joel can feel your inner walls squeezing him tightly, and he groans.
Joel can feel your wetness coating his cock, and the slickness only intensifies the pleasure he feels. He continues to thrust into you, his pace quickening as he chases his own release. Somewhere in the distance, he can hear Dieter praising you both, though mostly you, and he shudders. 
Your orgasm starting to subside, he feels your body relaxing against him. He slows his pace, savoring the feeling of your hot, slick walls wrapped tightly around him. He wants to make this last as long as possible, to make you feel every inch of him. However, Joel knows nothing lasts forever. 
He’s right at the edge when he pulls out, spilling over your stomach. His hot breath slides over your skin, his head buried between your breasts. Unthinking, he presses heavy, wet kisses. The tremors of his orgasm slowly fades and Joel realizes that among the three of them, there’s still one person left unsatisfied. 
Joel looks up to Dieter. Despite his cock still being hard, the head an angry shade of red, he looks content with just peppering the top of your head with kisses. But he must’ve sensed the bodyguard staring because Dieter’s eyes meet his. 
“You didn’t come,” Joel states. 
Dieter rolls his eyes, “No shit,” he follows it up with a shrug. “But it’s okay. Seeing you two going at it was satisfying enough.” 
Joel moves his jaw, thinking, contemplating on what to do. Your lids are heavy as your eyes move back and forth. Watching. The older man comes to a decision and peels himself away from you. 
“Can I?” he asks, pointing at Dieter’s dick. The actor flushes. 
“Can you what?” he answers, voice squeaky. 
“Um. . .Jerk you off. It’s only fair.” 
Joel reaches out a hand and tentatively wraps it around Dieter's shaft, giving it a gentle squeeze. Dieter lets out a small moan. His fingers start moving up and down, slowly at first, getting a feel for Dieter's size and shape. Joel has done this with another once or twice before and he can sense his confidence that was already hanging by a thread slowly dissolving. He looks up at Dieter who is already staring at him with half hooded eyes.   
“Is this good?” Joel asks, licking his lips. 
“Fuck yes. I’ll take whatever you give me.” 
Joel’s eyes widen at the admission. He tightens his grip and strokes him faster. Your hand comes up to Dieter’s chest, caressing flushed skin with a smile. You lean closer and kiss his neck, which Dieter hums gratefully. Joel feels the heat emanating from Dieter's body, and the slight tremble in his legs as Joel picks up the pace. 
"Good boy," Joel murmurs, watching as Dieter's eyes close and his mouth falls open. "So well behaved than from what I give him credit for."
Dieter lets out a soft whimper, his hips bucking up into Joel's hand. Joel adjusts his grip, tightening his fingers around Dieter's cock as he works him harder. Dieter drips all over his fingers and he uses it to lubricate his movements.
"You're so hard," Joel whispers, his mouth suddenly feeling incredibly dry. His gaze falls on you with slight envy, a tingle spreading throughout his lips. A desire to lay his lips on the other man and feel his frantic pulse for himself is a strong one, but he swallows it down. "You want to come, don't you?"
Dieter nods frantically, his breathing ragged. Joel can feel his own cock twitching. 
"That's it, let go," Joel encourages, stroking him faster and swiping his palm over the head. "Come for us."
With a loud groan, Dieter's body tenses, and Joel can feel the hot spurt of cum as it lands on his hand and on Dieter's stomach. Joel keeps jerking him through his orgasm, murmuring words of encouragement as Dieter's body shakes with pleasure.
Finally, as Dieter's breathing evens out, Joel releases him, wiping his hand on the bedsheet. Dieter looks up at him with a dazed expression, a small smile on his lips.
"Thanks," he says, his voice hoarse.
Joel exhales a stuttered breath, not really knowing what else to say. "Anytime."
“Awwww,” you chime in giddily which gets on Joel’s nerves. “Look at my two boys getting along.” 
1K notes · View notes
morallyinept · 4 months
Text
Back Alley Bang! - A Dieter Bravo One Shot
Tumblr media
Summary: Down a dirty back alley, sleazy Dieter Bravo coaxes you into some lewdness. But, do you really need coaxing?
Pairing: Sleazy!Dieter x MenaceF!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub. However, Reader wears a dress and has hair that can be pulled. Otherwise, reader is a blank slate.)
Word Count: 6k-ish
Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I’m doing well, and then, you try to kill me.”
Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.
Explicit - Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/fingering/oral M & F receiving/spitting/mild voyeurism/dirty talk - A LOT of dirty, filthy talk - Dieter calls you a slut & whore which you love/verbal degredation/very mild ass eating, just a slurp/sleazy/lewdness/come eating/mild drug use/Dieter lives up wholly to the trash rep & he is not a famous actor in this story. Reader is incorrigible and wants it all.
NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.
Author’s Note: I blame the recent outtakes of Pedro's Esquire shoot for this. Probably the filthiest thing I've written so far... 🫠
If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.
MASTERLIST
Enjoy! 🖤
Tumblr media
In the pulsating nightclub, bodies sway in the oppressive furnace as the bass reverberates through the crowded space.
Coloured lights flash sporadically, casting erratic shimmers of neon lights in the glassy eyes of the feverish dancers around you.
The packed dance floor is a writhing mass of heat; bodies moving in sweaty unison lost to the rhythms of the slick night. The heat is palpable on your skin, a relentless force that wraps around you like a ruthless, suffocating hold.
It's as if the very air is saturated with fervour, clinging to you like a hot, heavy mist. You feel it in the back of your throat, under your eyelids.
The flimsy dress you’re wearing clings to your frame; a barely there silken slip of oil, black and saturated with your perspiration as it sticks around the swell of your nipples. The dance floor becomes a crucible, each striking beat intensifying the atmosphere until it's as stifling as a steam-filled alley after a torrential rain.
Amidst the chaotic tempo, eyelashes damp with exertion and your mascara creasing no doubt, you lock eyes with a persistent figure at the crowded bar.
His gaze is predatory, a calculated intensity that tops the disorienting haze around you. You’ve noted him watching you from various positions in the club.
As you lock eyes with him at the crowded bar, a magnetic pull ensnares you like a chafed noose around the throat. His gaze, penetrating through the vapour, stirs a primal response within the pits of your belly.
A tingling sensation ripples across your skin, heightened by the throbbing ache settling between your legs. It's a visceral reaction, a silent acknowledgment that something beyond the ordinary is unfolding in the dimly lit confines.
Your breath catches in anticipation; the air thickening with a heady cocktail of desire and apprehension. The chaotic energy of the nightclub momentarily gives way to a singular focus on the mysterious figure.
Despite his seemingly dishevelled appearance, there's an inexplicable allure that transcends the rough surface. The stranger's grimy exterior only fuels the flames of attraction, a paradoxical magnetism that bends societal norms until they crumble. A scummy diamond in the chintzy rough.
You hazard a guess at his age, mentally placing him around his early to mid-forties; the salt and peppered scruff around his jaw is lined with the scuzz of a moustache that taints his top lip. His hair is an unruly affray of dark chocolate curls, spiked in their fluff and streaked with grey when the strobes hit it.
His shoulders, hunched over the bar, seem far too broad to fit into the leather that sculpts around them and his biceps. His hand engulfs the glass tumbler, making it appear comically small, as though he could crush it with a simple squeeze of those thick fingers, some with silver bands woven around them.
You swallow dryly, feeling your trachea pulse at the thought of those hands crushing you.
You get a brazen flash of an earring, possibly a hoop, in his left lobe; a gold twinkle at you as he turns his head, cocking it, to observe you.
Watching you watching him.
His gaze is akin to a solitary predator surveying its prey from the shadows - unseen, but undeniably present. A lurking panther in the urban wilderness, patiently observing the dance of gazelles amidst the chaos of the nightclub.
His dark eyes, gleaming with a primal hunger, follow your every sway; an intense focus that obliterates the mere act of watching, and enters the realm of silent pursuit. It's a chary stance, like a sentry in militant vigilance and absorbing every nuance of your dancing amidst the nightclub's frenetic energy.
You feel his eyes all over you, in every sweaty nook and cranny of your flesh.
You like it, the way he circles you from the outer orbits; the way you sway and dip your hips deliberately lower, giving him a show. Bending purposefully this way or that, a flash of inner thigh, the trench of your cleavage… And you can sense he knows it’s all for him.
He sups from a glass knocking back the golden liquid. His intense stare pierces at you through the smoky ambiance, and a subtle beckoning gesture of his head soon suggests an invitation beyond the confines of the pulsating music.
In a daring move, fuelled by the flutter between your legs and the need to seek a respite from the intense heat of the nightclub's intoxicating energy inking your skin like a cheap stick-poke, you decide to follow the tempting hulkness of him.
Drawn by a magnetic force, even if a small ebb inside your gut warns you against your chagrin. It's the kind of sensation that leaves a lingering taste of ash in your mouth - a pertinent reminder that, in the urban landscape, even what feels undeniably good can be wrapped in the coarse fabric of moral ambiguity.
But you quickly push it aside as you totter after him; you know what you crave. And come Hell or high water if you're not going to get it.
As you step into the night, the abrupt transition from the seismic warmth of the club, to the cool night air, is palpable on your skin. Emerging from the sweltering cocoon into the refreshing breath of the outside world, a welcome, soft breeze soothes your neck and stirs the tendrils of your hair stuck to it. Your lungs fill with condensation as you breathe in.
The distant thud of the music forms a muffled backdrop to the dimly lit street as you search his broad shoulders out.
The neon glow from the club spills into the side alley, casting long shadows on the brick walls as you navigate the uneven pavement after him.
The cool air becomes a pragmatic balm for your overheated skin, salved in as you wipe at it. The atmosphere shifts from the previous frenetic energy of the dance floor to a hushed anticipation, as guided by a heated curiosity, you venture further into the unknown and shadows alike.
The sounds of the city, normally drowned out by the nightclub beats, become more pronounced in the secluded alleyway, adding an eerie dimension to this clandestine encounter. The pungent aroma of a nearby Chinese restaurant weaves through the air. The piquant notes of soy, ginger, and garlic emerge, battling with the prevailing stench of decay from the dumpsters that line the labyrinth, blocking out the light in its opacity the further you follow.
You can feel your body buzzing; a low hum that centres in your core, radiating outwards down your limbs that feel wibbly like spaghetti.
He lights something, smoke billowing out from behind him; the embers fizzing a vitriolic red in the darkness as he turns to ensure you’re still following. The only light on his succinct features as he inhales through the dark.
You palm at your neck, feeling the clammy stickiness of your own skin, cracking it out from side to side as your heels scrape along the rough concrete, matching the tempo of your heart beating in your ears as you keep pace.
The abrupt shift in the atmosphere is palpable. The cool night air, tainted by the distant scent of fetid dumpsters, provides a stark contrast to the stale waft of the club. Neon signs from nearby establishments cast erratic patterns on the uneven brick walls, revealing the hidden textures of urban decay.
The stranger, a silhouette in a dark leather trench, against the backdrop, beckons you further into the shadows down the alley. The flickering lights create a break dance of uncertainty, as the city's nocturnal sounds amplify in the secluded space.
In the grit and shadows of the back alley, you confront the dichotomy between attraction and uncertainty. It's a feverish anticipation, the air thick with a blend of arousal and the acrid scent of the city's underbelly. Your mind becomes a battleground of intense desire and shrinking caution, drawn to the enticing danger that lurks in the shadows, tumbling further down the rabbit hole, giving Alice a run for her money.
In the dank ambiguity of the alleyway, the decision to follow him becomes a bold plunge into a swampy narrative where the lines between hazard and want blur.
You’re not afraid of him, you’re incredibly turned on; the duality of forbidden fruit, smirking as you can feel your heat soiling your underwear.
He stops, smoking on what you now see is a fat blunt, and he offers it out to you, smoke billowing from his nostrils. You drag on it deeply and hand it back, before he takes another for himself and flicks it away, a comet’s tail sparkling in the dark.
The man materialises fully from the alley's shadows, a silhouette of dismantled disarray under the glow of purple neons from above on the rear of the club.
He reaches for you, giant paws maraud on your hips and he pulls you close, skin soldering to yours.
You make quick notes of the scuffed denim clinging to his waist that tells a story of hard-worn days around the knees, while the long leather trench, battered, drapes over his form, riding especially tight around his upper body, with an air of seen-it-all nonchalance. The leather is scratched as you feel your way up his arms.
The deep V-neck top underneath hints at a familiarity with the less savoury corners of the nightlife; a sartorial choice that leans into the sleaze rather than away from it. A cheap brassy chain with an indiscernable pendant hangs long beneath his clavicle. His sternum hints at tone and muscle whilst his stomach puffs out slightly at the waist, indicating the embryonic stages of a middle-aged spread.
His slovenly facial hair seems more like an afterthought than a fashion choice; a careless, scruffy embellishment left to weed on a face etched with the marks of countless dubious dealings. The moustache, weathered yet defiant, clings to his upper lip like a survivor in the chaos. Caught in the purple glow, it resembles the dark foliage of a tangled landscape, patchy in places up close.
You lick your lips wondering what it will feel like running against your cunt.
His tanned skin carries a patina of large pores over a hawkish nose, the biggest feature on his face with a prominent ridge as the harsh clinical glow of the neons expose every imperfection. He becomes a figure caught between reality and illusion in your foggy view; the violet tinge revealing a chiaroscuro of contrasts on his skin, transforming him into a nocturnal spectre that will haunt your dreams long after this clandestine tryst is over.
He pulls you closer into the raw, unfiltered reality of his fingers squeezing your hips and bunching up the obscenely thin material of your dress around them; the breeze licking delectably up the back of your thighs. His dark eyes wander obviously down to your chest, licking his own lips as he revels in the absence of a bra as your nipples dare to harden.
“What’s your name?” You query as you inhale him in.
Despite reeking of a calculated indifference, a cloud of stale cigarettes and clumsy hand-rolled joints clings to him; an obvious scent that weaves through the fabric of his jagged clothes, reminiscent of countless nights spent in the gutter with a different body wrapped around him, no doubt. It's the kind of smell that seeps into the pores and stays there until you wash it away in the morning.
Beneath this layer of grimy urban residue, there's a faint trace of cheap cologne, a feeble attempt at masking the raw essence of the streets. It's a fragrance that mingles with the sour tang of sweat, creating a cocktail of dizzying odours that hovers around him like a weary trail of late-night escapades that stack up against him.
The subtle hint of leather from his long trench coat adds another dimension to his olfactory presence. It's a stink of marred resilience, a tangible reminder of his nocturnal tales that have seeped into the very fabric of his attire.
He hums of sex, of regret and bad choices.
“Does it matter?” He responds with a lazy click of his tongue as his eyes penetrate yours again. A voice that is raw with the thickness of phlegm, grating at the back of his throat.
You nod. “I wanna scream it as you make me come.” You say, a smirk across your dewy lips as you saturate them.
You carry an aura that bears no wanton shame; you flout it at him, challenging him. Your red light in the window signalling that you're free of constraint, of moral and disregard.
There's a lingering hint of your sweet and zesty perfume, a delicate fruit ripe for the plucking. It's a fragrance that, despite the allure, cannot completely mask the subtle undertones of sweat and exertion from your time amidst the pulsing crowd of the nightclub.
Your fingers find their way up the lapels of his coat, the soft leather creaking in places as you tighten your grip around it.
His fingers have pulled your dress up now, revealing the cheeks of your ass to the potent kiss of the cool air and anyone who would happen a glance down into the deep trench of the ally.
“Dieter.” He gruffs.
Your lips meet in a gritty collision. His bedraggled scruff brushes against your skin; a coarse texture that adds a raw intensity to the kiss. It's not tender, but a desperate melding of the two of you clattering against one another. A rebellion against the urban pulse around you.
His fingers claw into the meat of your ass as your tongue clashes with his, sucking the remnants of the whiskey he sank at the bar out of his gums.
When his hands make contact, pawing at your bare skin as he pinches the plump flesh between his fingers, there's a roughness; an unapologetic texture that speaks of calloused resilience. Delectable abrasiveness that cuts through the usual softness associated with human contact.
You briefly wonder what it is he does for a living, if he has one at all. Something with his hands perhaps? Either that or he’s not adept to the external care of them. It's not a touch that seeks to comfort as you gasp with his grip that binds. It'll leave bruises and you soar at the thought.
He slaps you; a sting burning on your right cheek, echoing down the alley, which is rewarded with you pushing your tongue further into his mouth with hungry groans.
“What are you gonna do to me, huh?” You tease, catching your breath for a moment. The bite of his chapped lips against yours makes you shudder.
He grabs at your skimpy thong, pulling the sheen of the flimsy material from the nestled crack of your ass, and tears it with ease. The elastic snapping makes you claw deeper into the leather.
“What do you think, baby?” He smirks.
“I think I’m gonna have a good time with you right here.” You gasp as he tongues your neck, tasting the salty brine of your skin.
“Right here, in this nasty alley?” He taunts.
“Yeah.”
“Fucking filthy aren’t you?” He draws back to watch your eyes as his fingers swipe through your folds and coat them in your slick that’s almost watery, there’s so much of it dripping out of you.
“Yeah.” You nod, biting your lip.
“I like it.” He says, as his finger, you're not sure which, teases the entrance of your hole.
He can feel you clench, wanting to bear down around it as he slides the rough pad of it in.
“So fucking wet for me,” Dieter praises.
Your hand palms him, hard and bulging inside his jeans. He grunts like a hog searching out truffles as you squeeze.
You moan as he slips his fingers in, feels like two, but they're so thick it could be more.
“Mmm, fuck.” You whine as you feel him pump them in and out. The sensation grips you like a vice; a gut-wrenching mix of pleasure and discomfort as he stretches and scissors inside you.
“Want to stretch out this little hole, get you ready for me.” Dieter says, as the sound of your cunt squelches loudly around his digits. “Tell me how it feels?”
“It feels so fucking good.”
And it does; it's a prickling awareness that crawls beneath your skin, like the unsettling shiver that precedes a storm as it crawls over your scalp. There's a metallic taste in your mouth as you bite down on your cheeks, groaning and feeling your body start that delicious wind inward.
He pushes in deeper, stroking against the fleshy, swollen spot that makes your thighs tremble.
“Oh God…” You whine, trying to steady yourself against him as you cling onto this belt. Desperate to unlatch it, but unable to focus on the task fully as he faps harder.
The cleft of his hand pushes against your clit as a noise similar to a toad escapes your throat.
“You don’t even know where these fingers have been, do you?” Dieter says, lips rolled over his teeth. “And now they’re in your cunt. Oh, I can feel you tighten… you like the thought of that, huh? My fingers in someone else and then fucking you with them. God, you're nasty.” He smirks.
You grin as you pull on his bottom lip, nipping on it ravenously as he hisses.
“Taste it. Taste how wet I just made you, baby. Yeah.” He slips his fingers out of your pussy and into your mouth; your slick coating your lips like freshly applied gloss. You lick in between them, murmuring in delight as he simmers at you darkly.
He stuffs his fingers back into your soaked hole. You’re so wet that it sticks in your thighs, cooled by the faint breeze that ripples down the scummy alley.
“Look at you standing here with my fingers in your pussy. Fucking slut. Are you a slut for me?” Dieter mutters, his hot mouth in your face.
"Yeah, I'm a slut for you, Dieter." You moan.
He licks up the side of your jaw, all the way up your cheek and hums in your ear. “Get my cock out.”
You pull his belt open, chinking against itself as you unbutton and unzip him. You reach in and groan loudly at what you find.
“You wanna fuck me with this big cock, Dieter?”
“Fuck yeah, I do.”
He’s heavy in your palm, thick. A prominent mushroom head that's flushed scarlet under the purple hues and weeping. Sticky and warm as the strings of his precum coat your fingers like webs.
“Shit, you’re so big.” You groan, glancing down at it. You stroke up and down, engrossed in the skin that rolls back over his glossed head.
“You like big cocks inside you?” He utters, losing his breath as you squeeze around him.
“Yeah.” You nod, hypnotically.
“I bet you do. I bet this pussy’s been filled with lots of ‘em, hmm?” He emphasises the point by gripping you close and pumping his fingers in and out of you in a punishing tempo.
“Fuck!” You caterwaul. “Oh God! Yeah!”
The squelches are louder, the wetness of your pussy obscene as the drenched smacks of it click down the alleyway.
“Look at the mess you’re making.” Dieter stops to pull his fingers out, your slick running down them, and he sucks them into his mouth hastily. “Mmm… fuck, you taste good.”
He faps again, curling his fingers up inside you and your thighs thunder against him.
“That’s it, give it to me. Come on my fingers, baby.” Dieter prompts.
It pulses through your veins like a relentless drumbeat, a primal rhythm echoing the anticipation bursting in your chest. It's not a refined thrill but a visceral surge; an electric charge that sets every nerve ablaze. Your senses become hyper-aware, as if the world around you is dialled up to an intense, crackling volume.
The city sounds - horns blaring, distant sirens, the muffled thump of music from the club - merge into a chaotic symphony, adding to the cacophony of your racing heartbeat. Standing on the edge of a precipice, the ground beneath you vibrates with potential.
There's a heat that radiates from within, a feverish warmth that consumes any traces of hesitation, burning it up, as you willing step off the ledge, unafraid of the abyss below.
You cry out, freefalling as his fingers pull it out of you; tightening around them and bearing down as you come.
“Fuck! Fuck!” You pant, your thighs shake and your hips jerk as he thumbs against your clit. The force of it propels you forward into his chest.
“There we go.” He cajoles, grinning at you as you tremble and contort. Your knees buckle as he holds you upright, hand firmly on your ass, still kneading as you regain your sight. “You needed that, didn’t you, baby?”
Dieter leans in and licks up the side of your face again. The sweat from his neck sticks to your jaw, grazing with the hairs on him that smatter there.
“Let me suck it,” you pant as he slips out of you. Your fingers are still curled around his cock as you pump him.
“You like being a slut and sucking strangers' cocks in alley ways, hmm?”
“Yeah. I wanna be on my knees for you as you fuck my mouth, Dieter.” He can’t stop you from kneeling, feeling the pebbly pavement hard on them; gravel embedded in your skin as you lower yourself willingly into the dirt.
You want to be vile, disgusting, perverse for him. Every bit as filthy and unabashed as he is.
You lick up the length of him; a meaty musk floods your nose and the tang of the salt bubbling out the slit of him glues to your tongue.
“Show me what that slutty mouth can do.” He urges, resting back against the wall, legs slightly bowed.
You take him in, feeling your lips stretch around the circumference of him, hollowing your cheeks as you take him down as far as you can without choking. Coating him in sticky saliva as it pools around your mouth.
He shuffles his jeans further down, releasing his balls from the tight confines of them. He grunts as he gathers your hair into a pony around his fist, cocking his head to get a better view of you in the violet lights sucking joyously on his dick.
“Suck on my balls, baby.” He instructs as he watches you pop him out of your mouth. “That's it. Get ‘em nice and wet. Fuck. Yeah.”
His breath bounces in his throat as you lick them, alternating between pulling each of them into your mouth as you suck and roll your tongue around them.
He bends forward, those swollen plums slipping from your warm, wet orifice and taps your cheek with the two fingers he fucked you with.
“Open.” Dieter spits in your mouth, quick and with precision.
It hits the back of your tongue; a discordant punctuation mark that echoes like a rebel yell in the night. You cream instantly as he does it, marks you, tasting that thick glob in your mouth as he butts his cock against your lips.
“So eager to suck dick, aren't you? Fuck, you’re so good at it. Take it deeper.”
You feel the heaves rumble up from your gut as he punches the back of your throat with his thick head. Saliva pools in your cheeks, and you can feel it seep out of your lips and down your chin.
“Oh, you make my cock so wet. Look at that.” Dieter smirks as he tightens your makeshift ponytail around his fist. Pulling you further onto his length until he thrusts in and your nose meets the soft fat of his lower belly.
Pushed in so deeply that you inhale the coarse, curly hairs of his happy trail. Snuffling around them as you try to breathe.
“Choke on it, baby. Fuck, like that.” He grunts out loudly, hissing around his teeth. You hear it echo around the alley. It's like the growl of a neglected engine, a primal sound that refuses to be drowned out by the urban hum.
He does it again, rolling you back down the length of him as you splutter, and before you can inhale, he thrusts hard again, taking your breath away as you retch. Thick strings of drool drip gloopy onto your chest.
He fucks your mouth and revels in it, revels in your eagerness to get off with it.
“Stand up, baby. Gonna fuck that tight pussy right now.” He gasps, unable to delay the gratification any further.
“Yeah!” You cough, wiping your mouth and chin.
“Yeah you want it. Want me ploughing you against this wall?” He pushes you against it, face first, and smacks your ass again. Your cheeks ripple with the force as you whine with a delirious giggle.
“Bend over, baby. I want that ass.” Dieter instructs and you gasp. It's a sonic rebellion, like the crackle of worn vinyl, where each pop and hiss claws up your spine to tantalise and leave you begging for more.
“Oh my God, yes! Put your tongue in my ass hole. Oh yeah! Fuck!” You groan, nails scraping down the wall as he pries your cheeks apart and you feel the wet on his tongue teasing around your puckered rim.
You feel him spit on it; a raw, unapologetic truth as he tongues you, dipping in slightly whilst you squeal. You feel him lick down along your seam, tasting you as his tongue butts your clit and you groan in want.
“Fuck me, Dieter.” You wail. You can’t wait anymore. You need him. “Fuck me hard.”
“Oh, you want it, don’t you?” He stands up, pulling you up a little and positioning you with your legs apart.
He runs his cock inside your wet folds, teasing and groaning as he greases himself up in you.
“Fuck, you’re soaked.” He growls again. You feel another sting on your ass as he swats it.
You hear his breath pelting in the back of his throat as he jerks himself a couple of times and lines up. His head notches at your entrance, and you automatically push back, lipping yourself over him.
“Desperate for it, aren’t you?” Dieter gruffs. "Take my cock."
The stretch burns a little, but you're so wet that he slides in with minimal effort. You clench around him, dragging him in as his grip knots at your hips.
He pulls back, admiring the purply sheen of you around his dick and then plunges in until he bottoms out.
“Ah, yeah. Fuck this pussy, Dieter.” You seethe through gritted teeth; an internal tempest, a storm brewing within the confines of your body and mind as he fills you up and packs you out.
It's a visceral upheaval, an electric surge that ignites every nerve and sets your senses ablaze. Another coiled spring, ready to unleash a torrent of unrestrained energy.
His cock plunges deeper, faster, setting into a rapid-fire surge that jolts your senses into hyperactivity. Every synapse seems to spark with the pulsing flare of just coming, and coming hard around him.
It's a fireworks display of thoughts, each one exploding before you can decipher it, gone before you have the chance to form coherent understanding as his cock batters all sense of symbiotic thought out of your skull.
“You feel me? Stretching you open like that?” Dieter puffs as he winds deep.
“Yeah, I like it. Balls deep in my fucking pussy.” You grunt, biting so hard at your lip that you can taste loose change.
“Oh, you like it deep, baby. Fuck.”
“Does my pussy feel good?”
“So good, baby. Shit.” He pants. You feel his fingers clawing into your hips now, yanking you back with each snap.
“So tight around your big, hard cock fucking me.” You husk as he strips your breath from you again.
“Oh fuck, you got a mouth on you, baby.”
“I want you to fill it with your come, Dieter.” You throw a look over your shoulder at him, and he smirks, puffing as he works; lilac sweat inking around the trench of his throat, tracking down his chest and staining the V of his top darker.
“Come all in that dirty, whore mouth.” He agrees.
“Yeah.”
“Are you a dirty whore?”
“Mmm.” You nod, smiling. You reach round gripping onto his wrist tightly, nails digging in.
“Must be, letting me fuck you like this. Fucking you down this alley, balls deep. Anyone could see you getting it. They can probably hear you.”
“Yeah.”
“Hear how desperate you are for my cock filling you up.”
“I love it! Oh God!” You shriek as he hammers now. The sound of his thighs slapping against your ass cheeks rebeverate down the alley like striking plastic relentlessly.
“Oh my God, your cock feels so good in my pussy! Fuck, you’re so fucking hard, Dieter!”
“You make me hard, baby. You and this tight little cunt.”
“Don’t stop!” You nails claw down the brickwork as you pant and push back onto him.
You can feel it, snapping at you, winding deep into a strangling coil ready to break, urging you to dive headfirst into the current of the electrifying unknown.
"Come for me, baby." He sneers. "Want this pussy soaking me."
He stands you upright taking a step forward so you’re crushed into the wall. The curve of his cock grinds against that perfect spot within you as his thrusts are more indolent, more deliberate now.
His hand is gently on your throat, swallowing into his palm, as he bites on the back of your neck skin, tasting your perfumy glaze.
Your nose grazes against the brickwork as his fingers sweep back and forth, around and around on your rioting clit, tightening with every stroke as he fucks you deep.
“God, you’re fucking me so good right now, Dieter. Don’t stop. Show me how good my pussy makes you feel.” You pant into the mortar, your tongue tasting it as you wail.
“You gonna come for me again, all over me? Let me go home with my cock stinking of you?” Dieter grits in your ear.
“Mmm… fuck.” You groan as he pushes you into the wall further, crushes you as you feel like you could sink into it.
“Say my name, baby. Let everyone hear how good I’m fucking you right now. You wanted to know my name to scream it, yeah? So scream it.”
“DIETER! Oh fuck, Dieter! Yes!”
You flood him as you come, tightening around him as you shake, losing your voice. The shockwave hits you; a dynamo unleashed, a surge of energy that feels as if a thousand champagne bubbles are effervescing beneath your skin.
A pressure cooker reaching its boiling point, the lid lifted, and the steam of excitement escaping in a hissing crescendo.
“Yeah, baby. Come all over my cock That's it… oh fuck!” Dieter grizzles.
The fog of his breath steams in your ear as you come; soaking and contracting around him. Dizzy from the cognitive buzz that thumps heavy between your ears and deafens you with white noise as your ears ring.
“Are you ready? You wanna make yourself come in my mouth?” You challenge, catching your breath.
“Get on your fucking knees, baby.”
Dropping to them with a heavy thud that’s sure to have left them grazed up and bloody, you take him back in your throat, eagerly pumping the base of him as you slurp him down.
“That’s it, suck it for me. Taste that slutty pussy all over my cock.”
“I want you to come, Dieter. Come in my mouth.” You gasp as you take him in deep, sucking hard.
“Oh that’s good, like that. Pretty as a fucking picture. Oh shit. Come on, I know you want it... Pull it all out of me. Suck it harder. Take what you want.” He encourages you as you speed up. Fingers slipping over him as you taste the sweetly honeyed remnants of yourself on him.
“Yeah, keep doing that. Right there. Oh shit… Oh shit, shit. I’m gonna come. Fuck. I’m gonna come right down your throat, baby!” Dieter warns, and you feel him pulse around your lips.
“Fuuuccckkk!” He floods your mouth, pumping hot and salty streams into it as his voice chokes in the back of his larynx.
“Fuck. Show me… let me see it before you swallow.” Dieter pants, tapping the underside of your chin as you pull off of him.
He takes his cock in his hand and squeezes the last drops out onto your tongue that’s full of his pearly spend.
Then, he leans forward, slipping his adept tongue into your mouth as you both swirl them around one another. You groan in delight as he drinks himself from your mouth, both of you swallowing it down together.
A momentary calming serenity descends like a gentle fog, softening the edges of your racing thoughts, settling them into a tranquil pool of abject satisfaction. It's a mental sigh, a release of held breath, the wrangling of taught limbs, as you sigh and hum contentedly as you fall deeper into his rancid mouth.
Questions linger, threatening to jab and pierce through the conscious veil, thoughts that you hold off drafting cohesive answers to until later, refusing to cross over into a threatening taint of reality.
“Fuck,” you groan dreamily as he pulls away. He grins at you, licking his lips as he tucks himself back into his jeans.
Your dress flaps back down around your thighs as you stand upright; the silk of it rippling in the breeze.
Your discarded and torn thong is tangled around the heel of your shoe; you lift your ankle, pulling it free and tossing it aside like your morals and any sense of regret.
“You need money for a cab, baby?” Dieter asks you as he lights up another joint he pulls from his trench pocket.
You shake your head. “Thanks, but I’m good.”
“Sure, sure,” he says nodding nonchalantly, blowing thick smoke into the air.
He offers the joint out to you, the rings on his fingers catching the light in the back of your retinas, but you shake your head again with some unbridled mirth.
A few beats exist between the two of you, marred in something more than post-coital awkwardness. It's as if the exchange between you, marked by the weave of purple hues and the coarse air of the city, has left a lewd mark, staining the alley with more than your flouting promiscuousness and bodily fluids.
As you move forward, back up the alley with your heels clattering and your arms wrapped around yourself and sticky in between your legs, he ambles beside you, throwing a lingering glance that cements the layers of filth permanently under your skin.
His eyes trawl up and down your body as he tokes contemplatively. There's a magnetic pull, an invisible thread that seems reluctant to sever as you reach the familiar noises of the street and branch out towards the curb.
He pulls your elbow back so you avoid colliding with revellers you haven’t seen coming, and his touch leaves a brand that sears blisters on your skin.
You smile and he nods, turning away from you, ready to slink off into the shadows of the night like some would-be anti-hero etched onto the pages of a dogeared comic.
You take a few paces and stop, calling out to him; breaking the charged silence that had veiled over you both during that walk up the deep vein of the alley.
He turns with a whiff of skewed curiosity as you linger, his eyes still roaming over you; a dog still craving your meat.
“You wanna come back with me?” You ask brazenly, the breeze blowing the greased tendrils of your hair onto your lips.
Dieter inhales on the joint thoughtfully, eyebrows knitting together into contemplation and blows a thick wad of smoke out into the air that dissipates above the crown of unruly tufts that are slicked with sweat and have lost some of their fluff now.
The gossamer smoke glows as it thins out, cast in ultraviolet hues from the fuzzed indigo neons of the adjacent club.
He licks his bottom lip wet and sucks it in, releasing it with a pop as he considers the scenario you’ve now put to him - all of them.
You watch with anticipation prickling on your arms and down your back. You can’t help but smirk at him as you wave down a cab. You linger, with the door open, one foot inside the well of the back passenger seat; on the cusp of a farewell that's both a challenge and a beckoning.
Dieter twists his face into a wry acknowledgment; a deep grin that slices at you through the street. A crude, filthy mark left on the gritty canvas of the brickwork, graffiti on the walls and marked on your body alike.
In that uncertain pause between you both, the alley holds its breath.
Tumblr media
Thank you so much for enjoying some sleazy Dieter. I'd love to hear your thoughts, and please give it a re-blog if you enjoyed reading. Thank you, lovelies! 🖤
MASTERLIST
Tagging the Dickin' Around With Dieter on Discord Lovelies:
If you want to be removed, that's cool 🖤
@for-a-longlongtime @secretelephanttattoo @rhoorl @musings-of-a-rose @avastrasposts @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @nerdieforpedro @laurfilijames @goodwithcheese @maggiemayhemnj @linzels-blog @ladybess-a03 @undercoverpena @legendary-pink-dot
371 notes · View notes
Text
The New Girl in Tinseltown - Chapter 1 - Ukiyo
A Dieter Bravo x Actress! Reader PR Marriage AU
Tumblr media
Chapter Rating: E (18+, MDNI)
Chapter Summary: Tired of being pigeonholed into your good girl persona, you take a chance on a night out with Dieter Bravo, America's favorite Bad Boy. A drunken night leads to the two of you in Las Vegas...
Chapter Warnings and Tags: (Not So) meet cute, PR Relationships, what happens in Vegas ends up in the headlines, Dieter just does not give a FUCK, Smut, SO MUCH SMUT, a look at the inner workings of Tinseltown and the sleaziness it comes with, Somnophilia, Slightly Non-Con (but she's into it), cunnilingus, SLOW BURN WE DONT KNOW IT, this is unhinged, no use of y/n, No beta we die like men!
Word Count: 3.1 K
A/N: After the insistence of some of my readers wanting me to write a Dieter story, I finally bit the bullet! I will be honest - it's tough for me to watch 'The Bubble' in its entirety. Hence, I heavily relied on TikTok and its fabulous edits of Dieter to develop his characterization. This was really fun for me to write, and I hope you all enjoy the ride our favorite trash panda is about to take us on! Gird your loins and your panties, babies!
Ukiyo - living in the moment, detached from the things in life that bother us.
You feel like you're trapped in a surreal, fucked-up dream.
Memories from the night before flooding your mind as you gradually pull yourself back into consciousness. 
"It's nothing personal, Dollface, it's just business," the sleazy hot-shot producer whispers in your ear. His hands graze your lower back, and you force a smile amidst the swarm of paparazzi. "I'm not a miracle worker, baby. They want an Angelina, not a Jennifer. Casting America's sweetheart in an R-rated movie? It's a tough sell."
"I'm not exactly jailbait," you retort, turning toward the paparazzo bellowing your name, a practiced smile on your face. "I believe I'm ready to explore different roles-"
"Well, that 'no-nudity' clause is really messing you up, baby. Times are changing, and they want bold, daring, sexy actresses," he remarks, his tone oozing condescension. 
The producer's creepy breath tickles your ear, and his hands venture lower down your back. "I can help you with that," he whispers, and the suggestion feels like a toxic cloud hanging in the air, making your skin crawl.
You toss and turn in bed, gripping the silky sheets beneath you. The memory of his touch haunts your thoughts, leaving you uncomfortable and anxious. 
"Dieter Bravo," your publicist cautions with a smile, guiding you down the carpet, "is someone you want to avoid tonight, Doll. Save yourself the hassle, seriously."
You furrow your brow, glancing down the red carpet to where Dieter stands. His unruly curls frame his face as he grins widely for the photographers. It's as if he senses your gaze; suddenly, his eyes lock onto yours, eyebrows raised in surprise. A smirk plays on his lips, and he blows a kiss in your direction.
"He's nothing but trouble, I'm surprised they let him on the carpet after what happened last year," your publicist states matter-of-factly.
"Care to remind me?" you breathe, smiling at the cameras. "He seems like a riot."
Your publicist shoots you a look. "Well, I don't consider getting arrested for public intoxication, disorderly conduct, and lewd behavior as something amusing-"
"I don't know, seems like he would be a fun time," you muse, playfully pushing your breasts in Dieter's direction. "Maybe that's what my career needs – someone like Dieter Bravo corrupting America's Sweetheart." Dieter leers at the gesture, waggling his tongue and adjusting himself as he walks backward into the venue, a mischievous grin on his face. "... besides, he hasn't been shy about wanting to 'put his face in between my tits', maybe I should just let him have at it."
"Are you seriously considering tanking your career before it's even taken off?" your publicist groans, steering you into the venue and handing you a flute of champagne. "People like him are like a virus; he'll infect everything about you." He lets out a sigh. "I understand you want to break out of the girl-next-door mold, but getting involved with Dieter Bravo is not the answer."
You take a sip of your champagne as you continue to eye fuck Dieter from across the room. "I don't know, maybe it is."
You're suddenly gasping in pleasure as you're finally jolted awake, the feeling of someone's hot breath against your skin as you arch your back at the sudden intrusion. "Fuck-" you sigh, looking down at the mass of unruly curly hair in between your legs. Dieter licks and parts your folds as you lock eyes with his, a shit-eating grin on his face. You swear you hear an insistent ringing in your head.
"Dieter?" you moan, realizing that what you're hearing is your ringtone from across the hotel room that you don't remember being in. "What-"
"Shh, baby. Let your husband eat you for breakfast," he mumbles against your pussy, his teeth scraping at your clit. He grabs onto your breast, squeezing and pinching your nipple as he sticks his other finger into you, eating you out so thoroughly like a starved man. Your cellphone rings again and you're too overwhelmed to care, your head pounding from whatever you drank the night before.  
"Husband?" you ask confusedly as you feel yourself about to come. 
"That's right, Doll, fuck I feel you squeezing the shit out of my fingers, are you gonna come for your husband?" he pleads, and you realize that you're both stark naked and that you somehow ended up from LA to Las Vegas, getting eaten out by America's Bad Boy in a suite at the Cosmopolitan.  How in the fuck did we end up here? you ask yourself in a panic.  Why the fuck is Dieter Bravo calling himself my husband?!
You're on your fifth glass of whatever champagne the venue is serving when you suddenly feel someone's hot breath against your ear. "I can't help but notice that you've been eye fucking me the entire night," Dieter groans, taking a seat next to you. "I guess my little ploy of trying to get your attention with that Wired interview worked out in my favor-"
"You know, there are more normal ways to get a girl's attention-"
"Ah, but you're America's Sweetheart, and your pitbull of a publicist won't let me near you, I had to let my-" he gazes at your cleavage, "intentions very clearly known."
"Well, I don't know if it's clearly known," you whisper. "I think you're just going to have to spell it out for me."
He smiles, leaning back in the seat as he spreads his legs, caging you in. "Do you want to have sex with me, Dollface?"
Your phone ringing a third time snaps you out of your reverie as you simultaneously chase your impending orgasm that your husband? is working so damn hard trying to get you there. "Fuck Dieter, I need-"
"What do you need, baby?" he pants, the sound of your slick as he licks at your folds aggressively, the loud squelching echoing throughout the room. "My wife has such a pretty little pussy, my fucking GOD," he praises, "Fuck, if this is heaven, I'm begging to see what hell has in store for me-"
It's obscene.
"Do you need my cock? Didn't get enough of it yesterday, huh?"
"My phone-"
"Fuck your phone," he dismisses as he starts to pump another finger into you, "Do you want your hubby's cock or not, baby?"
"Ye-"
Your legs are suddenly pulled to the edge of the bed, Dieter entering you in one fluid stroke. "Good enough answer for me." He pulls himself back, grabbing one of your legs and wrapping it around his waist as he thrusts aggressively back into you, his balls slapping your asscheeks as he begins to pound into you with a brutal pace. "Fuck, only took me being inside of you the whole night for you to take me in so fucking well-"
You chuckle as he accelerates out of the venue's parking garage in his PA's Mustang convertible, cackling like a madman as he maneuvers through the dwindling streets of LA. "Are you hungry, Dollface?" he yells, almost running a red light, his eyes fixed on the glowing In and Out sign in the distance.
"I shouldn't, I have that screen test next week-"
"Fuck the screen test!" he shouts. "The night is young, and you are gorgeous. Let Dieter take care of you, baby... while I still have you in my grasp. I ain't gonna waste a moment I have you in my orbit!"
He pulls into the In and Out parking lot, cutting the engine, and pulls you into his lap, his face immediately diving into the valley between your breasts. "You can suffocate me with these tits and I would die a happy man," he mumbles against your skin, his growl reverberating throughout your entire body like wildfire. "What do you say, Doll? Would you do me the honors?"
"Fuck Dieter," you moan, tipping your head back in pleasure as his tongue teases the edge of your dress covering your breasts. "Grab my tits," you beg, grabbing his hands for good measure.  
"Dieter! My Man!" someone shouts in the distance. "What the fuck are you doing here?!"
"What does it look like I'm doing?" he yells back, "I'm about to fuck this beautiful woman in an In and Out parking lot, what are you doing here?"
"Fuck, can I take a pic, man?" the fan shouts as he approaches the convertible.  
Dieter is railing you into oblivion when there's suddenly a heavy knock on the door. Your phone is ringing off the hook, and you can't help but desperately whine as Dieter wraps his arms around your neck, pulling you into a kiss.  "Fuck, can't I fuck my wife in peace?!" he growls at the door, his pace quickening as he urges you to come on his cock. "I ain't answering the fucking door until you milk me dry, baby girl, you gonna come for me?"
"Fuck Dieter, don't fucking stop, please-" 
The knocking on the door echoes throughout the room as Dieter suddenly arches his back, squeezing your thighs harshly as he explodes deep into your pussy, his fingers finding your clit as he desperately rubs circles, begging you to come. He slaps it for good measure, the sharp sudden pain making you arch off the bed as you grab ahold of him, screaming into his neck as you're suddenly blinded by a feeling of absolute fucking bliss that no one has ever been able to pull from your wrecked, shaking body.
"That's the fucking spirit, Doll, give me every-"
"OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!" you suddenly hear. "I KNOW YOU'RE FUCKING IN THERE!" 
Dieter pulls himself out in a huff, not bothering to cover himself as he storms over to the hotel room door, opening it harshly for good measure. "What do you FUCKING WANT-" he growls to the intruder, only to be met with the widening eyes of your publicist, his PA, and the Hotel Manager. Your publisher harshly pushes himself through the threshold, pushing Dieter to the wall as he makes his way to the bedroom, and you hurriedly cover yourself as he bursts through the door.
A phone is thrust into your face, the image of you and Dieter in front of the Graceland Wedding Chapel in the background as you hold your hand up for the camera, Dieter kissing your cheek as the diamond ring on your finger winks back at you. You lift your hand to your face, your eyes widening at the ring on your finger as your publicist glares at you, his chest heaving.  
"Do you want to tell me what the fuck happened last night?"
Tumblr media
"So how do we fix this?" your publicist groans, the wrinkle between his brows more pronounced. "Maybe we can get this sham of a marriage annulled-"
"I have an idea," Dieter's PA chirps in, "What if we lean into this?"
"Absolutely not!" you find yourself shouting, your hands reaching for the bottle of painkillers on your coffee table. "I'm America's fucking sweetheart, the gossip rags are already having a field day about me getting my tits groped by America's bad boy at a fucking In and Out-"
"If I can recall, Dollface, you put my hands on said tits-" Dieter snarks, pushing his sunglasses down on his face, leaning into your chaise. "Must have done something right, hell, you were practically begging me to marry you, jumped on my lap the moment we got into the convertible-"
"Are you always this vulgar?" you bite back, taking a big gulp of water, some of the liquid spilling down your neck, onto the valley between your breasts. You notice Dieter gulp at the sight, his gaze resting heavily on your chest. He takes a tentative lick on his lips, a small smile forming on the corner of his mouth.
"Only for you, Mrs. Bravo." He winks, smirking.
"Stop that." You quip, crossing your arms around your chest.  
"Stop what, Dollface?" he asks coyly, spreading out on the lounge.  
"Looking at me like the cat that got the cream," you reply, refusing to meet what you imagine to be his smoldering gaze.  
"Well," he breathes, a Cheshire grin on his face. "I most certainly got you to cream, several times-"
"I would think the feelings mutual," you seethe through your teeth. "I mean, I did get you to come in your pants just by sucking on your-"
“You want to land meatier, sexier roles, right? Break free from the rom-com stereotype,” Dieter's PA nervously interjects, “… and you certainly don’t want to face blacklisting in Hollywood due to your recent escapades,” he shoots a meaningful look at his boss. “I believe this marriage might actually be a strategic move. It could help you break out of the girl-next-door image and simultaneously soften Dieter's playboy persona.”
Dieter contemplates this, crossing his legs on the chaise lounge as he glances into the living room of the hotel suite. He smirks at the sight of you with your arms crossed around your chest, recalling the moments when you were pliant in his arms just a few hours ago, begging and whining as he licked and sucked every inch of your delectable skin. His dick twitches at the memory, hungry to be inside of you once more.  
Dieter leans back, his fingers tapping on the armrest as he assesses the situation. “A calculated scandal to redefine my image and give her career a new direction? I suppose there's a certain allure to that.”
Your publicist interjects, “It's a risky move, but it could work. Public opinion is volatile. We need to control the narrative, give them a story that captivates and eventually redeems.”
Dieter smirks, his eyes narrowing as he looks at you. “So, America’s sweetheart and I play the happy couple, the media eats it up, and we both get what we want.”
You scoff, “This is insane. I’m not entering into a fake marriage for the sake of our careers.”
Dieter raises an eyebrow, "But what if it's not entirely fake?"
You glare at him, a mixture of disbelief and annoyance crossing your face. "What do you mean, not entirely fake?"
Dieter leans forward, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "We can keep the public guessing. A little ambiguity goes a long way in the celebrity world. We'll play the part when we need to, but in private, we keep things... interesting."
Your publicist looks skeptical, "That could be a recipe for disaster. What if it backfires? What if the public starts hating both of you?"
Dieter smirks, "Let them talk. Controversy sells, my dear. As long as we control the narrative, we can turn this into a win-win situation."
You cross your arms, feeling a headache coming on. The idea of navigating a fake-real marriage with Dieter is the last thing you want. Yet, there's a strange spark of curiosity. What if this insane plan could actually work?
As you contemplate the proposal, the room is filled with tension, waiting for your response. Dieter raises a curious eyebrow at you, a small smirk playing on his lips as he places his hand on them. He sees you gulp heavily at that, your legs crossing tentatively as you try to play coy.  Ah, yes, sweetheart. I see you. I caught you in my web, and I'm going to consume every fucking inch-
You take a deep breath, considering the options laid out in front of you. The publicist watches you with a mix of concern and caution, awaiting your decision.
"I don't like it," you finally say, your tone firm. "But if it helps me keep my career and get the roles I want, I'll play along. Just remember, Dieter, if this blows up in our faces, it's on you."
Dieter grins, satisfied with your response. "Trust me, darling, this is going to be a wild ride. We'll be the talk of the town."
Your publicist rubs his temples, clearly not thrilled with the plan but realizing the potential benefits. "Fine, let's go with it. But we need a strategy, a narrative that controls the story. And we must be careful not to let things spiral out of control."
Dieter nods, already plotting the next move. "Leave it to me. We'll craft a story that keeps them guessing and wanting more. Our little secret, darling."
"... and there will need to be some ground rules," you say firmly, uncrossing your legs as you adjust yourself in front of Dieter, presenting the fact that you still haven't put on underwear under your dress. You smirk as he tries to adjust himself, the sight of his spend still leaking out of your pussy leaving him groaning. "If we are going to do this, you have to be in it for real which means... no fucking little Miss Suzy and embarrassing me. You're going to worship me in public, and make an honest wife out of me."
Dieter leans forward as he locks his darkened eyes at you, licking his lips in anticipation. "Oh baby, I'll show you how I'll make an honest wife of you, several times... maybe as soon as all the suits leave-"
"You love this, don't you?" you breathe, toying with the hem of your top, exposing your lace bralette in his direction. "Thinking you have me all riled up, thinking I'll beg for you-"
"Guys-" Dieter's PA attempts to diffuse the tension in the room, looking nervously at your publicist for backup. "Just think about it, okay? I'll have your lawyers draft up a contract for the both of you to look over."
"Why don't you all just get the fuck out and let me fuck my wife in peace?" he retorts, pulling his robe off for good measure, not a care in the world as his dick stands proudly erect. "You're wasting good light, and I intend to fuck her on every surface of this goddamn suite-"
"Lovely," you sigh into the couch, groaning as you pinch the space in between your eyes. "You're a real class act, you know that?"
"Well, I'll just-" His PA stutters, grabbing his messenger bag. "Let's leave them alone, call us when you get back to LA," he murmurs, motioning for your Publicist to follow him.  
"We're not done with this conversation, Dollface," he chides, slinging his bag on his shoulder. "I expect to see you on Monday for the screen test?"
"Yes, yes, I'll be there," you dismiss him with a wave. "I'm sorry, for all of this," you say softly, refusing to look him in the eyes.  
"Not as sorry as you're going to feel once you see the headlines," he warns. "Brace yourself, Dollface. Don't say I didn't warn you."
Tumblr media
Taglist: @yxtkiwiyxt @skysmiller @picketniffler @readingiskeepingmegoing @islacharlotte @drewharrisonwriter
243 notes · View notes
wildemaven · 27 days
Note
Tumblr media
This made me think of Dieter and Poppy 🎨 I can see Dieter absoutely taking care of her sore feet as he listens to her talk about her day 🥰
dieter x f!reader (nicknamed poppy) word count: 1341 content warning: 18+ blog; established relationship, sweet creature universe, foot massage, mention of food, massaging with foot, foot job— FJ (is that a thing?), slight begging on dieter’s part, praise (one use of good boy), poppy being a menace this go around, Poppy is readers nickname, no descriptive features given for reader, let me know if I forgot anything notes: thank you @kteague for sending this. I was like “oh this is so perfect and cute” but then my mind started wandering and this happened… oops!
Tumblr media
“Ugh— I’m so glad parent teacher conferences are over.” You groan as your body collapses into the plushness of the couch. “No more late nights or dealing with parents who think their children are too perfect to get less than an A on their tests.”
“Can’t be that bad.” Dieter says as if he’s the one partaking in these meetings.  
He holds out a white paper carton of warm noodles and chopsticks from your favorite takeout place from where he’s sitting on the opposite end of the couch. You gladly accept, your mouth watering as you  settle back into the pillows. 
“Ha! Can’t be that bad? I had one parent this week tell me her son needs to stay late sometime next week because she has a date and won’t be able to pick him up. I had to explain to her that I’m not a daycare.” You mumble out between a heaping pile of noodles, suspended from your mouth to the chopsticks. 
“Did she offer to pay though?” Dieter asks before taking a bite of a crispy roll. He nods, approving of the flavor as he inspects the contents, then shoving the rest in his mouth. 
“You’re ridiculous!” You playfully kick his leg resting on the couch, he’s quick to grab for your ankle before you can pull away, his thumbs instantly kneading into the arch of your foot. “No, she didn’t offer to pay. But she was offended when I gave her the number of an actual daycare.” 
“Could be good money if you ever considered. So, did they ask about me this week?” Looking down at where his hands continue to massage out the stress you’ve been under dealing with nagging parents over the course of the last week.
The achiness is quickly exchanged for a more enjoyable pressure. Dieter’s foot rubs and takeout at the end of a long work week is a ritualized experience you always look forward to going into a relaxing weekend.
“You know I thought something was off! Not one kid asked about you. They must have forgotten who you are— shame.” You smirk at him over the carton of noodles. 
“What do you mean they forgot about me?” His hands still, a mixture of shock and sadness plastered all over his face at the thought of your students forgetting who he was. 
You love messing with him because it’s so easy, but his pinched brows and sad puppy dog eyes is your least favorite reaction when you do take a chance at joking with him.
“Babe, I’m just kidding. They never stop talking about you. I swear I get asked at least once by each of them at some point during the day, When is Uncle Dude going to visit us?” 
“That’s it, foot rub is over for you! Can’t believe you would do that to me!” He drops your foot into his lap, hands lifted to prove he will no longer be implementing your weekly foot rub tonight. 
“You make it too easy sometimes. I saw an open opportunity, so I took it.” Wiggling your untouched foot at him, hoping he has it in his heart to even out the lingering pain still radiating through it. 
“I’m sorry, did you need something?” He asks, a singular eyebrow arched, looking at you then back to your foot before grabbing for another crispy roll and television remote off the coffee table.
The man is a menace and he knows it too. Luckily, or unlucky for him, you are too and take any chance to give it right back to him. 
Your attention shifts to Dieter’s pants, his favorite pair he wears when he’s lounging around the house. The thin material covered in stripes running lengthwise of the pant legs, varying in different shades of gray. Material so thin, they do little to prevent what hides beneath the cotton fabric. So they’ve easily become your favorite pair— for obvious reasons. 
It’s innocent at first. Your foot skimming over the top of his thigh. Back and forth, back and forth. He doesn’t even mention anything, too focused on flipping through the selected streaming service in search of some sort of cinematic entertainment for the rest of the evening. 
You sense he was getting aroused as you inched further and further up his thigh, your own body responding in kind. Feeling bold, you slowly slid your foot across his lap and let it rest on his growing bulge, applying just enough pressure which resulted in Dieter letting out a low moan, encouraging you to continue.
“Poppy, what do you think you’re doing? fuck.” His locked on you, lids already heavy as he began to succumb to your pleasurable wrath. 
“Hmm— I don’t know what you mean. Did you find a movie?” You could feel the heat radiating from Dieter's body already. “Maybe that one Nic Cage movie where he plays himself?”
“Mmmmmmmmm.” A blissed out groan is all Dieter manages. 
Mission accomplished!
But you couldn't resist the temptation to tease him a little more. With your toes, you traced the outline of his cock. Every delicious inch of him rock hard and straining beneath his lounge pants. 
“Fuck, Poppy!” Dieter gasps, his head falling back onto the arm of the couch, your touch proving to be too distracting.
“You like that, Baby?” Taunting him with a sultry voice as you take another bite of noodles.
“Mmhmm!” His eyes screw shut, nodding his head frantically. 
“I need words, Dieter. Otherwise I don’t think I can continue.” You tell him, stilling your foot. 
“YES! I like it so much, Pop! Please don’t stop!” Practically begging with you to keep at it. 
You could sense that Dieter was already on the edge, and you wanted nothing more than to push him over it. 
Feeling bold, you decide to take it a step further. With one swift move, cupping the bulge in his pants with both of your feet. Oscillating your movements between lazy up and down caressing to hard drawn out dragging motions down the length of his cock. 
It’s no surprise when Dieter lets out a loud groan when you jump straight to his most requested stroke that is always one to reduce him to a whimpering mess. Now mimicking the move without the help of your hands by applying just enough pressure at the base of his shaft with one foot while the ball of the other foot moves in circular motions over his leaning head. His pants are sticky with pre-come under your feet, smearing everywhere, completely delighted by the effect this is having on him.  
Dieter hips start to buck against your feet, grinding and rhythmically rolling in search of more friction. Poppyyesyesyes, he was desperately pleading, signaling that he was close.
“Dieter, you’re doing so well. Be a good boy and come for me.” You purr, continuing to move over his cock, rubbing and teasing him. 
He doesn’t get a chance to warn you, but the way his body goes rigid as he grips at couch cushions is more than enough warning for you that he’s going to come. 
“F-fuck!!” That coiling tension winding tightly in his abdomen finally snapping as he lets out choked sob.  
Dieter dissolves into a euphoric pleasure as he explodes inside of his pants, releasing his hot arousal all over himself and your feet. 
There was a pleasant sense of control and satisfaction that washed over you watching Dieter come undone. The way his cheeks and neck were flushed from the satisfied desire buzzing through him. A sheen of sweat speckled across his forehead, a few drops managing to roll down his face. His already disheveled hair now soaked and messier. 
You dig the chopsticks back into the carton, winding the noodles around and around in preparation for your next bite. 
“I forgot to ask— how was your day, Babe?” A lopsided grin forming as you lifted your gaze up to admire the way Dieter’s chest expanded up and down. His labored panting filling the living room as he tried to regain some sort of consciousness. 
“Fuck you, Pops!” Lifting his head so he can give you his full attention, his mouth curving into a smile that makes your stomach all fluttery. “It was good— So fucking good.”
182 notes · View notes
schnarfer · 4 days
Text
Purple Haze: Dieter Bravo One Shot
1960's photographer Dieter Bravo x f!model reader
Part of the Dieter Brainrot Club Server Challenge
Tumblr media
Rating: Explicit 18+ minors dni
Word count: 5,000
Summary: That boy put a spell on you
Content: 1960’s London Dieter Bravo AU, heavy on the British slang, explicit alcohol and drug references, reader is a model but no physical descriptions, outfit descriptions, swearing, sort of enemies to lovers if you squint, smut; protected PIV, light bondage, reader is in control and Dieter is a subby puddle, pet names (angel, doll, darling), light dirty talk, playful slaps. Just a note we’re always very Fleabag coded here. Let me know if I missed anything.  
A/N: I did not expect the Dieter Brainrot Club challenge prompts to whisk me away to 1960’s London, but here we are! I’ve combined the two tropes Only One Bed with Forced Proximity, and look out for the ‘Oh I’ve always liked the idea of you in handcuffs’ prompt. I took lots of inspiration from our chats in the Brainrot but I feel I should shoutout @freelancearsonist & @fhatbhabie for some specific *thoughts*.
Big love to the Brainrot team; clever, talented, brilliant and always hilarious Dieter Bravo (and Rahul Kohli) lovers. Special shout out to @sp00kymulderr & @chronically-ghosted for bringing us all together.
Please Join us in the Dieter Bravo Brainrot club
Kisses to my darlings @pascalssbabyy @luxurychristmaspudding & @toomanytookas for their wonderful support and encouragement, so much love to you. Dividers by the talented @saradika / @saradika-graphics All images for Pinterest and do not feature reader, just vibes.
PURPLE HAZE
London, 1967
You don’t say no to Vogue. Even when the photographer is famously difficult to work with. And has shagged three of your flatmates. They had all fallen equally, wildly, in love with him and were consequently left emotionally devastated as he continued to work his way, seemingly fairly indiscriminately, through London’s fashion set.
Dieter Bravo. The American actor, slash photographer, slash artist, made his name in the UK taking photos of his famous pals in the early sixties and now he was a firm favourite with the Vogue team. You couldn’t hazard a guess as to why. Definitely wasn’t the big brown eyes, golden skin and penchant for afternoon cocktails with the fashion director.
You’d never actually modelled for him before, but having mopped up the tears of Caroline, Olivia and Peter in your flat, you didn’t much care for him. His reputation, one of hedonism and shoots lasting until midnight because he was high as a kite and decided they HAD to be done only under moonlight and with everyone naked, very much preceded him.
Such a shame he was so good at taking photos. Infuriating of him.
You arrive straight from your appointment with the hairdresser Daniel Galvin, rocking a fresh cut and colour as prescribed by the Vogue beauty director, and pull up at the location in your beloved little Mini Cooper. You find Lucia, the Vogue fashion editor, with her long suffering assistant Patricia, standing outside the decrepit East London warehouse. They are both dressed head to toe in Mary Quant, with matching Paige boy haircuts. Achingly trendy. The lads strolling past give Lucia an appreciative whistle, but she studiously ignores them.
“Doll, I am so sorry but Cecil’s shooting our new gal Twiggy for the first time and it’s all turning into something of a do, so I thought it would be ok if Patricia and I dash over to Kensington for a bit. I’ll aim to get back here for the end of the day.” These are very much statements, not questions.
You can’t help the scowl that has taken over your face, Lucia is supposed to be your friend and she is very aware that you’re not Bravo’s biggest fan. This is absolutely Lucia to a T, brazen as anything and with skin as thick as a rhinoceros hide. Well, you had to be to survive at Vogue you suppose. She doesn’t flinch at your scrunched up brows.
“Super, super, knew I could rely on you and Dieter. You’re both such pros darling! I’ve hung up the outfits on the rail in order, accessories labelled next to the mirror and Dieter’s got the plan of which area to shoot each outfit in.” She lights a thin Parliament cigarette, looks you directly in the eyes and deadpans, “I trust you both implicitly….”
A nod of her head, almost a challenge, “Have fun.”
For fuck’s sake.
You shout out to them as Lucia snips away at Patricia to ‘get them a bloody cab’.
“Stylist? Make-up artist?”
“Oh no darling, you don’t need them, this is all about natural, natural, natural, we want bare skin! Just whack on the false lashes I’ve left you and you’ll be good to go. Top and bottom darling, top and bottom!”
You watch them disappear into a black cab, take a deep, steadying breath and walk into the warehouse. It’s huge, obviously used as some kind of furniture storage place, filled with random handsome, antique pieces.
Fuck, it’s actually really cool. Light streams in from the huge windows in the flat roof, catching the specks of dust that fill the air. You spend a few minutes wondering around, pondering if you could strap a bit of that Georgian looking dresser to the roof of your Mini… or if that delightful ancient trunk would be noticed if it went walkies. There’s even a giant Victorian taxidermy polar bear.
“Pretty groovy, huh?”
You almost jump out of your skin, Dieter Bravo has draped himself around the Polar bear’s neck and is giving you a very studied gaze, Ray Ban Wayfarers perched on the end of his nose as he peers over them.
Your mouth falls open in shock and he pushes the sunglasses to the top of his head, taking the opportunity to snap a picture of you quickly with the camera hanging around his neck.
“Jesus Christ! You scared the life out of me.”
“Sorry about that, I was enjoying watching you creeping about the place like a cat burglar in your sexy black mini dress. You’ve got great face doll; I’m looking forward to working with you today.”
Oh no, he’s going to be appallingly charming, isn’t he?
Dieter’s every inch the louche Vogue photographer, dressed in merino wool black polo with black velvet dinner jacket and navy tailored pinstripe trousers, then pointed, patent leather boots. He has a purple, psychedelic Pucci print women’s silk scarf threaded through his belt loops in place of the usual leather belt.
His rich brown hair is longish and thick, fluffy almost curls adding an air of chaos, complimenting the patchy beard that’s just the right side of scruffy. It’s unusual, most of the fashion boys you know are still rocking a clean-shaven, mod look, but it suits his defined features, softens him. You try not to be too admiring of him, firstly in case he can tell and secondly, because you’re well aware he’s the kind of man that needs to be kept at arm’s length or you might just accidentally trip and fall into those heavenly eyes, like so many before you.
Dieter Bravo is a walking cautionary tale.
“Thanks…. Can you point me to where Lucia set up the clothes rack?”
Dieter chats away as you look through the clothes. You get the impression he’s not a man comfortable with silence, so you let him fill it. He talks about the bands he’s worked with, the designers who send him clothes and you can tell he’s watching your reactions, waiting for a flicker of excitement so he can be reassured just how tremendously cool he is. For that very reason you give him absolutely nothing.
You’re a model, you can make your expression go completely neutral if needs be. You let your eyes sort of deaden, mouth set in a firm, but not harsh, line. Feeding this man’s already giant ego is not on your agenda for today. If you can get through it without smacking him around the head for being so sure of himself, it will be one of your greatest achievements.
He watches you intently as you expertly apply the false lashes, two sets for the top row and another for the bottom. Natural my arse. Does look cool though, you’ll give Lucia that. You find yourself giving a little pout into the mirror and Dieter snaps another picture quickly.
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist. You know how to work your angles baby.”
You gift him a half smile and still it’s more than he deserves. You whip back straight into business mode.
“I’m going to use that poor excuse for a bathroom as a makeshift changing room. Where shall we do the first shots?”
“Our benign dictator wants the first outfit to be down by the chintzy 50’s sofas on the left hand side. See you down there? Unless…” He tilts his head, gives you a Cheshire Cat grin, “You wanted some help?”
“Absolutely fucking not.”
“Man, I love the way you English girls swear. Drives me wild.” The grin is still there, never faltering; he lets his eyes flick up and down you, as if that was going to the magic key that unlocks your knickers.
“Off you fuck then.”
He sighs. “I’m gonna see if there’s anything to drink in here.”
Tumblr media
You’re artfully positioned across one of the sofas; you’ve both decided this tiny pink flower print one clashes with the Biba mini dress perfectly, so you get to work showing the way the dress falls just above what would be deemed appropriate. Your favourite type of fashion.
Dieter has found a bottle of gin in a section up the precarious stairs which is currently being used as a rough and ready artist’s studio. He’s inexplicably pulled out two bottles of ginger ale from his kit bag, so he’s made you a gin & ginger ale. It’s actually quite yummy
“So… Are you going to cheer up any time soon? I heard you were fun?” He’s jumping deftly from ancient chair to broken sideboard, trying to get the best shot.
“I heard you like to collect models and assistants like they’re going out of fashion?”
“Oh shit, I haven’t shagged you already have I?” There is genuine panic in his eyes, and you can’t help but let out a musical laugh.
“Trust me Dieter,” you stare directly into the lens of the camera, “You wouldn’t have forgotten.”
He likes that, gives you a wolfish chuckle.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about angel. Give me more of that energy please! Fuck me, that was a good shot.”
You tip your head back and laugh, you don’t want to, but his enthusiasm is infectious, and the gin is helping to improve the mood considerably.
“I’ve got an idea.” He steps onto the sofa, takes your hand, so much more gently that you would have guessed, leads you over a ratty looking pouf to the bare, unmade, iron framed bed next to the sofa
“Dieter!” You let go of his hand immediately. You hate to admit it, but something in the warmth of his fingers against yours, the softness with which he held onto you, it has already sent a heat to your cheeks and a feeling in your belly you don’t care to acknowledge.
“Not yet baby…” He smirks at you, the light in those mischievous eyes shining bright. “I was thinking you could jump for me first. Show me those pins in action.”
You purse your lips, give him a hard stare.
“Fine…. But I promise you that will be the most action this bed will see today.”
You can tell Dieter’s happy with the shots, he keeps raining praises on you as you bounce on the bed and you find your smiles aren’t fake model smiles any longer.
Bollocks, you’re actually enjoying his company.
“Oh, these are going to be far out angel. You wanna get into the next fit, we’re up in the studio bit for this one and I’ll make us another gin.”
Tumblr media
You’re in the most fabulous Thea Porter deep green, velvet military style jacket (and very little else), when Dieter appears in the studio with another round of g&g. You’ve got bare thighs, with tiny satin shorts hidden by the length of the jacket and then knee-high socks pulled up tight. It’s no exaggeration to say the man almost trips over his feet.
“Shit, you look divine angel. Velvet is your thing.”
“Oh it’s all Thea, she’s a genius. I tried to steal one of Jimi’s jackets of hers, but he wouldn’t let me.”
“Jimi….”
“Oh, you know, the big one. Hendrix. We were seeing each other for a little bit.” You shrug your shoulders, well aware of the effect this little nugget often has on men.
It’s not the usual jealously that pours out of Dieter, it’s pure adulation, he’s almost blushing, a roundness to his cheeks that’s particularly endearing.
“He’s one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen in real life. That voice, oh, when he talks! I just melted. I could barely string a sentence together when I met him. All too brief, unfortunately.” Dieter’s genuine smile is causing an exquisite single dimple to appear and it’s making you come over all unnecessary. You look away.
“Yes, I was a bit the same, but he’s a pussycat really, such a sweetie. I could listen to him play guitar forever.” You smile at Dieter and you know it has real softness behind it, he returns it in kind, angelic crinkles appearing around those teasing, dark brown eyes. You decide to bend, just a little, “I’ll introduce you properly if I ever get the chance.”
“Well, now I’m in love with you.”
You cackle, a proper guttural laugh, and Dieter clicks away on the shutter, delighted to catch your genuine mirth on film and at the way he can see just a sliver of your boob and hint of a nipple exposed as the velvet jacket hangs open. Tantalisingly close. You gaze up at him through all those lashes, let you mouth fall open so there’s a hint a teeth and tongue. A smidge of excitement spiralling up your spine.
“Fucking magnificent angel.”
You hear an unreasonably loud clanking noise coming from the front of the warehouse and you both frown. Dieter doesn’t miss snapping a picture of your confused face, before going to investigate.
When he doesn’t reappear five minutes later, you reverentially remove the Thea Porter Jacket, pop it on a hanger and pull on the long, crocheted jumper dress that is supposed to be for the next shot. The big gaps in the material don’t do much to protect your modesty to be honest.
You call down to Dieter as you descend the rickety stairs and into the vast space of the warehouse below.
“Dieter, is everything ok?”
He actually looks a bit sweaty, pushing at the imposing metal door and meeting with absolute resistance. There’s a clanking sound that you can’t help for think sounds like a padlock.
“Erm… I don’t want to alarm you… but we appear to be locked in? Someone’s slid that giant bolt over the front of the door.”
“Fuck.”
“Indeed.”
Tumblr media
Lucia, as you suspected, does not make it back from Kensington.  
There’s no phone in the building, it’s getting increasingly dark and you are growing impatient. You’ve worked your way through most of the outfits, but it doesn’t feel quite so fun any longer. You’ve consumed all of the gin, so you’re both a bit squiffy, but it’s made you somewhat taciturn and Dieter a bit grumpy.
Luckily Dieter packed some sausage rolls in his seemingly bottomless kit bag, so you both sit and eat them in silence.
Dieter lets out a long sigh, “Fuck it, I’ve got some hash with me, if that would help pass the time?”
“Oh, thank god!” You huff out dramatically.
He fishes out a little tin from the charmed kit bag and joins you again on the slightly wonky chaise lounge you’re sat on. You watch as he expertly skins up, warming the hash with a lighter and crumbling it in with the tobacco.
“A mate of Keith’s brought this back from Morocco for me, it’s super mellow, slightly trippy.” He gives you a big grin, “Bit like me.”
You roll your eyes. The drink has loosened your tongue.
“Dieter I don’t think I’d describe you as mellow? Chaotic maybe? A fucking nightmare perhaps?”
He looks so utterly devastated, like a kicked puppy, that you just have to soothe him. You can feel the shift in your behaviour and you’re not sure there’s anything you can do to stop it. Boy certainly has a bit of magic about him.  
“But that’s what makes you so astonishing, isn’t it darling? Why everyone adores your photos so much? Your flamboyance and energy are always there but you also allow your subjects to shine. You can always feel the emotion in them darling.”
“You really think so?”
Is he, is he actually desperate for your praise?
Is the Dieter Bravo, literally infamous for his bravado and untouchable ego, in need of you effectively telling him he’s pretty and stroking his hair? Those eyes, they’re so beseeching, so soft and looking at you so eagerly, it’s making you feel uniquely powerful. You could make this man putty in your hands if you wish. And maybe you do.
“Of course, darling.” He keens at the praise and you marvel at what you now hold in the palm of your hands.
You watch him as he lights the spliff, there’s something magnetic about the way this man smokes, cheekbones more prominent as he inhales, strong profile just fucking delicious, soft brown eyes dipped down as he gazes at the brief flames that ignite the tip before turning to ash. You find you’ve let your finger trace along the contour of his jaw and his eyes meet yours, as he exhales a thick plume of smoke with those pouty lips.
“I’m sorry angel, I think this is all my fault.” His hand reaches out to hold into your face as well, you mirror each other, leaning into the other’s warmth and delicate touch. You both let your fingertips rest against the other’s chin, thumbs rubbing tiny circles.
“Dieter as much as I’d like to blame you, I don’t see how someone locking us in here is your fault?”
His thumb grazes your bottom lip, and you dart your tongue out to lick at it, slowly, feeling the wetness seep into Dieter’s skin and watching the way it makes a lopsided smile curl up onto his face.
He passes you the joint and you try with all your might to ignore the jolt of electricity as your fingers graze, as if you’re not already almost sucking at his skin. His hand falls from your face and you turn away from him, letting your own hand drop down to your shoulder, running your fingers against the silken material there instead.
“The thing is… I’ve fancied you rotten since I saw you in that Harper’s editorial. The one on the beach with the shells… I’ve got it up in my studio. I specifically requested you when Lucia suggested this shoot. So, it’s entirely my fault you’re stuck here with me.” He has the grace to look a little bit sheepish.
“I’d love to take that as a compliment, but it appears to me that you fancy everyone rotten?”
He laughs, but immediately looks sincere again, “Well, yes that’s true, I love all beautiful things; man, woman, inanimate object… but you really got under my skin angel. I’ve been trying to wangle a shoot with you for months. Couldn’t believe my luck when this was finally confirmed.”
It’s fun to toy with him. You take a long drag of the joint, beckon him forward and tap on his lips so he opens them, shotgunning the smoke into his mouth. You pull back, satisfied with the look of intense pleasure on his face, as he tries not to choke. Dieter seems to like it when you’re in control.
“I’m not here to be part of your collection of beautiful things Dieter.” You rest backwards on your outstretched arms, let the hash seep into you and soften out your edges.
“You’d be my most prized piece angel, my Mona Lisa.
You snort a laugh, take another long drag of the joint before you pass it back to him. You disappear into a plume of thick smoke as you exhale and Dieter stands quickly, joint hanging out of his mouth, so he can capture the moment on film.
“Shit angel, that was hot.” You don’t miss his not so subtle rearranging of his trousers, the thick outline straining against the tightness of the material, showing you just how hot he found it.
You smoke together until you reach the roach, slowly sinking into each other’s laps as you become more stoned. Bliss.
Dieter suddenly sits up straight and blurts out, “Angel, I’m getting some divine inspiration! I’ve got an idea for the last shot… The dress, it kind of looks like a painter’s smock? Let’s go get you messy.”
He takes your hands once again and pulls you gently up, you’re both a bit fluffy round the corners, a giggle on the tip of your tongue as you take the lead and slip your fingers through his. He slides the smock off the rail as you trail past with light feet and a dreamlike, hash haze clouding both your vision in the best way.
There’s an area with paint splattered dust sheets that Dieter had set up with lights and you place yourself in the middle of it, letting your focus fall entirely on Dieter as he fiddles with the switches and gets it exactly how he wants.
You fear he’s simply not paying you enough attention.
So, you whistle at him, his reaction slightly slowed by the dope, but he pings back into life instantly as you pull off the dress you’re wearing, wiggle out of your knickers and jut your chin in the air.
“Do you need any more inspiration?”
You think you might have broken him. He’s shaking his head slowly, walking towards you and clicking away on his camera as he does, barely breathing as he edges closer.
“Baby I am going to have quite the private collection after tonight.” He drops to his knees, presses his nose against your belly and kisses at the flesh there, as if he simply must have you in his mouth right now.
Your card your hands through that luscious hair, but pull him back, so those puppy dog eyes are staring reverently up at you.
“Hold tight darling, let’s get this final shot done.”
He sighs, reaches into his back pocket, pulls out a wrap and taps a little coke onto the bullseye tattoo between his thumb and forefinger, before holding it up to your nose.
“Just a little something to keep us awake for our final flourish angel.”
He knocks a little onto the softness of your breast and as he inhales, his teeth purposefully scrape your nipple, sending a current of energy running through you, as both the coke and Dieter invade your system. You fleck your fingers against him to try and ground yourself.
You’re enjoying being naked and the effect it’s having on Dieter, so it’s with reluctance that you pull on the smock and Dieter sets to work covering you both in great daubs of paint, kissing at your exposed skin before painting it with his fingers. Fuck, it feels heavenly, a shiver of desire at each touch, making you feel fizzy.  
You’re a beautiful mess by the time he takes the final shots.
Tumblr media
You’re back at the one bed in the whole warehouse, Dieter has laid down a pretty paisley print Victorian eiderdown on the mattress. A tangle of limbs as you kiss furiously, hands in each other’s hair and hot, naked, paint flecked bodies pressed together.
“Do you need me to…”
“No, no, I’m on the pill darling. It’s very liberating.”
So as to demonstrate what a modern, liberated woman you are, you push Dieter back down against the eiderdown, hooking your thigh over his deliciously soft belly that’s dappled with hair and climbing on top of him. Nestling his hard cock against your sex, moving in such tiny increments that it’s almost nothing, but sends a tingle of anticipation and want through you both.
“You’re just a bit of a messy slut, aren’t you Dieter?”
The groan he lets out is obscene, you tilt your head and find a smirk has settled on your lips. You bite down against your pout, let your thumb and forefinger give his nipple a rough pinch, before leaning your whole body against his and whispering softly into the shell of his ear, “But you’re going to be a good boy for me, aren’t you darling?”
“Yes, yes, please… please…” He whimpers and it is doing something unholy to you, there’s a fire raging in your core and you have to fight with every ounce of your willpower to not lift your hips and fuck him to oblivion, right this second.
“Please, what?”
“Please do whatever you want with me baby.”
“Good boy. Let me use you, I want to come against your cock.”
You reward him by holding his cock against your soaking folds, coating him in your slick, pressing him just the right side of firm so you can move up and down and enjoy the friction. He’s so hard, it feels divine, a pulsingpleasure warming your skin as you slowly move against him. It’s too much for poor Dieter, his hands are clutching at you, hips beginning to buck as he chases more.
You stop immediately, “No, no, Dieter, I didn’t tell you that you could move, did I?” You give him a short ‘tsk’, a light tap on his balls that makes him whine, as you lean back and unthread the silk scarf from the trousers in a heap by his ankles. “I’m going to need to help you be good, aren’t I darling?”
“Fuck yes, yes please.” You watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he practically begs you. Fucking enchanting.
Your thighs are tight around him still as you lean up over him, breasts rubbing against his open mouth, knotting his hands to the iron frame of the bed.
“Not an inch unless I tell you to Dieter.” You slide back down, hold your pussy just a little above his groin, take his cock back in your hand and rub his now throbbing head against yourself.
“Making me feel so fucking good darling, such a good boy. You know you need to make me come before I fuck you, you’re just too big otherwise aren’t you?”
It’s a whelp that leaves his lips, “Fuck! Careful angel, I’ll come if you keep talking like that and… shit… I need you to fuck me, please?”
You let him ramble, he’s becoming incoherent but as you slide his cock against your clit, your slick slippery and hot, you tip closer to oblivion and you watch him powerless beneath you, biting at his lips, twisting at your silken shackles. The velvet of his cock perfect as you pump him against you, no better feeling. Except maybe, maybe, how hard you can feel him trying not to rip him arms free and slam you onto the bed.
“Wish I could take a picture of your face right now angel, never going to forget how pretty you look using me.”
You look into his eyes as you feel your orgasm rising in your belly, warmth flooding you and making your fingers tingle. Your mouth goes slack and you call out his name like a prayer, your cunt gushing over his cock. He moans in absolute ecstasy.
Still pulsing, you lower yourself slowly onto him and he hisses with the sensation. You still, your face now just a breath away from his, “Would you like me to fuck your pretty cock Dieter?”
“Yes, yes, fuck it feels so good. So tight angel, I don’t know how I can last.”
“There’s a word missing darling?”
You give him a warning with a clench of your pussy, the feeling of him so hard and desperate inside you making you feel wildly powerful.
“Please, angel, please.”
You nip at his bottom lip, palms flat against his hard chest and continue to roll your hips at a pace that makes him groan with delight.
As you feel your orgasm begin to build once more, you take pity on Dieter, pull him into a deep kiss.
Just a gentle tug at the scarf and it comes undone; “You can touch me now.”
He’s all over you all at once, hands at your face, slapping at your arse, fingers at your clit, seemingly at the same time. A wave of Dieter that’s crashing against you with teeth, lips and want. You fuck him harder, squeezing his cock and rocking your hips feverishly, your legs are trembling; your release almost drowns you,
“Come with me Dieter darling.”
At your command, he spills into you with a groan, gripping onto your hips and pulling you hard against him, fucking up into you one last time. You let him stay there for a few moments, before you collapse down next to him, both panting but outrageously happy.
Dieter rolls over, kisses you again and again, now free to do what he wants, he needs to devour you whole.
“Fuck me angel, that was good… I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid I’m now dreadfully in love with you.”
You fall asleep together, naked, entwined, wrapped in the eiderdown.
Tumblr media
You are absolutely fucking ravenous when you wake up in the morning. Dieter pulls out a couple of Kit Kats from his bag, which you guzzle with tepid water from the dripping tap in the bathroom as a chaser.
The front door is still padlocked shut.
“I have an idea.”
You groan, you’re now fully versed in how Dieter’s plans go and quite frankly, you’re a little bit sore after last night’s exploits.
“Not that kind of plan. Well, actually, yes, I do have some thoughts along those lines, but this is more immediate, not die of starvation in an East London warehouse type of plan.”
“Fine. Hit me.”
“There’s a skylight in the studio which I think we’ll be able to reach, the roof is flat… maybe we can shimmy along and drop down onto the next building. I think I remember seeing it’s lower and there was some kind of fire escape.”
“So… we’re going to climb over the roof, dressed almost entirely in black and covered in paint?”
He nods at you eagerly, “Fuck’s sake Dieter, you’re going to get us arrested.”
“Oh, I’ve always like the idea of you in handcuffs.”
“You know that’s not how we work darling.”
So, that’s how you and Dieter end up clambering up onto the roof and haphazardly climbing down onto the next building. He has a messenger bag slung over his shoulders, full of his most prized possession; rolls and rolls of film - all of you. The majority of which Vogue is never going to see.
The expletives flowing out of both of you is bordering on the indecent, and more often than not, it’s Dieter grabbing at your hand in a squeaking panic as you teeter dangerously near the edge. Finally, after what feels like an hour, you lower yourself onto the fire escape next door and can see your route back down to earth.
With your feet back on solid ground, Dieter envelopes you in a survivors hug.
You know you really, really fucking shouldn’t, but you risk a kiss on the lips of the deviant who told you he loved you.
Tumblr media
Tagging in some Dieter fans: @katareyoudrilling @magpiepillsjunior @morallyinept @mothandpidgeon @gwendibleywrites @survivingandenduring @ghotifishreads @rulexofxnines @readingiskeepingmegoing @amyispxnk @theywhowriteandknowthings @rosellarecommends @lowlights
148 notes · View notes
beskarandblasters · 14 days
Text
This is the Way…. To Your Pussy
Dieter Bravo x F!Reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Main Masterlist | Dieter Bravo Masterlist
Summary: Dieter happens to know someone in the costume department of The Mandalorian who hooks you up with a special surprise…
Word count: 1.6k
Warnings: porn with little plot, established relationship, role play, restraints, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names (mesh’la, baby), no use of y/n
Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics Fic recs: @kelbellsficrecs
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
You’re sitting on the couch with your boyfriend, Dieter, watching the newest episode of The Mandalorian. The third season is close to wrapping up and you’ve come to a certain realization… You’re head over heels for Din Djarin. 
You’re pretty sure Dieter’s realized you have this little crush, too. 
“Baby, are you sure you’re not attracted to Mando?” he would ask you, at the end of every episode each week. 
“I’m sure!” you’d lie, wanting to spare his feelings. 
But in this particular episode, you can’t hide your attraction. Din’s just been captured by Moff Gideon and he’s on his knees. Your jaw is on the floor. 
Dieter looks over at you and notices the expression on your face, shouting, “I knew it! I knew you were attracted to him!”
You close your mouth and look at him, taking note of the devious expression on his face. You were worried he’d be jealous or angry even. But instead, he looks… gleeful. 
“Fine! He’s hot… Are you mad?”
“Mad?? Why would I be mad?”
“I don’t know! Maybe jealous is the right word?”
“Not jealous. Not mad, baby.”
“Then what are you?”
“Interested.”
“…Interested?”
“Mhm,” he says, returning to his comfortable position on the couch. 
He says nothing more and you’re left to wonder what he meant by that. 
-
In fact, Dieter doesn’t bring up again all week. You figured he would poke fun at your little crush but he doesn’t. You’ve even made some out-of-pocket comments about Din to bait him into saying something but he doesn’t bite. 
It isn’t until the night before the season three finale of The Mandalorian that Dieter finally says something about it. You’re about to get ready for bed, standing at the bathroom sink brushing your teeth. 
“Baby, I have a surprise for you,” Dieter says, poking his head into the bathroom through the doorway. 
“…Oh boy.”
“It’s not a bad surprise! Just stay here, okay?”
“…Okay,” you respond, watching as he reaches for the doorknob and closes the bathroom door. 
You blink a few times, staring at yourself in the mirror and wondering what he could possibly be up to now. Sounds of him struggling come from the bedroom followed by a few curse words.
“Dee? You good?”
“Just stay in there! I’m not done yet!”
“Alright, alright,” you sigh. 
After what feels like forever you hear him quietly say, “Okay, you can come out now…”
Something is making his voice sound muffled.
You slowly open the door and find Dieter, standing with his hands on his hips. Except he’s not wearing his normal pajama pants, fuzzy green robe, and Crocs combo. He’s wearing the Mandalorian suit. Your jaw falls to the floor, much like it did when you watched Din Djarin fall to his knees when he was captured. 
“Dieter… Where did you get this?” you ask, taking a step closer to him and running your hand along the breastplate. He fills out the suit so well. 
“Uhh, I called in a few favors.”
“To who??”
“I know someone in the Mandalorian costume department…”
“And they lent it to you?”
“I may have had to tell a little lie.”
“Oh God.”
“I said I needed it for my nephew’s birthday party.”
“Oh my fucking God…”
“Yeahhh, I know. But I did it for you!”
“Can we bet on how long you’ll keep the helmet on for?”
“Ooh, good idea.”
“Ten minutes.”
“Ouch. I’ll say twenty.”
“You’re on!”
“Okay cool. Now get naked.”
“Nooo, you gotta say it how he would.”
“Get undressed for me… baby?”
“Mesh’la.”
“Mesh’la?”
“It means beautiful.”
“Damn, maybe the Mandalorians do have game,” he chuckles. 
You pull off your sleep shirt and kick off your pajama bottoms, standing in front of him naked while you wait for your next command. He reaches around his belt and under the cape for something. You can only imagine what else he has planned. But you couldn’t have guessed anyway.
It’s a pair of pink, fluffy, handcuffs. 
“You’re joking,”
“Sorry, baby– Fuck I mean, mesh’la, I couldn’t get the Star Wars ones.”
“You got the suit. That’s all that matters,” you reassure him. 
“Turn around,” he commands.
You face the bed and he grabs your wrists, locking the pink handcuffs around them. He pulls you into him so your back is against his chest, and whispers in your ear.
“This is the way… to your pussy,” he says, only half-joking.
“Don’t even,” you snort.
“Okay, okay. Let me think of a scenario… Looks like I have to bring you in,” he says, tugging on the cuffs.
“Please, Mando. Don’t turn me in. I’ll do anything.”
“Anything?” he says.
“Anything.”
“Bend over.”
You do as you’re told, bending over the bed and arching your back. 
“Good girl, mesh’la,” he says, pressing his bulge against your ass. 
He steps back for a second to take his cock out of the suit, tugging off his glove before stroking himself. Pre-cum built up at his tip spreads down his shaft. But he lifts the helmet briefly to spit in his hand and slick his cock even more. 
One hand grips your shoulder and the other holds your waist, keeping you still as he thrusts himself inside you. You moan, feeling his cock stretch your walls while he buries himself in your cunt. 
“Fuck, Dee,” you moan, forgetting the roleplay for a second.
“Mando’s got ya, mesh’la,” he says, playfully correcting you. 
“You feel so good,” you breathe out.
“That’s right. Let me fuck this little pussy and I’ll let you go.”
He draws his hips back and slams into you, keeping a steady pace. Your bedroom fills with the wet sounds of Dieter’s cock sliding in and out of you. You’re so turned on and still in disbelief at his surprise. It’s hard to believe this is your Dieter fucking you like this, getting dominant for once. 
But you also wish you could look directly into the helmet's visor, too. 
“Mando…” you whine.
“What is it, mesh’la?”
“I want… I want to look at you.”
“How cute. Cum for me once and I’ll let you out of these cuffs. Can you do that for me?” he says, thrusting into you harder.
You go to respond but a whimper forces its way out instead. His pace quickens and his cock hits the most perfect angles inside you. You grow wetter and your core tightens up in anticipation of release.
“Already gonna cum for me?” he teases, squeezing your waist. 
“Fuck… Yes, Mando. I’m so close.”
“Cum all over my cock, mesh’la,” he says. You can tell by his voice he’s wearing a smug smirk under the helmet.
With one last thrust, you cum around his cock, knees buckling underneath you. He sighs as your walls clench around him, fucking you through your high. 
“Good girl,” he praises, slowing to a stop as you finish. He reaches for the cuffs and unlocks them, pulling his cock out of you and flipping you over on the bed. You inch up on the bed and spread your thighs, letting him get situated between your legs. 
He hovers above you, visor staring directly at you. Having him tower over you like this turns you on even more. He takes your hands and pins them above your head. He slides his cock inside you but this time, he takes his gloveless hand and rubs his thumb over your clit. 
“Fuck,” you moan.
“Mando’s taking care of you, baby,” he says, slowly thrusting in and out of you. He cocks his helmet to the side and watches as you writhe underneath him. He picks up his pace and swirls his thumb faster around your clit. Your orgasm is nearing again, somehow even quicker than before. 
“Already?” he teases.
“It’s so good,” you whimper, your entire body tingling at this point.
“Cum for me,” he commands again. 
Your orgasm spills over again, waves of pleasure washing over you. You were sure he would cum by now, feeling your second orgasm around his cock. But he doesn’t. Instead, he keeps thrusting in and out of you slowly, holding onto his release. 
Once your orgasm is finished, he lets go of your hands and removes his thumb from your clit. He reaches for the helmet and takes it off, setting it on the bed beside you. And this is when he pounds you like crazy. Matted curls fall onto his forehead as he rails you, hands planted by either side of your head. He’s got a wild look in his eye and his forehead is slick with sweat. 
“Fuck baby, you take my cock so good,” he moans. His voice is higher pitched like he’s desperate for his own orgasm now. He climaxes inside you, painting your insides with his cum. His eyes are closed and his head is thrown back in pleasure. He keeps himself balls deep until he’s done, pulling out of you and collapsing on the bed inside you. He pants as he catches his breath.
“Was it hot under there?”
“A little… But anything for you.”
“Aw, you’re sweet,” you say, rolling over on your side. 
“Told ya I’d keep it on longer than ten minutes,” he teases.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever…,” you roll your eyes, “Maybe you should get the suit again sometime… Or look into getting your own.”
“Let’s get our own… And the Star Wars handcuffs.”
“Oh, for sure.”
“Maybe next time Mando isn’t gonna let you go.”
“Oh yeah? Maybe he shouldn’t.”
His mind short circuits for a second before he jumps up and says, “I’m gonna go order those cuffs.”
You can’t help but laugh. 
183 notes · View notes
alwaysmicado · 18 days
Text
save your tears
4.6k | 18+ MDNI | Dieter Bravo x f!reader
Tumblr media
Warnings: dubcon (sex while high), alcohol & drugs, unprotected piv, rough sex, choking, loss of virginity, mention of blood, degradation/praise, hurt no comfort, mean!Dieter Summary: It’s your lucky night! Your favorite movie star, Dieter Bravo, picks you up at a club and takes you home. You don’t want to blow it by telling him you’re a virgin, do you? A/N: Never meet your heroes...and please don’t fuck Dieter Bravo raw without seeing a notarized STD test first. I’m super excited to share this fic with you and I really hope you’ll enjoy it!! Let me know your thoughts! ♥︎
Dieter Bravo masterlist ♡ main masterlist
Another kiss with a stranger, another fiery shot of tequila, another night immersed in the opulence of a luxurious club in the heart of Beverly Hills.
The pulsating beat of the music reverberates through the venue, drowning out any coherent thought. A sea of bodies sways in a synchronized rhythm, lost in the intoxication of the music, the free-flowing drinks, and the swirling lights.
You and your friends are no exception, caught up in the vibrant chaos of the dance floor, laughing and moving to the infectious energy of the night.
The tight dress you’ve chosen for the night clings to your every curve, a sleek fabric that accentuates the enticing contours of your body. Its deep, midnight black hue embraces you like a second skin, tracing the delicate curve of your breasts, descending sensuously over your torso, and accentuating the gentle swell of your hips.
As you move, the straps, delicate and barely there, become ethereal threads, caressing your skin with each sway and twirl on the dance floor. The dress’s neckline is daring, a subtle plunge that hints at mystery and allure, inviting the eyes to linger for just a moment longer.
Your choice of footwear is equally as captivating. The heels, sleek and strappy, elevate your posture and add a tantalizing sway to your every step. The ensemble not only looks exquisite but feels like a second skin. In this carefully chosen outfit, you feel an undeniable sense of confidence and allure – you feel like a goddess.
As the night progresses, and a few shots later, you find yourself losing inhibitions with each beat. The alcohol warms your veins, and the euphoria of the moment takes over. The atmosphere inside the club is charged with excitement, the air thick with the scent of perfume, sweat, and anticipation.
And then you see him.
Amidst the crowd, your gaze collides with a pair of intense, dark eyes that seem to cut through the chaotic haze. Recognition strikes you like a bolt of lightning – Dieter Bravo, the famous Oscar winner, stands at the fringes of the dance floor, his gaze fixed on you.
The look in his eyes is predatory, stirring desire deep within you. He gestures with a subtle nod of his head towards the exit, a silent command that sends your heart racing.
You excuse yourself to your friends, your words lost in the overwhelming discord of music and laughter. They barely register your departure, the night unfolding in a blur of colors and sound. The crisp air outside is a welcome contrast, a momentary escape from the heated chaos within.
You take a deep breath.
Before you know what’s happening, a strong pair of hands seizes you, pushing you against the cold exterior wall of the club. It’s Dieter, his eyes burning with desire as he takes in the sight of you. His words come out in a low, husky whisper that sends shivers down your spine.
“You’re so beautiful, baby, I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” he confesses, his breath hot against your ear. You’re trembling slightly as he pulls back a little to look into your eyes, one hand planted on the wall next to your head, the other gently cupping your hot cheek. His touch sends a jolt through your entire being and your skin tingles beneath his fingertips.
“Why don’t we take this party to a more private setting, hm? My place is just around the corner,” he murmurs, his gaze searching yours for a sign of rejection.
His proposition hangs in the air, a surreal moment that seems too fantastical to be real. Dieter Bravo, a man renowned for having his pick of any woman he desires, wants you to come home with him?
You hesitate for a fleeting moment, the thrill and exhilaration of the unexpected encounter mingling with a feeling of unease. Is this a good idea?
Oh, fuck it. 
With a breathless nod, you give in to the magnetic pull of his desire. You’re never gonna get a chance like this again in your life.
Dieter’s eyes flicker with satisfaction at your willingness and a self-assured smirk plays on his lips. “Smart choice, beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice low and seductive, intertwining with the rhythm of the music coming from inside.
With a confident yet gentle touch, he guides you to his waiting car, his warm palm resting on the small of your back.
His driver awaits, a stoic figure leaning against the passenger door with crossed arms, well-acquainted with the routine of escorting the renowned womanizer and his conquests. The man looks a few years older than Dieter, and as you approach, you can’t help but ponder the untold tales and silent observations this seasoned driver must harbor as living witness to the enigmatic world of his famous boss.
Dieter leans in to whisper something into the driver’s ear, a private exchange that ends with a wink and a grin directed at you. With a confident saunter, he rounds the car, slipping into the back seat from the other side.
“Good evening, Miss,” the driver greets you with a practiced courtesy, opening the back door and gesturing for you to step inside. In that fleeting moment, as he meets your gaze, you detect a subtle flicker of concern in his eyes, swiftly masked before you fully register its presence.
You swiftly dismiss the uneasy feeling that briefly fluttered within you and gracefully slide into the luxurious car, taking the seat beside Dieter. The plush interior envelops you, a cocoon of opulence that showcases the movie star’s wealth. As the door closes with a muted thud, the insulating quiet of the vehicle amplifies your anticipation.
The car ride is a blur of sensations.
Dieter pulls you onto his lap, his lips finding yours in a fervent kiss. His hands explore the contours of your body, a mix of escalating desire and urgency palpable in every touch. 
Glancing at the rearview mirror, the driver is a silent witness to a scene that unfolds with unsettling familiarity. Dieter’s reputation as a notorious womanizer is well-known, but the silent driver remains impassive, steering the car towards your destination.
“Fuck, baby,” Dieter whispers against your lips, his erection straining painfully against his pants. “You wanna sit on my cock right here or wait ‘til we’re home?”
You sensuously roll your hips, and he responds by squeezing your ass, a deep, guttural groan escaping his lips at the tantalizing friction.
“I want you to take me in your bed,” you purr, as the champagne and tequila flowing through your veins embolden you.
“Alright, beautiful,” he murmurs between sloppy kisses to your neck and jaw, his hand tracing the delicate skin of your shoulder before sliding down the strap of your dress with practiced ease. “I’ll give you anything you want.”
Every word Dieter utters, every caress of his hands, the heady scent of his cologne—the fact that your idol, a man larger than life, is currently drunk off your beauty—adds fuel to the intoxicating fire that courses through your body, making you acutely aware of the pulsating ache and growing wetness between your thighs.
You’ve never wanted to fuck anyone this badly.
Dieter slides down the other strap of your dress, the fabric yielding to his touch as he pulls it down, leaving it to pool around your waist and revealing your naked chest.
“Goddamn, your tits are perfect,” he whispers in awe, his hands tracing a delicate path from your shoulders down to your breasts, cupping one in each hand. “I almost forgot how good real ones feel.”
Your smile widens in response to his comment, relishing the sensation of Dieter Bravo praising your tits.
He massages them, softly at first, his touch a gentle prelude that gradually escalates in intensity as you wrap your arms around his neck, deepening your kiss, moaning against his lips. Your body responds eagerly, writhing on his lap, your swollen clit rhythmically rubbing against his hard bulge, each movement eliciting a wave of pleasure that has your eyes fluttering shut and your back arching.
Dieter leans in, spurred on by the movement of your body and your little moans of pleasure, pressing your tits together with a hunger that mirrors his escalating passion. His kisses are sloppy, a mixture of lust and possessiveness as he licks and sucks on your nipples, twirling his tongue around them.
The sensations alternate between pleasure and a tingling pain as he bites down, eliciting a desperate whimper from you that he hungrily absorbs by pressing his lips against yours once more. 
“This your first time fucking a real movie star, baby?” he murmurs, trailing kisses and bites down your sensitive neck.
Your head is spinning, and it takes you a few seconds to register what he just asked you. Even if it weren’t true, you’d be smart enough to stroke his famously big ego and tell him what he wants to hear. But, in this case, it is true.
“Yeah,” you breathe, your fingers tangled in his now-disheveled curls.
God, his hair is soft. The thought crosses your mind that being a millionaire must afford you great hair care. Just one of the perks of being one of the chosen ones, you muse with a smile.
“I promise you’ll be thinking of me every time you fuck someone else after I’m done with you, darling,” he smirks at you, satisfied with the fact he’s the first man of his stature you’ve experienced.
If he wasn’t already rock-hard before, he would be now.
You giggle and bite your lip, your dilated pupils telling Dieter everything he needs to know – you want him as badly as he wants you.
“I’ll hold you to that,” you purr, leaning in to suck and nibble on his neck while rolling your hips again.
“Oh shit,” he whispers, letting his head fall against the headrest and gripping your hips with his hands. “I knew you were a bad girl the second I saw you.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Good girls don’t rub their needy little pussy on some stranger’s cock minutes after they met.” His breathing is strained, and he needs to concentrate hard to not come in his pants. “Good girls also don’t let me do a line off their perfect tits.” 
You pull back a little to look into his eyes, and he raises an eyebrow.
Against your better judgment, you nod, and he reaches into the right pocket of his pants to retrieve the biggest coke baggie you’ve ever seen. Goddamn, how does this guy get any acting gigs done if he does massive amounts of coke like this? His manager must be nothing short of a god.
“Push them together, baby,” he says, watching hungrily as you take your tits and press them together to create enough surface for him to put his powder on. “Fuck, that’s it.”
He pours a generous amount onto your skin, creating a line with his finger.
“You’re so fucking hot, baby,” he murmurs, planting a kiss on your warm lips. His gaze drops to the line of coke on your tits before he lowers his head, presses a finger on his right nostril, and inhales the powder in one swift motion.
The lewd, forbidden feeling of letting him do drugs off your body has your pussy clench around nothing. You’re beyond turned on.
“Phew!” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “This is some primo shit, holy fuck. You wanna try?”
Dieter’s eyes find yours as he wipes his nose and tilts his head. “You’re never gonna find something this pure again.”
“Sure, why not,” you coo, succumbing to the excitement of the moment. One more bad decision’s not gonna kill you, right?
“Such a bad girl,” he murmurs with a smirk, then pours some coke on the back of his hand. He arranges it in a line for you and brings it closer to your face.
The fine white powder lies on his skin like a whisper of the night, and with a quick, controlled motion, you inhale. The sensation is immediate, a rush that starts from the point of contact and spirals into a heady euphoria. The sharp intensity sends a tingling sensation through your nostrils, a mix of heat and exhilaration.
In that fleeting moment, the world seems to shift.
The pulsating lights of the city take on a surreal glow, and the hum of the car’s engine becomes a rhythmic accompaniment to the rush coursing through your veins. The nightclub’s music, still echoing in your ears, melds with your newfound energy, creating a synesthetic experience that blurs the boundaries between the external world and your internal sensations.
You’ve never felt this much like yourself and not like yourself at the same time before—it’s surreal.
A tingling warmth radiates through your body, a sensation that is both invigorating and disorienting, like an electrifying surge that momentarily disconnects you from reality.
Dieter watches in real time as the coke takes effect and your pupils dilate further, your features signaling an intensified awareness of your surroundings.
“That’s it, baby,” you hear him purr before you feel his hand on the back of your neck, pulling you into a messy kiss.
You’re not entirely sure how you made it to Dieter’s bedroom.
– – –
His sheets are incredibly soft, some sort of luxurious fabric that feels heavenly against your naked skin. You’re clad only in your panties, lying on your back with Dieter on top of you, your legs spread to accommodate his hips. 
You hear music coming from a speaker somewhere in the room – he must’ve put it on when you got in. You moan as he kisses your neck, his warm tongue and lips tracing your skin, nibbling, biting, marking you. 
He props himself up with his forearms on the bed beside your head, the soft hair on his belly grazing against your skin with each rhythmic movement of his hips.
“Look at me, baby,” he tells you, breathless, eager to finally bury himself in your pussy. You open your bloodshot eyes, biting your lip at the delicious pressure he’s putting on your clit.
“Tell me you want me.”
He caresses your cheek, his fingertips leaving a tingling sensation on your hot skin. You nod in response and moan when his hard cock rubs against your sensitive clit once again.
“Hey,” he taps your cheek not so gently and bores his eyes into you. “Use your words.”
You’re startled, but a grin forms on your lips as your foggy brain registers what he’s asking.
“I want you, Dieter,” you coo, your nails digging into the meat of his ass. “I want you to fuck me.” His lips crash against yours in an instant, and you whisper, “Please,” against them as your mind drifts off into another realm again.
“Don’t worry, baby,” he murmurs as he straightens up to take off his boxer briefs. “I’m gonna give you exactly what you need.”
Your eyes follow the movement of Dieter’s hands, mesmerized, watching in slow motion as his cock springs free. Fuck. It’s a lot bigger than you’d imagined, and it’s so…beautiful. You wish he’d put it in your mouth for you to taste it, but since you can feel him pulling down your panties, you guess he’s gonna go straight to fucking your pussy.
You feel his hands on your thighs as he positions himself between your spread legs. Then, you watch as he spits on his hand and strokes his cock. You moan at the sight, wanting nothing more than for him to take you, to ravage you, to become one with you.
“Fuck, you’re so wet, baby,” he murmurs more to himself than to you, haphazardly swiping his fingers through your dripping wet folds. You can’t hold back the moan that escapes your lips when he brushes your clit.
He scoots closer, and you can feel the hairs on his thighs against yours as he guides the tip of his cock to your entrance. It’s warm, slippery, feels kinda nice. You close your eyes and turn your head.
This is it. You’re gonna have sex for the first time. 
And with none other than Dieter fucking Bravo – Oscar winner, movie star, womanizer extraordinaire. If you weren’t so out of it, you’d laugh at the ludicrousness of the situation.
He pushes in with one slow, deliberate thrust, savoring the feeling of each inch gradually disappearing into your body.
You inhale sharply, your breath catching at the initial discomfort of his cock stretching you. Your brow furrows in response, and you instinctively grip the sheets with your hands, a mix of pleasure and mild pain coursing through your body.
“Holy shit, your pussy’s tight,” Dieter groans, his hips stuttering at the sensation of being completely sheathed in you. “Feels so fucking good.”
He withdraws again just as you begin to acclimate to the girth of his cock inside you, leaving you whimpering at the sudden loss. Your hypersensitive system is so overloaded with sensations that it compels you to moan, whine, and writhe under his touch, uncertain of how to process everything you’re feeling and experiencing.
Dieter chuckles at your desperate little noises, more than ready to give you as much of his cock as he can, and to show you pleasure you didn’t know you were capable of.
If there’s one thing he takes pride in, it’s leaving his sex partners thoroughly satisfied, mind empty, covered in cum, and wanting more.
He spreads you open again in one smooth movement, your pussy eagerly devouring every inch. Pleased with your moans and the tight grip of your walls, he grabs your thighs and shifts his weight, pressing them against the mattress to penetrate you even deeper.
“Fuck,” is all you can get out as he sets a brutal pace, pushing your body up the bed repeatedly. His cock relentlessly strikes a deep spot within you, each thrust accompanied by the rhythmic slap of his balls against your ass.
“That’s it, baby. Take my fucking cock. Fuck, you’re the best slut I’ve had in a while.”
Dieter wants you to scream his name and come all over his cock. Sure. But he’s greedy and craves more than your physical surrender. He wants to etch his name into the very fabric of your desires, your being, a memory that will linger in your thoughts for the rest of your life.
The initial discomfort you’ve experienced slowly gives way to raw, carnal pleasure, a drug-induced dance of sensations that leaves you breathless. Dieter’s movements are harsh, designed to bring you to your limits, and you find yourself meeting his thrusts with an eagerness that surprises you.
The vast expanse of Dieter’s bedroom is filled with the intoxicating sound of your moans and smacking flesh, creating a dizzying symphony that envelops you in the throes of ecstasy.
“Look at me,” you hear him growl somewhere over you, and when you don’t budge, you feel his bruising grip on your jaw. “Hey, I’m not telling you again.”
You open your eyes, your eyelids so heavy you need to summon all of your strength to pry them open. Dieter’s face hovers close to yours, his breaths ragged, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, tracing a path down his temples.
His eyes are dark, hungry, dangerous. He gazes at you like he wants to devour you, to consume you wholly. You sense the intensity of his desire, and you’re more than ready to surrender to it.
You feel his hands tighten around your neck, the diminishing flow of oxygen to your brain heightening your senses even more. As your vision blurs and your pulse quickens, you’re caught in a paradoxical dance of ecstasy and fear, an exhilarating moment that pushes you to the brink.
Dieter deliberately hits your G-spot over and over again, his cock throbbing and leaking precum at your increasingly loud moans and spasming walls. 
“Is this what you wanted, huh?” he pants, intensifying the grip on your neck and the force of his thrusts. Instinctively, you start clawing at his arms. “What a sick little thing you are, getting off on me hurting you.” 
Your eyes roll back and you feel yourself slipping away as Dieter’s pelvis puts enough pressure on your clit to bring you closer to climax with every roll of his hips.
“Oh fuck,” you faintly hear Dieter’s voice, “you’re choking the shit out of me, holy–”
You don’t hear the end of his sentence as an abrupt, violent orgasm takes over your body and mind in waves. Your walls spasm and contract uncontrollably around Dieter’s cock, every single muscle in your body tensing as you release a silent scream, caught in a tumultuous mix of ecstasy and distress.
Dieter lets go of your neck and bites down on your shoulder as he comes, emptying himself deep inside you with a guttural groan. His cock pulsates as your pussy eagerly milks and swallows up every last drop of his seed. 
He pulls out of you and collapses onto the mattress, his chest heaving, heart racing, utterly spent. His cum leaks out of you, pooling on the sheets between your thighs.
The room is heavy with the lingering scent of sex as Dieter finally catches his breath. Sweat glistens on his forehead and chest, and his erratic breaths permeate the air. You lie there, silent and still, your body sore, and your mind in turmoil.
The reality of the moment slowly dawns on you – every heartbeat sobering you up a bit more, tangled emotions leaving you disoriented.
Shit. What have you done?
“That was…holy shit,” Dieter chuckles beside you as he props his head up on his hand.
His face falls immediately as he glances at the bloodstains on the sheets. His eyes widen in shock, and a pang of guilt hits him deep. He wasn’t gentle, and you never spoke up. The room is silent for a moment before he breaks it, his voice sharp and accusatory.
“You’re bleeding.” His eyes meet yours, and the storm within them is unsettling. Your heart beats rapidly, fear coursing through you. “Tell me this isn’t what I fucking think it is.”
You look away, a lump forming in your sore throat. “I...I didn’t expect it to hurt so much,” you admit, your voice barely audible.
“Oh my fucking god.” Dieter’s tone is harsh, his face contorted with a mixture of confusion and anger. He swiftly rises from the bed, the mattress shuddering under his abrupt departure. His pacing is agitated, a restless back-and-forth that adds to the already palpable tension between you two.
You sit up against the headboard and pull up the covers to shield yourself from the chilling air that envelops you. You’re shivering. 
“Why the hell didn’t you say something? Are you trying to ruin me?”
Your heart drops. “Wha–”
His accusations hang in the air, and the room feels suffocating. Deep down, Dieter knows he should feel remorse for his actions, but instead, he redirects his hurt feelings towards you. The drugs and alcohol coursing through his system amplify his irrationality and paranoia.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” His voice rises, echoing off the walls. “Is this some sick ploy to get your fifteen minutes of fame or some shit? To expose me?”
You’re left stunned, the whirlwind of pain, confusion, and the sting of betrayal clouding your mind. The vulnerability you shared just moments ago morphs into an uncomfortable reality, a hurtful reminder of what you were to him — a warm, nameless body he could fuck.
And now, you’re a nuisance at best, and a PR nightmare at worst. 
“Dieter, it’s nothing like that," you say, pleading, attempting to diffuse the escalating tension as the walls close in on the shattered remnants of a fun night. “I didn’t know how to tell you and…it’s not a big deal, I’m okay.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he shouts, shaking his head in frustration. “I wouldn’t have fucked you like that if I you’d told me you were–” he cuts himself off, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
The resentment in his gaze sends a shiver down your spine, making your blood run cold.
“Dieter–”
“Get the fuck out of my house.”
“Please, I’m sor–”
“Get the fuck out!” he roars, the anger in his eyes intensifying.
You immediately get up and scramble to get your clothes back on, your hands shaking. You grab your belongings, trying to maintain a shred of dignity as you hastily dress.
Dieter, seething with anger and regret, roughly hands you a wad of cash from his nightstand when you’re done. 
“Here, take this. Get a Plan B or whatever the hell you need, and keep your mouth shut.”
You stare at the money in your hand, then at the man who’s throwing you out in the middle of the night after taking your virginity. The bills are cold in your hand, and you crumple them up, throwing them back at him.
“I’m not your whore, Dieter. Go to hell!”
Heels in hand, you make your way past him and out the door. You don’t stop as he calls after you, his voice strained with genuine remorse.
“I’m sorry!”
He really is.
– – –
The cold night air hits you like a slap, tears blurring your vision as you stumble away from Dieter’s mansion, the weight of what just transpired inside heavy on your shoulders.
His hurtful words echo in your mind, the throbbing pain between your legs intensifying with every step you take. Your breath falters in the frigid air, and you clutch your arms tightly around you as you make your way toward the waiting car.
The driver, standing beside the sleek vehicle, regards you with a mixture of concern and pity. His eyes have seen this scene unfold countless times before – another half-naked girl leaving his boss’s home in disarray.
You hate the way he looks at you, as if he knows more about your vulnerability than you’re willing to admit.
He opens the car door for you, and you gratefully sink into the plush leather seat. The warmth inside the car is a stark contrast to the chill outside, but it does little to ease the ache spreading through your body.
The driver takes his place behind the wheel, stealing glances at you through the rearview mirror.
“Where can I take you to, Miss?” His voice is gentle, filled with a practiced sympathy that makes your stomach churn. You hesitate for a moment, wrestling with the words you don’t want to say.
“Home,” you finally mumble, offering your address with a numb detachment. It feels like a betrayal, a surrender of your secret world to this stranger who witnesses the aftermath of Dieter Bravo’s fleeting affections.
The car glides through the silent streets, and you find yourself staring out of the window, the city lights blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors.
Your head is spinning, and the pain in your body intensifies with each passing moment. Tears escape as you touch the bruises on your neck, tracing silent paths down your cheeks. You wipe them away with the back of your hand, hoping the darkness conceals your shame.
The driver glances at you in the mirror.
“Are you alright, Miss?” he asks, his tone a delicate inquiry into the depths of your distress.
“Just…drive me home, please,” you whisper, your voice cracking with the weight of unshed tears. You don’t want his pity, his judgment. You just want to escape the haunting echoes of what happened tonight.
But you know that will never happen. Dieter got his wish after all.
You will forever remember him.
– – –
♥︎ Thank you for reading!! ♥︎
Dieter Bravo masterlist ♡ main masterlist
145 notes · View notes
mypoisonedvine · 1 year
Text
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?)
Tumblr media
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.
3K notes · View notes
bitchesuntitled · 25 days
Text
Memories
Tumblr media
Summary: What happens when your husband, Dieter, forgets who you are?
Warnings: 18+ minors get outta here! Cursing, fluff, smut, feel good, oral(f receiving), fingering(f receiving), probably not like realistic medical knowledge but it’s fiction 🤷‍♀️
A/N: Thank you so much @papipascalispunk for editing. @jay-zzle for the idea AND the mood board 😍❤️ I really liked writing this and had a lot of fun with it. Hope y’all like it! @schnarfer(it's here!)
Masterlist
“Wait, who said we can’t have fruit bars anymore?” you ask, turning from the pantry to look at your seven year old daughter, Luna, sitting at the kitchen island.
“Daddy,” Luna states matter of factly, “He said that it’s fake food and we should only eat organic stuff.”
“Yeah, we need organic food,” your son Leo pipes in from the seat next to her. At three years old, he is currently in the copy everything big sister says or does phase.
“So, what do you want as a snack in your lunch box then?” you ask, raising your eyebrows, waiting for an answer.
“Uhhh… banana?” Luna shrugs, “Daddy wasn’t very specific on what I should eat instead.”
“Okay but get your breakfast eaten before your cereal gets soggy,” you say, pointing at both before starting on the dishes.
Of course Dieter would be the one to tell the kids not to eat certain foods. The man scolds you every time he sees your Bluetooth headphones – droning on and on about the effects it’ll have on your brain waves and how it’s going to damage your mind. Your relationship with Dieter was a bit of a chaotic whirlwind, meeting randomly on the set of one of the movies he starred in, one your friend was working on the set of.
“Well, hello there,” Dieter had said, standing next to you by the craft table. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”
“Excuse me?” you asked, looking around to see who he was actually talking to.
“Or should I walk by again?” he said with a smile.
“Is that how you get all the girls?” you asked, picking up a piece of cheese and pointing it at him, “Because that shit was pretty cheesy if you ask me.”
“No, trying something new,” Dieter said, cracking up into a giant fit of laughter. “Sorry, sorry. That– yeah, that was pretty good.”
“Bravo needed on set!” someone with a headset shouted in the distance, frantically waving at him.
“Guess that’s my cue,” he sighed, “Hope to see you ar– wait, what’s your name?”
You introduce yourself and he takes your hand, kissing the back of it.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said, repeating your name and winking, “Hope to see you around.”
That was the conversation that started it all nearly eight years ago. Within the first year of knowing Dieter, you were married and pregnant – and no – it wasn’t a shotgun wedding, as much as the tabloids tried to pin it as one.
“Dieter Bravo and Mystery Woman Seen Leaving Las Vegas Wedding Chapel”
“Dieter Bravo Expecting First Child with New Wife – Shotgun Wedding?”
“How Long Before Dieter Bravo Gets His First Divorce?”
You both just knew you were meant to be together. With the birth of Luna, he had sobered up completely. These days he hardly even drinks beer. It’s weird in a way, that he’s changed so much from who you first met, but still the same Dieter in every other aspect. Wild, spontaneous, creative, romantic, chaotic at times, and so loving.
“Good morning, my babies,” Dieter says, waltzing into the kitchen, giving each of his kids a kiss on the top of their heads.
“Hi, Daddy,” Luna and Leo exclaim.
“Hello, my love,” Dieter smiles, wrapping his arms around your waist giving you a sloppy smooch on the cheek.
“Ew,” Luna shouts, making gagging noises.
“Yeah, what Luna said!” Leo says, copying his older sister with fake gagging.
“Stop with the fake gagging,” he replies, looking at them, “You’ll make mommy sick.”
“Hi, babe,” you laugh, “Someone’s in a good mood this morning.”
“I want to start doing my own stunts like Tom Cruise,” Dieter explains excitedly, “And I think I’m going to crush it today! I’m supposed to scale a building, don’t worry, everything is going to be totally safe.”
“Seriously, Dieter?” you sigh, “You may say that it’s safe but I’m still going to worry – please be safe.”
Dieter gasps, putting his hand to his chest as if he were clutching a set of pearls. “Babies, I don’t think mommy trusts daddy!”
“Momma,” Leo laughs, perching up on the chair more, “Daddy be fine!”
“Yeah, momma,” Dieter says with a grin, “Daddy be fine.”
“Yeah, okay,” you say, snorting and shaking your head, looking at your watch you realize you’re going to be cutting it close in getting Luna to school on time. “Shit!”
“Mommy,” Luna scolds, “You shouldn’t say bad words like that!”
“Luna, hurry up with your cereal or else you’re going to be late for school again,” you say as you turn to Dieter who is rummaging in the fridge for his own breakfast. “What time do you have to be on set?”
“In about an hour, get her to school. My favorite son and I will be fine here at home. If need be, I’ll tell the director that I’m going to be late. Family first,” he says, “Not like they’d fire me at this point. I’m the entire reason people are going to want to see this movie.”
“I love you so much,” you say, giving him a kiss before ushering Luna out the door.
“Love you too, baby!” Dieter shouts.
“I’m back,” you announce from the front door.
“That didn’t take as long as I expected,” Dieter chuckles, “I gotta get headed to the studio though.” He scoops Leo up into a tight hug, “We'll play superhero when I get back home, okay?”
“Otay,” Leo says, pouting.
“Poor baby,” Dieter coos and glances up at you with a smirk, “You sure you don’t want another one?”
“Dieter,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck, “We’ve talked about this. If it feels right, then maybe, but right now? No.”
“Fine,” Dieter groans, “But the moment you think it feels right, tell me?”
“Promise,” you smirk.
Dieter tells Leo goodbye with the promise of playing superheroes when he gets back home. Your mind begins to wander back to Dieter’s question about another baby as you go about your chores. You start smiling thinking back to when you first decided to start trying for a baby –  lying in bed together shortly after getting married.
“How many kids do you want?” Dieter asked, playing with the wedding band on your finger.
“I’d always imagined three honestly,” you smiled, “Why?”
“I want whatever you want,” he grinned, slotting himself between your legs again. “But if you wanted at least one I wouldn’t mind trying now.”
“D, we just got married a month ago,” you said, shaking your head, “Is that the only reason you married me? To have a baby?”
“Of course not, baby,” Dieter said, linking his fingers with yours and pinning them above your head, “I just know I really, really want them with you.”
“Oh yeah?” you whispered, tilting your head up to capture his lips. He moaned into your mouth, slowly grinding his stiffness against you.
“Yes,” he panted, breaking the kiss.
“Let’s do it then,” you said, nipping his bottom lip, “Fuck a baby into me, Dieter.”
“Fuck yeah, baby,” he groaned.
“Momma!” Leo shouts, pulling you from your thoughts, “Your phone.”
You had been so deep in the memory you didn’t even notice your phone ringing. It’s just Dieter, probably checking in to see how your day is going. He tends to do that while he’s on breaks at work.
“Well, hello, Tom Cruise,” you answer, giggling – except it isn’t Dieter on the other end. 
Instead, you hear his assistant, Andy, saying your name before, “Dieter’s been in an accident. I’m almost to your house, I’ll watch Leo so you can go to Cedars-Sinai medical,” quickly spills out of his mouth, “It’s not good.”
It’s been two weeks that you’ve sat beside his bed in this damn hospital, waiting for him to wake up. The doctors are all hopeful that he’ll wake up at any minute, but it’s been two days since he’s been off the ventilator, and nothing has happened yet. The kids keep asking where their dad is, and you don’t have any other answer than he’s sick. 
“Dieter,” you beg, holding onto his hand, “Babe, please wake up. We need you. Luna and Leo miss you – I miss you. Please just wake up.”
The nurse comes in to check Dieter’s vitals for the third time today. Since she’s keeping him company, you decide to head to the cafeteria to get some food, grabbing something simple before heading back to Dieter’s room. When you return, you notice a flurry of activity.
“Mr. Bravo, can you tell me what year it is?” a doctor asks, shining a small flashlight in his eyes.
“Of course I can, dumbass! It’s 2016,” Dieter snaps. “Now will you stop shining that light in my eye?”
“What’s going on?” you ask hesitantly.
“He woke up while you went to get food,” a nurse explains, “We’re trying to make sure mentally he’s with us.”
“Oh, for fuck sake!” Dieter cries out, “I’m fine, never felt better! There, she must be my new assistant.”
All eyes turn to you. This was a possibility the doctor had talked about before – temporary amnesia. Hopefully that’s all it is. The doctor motions you to follow him out of the room.
“He seems to have hit his head harder than we thought. In all honesty, I would try to play pretend with him for a little bit. Try thinking of things that might remind him of who he actually is today,” the doctor suggests. “I’m so sorry Mrs. Bravo.”
Dieter is having a conniption in the room while nurses are trying to calm him down. As you step back in, you see your husband frantically disconnecting and throwing the wires off of his body and onto the floor. 
“Where the fuck is my assistant?” Dieter yells.
“Dieter, D, baby – Mr. Bravo!” you shout and Dieter immediately freezes, eyes wide as saucers. “You need to calm down before you hurt yourself.”
“What happened?” Dieter asks, looking around at everyone.
“We’ll give you guys some space,” a nurse says quietly while ushering the others out of the room. You grab the chair next to his bed and sit down, reaching for his hand but stopping yourself as you notice your ring. Right now, this isn’t your husband. This is Dieter Bravo who believes it’s the year 2016.
“You were in an accident, you hit your head pretty good,” you start explaining to him, “You’ve been in a coma for two weeks now.”
“So, who are you?” he asks, looking you up and down with a raised eyebrow. “I knew my team wanted to hire me a new assistant since things didn’t work out with the last one – didn’t realize they’d pick someone so hot. Would you wanna have sex with me?”
“Dieter, I don’t think you’re cleared for those types of activities,” you chuckle, “I’m here for whatever you might need though.”
“Can you get me my phone?” he asks with those puppy-dog eyes he does best.
“Sure,” you reach for your purse digging around and find his phone, handing it over to him. “The passcode is 332016”
“The fuck? Why would I change it from the classic 42069?” he asks, looking at you with confusion.
“It’s uh… an important day to you,” you say, looking away, not wanting him to see the tears forming in your eyes. The day you met. 
“So, did I have an accident on set?”
“Yeah, you were scaling a building and the cable holding you snapped. You fell a good distance and smacked your head on the ground.”
“Wait,” Dieter says looking at his phone calendar, pointing it towards you, “Why does this say it’s 2024?”
“Because it’s not 2016,” you shrug, “It’s 2024.”
“How long have I been in a fucking coma?” Dieter asks, starting to panic again, frantically searching through the contacts in his phone, “Why can’t I find my dealer's number? I need coke. Wait, you’re my fucking assistant – go get me coke!”
“You’ve only been in a coma for two weeks and the only coke I’ll get you is Coca Cola,” you say crossing your arms, “I won’t let you have drugs in m– the house, Dieter.”
“Wait, my assistant lives with me?” he gasps, “You’re just supposed to come when I call you.”
“Different kind of assistant here.”
“Wait, I can’t have you in my house! I see that ring on your finger – I don’t want to get in between a marriage,” Dieter says, pointing at your left hand.
“It’s– it’s complicated right now,” you shrug.
“Fine, stay in my house, but stay out of my way,” Dieter sighs in frustration.
This is going to be a lot harder than you thought. He doesn’t remember who you are to him. He doesn’t remember getting clean when he married you. He doesn’t remember anything. Going home that night doesn’t help either because Luna wants to know what’s going on with her dad.
“Andy said that daddy woke up!” Luna says vibrating with excitement, “How come he’s not home?
“I had to leave him at the hospital because he’s still sick, honey.” You sit down on the plush couch in the living room, “Come here. I wanna talk to you about something.”
“Okay,” Luna hesitantly says, coming to sit next to you.
“Daddy is still sick. He looks fine but his brain is sick right now.”
“What’s that mean?” she questions, looking at you with the same eyes as her father.
“He doesn’t remember some stuff about his life right now,” you continue, “But we are gonna try to help him get it back. We have to think of the best memories we have with daddy so that maybe he’ll remember better.”
“So, we have to fix daddy?” she asks with tears in her eyes as you grab her into a hug, stroking her hair.
“Yeah, sweet girl, we have to fix daddy,” you say, trying not to cry yourself.
What was supposed to only be a few days turned into a week at the hospital. A week of playing Dieter’s assistant and having him boss you around. He was still adamant on getting drugs, but you put your foot down on that one. You weren’t going to let him ruin his seven years of sobriety just because he lost his memory.
“Alright Mr. Bravo looks like you’re all set to leave. Just need you to sign a couple of papers here and then you can be on your way,” the doctor says, handing him the papers.
“Fucking finally,” Dieter groans, “Not that this isn’t a wonderful hospital, but I’d much rather be home.”
“Of course,” the doctor says.
“Will you go ahead and bring the car around? I’d rather not walk too much considering my condition,” Dieter asks, looking at you.
“Of course, D– Mr. Bravo,” you grit through your teeth with the most customer service smile you can muster. That was a new development, Dieter wanting you only to refer to him as Mr. Bravo. You rush out of the room so that it doesn’t blow up into another argument. He’s already tried to fire you twice because of the no drugs thing. You had to make up some story of how you’re in a five-year contract that cannot be broken and tell him three times before he finally bought the story.
Pulling the car around to the front of the hospital, you see him being wheeled out.
“Thank you again so much for taking care of me,” he says, winking at the nurse, “Best care I’ve ever received!”
“No problem at all, Dieter,” she giggles. 
“Could I possibly get your number?” Dieter asks, looking expectantly at the nurse after getting settled into the passenger seat of the car. She shakes her head violently.
“No, sorry,” she says before running off wheeling the wheelchair back into the building.
“Well, that was fucking weird,” Dieter says, looking at you. “Did I do something wrong? Most women don’t literally run from me like that.”
“No, Mr. Bravo, you didn’t do anything wrong,” you growl, “Nothing at all.”
You begin to play a song you hope might bring back some sort of memory of you. With all the hope you can muster you hit play and hear Clint Eastwood by Gorillaz, one of the songs you guys would listen to while you got high together. Dieter starts to chuckle listening to the song.
“What?” you snap at him.
“It’s just this song,” Dieter said grinning, “It reminds me of someone.”
“Oh?” you ask, trying not to pry too much hoping he’ll just continue talking.
“Yeah, I can’t remember what her name is, though. Good lay, that’s for damn sure,” he says, laughing a little, “All I remember is she wasn’t even in the business, she’d call me out on all my shit, and we would smoke weed together listening to this song a lot. I think that’s why I liked her. Wonder what she’s up to these days?”
“Oh um… who knows, maybe she’s still in town?” Your heart swells realizing he’s talking about you, that he remembers some remnants of you. 
“No way!” Dieter says and sighs, “Way too fucking good for someone like me anyways. Probably found some nice guy, got married, has kids, the whole white picket fence shit and everything. She was way out of my league.”
Pulling up to the house you don’t even know what to say to him. He looks almost defeated in a way and then looks confused when he sees the front door opening.
“Oh no,” you whisper, watching Luna run to the car, “Dieter, wait here. Do not move!”
“Why the fuck are there children at my house?” he asks while you’re getting out, but you shut the door behind you, ignoring him.
“Luna, baby, I need you to go back into the house. Daddy’s sick, remember?” you say, trying to usher her back up the driveway.
“Mommy!” Leo shrieks, running to you.
“Fuck – I mean fudge,” Andy says, frantically running out to the driveway, “I was in the bathroom. She must’ve heard the car, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“The hell is going on here?” Dieter’s voice booms while getting out of the car, “I asked you why there are kids in my house.”
“Da–” Luna starts, but you cut her off.
“You two, inside. Now,” you say, ushering them towards Andy. Once they’re inside you whip around to look at Dieter standing by the car.
“You,” you snarl, walking towards him, “Screw what the doctor said. I’ve had enough of this shit. I’m not your fucking assistant so stop bossing me around. I’m your wife – those two are our children!”
“Wha–” Dieter stares at you with wide eyes, “D– DNA Test, I want a fucking DNA test!”
“Dieter, there isn’t a need for a DNA test because they’re your kids. I mean, did you even look at them?”
“Those are not my kids, they look Latino,” he argues.
“Dieter!” you yell, “You are Latino.”
“Oh, yeah,” he whispers, looking down. “So, you’re my wife?”
“Yes, Dieter, I’m your wife. I’m the girl that would get high with you listening to Clint Eastwood.”
“Wild,” he says looking at the house, the ground below him, the yard, anywhere but you “Wild.”
It’s been a week at home now, but Dieter is trying his hardest to regain his memory after you lay everything out on the table for him. You show him pictures of your Las Vegas wedding, your pregnancy photos, the kids’ births – he finally relents to the truth when you show him their birth certificates with his name listed under Father. Luna has been trying to show him drawings that she’s done for him, but nothing is working. Poor Leo just wants to play superheroes, but at just three years old, he doesn’t understand what’s going on at all.
One night, after you put the kids to bed, Dieter comes to your bedroom.
“What if we had sex?” he suggests.
“Dieter, I don’t know if that would be a good idea,” you groan, flopping onto the bed rubbing your eyes.
“I’m just saying, what if we did?” he shrugs, “Was just a suggestion, but I get it.”
“Come here,” you say, patting the spot next to you in bed. He reluctantly sits down next to you as you open your arms as an invitation. “How about we cuddle?”
He nods, setting his head on your chest. You can tell he didn’t know what to do with his hands because he’s so tense. You grab one of them and push it around your back, hoping he’ll understand your silent suggestion. 
“Like this?” he whispers, carefully adjusting both arms to wrap around you.
“Just like that,” you hum, stroking the curls at the base of his neck, breathing his scent in for the first time in weeks. Clean laundry, a hint of eucalyptus, and something that’s so specifically Dieter.
“I like this,” Dieter purs, rubbing his head against your chest, “I wish so badly I could just remember everything.”
“I know D, I know,” you sigh, continuing to gently stroke his head, “We’ll get there.”
Dieter moves so his head is in the crook of your neck. You feel his lips begin to place soft kisses against your skin.
“Dieter,” you gasp, turning your head to look at him, “What are you doing?”
“I wanna make you feel better,” he says, giving you those puppy dog eyes you can never refuse. “You’ve had to deal with a lot and this is the only way I know how to try and make things right.”
“Okay,” you whisper, nodding your head. As much as you’ve avoided intimacy with Dieter while his memory was gone, he’s still your Dieter and you miss him. 
He starts nipping along your jaw and down your neck. One of his hands moves to your breast gently kneading it. His lips move down your throat to your chest, making his way down to your stomach and pushing your shirt up. He places several kisses around your navel down to the top of your underwear, looking up at you again for confirmation. “It’s okay,” you nod, giving him the go ahead. He peels them off your hips and down your legs, throwing them to the floor.
Without warning he flattens his tongue, licking a stripe up your seam. Working his tongue against your clit and back down to your entrance. Up and down, up and down.
“Fuck, baby, I’ve missed this,” you cry out, running your fingers through his hair, “Feels so fucking good!”
Dieter starts humming, loving the praise you were giving him. His tongue continues circling your bundle of nerves, hoping to hear more words of praise.
“Taste so fucking good,” he says breaking away, “Best pussy I’ve ever had.”
You grip his hair tightly and shove his face back to your core. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly you can feel your orgasm approaching.
“Please don’t stop,” you moan, “I’m so fucking close!”
Dieter doubles down his efforts after hearing those words. He’s determined to get you off now. One of his hands makes its way to your center, teasing your entrance before plunging two of his thick fingers inside, curling them up to hit that spot only he’s ever been able to reach.
“Oh, fuck,” you cry out, back arching, “Y– yes, just like that!”
He starts grunting, rutting into the mattress, so badly needing to make you come. He knows you’re close, listening to your breathing and hearing the pitch of your moans. 
“D,” you moan, while he grabs your thighs, pulling you unbelievably closer to his face to completely devour you before sliding his fingers back into you. “I’m gonna come!”
“Give it to me, baby, come on,” he says, pulling away panting before diving back in for more, “I need it”. He feels the way your legs begin to shake, your walls fluttering around his fingers.
“Fuck,” you hiss, head thrown back against the pillow closing your eyes, “I– I’m gonna… god.”
Dieter feels your walls constrict around his fingers and hums, collecting your release slowly. He takes his time licking you clean before you push him away, feeling overly sensitive. When you finally open your eyes to look at him, you notice his smile and a glint in his eyes. He crawls back up the length of your body and you grab his face, kissing him deeply tasting yourself on his tongue.
“I can’t believe you married me,” he says, breaking the kiss and wrapping his arms around you again, “Love me forever?”
“Dieter, I’m pretty sure I’ve already proven that I’ll love you forever,” you softly chuckle, beginning to stroke his back.
The doctor keeps saying to just be patient, that it’s going to take time for Dieter’s memory to return. But it feels like it’s been forever as another week passes. Everyone is getting frustrated, especially Leo.
“Why is daddy broke?” Leo screams at the top of his lungs, “He no play with me!”
“Leo, Daddy just doesn’t feel good,” you try to explain.
“He no like me!” Leo wails, “He only likes Luna.”
“Leo, daddy does too like you,” you try telling him, “He loves you very much.” 
“No,” Leo cries as you scoop him up as he buries his face into your shoulder.
“Shh, it’s okay, baby. It’s okay,” you soothe.
It wasn’t that Dieter wasn’t trying with the kids, he just didn’t know how. His dad instincts hadn’t been brought back full-force. He was great with Luna –  engaged in conversation with her, drew pictures with her, watched her put on fashion shows. With Leo though, he didn’t know how to interact with a toddler. Leo would get upset and Dieter didn’t know what to do besides call you for help. Before Dieter’s accident Leo was his little buddy, followed him everywhere, would play with him for hours being superheroes or whatever Leo decided on that day.
You were able to get Leo to calm down and because of his tantrum he wound up falling asleep. After putting him in his bed for a nap you went to search for Dieter.
“Hey,” you sigh, seeing him standing by the window looking into the backyard.
“Hey,” he says sniffling, wiping his sleeve against his nose, “I’m so sorry.”
“Dieter, I’m not the one you should be saying sorry to. Leo misses you! I know that you’re trying, I do, but I need you to try harder for him,” you sigh, “I can’t pretend that I even know what you’re going through, but our baby boy is hurting because he misses his dad!”
“I know,” Dieter says turning around, you could now see the tears falling down his face, “It’s just… he scares me! It’s easier with Luna because I can understand every word she says, she can show me things, she doesn’t throw a tantrum every five minutes.”
“Dieter, he’s your son! Not some little monster to be scared of! He’s three and doesn’t know any better,” you scold him, “Like I said, I just need you to try.”
“Okay,” Dieter agrees, wiping the tears off his face, “When he wakes up from his nap, I’ll try.”
Dieter could hear Leo awake in his room as he slowly made his way there.
“Dad-Bomb an’ dude-bomb! To rescue!” Leo says, jumping off his bed with a cape around his shoulders. Dieter stands in the doorway observing him. Why did that sound so familiar? Dad-Bomb.
“Hey Leo,” Dieter says cautiously, “What are you playing?”
“Superhero,” Leo smiles, “Want to play with me?”
“Can I?” Dieter exclaims, “I’ve always wanted to be a superhero!”
“Yeah!” Leo shouts, running to his closet to grab something. He comes back out with a big purple cape with D-B on the back, handing it to Dieter. “Put on your cape.”
Dieter pulls the cape around his neck, tying it so it wouldn’t fall off. He notices Leo’s little green cape he was wearing also had D-B on the back.
“Do we have names, Leo?” Dieter asks, “I can’t help but see we have stuff on the back of our super-awesome capes!”
“I’m Dude-Bomb, you’re Dad-Bomb!” Leo gleefully exclaims 
“Dad-Bomb?”
“Yeah, like ‘da-bomb’ –  means super cool,” Leo giggles.This was starting to feel extremely familiar to Dieter. 
Leo scampers off to his closet again, rummaging through it trying to find something. He comes back holding a piece of paper and hands it to Dieter. Dieter holds it up, staring at it. His drawing of Dad-Bomb and Dude-Bomb, fighting crime together, and it all comes rushing back.
“Oh my god, Leo,” Dieter yells.
He picks Leo up, swinging him around. Hearing the commotion, you start running towards Leo’s room fearing the worst. Rounding the corner into the room, you saw Dieter crying, hugging Leo tightly and swinging him back and forth.
“Dad-Bomb and Dude-Bomb!” Dieter exclaims, grinning from ear to ear.
“Yeah, that’s you an’ me!” Leo announces proudly.
“Everything okay?” you ask quietly, looking at both of them.
“Yeah. March 3, 2016 – that’s the day I met you,” Dieter says, tears rolling down his face.
“Oh my god,” you gasped, “Baby.”
“Yeah, baby. It’s all back,” he says, setting Leo back down and rushing to grab you in a tight embrace, “I’m back.”
168 notes · View notes
proxima-writes · 7 months
Text
𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀, 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓?
PAIRING: Ex-Boyfriend!Dieter Bravo x Female Reader
RATING: Explicit (18+ MDNI)
WORD COUNT: 3k
SUMMARY:
Your ex-boyfriend, Dieter Bravo, is in town and sends you a text. Meeting up with an ex, especially one you’re still in love with, is a bad idea, right? Based on the song “bad idea, right?” by Olivia Rodrigo
DEAR READER:
My first Dieter Bravo fic! If you enjoy, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging 💕 You can also support my writing through my kofi Dividers and banners by @saradika
CONTENT WARNINGS:
explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, no referenced age difference, dubcon - alcohol consumption prior to sexual activity, domme/sub dynamics, sub!dieter, teasing, masturbation (f), oral (f receiving), praise, pet names, begging, unprotected p in v, love confessions, dieter being bad with feelings and words. please let me know if any are missing!
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Dieter sits on the couch in the penthouse hotel room he's currently renting in New York, phone in one hand and a fresh Salty Dog in the other. The TV flickers with a porn he rented after not finding anything worth watching on the limited number of free channels and to be honest, he likes the background noise of moans and skin slapping against skin to fill the silent void.
He scrolls through Twitter as he sips his drink. There's one tweet that catches his eye, a familiar name in the hashtag that gives him pause. A glutton for punishment, he clicks the hashtag, his screen flooded with cell phone quality pictures of you, enjoying a night out.
In New York.
It's a blurry photo of you on a rooftop in a sexy outfit that looks like it was made just for you, a shimmery black fabric hugging all your curves just right. You're surrounded by people he doesn't recognize and your head is thrown back in an easy laugh.
Dieter frowns. He used to make you laugh like that.
Dieter scrolls some more, a glutton for punishment, and comes across another picture, a different angle, but this time there's a man leaning into your space, mouth close to your ear and an arm settled at the base of your spine. He takes a hearty sip of his drink, wincing at the bitter taste as he sets the glass on the coffee table.
He closes Twitter and opens his messages, scrolling until he finds your name.
wyd?
Tumblr media
Your phone buzzes in your hand and the name that flashes across the screen has your breath catching.
Dieter: wyd?
You roll your eyes at the message. Of course.
You set your phone down on the table and look up, catching the judgmental stare of your best friend, Melanie.
"What?" You ask. She raises her eyebrows at you.
"That was very much the Dieter Bravo eye roll," she says, tone accusatory. "Did he just text you?"
"No."
Your phone buzzes a second time and her eyes drop to the screen, her hand reaching across the table to snatch it before you even have time to blink.
"'I'm in New York'?" She reads. "Oh my god, he did not send you a 'wyd' text!"
You're in a nice restaurant with a six month long waitlist for a reservation so you're desperately trying to keep yourself from launching across the table at her to get your phone back but the urge is certainly strong. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you hold your hand out to her. "Give me my phone."
"Are you going to text him back?"
"No." Yes.
The look she gives you momentarily leaves you wondering if she can actually read minds. You straighten yourself in your seat, tilting your chin defiantly as you say, "I am a grown adult who can make her own decisions."
"Yes, but that doesn't mean you always make good ones," Melanie replies, handing you your phone.
"It's a bad idea, right?" You ask. "Like...an extremely bad one?"
"Catastrophic even," she agrees. “He’s your ex for a reason!”
“Okay, but can’t two people reconnect? Isn’t the goal to be like…friends or something?”
You stare at each other for a moment. Her smile falters. "Oh my god, you're going to answer."
"I'm going to answer." Your fingers fly across the screen and hit send before you allow your logic to return.
Address?
Tumblr media
The car you ordered pulls up to a boutique hotel, the kind that has a symbol for its sign instead of a name, and the driver comes around the front of the car and opens the door for you, holding a hand out to help you from your seat. You thank him and take a deep breath before entering the glittering lobby.
There's a separate elevator for the penthouse suite and the attendant on duty asks for your name, checking an iPad in his hands before pressing the button with a gloved fingertip. Once the car arrives and the shiny golden doors silently slide open, you step inside.
You stare at your reflection in the doors as the elevator rises, wondering why you're doing this. Your relationship with the actor lasted about eight months - long enough for you to fall in love and long enough for him to decide he was bored of you. After citing scheduling issues as his reason for breaking things off, you went back to hearing about him rather than from him and trying to fix the cracks in your life that he had left behind.
When the elevator stops and the doors slide open, Dieter is standing there with his familiar messy brown curls in disarray, a hotel robe open over his chest and tied loosely around his waist. He opens his arms wide as he grins.
"Hey, baby. Miss me?" He asks. You roll your eyes.
"Like a cavity, Bravo,” you reply, but your feet still guide you forward and you let yourself get enveloped in his embrace, the familiar smell of faded cologne and weed invading your senses. “Why did you text me?”
“Why did you come?” He asks.
“I asked you first.” You pull away, stepping around him and entering the living room of the large suite.
“You want a drink? I got you that wine you like,” Dieter says, pulling a bottle from an ice bucket set on a room service cart. He holds a glass up and you nod, watching as he fights with the corkscrew.
He finally gets the bottle popped, pouring each glass to the brim and stepping carefully across the room with one in each hand, settling beside you on the couch. He passes one to you and you take a quick sip to prevent disaster. Dieter opts to chug half of his serving in one go.
“So,” he says, drawing the word out, “You wanna have sex with me?”
You drain the rest of your glass, leaning forward to set it on the coffee table beside his. You kick your heels off, shifting in your seat until you’ve got your knees beneath you, pressed into the cushion. Planting a hand on his shoulder for stability, you swing one leg over him and settle on his lap.
“This is a bad idea, right?” You ask, face close enough to his that your lips nearly touch when you speak. His hands slide up your thighs.
“Probably,” he agrees, brown eyes half lidded as he stares at you.
“Fuck it, it’s fine,” you decide, pressing your lips to his. Your mouths move together hungrily, six months apart fueling a fire that’s ready to burn you alive.
“Fucking hell,” Dieter groans, hips bucking up and dragging his hardening cock against your center. “Want you so goddamn bad.”
“How bad?” You ask, already breathless as he trails his lips down your neck, his beard scratching the thin skin over your rapid pulse.
“Thought of you every time I fucked my hand.” A bite to your throat has you hissing from the combination of pleasure and pain. You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging his head back in retaliation. “Even bought one of those pocket pussy things. Didn’t even come close.”
That gives you pause. With six months gone between the breakup and now, you would have thought he’d been drowning in women and men clamoring at the chance to fuck him.
You kiss him again, your tongues sliding together in a messy, dirty dance you’ve missed more than you care to voice. Your hips move over his while his hands explore every exposed inch of you they can find.
“Take your clothes off,” he demands when his lips break from yours.
“Ask nicely,” you chastise. His brown eyes go wide, a pathetic puppy dog glimmer in them.
“Please,” he begs. “Pretty please, with a cherry on top?”
You stand, laughter spilling from your lips as you reach for zipper at your back, tugging it down slowly while he watches. He licks his lips like he’s being presented a six course meal and his hands curl into the material of the robe that’s fallen open, giving you an unobstructed view of a broad chest and soft tummy. You turn your back to him, easing the sleeves of the dress off your shoulders slowly.
“Come on, baby,” Dieter whines. “Quit teasing.”
“Good things come to boys who wait,” you tell him, shimmying the fabric over your hips, bending at the waist to ease the dress over the curve of your ass and down to the floor. This leaves you in only a thong, the red straps of it a gorgeous contrast to your skin that you know he’ll go crazy for.
“Fuck. Me.”
You turn back around to face him, the man’s eyes dropping immediately to your breasts. He raises his arms, making grabby hand motions toward your chest that have you giggling.
“What if,” you tap your finger to your chin in thought, “I just wanted you to watch me?”
Dieter pouts. “I could be a lot more help with my cock,” he argues.
“Hmm.” You take a seat on one of the cushy arm chairs in the sitting area, spreading your legs wide. “I’ve been doing just fine these last six months without it,” you tell him, sliding a hand beneath the elastic of your panties.
“This is fucking cruel and unusual punishment,” Dieter says. “A violation of the Geneva Convention.”
“Always so dramatic,” you reply as you circle your clit with your fingertips. He leans forward on the couch, hands gripping the cushion tightly as he watches. “You want a closer look, baby?”
He nods his head rapidly and you lift your hips to shove your panties down your legs, gathering them in your hand and tossing them at his face. The wad of fabric drops to his lap and he balls it up in his fist and brings it to his nose.
“Pervert,” you say affectionately. You hook your leg over the arm of the chair, spreading yourself wide for his gaze. You tease your clit with two fingers, trailing them lower to your entrance and dipping one inside, your head dropping back against the chair with your moan.
The sound of skin sliding over skin reaches your ears and when you look up, you find that Dieter has shoved his boxers down to where they now sit looked around his ankles, his thick cock caught in the tight grip of his fist. You lift your hand away, closing your legs and leaning forward with your eyes narrowed.
“Now, Dieter, I don’t remember saying you could touch yourself,” you say.
“Can’t touch you, can’t touch myself,” he whines, releasing his cock and gripping the couch cushion. “C’mon, baby. Please? I’ve missed yo—“
“Cut!” You yell. Dieter’s mouth snaps shut in surprise. “That wasn’t a very Oscar worthy performance, Di. I think you can do better than that.”
His blank stare morphs into heated understanding and you watch as he slowly slides from the couch and lands on his knees. He slips the robe from his shoulders, leaving him gloriously naked. You take a moment to appreciate the muscles of his chest and arms, his softer belly dusted with hair that draws your eye to his flushed cock and his strong thighs.
Then he starts to crawl.
Those big brown eyes of his look up at you with so much desperation and, dare you say it, adoration that your heart skips a beat as he moves closer. When he reaches your feet, he sits back on his heels and settles his hands on his thighs.
“Please, baby,” he murmurs. “Let me touch you. Let me show you how much I’ve missed you. You know me, my tongue is much better at giving you an orgasm than it is with words.”
“Fine,” you say, tone implying he’s inconveniencing you with his desire. He grins, his hands immediately grabbing at your thighs and tugging your ass to the edge of the seat. He positions your legs over each arm of the chair before diving in with his talented tongue, licking through your slick folds with practiced finesse.
“Fucking hell,” he groans, sucking your clit between his lips. “Your pussy is even better than that six course meal we had at that pretentious restaurant in Paris.”
“L’Arpege?” You gasp, fingers tangling in his hair. “You never told me you didn’t like it. I only picked it because of your two month experiment with veganism!”
“Wasn’t there for the fucking food,” he says. Two fingers press to your soaked entrance, sliding into your tight heat with little resistance.
Your head is spinning, stars bursting in your vision as his thick digits curl against your G-spot. His other hand presses on the top of your pelvis and the look in his eyes tells you exactly what his goal is.
“Dieter,” you say, his name a warning as you squirm beneath him. He grins up at you from between your legs.
“How’s my performance now?” He asks. “Oscar worthy yet?”
“Nominated at best,” you bite back through gritted teeth despite the pressure building in your core. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks hard, tongue flicking rapidly against the bundle of nerves until that pressure bursts as you cry out, “Oh, fuck!”
The orgasm he pulls from you is overwhelming and leaves you gasping, vision blurry as you look down at Dieter’s smug expression and dripping chin. He runs a hand over his chin, collecting your release on his palm and using it to ease the friction of his hand as it pumps his cock roughly.
“‘Nominated at best’,” he says, voice pitched higher to mimic yours. “Please, that was the performance of a lifetime.”
“Don’t get cocky, Di,” you mumble, planting a foot on his chest and pushing him back. He topples over, landing on his back with an oof.
You drop from the chair and crawl over his body, making sure to drag your soaked pussy across his cock. Your hands are planted on the floor on either side of his head and you stare down at his blissed out face as you rock over him.
Dieter’s hands grip your hips tightly. “Don’t good performances get awarded?” He asks, voice tight.
You reach down between your bodies to hold his cock steady, allowing you to sink down slowly, his thick length damn near splitting you open. You’ve missed this, the way he fills every inch of your hungry cunt, the way he looks at you like you’re the best damn thing he’s ever laid eyes on.
Which is saying something because the man knows art and is constantly surrounded by beautiful people but you’ve only seen this look when you’re alone with him, at the end of a long day on set or when you finally stumbled home together from a night out. It’s the way his eyes go soft and his touch grows reverent, fingertips gliding over whatever skin he can reach with a featherlight touch, and the combination wipes the dust off memories with him you’d been trying to forget and move on from.
“Dieter,” you say, voice shaky. You rock your hips, lifting slightly to your knees and relishing the drag of his cock inside of you before you slam your hips back down. “God, fuck, feel so good.”
“Your pussy was made for my fucking cock,” he says through gritted teeth, his hands gripping your hips tightly and encouraging each rock of your body. “Missed this, missed you, fuck. Love you so much.”
You stop abruptly, the man beneath you whining. You grip him by the chin as you ask, “You what?”
“I…uh…shit,” he mumbles. “I didn’t mean to say it.”
“Oh.” You let go of his face, sitting up straight. “I see.”
“No, no,” he rushes to say. “That’s not what I meant.”
It occurs to you that you’re still impaled on his cock and this doesn’t exactly feel like a conversation to be had in that position. You make a move to get up but strong hands hold you steady in his lap.
“I just meant,” he say, fingers flexing nervously against your thighs. “I didn’t mean to say it right now. Like…I wanted you to maybe not hate me for a bit before I professed my love or whatever.”
“I don’t get it,” you admit. “I thought you just texted me to hookup because you were in town.”
“I’m in town for you.”
“For me?”
Dieter nods. “I’m not good with words that aren’t written for me. Too much going on up here,” he says, tapping his forehead. “But I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we broke it off and I feel like that’s a cosmic sign that we’re meant to be or whatever.”
“Oh my god, you really are bad with words,” you say with a laugh. “Meant to be, huh?”
“Or whatever,” he finishes. “Marriage is a scam.”
“Right, right,” you murmur, rocking your hips the slightest bit. “Total scam.”
“It’s just a way for the governme—oh, fuck,” he says, words trailing off into a moan as you pick up your pace again, your hands on his chest to steady yourself. “Just like that, baby.”
“You’re lucky I missed you, too,” you tell him, gasping when his hips flex to meet yours. Your communication with each other devolves into moans and the movement of your bodies until the desperation you feel for one another reaches its peak.
Dieter wraps both arms around your lower back as you cum, holding you to him as your cunt squeezes around his cock. It’s only a moment before you feel him pulsing, warmth pooling inside of you as your orgasm starts to fade. You collapse against his chest, breathing heavily and listening to the rapid beat of his heart beneath your ear.
He rubs his hands up and down your back as you both catch your breath, sweat cooling between you in the chill of the hotel room.
“You wanna order pizza?” He asks. You turn your face into his chest, muffling your laughter into his skin.
“Absolutely.”
Tumblr media
379 notes · View notes
tightjeansjavi · 1 month
Text
chamomile
Tumblr media
A/N: I was making myself a cup of tea earlier this evening and the idea blossomed from there 🥺
for @morallyinept Valentine’s Day masterlist 💗
~word count: 1.3k~
Summary: it’s Valentine’s Day and Dieter Bravo is alone and missing you
Pairing | Dieter Bravo x f!reader
Warnings: mature, fluff, angst, language,implicit smut, one mention of dieter giving himself a handjob, mentions of alcohol and ouid, fwb’s, pining, assumed one-sided feelings, two idiots in love without realizing it, typical dieter behavior, reader has no physical descriptions, readers nickname is petal, +18 minors dni!
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
On the long, lonely nights where Dieter Bravo is away from you, his solace, his person, he always finds himself struggling to sleep. An hour here, and an hour there, but it can never compare to the deep, dreamy, snooze he gets when you’re laying next to him, tangled up in his legs, under his sheets.
He knows deep down he’s got it bad for you. So bad, he can hardly think straight on most days. Dieter, you missed your cue, again.
He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose and shakes his shoulders to relieve any pent up stress he’s feeling and to get back on track.
Did you even read the fucking script, Bravo?
He scoffs, jaw ticking under the harsh studio lights that buzz in his ear like a swarm of angry bees. Course I did. He lies through his teeth.
How could he even think about reading his lines when he spent hours of his night staring down his phone as he deeply contemplated the pros and cons of calling you up.
If I tell her how I feel, it makes everything fucking weird.
Or you get to live out your very own rom-com!
Or she never wants to speak to me again
Or she also confesses her deep, profound love for you.
Or..she doesn’t feel the same way and breaks my fucking heart into a million tiny pieces!
Or your dreams come true, Dieter.
-
You met Dieter Bravo through a friend of a friend at one of the movie star’s infamous parties. Dieter was drunk, a bit of a stumbling mess, but when his warm, and slightly clammy palm wrapped around your own, you knew you were donefore. And how was it possible for a scruffy man such as himself to have the kindest, softest, warmest brown eyes you ever had the pleasure of gazing into?
No, you were not in love with Dieter Bravo. He was just your friend..with the occasional benefits. Nothing more, nothing less.
When Dieter finds himself alone in his too big of a house for another night, he packs a bowl, and then another, and another. He takes a relaxing bath, alone with nothing but the comfort of his own fist wrapped around his cock. His lashes flutter shut, plush lips parting as he sinks further into the chamomile scented bubbles.
You told him once that chamomile should help him sleep better. He sent his assistant out the next day to buy chamomile tea, and literally any and all the chamomile scented products that she could find.
You took a bath together once, and he vividly remembers dragging his nose across the base of your neck, inhaling the sweet aroma while you nearly dozed off in his saccharine grip. Muscles relaxed, limbs pliant under the soapy water.
But you weren’t here. You were thousands of miles away on a girls trip with some of your single friends. It was the trip that finally made it out of the group chat, and it happened to fall on the week of Valentine’s Day.
Wait, that’s today, right? Shit. How pathetic. He thinks to himself, stroking his cock faster, creating ripples in the sudsy water.
Yeah, so fucking pathetic. Alone on fucking Valentine’s Day, and higher than a goddamn kite.
He doesn’t come, and while that in itself should be frustrating, he accepts his fate of misery while the temperature of the water becomes too cold to bear and he’s forced to retreat.
He packs another bowl, yanks his leftover Taco Bell from the fridge and eats it cold, like the feeling of his heart.
His king sized bed feels even larger than usual, and he chuffs a laugh, taking another bite of his half eaten crunch wrap supreme.
That’s because I’m fucking alone on Valentine’s Day.
He knows he’s not really alone. But on a day that is all about love, he sure as hell doesn’t feel the love.
He misses the way you would roll over mid sleep and drape your arm across his bare stomach. Your fingers would play with the dark, soft hair that led down to his happy trail while you drooled into the crook of his neck, soft snores escaping past your parted lips. He found it endearing. You were like a koala, and he was the tree branch of your choosing.
He so badly wanted to be your tree branch right now.
Was that lame? Probably. But Dieter could give less of a shit about any of that. He missed you, and the feeling ate away at him, carving a hole in his chest and yanking his heart right out.
He didn’t mind that you would accidentally kick him off the side of the bed, or steal all the covers. He loved it when you would talk in your sleep, babbling about pure nonsense that somehow to his ears made perfect sense.
Okay, so he missed you…a lot. He wasn’t the only person to miss someone this much. Hell, maybe even his neighbor was going through the same feelings and emotions as he was.
Love. Yeah, that’s what he was feeling. He was in love with you, and you had no fucking idea how he truly felt.
He tossed and turned, fluffed down his pillows, scrolled on his phone, watching his favorite saved tik toks, and he even tried listening to the soothing sounds of a thunderstorm through a podcast on Spotify. None of it was working. He couldn’t sleep, and you were to blame.
That’s how Dieter Bravo found himself in his kitchen, fully exposed sans some fluffy slippers on his feet that had seen better days. He dug through his pantry till he found the familiar box of chamomile tea. He let out a sigh of relief and tore open the silver foil with his teeth.
His phone screen read 2:30a.m as the kettle on the stove whistled loudly in his eardrums.
The familiar scent of chamomile coated his senses in a warmth that could only be described as you as he let the tea bag steep in his favorite chipped mug.
His knuckles drummed along the countertop nervously as he stared down his phone once more. He let out a huff, bringing one hand to scratch at the patches in his scraggly beard.
As steam billowed from the mug next to him, he finally picked up his phone and dialed your number.
He chewed on the tip of his thumbnail, eyes dancing nervously as the dial tone rang, and rang. He was ready to hang up and toss his phone in the garbage disposal when you finally answered.
His heart skipped a beat and his weed-hazed mind couldn’t keep up with the rate that words were flowing past his lips.
“Petal? Hey, happy Valentine’s Day. Well—er, happy belated Valentine’s Day? ‘Suppose it’s already over. Uh—hope I’m not bothering you, I just couldn’t sleep, so I’m in my kitchen having a cup of chamomile tea, like you suggested. Fuck, I’m rambling, aren��t I? I smoked a few too many bowls so my brain is a bit scrambled. Anyway, I miss you, baby. I’m so lonely, and I wish you were here.”
His stoned rambling continued on as you listened silently, holding your phone close to your ear and swatting at your friend's arm when they asked who was on the phone. The club music was booming at the same rate that your heart was pounding in your chest.
“Hi, Dee. I miss you too. I've been thinking...when I get back, can we grab dinner sometime?" You warmly suggest.
His pupils are blown wide like two shiny marbles illuminated under the soft glow of the moonlight trickling in through his tall kitchen windows.
“Fuck yes. I’d fucking love to grab dinner with you sometime, Petal.” He rasps softly through the receiver.
Tumblr media
banners made by the lovely @saradika 💗
I no longer have a taglist so please follow @tightjeansjaviupdates for fic notifications and updates!
176 notes · View notes
morallyinept · 1 month
Text
A Cup Of Love - A Dieter Bravo One Shot ☕️
Tumblr media
Summary: Dieter makes you a cup of tea.
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub. However, I have made a brief mention of Reader having a real body with stretch marks, as with Dieter with him ageing and greying.)
Word Count: 2.1k
Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️“Don't hurt me, cadejo.”
Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.
Warnings/Triggers: Established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!) Brief mention of drugs - nothing graphic. Dieter and Reader have REAL bodies. Mostly fluffy and soft. Dieter is a total sweetheart.
NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.
I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.
Author’s Note: The amazing Gi @tightjeansjavi and I got to talking today about Dieter and tea, and we were both inspired to write a little something about, uh, Dieter and tea! ☕️🫖 Please ensure your check out Gi's amazing Tea Party story! And her other Dieter story Chamomile, which started our adventure down the tea-drinking rabbit hole! Love you, Gi 😘
MAIN MASTERLIST | A CUP OF LOVE MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST
Enjoy! 🖤
Tumblr media
As Dieter stands in the kitchen, preparing the tea with careful precision, he can't help but marvel at the stark contrast between the often debilitating chaos of his career, and the tranquillity of his home life with you.
It still feels new, that band around his puffy wedding finger gleaming up at him, not tarnished like his other rings. Shiny, untainted.
Like a whirlwind on set, he often finds himself swept up in the frenzied gluttony of fame, dabbling in the temptations that lurk in the shadows with shiny lacquer talons beckoning him in.
They whisper his name with insidious crackles, sharp teeth that glisten in their false fanged smiles. His dishevelled face imprinted on sleazy tabloids, and ruthlessly scathing reviews of his work, that seek to further besmirch his tattered legacy.
There was a time when Dieter Bravo gave them two thick fingers, caring little and indulging in the hedonism that such a career and all of its chromatic glitz offered in abundance. It literally fell into his lap and gyrated suggestively on it.
And instead of pushing it away, he stuffed crumpled, one-hundred dollar bills into its g-string and snorted lines from its ample cleavage without a care in the world.
He was sucked in, drowning in front of an unsatisfied audience, who clapped lazily and jeered instead of throwing him a much needed life buoy. The drowning man, coughing water from his lungs as they hand him gold statues, and plaques with his name engraved on.
A name that sounds more like a third wheel in his life with you, dragging its baggage in from the doorstep and forgetting to wipe its feet as it traipses the clotting mud of his life over the polished wooden floors.
But here, in the quiet sanctuary of your shared kitchen, humble with the soft glow of morning light filtering through the window, Dieter feels it all wash away; the bawdy grime of a soiled past rinsing down the plug hole.
Gone are the days of wild partying with yes-men, drug-fuelled binges and scandalous social feeds, to be replaced with knuckling down, taking the better scripts with characters of substance, and potential Oscar nominations attached to them.
He’s traded the bizarre, the outlandish, for the quiet and the subdued. For the homemade, the curated and the simple joys of growing older with an aching back.
He’s traded it all for something far greater than any of it all; coming home to you.
With each measured movement - the precise amount of tea leaves, the exact temperature of the water - he finds solace in the routine of making a simple cup of tea, a stark departure from the unpredictability of his previous, voracious world.
With the tea steeped to perfection, Dieter pours it into your favourite cup, feeling a sense of contentment wash over him.
As he stirs the heady tea, watching the leaves dance in the whirlpool of hot water, he can't help but think of you; his anchor, his steady hand in the midst of the choppy storms.
With you by his side, he feels grounded, connected to the earth by his feet once more; his erratic impulses tempered by your steady presence and a spiritual awakening.
The heavy drag of his hand over his weathered face as he yawns, an itching nostril that tickles, and he tosses the spoon in the sink, metallic chimes echoing in his ears.
He allows himself a moment to savour it, the scent, the quiet. A moment to just breathe. In and out, his chest expanding as he closes his eyes, hands resting on the counter.
Leaving the nagging ache in his shoulder from the stunt work dulling into a silent pang. The bruises will fade, it all heals in the end. Regrowth, second chances... another shot at the important things.
With the cup cradled in his hands, rings chinking delicately against the porcelain, he makes his way to the bedroom, where you lay in the billowy sheets, your features softened by sleep.
He takes a moment, lingering in the crack of the door silently, a ghost in his own home watching from afar, unable to be fully corporeal, a real boy.
Hovering in the draw of you, he wonders what you dream about. If the world you’re in is better than what he offers you. He tells himself to stop being ridiculous, that he’s deserving of your love, right?
Right?
You looked so fucking beautiful on the day you vowed to love and cherish him, warts and all. A lump in his throat, seafoam in his eyes as the wind tousled the flowers in your hair.
The hushed, reverend tones of your friends and families, they all washed away, swept out with the tide, and it was just the two of you for a few moments, hands knotted, hearts entwined. An intricate lace dress and a sand coloured suit. Dieter knew then he could do this, with you.
For you.
He could pick himself up, dust himself down and be what you needed. He vowed to be strong for you when he'd spent so long feeling weak, small.
On that day, he finally learned how to be selfless.
A tender smile unfolding over his crooked lips, Dieter observes you for a moment, marvelling at the gentle rise and fall of your bare chest on display for him. Nipples swollen, seemingly double their circumference in the heat, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by his own body as he stiffens at the sight of you.
Throbbing and heavy between his legs, the view of you melting him into the floor.
As he holds the scalding cup in his hands, the steam curling into his nose in gentle tendrils, he pushes the door fully open and approaches the bed.
He knows just how to rouse you from slumber without disrupting your tranquil state.
The aroma of the tea wafts through the room, a delicate rapture of fragrances that wilt in the air. With each inhale, Dieter is greeted by the rich, earthy scent, mingling with delicate notes of jasmine and bergamot.
It’s a quietly comforting aroma, one that envelopes him like a warm embrace, soothing his senses and calming the restless tornadoes in his mind.
A smell that is familiarly and uniquely, you.
Sitting gently on the bed beside you, resting on his elbow, he traces the curve of your jaw with his fingertips, watching your eyes flicker under the lids.
A soft moan escapes you on a gossamer breath, barely heard over the timid whistle of the radiator in the room.
As Dieter leans closer into you, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply the sweet scent of your hair. It’s a fragrance that never fails to intoxicate him, a delicate blend of coconut and vanilla that lingers long after you've left the room.
He’s transported to the beach once again where you'd promised you were his, forever. A hand he can squeeze and show off on the red carpets, look, she’s mine. She loves me… A smile he can eagerly chase with his lips.
A partner he can grow old with and reminisce about life whilst your bones shape around the rocking chairs on your porch. Papery hands held tight together as you wait for the pearlescent dust of death.
An eternal cup of tea he can make for you, just because.
With each breath, he feels a sense of calm wash over him, as if your very essence has the power to chase away the lingering shadows of doubt and uncertainty that like to piggyback on his shoulders.
It’s in these quiet moments, when the world seems to stand still, that Dieter feels the full force of his love for you wash over him like a tidal wave. The drowning man, coughing water from his lungs as you pull him out of the salty brine and into your arms.
He could just paint you right now, whip out another canvas and let your love guide his brush once more. Your face adorns the walls in collections of his signature style; a wallpaper of affection. Your eyes, your smile; the way your hair dances and beckons him into the acrylic world created by his once numb fingers.
Dieter presses his cracked lips to your forehead and then your cheek as you stir.
When you wake up, your eyes slowly flutter open, adjusting to the soft morning light filtering through the curtains and the delicate smooches painting your face.
As your gaze meets his, there’s a fleeting moment of confusion, followed by a dawning recognition that spreads across your features like the first golden light of the sunrise. Your lips curve into a sleepy smile, your eyes alight with warmth and adoration as you take in the hazy, messy aura of him beside you, holding the steaming cup in his big hands.
There’s a certain softness in your gaze, a tenderness that speaks volumes without the need for words to be sounded out around clumsy vowels. It’s as if you can see straight into him, unravelling the layers of his complicated and erratic being with a single glance that strips him to bone and sinew.
“You look tired, baby.”
“Long flight.” He yawns, all fillings in his back molars, all deep crinkles around his eyes.
He slips you the cup as you smile at him, offering him that grin that makes him feel so big and powerful, even when he feels like sludge.
He watches you take a sip, eyes closing in blissful contentment and humming at the warm taste as you feel it make its way down into your chest.
“Good?”
“Perfect,” you say, your fingers stroking the fine, grey scruff of his jaw as he blushes.
He nestles into your palm, mouthing a kiss on it, deep brown eyes lancing at you longingly. A lost boy in a tired man’s body coming home to you, offering more than the riches of a name chiselled inside a scuff-worn star on a boulevard in a dirty city with dimming bright lights.
No, he offers you his love in fragrant liquid form, a small yellow ocean to sail together in a teacup. An I love you curated in the moments of the simple art of patience and preparation.
You can taste it as it warms through your insides.
“Come here,” you open your arms out, after discarding the cup, and he can’t resist, shuffling out of his clothes that carry the stress of his journey quickly, leaving the sag of them hanging off the bed like shedding his skin.
He seeks your own for that one-on-one comfort, sharing your sleepy heat in the soft sheets. He covets to feel you pressed up naked against him, slotting easily around the misshapen lumps and bumps of a body well-abused.
He sniffs you in deep, to the back of his nostrils, but you don’t burn or fizz as you go down. Dieter can breathe you in freely and doesn't choke when you make his head spin.
You're his favourite kind of drug.
Wrapping his thick arms around you, Dieter pulls you close, revelling in the familiar weight of your body against his; your fingers sweeping across his broad chest, rifling through the sparse grey hairs here and there. A journey finalised when you finger in the grey, fluffed curls at the back of his neck, twirling them around the tips.
Nose pressed under his jaw as you inhale notes of his dying cologne and musky sweat from his travels. Eyelashes tickling softly against a constellation of freckles. Your clammy thigh hooked over the softness of his belly that he grips, his own fingers stroking at your marred skin with crinkly stretch marks.
He runs his fingers up and down the zig-zags of them, making you shudder, and he hums into your scalp, awed at the reaction from his touch.
Dieter takes a few moments, remembering what it feels like to be home in your arms. To understand finally that home isn’t just some fancy condo on a hilltop overlooking the City of Angels, nor a place full of frivolous, pointless things - it’s you.
Home is in the smile you blind him with, the sound of your laughter pummelling his ears deafening him. The feel of your body crushing him into the mattress as you gift him every piece of your love without expecting anything in return.
But he gives you all of him back, because that's all he has to offer.
And you accept this disasterous, frail human, cradling him tight like a scraggly bear left out in the rain, cold and discarded.
He gives you all his love in the only way he knows how; raw and scarred.
Dieter kisses you, tilting your chin up to his and losing himself in you. He’s been lost for so long, only being found the day he met you. The day he fell head over heels for an angel.
Lips sweep over one another, reminding him of your taste, the way you moan gently into the cavities, how your nails rake gently, but tingly, down the broad expanse of his back making him shudder in turn with want and need.
The way you simply kiss his bruises and aches, from weeks of throwing himself around sets, away, makes him fall harder to his knees.
You reach out to him, your hands seeking his naked flesh in the crumpled sheets, your legs cinching around his paunchy waist, the brush of his hardened cock catching in the crease of your thigh.
He feels your breath, warm and pleasant on his eyelids when you gasp, filling you up with him. Thick, warm, wet…
Pushes his thick cock slowly and deliberately inside of you, equally burying himself in this feeling that comes without a name, an unconditional tattoo inked on a pair of stumpy hearts.
You bind him to you, his face in your chest, kissing, nuzzling. Your hands in his hair, stroking, combing. A ghost of his name falling from your lips, mouth full of him.
“My tea will get cold…” You pant softly into his eyelashes as you take him all in, connected as one again; hips gently grinding against one another. Chests pressed together, hearts beating as one.
“I’ll make you another cup.” Dieter murmurs, as his mouth latches onto yours.
Tumblr media
Thank you so much for reading this little, soft Dieter story. I hope you enjoyed it and as always, would love to know your thoughts. 🖤
MAIN MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST
244 notes · View notes
iamasaddie · 5 months
Text
PPCU ft. lewd texts [pt. 🍆🍆]
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
1. Motivating Javier to be less of a workaholic.
2. Upgrading your wardrobe with Marcus Pike.
3. Wishing luck on an audition to Dieter.
[as before hmu for nsfw versions my horny demons]
PART ONE | THREE | FOUR
320 notes · View notes