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whocaresstillthelouvre · 4 months ago

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Golden Girl

Chapter 1

Dieter Bravo x Female Reader

Rating: Mature. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: What happens when you discover your husband has been cheating on you? You call his best friend to help comfort you. Warnings: Dieter's POV, infidelity, heartbreak, some allusions to smutty thoughts but nothing extreme, pining, fluff, comfort, drug and alcohol mentions, Dieter's down bad for his best friend's wife. Words: 2,900

A/N: This was written for @punkshort's anniversary AU challenge. I received husband's best friend Dieter Bravo. I've been in the Dieter den lately, so of course I had a lot of fun writing this soft, pining side of him. The film featured in this fic, The Philadelphia Story, is one of my favorite movies ever, and I wanted to use it in this. Mike, Dex, and Tracy are all characters in the movie. FYI�� the movie is free on Tubi. :)

Next Chapter Golden Girl Masterlist Masterlist

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He can't do this. He absolutely cannot do this.

“Dieter, I– can you just come over? I don’t want to be alone.”

He has to do this. He absolutely has to do this.

Your voice is so defeated, bereft, empty. It pains him to even think of the despair you feel inside.

How fucking dare he. Fucking Warren. He wonders why he feels like he owes him his friendship, his time, his loyalty. Fuck that. Breaking your heart, leaving your bright light dim after taking everything from you. He’s sat idly by for years numbing the pain of watching his closest friend pilfer you, the girl of his dreams.

Eight years of marriage gone in a blink of an eye just so Warren can fuck and supposedly fall in love with his brand new leggy blonde coworker. Warren’s always been good at taking what he wants. Hell, he took you away from him. Yeah, Dieter may have an Oscar… but he doesn’t have the girl.

He drives to your house, the same home you used to share with your husband. He wishes he could trade in his mega mansion and live with you in the two story colonial made warm and inviting only under your touch. Warren liked to remind you he paid for it all, but what use is money when there’s no heart?

He locks his car and inhales a deep breath before taking the walkway to the side entrance, the one only close friends use. The fresh fragrance of the peonies that you planted all over the yard makes his heart ache even more for you as he opens the door.

The house is quiet, save for the sound of your sniffles, a singular lamp casts the living room in a solemn umber tone.

“Sweets?” He can’t help it, he’s called you that since the first night he met you in that Venice dive bar all those years ago. He was infatuated with you from the first time he saw you, smiling and laughing with your friends, you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He introduced himself, you shouted your name back, grabbed his hand and led him to the dance floor. He kissed you when you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. God, your lips tasted like sugar from those damn overly sweet drinks.

Your head surfaces from the couch, the sight of you wounds him… red rimmed eyes, tear streaked face, and puffy lips. You look like hell and yet you��re more beautiful than any gorgeous actress he’s acted alongside.

He joins you on the couch, gathering your blanket covered form in his arms trying to calm your shaking sobs with a kiss against the top of your head. He rocks you like a baby, shushing you and holding you tight. His big brown eyes blink back tears, tamping down the guilt he feels over how much he loves holding you.

He’s never been good at these situations, he’s a great actor and can cry on command, but when it comes to consoling and emotions, he’s always easily overwhelmed. His mind races, too terrified to do wrong by you; all he can think of is your favorite movie. He grabs the remote, navigating the menu to play the film. He might forget where he puts his keys or what he has for breakfast but he always remembers everything about you. Jimmy Stewart and Cary Grant battle for Katherine Hepburn’s heart. Ouch. He wishes he would have fought harder for you all those years ago.

You cuddle into his arms closer, sniffling out a soft “thank you” when the movie begins.

Tracy breaks Dex’s golf club. He hopes you’ll do the same to Warren’s once you summon the strength.

Dieter also loves this movie, the both of you first connected over your shared love of classic cinema. You wanted to act, Warren put an end to that… he didn’t want to ‘share you’ with the world. He’s so tired of Warren’s bullshit, he’s so fucking pissed off, all of those wasted years you could have been happy alone… or with him.

He’s so angry he could kill Warren. He reminds himself now’s not the time for vexation, settling deeper against the soft cushions, cradling and softly assuring he’s here for you. Dex walks back into Tracy’s life on the screen; he prays Warren won’t be able to do the same. He calms his anger at Warren by pretending he’s here watching a movie with his favorite girl, ignoring the reality that he’s holding your shattered heart and body, picking up the mess that his so-called “good guy” best friend made. He’ll take Warren’s mess any day.

Your bleary eyes focus on the black and white film playing on the TV. He wipes the tears from your cheeks and moves to pull his hand away. A tiny “no, stay” whimpers out of your mouth, his fingers remain. He doesn’t stop gently rubbing your soft skin through the whole movie.

Mike professes his feelings to Tracy. “No, you're made out of flesh and blood. That's the blank, unholy surprise of it. You're the golden girl, Tracy. Full of life and warmth and delight. What goes on? You've got tears in your eyes.”

He feels the quote in his bones, in his heart, in every single drug and drink he’s taken trying to get you out of his head. You’re golden, Warren has left you rusted.

It’s always been you. His marriage to Anika, he stood at the altar dreaming of you walking through that Las Vegas chapel doorway. The dissolution of those vows arriving soon after, he signed his name on the divorce papers while giddily anticipating your arrival to soothe him. His fuckboy ways he’s now so famous for, he always thinks about touching your body and hearing your moans whenever he enters whatever pretty person opens their legs for him.

The credits roll. You sit up and stretch while he mourns the loss of your body against his.

“Do you need anything?” He asks, adjusting the blanket on your shoulders.

“No,” you croak out, “I– thank you for coming over. I think this is it Dee, I can’t do this again. What did I do wrong?” Your head buries into your hands, a new batch of tears begin falling.

“No, no, no, baby, no,” he grabs your arms, wrapping his hands over yours and squeezing. “You’ve done nothing wrong, nothing wrong at all. Warren– he’s,” he sighs, “I don’t even recognize the friend I once knew.”

Your solemn nod and downcast eyes almost causes his heart to break and fall on the ground next to yours.

“Sweets, he’s a fucking idiot,” he tries to stop his words from coming out, but he loses the fight. Blame it on too many years of standing to the side and watching Warren slowly take away everything you loved brick by brick. “You a–you are brilliant, funny, beautiful, caring, y-you deserve the world.”

“You just have to say that…” your voice is so small, so infantile.

“I don’t,” he says, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from divulging more. “Trust me Sweets, I–I don’t.”

He dreams of the moment he’ll be able to tell you how he feels, how he’s always felt, how hard it’s been to watch his closest friend snuff out the light of the girl of his dreams, how he’ll never forgive himself for standing idly by while escaping in a haze of drugs and alcohol. Easy vices he found that could never mend his envious heart.

He changes the subject, distracts you, and mostly himself, from letting his true feelings out. “Did you want to watch another movie?”

“No,” you shake your head, “I really want a bath. I feel so dry, my eyes are burning.”

He tucks down the thoughts of you in a bathtub, on normal days he’d send himself down a spiral thinking of you naked, rubbing soap across your body, humming a contented sigh and stretching out your relaxed limbs.

“I’ll go get it ready for you,” he says, rising off the couch and heading towards the stairs.

“C-could you do it in the guest room? I-I don’t want to be in… our room alone,” your voice cracks with embarrassment.

He turns back to you, his head falls at your request and the look of shame across your face. He strides over and kneels in front of you, gathering your hands in his and holding them tight. “Whatever you need Sweets,” he stares into your eyes, “whatever you need.”

A small smile lifts the side of your mouth, his heart thumps against his chest at the realization he made you happy. “Thank you Dee, you’re the best.”

He nods before standing up and heading for the guest room upstairs.

Each step he takes the more his sense of duty to help and improve your terrible day blooms inside of him. He walks into the guest room, the same room he stays in when he parties too much, usually because alcohol helps him numb the want for you he holds inside. He flicks the bathroom light on, admiring everything you designed, this house is your house, he’s going to fight like hell to make sure you keep it.

He turns the tap on making sure the water is hot enough for you before placing a towel on the stool next to the tub. He wonders where you always get the fluffiest towels from, just another layer of your softness and care for the things around you. A bottle of bath oil lays on the tub edge, he picks it up and smells the sweet scent of almond and honey before pouring a bit into the warm water.

He turns around when he hears you walk into the bathroom. A shy smile is on your face, you’re still so beautiful even when you look utterly devastated.

“I think it’s warm enough for you,” he says, swishing his hand in the bathwater. “Do you want the jets?”

“I’ll take care of it Dee, thanks,” you begin unbuttoning your pajama top, revealing your light pink bra. You’re so comfortable in front of him, if only you knew the way he thinks about you. Dieter swallows, and with the heaviest most unreluctant body moves around you to the doorway. He’d do anything to watch this, but not tonight. You’re too vulnerable, he can’t take advantage of his dream.

“Just let me know if you need anything,” he offers before shutting the door, hating that he knows it’s best to be a better man.

He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, a guilty smirk develops when he realizes it’s the same bed he’d touch himself on whenever he’d overhear your moans as Warren took the body Dieter always craved. He plays with the gold ring in his ear, he wonders if Warren’s still wearing his wedding ring.

His head perks when he hears the sound of your feet dipping into the tub, your body settling into the water, and the sigh you let out as you relax into the warm bath. He fights the lust coursing through his body, you’re naked and only ten feet away from him.

Distract, distract, distract, he thinks to himself reaching for the remote and turning the TV on to a rerun of South Park; he turns the volume down, he just can’t fathom drowning out the sounds of your bath, he likes hearing the whoosh of water as you move.

“Dee,” you shout from the bathroom, “I–can you get me my robe from my room? It’s hanging up behind the bathroom door.”

“Of course,” he steadfastly gets up, “I’ll be right back.”

The last time he was in your room was when you and Warren purchased the house, he still remembers the jealousy he felt that day; watching Warren kiss his pretty wife in his brand new picturesque house complete with the shiny white picket fence. Norman fucking Rockwell could never paint a more perfect picture of suburban paradise.

He looks at the bed with the pretty floral quilt laid atop it… you’re probably so warm and soft to sleep next to. There’s a frame on your bedside table holding a photo of you and Warren laughing on some grand vacation he probably took you on to get back in your good graces. He wonders what it would be like to feel your head against his chest, to have you so close he could feel your laughter vibrate against him. You have all sorts of lotions and tchotchkes on your table, quite a contrast from the clean table top on Warren’s side. He can almost hear his friend’s voice complaining about all of your clutter.

He finds your robe and brings the soft downy fabric to his nose inhaling the scent of you, this must be what an angel smells like. So sweet.

He takes one last glance at your bed and imagines seeing you asleep under the covers, leaving you in your peaceful slumber every morning and going downstairs to make you coffee. He gets lost in his fantasy while walking back to the guest room, ignoring the photos of you and Warren that hang on the walls.

He taps against the bathroom door and holds out your robe, the thought crosses his mind yet again that you’re behind the ornate white piece of wood fully naked. You crack open the door, peeking your head out, your hair is wet, he tries to shush his brain thinking about how wet the rest of your body must be. You look better, more fresh faced; a sense of pride settles inside of him that he’s helped you tonight.

“Thank you Dee,” you smile and grab the robe before closing the door.

He settles on the bed, stretching out on the mattress and resting his back against the headboard. Nervousness rears its head for what comes next. He knows he’s going to see you soon, your relaxed body will be wrapped in your soft robe… he has to be good and resist any sort of desire. He hasn’t been good at saying no to temptation, but you’re so much more special than a joint, a drink, or a pill.

The bathroom door opens, there you are, freshly bathed and beautiful, your legs peek out from under the fleece fabric.

He swallows when you climb on the bed and sit next to him. Your legs are smooth and shiny from your bath, his mouth waters at the sight.

“He hated cartoons,” you whisper.

“I know,” he whispers back.

“I like cartoons,” you say, picking at a loose piece of fleece on your robe.

“I know. Cartoons are the best,” he doesn’t know how else to respond.

Your heart might be fractured right now, but the comfortable silence that’s shared between the two of you makes his heart race as the four kids from South Park get caught in hi-jinks. You chuckle as Butters gets adopted by Paris Hilton. He loves your laugh, hearing it tonight means even more to him.

You scoot closer to him, he tries to calm his rapid heartbeat and breathing when you place your head on his chest. You smell of that saccharine bath oil he poured, he tamps down the thoughts of how it’d taste on your skin.

“Dieter,” your head angles up to look at him, “c-can you sleep here with me?”

“Of course baby,” stop calling her baby, “a-anything you need.”

“I’m just… I-I’m so tired and I don’t want to–”

“You don’t have to say a thing,” he says, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you closer.

You yawn a “thank you,” as your eyes flutter shut against his chest.

Fucking Warren, you’re a goddamn idiot rushes through his head. He would give everything up to feel this every night. The Oscar, the mansion, the designer clothes, the luxury cars, gone in a blink of an eye if he could feel this sensation over and over again. To protect you, to console you, to love you… He lays wide awake next to you, his arm stays wrapped around your beautiful sleeping form all night.

He can’t imagine what the next few days, weeks, and months will be like for you, all he can do right now is hold you in this guest bedroom bed and vow to stand by your side once you wake. He wishes he would have intervened earlier, saved you from ever feeling this way, of ever thinking you weren’t worth the world.

Soft snores escape your slightly ajar mouth, you look so peaceful and beautiful. He’s dreamt of being able to wake up to this sight every morning ever since that first night in the bar, when he should have been the one to take you home… not Warren.

Next Chapter

#shortieswritingchallenge #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #dieter the bubble

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wannab-urs · 25 days ago

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Pedro Pascal Character Fic Recs | Vol 43

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist

Hello Friends!

Welcome to the 43rd installment of the Spreadsheet Digest! I did a lot of reading this week and I'm very excited to share it with y'all. All summaries and tags are provided by the author, unless they weren't - then I filled them in.

Want to be on the digest? Tag me in your work and I'll do my best to read it <3

Let Them See - Dave one shot by @sizzlingcloudmentality

he gets you off in front of the other guys

explicit, smut, no use of y/n, reader is ablebodied, d/s dynamics (duh), voyeurism, exhibitionism, very affectionate degradation (it's Dave, of course he calls you a slut), female masturbation, male masturbation, unprotected p in v, very affectionate possessive talk, creampie, petnames (baby), choking

This is so hot... Like... SO hot

Let Them Feel - Dave one shot by @guiltyasdave

(author's note) yesterday the lovely em @/luxurychristmaspudding posted this poll with the compelling question in a room full of p boys, who is getting you off (in front of everyone else 👀)?, which led to the lovely daphne @/sizzlingcloudmentality posting let them see (go read that asap!), which then led to me asking "hey do you mind if i continue this?" and then writing 2k words in a state that i can only describe as possessed

explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), able-bodied reader, reader has hair that can be grabbed, no use of y/n, dom!dave, exhibitionism, lowkey group sex tbh, rough oral sex (m receiving), fingering, degradation kink, praise kink

After reading Let Them See, I was dying for more because it was so good and then the lovely Jana gave me more and it was everything.

Eros and Psyche - Dieter series by @schnarfer

Dieter is a modern day Greek God Eros. We’re going full existential dread rom-com, actually.

Vaguely inspired by the Greek myth of Eros & Psyche, soul mates, yearning, emotional torment, drugs and alcohol references, lots of swears, slow burn, discussions of death and mental health, eventual smut. Dieter is a walking red flag. Reader is named (Psyche) but physical descriptions are minimal. Time is meaningless but also always marching on. Lots of Dieter POV. Fleabag coded.

this fic... I adore the soulmates trope as sort of a guilty pleasure, but this was beyond anything I've ever read within that trope. It's sweet, a bit sad at times, and just perfect in every way. The descriptions, the characters, the everything. Despite my rambling I feel like I'm speechless because I can't quite articulate why I think this fic is perfect. Just trust me.

Do it Like Madonna - Dieter one shot by @covetyou

Being Dieter Bravo's plus one to a party isn't always all it's cracked up to be, and sometimes, just sometimes, it puts a smile on your face anyway.

no smut. nudity. mention of Dieter Bravo's dick and balls. drug and alcohol use/refrence, improper use of party hats. cameos from Javi G, Oberyn, and Santos (all the P-Boys are there!) gn!reader

This is so fucking funny and so quintessentially Dieter. Perfection

Bloodlust - Din series by @dindjarindiaries

A daring favor from Boba Fett sends you and your long-time business partner, Din Djarin, undercover together—as a married couple.

fake marriage, fluff & angst, hurt/comfort, eventual/mild smut, sexual references, injuries & blood, canon-typical violence

this fic was adorable, and the plot was so interesting. I love their love ugh. It's just so cute and earnest and everything I needed.

Waiting Game - Din/Ez one shot by @northernbluess

din quite literally crashed into your life when you least expected it. injured and seriously stubborn, you took him in and as you tenderly nursed him to health, your bond grew in quiet shared moments. the day came when he was recovered enough to leave you, except he never did. now, you find yourself in a similar predicament, taking in another wearied stranger just as you had with din. he ensnares you, pulling you into his orbit, with his silver tongue, stolen touches, and hungry eyes—but what happens when you find out that he has seemingly charmed din too?

threesome, m/m/f, voyeur ezra, possessive din, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected PIV sex, unprotected anal sex, double penetration, fingering, slight dom!din, ezra is a bit of a creep at first, major canon divergence (no grogu, no cee, ezra still has his arm, etc.), choking/breathplay, biting, squirting, one (1) slap, lots of tension, panties(?), mutual pining, probably OOC, pure filth tbh. no use of y/n.

I am unhinged about this. DinEz is my favorite ship and I adore MMF threesome fics with them. This was breathtakingly good.

Thy Kingdom Cum - Ezra one shot by @absurdthirst and @storiesofthefandomlovers

The new priest's arrival to your parish has you doubting your commitment to God.

Blasphemy, inaccuracies with nuns/religious inaccuracies, religious guilt, lust, desire, demonic possession, dark intentions, sexual corruption, loss of innocence, virgin reader, oral sex (male and female receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, derogatory language, sex in a confessional, cock riding, pregnancy, mentions of prophesy, end of times, unnatural childbirth, death

Always love a good demon!Ezra, and I loved the steep fall into corruption little bird went through ugh. This was so good. The innocence of reader and the depravity of Ez was such a good contrast. I love this

Sit Back, Baby - Frankie one shot by @almostfoxglove

You've got a crush on your neighbor across the hall and finally get the chance to show him you care.

Smut (m!oral), pwp, drinking (not during smut), sorta sub!Frankie.soft,

subby frankie is forever one of my favorites. I just wanna take care of him dammit. Can't resist a good blowjob fic either. All around wonderful in every way.

Bad Idea - Javi P one shot by @murder-wife

A lil quickie on the couch never hurt anyone

fingering, unprotected PIV, panty sniffing, couch sex, the sex blanket makes an appearance! *LEAVING SOME THINGS UNTAGGED TO AVOID SPOILERS* proceed with caution, nothing dark, everyone is of age and constenting

I love everything about this. The whole premise is perfect. The plot twist??? to die for, truly.

You Can Be My Daddy - Javi P one shot by @thesummerpetrichor

Your soon to be husband leaves you at the altar, but you should have guessed since the practice seemed to run in the family. It’s hard to be upset however, when his father comes to repent for not only his own but his son’s wrong doings. Aka fiancé’s dad Javi fucking you in your wedding dress after his son ditches you at the altar.

Minimal editing, unspecified but thicc and legal age gap, infidelity, daddy kink, heavy breeding kink, insane dirty talk, toxic father son relationship, reader is delulu, praise kink, petnames, sex in front of a mirror, veil pulling??, a few spanks, creampie, Javi fucks you into the mattress, unprotected P in V [don’t do it!!].

Getting left at the altar sucks, but getting fucked into the mattress by your would-be father-in-law makes it alllll better. God damn this was hot

A Litany of Lethe - Javi P one shot by @kiwisbell

Working on his father’s ranch, Javier Peña tries to leave Colombia behind. The new housekeeper reminds him how much he enjoys a challenge.

post-narcos s3 canon, slow burn, catch the much ado references and i’ll give u a cookie, second chance, enemies to lovers, i take liberties with some geography, javi suffers from foot-in-the-mouth syndrome, angsty javier, angsty reader, angsty everything, bickering, tension of all varieties, emotional constipation from both parties, chucho being wingman no. 1, discussions of past sexual relationships, mentions of domestic abuse (not against reader), implied child neglect/abuse, grovelling king javier peña, we call him grovi, implied age gap, it's been 10 years since javi left for colombia bc i said so, reader has hair, javi is a munch, oral sex (f receiving), grinding, bickering during sex, javi is not a brat tamer but he is a brat handler (thank u mya), unprotected PIV, creampie, dirty talk, fingering, pussy pronouns, lots of biting, javi vampire confirmed??

This reads like literature or poetry or some shit. I loved Javi's internal monologue so much. I loved getting inside his head like that. The smut is so worth the wait too ugh. I love a long ass one shot <3

Touch Tank - Javi P one shot by @thundermartini

Javier helps you get over a little self-confidence crisis.

it’s self indulgent porn with plot guys. smut, kissing, oral sex - f! receiving + m! receiving, shower sex, mention of piv sex, allusion to vaginal fingering, established relationship, domestic fluff, pet names, soft!javi, blue shirt javi (but picture any javi you want), a lot of feelings again, reader has hair, insecure reader (mentions of her not fitting in the lingerie she chose as she would love to but no further descriptions so you can imagine whatever you want).

Obsessed with Javi being into lingerie, first of all. I blame @iamskyereads Lie to Me for that. Secondly, this was so hot and sweet. I love how they make each other feel better. So fucking cuuuuute

Me on You - Joel one shot by @luxurychristmaspudding

after a night out dancing and a lift home turns into something more, you learn something about your dad's buddy.

it's smut, y'all. everything you've come to expect. respectable age gap (10 years ish), tiny bit of spanking, one (1) gentle pussy slap, lil bit of daddy kink, joel miller eats it from the back (oral (f&m)), edging, unprotected piv (do better), creampie, feelings, joel miller's whore mouth.

Joel Miller fucks and it is so unbearably hot

Lost in the Darkness - Joel one shot by softlybarnes (AO3)

Joel wants you. The only problem is you're the on the arm of one of his partners.

Angst, Abuse, Abusive Relationships (not between reader/joel), Smut, Biting, Insecurity, Self-Worth Issues, Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Anxiety, Dissociation, Canon-Typical Violence, Torture, Blood and Injury, Past Sexual Assault, Character Death

Ohhhh I love this. The way they're both fucking feral ugh. It's so good.

There's a Place and Time - Joel one shot by @penvisions

Moving back to your parents house wasn't part of the plan, neither was being a thorn in your neighbor's side. but you roll with the punches, and hey, he's kinda cute when he gets huffy.

age gap (joel is mid 30's / reader is mid 20's), angst, biting words, argumentative language, joel is a lil meanie but so is reader, grief, off-screen loss, depictions of depression, comfort, mushy stuff

Joel has foot in mouth disease lmaooo. I liked the depiction of grief in this a lot. Very sweet fic with some excellent banter and even better softness.

So Much to Lose - Joel series by @auteurdelabre

Newly settled into Jackson city and forced to go on patrols with the miserable Joel Miller sets off a chain of events and encounters that have you questioning everything, including your own heart.

Enemies to Lovers, Ellie & Joel Bonding (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Joel Lives (The Last of Us), Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Joel Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (The Last of Us), Dom/sub Undertones, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Eventual Happy Ending, Shameless Smut, Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Fingerfucking, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Reader-Insert, Face-Fucking, Lesbian Ellie (The Last of Us), Drama & Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Outdoor Sex, Forced Bonding, Cooking, Guitars, Love Confessions, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Trauma

The thing I really love about this fic is the way the side characters are integrated and just as important as reader and Joel. Jennifer, Luke, Ellie, Maria -- they're all important. I also love the slow transition from mean!Joel to soft!Joel, the way it isn't exactly linear, and the motivations behind his behavior. It's so rewarding to watch him open up over time UGH. So Good.

Scarlet Haze - Joel series by @katiexpunk

Life in the QZ was fairly predictable. That was, until Joel Miller showed up on your doorstep covered in blood. Since then, you've helped him more times than you can count. Now it's his turn to return the favor.

SEX POLLEN. SEX POLLEN. SEX POLLEN. Set in the TLOU universe in the Boston QZ. Buckle the fuck up for a lot of filthy, feral smut. Check chapter warnings for specifics.

GOD I love sex pollen fics. so so much. This series is unfinished but you get smut in part two and it's entirely worth it. So fucking good.

I Know You By Heart - Joel/Ezra series by @sixhours

Joel and Ellie settle into their new lives in Jackson but it's not the easiest transition. Thankfully Jackson has a counselor to help with that.

Joel is bad at feelings and relationships, Ellie is a little shit (affectionate), canon-compliant with season 1, SMUT, gay sex, anal sex, anal fingering, blowjobs, bisexual!Joel, period-typical homophobia, light angst, angst with a happy ending, romance, alcoholic behavior, age gap (~10ish years so barely a thing)

Obsessed with this pairing. Ezra and Cee in Jackson?? I love it so much. The smut is so good... Like... SO GOOD. I love me some gay pedro boys and I love gay dads in love. HMU for more gay dads in love fics, bc I have a couple recs.

Fortnight - Lucien one shot by @pedgito

it was never a favor, allowing him to take up space in your apartment. but, time after time, he finds his way back and somehow, it brings an unexpected normalcy to your life.

the uninvited spoilers, set post-movie, roommates to lovers, enemies to lovers, reader works in the film industry, financial hardship, shitty living situations, lucien is a schmooze and a drunk, but also a sweetheart, angst, feelings, reader has shit luck with dating, there's also smut in here somewhere i swear (oral, couch sex, unprotected piv, all the good stuff)

Oh Lucien the pathetically sexy man that you are. This was everything I wanted it to be and more.

Prima Nocta - Marcus Acacius one shot by @fuckyeahdindjarin

Tomorrow, you will marry your husband-to-be. But tonight - it belongs to his father.

DUB CON only due to nature of prima nocta, both parties enthusiastically consent, twist on prima nocta, unspecified age gap, loss of virginity, dirty talk, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, dry humping, unprotected sex, unrealistic descriptions of first sexual experience, all manners of historical inaccuracies and linguistic anachronisms sorry not sorry, ignores the events of the movie so you can consider this an AU, Marcus is widowed and has a son, shall we call this bfd: Ancient Rome version lmao

This is the first Marcus Acacius fic I've read and it was fucking incredible. Def will be reading more of him from now on. UGHGHGGH this was so hot.

Cosmic Love - Marcus Acacius/Marcus Pike one shot by @kedsandtubesocks

a missing statue, a handsome ancient roman general, an equally handsome museum visitor - and you caught in the magical (and wonderful) mess of it all

MAJOR GLADIATOR 2 SPOILERS. time travel AU, magic elements, pining & yearning, fluff but with touches of angst, implied age gap (Acacius being older than both reader & Marcus), light use of gendered language, bi!Marcus Acacius & bi!Marcus Pike, brief mention of death & existential questioning, spicy themes, smut (threesome, m!oral, one moment of spitting) M/M/F & M/M dynamics, polyamorous exploration that leads to eventual poly relationship, no use of y/n

I love a time travel AU, it reminds me of Kate and Leopold. This fic was so cute, had just the right touch of angst, and was so hot UGH. I loved how sweet Acacius was and how down bad Pike was and just... everything really

Strawberry Sugar - Oberyn one shot by @guiltyasdave

Your boyfriend spoils you on your birthday morning. In some... unexpected ways.

explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, food play, dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), ridiculous amounts of fluff

Delicious, filthy, fluffy, just wonderful, really.

Happy Reading!

#fic recs #the spreadsheet digest #fanfiction recommendations #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

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covetyou · 6 months ago

Note

🤭 reader is def borrowing condoms from Dieter (she spent so long debating with herself but she also really wanted Frankies dick). But would Dee be curious and follow to see who she's with? 👀 Maybe try to invite himself to join, or hang out outside the trailer? 🥵💦

Would this morally dubious clown follow someone to watch 'em do the nasty? I think we all know the answer here 😌

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Frankie Morales x fat contortionist f!reader (x Dieter Bravo) rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: voyerism, jealousy, bi Dieter, protected PIV, recreational drug use/reference, Max Phillips makes another cameo word count: 1.2k summary: When the trailer's a-rockin', don't come a-knockin'.

A/N: Dieter's POV. takes place after for one night only and fools just wanna have fun.

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Bravo had evaded Max by the skin of his teeth - no sooner had his trailer door shut behind him, running around the back pulling his pants over his dick and balls, and Max was there in the clearing, shouting bloody murder for him before pounding on the door. Before any more inaccurate accusations and threats to his life could be made, Bravo the Clown had snuck away into the night, seething.

This was his night ruined.

The condoms were one thing, but this being a family friend show? Psh, his ass it was. He watched greased up men sliding against each other on the regular, and there was that married couple who practically eye fucked each other whenever they performed. Not to mention you, Sparkles, with your ass hanging out every show as you twisted and bulged and looked so damn sinful he'd had more than one back stage wank over the years. Nothing he did was any less family friendly than that and yet here he was, getting chased down by an angry mob of one simply for wanting to relax a little before a show. And maybe a bit during too.

And after, not forgetting the joint still clutched in his fingers. He'd have to find somewhere more discreet to smoke it now that he had Max hot on his ass, but first he needed a light. His was still on the floor of his trailer, because of you.

Maybe that's why he finds himself walking toward your trailer, it being your fault he's currently without a light after all. He knows you like those stupid little candles, a complete fire hazard in a place like this if you ask him - one knock and the whole polyester spectacle is going up in a cloud of sequins and smoke. It's not at all because he knows what you're doing in there, without him. Not at all. He respects you. He could absolutely, totally leave you to your privacy.

It's not his fault if he's concerned for your safety when he hears your incoherent screams from some way away. He's not going to knock of course, but it doesn't hurt to just check in through the window, does it? It's what any good friend would do. A little rocking trailer should never deter anyone from checking in on their friends.

Okay, so maybe it's rocking quite a bit by the time he gets there, sneaking under one window to get to another he knows is right by your bed. Your screaming and moaning is even louder here, right by the open window. He can hear a wet slapping noise too, and before he lets his imagination run wild, he pokes his head up to look in through the open window and straight at the spectacle in front of him.

And holy fuck, it doesn't disappoint.

You're getting absolutely rammed from behind, your thighs jiggling and shaking with each thrust from the man behind you. His face is pinched, staring right down to where he disappears into you over and over, and the rippling of your ass against his thighs. You're scrambling up and down and up again on your forearms as you try, and fail, to take the intensity of it, your voice rising an octave every time he buries himself in you, until he inevitably hits the factory reset and you make a deep, keening groan before starting all over again. Dieter knows that noise - he makes you make that noise. It's the noise you make when your toes curl and you're about to make a mess all over everything. Like right now, your toes curling over and over in a way he's never seen, because he's never seen it from this far away before.

And, fuck, this is jealousy, isn't it? That should be Dieter in there, fucking the ever living daylights out of you. Instead he's stood on the other side of the window looking in at a man that should be him, but is definitely younger and fitter than he is. Still, he doesn't see what this man has on him - messy hair, a little pooch of his belly just like Dieter, scruff on his jaw. Entirely unremarkable, if you ask -

Until that man pulls out fully, unveiling his cock before slamming it home once more.

Suddenly, he's jealous of both of you. Jealous of him for getting to fuck you - and in your trailer too. You'd only ever let him in there once, and it was maybe the most comfortable he'd ever been. And jealous of you for taking that monster of a cock that, quite frankly, should be too much for one person to take. You could take a hand (and a half, on a good day) of course, but fuck, had you never heard about sharing?

Dieter shared his condoms with you, and now you were keeping this all to yourself. What he wouldn't give to be in there, lying next to you as you got fucked to oblivion by this guy you seem to have picked straight from the crowd. He'd quiet your screams with his cock in your mouth, or let you suck on his balls while he waited his turning for a fucking. Even better, he'd lick your pretty cunt while that cock demolished your hole, just so he could taste both of you at once.

Still, the best he can do is watch the condom, his condom, on the man's cock as it slides in and out of you - the closest thing to being between the two of you he'll be - while listening to your screams as they hit a crescendo. Your tits swing beneath you, your belly rippling with the force of the fucking you're receiving. The mans fingers - the asshole - are digging into your plush hips, sinking into the fat there and holding on for dear life, likely leaving bruises that Dieter will have to see for days and try not to get hard about.

The man grunts and groans now, telling you how perfect you are and how hard he's going to come, because you're so, so, so perfect - Dieter fucking knows. He knew it first.

Then, you're coming. Shaking, and moaning, falling forward onto your mattress with your hips still held in the air, making a complete mess of your sheets in the process, screaming Frankie into the air, your trailer positively fucking rattling now as the man - fucking Frankie - finds it in himself to go even harder, battering your cervix so deliciously painfully that he knows your eyes are rolling in your head, even if he can't see them.

And it's over, and everything is still again, and the quiet feels so very loud as you sigh and giggle into fucking Frankie's mouth, and he pulls that massive cock, dripping, out of you and throws away his fucking condom.

His joint is crumpled in his hand, Bravo the Clown's search for a light fucking useless now, just as the symbol of his fucked night falls to the ground outside your trailer ready for you to find in the morning.

Family friendly his ass.

#dieter bravo x reader #frankie morales x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo #the bubble fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x reader #frankie 'catfish' morales x you #frankie 'catfish' morales x reader #frankie morales #fic: carnal-val #coveted fics #coveted asks

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whatsnewalycat · 4 months ago

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No Strings Attached

Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella - Psychomanteum AU

[ psychomanteum masterlist ][ ao3 ]

WC: 2.7k+

Tags/Warnings: lua 2nd person pov, ghosts, psychomanteum au where they were together in spring, set after chapter 2, bickering, alcohol, drugs, addiction, ethan, anonymous sex mention, a boat load of sweeet sweet yearning folks

Notes: This is a doc I just found in my Psychomanteum folder. I think this is what I was originally writing for Chapter 3, but changed direction. Some of these conversations and prose proooobably got recycled into different chapters, but I can't remember. ANYWAY it's cute so I'm posting it as a Psychomanteum AU Snackie Poo (i'msosorryforsayingthatohmygod)

-----

Since Katie’s party, the two of you have hung out a handful of times, mostly with Parker, going out to a bar and having a few drinks. Between whatever actor things actors do while they’re in the city, he’ll sometimes text you to see what you’re doing, and what you’re usually doing is baking.

It surprises you a little every time he comes over. Why would an exciting guy like this want to hang out in your apartment while you work? Not that you mind. The company is nice. Most of the time he’ll chat with you while he sketches and happily disposes of any defective product. Sometimes it goes quiet while the two of you concentrate on your respective tasks, but it doesn’t feel awkward.

This is the modus operandi when Dieter slides his pencil it into the spine of his sketchbook and studies you, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

Out of breath from rolling out puff pastry dough, you look at him and pant, “What?”

“Ghosts,” he leans against the counter, pressing his thumbnails to his lips as he waits for your answer.

You huff, setting your rolling pin down, and remember the picture frame on the spare bedroom floor. The face you imagined you saw in the mirror. Sometimes you hear noises in that room, but can’t bring yourself to investigate. The only time you enter the room is to get supplies, and even then, you speed run and don’t dare look up at the mirrors.

“No,” you avert your gaze from his and turn around to wash your hands in the sink.

“Wow, you’re a terrible liar.”

You turn around and gape at him as you dry your hands, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“So you do believe in ghosts, got it,” he gives you a cheeky grin. You roll your eyes but don’t deny it. He leans forward onto his elbows again, “If I tell you something, will you think I’m crazy?”

“Dee, I texted you yesterday and asked if you think that Avril Lavigne is really herself or a body double. I don’t think I’m qualified to make any judgments on the sanity of other humans,” you toss the kitchen towel over your shoulder, then start folding the dough into layers.

He tilts his head and frowns, then points at you, “I think you might be onto something there,” then shakes his head, “Ok, well…”

His Adam’s apple bobs and his eyes flick to the spare bedroom door. You stop folding the pastry dough and stand up straight. A shiver runs down your spine. He gnashes his jaw back and forth, then takes a deep breath, “I see him sometimes.”

You shake your head and search his eyes. Not out of confusion. You just don’t want him to say it.

He slides his sketchbook across the counter, flipping it around so you can see what he drew. There, sketched in graphite on the creamy paper, is your husband. He’s standing in the open doorway of the spare room. The illustration is unruly, yet intricate. Your mouth falls open as you press your fingertips to his face, and you feel his sorrow. So much so, you flinch back and shake your head again, “Sorry, um, I–”

Dieter watches your eyes start to well with tears and his shoulders slump, “Fuck, no, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Is he still there now?” you whisper, meeting his big, sad, brown eyes.

They flick to the door and back to you, and he gives you a nod. Your stomach drops to the floor and the hair on the back of your neck stands up.

“I need to leave,” you announce, throwing the kitchen towel off your shoulder onto the counter, then take off your apron and drop it on the towel, “Right now. I have to leave.”

He stands up off the stool, pushing it out behind him, pointing to the puff pastry, “Should–I, uh, should I wrap that up?”

“Um, y-yeah, put it in the fridge, thanks,” you walk around the counter and past him to grab your purse, shove your feet into your boots, then walk out the door and wait for him in the hall.

He emerges while putting on his jacket, then you lock the door and start toward the elevator. The hall is silent except for the rustling of their clothes and footfalls. You slap the down button on the elevator and cross your arms.

“He was trying to talk to you,” Dieter explains.

You shake your head, “I don’t care.”

“You don’t care?” he challenges.

“Mhmm,” you nod, hitting the button again, harder this time.

“Terrible liar,” he mutters to himself, then stares forward at the elevator doors. And he probably thinks he’s being funny. But it’s not funny. You don’t react.

Once the elevator dings, you’re inside, pressing the doors closed button before they even open all the way. He steps onboard. They accordion shut.

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out,” he tells you earnestly. In the foggy reflection of the stainless steel doors, you can tell that he’s looking at you.

“Well, you fucking did,” you snap, and wish you could take the words and shove them back into your mouth. He faces forward and his gaze drops to his feet.

The doors open and Dieter pushes out in front of you, storming out of the building. By the time you make it outside, he’s gone. A pang of guilt stabs through your chest. The cool, dewy air sticks to your skin and makes you shiver. You regret not grabbing a jacket, but start off towards your favorite hole-in-the-wall bar anyway.

O’Malley’s is a dingy dugout bar about a block away from your apartment. It’s so dimly lit in contrast to the bright afternoon sun, you have to squint and go off of muscle memory when you walk in the door. On a Tuesday, during daylight hours, when the temperature outside is finally warm enough to melt the gritty snowpiles that have been accumulating for months, the establishment is essentially empty. One sad sap sits at the bar, jacket hanging off the back of his stool, staring down at the lowball glass clutched in his fist. He’s leaning onto the bar with a ringed hand propping his head up.

You approach and pull out the barstool next to him, droning, “Hey there.”

Dieter casts a glance to you with a raised brow, then scoffs when he recognizes you. He lifts the glass to his lips and empties it into his mouth, then pushes his sweater sleeves up to his elbows.

Nick, the portly bartender you see here frequently during the week, approaches, “The usual?”

“Yeah,” you nod towards Dieter, “I’ll get his, too.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he sits back and pulls a wallet from his pocket, then throws some bills on the bar top, “I was just leaving.”

Fucking hell.

“Dee–” you reach out and touch his arm, and he turns towards you and stares expectantly. You chew on your bottom lip, dropping your gaze to the floor before sighing, “Please stay. I’m-“

Nick returns with a whiskey neat and vodka cranberry, sliding them in front of you and Dieter before asking you, “Tab?”

“Yes please,” you answer with a polite smile, then turn back to Dieter, whose scowl has softened, “C’mon.”

He sighs and his shoulders release, then he relaxes back into the barstool. Neither of you say anything as you take a sip of the drink, then you turn to him, “I know. Like, um. I know that he’s there sometimes. But I don’t—“ you shake your head, “I don’t want to know.”

He sits up and leans his elbows against the bar, turning to watch you. You chew on your bottom lip and watch the ice cubes clink together as you stir your drink.

“What was he trying to tell me?” you ask finally.

“I don’t know,” Dieter frowns, “I couldn’t tell.”

You saw Ethan cross into the threshold. Through some kind of an otherworldly osmosis, he was absorbed by the membrane that met the two of you at the end of the silent, iridescent wormhole.

“Why would he come back?” you whisper, mostly to yourself.

“Why do any spirits come back?” Dieter shrugs and takes a big sip of whiskey, “Unfinished business.”

All you can think is that it better be a fucking apology. He owes you that much. Ethan was so fucked up that night. Did he even know what he was doing? Or had he been planning it?

The man that woke you up in the middle of the night on Christmas and made you get into his car with the intention of totaling it… that wasn’t the man you married. You wonder how much coke he had really been doing in the weeks, maybe even months, leading up to the accident. Towards the end, it became commonplace for him to be out all night without explanation.

He would stumble in at 7am, talking a million miles a minute, a sharp sniff interrupting his monologue every 10 seconds, hands trembling like your grandma’s when she started showing symptoms of Parkinson’s disease. When he finally crashed, he’d go to bed and sleep until the sun went down, where he would isolate himself for a day or two. Then he would go out to run orders to your clients and not come back until 7am. Rinse, wash, repeat.

One night, when big, fat snowflakes were fluttering to the ground outside in big, he was standing in front of all the order boxes ready to go, making sure he had everything. You came up behind him and wrapped your arms around to his chest, laying your cheek against the back of his winter coat, “Can you come home tonight? I miss you.”

“Baby, I’m with you all the time,” he chuckled, placing a hand over yours, rubbing his thumb against you affectionately.

“That’s not what I mean,” you told him quietly. His thumb stopped undulating and his body tensed. Your heart was pounding in your chest when you finally admitted out loud, “I’m worried about you, Ethan. I think it’s becoming a problem again.”

You let go as he stirred beneath your embrace, turning around to face you. His body only became more rigid, shoulders tensed up to his ears, jaw gnashing, as he assured you, “It’s not a problem. I promise. I’ll come home after dropping these off, ok?”

He pressed his lips your forehead, sealing his promise with a kiss, and you mumbled, “Ok.”

He didn’t come home until the next morning. You weren’t surprised.

“You ok?” Dieter nudges you.

A lie waits, ready to roll off the tip of your tongue. Instead, what comes out is the truth.

“No. I don’t think so,” you take a sip and look down at your drink, “But, what can ya do?”

“Mmm, I think I have something that could help,” Dieter mutters in a suggestive tone. Your heart skips, then you look at him and realize he’s pressing a joint up between his lips, “Wanna go for a walk?”

This brings a smile to your face, but you protest, “I didn’t bring a coat, it’s still chilly outside.”

The joint bobs as he frowns and grabs his jacket, “Use mine. I’m fucking sweating, anyway.”

—

The passersby barely pay the two of you any attention as you stroll at a leisurely pace through the park, passing the joint back and forth. His sepia fleece jacket hangs down to your knees and keeps you almost too insulated.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, tasting the vapors of melting snow clinging close to the earth. The sunshine seems to melt away the foul mood you were in earlier. In your euphoria, you trip on a crack in the pavement, stumbling a bit. You steady yourself and giggle in embarrassment.

“So glad you don’t have anyone following you with a camera right now,” you comment.

Dieter plucks the roach from his lips, holds the intoxicating smoke captive in his lungs, and offers it up to you, “How do you know we don’t?”

You scrunch your face up and make a full 360, scanning for any potential paparazzi, and shoo the roach away. He exhales and shrugs, then tosses it into a disintegrating snow pile, “I’m just kidding, I think I’m off their radar for the time being.”

“Yeah? Have you been a good boy, Dee?” you giggle. The way his whole body seems to perk up at the question is not lost on you.

“Not so much that as I’m not the biggest shitheel in the media at the moment,” he smirks, looking you up and down through his sunglasses.

You hum and nod, although you have no idea what he’s referring to, “Ah, yes. That one guy did that one thing.”

He laughs, “There’s always another guy doing another thing. It never fails.”

“Ol’ reliable,” you respond, then tilt your head in curiosity, “How is your divorce going, then?”

“Boring, next,” he groans.

“No no no, sir, you told me my dead husband is haunting my home today. Even the scales.”

“Are you sure you’re not the press?” he raises an eyebrow at you.

And, of course, it’s a joke. But that side glance gnaws at your gut the same way that Ethan’s narrowed eyes did. Looking at you like you’re an informant.

‘I didn’t tell anyone about the ink, Lou.’

“What?” your shoulders slump. You come to a standstill, and stammer, “I wouldn’t–no, what?”

He stops, too, and turns to you, “I’m just kidding, Lua.”

“Oh,” you breathe a sigh of relief, “Ok. I’m not, um, trying to be snoopy.”

“You are way prettier than a cartoon beagle,” he smiles, then starts walking again. You catch up to him and try not to let the way your stomach flutters show on your face. It does. He smiles wider, then it fades to a frown as he shrugs and scratches his neck, “The divorce is going. Annie is staying at the house until it’s finalized, so I’ve been living out of hotels, which gets old,” a sly smile creeps across his face, “It is a little easier on the dating front, though. Living in hotels, that is.”

“Why’s that?”

“Sex is just better in a bed. A little more room to work with than the bathroom of a club or the backseat of a car, you know? Plus, then they don’t feel like they have to leave right away.”

“That’s probably why I prefer those places. Don’t have to stick around afterwards.”

He grins at you, “Is that right?”

Something sparks at the middle of you when you look over at him and shrug, then he licks his lips and nods, looking ahead.

“So you’re dating people?”

“I don’t think dating is the right term,” you frown, “More just, um… casual sex, I guess.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, “Since when?”

“Does it matter?” you tuck your hair behind your ear and look down.

“No, not at all,” he nudges you, so you look at him and see the good will on his face. “I just… Well, I’ll really kick myself if I could have been begging you to sleep with me this whole time.”

Your mouth is all of a sudden very dry. You blush and chuckle, then shake your head, “I’m looking for no-strings-attached situations.”

“I am all about no-strings-attached,” he touches his fingertips to his chest and grins, peaking his bloodshot eyes over the rim of his sunglasses.

“Mmm, no, see, we have strings,” you sigh, then count each of the following points on your hands, “I don’t fuck clients. Or friends. Or celebrities going through very public divorces.”

Or people I have a big, giant, throbbing crush on.

“My heart,” he clutches the front of his shirt theatrically.

You giggle at his reaction. The conversation dies momentarily, and the sounds of the city fill the cool air between you. You feel compelled to elaborate, “I’m not ready. With the dead husband and all that. I don’t want a pity fuck, or a goddamn significant other. I just want to get off, then I want it to be over. No strings.”

He nods, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his pants, “No judgment here, m’dear.”

#psychomanteum #psychomanteum au #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fanfic

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brickleandfickle · 2 months ago

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POV: You're Dieter and you are trying to convince Tenma to not abandon you mid-story nor go down the path of murder.

#naoki urasawa's monster #monster #kenzo tenma #dieter #I can summon found family wherever I go #I just finished monster omg it was amazing #rip dieter you were dethroned into a side-character #my art #naoki urasawa

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staiyn · 3 months ago

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Surprise Drawing

Firstly wanted to do the edge of the bed meme (@hands-landa), but I couldn't do it, couldn't get the poses right, so I pinpointed to pin-up girl Hans so i guess here is it.

So before, I guess this art piece is NSFW.

TW- TWINK HANS LANDA

POV: Dieter survived the shooting and after the hospital found Hans at the Ritz, waiting for him for a reward for his loyality.

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wildemaven · 2 years ago

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Sweet Creature: Chapter Two

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

WC: 5145

Summary: A washed up movie star with a failing career, fresh out of rehab and looking to turn his life around. He moves back to his small hometown to take a break from stardom and help his sister out with his niece— He’s traded the high-life for school runs and crafting. What he doesn’t except is to meet you, his niece’s school teacher who couldn’t care less about his extensive filmography or his dwindling fame.

Warnings: 18+ Blog; talk of drug use (no actual using), absent parents, mention of food and alcohol, slow burn, brown fuzzy coat, self doubt, break-up mention, annoyance towards actors, cursing, 2nd POV, that should be it but if I missed anything please let me know

A/N: It’s here!! I’m really excited for this chapter, lots of little things I love about that I’m so excited for you to read. This chapter is where we meet reader and learn a little bit about her. I wanted to also note, there will be an eventual nickname used, we just haven’t gotten to it being used yet so for now I’m not mentioning it. The response to this series has been so amazing and I’m so grateful for all the wonderful feedback!! Another big thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for taking the time to beta for me!! You’re a champ for putting up with my spelling errors. Update: adding link to mug that is mentioned -> etsy shop

Series Masterlist / Sweet Creature Playlist / Main Masterlist

Previous / Next

“Diem, you can’t really be considering this?! Did you forget, he was literally doing drugs off of your toilet!”

You pour another glass of a sweet sparkling wine you’d picked up before heading to Diem’s for your weekly chat session, then settling back into the array of plush couch cushions— a night to decompress a bit, vent and just catch up on the week’s happenings.

“Well, I’ve already considered and told him yes.”

“What?” You nearly spit your drink out in shock. “I don’t want to say I told you so, but I kind of called it when you invited him to Wren’s party. I just— I don’t want to see you hurt again.”

“Look, I know you’re just being protective, and I’m so grateful for that, I truly am— but you have to just let me make this decision and trust that he’s going to be clean like he says he is. This is his longest stay in treatment, that’s got to be a good sign, right?”

The one thing you loved most about Diem was her big heart and her constant need to mother everyone around her.

She had literally taken you under her wing when you’d decided to uproot your entire life and move to a random city you had zero ties to.

A chance meeting in the halls of your new employer, Ojai Valley School, while rounding the corner and bumping into each other. Your stack of lesson plans scattering about the concrete floor and her basket of snacks toppling over— a dozen or so clementine oranges rolling around the haphazard mess of papers.

In sorting out each other’s disarray, you’d learned she was a parent of a kindergartener, to which you shared being the new first grade teacher.

Somewhere in the midst of an over abundance of apologies for the mishap and swapping mini life stories on the walk together to your classroom, her daughter’s class coincidentally next door, there was an exchanging of phone numbers and a no pressure invitation for drinks and appetizers at her place— she dubbed it as a proper ‘welcome to the neighborhood.’

A week later you found yourself in Diem’s living room bonding over similar interests with wooden platters of too expensive crackers, hard to pronounce cheeses, thinly sliced deli meats paired with quickly mixed and shaken cocktails over ice.

She shared her struggles being a single mom who was embarking on a new business adventure all while co-parenting with her ex-boyfriend. You learned her family didn’t live close, parents usually traveling through some part of the world or staying in one of their many extravagant vacation homes, while her brother was some big name movie star— Dieter Bravo, whom you’d seen plastered on the covers of gossip magazines.

There was an instant friendship between the two of you that flourished as the months went on— a sisterly bond you’d never had being an only child.

Weekly chats developed into spending not only more time with Diem, but with Wren as well. Dinners and movie nights became a regular thing, rotating hosting duties while Wren always had the final say in the movie. You shared your love for art with them as much as you could, making sure to invite them both when a new artist had their latest installment showing at one of the many galleries in town, Wren always so captivated with your interpretations of the art on display, encouraging her to seek out her own. If Diem ever found herself in a pinch with the hotel, you were more than excited to spend more time with Wren, especially on the warmer days where you both could take advantage of the pool and soak up the California sun.

You felt like an instant local and less of a transplant after a few months, building your own connections with merchants and finding your own niche outside of teaching within Ojai— you were a welcomed presence.

“I’m sorry Diem, I just have flashbacks to seeing him slumped over on the bathroom floor, high out of his mind— That look on your face ate me up inside.” You sigh at the recollection of your first meeting of her brother Dieter, all disheveled and extremely inebriated. Diem had cried on your shoulder for hours after everyone had left the party, but you did your best to comfort her as time went on. “I’ll be here for you if you need anything.”

She reaches over to you and gives you a hug, reassurance that she appreciates you always having her back.

“Thank you. I promise, any little inkling of something being off and he’s out. Just try to be a little nice to him, give him a chance to prove himself. He said he’ll be here in a few weeks and I’d love for you two to get a proper meeting, so let me know what your schedule is looking like.”

“I’ll try to be on my best behavior.” You playfully roll your eyes at her, but you would really try to be as open as you could be, especially for her and Wren.

“Okay, enough about me and my stuff. What’s new with you?? Any hot dates??”

Your dating life was near nonexistent. Yeah, you dated, but that was as far as things went.

Your last relationship had ended in a breakup before your move. Both of you wanting different things, you wanting him to move with you and him wanting to stay rooted, while also refusing to try the long distance thing, deciding a clean break was best for the both of you.

“Ugh. I went on one the other day. One of the teachers cornered me in the break room and insisted on setting me up with her neighbor.”

“And?”

“And, it was a disaster. He was late to the restaurant and then he was excusing himself every fifteen minutes to go to the bar to watch some sport’s playoffs. He also ordered for me off the kid’s menu, said he thought the restaurant was overpriced— he picked it mind you. Safe to say there was nothing ‘hot’ about the date. I literally give up. I’ll live the rest of my life alone— maybe I should get a cat or two.”

Your body slinks back amusingly into the couch cushions.

“Oh my god. Stop!” She swats jokingly at your limp arm. “You’re so dramatic. Firstly, don’t accept any dates from colleagues— those are always bound to be disastrous! Secondly, you won’t be alone forever. You just have to open yourself up to the possibility of something just happening organically— like fate! Thirdly— no cats! Wren’s allergic and I can’t deal with that mess of meltdowns from her wanting one of her own.”

“Why do you always have to be my voice of reason?!”

“Because that’s what friends are for… Babe!”

“I hate you!” You’re both in a fit of giggles as you toss a pillow across the couch at her.

“Oh! I do have some good news though! The gallery said they’re holding one last artist showcase before closing the doors and they offered it to me.”

Reverie Studio, a cute little art gallery and workshop space, had become a sanctuary for your creative imagination to live freely. They offered classes throughout the year to varying types of artists, novice to well seasoned, in their workshop space in the back of the gallery.

The gallery itself was spacious and washed in white, perfect for featuring painted canvases, framed photographs or ceramic sculptures. Giant bright windows facing Main Street, allowed for ample viewing for visitors.

You’d taken a few classes as a way to submerse yourself into the community, hoping to build some connections with like minded individuals. At one point you’d noticed the bulletin board that held a plethora of business cards, class schedules and other various information about town happenings, had a help wanted flier for the studio itself looking for someone to teach a few classes. You, being a teacher already, as well as an artist, decided to seek out more information. They hired you on the spot and allowed you to decide what classes you wanted to offer.

The latest flier was informing that the owners decided they would be closing their doors soon. If you had the means, you would have put an offer on the business to keep it open, unfortunately with your salary as a teacher it wouldn’t be feasible. While you were sad you’d be losing Reverie, you were grateful they considered your art to be shown as their last installment.

“What?! That is amazing! Finally people can see the amazing things you paint— I’ve been dreaming of this moment for you!! Also, I told you my brother’s an artist right?”

“Like, ‘I’m an actor, art is my passion’ while having zero idea how watercolor works…” Air quotes adding emphasis to your mockery.

“I thought you said you were going to be on your best behavior?” She tosses a pillow right back at you, nearly knocking over your empty glass in the process.

“Sorry, I had to get it out.” Thankfully she could sense your campy tone.

“I’m going to head out, there’s a stack of papers calling my name that I need to grade.” You state, grabbing your purse and making your way to the front door. “I’ll see you at drop off.” Throwing her a wave as you walk down the path leading to the main sidewalk.

“Oh! Before I forget, Wren asked if she could come paint sometime. Told her I’d run it by you first and see if there was any space for her.”

“Of course— Anytime!”

“Perfect. We'll chat more about it later then. Text me when you get home!” Diem leaning into the door frame, practically shouting as you cross the street, knowing you live a less than five minute walk down the block.

“Oh! And I want to have you over for dinner when Dieter gets here!!”

“Goodnight Diem!” Throwing a lax wave back at her.

Dieter can’t remember a time he’d slept so well. Could be the comfortable pillow top mattress, or it could be due to the fact this is the most relaxed he’s felt in years.

There’s clanking coming from what he can only assume is the kitchen, followed by the strong aroma of fresh brewed coffee. Diem is awake, still the early bird that she’s always been.

He begins to extricate himself from the cushy bed, swinging his legs over the edge, his body following suit into a somewhat hunched over sitting position. His fingers pick at the tiny sleep crystals embedded in the corners of his eyes, a few blinks to adjust to the light, his sight still a bit blurry.

An audible lazy yawn works its way through his mouth, sleep still ruminating within him for the time being. He reaches over to the side table to grab his black framed glasses, a few swipes over the lens glass with the crumpled top sheet before he’s lifting them to the window for a quick smudge inspection— passable and now snug to his face.

He convinces his body to rise to his full height, joints and muscles adjusting to their proper positions after several hours of a sedentary vacation. A quick roll of the neck and overhead arm stretches ramp up his alertness.

Stepping over yesterday’s clothes still plopped in the middle of the floor, he digs through his bags in search of something to cover his boxer clad body with the intent to make the trek through the house to a cup of rich amber heaven.

The air has a slight chill to it, not an uncommon occurrence being tucked in a valley on a California morning. He pulls on his favorite lounge pants, dark stripes pair with a thin cottony fabric worn in from years of wearing— a security blanket of sorts. Throwing his giant fuzzy overcoat over a wrinkled shirt while taking a few deep breaths, schooling his trepidation and the fact that a new life awaits him on the other side of the door.

Sure enough, Diem is busy moving about the kitchen. A mom through and through multitasking her way through the morning— coffee made with mugs set out, breakfast of eggs and toast plated waiting to be eaten, and a million other little tasks that seem to keep her attention focused.

“I can’t believe you still have that damn coat, I beg you don’t wear it in public.”

“Good morning to you too!” That first sentence a bit gravelly as he looks down to inspect the coat Diem had just insulted. “What’s wrong with my coat?”

“It makes you look— a little tacky and less ‘I’ve finally got my life together.’” He shakes his head at her remark, deciding he’ll leave out the part that it’s just a house coat these days.

“How’d you sleep?”

“Good. Best sleep I’ve had in awhile. Gonna need to know where I can get one of those beds for home.” Grabbing one of the mugs and pouring himself a decent amount of coffee, then positioning himself onto one of the barstools in front of his awaiting breakfast.

“That would be a “we’re so proud of you, here’s a bed” gift from mom and dad.” He can sense her somewhat sore tone as she wipes up the counters.

“You hear from them lately?”

“Aside from the gifts they send regularly for Wren and a few emails updating on their whereabouts, they seem to be living up to the absentee status quite well.”

He doesn’t expect the weight of her response to hit him so fiercely, knowing his own presence had been equally lacking as well.

“I’m sorry.” It seems like the only adequate answer.

“For what? It’s not your fault our parent’s decision to be unavailable the majority of our lives. I mean, I love them and I know they love us, but they sure have a weird way of showing it.”

“Yeah— well, I can’t say my track record has been any better over the years.” He wishes he could omit the guilt, but acknowledging and accepting his own absence seems like a more appropriate approach to mending the past.

“Hey, no! I’m not trying to project any of my thoughts onto you.” Her movements halted, giving her full attention to the conversation. “You made an effort, regardless of your— your situation through the years, you still made time for us. We see them maybe twice if we’re lucky. Sometimes they surprise Wren with a FaceTime call, probably so she doesn’t forget what they look like.”

His fork scrapes through his runny eggs, taking his anger out on them seems like a better alternative to a seething phone call to his parents. He’s not sure they’d even answer if he did call. Communication between him and them was tenuous, having sent them a few emails while in rehab, their only response was “That’s great. We love you!”

“Plus, you’re here now. Look at it as a second chance to make up for lost time.”

Before he’s able to give much thought to the prospect of a second chance, the trotting of tiny footsteps is heard coming from the hall.

“Uncle Dude!!! You’re here, you’re here!” Wren’s tiny little body launched into his chest as he tried to squat down to her level.

Uncle Dude. When Wren was younger, she had trouble with his name when her vocabulary started to expand, certain letter patterns fairing more difficult than others. Dieter joked around with the idea of her calling him ‘The Dude’, The Big Lebowski being one of his comfort films. Diem tried everything in her powers to make it not happen, but it only took an entire weekend of Dieter coaching the then 3 year old and Uncle Dude came to be.

“Hey Birdie! Gosh, you’ve gotten so big!”

“I know, mama said I hafta eat all my vegetables ‘cause they will make me grow and grow and grow.” She wraps her little arms around his neck, squeezing him tight before pulling back and fully inspecting him. “You brought teddy jacket wiff you!!” Her little hands running through the brown sherpa fabric of his coat, which she claimed felt like a teddy bear— Teddy Jacket.

“Brought it just for you.” He shoots a sarcastic smile over to Diem, who is doing her best to not make her eye rolling obvious, then plants a kiss to Wren’s tiny forehead.

“Okay Miss Wren, you’ve got to eat breakfast and get dressed for school.” Diem pulling out the mom voice, making both him and Wren exchange a brief scrunched expression.

Wren climbs the legs of the barstool and settles into its seat. “But I wanna stay wiff Uncle Dude! He always gets me donuts for breakfast!” Her little voice floats through the air and wraps itself around his heart, clenching over how much he’s missed her.

“Uncle Dude is actually taking you to school today, so you’ll have plenty of time before school to hang out. And we can do donuts a different time, eat your eggs then go get yourself dressed.”

“Are you gonna be here when I get home too?!” Looking at Dieter with pleading eyes.

“Heck yeah! I’ll be here for a while!” Dieter leans in close enough so only Wren can hear. “If you hurry up, we can get donuts before school, our secret!”

“YAY!!!”

Diem looks over her shoulder at the two of them, an eyebrow cocked at Wren’s abrupt excitement, then looking at Dieter and only getting an innocent shoulder shrug from him.

“I’m going to head out then if you’ve got this under control.” Dieter nods in agreement, finishing off the remainder of his coffee. “Perfect! I already left a message with the school you’d be dropping her off. No need to worry about picking her up, she has a wellness check with her doctor, so I’ll take her to that before we head home.” Diem scurrying around, grabbing items from different areas of the room and tossing into her oversized tote, before giving a kiss to Wren and quick hug to Dieter. “I’ll see you both later. Love you, bye!!” The door shutting quickly behind her.

There’s a beat of silence as Wren and Dieter exchange looks, as if they know what each other is thinking.

“DONUTS!!” Both announce in unison, high fives and uncoordinated movements as they both flail about.

“Alright Birdie, let’s get dressed and go!”

“Let’s go!!”

As promised, donuts were a designated stop on the way to school. Wren’s excitement was written all over her face as she peered through the bakery case deliberating on her choice. Dieter missed this, moments spent with her as she explored the world around her. Thinking back to his conversation with Diem, this instance is proof second chances exist.

“Thanks Uncle Dude for the donut!” He glances back at Wren in the rear view mirror, buckled securely into her booster seat, flakes of pink donut frosting smeared around her mouth, curls slightly bouncing as she bobs her head to the music she requested as Dieter buckled her in.

“No problem Birdie. Here, why don’t you wipe your face— hide the evidence.” He hands her a napkin, hoping she can manage on her own— she seems to do a good enough job of it.

“Donuts make me happy.”

“They do, do they?”

“Yeah! They make me smile. Mama says being a movie star makes you happy.”

“She did?”

“Yep! Does it?”

He thinks it does, or it used to at least. There was a time when the love he had for acting was limitless— he would eat, sleep and breathe acting. Getting sought after roles, memorizing pages worth of lines, stepping into character the instant the director said action. Acting filled a void in him that had been vacant for years.

“It used to make me really happy.”

“But it doesn’t anymore?”

“I don’t know, still trying to figure that out.”

“Mama says your heart knows when it’s happy, so just listen to your heart Uncle Dude!”

“I’ll do that, thanks Birdie.”

Most of your school mornings ran the same way. You tend to wake before your alarm ever has a chance to alert you, you’ve made such a habit of it you’re not sure why you bother setting one. You read somewhere about how cold showers at the start of the day help wake your mind, could be total bullshit but for some reason you believe it works— they’re the longest 2 minutes of your day. Being a private school teacher, the attire on school grounds tends to lean more conservative than your ‘normal life uniform’ of sundresses, distressed jeans and comfy band tees, but it makes for a quick selection of dark slacks and a comfortable top.

The coffee machine has already run through its cycle by the time shoes are on and your school tote is securely placed on your shoulder. Grabbing your favorite coffee mug that reads “Let It Gogh”, a gift from a student last year, you fill it with an adequate amount of coffee and a splash of cream before you're out the door.

The local bakery is your only stop before work, offering a good selection of breakfast sandwiches, bagels, and an enticing selection of donuts— you may or may not add one to your order of an egg and cheese sandwich some mornings.

You tend to breeze through your class preparation before the bells ring for the start of school.

The day's lesson plan already looked over, worksheets separated and ready for the students, and the whiteboard cleaned and daily tasks written out— you find it helps deter your students from having to ask “what are we doing today?” more than necessary.

There’s usually a good 30 minutes of quiet before the first student arrives, and if there’s no need for you elsewhere on campus, you take the time to read your latest book you picked up from Bart’s Books and hope you can get through a good amount of it the short time you have.

Like clockwork, your students trickle in with their ‘good mornings’ and vibrant stories about their world.

Some parents opt for a quick ‘drop and go’, while others linger a bit in the back of the class until you’re ushering them out when the bell rings. You enjoy the parent interaction. It’s usually spent answering homework questions or sharing upcoming events happening in the class, with the occasional non-school related discussions when Diem swings by with Wren— you both getting caught up in some story that is not really relevant to anything school related.

There’s a quick flash of a familiar little face, Wren placing her purple backpack on its assigned hook, then running back to where you’re standing at your desk.

“My Uncle Dude brought me today!”

“Your Uncle Dude?” Diem hadn’t mentioned not being able to bring Wren this morning, and you’ve never heard of this “Dude” person before.

“Yeah! He’s a movie star!!” Her little frame is buzzing with excitement, not able to stand still as she bounces on the balls of her feet. Before you’re able to question her further, she zips off towards her table, waving to someone over your shoulder. “Byyyyye Uncle Dude!!! See you later!!”

You’d been so wrapped up in your brief conversation with Wren, you hadn’t noticed the man standing at the door to your classroom.

He doesn’t seem to notice you staring as he leans against the door, watching Wren getting herself situated with her fellow classmates.

Dieter Bravo. Or at least you think it is. No it definitely is.

The images of your first encounter with him flood your mind. You’re not really sure what you expected when Diem said he was clean and sober now, but you definitely didn’t expect to find him attractive on any level.

He looks healthy and like he might actually sleep regularly, his eyes seemingly less sunken in from what you can see with his glasses perched perfectly on his face. His hair slightly shorter and still a little bit of a mess but purposefully, it seems to suit him though.

Your eyes roam a bit further down, noticing he seemed to have traded his disheveled clothes for a more put together yet laid back style. A white t-shirt under a black blazer that seems far too formal for school drop off and a snug pair of dark wash jeans.

You shouldn’t be ogling him like this, but your brain is having a hard time controlling itself.

“Hello?”

You must have zoned out pretty hard because you didn’t realize he was standing so close now, and attempting to get your attention.

“Oh— H-hi! Sorry, I was lost in thought there for a second.” You can feel your face heating up, trying to get your thoughts together.

“Hi, I’m Wren’s teacher—“

“I’m Dieter, Wren’s Uncle—“

You both attempt to introduce yourselves, speaking at the same time, hands knocking into each other awkwardly before properly situating for a shake.

Heat begins to rise in your body, you’re completely flustered by his subdued energy and the way he’s looking at you with his soft brown eyes.

“Sorry— you first, please.”

“I’m Dieter, Wren’s Uncle. Diem asked if I could drop her off, said she already had it called into the front office.”

“Yes— yes! Sorry, I must have not looked over my notes thoroughly this morning and missed that message.”

“I like your mug.” Pointing to your Van Gogh mug you forgot you were holding, he laughs as he reads the message on the front.

As if you didn’t know what was already on it, you instinctively lift the mug to view it, like it was your first time seeing it.

“T-thanks, a student gave it to me last year and it’s kind of become my favorite one to use for school, I’ll be sad if something ever happens to it.” You internally cringe at your tendency to over share, words just aimlessly falling from your mouth, trying to mask your nervousness.

“Keep it safe then. Anyways— I’m an actor, as Wren so kindly informed you. I normally live down in LA when I’m not shooting movies, but I’m—I’m taking some time off, no movies or anything at the moment, going to spend a few months with my sister and Wren, help out however I can.”

Ah! There it is, the “I’m an actor” spiel making the attraction you felt towards him flee instantly. While he may be a new cleaned up version of the Dieter Bravo you met a year ago, he’s still just a typical Hollywood actor who likes to talk about himself at any chance he can get. Having had your fair share of run-ins with actors before, they’re all the same as far as you’re concerned— his career holds zero significance to you in any way.

Releasing a heavy sigh as you remember Diem’s plea to be on your best behavior, you school your annoyance at his mentioning of it.

But unbeknownst to you, he can sense your lack of interest in what he’s saying and decides his introduction is over.

Thankfully, you’re literally and figuratively saved by the bell.

“Well, I better let you get to your class then.”

“Yeah— I’m sure I’ll see you around Mr. Bravo. Have a great day.”

You turn towards your desk hastily placing your mug down in exchange for a stack of worksheets, then making your way to the front of the class to get your lesson started.

“1-2-3, eyes on me! Good morning everyone! Please get a pencil while I pass these papers out.”

Dieter stands in the doorway, observing your interactions with your students, a stark contrast to the coldness you’d given him at the end of your conversation.

The rest of the day flew by once it started, the short interaction with Dieter unfortunately flitted through your mind more than you'd have liked it to. But you didn’t let your aversion towards him have any effect on your day.

After closing up your class and dropping off attendance sheets in the front office, you made your way home, looking forward to an evening of drinks and gossip.

A quick change out of your school clothes into some jeans, T-shirt and flip-flops, you filled your canvas tote with a chilled bottle of white wine and the cheeses you’d told Diem you’d bring over.

Being that it’s roughly a 5 minute walk from your house to Diem’s. The neighborhood is quiet most days, giving you a chance to really enjoy the ambiance of everyone’s front gardens and a few neighborly ‘Hello’s’ as you stroll down the sidewalk.

Nearing Diem’s house, noticing her car in the driveway, a sense of relief washes over you at the thought of Dieter being out and the chance of running into him would be slim. You were ready to unwind for the evening.

Front door unlocked, you let yourself in— both of you exchanging keys early on in your friendship in the off chance there was an emergency or one of you showed up to a locked door.

Hearing Diem rustling around in her pantry, not hearing your arrival, you decide to start unpacking your tote and announce your presence.

“You have no idea how much I need this tonight Diem!”

Not hearing a response from her, you continue placing things on her counter and continue to spill to her.

“Also! Would have been nice to have a heads up that your brother would be dropping Wren off— was not prepared for that. But what a difference a year makes, he looks good, definitely was attracted to him for a split second— sorry I know you don’t want to hear that, but honestly such a difference from my first interaction with him being when I was yelling at him for being strung out in your bathroom.”

Still no word from her as you open the bottle of wine and unwrap the cheeses in preparation for the evening.

“You’d be so proud of me too! I was on my best behavior despite how much I was annoyed with listening to him talk about himself— Hey, did you happen to get those crackers with the figs and olives?? I grabbed that honey goat cheese that we like to eat with them.”

The silence carries on from the pantry. No more movement. No sign of Diem.

“Diem? You okay? Hey, I’m sorry— I shouldn’t have mentioned your brother being attractive— and I honestly was really nice to him. I mean, at least I think I was.”

You can hear Diem finally making her way to join you in the kitchen.

Only when you look up, prepared to give her a big welcoming smile, your face immediately fades into a look of surprise when you realize it’s not Diem at all— it’s her brother, Dieter.

“Diem’s not home.”

“Oh fuck—”

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #pedro pascal #sweet creature series #wildemaven writes #pedrostories

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nerdieforpedro · 1 year ago

Text

Remember Francisco~

Frankie "Catfish" Morales x plus size female reader

Fanfiction rating: 18+

Main Masterlist l Frankie Masterlist

Word Count: approx. 3k

Summary: You're Frankie's superior as he's working to get his pilot license back. You find that he listens and follows directions quite well. This pleases you greatly.

Warnings: power imbalance, the reader is a menace, hand jobs, teasing, edging, semi-public sex, Frankie being a polite sub, mentions of masterbation, random douche, oral sex (male receiving), cum eating

Notes: This wasn't beta read so all mistakes are my own. I read @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin Javier Pena/reader/Dieter Bravo sandwich last night was up past 2am contemplating my life choices. This was after almost being caught up on @frenchiereading Sky Drabbles as part of her cozy celebration so, the two melted in my mind and became this. It reads as stream of consciousness and switches POVs, I may write these two more when in the mood for filth which is most days of the week. We'll see.

The pilot’s cock is in your hand again. It’s usually while the others are at lunch. He’s so cute when he looks up at you, whimpering under his standard oil heating hat. You’d asked about it the first time you met him two months ago, he’d shrugged and said it was between him and his brothers. That was fine, you’d just been making conversation.

You’re griping him a little tighter, feeling him spurt out a bit more pre-cum for your hand to slick up and down his shaft. He’s not to touch you, he can watch as you lean against his desk and stroke him. Asking him if he’ll finish before the rest of the office comes back, if he can continue to keep quiet, if he knows that he bites his bottom lip and scrunches his nose when he’s close to his high, how his eyes light up when you first touch him and drink you in as he watches you stroke him.

It’s been a month of this, watching him walk around in those cargo pants, his little belly hanging over them slightly. You’d wanted to grab it and give it a good pinch before knocking that hat off and pushing him up against the wall. Crashing your lips against his. You never did. Instead, you pulled up a chair when he asked to learn more about these stupid spreadsheets for fuel inventory. Well, not stupid, but not as important as finding a way in those cargo pants.

You’re being professional, explaining things to him. Frankie, he does have a name. When you mess with him sometimes, you’d call him Franscico and he’d wince. He didn’t like it, that was something you’d remember. You may have tugged at the bottom of your v-neck sweater, exposing your breasts a bit more because he’s taller than you even sitting and he’d be looking down. Quite mean of you, but effective, his ears are red and he’s huffing. That was when your hand first touched his thigh. He didn’t move it so further you took it, until you’d unbuttoned his pants and had his thick cock in your hand, poking it with your finger. He became engorged quickly so you asked him if he wanted you to keep touching him. He replied yes and it’s continued during lunch time since then.

“Francisco, do you want me to put it in my mouth?”

He just stared at you, it felt like five minutes, but maybe it was just a full one and nodded.

“You’ll have to earn that Frankie. For now, accept my hand.”

Morales’ hands are gripping the armrests on his chair, his hips are thrusting into your hand. His cock is looking particularly delicious this afternoon. It would make a perfect dessert after your lunch. “Francisco. Move back, I’m going to need room.” He is confused at your hand not moving but compiles and scoots his chair back. You take his jacket off the back of his chair and set it on the floor in front of you as you get on your knees.

“Wait, querida. I thought you said I had to earn it? I haven’t done anything yet.” His chest is heaving with his cock dripping but he still remembered what you told him at the start of the month. A smile drapes your lips, well trained already.

“Did you not want me to suck your cock Frankie? You don’t think you’ve earned it?” Your hand returned to his cock, only this time you’re just holding it while looking up at the poor man. He’s tapping his foot wildly but still making good on not touching you. “I decide if you’ve earned it or not, don't I Francisco? Am I wrong?” You release his member and let it drop, making him flush in the chair from the loss of your hand and the sudden movement.

“N-No querida. You decide. I just listen. Please, did I earn it?” He licks the drool off that threatened to drip from the side of his mouth. Voices of the others are heard, it’s too late. They’ve come back early, unusual but not completely unexpected. You stand and straighten out your skirt, pick Frankie’s jacket up off the floor, walk over to him and place it on the back of his chair. Your hands move to his shoulders and push him and his chair back to his desk, giving him a kiss on his cheek before gingerly speaking in her ear,

“We ran out of time Francisco. Seems like you talked yourself out of it. There will be another opportunity tomorrow.”

“T-Tomorrow? B-But, I’m sorry. I won’t interrupt you again. I promise querida.” You took your seat at your desk that was next to Frankie’s and licked your fingers off his pre-cum just as the others were filing back into the office. You then used some hand sanitizer and opened your email like it was a normal lunch.

Throwing a knowing grin his way as he adjusted himself back into his pants and utter discomfort, “I’ll hold you to that Frankie.”

It had been a week since you’d almost sucked Frankie off in the office. Honestly, it’s been hell for him. He was able to get through the rest of that day just barely by making four different bathroom trips, each ten minutes, just to jerk off and clean up after himself. He told himself that this should have never happened. He should have asked to be re-assigned, but to where? It was part of getting his license back, this office work, so close to the helicopters that he flew and yet so far with all this damn paperwork. He didn’t remember it being this much.

When he first came here two months ago, he was introduced to some old coger. He was supposed to be working with him, but then he had a heart attack. He made it, maybe? Frankie’s not really sure. What he does know is that you became his superior. You being a woman isn’t the issue, it’s that he finds you attractive and he knows you’re single. Apparently there was a bet to see if this one pilot John, James, whatever was actually going to ask you out. Frankie also doesn’t know if that guy ever did. What he does know is that you smell like vanilla, your voice sounds like honey and he shook your hands when he met you and noted how soft they were. Shaking hands is polite, but he shouldn’t think about your hands in his hair, on his chest, back or cock. He also looked too long at your full lips and thought about them when he went home at night.

Then you made your move, he should have said no. Maybe should have redirected it to a date, but he’s always had an issue with saying no. Saying no to Pope and that damn mission. Saying no to Tom during that mission and it got him killed. Saying no before the mission where he transported cocaine and got fucking caught and now he’s grounded. Your hand felt so good and he was able to watch your breasts bounce as you got him off.

Frankie can say that he is good at listening. Been doing it the entire month. His friends asked how the assignment is going, he tells them fine. He’s aware no one can know about what you do with your hands and his dick. The no-touching you is extremely difficult. He wants to put his hands all over you, see what you look like getting off, if you’d ask, if you’d tell him to do it he would. You haven’t. Why haven’t you? But he’s scared that you won’t touch him again and not recommend him to get his license back. Is he only good for feeling his dick? Is that the only thing you like about him? Maybe all the other things, you just tell him to get him off, he has been able to just think of your voice and cover his hand in his own cum.

Morales is following you into the hanger.

Apparently, the two of you have been tasked with restocking supplies in the back of this helicopter. It’s for a trainee the work that you’re both doing, he sometimes wonders why you’re doing it though. He knows why he is, but he doesn’t believe you’ve messed up anything in your life professionally that he knows of.

The bastard John is here, he’s asked to speak to you so you step out for a minute, there’s no way he’s not gonna eavesdrop. He might have worked up the nerve to ask you out.

This fucker, he did and you said no. Frankie is thankful, but John, will at the very least be having his tires cut before the pilot leaves this evening, tell you that you should be glad he asked you out anyway. It’s why your last boyfriend left you because he didn’t want a fat bitch anymore. Frankie was about to step off the helicopter when you asked John why has he been sniffing around you like a dog with a bone then? And also you’re aware his wife left him for her fencing instructor who apparently fucked her so well that she faked pulling her back at work at her desk job that you were dumb enough to believe.

John left with a red face as you stood still, hands tightened into fists. Frankie jumped off the helicopter and stood beside you. “Quierda, can I hug you? Please?” He was so thankful when you told him yes, he was aware you were sad, but thankfully not crying. God you’re so soft and feel so warm against his chest, Frankie rocks you back and forth as you murmur something. He asked what you said.

“Back inside now.” A command, but Frankie made sure to ask before touching you and you’d said yes. It should be fine, it has to be. Back inside the helicopter, you tell him to sit in the pilot’s seat. He does, but he’s nervous. He hasn’t earned this seat back yet, he was going to ask why you asked him to sit here when your lips touched his neck, moaning ‘Francisco.” Normally he prefers Frankie, but he’d let you call him Bob at the point because you’re touching him, fuck you’re kissing his neck, licking it. He wants to grab those wide hips of your and set you on the control panel so he can see your face, if it’s hungry like he knows his is, but he remembers. You leave his neck with a bite and run your hand across his chest.

“Frankie. I’m going to treat that fat cock of yours real nice. Watch me and paint my throat.” Morales watches you start to move down and he stands, apologizing. He goes to the back of the helicopter to grab a life fest, it’s got some foam so it should be good to kneel on. You looked confused for a moment, but kissed his cheek when he came back and as you settled between his legs took his hands and kissed the back of each of his hands. Looking up at him and hearing you utter the words, “You’re such a good man Frankie.” He nearly soaked his cargo pants. Call him good anything: good shot, good pilot, good man, good father, good boy, the list can go on.

“P-Permission to touch you again quierda?” You look up at him again, pressing your tongue to the tip of his cock, he finally feels your warm tongue on the head. “Please, for fuck’s sake…” His hands were an inch away from your cheek, almost touching you, but he still remembered.

“Not yet Francisco. Continue to be good for me. I’m looking forward to this too, sweetheart.” He felt your run from the head of his length to his base, seeing part your round face covered by the dark bush he had. Frankie’s a whimpering mess and he’s unsure what to do with his hands, where to put them. His foot was tapping hard again as your teeth nibbled gently at his velvet skin working your way back up. It was then that you truly took him in your mouth a third of the way and he bucked his hips once. The look on your face was stern at first, then softened, what did that mean?

The groan that he unleashed as your tongue swirled around the head of cock, his precum coating your lips. He felt you take him deeper, more of your throat was available to him as he thrusted again, unable to control himself. He reached for your face again, but hands on his thighs grounded him and made him remember what you’d told him. He opted to hold onto the bottom of the pilot’s seat as he bucked, seeing your face come closer to the base of his cock and loving every second of it. He was sure he heard you moan as well, he wanted to hear it unmuffled. You’re nearly back within his coarse curls when he feels his throbbing increase, he’s close so damn close. “Quierda I-It’s…” Your fingers press into his thighs as you continue to hollow your cheeks.

Frankie knows that you know him well. At least, his dick well. You’ve made him reach his peak most days at work, those few were when you two were interrupted. You’d always toyed with him, teased him, told him what he can and can’t do. Now you’re moved one of your hands to cup the wrinkled skin of his balls and are massaging them between those damn hands of yours, while he hears you audibly whimpering while swallowing his cock. Your head is even turned at an angle so you can breathe slightly easier, not by much. The small lights he sees near your eyes are from your tears and how hard you’ve been working for him. He tried to hold on as long as he could but he can’t and he’ll never forget this image because Frankie remembers.

His head swings back at first, knocking his standard oil heating cap off and then snapped his neck back down. His cock is pulsing in your mouth and with your head still at an angle he can see you gulping his spend down with only a few drops landing on the tops of your breasts. It’s a large load, he only masturbated once last night before passing out from having gone out with Benny and Will for drinks. Your hand that had been on his thigh reached near the base of the pilot’s chair and touched his hand, your fingers making a circle on the top of his hand. After the last of his seed drips into your mouth Frankie feels his body relaxing as he muttered his nickname for you. “Quierda, that was…damn I’m glad I listened this time…”

Slowly you withdrew him from your mouth, your tongue rolling against the bottom of his shaft once more, until you reached the head of his cock again. He hissed as you removed him finally from your warm mouth and kissed his tip. His softened length dropped against his boxers and cargo pants. With a final swallow of what was left in your mouth, you purred, “Yes you did Frankie. You listened well.” You motioned for him to help you up which he did and you sat in the co-pilot’s chair. Your chest was heaving as you finally caught your breath, your head back against the top of the chair, you looked over at Frankie, smiling. “I think I may be addicted to your dick Frankie now that I’ve had a taste. We may have to start taking this outside of work.” Your hand started at your breasts as you curled a finger to scoop up his cum that dripped and brought it to your lips. You didn’t swallow it though, instead he watched as you applied it like a balm to your lips and stood up, leaning over him after grabbing his shoulders.

“Taste yourself on my lips Frankie.” The pilot didn’t move because he recalled you hadn't given him permission to touch you yet. Being the smart woman you are, you remembered too and straddled him, bringing your full weight on him, thick thighs, belly pressing against him and your breasts nearly in his face. His hands touched your back, cupping your love handles. Your fingers cupped his face as he looked up at you and he dove his head forward crashing into your lips, starting tentatively before licking and having his own musk in his mouth, he then was able to grasp the flavor or your mouth mixed with him. His tongue fought with yours, winning due his skill and desperation. Your hips grinded on him and he felt it, the moisture between your thighs. When you drew back from him, he had a small smirk on his face.

“Hermosa let me drink you in. I’ll do a good job.” Frankie placed a kiss atop your breasts before you stood back up, pulling your skirt down. He felt a peck to his forehead as his hands remained on your back, though they had traveled lower.

“Not yet. We need to finish here before they get suspicious.” You pressed your thumb against his bottom lip, he wanted to press the issue of having you right now, fuck everyone and everything else. “I think I should savor you elsewhere. Where we won’t be bothered and I can hear more than your whimpers, no matter how delightful I find them.”

Frankie watched you walk away and pick up some package to place it in the back of the helicopter. He had forgotten that’s what he was supposed to be doing. He looked forward to the day he’d have you all to himself without interruption.

The pilot fixed himself back in his pants and stood, exhaling before joining you to finish the assigned task. One day soon he'll be able to say he remembers your taste in his mouth instead of his own.

The Catfish Bowl: @yorksgirl @megamindsecretlair @guelyury @innerpersonunknown @legendary-pink-dot @saturn-rings-writes @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @fhatbhabie @moralesispunk @morallyinept @linzels-blog @@maggiemayhemnj @secretelephanttattoo @goodwithcheese @trulybetty @readingiskeepingmegoing @perotovar @seratuyo @sp00kymulderr @for-a-longlongtime @musings-of-a-rose @missladym1981 @alltheglitterandtheroar @tinytinymenace @magpiepillsjunior @rhoorl @joelslegalwhre @joels-shitty-puns @dameron-grant-spector @covetyou @pedritapascal @handspunyarns @linzels-blog @beefros-sin-bin @javierpena-inatacvest @sin-djarin @gwendibleywrites @nissaimmortal @pascalsanctuary @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @undercoverpena @beefrobeefcal

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x plus size reader #frankie brain rot #subby Frankie

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tightjeansjavi · 2 years ago

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ℙ𝕖𝕕𝕣𝕠 ℙ𝕒𝕤𝕔𝕒𝕝 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝔽𝕚𝕔 ℝ𝕖𝕔𝕤 ♡

𝓑𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓫𝔂 𝓣𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓙𝓮𝓪𝓷𝓼 𝓙𝓪𝓿𝓲

𝙎𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 (+18) 𝙞𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙖 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙤𝙧, 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙨, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙖𝙘𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩/𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩. 𝙋𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙗𝙚 𝙖𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙨 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙡.

ᴊᴏᴇʟ ᴍɪʟʟᴇʀ : ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ + ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

♡ @chaotic-mystery

dbf!joel series (Dbf! Joel Miller x f!reader)

Warnings: mature (+18) smut, fluff, implied age gap (legal)

If you are looking for some nasty, toe curling smut, look no further because Maddi has mastered the craft! dbf!joel is just so hot.

___

♡ @loquaciousferret

Country Lovin’ (pre!outbreakJoel Miller x F!Reader)

Warnings: mature (+18) smut, alcohol use

Master list for other Pedro works

Love me some pre!outbreak joel

___

♡ @mishasminion360

In an Instant (Joel Miller x fem reader)

Warnings: mature (+18) canon typical violence/angst/death

Master list for other Pedro Works

this story absolutely shattered me. Ripped my heart out and stomped all over it. Beautiful writing.

___

♡ @lovers-liability

Close Your Eyes (Joel Miller x AFAB reader) *series*

Warnings: mature (+18) mentions of death, smut/fluff

Jaw dropping, stunning depictions of finding love during the apocalypse

___

♡ @forever-rogue

The Locket (Joel Miller x Fem!reader)

Warnings: mature (+18) TLOU canon typical violence, language, angst, mentions of death

Master list for other Pedro works

absolutely heartbreaking read. I loved it so much, I went back for seconds.

ꜰʀᴀɴᴋɪᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴀʟᴇꜱ : ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ + ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

♡ @peterhollandkait

Everything I Know Leads Me Back To You (Frankie Morales x AFAB reader/ OC *series*

Warnings: mature (+18) addiction,angst, triggering themes, smut

Master list for other Pedro works

Frankie + Sunny = your heart getting crushed.

ᴊᴀᴠɪ ᴘ : ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ + ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

♡ @loquaciousferret

Little Games (Javier Peña x f! Reader)

Warnings: mature (+18) smut

Master list for other Pedro Works

One word: delicious.

ᴊᴀᴠɪ ɢᴜᴛɪᴇʀʀᴇᴢ : ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ + ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

♡ @mirasantidotes

Messy Annotations (Javi G x fem!reader) *series*

Warnings: none, tooth aching fluff,shy!javi G + sunshine! reader

Cutest shit I have read in awhile. Javi G is to die for in this one.

ᴅɪᴇᴛᴇʀ ʙʀᴀᴠᴏ : ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ + ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

♡ @fuckyeahdindjarin

Consent Series (Dieter Bravo x Intimacy Coordinator F!Reader)

Warnings: mature/explicit content (+18) smut, gloriously douchey Dieter Bravo

Master list for other Pedro works

Cee’s writing of Dieter makes me absolutely feral. I would let this man ruin me any day of the week

___

♡ @whatsnewalycat

psychomanteum (Dieter Bravo x F!Reader) *series*

Warnings: mature (+18) alternating POV, death, drug use, alcohol use, spooky stuff

Master list for other Pedro works

This story deserves to be in it’s own category to be honest. Totally unique, eccentric, a must read!

ᴊᴀᴄᴋ (ᴡʜɪꜱᴋᴇʏ) ᴅᴀɴɪᴇʟꜱ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ + ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

♡ @fuckyeahdindjarin

Palomino Series (Jack Daniels x F!Reader)

Warnings: mature (+18) flirting, eventual smut, lots horsey details

Master list for other Pedro works

Cee and I became pals after I started reading this story. As a horse girl/equestrian, Palomino just itches my brain in the best way. Oh, and Jack is pretty delectable as well.

ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɴᴅᴀʟᴏʀɪᴀɴ/ᴅɪɴ ᴅᴊᴀʀɪɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ + ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

♡ @theidiotwhowritesthings

Familiar & Unfamiliar (din djarin x female!reader)

Warnings: mature (+18) attempted assault on reader (not by Din), canon violence, angst, fluff, light smut

Din Djarin Masterlist

This is one of my favorite depictions of Din. Protective, soft, and still a little dom. Chefs kiss

___

♡ @frannyzooey

Take Me To Church (Din Djarin x Fem!Reader Western/AU)

Warnings: mature/explicit (+18) smut on smut on smut

Master list for other Pedro works

AU anything is so good, but this one? Takes the cake. Absolutely delicious in the every way possible.

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radiowallet · 1 year ago

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Home

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Marcus Moreno Summary: Dieter takes Marcus to a party in the valley. WC: 4.5K Warnings: 18+ MDNI Sexual content. Exclusive M/M dynamics. Written in third-person POV, male protagonists. Anal sex, dirty talk, kissing, cum play, semi-public sex. Small angsty moments. Yearning. So much yearning. AU Marcus Moreno (no wife, no Missy). A lot of purple prose and waxing poetic.

A/N: Hi, hello, it's been a very very long time since I've shared any writing here. I don't have any good excuses other than real-life stressors, mental health and anxiety, and the overall stress of being on Tumblr really really got to me. I'm trying to ease my way back in. Slowly. I've really enjoyed catching up on all the amazing fics you guys have been writing. Thank you to everyone, still here or otherwise. Even when I was off dealing with irl stuff, I could feel the support.

Pretend Alleyways Masterlist II Main Masterlist

For any new writing follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications.

Marcus chewed at his nail bed, surveying the house from the backseat of his Uber. It was hardly the first time he’d pulled up to the Sherman Oaks home. He was comfortable with the routine at this point. Tapping in the code for the front gate with practiced ease. The same one Dieter had scribbled onto the back page of a forgotten script after that first night together in New York City, his cell ringing incessantly from his back pocket, a car waiting down the curb to whisk him away. Marcus swore he could still taste the mint and menthol on the actor’s breath when he stepped in close and pressed the paper into his hands, kissing him until his toes curled.

“Please say you’ll come visit.”

After that, it had been one strategically planned visit after the other. Marcus was almost mathematical in his process, arranging flights out west around his patrol schedule, switching shifts, and taking on extra duties just to rationalize the time away. Burning the candle at both ends but not caring even in the slightest, happy to run his tank on empty. He’d drive all fucking night if it meant more time with Dieter.

So he took to the task with a vigilant level of focus, texting details and arrival times, the actor responding with a barrage of emojis, always ending with a heart.

Marcus liked the way the little pixelated picture made his stomach flip.

Once together, it became less of a routine and more of a dance, the two of them falling into an easy rhythm that Marcus had no desire to predict. They would lose themselves in each other, wrapping tightly around the other, the heat impossible to turn away from. There were late nights and early mornings, the color of the sun replacing the hours on the clock. Sometimes, he would give up on sleep all together, content to match the actor’s eccentricities, watching Dieter move from room to room, minute to minute, until the other man would return to his arms.

But as each visit came to a close, Marcus would find himself falling back on easy habits, his mind already making plans and rearranging schedules, focusing on that instead of the overbearing weight of goodbye.

In the middle of one farewell, Dieter had grinned and nipped at his bottom lip, a tease curling around the curve of his cheek.

“Don’t worry so much about the vigilante shit, sweet boy. You’re welcome anytime.”

Marcus had frowned at that, but Dieter was unfazed, humming an off-key pop song under his breath before giving one more piece of advice.

Be spontaneous.

Marcus had gnawed on those two words the entire plane ride home, the concept both enticing and diabolical at once. He imagined all the ways he would have spoiled Dieter if they lived in the same zip code. Spur of the moment cups of coffee, flowers just because, nights in and out and everything in between. But even those daydreams felt out of reach, Marcus unable to let go of the need to control everything. Everything. Everything that he possibly could.

Except Deiter Bravo.

The actor was bound for overseas, a six-month shoot looming ahead, lonely and large. They had spent the weekend before much the same way they had any other. Twisted together, sweat and cum and lips and hands pressed into bare skin, ignoring the ticking of traitorous time. Cruel miles were taking the other man away from him, and Marcus couldn’t stop the swell of jealous fear flaring inside his heart.

Would he even be missed when the whole luminous, wonderful, exciting world was waiting for Dieter on the other side of the tarmac?

A deep cough from the front seat dragged him back to the present, and before he could second guess himself again, Marcus climbed out of the car, tapping out five stars with one hand and grabbing his overnight bag with the other. He hesitated, just the smallest moment of debate, before he knocked, three sharp raps on the large black door. There was a shout from inside, Dee’s voice alerting someone he would get it, a breath and a curse as the lock was fiddled with, and then they were standing face to face after only 39 hours apart.

Dieter seemed shocked to see him and he didn't bother hiding it, his jaw dropping in time with his arms, the shirt he had been buttoning hanging open to reveal his bare chest. Marcus couldn’t help but steal a glance of tan skin and a soft belly, licking his lips in anticipation. When Dee called his attention back up, the other man was smiling wide.

“This is…”

“A surprise?”

“A great fucking surprise.”

It was almost a blur after that. Fumbling hands and broken laughter as they came together in a messy kiss. They managed to make it up the stairs and down the hall, Dieter’s bed barely breaking their fall.

Marcus wanted to take his time, should have been taking his time, but Dieter’s voice was in his ear, thanking him — thanking him? — for showing up tonight. Thanking him and begging him and pressing salt-slicked lips into the curve of his neck. And before he could breathe the other man in, savor the moment that was coming out of nowhere, they stripped away each and every layer, Dieter panting beneath the hurried press of Marcus’s fingers deep inside.

Sooner rather than later, Marcus was sliding into the other man one final time, their hips flush and their fingers laced. He came with a groan, face buried into the dip of Dieter’s neck, while the actor sunk his teeth into his shoulder, the pleasure burning away into the edges of pain. Only after they both found their breath, bodies pliant and limbs loose, did Marcus find his voice.

“Do you want to order in?”

Dieter didn’t say anything and Marcus craned his neck up to peek past the other man’s chin and catch a glimpse of him worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Did you already eat? Because that’s okay.”

“No…,” he started, fingers tracing a line of muscle from the top of his shoulder and back around, lingering along the teeth marks he left there only minutes earlier. “I haven’t eaten. I…there’s this thing I have to….well, not have to. I was getting ready for it when you knocked—“

“Dee?”

“There’s a party,” he finally blurted out, eyes finding the swing of the ceiling fan above, a grimace pulling his lips into a jagged line, a deep shade of pink settling on his cheeks.

Marcus leaned up on his elbow, watching the small battle of wills dragging across Dieter’s face. He thought maybe he should try to comfort the other man but he was suddenly anxious, those creeping realities working their way up his spine.

“A party?”

“Yeah, it’s sort of this farewell thing my friends are throwing,” he explained, not needing to. “Really, just an excuse to get blitzed.”

The lack of eye contact suddenly made much more sense.

“You wanted to go.”

It wasn’t a question.

Dieter was up and over him in a flash, one large hand bending around Marcus’s jaw, thumb pressing the seam of his lips shut. “I didn’t want to be alone.”

Marcus pursed his lips, the pad of Dieter’s thumb still pressing firm. He felt the callous from where Dee cheated his paintbrush, a perfect spot to push a kiss before pulling away.

“You want to go.”

Dieter searched his face, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, trying to pull apart the determined set of Marcus’s jaw. When he came up empty-handed, he fell back to his elbows with an exaggerated sigh, one large hand still cupping the cut of the hero’s cheekbone, keeping his thumb close enough to touch.

“I want to go with you.”

———————

Marcus smiled from where he was leaning against the doorway, watching Dieter rummage through his ridiculously sized closet, a string of muttered musings leaving him as he pulled item after item off of hangers. The Heroic had slipped back into his jeans and t-shirt once the decision had been made that they would attend the party together, not really packing (or owning) anything that fit the L.A. scene.

He was two steps towards the bathroom, intent on fixing his messy hair when Dee stopped him with a strong grip on his elbow.

“Leave it,” he teased, a quick kiss pressed to his lips, fingers tugging at one of the sweat-slicked curls.

Now he was standing behind him, sliding a stone-washed jean jacket up one arm and then the other, one more kiss, this time gifted to the back of his neck. The jacket hangs a bit loose around him, Marcus guessing a mix between the cut and style, and Dieter’s broader frame both at play. He couldn’t help himself, tugging the collar to his nose and inhaling deeply, the smell of weed and cologne and something subtle sweet filling his lungs.

He felt Dieter’s eyes, watching him carefully in the reflection of the mirror, his hands finding the dip of his waist beneath the bulky fabric, gripping hard then soft, one, two, three times. Marcus took in the pair of them — sex-mussed hair and bright blush on him, wild eyes, and a teasing smile on Dieter — and he suddenly had no desire to go to this party. Any party.

No.

All he wanted was for Dieter to pull this jacket off the same way he had so easily slipped it on, and drag him back down to the safety of the mattress.

“Come on, sweet boy,” he hummed, the hook of his nose tracing the shell of Marcus’s ear. “Sooner we get there, sooner I get to take you home.”

The word followed Marcus down the stairs and out to the car, his stomach flipping each time he let the meaning of it roll around inside his head.

Home?

———————

Driving in L.A. was an experience in and of itself. Marcus had made his own attempts, managing to find a rhythm in the few times he had been sent out to the west coast on assignment. It wasn’t much different than driving in any other city, as long as you were prepared to sit in what felt like endless hours of traffic. Of course, Marcus had the pleasure of abusing side streets and off-ramps when it came down to emergency situations.

Driving with Dieter behind the wheel was a different experience altogether. He seemed unfettered by speed limits or traffic lights, one hand on the wheel, the other wrapped around Marcus’s knee, singing along to the song on the radio but only getting about half the words right. If not for his powers and years of honing his reflexes, Marcus would have maybe suggested he do the driving when he was in town.

As it was, it was nice to settle into the plush leather seat and listen to Dieter’s slightly off-key voice, his hand squeezing Marcus’s knee in time with the beat of the music. He leaned back and closed his eyes, weighing the risk of asking Dieter to just keep driving. Maybe if they kept going, all night and all day, they could avoid the inevitable goodbyes looming in the distance.

———————

The last time Marcus and Dieter had been at a party together, they had only ever heard of each other, recognizing names and faces from newspapers and movie screens. They didn’t know any different than what was said in headlines or plastered on billboards, rumors and hearsay coloring in their opinions of one another. How many assumptions had Marcus made about the actor upon that first meeting? That he was pompous. Self-centered. Selfish. An addict. An asshole. A monster.

Or maybe Marcus was afraid that was how Dieter saw him.

The monster in the night. The shadow that lurked in the corner. Fighting away the evils of the world, the palms of his hands so very dirty with blood and secrets and violence. Living in the between of good and bad and never knowing where he really stood.

But when their eyes met across that darkened alley, only the glow of Dieter’s cigarette casting shadows between them, those half-truths and packaged lies that Marcus took for granted started to fall away. Somewhere between their small secrets and one smokey kiss goodnight, he started to learn who Dieter Bravo really was.

This party was different in so many ways than that first elegant affair. Gone was the light classical music, replaced with something loud, a heavy bass and fast lyrics. Bowls of chips instead of passed trays. Stiff black and white was traded in for soft denim, Dieter’s scent surrounding Marcus from room to room. They entered the party together, no longer separate, no longer strangers, and instead more.

So much more.

Dieter’s arm was wrapped around Marcus’s waist, holding him close by his side as they navigated the packed mansion. The crowd parted around them, little waves of people ebbing and flowing to make room for the two men, boisterous cheers of joy raining down upon them. Dieter preened beneath the attention, his smile wide and his cheeks warm, the hand wrapped around Marcus’s waist squeezing hard to grab the Heroic’s attention.

“They like to make a fuss,” he hummed into Marcus’s ear.

He couldn’t help but cock his own grin back, turning his head just enough to brush his lips along the shell of Dieter’s ear, delighting in the shiver that followed. “I think you like the fuss.”

———————

They get separated about an hour in, an inevitability between the number of people vying for Dieter’s attention and the sheer size of the house. Marcus excused himself to the bathroom, trying and failing not to be annoyed when the first empty one he found was on the opposite end of the party. By the time he made it back to where he left Dieter, the other man had moved, now sitting on a couch, friends and fans alike draped around him.

There was something strange about watching Dieter Bravo in what some would consider his natural habitat. He was bright and shiny and impossible to look away from. He almost looked relaxed, his arms thrown over the back of the sofa and his legs stretched out long, only the tap tap tap of his heel giving him away.

Marcus wanted to insert himself. To crowd himself beside the other man and press his palm to the bend of his knee in hopes of soothing away the small tremor of anxiety, but he hesitated, his own worries holding him in place. So he stayed where he was, back glued to the wall, arms crossed and frown firm, as he tried to decipher the scene playing out in front of him.

Was Dieter’s laugh real just then? Or was the one Marcus had teased out of him hours prior? The sounds seemed so similar, a copy of a copy that looked and felt and sounded real. Were his cheeks pink because he preferred their attention over Marcus’s? Or was it because this room was too damn hot? What did it mean when Dieter touched her knee? Or kissed his cheek? Or leaned a little bit more into their touch?

And why did Marcus care?

He didn’t consider himself a jealous man.

But it almost felt inevitable, the dark tendrils of jealousy seemingly always present, ever since that fateful moment in the alleyway, smoke and secrets traded away for unspoken promises for more. Marcus clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes, watching the other man glow beneath the attention of others. Was it merely a reflection back of the attention poured upon him? The mirrors of a disco ball catching in the light and shining for the delight of others? Or was Dieter just enjoying another moment in the limelight?

Marcus couldn’t seem to see the line between real and fake, or what side he stood on.

Someone handed him a drink in the midst of his brooding, and the sting of the alcohol paired well with his bitter mood. He was trapped in a hell of his own making, refusing to look away from the crowd gathered around Dieter, but hating every second of it.

The jealousy burned inside of him. What had just been something dark mingling in the background was now present and in full force. Marcus was jealous. Jealous at how effortlessly Dieter lived his life, able to navigate crowds and fame and fervor without ever breaking a sweat. Jealous at how his smile seemed just as bright as it had when he opened his door hours earlier. Jealous at how someone else held the attention of his sweet brown eyes.

And suddenly there was fear. Icy cold and horrifying reality.

Marcus didn’t belong here. Here with these pretty people and their clean lines and bright lights. He was messy edges and dirty hands, stained with years of violence that would never scrub clean. There was dirt on his ledger and red on his chest, and Dieter was beautiful. So very very beautiful.

Another wave of panic gripped tight at Marcus’s throat.

When was the last time he told Dieter he was beautiful? Yesterday? Or the day before that? Either way, it wasn’t enough. Not nearly. And he couldn’t fathom a world where he lost the chance to say it again.

He couldn’t lose this. He couldn’t lose him.

The lights above them flickered, an unwelcome side effect of his superpowers, Marcus’s unruly emotions too much to handle all at once. It was just enough to drag everyone’s attention up, stealing their eyes away from Dieter, but only briefly. The actor caught his gaze in the small interim, brows pinched and lips curved, his sharp mind putting the puzzle together. Marcus blushed beneath the scrutiny, feeling very much like a child caught in the midst of a crime. He slammed the cup down on the nearest surface he could find and shoved his dirty hands in the pockets of Dieter’s jacket, and turned away, the lights flickering one last time as he made a quick and embarrassing exit.

From behind he could hear the shout of a stranger.

“Hey, Dee where’s your boyfriend headed?”

Marcus was so focused on the fact that someone else called him ‘Dee’ that he missed the way Dieter's eyes lit up at the word boyfriend.

The bathroom he had found earlier was blissfully empty, and he took care to lock the door behind him. He braced himself against the sink, the cool porcelain a balm to the heat of his palms, breathing in and out, sharp and fast, to match the beat of his heart. A knock came seconds later, Dieter’s voice chasing the sound.

“Let me in, Marcus.”

It didn’t sound like a request.

Marcus unlocked the door with a flick of his wrist, and the actor slipped in, eyes pinning him in place as he locked the door behind him. For a moment both of them refused to speak, 2 feet of space between them, and enough silence to last a lifetime. It was Dieter who finally broke the tension, stepping forward until Marcus was within his reach, the palm of his hand cupping his cheek to keep him close.

“Flattered as I am, I can’t decide if I like jealous on you or not.”

Marcus knew it was foolish to lie at this point. If his fucking superpowers hadn’t given him away, then storming off surely had, and any denial would have rung hollow. Besides, they had promised. Months ago, in an opulent hotel room, cum and sweat sticking them together. They promised to always be honest with each other.

“I don’t belong here, Dee.”

“Shut up.” The sentiment came out as a tease, the tip of Dieter’s thumb tracing the stubble along Marcus’s cheek, but the look on his face was serious.

Marcus shook his head, unsure how to say what had seemed so clear to him only minutes ago. “I’m not…I’m not g–”

“I swear to fucking all, if you say the word ‘good,’ Moreno.”

His mouth clamped shut, and he smiled for the first time since he left Dieter’s side earlier in the night. The other man yanked him in for a quick kiss, only pulling a breath away when he spoke again.

“You are better than all of us, sweet boy. Please tell me you know that?”

Marcus wanted to shake his head in disagreement, the very idea that Dieter saw the good in him too much to bear, but the actor was already kissing him again, lips slanting sweetly along his own. When they broke apart for the second time, Dieter said it again, and then again, each time pairing a kiss with his words. Marcus thought maybe he would have kissed him a hundred times and then a hundred more, praise and adoration passed between them until the inevitable end of time caught up.

But then Dieter crowded in closer, kissing him with much more fervor, his intent clear. Hands scrambled as belts were tugged free and pants were pulled down, bodies twisting until Marcus was plastered to Dieter’s back. He slipped inside the broader man easily, still slick with his release from earlier. Dieter whined at the stretch, pressing back into Marcus, fingers curling around the edge of the bathroom counter as he began to beg.

“Hard, baby. Please.”

Marcus nipped at Dieter’s ear, refusing to move, the entire length of him buried to the hilt inside him. “How hard?”

“Hard,” Dieter begged again, squirming in Marcus’s tight grip. “Hard as you can. Need to feel you. F-feel so good.”

It was an intoxicating rush, reducing Dieter Bravo to stumbling pleas and wanton moans, and Marcus swore as long as he was able to pull air into his lungs he refused to take that feeling for granted. He pressed a soft kiss to Dieter’s skin and gently nudged his nose to the back of his head, coaxing his gaze up to meet Marcus’s in the mirror.

He dragged his hand up Dieter’s chest, stopping to feel the steady thump of his heart, one, two, three beats, before moving up to wrap his fingers around the other man’s throat. He whined again, writhing to and fro, the sound more pitiful with each passing second that Marcus refused to move.

“I’ve got you, mi cielo. I’ve got you,” he hummed the promise, pressing another kiss to Dieter’s sweat-damp curls. He squeezed the actor’s throat again, watching as his cock seemed to pulse in time with the action. He bit back his own groan, his own cock painfully hard where he was buried inside the other man.

“M-marcus…please…”

When he finally moved, it was slow, almost torturous for the both of them, but Marcus refused to be rushed. Not this time. Fuck any and everyone who dared to knock on that door. That dared to interrupt them. That dared to break between this moment. He pulled the other man closer, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other still gripping tight to his throat. Dieter’s hands were still scrambling, designer soaps and over-priced products falling to the floor as he seeked some sort of leverage. He finally found it, stonewashed denim bunching between his fingers as he dug them into Marcus’s forearms.

And only then did Marcus give into his request, snapping his hips as hard as he could, teeth sinking into the curve of Dieter’s neck. There would be bruises, bad ones, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, too overwhelmed at the thought of marking the other man as his own. Dieter didn’t seem to mind either, begging Marcus again and again to give him everything he had.

“Want to feel it,” he sobbed, the pleasure just on the other side of pain. “Want to feel you when I’m gone. Please.”

“You will, baby. I promise,” Marcus growled. “You’ll feel me for days. You won’t forget me. P-please… don’t forget me.”

The admission fell out of Marcus before he could stop it, along with his own broken sobs to match. The pain and tears burst to life, the broken pieces he had hidden all over his body finding new life as he begged Dieter to take it all with him. Each slam of his hips and bruising touch of his hands. Every bite from his teeth and kiss from his lips. The words and the promises and the things neither of them knew how to say but felt all the same.

“Take me with you, Dee. Please, take me with you.”

“I will, sweet boy,” he gasped, his body shaking beneath Marcus’s anguished hands. “Sweet boy. Good boy. I promise.”

Dieter came first, though Marcus wasn’t sure how, his sobs and sighs of pleasure long past any sort of coherence. His cock twitched and pulsed, coming completely untouched. Marcus watched Dieter’s face break apart in the reflection of the mirror, his brown eyes wild and skin flushed, lips parting around a feral scream.

Marcus fell apart in kind, sparks of heat bursting at the base of his spine as tight velvet squeezed around him, Dieter’s voice in his ear, his jacket sticking to his skin. He spilled inside the other man, tears and spit and snot pressed into Dieter’s neck, little words of praise coaxing him through the brunt of it. Eventually, the tears turned to laughter, the two of them clinging tighter as they made guesses at how many people heard them.

“Either way, I hope they enjoyed the show because I sure did,” Dieter teased, nipping his teeth on the hinge of Marcus’s jaw.

They did a piss poor job of cleaning up, Dee’s cum barely wiped clean from the porcelain with a towel found below the counter, too high a thread count for something so filthy but neither man really gave two shits to look for an alternative. The products were tossed haphazardly into the sink, the idea of stacking them neatly ridiculous. They both agreed; you get what you ask for when you throw a party in the valley.

Marcus took better care when it came time to clean Dieter up. He warmed up the water from the sink as best he could, using that same fancy towel from before to wipe up the trickle of cum slipping slowly down his backside. He couldn’t stop from stealing one small indulgence, using his thumb to press some of himself back inside the other man, Dieter’s legs visibly shaking from the sudden stimulation. Marcus shushed him with a soft kiss to one of the many bite marks littered across his neck, humming out a quiet apology.

“Do they hurt?”

“They do,” Dieter grinned, tilting his chin to admire the marks as he tugged his jeans up over the swell of his ass. “I’m gonna need a few more before I get on that plane tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmmm, definitely.”

Dieter pressed something hard into Marcus’s hand and when he looked down he could see it was his car keys, the silver teeth catching in the light.

“Take me home, sweet boy. I have plans for you.”

There was that word again, breathed out so easily, like a promise he knew he would keep.

Home.

#Marcus Moreno #Dieter Bravo #Marcus Moreno fic #Dieter Bravo fic #Marcus Moreno x Dieter Bravo #mlm #we can be heroes #the bubble #pedro pascal characters

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 3 months ago

Text

Gold Rush

Dieter Bravo x Female Reader

Rating: Teen. Summary: It's the day after your husband left you, Dieter still remains, is his presence and support the reason why you feel okay? Warnings: pov switching, pining, fluff, comfort, marijuana use, champagne, drunken feelings, confessions using a taylor swift song, pizza Words: 5,330

A/N: Golden Girl and Dieter have not left my mind since I wrote them. I couldn't believe how much @almostfoxglove's gorgeous moodboard (see above) that she created with my prompts of "Dieter x adoration x gold" matched my ideas for the follow-up sooo I wrote it out. I hope you enjoy.

Previous Chapter Golden Girl Masterlist Masterlist

***

You’re awoken by a grumbling snore and a solid heat pressed against your cheek. Your tired eyes blink open and are greeted by a faded wine stained heather gray chest. Dieter.

For a split second, there is confusion, a moment of panic flickers through you. Then it all comes back to you–the heartbreak of yesterday.

The flood of emotions, the tears, Warren’s cold, unblinking blue eyes as he told you he’d fallen in love with someone else. No remorse. Just the simple truth, delivered in his same steady voice he’d use for his clients, as if your marriage now meant nothing. And then he was gone, walking out of the door you’d painted his favorite color green. Then, your shaking hands calling the only person you knew who would be there for you. Dieter.

You don’t know if it was the exhaustion of your marriage ending or Dieter’s body against yours, but you haven’t slept that deeply in years.

Now, you gently pull away, your gaze lingering on him as he sleeps. Fluffy, tousled hair fans across the pillow, his parted plush lips gently percolate out snores. The lines of stress and mischief that crease his face are much gentler and relaxed in his slumber. The sunlight peeking through the curtain casts a golden strip across his face that turns his skin amber and his dark hair almost hazel.

You usually don’t allow yourself to stare at him like this, constantly fighting the pull you’ve always felt towards him, like an invisible string that keeps getting tangled and knotted. That night in the dive bar–years ago–kissing his whiskey soaked lips, feeling the deep rumble of laughter left against your lips when you finally pulled away. You could have had him then.

But you didn’t. You were too enamored by his handsome blue-eyed friend. Warren.

Warren, who said all the right thing, who made you believe everything you wanted to hear, even if half of it was lies. You feel so idiotic.

Dieter’s breathing is steady, his broad chest rises and falls keeping time with the soft hum of his snores. The gold hoop of his earring catches the light. You’ve been enamored with it since that first night you met him all those years ago. A forbidden ring held within his ear, you always wondered how it felt, to be able to freely touch him. Sometimes your hand would reach for it, before your eye would catch the glint of your wedding band. Forbidden, off limits, you’re kept by someone else.

Now, no longer answering to anyone, you let your shocking newfound independence make you happy for once. It’s just you and him, lying in the middle of the bed you bought from Pottery Barn with your ex-mother-in-law, and for the first time you don’t feel guilty for looking at him.

Slowly, almost reverently, your hand hovers over his ear, feeling the soft brush of his hair as you softly pass your finger over the metal ring, a connection to the feelings you’ve always had for him. You pull your hand away, too scared to let the emotions long-held for him take place in your heart.

“Dee,” you croak, your voice is rough from sleep and all of the tears shed from yesterday.

His eyelids flutter open, chocolate brown eyes blinking open, soft and unfocused before crinkling at the edges as a yawn stretches across his face.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice low and groggy. The warm smile he gives you makes your broken heart begin mending itself right then and there.

“It’s almost noon.”

He yawns again, his large hand brushing over his face as he props himself up. He slowly comes to life, a haze of sleep still lingering in his eyes.

“Shit, almost noon huh?” his voice rasps deep from sleep. “You okay?”

A simple question, one that you’ve been asked so few times the past few years as your marriage has grown stagnant and lifeless. You nod, though not entirely sure of your answer.

“I know it was a rough day,” he says, sympathy pouring out of his voice. “I-I’m glad you called me.”

“I am too,” you whisper.

Dieter shifts, propping himself up on one elbow, his gaze stays on you. “Warren’s an idiot,” the firmness of his voice surprises you. “He never deser–”

Right then the loud growl of your stomach interrupts.

“When’s the last time you ate?” he asks, pulling away from you.

“Uh, lunch yesterday?” It hadn’t even occurred that you’d gone that long without food.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even think to see if you were hun–“

“It’s okay Dee,” you quickly reassure, “I don’t think I could’ve even eaten anything yesterday.”

He studies you for a second, his gaze softens. “Well, I make a mean bowl of cereal or I can order us breakfast if you want something more serious.”

“Cereal’s good.”

He stretches and sits up. “Coming right up,” he says, standing and moving to the door.

“You don’t know where anything is!” you call after him.

He pauses, turning back. “That’s never stopped me before,” he winks, causing butterflies to plume in your stomach, the kind you haven’t felt in ages.

The clattering of cupboards being rifled through finally makes you extract yourself from bed.

“Dee!” you shout as you walk down the hall, “I’ll grab everything!”

You send a quick glimpse into the bedroom you used to share with Warren as you tie your robe tighter and head downstairs.

The sun is glaring through the open curtains, yours and Dieter’s phones lay silent on the coffee table. Nobody knows. Warren said it was your decision over who you want to tell. How chivalrous.

“Hey,” Dieter greets you with a smile, as he puts the milk on the counter. “I found the milk and spoons.”

You shake your head, moving around him to pull two bowls out of the cupboard.

“You put the coffee on at least, that’s most important,” you say, grabbing the box of cereal from the pantry. “All I have are Corn Flakes.”

—

The domesticity of it all is not lost on him. Dieter sits next to you at the breakfast bar happily munching on his corn flakes covered in three tablespoons of sugar.

He’s had this dream so many times before. Bright sunlight shining through the kitchen window above the sink that overlooks the garden you take so much pride in, coffee in the light blue mugs with the little birds you were so proud to find at the antique store off of La Cienega, the sound of you eating and just quietly existing next to him. He never wants to wake up.

The first thing he saw today was you, your voice was the first thing he heard. It’s not a dream, it’s really happening here, in this home you used to share with his best friend–or–who used to be his best friend. Warren probably doesn’t even know he’s here, that he was the one you chose to call and to be consoled by. Too oblivious and self obsessed to realize that all these years Dieter’s been secretly in love with his wife. How could he not fall for you?

He glances towards you, wanting to tell you everything in his heart, only choosing the most obvious statement. “I’m here for you, you know that, right?”

“I know Dee, it means… a lot, but you don’t have to be here, I’m okay… really.”

“Trust me, I want to be here Sweets,” he knocks his shoulder against yours. It’s just about the only physical touch he can trust himself to make. He wants to hold you through all of this, keep your body as close to his as possible. Shield you, go to battle for you, be your soldier. All he can afford is a singular shoulder tap.

“You’ve never given me reason to not,” you sigh.

He never wants to let you down, never wants to make you feel like you’re less than deserving of the whole world. He just has to wait. Good things take time.

“What do you want to do today?”

“Not sure. Definitely get out of this robe and into some actual clothes.”

He thanks his lucky stars, as much as he loves you in the fluffy robe, his heart can’t take the brief glimpses of your upper thigh or chest as the fabric swishes across your body. “Do you want me to grab your clothes for you?”

“No, I-it’s gotta happen sooner than later… i-it’s weird, I know he just left me and everything, but–I don’t know Dee–it’s been not fun being me. Here, cooped up in this house just waiting for my husband to decide to like me and spend time with me. You know?” Your shoulders deflate, he gazes at your crestfallen side profile, still so beautiful even when you’re heartbroken.

You take a swig of coffee, he follows the lines of your delicate neck as you swallow the liquid down. Your skin is always so beautiful, but in this light, it transfixes him. “This is the fourth time he’s cheated on me.”

He coughs at your confession. His brows rise in surprise, he never knew about the others. “I-I had no idea,” he murmurs. His heart drops, how fucking dare Warren.

“We didn’t let it be known, I couldn’t deal with–anybody knowing and them judging me. He’d come back, and swear he would change. Why do you think my wedding ring kept getting bigger and bigger? He’d get me something shinier every time he’d fuck someone else… like I’m some sort of crow wife.”

He snickers, you’re still the funniest girl he’s ever met, even when you’re talking about your piece of shit husband.

“And now, NOW he's found the one. All those times I’d let him back, he told me I was the only one for him.” Tears sprout in your eyes. He thinks of all those years you’ve wasted, all those lies you believed, and now, you’re left just as empty as your cereal bowl. “I feel like a fool, he’s been cheating on me for almost a year with her. I just sat idly by, ignoring all of the cracks in the foundation, all of the same signs I had seen before, he’d call me crazy. I guess a person can only be gaslit for so long before they burn up. The house has been crumbling for the past few years, and I just kept thinking maybe it would change… and the cracks just got bigger until… he left. Now I’m left here trying to rebuild and trying to figure out what I did wrong.”

“Nothing,” he says, his voice firmer than he intended. “You did nothing wrong. Warren’s always been the ‘take what I want when I want’ type. It’s him, not you.”

You solemnly nod, eyes staring unblinking at your spoon swirling in the milky white expanse of your empty cereal bowl. “And I just had to fall in love with him. I feel so foolish.” Your voice floats into his ears, flowing down to his heart squeezing the organ that pumps only for you.

“Hey,” he whispers, “I’ve been best friends with him for almost thirty years. If you’re a fool, then I’m one too.”

You look at him, his eyes meet yours. He offers you a small smile that you return with a nod. You’re sweeter than the cereal milk he just got done slurping out of his bowl.

“Well,” you sigh, tapping the counter and breaking the miniscule moment of understanding. “I can’t do any more of this sad stuff today. I can’t be miserable all day. II know what I want to do tonight.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, raising a curious brow.

“Yep. Drink,” you sigh. “Like, a lot.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I want to forget, just for tonight… and then tomorrow I’ll have to deal with all of the bullshit.”

He doesn’t mention to you that the last time only the two of you drank together, his marriage to Anika had just ended. Now it’s a tradition. “I can help with that. Do you need me to go grab some booze?”

“Nope,” you hop off the barstool and pad over to the wine fridge. You bend over, he strangles his napkin when he gets a glimpse of your upper thighs before he looks away. Not right now.

You pull a fancy looking bottle out of the fridge. “We were supposed to have this for our tenth anniversary. Some dumb expensive bottle of champagne he bought while we were on vacation in France.”

He grabs it from the counter top, eyebrows rising at the fancy label.

“Wow. Thirty-five year old Bollinger, huh? That’s the stuff the queen drinks.” “Of course you’d know that,” you tease, rolling your eyes as you put the champagne in the fridge. “I’m gonna clean up, hop into the shower and change. I don’t know if you want to head to your place and grab some clothes?”

He looks down at his stained shirt and pajama pants he’s been wearing since he woke up yesterday afternoon. He wasted no time in changing when he got the call from you. He could certainly also use a shower.

“If you’re okay with me leaving for a bit,” he hesitates.

“I am, really Dee,” you assure. “I’m going to head upstairs. Come over around five?”

“Five works,” he smiles. Hating the rush of nerves he feels of spending another night only with you.

“You’re the best Dee,” you smile.

He doesn’t know whether to shake Warren for leaving someone like you or thank him as he deposits his bowl in the sink and grabs his keys and phone.

—

The master bedroom is just as it was left yesterday, besides the empty side of Warren’s closet and vanity. How kind of him to move out while you’re left crying on the couch. You were his wife for eight years. Over three thousand days of marriage. A mortgage, two cars, three credit cards with unspent reward points, multiple bank accounts. God, there’s so much to do.

Not today.

Today you’re going to push down these terrible feelings, today you’re going to focus on the future of what can be once you trudge through all of this. Today you’re going to spend the day taking care of yourself and then tonight, you’re going to get drunk with your friend Dieter.

The gold frame on your bedside table catches your eye. Ah, your Australia trip last year, a surprise excursion from Warren. You’re pretty sure he was talking to her while the two of you explored the outback. You thought that trip was the beginning of something new and better for the two of you. It only took a week after your return home for him to start working late and having meetings in other states again.

You love the frame that holds the picture of better days with Warren, you found it at an antique store Dieter told you about. You’ve always loved vintage decor, Warren always preferred brand new, he never liked the idea of “other people’s trash littering his home.” You open the back of the frame, pull out the photo, and crumble it in your hands before setting the empty frame back on the table. One day, it’ll hold a picture of true happiness—one day, there will be someone else to smile with.

You shed your robe and drop it in the hamper before standing in front of your mirror. You look the same, really. Only thing that might give away your husband left you are your eyes that sit a little redder and puffier and your naked ring finger.

A glance at your phone shows a couple of missed texts and calls. Nothing important. Still no word from Warren. You feel foolish for expecting anything more from him.

All the tears you shed yesterday suddenly feel ridiculous. All those tears fell for a man who could barely be grown enough to check on how you’re doing today. You’ve read of slow burns in romance novels, but what about a slow snuff? Where your marriage just gradually dies, suffocated by indifference, until Warren’s selfishness finally snuffed it out. There’s a sense of freedom now, like you no longer have to lie to yourself. Now you just have to figure out how to move on.

You scroll to the playlist Dieter sent you a few weeks ago, smiling to yourself at the realization that as your marriage fizzled, your’s and Dieter’s friendship grew warmer. You turn the tap on as the first song plays.

'Round your city, 'round the clock Everybody needs you No, you can't make everybody equal Although you got beaucoup family You don't even got nobody bein' honest with you

Frank Ocean. Your’s and Dieter’s shared favorite. Warren can’t stand him, of course. When Dieter got tickets to a Frank Ocean concert, Warren spent the night rolling his eyes while you and Dieter screamed lyrics, danced under the strobe lights, and passed a joint back and forth. Anika and Warren stood behind you both, glued to their phones, ruining what should’ve been an unforgettable night with their sulking.

You laugh out loud to yourself at your stupidity. Why did you stay?

The shower feels good and refreshing. You scrub your skin with your favorite body scrub and use your favorite conditioner you buy from the boutique next to your favorite cafe. It’s now up to you to take care of yourself and to show yourself love. Lord knows it’s pretty much been that way for the past year.

Dieter’s playlist plays on. Every song on it you like, he never lets you down.

“You will remember When this is blown over And everything's all by the way When I grow older I will be there at your side to remind you How I still love you”

Your hands pause at the lyrics as you rub lotion across your skin. You wonder what Dieter’s thinking, what he’s thought this whole time, why he speaks to you the way he does. He’s always been such an open book, but ever since his divorce with Anika a few years ago, he’s been less readable. Your mind is crowded by the feelings you have for him, the way you liked waking up next to him this morning, the way you wish he’d never stop holding you.

You remind yourself to go shopping for some new clothes, to fill the newly acquired empty space in your closet. You find the bright robe hanging in the back of your closet. A just-because-gift from Dieter because you mentioned it had all of your favorite colors. He texted you a photo of himself getting ready for an awards show, and you pointed out how much you loved it. He handed it to you the next time he saw you with a shy grin. You try to remember the last time Warren gave you a random gift as you wrap the soft cotton around your body.

You admire yourself in the mirror remembering the way Dieter’s dark brown eyes lingered on you after you put it on. The small smile he blessed you with as he softly murmured “perfect.”

The clock reads 2:30. Just twenty-four hours ago Warren told you he’s no longer in love with you, that he had found someone else. You swallow the sadness, not today.

For the first time in a long time, today you’re going to allow yourself to look forward to something–and somebody. Dieter will be here soon.

—

He knocks on the side door three times before letting himself in. His usual Dieter entrance.

“Sweets?” he calls out, his voice echoing through the house.

“Hey!” you respond, quickly trudging down the steps.

He almost drops the pizza box on the floor, along with his jaw when he sees you.

“Great minds,” you smile looking down at his faded blue jeans–the same color as yours.

“Yeah,” he nods, “great minds.” He swears you’re his twin flame, except he burns even brighter for you. He hopes one day your heart will burn just as hot for him.

“Prime Pizza?” you excitedly say spying the familiar box from your favorite pizza place.

“Yep, also got you garlic knots,” he smiles, lifting a white takeout bag up. “And caesar salad. And vodka pasta.”

“Oh my gooooood,” you sing, grabbing the pre-rolled joint and lighter from the table. “You’re the best. Let’s eat outside.”

His heart feels like it’s going to leap out of his chest as he follows you through the french doors to your backyard. It’s a beautiful, warm evening. You’ve set the table already, the sun is just beginning to lower behind the mountains, bathing everything in golden and purple shades.

He can’t take his eyes off of you as you light the joint and take a hit. He feels ridiculous relishing the fact that his lips will be where yours just were as you hand the joint to him.

Music gently plays in the background and you hum along while opening the takeout boxes and filling your plate.

“Oh my god, this looks so good,” you gush, smiling at him. “Thanks Dee.”

Weed smoke, garlic, and laughter fill the air as the two of you share a meal.

He wishes to never wake from this dream.

—

You always loved this neighborhood at night. The winding hill overlooks downtown Los Angeles and all of its flickering traffic and brake light glory. Street lamps glow golden in the midnight haze. Dieter walks alongside you, keeping tempo with your steps growing clumsier the emptier your champagne bottle gets.

“God, it’s beautiful out,” you say, tilting your head back to gaze at the sky focusing on a singular star. You wonder what it sees as it looks down on you. Does it see the internal struggle within your heart? Your husband walked out on you yesterday, and you’ve already found solace in his best friend. Peace in the heart and mind of the best man at your wedding.

“Ooh! Grass patch! Grass patch!” you suddenly shout, running over to the grassy area just off to the side of your neighbor’s home. “Come look at the stars with me!”

Dieter follows, laying down beside you with a small huff.

“I love doing this,” you say wistfully. “Like it’s so big, and we’re so small. You know?”

“I do,” he says. “Someone in Antarctica has the same view we have. Isn’t that insane?”

“Yes!” you shout, knocking your knee against his and leaving it there. “Sometimes it’s so easy to get lost in the vastness of space.”

“It is…” he softly says.

You turn your head to find him not looking up at the stars, but right at you.

“Hi,” you giggle, a little nervous from the look in his eyes.

“You’re– I think you’re–-” he grumbles and turns to look back at the sky shaking his head. “I wonder how many satellites are recording our conversation right now.”

You follows his lead, turning back to the sky, wishing on a star that some day you’ll hear what Dieter really wanted to tell you.

—

He listens as you softly hum into the breezy night air. A pleasant smile is stretched across your face, your eyes sit a little hazier from the bottle of champagne that you’re holding by the neck.

You stop, bobbling back and forth on your feet. He grabs your arms, steadying your wobbly form. You’re much drunker now thanks to your impromptu stargazing and drinking adventure in your neighbor’s yard.

“You good?” he asks.

“Yes *hiccup* just–haven’t felt this free in awhile,” your body thuds against his chest. His heart goes into overdrive. “Like, GOD, it fucking sucks, but also like, fuck Warren, he didn’t deserve ME.”

He wants to tell you how much he agrees, he wants to pour his rapid beating heart out to you in the middle of this quiet neighborhood. He doesn’t, you’re going through enough, and he respects–nay–loves you far too much to divulge his years-long secret devotion to you.

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Fuck Warren.”

“Fuck Warren!” you giggle. “God that feels good.”

“FUCK WARREEEEENNNNN!” you shout, your voice echoing off the canyon walls.

“Whoa, whoa, okay okay, it’s too late; let’s not wake up the neighbors, pretty girl.”

His throat closes at the slip. Panic grips his body.

You take a swig of your champagne.

“Pretty?” you turn in his arms. “You think that— I”m pretty?”

Your beautiful face and those eyes of yours, the same he thinks about waking up to, is lit by the full moon, glistening in the nighttime glow. You’re so gorgeous.

“Always have, Golden Girl,” he sees the line drawn and he steps over it. He’s famous for not listening, for saying it fuck it to the plainly written out rules. “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Your throat lets out an unbelieving laugh. “D’awww, Dee thinks I’m pretttttyyyyyyyyy,” you sing-song, swaying in his arms.

“Alright now, you’re pretty far gone. Let’s get you home, pretty.”

“Dieter Bravo finds me pretty. I’d say Warren’s going to be sooooo mad, but FUCK WARREN!” Another battle cry against your husband echoes across the neighborhood.

“Shhhhh,” he wraps his arms around you tighter, turning you to walk back up the road to your home.

His arms stay around you the whole walk up the hill back to your house. He can smell the sweet scent of your honey shampoo. Your back is molded to his front and yet, the lust for you doesn’t course through his veins like it normally does. There’s something else. Adoration, longing, yearning. His need for your heart overshadows his want for your body. Your footsteps commingle with his in the quiet Los Angeles night.

Your house comes into view, the white picket fence surrounds the colonial two story that you fell in love with. “Dee! It’s a Jimmy Stewart house!” you excitedly shouted when he pulled into the driveway after you and Warren got the keys. He was so happy for you, and yet so jealous of Warren. Now he walks you up the walkway to your door. Now he punches the code in on the keypad and lets you in. Now he catches your arm as you almost trip over the rug. Now he holds you close as you giggle against his chest. Too drunk and bubbly, he wishes he could keep you this happy.

“Dee?” you tilt your head up to look at him.

“Yeah?” his eyes meet your bleary eyes.

“Is it okay that I’m this happy right now?” your voice drops, the shame in it slurs it even more.

“Any emotion you have at this exact moment is okay,” he reassures with a smile.

Your body jumps against his with a hiccup. “Oh my god, I’m so drunk!” you giggle.

“You are. You need some food and a glass of water.”

He’s only allowed himself a couple sips tonight, not wanting to get plastered and not be there to take care of you in case you need him. He can’t remember the last time he didn’t say no to a drink.

He settles you on the couch before heading to the kitchen to find you some sustenance to soak up your drunkenness.

Saltines, you always have saltines. You swear that cheddar cheese on saltines is the greatest food ever, he loves how passionate you are about such a ridiculous opinion. He fills the biggest glass with water from the fridge before adding a couple cubes of ice, he knows how much you love your ice water. He likes taking care of you, he likes trying his damnedest to make you feel better. He wishes he could take care of you every single day and prove to you just how special you are.

He almost drops the glass of water and sleeve of crackers when he walks into your living room.

You’re perched on a small island of carpet surrounded by records strewn across the floor. He was gone for only three minutes and you’ve already emptied two entire shelves.

—

You’re holding a single LP in your hands and staring down at it. Track three. The song that makes you think of Dieter.

“Can I play you a song?” you look up, your bloodshot eyes gaze determinedly at him.

The record player sizzles and crackles an ambient hum while awaiting his answer.

“Of course,” he says, walking over and lightly tapping a trail of records out of the way with his foot.

You tilt your head up and nod, before turning and putting the record on the turntable. Your hands tremble as you lower the needle into the groove for the track you want him to hear.

“It makes me think of… you,” you whisper as the song begins.

Gleaming Twinkling Eyes like sinking ships On waters so inviting I almost jump in

He settles across from you, cross legged, joining you on your island in the sea of scattered vinyl. Just you and Dee in the middle of your living room. It was only twenty-four hours ago he held you as you mourned the loss of your marriage.

Now, he sits quietly, elbows resting on his knees with his chin resting on his thumbs, listening to the song. The song that makes you think of him.

Everybody wants you Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you Walk past, quick brush

You’re too brave, the champagne has given you too much permission to bring up those long held desires for your husband’s best friend. If you had chosen him that night in that dive bar, would everything be different today?

His eyes are closed, oblivious to the turmoil that storms within your heart.

What must it be like To grow up that beautiful? With your hair falling into place like dominoes My mind turns your life into folklore I can't dare to dream about you anymore

He slowly nods along to the beat, the golden earring in his ear catches your eye again. Your fingers pulsate, the bare ring finger on your left hand allows you the permission. He’ll feel it now, he’ll understand, he’ll know of your desires.

You reach out, your shaky hand makes contact with his soft hair, and the earring. His eyes open wide and shocked at your touch.

Gleaming Twinkling Eyes like sinking ships On waters so inviting I almost jump in

“Oh, Sweets,” he whispers as the record crackles in between songs. His hand captures yours, pressing it against his head. “I–it’s—you know–”

“I know,” tears well in your eyes, “but I’ve known.”

He thickly gulps, swallowing down the words you long to hear him say. Instead, he moves your hand to rest against his heart.

“You are every–he never deserved you and I’m sorry I didn’t say it any sooner. I’m a coward–but–I’m going to do better for you. It’s— you have so much going on. I will be here for you, but I can’t do that to you… not now.”

“What if I want it? What if I’ve wanted it since… we met?”

He smirks. “I want it too–but not like this–not so soon.”

Your head drops, suddenly you feel quite sober. Embarrassment will do that.

“Sweets,” he whispers. “Look at me. You’re my Golden Girl. You have been. Always.”

Your eyes stare into his, his glassy brown eyes reflect yours, tears welling at the edge.

“That's the blank, unholy surprise of it. You're the golden girl, Sweets. Full of life and warmth and delight.”

He gently pulls you closer, settling you on his lap, wrapping his arms around you.

“Of course you’d use my favorite movie to make me feel better,” you say, settling your head against his broad chest.

“I’ll do anything to make you feel better, Golden Girl.”

He holds you, gently rocking back and forth to the music until the record ends.

That night, you sleep in that same guest room bed, wrapped in Dieter’s strong arms, protected from the spiral of negativity you’ll soon wake up to.

Next Chapter

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter x you #dieter x reader #pedro pascal #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo fic #dieter the bubble #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

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wannab-urs · 5 months ago

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Pedro Pascal Character Fic Recs | Vol 39

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist

Howdy folks!

Welcome back to the Spreadsheet Digest! It's been.... a while. In order to make up for that, I have a nice long list of fics to rec. Also, surprise! I'm posting this on thursdays now.

All tags and summaries provided by the authors unless they didn't provide one, in which case I filled it in.

Wildest Dreams a Dave York series by @janaispunk

You meet your father’s new friend for the first time, but he’s a lot different than you expected.

explicit smut (18+ only, mdni), dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamic (reader becomes very dependent on Dave), dom/sub dynamics, angst, feelings, daddy issues, secret/forbidden relationship, corruption kink, able-bodied reader, reader has hair, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, Dave doesn’t kill people in this

the hitman’s guide to getting the girl a Dave York seriesby @kiwisbell

It's just another job, until Dave York decides to kidnap an enemy’s wiseass daughter. It’s just another job, until he falls in love.

kidnapping, murder, violence, the world being horrible to women, reader having a very terrible sense of self-preservation, unprotected piv, oral sex (m and f receiving), dave york finding his second calling as a pussy-eating god, pining, possessive sex, jealousy, daddy issues, (stockholm syndrome?), dirty talk, actually filthy talk, hitmen and politicians, revenge, scary man with a soft spot for his woman, philosophical foreplay, tramp stamp worship (you'll see), a little sprinkle of breeding kink if you look hard enough, obsessive behaviour, anal fingering, anal sex, implied age gap, light dom/sub vibes, light bondage

Obscenery a Dave York/Tim Rockford series by @sin-djarin

Dave is worried about the day ahead and Tim offers him some advice.

M/M, Established D/s dynamics, edging, orgasm delay, these two come with their own warnings - in particular Tim's mouth and how much Dave really likes it.

Heaven is Hell a Dieter one shot by @inept-the-magnificent

Writing prompt: “I don’t get it,” says the demon, “This person’s lived a perfectly good and virtuous life. Why are you sending them to hell?” The angel nervously rubs the back of their head. “Honestly? We’re pretty sure they’d be happier in hell than heaven.”

demon!Dieter, Angel!marcus pike, mild angst, fluff, mention of drugs, alcohol, orgies, etc. The usual dieter rabble.

Scars and All a Din series by plaidamoosette (AO3)

Hidden away in the desert land of Jakku, you are slowly chipping away at the debt that you and your mother had accumulated following the death of your father to the horrible Denga Niima. But, after the recent passing of your mother, the debt has fallen on your shoulders. Using your skills as a mechanical engineer, you accumulate wealth for your slave master in the hopes that one day you will be free. Free to explore and live as your parents had always wished for you. But things change when you meet a certain bounty hunter when he comes to you to repair his ship. But, nothing is as it seems, and as the lies that were built around your life begin to crumble, you find yourself sucked into a journey of truth, betrayal, and... love.

Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst, Drama, Deceased Parents, Indentured Servitude, Soft Din Djarin, Soft Dominant Din Djarin, POV Alternating, Din Djarin Removes the Helmet, Protective Din Djarin, Intimidation, Male Masturbation, Touch-Starved, Loss of Virginity, MC doesn't know how to take care of herself, Female Masturbation, Burried Trauma, Readers knows how to fight back, Mandalorians (Star Wars), Mandalorian Culture & Customs (Star Wars), Some Canon material, A whole lot of other made up stuff

Just Can't Say Goodbye a Din one shot by @saradika

a final night is spent in the arms of your bodyguard, before your arranged union the next morning.

sorta medieval vibes, references to antiquated societal expectations, mentions and references to virginity, arranged marriage, technically infidelity because of said arrangement, light angst, sneaking around, first time, fingering, PiV, creampie

Back to You a Din series by @kyberblade

You’ve been friends with Mando for years, and he drops by your hole in the wall bar from time to time to catch up. This time, however, he’s carrying an extra little green passenger with him. They are on the run, which is unsettling because Mando doesn’t run from things. Things run from him. A tracking fob, a dead body, and a confession later, all three of you set out to help the child find it’s kind. (Aka: a really typical Din x Force Sensitive reader plot, but instead of the going from stiff scary Mando to friendly Mando it’s gonna kinda go the opposite way. Not in a bad way but she’s gonna finally get to see what exactly he was running from all those times he came back to see her.)

Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Angst, Humor, Friends to Lovers, Introspection, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Romantic Friendship, Emotions, Grogu | Baby Yoda Being a Little Shit, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Protective Din Djarin, Good Parent Din Djarin, Soft Din Djarin, Force-Sensitive Reader, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Spicy thoughts, but no smut

Familiar Strangers an Ezra one shot by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

When your boyfriend's band opens for Familiar Strangers, you get the chance to meet the lead singer. A man whose work you've long admired. A connection sparks a flame that may change your life forever.

Rockstar!Ezra, Infidelity, reader's boyfriend is a huge asshole and deserves it though, Smut, Mildly Dubious Consent, everyone is consenting but they are impaired by alcohol

Brat a Frankie one shot by @freelancearsonist

You've been torturing Frankie, so he decides to return the favor.

short and filthy lil giflet, unprotected p in v sex, power dynamics kind of

Down the Hall a Frankie one shot by @frannyzooey

Your bedroom, just down the hall from his own, proves too tempting for Frankie to resist - even if he is your mother's boyfriend.

age gap, explicit smut, mom's boyfriend!frankie

All Through the Night a Jack one shot by @baronessvonglitter

after it's made clear that you're not welcome as a Junior Agent for the Statesman organization, Whiskey takes you under his protection for an unforgettable night

18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, mentor/mentee relationship, forbidden relationship, vandalism, nightmares, 'only one bed', first time, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, no use of y/n

Is Joel Okay? a Joel one shot by @djarinmuse

Based on this edit that @/iamasaddie shared, and the tag by @/wannab-urs, thanks Gin for the input "#Joel has a menty b and shaves his head". Reader is there for him. No idea who did the original edit but thanks.

Joel cuts his hair, the utter horror of that alone. No explicit smut but 18+ physical intimacy. Depressed Joel, soft Joel. Established relationship but no background given.

Unearth a Joel one shot by @ezrasbirdie

When your normally strict parents go out of town for two weeks and leave you on your own for the first time with little warning, you're left reeling and afraid of being on your own for so long. Luckily, Joel Miller, your father's best friend, very generously offers to let you stay with him. Your long time crush on him shouldn't be a problem at all.

smut, yearning, Joel is a little manipulative, loss of virginity, dad's best friend, nice big age gap (reader is 21, Joel is 40), liberal use of baby girl, religious trauma of the Christian variety (no denomination noted), reader wears a sundress, shaming of sexuality, bad relationship with reader's parents, insecurity, flirting, trouble orgasming, pussy pronouns (she/her), humping/grinding, masturbation, unprotected PIV, oral sex, references to early 00s media, soft Joel

What it is to grow a Joel one shot by @burntheedges

Joel knows he can't keep running from it – from Her – forever.

angst, hurt/comfort, hope, mentions of the canon depths of Joel’s depression (pills, alcohol, darkness, etc.), canon character death (Sarah), AU with Greek lore/gods & goddesses in the TLOU universe, character study

Birthday Boy a Joel one shot by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

Even with a house full of party guests, Joel can't resist when he finds a moment alone with you in the bathroom.

Masturbation, Frottage, light d/s, orgasm denial. Just general Joel Miller filth. There's like a smidge of plot right at the end.

Duality of a Man a Joel series by @wildemaven

A woman shows up at your door looking for your boyfriend

Mentions of food, Mentions of killing, death, birth, birth trauma

Consider it a Favor a Joel one shot by @chaotic-mystery

Your AC breaks in your car and the one person around to help is your neighbor, Mr.Miller.

Age gap (Not specified but I put Sarah in college) DILF Joel mowing his lawn, reader is able-bodied and is wearing a swim suit/coverup, reader has hair Joel can pull, kissing, swearing, (1) blowjob, size kink go brrr, pet names (good girl, sweetheart, baby) facedown ass up, babey, a little manhandling, unprotected penetration (don't look at me okay, the whore in me jumped out), dirty talk, Joel hyping up his ego, pussy ownership, creampie, a little glimpse of aftercare and what really happened to your AC.

Absolution a Joel series by @pedgito

Moving in with your soon-to-be stepfather under the roof of his brother, Joel, ends up being a turning point of change in your life.

DDDNE - stepcest, religious trauma, parental trauma. addition warnings: no outbreak, step-uncle!joel (reader's mom is engaged to marry tommy) age gap (20/late 40s), inappropriate relationships/behavior, slight dubcon (voyeurism), eventual smut (will tag with specific on each chapter), skewed morals, joel using alcohol to cope with life and loss, reader is in the depths of deconstruction.

Imperfect for you a Joel one shot by @joelscruff

you never thought joel miller would accidentally call you baby.

age gap (joel is mid 40s, reader is 23), fluff, very brief instance of blood, tending to a wound, joel is eepy, soft kisses, cuddles

rotten a Joel one shot by @alltheirdamn

Sharing land with Joel Miller has always been infuriating, but when your bad attitude finally gets his attention...things get messy

No-Outbreak AU, banter and arguing, explicit language, brat taming, semi dark!joel, dubcon elements, degrading, choking, rough spanking, hair pulling, face slapping, throat fucking, touch of dacryphilia, rope/bondage, rough unprotected piv sex, hint of a subspace moment, orgasm denial, squirting, creampie, no aftercare because joel is an old, grumpy asshole

Lost Cause a Joel one shot by @Joelalorian

Joel thinks you shouldn’t waste your time on him. You disagree.

Explicit MDNI; Jackson-era Joel; canon-ish but also not; drinking; mentions of cigarettes, drugs, dark thoughts, and death; unprotected p in v; oral (m and f receiving); interesting use of red wine; unspecified age gap; despair and hope

rosemary by the garden gate Joel/Tim Rockford/Dio series by @marisferasiop

(set in an approximate late nineties/early aughts timeline) Shane, turned out by his family after being outed, is sleeping rough when he is abducted by a sex trafficking ring. Joel is Tess' lead enforcer in her gang. His twin brother, Tim, is a highly decorated detective in Major Crimes for the NYPD. Together, they help Tess and her investments navigate both sides of the law. When Shane is given to Joel one evening at a truce meeting between Tess' gang and their rivals, a human trafficking syndicate, he calls Tim to initiate a bust on the opposition. His one request: he wants the kid. Problem is, once Tim meets him, so does he. Most importantly: what does Shane want once his freedom is granted? Or does he even want his freedom, if these two are holding the reigns?

dead dove!! Human trafficking, unhoused gay minors/unhoused gay youth, abuse (physical, sexual, mental/emotional), sex trafficking, sex work, homelessness, food insecurity, stealing to survive, abduction, sex slave trade, gagging/choking (later consensual breathplay), rough oral, "painal" kink, non-con drugging, enemas, forced sex work, bondage for sex and for binding/imprisonment, non-con sex/rape, mafia-esque work and associated unpleasantness (gore and violence), mean but soft Joel, face slapping, spanking as foreplay, caning as punishment, orgasm delay/control, spitting in mouth, body modifications, marking, cum play, all the soft life-affirming gay sex after rescue (Joel and Tim are twins and don't fuck e/o but they do fuck Shane together at one point) a mention of the Meat Rack, the gay sex worker alley where serial killer Des Nilsen abducted his victims.

Win a Date With Javi G + Part 2 a Javi G/Jack Daniels/Reader series by @absurdthirst and @wardenparker

You and your best friend are huge fans of Spanish pop star Javi G, and she managed to convince you to enter a contest to win a date with the singer himself. No one is more surprised than you when you actually win. / Going home with Javi and Jack after the Grammys might be the most important decision you've ever made...

Cursing. Food/alcohol. Pure fluff and flirting. A little dirty talk/dirty flirting toward the end./ Dom/sub dynamic. MMF threesome. *This story features an established MM relationship!* Sex toys, collaring, dirty talk, enthusiastic use of 'Daddy', oral sex (f and m receiving), hand job, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, dom!Jack, sub!Javi, cumplay, rimming, light choking, spanking, double penetration, double vaginal penetration, after care, exploration of power dynamics.

Waffles and Cigarettes a Javi P one shot by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

After you are attacked during a night out, your ex boyfriend comes to your rescue

Attempted sexual assault (not Javi), violence, descriptions of blood and injuries, fingering, spit as lube, unprotected PIV, kinda rough sex, creampie, angst. absolutely feral, protective ex boyfriend Javi

Midnight Rainstorms a Javi P one shot by @thundermartini

Javier is coming home late, escaping from a storm. You’re trying hard not to drown in the incessant rain.

no y/n, female reader, reader is not physically described (except she has long hair), javier and reader are married, mentions of anxiety, mentions of trauma, mentions of guilt, mentions of narcos plot but it’s a blur, nightmare so it may be triggering, grief, no beta.

Crawl a Max Phillips one shot by @proxima-writes

Gym owner Max Phillips offers to let you use the sauna. In return, he uses your mouth.

explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), no use of y/n, able bodied reader, dirty talk, crawling, oral (m receiving), no aftercare, semi-public sex.

Dancing Phantoms on the Terrace an Oberyn one shot by @janaispunk

You show up to Oberyn's party

(somewhat) modern!Oberyn, able bodied reader, reader has hair that wind is "whipping through", no use of y/n, alcohol consumption, once again it's all aboard the angst train i'm sorry babes

Happy Reading!

#fic recs #the spreadsheet digest #fanfiction recommendations #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

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