#Dieter Bravo x you

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

This Must Be The Place

Dieter Bravo x Female Reader

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Dieter's finally back home... with you. Warnings: pov switching, fluff, smut, dieter's thinking about his future, mirror sex, drug and party lifestyle memories, Words: 4,450

A/N: Shout out to the two songs "This Must Be The Place" by Talking Heads and "River" by Leon Bridges for helping me write this chapter. I listened to "River" on repeat while writing the reunion smut, sooooo enjoy! Thank you to @devineconjuring for eating my dots and rewording my weird sentences to actually make sense. She is so smart and wonderful, may you all have a dot eater in your life.

Previous Chapter Golden Girl Masterlist Masterlist ✨✨✨

A cavalcade of boxes and bags sits in the guest room of Dieter’s suite. They've been there since you left–Dieter’s barely able to look inside. The memories of you being here with him make his heart ache in a way he’s never felt before.

But now, he’s standing amongst the slight chaos with his assistant, finding it funny that what used to be empty bottles and drug paraphernalia after a wild party is now Liberty of London bags and Harrods boxes.

“So, all of this needs to be shipped back to Los Angeles?” Court surveys.

“Yep, every single one.”

Court sighs. “This is going to cost a lot, Mr. Bravo. The customs paperwork alone is going to take me a whole day.”

“I’d trust nobody else.”

Court shakes her head, surely used to his extravagant requests by now. “I’m happy for you, Bravo.”

"Thanks, Court. She's something special."

Court raises an eyebrow. "I can see that. You've never gone this overboard for anyone before."

"She deserves it all. And more."

Court nods, already tapping away on her tablet. "I'll get it sorted.”

“Thank yoooou,” Dieter sing-songs as he heads to his room, excited to pack his carry-on. Two more hours until he leaves for the airport.

He walks out onto the balcony. This is where he confessed his love to you, where it all changed. He leans against the railing, taking in the sight of London as he remembers the smile that lit your face when you told him you loved him back. He misses you so much that his heart pounds against his chest when he realizes that in less than 24 hours, he’ll be with you again.

He’s barely been able to talk to you between your busy days working at the flower shop and his long days on set, followed by wrap parties and press interviews. He has never missed anyone as much as he misses you. He almost sheds a tear when he realizes just how lonely he feels without you.

“God, I’m pathetic,” he mutters to himself. Three weeks apart, and he’s acting like a character from one of his rom-coms. Ironic.

He escapes the chilly London air–something he will definitely not miss–inside the bedroom he’s called his for four months.

He really is going to miss this suite–in fact, it might just be one of his favorite places on this earth. It’s where he got the girl of his dreams, where he made love to you for the first time, where he proved to you he will protect you.

Though, ever since you left, the bed has felt colder, the mattress more uncomfortable, the blanket much scratchier. Most nights, he falls asleep staring at your lotion bottle that he has yet to move off the bedside table. On some nights, when he’s feeling extra forlorn, he’ll pop open the cap and smell the sweet scent of you.

He sits on the edge of the bed, reaching for the lotion and taking a deep whiff of it. He remembers the way it smells on your skin, the slight floral taste of it as he’d nibble against your neck, how smooth your hands would be as you wrapped one around his cock.

Focus, man.

He really needs to pack.

—-

You’ve been spending all your free time at Bloom, working later than Angela asks you to, only to pass the time until Dieter returns home. Angela doesn’t mind, of course; she welcomes your company and your creations. It only took two days of you working there for her to bring you on as a full-time employee and showcase one of your bouquets in the front window. You feel like life is too good to be true–as if all it took was being brave and stepping out of Warren’s shadow, yet you still feel as if that shadow is following too closely behind.

“You’re doing it again,” Angela says, leaning against the workbench and handing you a cup of tea.

“Hm?” you ask while arranging white peonies amongst sprigs of eucalyptus and fern leaves.

“That face like you’re waiting for the world to end.”

You force a smile. “Just concentrating.”

Angela gives you a knowing look. “He’s coming back tomorrow, right? The boyfriend?”

“Yeah.” The word comes out breathier than you intended. You’ve been careful not to talk about Dieter much while at work, not sure how to let someone who helped you create the centerpieces for your own wedding know that your boyfriend is indeed a celebrity.

“Well, that explains why you’ve been arranging the same bouquet for twenty minutes.”

“Sorry,” you apologize. “Don’t be,” Angela waves away your apology. “Love looks good on you. I just wish you’d stop waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

You sigh, setting down the last few peonies. You have been trying to make them perfect, just like you feel you’ve been trying to make every corner of your life perfect before Dieter returns.

“I just turned the closed sign. Want to talk about it?” she offers, sitting atop a stool. “We can clean up after.”

“It’s just… everything’s happening so fast. Four months ago, I was suffocating in a marriage and miserable, and now I’m…” You trail off, unsure how to even describe the whirlwind your life has been the past month since you left for London.

Angela’s lips lift in a knowing smile. “Happy?” she offers.

“Terrified,” you correct her, with a matching smile. “But happy, too.”

Angela pats your hand. “That’s how you know it’s real. The good kind.”

You and Angela close the shop together, and just as you button up your cardigan and sling your bag on your shoulder, Angela grabs your hand with a wide smile on her face.

“I don’t want to see you here this weekend. Enjoy your boyfriend.”

You don’t know if your walk home up the hill is getting easier because you’re getting used to it or because this is your final walk home before Dieter returns.

—-

His bags are packed, the suite is empty. He makes his way through the rooms, mentally checking off the simple to-do list he has in his head. He’s about to grab his carry-on and let Court know he’s ready until he remembers the safe in the guest room closet.

“You idiot,” he whispers, dashing towards the room.

He inputs the code–your birthday–and pulls the small velvet box out. He flips it open, the diamond sparkling even in the low light of the closet. Too soon, probably. Definitely too soon by normal standards. But nothing about Dieter Bravo is normal.

Hell, as soon as he dropped you off at the airport, he scheduled an appointment at Garrard Jewelers. And now, a future with you is held in his hands. If he could, he would have married you before you even left London, but he knows you’re not ready. Dieter Bravo is not a patient man, but he’ll wait forever for you.

—-

You have to physically stop yourself from tracking Dieter’s flight. He’s finally past the Atlantic Ocean, somewhere over the Midwest. Four hours until he lands. You can do this; you can be patient.

You pace around your living room, trying to distract yourself with chores that don’t need doing. The kitchen is already spotless, all the beds are made with perfectly fluffed pillows, and you’ve rearranged the flowers you brought home from Bloom three times.

The book you’ve been meaning to read is far less exciting than hitting refresh on the flight tracking app. The movie you’ve been wanting to watch just doesn’t seem to have a plot you can sink into. The puzzle you think about doing has too many pieces.

You have to do something about the nervous energy, so you decide to bake. You keep your phone in the other room and put your favorite playlist on high, willing the attitude of ignorance-is-bliss to work as you pull your mixer out of the cabinet.

By the time you’re done and the kitchen is all cleaned, you have three dozen chocolate chip cookies, a tray of brownies, and Dieter’s favorite: two dozen jalapeño cheddar biscuits.

You reward yourself with a peek at your phone. He’s only an hour away from landing.

—-

Dieter wonders if he looks just as happy as he feels right now as he strides out the door of the private terminal at LAX.

He breathes in the smell of the warm sun, palm trees, and car exhaust. Home. A smile grows on his face. So many times, he’s flown into this airport, exhausted from a shoot, dreading the empty house and people who waited for him. But now… now, everything is different.

His favorite driver, Bill, waits for him at the curb.

“Welcome back, Mr. Bravo.”

“Bill!” Dieter claps him on the shoulder as he hands him his carry-on. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

Bill laughs. “Same weather as every other day in LA, sir.”

“Touché.” Sure, it’s the typical late-January Los Angeles weather of high 60s and sun, but today is different. Today feels more golden.

He slides across the supple leather seats of the black SUV. Court has already called ahead and rerouted the car to your house. He takes his phone out and inputs your address so he can watch the minutes tick by.

After years of yearning for you, months of getting to know you better than anybody else, and days of having you as his own, he’s now only 30 minutes away from you. 

Soon, he’s on the 405, his heart beating faster against his chest as the thin line on the map grows smaller. He takes a deep breath as Bill takes your exit. The little box reads that he’s only 5 minutes away. He passes Bloom, his smile turning proud as he thinks about you working inside that store, surrounded by flowers just as pretty as you.

The hill that leads to your house seems to stretch and twist endlessly. Two minutes.

He passes the grass patch where he wanted to tell you he loved you all those months ago as you stared up at the stars. One minute.

And then, he sees your house. He sees you.

—-

You’ve been standing on your front step for twenty minutes at this point. Nobody really drives all the way up the hill besides you and your neighbor.

Your anxiety is through the roof, but it’s the good type, the type when your favorite singer is about to walk out on stage, the kind that causes butterflies to soar across your belly, that makes music sound more beautiful, that makes the sun shine brighter.

A large black SUV crests the hill–you expect it’s Dieter’s… and your expectations are realized when the back door swings open even before it comes to a complete stop.

Dieter barrels out, stumbling to catch his balance with a wide smile on his face as he throws open the gate and runs down the walkway toward you.

You’re swept up into his strong arms, your feet leaving the ground as he spins you in a circle. “Baby,” he breathes you in as he sets you down, his hands cupping your face.

“Hi,” you whisper as his dark brown eyes gaze lovingly into yours.

“Hi,” he whispers. He gives you the crooked, vulnerable, eye-crinkling smile that drives his fans wild. But right now, it’s all for you.

“Welcome home.”

“Home,” he smiles, “I like that.” He drapes an arm around your waist and leads you inside before he cocks his head back. “Bill! Just put my bags in the foyer. I’ll take care of the rest.”

—-

The last time Dieter was in your home, the walls and shelves were still filled with photos of you and Warren, the shoe caddy by the door still had loafers and flawless designer sneakers, and it felt like the ghost of your failed marriage was everywhere. Now, as he steps into your home, it’s all you.

The walls are now adorned with framed botanical prints and paintings. Warren’s favorite plaid chair has been replaced by a soft chair covered in floral fabric. The shoe rack now holds only your comfortable sneakers and flats, with an empty space ready to be filled… hopefully by his Crocs.

“Looks good in here,” he says.

“Just making it mine,” you shrug.

He pulls you close after Bill drops his luggage off and closes the door.

“It’s perfect,” he murmurs as he leans in close, finally kissing you, melting away the three weeks of separation. He can’t stop touching you, running his hand along the curve of your spine, his other hand sliding into your hair, cradling the back of your head, pushing your lips firmer against his.

He pulls away, staring into your eyes. “God, I missed you,” he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours. “I thought I was going to lose my mind.”

“Me too,” you admit, your fingers tracing his jaw.

He kisses you again, trying to relearn the shape of your lips, slowly, reverently, trying to savor you. But something shifts within you, and you kiss him desperately. Your fingers curling into the soft cotton of his t-shirt, pulling him closer with a slight moan escaping your lips and rumbling against his. His hand slides down to your waist, gripping you firmly as he walks backward to the couch and tumbles down, taking you along for the ride.

You land on top of him with a soft oomph, followed by both of you giggling as his hands steady you on his lap. Your laughter fades when you look down at him, his intense eyes roaming your face, his mouth agape as he takes you in.

“I still can’t believe how lucky I am,” he muses, brushing his finger back and forth across your cheek.

“Would you feel luckier to know I baked for you?”

His eyes crinkle at the corners as he gifts you a wide smile. “You baked for me?”

“Mmhmm,” you answer, pressing your lips to his ear. “Jalapeño cheddar biscuits,” each word whispered between a kiss.

“God, I love you,” he says. His hands slide up your thighs. “But you know what I’m really hungry for?”

Before you can answer, he flips you onto your back, his weight pressing you into the couch cushions. You gasp, arching into him as his teeth graze against your pulse point. “You,” he breathes against you.

“Oh my god,” you roll your eyes and sigh before letting out a moan as his knee parts your thighs and presses against your aching core.

“Three weeks,” he whispers against your lips. “Three fucking long weeks of only wanting this.”

Your fingers tangle in the loose, soft curls of his hair while his rough stubble grazes against your skin as he moves to kiss the sensitive spot against your jaw.

“I can’t believe you’re home,” you moan as his hips begin a slow grind down against yours.

“Home,” he hums, his dark eyes locked on yours as he props himself up. His hand sliding beneath the hem of your shirt, his warm palm trailing under your bralette before cupping your breast.

“Fuck,” you moan. He watches you react to his touch, dark eyes overwhelmed with lust as his thumb brushes over your nipple. His lips find yours again, tongue diving in between them. 

You’ve thought about this moment, about how you’d have him, where you’d want him once he returned to the house you once shared with your husband. You want to feel loved again in your bedroom, you want to feel wanted again in your bedroom–you want Dieter in your bedroom.

“Dee,” you murmur against his mouth before pulling away, his lips trying to chase yours. “Bedroom.”

You feel his body tense, obvious he’s been thinking the same thing. He lifts his head, staring into your eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I want you in my bed.”

He doesn’t think twice, quickly standing before grabbing your hands and pulling you up. He pulls you close, kissing you tenderly before resting his forehead against yours. “Lead the way, Sweets.”

The path up the stairs to your bedroom feels different with Dieter’s hand in yours, his footsteps echoing behind yours. The light shining into the hallway, where now-naked nailheads wait for new framed photos, seems brighter as you imagine photos of you and Dieter lining the walls.

When you walk through your bedroom doorway, your steps falter. Suddenly, the significance of this moment hits you. For years, this room had been a place of obligation, of settling, of giving up on wanting to be understood.

It’s different now as Dieter wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder.

“You okay?” he softly whispers into your ear.

You look into the large mirror propped against the wall and nod. Seeing Dieter’s arms wrapped around you, his eyes on yours, makes all the pain you’ve endured in this lonely room dissipate. “I am,” a slight smile lifts your lips. “I love you.”

He hmphs a happy sound, grinning wide. “I love you, baby.”

You watch as his hand slips under your shirt, slowly raising it to lift over your head. The soft, gray cotton drops from his hand as he watches you unhook the front clasp of your bralette, letting it fall away and land on top of your shirt.

The afternoon light filters through the curtains, casting golden colors across your bedroom. Dieter’s brown eyes turn caramel as he follows the trail of his hands up your torso to your breasts, cupping them in his hold.

Your head thuds against his chest as his thumbs brush against the hardened peaks of your nipples. You can feel the cadence of his deep breaths against your back as your hands meet his cupping your breasts, feeling the veins of his strong hand as he massages you gently.

“I love how you feel,” he whispers. “I knew your skin would be so soft, so perfect.”

One of his hands slides down your stomach, his fingers splaying wide against your skin, your hand following his.

"Look at us," he encourages, his eyes focusing on yours in the mirror. "Look how beautiful you are."

The reflection of the two of you shining in the golden light–his broad body behind yours, one of his hands over your heart, one against your stomach–makes your heart almost ache. You’ve never known love like this.

“It’s always been you,” he confesses, his lips against the shell of your ear. “I never wanted anybody the way I wanted you. Never needed someone the way I needed you.”

His tongue charts a path down to your neck before leaving an open-mouthed kiss against it. He rests his head on your shoulder, staring deeply into your eyes.

“You’ve changed everything. Every part of my life is better now because I have you like this. All that time I was away, knowing that you were here, waiting for me…” He swallows hard. “Knowing you missed me just as much I missed you… knowing I had something to come home to. Someone to come home to.”

“Dee,” you whisper. “I’m so happy you’re home with me.”

“Home,” he hums lowly. “With you.”

His hand against your stomach pulls you even tighter against him, his eyes never leaving your reflection.

You push forward slightly before reaching down to unbutton your shorts, slowly shimmying out of them and kicking them to the side.

You can hear him let out a shaky sigh when you look into his eyes as your fingers curl around the waistband of your panties and pull them down. You step out of them, kicking them to the side as Dieter lets out an incredulous chuckle.

“Holy fuck, you’re so beautiful, Sweets,” he sighs. “Absolutely perfect.”

His hands splay wide over the bare expanse of your body, pulling you back to him, his mouth sealing against your shoulder.

You bring one of your hands up to tangle in his hair, feeling the soft waves. Your eyes are locked on each other’s reflections as you both sway back and forth.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he whispers. “My beautiful, golden girl.”

You turn in his arms, lifting the hem of his soft t-shirt as you pull it up and over his head. You can’t resist him anymore; your hands begin exploring the newly exposed skin.

His hands slide down your back to grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. You can feel how much he wants you, hard and straining against the soft cotton of his pants.

You kiss your way across the freckles on his chest, twinkling in the sunlight.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whisper as you run your hand down his chest and across his stomach. “I still can’t believe you’re finally home.” “Home,” he groans as you begin to untie the drawstrings of his pants and yank them down. Dieter shuffles out of his pants, kicking them aside. He’s left in just his boxers that do very little to hide how much he wants you.

You arch an eyebrow as you reach forward, grasping his waistband in your hold.

You slowly lower his boxers, the fabric catching for a split second on his hard cock before springing free. His chest begins rising and falling with his quickening breath, his abs tensing as your fingers trail down his body. He steps out of the fabric pooled at his feet.

“Baby,” he groans as you trace the soft line of his belly, following the trail of soft hair until you reach his cock. Slowly, you wrap your hand around his hardening cock, eliciting a long, low moan when you gently squeeze him.

Spurred on by his desire for you, you begin to stroke him, gliding your hand up and down him. You can feel him growing harder with each pump of your first, his cock twitching against your touch. His breathing grows heavier, his eyes fluttering closed. You love seeing Dieter like this, naked and wanting you and only you. Wetness pools between your thighs as you twist your wrist and brush your thumb over his sensitive head.

His eyes fly open wide as your wrist twists his cock just right, making his knees buckle as a jolt is sent through him. His gaze drops to your hand wrapped around him, his lips parting as he’s overwhelmed.

He reaches his hand out, running it across your wet pussy, his fingers grazing against all of your wet that’s spilled out for him.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me already,” he marvels as he parts your lips, gliding a finger along your slit.

“Always,” you breathe, the pace of your hand briefly faltering on Dieter’s cock as he slowly circles your clit. “I missed you so much.”

“I know, baby, I missed you. Missed this perfect pussy. Want to fuck your pussy.”

“Please,” you pant.

“Okay, baby, okay.” He spins you around to face the mirror, your eyes finding each other’s in the reflection as he presses his chest to your back. His hands smooth over your hips and stomach, goosebumps prickling in the wake.

“Look at you,” he whispers in awe. “So fucking beautiful.” A hand slides up to cup and knead your breast while the other trails down to your aching core. He parts your folds, spreading your wetness around before he lines himself up, rubbing the head of his cock against your lips. Slowly, he sinks himself into your tight heat inch by inch.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans once he’s sheathed inside your tight channel. “Baby, you feel incredible.”

“Dee,” you moan as he slowly rocks inside you. His hands move to grip your hips as he begins to fuck into you. You watch his reflection, his brows furrowed in concentration as he watches his cock disappear inside you over and over.

"Fuck, you’re taking my cock so well," he praises.

"God, I love you," he pants, his hot breath hitting your neck. "Love you so fucking much. Can't believe how lucky I am to have you, to be able to fuck your perfect pussy."

Dieter lifts one of your legs, opening you wider for him. You reach back, wrapping your arms around his neck for balance as you're practically hanging off of him, completely at his mercy as he pounds into your accepting cunt.

"Fuck, you’re gorgeous," he marvels, eyes locked on your reflection. “Can't believe I get to see you like this, all needy and desperate for my cock."

Your moans, his groans, and the sound of his cock fucking into your wet echoes off the walls of your bedroom. With every thrust of his hips, every grunt of praise against your ear, and every time his eyes reflect love into yours—this once lonely bedroom becomes something new—something wholly yours together.

"Fuck, you want my cum, don’t you?" he grits, his fingers digging into the meat of your thigh as his thrusts grow more erratic. "I promise I'm gonna fuck you slow later, take my time worshipping you. But right now, I need to feel this pussy squeeze the cum out of my cock. Been dreaming about this for weeks."

“Fill me up,” you beg shamelessly, completely lost in Dieter. You’re cunt is pulsing for him, squeezing him as you near your orgasm.

"Fuck, I can feel you getting tighter. Gonna make me cum so hard. Cum with me, baby. Want to feel this pussy milk my cock."

A few more deep, grinding thrusts have you both hurtling over the edge. Your body tightens, your lungs screaming Dieter’s name as your orgasm shines through you. As badly as you want to squeeze your eyes shut, you keep them open, watching the smile that lights Dieter’s face as he stares into your eyes through the mirror. Warmth spreads through your body as he cums inside you, his cock twitching as it spurts thick ropes of cum deep. He still moves, slowly fucking his cum into you as he kisses your shoulder, chanting how perfect you are.

You’re both a tangle of limbs, Dieter’s strong thighs and hands holding you up as you both try to catch your breath.

Your body shivers as he slowly pulls out, turning you around and pulling you into his hold, kissing you as he walks you backward until your legs hit the edge of the mattress. You both collapse onto the bed, his lips never leaving yours as his weight presses you into the mattress that once felt so cold and empty. Now, it feels like heaven.

“Welcome home,” you whisper.

“Home,” he sighs contentedly.

✨✨✨

Perma tagging: @schnarfer @mothandpidgeon @forspringcleaning Tagging some friends and lovers of GG (let me know if you'd like to be added or removed): @sawymredfox, @secretelephanttattoo, @galway-girlatwork, @whatumuhcallit, @chronically-ghosted @copperhalfcent, @jessthebaker, @moel-jiller, @sunnytuliptime, @jokesonthem @lotusbxtch, @mysterious-moonstruck-musings, @flawssy-227, @toomanystoriessolittletime, @littlemisspascal @cas-readsandwrites, @wave0fg00dvibes, @rulexofxnines, @tuquoquebrute, @littlevenicebitch69 @readingiskeepingmegoing, @marissa47, @amyispxnk, @peepawispunk, @ishabull @vibin-hippie, @noisynightmarepoetry, @titlee78, @bergamote-catsandbooks,

[eff4freddie]

Beautiful. Sad. Wonderfully crafted.

nothing compares 2 you | dieter bravo x ex!wife reader

summary | a timeline of dieter bravo and his ex-wife's relationship, told in snapshots. rating | (explicit) tags/warnings | smut, mention of drug and alcohol use, angst, language, real yearning hours. word count | 7.8k a/n | happy late birthday to my favorite aries, pedro pascal <3

February, 2010. Someplace in Los Angeles.

Before he is the Actor, he is the Artist.

The art studio next to yours is the size of a closet and it’s his, paid for with his measly actor’s wages. He paints on large canvases with bleak colors and flirts with you three times before he realizes that his reused material does nothing but amuse you.

You can tell he is a man used to getting women easily, and you don’t blame these women: he is a handsome man. He has soft hands, a dimpled grin, and black paint splattered endearingly over his all rugged, too big t-shirts. During one of his lazy flirtations the word “honest” comes to you, and you figure it’s something to do with his eyes — how they’ve got the gleam of truth, even though he doesn’t necessarily strike you as an honest man himself. Maybe this should alarm you, but it’s as exciting as anything has been in months.

He tells you the sun seems to shine eternally in California, and that they always did tell him he was a stormy child, so he paints gloomy when he misses New York. This is a line that works far better than his cheap flirting. Scary as it is, he thrills at the idea of playing his most difficult role for an audience of one: himself, laid bare.

“You any good?” you ask him one day, absentmindedly, in reference to his acting. He shrugs his shoulders. He is letting you into the intimate cove of his inner life: the paintings, the shoe-box closet of a studio. On his canvases, colossal waves defeat tiny, lonely ships; a father holds a weeping mother; a handsome man peers into the mirror of his soul, and finds nothing good.

“Am I any good?” he asks, referring to his art. You nod, finger grazing over the shipwrecked scenes. “They’re sad,” you comment.

“Well, homesickness is a bitch,” he replies. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip in the nervous way you’ve noticed it does. “What kind of art do you do?”

“Happier stuff, sometimes. Mostly right now I’m sketching, looking for ideas. I’d do more models, but can’t find any good models.”

“In L.A.?” he asks. You nod, still picking through his paintings. “I find that hard to believe. I’ll model for you,” he offers.

“What’s your price?”

He doesn’t think it over. He answers, “Free.”

“Oh c’mon.” You look askance at him. “Nothing’s ever free.”

“Alright, then how much can you pay me?”

“I’ll supply lunch.”

He laughs incredulously. “You make no sense to me.”

“I think that’s a good thing. The things that you make sense of seem terribly depressing.” You nod to the painting in front of you, a naked woman stretched out on a mattress, cotton panties with a pink bow tie and a glass of wine in her hand. “Is this what you think femininity is? Breakdowns in pretty underwear?”

Covering your hand, he stops you from flipping through more. “Okay, my price just went up. 10 dollars and lunch. Any other critiques will cost you.” He frowns at the painting, swiping a thumb over the edge. “How do you know that isn’t a real woman?”

You take your hand from him, though not unkindly. You both share the knowing look of two people in the depths of flirtation. “I don’t, I’m being cruel and I’m sorry. But you’re lucky you’ve got a nice nose, because those prices are outrageous.”

His laugh has no room to echo in his little studio, so of course it has no other option but to nuzzle itself in the pit of your stomach. You divert your eyes back to the canvases and their depressing scenes. “I like you very much, despite myself,” you tell him frankly, “but I won’t sleep with you.”

“Why? Afraid of cooties? I’m vaccinated against them.” He lays the charm on thick.

“No. I’ve already had a case or two.” As you look up, you watch his eyes drop to your lips. There is an enticing concoction of nerves brewing inside of you. They churn together mightily as you do your best to make out your next line: “I just don’t fuck actors as a rule.”

He clicks his tongue, leaning in closer. He smells clean, like laundry detergent and toothpaste. “Rosemary’s Baby situation? If so, I get that. That’d do it for anyone.”

“Hardly,” you grin. Your fingers brush against the fabric of his shirt. You tell yourself it’s because you want to keep him at bay, but the surge of excitement you feel doesn’t really indicate that. “It’s just this thing I have. I don’t think artists do well with other artists, regardless of the profession. I’d only make an exception for one man.”

He narrows his eyes, holding himself in the precarious position. “Who?”

“Gregory Peck.”

“He’s dead!” he gawks.

“What a relief, huh?” you joke. “I’d never have stood a chance against him.”

He’s leaning in then, and much to your surprise - and perhaps his too - you close the space between you. It's hardly anything of substance, barely a touch of the lips before it’s over. But he clutches the fabric of your cloth overalls and looks at you like some lovesick puppy, and you know it’s not finished.

There will be more. God, you hope for it.

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t think Gregory Peck would’ve been able to withstand you either,” he mutters.

—

March, 2010

He becomes the exception to the rule. You sketch the curves of his face, shadow in his eyes, pay special attention to the dip in the middle of his lips, and kiss him hard and fast, as though making it rough will make it mean less. He slows you down, laughing lightly.

“Let me be gentle,” he tells you, hand on the small of your back. You nod, nervous - you are always nervous around him, much to your dismay - and he tips back your head with a slight tap to your chin. As you open your mouth, he licks into you, fingers trailing down to the base of your neck and sprawling out across your chest. Dieter touches all that he can, eager and pleasant. He is cool against your skin but warm in your mouth, and you want him so badly you forget yourself, moaning when he presses you against a studio wall with his body.

He smiles against your lips and kisses his way down your body until his knees hit the floor, and there’s no place to go but up. You help him take off your shorts and you go to joke - to say something like “It’s not right that I’m the only one getting undressed” — but it dies in the back of your throat when he puts his hot mouth on you, over the fabric of your underwear. No one has ever wanted you past the point of patience, unable to spare the few seconds taking off your underwear would take. Not until him.

He makes you come without ever taking anything off, and then he does it twice more with your underwear pooling around your left ankle and your right leg propped over his shoulder.

Afterwards he asks if he can take the picture you drew of him home and you say, “Of course,” voice soft, pliable seemingly to affection. He kisses you before he leaves, and you sit in your studio, stunned by this man with his lovely nose and the soft ache you feel at the idea of wanting him more than you should.

You sketch him many, many more times and by the end of the month, you give him what you always intended for Atticus Finch. He draws patterns of the small of your back and dedicates himself to you like a role he’s wanted all his life.

—

November 2010.

He comes to your apartment bearing gifts: a newly purchased DVD player - receipt crumbled in his back pocket - and a movie called The Rapture. His eyes are aglow with boyish excitement when he extends them towards you.

Last time he’d only brought the DVD and you had to tell him that you were a part of the select few individuals in the world who did not own a DVD player. Unfortunately this meant the two of you had to spend yet another Friday night getting well acquainted with each other’s bodies and doing little else. He is not going to let that happen again, he assures, kissing you fully on the lips in greeting. He half forgets his promise when you bite down on his bottom lip, but remembers it when you nearly dropped the movie from your hand.

“You’re insatiable.” He clicks his tongue, a devious twinkle in his eye.

He works the cords into your television and beams when it works on the first try. “I was afraid it wasn’t going to and then I was going to have to ask you to read me the instructions while I tried again. Like some married couple,” he says, stepping back from the television.

The mention of marriage, even in the half baked, joking manner the two of you take to approach everything, makes you feel a bit queasy so you ignore it all together. “What’s this movie about again?” you ask.

“It’s self explanatory.”

“Well, explain it anyways.”

“It’s about the rapture,” he offers simply, with a shrug and an unforgiving smirk.

You make room for him on the couch, picking up the remote. The title screen flashes in front of you and based on the graphics, you get the feeling that this film is low budget. It makes you grin. “What?” he asks, looking at you.

“I don’t know. I had this feeling that you were one of those men who like those unheard of, low budget indie films with nudity and sex in it.” You laugh. “Tell me—am I going to see boobs? A little dick?”

He rolls his eyes, settling in beside you. Plucking the remote from your hand, he turns the movie on. “Maybe if you’re good during the show, but I don’t know. I don’t really like to put out for rude people,” he says flatly. “Now, shut up. You’ll miss the sex and nudity.”

You shake your head, laughing. “Please. You told me you put out for everyone, no matter the situation.”

Without looking at you, he says too soberly: “No. Not anymore.”

You don’t say much else after that. You don't know what else there is to say. After the film, you chalk it up to a crisis of faith. But after the sex, you realize he means: I only want you.

That’s the thing about those actors—you can never know what they mean until it’s too late. He’ll win Oscars for ambiguity.

—

January, 2011.

When you meet his mother, it's by accident.

You’ve been spending more time with him. Recently you’ve even started to call each other boyfriend and girlfriend when forced to put labels on it, but you never crossed this road—the parent one. It seemed far out, in the future, but not necessarily the immediate one. No one brings parents into something this pleasant.

He sleeps over at your place on the weekends, takes you to lunch on Wednesdays, lets you help him pick a home near the studio he’s working for. Then at three o’clock on a random Thursday, he trips over a wire on set and breaks his arm. He calls her before he calls you, and she finds her way to his home, bringing her motherly love into his L.A. life. You aren’t good with parents - not even your own - but you like her. She loves him, calls him Mijo, travels miles and miles and miles for a bone that sits in a cast and can only be repaired with time.

“Mami, this is my girlfriend,” he tells her, smiling ruefully at you. You shrug your shoulders as if to say “What can you do?”

He looks like her, shares the same eyes that you felt were honest, with the same dark brown hair. You are her surprise as much as she is yours, but she takes you in happily, smiling. “I didn’t know-,” is what she says before stopping, thinking better. But you know she didn’t know; it’s only been a handful of months, but you get what her son is like. He doesn’t tell his mother what he should, despite that he seems to tell her everything — a drifter out at sea in the Los Angeles area while she waits patiently for news in her lonely New York.

You witness a divide between them at the quiet dinner you share that first night. She gives him words and he responds with short answers, not harsh or disrespectful, but all of it lacking the ability to be built into actual conversations. He goes to the bathroom midway and you look at her, sorry and worried and she smiles - the same smile he has. You feel like you’ve known her ages when she smiles like that, and you tell her, “I think he’s really upset about his arm. It’s going to put him out of work for a little bit, and he really likes work.”

“Thank you,” she replies, eyebrows creased. “I know that he doesn’t want me here, though. I shouldn’t have come. He is a grown man and I know that but when things like this happen, I can’t help it. He’s my little boy.”

You think back to his paintings, the bleakness of the colors and the darkness of the subjects. “He misses you, I know,” you tell her, “I’ve only been with him for a little bit, but he’s told me a little bit about it. Really, I think it’s the arm. Or maybe it’s me.” You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t think he expected us to meet for a long time.”

“Probably not,” she agrees, smiling a smile that might be a grimace. “I’ve checked in at a hotel, but I just wanted to make sure he was okay.”

“You shouldn’t stay at a hotel.”

“I always do when I come to town.” She waves her hand through the air, dismissing it.

For reasons you can’t comprehend, you tell her, “Come stay with me, at least. I’ve got a nice apartment, close to the beach. He’s in the middle of doing reconstruction on this place, but I’m sure he doesn’t want you to be in a hotel.” You say that even though you aren’t sure; all evidence to the fact that he quite actually does want her in one, for reasons you can’t comprehend.

Before she answers he comes back, looking the same as he did before he left.

“It’s getting late,” he says, looking at you, and then over to her. “You’ve got a place to stay?” he says to her. She nods her head. “I’ll call a ride for you.”

“David,” you intercede, glaring at him now. “I’ll take her. She’s staying with me.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to—“ but you stop him with the ice in your stare. He sits back in his chair like a petulant child, and grabs the glass of wine in front of his plate. He drinks all of it down.

You take his mother into your house and she tells you things he probably wouldn’t: the divorce between his father and herself when he was fifteen, the thing that created the sea between them; the way he’s always loved art, that his father was the one who got him into acting and how he found the brush some time in between elementary school and college. She even confesses that her little boy, dark eyed and happy in childhood, is prone to being mercurial, and that’s the thing that makes her worry the most.

“I hope you stay,” she tells you after you guide her to the lone spare bedroom you have. It smells unused, which would embarrass you if not for her comment. “You’re the best one I’ve met. Not that I’ve met many.”

“I will,” you tell her with the certainty you gathered at dinner. You’ve got no evidence for this, either, and yet you feel deep in your gut that it’s the truth.

He calls you when you get to your own bed, no longer pouty. “Thank you,” he tells you in a voice that is looking to be absolved from guilt. You give in easily.

“You’re welcome. Your mother is a nice woman.”

“I know, I know. I love her. I just have a hard time showing it sometimes.”

“That’s worrisome,” you joke, tucking the telephone between your head and your shoulder. You flip absentmindedly through the television stations as you listen to him.

“I think I love you too,” he says. You hear him breathe in after the sentence, like he’s stunned by it himself. “I do,” he adds, clumsily. “I don’t just think. I do.”

You’d never thought about being in love with him. Not until now. “I love you too,” you tell him, slightly bewildered by the fact you can’t pin where it began—or how it’ll end.

“What are we going to do about it?” he asks softly.

“What’s there to do about it?”

A pause. Then, “Nothing. I don’t know. Get married?”

“David-“ you say and he cuts you off, knowing.

“I’m kidding. Not yet.”

“Not yet,” you repeat.

You let it hang between you for five full breaths. It is a lukewarm idea, not altogether unpleasant, but half baked.

“I’ve got to go to sleep. The pain pills are making me drowsy,” he tells you quietly.

“Okay. Goodnight,” you tell him.

You stare blankly at the television, the terrible franchise movie you’ve stopped at not distracting you.

A woman loved. A loving woman. You wonder how these new identities will compete with the other ones, like The artist. The friend. The daughter. The you who likes her own space.

Love is remarkable and unremarkable, happening on a Thursday and leaving you changed for a lifetime.

—

July 2011 A red carpet and a movie premiere, New York, New York.

An interviewer named Natalie asks you what you make of your boyfriend. Cameras flash, people yell at you to smile. You think the question over, and wonder why girlfriends aren’t given public relations too.

“He’s great,” is what you settle with, your smile irredeemably try-hard. They call him Dieter and you have to remember that. Don’t call him David, don't call him David, don’t call him Dav— “Dav—Dieter is very talented and I’m proud of him.”

Later in the week, you will be berated online by women who love him because of the uncoordinated way you stood next to him, and the awkward answers you gave while trying to remember to smile and call him Dieter and to not let them in to your world, even though he wants to hold your hand on the red carpet and doesn’t mind that people know you’re dating. You will laugh, but you don’t ever google yourself again after that.

That night you watch his new movie beside him in a grand theater, sitting in a floor length dress. Afterwards, he introduces you to people you have only ever seen on a screen before. They ask you what you do–if you’re in the “business.” They don’t cringe when you say you’re an artist.

One of them, a man you think is a little too pretentious, says he thinks himself a little bit of an artist, too. David winks conspiratorially at you. You let out a breath for the first time since you arrived at the event; you’re relieved to find your boyfriend does not change in these settings.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you after, when you go home. “About that all, really. I should’ve prepared you better. I knew it wasn’t great for you.”

“I’m not a movie star,” you respond. He smiles endearingly at you.

“Pretty enough to be.”

You grin, charmed. “I prefer the canvas.”

“But us actors, we’re artists too,” he says somberly, before his face collapses into a wide grin.

“You almost made me laugh, winking at me like that.”

You hang your coat next to his, feeling warm and easy. They’d invited you both to an after party, but he just wanted to come back here, kiss all night and maybe smoke some weed. Feels like a Big Lebowski night, he whispered into the shell of your ear on the way out. You don’t have that movie, so you hope he won’t mind the other entertainment you have in mind.

“Did I?” he asks. The question is just something to keep in his mouth as he watches your fingers tease the straps of your dress. They fall off your shoulders. He’s paying attention but he’s not. You are bare naked in seconds, which means the whole night you weren’t wearing any underwear, and that’s great. Hot. He wants to swallow you whole; he wants to marry you.

“Marry me?” he asks, awed

You shake your head, smiling. He grins too, radiant for a rejected man. This is your long suffering joke that will find the path to truth one day. Just not this day. Today all you find is a little more love in you for your movie star.

“I knew you before you were famous,” you say to him, riding him lazily on the couch. He gazes lovingly at you.

“You’re the only one who’s ever known me,” is his response.

—

February 2012

For an anniversary present he buys you an art studio the size of a loft. It’s too much, and he’s happy to give it to you.

“Thank you,” you tell him softly. If you speak any louder, you're afraid your voice might wobble with emotion.

He shrugs his shoulders like it’s nothing. “You showed potential,” he jokes.

Because you were ‘famous’ before he was, he likes to poke fun. He never minded, but now that the tables are turning, you’re reluctant to admit that sometimes you do. It’s not anything to do with the ego — you’re more than happy being the least famous in that respect — but if he comes to an art show of yours, it’s inevitable that a flock of people will gather around him, asking for attention, for autographs. They don’t care about your art as much as your boyfriend. You understand this in his world, with the cameras and the stars, but sometimes the breach of it into yours makes you feel insignificant. You can’t help but think he’s apologizing a little for it with this.

You kiss him so fiercely he stumbles back a little. “I love you,” you say, looking him in the eye.

“I love you too,” he replies softly. “I’m glad you like the present.”

You touch the indent in his lip with your fingertip. “My present seems silly now,” you say, smiling. You feel the movement of his lips as they tug upwards underneath your touch.

“What is it?” he asks.

You look back into his eyes. He looks at you expectantly, waiting, and you lean in, press your ears to his lips. “I got your name tattooed on my ass,” you whisper.

When you pull back he examines your face. You can tell he’s not sure whether you’re joking or not. Really, it could be either. Finally he gives up. “Let me see.”

You lift up your dress. Sure enough, you’ve got a fresh tattoo on your ass, but it’s not his name. Not his given one, anyway. “Bravo,” he laughs, swiping a thumb over your flesh. The letters are small, barely taking up any room at all. He likes it more than he should.

“I think it’s a pretty great present,” he tells you, inspecting the spot for a little while longer.

“It’s silly.”

“Not to me.” He’s on his knees, kissing your thighs. When his teeth glide against your ass cheek, you squeal, turning to look over your shoulder. “Of all the things my name has been spread across, your ass is by far my favorite.”

“I thought it’d make you laugh.” You smile.

“It does, but I love it.” He stands tall, wrapping his arms around you. “I’m going to marry you.”

You arch an eyebrow, turning in his arms to face him. Smiling, you say, “Was that a question?”

“Just a warning for now.”

—

November 2013 A Little Chapel, Las Vegas.

You had the pre-wedding jitters, but now you feel that nothing has ever seemed as right as this: marrying him on a Friday night in a Las Vegas chapel as facetious as you’ve both always treated the topic of marriage.

You knew someday the joke would become serious. He slides a ring that he got three hours ago on your finger, and your two wedding guests clap boisterously. There is the co-star of his who became available at last minute, and a nice lady in the lobby of a hotel who you asked out of fear the co-star wouldn’t come. Your veil is pink and your dress was someone else’s once, in the ‘70s. He wears the beige tuxedo he brought to Vegas for a movie premiere, and a silver heart bolo tie he long ago nicked from your own collection.

A bottle of champagne is opened and shared. He kisses you once, twice, five times, his hand drifting scandalously lower each time. Beneath your white dress is the intricate lingerie set you bought while he was frantically looking for rings. He touches the end of the garter and it doesn’t take much longer for you both to excuse yourselves from the ceremony.

David unwraps you like a neatly wrapped present, preserving ribbons and bows for memory’s sake. Your fingers rub affectionately across his freshly shaven jaw as he tucks his naked body between your bare thighs. “I can’t believe we did that,” you say, voice soft.

“I’m happy we did.” He kisses your bare chest and sinks inside of you, slow, slow, slow, until he is buried within you, close as he can be. You moan quietly, fingers gripping around his arm, your cunt adjusting to the thickness of him.

“I don’t think I've ever been so turned on in my life,” he admits, more sheepish than you’ve ever seen him. His lips brush against yours, before he sucks at your bottom lip. For a moment, he does nothing, only stays buried within you, kissing you tenderly.

Your fingers explore the expanse of his muscular back, traveling over the ridges of his body as his hips raise and he begins to move inside of you. You think you agree: he has never felt this hard - never felt this much - before.

“I love you,” he whispers. It feels like a thing he’s giving to you, asking you to keep safe for him. You wrap your hands around his shoulders and say, “I love you, too.”

After he cums, he says he thinks maybe you’ve been here before, in another life, and that you’ll be this way again, in another. It’s his classic brand of sentimentality and you adore it all the same. If he was any better at knowing himself - if he knew him the way you knew him - it’d come out like this: I love you down to my bones; I love you in a way that defies reason.

You tell him you think so, too.

—

December 2013

When you move into his California beach house, he gives you a key, along with full creative control. “You’re the artist,” he figures, and truth is, he’s never been good at making places his home.

You don’t have much work to do. Because you’ve been with him since he bought the house, it already bears your marks. Pieces of you in the bathroom: the toothbrush, the shower curtain and the color scheme. There is the painting you did of Lee Strasberg in the corridor, hanging like a royal portrait. The bedroom is full of you: your clothes, most of the furniture, one fourth of the sex toys. You renovate a single room in the back, facing the beach, so you can have a home art studio.

You are the happiest you've ever been, and he has never felt so much at home.

—

January 2014

Marriage bliss doesn’t ever stay with you long, but it’s no one’s fault in particular. He picks a grueling role that means something to him and transforms him in ways you don’t understand. You paint when you miss him. Sometimes it happens when he’s in the same room.

Art is important to you both, and the sacrifice feels worth it when you see what he’s completed: A film about the world, about grief, about being human. What you see on the screen is something you recognize immediately. A version of him that you’ve known for as long as you’ve loved him. At the premiere you cry at the opening scene, though it’s not sad. He squeezes your leg.

“I loved that movie,” you tell him on the way home. “Really, it was beautiful. The best thing you’ve ever done.”

He kisses you gently. “I did it for you,” he says.

You believe him.

—

April 2015

You stand at the back of the art gallery, puffing on an indulgent cigarette, fighting off tears. He is on the phone, apologetic and placating.

“Honestly, I forgot. I’m sorry. Really,” he tries to pacify.

“I told you. For months, I told you about tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again. You hate the way his voice sounds: like he’s only sorry because you need him to be sorry.

“I’d never do this to you.” Someone comes out from the exit, and gives you a furtive look. You turn your back to them, embarrassed to be seen like this.

“Don’t do that,” he whines.

“Do what?” you whisper.

“Get mean with me. I am sorry. As soon as I’ve wrapped here, I’ll come to the exhibition.”

You crush out the cigarette with the heel of your shoe, sniffling. “You know, it’s fine. I’ll just see you at home.”

You hear his frustrated groan on the other end. You know that you’re beginning to be unreasonable. This is how your fights have always been: trying to see how far you can push one another until the careful calm gives way to anger. Today he breaks first, faster than ever.

“Goddammit. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

When he arrives, he brings a flock of cameras along with him. They crowd the door and make it hard for people to come in. He squeezes your shoulder in apology, and you take separate cars home.

When you have sex that night, he makes you cum three times. This is how he tells you that you were right—that he’s sorry. Sometimes you think it might be nice if he just said it.

You love him so much it feels like sometimes it might split you apart.

—

February 26, 2017 Dolby Theatre Hollywood, Los Angeles

When they announce his name as the winner for best actor, there is an astonished moment of quiet that washes over your little row. He turns you, wide-eyed and impossibly boyish, a surprised smile turning up at the end of his lips. You rise with him, proud tears prickling at your eyes. He laughs then, his hand gripping at your forearm as you move to embrace him. You the feel the vibration of his joy in your chest.

“Holy shit,” he mutters, running a hand over his face. His mother and little sister crowd around you, patting at his arm, kissing him on the cheek, before he escapes your arms and wanders up the aisle to retrieve his much deserved award.

For a moment, he is the most humble man you’ve ever seen: bowled over by the impossibility of what just has happened to him. He takes the gold statue from the woman’s hand, accepts a hug, and positions himself in front of the microphone. His tie is crooked but he’s smiling so wide that his eyes crinkle, and you feel so thrilled to know that the world loves your husband as much as you do. It has not always been easy to share, but at this moment, you feel the reward for doing it, tenfold. He lifts the statue up slightly, showing you, and you nod, clapping along with everyone else.

“Oh,” he says over the roar of applause. People start to settle into their seats and quiet their claps, and he says it again: “Oh, wow. Um. I don’t think I’m easily robbed of my words, but I would be right now had I not prepared something. Thank you to the Academy, to my director and dearest friend, Thora Mendez, who took this script as seriously as it deserved to be taken and never let anyone tamper with her impeccable vision. Thank you to the three women I brought with me tonight: my mami, who learned English from a television screen when she came here at twelve, and who always let me be whoever I wanted to be; my little sister, Mina, who probably thinks this is the coolest I’m ever going to get.”

He laughs again and Mina rolls her eyes, but smiles widely. “And thank you to my beautiful, beautiful wife, who has read every script with me since I met her. There was no way at all she could know this is where I’d end up. This–” he raises the award high, “--is for you as much as it is for me. In every character I’ve ever had the pleasure to play, there’s a piece of your beautiful mind. I love you all, and would be nothing without you. Thank you.”

When he comes back to you, he puts the award in your hand. It is heavy. You remember a time when he said it wouldn’t matter at all if he won this or not–that it doesn't really mean anything. His bright, dimpled grin shows how much of a liar he’d been.

You kiss him and the entire world fades away around you. All the sparkle and glamor of his world is diluted down to the pure joy of spending this single, incredible moment with him.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper, shedding tears. He swipes one away with the pad of his thumb.

“I love you,” he says back, kissing you again.

For the first time in a long time, you feel like you belong in this life of his again.

When he takes you home, it is late, nearly morning. He helps you take off your dress and waits by the door of the bathroom as you scrub off the rest of your makeup. Then he shuts the curtains in your room, blocking out the rising sun, and he pulls you close to him. He kisses your bare shoulder. He smells like mint toothpaste and the faded, warm essence of his cologne.

You part your legs for him and he enters you from behind, molding his body to yours. The sex is slow, his thrusts sleepy and measured, and you hold onto him the entire time, so in love you’re intoxicated by it.

You know will love him forever.

—

August 2017

“What do you mean you’ve found a place in New York?” you ask him, incredulous. He shuffles around your bedroom, hanging up his clothes. Today he looks tired, and it upsets you that you don’t know why. You both talk so little these days, busy and forgetful. But this feels like treason.

“It’s just a little apartment, for when I do plays over there.”

“And you didn’t want to ask me?”

“Ask you what?” he snaps. “I didn’t think you’d be upset about it. I told you a million years ago that I wanted to start prioritizing the theater after I won the oscar.”

“You didn’t think I’d be upset about the fact that you bought a home separate from the one we live in together, and then tell me that you’re going to spend multiple months of each year living there?” You scoff, disbelieving. “Fuck you.”

“It’s not like that.” He has the sense to stop what he’s doing and turn his body towards you. His frown deepens. “You can come whenever you want. It’ll be better for us both.”

“But this is our home.”

“That will be too,” he reassures. “You’ll like it. It’s a studio, with big windows and lots of light. I already bought you a canvas to paint a picture there, too, when you come.”

You feel a lump gather in your throat, but your anger ebbs. He looks so sincere—sounds so sincere—it’s hard to stay angry.

When you walk over to him, he wraps you up in his arms. “New York is home to me. You know that,” he says against the shell of your ear.

You nod your head, but can’t stop the tears from falling down your cheek and onto his shirt. You’re not sure when you stopped being home to him.

—

December 2017 New York, New York

“Baby?” he says.

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“We can make it better. Maybe go to couple’s therapy.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“I’m hoping I do,” you breathe out, looking at him.

Your love for him strangles you with its might.

—

February 2018 New York, New York

The acrid taste of failure makes eating an unpleasant task. You know you shouldn’t think of it this way, have tried not to, but you can’t help it. Your marriage is ending and your heart feels like it’s decided to beat slower today, just to torture you.

Or maybe it’s serious, solemn as your lunch-time confession to Dieter. You said you want a divorce and now your heart wants to stop all together, and is maybe making an honest attempt at it. There are old people who die of broken hearts, so why shouldn’t there be a few younger ones that do it, too?

After lunch you considered just going back home. You were tired, anxious, didn’t quite feel right trapped up in Dieter’s studio apartment anymore, waiting for him to come back from his stupid fucking rehearsals. But something felt unfinished, incomplete, so you went back to the apartment and now you wait, staring down at a soggy bowl of cereal while his shower runs.

Maybe you should join him, one last time. The very last time. Bile rises in your throat for the millionth time and you know just the fix for this terrible, never ending nightmare.

When you peek your head into the bathroom, it is filled with steam. He doesn’t remember to turn on the fan, never does. You don’t do it for him this time, just step inside with your surmounting grief and a desperate look in your eyes. Dieter wipes away some of the fog from the shower door. “Everything okay?” he asks over the spray of water. You don’t answer him.

You turn around while you undress, and he pretends not to notice. But he does notice, more than he’s ever noticed before. It’s like the last moments before something tremendously terrible takes over and everything changes: it goes so slow, but later it will feel like it happened in seconds. Time is unjust, senselessly cruel.

His soul feels like it’s being extracted from his body as you step inside the shower with him, the heavy weight of your united undoing drowning you. He wants to confess all—feels like an atheist on his deathbed, turning to God as you wrap your frame around him and cling. Like the fabled man pleading for eternal salvation in his dying hours, Dieter holds your head to his chest and wishes to give you years worth of devotion in seconds. Anything, so long as you won’t give up on him. Please, please, he says without saying, warm hands running over your back. I’ll be better, he longs for you to understand.

But you do understand: you’re no God. If he wishes to enter the church of you, become a devoted pupil, he’s going to be disappointed once more to find the thrum of humanity pulsing in you. Pure flesh, all human. You nag because he makes you nag and a million other things that he doesn’t like—that same old story, repeated and rehashed a million different ways. The moral of it: he doesn’t like you, not really, because you’re not fun enough and you hold him back and he wants more, and you don’t like him because he’s made you nag and you feel like a monster, and you remember once that you had been fun. You recall a movie about a woman without a face he showed you, and you are sick to know that you now resonate with her. None of this is fair and he’s never been religious for anything but the stage, anyway.

This is only scared cowardice because you’ve plunged him into the unknown.

He kisses you first, holds you up, swallows a mouthful of your moans, licks between your legs until the water is tepid. You don’t cum. He doesn’t get all the way hard, only works his way up to semi-erect, then softens completely under his own embarrassment.

They all said marriage wasn’t easy but he figured, sorta, that you’d both be different somehow. At forty, he is officially one year older than his father was when he got divorced from his mother. Maybe you didn’t ask for a divorce last year on purpose, just to give him something, in the grand scheme of things.

Your gesture says: We got a bad one, too, Bravo, but at least you ousted your parents, yeah? And morbidly enough, when he’s really bleeding out about this all later, the thought will soothe him. No mind that he provided no help, that you did it by yourself, because you are thoughtful, selfless, the best wife.

He will miss you more than you think possible—will, too, feel like he’s dying after you get on the plane home, to see your first round of lawyers. The play he rehearses for will be deemed his best yet, but it’s because in the weeks that follow your terrible lunch and your terrible shower, it will be all he allows himself to do in order not to ask you to reconsider him, as a whole.

Because he knows this: he will never be the husband you need, nor the one you want, and it took you so long to ask, didn’t it? You really thought it over, took a plane ride with the thought and still felt it strongly enough to ask after.

—

March 2018

You sign the divorce papers in separate places. He’s got a girl waiting for him outside in the car, half his age and stoned out of her mind. She thinks he’s signing on for another movie because that’s what he told her he was doing. At home, you’ve got a can of black paint and a painting he never finished, waiting for you to fix it or deface it. You’re not sure which yet. A marriage dissolves and takes you both with it.

You will host a slew of successful art shows in the months to come and he won’t work for the entire year, theater or otherwise. You think he’s being merciful enough to disappear from the public eye.

The truth is worse: he loves you so much he can’t bring himself to do anything but to try and forget it. He buries his love for you in a hundred people who aren’t you. Then he anonymously buys a painting of yours for more money than you’d ever think to ask, just because he’s so sorry it makes him sick.

—

March 2019

He buys a book about Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor, who married and divorced twice, and in his first film since your divorce, he plays a doting husband. If it didn’t make him want to die, he would be delighted by a review that says: “For all of his celebrated range as an actor, Bravo oddly fails to capture the sincerity the role requires to make it believable.”

Instead, he calls you. You pick up after the second ring.

“Hello?” you say, a question. “David? Is that you? Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he replies. The sound of your voice works as a balm to his worries. He feels like he can breathe for the first time in months. The relief is so palpable, it nearly overcomes him. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting you while you’re doing something.”

“No, you’re not. I was sketching,” you tell him. He forgot how kind you could be. How self-sacrificing. He misses you.

“I didn’t know if you’d pick up,” he laughs softly. “I haven’t talked to you in a year.” He can hear you shuffling around on the other side, and he knows you’re sitting down.

After a beat of silence, you say, “I shouldn’t have, but I saw your movie and it was bad and I wanted to tell you that but then I heard you, and suddenly I wanted to tell you it was good.” You laugh, too. “It wasn’t so bad. Not really. I was just angry when I watched it. I’m happy you called.”

“Me too,” he replies, meaning it with all his might. “I’m happy you thought it was a bad movie because it was. I’m sorry.”

“For the movie?” You laugh again.

“For everything.”

“Oh, well.” There’s a pause, and he can particularly see you at home, on the couch, shrugging despite the fact that he can’t see you. It makes him smile to remember you like this. “I’ve forgiven you.”

“Just now?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s really good of you.”

“Mm,” you acknowledge, “I just don’t want you to make any more shit movies. I used to know you, and that’s embarrassing for me.”

He laughs so hard he starts to cry a little, mostly because he misses you, and because you’re being so nice when you shouldn’t. He clutches the phone in his hand and feels the love in his chest. It’s a heavy thing. “I miss you,” he says. “Not that I mean anything by that. I just needed you to know that.”

“I miss you too, Bravo. Next time you’re in LA, come say hi. I don't want to be your stranger.”

“No, I don’t want that either,” he says. “I’m in town next month.”

“Okay. Let’s have lunch at my house.”

“Okay,” he agrees. “That’d be nice.”

When he hangs up the phone, he feels better than he has in years. He knows he can’t go back with you, that what’s done is done, and he’s sorry, but he’s happy to be going forward now.

You’re the greatest thing that will ever happen to him. This he has, and always will, know to be true.

[wannab-urs]

Never Have I Ever

Summary: You and Dieter play never have I ever and it gets spicy. Warnings: MDNI | 18+ | sub!dieter, dom!reader, alcohol consumption (not during the smut), pet names, SMUT, discussion of safe words (not used), referring to your dildo as your cock, aftercare. WC: 1.7k A/N: Written for @yxtkiwiyxt Kiwi’s Never Have I Ever challenge (open til March 1) and for my own Dom that Middle Aged Man Campaign (closed). I hope you love it <3 Thanks to @pedgito and @murder-wife for beta reading!!

Dieter Bravo Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

“Okay, okay, what’s the next card?” 

Dieter grabs a card off the stack and holds it up, squinting to read it in the low light of your living room. 

“Never have I ever… acted out my sexual fantasy,” Dieter reads. He blushes but doesn’t take a drink. You knock back a shot of whiskey before looking at him incredulously. 

“Really Di?”

Dieter flushes even harder, if possible, and looks at the ground.

“Well what is your fantasy? I find it hard to believe you haven’t acted it out, to be honest.” 

He brushes a hand through his hair and stares at the floor as he answers. “It’s not that I haven’t acted out fantasies before I guess, but like my main one? Never.” 

“I’m dying to know what could be so crazy you’ve never acted it out.” 

“It’s not that crazy… I just want a woman to… you know… like… top me?” 

“Top you or dom you? Or both?” The whiskey is making you bold. Dieter is a friend (with benefits of course) and you normally wouldn’t push him so hard on this or admit what you’re about to admit. “My sexual fantasy just so happens to be topping a man.”

Dieter looks up at you then, looking embarrassed and more than a little excited. “You drank on this one… So you would know what you’re doing?” 

“I would.”

“Do you wanna have sex with me? Like right now?” 

“Oh Di, you’re wasted… I’m wasted. You know the rules.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Tomorrow then?” His puppy dog eyes meet yours and you almost cave right then. 

“Tomorrow,” you smile at him. 

You wake up sweating, sunlight streaming into the room and heating it up plus Dieter’s body practically on top of you. He’s a spider monkey in his sleep, always clinging onto you with all four limbs when you stay over. You push him off of you a little bit and you take in his sleeping face. 

He’s handsome always, but especially when he’s asleep. A loose curl is dangling over his forehead and some of the lines in his face are smoothed out – it’s the only time he’s relaxed without being high. You press a kiss to his cheek and he stirs, eyes blinking open sleepily. 

“Good morning,” he says with a dopey smile. 

He leans up and kisses you chastely, but you deepen the kiss immediately. His tongue slides into your mouth, slow and exploratory like you haven’t done this a hundred times. You pull back and kiss the tip of his nose.

“You still up for what we talked about last night?” You half whisper, afraid he’ll chicken out. 

“Please?”

“Off to a great start already, baby boy.” Dieter blushes and drops his eyes from yours, embarrassed and pleased by the pet name all at once. “We’re gonna use the stoplight system for our safeword. Do you know what that is?”

“Yeah! I use it when I’m the one in charge.”

“Great. I also want you to refer to me as ma’am during the scene, is that okay?”

“Perfect… ma’am.” 

“Good boy. Let’s get started then.”

You push him down into the mattress and climb on top of him, straddling his waist. “I want you to keep your hands to yourself, either on the bed or above your head holding the headboard. Is that okay?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He’s so eager to please, his eyes wide and his lips in a perfect pout. 

You kiss him then, pushing your tongue into his mouth, taking control of the kiss entirely. He’s left to take what you give him, and to his credit, he doesn’t fight you for dominance. You kiss down his jaw to his neck, trailing your lips over his collarbone and down to his chest. His hands twitch by his sides, but he doesn’t move them. 

You drag your lips down until you meet his sweats, then pull back so you can strip them off. His gorgeous cock bobs up to his stomach, already hard and leaking precum. You take him in your hand and lick from root to tip, sucking the head into your mouth. His hands fly up to the headboard, white knuckle gripping it to keep from touching you. 

You pull off him and tell him to stay just like that while you grab lube from the bedside table. He obeys perfectly and you have to pause to collect yourself. His immediate submission is so fucking hot. You crawl back onto the bed and settle between his parted thighs. 

“Do you still want me to fuck you, baby boy? It’s okay if not.” 

“Yes, please, ma’am.”

You smile at him and coat your fingers in lube. One finger circles his hole while you take his dick in your mouth again. You push him to the back of your throat and swallow around him until he’s buried in your throat. He whimpers and you moan around his cock as you push one finger into his hole. He’s always been vocal, but whimpers are few and far between. 

Dieter starts pushing back against your fingers, fucking in and out of your mouth. You pin his hip down with your free hand and pull off of him. “Stay still, sweetheart.” 

Dieter whines but stops fucking himself on your finger. You add a second finger and start stretching him as you take his cock back in your mouth. The sounds pouring from his mouth are sinful and you’re dripping wet for him. You’re trying not to let on just how turned on you are. His balls start to draw up and you quickly remove your fingers from his ass and your mouth from his cock. He whines but doesn’t protest. 

“Can’t have you coming this early, now can we?”

Dieter shakes his head pitifully. You let him calm down and then repeat your actions, winding him up again only to pull off him completely and wait for him to calm down. You want to hear him beg. And you aren’t disappointed. 

“Please, please just fuck me, please. I can’t take it anymore.”

 You swat his thigh. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”  

“Ma’am. Please ma’am, I need you.” He’s so pretty when he begs, you really can’t resist. 

You strip and stuff your panties in his mouth. His muffled whines are even hotter now. 

“You’re being such a good boy for me, baby. I’m gonna make you feel so good.” He looks blissed out at the praise. “If you need to safe word, you can move your hands to take out the panties, okay?”

He nods to show he gets it and you climb off the bed and get your strap from the nightstand. You coat it in lube and tell Dieter to turn over and stick his ass in the air. He complies immediately and you admire his ass and the way his swollen cock dangles between his thighs. He’s so pretty. 

You get behind him on your knees and slowly push the dildo into his hole. He whines long and low, only slightly muffled by the panties in his mouth. You pull out and push back in deeper, working your way into him slow and easy. When you bottom out, you both groan. Him at the full feeling and you at the way he looks stretched around your cock. 

You hear him mumble “please,” through his gag and it turns you on so much you can barely think straight. You pull out of him to the tip of your dildo and snap your hips forward, fucking him hard and fast. 

“Spit out the panties, I wanna hear you.” 

He complies, whining and begging for you to let him come. “Please, ma’am. Please I need to come, you feel so good.” 

“Tell me when you’re close, baby.” 

He whines but doesn’t stop you yet. You slow down and make sure to rub at the bundle of nerves inside him with every thrust, slowly grinding your cock into it. He starts crying and you think you could come just from that alone. 

“I’m close! Please, ma’am I’m so close, please let me come.” 

You pull out of him completely and he collapses to the mattress, whining and crying. 

“Turn over baby boy, I promised I’d make you feel good didn’t I? You trust me?”

“Yes ma’am, I trust you.” He turns over and spreads his thighs, gripping onto the headboard in anticipation. 

“Good boy, color?”

“Green, ma’am.”

You take off your strap and toss it on the floor to deal with later. 

‘I’m gonna ride you now, baby. You come whenever you’re ready.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

“So polite,” you stroke his cheek with your thumb and drag it across his plump lips. He takes the digit into his mouth and sucks. You climb on top of him and line him up with your hole before sinking all the way down. You moan in unison, you at the stretch and him at your tight wet heat. 

You place your hands on his thighs behind you and start bouncing on his cock, taking him deep and fast. You’re just as wound up as he is and desperate to come. You bring one hand to your clit, rubbing in furious circles to keep up with your pace. Dieter plants his feet and starts to fuck up into you and you don’t even stop him, too close to coming harder than you ever have in your life to stop him now. 

You feel the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter, and with one final snap of Dieter’s hips you come apart, moaning his name. The way you get impossibly tighter around him sends Dieter over the edge as well and he fills you so full you feel it leaking out of you around him. You collapse onto his chest, breathing heavily. He wraps his arms around you and nuzzles his face into your hair. 

“That was… so fucking amazing,” Dieter whispers. 

“Yeah, it really was.” You push yourself off of him and roll off the bed. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

You head to the bathroom and wet a washcloth, cleaning between your thighs. You get a fresh one and take it out to Di, gently cleaning his spent cock. You lie down next to him and pull his head onto your chest. 

“You did so good for me, baby,” you tell him as you run your fingers through his curls. He nuzzles into your chest and wraps an arm around you, falling asleep with that dopey grin of his on his face. 

[4ever-feral]

SIR!!!!! THE CHIN RUB???? HIS EYES LOOKING UP AT HER???? IM SAT IM SEATED!!! 🧎🏽‍♀️🧎🏽‍♀️

[dilf-docs]

all the works listed below are mine. +18 (minors dni). reposting and/or translating is not allowed. requests are open!

All Roads Lead to Rome‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎3k

pedro pascal x younger fem!reader

your boyfriend swears he isn't annoyed at your little surprise visit on the set of gladiator II; you might have to help him release his anger, one way... or another.

This Thing Upon Me, Howls Like A Beast ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎6k

professor!pedro pascal x younger fem!reader (AU)

to cover some social hours and as a favor to your recently fallen-ill friend, you become your research methodology professor's TA. but here's the catch: you've got history, and what you really mean is beef; good, pure, unadulterated loath.

Le Pedí Al Mar Y Al Sol Que Te Trajera ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎2k

pedro pascal x younger fem!reader

vacations are supposed to be fun! and with a hot older famous boyfriend? now we're really talking.

Darlin', Can I Be Your Favorite? ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎5k

dbf!boxer pedro pascal x younger fem!reader (AU)

it should be simple. helping your dad's best friend to train for his upcoming match in his hometown, chile. but turns out, world-renowned boxer the viper isn't just a menace in the ring.

Where Art Thou, Why Not Uponeth Me? ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎5k

renaldo x younger fem!reader (based on snl 50)

he wasn't even your uncle anymore, having divorced your aunt about five years ago. but of course here he was, the life of the party, crashing your sister's wedding.

Call It What You Want‎‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎

pedro pascal x younger fem!reader (a series)

you and pedro are married, but you've kept it a secret up to the point you sometimes forget there's supposed to be a golden band on your finger. but then you both get cast in your first movie together. the chemistry is off the charts, and it starts to catch upon you: will the lines between shipping and reality finally blur?

I'm Happy Where The Devils Are ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Pt. 2‎‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎7k

dbf!joel miller x younger fem!reader

something something about forbidden things; you never learn, not until the heart you gave returns to you in shreds, bleeding out of love. what's left when you've given all of your heaven away? hell.

You're A Daydream, Stay A While ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ 6k

jackson!joel miller x younger fem!reader

you're jackson's designated bartender. well, your dad is, but after the arrival of a new face in town, maybe the inspiration to finally step up to your obligations kicks in.

Give Me Coffee, Utah Love ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ 4k

sleazy!joel 'mullet' miller x younger fem!reader

on the run and looking for a fresh start, a cheap gasoline coffee and to-do list slipping from your bag later, you (have lost your mind and) consider this stranger's proposition.

Let The Lights Bleed All Over Me ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ 4k

dark jackson!joel x younger!reader

you're known for your kindness and sunshine personality, but they make it impossible for joel to have you for himself. and one thing you know about joel miller, is he isn't a patient man.

I Can Fix Her (No Really I Can)‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ 5k

jackson!joel miller x younger!reader

jackson's loud mouthed spoiled princess has suddenly gone quiet. what or who could be behind such miracle?

To The Devil I Know ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎

dbf!joel miller x younger fem!reader (a series)

your infamous girl's trip with your best friend sarah gets crashed by his overprotective dad.

Can We Hit It Now, Low-Down And Gritty? ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ 6k

dieter bravo x younger fem!reader

the last thing you need is world-renowed asshole slash actor dieter bravo to yell at you for doing your job. he'll pay for that.

Tuyo Será, Y Tuyo Será ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ 5k

javier peña x younger fem!reader

after an stressful day at the office, javi finds solace in your warm embrace: you, his informant, who he has yet to cross that line he always crosses, like a goddamn vice.

He Comes Alive At Midnight (Every Night) ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ 6k

max phillips x younger fem!reader

everyone in your office is turning into vampires. literally. the unbelievable scenario only seems to get worst when you find out the one behind it all is your ex-boss, max phillips.

To Know You Is To Love You ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎

harry castillo x younger fem!reader (a series)

the one where you, new york's top divorce lawyer, tries to break off a couple that isn't even married, and that may or may not involve a certain million dollar man whose name you'd said before in a shaky breath.

Misery Reigns My Lonely Neon Nights‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎6k

old man!logan x younger fem!reader

logan should've said no. should've just drove the pretty waitress home. that's his job. hers is to serve his cup of coffee to the brim. so why is he riding you to his house?

X Si Volvemos ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎1k

ex older bf!logan x younger fem!reader

there are many things you and logan disagree in but not when it comes to things in bed.

A Pillar I Am Of Pride ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ 3k

vander x younger fem!reader

you're too young, that's what he tells himself; that you could be one of his kids. but of course you have spent too much time with vi, and unfortunately for him, stubborn rhymes with your name: you just don't know when to quit.

The Rock N' Roll Got Harder and Softer‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎5k

eddie brock x younger fem!reader

common sense isn't really your strongest suit. so here you are, riding a stranger's bike on halloween night. hey, he saved you! with one hell of a costume, no doubt. because it has to be one, right?

Knockin' On Heaven's Door‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Pt. 2‎‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎4k

eddie brock x younger fem!reader

you're what people call a ray of sunshine, probably the most likeable person in the planet. so why is this hot idiot next door so mean to you?

Drunk In Love‎‎‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎3k

eddie brock x younger fem!reader

you don't exactly hate your job as bartender. well, sometimes, like when customers who can't take a no show up. your boyfriend decides to take matters into his hands, or better said, tentacles...

Sabor A Chocolate ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎2k

eddie brock x younger fem!reader

your boyfriend eddie and his symbiote pal just make sure you know how loved you are.

©dilf-docs all right reserved. last updated: march 12th, 2025 / cr: divider @kodaswrld

[604to647]

Crawling Back to You (Dieter’s Version)

3.7K / Dieter Bravo x fem!reader

Summary: A moment of weakness could lead to lifetime of regret unless Dieter can set things right with you.

Warnings: Angst, pining. Mention of drug use. Reader has a purposefully vague production/behind the scenes job because I don't know anything about movie production. Eventual HEA. One Friends reference - see if you can find it 😉

A/N: This was written for @happypedrohours’ Bouquets of Pedro Challenge. My Valentine’s prompt for Dieter was PDA. I’ve never written for Dieter before! I know he’s a chaos gremlin (affectionate), but I really like fics I read of him where he just wants to be loved? So, that's the Dieter that I wrote - I hope it's okay 🥹 (Sorry if he’s too OOC 😭) Musical inspiration is Hozier's cover of Artic Monkey's "Do I Wanna Know."

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Many thanks to @morallyinept for your character and dialogue database to help me try and get into a Bravo state of mind 😘

He considers doing something big and splashy, of course.  And public - very, very public.  Afterall, not being P with his DAs had been what tore the two of you apart. 

Well, part of it, anyways.

Double-paged feature in Variety.  Highway billboards with matching ads on the side of buses.  Live poetry reading on the big screens in Time Square.

But all of that would be very old Dieter Bravo of him and he was no longer that man - in large part because of you, for you.

Dieter had met you many, many moons ago.  Always a friendly face on whatever set or industry event it was where you might cross paths, the two of you had gone from familiar acquaintances, to friends, to someone the other actively sought out for good company or shelter when the bright lights got too hot, the clamouring crowds too loud.

When you first met, Dieter thought you must be an actress - you were too beautiful, too captivating not to be onscreen.  But while you did have a few extra credits to your name, he soon learned that your ambition lay behind the camera.  He remembers the first time he heard your melodic voice ring out across set - like a drunken sailor to a siren’s call, he followed it without question in a semi lucid state (Hey! What’s a little marijuana between a movie star and the teamsters?).  But upon the lifting of his fog, Dieter found not his destruction, but salvation: a sympathetic ally on set, someone with whom he could be a team – a calm in the chaotic storm that was most movie productions,

You worked hard at learning and mastering your trade, and your keen eye and intuitive sense for movie making sang your merits louder than that hypnotic voice of yours that first drew Dieter (and others) to you; that you were easy to get along with and impossible to say no to was no small feat in this business – especially for a woman.  Dieter watched as you dogged forward, paying your dues and solidifying your reputation and resume – whenever he hears your name being bantered about behind the doors of Hollywood’s most coveted meetings, he feels only excessive pride.  He would tell you himself if you were speaking to him. 

Dieter still remembers the night when the two of you crossed that unspoken line for the first time; even now he’s not sure what he would have done if Cupid hadn’t been on his side.  There had been some studio gala, nothing special – or so he thought.  Slipping away from the endless shmoozing and sycophantic hoards that tend to overrun these gatherings, Dieter escaped through the catering entrance in search of some obliging venue service staff (Hollywood hot tip: the wait staff always have the best drugs!).  Instead, he had found you - sitting on a table pushed to the side of the corridor, fancy ballgown fanned out, eating popsicles, legs swinging without a care in the world.

“Dieter!” your cheer was infectious, your smile mischievous and joyful, “I didn’t care for any of those tiny finger desserts they had going out on the trays so I asked the wait staff what they kept in the back for dessert and they gave me a whole box!”  His search for extracurriculars forgotten, Dieter happily joined you, choosing instead to get drunk on your pretty face, happy chatter, and the completely innocent yet salacious way your mouth worked that frozen treat.

About three popsicles in (each) the icy desserts began melting – you managed to save yourself and finish yours just in time, but Dieter’s blue-raspberry concoction was rapidly disintegrating and about to make a guaranteed mess of his dress pants when your hands darted out, catching the slush midair.

Dieter cackled, marveling at your wide-eyed expression and hands, now wet, sticky and blue, “What did you do that for?”

“I don’t know," you crowed, eyes crinkling, still holding your cupped hands out in front of you, "I just didn’t want them to make some kind of 'blue balls' joke about you and your stained crotch in the tabloids tomorrow!”

He clasped his clean hand in yours, adhering himself to you in more ways than one - the two of you giggling and giddy as you re-entered the ballroom.  After finding a free table, some clean napkins and a pitcher of water, you sat as Dieter lovingly washed and cleaned your hands so that they wouldn’t be stained with Blue Dye #1.  He was on his knees, drying and holding your small delicate hands in his much rougher, clumsier ones, when he happened to look up to see you gazing adoringly down at him, eyes grateful and looking at him like he was hanging the moon for you.

Dieter lifted up and unable to help himself, connected his lips to yours – hoping against hope that he wasn’t ruining one of the few precious, genuine connections in his life.  His relief was soon overtaken by desire when you kissed him back – the two of you somehow managing to make your way back to the service hallways, lips crashing together over and over like unstoppable waves of an inevitable ocean.  The kisses were sensual and messy, pure and happy – it made Dieter feel like a teenager again. 

“Is this weird?” he whispered at one point - vulnerable, no bravado.

“Yeah, it’s weird,” you breathed, though your voice was soft, your touch reassuring, “but don’t stop.”  So, he didn’t.  He kissed your lips swollen, pressing you up against the wall and succumbing to the intoxication of your pretty noises and tender affection. 

Nothing else happened that night, and in fact, you had run away!  After getting a text that your friend was currently giving birth, you rushed off to the hospital like Cinderella, ballgown skirts gathered in your careful hands while darting away in the night.  Dieter, dazed and higher than he’s even felt, caught the kiss you blew him, and while pressing it to his slackened, blissed out face, vowed to become your Prince Charming.

He found you on set the following Monday and for the first time in a long time, Dieter Bravo, famously chill Cool Dude™ had felt shy, nervous.  He needn’t have been – you responded to his earnestness with sweet generosity, only ever honest and non-pretentious; it was clear that for the both of you, there was no going back to just friends. 

The rest as they say, was history. 

Except being with you felt completely new to Dieter – for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, he looked forward to waking up to the start of each day, genuinely excited for its possibilities, and even more to coming home every night, grateful for the newfound comfort of life’s simple pleasures.

Grateful, yes.  If there was one thing Dieter wishes he could tell you it’s how grateful he is for you.  While you were blazing your own path to success, you had also helped him redefine his - believing in and supporting the seemingly unflappable Dieter Bravo when he admitted to wanting more.  Hollywood’s unbothered bro, Tinseltown’s perpetually aflame trainwreck darling was capable of and itching for growth, who knew?  You did.

You read scripts with him and talked through his needs and ambitions; finally having a sounding board with no self-serving stake in the financial success of his career choices, Dieter began choosing increasingly more varied and interesting projects with your encouragement and support.  He’s happier now, more fulfilled, challenged, engaged.

And he got sober (Well, he still drinks, but that doesn’t really count, right?  It’s Hollywood).  Detox had been a fucking nightmare but Dieter likes the voices in his head now.  They’re gentler with him, more forgiving, thoughtful.  They sound like you.

Dieter loved you so much, he wanted to climb to the top of the Hollywood sign and shout it all the way across the Pacific; he thought a love such as yours was limitless.

His publicists discouraged it.  The world loved the Dieter they knew: eccentric, sex-crazed, tabloid staple, a spectacle.  They weren’t interested in another middle-aged actor trying too hard to be taken seriously, who had seemingly left his wild days behind for a boring, stable relationship with a non-celebrity.  The public wanted ✨salaciousness✨glitz✨scandal✨.

You had gone along with keeping your relationship hidden, valuing your privacy and preferring to keep the sacredness of your love for one another only.  “I love you, Dieter,” you vowed, “I don’t need everyone to know it, but I don’t ever want to feel like your dirty little secret, okay?”

He promised you without really understanding what that meant.

Your relationship blossomed behind closed doors.  Both of you walked red carpets alone, careful not to get papped together, and on sets, remained cordial and professional until you got behind Dieter’s closed trailer doors where his affection for you knew no bounds, even when contained.  You would tell each other that your love wasn’t a secret, it was private, protected and kept safe from the prying and critical eyes of the public.

When his PR team arranged a fake relationship with the young and upcoming nepo baby starlet with whom he acted opposite in his latest movie as a means to promote the film, Dieter had reservations.  But he hadn’t said no. 

And after several long and serious conversations with his management about his fading relevancy and the exposure that the arrangement would net him, the starlet, the film, Dieter eventually relented and agreed to go along with it.  It seems that fame was the one drug that he hadn’t quite kicked. 

Dieter will never forget the look on your face when he brought up the PR campaign – the way your eyes crinkled in disappointment and the curve of your pretty lips pulling down your entire face haunts him every night. 

“What happens to your real girlfriend when you’re out with your fake girlfriend, Dieter?”

He couldn’t even bring himself to ask you to wait, or stay by his side, but hidden.  It was beneath you, insulting.  And to ask was to break his promise.

Turns out he didn’t even need to ask for you to feel the full weight of his betrayal.

The last words he ever spoke to you had been uttered pathetically to the front door you shut in his face, “Baby, maybe I can fix it.  Let me try.”  Their only registered response was the sound of your sobs getting softer and softer as you walked away, shutting the doors in the house he could no longer call home.

He hadn’t been able to fix it.  By design, Hollywood’s PR machine is a force, the joint efforts of Dieter and the starlet’s teams a runaway train.  Their “relationship” had been Page Six news before Dieter even had the chance to call his publicist to say that he couldn’t go through with it.  The public ate it all up just as predicted:

Dieter Bravo, Hollywood Chaos Prince back at it again, charming and capturing the heart of Tinseltown’s newest princess.

His mind swims of you.  During every press tour interview he does with his pretend girlfriend, Dieter cringes at the fake touches and gestures of affection choreographed for the cameras; all the scripted flirting and empty terms of endearment taste like acid on his tongue (and not the good kind either).  But none of this compares to the shame he feels at having hurt you, the owner of his heart, and that he likely continues to do so with every orchestrated date night photo-op for TMZ, every “happy couple” glambot he poses for on the red carpet.

Dieter finally sees you again six months into his fake relationship.

At the MTV Movie Awards, he’s waiting for the starlet to finish her solo shots, rubbing his temple at the too bright lights, the garish and loud décor, the music that doesn’t even sound like music, when he sees you stroll in on the arm of a man he doesn’t recognize.  But Dieter couldn’t care less who the man is - it’s you he can’t look away from; you’re laughing, radiant, soft.  Unchanged.  Ethereal. 

Dieter thinks he might vomit.  He thinks he might need to do a line.  He can’t let you see him.

Without excusing himself, Dieter leaves the red carpet and locks himself in a bathroom, trying to push down his bubbling panic attack.  He knows his “girlfriend” is probably beside herself, and that his unexplained absence is likely giving rise to new rumours and speculation that he’s on some kind of drug-fuelled spiral, but he can’t bring himself to come out.

Someone slips a KitKat under the door of the bathroom. 

Dieter knows it’s you; only you would be so subtle, so gentle, so reassuring with one simple gesture.  Only you know him and what brings him the most comfort.  He picks up the chocolate bar and stares at it for a while before biting into it, thinking about how he got himself into this mess.

A moment weakness.  A lifetime of regret.

Not if Dieter could help it.

He “breaks up” with the starlet the following week; it would have been handled even sooner if he didn’t have to fight and threaten to fire his entire team, eventually dragging in Legal to help him break the marketing contract he had unknowingly signed in blood.

Immediately Dieter starts planning how he will make things up to you, beg for another chance – apologize; drafting and discarding every over-the-top gesture that pops into his buzzing mind, each more theatrical and outlandish than the last.

He finally settles on a letter – one that Dieter can’t stop writing after he starts and ends up being eighteen pages (front and back).  It begins with an apology – for having hurt you so callously, for breaking his promise to you, and for, even if only a second, ever making you feel like you weren’t important or enough.  Especially when it was his own bruised ego that had needed the stroking – this entire disaster a result of his own weakness, born from a dark place inside where he had been made small by an industry that thrived on the insecurities of its so-called stars, and Dieter’s fear of feeling even smaller.  You made him feel so good while the two of you had been together, he naively thought that your light had eradicated all such voids and pits within him – but it was unfair to heap the responsibility of his growth and self improvement onto you.  And though he knows that he still has work to do, he credits your influence and compassion for the progress he’s made so far.  Around page six of the letter Dieter’s Sorrys transition into Thank Yous. 

Dieter thanks you for every way you’ve made him a better man, made him want to be a better man.  He thanks you for all the times your unparalleled support, kindness, and generosity have gotten him through the day on set, or through his self doubts at night.  Words of gratitude overflow from his pen, pouring out nearly faster than he can write – you, you, you.  He’s thankful for you.

And he misses you.  And not just all the ways you meshed your gentle life with the squishy bits of his, but just you.  Your sweet laugh.  The crinkle of your nose and the watering of your eyes at his farts sarcastic jokes.  And your mouth.  Great Paul Newman, he’s always been obsessed with your mouth – and not just what he knows it can do and how it tastes, but everything that comes out of it.  Dieter could listen to you talk about anything for hours – he might not know a single thing about what you’re talking about, but he understands eloquence, passion, and the artistry of words when he hears it.  Having spent most of his adult life around industry blowhards, Dieter knows that intelligence without pretension is a rarity - fresh air that he longs to breathe in again. 

On page twelve, Dieter tells you he loves you - loves you for everything you are and what you stand for.  He loves how you’ve remained gentle, even though the business of show makes it its mission to sharpen everyone and everything it swallows.  He loves that your default is always thoughtfulness and compassion, that you embody a quiet type of beauty that doesn’t need to be paraded about or loudly lauded in order to shine.  How do you make even the mundane so fascinating?  It must be that confident grace of yours.  Dieter writes an entire two pages on how he just wants to watch you wash dishes again – he tries to describe the meditative calm that comes just from seeing the soapy water bow to your whim, as if it knows the power and majesty of its bender; understanding as he does now the magnanimity it takes to ensure that no small movement is wasted, to make every action purposeful.  He’s enraptured by you.  Admires you. Worships you.  So, so in love with you.

He reads the letter over a hundred times before tying the folded pages together with a bright red bow.  Using his Bravo charm, Dieter sneaks onto the set of your latest movie and leaves it in your trailer on top of a jewelry box that holds an ostentatiously luxurious diamond necklace he bought you before everything had gone to hell.  He had kept it all this time, unable to bring himself to return it, never even considering giving it to anyone but you.

Three weeks pass and Dieter hears nothing back.

He had tried to prepare himself for this possibility – that perhaps you might never forgive him, want nothing more to do with him, but still, it’s with a heavier than expected heart that he gets ready for his movie premiere, the very same film he’d promoted with his fake relationship.  Dieter didn’t expect any drama at the event – he and the starlet spoke last week and agreed that arriving separately but acting like friends was the best way to quell the outrageous reasons for the “breakup” speculated in the gossip rags.  In truth, even though they had grown to become actual friends during the meshugana of the last few months, Dieter can’t help but associate this entire project with his own regret and shame - he can’t wait for this evening to be over.

He goes through the motions of the red carpet.  Greeting his co-stars with boisterous cheers and hard gripping handshakes.  Hitting his marks and smiling almost manically for the cameras.  Waving to the fans and signing every piece of paper shoved towards him (this part he really did not mind; you always said that his fans were the best and they are).  Doing his time in the interview pit.  When he’s near the end of the gauntlet, with only the Entertainment Tonight interview to get through before he can (blessedly) retreat to his seat in the theatre, a vivid glimmer of brilliance catches Dieter’s eye.  Unlike the near blinding flash of a photographer’s camera, this sparkle beckons him, brightly winking – he almost puts up a hand to shield his eyes before he realizes what it is.

It's you.

You’re at his premiere.  Gorgeous, breathtaking, elegant – you’re walking down the arrivals promenade… and you’re wearing the diamond necklace Dieter left with your letter.  Inadvertently tuning out the ET interviewer, he stares, awestruck, mouth agape – hopeful.  The interviewer can’t help but follow Dieter’s gaze and asks him who you are. 

“An angel,” he answers honestly.

At that same moment, you finally spot him and your face breaks into a big smile, the luminosity of which nearly drops Dieter to his knees.  Instead, he breaks out into a sprint, running towards you. 

When you see what he’s doing, you pick up your skirts and start moving towards him as well.  Dieter dodges and weaves between the bodies on the red carpet, trying not to slam into any of the people that stand between him and his everything, only vaguely aware of the Entertainment Tonight interviewer and her cameraman hot on his heels.

Suddenly, the crowd seems to part and there’s a clearing right where the two of you finally meet, stopping only inches from one another.  Dieter’s panting (fuck, he’s out of shape!) but grinning like a fool when you drop the fabric of your dress to bring your hands come up to cup his face, thumbs running lovingly over his unkempt scruff – a familiar gesture that feels better than any high he’s ever experienced.  Your face is flushed bright and content, home.

“You got my letter.”

“I did.”

“You’re wearing the necklace.”

“I am.”  Your eyes twinkle, complimenting the serenity and invitation of your countenance - both saying everything without even a word.  It gives Dieter the boost of confidence he needs.

“May I kiss you?”

“Even though we’re in public?” You’re being cheeky on purpose.

But for once Dieter won’t play - there is nothing except sincerity in his response, “From now on, only ever in public.  No more hiding.”

An orchestral movie score heard only by the two of you swells as you both move to close the remaining distance between your bodies, crushing your mouths together.  The kiss is passionate, deep and heated – leaving no doubt of your feelings for one another; not even the gawking onlookers can deny what you mean to each other.  Camera bulbs pop and bright lights flash all around as your lips settle and mold in a tender slow dance, loathed to be parted ever again.  Your hands card through Dieter’s soft curls, delicate fingers cradling his head soothingly, warm; his hands spread wide to cover your back, covetous and protective.

“No more hiding,” you whisper, face lit with joy at the adoration and promise reflected in Dieter’s mirrored expression.

He nods and tightens his arm around your waist, love and resolution coursing through his veins.  Sharing one last private look, the two of you turn in unison, a team, towards the awestruck Entertainment Tonight interviewer whose microphone is practically shaking with excitement.  Dieter beams his megawatt Bravo smile at her, “Is this what the kids call a hard launch?”

🎶Artic Monkey's "Do I Wanna Know" lyrics (Hozier's version):

Crawlin' back to you Ever thought of callin' when You've had a few? 'Cause I always do Maybe I'm too Busy bein' yours To fall for somebody new Now, I've thought it through Crawlin' back to you 🎶

[absurdthirst]

A Roman Romp {Deiter Bravo *AS* Marcus Acacius x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9.9k

Warnings: Drug mentions, power imbalance, fucking the boss, clitoral play, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, oral sex (male receiving), derogatory names, role play, rough sex, Dieter being unbelievably bad with emotions, costume play.

Comments: You've found a niche as Dieter Bravo's assistant. Taking care of him and sleeping with him work surprisingly easy until his new role as a Roman general makes you completely feral for him.

A/N: Completely inspired by the sexy, bloody gifs.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Dieter Bravo MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Deeper. Raspier.” You decide, ignoring the frown of the man in front of you as you contemplate the voice pitch he has changed into. Dieter Bravo loves to experiment with his voice and facial expressions, but being the consummate narcissist that he is, he doesn’t like it when it’s not immediately loved by all. You don’t work that way and he knows it. It’s why you are permitted to run through the dialogue with him and read the scripts when most assistants just scheduled appointments and bring the actors they work for the page changes. “This is a man who has screamed throughout the bloodiest battles, who has inhaled the smoke from a hundred thousand fires. He’s hardened by battle, by death, and he shows it.” You explain, painting a picture for him to visualize from the comfort of his plush designer sofa in his Sherman Oaks mansion.

Dieter nods, shifting to sit up and he clears his throat. “You’re right. He’s seen shit we could never imagine. He needs to be tortured but capable.” Dieter decides and rolls his shoulders. His eyes focus on the script and he says “I declare for Rome. For her Emperor. For her people.” He deepens his voice, letting it catch to be raspier than before. “How was that?” He asks, face softening as he expectedly looks at you.

Despite the massive ego, the demands, and his ability to act like a twelve year old boy at times, Dieter is surprisingly needy. He craves acceptance, like a feral cat who spits and hisses when you get too close, but is desperate to be loved on their own terms. You deal with him delicately at times, more harshly at others, all while understanding that neediness. It’s what made you work well for him. “That was good.” You nod in approval.

He thanks you with a slightly dazed, soppy smile, like he's grateful for the approval. Like it means the most coming from you. "Yeah?" He asks, hungry for more praise and you nod. He stares at you for a second before he looks back at the script, continuing with the new voice he's found for the character and he continues practicing his lines, his eyes drifting over to you every now and then as he seeks approval.

This time he runs through the lines without you reading the other parts, but sometimes he wants you to voice the other characters, to give him a tone to feed off of. Since the Cliff Beasts debacle and you coming to work for him, Dieter has been determined to win another Oscar and you think this might be the role to do that.

“I’m trying on the costumes this afternoon.” Dieter tells you like you didn’t already know that. You know every detail of his schedule. “I know.” You chuckle softly and he flushes slightly, “yeah. I am hoping it’s going to help me find the character posture.” He confesses, “and I get to check out my trailer before filming begins in a couple days.”

That’s code for he wants the trailer to feel like his own personal retreat so you need to pack up all of his favorite things. Like you hadn’t already planned that. “I will make sure that you can relax.” You promise, shooting him a soft smile. “Your favorite incense and candles, that serenity stone and I’ll pack up your favorite sheets to bring with us today.”

“You’re the best.” Dieter compliments you and it’s a rare occasion but he’s sincere as he offers you a soft smile. “I’m gonna go smoke a little before we go to the studio. Can you go get some tacos for me?” He asks, “carnitas.” He decides with a nod as he relaxes against the sofa.

“Sure thing, boss.” You wink at him and put a little away in your walk as you leave the room, knowing his eyes are on your ass. This thing you have with Dieter is incredibly easy and complicated at the same time. You sleep together, pretty damn often, but you aren’t his girlfriend. He’s sworn off relationships since Kate and Anika, but it’s not like you can blame him. You get sex and as a bonus, it puts your boss into a better mood for you to deal with him professionally. It doesn’t hurt that you care about him a lot, love him really, but that’s something you would never admit to him. You know that you just fill a void in his life.

Dieter watches until you disappear and he sets his script down, rubbing his scruffy cheek. Fuck, you’re so goddamn gorgeous. Too good for him to touch you honestly and he knows he’s putting everything on the line. Losing you would mean losing his assistant but also his best friend and some of the best fucking sex he’s ever had. He can’t tell you anything about how he feels in case you’re scared off and he loses it all. With a sigh, he looks back at his script and waits for you to return like the lovesick fool he is.

It doesn’t take you long, the place where you go makes the best fucking tacos and they know how Dieter likes them. He’s ordered from there often enough while he’s high. You get some extras because he said he wanted to smoke some weed when he gets back from having his costume fitted and you know he will have the munchies. Picking up some salad because you know he won’t eat greens unless you get them. “I’m back.” You sail through the door with the paper bag and grin. “You eat and I’ll get the bag together for your trailer.”

Dieter groans at the smell of the tacos and he pats the space next to him. “Come and sit down with me, babe.” He orders, wanting you to eat as well. You run around after him all the time and he knows you don’t always remember to eat.

“Okay.” You don’t argue, just plopping down beside him and handing him the agua fresca you had ordered for him from the drink carrier. “I can eat and then I’ll make sure we get you settled into your trailer.”

Dieter reaches out to squeeze your leg. He’s always been a touchy feely kind of man, needing that physical connection. That’s why he wants sex so much. He loves to feel wanted and to be touched. “You’re the best.” He says around a mouth full of tacos.

“You might not think so when you see this.” You tease, pulling out the salad to set in front of him. He doesn’t argue but he does pout, swallowing the mouth of tacos and sighs. “Did you get that adobo dressing?” He asks hopefully, knowing he would eat anything as long as that stuff is on it. “Two of them.” You promise. “So you can have one for a salad on set.”

“Fuck yes. You’re - you’re the fucking best. No one comes close to you. Literally no other assistant is like you, babe.” Dieter praises with a mouth full of tacos. His last assistant couldn’t make him hard and he certainly couldn’t make him eat salad. He was authoritative and while Dieter likes to be submissive, when it comes to his work, he is the one in control.

You shouldn’t let the praise get to you, knowing that Dieter is always expressive when he’s happy and then can throw full tantrums when he’s not. Still, you smirk and lean forward to grab a taco for yourself after putting a straw in your own drink. “That’s why you pay me so well.” You remind him. “Don’t forget you still have to make that happy birthday video to send to your niece.” You take a sip of your drink. “I’ve already sent the gift from you. It’s a battery operated kiddie jeep. She will love it.”

Dieter nods, knowing he would have completely forgotten about her birthday. He loves his niece but his brother is a stiff prick. Always the golden child. Better at everything including being monogamous and heterosexual. He went to college, got his finance degree. Has the wife and 2.5 kids in Dallas and Dieter is…never good enough. Even when he’s won a fucking Oscar. “I gotta go see that kid soon. Make sure she’s not fucking boring like her dad.” He snorts as he wipes his mouth.

“Let me know when you want to go and I’ll work it into your schedule.” You promise, reminding yourself to remind him of it when filming ends for this movie. He always wants to go somewhere after he’s wrapped a movie. “Just let me know and I’ll take care of everything.” From his flight to the drugs, you will make sure he has everything he needs.

“Thanks.” He murmurs, unsure if he wants to deal with his family. Especially his parents. He left Texas to come to L.A when he was eighteen and he struggled until he got spotted while he was failing at being a waiter. “You need a break too. At some point.” He announces as he reluctantly digs into his salad even with the adobo smothering it.

“I get breaks.” You remind him. But it’s true you don’t get them often. Even when Dieter travels, he brings you with him. He likes having you close and it’s not something you are completely opposed to. Spending months in Croatia or China is amazing. You reach over and brush his hair back and kiss his cheek. “Thank you for eating your salad.”

He loves the praise and hates that he loves it. His life is messy and the last thing he wants to do is lose you because he ruins it with his personality. At least like this you’re at a distance. “Fucking lettuce.” He grumbles and takes another bite, tilting his cheek out so he can get another kiss.

You grin against his skin as you pepper his cheek with little kisses. You don’t mind when he’s like this. It’s sweet, even if it’s needy. Dieter so desperately wants love and for someone to adore him. He just manages to ruin every relationship he gets in when someone new shows up and showers him with attention. You know that it’s possible with your situation. You just have to deal with it.

Dieter loves the way you give him affection and he chews his salad after you pull away, he looks down at the salad, setting it down after a moment to dig into another taco. “Tacos are better.” He decides and watches as you dig into your own food.

“I know they are, baby.” He hates eating salads and you try to make it fun most of the time, but there’s no chance against tacos. “But this counterbalances the tacos. You’ve been doing so good at the gym. That sexy body needs the good stuff for all those fight scenes.”

Dieter has definitely had to put in time at the gym to make sure he’s getting in shape for this role. He had a nutritionist and personal chef come in for the past few months and he’s done pretty good building up his arms. “Yeah? You think I’ll look convincing?” He asks, eager for your approval of the body he’s been working out for.

“You’ll be amazing.” You promise him. “You already have a look that can be so authoritative, but put you in Roman armor?” You groan quietly and shake your head. “I thought Maximus was sexy, but your Marcus Acacius will blow him out of the water.”

Dieter flushes slightly, ducking his head at your praise, and he loves how you compliment him. “Yeah? You think I’ll be sexy in the costume?” He smirks, “and the sex scene.” He adds, “gonna watch me on the closed set?”

You knew there was a sex scene, but you didn’t think Dieter would want you there. “If you want me to.” You tell him. “I know that day will be a long one for you.”

Dieter nods, reaching for your hand after he wipes his clean. “I want you there. I always want you there.” He admits, “I just - you know me best in that department and I want to make sure it looks real, natural.”

You could point out that Dieter has had so many more lovers than you have, but you don’t. “You’re going to look even sexier then.” You promise. “They are going to create a new Oscar category just for you. Best Sex Scene.”

Dieter chuckles, “I fucking wish. I could win that every damn year.” He says with conviction, “especially if I was filmed with you.” He says and winks, picking up the salad to reluctantly finish it even with the dressing.

You hum in approval and quickly finish your own taco before you pat his leg gently. “Let me go get you packed up so we can leave, baby.” You murmur. “You don’t want to be late with Wardrobe.”

Dieter nods, watching you get up and his eyes drop down to your ass again as you make your way into his room to get what he needs. You do everything for him and he can’t ever pay you enough for putting up with his shit.

Less than an hour later, you have Dieter loaded up in the car and you are headed to the studio where you will be filming the fight scenes. Some of the location work will be later but they want to get the fights filmed first to give them plenty of time to work on the CGI. Dieter decided to let you drive so he could read over the script again. “Don’t worry. While you are with wardrobe, I’ll get the key to your trailer. We can take a picture outside with your name on it for you IG.”

Dieter sighs, he hates social media but he knows it’s needed for him to keep himself relevant when his industry is suddenly flooded with fucking Tik Tok stars and IG models. “Sure.” He adjusts his sunglasses on his nose as he reads over the script, “you really think the voice is right?”

“That voice went straight to my pussy.” You admit, knowing that confession will give him a smug grin. He likes knowing when something turns you on. “Yeah?” His normal voice instantly changes to the once he had practiced for Marcus and you make sure to squirm in the driver’s seat a little. “Yeah, it’s good. Panties around the world will explode.”

Dieter smirks, imagining the reaction with his fans but he doesn’t care about their panties exploding when he only wants yours to explode. Sure, it helps his career to still be considered a sex symbol but he wants you to want him more than any woman thirsting on Twitter.

You giggle quietly to yourself, guiding the car to the studio and you get parked. “Okay. Do you want to see the trailer first and figure out where it is? I can get it set up while you are in wardrobe?”

“Yeah. I wanna see if they gave me a good one or if they put me in the fucking back again.” He had a meltdown when his trailer was at the very end of the lot on his last project. He’s a fucking Oscar winner not someone doing their first fucking movie. You nod and he gets out while you gather the bags with his things. He doesn’t ask if you need help. That’s never really been his nature so you carry the bags to the trailer that’s been assigned as his. “First row. Now that’s more fucking like it.” He declares as he claps his hands.

You chuckle at his enthusiasm and follow him into the trailer. It’s perfectly clean and sterile in that brand new kind of way and it will bother Dieter if it stays that way for too long. “I’ll get all this set up to your liking.” You promise.

Dieter looks around before his eyes find yours again, "that would be awesome." He declares, "oh and get me some Kit Kats. You know I love snacking on those ever since Cliff Beasts." He shivers slightly at that movie. Something he took in the desperation of the pandemic when he was stuck at home alone and was losing his mind.

“Kit Kats.” You nod and walk up to him, sensing that he needs a little affection. You caress his cheek and press your lips to his. “You are going to be amazing.” You promise him. “We will make sure this is the best film shoot you’ve ever had.”

Dieter appreciates you and he sighs, “I better get to costume to try everyone on.” He hates costume design but he needs to get there since it’s his time and they will need to do adjustments. “I better go, babe.” He kisses your cheek and exits the trailer, disappearing while you sort out his trailer.

You run and get the KitKats and make four more trips from the car for the bags of stuff for Dieter’s trailer. Stripping the basic sheets off the bed, you replace them with the Egyptian cotton ones that are 2500 thread count, which he loves. Shoving the pillows that were on the bed into a small compartment because he prefers down alternative pillows and putting the soothing weighted blanket over it all. The candle and incense is already burning and there’s a whiff of sage still, letting Dieter know that you’ve done all the things he claims helps clear his mind and calm him down. The basket full of KitKats next to the room temperature San Pellegrino bottles that he prefers when his throat hurts. The small refrigerator is stocked with other drinks and you look around satisfied that he will be comfortable.

Dieter stares at himself in the mirror in his costume and he smirks, knowing you’re going to lose your mind when you see the armor on his body. It’s surprisingly heavy and he didn’t think they’d use metal but they have. He likes the weight of it, it helps him get into character a bit more. The costume designers take notes on adjustments and he changes back, making his way to his trailer. “Fuck. You are amazing.” He compliments as you fluff the pillows you brought from his home.

You hum in delight and turn back to look at him. “That’s what I’m here for.” You motion to the trailer. “Think you can decompress here?”

He nods, groaning as he lays down on the bed. “Come here.” He opens his arm to invite you to lay with him and you follow his order, making him sigh and he shifts to curl around you. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He confesses, burying his face in your neck.

“Be late.” You tease, stroking his side and chest and you let him hold you. “Wear the same thing for a week and eat nothing but tacos.” You enjoy taking care of Dieter and for all his selfishness, you appreciate the moments like this where he acknowledges everything you do for him. “How did costume fitting go?” You ask, sensing that he’s in a pretty mellow mood so it must have been good.

Dieter loves how you touch him and he nuzzles into your neck, pressing a soft kiss there. “It went well. They just have to do some minor adjustments. I- I am worried that I look - that I’m too old to do this part. The fighting. Will I look believable?” He asks, a frown on his face as he pulls back to look at you.

“Completely believable.” You promise, reaching up to run your fingers through the longer curls that he’s grown out for this role. “You will look like the war-hardened general. Experienced and trained by years of fighting.” You remind him. “Generals have wisdom. They’ve experienced heartache and lost men. They are supposed to have some gray in their hair and beards.” You bring your fingers down to scratch through his facial hair, knowing how much he likes that. “They might have to add some more. You don’t have quite enough to be that salt and pepper look, if that’s what they want. You’re gonna win another Oscar. I just know it.”

Dieter loves how confident you are in his abilities and that makes him feel more secure, makes him a better actor. “Thank you.” He whispers, leaning in to kiss your jaw. “You - I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He murmurs, closing his eyes. You hum, continuing to stroke his hair until he blurts out, “I want Chinese for dinner.”

You are so used to the way that Dieter suddenly shifts gears that it’s nearly automatic. “The fancy or the nasty?” You ask, wondering if he’s wanting the upscale Chinese fusion place or the tiny little hole in the wall that makes the best egg rolls you’ve ever eaten in your life.

He ponders it for a second, “the nasty.” He offers you a smirk. “The greasy egg rolls. The fried rice.” He groans at the thought, “then tomorrow I’ll be good. I’m training tomorrow.” He tells you like you don’t know his schedule off by heart.

“Sword training.” You agree. “Bright and early at seven.” He groans pitifully and pouts at the early morning call. “I’ll make sure that you have a powerful protein smoothie first thing.”

Dieter groans, “smoothies and sword training. Seven? Fuckkkkk.” He moans and curls around you again. “Baby baby baby. Let’s go back to mine and then we can get dirty Chinese food and then I can eat my dessert.” He smirks, sliding his down between your legs to cup your cunt through your leggings.

“Yeah?” You moan quietly, always loving how his large hands feel on your body. “We can call and pick it up on the way.” You don’t call it home, because technically you don’t live with him although you spend most nights at his house. “Maybe a bath after and I can rub your back before you fall asleep.”

“Fuck you spoil me. I gotta call Sally and tell her to give you a damn raise.” He groans, telling you he wants his manager to make sure you’re looked after. He presses his fingers against your clit through your leggings, wanting to hear you moan again.

You don’t bite your lip, knowing that Dieter doesn’t want you to suppress your sounds. He’s always greedy for the sounds you make, greedy for the approval. His fingers press insistently against your bundle of nerves expertly. “Dee, baby, that feels so good.” You praise breathlessly.

He loves hearing your praise. He’s greedy for it and he hisses when you lean in to kiss his jaw. His fingers continue to press against your bundle of nerves, pressing and rubbing, wanting you to fall apart for him.

“Dee, baby.” You arch your hips up under his hand, grinding your clit down against his fingers. “You’re gonna make me cum. Fuck, I’m going to ruin these panties.”

He wants to hear your sweet cry. He groans, hardening in his pants, “I’ll buy you more.” He promises, continuing to rub you through the material. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Want to hear those sweet fucking moans.” He urges you on.

It doesn’t take long when Dieter wants to make you cum. He’s a skilled enough lover to have learned you, since you’ve slept with him so much. You hold onto his arm, gasping in pleasure until your toes curl. “Deeeeee!” You cry out, closing your eyes when the wave of pleasure washes over you and heat fires through your core.

He hisses when your thighs squeeze his hand, keeping him trapped there while you squirm through your orgasm. “Fuck you’re so pretty when you cum.” He coos, watching you with fascination.

You doubt that. Sometimes you are a little disbelieving that he finds you sexy, but you understand that he might want you to think that so you continue to sleep with him. Whining drowsily, you pull him close and press your lips to his. “Do you want to break in this bed now or go home?”

Dieter smirks against your lips, "come on baby. Let's do it. Break in the bed then we will get Chinese food." It sounds like a fantasy he's jerked off to thinking about you. He is already hardening in his pants and he groans when you reach down to squeeze his bulge. "How do you want me?" He asks, "cowboy? doggy? waterfall? little dipper? the socket?" He lists off positions with raised eyebrows.

You squeeze his cock again and then slide your hand under the waist band to wrap around his shaft. Dieter moans and he twitches in your hand. “How do you want me?” You ask. “You know it’s the Big Dipper with this cock.” You tease, knowing how much he loves being praised for how big he feels inside you. “Do you want to fuck me? Or have me do the work?”

Dieter loves to be a pillow prince but right now, he wants to fuck you. "Strip off and lay on your side." He demands, his voice lowering as his cock twitches at the thought of sliding inside of you. You're so hot and wet, like fucking velvet, and you make his toes curl.

You have no problem stripping for him, he’s seen you naked more times than you can count. Pulling your bra down your arms, you toss it to the floor after pulling your shirt off and quickly strip down the leggings and ruined panties. “Are you going to fuck me wearing clothes or are you stripping too?”

Dieter wants to be naked too. He loves being naked. He would spend all weekend naked if he could. He shuffles off the bed and scrambles to pull his shirt over his head, shoving his sweats down to expose his hard cock. You lay down and he shifts to lay behind you, reaching down to grip his cock. He pumps himself a few times, "lift your leg, baby. I want to slide inside that wet pussy."

Lifting your leg gives him the access he wants and you reach back for his hip. Wanting to touch him as he rocks his hips forward. “It’s so wet.” You promise. “I need you inside me, Dieter.”

He shuffles closer, notching himself at your entrance as he pushes into you. "Fuckkk." He groans as your walls envelop him and he pushes deeper until he's nudging your cervix. "Fuck. So fucking wet." He lets go of his cock and grabs your leg, gripping it to keep it elevated.

“Shit.” Your body lights up when he pushes inside you. Taking him up on his offer of sex about four months after you started working for him had been the best decision you ever made. You squeeze your tits and moan, clenching down around him. “Feels so fucking big, baby. You fill me up perfectly.”

Your praise makes him twitch inside you. He loves it when you praise him, it makes his heart flutter and his stomach clench. "Fuck, you're so tight. Tightest little pussy I've ever fucked." He confesses and he has lost count of how many sexual partners he has had. He hadn't ventured out of your bedroom since a few weeks after you started sleeping together. He has become addicted to your body and he can't keep away from your bed. His fingers squeeze your flesh as he starts to rock into you.

You lean your head back against his shoulder and moan. “Easy to say when-“ you gasp when he pushes deep. “Your fat cock makes anything tight.” Your hand reaches back to caress his face, knowing how much Dieter loves to be stroked and caressed while fucking. “God baby, you just ruin me.” You honestly don’t know how you will get over losing the sexual part of your relationship when Dieter gets bored, but you know it will come eventually. Hell, you’re surprised it hasn’t already happened if you’re honest with yourself. But regular sex is something Dieter craves and you have never turned him down, your own sex drive is pretty high.

Dieter loves the praise, fuck, he loves hearing the way he makes you feel spill from your lips. His thrusts become harder and he hisses when you clench around him. “Fuck.” He groans and turns his head to kiss your palm, his other arm is trapped beneath you but he doesn’t care.

You feel that need in the frantic push of his hips. He’s craving the closeness he feels from sex and you push your ass back, encouraging him. “Yes baby, need this. Needed you to fuck me.” You pant. “Always need it.”

He grips your leg, shifting it more towards your stomach and he groans at the new angle. You’re so much tighter like this. “Fuck baby. You - you’re the best. The fucking best.” He murmurs, kissing along your shoulder.

The weight of him on top of you presses you into the bed, making it harder to push back against him, but you just squeeze him tight every time he thrusts back into you. “Deeeee.” You whine, loving the angle of his cock battering against your cervix. He feels like he’s in your guts when he pushes his hope forward. “Fuck baby, that cock is soooooo good.”

Dieter shifts his hips again, trying to find that spot inside you that makes you scream his name. He wants the entire fucking studio to know who is fucking you like this. He groans when you squeal on his best thrust and he focuses on that spot, wanting you to cum for him.

He’s demanding today. Your moans and squeals come easily, fingers gripping the covering on the bed. You’ll have to make it again later, but you don’t care. He feels amazing pounding into you against that spot. “Dee- Dieter- I’m- I’m gonna-“ you pant, trying to talk while he’s fucking you but it’s nearly impossible. “Oh shit!” You scream, clamping down around his cock when you feel the pressure suddenly reach its peak.

The way you gush around him has him panting as he tries to work himself into your cunt as you grip him like a vice. “Fuck fuck fuck.” He hisses, pushing deep. He’s never been great at stamina without drugs so sober, he’s thrusting into you a half dozen more times until he’s painting your walls with his cum.

You groan softly, feeling the hot pulse of his cum filling you. You have an IUD, and Dieter has regular STI testing for insurance reasons and you love that he feels comfortable enough to not use protection with you. “That’s it baby, that’s it.” You reach back and hold his head, wanting to touch him as he rides out his orgasm and collapses on top of you with a breathless huff.

“Fuck. I really don’t pay you enough.” He chuckles breathlessly. “Best fucking pussy in L.A.” He compliments while he’s drunk on his orgasm and he kisses your shoulder, enjoying the feel of your hot cunt wrapped around his softening cock.

You snort at his comment and relax against the pillow. It could be ten minutes or an hour before Dieter moves but you always love the way he collapses into you bonelessly. “If I charged you for my pussy, you wouldn’t be able to afford it.”

Dieter snorts, “probably not.” He doesn’t deny that. Sure, he’s had sex workers in his bed before but you are his assistant and there’s an emotional connection he hasn’t found before. He’s addicted to it and he can’t let you go. He is excited to start this new project with you by his side.

****

“Dieter has an interview at twelve that day, so that shouldn’t be a problem.” You tap a pencil against your notepad as you pour over his schedule. “As long as he doesn’t go over we can make it to the studio by four and then have him ready.” His manager is on the other side of the zoom call, video feed in the corner of your computer, wanting to squeeze in a late night talk show to talk about the movie being released next month, while also teasing about this movie. “Will that work for them?”

“Yeah. We can make that work.” His manager and his PR team agree and you add it to his schedule. “We can also get him on that podcast in the next week, if he has a gap. It’s about sexual exploration and of course people know he is quite active. I think it will develop some big hit content. As long as he doesn’t talk about drugs.” His manager sighs.

“He’s been doing a lot better.” You remind them. “Working out for this film is doing wonders for him, even if he complains. He’s just smoking a little weed on the off days.” You look over his schedule again. “On Thursday he is supposed to have a half day of shooting, if we can reschedule his meeting with the accountant, he could do the podcast then?”

His manager hums and looks over the PR team who nods, confirming it with the podcast booker. “That will work. So that’s his schedule for the next month. Thanks for all your hard work. I know he’s not the easiest to handle.” His manager snorts just as Dieter opens the door to his trailer. He’s still in costume, covered in fake blood and dirt and he’s exhausted. He slumps onto the sofa with a groan.

“Okay, I’ll get back with you all later.” You promise, closing out the Zoom call and turning to look over at Dieter. It’s the first time you’ve properly seen him in costume and your mouth drops open. “Holy shit.” You hiss, clenching your thighs together as you take in the raw, rough and frankly sexy view of Dieter as a Roman general.

Dieter doesn’t notice your interest in his costume, rubbing his forehead as he is hot from the fighting. He’s exhausted. It’s been days of trying to get the scene just right. Including more takes than he’s ever known to cover the reaction of the crowd, of the emperor, of his lover in the stands. “It’s been a long fucking day.” He whines, opening one eye to look at you.

“Yeah?” Your voice is a little raspy, making you clear your throat as you sit up straighter and bite your lip. “It’s been a long day, baby?” You ask, wishing for a moment that Dieter was a method actor that stayed in character. Wanting to hear that voice he had developed for Marcus Acacius while he’s wearing that costume. “You need me to take care of you?”

He opens both eyes and smirks, seeing the way your eyes drop down to his costume. “Does this do it for you?” He asks slyly, standing up from the sofa and he brushes his costume down. His voice deepens as he asks you, “you want me to fuck you wearing this?” Instantly interested in this visceral reaction from you. 

You shiver slightly, his voice changing to the authoritative tone he had practiced with you. His eyes are hardening as he looks at you. “Yes.” You admit immediately. “We can- I can ride you.” You offer, cunt dripping at the thought.

His cock hardens in his briefs under the tunic and he stiffens his spine, wanting to enjoy this role play with you. “Stand up and strip. I want to see you.” He demands, “I want to see what the emperor has gifted me for winning my battle.”

Shit. A whimper escapes you, biting your lip even harder when he slips into role play as he watches you expectantly. You reach for your shirt and drag it over your head to drop to the floor. Wishing you had worn a dress today. “Too bad they aren’t using me as an extra.” You moan. “Pulling off a Roman dress would be sexy.”

“Fuck. I could ask wardrobe for an extra.” He says as his eyes take in your tits and he breaks character for a moment. When you’re naked in front of him, he straightens his back again. “Kneel before your general and tell him your sins.” He demands, “tell him what your weeping pussy yearns for that angers the gods.” His voice is deep and authoritative.

You have no idea if that is anything remotely like a Roman general would say, but you are quick to drop down to your knees in front of him. You bow your head, feigning embarrassment, and there might be a little of the genuine emotion mixed in. Your reaction to his costume is so physical. “You, general.” You moan quietly. “I wish for the general to take his frustrations out on my body. To use my cunt.”

Dieter knows he should be more like a general but he wants to tease you since you’re turned on by this display. By his character. “You’re nothing but a servant. You are nothing to men like me. Someone to fetch my wine and let me fuck your cunt. You want to please your general?” He asks as he reaches down to pull his hard cock from his briefs. He pumps himself and shifts closer to you, “you’re going to suck my cock.” He demands, “and pray the gods forgive you for your lust.”

It’s demeaning and sexy because most of the time Dieter is a whiny, submissive mess who does what you say, but right now he’s in charge. Except he’s not Dieter Bravo, not completely. He’s his character, Marcus Acacius. You open your mouth immediately, your cunt clenching when he pushes the head of his cock onto your tongue and past your lips. Making you moan as you close your eyes. He’s a little salty from sweat but that only adds to the little scene he’s acting out.

He groans as you take him into your mouth but it’s not enough. He reaches down to grab the back of your neck. “You’re not taking my cock like a hungry, needy, little whore. Show me how much you fucking want it.” He demands, rocking his hips to push deeper into your mouth.

You gasp and sputter around his cock, loving the almost ruthless way he is pushed down your throat. You swallow around him, making him groan and you feel your pussy start to drip onto the floor of the trailer. The scene is obscene and you love it, eyes watering as you look up at his ‘dirty and bloody’ face.

His brow is furrowed as he watches you, makeup on his face making him look fierce and he hisses when you swallow around him. “Fuck. Look at you. I bet your cunt is dripping onto the floor, isn’t it? Knowing you are sucking the cock of a general. Someone you’d never be able to be near unless you’re pouring my wine or taking my cock.” He chuckles breathlessly, slapping your cheek.

Your body shivers in goosebumps and you whimper around him. Your nipples are hard and aching and you want to reach between your thighs to rub your clit, but you want to prolong the pleasure. Saliva is dripping down your chin and you bob your head eagerly as you moan around him again. So turned on that you feel like you might cum right now.

Dieter twitches in your mouth, loving the roleplay. It's not really been something that he has explored due to his occupation. "Fuck. Your mouth is the Elysian Fields. Shit. Taking it so well." He compliments you, bending over you to squeeze your breast.

You hollow your cheeks, pressing your tongue to the underside of his cock. Moaning around his length again as your saliva slick jaw works to take him deeper. Wanting to see how long he can last in your mouth before he is pulling out to fuck you.

"Fuck. I - I don't want to-" He loses his character for a moment as he pulls out of your mouth, "I want to fuck you. Get on the bed and show me how much this little slut wants a general to fuck her." He demands, his cock slick with saliva and he wants to cum inside you.

You love the tone and honestly, it’s a little bit of a turn on to hear him call you a slut like that. Dieter doesn’t usually ever use derogatory names unless he’s talking about himself, but this is sexy. You want him to fuck you from behind, but you want to see the costume. Climbing on the bed and spreading your legs wide while you are on your back, you wait for him to react.

Dieter bites his lip, watching your chest heave and he chuckles at how eager you are for him to fuck you like this. “Look at you. Fucking dripping onto the sheets. Hungry for this General’s cock.” He mocks you as he stands at the end of the bed. He grabs your thighs, dragging you down to the edge of the bed. “You’re going to take whatever I give you.” He orders and grips his cock, positioning himself at your entrance before he pushes inside you in one thrust.

Your cry is loud and you don’t care who hears you. It’s not unusual for cast and crew to hear the sounds of sex coming from Dieter’s hotel room or trailer so no one ever expects any less from him. The snap of his hips is more aggressive and your cunt clenches down around him in pleasure as your fingers twist in the sheets. “Fuck- fuck yes!”

He can see how desperate you are for him to fuck you and he loves it. He focuses on being his character, imagining how roughly he’d fuck someone with adrenaline from the battle racing through him. “Fuck you’re so tight. Such a good little whore for me.” He praises as he grabs your legs and straightens them against his body so he can feel even bigger inside you.

Your eyes roll back because of the angle. His cock pushing deeper and kissing your womb. It pinches slightly but the pleasure overwhelms any pain. “G-gods!” You manage, finding it hard to think about anything but how fucking fierce he looks over you. His brows are pinched together and it makes him look furious, adding to the effect of the costume.

His body is still covered in fake dirt and blood, sweat beading on his forehead, and he looks down as your tits jiggle with each move and your mouth is open in pleasure. If you were a Roman god, you’d be Venus. “Taking my cock. Taking your general’s cock like a good slut. You’re hungry for it, aren’t you? Bet you sat there wet and waiting for me to come back from battle. Fuck you hard and make you cum after my frustration in battle.” He grunts, squeezing your legs as he rocks impossibly harder.

You moan and nod. “Yes, General.” You pant out, reaching up and squeezing your left tit as he fucks you. “Waiting for you to come back. Thinking of you.” Your pussy is gushing and Dieter is playing up the part beautifully. You had never thought of role play with him before but it’s perfect.

Your gushing cunt has his cock sliding in and out of you with ease and his skin slaps against your thighs. “Fuck. So good. Feel so fucking good.” He groans and squeezes your calves. He hisses and slaps your flesh, “you gonna be a good girl for your general? You gonna cum for me?”

“Yes. Fuck yes.” You gasp out, knowing that will be easy to do. “Dee- general.” You moan, correcting yourself when he squeezes your thigh and grunts in disapproval when you almost say his name. He obviously likes playing the general right now and you will oblige him. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

He wants to see it, hear it, feel it. He groans your name and slaps your thigh, wanting you to fall apart around him. You pant, getting closer and your walls flutter around his cock. “That’s it. That’s it.” He grunts, sliding his hand lower to rub your clit. “Cum for me.” He demands, wanting to hear it, “cum for your general.”

He clenches his jaw and his nostrils flare. It's so goddamn sexy and powerful that the sight of it makes you cum. Your cry is strangled, caught in your throat while your body bucks and heaves under him. Soaking his cock and you vaguely hope you don't ruin his costume as you fall apart.

You clamp down on his cock and your cry has to be heard on the entire lot as you soak his cock. "Fuck, you are - shit. Good girl. Such a good little whore for me. Gonna fill you up now. Don't care if you get knocked up. Will make sure you are looked after by the Emperor." He promises, still in character. "Fuck, I'm gonna - gonna cum." He pants, clenching his eyes as he pushes into you, thrusting a half dozen more times before he can't hold off. He pushes deep as he starts to cum, a whine escaping his lips as he breaks character.

You moan softly, watching his face relax and he literally changes from the character he was portraying to the actor that you work for and sleep with. His shoulder slump and his eyes shift back to a more soulful gaze, glazed over with pleasure as he rocks his hips forward to push every drop of cum into your pulsing walls. “Fuck, Dee.” You can’t help but giggle, your entire body tingling from the pure adrenaline of your orgasm. “That was- is your sex scene going to be like that?”

Dieter inhales deeply, his spine tingling from the orgasm, and he snorts, shaking his head as he looks down at you. "No. No. Fuck." He shakes his head, trying to get control of himself after some great fucking sex. "It's gonna be boring. She rides me, her naked, me in armor." He tells you and you nod, "not like this." He caresses your legs, "not like this."

You hum, smirking slightly and you reach down to caress the armored chest of his costume. “Well then, why don’t I ride you in your costume before you film, so you can imagine I’m the one on top of you?” You suggest, not even remotely upset by the idea of fucking him again like this. Your pussy clenches down around his softening cock. “Anything I can do to help you.”

Dieter smirks, "Jesus, you'll have me hardening in the damn sock thinking about you but fuck...I can bring the costume back to the trailer another day." He decides and reaches for your hand to kiss your palm. "Have I ever told you that I love you?" He asks softly, knowing you deserve to know how he feels.

Dieter says he loves you all the time, most often after you do something for him he had expected you to refuse. It’s glib and flippant, not real so you don’t ever tell him how it hurts you when he does because you know he doesn’t love love you. “I could stand to hear it more.” You admit, heart twisting and you cup his cheek when he puts your hand against it. “Because I love you too.”

Your adoring gaze makes his heart flutter and he’s reminded once again how he cannot live without you. You’re his rock and you keep him on track, not letting him spiral when things go wrong. He sighs, “not like I want you to” and lets go of your hand to pull out of you. He can’t say how he really feels and he dejectedly tucks his cock away.

The ever shifting moods of Dieter reminds you that he isn’t yours and you decide to just giggle to cover the flare of hurt. “Of course not.” You hum. “That wouldn’t fit your reputation.” You sit up and reach for a towel. “Do you want a snack?” You ask, moving back into caretaker mode.

Dieter watches you shuffle off the bed, reaching for your panties and he sighs, “you don’t get it. I don’t mean- whatever. It’s whatever.” He huffs and decides to head back onto set and find himself something to drink.

You frown when he leaves the trailer before you can put yourself back together. Wondering why he seems so shiftless right now, if he’s feeling guilty about something. You know that he’s not great at expressing himself and sometimes acts out like a child would. He doesn’t like being emotionally vulnerable. You decide to go to the set and see if you can help him.

Dieter is nursing a black coffee when you arrive on set and he is sitting, waiting for the other actors to come back from their break. You walk over to him and he stares at the cup in his hand. “Sorry for - for that.” He manages to get out like it’s painful to say.

“Don’t worry about it.” The last thing you need is for Dieter to think you are mad at him. He needs to concentrate on the scenes being filmed today and hopefully by the time he’s done, whatever is upsetting him will have passed. “Do you need anything? Are you hungry? You didn’t eat much this morning.” His blood sugar might be low. “I brought you a Kit Kat.” You pull the candy bar out of your bag and offer it to him.

He looks up at you in surprise and takes the chocolate, undoing the wrapper after you take his coffee and he groans as he chews it, not realizing how hungry he was. You stand there in silence and Dieter hands you the wrapper after the AD calls for everyone to return to set. He inhales deeply, mentally shifting into his character.

You sit in the chair he vacated, that is still warm from him sitting there. Watching as he takes his mark and his co-stars also get into position. It’s always interesting to watch Dieter work, the truth in the saying that all artists are slightly mad being very true. You think he is amazing.

Dieter grunts as soon as the director calls action, working on remembering his blocking and the choreography. People think that acting is easy, that it doesn't take a lot, but Dieter's life has been acting and it's exhausting physically and mentally. He gets lost in his character as he works his way through the scene.

You have memorized the lines and the action sequences. Seeing the hard work he has been putting in come to life as he goes through the scenes. Sometime they cut and reset, but you are so impressed and fucking turned on by his competence in this role, it makes you press your thighs together.

Dieter is sweating when he finishes his scene and he strides off set when the director calls cut, taking the bottle of water you have ready for him. He desperately wants a shower so he's relieved when the director calls it for the day and he hands you the water bottle. "Need a damn shower and some weed." He declares, walking off set and you follow him.

You know that he’s tired so you don’t try to talk to him. Just follow him back to the trailer and you pick up his costume as he strips it off, taking it back to wardrobe as he gets into the shower. His comfy sweats and crocs are set out and you have ordered dinner to be delivered to the house by the time you get there.

Dieter stands under the water, eyes closed as he tries to imagine his life when he’s older. He will be too old to be a movie star, too old to be considered another more than a washed up legend. His legacy will be his Oscar and nothing else. He hates the idea of not having anything else written in his eulogy. He hates the thought of being alone. He imagines if he gets the balls to say how he feels about you. Sure, he’s not conventional but he loves you. You don’t care about the fame or the money. You see him, you know him. He imagines being old, watching his kids grow up with you beside him. He wants that. He just needs to tell you for real and hope you don’t crush his crumbling heart in your hands.

Once you’ve returned the costume, you pick up the changes to the script and the blocking for tomorrow, going back to the trailer to pack up the bag you always carry for Dieter. He’s still in the shower, which is a little unusual but you just think that he’s sore. You’ll offer to give him a massage once he’s smoked a little and relaxed. It’s been a long day.

Dieter finally turns off the shower, stepping out and wrapping the towel around his waist. He washes the makeup from his face with the organic cleanser you get him and he comes out to find you waiting for him. “Shit.” He hisses, rubbing his eyes, “I just know I’m gonna lose you.” He admits, trying to ignore how fucking pretty you look waiting for him.

You frown, not sure what the hell he is talking about. “Are you okay?” You ask, stepping closer to him and wondering if he might have taken something without you knowing. He's been doing so good with not taking random pills, but this is Dieter. “You aren’t going to lose me unless you wander off.” You joke playfully, reaching out and touching his arm.

He flinches and shakes his head, “no. No. You’re gonna go and all because I can’t control- I can’t stop thinking - fuck!” He yells and you jump, making his frown deepen. “There’s - it’s just all in my head bouncing around all the damn time.” He admits, waving his hands around his wet curls, “you’re gonna leave because you don’t - it’s gonna ruin everything but I can’t stop myself.” He admits and you frown, shaking your head, “Dieter. What’s wro-?” You don’t get to finish before he blurts out, “I’m in love with you!”

Your mouth drops open slightly, shocked by his outburst. His eyes are filled with sorrow, grief. As if you’ve already rejected him. “Dee…” he shakes his head “I knew it.” He mumbles and you step closer. “Know what?” You ask, tilting your head. “That I’m in love with you too? That I’m scared that you’ll find someone else? That you’ll be bored?” You ask, voice shallow and fearful. “Because that’s all true.”

Dieter stares at you in shock, thinking for a second that he’s high or this is some dream. He swallows harshly and reaches for his towel, dragging it from his body. “Dieter.” You whisper in confusion and he reaches for your hand, bringing it to his chest. “I’m yours. All of me is yours and I stand in front of you now naked and totally exposed, physically and emotionally. I’ve been in love with you for - well, since you started working for me but I think I told myself that I couldn’t indulge in you, couldn’t ruin you, until that first night we slept together and I - no one else came close to you. I love you and I want you. You’re the only person I can ever see myself growing old with.” He admits, his heart pounding under your palm.

You bite your lip and your eyes fill with happy tears. “I always worried that you would move on. That I wasn’t enough.” You admit softly. “But I want you. Perfectly flawed you. I think you are amazing and I don’t want to be with anyone else but you, Dieter.”

Dieter offers you a soppy smile when he realizes you feel the same way. “You are - Jesus. Seriously?” He asks and you nod, offering him a soft smile as you reach up with your other hand to cup his cheek. “I love you.” He declares before he surges forward to press his lips to yours.

You can’t help but giggle against his lips, throwing your arms around him and dragging him closer. He loves you. He’s whiny, sometimes annoying and always needy, but he loves you. You pour yourself into the kiss, your heart pounding in your chest.

His fingers dig into your waist as he pulls you against him, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he lets it sink in that you love him. “Wanna- wanna grow old with you. Well, older.” He says when you pull back and he points at himself, his wrinkles that he’s insecure about.

Leaning in, you press your lips to the wrinkles and smile at him when you pull back. “Only if you’re willing to steal your costume after you finish shooting.” You joke, kissing him again.

Dieter chuckles, “now that I can agree to.” He promises, caressing your back. “Definitely going to steal that one to take home.” He promises, “for now though…let’s go home and have dinner before I spend all night making love to my girlfriend.” He nudges his nose against yours.

“I ordered dinner to be delivered,” you tell him as you pull back and smile at him. “We’ll smoke a little and then I’ll ride you before rubbing your back.” You tell him the plan as you turn around to reach for his clothes. “How does that sound, baby?”

“Fuck, you really are my soulmate.” He murmurs, looking at you in awe. “Let’s go home, sweetheart.” He orders, slapping your ass. “Uh, you might want to get dressed.” You say and he chuckles, nodding as he grabs the sweats you laid out for him. “Don’t want anyone else seeing the goods. Yours and only yours.” He winks at you as he pulls his pants up and grabs his shirt, pulling it over his head while he slides into his crocs. “Sports mode.” He jokes as he pulls the straps up over his ankle.

You roll your eyes, laughing at the complete dork that you love. He’s quirky in about a million ways and sometimes drives you crazy with his antics, but you don’t want him any other way. Especially if he’s going to roleplay a Roman general with you for the rest of your life. “Let’s go home, babe.” You tell him, grabbing the bag. “We’ll practice your sex scene until we get it right.”

“Fuck yes.” He cheers as you walk out of his trailer and he takes your hand, not caring about anything other than showing you how he feels about you. “Food, weed, then some crazy lovemaking.” He decides and squeezes your hand, “you know…I have a costume left over from Cliff Beasts we could try out.” He teases and you snort, “that’s just your robe. You used your own for the character.” Dieter smirks, “could be sexy if we roleplay it the right way.” He suggests, “these cliff beasts are so large-a.” He does his accent and you sigh, “I hate that that works on me.” Dieter grins, “gonna be a damn good life together, baby.” He declares and you giggle, “yeah it is, Bravo.”

[whatsnewalycat]

too much holiday

Dieter Bravo x non-binary!Reader

Word Count: 1.5k+

Warnings/Tags: sober dieter, sober reader, new years eve party, implied neurodivergence, holiday overload/overwhelm, crying, dieter gets to be bitchy, misgendering that’s swiftly corrected, little bitta hurt/comfort and fluff, making out, also I have not given this a final read-through and it’s not beta read anticipate errors lol

Notes: This is for @perotovar for the @dieterbravobrainrotclub holiday exchange 🖤✨ HAPPY NEW YEAAAAR SORRY THIS IS LATE I HOPE YOU STILL LIKE IT!!

----------

Trying to keep up with Dieter’s busy life has always been a challenge. In his line of work, he could be sent anywhere in the world for any amount of time, for press tours and film shoots and countless meetings. 

Dieter invites you to be by his side as much as possible, and you tag along when you can. It’s a whole production, though. Planned outings where the two of you walk hand-in-hand past paps, as directed by his agent. Stylists and assistants and waiting back while Dieter basks in the spotlight, all while being asked your favorite question, ‘Who are you?’ 

Needless to say, what attracts you to Dieter is not his stardom. Quite the opposite, actually. 

You prefer his company in the most mundane moments. In the lull between projects, when it’s just the two of you. Making breakfast or lazing around the house all day, the heat of his body a constant hum on your skin, his lips always finding some tender crook that makes you melt. 

Drinking coffee with your legs draped across his lap. He’s wearing glasses and his curls are all messy and graying. He pauses reading when you ask him what a blank-letter word for blank is. His fingertips thrum against your thigh as he thinks. Tugging your body closer just before he falls asleep, limbs heavy and warm, the world’s best weighted blanket. When he wakes up in the morning and sees you beside him and the first unfiltered emotion that crosses his face is love. 

These are the moments you call on during inevitable bouts of chaos. Through public appearances and awards seasons and long stretches of time apart, the promise of having him to yourself again has kept you together. 

This time, though, you can feel exhaustion peeling back the edges of your limitation. 

It sounded like a dream in theory. Fly out to New York for a New Year’s Eve Party. Get all dressed up, party your faces off, then go home to LA in the morning. 

You thought you could handle it. You factored in the seven days preceding, knowing that you would be flying out to Texas on Christmas Eve, meeting his family for the first time and spending three days in their constant company. You knew that from there, the two of you would make a one-day pit stop in New York because it was the only time some magazine could squeeze Dieter in for a photoshoot. Even knowing that meetings would eat up all his attention back home in LA, and that this would all set off upon his return from filming in Spain for three weeks, you thought the thought everyone thinks before they commit an act of hubris: This will be fine. 

God only knows how you made it this far. Some lifeless thing propped up against the second-story railing overlooking the dance floor. The stylist who fussed over your appearance all afternoon may as well have been a mortician. 

At least everyone else seems to be having a good time. 

Your eyes wander over the sea of people milling about and you become entranced by how fluid it all feels. Beneath the thick pulse of EDM, tens or maybe hundreds of voices meld into a collective, hypnotic babble. A giant LED display behind the DJ counts down the seconds to midnight. 

46:01

46:00

45:59

You spot Dieter on the opposite side of the venue, across the open space of the dance floor in a circle of his fellow glammed-up b-list celebrities, wearing a grim flat line on his lips as he watches everyone else participate in the conversation.  

A waitress stops by Dieter’s group with a tray of shots. Others accept the offering, but he holds up a hand and shakes his head. They clink their tiny glasses together and shout, “Salud!” while Dieter shifts his weight to one leg and looks around the room. 

He catches your gaze and gives you this weary, apologetic half-smile that says he’s just as exhausted as you are. 

You raise your champagne flute of sparkling water to him in a show of commiseration. 

A glint of humor tugs at his mouth and his shoulders shake with a chuckle. Leaning into his circle of lively colleagues, he appears to excuse himself. 

Your heart skips. 

39:04

39:03

39:01 

As they start doling out farewells, you hear a nearby voice. 

“Excuse me, can I see your wristband?” 

You tear your eyes away to blink at the security guard beside you. It takes you a moment to realize you aren’t actually a fly on the wall, but when you return to yourself, you show him the black paper bracelet on your wrist. 

He relays this information into his earpiece, waits for a response from Security Guard HQ, then looks you up and down, “And who are you?”

You look around for your lifeline but he disappeared. Your sinuses burn and your vision goes blurry. It becomes clear quite suddenly that you don’t belong here and that you will never belong here. You will never fit in with these people or this lifestyle or the chaos. 

“Sorry, I, umm…” You shake your head, looking down at the sea of people swirling kaleidoscope in their collectiveness, “I don’t know, I’m nobody.” 

“Mind explaining how ‘nobody’ got ahold of a VIP bracelet?” 

“What’s the problem?” 

You perk up at his voice, your knight in shining armor, shoving his body between you and the security guard. 

“Is she with you?”

“They are with me,” Dieter corrects. “Is that how this works? I leave my plus one alone for a minute and you fucking meatheads try to kick them out?” 

“There were concerns—”

“Who’s concerned?” 

“I can’t say.”

“Uh-huh, yeah. You can’t say. Well are these ‘concerns’ resolved now, or do you need to harass my partner some more?” 

“No sir, no more concerns. My apologies.” 

“Yeah, thanks.” 

He uses the same bitchy tone he would use to tell someone to fuck off, and even though he’s a bit of a drama queen, it makes your heart swell.

As the security guard retreats, Dieter turns around and cups your cheeks, searching your face, “Are you ok, baby?” 

You nod out of instinct but the dishonesty knots in your throat. Swallowing it down, you feel yourself crumble. You shake your head and let out a big, defeated sob. 

He wipes away tears that spill down your cheeks then pulls you into a tight hug. You wrap your arms around his midsection. It feels warm and safe and you surrender to the enormity of how overwhelming the past week has been. Buried anxieties rise in your chest, hot and heavy, escaping in bursts. You babble an apology into his neck and he rocks you back and forth, petting your hair. 

“I hate this, Dee. I don’t wanna be here.” 

Still swaying you back and forth, soothing you like a fussy baby, he murmurs into your ear, “I’m sorry. I should have come back to check on you sooner. I shouldn’t have—”

The words seem to catch before he can finish his thought. He buries his nose in your hair and squeezes you tighter. This time when he speaks, his voice comes out damp and low and thick with emotion. 

“I shouldn’t have been away so long. I’m sorry.” 

It all feels enormous again. Overwhelming and raw and jammed down your throat. 

“It’s just…” You swallow and shake your head, pulling back enough to meet his gaze, “The flights and people and constant go go go. It’s chaos. It-it’s—a lot. All I wanted to do was spend time with you.” 

Nodding, he looks you over with big puppy dog eyes that make you melt. His hand catches yours and brings it to his lips. He kisses each of your fingertips and you melt a little bit more. 

“How can I make it up to you?” 

“Take me home.” 

He grimaces and glances at the countdown, “I said I would stay to, uhh…”

27:32

27:31

27:30 

Maybe it’s the way his hollowed-out silence is flooded with noise, high-energy EDM and cheers of celebration grating your bones to dust, but you honestly think you’d rather die than stay for just five more minutes. 

When he looks at you, he must see it, or maybe he comes to the same conclusion. 

“Fuck it, let’s get out of here.” 

You smile, unrestrained, “Really?” 

“It’s publicity bullshit anyway,” he shrugs, pulling you in for a kiss, and another, rumbling against your mouth, “Fuck, I missed you.” 

His lips are warm and plush and his tongue tastes like home. You wrap your arms around his shoulders as he grabs your waist, arching against your body. Hunger pulses between you, messy kisses and white-knuckle restraint. 

Nipping at your ear, he tells you, “If we don’t leave right now I’m gonna fuck you in front of God and everyone.” 

You chuckle, pulling back enough to look at him, his messy curls and big dopey grin, eyes all dark with unfiltered love. The enormity of it makes everything else microscopic by comparison. 

Your eyes drop to his mouth. He gives you a kiss for the road, soft and sweet and lingering. 

After parting, the two of you take a moment to straighten yourselves out, then you say, “Alright, get me the fuck out of here.”

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Godspeed

Dieter Bravo x Female Reader

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Now back home in Los Angeles, your first priority is protecting yourself, and Dieter, from Warren. Warnings: pov switching, warren's a pos, pining, fluff, comfort, dieter bravo is good at being romantic, revenge photo threats, shitty ex, panic attack, mutual masturbation via facetime sex, balloons! Words: 6,200

A/N: They never leave me folks. They're all I can think about. My thanks to @devineconjuring for her eyes and her grammar knowledge and dot eating. FYI... when you get to the scene, GG dances to "Godspeed" by Frank Ocean. (hence the title) Photo of the flower arrangement is from Tiffany Gabrus.

Previous Chapter Golden Girl Masterlist Masterlist

✨✨✨

You haven’t even been home for twenty-four hours when you invite Warren over.

You don’t tell Dieter. Guilt plants itself into your heart as you wish him good night, knowing that in less than an hour, Warren will be at your door.

But you want to handle this on your own. If Dieter protected you, you can protect him.

You could hardly hold it together when you called him after you arrived home, his deep voice instantly calming you. He quickly said he couldn’t talk because he was on set, wishing you a good night and telling you he loved and missed you. You cried yourself to sleep in your lonely bed, holding on to the fancy hotel robe he had worn, trying to inhale as much of his scent as you could.

You’re miserable now, sitting on the couch, your hands clasped tightly, as your foot nervously taps against the colorful terrazzo patterned rug that Warren always called too loud.

The doorknob jingles–as if Warren thinks he could just freely walk into the home he hasn’t been in for over a hundred days–before a few sharp knocks against the door make you jump. 

Every step you take, your heart pounds against your chest. 

You unlock the door, opening it to reveal the blue eyes you used to get lost in. The sight of his clever smile, which you used to adore, now makes your stomach turn.

“Hey,” he offers.

You don’t greet him. You just step aside and let him walk through the door he stepped out of months ago.

He looks around the space, surely noticing that all the photos of the two of you have been taken down, any signs of his presence long gone.

“Looks good in here," he muses. “You always had an eye for decor.”

“Thanks,” you reply, trying to square your shoulders and hold your head high. You can’t trust anything he says; there’s always a motive behind his words and actions. You fell victim to him for years. Now is not the time to be weak. You have Dieter to protect.

He takes a seat in the same black and white plaid chair he always used to sit in. You hate that chair now.

You settle on your new favorite spot on the couch, where you always sit when you talk to Dieter because you can easily prop the laptop on the side table.

“So,” Warren says with a smirk. “How was London? A smashing good time?” He mocks a British accent at the end. You know exactly what he’s doing. His voice drips with sarcasm, the kind that used to cut you deeply.

“It was good, but that’s not why you’re here,” you respond shortly. “How did you get that photo?”

His eyebrow arches up as he shakes his head back and forth. “Seems like you forgot to stop backing your photos up to our Google Cloud. Imagine my shock when I got a notification on my phone telling me I had a new album called ‘London New Year's,’ and it was filled with photos of my best friend and my wife galavanting naked together in bed. It was hard enough finding out you were there with him from paparazzi photos.”

Your heart sinks. You’re so mad at yourself. You thought you’d severed all digital ties to Warren, but this specific oversight on your part is huge.

“Ex-wife,” you correct him. Your voice is strong and steady, though your hands tremble.

Warren leans back in the chair. “You know, there certainly are some interesting photos in there. It’d be a shame if they wound u—”

“If you release them, it’s illegal. I can’t believe you’d stoop this low, Warren Gregory.” You use his middle name as if you’re his mother, trying to snap a bit of sense into him. “You lied to me for years, cheated on me constantly, and yet this is the lowest of the low for you. I’m disappointed in you. You’re better than this.” Your voice breaks at the end, though you do not cry. You’re done shedding tears for Warren.

Regret flashes across his face, instantly replaced by an infuriatingly smug smile.

"And I suppose Dieter's just the pinnacle of better than me, right? How many times has he gone to rehab? What number partner are you for him?”

The audacity of this man. You take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“None of that defines him now. He’s been nothing but honest and kind to me throughout everything–ever since I met him–and you know this. If he was such an awful person, why was he your best friend?”

His smile falters for a second, and he leans forward, elbows on his knees.

"Come on, you can't tell me you're actually happy with him. He's unstable. You deserve better."

You laugh at the irony. "Better? Like you, Warren?”

He allows himself to look ashamed for a split second. “I have made mistakes, and you got caught in the middle. I admit that. But I know you, I know what you need, and Dieter Bravo is not it.”

“You don’t know me anymore,” you say, your voice and your heart gaining strength. Because in your heart, you know, Dieter is it. “The woman you knew? She’s gone. I’ve changed and grown. And Dieter… he sees me.”

Warren scoffs. “Right, because the star of Cliff Beasts 6 with a drug problem is such a catch?”

“That’s enough, Warren. You don’t get to judge him or me. Delete those photos and get out of my house. I’m not asking, I’m telling you.” You stand up, hands clenched at your sides.

He pulls his phone out and taps the screen a few times, then holds it up for you to see. “There. Deleted. But this isn’t the end of it.”

“It is the end, Warren. If you need to contact me, go through my lawyer.”

He pauses, his hand on the doorknob. The last time you saw him like this, he walked out on you curled into a ball with tears streaming down your face. “You’ll regret ever being with him. Dieter will break your heart, just like he has with all the others before you. And by the way, I think I do want the house.”

The door slams behind him, and you collapse onto the couch. Your whole body shakes as adrenaline courses through it. You pick up your phone, and the sight of your wallpaper–Dieter and you smiling in front of the Christmas tree in London–instantly calms you.

You text him a simple message, knowing he’s sleeping, before you curl into a ball and cry.

—-

Da-ding. Da-ding.

Dieter’s awoken by your text tone. He rolls over, and smiles at your message. 

Missing you. I love you. 💖

The clock reads 4:40 AM. He should go back to bed, but he wants to see your beautiful face. It only takes two rings for you to answer his FaceTime. He’s instantly awake when he sees your tear-streaked face.

“Baby? You okay?”

“Warren, he-he threatened the house, and I-I—”

He sees the way you begin to panic, your wide eyes blinking back at him, your chest rising and falling in quick breaths.

“Shh, shh,” he soothes. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”

He watches you inhale slowly, trying to steady your breathing.

“The house,” you sob. “He was here, Dee. He-he threatened—”

“Baby, breathe,” his voice soft and firm. “I’m right here with you. Focus on my face.”

Your tear-filled eyes stare at him as he sends you a small, reassuring smile. His heart aches; he wishes he could hold you, but he can’t. All he can do is be there for you via a small screen.

“That’s it, Sweets, just keep breathing,” he encourages softly. “Now, tell me what happened. Slowly.”

You take another shaky breath, wiping at your eyes. “I-I called Warren and had him come over,” your voice quivers. “I’m sorry.”

Dieter’s heart sinks at the thought of you seeing Warren on your own. His jaw clenches, but he keeps his voice calm. "It’s okay. What happened when he came over?"

You take another deep breath. "He… he had photos of us. From London. I forgot to disconnect from our cloud storage."

Dieter's heart races, but he maintains his composure for your sake. "What kind of photos, baby?"

"All of them, even the private ones," you whisper, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. "He threatened to release them, but I made him delete them."

The rage inside Dieter simmers low and hot, but he stays calm for you. “You did the right thing, Sweets. I’m so proud of you.”

You nod, sniffling. “I told him to leave and not come back. But he… he said it wasn’t over. He doesn’t like that we’re together, Dee.”

He lets out a long exhale, wanting nothing more than to fly back home to you right now and protect you from Warren and his cowardly threats.

“Listen to me, baby. Remember what I said before, when he tried to worm his way between us? Fuck everyone else.”

You nod, wiping away your tears. “I just… I feel so stupid.”

“Hey, no,” he responds, his words firm and measured. “You’re not stupid. This isn’t your fault. Warren’s the one trying to manipulate you.” He pauses, realizing that, once again, Warren is planting doubts in your mind. He leans closer to the screen. “Listen to me,” his dark brown eyes bore into yours. “You deserve love and happiness. Don’t let Warren make you feel any less than what you are, okay? He’s going to threaten you, he’s going to threaten me, but as long as we’re together, we can get through it. I love you, and I’m not going anywhere. Nothing he says or does will ever change that.”

You sniffle and wipe the remaining tears from your eyes. “I don’t want to lose you over this.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” he promises.

A smile finally lifts your lips. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Don’t be. Rather be awake talking to you than asleep without you.”

“I know, but I should let you go.”

“No, stay with me for a bit longer. I don’t want you to be alone right now. I want to make sure you’re alright.”

You hesitate for a moment, but then nod. “Okay, just for a little while.”

“That’s my girl.”

He settles back in bed, knowing he’s going to have an exhausting day on set, but he doesn’t care, as long as you know he’s always there for you.

—-

Last night you jotted down a quick checklist of things you need to do today. First thing’s first: call your lawyer.

You spend the next hour detailing Warren’s visit, his threats, and the photos.

This is the bravest and strongest you’ve felt in so long. The irony is not lost on you that it’s all due to Dieter’s love and support.

As much as you miss London and Dieter, you’re ready to face everything head-on. You’ve spent too long letting Warren control your life, even since filing for divorce. It’s time to take charge.

With a newfound sense of purpose, you sit at your computer with a blank document staring back at you. You take a sip of your tea as you contemplate your resumé, which will reflect who you are now–not the picture-perfect wife Warren tried to mold you into, but the creative, independent girl Dieter sees and cherishes.

You begin with your name at the top, and beneath it, “Floral Designer and Artist.”

—-

There’s been a bitterness seething in the back of Dieter’s mind since he woke up. One he really can’t seem to get rid of. He’s been able to get through his scenes, recite his lines, act like the hero when the cameras are filming, but as soon as the director calls cut, his mind instantly goes back to you.

The concealer under his eyes is wiped away, revealing the dark circles from his sleepless night. Emily, his favorite makeup artist, chatters away about all the news she’s heard as she removes his makeup after a long day of shooting, but Dieter barely hears her. His mind and heart are back in Los Angeles with you, in your house where that manipulative bastard confronted you and made you feel scared.

He doesn’t know what to do. He wants to protect you, send every single lawyer in the Los Angeles area knocking on Warren’s luxury penthouse’s door, but he also knows how important it is for you to handle all of this on your own. You’d been clear about that when he made sure you had proper representation for your divorce. He respects you–admires you even–but it still doesn’t stop the protective instinct he has for you.

He wonders if he’d feel better if he was there with you, holding you in his arms, whispering against your ear that he loves you as he soothes all that ails you.

He checks his phone again. No new messages from you. He tries not to worry; you told him you had a busy day settling back in and letting your lawyer know what happened. He knows you’re handling things, but the thought of Warren being in your space, making you feel the way you did, makes him boil.

“You alright, Bravo?” Emily’s southern accent pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts.

“Yeah, sorry. Just ready to get home.”

She smiles with an understanding nod. “You’ll be home soon enough.”

—-

Sometimes you’re shocked at how life works. Though your resumé is relatively blank, you decide to include a selection of photos showcasing flower arrangements you’ve made throughout the years.

You make it a point to start early, figuring you’ll have to stop by many floral shops to get your name out there. You decide to first try your favorite shop, Bloom. It’s right down the hill from your home, an easy walk to and from the charming mint green building.

The little bell above the door chimes as you enter, the sweet scent of flowers enveloping you as you walk into one of your favorite places.

“Well, hi there!” a friendly voice calls out from behind a large bouquet being built at a table. Angela, the shop’s owner, emerges from behind the bright blooms. Her curly gray hair is pulled back in a messy bun, her apron covered in greenery and petals. "If it isn't my favorite customer! I was wondering when you'd be back."

You smile warmly at her. “Hey, Angela, it’s good to see you.”

“You too, dear. It’s been a while! How have you been?”

“Oh. Lots of changes lately. Actually…” you pause for a moment, unsure of what you should share, “that’s kind of why I’m here.”

Angela’s eyebrows raise in interest. “Oh? Do tell.”

With a deep breath, you pull out the folder containing your assembled resume and portfolio. “Well, I was hoping to talk to you about maybe picking up some work. I’ve always admired what you do, and I thought maybe I could start here, learn how to do what you do…”

Angela’s eyes light up as she takes the folder from you, putting her glasses on to inspect closer. “Oh my, this is quite a surprise! Let me take a look.”

You watch nervously as she flips through the pages, her eyes scanning your curated photos. Your heart pounds in your chest, hoping your lack of professional experience won’t overshadow your love for floral design.

After what feels like an eternity, Angela looks up with a smile. “Well, I must say, you have quite an eye. You arrange flowers in such a unique, artistic way, far different from what I do…”

Your heart drops. You almost feel ashamed for putting yourself out there in this way. You get ready to not look so disappointed when Angela’s sweet, brown eyes meet yours.

"…and I think we need someone like you here. I mean, they’re all so lovely.”

Relief washes over you. “Thank you.”

Angela nods, closing the folder. “I have been thinking about bringing on some help around here. I could use some fresh eyes and new ideas. My regulars would love something different."

Warmth expands in your chest. “I would love that. Thank you so much, Angela.”

"Perfect! Come by Monday morning at 7:30. That's when the flower deliveries arrive." She hands your folder back with a gentle pat. "And here, let me get you some supplies so you can practice!”

As you walk home, your hands full of flowers, you can’t help but fight the large smile that spreads across your face. You can’t wait to tell Dieter. The thought of having something that's yours—something Warren never touched or controlled—feels like freedom.

—-

Dieter’s sick of the cold. Without you here in London, the wind feels more bitter, the days look grayer, and his suite feels even emptier.

He flops against the couch, his heart aching to talk to you, to make sure you’re doing okay. He checks his phone–he was never one for math, but his timezone math is flawless now. It’s only 12:30 PM in Los Angeles. You’re only entering the afternoon while he just finished a 12-hour shoot and is exhausted. He only has two more weeks of this and then, then, he can be back with you. But for now, staring at the image of you smiling with the Paddington statue will have to suffice until you pick up his FaceTime.

… which you do after three rings. Your wide smile instantly brings him back to life, his heart beating faster against his chest when you softly say “Hi, Dee.”

“Hey, baby, you busy?” He already feels so much warmer and lighter as you chuckle happily, panning the phone down to a myriad of flowers spread across your kitchen counter.

“Kind of. I’m practicing.”

“Practicing what?”

“Oh… for…” your smile grows even wider. He can feel your happiness all these miles away, and it makes his heart explode. “…my new job.”

“What?! Get the fuck out. Baby, I’m so proud of you. You didn’t even tell me you were looking.”

You nod happily. “It’s at the flower shop down the hill. Bloom? It’s that mint green building. I know the owner just from going there a lot and… she really liked my stuff.”

He wants nothing more than to sweep you into his arms, swing you around, and pepper proud kisses across your pretty face. For so long, he wanted to share in these moments with you. “Sweets, that’s amazing. You’ve always been so talented, I’m so happy for you.”

“Thanks, it feels—it feels good,” you choke out. “Like, I know it’s not going to fix everything but… I feel like I have something for me now and I’m on the right path.”

He knows what you’re implying. You’re worried about the house, about your money, about supporting yourself. But there’s no way in hell he’d ever let you shoulder that burden alone. “And I’ll be here to help with whatever else needs fixing. You know that.”

“I know Dee, I just… I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“You could never, baby. You deserve it all, anything I can give you.”

“I wish you could give me a hug.”

He sighs. “Me too.”

“And a kiss.”

He groans. “Me too.”

“And more.”

He whines. “Me toooooo.”

“Hey, why haven’t we had phone sex yet?”

His eyes widen, brows rising. “I… do not know.”

A mischievous glint sparkles in your eyes. “Have you jerked off since I left? I feel like I should know this.”

“You should know this and I… haven’t.” You gasp. “It’s been over a week. Are you okay?”

“Baby, I’ve been so stressed with filming and so sad without you, it honestly hasn’t really crossed my mind.”

“Well, if you give me like, ten minutes to clean up and maybe get into something a little more comfortable, we can remedy that.”

“Fuck y-yeah. Okay. Yeah.”

You giggle, and the sweet sound of it goes straight to his cock. “Okay, I’ll call you soon.”

He nods, his cock already beginning to pulse when he hangs up.

—-

Your mirror reflects a confident woman. Your shoulders stand tall, your eyes bright with excitement as you adjust the cups of your light pink bra before turning to hike up the straps of the matching thong higher on your hips. You look good, confident, sensual–like you’re going to drive Dieter crazy. You position your laptop on the dresser, making sure your entire body is in frame before you FaceTime Dieter. He instantly picks up, his shirt already off, his back resting against the headboard of the bed you used to share with him in London.

“Baby,” he groans. “Holy fuck, you look so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Good. Now watch me.”

You press play on the remote. A sweet guitar begins playing before Frank Ocean croons “I will always love you, how I do.”

Dieter’s eyes widen as you begin to move to the music. Your hands running up and down your body, hips swaying to the sweet beat. You watch him watch you, dark brown eyes roaming your body as he moves his iPad closer and closer to his face.

You’ve never done something like this before, displaying yourself in such a way for someone who’s just happy to watch your barely dressed body sashay.

You look down on where you came from, sometimes But you’ll have this place to call home, always

Your hands trail up to your bra before your fingers trace along the delicate lace edges, teasing your nipples through the thin fabric. You turn your back to the camera, coyly looking over your shoulder as you slowly unhook the clasps. The straps slide down your arms as you let the bra fall away, revealing the smooth expanse of your back to him.

Swaying your hips in time with the music, you turn back to face Dieter, arms crossed over your chest before you wink at him and reveal your breasts, causing a soft groan to escape his lips. The sound emboldens you–you’ve never felt this free and confident in your own skin.

This love will keep us through blinding of the eyes, silence in the ears, darkness in the mind

Trailing your fingers down your stomach, you hook your thumbs in the band of your thong, running them along the straps. Dieter’s eyes follow your every movement, his breathing growing heavier as you sway.

“You’re killing me, Sweets,” he groans.

You smile, feeling wanted and powerful. This isn’t about pleasing someone else or conforming to someone else’s wishes; it’s about the connection with someone who loves and adores you exactly as you are.

“Keep watching Dee,” you tempt, slowly turning around again. You slide your thong down your hips, bending at the waist as you push it to your ankles. You kick the thong away before slowly spreading your legs open, baring your glistening pussy, showing Dieter just how wet you are for him, how much your little show has affected you too.

Confidence soars within you as you turn back around.

“Baby,” he lets out a low sigh as you stand nude in front of him, holding his eye contact as the final lyric is sung.

I will always love you, until the time we die

“Holy shit,” Dieter breathes as the music fades out. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful in my life. I fucking love you so much. Fuck, I don’t know if I’ve ever been this fucking hard before.”

“Show me,” you command, surprising yourself with your boldness.

He groans, shifting on the bed as he pushes down his boxers. His cock springs free, hard and leaking, falling heavily against him. You moan at the sight of him, wishing you could taste the bead of precum glistening on the tip.

Your laptop sits on the edge of your bed, your lip captured between your teeth as you climb on the mattress, crawling across it to sit with your back against the headboard, mirroring how he sits. You can feel the wetness pooling between your thighs as you watch him wrap his wide hand around his cock.

He’s perfectly centered in the screen. His cock sits hard and heavy between his thick, golden thighs. You wish so badly to be able to lick your way from his wide cock up the swell of his stomach, across his broad chest to his sharp collar bones, feeling the rough patches of stubble against his jaw before tasting his plush lips that now sit agape as he slowly drags his fist up and down his length.

You spread your legs wider, your feet straddling your laptop. Dieter’s eyes darken as they roam your body, taking in the sight of your pussy, puffy and wet with need.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growls. You follow the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows hard, twisting his fist around the head of his cock.

Frank Ocean quietly sings about Nikes in the background as your hand runs down the length of your body, dipping into the slick spilling out of your pussy. Dieter groans when you gasp as your finger paints a circle around your clit.

“I miss your tongue on my pussy,” you pout.

“Fuck, I do too baby. Wish I could taste you, wish I was right between those soft thighs.”

He’s so gorgeous. You feel so lucky to see Dieter like this–his dark brown eyes almost looking black as they’re overblown with lust, his golden skin shining from the bedside lamp, his cock standing hard as he jerks himself off for you.

Your eyes lock with his as you ever so slowly slide your finger through the slick folds of your cunt, circling your entrance, enamored by the way Dieter’s breath catches when you finally push your finger inside. The feeling makes you gasp, arching your back slightly off the headboard. 

“Ohh, that’s it baby,” he growls. “Let me see you fuck yourself.”

“I can’t wait until you’re back home,” you moan, sticking a second finger in, pushing them deeper inside your wet heat. 

“Two more weeks, baby,” Dieter groans, his hand picking up pace. “Two more fuckin’ weeks.”

“Two more weeks until I get to feel your cock inside me,” you moan.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ explode once I get to you,” he grits, spitting in his palm and stroking himself harder.

Your fingers pump in and out of you, trying to match his pace as your thumb works over your clit. Your free hand clasps around your breast, squeezing and pulling against the tender flesh, desperate and needy for Dieter’s tongue against your skin.

“That’s it, Sweets,” he encourages. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful. My dream girl.”

“I’m close,” you pant. Your muscles begin tightening, the familiar stardust beginning to glimmer behind your eyelids.

“Wait for me,” he says, his hand pumping himself harder. “I want us to cum together.”

You slow yourself, watching how the muscles in Dieter’s arm flex as he strokes himself.

“You wanna cum with me, baby?” you ask, looking into his eyes, marveling at the intensity and love you can see even through the screen.

“Yesss,” Dieter whines. His hand moving faster, chest heaving with each breath, thighs tensing as he brings himself to the edge.

“I’m close,” you gasp, feeling your orgasm right at the crest.

“Me too, baby,” he strains. “Fuck, I wish I was there. Wish I could watch as my cock cums all over your sweet pussy. Wish I could lick it all off your sweet cunt then kiss you and let you taste us.”

You moan at his filthy words, overwhelmed at the thought of tasting the mixture of your sweet release. “Look at me, Dee. Watch me cum for you.”

Your orgasm sets your body alight, glowing for Dieter thousands of miles away as you cry out his name, staring into his eyes as you feel your walls clench your fingers, missing the feeling of your pussy pulsing around Dieter’s thick width. But being able to watch Dieter’s face contort in ecstasy, his mouth falling open as he grunts your name, spilling himself all over his fist and onto his stomach is a good enough replacement.

“I love you,” he lowly says. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you respond, never realizing just how deep a connection could be to somebody, even when they’re a whole ocean away. You never thought your life would become this. A year ago, you felt trapped, and now you’re finding your own path, with a man who loves you exactly as you are. 

—-

Each day of filming feels never-ending, yet Dieter truly enjoys the chaos of projects nearing completion. He collapses into his trailer after another grueling 14-hour day on set. He aches all over, but the excitement of being only one week away from wrap means he’s only one week away from flying back home to Los Angeles… and you.

He pulls out his phone, smiling at the dozens of texts you’ve sent him while he’s been filming. Photos of bouquets you’ve created at Bloom, your grocery haul, the color of the early morning sunrise, the outfit you chose for your first day of work—a black and white striped shirt under a green cardigan, a pair of baggy, dark jeans, and comfortable sneakers. He knows if he ever walked into a flower store and found someone as gorgeous as you working there, he’d go broke buying bouquets. He smiles at the reminder that you are indeed his.

It’s only 2 PM back home in LA, and he knows you’re busy at your first day of work.

The sound of his assistant Court stepping into his trailer makes him look up from his phone.

“Your car will be here in ten. Anything you need?”

“No, thanks. Hey, you want to see something cool?” Dieter asks, holding up his phone.

“You’ve already shown me the video of that little hippo like twenty times, Mr. Bravo,” Court sighs.

“No, no,” he chuckles. “Look at what my girl’s been doing.”

Dieter brings up the photos of the bouquets you’ve made. Your arrangements are just as stunning as you–unique and artistic, vastly different from the boring, typically stuffy bouquets Warren used to buy you. He’s so proud of you.

Court admires each one, her sharp brows rising in approval. “Damn, these are really good.”

“Amazing, right?” Dieter proudly smiles.

“Exactly,” Court nods.

His heart swells with pride for you, for his Golden Girl.

—-

Maybe you should have driven to the flower shop for your first day at work. Your feet are killing you, your fingers smell of eucalyptus and roses, your back aches, your hair’s thrown into the messiest bun, and you’re pretty sure you can’t mend the sleeve of your cardigan that you nipped with a pair of shears, but you can’t remember the last time you felt this fulfilled.

Angela threw you right into the deep end, letting you take customer orders, process deliveries, and even trusted you to manage the shop alone for a couple of hours on only your first day.

One sore step after another, you slowly make your way up the winding hill back home. Your house comes into view, and your tired eyes blink with joy at the sight of it. The sooner you get home, the sooner you can talk to Dieter–after a long, hot shower to soothe your aching muscles, of course.

The shower does indeed soothe your muscles, and the lavender scent left on your skin from your body wash relaxes you as you throw on Dieter’s robe and head downstairs to figure out dinner.

The doorbell dings. Outside, a courier stands surrounded by dozens of balloons—purple, green, and gold ones mix with shiny red heart-shaped and large pink flower-shaped balloons, all swaying in the evening breeze. The young man’s face is almost completely obscured.

"Delivery," he announces, his voice strained as he tries to keep hold of what must be at least thirty balloons.

"I think you have the wrong house," you say, clutching Dieter's robe tight.

The courier checks his tablet. "No, this is the right address. Are you..." he reads your name from the screen.

"That's me," you say hesitantly.

"Then these are for you. And there's more."

“More?” you ask, stepping aside as he brings the giant balloon bouquet through your door.

You’re still standing mouth agape at the ridiculous amount of balloons when he returns with an enormous basket filled with your favorite British snacks, a bottle of gin, bath bombs and oils from Dieter’s hotel, and a stuffed Paddington Bear.

“One more thing,” the courier says as he runs back outside.

The courier returns with an envelope and a small box. You thank him, sign for the delivery, and close the door, standing amidst what looks like a carnival.

This is so ridiculous, you can’t help but laugh at how it’s so wholly Dieter.

You open the envelope, pulling out a handwritten note on stationary embossed with Mandarin Oriental Hotel at the top.

Sweets,

Congratulations on your first day at Bloom! I knew you’d be amazing.

Only 5 more days.

I hope you wear your gift tomorrow for me.

Love, D

You lift the lid of the small box to reveal a gold necklace nestled inside. Dangling from the delicate chain is a gold heart balloon pendant, engraved with a D on one side. It’s perfect. You quickly put it on, loving the feeling of having his initial hanging from your neck.

You’ve never had someone show you they care for you in such grandiose ways before; it’s a little absurd when you really think about it. The Oscar-winning actor Dieter Bravo is in love with you. But, you embrace the absurd and laughable, because right now, you feel like the most special person in the world.

You click the FaceTime button next to Dieter’s name. It takes a few rings, and a bit of guilt pangs against your happiness when you realize he was indeed sleeping–rather deeply, by the way Dieter’s eyes slowly flutter open, wincing at the brightness of his phone screen.

“Hi, baby,” he lowly rasps out, his voice heavy with sleep. He rubs a hand down his face as he rumbles out a yawn.

“Hi,” you smile, wishing you could feel the warmth of his bare chest. “Thank you for my surprise. It looks like a clown car exploded in here. I love everything.”

He hmphs out a small smile, his eyes slowly blinking awake. “Yeah?”

“Yes, especially my necklace,” you pan the phone down to show him.

“Did you open it?”

“Open it?” you ask, confused.

Dieter’s eyes light up as he sits up in bed. “The heart opens, baby.”

You fumble with the small pendant, using the FaceTime screen as a mirror, and find the tiny clasp on the side. It springs open to reveal a tiny photograph inside—you and Dieter on New Year’s Eve, right before he told you he loved you. Right before he changed your life.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, as tears spring to your eyes. “Dee, it’s perfect.”

“I had it custom made,” he proudly says. “You deserve it, baby. How was your first day of work?”

"My hands are all scratched up," you laugh, showing him your battle wounds. "And I think I ruined my favorite cardigan."

"War wounds from doing something you love," he says. "Sexy as hell.”

"I can't believe I'm a working woman now," you say, running your fingers along the heart pendant. "It feels good, Dee. Really good."

His sleepy smile widens as he shifts in bed. “I’m so proud of you. The pics you sent me, you have such a talent.”

“Thanks, Dee.”

You spy him trying to stifle a yawn. You know how busy he’s been and though you miss him more than anything, you know he’ll stay on the phone with you all night if you don’t let him sleep.

“You should go back to sleep. It’s really late there.”

"Mmm, but I miss you,” his words slur slightly with exhaustion. "Wanna hear about your day."

You watch his eyelids droop despite his efforts to stay awake. "I'll tell you all about it tomorrow when you're actually conscious. Sleep, Dee."

"Fine," he sighs, nestling deeper into his pillow. "But only 'cause you told me to. Five more days, baby. Five more days until I’m home with you.”

“Five more days,” you echo, your heart beating faster at Dieter saying home. “I love you.”

"Love you more," he murmurs, his eyes already closed.

You end the call and sit amongst the bright sea of balloons, running your finger along the D engraved on the pendant around your neck. This is what love is supposed to feel like—supportive, joyful, and free. Not the constant walking on eggshells and proving that you’re a good wife that defined your years with Warren.

Only five more days until Dieter Bravo is back with you. 

✨✨✨

Perma tagging: @schnarfer @mothandpidgeon @forspringcleaning Tagging some friends and lovers of GG (let me know if you'd like to be added or removed): @sawymredfox, @secretelephanttattoo, @galway-girlatwork, @whatumuhcallit, @chronically-ghosted @copperhalfcent, @jessthebaker, @moel-jiller, @sunnytuliptime, @jokesonthem @lotusbxtch, @mysterious-moonstruck-musings, @flawssy-227, @toomanystoriessolittletime, @littlemisspascal @cas-readsandwrites, @wave0fg00dvibes, @rulexofxnines, @tuquoquebrute, @littlevenicebitch69 @readingiskeepingmegoing, @marissa47, @amyispxnk, @peepawispunk, @ishabull @vibin-hippie, @noisynightmarepoetry, @titlee78

[ozarkthedog]

𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

summary: it's been years since Dieter last saw you, his childhood friend and the unrequited love of his life. still, he doesn’t blame you for leaving.

pairing: Dieter Bravo x gn!childhood friend!reader

warnings: angst but with a happy ending! mentions of drug use and alcohol but nothing graphic. w.c: 1.0k

an: for @punkshort AU August writing challenge, I was given the prompt, “childhood friend with Dieter Bravo” thank you so much for hosting! huge thanks to @ghotifishreads for letting me talk your ear off about this little idea that took on a life of it's own and for reading this over. ilu!

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⋅ 𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Dieter rubs a hand over his face as he steps from the SUV into a throng of flashing lights and frantic screaming. It was the premiere of his first directorial and writing debut; a lot was riding on this.

Sure, he'd won an Oscar and various other award nominations, but this was an entirely different beast. This movie was special to him. It was the first script he wrote after getting "clean." He always scoffed at that word. Clean. Was he pure and holy now simply because he kicked hard drugs to the curb?

He takes a deep, slow breath, adjusts his velvet purple suitcoat, and moves down the red carpet. He autographs cards and pictures, takes selfies, and banters with a few fans before moving on to the press.

It doesn't feel right being here alone, he thinks, his left side feeling raw and exposed like a wound that never healed. 

After rewriting the script several times, he has his assistant mail it to a few studio execs before having them print out one last copy. He wrote down your name and told them to send you the script. He wanted to deliver it to you in person; it felt like the right thing to do, but he couldn't be sure you ever wanted to see him again after what he put you through.

He's stronger these days. Mentally and physically healthier. He's lost a bit of weight now that he's no longer downing pills and chasing them with alcohol. It took him a while to get used to feeling again. Sitting with the uncomfortable thoughts and not letting them take control. He's proud of himself. He thinks you would be, too. 

You.

Seeing a large open field littered with red flowers while driving home from rehab for the second time kicked him square in the gut. Flashes of his youth came back in vivid, blinding colors.

Chasing his dog, Dali, around the yard. Playing with you in the field of wildflowers behind your house. His throat tightens.

You.

You were his reason. The sun he revolved around—inseparable childhood friends.

When you first met Dieter, he was covered in chalk dust, drawing funky, green aliens with big eyes on the sidewalk in front of his childhood home. You'd just moved in next door, and your Mother told you to go make friends. He looked at you in awe as you stood before him, the sun creating a golden crown around your head. "Wanna be friends?" you blurted before kneeling and pestering him about his chalk alien.

From that moment on, you were forever linked. Dieter never wanted anyone else.

From scabbed knees and hide & seek to strange body changes and long school days. Consoling Dieter after he's pushed into a locker, copying each other's homework, watching Dieter shine on the theater stage, and spending almost every minute together that you could.

He wondered if you ever felt the love he held for you—the love that surpassed sibling bonds and grew stronger every time he laid eyes on you. The love that made him self-conscious and shy away from speaking his truth despite years of yearning. He couldn't convince himself to jeopardize the friendship or that you might possibly feel the same.

Cut to Dieter asking you to move to LA with him to be his assistant once his star power steadily rose. 

To the elaborate movie sets and lavish premieres, to the long nights and unspoken feelings. 

To find Dieter on the floor with vomit spilling from his lips to the empty bottles of pills and booze splayed around his Hollywood Hills home. 

The bickering, the raging parties, and the friendship that was slowly dying. 

The shell of a man he used to be. 

You were never around when he needed you the most after he drowned himself in booze and pills. He never blamed you. He was often inebriated, covered in a mess of sweat and other fluids. You could only stand to see him self-medicate for so long. 

"I can't keep doing this," he remembers you saying as tears welled in your eyes and your bottom lip trembled while he sat in a crumpled heap at the foot of his unmade bed with that usual glazed look. "I can't keep trying to save you."

He remembers wanting to argue, to save whatever piece was left. He tried to chase after you, but his brain and body were still under the haze from the night before, limbs heavy as lead weights, and they no longer listened to his commands. 

How your face twisted with a devastating sadness made his heart shatter. He never meant this to happen, for it to get this bad.

Had Dieter known the repercussions, that the last image he'd have of you would be wiping fallen tears that he caused from your cheeks, he would've gotten clean eons before. He would've let this version of himself die without a second thought. He wanted to be the man you counted on, with your best interests at heart. 

The man you knew him to be.

—

Just as he's about to step into the theater, he hears a voice call his name—a voice that would wake him from the dead. 

You.

His heart aches; it bursts with unnerving energy as he watches you approach. His gaze never leaves you as you glide across the room to where he stands, frozen. Could he be hallucinating?

"Hi D," his nickname sounds like heaven as it leaves your lips. He never wants it to end; he wants to hear it forever. "I'm sorry I didn't reach out sooner. I needed to make sure I was in a good headspace to see you again." You nervously wring your fingers, and Dieter can't stop himself from reaching out and locking your hands together, calming your combined anxious energy.

"It's okay," he whispers, throat tight, holding back elated tears, "I'm glad you're here."

A smile tugs at your lips, eyes shiny with your own tears. "Me too."

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[sp00kymulderr]

it might be nice

Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Warnings/Tags/Notes: 18+. FEELINGS. Angst. love. just...feelings. Mention of f receiving oral, reader is a not a us-citizen (visa stuff), commitment and intimacy issues all round, did I mentioned feelings? This just kinda started writing itself, i appreciate there isn't enough Dieter in it but it is what it is. Unedited, unbeta'd.

Words: 1.1k

Summary: It's more than enough. Having what you have with him now.

"We could get married"

You look up from your book, drawn back from your far away to the sound of his voice. Dieter is looking at you expectantly.

Your eyes widen as you process the four words that just left his mouth.

"Dee, we…why would we…" You trail off, drawing your legs up and out of his lap, his thumb presses down on the arch of your foot once more before he lets it go.

The conversation had moved on hours ago. Over takeout you'd mentioned trepidation over being able to stay in the country, struggling with your visa and having no sponsorship since you couldn't seem to get a fucking job right now.

Dieter had listened, sympathised, and then eaten you out for dessert just to make you feel better about your situation.

It helped. He'd been pretty mediocre but extremely enthusiastic when you'd met, but now you'd taught him some tricks he knew just how to turn your mind off for a moment.

The conversation was finished the moment he put his mouth on you, or so you thought. He could help you pay for an extension but he wasn't influential or wealthy enough to sway the embassy into letting you stay longer.

"I'd bribe the fuck out of them if I could, you know that"

You did know that. You knew he'd do anything for you. He'd been saying it since the day he met you, once famous (more like infamous) movie star turned rehabilitated recluse with no one willing to be by his side until that day.

He'd met you in a Dennys, of all places. 3am waffles served to his lonely little corner booth because he found it hard to sleep these days, and he got hungry at random times. You took the late shifts because they paid the best, and you could be available in the day for calls from your agent that never came.

It hadn't been sexual at first. It hadn't been anything but a displaced, alone man and an exhausted, untethered waitress sitting in a booth and sharing free fries because chef made too many and they'd only go to waste. It had been whispered giggles, and sharing ridiculous Hollywood horror stories, and 'same time tomorrow' over and over again.

No one in LA had made you laugh. Not until you met him.

Dieter hadn't heard genuine laughter in years. Now he got to hear it every night.

Back in the now, you shake your head. He's being silly. He's trying to make you laugh again.

"Don't be stupid" You playfully shove his shoulder with your foot, but his face falls into a frown, and you feel a little crack in your heart at the sight. You watch as he stands, rubbing fingers across his forearm and muttering a little 'Stupid, yeah'. The tremor you feel inside you is nameless, and you will it to remain that way.

In the last six months of your knowing each other, there have been times when you've felt this same feeling. An ache at the thought that he could be anything other than happy. You'd long since left Dennys for the upward trajectory of the Cheesecake Factory but still when the late shift rolls around you feel a tug at your lips and a name on them, even when you'd seen him only hours before.

You're not an item, that's the thing. You're not a couple. Neither of you have ever said the words outright, no 'I want to be with you', 'I want to be yours'. Not to each other, at least.

It's more than enough. Having what you have with him now. It's enough, it's enough, it's enough. Enough that he will sit up all night long and read lines with you again and again and again. Enough that he tells you not to come over on his bad days but you do anyway, and hold him while he cries.

It's enough to be just this. Because more would only make it hurt more when he relapses, when you have to leave.

When you have to leave…

You close your book, set it down on the table that's strewn with pages for your latest audition. Last night he'd coached you through every single line, and then told you with passion just how perfect you were. You can hear him in the kitchen, and you know he's making himself a decaf latte with way too much caramel syrup and a dash of the kitkat sprinkles because that's what he always makes when he might be starting to crave something else.

That's how you know he wasn't making a joke. That's how you know your hurt his feelings. That and every look he's ever given you, every smile that lights up his eyes that's only been for you. That and the way his hands never stray far from you, always grounding himself with the touch of your skin to his.

"Dee…" You pad up to him slowly, watch as he tenses at your presence. Another prickle in your chest, you can't let him think you don't feel...what it is that you feel.

"Would it be so bad?" He asks without turning, the tinge of dejection in his tone making you reach out. "I'd treat you good, you know. We wouldn't even have to live together or anything…it can just be a way for you to stay. That's all. I didn't think it would be so bad for you"

God, you've had him right in your grasp this whole time. The two of you dancing around your feelings all because of fears you didn't even fully realise you had til now.

"I'd- I wouldn't even tell anyone you were my wife, if you didn't want me to. I wouldn't expect anything from it. I just…fuck,"

You turn him around with a pull to his arm, shake your head and bite back something hopeful and beautiful that inches up your throat,

"I don't want you to go"

Your arms are around his middle, a stifled sob as you bury your face against the soft, worn fabric of his favourite t-shirt - your favourite by extension because everything he loves you love too. He smells like him.

You breathe him in.

He smells like home.

You look up at him and smile. Not the pretty smile you give to casting agents - the one that makes you look perfect - but the big, happy, loving one he saw the very first night you two met in that Dennys at three in the morning on a random Tuesday. The one he gives you back is the same; he's smiled a thousand times on camera, in films and press appearances and award shows. No one else but you has ever seen this smile.

You take a deep breath. The crack in your heart starts in fusing back together.

"We could get married"

[pedrosman]

Would love to see oberyn, dieter, Frankie and Marcus stories! Especially if they are tops against a bottom reader

AN- YES YES YES YES! here is a pretty long (sorry i got carried away) one shot fic

Do you want to have sex with me?

Pairing: Dieter Bravo (the bubble) x Male!Reader

Word count: 4000 ish

Summary: you work on set as an assistant cinematographer, you have been noticing Dieter looking at you weird all day.

Warnings: SMUT! 18+ MDNI!, Dieter Bravo, fic takes place during the bubble, you are working on set, Age Gap! P in A! Unprotected, Drug use! Top! Dieter Bravo, bot! Reader, small use of y/n

Feel free to give me feedback and tips, this is my first full fic. Also very open to submission, muh luh muh only lol

I am so fucking done with this film. The directors on Cliff Beasts Six, the newest instalment of the oh-so-amazing “Cliff Beasts” franchise, aren’t interested in anything but making a cheque, and it shows. Neither the actors nor anyone on set are engaged, and there is a palpable sense of boredom between everyone.

I, y/n, aged 19, applied for this position as an assistant cinematographer to get out of my shitty apartment and finally attempt to gain some experience in the film industry. How insightful it has been. Days of sitting by as the stuck-up actors on Cliff Beasts 6 (seriously 6??) argue over a script that has probably (definitely) been made through Chatgpt. It is amusing to watch though, watching how they bicker over the delivery of a single line, whilst everyone else just stands and watches idly. How invigorating. What I wouldn't give to just tell them all to shut the fuck-

“Hey! Runner! What the fuck are you doing standing on set? We're about to shoot!”

Oh shit, I’ve fucking done it. Now these fucking A-listers are staring at me like I’ve shot their half-dead Bichon Frise, but I still haven’t moved an inch.

“What the fuck is your problem? MOVE!” the voice calls out again.

“Uh, shit... My bad” I mumble as I stumble over the fake ground onto the warehouse floor. “That was great y/n, real smooth” I think as I curse under my breath towards the hostility of the director who has been doing nothing but sit on his ass and attempt to blow 0’s with his oversized vape. But seriously, I was barely on set, not even within proximity to the actors, or where the camera was supposed to run through. I slink towards the wall, enshadowed by the stacks upon stacks of props of dinosaur eggs, embarrassment manifesting onto my face in a burning shade of scarlet. With my head mow staring so intently at the scratch marks of the floor, avoiding the gaze of every single person on Earth, I run a shaky hand through my outgrown and bleach-damaged hair. I want to disappear right now.

I stay in the shadows silently, still not daring to look up at the scene the actors now play through. Instead, I listen to their half-assed attempts of acting fearful of the blue blob that will be the mother dinosaur to all the eggs I hide behind. Seriously, this film is genuinely a game of connect-the-dots on stereotypical children's interests. It’s humourable, how absurd they sound, screaming about some random nonsensical bullshit with a monotone seriousness. Looking up, I watch the flurry of movement on set, studying how the camera pans from the actors to the blue wall behind them. It’s better to focus on the elements I came here to study, rather than the shitshow that is the film. Whilst I stare, I catch a glimpse of a man in a red jacket looking my way, hidden behind the rocks and eggs. Turning my attention towards him, I notice his clenched jaw and deadpan focus on me.

“Shit, my fuckup on set must have really pissed him off” I mutter under my breath whilst my eyes stay locked onto him. We stay like that for a few seconds, mixed emotions manifesting on my face, whilst he just stares. Lifting my eyes slightly, we make eye contact, prompting a wave of realisation to wash over his face, and he promptly turns his direction back to discussions on the next scene. It makes sense, his change in demeanour. If I was a fucking celebrity, the last thing I would want is a scandal of workplace abuse blown out of proportion.

___________

They’ve wrapped up today’s shooting. Thank God. The rest of the shoot was relatively uneventful, I was only asked to help set up a few camera scenes whilst the actors took their lunch break. However, that actor in the red jacket kept on looking my way, but only for a fleeting few seconds each time. It was bizarre really, how many times I swear I caught him staring: between scenes, during script conversations (arguments really), whenever the actors left the set. It was comical how I would see his head turn away from my direction in parallel to whenever I looked in his. What the fuck is his problem? Anyways. Hiding my glee, I turn away from the remaining crew on set, embarking back to the hotel where the cast and crew were staying. I put earphones in as I walk, putting “Never Let Me Down Again” by Depache Mode on blast and loop (tlou reference), watching the sky warp and twist with clouds straight out of Junji Ito. As I walk, I picture how much I would change about the godforsaken cash grab of a film: the story, the camera angles, the compositions, the-

“Hey.” A breathless voice behind me whispers, barely audible over the drums blaring into my ears. Turning, I immediately freeze, in the realisation that this was the red jacket man, the one with the fucking lead paint stare. What the fuck does he want?

“Oh! Hey. Look man, if you’re pissed that I was standing on set, I genuinely didn’t realise. I didn’t mean to look like a dick. I’m really sor-”

“Do you want to have sex with me?” He asks.

“What?”

“Do you want to have sex with me?” He repeats, louder.

“I heard you the first time,” I reply, stunned, eyes blinking at him widely.

“Oh, well do you?” He questions, voice full of intent.

“Uhh”, what the fuck do I say? Is he fucking high?

“Yes? That's amazing, now?” he follows, oblivious to my stunned face. He grips my hand tight, and begins to pull me towards the hotel. More for his welfare, I allow him to. If he is high, I sure as hell wouldn’t want to have to deal with an overdose, pushing back the shooting back date further.

“What’s your name? Mine’s Dieter Bravo, but you probably already know that. You know, Oscar Winner?” He asks excitedly, almost desperately.

“What?”

“What’s your name?” He repeats, obviously unfocused on me, but rather the journey ahead, which he slinks across, acting like a fucking ninja.

“Oh, y/n”. I reply flatly, still stunned by his blunt and forward character.

“So fucking beautiful, you know that? You’re so fucking beautiful. Couldn’t keep my eyes off you. Please let me fuck you?” He grumbles, eyes now locked onto mine, searching, savouring me.

“Sorry, but are you high?” I question, anxiety creeping up from my stomach. I seriously don’t want this to come off badly. God knows what he can do to my career, with the amount of money and “power”  that he holds.

“Oh! Just some coke, do you want some? I’ve got a fat stash back in my room, you’ll just have to ignore the paintings.

What do I say? First, he wants to fuck me, and now he’s offering me cocaine?

“Ummm, I’m okay actually,” I reply, eyes glued to his firm grip on my hand, leading me through the hotel like a stealth mission, stopping behind couches and desks, pulling me under them to hide from various staff and other residents. I swear we crept past Karen Gillan at one point. We continue this charade of playing ninjas until we stop at a door, undoubtedly his room’s.

“Wait, do you seriously want to fuck me?” I start, a chuckle bubbling underneath my voice. “I mean, you’re a fucking A-lister and you’re high off coke right now”. This entire situation is so absurd I cannot.

“You’re an angel y/n, and I’m so pent up right now, I feel like an animal.” He replies, voice full of truth. And he isn’t wrong at all. On our journey, I had noticed him grabbing his crotch a few more times than necessary, and adjusting it quite a lot too. Truthfully, it did make me question whether or not I would submit to his desperate plea for pleasure.

“Fuck.”

I genuinely think he wants to fuck me.

“Fine. Okay. I think we can do this.” There. I said it. Listening to my own voice consent to having sex with Dieter fucking Bravo generates a wave of excited shivers across my body, mirroring the relieved smile that sprawls across his face.

“Let’s have some fun.”

___________

Inside his room, it is clear to see that the restrictions in the bubble have taken a toll on him. Scattered across the walls there are various paintings depicting almost hellish figures, staring down at us. As I study them, Dieter dims the lights and begins to undress, changing into nothing but a dressing gown. Anticipation creeps across my body, giving my head a slight buzz. Turning to me, Dieter’s chest becomes visible: scattered lightly with hair, but enough to give them a fuzzy look and feel. His thighs also peek out nicely, thick and inviting. Jesus Christ, why did the costume department dress him so ugly? This scruffy, out-of-bed look is much more attractive, and the colour of his gown suits him much better than the neon of his Character’s jacket. As I force my eyes to peel away from his body, I notice him staring directly at me. In exactly the same way as earlier today. Was that his flirting? Or dropping hints? I thought he wanted to kill me, but I guess he just wanted me. Instead of hatred, his eyes are filled with lust and animalistic intent, he wants me like a fucking drug.

“So-” I begin, stopped by his hand suddenly covering my mouth. His proximity engulfs me with his scent: musky, woody, sweaty and also quite sweet, almost floral. His dick has definitely been leaking for a while. Stepping even closer, our chests almost touching, he stares down at me, eyes burning into my own. Slowly, he removes his hand off my mouth and grabs my chin, pulling my face up to look at him. We stay in silence like this for a few seconds, both reading each other's faces, enveloped in the erotic tension.

“You’re so beautiful, y/n.”

And with that, the tension breaks, cascading us in a downpour of lust and need. Our bodies clash, pushing and pulling each other closer, our hips grinding as we kiss. His lips are chapped, but still soft, scratching over mine satisfyingly. His tongue reaches into my mouth while mine battles its way into his, both attempting to overcome the other. They connect and move over each other slickly, electrifying my body and increasing my newfound desire for Dieter. As we make out, our faces push closer and closer, his beard scruff dancing over my skin, their path leaving an electrifying buzz. I smile as we kiss, intoxicated by his desire, his desperation for sex. As we kiss, I can feel his growing boner press against my hip, shrouded by his gown that sports quite a large tent. He groans against me, a guttural sound that reverberates in my mouth. I push into that feeling further, watching him become completely engrossed in our French kiss. His hands roam freely, moving away from my face and down my arms, and stopping with our fingers interlocked. Suddenly, he pushes me down onto his bed, dipping his head down to not break our kiss. Seemingly unwillingly, our mouths depart and he stands above me.

His gown is barely holding in his package, The ribbon basically untied, but keeping his manhood hidden. It is very evident that he intends to give a show, which I think is quite comical. Of course, the fucking celebrity actor would want to take control of this scene and make me savour his big reveal.

Teasingly, he starts by grabbing my hand and trailing it down his chest. I take the liberty of pinching his nipples lightly, evoking an involuntary moan. Then, he pulls my hand down lower, whilst I run my fingers through his chest hair. In the dim lighting, the glow golden, with hints of silver, no doubt a reminder of our age gap. But he doesn’t care, and neither do I. He stops my hand at the knot of the ribbon and lets go.

“If he gets to enjoy this, then so do I” I think, taking my time to admire his treasure trail and the bottom of his stomach. I playfully teeter around the ribbon knot, teasing him as he did me.

“Please.” He speaks with a whisper, eyes full of longing and need. But I can feel him hold himself back, avoiding rushing our moment.

Complying, I swiftly undo the knot, and allow the robe to fall to the sides of his legs.

Fuck.

His cock fell forward towards me with undeniable intent. It definitely reached past seven inches, and under the soft glow, the glossiness of precum over its head was undeniable. A soft gasp emerged from the depths of my throat as I stared, entranced. Dieter’s cock was going to be the death of me.

“Suck it.”

Looking up at Dieter, I could see him shift away from his desperate self towards a more dominant one. He and I both knew that this was going to be intense. His eyes held a fury in them, driven by his need to fuck. It definitely had been a while since he had got any action. I guess that many others he must have asked didn't hear him out at all. The veins in his dick were so defined, throbbing with an urgency. With each throb, a glob of precum spilt out, coating his manhood in a thick, slick lube. Fuck.

Staring up into his eyes, I leant forward and licked his tip. As I did, I watched his entire body shake, an involuntary reaction to how touch-starved he was. A moan emerged from the back of his throat, guttural and low, making my skin form into goosebumps.

I began to lower myself further down his cock, slowly pressing my face into his hair. I could smell the sweat from the day’s work that coated his cock and balls, creating a sweet but heavy aroma that caused me to moan onto his dick. I inhaled sharply, catching every whiff that I could, intoxicated. Still staring into his deep, pleading eyes, I stopped sucking and moved to his balls, placing one into my mouth and sucking teasingly, inhaling his scent. His dick lay over my face with a distinct weight, thrusting into my hair, coating my skin with his precum. Still keeping eye contact, I watched his mouth open and close, gawking and stunned by the pleasure he was experiencing. I swapped between his balls and cock regularly, making sure to never break eye contact, watching Dieter fall further and further into a lust-driven state. Whilst I sucked, I could feel his thighs shaking with ecstasy. Keeping him in my mouth, I wrapped and slithered my tongue up the base and around his head. I revelled in the salty taste of his precum, savouring every drop. I slipped my tongue under his hood, running at the base of his head. This prompted another series of involuntary moans on his behalf, stimulating my own cock to start throbbing through my clothes, desperate for touch.

Without warning, I felt his hands on the back of my head, gripping tightly into my hair. Immediately, he started thrusting into me, fucking my mouth. His thrusts were in quick succession, fueled by excessive desire. He filled my mouth entirely, his taste coating every surface, saliva dripping from the sides of my face and down the base of his cock. The room was filled with the scent of sweat and musk and the sound of his balls slapping onto my jaw whilst he let out desperate pants and groans. His movements were frantic and obsessive, gripping into my hair with a desperate need. His hands were clammy, his fingers locking and slipping around my curls whilst he fucked my face. Tears streamed down my face whilst Dieter abused my mouth, ignoring my gags and moans. My cock was so fucking hard, pressing into my trousers with a desperate need to be touched. Jesus fucking Christ.

His thrusting became more rapid, and his moans increased in volume and speed. He was growling with such animalistic intent, in total heat whilst wrecking my face.

“Ah- fuck- I’m gonna cum baby-”

His seed filled my mouth with a final thrust, letting out a hoarse and guttural succession of moans. We stayed there for a few seconds, his breathing heavy, and his body shuddering above me. His cum was so sweet and thick, forcing me to gulp down loads of mess. Pulling out from my mouth, the rest of his seed leaving him. In a trance, I felt him pushing it over my cheeks and lips, coating me with his sperm. Looking up at him whilst it dripped down to my chin, his eyes full of relief and pleasure.

“Holy Shit.” I didn’t know what to say.

“Ready for more, angel?”

Dieter flopped onto the bed next to me, his breath heavy.

Immediately, he turned towards me, planting his chapped lips onto mine. We kissed passionately, fueled by a connection previously inconceivable. His hands explored my body, tugging up my T-shirt and kneading his hands into my skin. He was rough, dominant and needing. He gripped the bare skin of my back tightly, pulling me closer to him, our bodies pressing and interlocking tightly. Reaching down the back of my trousers, I felt his finger pressing on my hole. He circled his finger around my entrance, pressing slightly, causing a moan to emerge from my lips. Removing his hands from my ass and his mouth from mine, he placed his fingers into my mouth.

“Spit.”

Instinctively, I did. Immediately, He went back to my asshole, inserting his index slowly, causing my back to arch into him. He pressed in and out, loosening my hole slowly. I couldn’t stop moaning into him, pushing myself down further against him. As he finger fucked my hole, he started thrusting bare body against me, grinding his cock across my thigh, dripping precum onto my trousers. Slowly, almost timidly, he reached down my body to my bulge, applying pressure heavily. Holy Shit. I was in ecstasy, in pure bliss and overstimulation. He unbuttoned my trousers desperately, fueled by desire, exposing my boxers to the room. The front was wet with precum, clinging to my member.

Suddenly, he straddled on top of me, pulling down my trousers and boxers to my ankle. Immediately, my cock sprung up to my belly button, leaving a small pool of precum. Removing all my clothes fully, leaving my body exposed to the dim room, he lifted my legs, resting them on his shoulders.

He quickly lubed my hole, pushing his finger deep into me as he did so. It shocked me, engrossing me in a sudden wave of pleasure. Then, positioning his dick, I felt his member push into me slowly, meeting resistance from my hole, straining against his girth.

“Fuck, so goddamn tight”, he grunted, pressing slightly harder. With a satisfying pop, his tip entered, arching my neck back. I looked deep into his eyes, unable to generate sound from the pure ecstasy. Gently, he inserted his deep length inside me, making low cooing noises, soothing my discomfort. Eventually, he was fully inside me, my hole wrapped around his cock. We stayed unmoving, Dieter engrossed with how my ass clung to his dick desperately. Teasingly, I moved my ass slightly, pulling his cock deeper into me, now fully balls deep.

“Oh”, a soft moan escaped his mouth, wrapping around me in the silent room. Soon followed the clear sound of his dick pulling out and pushing back, his balls slapping my cheeks.  Dieter's hands wrapped around mine, pushing me back completely against the bed, and leaned closer, going deeper and stretching my legs higher. Quickly, his thrusts increased, engulfing us in moans and soft-spoken curses towards each other. Wave after wave of pleasure buzzed my head and made my tip throb. His lips met mine and we started kissing, fueled by desire and need. He fucked me mercilessly, stretching my hole wide to fit his girth and length nicely. His breath was heavy into my mouth, followed by growls that made my cock twitch. His beard scratched my face nicely, sending small bursts of pain, heightening my sensitive state.

I could feel my orgasm rising, my cock head getting hot and my cock throbbing. I couldn’t even let out any noise to warn Dieter,  assuddenly I was engulfed in a blinding wave of hot bliss from his onslaught on my prostate. Spurts of cum erupted from my cock, painting out stomachs, tying us together. Yet Dieter didn’t stop, fueled by my pleasure. Instead, his thrusts increased, overstimulating my entire body. I felt his hands move from mine to the back of my head, pushing me to look directly into his eyes. His thrusts were relentless, going deeper each time, stretching my insides into his personal fucktoy. My moans were neverending, creating a chorus with Dieter’s deep growls. Still looking into my eyes, he leant his body onto mine, and began to absolutely abuse my hole. He fucked me like a dog, his eyes seemingly glowing with pure energy and pleasure. Picking up even more speed, I felt his manhood throb, close to coming again.

“Where do you want it,” is all he could ask between heavy breaths, holding back his orgasm with undefined strength.

“In me.”

I felt Dieter erupt in me, his load filling every crevice. It leaked out my asshole, down the base of his member. Pulling out completely, he admired his work, then pushed himself back in, impregnanting me again. We moaned into each other, kissing messily, completely in the moment. He stayed inside me for a few minutes, getting soft as we just laid there, comprehending what we had just done. Pulling out, my hole was a gaping mess, leaking with his seed.

Lying next to me, cum dripping off his cock, his face became plastered with a smile. He scooped up a glob of his cum, mixed it with the pool of mine on my stomach, and brought it to my lips.

“Swallow.” I did.

“Good.”

The world was so silent. Neither of us spoke, our breaths slowing gradually. Turning to him, looking into his eyes, I could tell he was eternally grateful, and I was happy too with being his bitch, even though it was so wrong. But it was so right.

“Can we make this a weekly thing? I asked, desperate for him again.

“Weekly? Nah. Daily?” He replied. He was addicted. To me, to my body, to how our bodies moved in unison, driven by lust and depravation.

A small chuckle emerged from his chest. A hearty laugh, melting my belly into a hot mess. A comfortable laugh, like a warm hug after a shitty day.

I wouldn’t mind getting addicted to Dieter.

[dilf-docs]

Can We Hit It Now, Low-Down And Gritty?

dieter bravo x younger fem!reader

summary: the last thing you need is world-renowed asshole slash actor dieter bravo to yell at you for doing your job. he'll pay for that.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., pwp, size kink, brat taming, degradation kink, fingering, oral (f. receiving), pussy spanking (again?! dilf-docs u horndog WE GET IT), creampie, tbh this is just pure self fullfing filth pls forgive me Lord I have sinned, dieter bravo (yes that's a warning), nicknames (doll), reader is a glorified porn writer, she can also speak spanish but no physical description/nationality is mentioned

word count: 6,324 words

side note: hello someone please take away ai bots from me thank you. won't add anything else, just enjoy this horny mess sponsored by our fluffy disaster king (did enjoy writing their banter though). i need to be on horny jail bc i'm on those days and wrote this in about 24 hours talk about desperate like i'm going to hell wow if you know me irl no you don't

The set was quiet, well, as quiet as it could be: quick footsteps, flickers of lights, turning of pages, sips of freshly bought coffee and instructions yelled to the air.

That is something you can control. Like, even. But this job isn't easy, given not only what but also who you need to handle.

And speaking about the devil, here comes the who: world-renowned asshole and actor, Dieter Bravo, storming into the place with a strenuous walk.

Just what you need: he's coming in your direction with what you recognize is the movie's script in his hands.

"Who wrote this?!" he angrily shouts, glaring at the people on the set.

"I did" you stand still, defiant even. "Is that a problem?"

Dieter scoffs when he hears your response.

"Is that a problem?" he mocks. "Look at this!"

He holds up the script but you don't even bother to look at it: you've read it so many times, you could recite it from memory.

"This crap isn't going to sell" Dieter argues. "People aren't going to be interested in this story"

There's an irritated expression on his face as he looks down on you. Does Dieter think you care? Of course you knew it was bullshit as soon as you finished the first page, but you had to pay bills, and working this shitty jobs would get you closer to the contacts you needed―the only reason you're doing this in the first place.

"Tell me" he stands before you, and he's so close, you can hear his uneven breathing. "Did you really write this garbage?"

What's the point in lying? The only reason why you did is because you wanted to make him mad. Is it childish? Yes. But you have your reasons, the biggest one being that in no way would you allow a celebrity to talk down on you like that. It's one of the worst parts of your job, and not even Dieter and his handsome face would let you take his shit.

"No, I didn't. But I approved it" you cross your arms, revealing the truth. "You know, you're being very dissmisive of people's hard work because you can't stand not being so called perfect. It's called humilty, you could try"

(You don't really care about this people's hard work that much. They did a bad job, but in the end, a job. He should respect them for that, not the result. A bad one, objectively speaking)

Dieter scoffs at your response, obviously not liking the snarky tone.

"Oh, you approved it?" his tone comes out annoyed. "Which means you know it's crap, right?"

You shrug your shoulders, making him visibly frustrated with the conversation.

"This has nothing to do with me wanting to be the spotlight, you idiot" Dieter raises his voice, "did you even stop to think about the viewers?"

Okay, so now you're the villain. Frankly, it's been a bad week, and the last thing you want is this guy thinking he can get away with harrassing and talking down a less payed crew member just because he's rich, famous and hot. Whatever. If he wanted to play with fire, you'll happily be the match.

"Listen, I approved it because I want to go home and be at peace. Don't give me crap about the viewers. Of course I know this is shit! But I don't get paid enough to care. Besides, even if I wanted, I couldn't change it. You're angry at the wrong person; I'm just following orders"

Dieter clenches his fist, clearly struggling to keep his calm.

"So you just do whatever the hell the director says?" he spits in a irritated tone.

"That's about my job"

"You do know that could mean this movie flops, right? Is that how little you care about what you do?"

Dieter stands before you, crossing his arms, the veins on them popping with annoyance.

"You don't know shit about me" you reply while trying not to look at his flexing biceps too much, hoping he doesn't notice. "And I'm sorry to break it to you, but not all of us are big names that can do whatever they please or hold that much power. If it was up to me, I wouldn't hire this stupid director, writer or you, who, by the way, are way past your prime"

It's an unnecesary offense you truly didn't mean, but you hate the way he talks to you as if you were stupid. And maybe the blow felt bigger because you are a fan. Geez. You thought working with him would be a dream, despite his reputation, yet now all the claims are becoming true in the worst way possible. The last thing you need is Dieter finding out you're a fan, and even if it's a coward way out, you'll defend what's left of your dignity however it takes.

Dieter's brown eyes widen in disbelief at your petty comment. Then, they spark with rage, as he looks quite furious.

"Excuse me?! You don't get to talk about me like that" Dieter moves his ringed hands erratically in the air, as to make his point any more clear. "Do you know how hard I've worked for my career? I won't have anyone, less a little brat, tell me I'm past my prime"

You admire his career, that's the worst of it all. But the annoyance has settled deeply in between you both, and you find yourself at loss for words or energy to keep bickering. Besides, behind you, you can hear the order to continue filming in a few.

"Yeah, you don't get to talk to me like that either. I guess we're even" you sigh, tiredly. "Anything else I can help with, Mr. Bravo?"

If you could, you would cover your mouth in horror. You didn't mean to call his name like that, as if you're allured by him. Fuck Dieter. You hope he doesn't read too much into the tone.

But of course his drug-fried brain would notice that, the actor staring at you with a puzzled look when you call his name.

"Oh, now you're calling me Mr. Bravo, eh? Trying to flirt your way out of this? I'm not a dumbass, you know"

The fact that he associates the calling with flirting rather than nerves makes your eyes twitch. He keeps staring at you, heat making it's way to your face. It's like he's trying to find out if what you said was indeed flirting, and given by the smirk he's giving you, it seems Dieter's got the wrong veredict.

"I'm not stupid either, but here you're talking to me like I am"

Great. That came out even more childish than you intended.

You think the color painting your cheeks is noticeable now, as Dieter lets out a small chuckle. He then cuts the distance even more, the irritating smirk still on his face.

"Well, then don't try and play me like I'm an idiot." Dieter pauses for a moment, then continues in a teasing tone when he sees your flushed face. "Oh, you're so red... It's cute"

"Cute?" the sound you let out is a mix of a chuckle and scoff. "Did you just call me cute? Are you too trying to flirt your way out with of this?" you repeat his same words from earlier. He chuckles amused at your behavior, his smirk turning into a cocky smile as he stares down at you.

"Me? flirt my way out? I would never." he then continues to speak in an amused tone. "I call people I find cute, cute...and you are definitely cute"

"Oh, I'm not the only one then, huh? And here I thought I was special" you feign hurt, and even if you're not an actor, you hope it sells. "And here I thought we were playing the same game. Well, I suppose we're done, and you can go back to filming or complaining, whatever suits you. Oh, the director is here: now bother someone else"

"Special? Nah, can't say you are." he says playfully at your attempt to brush him off. Then Dieter glances over in the director's direction but his gaze returns to you. "Oh, I'll deal with him later, you worry about yourself, sweet cheeks"

You know it's part of the banter, but it's no news to anyone who truly knows you the insecurity you've felt after so many projects rejected, ideas scrapped and terrible dating life. The you're not special hangs in the air, suffocating you; it feels like a slap to the face. Not to be a downer or such a mood changer, but it's hard to pretend. Yeah, you couldn't be an actor even if you tried to.

"Yeah I know" you answer, this time not pretending. Your voice may have given you away, so you turn around, hoping he doesn't get to see your face fall. "You're right, I'll take care of myself or whatever you said before. Bye, Mr. Bravo" you rush the words out, embarrased at yourself and how easily he's got you wrapped around his finger.

Really? And I called him again like that? So stupid.

But he notices that your face has changed a bit, picking up the slight change. Dieter feels a slight pang of guilt for what he said, his smirk disappearing from his face. He lets out a sigh when you bid goodbye; he was having fun.

"Hey, wait a minute"

The actor reaches out and gently grabs your arm, stopping you from leaving.

"What do you want?" you dryly ask, trying to keep a stoic façade, hoping Dieter doesn't catch the racing heartbeat by touching your wrist. "Go bother someone else"

"What I want..." he pauses for a brief moment, "...is for you to not walk away"

Dieter's grasp on your wrist loosens a bit, but he still keeps a hold on you. "I made a mistake. I was being an ass"

Was he, apologizing? For a moment, it seemed like Dieter was going to admit to what he did, which was unlike him, but his voice sounded genuine.

"D-Dieter!" you squeak his name in surprise, then blushing at the embarrassing sound. "You can't be serious, I mean- I'm the one that's sorry, I was an ass first. I think I deserve that"

It doesn't make sense and yes, you deserve his apology, yet at this point you're braindead and this is nothing but just nervous rambling at his actioms, so out of character from what you've heard and know.

A small chuckle escapes from the actor's mouth when he hears you squeak his name.

"I am serious. I mean it. You did not deserve it" his light grasp on your wrist stays as he slowly runs his thumb over your skin. Dieter stands even closer, making your breath hitch.

"W-what are you doing? You realize we're on set, right?" you laugh nervously, yanking your arm, even if you want him to still hold you.

The actor slowly loosens his grasp on you and lets go of your wrist, but the relief is short-lived as he moves his hand to your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

"Of course I know we're on set. Why? You think I'm doing something you don't like?"

Mischief glistens in his eyes, and you gulp nervously at the turn of events.

"I don't like it because it's not what I've heard from you" you confess before even stopping to think a proper answer. "You know, they warned us... to not get involved with the cast, and you? This isn't who I thought... heard- I think I'm going insane" you get very nervous, well aware you're doing a very poor job at hiding it. "Y-you have an exhibition kink or something?"

Ah, why. Yes, of course your mouth and brain had teamed up against you, the duo an expert on ruining your life.

See, it was a joke, but it comes out horribly wrong, making you cover your mouth. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I truly didn't mean-"

Dieter lets out a soft chuckle when you cover your mouth in embarrassment, clearly enjoying this.

"An exhibition kink? That's interesting. I've never been asked that before..."

His hand gently grabs your wrist, slowly moving it away from your mouth.

"Oh, don't cover your mouth. I like the things you say, although some are dumb"

"Wow, you're still hellbent on calling me dumb. I thought we were friends" you breath relieved at the way he took your stupid move, playfully nudging his side, feeling plush skin under his clothes. Fuck. You better leave before you dig this hole deeper. "So, do you or not? Answer the question. The joke may have backfired but my curiosity is still there"

"Dumb, stupid, idiot... you choose. I'm still going to call you that, doll. Can't let you off that easily" Dieter chuckles before answering your question, because of your boldness and the reappearing dark shade over your face. "Alright, I'll answer your question. Are you sure you want to know, though? You have a wild imagination"

"How do you know?" you fake gasp. "Have you read my works?"

It came out in the moment, not something you're used to saying out loud, especially when you're simply an assistant, because honestly, it's embarrassing.

Dieter gives you a small smirk when you fake gasp at his statement. He then continues to look down at you.

"I've heard some things. That some of the scenes you've written are a bit... steamy. If you know what I mean"

There is that same treacherous blush again. How could you get out of this?

"No I don't" and a tricky smile adorns your features, "enlighten me"

Great. The best way out seems to be going down.

"Is that right? You don't know what I mean? Well, you're the hand behind these love scenes, aren't you?"

The small input in this movie, by yours truly. When he received the script, he recoiled at how bad it was, almost calling his agent to call quits on the project. But then he had read the first of many scenes involving a certain type of action, and he decided to stay. Now that he stands before you, knowing it's you who's written them, he finds the discovery amusing and worth entertaining, no matter if he was initially pissed at the fact you were also part of the reasons why he wanted to quit.

A cocky smile appears on the actor's face when you get closer: he likes how, despite the embarrasing events you still find it in you to stand before him, spark behind your eyes full of mischief. It all starts to make sense, he thinks with amusement.

"Love scenes?" you taunt. "You mean the ones were they break furniture and blow off steam with the nasties sounds ever heard to human kind? Nope, doesn't sound like it; no idea what you're talking about" Then you pause, to keep suspense. You lick your lips, making sure to hold his gaze. "Unless..."

Dieter snickers when you describe the scenes; filming hadn't yet get there but he is eager. The actor's gaze is fixed on you as he lets out a low hum.

"Unless what? You can't just pause there, now that got me intrigued"

This isn't real, because he genuinely seems interested in what you'll say next.

"Unless you want to recreate them before filming, since you know, you're so damn interested. Sweeping your big nose in business you shouldn't" you called his nose big not as an offense but rather a compliment: it's literally the prettiest you've ever seen. Hell, it's not only endearment you feel towards it; you've literally wrote a scene where the female lead grinds off it, all while thinking of him. You really hope he's lying about reading your stuff. "Metiche"

Dieter lets out a surprised laugh at your comment about his nose, positive in his mind. He found it amusing that you called it big, which usually would be negative to some, but he didn't really mind. It's also funny in a way, and he finds to be enjoying this more than he should, long forgotten his complains or the movie he's supposed to be shooting as of now.

"Metiche, huh? You have quite the mouth on you"

"Do I?" are you confident, bold or stupid? "You haven't even seen anything yet, Mr. Bravo"

Dieter lets out another chuckle at your confidence. He's definitely entertained by your responses. He tilts his head while giving you a curious expression.

"Is that so? You have something more you'd like to share, doll? I'm open to see whatever you have if I haven't seen it already"

"Or read" I joke, "like I seriously need to check my friends to see who would sell me out. Did you truly read my stuff or you're just fucking with me?"

Dieter lets out another chuckle, finding your joke funny. He then gets a more serious, but still amused, expression on his face.

"I'm not messing with you, I did read some of them, including the ones on this movie. I didn't lie about that, I promise" he pauses for a brief moment, letting out an amused hum. "Y no te preocupes, linda. No estoy jugando contigo"

"If you didn't lie then I suppose you'd know who I had in mind when I wrote that scene of a guy eating a girl's pussy while she sits in his face, grinding on it. I'll give you a clue" you tiptoe, until the hot of your breathe clashes against the cold of his ear's skin, "he's got a big nose"

Dieter lets out a low hum when you drop the clue. "A big nose huh? Sounds familiar"

"It does?" you ask on an overly saccharine tone, fingers carressing the bridge of his nose, softly.

How did we get here?

He leans in a bit to get closer, clearly into your little taunts.

"Yeah, it does. And you just confirmed it too, no need to try to hide it now"

"Woah, don't let the ego win over, Mr. Bravo. A lot of people got big nose, you included" you smirk, removing your fingers from his face, and he would never admit out loud he instantly misses the warmth of your touch. "It's just coincidental you got the part and matched the character's description. You know what they say: all events depicted in this movie are fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental" you recite.

He laughs, shyly. "I know a lot of people have big noses, but I do wonder why you chose that trait in particular"

"I wonder too" then your tone drops low, "We should try, you know, to see if it's viable before we get to filming that part... call it exploratory research"

He feels your fingers touching again his nose.

"Exploratory research, you say?" Dieter lets out a soft chuckle. "How about you be a doll and show me some of that research. I'll gladly be the test subject"

You get flustered. This went too far. Why aren't you running away, or banging your head against a wall for some common sense? This is getting ridiculous, but so is the wet spot between your legs.

"Um, I- wow, I- do you really...? No way" you become a rambling mess again, trying to steady yourself, "You want to eat my pussy?"

The words come out brash, making you cringe.

"Is that what you're saying, Mr. Bravo? You can still turn around and pretend you don't know me. Muero de pena"

Hee tilts his head to the side, looking at you with an almost wolf-like look in his eyes. He takes a step closer, so more of his body is against your own, his face closer to yours.

"Don't do that. You don't have to be embarassed, doll" his finger plays with your lower lip. "I'm saying exactly that"

"Please" voice so small it feels like you'll break, "do it"

The actor lets out a hum in response to your small voice.

"Right here...?"

"No!" you jump horrified, getting out of the horny haze for a bit. "Oh, God. Do you want to be blacklisted, Dieter?" squeaky, lowering your gaze to avoid his, resorting to playing with your fingers. "You have a room, right? They gave you one.... just for you, right?"

He nods his head in response.

"Perks of being the lead actor" he beams a bit proud with full-blown ego in display. "I have my own trailer, and it's not that far away"

"It's okay, I like walking anyways" you reply. "As a matter of fact, I like a lot of things"

The actor lets out another soft laugh in response.

"You're cheeky, you know that, baby?"

He starts to lead you towards his trailer, putting his arm around your waist. It feels big and warm, his touch making a current shoot down until it looses in between your legs. If this is what fighting and low paid terrible jobs got you, you'd do it more often.

"Cheeky? Cute? Do you want to kill me?" I laugh as we almost make it there. "Turns out, I kinda like that"

Now, where you testing your luck by keeping on running your mouth? You need to shut it up forever.

The actor chuckles when you ask if he wants to kill you, stopping in his tracks when you mention that you kind of like that. He looks down at you with a soft, yet cocky smile, but his arm still lingers around your waist.

"I've never heard a woman say that before, doll. I'm starting to believe you have some weird things you're into"

I'm a porn writer, but now you stop before saying more shit. His comment makes you flustered, getting shy all of the sudden as if you hadn't just half-admitted part of your kinks.

Whatever, what's out in the open air can't be unsaid. And Dieter seems to be just as into this as you, finally someone to match your freak after all those men whose cowardice made them leave before the fun started. I'm a porn writer, what'd you expect? It would be fun if I was into vainilla stuff.

"Weird things?" you pretend to be offended, "what do you have in mind?"

"Me? You want me to think? My head is still hurting from yesterday's hangover" he jokes, "why don't you be a doll and tell me exactly what you want?"

You smirk devilishly and he's taken back by the change of your demeanor. You were truly a little wolf disguised as a sheep.

"What I want is for you to press your weight onto me as you fuck me raw" you get red as you spill the lewd thoughts out loud, but it's what you write so it's not new. Your eyes dart to the curve of his soft belly, tight against his shirt. You look away, even redder if possible. "For the research, of course! All with purpose, to uh- See if I don't suffocate- the character, I mean!"

Your dirty words darken his brown kit-kat eyes, clearly enjoying the way you talk to him.

"Of course, for the research. Got to make sure the scene is accurate, right?"

He lets out a small hum and moves his hand on your waist, until they dig in your hips.

"Yeah, because we're professionals. Is this your trailer?" you ask, trying to deviate the conversation because your face keeps getting hotter. "This is your last chance to turn your back before this gets weirder. Hell, I might even leave the country"

The actor smiles at your comment about being professionals, finding it amusing.

"It's my trailer, doll. And I'm not turning my back after how this conversation is going. If I wanted, I would've already left. You'd have to try to get rid of me yourself"

Dieter then grabs his door handle and turns it, opening the door to his trailer. Your heart beats faster than humanely possible.

"Please don't look at me like that"

Dieter lets out a soft hum and looks down at you with a cheeky smile.

"Why not? I like to look at you"

He leads you inside the trailer. Once you're both inside, he shuts the door behind him. With lock. Hearing the click makes your heart skip a beat.

"Don't look at me like you'd do all the stupid things I've said"

The actor is clearly amused by your words.

"What makes you think I wouldn't?"

He licks his lips with anticipation, bracing himself for what's to come.

"I think you're smart. That you know what's best for you" your fingers go to his curls, and you can feel him shiver at the touch. His hungry expression goes soft for a brief moment, and you think you like that too.

"Mmm... your hands feel nice..."

You smile like the Cheshire cat. "And they feel even better when you put them to good use"

The actor lets out a low chuckle in response to your words and looks down at you with a cocky smile.

"Is that a hint, darling?"

"A hint?" you snort. "That's a whole ass answer in red, bold and capital letters"

The man lets out a loud laugh at your response.

"Damn, you're feisty with that attitude, aren't you, doll?"

"Am I?" your eyes darken, body walking in automatic, closing the distance. His soft body irradiates warmth, the section between his pants feeling hard. "Will you punish me for that?"

The actor lets out a soft hum when he feels your body against his own. Dieter's face slowly gets more lustful.

"Mmm, depends on how bad you are, doll. I could punish you if you misbehave"

"What would you count as misbeheaving, Mr. Bravo? I just want to be a good girl" you whisper, batting eyelashes.

The man smirks at your comment and the way you bat your eyelashes teasingly.

"You'll see. You wouldn't want me to spoil the surprise, doll. Being a good girl will get you a nice reward, though"

"Like" you caress his nose, "helping me on the research part?"

Dieter enjoys your teasing touch on his nose and smirks at your comment.

"Mmm, just like the research part, doll"

"Would you show me?" you ask out in a tone so sweet, he's about to come right there. He didn't think it was possible, even. So he lets out a cocky laugh as he says, tone dropping too:

"Maybe I should if you're so persistent in not believing me"

You roll you eyes. "You really think I'm that easy to convince?"

"That's not a no" Dieter smirks.

You scoff. "It's also not a yes"

His tricky ringed fingers trace until it gets in the middle of your legs, feeling your dripping arousal. He then removes the finger and licks it with his long tongue, the scene as obscene as it is but never removing his gaze from yours.

"You sure? Your words might say one thing, but your body says something else"

You get defensive, despite him cornering your frame against one of the trailers walls.

"What would you know about my body?"

Even if his eyes bear irritation, he lets out an entertained laugh.

"I see you like playing these games. Pissing me off until I shut you up myself"

"I don't care" your tongue drips in snark, and he's equally pissed and turned on.

"You're a bad liar, doll. Can't act even if your life depended on it"

You scoff, as you muster the most annoyed tone you can. "Yeah?"

"I ain't met you that long, but I can tell how your body needs me" his voice sends shivers down your spine. "Still think I'm dumb? That I can't see the way you look at me, lips almost drooling, body shaking, pleading me to touch it?" all words you could say die in your throat. "What's that? Cat got your tongue? I see you're busier getting wet"

"I-I don't know what you're talking about" but there's no confidence in your voice anymore, giving away how turned on you were. Your mind goes numb at the dangerous game you're playing, coming only to your senses when his hard cock grinds against your soaked panties.

"I think you do" Dieter bites his lip, giving your core another hard rub. "I know you'd love to feel my cock around your pretty soaked pussy. Hell, you've been begging for it"

Your mind may be backtracking, but your body definitely wasn't.

"C'mon. Stop playing hard to get, doll" Dieter chuckles, "I know you want this"

He doesn't get a word out of you, but the patch against his jeans growing wetter is enough.

"Answer me" a little moan leaves your lips as he presses himself closer, his lips devouring yours in a rough fashion. "You better talk when I tell you to. Thought you'd behave" his hand easily pulls up your knitted sweater, revealing no bra. "Damn brat. Of course you wanted this: wearin' nothing to the set and writing those scenes getting off to me like some fuckin' creep" you moan at the humiliating words coming out of his filthy mouth as he touches the rosy skin gently before giving your hardened nipple a lick and then a little bite just to hear you whine.

Dieter then grabs you by your thighs, placing you down on top of what appears to be a small kitchen's counter, his growing bulge pressed against your cunt: the hard, the cold meeting hot... it all has you incredibly turned on. You feel the cool of the rings on his hand as it starts to eagerly wander under your skirt, rubbing his middle finger in between your clothed folds.

"That's right, I wore this to have you" you moan against his lips as his fingers find your clit, making slow but steady circles, "because yes, I wrote those scenes thinking of you"

"What a bad bad girl" Dieter chuckles darkly, "wanna hear you take your well deserved punishment. And don't worry, we're far away so you can scream my name as loud as you need to, doll"

He wastes no time in giving you such, pulling down the hem of your panties until they fall down to the trailer's floor. Before him, the best sight ever revealed to men: your sticky mess of a pussy. Dieter grabs onto your thighs, spreading them slowly as he leaves a trail of kisses on the inside, his beard and fluffy hair creating tickles. He then licks the folds of your moisty entrance. When you move, you hear him tut. "Be a good girl, yeah? Stay still" and now his hands hold your thighs, keeping them in place as the rings fig in your skin. His tongue hits your sensitive folds just right, making a series of sounds leave your lips. So addicting, he thinks.

"I-I'll be a good girl" you whine, "just please. Don't stop"

Your toes curl and you begin to see stars. You're surprised he's quite compliant, adding extra pressure with his tongue, slurping on your juices with a sound so obscene, even your dirty horny mind hadn't been capable of picturing. But here he was, Dieter fucking Bravo: the reason you started writing steamy scenes and agreed to do them for this project he was starring in, him always in your mind, now eating your pussy like a starved man inside the walls of his trailer.

Your mind turns into goo and your body into a sensitive mess. Your legs start to shake, clench up and tremble, leaving you a moaning mess. You weren't going to pull away, and Dieter seemed to like that feisty side of yours, yet his hold didn't loose a bit. His index and middle finger leave your red clit and slide into your soaked nub, his thumb now doing the work on it.

"That's right, baby. Tell Dieter how much you love his fingers inside of you, you cock hungry slut"

You come all over his hand, legs tensing up as you tug his messy curls into your now tight-white fists.

"I said talk" he now grabs your hair, pulling your face closer. "Gonna be ungrateful, when I just gave you the best orgasm of your life? Say it, brat"

"Thank you, Mr. Bravo" you pant out, still recovering from the high.

That makes it two discoveries as of now:

You weren't wrong when you wrote those scenes picturing him

Dieter lived up to his reputation, because that is indeed, the best orgasm of your life

You won't stroke his ego, though. And he doesn't need it either, as he's calling you good girl while leaving love bites all over your neck. "Mine" he hisses, and you let yourself believe it for a while.

"We done, sweetheart?" you shake your head. "That's right, research has just began. Bet you want my rock hard dick inside of you now"

You whine, and he leans closer. "Why do I even ask? Gonna give you my cock for you to take like the little whore you are"

You slid your hand into his pair of briefs, giving his cock a few strokes.

"See? such a hungry girl" he seethes. "Who gave you permission, you fucking brat?"

A sting spreads across your bare clit, making you moan. That's not what you had in mind, but it's embarrassing how turned on it's making you. Well, you have some certainly interesting ideas for what to write next.

"Answer me" his tone is demanding, his large palm delivering another harsh slap to your cunt.

"N-no one"

"How do we say, then? Be a good girl and show me your manners"

"P-please!" you mewl, soon feeling his tongue soothing the pain.

"So you do know how to be a good girl" Dieter praises, pressing a light kiss to your puffy folds. "Now, where were we?"

He frees his pulsating member from the confines of the underwear, revealing his throbbing cock, ready to rub it against your folds. A little whine left your lips as he kept rocking his hips back and forth.

"Talking back to me before, where is that girl gone? All I see is a hungry slut, ready to take my cock like the little good girl she is"

Dieter pushes his tip further enough to be at the entrance of your burning hole, and you whine in frustration and need, that attitude he teases you with, long gone. All you want is him to fuck you.

"That's right, beg like the fucking whore you are"

"Just fill me up with your thick cum and fuck me until I won't be able to stand up"

"Dangerous game you playin', doll" but his expression is all hunger and no warning.

"Just fuck me" you spit. "I'm yours. Use me"

That seems to do the trick.

"Good girl" and Dieter fully pushes himself inside of you, he abuses your clit, entering him fully inside of you over and over again, not even giving you time to adjust to his girth; surprinsgly (or not), you liked it rough. His wet kisses become sloppier and rushed, landing on your lips, corners of your mouth, jaw and neck. A string of drool is on his as he pulls them out, rather prefering to hear the sounds you drowned against his lips on full volume. His hands grab you by your hips while his buck back a forth in a rough pace. Surpringsly, Dieter remembers his promise, your body caged by his bigger frame as he fucks you on the counter, feeling the swell of his belly against your lower abdomen. He pushes hard, his heavier weight making your back start to ache against the cold metal, the wall behind you digging painfully on your skin. But doesn't it feel so good?

"So fucking good" he groans, his forehead pressed against yours, breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he stares intensely into your eyes, "so tight"

You grab onto his back as he stretches you out, his pace speeding up. You moan against his ear as your nails dig further into his back with every thrust, saying his name. You come closer to your orgasm as he hits the right spot over and over again.

"Fuck... the way you beg for it, like a needy little slut. It's so fucking hot" Dieter wraps his hand around your throat, his thumb pressing lightly against your pulse point. "I'm going to ruin you, doll. Gonna fuck you so hard that you'll forget your own fucking name" his voice is a low, guttural growl, filled with a raw, animalistic desire. "All you'll know is the feeling of my cock splitting you open, claiming you"

His words and movements edge you close, sweat dripping and clinging uncomfortably to your skin due to the reduced space.

"I-I'm close again"

"But you better come with me, spoiled little girl. Ain't doin' it alone after all I've done for you" he groans, his thrusts becoming more and more aggressive.

Your walls clench against his soaked dick, his pace suddenly slowing as his cum fills your hole, coating your walls.

"F-fuck"

You try to even your breaths as he rests his head on your shoulder, bodies pressed together.

"So, was I of help?"

You chuckle at his attempt for small talk.

"You did good, Dieter. Mission accomplished"

"Right" he sounds a bit dissapointed, making the corners of your lips raise. "Well, If you ever need a helping hand" he wiggles his brows, "you know were to find me"

"I do" you press a brief kiss to his lips. "As a matter of fact, you can also tell me when you need my helping hand" said hand travels down, feeling his dick hard again. The sight alone makes you drool. "What'd you say, cowboy? Up for analyzing the collected data? We didn't even try with your nose"

"I knew it was mine!"

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas

[quinnnfabrgay-writes]

movin' in a technicolor beat

pairing: dieter bravo x afab!reader

summary: Dieter comes in your mouth. You come in his. You make out. That's the plot.

wc: 717

tags/warnings: 18+, MDNI, straight up smut, oral (both), fingering, gratuitous cum worship, cum play

a/n: this is my filthy love letter to @dieterbravobrainrotclub 🥰 Happy one year to one of the most accepting and inclusive groups I've had the pleasure to be a part of! Here's to many more days and nights of losing our minds over this silly little character who ran away with our hearts and fills our minds with dirty thots.

"Oh ffffuuuuuuck yeah, babe. Oh oh oh hnngh-" Dieter whines, gripping at his own hair to try and keep his cool as you take him down your throat in one gulp.

Usually you would be dragging this out: slow, tortuous bites and licks along his inner thighs, nuzzling his balls while completely ignoring his leaking cock, and when you finally do give your attention to his cock you start the teasing all over again. slooow, gentle kitten licks up and around his shaft, soft chaste kisses around the head, a slow flick of your tongue over the tip before you finally wrap your lips around his cock and then start edging him until he's crying.

But not tonight.

Tonight you were the impatient one, in a rush to make this new delicious fantasy of Dieter's come to life. The second he finished his confession, you were on him, stripping the both of you of your clothes and getting to work.

Your right hand comes up to cup his balls, gently massaging the silken skin as you bob your head up and down, saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth, absolutely soaking his cock working him closer and closer and closer until…

"oh fuck oh fuck ohfuckohfuckfuckfuckfffffuuuuu-" Dieter whimpers, grabbing the back of your head, rocking his hips into your face, the feeling of his cock throbbing and pulsating as he comes in your mouth has you dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets below you, making sure to fight your instinct so swallow it down, keeping his cum pooled in your mouth as you pull your lips off his softening member.

Dieter wastes no time flipping you on your back and sinking his head between your legs. He immediately licks into your folds, a long wide stripe of his tongue parting your lips, scooping your wetness up to swirl around your hardened clit with his tongue.

Your back arches as you grip the sheets below you, muffled moans and whines sound from your tight lipped mouth, not taking into account how tortuous this would be for you. You love being vocal for Dieter, it's another way you can tell him he's doing well, being "my good boy," but if you were to do that now, it would ruin the entire fantasy the two of you were trying to accomplish.

He greedily sucks your clit between his lips, the tip of his tongue swirling around the swollen nub expertly as he shoves two fingers inside your dripping wet pussy. pumping them in and out, in and out, curling his fingertips just so against that spongy little spot that makes your toes curl. You grip the sheets even tighter, on the verge of tears as he focuses all his attention on rubbing that spot, flicking his tongue exactly how you like it. Bringing you that much closer to the edge at an alarming rate, your legs shaking from his ministrations.

He works his fingers faster, harder, moaning around your clit as your cunt starts tightening around his digits, your whole body shaking as you fight to keep his cum in your mouth as you whine and moan, writhing as your building climax finally breaks, crashing and cresting over you, absolutely gushing as Dieter seals his lips around your clit, sucking harder as you come and squirt into his mouth.

Your body still shaking as you recover from your earth shattering release, Dieter crawls up your figure, cupping his palm around the nape of your neck before bringing his lips to yours, his tongue immediately darting into your mouth. Your tongues swirl together, winding around the other in a mess of your mixed saliva and cum. The sweet tang of your release on his tongue blending with the salty musk of his seed on yours merge and mingle with your combined saliva to create a taste so uniquely you and Dieter it sends shivers down your spine.

You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer to you as he lays all his weight on you, reaching around and under your body to wrap his arms around your form. You spend the rest of the night wrapped up in each other's arms, tongues dancing and swishing together, spending each second slowly drinking the other in.

[absurdthirst]

The Mismatch {Alpha!Dieter Bravo x Omega!F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.1k

Warnings: Alpha/Omega dynamics, mentions of social structures, classism, drug use (it's Dieter), mentions of bisexuality, deceit, jealousy, mentions of knotting, fighting, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, knotting

Comments: Tired of living a life of debauchery, Dieter decides to use Omega Finder, to discover who is omega is. Witnessing this folly as his assistant, you know that he won't find her. Until he does, confusing you since you are his omega.

*** When reblogging or talking about Omegaverse, please remember that ‘a/b/o’ without the slash punctuation marks (/) is considered a slur for the Aboriginal people in Australia.

Co-written by @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Dieter Bravo MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

"Dieter. It's a pleasure to sit down with you today." The interviewer from The New York Times sits down with the actor. 

"It's a pleasure to be here." He smiles, his wedding ring flashing from the bright lights that have been set up in his living room.

"So, you've been married for ten years now. How are you enjoying married life?" The interviewer asks and Dieter grins, "it's amazing. I love her more and more every day. I never imagined it would be  like this." He declares and the interviewer nods, "you had an agency find your mate, correct?" Dieter nods, "yes...but it wasn't smooth sailing."

****

Everyday it surprises you that Dieter Bravo is an alpha. The neediness, the whining, the childish pouts when he doesn’t get his way or someone doesn’t recognize him on the street. You would have never guessed that he was an alpha before you started working for him. The alarm on your phone goes off, reminding you to take your suppressants and you pull the pill bottle out of your purse, popping one into your mouth as the trailer door flings open and Dieter rushes inside. The set makeup looks comical considering his eyes are widened and excited but the makeup is bold and dramatic. “I’m going to do it!” He cries out enthusiastically, making you frown. 

“Do what?” 

He huffs and rolls his eyes, expecting you to read his mind, you already anticipate every single one of his needs - right down to his drug resupply. “I’m going to find my mate!” 

Your eyes widen in shock, surprised that he would even consider that. “What? Why?”

Dieter looks up from his phone, "I want to find my omega. This agency...they will find them. They track the DNA data and find your mate...for a large fee of course." Dieter says and you sigh, knowing that the man is incapable of being monogamous. "Not available to the normies...you guys have MateMatch or whatever. This is for the elites who don't have time or the capacity to go out on dates sniffing for their omega." He snorts and looks in the mirror, "I want to settle down. Getting too fucking old now. I want my mate. My person." He declares, frowning at the wrinkles on his face.

Normies. Dieter thinks you are a beta. It doesn’t help that you have been on suppressants since before you worked for him, and you’ve never corrected him on his mistake. For good reason. Dieter does not need to know that you are an omega. “Dieter…” you sigh. “Your mate will expect you to be monogamous.” You remind him. “Biology will expect you to be monogamous. Once you are bonded….you can’t sleep around.”

Dieter rolls his eyes, “duh. I know that. I’m tired of waking up in a pile of bodies covered in cum and no one. No. One. Wants to cuddle me when the daylight is coming in the window. I don’t want to be alone for the rest of my life. I’m not stupid. I know that my looks and money will take me so far but when I’m shitting myself, who is gonna love me? My mate would.” He says dramatically, “I’ve made up my mind. The agency is already trying to find them.” He declares, “I’ll be a mated man in no time.”

You try not to huff, knowing he would pry and when Dieter wants to know something he will pester you until you give in. The truth is, he won’t find his mate easily, because she’s already standing in front of him. “Just…don’t get discouraged if it takes some time.” You offer, feeling slightly guilty about not telling him the truth and costing him a lot of money. You know he wouldn’t want you as his mate, you’re his assistant. The only reason you know that painful truth is because of a week he was away and your suppressants had run out. The shirt he had stuffed in your bag one night had called to you, making you go into heat until you could get a refill on your prescription. Blocking your scent again for when you were around him.

Dieter scoffs, "they are professionals. I bet I am married off before the end of the year. Dieter Bravo...serial monogamist. Now that would be a headline." He chuckles and reaches up to adjust his hair before he heads out onto set. 

It takes a couple of weeks but finally, Dieter gets the call. It's late after a long day of press junkets and Dieter is in the back of the town car beside you when his phone rings. "Hello?" He answers, putting it on speaking because he doesn't like the phone on his face. 

"Hi, Mr. Bravo. We have news." Shelley, the agency advisor says and Dieter bites his lip, nervous as fuck. "We found her!" Shelley declares and Dieter's eyes widen. 

"Oh wow. It's - it's a woman. Not that I'm complaining. I don't mind but - wow." He chokes, shocked that this is suddenly real.

You can hear everything, fingers twisted together and you hate how your gasp makes him turn towards you. They found you somehow? How did this company manage to get a sample of your DNA? You never allowed any of your blood to be put into a database. Shifting in your seat, you prepare for a difficult conversation with your boss about why you hid your omega status, and the fact that you are his mate.

“They found my mate.” He declares and Shelly continues to give Dieter the details. 

“Her name is Polly and she lives in San Fran. We are arranging for her to come here to L.A this weekend. She’s younger than you. 28. Blonde. Blue eyes. She’s fertile and ready to find her forever.” Shelley declares and Dieter shakes his head. 

“I can’t - I can’t believe it.” He grins and bids Shelley goodbye after confirming she will email the details. “Can you come with me to meet her? I’m- I’m fucking nervous.” He admits, his hands shaking slightly.

Stunned silent for a moment, you don’t know what to say. They couldn’t have found someone else, there’s never been a case of anyone having two mates. “I-um- Dieter….” 

He frowns, grabbing your hand. “Please, I need you. You know what to do to keep me calm. I can’t be high when I meet my mate.” He begs, making you bite your lip. 

“Yeah, I guess.” You murmur quietly, unsure if you need to tell him this company is lying to him.

He exhales shakily, squeezing your hand, “thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He says, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek. He feels a spark from your skin but he thinks it’s the tab he took before he left his trailer. “I need you there because I can’t afford to mess this up.” He stresses and you nod, a frown still on your face but he doesn’t notice.

You need to find out what company Dieter hired to find his mate, because they have fucked up royally. He lets go of your hand and you immediately start going through his schedule. If you know anything about him, he will want to have a chemical peel, to rejuvenate his skin and meet with that spiritual hack that he is convinced works miracles on his aura.

Dieter panics every single hour of the day until the moment arrives. He exhales shakily, his hands shaking and he's stone cold sober, not even a swig of booze. He looks over at you as he waits for his mate, dressed in a blue suit and his hair styled. "How do I look?" He asks, needing some reassurance.

He looks incredible. You’ve managed to never feel jealous throughout all the lovers that have come through Dieter��s bed. Never let yourself be jealous. Now you are. He’s excited and hopeful, a light in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. “Dee….” He turns that expectant smile on you and you know it’s not the time to talk to him about this Omega Finder agency, “you look great.” You admit. “All Alpha-y.”

He pushes his shoulders back, puffing out his chest with pride that you think he looks like an alpha. He has never conformed to what an alpha should be. Some extreme groups dictate that alphas should become first class citizens like it was before the Omega/Beta Civil Rights Act in the 50s. He has fought hard for equality in the wake of his biological makeup and he hopes he has provided a good road map for younger alphas looking to break the mold. He has a tugging in his chest, his eyes meeting yours, and he disregards it as nerves. 

Shelley from the agency enters the room and Dieter swallows down the words that were bubbling in his throat, words that were foreign to his tongue. He wanted to thank you for helping him with everything. "It's time." Shelley declares and Dieter adjusts his jacket, rolling his neck as he follows Shelley to meet his mate.

You trail along behind him, curious to find out what kind of person they have gotten to play Dieter’s omega. You hate how excited he is, knowing that he would never be this happy if he knew you were his mate.

Dieter enters the room that was set up to meet his omega and she is facing away from him until he is a few steps away. She turns just as he approaches her, a wide smile on her face. "Dieter, baby! My alpha!" She cries, throwing herself in his arms. His arms wrap around her. She's gorgeous. Like supermodel gorgeous and Dieter buries his face in her neck, breathing her in. Her scent is warm and inviting, making him melt against her, and he feels like this is right. This is his omega. He's read about how this moment should feel. How it should make him want to drag her off to bed right away, make him want to cover her in his scent, but maybe that was the old method. Times have changed and you can't just fuck someone you meet seconds before. He squeezes her waist and pulls back, leaning in to kiss her softly. "Omega." He declares, knowing the agency must know who his match is and he won't doubt it. He wants this. He wants to be settled down and if it's Polly, then it''s Polly.

You can smell her. You frown when the scent is one that you know well. It’s your scent! Your nose curls slightly, aware that something has been manipulated and you aren’t sure what. There is no way that she should smell like you.

Polly kisses him back, her eyes wide and a smile on her face as she takes in the appearance of her alpha. "You're so handsome." She coos, cupping his cheeks, and he smiles at her. "You're beautiful." He declares and she smirks, "oh I know." He chuckles, a little awkward at her confidence but it's not a bad thing.

You instantly dislike her. It’s the conceited aura dripping out of her pores, along with the fact that you know this woman is lying to Dieter. You swallow back the jealousy, wishing you had told Dieter the truth before now.

“So…should we go get dinner? Get to know each other?” He suggests and she nods. Dieter feels a little more confident as he takes her hand in his and turns to look at you. “You booked the restaurant, right? I booked the whole place. I didn’t want us to be interrupted and it’s early days so the press would disturb us.” He explains to Polly who beams at the news that Dieter rented out an entire restaurant for her.

You snort, knowing you are the one who had called the restaurant to reserve the entire thing. It hadn’t been easy and you had to promise the entire staff exorbitant tips to make up for there only being one guest. Dieter’s LLC would pay it. You’ll have Dieter sign photos later on to give the staff too on the promise not photos or autographs tonight.

Polly squeals in excitement and Dieter’s smile falls slightly at the annoying sound. He doesn’t want to rip her clothes off. She’s beautiful but she’s like a lot of women his PR team set him up to date. Still, she’s his mate, his omega. You can’t deny science and biology. Her scent was mouthwatering and he can’t wait to get to know her more. “Shall we go?” Dieter asks, holding his hand out to Polly who nods and Dieter turns to look at you, “you’re dismissed. Thanks for helping.” He says, his eyes flat as he looks at you.

“Of course.” It hurts, it cuts deep when he looks at you like you are a piece of furniture but that's what you deserve for not being honest with him. “It’s my job.” You can’t watch the gorgeous woman drape herself over him for another second so you turn and walk to the door, wanting to get away from them and figure out what to do next.

****

“So…what’s it like being an Oscar winner?” Polly asks Dieter over dessert. 

Dieter sighs, setting his fork down, “it’s…a lot of pressure. The expectations are higher. When I was just getting started, I was constantly fighting, battling for screen time and now? I don’t even need to audition. It feels like I have let myself get lazy.” He admits and Polly shakes her head, “that just means you get the bigger jobs. More money. That’s success baby.” She winks and Dieter nods, “I guess so but I miss being a struggling artist sometimes.” He confesses and Polly giggles, thinking he’s joking. He chuckles alongside her, going along with “the joke.” When the date is over, Dieter pulls her close to kiss her, his head tilting to deepen the kiss and she cups his cheeks, sliding her tongue against his. Neither of them know that one of the kitchen staff that didn’t sign an NDA snaps a photo that will be splashed over the papers tomorrow. “Dieter and his omega” the headlines will read. 

****

“So did you know when you met her that she was your mate?” The interviewer asks, tilting his head, and Dieter chuckles. 

“No. Not really. Everyone talks about how you instantly connect. The romance movies that show the alpha and omega immediately kissing but that wasn’t what happened with me. It was slow. It took a while to recognize her and when I did, it was spectacular.” 

****

Dieter kisses Polly when she arrives at his house, ushering her inside. They have been dating for a few weeks, commuting between San Fran and L.A. “You got those spring rolls that Pol likes?” Dieter asks you when you set the take out bag down. It’s been chaotic since the press found out about his mate but he’s handled it, leaning into the story about wanting to find his omega. Polly handled it with grace and he’s ready to take the next step if she is tonight.

“Yes.” The answer is clipped, short. Annoyed that his ‘omega’ has started texting you demands like you work for her. When your priority is Dieter. 

“What’s wrong with you?” He huffs, pouting that you are being short with him. Dieter loves nothing more than to be adored and since Polly has shown up, your temper has been easily provoked. 

“Nothing.” You sigh, reminding yourself that you signed up for this. You didn’t tell him the truth. “Dee….are you sure the company is right?” You venture. “That she’s your omega?”

Dieter glances over at Polly who is on the phone to her friend and he shakes his head. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to? I paid five hundred grand for them to find my mate and you think they are wrong? No way. She’s - she’s perfect for me.” His voice wavers slightly as the doubts that he keeps in the back of his mind jump out in the form of his assistant.

Your eyes widen slightly when he tells you how much he paid, making your stomach churn and your gag reflex almost make you retch. “Sorry.” You mumble quietly, looking down at the bag and pulling out the food that he had requested for an at home date. He’s become more closed off since ‘finding his omega’ and you miss the boss that you could ask him anything and get an answer. “Do I need to go see Tommy?” You ask quietly, wanting to know if he needs a resupply on his drugs.

Dieter glances back over his shoulder at Polly. Dieter nods, knowing he needs to restock. “Yeah. Tell him to send an invoice. He knows I’m good for it.” Dieter whispers, not wanting Polly to know he’s still doing drugs. She told him when they were having dinner that he needed to change his drug habit…and his wardrobe.

You nod, although you don’t say anything. Dieter has changed and while you are proud that his drug usage has lessened, he’s not doing it for himself. There will be a moment where he over indulges and you hate that. It’s another reason why you had never let him know that you are his mate, you didn’t want to demand he stop doing what he wanted. “I will arrange it, sir.” You revert back to the more formal interaction, knowing that Polly prefers that. “Will that be all?”

Dieter stares at you for a moment, tilting his head as his stomach twists with something unknown. “Dee Dee, I’m starving.” Polly groans as she walks into the kitchen. 

“No. That’s all.” Dieter murmurs and you nod, glancing at Polly who hums at you, narrowing her eyes. You don’t say another word as you leave and Dieter stiffens as Polly’s hand slides down his back. 

“I want you, Alpha.” She coos and Dieter sighs, knowing this moment would come and he hopes it’s everything he has heard sex between mates is. He guesses his venture into drugs and multiple partners was in vain to recreate that feeling that so many have described as unlike anything they have ever experienced. Tonight, he’s going to have that with Polly.

Out in your car, you sigh, closing your eyes to hold back the tears that you don’t deserve to shed. You chose this, you let all this happen and Dieter couldn’t be happier with a woman who wasn’t you. His ‘mate’. You think you know what’s going on, but you can’t prove it, and hating that you can’t just go off your suppressants to prove that you are his mate. He would accuse you of manipulating your scent, which is exactly what Polly is doing. “Fuck.” You hiss, leaning back and starting the engine. You need to get away from here before you go back inside and beg Dieter to knot you.

The dinner is cleared away and the TV plays some show but Dieter isn’t paying attention. Polly notices and leans in to kiss him, straddling him, and it progresses from there. Dieter can be a selfish lover, he’s ashamed to admit that, but this is his mate so he goes down on her. Her arousal doesn’t make him ravenous like others have described but he guesses it’s him. He’s killed his taste buds with acid. He makes her cum and then finally, he’s sliding inside of her. His head feels heavy but he kisses her, rocking into her until she clamps down on his cock and he grunts when he cums. No knot. He pulls out of her when he goes soft moments later and she kisses along his chest as she curls around him. He didn’t knot her. He frowns as she coos his name and he doesn’t know what he did wrong.

“That was amazing.” Polly makes sure that her tits are against his chest, her leg thrown over his as she toys with one of his nipples. She's heard a lot of wild things about Dieter Bravo over the years and while he wasn’t as unhinged as she’s heard, maybe it’s because this is the first time. It’s supposed to be romantic. “You are amazing and I’m so glad I’m yours, alpha.”

Dieter hums, turning his head to softly kiss her, his hand sliding along her spine. She’s his omega. He can’t deny that since the agency found her based on her DNA. He is hers and she is his. “Me too.” He murmurs, trying to push aside the feeling that something is off. 

****

“So why did you decide to speak to us now? You’ve won seven Oscars. Produced multiple movies. Why did you decide to tell your story?” The interviewer asks and Dieter smiles, “because it’s about her. My omega. I wanted to tell the world and explain what happened. In my own words.” He looks down at his wedding ring with love in his eyes.

****

Dieter hisses your name from across the room. Polly is on the computer in the office across the house, shopping with his card. She’s moved into his home within the past three months and Dieter is happy. He’s happy to have someone to talk to. Even if that person was you before Polly was found. He loves her, he does. She’s beautiful. You walk over to where he’s standing in the kitchen and he opens the cabinet door, pulling a small velvet box from the cereal bowl that never gets used. “What do you think? Think she will like it?” He asks, opening the box.

Your mouth goes dry, eyes fixed in the ring in his hand and you can’t believe how much Dieter has changed. You had expected him to screw up, honestly. You had been there for the end with Anika and Kate, witnessed firsthand the self-destruction that he was capable of. It was one of the reasons you had not admitted your discovery to him. The ring is beautiful and you hate it. You hate that Polly is lying to him and telling him the truth is going to break his heart. “You can’t marry her.” You blurt out, looking up into his eyes. “She’s not your mate.”

Dieter narrows his eyes, “what did you just say?” He hisses, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Polly isn’t nearby, that she hasn’t come into the room. 

“She - she isn’t your mate.” You stammer at the look in his eyes as he glares at you. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are? Questioning my mate? How fucking dare you.” He hisses, “you’re just jealous. Is that it? Because you’re alone and you haven’t found anyone. Fuck, I can’t - you are fired.”

Your mouth drops open in shock, unable to believe that Dieter just fired you. You’ve been with him for years. “Dieter-“ he shakes his head and holds his hand out. 

“Give me your keys.” He demands, his voice rough with anger. “Please- just listen to me-“ he cuts you off. 

“I don’t want to hear it!” He shouts, chest heaving with fury. “You’re jealous that I’m happy, that I found my mate!” He yells. “That you don’t even have a mate, since you’re nothing but a Beta.” 

Your chin trembles, never imagining Dieter would insult you for his (wrong) idea that you are a beta. “Fine.” Tears are pooling in your eyes and you dig into your pocket to pull out your keys. “Don’t blame me when you are miserable.” You hiss. “Or when you are fucking unhappy when you can’t knot her. Because she’s not your mate.” You slap his key into his palm and start to gather your things.

Dieter falters because he didn’t knot Polly last night or any night before that. How the fuck did you know that? He stares at you and clenches his fist around the key. His eyes narrow and he shakes his head, “get the fuck out. I can’t - she’s my mate. She’s my omega. How dare you argue that.” He growls and hates that you leaving is more upsetting than him not being able to knot Polly.

You sadly shake your head and sigh. “I’ve never had anything but your best interests in mind, Dieter.” You remind him quietly. “I hope you are blissfully happy with your ‘omega’.” You turn around and walk towards the door without saying anything else. You will have to call his manager and let him know, Dieter will need another assistant. You open the door and pause, looking back at the handsome alpha. “Goodbye, alpha.”

Dieter watches you go, his heart aching from losing you. You're not only his assistant but also his friend. "Good riddance." He tells himself as he sets the key down just as Polly appears with a smile on her face. 

"Hey baby." She coos, leaning in to kiss him and Dieter sighs, barely able to kiss her back. Polly pouts as she pulls back and runs her fingers through his hair. She needs to make him cut it, he looks better with it shorter. And to take that ridiculous earring out. “What’s the matter, baby?” She asks, pressing up against him. “You look sad. Can I cheer you up, somehow?”

Dieter turns his head to press his lips to hers. Maybe he was in his head last night. He slides his tongue against hers, deciding that he will be taking her to bed again. “You can cheer me up by letting me make my little omega cum.” He murmurs against her lips and she giggles, grabbing his hand to drag him into his bedroom. The ring is still in the drawer and he will give it to her in the next few days. He wants this. He wants to be settled.

****

“I was afraid of that.” Dieter’s longtime manager, Martin, sighs on the other end of the line. “His…omega has made comments about being ‘uncomfortable’ having an unattached Beta being his assistant.” 

You grit your teeth, wanting to tell him that you aren’t a beta and that Polly was a fucking scheming liar. Except you will just look pathetically jealous. “I’ve updated his calendar, but I guess I need to mail the laptop and the phone to you.” You tell him. “Unless you want me to drop it by?”

Martin really hates losing you. You managed to keep Dieter on schedule and on time. “Yeah. I guess you can mail it. Use the card and put the card in there too.” He says, rubbing his cheek. “You know he wants to marry her?” Martin asks and you hum, trying to not let your feelings show through. “I think it’s a mistake.” Martin admits, “but you can’t deny biology.” 

****

“So how was the proposal? When you asked her to marry you?” The interviewer asks and Dieter smiles softly, “it was perfect. I couldn’t have planned it better and when she said yes…I swear my heart was gonna explode.” He sighs and the interviewer chuckles at the look on his face. “I was the same with my omega.” 

****

“Will you marry me?” Dieter asks as he kneels down in front of Polly. The display on a private beach is all for her. The display of roses, the sign, the fireworks, the candlelit dinner. All for his omega. 

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Polly squeals and Dieter grins, standing up to kiss her. She wraps her arms around his neck and he breathes her in, that smell that has become familiar to him but doesn’t feel like home. Not like he’s been told. He ignores that and poses for the photos that will be published in the magazine. “Give them something and they will leave you alone.” His PR girl, Sally, told him when he protested having the engagement photos published. They will be printed tomorrow for the world to see.

You groan as you close the page on your phone, unable to stomach the sight of that smiling little fake, the gorgeous diamond ring gleaming in the photo as she caresses his chest. You’ve done a little research on Polly and she’s a failed actress. She’s been obsessed with Dieter and you think that she’s somehow gotten the agency to tell Dieter that she’s his mate. It’s frighteningly easy to clone the pheromones for a mate and they even do gland implants for those that wish to be an Omega and aren’t. You can’t help yourself and open the article again, looking at Dieter closely. Wondering if you are just imagining the uneasy edge to his eyes.

****

Dieter stares in the mirror, his hair cut shorter than he likes, and he sighs, wondering who it is staring back at him. Ever since he proposed to Polly three months ago, he’s gotten whiplash from how fast the wedding was planned. He barely got a say in the wedding plans after he paid for her to hire a planner and now here he is. His tux is pristine and he brushes down the non existent dust. So different from the man who would wear stained and hole ridden sweats. He still hasn’t knotted Polly. She said it could be because of the drugs so he’s given up everything but weed and the occasional molly. 

He invited you, wanting you to be here even if you are upset. He hasn’t spoken to you since that fateful day and he hopes he can reconcile with you. His chest has been aching since the day you walked out the door.

The invitation sits like a spector, mocking you as the elaborate gold leaf script announces the union between Dieter and Polly. An ‘amalgamation of love between an alpha and his omega’. The description makes you want to throw up. Still, you are touched that you received an invitation, feeling like it’s Dieter’s way of extending an olive branch. There’s no way Polly would have invited you willingly. You think about your closet, wanting to be well dressed while you witness your mate marry someone else.

****

“It sounds like a true romance between you and your leading lady. So, how was the wedding day? Everything you both dreamed of?” The interviewer asks Dieter who sighs with fondness of his memory of the day. 

“It was perfect. We declared our union in front of the world and it was intimate and everything I wanted.” He admits, “I can’t believe it’s been ten years since we ever married. What is the anniversary? Tin?” Dieter asks the interviewer who nods, “and the traditional gift is a diamond.” 

Dieter chuckles, “oh I know. I got her a beautiful new ring.” He says, proud of himself.

****

“I’m sorry ma’am, you aren’t on the guest list.” You frown at the security and reach into your clutch to pull out your invitation. 

“I have an invitation, right here.” You protest, showing them your name on the heavy card stock. “I can show you my license, I’m not crashing the wedding, I’m invited. I used to be Dieter’s assistant.” 

The larger man shakes his head and shrugs. “I guess you’ve been uninvited. No one gets in that isn’t on the list. By order of the bride.” 

You hiss in annoyance and take a deep breath. “Then I guess that I got dressed up for nothing.” You smile and turn from doors and walk back towards your car, wondering if there’s another way to talk to Dieter before the ceremony.

Dieter adjusts his cufflinks that Polly picked for him. She picked the most expensive thing for every detail of the wedding. It’s not like Dieter couldn’t afford it but he didn’t get to decide anything. It’s also being filmed for Vogue. Something that Dieter was against but Polly begged him and he couldn’t deny his mate. His mate. It sounds wrong but how can he deny biology?

Sneaking around the side of the building, you have slipped your shoes off because the heels are killing you and grabbed a bouquet of flowers to bring in, like you are a part of the florists crew. The staff is hurrying around and some of them throw you a grateful look as you set down the beautiful place setting where the others are clustered. Slipping down the halls to try to find Dieter.

Dieter exhales when the wedding planner comes over to tell him it’s nearly time. He sighs and adjusts his bow tie just as he looks over at the French doors in his groom’s suite. His eyes widen when he sees you standing there, heels in hand. He opens the doors and he gasps, “what are you doing here?”

“Dieter..” You drop your shoes and rush towards him. “You can’t marry Polly. She’s not your omega, she’s lying.” You stress, trembling with fear that he will just throw you out. “I know she’s not your mate, because I’m your real omega.” You had stopped taking your suppressants after Dieter fired you, letting your true scent come out as your glands started working again.

Dieter’s jaw drops and then he inhales. It hits him like a train. Your scent. More concentrated than Polly’s and more delicious. His cock hardens and his heart is pounding as he takes another breath. “What - how - but Polly- she?” He chokes, confused and torn. He wants to rip your clothes off right now. He closes his eyes, rubbing them to try and stop his head pounding.

“She lied to you.” You tell him quietly. “She had a gland transplant.” You had researched the procedures and you are sure that’s what she’s done. “I- I knew you would hate that your assistant was your mate, so I didn’t say anything when you used the agency. I thought they would never find me.”

He is so confused. You smell delicious but how does he know you’re not lying? The thought makes his stomach twist and he inherently knows it’s not true. “Why didn’t you - shit. She / the agency and Polly. How - I don’t understand.” His chest tightens and he starts to shorten his breath as his mind goes foggy.

“I don’t know how she did it, but she got them to lie to you.” You step forward, biting your lip. “I tried to tell you, I didn’t know how.” You admit quietly. “When I tried, you fired me. I thought you were happy, that you enjoyed still having that freedom that comes with not being with your mate.”

Dieter feels like he’s going to throw up. Your scent wafts over him, his cock hard in his pants and he shifts to sit down on the end of the bed in the groom’s room. He heaves, trying to process the mess he’s made by buying into Polly’s lies. 

He squeezes his eyes and that’s when you sing. “When I get older, losing my hair. Many years from now. Will you still be sending me a Valentine?” He opens his eyes, shocked that you’re singing his song. His comfort song. “Birthday greetings bottle of wine. If I'd been out till quarter to three Would you lock the door?” You sing and stand in front of him. “Will you still need me, will you still feed me?” You sing and he raises his head and sings along with you “when I'm sixty-four.” 

His eyes are wide, “how - how did you know - that song?” He chokes, his heart pounding in his chest.

“It’s your favorite song.” You whisper quietly. “You listen to it when you think no one is around. When you’re feeling lonely.” Swallowing harshly, you shake your head. “I fucked up, Dee.” You admit. “I was so convinced you didn’t actually want to find your mate that I didn’t trust you with the truth. It’s hurt so badly to deny what I need, on the basic, biological level.” You close your eyes. “If you love Polly, really love her and want her to be yours, I’ll leave.” You promise. “You’ll never see me again. You can have your happy future. I just-“ your eyes open again and you find his dark conflicted ones. “I want my alpha to be happy.”

Your words hit him like a brick wall and he stares at you. You stare back for a moment until you think you have your answer and you turn to leave. Dieter’s hand reaches for yours and he pulls you down into his lap, his nose buried in your scent gland so he can breathe you in properly. You’re his. His omega. He can’t get enough, inhaling your scent and he kisses your skin, making you whimper. That’s when he can’t hold back. His lips find yours and he cups the back of your neck, pressing you against him so he can slide his tongue into your mouth.

The shiver that runs through you is powerful, your body lighting up in pleasure as his tongue flicks inside your mouth. Nipples hardening and your cunt starting to get soaked from the scent of your alpha and the electricity that runs through your body as he touches you. Moaning quietly as you immediately submit to him, whining slightly when his fingers press against your glands at your wrist.

It’s indescribable how you feel, how he feels. Your scent clouding his senses and he can’t seem to get enough of you. His tongue slides against yours and his hands slide down to grab your waist, pulling you to straddle him and his cock is throbbing as you grind down against him. “Fuck. Omega.” He pants, “my omega.” He murmurs, his body recognizing you in a way it never recognized Polly.

You are caught up in it for a moment. Your heart racing with pure joy that he recognizes you, he sees that you are his mate. “Dee, Dieter-“ you pant as you pull away from him, aware that he is still technically engaged to another woman. “We - we can’t. You’re still- Polly.” Despite her deceit, you aren’t the kind of woman who betrays. 

He pants, resting his forehead against yours. “Shit.” He hisses, knowing he has to go out there and tell the world Polly isn’t his omega. “Baby, I have an idea. Revenge. A dish best served cold.” He smirks and cups your cheek, “I have a plan.” He declares, “I am going to wait for her to walk down the aisle and tell her what I know.”

“You are?” Your eyes widen dramatically and you know how embarrassing it will be for her to be exposed to the world like that. She deserves it though, she knows that she’s not his mate and she tricked him. “Dee- that means people will be asking how you didn’t know. Questioning that you didn’t knot her before now.”

Dieter nods, “I know. I’m going to tell them the truth. I thought I’d taken too many drugs that I couldn’t knot anyone. That could still be the case.” He warns you, “I just don’t know how she managed to fool me with your scent. How did she know? How did she get the agency to believe she was my mate?” He asks, pondering the situation while his hands caress you, comforted by your presence.

“I don’t know.” That’s the part that you haven’t figured out, no one at the agency would talk to you now that you aren’t Dieter’s assistant. “But I’m sure that you can find out, especially since you will be damaging their company image.” Your fingers sink into his hair and you scratch his scalp gently. “You cut your hair.” You hum. “I like it longer.”

He scoffs, “Polly likes it shorter.” He hates that he changed for her. “Come on, I have a wedding to ruin.” He smirks and helps you off his lap. “After it’s over, I want you, omega. For as long as you’ll have me.” He murmurs, caressing your cheek just as the doors open and the wedding planner walks in. Her eyes widen at the sight of you and Dieter so close and he lowers his hand. “We ready?” He asks, his back straightening and his voice taking on the alpha edge that he rarely uses.

You shiver slightly at the command that he has in his voice and you know that it’s inevitable that Dieter will have you tonight. You still wonder if he has ever wanted you or if it’s just because of your biology, but you can talk about this later. Right now, you have to stop Polly from scamming your alpha.

The wedding planner looks down at your bare feet and she looks back at Dieter who narrows his eyes at her, “we are ready.” He repeats and the wedding planner nods, jarred by his commanding tone, and they escort him through the halls. Dieter walks down the aisle without finesse, his hand holding yours and he sits you down on the front row, ignoring the murmurs and curiosity from the crowd. Half of whom he doesn’t even know who they are. He adjusts his jacket and stands straight, waiting for Polly to make her entrance.

You turn to look at her, having to admit that she looks beautiful. Her smile is beaming and bright as she walks serenely down the aisle. Obviously happy to be the center of attention. Until she spots you. She freezes for half a heartbeat and then her smile turns slightly wooden. Not that good of an actress as she picks up the pace slightly to meet dieter in front of the priest.

Dieter takes her hand when she approaches the floral arch that cost Dieter more money than he knows and he offers her an Oscar winning smile. He lets the officiant begin, speaking about the sanctity of marriage, of mating, and the unbreakable bond between Alpha and Omega. The words are ironic to Dieter but he doesn’t let that show. Cameras taking in his expression and when the officiant asks if anyone knows why they shouldn’t be wed, Polly turns her gaze to you. You remain silent and she narrows her eyes slightly, relieved that you didn’t make a scene. “Do you, Dieter Damian Bravo, take Polene Marie Smith to be your lawfully wedded wife?” The officiant asks and Dieter drops her hands, “no.” He declares and the crowd gasps. 

“Dieter. I don’t - what-?” Polly chokes and Dieter scoffs, turning to address the crowd. “This woman is not my omega. She somehow conned the agency I hired to find my mate into putting her forward. She had a gland implant and manufactured the scent of my real omega to fool me into believing she was mine. She’s not. She’s a fraud.” He growls, pointing at Polly.

“That’s not true!” Polly cries, shaking her head furiously and grabbing for Dieter’s hand, but he jerks away from her. “I am your Omega! I am! I have always been yours, from the moment I met you, saw you, I knew you were my mate!” She presses her fingers to her scent gland and holds it out to him. “This is real, my scent - it’s your mates!” She technically is right but you scoff and shake your head.

Dieter rips his hand from hers, shaking his head, “you’re right. It is my mate’s but that isn’t you. It’s her.” He points to you on the front row and the crowd gasps again. “You’re not my omega. Fuck, I couldn’t knot you. I thought there was something wrong with me but it’s you. It’s not me. You’re not my omega.” Dieter hisses and the crowd murmurs as shock ripples through the crowd.

Your eyes widen when he admits to the world that he hadn’t knotted her. The fact that this is being broadcasted live because of her obsession with Dieter’s fame means that there is no way that this scandal is going to be swept away. “How did you do it?” You demand. “Did you trick the company, or did Omega Finder knowingly scam a rich and famous client?”

Polly slumps, knowing the jig is up. Tears in her eyes as she looks at you then her eyes slide over to Dieter. "I have loved you since you were in Hunger Strike. I knew you were mine. I just needed to get close to you. My friend started working at Omega Finder and he - he messed up so I blackmailed him. Made him match me with Dieter in the system. I got a gland transplant when he found out who Dieter's actual omega is and I - I copied the scent listed. I am a beta. I just - I love you so much." She chokes, stumbling towards Dieter but he shakes his head, stepping away from her in shock.

You close your eyes in relief that she has admitted it. Now no one will think that you are somehow tricking Dieter. You sigh quietly and step forward, reaching for your alpha and placing a hand on his chest. “Since Omega Finder messed up, I’m sure they will give your money back,” you tell him, sure the company will face major backlash.

Dieter wraps his arm around your waist, “I don’t care about the money. They did end up helping me find my omega in the end.” He offers you a smile and leans in to kiss you softly. Polly sobs, throwing her veil down on the floor and she rushes down the aisle followed by her bridesmaids. Dieter caresses your cheek and inhales your scent, not tainted by chemicals. “Since the wedding is all set up…would you like to marry me?” He asks, “I know this isn’t what you picked out but I want to be joined to you in every way.”

“It is a little gaudy for my taste.” You admit with a small laugh. “More formal, but I don’t care about that.” You reach up and caress his cheek. “I’ll marry you now, alpha. I don’t want anything more than you.” You know that he can be immature and needy, but he is also kind and loving. The yearning in his eyes for you makes your heart melt.

Dieter grins, leaning in to kiss you once more until he pulls back and addresses the chattering crowd. “I know you all came here today expecting me to marry my omega and plans have changed but the reason for you all coming here today hasn’t changed. I am going to marry my omega. If anyone wishes to leave, please do it now because in five minutes, this gorgeous creature will be mine in the eyes of the state of California.”

You turn towards dieter as everyone starts to chatter amongst themselves. You know people will talk, and leave the wedding. Mostly Polly’s family and friends but a lot of people will stay merely to be curious. “I know it’s not a wedding dress, but this is okay?” You ask, gesturing to your outfit.

"You look fucking gorgeous. You always do. I know that I didn't treat you the best and I - I have learned a lot of lessons from this faux mating. You have always been gorgeous and I noticed but I was terrified to lose the best woman I've ever known. You are an incredible assistant and I didn't want to overstep and lose you so I never mentioned that I thought you were gorgeous and smart and funny and so, so sexy." He rambles slightly, unsure now that the drama is over.

You laugh at how ridiculous you both have been. “And I didn’t think you ever even looked at me that way.” You admit, smiling broadly. “I was afraid that you would be disappointed I am your omega, so when I found out, I didn’t say anything. I have always thought you are sweet, goofy, funny.” You promise. “But I also believe that you are a good alpha. You strive to not dominate, but you still have so much strength. It’s sexy, you’re sexy, but you know that.”

Dieter flushes slightly at your words and he reaches for your hand, bringing your wrist to his nose so he can breathe you in. “Fuck, you smell good. I bet you taste delicious.” He murmurs, kissing your pulse. The wedding planner, frazzled, comes over with a wedding license for you to sign. You should have your passport but Dieter can pull strings.

You sign your name eagerly, unable to believe that this is happening. You had thought you would have to watch your alpha marry someone else. Watching as Dieter signs it too and hands it back to the wedding planner. “Let’s get married!” He shouts, making the crowd of wedding attendees laugh. You wish you had put on your shoes, but it doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters but you and Dieter bonding and mating.

The officiant settles everyone down and you and Dieter hold hands as he begins his speech, modified for this new twist. "I gotta say I have never done a mating ceremony like this." He chuckles and the crowd laughs. Dieter only has eyes for you, his focus on you as he repeats the vows and when the officiant asks for the rings, Dieter shakes his head. "I don't want her to have that ring." He says, gesturing to the gaudy ring Polly picked out. He reaches up to take his necklace off, a small delicate ring looped through it. "This was my mother's. I want you to have it. I'll get you a proper ring later." He promises, sliding the ring onto your finger.

“It’s beautiful, Dee.” You promise, knowing that while it may not be flashy, its sentimental value makes it priceless. Instantly falling in love with it. You bring his hand up and kiss his knuckles, “I will keep it safe for our son or daughter to have one day.”

His grin is blinding and he kisses the back of your hand. You slide the ring he picked out onto his finger and moments later, the officiant declares you husband and wife. Dieter wastes no time surging forward to press his lips to yours.

Dieter’s lips pressed to yours makes every nerve in your body light up. Feeling like electricity is coursing through your body and you cling to him while the audience starts to clap and cheer for you. You don’t even care that the entire thing is being televised, just that you are where you belong.

Dieter pulls back and grabs your hand, guiding you down the aisle and you are still barefooted. When you are alone in the hall, he grabs your waist and presses you against the wall, his mouth descending upon yours once again.

Your hand curls around his neck as you drag him impossibly close. Moaning when his tongue slides into your mouth and tangles with yours. It’s completely overwhelming and beautiful. Feeling his cock harden against your hip, you whimper as you imagine actually taking him, your alpha, for the first time. “We have- the reception.” You pull away to remind him breathlessly.

He sighs, resting his forehead against yours. “Shit. Let’s - let’s have a dance. Have some cake. Then I want to take my beautiful wife to bed.” He murmurs, nudging his nose against yours. He’s excited, his cock throbbing, but he has to be patient. “And I want us to take photos for our kids.”

You can’t believe that Dieter is talking about kids. You’ve never known him to do that, but maybe it’s different with you, his omega. “We won’t stay too long.” You promise. “They can party without us, while we do our own kind of celebrating.”

Dieter smirks, “I like the way you think, baby.” He kisses you again just as the wedding planner comes over to usher you over for photos. You pose with Dieter, knowing these photos will be splashed over every magazine and social media page but you take them with your future in mind. After the photos are done, you and Dieter enter the reception hall to loud cheers and he guides you onto the floor for your first dance. “Don’t worry. I told the wedding planner to make sure the song was changed.” He and Polly didn’t have a song so he let her pick it but now he’s picked out the first dance. “When I get older, losing my hair.” The Beatles begins to play and you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck and he starts to sing along.

You smile as Dieter coos off key to the lyrics of the song. Not caring about that at all, but the sentiment behind the song. “I love you.” You admit quietly. “I’ve always cared about you, always liked you, but when I found out you were my mate?” You shrug slightly. “I couldn’t help but fall in love with you.”

“Even with the chaos I embody?” He asks softly, swaying you to the song. “I was a mess. An asshole. Fucked whatever I fancied and took any drug I wanted. I don’t want that anymore. Well, maybe weed and the occasional pill but it’s not what I want to live like. I want you. When I sought out the agency, I wanted to settle down, to find my mate, and I found her. I’m all in.” He promises, “all in baby.”

All in. You know that he means that. His eyes are full of excitement and you reach up to brush your fingers through his hair. “I’m all in too. I still want to work, to be your assistant if you’ll let me.” You know he’s hired someone else, but you liked organizing his life.

Dieter nods, knowing he’s selfish but he doesn’t want to find another assistant when you know everything down to his bowel movement schedule. “I don’t want you to leave me alone at work.” He confesses, sliding his hands along your back. “I love you.” He murmurs, pecking your lips when the song ends and the crowd applauds. “You hungry, ‘mega?” He asks, holding your hand.

It feels good to know that he is an alpha that will take care of your needs when you have taken care of him for so long. “I think we should eat.” You admit softly. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been with someone and I’m sure that I will go into heat during our honeymoon.”

Dieter holds your chair out at the head table so you can sit down together. He takes his seat moments later and reaches for your hand. “I’ll look after you. No matter what. Tonight-” His hand finds your neck, “I want to make you as mine. My ring on your finger. My mark on your neck. My cum inside of you. My omega.” He growls softly, his dark eyes flashing with possession.

His fingers press against your scent gland and you whine submissively. “Yes alpha.” You agree, slightly breathless at the thought. “I’m- I’m not on anything.” You confess quietly. “No suppressants, no birth control. I stopped them when you fired me.”

Dieter inhales deeply, loving your scent, untainted, and he nods, “that’s okay. I- I’m ready for a child if it happens. Are you?” He asks, “if not, I have condoms.” He says, not wanting you to get pregnant if you’re not ready.

“I want to feel your knot inside me. Just you.” You admit. “No barriers between us.” You don’t mind the idea of Dieter knocking you up the first time you have sex with your mate. It would actually be a really sweet little story for your personal lives.

Dieter offers you that soft, love struck smile that has appeared with the knowledge that you are his omega. “Good.” He murmurs, caressing your cheek just as the food arrives. “Now, eat omega. You’re gonna need it.” He winks at you and digs into his own food.

You hum as people come up to congratulate DIeter while you eat, most of them not even knowing who you are. Your phone is in your car and you know your family will have heard the news. You will have to have a reception with them or something to make up for the spur of the moment wedding.

Dieter knows he needs to speak to your parents after today to explain himself and he hopes your father doesn’t hate him. After you finish eating, you are invited to cut the cake. “I know you didn’t choose any of this, baby. We can have another bonding ceremony.” He promises, “another wedding where you can pick everything.”

“I don’t care about these things.” You admit with a small shrug of your shoulders. “We can do something small, that is more our speed.” You know Dieter would have chosen none of this himself either. Leaning in, you press your lips to his. “All that matters is that we are together. And happy.”

Dieter hums, pecking his lips against yours, “I love you.” He murmurs, knowing it’s true. He didn’t realize it before today but you’ve always been special to him. “You want to bail? They can enjoy the party.” He smirks, kissing your jaw.

You know that you should probably stay, the cameras are still floating through the crowds, the reporters are interviewing any and everyone to get their reactions to the change of plans when it comes to Dieter and it's honestly very on point for him. You grin, pulling away and nodding. "Let's go."

Dieter takes your hand, guiding you towards the back of the room and you giggle as he drags you out of the emergency fire exit door. He chuckles as you both rush outside. You still are barefooted, and he escorts you to the car that was going to take him and Penny back to his house. Dieter opens the passenger door to help you inside before he gets in, the driver off somewhere but the keys are in the ignition. “Let’s go.” He winks, turning the engine and putting the car in drive.

You should be surprised by Dieter basically stealing his own car, but you’re not. Giggling as he speeds off, you know it’s been caught on camera, another crazy story for today. Right now, you just want to be with Dieter. “Is Polly going to be at the house?” You ask suddenly, not wanting a tearful apology or confrontation with the other woman. You don’t care to ever see her again.

Dieter shakes his head, “no. She won’t be at the house.” He promises, “and if she is, I’ll call the police.” He reaches for your hand, caressing his mother’s ring that he placed on your finger.

“Okay.” You nod. “If you had, I was going to suggest my apartment.” You tell him. “I know it’s not as fancy as your house in Sherman Oaks.”

Dieter snorts, "fancy? Like a goddamn status symbol. That's all it is. My apartment when I first moved here had mold. It was bad. We can buy another home if you want? Have you pick it out?" He suggests, "I know a lot of shit has happened in that house."

“Why don’t we figure that out after our honeymoon?” You are thrilled that he is so open to making you comfortable but his past doesn’t bother you. “I don’t mind you having a history, Dee. I know all of it, hell, I witnessed most of it.” You snort. “It’s in the past. That’s the important thing.”

Dieter nods, bringing your hand up to kiss the back of it and he loves your scent, breathing you in. It's unfiltered and he realizes that Polly didn't smell this good, it was impossible. He drives back to his house, pulling up on the drive in no time and he cuts the engine after putting the car in park. "Your abode, Mrs. Bravo." He declares after he opens your door.

“Mrs. Bravo.” You hum as he helps you out of the car. “I think I like the sound of that.” You admit, looking down at your bare feet again and laughing. “I can’t believe that I married one of the most famous men with no shoes on.”

Dieter chuckles, "I like it. Didn't I tell you about my foot fetish?" He jokes, taking your hand to guide you into the house. You've been in here a million times but it feels different right now. The reality of finding the person he is meant to be with settles on his chest and he inhales deeply. The door is locked behind him and he steps closer, tenderly cupping your cheeks. "My beautiful omega." He murmurs, leaning in to press his lips to yours.

“Alpha.” You murmur softly against his mouth, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and bringing him closer. Now you get to experience what so many others have giggled and gossiped about. But it’s more than that. It’s mating with your Alpha. “I want-“ you push away slightly so you can think. “I want to suck your cock.” You admit breathlessly. “I’ve always wanted to see what it’s like.”

He groans, having imagined it himself if he’s being honest. High and jerking off while thinking about your mouth wrapped around his cock. “Fuck baby. I want to taste you. Want to claim you as mine for the whole fucking world to see.” He admits, kissing along your jaw. “I’m yours. You want my cock? It’s yours.” He promises against your skin.

You tilt your head. Moaning softly when he nips your skin. “I want to be in your bed.” You tell him. “Our bed, where I’ll make a nest.” You have been feeling the need to make a nest, but without your alpha, there wasn’t a point. You’ve never liked being in one by yourself.

He groans, sliding his hands down to squeeze your ass through your pretty dress. “Our bed.” He murmurs, sliding his hands lower to grab your thighs. He lifts you up into his arms and groans when you wrap your legs around his waist and his hard cock presses against your core. “Want you in our bed.” He groans, carrying you through the house to his bedroom.

You love the show of strength. Despite whining about working out for roles and how it doesn’t fit into his life, Dieter is surprisingly strong. Which, it shouldn’t surprise you, honestly. He’s carried plenty of women around during scenes. You kiss along his smooth jaw, surprised he shaved. “Do you like your facial hair like this?” You ask as you kiss, inhaling his own intoxicating scent.

“Fuck no.” He admits, “Polly wanted me to shave it. I hate it. Makes my wrinkles show more.” He confesses as he lays you down on the bed, hovering over you and he shrugs off the suit jacket.

“I like your wrinkles.” You admit shamelessly. “You’ve gotten hotter as you’ve gotten older. Aging like a fine wine.” You tease, biting your lip. “My own Harrison Ford. You can’t deny he has been handsome right through until old age.”

Dieter snorts, “I’ll take your word for it, baby.” He reaches for the hem of your dress. “Do you want to get naked and get your nest ready?” He asks, wanting you to be comfortable this first time.

“Of course.” You don’t have any issue getting naked with him, he’s your alpha. Any insecurities you might have had with anyone else seemingly melts away in the face of this being your biological mate. You pull the dress off of you and reach for your strapless bra, ready to reveal yourself to him.

Dieter sits back, watching you strip off, and his cock is throbbing in his tight pants. He reaches for to unbutton them to release some pressure but his dark eyes are hungry as they take you in. “Fuck, omega, you’re so gorgeous.” He murmurs, “so fucking gorgeous.”

You’ve heard those words before, but they are more potent coming from the alpha who is yours. Making you whine in pleasure as you lift your hips to peel your panties down your thighs. “You’re gorgeous, alpha.” You tell him. “I want to see you. All of you.” It’s not like you’ve never seen Dieter naked. You couldn’t possibly be this man’s assistant for so many years without catching sight of him one or fifty times. This time is different, this time he’s stripping off for you. “Please.”

He nods, shifting off of the bed to take off the restrictive bow tie and he tosses it to the floor before he starts to unbutton his shirt. His eyes take in the sight of your body as he shrugs off his shirt, kicking off his shoes, and he shoves his pants down, hooking his fingers in his boxers to push them down too. “Fuck. Nothing compares to this.” He declares even though nothing has happened yet. It just feels right. He covers your body with his and presses his lips to yours.

You shudder in pleasure, your hands immediately starting to map his body as they roam over his hot skin. The arousal and need pouring off him and mixed with his scent. “Fuck.” You whine, closing your eyes as he kisses down your throat and presses his tongue to your scent gland. “Never felt like this.” You gasp out.

He groans, scraping his teeth over your pulse, “never.” Dieter murmurs, kissing down your clavicle until he is sliding his tongue along the swell of your breast. He cups your breast, lifting it so he can take your nipple into his mouth. His other hand squeezing your other breast.

“Dee!” You arch your back into his touch, thighs shifting apart to let him settle between them. Rubbing your foot up and down his leg as you grind against the hard cock pressing into your skin. “Yes baby, fuck, you- you’re a tit man, aren’t you?”

“I’m an everything man when it comes to my omega.” He murmurs against your skin, switching to your other breast. His hand slides down to squeeze your thigh, lifting it so he can press his cock against your folds. You’re not ready for him yet but the wetness that coats his skin makes him groan into your flesh.

You’ve seen Dieter beg for sex, to be completely debauched and utterly whiny for attention. This man right now is completely in charge. Overwhelming your senses on a mission to touch and learn every part of you. He’s steady and sure in a way that makes you even wetter as he suckles at your breasts and squeezes your flesh. Making you squirm for more underneath him. “Deeee.”

He sucks and bites until your nipples are puffy and stiff and he continues his exploration of your body, kissing down your stomach. His heart hammers in his chest when he gets to your belly, knowing that one day, you’ll be carrying his child. He pushes your legs further apart and gets his first look at your pussy. “Fuck.” He hisses, leaning in to press his nose to your folds, breathing in your heady scent. “How the fuck have I lived without this?” He grumbles and slides his tongue through your folds, groaning at your tangy taste.

You whine his name loudly, your entire body trembling at the first touch of his tongue. You know that Dieter is talented, you’ve heard the rumors. He’s a dick and sometimes selfish, but he makes up for it with his skills. Closing your eyes, you let him do whatever he wants to your body.

He squeezes your thighs, lifting one onto his shoulder so he can push his tongue into your pussy, groaning when you reach down to tangle your fingers in his hair. He loves the way you tug on it and he presses his nose to your clit, wanting to hear you moan his name again.

“Grow it out again.” You beg, tugging on his hair again when he gives you such beautiful sounds. You love his hair a little longer and it’s going to be your favorite thing to tangle your fingers in when you are knotted together with him. “Oh fuck, Dee.” You moan. “I can’t believe you are eating my pussy. I’ve thought about this so much.” You confess breathlessly. “I want to suck your cock too. Feel you at the back of my throat.”

His cock presses against the mattress, leaking pre-cum from the thought of you sucking his cock. He pulls back for a second, his chin shiny with your slick, and his fingers slide inside of your tight pussy. “I’ll grow it out again.” He promises, “and you can have whatever you want, omega. Whatever you fucking want.” He promises then leans down to wrap his lips around your clit.

Your wail of pleasure is loud, unrestrained. Free to be however you want with Dieter, you know he loves the praise and you give it to him so willingly. His thick fingers feel so good, stretching out your walls and you know his knot will feel even better when he’s finally inside you. “Oh fuck, oh fuck Dieter, baby, my alpha.”

He loves hearing you call him Alpha. A designation that not many believed he had. Apparently he gives off “omega” energy because he’s whiny but that’s not accurate. He might be demanding but his mother always raised him to be spoiled, giving him whatever he wanted. He never had to command anyone to give him anything. He groans and curls his fingers, loving the praise, and he sucks harder on your clit, wanting more.

On and on, the moans and praises pour out of your mouth as he works you up. Feeling high off the endorphins, you wonder if this is what Dieter is chasing with his pills. Your body pulls taunt, a clear warning that you are about to cum. Making him growl into your folds and press his fingers against that spot inside you that makes you instantly break. “Dieter!” You cry out, thighs shaking around his head as you unravel.

He works you through it, reveling in the first orgasm he’s given his omega. He pumps his fingers until you’re pushing on his head so he presses kisses to your thighs, waiting until you relax around his digits. “So fucking beautiful, omega.” He murmurs, withdrawing his fingers and he wraps them around his cock as he shifts to his knees between your legs, needing to release some pressure.

His chin is slick with your juices and you love the way his short curls stick up in all directions. The smell of need and desire is thick between you and he has never smelled more delicious. “Knot me.” You beg, spreading your thighs wider. “Alpha…I need your knot inside me. I want you to mark me. Mate me so the rest of the world knows I’m yours.”

Dieter nods, his heart pounding in his chest and his aching at the thought of finally getting to have you like this. He shifts to hover over you, bracing himself on one arm as he guides his cock to your dripping entrance, positioning himself there, he starts to slowly push inside of you. His eyes fixed on yours, he inhales sharply at how you feel squeezing his cock.

Eyes blowing wide, you feel everything. Every ridge of his cock scraps against your sensitive walls, your entire body leaping in delight that your Alpha has slipped inside you. Making you moan loudly as he pushes in inch by inch. “Alpha….Dieter….oh fuck, it’s so good. I’ve never felt like this before.” You’ve had sex, alphas and betas alike but it’s never been this good before.

Dieter can’t even speak. His heart feels like it’s about to pound out of his chest and he can’t believe he has you like this. His omega, his mate, beneath him and taking his cock. It’s more than he could’ve ever asked for. He chokes and leans down to press his lips to yours, his cock twitching inside of you.

When he kisses you, it’s like you’ve become ravenous. Kissing him back passionately and feeling like you can’t get enough of him. Wrapping your legs around his waist and grinding up to make him push even deeper inside you. His cock hits your cervix and it’s the most pleasurable sharp stab you’ve ever experienced. Almost painful, but so incredible at the same time, making you gasp into his mouth around his tongue.

He pants into your mouth, the kiss is sloppy but unbelievably sexy to him. He slides his tongue against yours, his hand squeezing your thigh as you cling to him. His other hand finds yours, the ring that proclaims you as his on your finger and soon, you’ll bear his mark on your neck. He rocks into you as slow as he can manage but it’s hard when he’s so overwhelmed.

“Fuck.” You pant, every thrust filling you so completely that tears prick your eyes and you are blown away by the emotions that rocket through you. “I love you.” You whimper, tilting your head and exposing your scent gland to his teeth. Submitting to him completely.

He feels the alpha part of himself take over, a growl escaping his lips as he leans closer to scrap his teeth along your scent gland. This is something he never felt the need to do with Polly, figured it was something he’d feel when they were married but right now, he doesn’t care about the ring on your finger, he only cares about primally making you his. “I love you.” He declares and sinks his teeth in, claiming you as his omega forever.

You cry out, fingers digging into his shoulders as the pain rushes through you, along with the heat of being claimed. You had heard it is a moment that completely possess you, but you hadn’t believed it. Now that it’s happening, all you can think about is Dieter, your alpha, and his claim on you. His teeth buried in your gland, you start to cum around his cock.

He groans against your flesh, “you’re fucking incredible.” He says as he laps at your new bite and he loves the way you grip his cock inside of you. He can feel his knot swelling now and it’s harder to thrust into you but he presses his lips to yours.

Your nails dig into his back, whining when you feel the pressure of his knot start to fill you. “Oh god, fuck, please.” You beg. “Knot me. Fuck I want it, I want it so badly, baby. Please alpha, I want to take it.” Your hips rock up, eager to take the thick knot inside you, locking you together while he floods your womb with his seed. “Fuck, Dee!”

His grunts fill the bedroom, sweat beading on his brow and he roars when he cums, his knot locking in place inside of you while he paints your walls with hot seed. “Fuckkk.” He roars, eyes squeezed shut as the most intense orgasm he’s ever experienced hits him hard.

He shudders and shakes above you, looking amazing as he fills you with a flood of warm cum. Making you moan again, biting your lip at the sensation and you clench down around the thick knot that is firmly embedded inside you. The final proof that you are an omega, his omega. You knew it all along, that he hadn’t knotted her, but there’s a sweet relief in proving to him that it was because Polly wasn’t an omega and not because there was something wrong with him. “Dee, fuck, that’s-“ you pant softly, smiling at the sensation.

He’s relieved he knotted you. He was worried that he’d taken too many drugs and he couldn’t knot anyone. He pants, leaning in to kiss along your jaw, “I love you, baby. Mine. My omega.” He coos, wanting to comfort you in this moment.

“Fuck.” You whimper and smile as he kisses your skin. “My alpha. You’re so good. Did you like it?” You ask, stroking his back lovingly while he settles into your embrace.

He sighs, shifting onto his back, mindful of your connection, so you can lay on his chest. His hand slides along your spine, a smile on his face. “I loved it. I loved you. Never ever felt like that before.” He confesses, “I’m so fucking happy to came to me before I married that psycho. My brave omega.” He murmurs, kissing your forehead.

“I couldn’t let you do it without knowing the truth.” You murmur softly. “If you didn’t believe me, rejected me, I could live with that. As long as you knew what you were doing. She was taking that chance away.” Your fingers trace a tattoo and you sigh softly. “But I’m happy you believed me.”

He hums, “me too. I know I haven’t been the best boss in the past but I promise you that I will be the best Alpha. I wanted to settle down and I wanted to find my mate. I found her and I want to be the best husband I can be.” He reveals, “I love you. So much.” He murmurs, “I just didn’t realize how much until today.”

“You’re a good man.” You remind him softly, just like you have many times before when he’s been wallowing in self pity. “You will be an amazing alpha, I know it.”

****

“So you have been married to your beautiful wife for ten years. The whole world watched as you exposed Polly who we hear is now married to another beta. Yet, you still got your happy ending with your omega.” The interviewer says and Dieter nods, offering the interviewer a smile, “she’s incredible. My rock. I couldn’t have won my Oscars without her.” Dieter confesses with affection. 

“Knock knock.” You knock on the door to the family room where Dieter is being interviewed. “I’m sorry to interrupt. The kids wanted to see their daddy.” You confess and your three children rush over to Dieter. Aged three, six, and nine. 

“Daddy! Guess what?” His eldest son clambers over Dieter and he gestures for you to come and sit down. 

“What, my love?” He asks his son while his six year old daughter wraps her arms around his neck. Your three year old son struggles to get onto the sofa so you pick him up while your eldest tells Dieter about his dinosaur project at school. 

“The perfect family.” The interviewer coos and Dieter nods, leaning over to kiss your lips. 

“We aren’t perfect but it’s my family and to me, they are perfect.” Dieter declares on camera. The interview is aired a week later during prime time and Polly watches while she sits beside her husband who tricked her into believing he was a rich man but it’s his mom who had money. She scoffs, turning the TV off while her husband snores, head tilted back against the sofa. She got her karma and you got your alpha, much to Dieter’s delight. He wanted to find his omega and he did, he just didn’t realize she had been in front of him the entire time.

[always-andromeda]

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 ໒꒱‧₊˚

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟡ Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⟡ 5064

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⟡ It's Emmy night. And your infamous ex-boyfriend is stirring up all kinds of trouble for you.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⟡ Hi ho, everyone!! This piece is for Gin's ( @wannab-urs ) Dom That Middle Aged Man Campaign 2025!! I'm cutting it incredibly close but I actually ended up having a lot of fun with this one. It started as a smaller oneshot but quickly grew bigger and bigger until hey, whaddya know, Roman Roy is making a little cameo. Blame @strang3lov3 for that lol. Her writing for Roman has made that brain rot really settle in and I needed an asshole boyfriend for this one soooo uhhhh yeah. He is in there!! Anyhoo, here is the full masterlist for the event!! Hope y'all enjoy!!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⟡ smut (minors, do not interact), minimally edited lol, a tiny bit of angst, no reader description given aside from reader wearing makeup and being able-bodied, one minor suicide joke, toxic relationships, shaky descriptions of the goings on of award shows (sorry, I do not keep up with them well enough to know everything <3), mentions of addiction, infidelity (reader is in a PR relationship, shoutout to Roman Roy lmao), oral, heavy mommy kink lol, pegging, some fluffy aftercare, reader is a fucking mess, dieter is a fucking mess, it's all chaos, nothing else I can think of but feel free to let me know if anything else should be added!!

“Sure you’re going to be ready in time?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Roman pops his head into the hotel bathroom. “I dunno, isn’t that a woman thing?”

“It is if you’re a misogynist.” You say before blotting your lipstick.

“Or a realist. Veeeery fine line, babe.”

You roll your eyes. Part of you wishes Roman had never been nominated.

Outstanding Lead Actor In A Drama.

When you were younger, awards shows always seemed so exciting and glamorous. Sometimes they still are. But as you built up your career and were invited to more of them you had come to realize that they were little more than glorified circle jerks. Sadly, being Roman Roy’s costar and girlfriend obligated you to attend.

You wish your publicist had booked a separate room for you so Roman wouldn’t wind you up. At this point though, you were counting the days until you no longer had to be joined at the hip. Once awards season was over you could move on from this chapter of life. Maybe you’d hide away for a while. The thought keeps you from going completely insane.

The car ride to the theater is quiet. Roman scrolls through his mentions on Twitter the whole way. A few times you assure him that it’ll be alright, that he worked so hard that he’s sure to win. None of that reassurance matters.

He’s been glued to his phone since the nominations dropped. For almost two whole months it’s been a shitshow. One minute he’s stressing about what he should say for his acceptance speech and the next he doesn’t give a shit. A few times he floated the idea of skipping the event altogether. That usually only happened when the D word came into the conversation.

Dieter fucking Bravo as Roman liked to call him.

Roman hates a lot of things. But god, he really hates Dieter. Roman’s young. He’s talented. And Dieter is…well…Dieter.

“How the fuck did that washed up prick get a nom? Asshole finally managed to find someone in the academy desperate enough to fuck him.” Roman said when he first learned that he’d be competing with Dieter. You’d ignored the pointed insult in that outburst. It wasn’t the comparison of talent or rap sheets that heated Roman up so much as the fact that you and Dieter weren’t strangers. Before he turned it all to shit, you and Dieter had dated for one tumultuous year.

Roman cares for you about as much as you care for him, that much you’re sure of. It’s the optics that bother him. It’s the fact that for almost two months, almost every Twitter user talking about him makes the assumption that Roman Roy is just a stepping stone. That you’d soaked up every bit of clout dating Dieter Bravo could give you. And that now you’d jumped to the next big thing in line.

While some folks called you a slut and a number of other awful names, some raised you to the status of feminist icon.

“‘Sucking and fucking her way through the Emmy nominees.’” Roman read to you one night in disgust. “”What a girlboss.’ Are you seeing this shit? They’re saying you’re probably going after Jeff Bridges next. You better not fuck Jeff Bridges. If you fuck Jeff Bridges, I’ll fucking hang myself.”

You try not to care too much. If being with Dieter had taught you anything it was that the media thrived off of acknowledgement. If you responded to the accusations, every outlet would release an article about it. And then another one about the backlash. And then another one about the backlash to the backlash. Then they’d roll shitty banner ads over the whole thing and call it journalism.

Not even you, yourself, gave that much of a shit about your own sex life. You’d much rather mind your own business than feed into their interest, thank you very much. 

It’s why you couldn’t wait to get the carpet walk over and done with. It’s the closest thing to a goddamn parade and Roman’s desire to cut your prep time short has you feeling less than your best.

You’re in your own head, watching Roman get his picture taken by the paparazzi flash mob, and dreading your turn to join in when you’re rudely interrupted.

“He looks like he’s enjoying himself.”

You almost agree until you turn to look at who had just spoken to you.

Dieter fucking Bravo. And he looks fucking gorgeous.

You can hardly remember the last time he looked so put together. His wavy hair is gelled back, accentuating the stray silvers that he finally seems to be letting grow out. He wears a white shirt that’s buttoned up to the neck. The solid white collar is framed by a black sweater. And for once he’s not wearing pants that are too tight or too baggy; these ones are just right. The look is simple but graceful, perfect for a star settling into middle age. If things were different, you’d kiss his stylist with tongue and maybe give them a handjob for blessing you with such a glorious sight. Pressing your nails into the palms of your hands, there are a number of things you think to say.

What are you doing here? How dare you? What the fuck is wrong with you?

But none of them sound right. None are befitting of such a glamorous night either.

So you settle for replying coldly, “Are you not?”

Dieter snorts and you melt upon seeing the crinkles by his eyes in full force. “Are you kidding? I’m shocked they even invited me. Who’s dying to wheel out the washed up old guys for shit like this?”

“Thank god we’re in Hollywood; the mecca for washed up old men,” you scoff.

If Dieter acknowledges the joke, you don’t hear or see it. Your eyes are glued to Roman, afraid that if you look back at Dieter again they might just pop out of your head.

Roman 

Out of the blue he asks, “He isn’t even nice to you, is he?”

It’s a question that makes you scoff and roll your eyes. How dare he? He goes away for a few months and after two years of image fixing he thinks he has any right to ask that? The old urge to swing around and give him a piece of your mind strikes you again. As the cameras flash, you become very aware that even at your place at the periphery of the carpet, a snapshot of you arguing with your ex would make a great TMZ article.

You mumble, “What he is is none of your business.”

“I was nice to you,” Dieter says, then repeats to himself, “I was nice.”

You retort with a laugh, “When you weren’t high off your ass.”

“Don’t pretend you weren’t either.”

Like you need to be reminded of how hellish it was trying to be with him and subsequently get over him. You remember taking old gifts he’d given you to the secondhand store. You remember deleting almost every trace of him from your phone. You remember the nights you struggled to stop yourself from making contact again. It had been a long, uphill battle to wash away the single most chaotic year of your life and you weren’t sliding down it again.

“We’re not having this conversation again. I hated myself when I was with you. And I’m not going back to that place. I’ve worked too hard for you to come crashing in and ruining that.” You say it more to yourself than him. 

With that, you’re ushered over to Roman where you pose with him. And you almost manage to give a genuine smile to the masses.

When you’re finally seated in the theater, the night rolls on with the typical fanfare. You give your prescribed reactions; cheer when your show is called for an award and smile when you notice a camera near you. A few times Roman leans over to mumble some snotty joke about whoever’s on stage and that deep, cynical part of you manages to laugh at them.

At the very least, it makes him less nervous. That’s how you justify it to yourself.

He’s in the middle of another wisecrack when the woman at the microphone pulls Roman’s attention away. “I’m proud to announce the nominees for Lead Actor In A Drama Series.”

You don’t bother watching the giant screen as clips of the nominees play. You already know damn good and well who’s up on the platter for this one. Instead, much to your dismay, your gaze is trained on Dieter. 

He’s a row ahead of you and about a dozen seats to the right so you only get a sliver of his profile. From the bits and pieces you get of his bobbing head, his jaw looks tense. In the silence that precedes the announcement you notice just how age has settled upon Dieter. With his hair a little longer and head held high he looks just like the man you once saw within him. It suits him well.

“And the Emmy goes to…”

Some small piece of you peers out from the shadows of cynicism and your lips curl into a soft smile. As uncomfortable as he seemed to be amongst this crowd, Dieter finally looked well; he looked hopeful.

“Roman Roy!”

Turning back towards Roman you expect a kiss, a squeeze of your hand, some sort of acknowledgement that you’re right there beside him. Anything. But he’s standing and walking towards the stage before you can even say a word.

Normally you treasure your alone time. This time though, the empty air truly feels depressing.

Part of you wishes Roman had come back to the hotel with you. But another part of you is grateful you won’t have to listen to his gloating. Or his “celebration”, as he called it. 

You can’t stop replaying the moment over and over again. The way your breath seemed stuck in your throat as you watched him deliver his bullshit acceptance speech. He shed a genuine tear when thanking his mother; you’d known him long enough to recognize his shreds of sincerity.

For the most part, however, he’s performing. After all, that’s what got him the award to begin with.

Knowing that there’s a camera capturing your reaction you plaster on a toothy grin. While Roman plays the part of the humble award winner, you play the proud girlfriend though you feel more like a prop than his costar.

None of it matters either way. At the end of the night, you knew that Roman’s speech would be clipped and reposted thousands of times online. Maybe then he’d get the validation he seems to have been craving his entire life.

That’s why he decided to stay at the afterparty, you figured. Maybe it’s also why you were already seeing clips of him at said afterparty proclaiming with a smug grin, “Suck it, Bravo.” Validation from his peers. The why of it all didn’t matter either. You’d had enough of pathologizing the men around you for one night. 

Well. Almost enough.

The thought of Roman’s absence departs and Dieter’s presence worms its way back into your mind.

You’d never had a proper sendoff for your relationship with him. Instead you got stood up on a night he was supposed to meet you for dinner. That night you vowed you would no longer drag him out from a drug induced haze. You went nuclear; blocked him, stopped going to his house, revoked his access to your apartment building.

Through the grapevine you heard that he’d finally crashed out a few months afterwards and got shipped off to rehab. Then from there it was close to silence. The post-Dieter life was calm, if a bit predictable.

You pick up your phone from the nightstand and go through your blocked contacts until you find his name. And after nearly two years of being Dieter free you invite him right back into your life.

You half expect the message to go ignored. He might not even have the same number anymore anyways. Right as you’re about to block him again out of pure embarrassment, you see those three telltale dots pop up on the left side of the screen. They ripple for a few seconds before a reply appears.

If he were in front of you, you would’ve rolled your eyes. You quickly type out a response.

You can practically hear the shock Dieter must’ve experienced in how the message stays read for a solid two minutes before he answers again.

Of course, you wanted to scream. I missed you so bad that I binged the entire series and then looked up fanfiction of your character afterwards.

Just like before, the message stays read for a few minutes. But this time the typing dots on his end disappear and come back a few times. You end up laying your phone facedown on the bed so you wouldn’t throw it across the room. Eventually your ringtone chimes and you pick it up again.

Your stomach drops about a thousand miles down an awful pit of guilt until your memory slows it down. As much as his big brown eyes might suggest it, Dieter isn’t some helpless puppy dog. How many times had he fucked you over before? How many times did he force you to take care of his messes? And how many times did you grin and bear it because you loved him? Maybe it was nostalgia. Maybe it was the need for some sort of closure. Or maybe it was the fact that you weren’t going to go through another night ignored and alone. But you impulsively type and send another message.

And much to your surprise, Dieter replies immediately.

From the second you pull Dieter into your hotel room you feel alive again. His lips are against yours and your stomach soars at the way he lets you deprive him of oxygen. You missed him more than you had even fathomed. You missed his eagerness. You missed the way his hands went straight to your ass. You missed his tongue. God, you could suck on his tongue right then and there and die happy.

The muffled groan he lets out when you tug on his hair reminds you the hotel room door is still partially opened. It hits you for a split second that someone easily could’ve followed him here. By morning the media could be all over whatever happens in this room tonight.

Dieter pulls away for air. As he cups your cheek and gives you that classic mischievous smirk he says, “Hi there.”

And suddenly…you don’t give a shit. Not about Roman or the media or your publicist. You’ll deal with the consequences later. Probably. But for now, it’s all Dieter fucking Bravo. And for once, that was a good thing.

Breathlessly, you command, “Get on the bed. Now.”

Dieter hadn’t felt this antsy since his last stint in rehab. With the way he was practically crawling under his skin he was surprised he made it to your hotel in one piece.

It would’ve been quite a headline if he had. Oscar Winner, Dieter Bravo, Dead at 45 After Losing Emmy. If only those leeches could see him now. The headline would probably read Oscar Winner, Dieter Bravo, Naked and Ass Up On Ex-Girlfriend’s Bed.

It hits him that he has no idea where your boyfriend is. For all he knows this is some sick joke you and him devised just so you could kick him while he’s down. Did you still despise him that much? Taking a mental inventory of everything he did when you were together…it was a possibility.

You didn’t even ask if he was busy. For all you know, he could’ve been out drowning his disappointment with as many prescription pills he could get his hands on. That’s what the old Dieter would’ve done. Old Dieter would have answered your texts between lines in the bathroom before speeding to your hotel room. New Dieter was watching reruns of X-Files in his bathrobe when you rang. Yet he still came running anyway.

He realizes that he probably always would.

Dieter’s swirling mind is soothed by your lips leaving kisses along his shoulder blades. Your fingers dance down his spine, creating waves of shivers in their wake. He stifles a contented hum. Can’t show his cards yet; can’t let you know that he’s just as pliable as he used to be for you.

He suspects you know it anyways when you purr, “You remember your place so well.”

Quiet. He stays so quiet he can hear a pin drop. Hell, he can practically hear your lips twitch as you observe him.

As he got older, Dieter found less and less joy in being watched all the time. Those greedy eyes only see him as prey. And tonight was another one of those reminders that no matter how much he tried he’d never again be the promising young actor the world had once adored.

But you liked him. You saw him for exactly what he was and you liked him. Even more, you rewarded him.

“Do you want to be good for me?” You ask tentatively.

He’s heard you say similar things more than a hundred times. Now they sound less like an invitation and more like a test. You’re testing the waters. As if him being naked on your bed wasn’t enough confirmation that he wanted you. Then again, you’ve always been that forgiving; always given him second, third, and fourth chances.

He lifts his head just enough so you can hear him clearly when he confirms, “Yes, please.”

With that, the weight of your body over his is gone. When you order him to flip over a minute later you stand before him with a familiar instrument. Judging by the size and color, he knows it isn’t the same strap you used to use on him, but it’s a welcome sight nonetheless. It’s a soft pink color with ridges that shine in the warm lamplight. He guesses that it’s likely between six and seven inches. But it’s the subtle curve of the cock that has his mouth practically watering just looking at it. Already he can’t help but imagine it inside him, reaching that spot only you were able to.

“You’re lucky I happened to pick this up the other day. Otherwise you would’ve been stuck with my fingers.” You say with a pout.

Dieter thinks for a second that you’ve got an odd idea of what qualifies as a souvenir but brushes the thought away. He blinks hard and swallows thickly. “I would’ve been fine with that,” he mumbles.

You climb back onto the bed and settle between his legs. Then you inch forward so close that he could kiss you again. Your breath is warm on his face when you whisper, “Bullshit.”

You plant a kiss on his cheek before continuing slowly, “Don’t think I forgot how much you love getting stuffed to the brim. You used to love sucking on my cock before I fucked that perfect ass of yours. Do you want that again, baby?”

He nods quickly.

“Then sit up a bit for me.”

Dieter does as he’s told and you straddle his chest. His hands find purchase around the soft flesh of your thighs. You shake your hips and the dick wobbles ever so slightly. The bulbous tip teases his lips.

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

“So fucking pretty…” he breathes.

Stifling the urge to take it all at once, he settles with some experimental licks. His tongue runs down the ridges along the underside. It’s firm but not rock solid; it feels almost like the real thing. A shudder runs through him imagining the thing inside him. He feels his own cock twitch.

“C’mon, you can do better than that. Get me all wet, baby,” you encourage.

Dieter’s lips part tentatively, allowing you to shift your hips forward and nudge your cock in. You moan as if you can feel the relief of his warm mouth around you. Something in his stomach fizzles at the thought of you getting off on watching him be like this.

“That’s it, take it…take it…” 

He looks up, wide-eyed, and sees you gazing back with similarly entranced eyes. Your chest heaves gently as you breathe, drinking in the picture of him beneath you with your cock almost halfway in his mouth.

Dieter ventures further, pushing your hips towards him, allowing him to take another inch. You take that as a sign to slowly start thrusting.

“Good boy,” your voice is velvet as you fuck his mouth. You set a reverent, rolling rhythm, trying not to overwhelm him with the length. Despite the normally submissive position, he feels held, loved, though he tries not to get his hopes up.

He remembers this all too well; the sway of your hips and the small sighs you let out. Judging by those sounds, he guesses that you’re probably a mess yourself. His vivid imagination pictures the slick folds between your legs just begging to be squeezing him. God, how he used to make you whine and sob. But you could make him do the exact same.

“Think it’s as wet as it’ll get, huh?”

His agreement is muffled by the instrument itself and you giggle before removing it from him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies.

He folds and spreads his legs instinctively, though from a combination of age and lack of practice, the movement is a little strained. To ease his muscles he plants his feet on the mattress and grasps the sheets in his balled fists. In other words, he’s prepared to hold on for dear life if need be.

The seductive tone in your voice turns a bit more serious. “I’m gonna start slow. And if it hurts or you want to stop at all, you better let me know, okay?”

Dieter nods.

“Hey, I’m not playing around. I don’t want to hurt you. I need to hear you acknowledge that if this is too much you’ll tell me. Alright?”

This time he clears his throat, looks you dead in the eye, and responds, “I will. I promise. I trust you.”

You let out a shuddering breath. And it makes him realize that even with the confident demeanor, you’re likely nervous too. It strikes him that you probably haven’t done this in a while either. It makes sense that Roman wasn’t brave enough to take a cock like yours. Lucky for him, Dieter was all too willing to take the bullet in this instance. Suck it, Roy.

You prod at his hole with your tip, dipping it in and out about an inch to test the waters. As relaxed as Dieter is, he knows he’s out of practice. Fucking himself after you left had always felt a bit awkward. He desired the connection more than the feeling; your low voice coaxing him along the path to pleasure and cradling him in your arms when the journey was done. Doing it to himself always left him feeling a little emptier than before so he tended to avoid it.

Though it’s slimmer than the ones he was used to you using, it still takes a minute for him to become acquainted with the fullness of your cock again while you start to slide further in. There’s never really been anyone else he’s trusted without fear that they’d run to their social media with all the details.

You’re the only one who knows just how he likes it. With a few slow, deep thrusts you know exactly how to draw a few sharp gasps from him. You know it’ll make him whine when you dig your fingers into his hips and praise, “You take my cock so well, baby.” 

Once the stretch of you feels a bit more tolerable he gurgles something akin to encouragement.

“You’re just aching for my cock aren’t ya’, sweetheart?” you tease, your confidence slowly returning.

“Pleas– please fuck me,” he moans.

“What’s my name?”

That’s the easiest question of them all. “Mommy,” Dieter blurts, “Please, mommy.”

The name seems to activate you, 

“C’mon,” you pant, “I want the neighbors to hear how good you’re getting fucked. Let them hear you, baby.”

He has no trouble with that. If there is indeed someone in the room next door, he knows that they’re getting the performance of their fucking lives. Strings of his incoherent babble paired with the bang of the headboard against the wall. 

“You wanna touch yourself now? Can mommy see you touch that pretty cock of yours, huh?”

Without another word, Dieter’s hand flies to his neglected dick. Even the slightest bit of pressure from his fist around the base nearly makes him sob. He’s so desperate to relieve the throbbing need in his belly that he begins pumping at an almost brutal pace. Mere seconds before he feels like the cord is about to break, you lay your own hand over his and stop him abruptly.

He lets out a sharp breath through his nose in defiance and is about to protest when you chide,  “Ah, don’t get greedy, baby. Go nice and slow so mommy can really watch you.” You let go of him and continue, “It’s been so long since mommy has seen you come hard. And we’re going to make that happen, we have to be patient. Can you do that? Be patient for mommy?”

He nods feverishly.

“Say it.”

“Yes, mommy.”

Dieter tries his best to pace himself. He tries to time each drag of his fist with the drag of your cock inside of him. His body sways with the movement and if he didn’t feel so on edge, he thinks he could probably fall asleep like this; being fucked into oblivion by you.

He can’t even remember the last time he’d felt so warm and wet and safe. Probably since the last time you were on top of him.

His lidded eyes meet your expression. A few drops of sweat have formed on your forehead. You bite your bottom lip and you stare down at where your cock disappears inside of him. True to your word, you watch him slowly milk his own cock. And he swears that between small grunts he can hear you moan softly.

A bit of pride bubbles in Dieter’s chest knowing that you still crave this the same way he does. You’re just as fucked as he is; just as far gone. And he finds himself starting to slip farther and farther down the pit too.

“F-fu-u-ck– I’m so fucking…sofuckingclose–” he pants. That familiar rush of pleasure in his abdomen threatens to spill over. He knows he’s only got a few seconds until he lets go entirely. He doesn’t wait to be told to ask first. He begs, “Please, please, please, let me cum…holy fuck–”

You’re breathing so hard and so focused on hitting him just right that it takes a moment for you to gather yourself enough to respond. But you do. And Dieter is on the brink of sobbing when you whine, “Go ahead, baby. Make a fucking mess of yourself.”

Those words are the green light for him to fuck his fist a little faster, urging forward that long awaited release. Dieter’s back arches. And with your cock still sliding in and out of him, the slightly altered path makes him see the fucking heavens. God bless the Emmys. God bless the Television Academy. God bless Roman Roy. God bless whoever invented that beautiful, curved, pink cock. And God bless you, his favorite angel, for fucking him onto paradise’s doorstep with it.

Ropes of his thick spend shoot across his stomach. As your thrusts and his movements slow, each spurt begins to slowly spill over his fist. He milks every last drop of cum that he can from his softening cock; you wanted a mess, after all.

Dieter groans when you eventually pull out of him. Closing his heavy eyes, he allows himself to feel just how completely spent he is. Every one of his limbs are jelly. Exhausted but contented jelly.

Soon afterwards you pad away to the bathroom, likely going to retrieve a towel and straighten yourself up a little. When you return and begin to clean up the last hour’s work, he can’t help but notice your expression.

Your jaw is slackened and soft. You part your lips as if in pride at the result of this impulsive act. Though you’d been firm before, you were still so gentle with him. Your melodious hum fills the room with a comforting atmosphere. He missed this. He missed you.

When you both finally settled in bed, it felt as though little time had passed between this tryst and the last. There’s a comfortable silence as you brush a few strands of his hair away from his face and tuck it behind his ear. Your hand lingers for a moment on the side of his head. You hum and press your lips to his for a soft kiss.

Amongst the tangle of limbs, one of his legs is nestled between yours. For a second he wonders if you two hadn’t cleaned up as well as you thought until it hits him that the wetness on his thigh is from you.

He breaks away with urgency and you give him a confused expression. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to-? I think I can get hard again. Just give me a minute to-”

You sigh and hold him, keeping him still. “Dee, it’s okay. You don’t need to do anything.”

“Are you sure? I can go down on you if you want.”

“Hey, what did I say about being greedy, huh?” You laugh. “I’m too tired anyways.”

Dieter’s heart sinks until you continue, “We can do that tomorrow. Before breakfast? How’s that sound?”

He pulls you closer to his chest and chuckles, “I can do that.”

“You sure can pencil that into the schedule?” You tease.

“Oh, I’m not missing that appointment. Trust me.” With a hard swallow he admits, “Been waiting for that opening for a long time.”

Your voice reverberates against his ribcage when you reply, “Me too, Dee. Me too.”

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