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pastafossa · 2 years

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“What Was That?” (Haunted House Fic, Matt Murdock x F!Reader)

I CAN’T BELIEVE I FORGOT TO POST THIS WHOOPS. I had someone send me an ask like a month ago about Matt and Jane dealing with ghosts and the idea was funny so I typed up a little something, meant to drop it on halloween (hrrgh), so I’m a few hours late in my time zone, but not in others! So let’s do this! This Reader is from my long-fic TRT though all you need to know is Reader is psychic and this is set far enough ahead in their timeline that they’re married.

Rating: SFW

Ship: Matt Murdock x f!Reader

Wordcount: 2,488

Warnings: Swearing, references to spiders, ghostly spookiness, though mostly funny. Wanted to see if I could mix a little scary with the haunted house humor.

Matt seen here, questioning what the hell you’ve gotten him into this time.

“—goddamn dumbass, sneaking in here,” you grumbled where you were on your hands and knees, shining your flashlight under the moldering, half-broken bed. “He’s lucky his mom paid me to find his phone even without the thread. Him and his friends probably broke in here to drink.”

“Uh huh,” Matt said slowly. He barely noticed the soft sound of your footsteps behind him, too focused on the corner of the room. “...Right. Drinking.”

“And look, I’m not saying I don’t get the desire to do stupid shit. But at least hold onto your phone.” You rocked back on your knees with a groan, dusting your hands off. “Well, it’s not in here. Next room.”

“Sweetheart?”

“Yeah?”

“Is there… a mannequin in the corner of the room?”

You swung your flashlight around towards the corner he was facing, your brow furrowed as you carefully rose. “No. Why?”

“You don’t see anything?”

“No. Room’s mostly empty other than a bed.”

He’d have agreed with that statement a few minutes ago. While some of the rooms were more furnished than others—all of the furniture being long past its prime, broken and crumbling, faded and coated in dust—most were like this one. As far as he could sense, all that remained in the room was the bed, its covers moth-eaten and ragged, a small end table, cracked down the side and on its last legs… and the ridiculously conspicuous, elongated human shadow standing in the corner, where it had remained for the past five minutes.

He’d been hoping it was a mannequin. A really, really cold mannequin.

The chilled human outline slowly rotated its head clockwise in a half-circle. The movement seemed almost broken, its head moving in staggered intervals, each shift paired with a distant click like the crack of a bone. Only once its mouth reached the twelve o’clock position did it stop.

“I think we should look somewhere else,” he said quickly. “Preferably right now.”

“It’s a spider, isn’t it?” You grimaced, taking a few steps back towards him. “I can handle a lot of them, but not when they get big and hairy.”

He did his best to throw you a casual smile. It would be for the best if you didn’t know what he was sensing. He wasn’t even sure how he’d explain it, in truth. ‘There’s a figure and it’s cold and its face is upside down’ could only result in disbelief. “I just don’t like it here. That’s all. Old houses smell.”

“Fair enough.”

The figure gradually lifted one leg, the motion just as stuttered as the movement of its head had been. Its leg rose further and further until its knee had almost reached its neck, before it took one exaggerated, creeping step towards you both, as if sneaking.

Nope.

Matt grabbed your arm, and you let out a startled grunt as he yanked you back with him, slamming the ancient door shut behind you both.

“What the fuck, Matt?! You could just ask me to leave.”

“Spider,” he said. “It was a really… really big spider.”

Something with long fingernails scratched quietly at the bottom of the door from the other side. Then there was a a faint ‘meow’—not the sound, but the actual word, delivered in the low voice of a large man, the words muffled as if he’d pressed his mouth to the small crack between the top of the door and the frame, all while the nails continued to scratch at the bottom. Which was… fairly unsettling, in about a million different ways, 99% of which Matt didn't feel like considering because even he had sense sometimes. Fortunately, the sounds were also too soft for you to hear.

You raised your brows and glanced at the door, which was still being scratched at.

“It was a spider with hair,” he added quickly. “It hissed. I wouldn’t go back in there.”

“If it was hissing, it was probably a wolf spider. God, those bites hurt.” You shuddered, before turning around. “Alright, maybe I’m glad you yanked me out of there. Let’s keep looking then. Sooner we find the kid’s phone, the sooner we can get out.”

“Sounds good to me.”

'Meow.'

-x-

It was on the ceiling this time.

“I hate places like this,” you mumbled, digging around in the couch cushions of an old sofa that groaned ominously every time you pushed too hard. Matt wasn’t sure whether the noise was actually the furniture or if the couch was instead possessed, but either way, he didn’t tell you about the bloodstain beneath it, or the twisted shape in the basement that sounded like it was licking at the underside of the floor right beneath your feet. “I know I complain about sewer grates, and those are gross, too, but old houses like this? Blergh.”

Matt tilted his head at the shape up on the crumbling ceiling, and it tilted its head back, mirroring him.

“Did you find it?” he asked you, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice.

“Not unless you count some questionably stained quarters, no, but I think maybe—”

The shadow skittered suddenly across the ceiling until it was above you, before slowly extending its head down. It shouldn’t have been able to get all that far, but instead of lurching to a stop, its neck began to elongate like warm taffy, its mouth gaping open like a serpent preparing to swallow its prey.

He only just grabbed your shirt and hauled you back with a grunt as the head swung down where you’d just been standing, thick splatters of ethereal drool dropping to the floorboards with quiet pat-pat noises like rain.

“Matt, Jesus—“

“Another spider,” he said breathlessly, because he loved you and watching a ghost try to swallow you like it was a python and you were an antelope was, to put it mildly, somewhat distressing and adrenaline-inducing. And also disgusting, considering that it had been drooling. “It… fell. Where you were. It was also hissing.”

The eyes on the shadow’s head grew larger, bulging out of its head like overripe grapes, its mouth lolling open until the chin and what he presumed to be a tongue hit the floor with a barely-there splat.

Was it… scowling at him?

“Look, I get that you’re protecting me from spiders, and I’m grateful.” You shot him a look. “But you could just… tell me.”

“The spider had babies on its back. Thousands of them.”

“Right, yup, you’re right, we can hit another room.” This time it was you who dragged him with you, though he was quickly distracted by the stairs in the attic. It sounded like someone was running back and forth, sprinting up and down the steps, though there was no one there that he could sense.

“We should avoid the attic,” he said after a moment. “There’s more wolf spiders on the stairs. They all... they all have babies. I think it might be breeding season.”

“Do I want to know how many spiders there are in this house?”

“Probably not.”

-x-

“It has to be in here somewhere,” you grumbled, picking your way through the kitchen. It didn’t help that dozens of pots and pans had all been arranged in a series of delicately balanced towers, each monument stationed at what seemed like random points around the room. Even the rickety wooden chairs had been gathered and shaped into a pyramid along one side of the room, behind which was a wall oozing a foul smelling substance he didn’t really want to direct his senses towards. “Only room besides the attic we haven’t checked. Can you sense anything? I’m dying here, D. Lend me a hand, as much as I appreciate you listening for spiders.”

The figure that stepped through the far doorway was different than all the others still.

The basic shape of it was human, but that was where the resemblance ended. Its proportions were… wrong, wrong, the hair on the back of Matt’s neck standing on end. It was so tall the top of its broad, wide-brimmed hat scraped against the ceiling, so tall it seemed to have to fold in on itself just to enter the room. Its bony arms hung halfway to its knees, spindly fingers with too many joints curling beneath hands the size of dinner plates. With each step, its legs silently snapped and folded, bent like the limbs of a massive spider, before they shot out again to take another step.

Only once it was fully in the room, a mere ten feet away, did it stop… and watch.

“Matt? You ok?”

‘MaTT? YOu ok? Ok YOU? MaTT?’ It was as if it were trying to mimic you, its voice pitched in an attempt at yours. And yet the shaped syllables were all wrong, the emphasis in the wrong place, discordant as it looped and repeated, all while rotating its head one way and then the other. “You-you-yOU OK? MaTT? SomeWHERE? HeRE someWHERE? Has to bE. Room EMPty, emPTY? roOOm! No-no-nO, M-m-MaTT.’

He let out a low growl, slowly grabbing the back of your shirt and tugging you back with him as the figure snapped its leg up and then stepped closer, swallowing up far too large a gap. “We’re leaving. Now.”

You glanced at him, your eyes darting over the shape of his mouth, reading what little of him you could see with his mask on. He could almost hear the gears in your mind turning, spinning as you glanced around… and then you sighed. “It’s not a spider, is it?”

‘Is iT? Is IT? IS it? SweetHEART MaTT—’

“...No,” he said grimly, his hand still fisted in your shirt.

There was a faint whisper along his skin, one that signaled you’d opened your third eye. Just like that, the figure froze.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you muttered, before reaching for a large pan on the kitchen counter.

“I don’t think hitting it with a skillet will work.” He grit his teeth, spreading his legs wider in preparation, though for what, he wasn’t sure. He’d never actually fought a ghost before, but for you, he’d try. He always would, whether it was robbers in alleys or ghosts or geese.

“It scares more of them than you think.” You grunted and then hurled the pan, the rusted iron flying through the ghost’s torso, momentarily shredding its form. The pan struck the far wall, crashing through the rotted drywall as the ghost let out a haunting wail. You jabbed a finger at it, your tone taking on the note you often used on aggressive raccoons who bothered you in alleys. “Shoo! Beat it!”

The wailing only grew louder. Its jaw unhinged and dropped down against its chest, even its teeth howling.

“Oh, spare me the tears. You’re not a banshee. Fuck off!” Another pot flew through the air, this time sailing through its head. The wailing abruptly ceased, the shape jerking as if you’d startled it. “Go on! Get out of here!”

“Wait, sweetheart—”

There was a low hiss, and then it sprinted, the figure racing towards you. He tried to pull you back but you shook him off, tilting your head up just in time for the figure to lurch to a stop, its face a mere inch from yours.

You didn’t blink, narrowing your eyes.

It leaned closer, your hair stirring as it whispered gibberish at you, its mouth moving too quickly for any mortal, loud jabbering like the buzz of insects in Matt’s ears.

“What’s it saying?” you said mildly. “I can see it but I can’t really hear it. Nothing but whispers.”

“I don’t… think it’s saying anything,” he said warily, resisting the urge to step between you and the ghost as it inched closer, a mere half inch now.

Its head snapped in a ninety-degree angle to the right, gaping mouth yawning wide before it jabbered more noise, this time vaguely understandable, to Matt’s ears at least.

It drew in a breath, the room dropping in temperature in a sudden rush, so sudden frost appeared on the windows, before it shrieked in your face.

“Right, I heard that.” You snorted, before jutting your chin up. “You listen. You all have been bothering us all night, and it’s about to stop. You wanna know why?”

‘No, no, nO, why? WhY?’

“It wants to know why.” Matt’s arm wound around you as the cold shadows in the room deepened, shapes and sounds pressing inwards, listening, whispering, hissing. The walls began to shift minutely, oozing behind the crumbling drywall in a way that almost sounded like the wet rasp of diseased lungs, thick with blood and worse.

“Because my husband,” you bared your teeth in a grin, one gleeful and menacing, “is Catholic.”

The house abruptly went still, the figure in front of you letting out a stuttering gust of air that tasted like mold and decay, like peeling wallpaper and rotted clothes.

“And you know what that means,” you continued confidently. “He fucking rolls with his man, the great lamb Jesus. They are quite close, considering how often he goes to confession. As you can imagine, that also makes him close with his priest. Like brothers, or... or a father I guess.”

“This feels blasphemous,” Matt said, amused despite himself.

“Just trust me and roll with it.”

He thought about it, tipping his head one way and then the other before the corner of his mouth curled up in a smirk. “Have I mentioned my mother’s a nun?”

The house shuddered, windows slamming across the house as if in existential horror, as if it had once gone to Catholic school and dealt with nuns itself, and Matt could relate.

“Basically, we can have Father Lantom and my nun-in-law here in thirty seconds to exorcise all your asses.” You threw your arms up and Matt helpfully dodged your hand where you’d almost smacked him in the face. “You want that?”

The glass chandelier above you—which seemed like a poor choice for a kitchen, Matt was fairly certain, though he’d admittedly gone to law school and not the School for Decorating Future Haunted Houses—began to sway and creak, the whole house groaning. Doors slammed, footsteps rang out up and down the stairs, an old radio two floors up beginning to blare a pulse of static. The ghost in front of you reared back, its form striking against the ceiling like a wave of cool shadow about to come down on you both.

“Should you really be antagonizing them?” Matt asked you curiously.

“Just hang on, it’s a process” you told him, before drawing in a deep breath and letting your voice ring out. “Show me the fucking phone and we’ll leave. No priest needed. Or you can fuck with us, and you all don’t get to scare the shit out of drunken teenagers anymore, which I’m sure you like doing. Take your pick.”

Whispering filled the house, swelling in rapid waves, as if the floors began to discuss with the ceiling, who questioned the attic and the cracked windows that were thoughtfully leaking what Matt suspected was more blood, which dripped down to the arguing shadows in one of the upstairs bedrooms who were debating nuns versus being able to scare teenagers for the next fifty years until the house came down and they had to hitchhike to a new one, which was really a lot of effort, but until Uber hit the Great Beyond, it was the best they could do.

It didn’t take long.

Just like that, every hint of activity… abruptly vanished, including the ghost in front of you.

“Thank you,” you said firmly. “Now show me the phone. I know you assholes took it.”

A sullen silence grew in the house.

“Matt, call up Father Lantom and Sister Maggie.”

A pot in the corner fell with a sheepish clang, revealing the phone that had been hidden beneath it.

“Right,” you said quickly, snatching up the phone and taking Matt’s arm. “We should go.”

“I love you,” he said in amusement, as he let you lead him out. “Have I told you that?”

“Yes, and honestly, I’m just glad you’re Catholic. I know I joke about the guilt but that really came in handy.”

“I’m glad my Catholic guilt complex could save the day instead of ruin it for once.”

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pink-tea · 1 year

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could you write something with sub!beomgyu who acts jealous after you spent a little bit too much time with another txt member, he gets super pouty and possessive over you and you're not sure why until it finally clicks and you make it up to him? <33 it can be short! i love ur work, thank u for feeding us in the sub!txt drought

i am happy to keep the people fed!! as proven with my most recent overspending in buying txt albums and their recent deco kit (which i can't even regret, it's so fucking cute </3), making sure they have dinner on their tables frfr, but thank you so much for the compliments!! as for jealous clingy beomgyu yesyesyesyesyesyesy-

☆ very very very suggestive but it never actually gets to smut? idk how to rate this

☆ 1967 words (whoops) (i made up for how long it took me to post with the length)

☆ jealous beomgyu, hair pulling, tiny tiny leg riding/dry humping (im starting to notice a pattern of things that i like to write bye), mean talk but it's more condescending than actually mean

beomgyu knew it wasn't right for him to feel this jealous. i mean, seriously, there's no way you'd ever look at hueningkai the same way you looked at him. but still, he can't help the way he monitors your interactions with the maknae out of the corner of his eye.

it was just the way the two of you played around so much, so touchy. always light slaps on each other's arms, giggling and laughing right in front of him, and he smiles and laughs too because he loves you both so much, but he just can't help the thoughts creeping in. what if there was something going on? maybe you liked the idea of younger, taller men-

beomgyu almost wanted to kick himself for thinking that way. you wouldn't do that to him in a million years, and huenginkai wasn't that type of person either. but still, he winces at the curl of jealousy in his stomach as the two of you play around during your friday gaming sesh.

he hadn't even noticed he was staring until you did, catching his eye and giving him such a loving, happy smile that it made his stomach do flips. how could he ever doubt you?

"you okay?" you ask lightly, tilting your head and looking so content that he couldn't help but smile back.

"i'm doing great," he replies, doing his best not to side-eye the shit out of you and one of his closest friends for the rest of the night. to his credit, you didn't seem to notice anything, only pouting and kissing him sweetly once you had to go back to your own apartment.

he loves seeing you smile, he realizes (although it really wasn't anything new) as he watches you jokingly blow him a kiss goodbye. he catches it and cheesily tucks it in into his pocket, making you giggle. he just really really doesn't like anyone else to be the reason you smile.

and everything's fine until beomgyu starts acting weird enough for it to be brought to your attention.

"you haven't come over for our gaming fridays in a while!" hueningkai complains one day, the comment meant to be light and off-handed. but it makes you pause, hand stuck midway into a box of popsicles. you were here in the boys' dorm for the first time in weeks, waiting for beomgyu to finish getting ready to go to a new boba place that opened a little while ago.

you hadn't even noticed how many gaming fridays the two of you had missed, but now that you thought about it, it's definitely been more than 4 already. beomgyu had been insisting on dates a lot more recently, going out to eat or watching a movie, or maybe just chilling and cuddling on the couch—in your apartment. you didn't even notice the way the time was flying by, more invested in your boyfriend's pretty eyes, his soft lips trailing kisses down your neck and on your collarbone, fingertips pressing into your skin as he begs you to call him yours.

"huh, yeah, i guess it has been a while," you ponder, finally pulling out a popsicle before patting huenginkai's head with your free hand. "you can count on me being here next friday," you promise, ruffling his hair and giggling at his whines and protests. so caught up in your platonic affection for the boy, you didn't even notice beomgyu until his arms were wrapped around your waist, chin plopped on your shoulder.

"i'm ready now, let's go," he huffs, words muffled into your clothes. you halt your ministrations, biting down the last of your popsicle before giving hueningkai one last smile.

"alright, be a doll and throw this away for me please! thank you-" you shove the popsicle stick in huenginkai's hand, barely able to finish your words before beomgyu is tugging you towards the door. you let out a noise of surprise, but let your boyfriend drag you to the door as you frown in confusion. hastily returning hueningkai's worried wave of goodbye before you're out, you wonder what has beomgyu so riled up.

"woah, hey, is everything alright?" you question, stumbling a bit in your attempt to keep up with his pace. his grip on your hand is tight, possessive, but there's a pout on his lips. beomgyu's the type to pout cutely, trying to appeal to you or get on your nerves, but this time he seems genuinely upset.

he doesn't answer your question, and you fall into a heavy silence as you walk down the darkening street, the warm rays of sunset making beomgyu look pretty even when he's upset. you don't say anything until you're passing by your apartment (you really didn't live far from them).

tugging on the hand the still hasn't let go, you force him to look at you, irritated and not bothering to hide the glare in your eyes as you look at him for the first time in 7 minutes.

"what the hell is up with you?" you hiss, your aggravated tone visibly making beomgyu flinch as bothered look only worsens. he looks away from you, opting to stay silent as he stares at the brick walls of your apartment complex. your patience only thins, and beomgyu yelps as you harshly shake your hand out of grip.

"look, if you're upset then we don't have to go on this date, because i have no clue why you're even mad at me for-"

"i'm not mad at you," beomgyu grumbles, holding his discarded hand close to him as he still stubbornly refuses to make eye contact with you.

"then what is it," you sigh out, exasperated.

a few more beats of silence pass by before beomgyu lets out a noise of discomfort- embarrassment. he groans and brings up a hand to mess with his mullet, "it's just...i don't like how you keep spending so much time with hueningkai" he admits, ears burning red as he stares at the floor.

you stare at him, shock and just a bit of relief flooding through you. you finally let a long, tired sigh escape you. your boyfriend wasn't mad, he was just fucking stupid.

"come on," you command, turning around and starting to walk up the stairs to your apartment. you make it up a few steps before turning around, beomgyu watching you with wide and confused eyes. your own eyes narrow at the sight.

"now."

the tone of your voice makes beomgyu startle and hastily walk up the stairs behind you. he didn't mean to get you mad, he thinks sulkily. maybe you were mad at the fact that he was jealous, mad over the fact that he had the audacity to get possessive when he obviously didn't own you.

you feel his gloom behind you as you walk up to your apartment door, but don't say anything, opting for silence. it's only when your keys jangle to open the white door that there's finally any noise, and you motion beomgyu to go inside first once it swings open. he hesitates before stepping in, hearing the door eventually close behind him as you walk in as well.

he only has a few moments to acknowledge your presence before suddenly he's gasping as the wind gets partially knocked out of him, pinned against the door.

he wants to wince at the feeling of his back crashing against the wood, but he doesn't get much time to think as your lips crash onto his. he whimpers into your mouth, lips parting open to let you have your way with him as his arms drape over your shoulders and claw at your back. one of your hands grips at his waist, the other gripping his chin in order to lead the kiss where you want.

his lips are soft and you can faintly taste the honey from his lip balm, but it's not nearly as sweet as the feeling of beomgyu melting into your body. he manages to groan out your name as you pull back, tugging at his bottom lip with your teeth in a way that has him staring back at you with a pathetic expression.

you let go and his lip falls back into place with a wet 'pop' and you take this time to properly glare down (metaphorically, the bitch is 5'11 </3) at the man.

"jealous, huh?" you scoff, making beomgyu wince as he whines at your mean tone.

"you were just being really touchy with him! always giggling and shit during our gaming fridays," he huffed, his worries finally revealed. the mention of the gaming days makes your eye physically twitch. no wonder he's been scheduling friday dates all of a sudden, this brat.

"touchy? touchy how?" you press on, voice cold as you focus on making the man squirm under you. you roughly shove your leg in between his thighs, ripping a mix between a gasp and a moan from his throat as it presses against the half-hardness of his dick. "like this?" you ask, peering dangerously close at his expression as he pouts and hesitantly shakes his head no.

"not like that? what about this?" you reach up to grab a fistful of black hair and yank beomgyu's head back, earning a soft cry as his head thunks against the wood of your door. you suck and bite harshly at the sensitive skin of his neck, feeling him squirm in your hold as you force the flesh red and irritated. beomgyu doesn't know if he should focus on the throbbing pain in his scalp or on the way he's steadily getting turned on by your aggressiveness.

"probably not, huh," you comment, releasing his hair to softly grab at his chin again. his eyes are barely focused, and you almost want to coo at the pretty sight of his dazed look and spit covered lips. you fucking adored beomgyu, it almost offended you that he thought you'd be looking at other guys.

"still think i'd touch hueningkai like this? think i'd like having him here instead of you?" you ask harshly, seeing beomgyu wince as he tried to shake his head no despite the grasp you have on his hair. his vision starts to get blurry, and he realizes that his eyes have started to water up, but either you don't notice or don't care enough to stop talking.

"you've got some nerve to be accusing me of looking at other people the way i look at you, choi beomgyu," you scold, releasing his hair in order to grab his chin again and tilt his head up to look at you properly. "couldn't look at anyone else even if i tried, so fucking pretty that it hurts my feelings sometimes," you simper, attempting to sweet talk but it only makes beomgyu feel like he owes you an apology even more.

"m' sorry," he mumbles, head drooping in shame. you almost laugh at the sight, sighing affectionately before pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. beomgyu stills against your lips before crumbling at the affection, body melting against yours before he's gasping into your mouth. you can feel the way his back arches and his body presses into you, your knee pressing harshly against his clothed dick.

"it's ok, you know how to make it up to me," you smile, beomgyu's hair tickling your cheek as his head falls forward onto your shoulder. his hips slowly start to rock against your leg, precum staining his boxers at the friction—at the feeling of your body caging him in. you grab the arch of his back, roughly forcing his hips harder into you as he cries out your name against your neck.

guess you'd just have to reschedule your date for later.

#sub txt #sub idol #sub beomgyu #sub choi beomgyu #dom reader #choi beomgyu x reader #txt smut #kpop smut #pinktea asks #got a little carried away #gn reader

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prolix-yuy · 2 years

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The Plan (and All its Iterations)

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader Editor "Murch"

Summary: Capturing the attention of infamous actor, drug addict, man slut, hot mess Dieter Bravo was not on your bingo card. But when he invites you to a house party you have to come to grips with the fact that he’s offering you much more than a few free drinks.

Word Count: 12.2k (I KNOW it was meant to be a oneshot and it became a whole meal)

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, soft drug use (weed), implied hard drug use, alcohol, oral sex (f-receiving, implied m-receiving), fingering (f-receiving), rimming, safe PiV sec (don’t be a fool, wrap your tool), Bi Dieter, use of sex toys (pretty tame tbh), dirty talk like whoa, unexpected feelings, lil bit of angst.

Notes: This was meant to be a sloppy little Dieter smutfest and whoops, I spilled some feelings on it. But it’s mostly filth. Take this as all of the slutty Dieter I didn’t get to show in Below the Line, but desperately wanted to share. Not Bubble compliant but does anyone really care? Settle in for the show, my lovelies, Dieter does like to perform.

Cross-posted on AO3

Best Laid Plans Masterlist

It doesn’t matter where you stand, sit, or turn at this party, you can feel Dieter watching you. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t get conned into one of these, but he finally hit you where it hurt; your treacherous heart.

“C’mon Murch, just come for a little while. You know you’ll have fun. I’ve got all the best snacks, treats, a pool…” Dieter’s smile is just short of lecherous, hands splayed across your workstation as you click through another set of takes. You quirk a smile at his moniker for you - Walter Murch, king of editing, and the least attractive nickname you’ve ever received - and keep working. He’s distracting as always, but today it’s just that little bit more annoying.

“I’ve got a deadline, Di, leave me alone.”

The casual “acquaintanceship” you’d struck up with Dieter Bravo had started over a bagel. You’d snuck into craft services on your trip to pick up hard drives, and he’d caught you dipping a blueberry bagel into peanut butter. After being mortified that anyone, not to mention a leading actor, had caught you indulging in a snack between long stretches at your editing bay, he struck up some conversation. Mostly about how you always choose the take where he’s flaring his nostrils too much.

“That’s not me, I think it looks dumb. Elias thinks it makes you look wilder, more unhinged.” His charming laugh had been the precursor to all of your ensuing meetings.

Being around Dieter was surprisingly easy, falling into a rhythm quickly. Not that you see him often, just when you’re sent on set for pickups or drop offs. Low on the totem pole means doing the runner jobs and sifting through takes most nights. Mind-numbing work when the best years of your life are being chewed up by the Hollywood machine in favor of making enough money to afford your four-way split apartment.

But when you do see Dieter, he’s always polite, chatty if he’s not practicing for a scene. He asks you about your day, your weekend, if you listened to the new podcast he recommended. Sometimes he flirts, which you try not to take personally even if it makes you smile after he leaves. Among all of your scattered interactions, he always ends the conversation asking you the same thing.

“Want to come to my place after, Murch?” He follows it up with an excuse, a new one most times. He’s having all the production designers over to redecorate. He’s got an early release of the film where Jessica Biel bends over bare-assed. His dealer likes a pretty face. You’ve heard too many iterations to understand there’s more behind the request. Up until a week ago you’d refused, and for a man like Dieter Bravo a simple no actually was enough. He was respectful, never wheedled or whined, but you could see the glimmer of “next time” in his eyes before he hid them behind his sunglasses.

Today, however, you were at a new low when he asked you to come to his house party. Your ex-boyfriend, who followed you to LA just to break up with you when he discovered you were more like a seven in a city full of elevens, just proposed to his new girl. It's premature, a recipe for disaster, but it doesn’t ease the sting of seeing him on Instagram looking like it’s the happiest day of his life.

You should have blocked him months ago.

So now Dieter is hovering over you, large hands glinting with rings splayed over your work surface, notes crinkling softly beneath them. He’s pushed his sweater sleeves up his elbows, exposing thickly corded forearms with dark slashes of black. You didn’t even think he worked out, but the muscles rippling below the skin tell you a vainer story.

When you dare to look up at him, you know you’re a goner. He’s all fluff and seduction, hair an endearing curly mess and sunglasses slipping down his gorgeously prominent nose. He raises an eyebrow, sensing the change in your mood. He even backs off a fraction, letting you breathe instead of crowding. Popping out a hip and tilting his head at you, his anticipation wafts on the air like the tartness of a green apple. You sigh, reclining back in your office chair. Would it be so bad to let go for a night? Enjoy some free drinks and conversation and possibly a handsome eye turned your way? Dieter leans against the table edge.

“You look like you could use a break. Have looked like that for weeks. And I have it on good authority that your boss will be so hungover tomorrow that he’ll call out. Mostly because I’ll make sure of it.” He flashes a toothier grin, lopsided as hell. “C’mon, one party. If you hate it, I’ll never ask again. But I promise I’ll take care of you, Murch. You’ll have a good time.” You almost detect a promise in his voice but dash it away. Fingers digging into your temples, you blow out a particularly exhaustive breath, letting the tension crawling through your spine release.

“Fine, Di, one party. But I have work in the morning, Elias or no, so I can’t stay out forever,” you concede. Dieter is already six steps ahead of you, gathering up your purse and jacket and coming close to unplugging your machine. Thankfully he lets you save and shut down before he ushers you out the door.

“Murch, prepare to have your standards for parties set way too high.”

He’s kind of right. Dieter does throw an excellent party. The house he’s renting during the shoot is huge, a modern monstrosity you gawked at as your Uber dropped you off. Dieter offered to drive but you wanted to stop by your apartment and change. Wearing a flirtier top and a cute skirt that makes you feel like you can belong, you entered Dieter’s temporary home.

The party is in full swing when you arrive, and you can’t make a half turn without finding someone serving you something. Cocktail waitresses with hot and cold canapes, bartenders shaking drinks that must cost more than your fare here. There are various bowls of pills around, joints scattered on a glass table along with pre-cut lines of coke. The martini the bartender fixes you with forty-dollar olives is excellent, taking the edge off your day and giving you a distraction as you clock Dieter around the house.

He manages to be in every conversation yet none of them at the same time, always taking leave of one small cluster to move to another. You stumble upon your boss, who does indeed look several drinks further along than you do. When Dieter throws an arm around his shoulder, refilling Elias’ glass with straight whiskey, the look he shoots you is nothing short of an “I told you so.” Seems like you’ll have a quiet day tomorrow.

As the evening curls later, the outdoor pool lit up and the enormous glass patio doors ushering in the breeze, you start catching Dieter looking at you. Not the way he was earlier in the night, keeping an eye out as you passed from room to room. No, this is much heavier, a literal weight pressing between your shoulders, making you look to see where he is. You’re admiring a painting and he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, hips jutting out and arms folded as he pulls on the joint between his lips. Or sitting on one of the shockingly white couches, a blonde extra dripping in sequins trying to hold his attention but he’s got you in the corner of his eye.

You’re lost as to why.

Dieter is well known around Hollywood as being a bit of a playboy. You’d avoided most of the publicity around it, not wanting your mind to conjure up those tabloids when you had to look him in the eye. Or watch his face for hours in your darkened editing bay. It was unavoidable on a few occasions though.

The parties, including the one you’re currently at, are his most infamous. When the story broke about the blowjob contest he held, challenging every girl at the party to blow a guy better than he can, you almost choked on your coffee. The cover story was accompanied by a “before” photo of him looking up through his eyelashes at a chiseled torso with those sinfully thick fingers dug into the jean waistband. The more salacious photo, a mere Google search away, shows Dieter with the man’s cock down his throat, tongue peeking from behind his wet lips and a satisfied gleam in his eyes. You had to practice not bringing that image to mind several times, which became all the harder when you were picking the best take of him sucking strawberry juice off his fingers.

You refused to think of him when you masturbated later that night. That was a slippery parasocial slope to slide down.

Then there was the rumor that he could make a woman cum with his tongue better than with a vibrator. Though he was supposedly just as good at doing that too. No photos, but many corroborating accounts did add credulity. You’d snorted derisively; he might be a good lover, but no one’s that good. At least no one you’d had.

This is all to say that you are lost as to why Dieter seems to have his eye on you. You’d assumed he’d be a ghost, fucking his way through whatever he fancied and chasing it with whichever vice pleased him. But instead he’s manspreading on the couch, a redhead this time trying to palm his dick over his pajama pants as he sips on whiskey. Even then, with this girl licking his earlobe and straddling his thigh, his sharp gaze is locked on you.

Arousal clutches in your cunt, and you weakly bat it away. No way. Just fixating because you’d said no to him so many times. You’re nothing more than a conquest he’s gloating over.

Or a conquest in process.

You feel your mouth twist as your drink sours on your tongue. Why did you entertain that thought? Dieter can literally lift his hips and be fucking someone gorgeous instantly, yet you somehow believe he’s interested in you? Never mind that his jokes make you ugly laugh, or that he’s offered you rides and sandwiches and an ear to complain into. You catch him again in the corner of your eye, his sly look softening to something like concern.

You're reading too much into it. Putting your drink down a little harder than you mean, you start heading to the bathroom by the entrance. You don’t want to be here, to be reminded that you’re playing dress-up with people who would never learn your name. That you were not the standard of beauty that would catch someone’s eye in this room of supernaturally pretty people. Why did you let Dieter talk you into this? He was the only one watching you tonight.

From behind you, Dieter’s voice echoes through the house. “Pool’s open, bitches!” he shouts, and the mass movement outside and to the water eases your anxiety. At least no one will notice you leave.

The restroom by the entrance is locked, so you venture for another one up the stairs. After a moment of echoey wandering, the party noise now concentrated outside, you find another. It’s huge, larger than your bedroom and decked out with a double vanity, shower, enclosed toilet, and a freestanding tub underneath a window. It’s the bathroom of your dreams, so you’ll be sure to enjoy it while you can.

Washing your hands with the most pleasant-smelling soap you’ve used outside a hotel, you hear a knock at the door.

“One second,” you call, hand on the knob and ready to exit. You turn it, step forward, and are immediately ushered back by large hot hands and a heavy wet mouth close to your ear.

“Fuck, Murch, did you think you’d be able to sneak away that easily?” Dieter rasps in your ear, slamming the door behind him and locking it. One arm winds around your waist and guides you backwards until he’s pressing you up against the vanity.

“Dieter, what the fuck…” you try to protest, but he’s overwhelming your space. His breath, laced with whiskey and some fruity weed strain, warms the underside of your chin as he mouths at your neck, using his strong nose to tilt your head back. His hand is braced against your lower back, the other planted on the vanity top that’s cutting into the meat of your ass, and your heart is racing at this sudden onslaught.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want this,” he growls, the slick slide of his teeth now against your jugular. He soothes the cool press with a wide lap of his tongue, leaving your skin wet for his waiting lips. You try to come up with a retort, a reaction, anything, but his thigh pushes yours apart and presses against your core with a subtle grind. “Don’t pretend you came to this party and didn’t think you’d end up here. With me.”

“Di…” you try again, but his hands clasp the backs of your thighs as he sets you on the vanity. You’re barely perched there, pressed open by those same hot hands as his thumbs circle your most sensitive flesh. The roll of his shoulders is all you can see with his face still pressed into your throat, back bowed as he fists your skirt up around your waist. You did change, did put on something pretty that he could easily slip those thick fingers under. Did you subtly wish for this?

Speaking of, his thumb trails over your dampening underwear, tracing the outline of your folds over the thin fabric. A needy, keening noise slips through your lips, surprising you as much as Dieter.

“Fuck, Murch, keep making those noises and I’ll make you scream next,” he mumbles into the top of your breast, loose lips dragging against your skin as he pulls the neckline of your top down. That damn nickname gives you just enough clarity to retort.

“Holy shit, Di, you cannot call me that with your hand up my skirt,” you chuckle out breathlessly. Finally Dieter lifts his mouth from you, leaning back enough to take in the loopy smile on your face and letting his own breathy giggle join yours.

“Sorry, Murch, I’ll find a better one for you. Something about…” Dieter’s eyes trail down your body to where his hand is still stroking you with teasing lightness. “Sweetness. Honey. Sugar. Sweetheart.” He hums at the last one. “Yeah, I like that. Can I make you cum for me, sweetheart?” he practically purrs as he slides both hands up tease at the waistband of your panties. The spread of them on your feverish skin threatens to drive you back to the brink of sanity, but you have to answer him. Dieter always asks, will respect your wishes if you say no.

“Fuck, yes Di.”

The wicked grin that graces Dieter’s face is the moment of stillness before he begins frantically pawing at you again. He makes quick work of your skirt and underwear, urging you to lean back and lift your hips so he can slide them down your legs. His fingers catch deftly on your shoes and discard them as well. The marble under your ass, slightly warmed, makes a shiver of excitement skitter up to your hairline.

“Fuck,” Dieter sighs, staring at your spread sex with parted lips and a glisten of his tongue swiping out. He’s mesmerized for a moment, hands gripping the vanity top as he drinks you in long enough to make you squirm.

“Is everything…okay?” you ask, and the quiet question sounds so weak coming from your tight throat. It brings Dieter back to himself, his eyes snapping up to your concerned ones. The daze is replaced with hunger, and he fists your top in his hands.

“Of fucking course it is,” Dieter snaps out, tugging fabric over your head and deftly unclasping your bra with one hand. In seconds you’re bare before him, perched on the edge of his vanity while his eyes smolder into you. “If anyone’s ever told you your pussy was anything less than perfect, I’ll blacklist him for as long as I have any clout.” The threat rips a nervous giggle from your throat and a shake from your head, but Dieter plants both hands on the counter and comes nose to nose with you. The sudden closeness has you licking your lips, half holding your breath.

“You are the most beautiful person in this whole damn house, present company included,” Dieter teases, a little smile at the edge of his lips but sincerity laced throughout. “And the fact that you’re letting a fuckup like me touch you tells me you don’t believe it. But it’s true, and I’m going to prove it to you about…three to four times, as long as my jaw holds out.” Your brow furrows at the cryptic end to his sentence until Dieter reaches under the vanity and pulls out a stool. Settling it between your open legs, he flops down and absentmindedly pulls his worn t-shirt over his head. When his eyes flick up to you from their vantage point level with your cunt, he gives a little shrug.

“I like feeling your bare legs on my back as I eat you out,” he states, and you’re stunned just long enough for him to scoot close to the vanity and press his face to the soft skin of your inner thigh.

“Oh fuck,” you squeak, making Dieter’s smile stretch his lips against your skin.

“Sweetheart, I’ve barely gotten started and you’re already this keyed up? Sure you didn’t take anything?” His smirk travels up to mischievous eyes as he locks them with yours, darting from your parted lips to your trembling hands holding you up. “Don’t worry, I’ve had enough for the both of us, and you’re getting the benefit of all of it.” He turns his head to blow a light breath of air against your folds, the wetness of your arousal causing your back to arch at the sensation.

“Do you want to cum in my mouth, sweetheart?” he asks innocently, shifting one leg to drape over his smooth shoulder and pressing your other knee open. Your words catch in your throat for a moment before nodding vigorously.

“I haven’t gotten by in Hollywood this long on implied consent,” he tuts, finally urging a “yes,” from your parched lips. He grins salaciously before opening his jaw wide and feasting on your waiting cunt.

“Fuck!” you grit out as Dieter’s hot mouth engulfs you, tongue sliding messily through your folds as he hums in contentment. He sucks at your intimate flesh, lips popping off obscenely as he fills his mouth with your arousal.

“God, sweetheart, you taste fucking amazing. Like honey-dipped mango,” he groans, dragging his tongue down, down, down to tease at your entrance. Dieter always got mouthier, more poetic when he smoked, and if that little aside was anything to go by he was only going to get louder with time. Compared to…pretty much any other man who’d ever pleasured you, it was pure erotica dripping from his lips.

“So fucking wet and delicious, been hiding this from me for too long. I could eat this pussy for every meal and ask for seconds, God yes,” Dieter moans between slick dips and thrusts into your quivering cunt. The hand wrapped around your thigh slides closer as Dieter lifts his head just long enough to suck two fingers into his mouth, wetting them liberally before circling your clit.

“Oh my God, Di, that’s…shit, that’s gonna make me cum,” you gasp out, and his chuckle as he drives his long talented tongue inside you only spurs you on. His jaw works as he thrusts deeper and deeper, curling it sinfully to brush against that earth-shattering soft spot inside. Your eyes roll back into your head - if he gives you a g-spot orgasm with only his tongue, all the rumors might be true - just in time for your arms to give out, making you slip backward on the vanity. The back of your head thumps against the mirror, making Dieter look up with concern.

“Sorry, m’okay, just…hah, just got a little weak in the…arms,” you finished lamely, but the scrunched up smile and snort you get from Dieter is well worth it.

“Glad to know I’m affecting you as much as you’re affecting me,” he rasps, licking softly at the crease of your knee as you feel him shift and rock under you. His cock must be aching something fierce. When is he going to fuck you?

“I’ve got my fill of teasing your pussy, now let’s get your cum down my throat,” he says, and yet again that filthy mouth of his goes back to work on your throbbing cunt. He drags his tongue over your clit again and again, fast hard strokes with a swirl that make your thighs shake around his shoulders. Your heavy breathing has devolved into throaty whines that make Dieter moan into your cunt just as loudly.

“Sweetheart, you want something to cum around? Want my fingers in this tight pussy?” he asks.

“Yes, fuck Di, I’m so close, give them to me,” you beg, and the dark growl you hear from between your legs is the precursor to two thick fingers pressing into your slick cunt. He’s achingly slow but steady, pulling the most wretched moan from deep in your chest as he seats himself inside you.

“Yes, you gorgeous thing, look at how good you look all stretched out on my fingers. Cum for me, sweetheart, I gave you my fingers, now give me your cum. Now.” With that rumbled order Dieter closes his mouth around your clit and works his tongue over it fast and fluttering, pressing deep inside you to curl against your g-spot as you crest into bombastic pleasure.

Your orgasm rocks your hips against Dieter, and he presses one thick tattooed forearm against your stomach to keep his mouth plastered against you. Chest heaving, tears beading in the corners of your eyes, you moan raggedly as waves of ecstasy drench your mind. He stays with you through it all, lifting his mouth from your sensitive clit when you start to whine.

“Such a good one right there, so perfect for me. Gonna lick everything up once you’re done, sweetheart, then make you a mess all over again.” His dark murmurings barely register as the white noise recedes and you sit up weakly.

Dieter’s mouth is slick with you, hair sticking up in all directions as he stares at his fingers with rapt attention, engulfed by your cunt. The cool press of his pinky ring against your inner thigh soothes your overheated skin. When he realizes you’re watching him, he turns his gaze back up to you.

“What happens if I want to make you cum again?” There’s no tease this time, only something like the first taste of addiction licking across his features. You huff out a breath, pushing yourself back up on your hands.

“I’d say that would be a lot of effort, but thanks for the offer,” you smirk, but Dieter is still buried knuckle-deep in you. He quirks an eyebrow, then still holding your gaze he curls his fingers deeper inside you, pulling out a choked gasp.

“Doesn’t sound like it. Sounds like you want to cum on my fingers again, sweetheart.” Dieter stands to tower over you, the wide span of his chest level with your dropped jaw. He uses his other hand to tilt your chin up to regard his smug smile.

“Have you ever had someone make you cum twice?” he asks, the cockiness and surety behind his voice making your heart thrum. You’d barely cum once with other men, half the time needing to do it for yourself. A tiny shake of your head makes that salacious smile crawl across Dieter’s lips.

“Aren’t you the most delicious little thing? I get to pop a cherry of yours, and I fucking love cherries,” he purrs down at you. You tilt your head back and toss him your own challenging smile, trying to regain some of the upper hand in this exchange but your breath is shallow and his thumb ghosting over your clit is making your words fuzzy around the edges.

“Might not be that easy,” you try to retort, but as you speak Dieter leans back and lets a string of spit drip onto your clit, lubricating his thumb’s new path. “Fuck,” is all you can say as he licks his lips and winks at you.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t hear that over how wet your pussy sounds.” God, you could hate him in this moment for being so cocky but he’s slowly pumping his fingers in you and teasing your clit with perfect pressure. Instead you push yourself up to press your face against his chest, the heat and light sheen of sweat sticking you together. He’s soft-skinned and smells like sunscreen and some expensive cologne that’s barely clinging to him.

“Oh, is pretty girl getting a little overwhelmed with all this attention?” Dieter coos, curling his fingers around the back of your head. You retaliate with a nip to his nipple, making him gasp and tighten his fingers in your hair. “Fuck, sweetheart, I love a girl who bites.” The rush of arousal to your core makes his fingers even slicker sliding in and out of you. You wrap your arms around Dieter’s soft waist, and his fingers slow as he buries his nose against the crown of your head. It’s surprisingly sweet, even though he’s still trying to pull another orgasm out of you.

“Like feeling you against my skin, gorgeous. So soft and sweet,” he murmurs in your hair. Your orgasm is ebbing gently, arousal still simmering in the cradle of your hips but you don’t think you’ll be able to cum again. You blow out a puff of air against Dieter’s chest and lean back, letting your fingers dance on the smooth freckled expanse of his back.

“I think that’s all I got in me for tonight. Not for lack of trying,” you laugh, hand coming down to gently circle Dieter’s wrist. He hums, tilting his head up and squinting like he’s thinking hard, then captures your gaze again.

“A woman knows her own body, but may I offer an alternative?” he says, slipping his fingers out of your cunt and straight into the warmth of his mouth. He sucks indulgently, the pink slip of his tongue darting out from his lips as he licks his palm too. It sparks more arousal in your belly but you try to push it down now that he’s parted from you. With his other hand outstretched he helps you off the vanity and back to your feet. Bare before him, his messily patterned pajama pants barely hiding a strained erection, you wonder how the hell you got here.

Oh, right. You said yes.

“What if…” Dieter starts, letting his hands drop to your waist. The press of his fingers makes you turn to face the mirror, and your disheveled state is a shock to your system. So is Dieter, now standing behind you, looking at you just as hungrily as when he first barged in. You wait with barely concealed excitement for him to take the pleasure he wants, strip off his pants and seek out the clutch of your cunt. Instead he splays a hand over your stomach, another coming up to cup your chin as your eyes meet in the mirror.

“What if I bent you over this vanity so you could watch me eat you ass and finger fuck you to a second orgasm?” he whispers in your ear, and yeah, that wakes your cunt right back up. It’s almost painful how quickly your arousal mounts, heat spreading over your skin as Dieter chuckles at your open mouth and surprised eyes. “What, never had a man do that either?” Your silence widens his smile. “Two cherries then. My favorite.”

“You don’t…” you begin to say, but you have no idea what the other half of that sentence was supposed to be. Whatever it was, it was conjured up to be interrupted by Dieter’s bared teeth and heavy push against the cool marble, pressing you down until you’re on your elbows and bent under him. He continues to hold your gaze as his fingers interlace with yours, pressing his heavy erection into your ass as he grazes his teeth against your jaw.

“I fucking do, sweetheart. I want it, I fucking need it,” he growls dropping his mouth to litter little bites across the back of your shoulder. The sting of his teeth, quick and intoxicating, makes your hips push back against him. He groans in response.

“You can do whatever you want to me after I have my way with you, sweetheart. Spank me, strap me, edge me, I’ll take everything you give me if you let me taste all of you.” The shudder that wrecks your body precedes the verbal “yes”.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he breathes into your skin before lifting off you, heat now absent from your back. You almost ask for him to stay, but he’s back to sitting behind you and all you can do is gasp as his large hands grip your ass cheeks and spread them to his gaze.

“Fuck, how are you so fucking pretty everywhere?” he asks, a tender fingertip smoothing over the tight ring of muscle he’s ogling. You jump, the sensation foreign, but he hushes you with soft strokes over your ass and down your thighs.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he croons, and the familiar stroke of his fingers finding your clit again is paired with the unfamiliar swirl of a tongue against your back entrance. The choked noise you let out is undignified and louder than you intend, but so warranted as Dieter begins laving soft strokes while rolling your clit between his fingers.

You try to settle into the sensations but can’t get out of your own head. Not when Dieter’s whole face is pressed into you, hot puffs of air fanning across your lower back as he prods and slurps and mumbles into your ass. Hazarding a look into the mirror you catch his halo of messy curls falling across his closed eyes, his curved nose pressed hard against your flesh. One massive hand is grasping at your cheek, kneading his thumb into the pillowy curve, as the other keeps sliding through your drenched sex, dragging languid strokes over your clit.

As if he knows you’re looking (or is hoping for it), he opens his eyes and catches yours in the mirror. The blissed-out gaze is replaced by a smug smile as he lifts up enough for you to watch the tip of his tongue slide up your cleft and disappear back into his mouth. You empty out a sigh when his mouth leaves you, anxiety finally reducing to a simmer.

“Relax, sweetheart, you’re so tense,” he coos, dropping open-mouthed kisses across your lower back and stroking up your thighs. “Self-conscious?” he asks, oscillating between teasing and gentle reassurance.

“Yeah,” you admit with a breathy laugh, burying your face in your arms.

“That’s okay,” he reassures you, standing again. He urges you to lift up and press back against him, his roaming hands searing paths across your stomach, over your breasts, circling your neck. “I just want you to feel good, sweetheart. Let me make you feel good.” You lock eyes with him in the mirror, which makes him smile slow and sweet. He looks more like a boy with a crush than a man with your arousal on his lips.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” he murmurs into your jaw, pressing a line of kisses along it. You open your mouth but the words don’t come out. Embarrassment sticks them behind your tongue.

I want you to kiss me.

Dieter hums right next to your ear, the vibration pebbling your skin.

“It’s okay, you can ask for anything. I’ll give it to you. Won’t even tease you about it.” His hands are tracing hypnotic paths, his words making you clench around nothing. He notices.

“Ohhhhh I see what we have here. You like it when I talk to you like this?” he gravels against you, two fingers lewdly darting to your cunt to slide across your clit. “I can do that, sweetheart. My biggest asset is my mouth, after all. Wouldn’t you agree?” You nod and bite back a whimper as he palms one breast in his hand, holding you against him. The other expertly ramps up your arousal, his eyes in t e mirror burning into yours as he ladles filth into your ear.

“Do you know how fucking hot you look all draped over me like this? I’d wear you like this to the Met Gala, show everyone how lucky I am to have your scent on me. And this pussy is made for my fingers. Look at how wet you’re getting for them. I’m gonna have to lick you clean again, can’t let any of that go to waste. Fuck, sweetheart, give me one more, please. It’ll feel so good to cum again, you know it. I know it. And the second one is always better. I want to hear you say my name when you cum. I want the honor of being the first one to make you do it. Tell me what will make you cum, beautiful. Is this enough? What do you need? I’ll do anything, I’ve got toys, I’ve got porn, I’ve got all the time in the world. Let me make you see stars, sweetheart. Let me feel you clench around me again.”

It’s working, you’re ascending and shaking and Dieter’s smile is widening as he works you faster, gently bending you at the waist until your hands rest on the vanity.

“I’m here with you, relax sweetheart, you’re so close,” he purrs, sliding down to kneel behind you again, leaving a searing trail of kisses down your spine. He has your orgasm between his fingers, and waits just long enough to press his tongue hard against your fluttering ring of muscle before he pushes you over the edge.

The pressure on your clit, the insistent press of his tongue in your ass, the hot brand of his hand gripping the back of your thigh plummets you into a wracking orgasm, harder and longer than your first. Your arms shake, Dieter’s hands coming up to steady your hips as you lose your balance. He holds you firm, heavy pants skating up your back as he rides out your aftershocks in the cleft of your ass. Once your breathing levels out, coming down to your elbows and dropping your head between your shoulders, he lifts his mouth from you. Leaving a chaste kiss on one ass cheek he sits back on the stool, stroking his hands along the outside of your thighs.

“Hey, c’mere,” he urges, pulling you backwards to flop down on his lap, wrapping his arms around your middle. You rest your hands over his, sliding your fingertips through the dips of his knuckles and tracing the length of his fingers. Pressing his mouth on the back of your shoulder, he drags his nose against you slowly. The scene in the mirror is softer than you expected; Dieter’s brow is smooth, slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes that betray a hidden smile. The fluff of his hair tickles your cheek, your fingers catching on his rings or tracing his bracelets. He takes in a deep breath behind you, his chest arching your back, before letting it free.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart,” he says, tapping your thigh to get you to stand. Your expression falters for a moment. Not that you want to argue with him about giving you two fantastic orgasms, but he’s still in those pajama bottoms with a rock hard cock against your ass. You stand, eyes flitting over him but trying to keep the dreamy smile on your face. He gives your ass a light little slap with a lopsided smile before moving to the shower and turning it on. One hand under the stream to temp it, he motions you over.

“I’ll be back in a few, take as long as you want,” he says, and you nod and smile. He’s got an equally fond one on, thumbing your chin before shutting the glass door behind you.

Steam fogs up the shower surround as you step under the spray, glorious heat and pressure soothing any aches out of your bones. You watch Dieter scurry around the bathroom, picking up clothing and replacing the vanity stool. He leaves, shutting the door behind him, and giving you plenty of time with your thoughts.

You don’t know what to do now. As much fun as you’d had with Dieter’s devotions, you assumed he’d want some reciprocation. You’d have happily taken him into your mouth, your cunt, your hand even, but all he did was grind his thick length against you a few times. Did he not find you attractive enough to fuck? Or maybe he was waiting for something from you, something you hadn’t given him. What had you done to make him think you didn’t want him now? Your rushing mind began tainting the pleasurable evening, making you scrutinize for mistakes you’d made, or missteps you’d taken. Maybe you just weren’t up to par with what he wanted. Maybe you were too cold, too boring, too little too late to keep his attention.

The smallest, ugliest voice inside your head whispered that he didn’t even kiss you. That revelation hurt the most, made you stop sudsing your skin and breathe through the gut-wrench. He’d put his mouth on most of your body except against your lips. If he didn’t even want to kiss you, of course he didn’t want to fuck you. You don’t know what he gets out of rocking your world - maybe just an ego boost, debauching the girl he could never convince to come out - but it’s making you tight-chested and warbly as you spiral.

You shut off the shower and reach for the plushest towel you’ve ever felt, drying yourself off quickly. You’ll get dressed and slip out while Dieter rejoins the party. Don’t think about him bragging to the other socialites and Hollywood elites about what he was just doing. Be faceless and invisible and get out. You steel yourself to this choice before realizing that your clothing is nowhere to be found.

Fuck.

Just then Dieter creaks the door open a crack, sliding in when he sees you wrapped in a towel. He’s got a handful of fabric in his hands, a cocky smile on his face as he looks you up and down. It reminds you of that hungry look he had when he first burst in, before the sourness of your inner monologue turned your stomach.

“Sorry, took me a few minutes to find Maria, I meant to get in with you,” he says, placing the fabric in your hands. The quick admission sparks hope in your chest. “She’s laundering your clothes, they’ll be ready in the morning. In the meantime, you can wear this.” It’s a well-worn tan T-shirt, large and loose enough that it looks like it might be closer to a night dress. It doesn’t even look like it once fit Dieter. The thought closes your throat up.

He has a designated shirt for casual fucks.

You smile and thank him, swallowing down the words you want to ask. He’s strangely perceptive though, more so than you thought.

“Hey, you okay? I thought you might be uncomfortable bare-assing it around the place, if you don’t like it I can find something else.” You shake your head, images of offered clothing from other flings swimming past your eyes.

“It’s fine, it’ll work just fine,” you wave him off, trying to force a smile on your face but it’s more effort than you expected. Dieter regards you with caution, his hands splayed on the vanity he just ate you out on as he leans back against it. He lets the silence linger, but his concerned eyes speak volumes.

“I didn’t think…” you finally huff out, surprised that you were actually going to voice this. Dieter smirks, his patience rewarded.

“Didn’t think I’d have a bed for you after? There’s a guest room, I would never throw a girl out after all that,” he smirks. His banter isn’t helping, and the fact that you’re being relegated to a guest room sinks a pit in your stomach. So that’s it. A nicety after everything.

“Thanks, Di,” you say quietly, dropping the towel to slip the shirt over your head. It covers enough that you can get to the privacy of the room. “Actually…” you start, the words tumbling from your mouth. “Sorry, I just didn’t think that you’d…want me to stay.”

Silence hangs between you and Dieter, you worrying at your lower lip, him shaking his head with a smug little smile.

“Why’s that?” he says, and at the same time you speak your truths.

“- Because I didn’t fuck you?”

“- Because you didn’t kiss me.”

You wait for a retort, or for Dieter to chuckle like you’re some naive little extra who sucked his dick thinking she’d get her big break. Instead you’re met with silence and dare to peek up at him.

Dieter’s smarmy smile and raised brow slowly soften, the purposefully casual lean replaced by a more aimless stance, hands rubbing along his outer thighs and feet shifting. His eyes dart around the bathroom as though looking for some sort of trick, a hidden camera, a paparazzi. The silence wrenches your gut even sharper.

“Sorry, that was…that was silly, I shouldn’t have said…shit, I think I’m just…gonna go…” you stammer, moving to walk past Dieter and out to your designated quick fuck bed, but his hands shoot out and wrap around your upper arms.

“Wait, wait, Murch,” he says, that ridiculous nickname back on his lips before he shakes his head and says your actual name. You still and wait, arms crossed over your chest as Dieter’s fingers rub unconsciously against the borrowed shirt.

“Wow, I just…wasn’t expecting that. Um. Yeah. Fuck. I didn’t think…you wanted that. To kiss me.” His voice drops lower, raspier as he drags his hands down to your elbows. His eyes are fixed on your lips now, swallowing hard as his teeth peek out to pinch at the plushness of his own.

“Don’t the people you sleep with want to kiss you?” Your gentle ask is met with a grimace and a halfhearted shrug, his gaze sliding over to your shoulder. It makes you want to hold him, so you do, cupping his scruffy face with your hands.

Because you now see Dieter Bravo, for all his playboy bravado, does not believe he’s worthy of affection.

He takes pride in how good he satisfies his partners, but doesn’t expect them to reciprocate. He’s a page in a tabloid, a rumor circling the internet, a persona based on how many partners he’s blown through and how many times he can debauch them. But they get their fuck and their story and leave, and they don’t even kiss him. How could they not want to the moment they see him?

“I wanted to kiss you,” you say, softly, thumb stroking a little bald patch in his beard. He huffs, discomfort radiating, but you keep your grounding hands on him. “When you held me in front of the mirror, and asked me what I wanted, I wanted to kiss you.”

Dieter’s face is warring with emotions as his hands fall to your waist, bunching the fabric there lightly.

“I’m not used to people wanting that,” he says, and one hand comes up to cup your neck, his broad palm wrapping you with heat.

“Can I kiss you, Dieter?” you coo as you move into his space, slipping your fingers into his wild locks and brushing his nose with yours in the barest of touches. He licks his lips and with a brief nod, he agrees.

Your lips touching gently, softly, raises the baby hairs on the back of your neck. God, fuck every person who made him feel like he wasn’t worthy of the simplest form of affection, his mouth is sublime. The short bristles of his mustache tickle your upper lip as you indulge, his plump lower one fitting perfectly against you. He barely moves, letting you guide him down and determine the pressure and length of time he gets to spend sealed to you. The tentative press of his mouth against yours lets you know he’s present, and when you part he keeps your foreheads pressed together with his hand on your neck.

His first breath is shaky, warm peppermint caressing your chest. His eyes are closed, a tiny furrow in his brow as he takes another slow breath. You slide your fingers through his thick curls, and the sigh that empties out of him quirks a corner of your mouth.

“Good?” you tease softly, and Dieter pulls back enough to look you in the eye. His pupils are blown wider than you’ve seen all night.

“Perfect,” he breathes, then, “sweetheart,” and his mouth is on yours again.

Where your first kiss was soft and hesitant, now Dieter’s mouth is slotting against yours, pulling you flush against him to wrap in his arms. He cradles the back of your head as he drinks you in, frantic movements and keens seeded into your mouth. You wind your arms around his neck, pulled up on your toes as he devours you. Your lips part on a tiny gasp and he dips his tongue inside, a barely-there swipe against yours asking permission. With a suck of that full lower lip into your mouth you give him everything, and he accepts.

Dieter’s possessive hands hold you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. He barely gives you time to breathe before licking into you with fervor, sliding your tongues together and exploring every corner of your hot mouth. When he parts from you he presses smaller, chaste kisses along your jaw, on the apples of your cheeks, a sweet one on the tip of your nose. He’s mapping your face with his lips but never strays far from your own.

Finally, after however many minutes of devotion he offers at your altar, Dieter pulls back and presses your foreheads together again, this time with both hands cradling your face.

“Jesus Christ, I'm an idiot,” is the first thing he says, a wave of giggles washing over you. He joins you with some hiccupy laughs, stroking his thumbs over your cheekbones.

“Okay, okay, let me try to…fucking explain myself because you gotta be confused,” he says, circling you in his arms and leaning back to look you in the face. His lips are pink and swollen, and you can’t help but steal another quick kiss at how delectable they look. His eyes drift closed before he shakes his head and takes a deep breath.

“Focus, Bravo,” he scolds, and the sterner face he puts on makes you giggle yet again.

“Okay so, I fucked up a little tonight. I meant to pace myself with my usual recreationals, but I was…nervous, or excited, or something, that you were coming. And I wasn’t paying enough attention to my dosing and I pushed myself over the line…more than I intended.” Your brow furrowed at his words, making him grimace with a sheepish smile. “I uh, can’t get hard for too long if I have too much blow, and that is…what I did tonight. And believe me, I am fucking disappointed in myself for not being more careful about that.” The threads start coming together now as you listen, arms loose around Dieter’s broad shoulders. “Because I had a plan, but I knocked my main guy out of the ring before the match even started!” At this you start full-body laughing, Dieter’s sparkling smile joining you as you snort against his chest. He laughs too, pressing a kiss against the top of your head. Once you get your fit under control he continues.

“So I had a plan B, but then it looked like you were going to leave, and sweetheart, I absolutely could not let you walk out that door. Not after you finally came here, looking so goddamn pretty. So this was, um, plan…C. Maybe D.”

“D for Dieter Bravo making me cum in a bathroom?” you quip back, eliciting another smile. You liked making him do that.

“Yeah, something like that. But not what you deserve.” He smooths a hand up your back, his eyes softening. “Let me make it up to you?” There is dark chocolatey promise in that phrase that sends a tingle up your spine. You tap a finger against your chin in contemplation.

“That depends. What was plan A?” you ask with curiosity. Dieter sighs and turns his head up to the ceiling.

“That when everyone went out to the pool I was going to ask if you wanted a tour of the house. There’s supposedly a Mondrian in the basement but I took a look and I think it’s a fake.” He tips his head back down and there’s mischief in his eyes now. “Then I was going to take you upstairs to the balcony and make you cum on my fingers as we watched the pool party. And do it again with my tongue as I draped you over my bed. And finally, on my cock and whatever ways you wanted as long as I could keep you there.” Heat creeps up your neck as the more coy and filthy Dieter comes to the surface, but with a tinge of vulnerability still left in his eyes.

“Plan B?” you choke out, his eyes narrowing and smile becoming more predatory as he noses along your jaw.

“Well once I realized I’d fucked it all up and my dick would be down for the count, I thought maybe I’d just tongue you in front of that fake Mondrian until you begged me to stop. Then I was going to offer you the guest bed so when I woke up in the morning I could fuck you properly. Because you deserve the best I have to offer.” Your breaths are coming in smaller pants as Dieter’s hands wander to your ass and squeeze, the tip of his tongue tracing the shell of your ear. You fist the back of his shirt and his thick curls again, and a delightful little moan pops out of his treacherous mouth.

“But then I couldn’t find you after I got all the assholes outside, so I panicked. Caught you coming out of the bathroom and you looked like you were gonna leave, and I lost my cool. I just wanted you here, to stay, wanted your body and your sweet pussy and those hot fucking moans in my ear and it didn’t matter where I got to have you as long as you let me.” He pulls away from your ear and searches your face for a moment, taking in your lidded eyes and parted lips. “And now…we’re here, and…fuck, I want to kiss you again,” he whispers.

You meet in the middle, all tongue and teeth and lips as the kiss becomes frantic, Dieter stumbling back against the vanity as you tug at the neck of his shirt. His hand slides down your spine, grip at your shoulders, your hips, the supple flesh of your ass before he breaks from your mouth, lips spit-slicked and reddened.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasps, cupping your face and laying a chaste kiss on your lips. “I don’t fucking care if I can cum or keep it up or not, I need to fuck you. Do you want…do you want to have sex with me?” he asks, his chest rising and falling in measured intervals as he tries to steady himself. You chuckle and turn into his hand, eyes sparkling when they meet his lusty brown ones.

“Yes, Dieter, been wondering when you’d ask,” you reply, and the words are barely out before he’s sliding back against your mouth, like drinking from your lips is his only concern. He parts from you with a relieved sigh, his touches gentling on you.

“It’s been a weird night,” he says with an exaggerated eyebrow raise that makes you laugh. His hands slide down to take your wrists as he leads you backwards out of the bathroom. The fresh scent of the house without the lingering smell of sex perks your senses, and you realize you don’t hear partygoers anymore.

“Where’s…” you start to ask as Dieter continues leading you down a hall.

“Kicked them out when you were in the shower. Didn’t want them bothering us,” he explains quickly, pulling you into him again and spinning you around so now he’s leading you backwards. He finally stops in front of a closed door at the end of the hall.

“Last chance, sweetheart. Once I get you in my bed, you’re never gonna want to leave.” It’s a brag, but the slight downturn in his eyebrows makes you think Dieter might be enjoying your company as much as you were enjoying his.

“Take me to bed, Bravo,” you purr, and he backs you into his room and locks the door.

The room is reminiscent of a fancy hotel, a sitting room adjacent to a bedroom with modern but lifeless furniture. However, it’s the most Dieter room in the whole house. Stacks of spiral-bound art pads litter the desk by the window, charcoals messily spread across the glass top. A pile of dirty clothes occupies half the couch, and pill bottles and small boxes litter the coffee table. All of the art has been taken off the walls and replaced with taped-up squares of portraits and landscapes. More than a few are lewd in nature, but that artistic kind you can kind of get away with. Through the double doors, a king sized bed takes up most of the bedroom, lit by gleaming moonlight streaming in through a sliding glass door.

Dieter takes your hand, lacing your fingers together with an intimacy you return, and leads you to the crisply-made bed. Without a shred of modesty, Dieter peels the shirt off you and sits you down naked in front of him. The sheets feel heavenly against your skin, cool and soft. You can’t help flopping back and enjoying their texture.

“I think we’ll call this plan F, sweetheart,” he husks, and with a slide of his thumbs under his waistband he shucks off his sweatpants and lazily palms his half-hard cock.

Your thighs squeeze, begging for friction where you yearn for him the most, as he strokes his hand up from the base to the tip. His head tips back, eyes hooded as he watches your reaction. In the half darkness he’s pure sex, the softer curves of his stomach and thighs clenching as he drags his gaze over your body.

“F for finally fucking you,” he says, fingertips teasing the head as he thickens to rock hardness. His cock is perfection, pleasantly girthy and sinfully curved, darkening as he grips the base and hisses out a quiet breath.

“Better come here, then, we don’t have all night,” you tease back, scooting up to lounge on the mountain of pillows and widening your legs. His eyes flash darker, leaning over to plant his hands on the bed by your feet. You try to put on a coy act but your heart is pounding, driving every desire to pay hard to get from your mind as Dieter drinks you in. You think he growls for a moment seeing your glistening cunt spread for him as you preen under his gaze.

“Fuck, you’re going to kill me, sweetheart,” he groans, and in a moment his hands wrap around your ankles and drag you back down the bed, a surprised squeak dissolving into an even more shocked, “Dieter, fuck!” as he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his tongue right on your clit. Your throaty moans fill the bedroom as Dieter messily eats your pussy, splayed and arching in his bed. One hand leaves your waist and he’s pushing two sinfully thick fingers into your dripping entrance, finding the exact pressure and flick that pulls your orgasm to the forefront blindingly fast.

“That’s it, sweetheart, cum on my face so I can slide in this tight pussy,” he hums into your cunt and with a crook of his fingers and a sensual stroke of his tongue you’re cumming hard and loudly against Dieter’s mischievous smile. He gathers your slick in his mouth and drips it back onto your cunt, the slide of his fingers embarrassingly loud as he removes them.

“That is gonna stroke my ego for weeks, sweetheart. You cumming on my face that fast? After just giving you two? Fuck, I’m so hard right now, I might actually be able to cum myself.” You gasp out a laugh as you come back to reality, Dieter’s broad bare chest framed by your weak legs as he takes himself in hand, smearing your wetness along his length. “Let me put a condom on and then I’ll be back to wreck this pretty pussy.”

Dieter rounds the bed and opens his nightstand drawer, fishing out a condom and rolling it on with practiced efficiency. Looking back at you, he leans over and takes your nipple in his mouth, rolling the bud to aching hardness. His fingers drift to the neglected one and draw soft circles.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” he croons against the softness of your breast, clamoring onto the bed and scooting you back up so he can slot himself between your thighs. His eyes roam your naked body before settling back on your face. “What do you want, sweetheart? I’ll give you anything you want. I’ve got vibes, dildos, plugs, restraints, toys for you, toys for me. Anything you could ever want to make you cum on my cock.” Your hands come up to stroke across his smooth chest, tweaking his nipple to elicit your own delicious gasp.

“Is this the only time?” you ask, and suddenly the air turns heavy. You bite your lip, not intending to ruin the mood. “Just…was wondering if there’s time for those things…later.” You hold your breath but Dieter comes down on his elbows by your head and captures your mouth in a heady kiss.

“I hope to dear God this isn’t the only time,” he whispers, “because I want to have you in so many more ways than this, sweetheart.” The admission makes you pull him to back your mouth, crashing your lips together as he drops his hips and begins sliding his cock through your folds.

“Shit. Shit shit shit shit,” Dieter curses as the wet slip of his cock against you sparks the beginnings of another orgasm.

“If you do have a vibe, that’s the quickest way to make me cum on you,” you offer, and his expression vacillates between a pained ecstasy and smug competency.

“Who said anything about this being quick?” he retorts, laying a searing kiss on your mouth and a toothy one on your shoulder before sliding up the bed to dig in his bedside drawer again. You lay a breathy kiss on his stomach, earning a twitch and a huff from Dieter. He returns with a small bullet vibe between his fingers, pressing it into your hand. “You let me know when you want me to use this.” You nod as he slides back and repositions his knees, posting up on his arms as he watches the head of his cock notch at your entrance. You roll your hips at the insistent press and with a choked gasp slide onto him in a smooth motion.

“Fuck, you…oh shit, you feel so good, sweetheart, oh God, Jesus Christ,” Dieter moans out as you hook your heels behind his thighs and pull yourself down on him, his diatribe getting louder and more needy as you savor the thick ridge of his head pushing through your slick channel. You palm your breasts and Dieter practically shouts as you seat him flush inside you.

“Holy shit, that was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, sweetheart. Holy fuck, you’re perfect, you’re perfect, can I move? Please can I move, holy mother of God I need to fuck you.” His hands are gripping the sheets next to you so tight you almost hear threads rip. Taking advantage of the heady power you have over him right now, you roll your hips and drag him out of you before taking him back up to the hilt. His stuttering moan is a symphony of pleasure.

“Fucking little tease, do you like fucking yourself on me like this? Using me for my hard cock? Shit, I’m barely inside and I know this is going to be the best fucking pussy I’ve ever had,” Dieter moans, the bulge of muscles in his neck and biceps betraying how worked up he truly is.

“If you wanted me to use you,” you counter, sliding along his length with lazy ease, “then you should have had me get on top. Let me bounce on this thick cock until you begged me to make you cum.” You pause just long enough for the glint of Dieter’s eyes in the dim light to find you. A devious smile of your own curls across your lips. “Then I’d still make you wait.”

Hot possessive hands circle your waist as Dieter rolls you both, his head thumping back on the bed as you come to a straddle.

“Then do it, sweetheart. Bounce on me like the fucktoy I am,” he pants, and where he was dripping with authority and smug assuredness before, his voice is wracked with neediness now. It swells pride in your chest - the unflappable Dieter Bravo falling apart under you - as you begin to roll your hips along his cock. His hands remain on your waist, but he’s holding on for dear life more than guiding you.

The night fills with the wet sound of your cunt filling with Dieter’s hard cock, harmonizing with his groans and growls and your keening breaths. You palm your breasts and flick your thumb over your nipples, basking in the undivided attention of Dieter watching you like a succubus.

“Sweetheart, I didn’t think you could be more gorgeous but you, fuck, you keep proving me wrong. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than you on my cock. I want to paint you just like this, so fucking powerful and feminine and…shit, you’re a fucking goddess, let me worship you, let me give you everything you want, fuck, fuck sweetheart, I want…I want you every way I can have you, give you every part of me. I want you to ruin me, sweetheart, ruin me, ruin me, ruin me,” he starts chanting, spurring you on to fuck him faster, harder, slamming your hips against his as he thrusts up to meet you. His eyes roll back in his head as bliss paints his face.

“That’s it, sweetheart, change me, change me, change me, sweetheart, I’m yours,” Dieter moans, and a gleam of wetness around his cheeks makes you lean over him. You were right, a slivered trail of tears is leaking out of the corner of his eye, breathing ragged. You stop suddenly, wiping the tear away as you feel Dieter’s breathing calm again. You hold him inside you, soothing him as he puts a hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry, sorry…” he whispers as you lay soft kisses across the back of his palm, on his cheeks, and once he removes his hand on his lips.

“I don’t want to change you, Dieter, you’re enough,” is all you say, eyes meeting as you watch the minute muscles of his face fight through self loathing, hope, relief, and finally determination before he flips you both again. He dives his dexterous fingers into your palm to take the bullet vibe back, sliding it between his lips briefly to wet it before clicking it on. The subtle buzz tingles in your teeth before he slides it over your clit, pressing his hips flush. The vibrations search for your orgasm as Dieter begins thrusting with short, rolling strokes, keeping the vibe pressed snugly against you. Your hands clench his shoulders as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“Thank you,” he whispers, lips mashed messily against your neck as he angles his thrusts up to hit against your g-spot again. “Sweet girl, thank you. This is…so good, so perfect. Thank you.” When your mouth drops into an O he knows he’s found it, adding more force as he slides his mouth down to your nipple. His fingers wrap around the little vibe and swirl it over your clit in a pattern that makes you tighten around him.

“Shit, Di, I’m so close, please,” you beg, Dieter releasing your nipple with a soft pop.

“You never have to ask with me,” he says, and whether it’s a tease or a promise doesn’t matter when he punches up and swirls just right and you’re cumming hard and blindingly around him. Your hips snap and rock, making him hold you tight and flush to him as he shouts his own pleasure. He can barely move inside you, gripped so tight he’s baring his teeth as the aftershocks finally let you relax back down on the bed. You gaze up at him, wild-eyed, thrumming with tension and question.

“Cum for me, Dieter,” you order, and with that permission he snaps his hips quickly into yours, throwing his head back and bellowing when his orgasm rips through his body. You feel him pulse inside of you, emptying out into the condom as Dieter’s thighs shake at the force of his peak.

“Fuck,” he gasps weakly, combing his curls back from his face. You smile lazily, stroking your fingertips along his forearms as his fingers relax on your hips.

“Guess this is a night of cherries for both of us,” you say, a teasing smile at the corner of your mouth. Dieter huffs out a laugh, pulling out and disposing of the condom before flopping down beside you.

There’s a long moment of silence, only your rushing blood and heartbeat in your ears, before Dieter pulls himself up on one elbow with a groan. His fingers skim your wrist, taking your hand and placing your palm against his face. You gladly stroke along that scruffy cheek, your thumb tracing that extremely kissable lower lip. The look he gives you is the most puppy-dog expression you’ve seen on a person before.

“Would you stay the night?” he asks, and the light touch of uncertainty makes your heart flutter.

“In the guest bed?” you reply innocently, and Dieter shakes his head with an incredulous look.

“Fuck no. With me.” His eyes widen. ��If you want to. You don’t have to, the guest room is all set up, and I snore and take up the whole bed…” You silence him with a finger on his lips.

“With you,” you agree, and Dieter smiles and nips at your finger in agreement.

Dieter actually doesn’t snore, you’re not sure who told him that. He’s a heavy breather but the noise machine covers most of that. He does take up a lot of the king-sized bed, but it’s mostly because he wants to touch you no matter where you lie. When you roll onto your stomach one heavy hand slides under your borrowed shirt and rests on your lower back. On your side he tries to curl up under you to be the little spoon, which makes a sleepy smile inch across your face. In the middle of the night he gets up to pee and when he returns, you now lying on your back, he crawls up your body and settles between your thighs, tucking his face into the crook of your neck. It’s a little ticklish and heavy, but the sigh he breathes into your skin quickly lulls you back to sleep.

Golden morning light bathes you in warmth as you slowly come to consciousness. Your brain groggily registers that you’re not in your bed at home, the sheets too soft and the mattress too plush. You blearily look around for some context before you realize you’re alone. Alone in Dieter Bravo’s bed, where you spent the night after he pleasured you like a man possessed and kissed you like you were his only air. But he’s nowhere in sight now.

You sit up, back cracking but otherwise decently rested. You’re peering around for a clock, or where your purse might be, when the bedroom door creaks open. A familiar halo of curls peeks in, and the grin that graces his face makes you smile sheepishly back.

“Woke up alone,” you tut at him with fake annoyance, but are secretly relieved he’s there. It made last night feel less like a personal porno and more like something secret and sweet.

Then he comes into the room followed by a pleasantly smiling man pushing a cart. You squeak and yank the covers up to your neck, but the man doesn’t remark as he pushes the cart with covered dishes to the balcony. Dieter throws a secret smile at you as he saunters to the foot of the bed. He’s wearing a white cotton bathrobe, not the ratty ones he normally glides around in. This one looks like it would be more suited in a hotel, and when you catch the Ritz logo on the lapel you realize why. It makes his skin look all the more olive-toned and glowing. His tongue peeks between his teeth as he smiles at you, and your cunt is suddenly very much awake and very much slick at his attention.

“Thought you’d like some breakfast after all the excitement of last night,” he says, nodding at the man who leaves just as quickly as he came in. You catch a glimpse of the outside balcony with two chairs facing each other, a spread of food that’s easily too much for the both of you. But Dieter is what pulls your focus right now.

“I am starving. Where’s my phone?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows as you hear the door close behind your guardian breakfast angel.

“Never keep a phone where you sleep!” Dieter lightly scolds as he crawls up the bed towards you, his robe drooping open to reveal nothing underneath. You giggle as he drops kisses along the tops of your thighs, the soft curve of your stomach, the underside of your breasts. “The Bluetooth messes with your sleep cycle, and the signal your cell phone sends out increases your tech addiction.” You roll your eyes at his lecture and card your fingers through his hair as his mouth finally makes it to yours for a slow morning kiss.

“Hi,” he says, your noses bumping together as his smile dimples his cheek.

“Hi,” you reply, his body settling into yours as he regards you fondly.

“So the kitchen made enough food to feed an army, probably because they thought I had an orgy in here last night. The noise and all.” A laugh sputters out of you that you catch in your hand. Dieter ducks his head to drag his aquiline nose and full lips against your collarbone, tickling you as he speaks.

“So I thought we’d have breakfast, take a shower, together of course, then maybe we drive out to Santa Monica? I’ve been craving a corn dog real bad. And a walk on the pier. And then maybe lunch on the strip, a stroll on the beach, and dinner and drinks on Third Avenue.” Dieter’s voice is getting quieter as he speaks, finally looking up to take in your wondering face.

“Dieter, are you asking me out on a date?” you ask, and you can’t help how confused you sound. This was…not at all what you thought would follow last night. But Dieter is looking at you with mixed shyness and hope, and it’s filling your heart to bursting.

“Would you…like to go on a date with me?” he asks, and your smile is too bright to hide.

“Yeah, I would,” you answer, prompting Dieter to kiss you like you gave him his Oscar personally. Once you parted, a few errant giggles of relief washing over you, you speak.

“What comes after dinner and drinks?”

Dieter’s eyes darken briefly, sliding you down so he can hover over you, caging you in with his thick biceps.

“Something similar to what I’m gonna do to you now. Or completely different. Ladies’ choice,” he purrs against your lips.

“Then I think I’m gonna have to call out of work.”

“Already done, sweetheart.”

END

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