#bad idea dieter | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chronically-ghosted · 1 year ago

Text

i crawl home to her

rating: 18+ explicit

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 8.2K

summary: you bring dieter home to meet your family over the holidays.

warnings/tags: discussions of food, mentions of weight gain, brief biphobia, bad family dynamics, hiding parts of yourself to make yourself more palatable, dom!Dieter when his type-A girlfriend needs him to, smut in places it shouldn’t be, a family can be two people, bad jokes, mentions of marriage and kids, one light booty smack, peep the super obvious bob's burgers reference, minimal edited, you can pry the image of dieter in ugg's from my cold dead hands

a/n: i've caved and finally added to the evergrowing pile of "Pedro boy fucks you in your childhood home". @sp00kymulderr i told you i'd get it out today -- it might be tomorrow for you, but it's not yet midnight! i present to you part 2 of merry thanksgiving nonsense2023!

🤍Masterlist

You nearly miss the exit off the gray-slushy highway because you’re trying to remember Aunt Gayle’s food allergies.

And Uncle Rick’s preferred way of taking his coffee in the morning.

And the right detergent to use when washing your niece’s clothes, or else your sister will come after you with a hatchet.

“Baby, you’re gnawing your fingernails bloody.”

You blink, surprised to find your hand anywhere near your mouth, the other white-knuckling the steering wheel, and to your enormous embarrassment, he was right – you’d pulled up several hangnails, leaving tiny pink gouges, right under your immaculate holiday nails you got for the express purpose of looking presentable in all the inevitable Insta photos your sister demands every year.

“Fuck,” you mutter and curl your fingers into your fist as if to hide temptation. From the passenger’s seat, Dieter frowns.

“Twizzler to make it better?” He spins the red, bendy candy enticingly. Your mind suddenly flashes back to the time you both got way too high on his new bong and he made the exact same motions with his dick. You had never laughed so hard in your life.

The red candy whipping around in a circle, you groan into the steering wheel.

“I’m turning around. This was a terrible idea.”

“What are you so nervous about?” Dieter half-way laughs. He pulls his Ugg-stuffed feet off the dashboard and sits up. Crumbs from the Starbucks Christmas sugar cookie spill off his “Kris Kingle My Jingle” sweater and onto the seat, but it’s those fucking earnest, curious eyes that always seem to rock your world. You occasionally don’t like to be touched when you’re stressed, so out of the corner of your eye, you see his hand waver before falling back in his lap. “It’s just dinner.”

“Yeah, but it’s holiday dinner with my family. They’re all so judgy and mean and every time I come home for more than twenty-four hours, I’m reminded exactly why I fucked off to California.”

“Maybe they’re jealous you’re a hot shot director,” Dieter suggests. “Or that you have a ruggedly handsome movie star boyfriend.” Eyebrow raised, he twirls the Twizzler again and manages to bite it out of the air. You half-way expected it to smack him in the face. “They know I’m coming, right?”

You bite your lip, the last phone call with your mother still achingly heavy in your chest.

“You know what she asked when I told her I was bringing home the one and only Dieter Bravo as my boyfriend to meet my family?” You don’t need to look at him to see the furrow in his brow, the slight curve in his shoulders. You prop your elbow up against the window, rubbing your forehead with your fingers. “She asked if it was a career move. If I was dating you to get ahead in the industry . . . like I’m trying to sleep my way to the top.”

There’s a fraught silence. You listen to the wheels churn dirty black snow so you don’t have to look at him.

“Then why in the world would you start with my dumb ass?”

Despite yourself and despite what’s coming, you smile. But you fight it, wrapping your lip up between your teeth. So he continues:

“If you really want to make it big, you gotta date someone at least forty years older than you. So, what? We’re talking seventy. But, wow, think of the money. Bet he has his dick dripped in gold just to keep it hard–,”

“Dieter!” You swat at him, smile too big to contain, and he grins, grabbing you by the wrist. “That’s terrible!”

“But I made you laugh, didn’t I?”

You smirk. “Barely. More like ha ha than a big chuckle.”

He nips your palm, the rough hair on his chin scraping the soft skin.

By some minor miracle and a forcible act of God, your mother is allowing you two to share a bedroom. Not out of respect for your relationship, of course, but there is simply not enough room to spare. You watch those perfect lips imprint themselves in the cup of your hand and you’ve never been more thrilled to have to share a double bed. God, you cannot be this wet before you have to look your mother in the eye. You retract your hand with a breathy exhale.

“We don’t have to stay long,” Dieter says, a weight to his gaze that proves he hasn’t completely blown off your concern. He twists his body in the seat and crosses his arms, his shoulder pressed into the seat. He watches you with his head against the headrest. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“I’m already on thin ice because we’re just staying two days.” You shake your head. “My sister and her family have already been there since Monday and plan to stay the rest of the week.” You inhale, hold, and exhale until you can feel your shoulders drop. “It’s just . . . I’ve worked so hard to make something of my life, to be someone I can be proud of, and it just doesn’t matter to them. They want me to marry a banker or something, and quit my job to do cutesy family blogging on Instagram. They’ve never, ever liked the real me.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see something come over Dieter’s face. Not annoyance, or irritation, but as if someone kick started his brain. But it passes and he brushes the back of your hand resting over the gearshift with his fingers.

“I like the real you,” he says quietly. “In fact, I really, really, really like the real you. I gotta keep you around. Who else is gonna remember the name of the best Chinese food place when I’m high?”

Dieter is sweet, knows the wonders his smile can accomplish, with a twinkle in his eyes. A bit crude, a little distractible, but ultimately, well-meaning. However, he seemed physically incapable of maintaining sincerity. Which in the beginning, was also cute, but now, in a moment of crisis, it was boyish in a way that made you worried. A little scared. Like too much pressure and he’d break.

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on?

History says no.

So, maybe you’d just carry everything.

You smile at him and return your hand to the steering wheel.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The car squeals as it stops in the driveway, wheels crunching the cold ice. You look up at your childhood home with the same unease and trepidation that’s been there since childhood.

“Go let ‘em know we’re here,” Dieter says as he unbuckles his belt. There’s still crumbs in the knit of his sweater. At least his sweatpants are clean. But there’s nothing you can do about those Uggs right now–

His hand squeezes yours, centering the universe that’s spinning like the inside of a martini shaker. You can feel the weight of his gaze press into your chest – heavy, warm, forgiving. He smiles, then slides into a smirk.

“Chillax, bro. Your vibes are not gnarly.”

You huff, trying to offer a smile that’s not a grimace. This was such a bad idea. Maybe it’s not too late to go pay for one of those mail-order boyfriends and keep Dieter in his nice California, hippie plastic wrap.

You hear your name being called from the porch and that smile fully plummets into a grimace. Gathering from that reserve of confidence that makes you look at male writers, directors, and (yes) actors and tell them they’re idiots and get the fuck off your set, you open the door and head around the corner to the front of the house.

Yeah, in the face of your mother, that reserve is basically a trickle.

She’s waiting for you on the porch, red dish towel in hand.

“I thought that might be you, darling! I’d recognize that squeak from that rust bucket anywhere.” She smiles, arms wide, as you bend down to give her a hug. You've had to bend down to hug your mother for years now and you still feel about two feet tall. “How are you? You’ve been good? You look pale, but you’ve definitely been eating, haven’t you?”

She pinches your cheek as if to show you all the extra fat you have on your face.

“Where’s Dad?” You try not to look like you’re tearing your face out of her grip and glance into the surprisingly quiet house over her shoulder. “Aren’t Emma and Dan supposed to be here?”

“Your father is out finishing his latest woodworking piece. He’s been at it for days, no matter how much I beg him to help with the food or the house. It’s all on me again to save the holidays.”

As it is every year.

“Your sister and her family went out to get more sweet potatoes. They eat sweet potatoes in California, don’t they?”

Here it comes.

“Yes, Mom, they eat sweet potatoes.”

“Oh good, I thought it’d be considered a carb.” She frowns, hands on her hips as if you’re about to get a proper scolding. “Now you told me you’re going to be bringing your fancy actor boyfriend. Damian Bravado, right? I cooked for exactly seven people, darling, a single empty chair will throw the whole thing off!”

“Yes, Mom, my boyfriend, Dieter Bravo, is here. He’s just in the–,”

Someone, distinctly not your boyfriend, or at least not the boyfriend you left in the car, waltzes up the front steps.

Rings gone.

Earring gone.

Gloves that would make Ryan Gosling seethe with envy covering the tattoo on his hand.

His hair slicked back and curling deliciously around his ears, his dark jeans cover the laces of maroon Timberland boots. His black turtleneck clings to his wide chest, the leather jacket broken in enough to be soft, but not so used there’s tears in the seams. And, to top it all off, his cream-colored scarf curled around his throat looks like it came out of a Hallmark movie.

Maybe you are in a Hallmark movie. Maybe on the way up the porch, you slipped and banged your head and all of this is a bizarre, weirdly-erotic dream. Maybe someone actually did call in a mail-order boyfriend who looks exactly like Dieter and the real one is hog-tied in the trunk of your car. Maybe –

You’d heard of quick costume changes, but this is ridiculous.

“Debbie!” He calls out, like they’ve been best friends for twenty years. He flourishes a wrapped bouquet of flowers, bright red against the white snow, and hands them to her after bouncing up the steps. His cheeks are tinged pink, as if he’d run the block, but without a drip of sweat on him, he’s simply glowing with what could be presumed as the holiday spirit.

To your never-ending and horrific surprise, your mother squeals as she takes the flowers.

“Poinsettias! My –,”

“Favorite, I know.” You stumble out of the way when he leans down and kisses her on her cheek. “And they’re fake, so you can reuse them next year. But you’d never know it at $300 a pop.”

Okay, yes, this is a clone of your boyfriend, a walking holiday Ken doll – Dieter never, ever brags about money.

“I’m not a banker or anything, but I like to spoil my girls.”

The bastard winks at you.

Your mother has turned to gooey, drippy putty in his hands. She’s redder than the hand towel and the poinsettias combined. She flounces, flutters, eyes springing back and forth between the ruby-red flowers in her hands and Dieter’s achingly handsome face – one that hasn’t dimmed that thousand gigawatt smile since he first arrived.

“Oh, oh my goodness – well, this is just lovely – it’s so nice to finally meet you – I can’t believe she’s been hiding you from us all this time – please, please come in, you must be freezing!”

She backs into the house, still staring at the flowers, then as if she hadn’t been living here for the past fifteen years of her life, she bounces towards the dining room, then on a quick turn, heads for the kitchen, then turns again to the hallway closet.

“Oh gracious – where did I put – it must be – come in and shut the door behind you – you know where your room is, darling, I’ll be back in just a second, I just have to – ah, these are spectacular –”

A door down the hallway finally swings shut and muffles your mother’s insane rambling.

So dazed, you don’t see him move until he’s pressed you up against the glass etching of the door, his hand palming your hip and the other diving to cup the back of your neck. He tugs you down into his mouth before you have time to blink.

Jesus Christ, mint? His breath smells like mint??

God, he even fucking kisses like a Hallmark Prince. His mouth pulls you into him and your brain whites out – careless of the little whimper you make, careless of the fact that literally any one of your family members could walk in right now, careless that you’re teetering into him as if on string. Your breath flutters down his throat and he huffs through his nose. The tips of his fingers are chilly enough that you shiver at his touch.

He edges the bottom of your lip with his tongue before pulling back and tightening his grip in your hair.

And there’s that Dieter smirk you are all too intimately familiar with.

“How’m I doing?” He mutters. His gaze flickers between your eyes, your nose, and your kissed-pink lips. “I’d say I got Mama Bear on my side.”

Maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t always like this. Between the fresh breath scent in his mouth, the fragrance of his much-too expensive cologne permeating your senses, and his thick thigh shoved under your groin, you are embarrassingly boneless in his arms. You pluck your fingers over the soft leather collar at the back of his neck, just as much to inspect the jacket, as much as to release more of that delicious smell.

“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” You mutter, smirking, as you wind your fingers into his curls. “Spoil my girls, what the fuck was that?”

“Ah, ha, ha, ha,” he gloats as he lowers his head to your neck. You expect a warm kiss in the length of skin you’ve exposed to him, but instead his teeth lightly tease your throat above your pulse point and you feel your knees buckle as your face warms. “I can be very charming when I want to be.” He squeezes your ass as if to make a point.

You hold back a moan, flattening it to a shudder in your chest. You can feel his grin in your neck and he shifts you, pulls you closer and compresses you deeper into the wooden door. You can feel your conscious thought melting through your fingers so you blink, lick your lips, try to wiggle out from under his teeth.

“This isn’t a Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. This is Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” You gasp his name into the foyer of your childhood home when he licks you from the curve of your shoulder up under the soft place below your ear. Your hips jerk unconsciously, baser instincts seeking out the friction of his jeans, and you push against his biceps. “Dieter, she’ll be back any minute. She can’t – can’t see us like this.”

You’ve never heard him chuckle like the way he does, so darkly pleased with himself.

“Once I’m done schmoozing her, your father, your sister and her – what did you call him – cardboard husband, we’ll fuck in front of them and they won’t say a word.”

“Dieter!” You shove him just as your mother returns from the kitchen.

She frowns and you feel the scolding coming, the scent of Dieter so obviously entangled in you. You might as well be wearing a sign that reads, hi, yes, I’ve been recently groped why do you ask?

“Did you forget where your room is? Honestly, what would you do without me? Now, follow me and I’ll remind you.”

Schmooze he did.

From the same magical bag of weirdly specific and perfect gifts, Dieter presents a bottle of Buffalo Trace bourbon and two very illegal, but very Cuban cigars. Your father forgets to scowl in the face of some of the most expensive bourbon in the world.

For your sister, he somehow senses that material objects won’t go as far, so he endears himself to your niece first. Asking her questions about her doll, about her school, what she likes to play with her friends and how crazy it is that hopscotch is his favorite game too.

In twenty minutes, he’s on his hands and knees, black sleeves pulled up over his immaculate forearms, and etching out a hopscotch board with pink chalk. He nods and interjects while your niece runs around him, demanding a dragon in the corner, or a crown in another, and suddenly your biological clock starts blaring like an air-raid siren.

“He’s so good with kids,” your sister mutters to you from the door to the garage. A single glance tells you she’s under the same effect of watching a hot man play with a child. You’re so aroused and confused you can’t even eye her with jealousy.

“Mhmm hmm.”

“When are you going to have some of your own?”

And you’re back inside before you can see the look on his face as he lifts his head.

It would be insulting to call it eerie.

It’s not like he’s physically incapable of smelling clean, or dressing nice, or even combing his hair. You’ve seen him do it time and time again for galas and interviews. Hell, that time he took you on a date to get sushi in the tallest building in Toronto, he didn’t look that much different from how he does right now . . . and yet . . .

You feel your face scrunch in suspicion when he remembers your aunt’s food allergies, how your Uncle Rick likes his after-dinner coffee.

Dieter might forget to put on pants, but he’s never forgotten the important dates of your relationship. He remembers what you were wearing the first night you kissed, but can’t remember to take out the pizza before it burns in the oven.

This, this Dieter, feels wrong.

You watch him laugh with your father and uncle by the fireplace with brandy in his hands as you work with your mother and sister to unwrap a dozen saran-wrapped pies. He comes by later and takes the stack of plates from your mother’s hands and assures her he’ll do the dishes, as thanks for such a wonderful meal.

This Dieter Bravo needs a smoking jacket and uses words like “wonderful meal”.

Initial surprise at his near magical transformation from the car this morning long gone, you sit with this uncomfortable feeling, as everyone around you eats pie and laughs and looks all the part of a fucking Hallmark card for “joyful festivities”, long enough to finally understand it for what it is:

Anger.

Shame. Guilt.

Hot embarrassment.

You look at the man who’s invaded your boyfriend’s body as he charms the pants off your mother and father, and ugly, heavy embarrassment boils over in your chest. Washing the knife in your throat down with your fourth glass of wine all night, you excuse yourself with the last bit of breath in your lungs before ducking upstairs, then stumbling to your childhood bathroom you once shared, and share again, with your sister.

You lock the door forcefully in lieu of slamming it shut and sit down on the tile, your head against your knees. Rationally, there’s a part of you that knows this shouldn’t affect you like it is. Women would kill for a boyfriend like this – your sister very nearly jumped him in the garage.

But that’s just the thing – this isn’t your boyfriend. This isn’t the man you spend your days and nights with and this isn’t the man you fell in love with. This isn’t the Dieter you want to show the world.

A soft knock comes from the other side of the door and it breaks you out of your self-deprecating spiral.

“Just a second,” you call out as you stand. You flush the empty toilet (this night is filled with ruses after all) and twitch the faucet on for two seconds. But when you open the door, you’re immediately cowed back in.

“Dieter, what are you–,”

“Are you okay?” Beneath the veneer of the Million Dollar Man, his eyes are soft, coaxing the anxiety out of you. “You looked pale when you left.” He tucks an escaped strand of hair over your ear, watching how his fingers brush up against your skin. He gently tangles his fingers in your hair as he pulls back. He smirks. “Mom’s dressing wasn’t that bad.”

White-hot shame blooms again and you turn your head from him, tugging your hair out of his reach. You catch his hurt expression out of the corner of your eye.

“I’m fine. Just needed some air.”

“You’re not a good liar. I’ve told you that.” His voice is clipped. Not irritated, but not interested in lengthy bouts of misdirection either.

“Well, I don’t feel like bearing my problems to Mr. Perfect.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He crosses his arms, shoulders swelling in the space of the tiny bathroom, and he leans on the sink.

“It means you’re a better liar than me so I guess you’ll have to do it for the both of us.”

You know it’s ridiculous to try and move around him – but maybe this Dieter wouldn’t care if you left angry. Even sober, he could manhandle you without a second thought, but between the heat of the drink in your throat and he’s blurred at the edges, you know you’re fighting a losing battle.

“Dieter, please, just –,”

He stands his ground, effectively blocking the door, and you huff, pushing up against his waist with your hands, your teeth bared behind your lips. He steps back, you think you’ve won a mile, but then his hands grasp so firmly around your elbows, your entire consciousness is pulled into where his fingers curl against your skin.

He gently, but seriously, shakes you slightly.

“Stop fighting me. You tell me what I did wrong and we’ll talk about this.”

The past two weeks of dread, and fear, and worry, and shame – shame that this is your family, this is how you go to pieces around them, this is all you can offer him – slam into your chest and your breathing hitches. The fingers at his chest dig into his shirt. The fourth glass of wine makes your eyes hot and tight.

“This isn’t you.”

You grimace in the bright light of the bathroom and your confession. But beyond your closed eyes, his demeanor hasn’t changed.

“What’s not me?”

A tear slips out the moment you open your mouth, your throat closing and gagging on your words. You swallow and try again, eyes peeling open to stare at the curve of his shoulder.

“You’re Dieter Bravo. You dry-clean your favorite pajamas to preserve the material. You do astrology charts of people who piss you off to find out how to best get back at them. You paint until four in the morning and sleep in our bed until I wake you up–,”

Your heart thrusts its way into your airways and cuts off your ability to speak. You know you’re not making a lot of sense, but all you can think of right now is how much you want to peel this fucking black, Steve Jobs-esque, goddamn ugly-ass turtleneck apart with your bare hands. Like freeing a mermaid from a net. He squeezes your waist, his broad palm settled in the curve of your lower back.

“Darling, I don’t see why this has you so sad –,”

“They won’t fall in love with you like I did.” You lift your watery gaze to him, unable to stop the spilling of tears. You always got teary when you drank a bit too much, but fuck, if you didn’t love him so much, you wouldn’t be so mad . . . at yourself. “I hate that you feel like you have to do this to be accepted by my family. I hate that they can’t see what makes you so special to me. I hate . . . I hate that they don’t see the real you.”

And out of nowhere, he smiles.

Never one to shy away from bodily fluids, Dieter kisses your tear-soaked cheeks, his hands rising up your back, taking their time to press into the curve of your hips, the bones of your ribs, the high arch of your spine, before settling on your cheeks. He kisses your wet mouth, thumbs against the corners of your lips like a soft leather bridle. He holds you, just like that, until your heart eases, stops racing in your chest, and you lean more into the kiss, chasing instead of hiding. You wrap your fingers around his wrists as he pulls away.

“With all due respect, this is just another gig for me.” His gentle smile hides no bitterness, no anger. No disgust. “I know what people like this are like, how they think, what they want. What they value.” He smears away the cold tears from your skin with his thumbs. “It’s fun, in a way, to infiltrate their little circles. It’s all fake, it’s all bullshit, and fortunately I’m fantastic at bullshit.”

You let out a watery laugh and he reaches behind you for some toilet paper to dry your tears. He blots your eyes for you before you can even take the tissue.

“You’re not forcing me to do anything, baby,” he murmurs. “My family was exactly the same way, so I know how the game is played.”

“Yeah, and you don’t talk to them anymore. I just wish I had your bravery to cut them out of my life like you did.”

Dieter’s mouth twitches. “Well, that had more to do with the fact that I like to occasionally make out with boys, than dysfunctional family dynamics.”

You squeeze his forearm as he continues to clean your face, trying to catch his eyes but they’d gone hard where a moment ago they were soft. He thinks, using the silence to carefully fix your make up with his thick thumb under your eyelashes to lift off the smeared mascara.

He didn’t talk much about his life before Hollywood, but when he did, you understood why he was so closed off about it.

“Let’s put it this way: they did the cutting off, not me. And even if we have to be completely different people, your family still talks to you. I’m not saying that to guilt you, or compare trauma scars, but . . . most times we can’t pick who we love, but sometimes we have to.”

You nod, a sense of ease washing over you. His small, I don’t know if I should say this but I’m gonna smile widens across his mouth.

“It’s okay if they don’t see the real me, because I know you do.” He finally pulls away the tissue, his mouth pulled up in sweet earnest. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

A physical string connected between your ribs and his could not have tugged you faster. Tripping into his wide, warm chest, you drop your head onto his collarbone as you wrap your arms around his torso tighter than his own rib cage.

“Just . . .”

His bulky arms pull you into his chest, the bristles of his beard scratching at your temple. It’s not until you sink away from your own thoughts, into the silence in the bathroom, that you realize your breathing is synced with his.

That realization hits you particularly hard, that without trying, without meaning to, you become one with him – you turn and bury your face into the pulse of his neck. If you can get to his heartbeat, maybe that’ll calm you too. Dig through the crust of the earth and end up in China. You shift in his arms, and he does too. Dieter cups the back of your head, thumb rubbing the arch of your skull. His entire arm circles your back.

“What do you need, hm, baby? What can I give you, huh?”

You know he doesn’t mean it like that, but the girth, the weight of his voice has your toes curling in your shoes. His rasp is so often used to light that first spark.

“Dieter –,” the moment shifts and so do you. You squirm, itching for his face in your hands, his mouth over yours, but he holds you steady. Holds you firm. So firm, you can feel he’s half-hard in his jeans.

Oh.

Maybe he did mean it like that.

You press your tongue against his pulse point, your fingers splayed across the back of his rib cage, and he shudders. You’re about to bite down, when his hands peel your fingers from his back and pinch your wrists in one single, meaty grip. Heart suddenly thundering in your chest, he steps back to allow for just enough room to turn you – barely any at all – and pushes you face down on the sink counter, your wrists clasped over your ass behind you.

Cold marble pressing up against your tits, your face turned towards the window and the towel bar where you used to hang your Barbie swimsuits when you were seven, you feel his other massive palm dip under your sweater and press flat against the ridges of your spine. He hums when you let out a small whine. Flexes his fingers when you wiggle your ass against him. You seek out the marble with your cheek, heat rising under your skin, arousal suddenly burning hot in your low belly.

“This is what you need, hm, baby? Need me to touch you? To feel you?” He murmurs. Dieter always did like playing with his food. You nod helplessly, cheek sticky against the marble. He shifts his hips into the crack of your ass, with just enough pressure to have you bucking back against him, but not enough to find relief from the stirring between your legs.

He strokes your hair away from your neck, fingers brushing over your collarbone, gaze languid and slow. Like he can see where he needs to pluck to unravel you.

“Why is my baby so tense?” He muses quietly, patronizing. His hand maps your spine in a single palm, edging slowly up your back until, with two fingers, he pinches your bra open. You feel the snap of the release and you rub your nose against the edge of the counter, whimpering. “Don’t I take care of you?”

You gulp. “Y-y-yes, you treat– treat me so good. I want it.”

He has you pressed too tightly against the counter to slip his hand down your front, the edge pinching your hips. So, instead, with your hands still pinned against your tailbone, he palms your ass and rubs a thick finger down between your legs and up over the seam of your jeans. The whine building in your throat breaks into an open moan when he presses your zipper teeth into your clit.

“Want what? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

“F-fingers – tongue – fuck – y-your cock. Anything inside me.”

The surprised, breathless chuckle that reverberates down to the button of his jeans seared against your ass has you bending, stretching, just for a glimpse of his face in the mirror.

His mouth open, tongue curling back and forth over his bottom lip, he’s hungry. Wants so much. Can’t satiate this need without something between his teeth. Grinning around a mouthful of incisors. Patience has never been Dieter’s strong suit.

With a firm jerk around your wrists, your back arches up off the counter, shoulders pinched, hands caught low near his groin. You know he wants you to watch him touch you in the mirror – he’s stopped before when you close your eyes – but it’s hard to look at the woman reflected back at you, with her bleary eyes, mussed hair, heaving chest, and exposed belly button where his hand hovers between the waistband and a green sweater, and recognize yourself.

“No one can take you from me. Do you understand?” He dips his head, arched nose dragging up the curve of your neck, breathing hot through his teeth against the lines where your hair and your skin meet. You can’t help but arch up into his waiting mouth. “Not your family. Not mine. You’re so greedy for me – who else is gonna make you feel this good?”

“N-no one, Dieter, no one can.”

His hand rising under your sweater, thumb first at your belly button, then up between the spread of your ribs, and finally, it catches under the wire of your bra and he tugs it down. The material rubs against your sensitive nipples – it almost stings, your body pulled taught like a bowstring – the straps falling low off your shoulders, but your sweater keeps it from falling off completely and he goes no further. You whine, eager for something other than the scratch of the bra – something warmer – and push your sensitive tits into his soft hands, but his hand drops, fingering the waistline of your jeans instead. He ignores what you want to show you what you need.

This is a thing he did. He watched you wind yourself up with deadlines and scheduling and meetings and arguments on set and and doubt and worry and fear and then he took it upon himself to tire you out enough that all of it shattered – crashed and consumed under the white noise in your head. Dieter liked to play however you needed it.

You can feel the seam of his jeans hover just beyond your fingertips, as though his hips swing unconsciously forward while he nips and sucks on your neck. God, you’d give anything to have the weight of him between your palms.

When he speaks again, you realize at some point you squeezed your eyes shut, forgoing sight to chase the sensation that sparks across your skin every time he touched a new bare patch of skin on you. He pulls his head up from fixating a tender purple blush just below where your sweater covers your shoulder to catch your gaze in the mirror. Panthers do not watch with such hungry eyes.

“Arms up.” It’s not a command, a request, but the words drip from his mouth, rich and sweet. He lets go of your wrists and your arms flutter above you, his fingers already rolling up the edge of your sweater. He drags it up, snagging your loose bra with it, and peeling them both off you. The immediate heat of his chest on your bare back is so hot, it burns cold.

“Dieter,” you cry, nipples hardening in the cold air, goosebumps spiraling out along your skin. He’s there for you in an instant.

He bites the soft, invisible hairs at your jaw, thick paws coming up to clutch your breasts, the sudden swap in temperature making your head swim. He pulls you against his chest, a new outer skin that breathes and moans and gasps, one that has a steady heartbeat your own has synced to.

With his eyes fixated on you in the mirror, he molds your breast to his palm, rounding your nipples with his thumbs before sliding down between the curves of them. He licks the back of your neck.

“Face down, baby,” he says.

“But it’s cold,” you huff, pouting. You smooth your hands over his, his angular wrists, his broad thick forearms entombed in long back sleeves, then settle with your fingers in his hair. His height over you has your torso stretched, your tits bare and ripe, and he palms your stomach to the top of your ribs in two hands. He grunts when you twist his curls, keeping his head still so every bruise and wet spot on your shoulders and throat are all too visible. “Don’t you want to see all your good work?”

He blinks, slow and purposeful, his eyelids heavy, mouth parting. You can’t be sure of his decision, of what he wants, what he’s going to give, when his hands arch up the cradle of your arms, soft enough to tickle below your elbows, then around your wrists. He’s done this enough for you to know he wants you to let go.

You do.

Fast as venom moves from fangs to flesh, he plants your hands on the counter, forcibly gripping the edge. This is how you hold on.

He steps up against you again, iron-hot cock pressing without hesitancy between your ass cheeks, and unbuckles your pants without preamble.

“I’d rather just show you.”

Broad hand bending your shoulders forward, fingers pressed flat over your shoulder, you gasp when your tits make contact with the cold counter, and an instant later, he’s filling your open mouth with his fingers. He wets them against the slip of your tongue and grabs your jaw.

Your mind fracturing like cracking ice, you don’t hear the zip of his jeans, the groan as he takes himself out – barely feel the rub along your wet slit, the arranging of his fingers around your bare hip, the widening of your stance with his ankle.

But you do feel it when he’s suddenly hilt-deep inside of you.

You lurch forward with the weight of it, whining as though scalded at the sudden blinding pressure of pleasure and pain, and you slap a palm against the mirror to keep yourself from shattering through it. Behind you, Dieter looks like someone dislocated his kneecaps.

“You good, baby?” He pants, drawing his hand out of your mouth, wet spit between his fingers as he cups your hanging breast. The sensation bleeds hot, then cold. Unable to help himself, he nuzzles your shoulder blades.

You nod, eyes shut, the magnetic north sense of you spinning wildly off-kilter as you try to gulp in as much air as you can. You know you’re about to lose it anyway. He stands upright, not so much as inching out of you, when he plants his feet and nestles your ass against his hip bones, hands wiggling you further down his cock.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

It’s said with such wonder, a breathless reverence, that you think he might not have realized he said it out loud. You glance over your shoulder, turning your head instead of finding him in the mirror.

The facade of the Brooklyn banker is gone. Your Dieter stares, awe-struck, at the body he’s got impaled on his cock like it’s the first time he’s seen a naked woman. Soft, pliant, eager to please, your Dieter lets you collar him, peg him, and give it to you exactly as you ask.

“How do you want it?” The phrase is so familiar, so intimate when spoken from his pink lips, you shudder, a Pavlovian response that’s got you drooling somewhere else than your mouth. He lifts his gaze and finds you staring.

There is no one else in that moment. Not a single living soul besides you and him in this white-tiled bathroom. You can almost hear the absence of people ringing in your ears. His open, hot mouth draws your eyes away from his and you want every bit of him as stuffed up inside you as you can handle. Twisted around, you lick his bottom lip over your shoulder before offering your tongue for him to suck.

He groans, and you breathe in intimacy you’ve never experienced before. A flushed ache rises from your chest, a precursor to the aches he’ll leave you with by morning.

You tip your head back and thumb the bristly skin against his chin.

“Hard, baby. Please.”

For all his faults, for all his forgetting, Dieter switches brain waves as fast as you do, tethered together like the gravitational spin of space rocks in the wake of a gleaming comet.

“Okay.”

He distracts you from the pain of that first rough thrust by biting down on your shoulder.

His motions are short, targeted, and right up into the cradle of your cervix, the pace driven, unrelenting and hard. You shake with the force of them, as fragile as silverware on a table near the drop of an atom bomb.

“Oh – fuck, Dieter–,”

He pins your arm that had touched his chin to your chest, then his chest to your back, sealing your damp skin to his shirt. The curl of that wretched black turtleneck scratches deliciously against your low back.

Grunting in low, short bursts, Dieter sabotages his own breathing by crushing you so tight to his chest. He sucks on your neck as if to draw the oxygen straight from your blood. The fingers on your hip steady you, just for his cock wrecks your insides.

“You wan-na – ngh – you wanna know why it doesn’t bother me?”

Each word is spat out from between his teeth. He’s giving you your requested punishment as much as he is sprinting after his own release.

“Tell me. Tell me please.” Your voice is scraped raw, breathless and gooey at the same time.

“Because when you’re my wife, they won’t be able to do a fucking thing about it.”

Around him, your cunt squeezes, his words sending shocks through your nerves. You whine as if he’d smacked your ass.

“I fucking felt that. You like that. You want that. You want my fucking cock every day.”

Again, he plants your hands on the cold counter.

“Push back against me, baby.” You anchor yourself, ass out, elbows and knees locked. “That’s it, that’s my fucking good girl.”

He lifts his body up right, off your sweaty neck and back, and with both hands pinching your waist, he yanks you up and down on his cock in long, rough thrusts, knees bending with enough force to send you onto your toes.

“Gonna have to take it. Just – fucking – take – it –,”

His leaking cock drives up against that spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll back and body tense again and again, but yanks back before that hot feeling swells. It’s so close you’re dizzy from it.

You want to fuck yourself on his cock but you can’t time your aching hips right, so you stop trying and bend forward more, exposing more of your cunt to him.

“Dieter, please –,”

“Baby, you gotta be quiet. I know you feel good, but you can’t let them hear us.”

The words are out of your mouth, breaking through the thick, drowning fog and through the hindbrain barrier.

“Fuck them. Let them hear.”

Dieter’s hips slow, punch not as deeply, as if he’s curious what you’re going to say next.

“Take off your shirt. I wanna feel your skin.”

He listens immediately, a very good boy at heart, and the first press of his soft chest against you nearly has you coming then.

“Harder again, please.”

Again, without a second’s hesitation, he kisses your ear before grappling your shoulder with one hand and your hip with the other and he takes up his position as owner and keeper of your sloppy cunt.

You cry out, high and wrecked, some semblance of sanity knowing you’re being far too loud, and he bucks the words out of you.

“I wanna suck on your earring, Dieter.” He grunts as he doubles over as if trying to yank back an unrestrained and early release. He rubs his damp forehead in the patch of soft skin by your shoulder blade.

“Say it again.”

With every rock of his hips, you swing up higher, and higher, your thighs tensing, nails scraping the counter.

“Wanna put it between my lips and suck until you’re cherry red. I wanna choke on your rings. So far down my throat I gag. Wanna – wanna – lick your tattoos – all of them – ‘til the ink blurs from my spit. I –,”

The noise he makes is pained, weak, a man at the end of his rope.

He pops your ass. “Shut up. You’re gonna come now.”

His sweaty palms slip against the soft skin of your hips, and he keeps slipping with no leverage.

“Stand on your toes.” You do and for an absurd second, you think he’s going to pick you up in a bear hug. He wraps his arms around your rib cage, his face nestled into the hot, sticky curve of your neck, in the flipped image of when he takes you after your legs get sore from riding him. Your tits spilling over his forearms, he keeps the ludicrous bend in your spine as well as the short, rough pace. You reach your fingers around the back of his head and hold on for dear life.

The change in angle has stars blowing across your eyes, has you whimpering strings of pleas, veneration, and curses all threaded together. His own thighs shaking, he rubs the pads of three of his fingers across your clit and you’re over the edge.

“Oh – oh, shit –,”

The electrical storm that’s been building one wiry shock at a time finally bursts and you go rigid from head to toe, turning to marble, to steel, bright and sharp. You can feel your own release dribble down your thigh, Dieter stuttering behind you.

“Wait – fuck,”

He tries to speed up, or press harder, but he’s coming so hard you feel it expand your cunt and ends up just making a leaking mess. The sensation shivers you through another minor wave. The crest goes high, then crashes, and you slump forward, cold nips be damned, and he follows you down a second later.

The heated weight at your back and hard, cool marble squishing your tits is too much for your dazed brain to handle. Any looser and you might slip off the edge of the earth.

Dieter seems to be in a similar state. He not so much pulls out of you as he goes weak-kneed to the floor. A single tug on your hip has you stumbling down with him.

Despite the garland around the stairs, despite the smell of cranberries in the air, despite the veneer of perfect holiday wholesomeness, it’s the slick layer of sweat, grime, and cum over your skin that has you finally smiling.

You recognize you have been gone far too long – there’s not enough spiked hot cider in the world to ignore two missing bodies and a locked door. Dieter puts his barefoot preemptively up against the door frame and you giggle into his shoulder.

“Oh, there’s the sound I’ve been missing!” He nuzzles you, a blissful smile breaking open his face, sunlight over storm clouds. He wiggles beneath you, trying to tug you on top of him, but with your jeans constricting your thighs, and his barely below his hips, all it really accomplishes is the two of you rolling around on the bathroom floor.

In a heap of limbs, slick skin, his knee catching the button of your jeans, you bump your nose against his chin, there’s something bright building in your chest – it’s twisting your mouth, pinching your cheeks – his fingers grab your elbow, his eyes lock into yours –

And you’re laughing.

You’re laughing too loud, all pretense gone. You can’t honestly care what they’re thinking downstairs.

He manages to get you under him, his damp hair clinging to his temples and tangling down in frizzy strands.

“I’m gonna say this and I need you to actually hear me.”

You nod, grinning up at him and lightly tracing his clavicle.

He swats at your hand and holds it to your chest.

“Don’t wait until it’s that bad, okay?” You chuckle and he bites the tip of your nose. “Listen to me, you little goblin, I’m trying to be serious for a second.”

You settle under him, fingers intertwining with his over your chest. Sincere Dieter is a beautiful thing to look at.

“This holiday bullshit can be a lot. Spent a lot of them either in coke up to my eyeballs, or in the bathroom the next day. It fucking sucks that these are the people we can from, but we can’t change that. What’s important is the family we build right now–,”

Your mouth drops open, his words suddenly illuminating a future that had always seemed so blurry and distant.

“Dieter, I –,”

“I’m gonna marry you someday, so let’s start with us.” He kisses the back of your hand. “We carry each other, okay?”

You nod, the white light of that future searing a hole in your chest, exposing your heart to the open air, and bringing tears to your eyes. You nod, more assured, before kissing him on his bottom lip.

“Okay.”

The next few minutes play out just like they would if you were at home: cleaning each other up, trying on clothes only to realize he grabbed your sweater instead, and bumping affectionate kisses wherever they could reach.

At the top of the stairs, you don’t know what awaits you in the living room. What exactly you’ll be returning to. Who will catch you and who won’t.

But it doesn’t matter. His hand is around yours and he’s grinning petulantly against all the world.

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on?

Your heart says yes.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #the bubble fanfic #the bubble #pedro pascal #merry thanksgiving nonsense 2023

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scarletskiesinthepaths · 8 months ago

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I can’t get over the fact that seeking out physical mementos of his dead loved ones is something Levi has been doing since he was a young child. He sought out his mom’s tea set because it was the last tangible symbol of the life she lived and the impression he had of her—never wanting to forget her. Levi keeps inside of him the memories of every person he has ever lost.

Levi does the same thing again when he loses his squad in the “Female Titan” arc, and he cuts out Petra’s Scout badge from her uniform. He wanted a physical reminder that they had lived. These physical reminders are signs of who they were when they were still alive. To Levi, everyone deserves to be remembered as such. There’s such tragic selflessness in Levi, though, that he willingly gives up that last memento of Petra to help alleviate the grief of Dieter, who had just finished accusing Levi of being “devoid of humanity” and then endangered all of them in an attempt to retrieve the body of his dead comrade. Levi consistently forgoes his own needs to help others.

That same tragic selflessness is present in Levi in “Bad Boy” because Levi was ready to die in order to preserve that last impression he had of his mom, the one good thing he ever had. Let that sink in. Levi didn’t even fully remember his mom, but the mere impression of her was the one good thing he had. That says volumes about the suffering Levi must have experienced in his short life up until that moment. He truly does not see any worth in himself or in his own life. He actively endangered himself in “Bad Boy” because of this. He was suicidal.

And yet, Levi values the lives of others beyond anyone else. He seeks to give their deaths meaning. All this, despite seeing no greater value in himself beyond his ability to help people. Levi sees others’ lives as inherently valuable, but not his own.

It is significant to note that Levi’s powers awakened from a desire to protect. It wasn’t until the men attacking him in “Bad Boy” spoke horrific things about his mother that Levi fought back with the intention to protect his mom’s image. It was that moment in which he awakened.

The trauma of going into a situation fully expecting to die and then coming out of it having murdered multiple men is immeasurable. Levi never wanted this life of violence, as evidenced by the fact Levi peacefully asked multiple times for these men to give him an item that was rightfully his in the first place. Then, this bastard with the glasses later attempts to carve into Levi the idea that Levi’s own mother would be disappointed in him and hate him for having defended himself—when the only reason Levi even fought back was to protect her image. The tea cup breaking at the end acted as a metaphor that Levi had sullied his own image in the eyes of his mother, reinforced by the likely fact that it was his newly awakened strength that broke the handle—Levi views himself as the problem. The title “Bad Boy” is in reference to Levi’s perception of himself as a bad boy.

It is clear to me that the only thing that motivated Levi to live after all this was the idea that he could possibly do something good with his newfound strength—even though he viewed it as a monstrosity within him, being the cause of him destroying the last memory of his mother and resulting in him killing multiple men (likely for the first time). His newfound strength was also associated with leading directly to Kenny abandoning him. As such, there is no other reason Levi would have wanted to keep living otherwise. All of this speaks to an innate goodness in Levi. His selflessness is both his greatest flaw and his greatest strength.

#levi ackerman #aot bad boy #attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #aot.meta #meta.levi #c: levi ackerman #my thoughts #aot meta #snk meta #levi ackerman meta #attack on titan meta #shingeki no kyojin meta #bad boy

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tightjeansjavi · 10 months ago

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chamomile

A/N: I was making myself a cup of tea earlier this evening and the idea blossomed from there 🥺

for @morallyinept Valentine’s Day masterlist 💗

~word count: 1.3k~

Summary: it’s Valentine’s Day and Dieter Bravo is alone and missing you

Pairing | Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Warnings: mature, fluff, angst, language,implicit smut, one mention of dieter giving himself a handjob, mentions of alcohol and ouid, fwb’s, pining, assumed one-sided feelings, two idiots in love without realizing it, typical dieter behavior, reader has no physical descriptions, readers nickname is petal, +18 minors dni!

On the long, lonely nights where Dieter Bravo is away from you, his solace, his person, he always finds himself struggling to sleep. An hour here, and an hour there, but it can never compare to the deep, dreamy, snooze he gets when you’re laying next to him, tangled up in his legs, under his sheets.

He knows deep down he’s got it bad for you. So bad, he can hardly think straight on most days. Dieter, you missed your cue, again.

He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose and shakes his shoulders to relieve any pent up stress he’s feeling and to get back on track.

Did you even read the fucking script, Bravo?

He scoffs, jaw ticking under the harsh studio lights that buzz in his ear like a swarm of angry bees. Course I did. He lies through his teeth.

How could he even think about reading his lines when he spent hours of his night staring down his phone as he deeply contemplated the pros and cons of calling you up.

If I tell her how I feel, it makes everything fucking weird.

Or you get to live out your very own rom-com!

Or she never wants to speak to me again

Or she also confesses her deep, profound love for you.

Or..she doesn’t feel the same way and breaks my fucking heart into a million tiny pieces!

Or your dreams come true, Dieter.

You met Dieter Bravo through a friend of a friend at one of the movie star’s infamous parties. Dieter was drunk, a bit of a stumbling mess, but when his warm, and slightly clammy palm wrapped around your own, you knew you were donefore. And how was it possible for a scruffy man such as himself to have the kindest, softest, warmest brown eyes you ever had the pleasure of gazing into?

No, you were not in love with Dieter Bravo. He was just your friend..with the occasional benefits. Nothing more, nothing less.

When Dieter finds himself alone in his too big of a house for another night, he packs a bowl, and then another, and another. He takes a relaxing bath, alone with nothing but the comfort of his own fist wrapped around his cock. His lashes flutter shut, plush lips parting as he sinks further into the chamomile scented bubbles.

You told him once that chamomile should help him sleep better. He sent his assistant out the next day to buy chamomile tea, and literally any and all the chamomile scented products that she could find.

You took a bath together once, and he vividly remembers dragging his nose across the base of your neck, inhaling the sweet aroma while you nearly dozed off in his saccharine grip. Muscles relaxed, limbs pliant under the soapy water.

But you weren’t here. You were thousands of miles away on a girls trip with some of your single friends. It was the trip that finally made it out of the group chat, and it happened to fall on the week of Valentine’s Day.

Wait, that’s today, right? Shit. How pathetic. He thinks to himself, stroking his cock faster, creating ripples in the sudsy water.

Yeah, so fucking pathetic. Alone on fucking Valentine’s Day, and higher than a goddamn kite.

He doesn’t come, and while that in itself should be frustrating, he accepts his fate of misery while the temperature of the water becomes too cold to bear and he’s forced to retreat.

He packs another bowl, yanks his leftover Taco Bell from the fridge and eats it cold, like the feeling of his heart.

His king sized bed feels even larger than usual, and he chuffs a laugh, taking another bite of his half eaten crunch wrap supreme.

That’s because I’m fucking alone on Valentine’s Day.

He knows he’s not really alone. But on a day that is all about love, he sure as hell doesn’t feel the love.

He misses the way you would roll over mid sleep and drape your arm across his bare stomach. Your fingers would play with the dark, soft hair that led down to his happy trail while you drooled into the crook of his neck, soft snores escaping past your parted lips. He found it endearing. You were like a koala, and he was the tree branch of your choosing.

He so badly wanted to be your tree branch right now.

Was that lame? Probably. But Dieter could give less of a shit about any of that. He missed you, and the feeling ate away at him, carving a hole in his chest and yanking his heart right out.

He didn’t mind that you would accidentally kick him off the side of the bed, or steal all the covers. He loved it when you would talk in your sleep, babbling about pure nonsense that somehow to his ears made perfect sense.

Okay, so he missed you…a lot. He wasn’t the only person to miss someone this much. Hell, maybe even his neighbor was going through the same feelings and emotions as he was.

Love. Yeah, that’s what he was feeling. He was in love with you, and you had no fucking idea how he truly felt.

He tossed and turned, fluffed down his pillows, scrolled on his phone, watching his favorite saved tik toks, and he even tried listening to the soothing sounds of a thunderstorm through a podcast on Spotify. None of it was working. He couldn’t sleep, and you were to blame.

That’s how Dieter Bravo found himself in his kitchen, fully exposed sans some fluffy slippers on his feet that had seen better days. He dug through his pantry till he found the familiar box of chamomile tea. He let out a sigh of relief and tore open the silver foil with his teeth.

His phone screen read 2:30a.m as the kettle on the stove whistled loudly in his eardrums.

The familiar scent of chamomile coated his senses in a warmth that could only be described as you as he let the tea bag steep in his favorite chipped mug.

His knuckles drummed along the countertop nervously as he stared down his phone once more. He let out a huff, bringing one hand to scratch at the patches in his scraggly beard.

As steam billowed from the mug next to him, he finally picked up his phone and dialed your number.

He chewed on the tip of his thumbnail, eyes dancing nervously as the dial tone rang, and rang. He was ready to hang up and toss his phone in the garbage disposal when you finally answered.

His heart skipped a beat and his weed-hazed mind couldn’t keep up with the rate that words were flowing past his lips.

“Petal? Hey, happy Valentine’s Day. Well—er, happy belated Valentine’s Day? ‘Suppose it’s already over. Uh—hope I’m not bothering you, I just couldn’t sleep, so I’m in my kitchen having a cup of chamomile tea, like you suggested. Fuck, I’m rambling, aren’t I? I smoked a few too many bowls so my brain is a bit scrambled. Anyway, I miss you, baby. I’m so lonely, and I wish you were here.”

His stoned rambling continued on as you listened silently, holding your phone close to your ear and swatting at your friend's arm when they asked who was on the phone. The club music was booming at the same rate that your heart was pounding in your chest.

“Hi, Dee. I miss you too. I've been thinking...when I get back, can we grab dinner sometime?" You warmly suggest.

His pupils are blown wide like two shiny marbles illuminated under the soft glow of the moonlight trickling in through his tall kitchen windows.

“Fuck yes. I’d fucking love to grab dinner with you sometime, Petal.” He rasps softly through the receiver.

banners made by the lovely @saradika 💗

I no longer have a taglist so please follow @tightjeansjaviupdates for fic notifications and updates!

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something-tofightfor · 21 days ago

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Locked Down Part 22: The Decision

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Female Reader

Word Count: 10,921

Rating: There's nothing graphic, but we'll go with M because I mention a couple things briefly.

Summary: Being home for the holidays for the first time since the pandemic began is a definite change for you. While Dieter can't be there for Thanksgiving, the promise of his Christmas arrival means that it's time to begin publicly appearing together. It's definitely something that you want, but that doesn't mean it's easy.

Along with navigating an official relationship with Dieter, there's also plenty of other life - and career - choices to consider.

Author’s note:

Two full years later, here's another chapter. Is anyone still interested? Was anyone waiting to find out what happens next for these two? I hope so. This chapter has been halfway done for about a year, I just got super sidetracked... but not anymore.

I've missed writing for Dieter, so it was nice to get back to this story.

Catch up on the other parts here: Locked Down Masterlist

Settling into life in Georgia after getting back from Vancouver was more difficult than you thought it would be. Your flight was smooth, and your apartment was just as you’d left it, but from the moment you landed, you felt like you were on the go.

You scheduled your meeting with Carmen for the Monday after the holiday, which meant that you had plenty of time to prepare yourself for it. In the email confirmation, she included a single extra line of text - It seems like we have a lot more than the job offer to talk about - but didn’t elaborate, and even reading through it, you couldn’t stop smiling.

Whatever happened in the future with Dieter, she was partially responsible for it - and you knew that she wouldn’t ever let you forget it.

When your third COVID test came back negative the Tuesday after you got home, you sent a quick text to Dieter that morning letting him know that you’d be unavailable for part of the day. That done, you headed for your parents’ new place, grocery list in hand.

Your mother added to it, and without talking about anything in detail, you headed for the store, determined to get in and out as fast as possible so that you could start baking. There won’t be too many people this year, but we still need a ton of food.

You navigated the aisles with relative ease, thankful for the fact that the mask you wore hid your annoyed expression. But you froze when you got to the checkout line, your eyes locked on one of the tabloids displayed on the endcap.

Dieter Bravo’s Dating Dilemma was the headline.

Beneath it was a picture taken in Vancouver - and after you’d left, if his haircut was any indication - of him talking on the phone as he walked down the street.

It was a smaller blurb next to his picture that really caught your attention, though. Instagram posts say one thing, but past behavior says another! And below that was an inset picture of the two of you taken from a distance at the airport - along with two photos of Dieter and other women. Christen and Tina.

You knew that it was a bad idea. But you still reached for the magazine and tossed it into the cart, fighting back the urge to open it and flip to the article while you waited in line. But that would be weird.

So you forced yourself to wait until you’d paid for your groceries and were sitting in the parking lot, grabbing for the magazine and finding the correct pages.

As you read them, you couldn’t contain your laughter. The “article” was little more than a few paragraphs picking apart Dieter’s social media posts, as well as Tina’s, and then pictures next to brief mentions of multiple other women he’d been linked to in the past - including Jennifer Pearson, Carol Cobb and Mara. You - like Christen - were simply listed as a “mystery woman”, and by the time you finished reading, you were upset that you’d shelled out the money to buy it.

Then, you did the only thing you could think of and held the magazine up next to your face, grinning as you raised your phone and took a selfie. Attaching it to a text message, you sent it to Dieter, along with one sentence: Baby’s first tabloid cover!

Still laughing as you put the car into drive, you wondered if anything would come of the cover as it related to your social media or privacy. It’s not like some people don’t know who I am, I’ve been on TV for years.

Just as you pulled into your parents’ driveway, your phone rang, Dieter’s face on the screen. “Hey.” Answering it through your car’s Bluetooth, you put the car back into park, leaning against your seat. “You didn’t need to call.”

“Yeah, I did. I didn’t even know that issue was going to print those. I usually get a heads up.”

“Dieter, it’s fine.” Rubbing at your temple, you grinned. “I’m actually kind of annoyed that I’m listed as a mystery woman. These people must not watch Informal Eats, or know how to use Instagram, because -”

“You could start tagging yourself in pictures.” He laughed and then you did, too. “The one you sent me would be kind of funny.” You hadn’t even considered that, but if Dieter was suggesting it, it was at least worth a thought.

“Wouldn’t that be an official confirmation, though? I thought we weren’t doing that.” He sighed, and you heard the honking of a horn on his end of the call. Shit, I didn’t even think about where he might be. “Dieter? Are you busy? I don’t want to keep you.”

“I’m walking to get coffee.” He cleared his throat. “We’ve got a night shoot tonight and then we’re taking a couple days off for the holiday. They don’t celebrate it up here, but a lot of the cast and crew are American, so…”

“Who are you spending Thanksgiving with?” Chewing on your lower lip, you waited for his answer.

“Michael and Jenna. He came in on Monday, and they invited me over for dinner.” Good. “Maybe next year we can spend it together.” His voice was quiet but you heard it nonetheless - his apprehension clear, even over the phone. Does he think I wouldn’t want to?

“We should see how Christmas and New Year’s go, first.” Trying to decrease the tension, you nodded, eyes on the front door. “You might not like my family, and your friends might not like me.”

“I don’t have any real friends.” He laughed, saying your name again. “I made damn sure of that over the last couple years.” Oh, Dieter. You hadn’t really considered that - you’d seen pictures of him with people, heard stories of the time he spent hanging out with them while he was in LA between jobs. But are they really friends? Or is it just … “That’s the thing. When you’re not on the hard shit all the time, it gives you time to think.”

“Dieter, I -” He cut you off, though, his tone not unkind.

“No, it’s alright.” The sound of a bell came through the speaker and you knew that the conversation was about to get cut short. “It’s the truth. I have people I can call friends, but it’s not … shit, I’m closer to Jenna and Michael than any of them, and I’ve gotta pay her to -”

“You do not.” Laughing, you sighed. “I mean, yeah you do pay her, but she’d still care about you even if you didn’t. These last few years have been weird for everyone, Dieter. Once you’re home for a while, you’ll see.” I hope I’m right. “I’m helping my mom cook for a while, and then I’m going home, so if you want to give me a call later, you can.”

“I won’t be done tonight until at least 3, so that would be what, 6 am your time? I’m not going you call you that early.” He scoffed. “Too fuckin’ early.”

“That’s one thing we can agree on.” Getting out of the car, you popped the trunk open, pausing next to it. “But seriously, call me whenever. I like hearing your voice.” He didn’t reply for a few seconds, and then Dieter said your name, waiting a couple breaths to continue.

“I’m really sorry that they printed that picture. It’s been a week, and I didn’t think they would.”

“Dieter, you kissed me for a solid two minutes out in the open.” Laughing, you tilted your head back, the memory of his lips on yours widening your smile. “I’m surprised they didn’t post a better one.” He snorted at that, but you didn’t give him a chance to reply. “I’m not going to tag anything or post anything. I’m sure some people have already done it for me, but I have everything on silent except for alerts from people I follow, so if it’s up, I haven’t seen it.”

“Alright.” He cleared his throat. “What are you making today?”

“Pies.” Pulling the trunk all the way open, you eyed the bags. “And we’re brining the turkey. And I’m sure I’ll have to prep at least one or two other sides, even though we’re only having a couple people over. There’s always way too much food.”

“I’m sorry I won’t be there to help eat any of it. Or to answer questions.” He meant it - you could tell. And I appreciate it. “I should be.”

“No, you’ll be here for Christmas, and there will be way more people there to explain things to.” Tilting your head to the side to trap your phone between it and your shoulder, you paused. “Sorry, Dieter.”

“I’m not.” You laughed again, fingers closing around the bag handles. “I’m looking forward to it.” So am I.

—

By Monday morning, you were exhausted, despite the fact that you hadn’t done anything all weekend aside from eat and shop.

You’d had to explain more than a few things to your relatives - a younger cousin in disbelief that you’d actually worked with Krystal Kris, and one of your aunts loudly questioning why, if you were seeing Dieter, he wasn’t there for the holidays. But aside from that, there hadn’t been much in the way of unexpected conversation, or prying from your family.

It’s just having so much to do around so many people after so long of … Groaning as you tightened your hold on the steering wheel, you shook your head. “Too much socialization.”

Once your family left after dinner and a few rounds of cards, you’d called Dieter, video chatting with the three of them for a few minutes and telling him to call you when he was back at his rented apartment. And when he’d done that, it had taken a while to rehash the conversations you’d had with your relatives - and the reactions you’d gotten. It would have been easier if you’d been together, but unexpectedly, just telling him about it had helped ease your stress level over how it had gone. And that’s a good thing.

After so much time spent secluded from the majority of the people around you, the holiday season getting started in full swing had been a shock. The stores were busy, the roadways were busy, and people - including some of your family members - were already unpleasant, even though it was still only November.

And now I’ve got this meeting with Carmen. Pulling into the parking lot, you searched it for her car and parked next to it. You were a few minutes early, but you wanted to get things over with - because you wanted to know whether or not you’d still have a job in the coming months. Or if I’ll be starting over from scratch.

As you walked toward the doors, your phone rang, the sound pulling you from your thoughts. There was a familiar picture on the screen, and you couldn’t keep the smile off your face as you answered. “Dieter, you’re calling early. Why are -”

“It is really fucking early, but I wanted to wish you good luck.” He sounded half asleep and you could picture him, stretched out on his side and still under the blankets - hair wild and lines marking his skin from pressing his face against his wrinkled pillowcase. “I’m going back to sleep as soon as we hang up, but -”

“Thank you.” Leaning back against the low wall, you nodded. “I’m happy to hear from you.”

“They’d be stupid not to agree to let you move somewhere and keep working.” He was mumbling, obviously still half asleep. “But even if they don’t, I’ll take care of you until you find something. Want to.” What? You froze at the words, unsure of whether or not Dieter even realized he’d said them, but when he continued, you knew that he had. “Won’t be able to afford you using Uber Copter every day, but…”

A loud burst of laughter broke the tension and moments later he joined in, the sound low and rumbling. I miss you so much, Dieter. “Go back to bed. You won’t need to take care of me. Promise.”

“I love you.” You didn’t say it every time you hung up, or at the end of every text conversation, so hearing the words from Dieter still hit just as hard as they had the first time. Who am I kidding? They always will.

“I love you too, Bravo. Now go back to sleep. Can’t have you looking like a raccoon on set today.”

You hung up moments later, and after giving yourself a few seconds to compose yourself - and to remind yourself to bring up Dieter’s offer to take care of you at a later date - you headed inside the building and straight for the elevator. One thing at a time, though.

Carmen was waiting for you in her office, her desktop covered with folders and a few stacks of paper. “It’s good to see you again.” She looked up at you, gesturing for you to sit. “Have a good weekend?”

“I did. This is the first real holiday I’ve spent at home since before the pandemic.” Sinking into the chair across from hers, you scooted it in, resting your elbows on the desk’s edge. “It’s weird to get things back to almost normal, though.” She agreed, her smile understanding. “How about yours?”

“It was great. Just the two of us.” She sighed. “I cooked and we just watched movies, and it was amazing to turn off my phone and laptop for a couple days.” She sighed, flipping through the papers directly in front of her. “Now I just have to get through everything for the next couple weeks, and then Nate and I are going to be in Rome for the holidays.” Oh, I didn’t know that.

“Well, then…” Licking your lips, you took a deep breath. “Let’s not waste any time.” The glint in her eyes told you that she’d been waiting for you to start speaking, and so you didn’t disappoint. “I’m…” Glancing down at your hands for a few seconds and then reaching up to touch the pendant you wore, you steeled yourself for what was coming next. “Carmen, Dieter and I are together. We pretty much have been since… well since Christmas last year, but we just made it official when I was in Texas.”

“Congratulations.” Her smile grew, the woman reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. “That’s got to be the worst kept secret in the world, but…” Both of you laughed, Carmen pulling her hand back and picking up one of the folders before holding it out to you. “You seem happier.”

“I am.” Taking the folder, you flipped it open, eyeing the same contract that she’d already emailed to you. “But the reason that I wanted to meet with you in person was because I have a couple things that I’d like to talk with you about before I sign anything.” You tapped the papers. “There’s not really much in here about -”

“Are you quitting?” She leaned in, frowning. “Informal Eats wouldn’t be -”

“I don’t want to quit, no.” Head shaking back and forth, you blew out a breath. “I just … I guess the only way to say it is to say it.” Here goes nothing. “I’m thinking about moving out of Atlanta, Carmen. Either to New York City or to Los Angeles, and I … I guess I’m wondering if it would be possible for me to keep doing what I’ve been doing, but not live here.” You paused, trying to gauge her reaction, but the Carmen’s face was impassive. “You’re based in Atlanta, and I know that won’t change, but …”

She said your name, the look in her eyes changing to one of amusement. “Are you moving in with Dieter?” Well that was blunt.

“I’m thinking about it.” You covered your face with both hands, the folder dropping to the desktop. “He’s got a house in LA and an apartment in New York, and he offered me either of them if I could work something out with you. I know there’s offices in -”

“Congratulations.” Carmen leaned back, tilting her head to one side. “There wouldn’t be any relocation assistance or anything, but …” She shrugged, wrinkling her nose. “Just because I’m based out of Atlanta, that doesn’t mean that you need to be.” She gestured at the paperwork on her desk. “Why would you even think that it would be a problem?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.” You frowned. “I guess because I’ve always lived here, and this is where I signed the first contract, and I started out … here, so…” So I just assumed I had to stay. “I will be honest with you, though, Carmen. At some point, I’m going to want to do something else, and I have been actively looking into more projects like the one I worked on in England.” You held up the folder again. “But according my agent, the way this is structured, it’d be easy for me to find something in the months that I’m not shooting the show, if I wanted to.”

She nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. “We can amend the contract.” The woman took a deep breath, pressing her lips together. “I can have it rewritten, so it’s only one season at a time instead of two. The number of episodes per season will be the same, and we can make it so that you just have to electronically sign the -”

“No.” You made the decision almost immediately, leaning forward and resting your hand atop the document. “No, I’ll commit to two more seasons. Sixteen total episodes.” Flipping through the pages, you ran your finger down the outline. “Starting in February and running through until next January?” She nodded when you glanced up. “I can do that. I want to do that. I love the show and I love working with you and the crew, but I also… I love him, and being so far away all the time is…”

“I know.” She smiled, opening her desk drawer and reaching inside for a pen. “The one good thing this pandemic did was show us that we can do most of this shit remotely. Hell, you could move to Minnesota and you’d still be able to keep your job, as long as you could check in when we needed you to.” She grinned, holding out the pen. “Here.”

“It can’t be this easy.” You took the pen, though, drawing in a deep breath and holding it, meeting her eyes. “Carmen?”

“It is this easy. The only thing that would change is the airport you fly out of and back into at the end of your trips.” Her smile widened. “There is one thing, though.” Of course there is. “I want to meet him. I am the one that got you the job on Cliff Beasts, and I think I deserve to -”

Your laughter drowned out her speech, and as you leaned forward, putting the tip of the pen to the paper, she laughed, too. “Yeah, you do, Carmen.” Finishing your signature and adding the date, you dropped the pen and stood, waiting for Carmen to do the same. “He’s coming here for Christmas. I know you’re going to Rome, but if he’s here before you leave, you can meet him then.”

“Good.” She stepped around the desk and toward you, the woman holding her arms out. “Congratulations on your contract renewal.” Yeah. You were surprised at how much relief you felt at the realization that you were gainfully employed for another year - and that you hadn’t had to sacrifice either your job or the potential to be closer to Dieter to accept the position. “And congratulations on Dieter, too.”

When you hugged her, it was a tight one, the embrace similar to the ones you’d shared before - after meeting for the first time, after filming your pilot, after signing your other contracts - and you were thrilled that it felt just as good that time, too.

The two of you separated and when you met her eyes again, you were smiling - and so was Carmen. “I’d ask you to come out and grab a drink with me, but…” You glanced at the clock. “It’s barely 10 in the morning, so…”

“Yeah, I’ve got a bunch of stuff to get through today anyway.” She pushed you away gently, her gaze still focused on you. “Plus, from what it sounds like, you need to start figuring out where you’ll be living a couple months from now.” At that, you froze, both eyes going wide.

Yeah… I guess I do.

—

The closer it got to the holidays, the more nervous you were.

It wasn’t that you were worried about seeing Dieter again, because you knew that he was just as excited as you were. It wasn’t even that you were worried about him meeting your family and some of your friends, because he’d told you that he looked forward to it.

You were afraid that when Dieter saw how you lived, he’d change his mind about everything. You’d only known each other in temporary housing; rooms designed for short-term use, and the idea of Dieter in your space - using your bathroom and making coffee in your kitchen and sleeping in your bed - was overwhelming. Because we’re used to different things.

You decorated before he got there; stringing brightly colored lights around your windows and on the branches of your tree. Ornaments joined them, and so did a few garlands strategically placed throughout the main rooms of your place. And when you were done, everything felt homey, the soft glow of the tiny lights casting warmth throughout the space and making you feel better. I didn’t realize how much I missed decorating last year.

In the days leading up to Dieter’s arrival, you got some shopping done. Not only did you restock your fridge and cupboards, but you bought gifts, too, figuring that you wouldn’t want to go out to too many places with him there. It wasn’t because you wanted to hide Dieter. You wanted him to feel comfortable no matter where he was, and stores and malls would be busy so close to the holidays. And I don’t want to put him on the spot if anyone recognizes him.

You were checking things over in the few minutes before you had to leave to pick Dieter up from the airport when you heard someone knock. I’m not expecting anyone. Frowning, you made your way from your bedroom to the front door, peeking through the peephole before opening it.

All you saw were flowers - a large bouquet, from the looks of it, and so you sighed, pulling the door open. “Hello? Can I -”

“Special delivery.” You froze at the sound of the voice, eyes going wide as you watched the flowers move to one side to give you a glimpse at the man carrying them. “Thought I’d bring them to you myself instead of having ‘em delivered.” His smile widened but you couldn’t move, instead just staring. Dieter’s here. I was supposed to pick him up, and -

“You’re here. But I was just getting ready to … how? How are you …”

“Took an earlier flight.” He bit down on the inside of his lower lip, the look in his eyes shifting to one of disbelief. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“You did.” You finally moved, reaching out and taking the flowers from him before turning to put them on top of the table against the wall. “Dieter, this is the best fucking surprise ever.” Once both of your hands were free, you reached for him and twisted your fingers in the material of his jacket, pulling him into your apartment. “Come here, Bravo.”

Dieter reached behind him and grabbed the handle of his suitcase, dragging it after him and over the sill, only letting it go to pull on the knob to close the door behind him. Then he reached for you.

When his arms wound around you, you sighed deeply, turning your head so that you could press your cheek against the front of his shoulder. Closing your eyes, you just held him, focusing on the way that even though he’d just come from an airport - and a cross country flight - he still smelled like Dieter, and you knew that within a night or two, so would your bed and your blankets. He’s in my apartment. He’s here. “I’m happy to see you, too.” He murmured the words, one hand moving up the center of your back and coming to rest between your shoulders. “You scared me for a second there.”

“I did?” You stepped backwards without letting him go. “I didn’t mean to. I was just … shit. I guess I was in airport mode.”

“That’s one of the reasons I did what I did.” He moved his hands to your arms and slid them down, squeezing your hands before he let go. “Didn’t want you to have to go anywhere near that goddamn place so close to Christmas.” You laughed, rolling your eyes. “No, seriously. I know it’s a fucking nightmare. I filmed a movie here a while ago, and it was bad, and that was on a regular day.”

He toed his shoes off, and you watched as he looked around, eyes narrowed and his tongue visible where it poked into his cheek. He hates it. It’s too small. “How was your flight?” You were nervous, and you knew that it was irrational. You and Dieter had been through plenty together, and had gone much longer between visits before. Do I really feel like this because of my apartment? “Did -”

“Can I tell you something?” He turned to face you, putting one hand on his hip. “I’ve seen pictures of this place, and I’ve seen it when we FaceTime and …” He wet his lips. “I knew what it looked like, but …” Dieter moved closer, both of his hands rising so that he could hold your jaw between his palms. “It’s even better than I thought.”

“What?” You were confused, even as his thumbs swept over your skin. “Better? It’s just an apartment.”

“Yeah, but it belongs to you.” He leaned closer, your foreheads touching. “And you invited me to see it and to meet your family, and …” He hummed, lips moving against yours. “And I still can’t fuckin’ believe it.” Believe it, Dieter. You wanted to laugh at that, but he didn’t let you, the gentle press of his mouth turning more insistent as he kissed you for the first time since Vancouver. “Love you.” He paused long enough to speak, nodding twice as he said it. “I’m so goddamn excited to be here with you.”

“Yeah.” You kissed him one last time and then pushed him away with one hand. “But we’re going to be busy, Dieter. We have a couple parties and the actual holiday, and -”

“We’re not busy tonight though, right?” No, we’re not. “Because I’m pretty sure that I saved us a couple hours by getting here early.” His smile widened, and Dieter’s gaze dropped from your face to your body and then rose, the look in his eyes changing to a heated one that you knew well. “And that means we have extra time now.”

“Do you have something in mind?” You had an idea where he was going, but giving him shit was something that you enjoyed. “Do you want a tour of my place? Or need to take a nap? Or want to - “

“Tour later.” He stepped forward and you backed up, heartbeat thumping. “And I’ll sleep tonight. But right now…” He sucked air through his teeth, hands moving down and to your hips. “I’ve been thinking about you since I dropped you off at that airport, and I wanna do something about it.” He slipped his fingertips beneath the top elastic of your leggings, the warmth of his skin making you gasp. “If that’s alright with you.”

“The bedroom is -” He shook his head, cutting you off. “Ok, the couch -”

“No.” Dieter chuckled, more of his fingers pushing between the material and your skin and then pushing downward. “No, you’ve got a counter right behind you, and if you sit on it, you’re the perfect height.” You gasped again and felt your stomach lurch, but instead of letting him continue to remove your pants, you grabbed for him, one hand making its way to the tangle of curls on his head and the fingers of the other curling around his arm and gripping him tightly. That was accompanied by a bruising kiss, Dieter meeting you in the middle with his lips already parted, his tongue peeking through.

It was shocking to you how much you’d missed him, and how much missing him was amplified by having him right in front of you - and in your arms again. The kiss went on, turning sloppier by the second, and you felt the elastic snap back into place when Dieter moved his hands up, sliding them along your sides and pushing your shirt up with them.

You didn’t want to let go of his hair, but you did, raising your arms above your head so that when he pulled away to breathe, breaking the kiss, he was able to remove it completely. He touched you greedily, fingers stroking over your bared skin, and when he ducked his head down so that his mouth could trek across your upper chest, you tilted your head back and sighed, one hand gripping the edge of the counter and the other once again tangled in his hair.

“Missed you,” he mumbled without backing off. “Missed you so goddamn much.” You agreed, looking down again, and when Dieter straightened up all the way, you saw that his eyes were shining. “Never missed anybody as much as I miss you.” Oh, Dieter.

It was a shocking admission - and entirely unexpected coming from Dieter, but it was genuine, his jaw clenching as you absorbed the words. “I love you too, Dieter. And I was going to wait to tell you until later, but …” Biting your lip, you took a deep breath. “But if it’s alright with you, when I come out for New Year’s, I think I might stay a while, so you won’t have to miss me.”

He hadn’t been expecting those words from you, either, but his reaction was immediate. Dieter encircled you with his arms, laughing as he pulled you against his chest. “Alright with me? Fuck, there’s nothing that would make me happier.” His voice was shaky, and even though you knew it was because he was just happy, it made you sniffle, too, as you closed your eyes and hugged him tightly. “Bring your whole fucking apartment if you want.”

“I mean, I won’t have time to pack it all with you here, but…” You laughed again, meeting his eyes and reaching up to swipe away a tear from one of them. “My lease is up in February, and I really don’t want to sign another one, so…”

“Yeah, I know.” He rolled his eyes and turned his head so that he could kiss the heel of your hand. “I’m just saying.” The two of you stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, and then it was Dieter that spoke, brows knit together in thought. “You mean it? You want to come stay with me?”

“I do.” Twisting a curl near his temple around one finger, you nodded. “We’ve only been official for a little while, but it’s been … I’ve… we’ve …”

“We coulda been together before I left England.” He shrugged. “I was just following your lead.” You groaned when he winked, but Dieter went on. “I get it. I want you there, too.” He tilted his head to the side, not breaking eye contact. “But I’m not easy to live with.”

That made you laugh, and you waved him off, looking away briefly and then back at him. “I think if we made it through quarantine and not being allowed to leave each other’s presence for more than a few hours at a time, we can handle living in the same house and having options, Dieter. We’ll be fine. Besides,” you leaned closer, releasing your hold on his hair and gently tapping his cheek with your palm. “You’ve got a guesthouse, right?”

That got a bigger laugh out of him, and Dieter lowered his head as he agreed with you, his hold on your hips tightening just enough that you could feel it. “I do.” When he looked up, all signs of amusement were gone from his features and he instead looked serious, his attention focused. “Now how about you get up on that counter and let me show you exactly what one of the benefits of living with me will be.”

“Pants on or off?” Your desire for him grew again, warmth filling your belly and spreading. You’d never tire of Dieter looking at you the way he was that night, and part of you knew that he knew it, too. He needs to know it.

“Off.” He nodded, stepping backwards. “All the way off.” You did as he asked without question, which left you only in your bra. You were quiet while he grabbed for one of your chairs and dragged it closer to you, but you gasped in shock when he sat down backwards on it, leaning forward and pressing his chest against the tall back, both of his hands reaching out to settle on your calves. “Get comfortable, because you’re gonna be here a while.” He arched a brow, locking eyes with you before he dropped his gaze to your waist and then lower while pulling your legs apart. “Fuck.”

You pressed your lips together and then inched forward, hooking your legs over his shoulders and using both hands to brace yourself on the countertop. “That’s fine by me, Dieter.” The chair scooted forward a few more inches, which brought him closer, too, and when Dieter nodded, turning his head to the right and licking the inside of your thigh, you tensed, fingers curling against the laminate. Oh, that feels incredible… I missed him so much.

“Mmmmhmm.” He turned his head the other way, and repeated the motion on your other thigh, his hands sliding up your bare legs and to your hips, pulling you even closer. “Fucking perfect.”

—

You hadn’t wanted to go, but Dieter insisted that the two of you head out to a get together one of your friends was hosting a few days before Christmas.

It was at a local restaurant, and the text message you’d received explained that the entire upper floor was reserved for your group. The sentiment was nice, and you had gotten along well with her for a while, but you knew exactly why she’d reached out after so long.

“Meg wants to meet you, Dieter.” You were getting ready in the bathroom while he got dressed in your bedroom, both of you fresh out of the shower. “She wants to use it as an opportunity to network, and I’ll bet you $100 that she flirts with you right in front of me within the first fifteen minutes of being introduced.”

He poked his head in a few seconds later, and you caught his frown as a reflection in the mirror. “How does she know I’m here?”

“I don’t know, maybe because of the pictures you posted the other day from the Coke museum and the aquarium?” Arching a brow at him, you tilted your head to the side. “Or the caption that very specifically said ‘a much different world of Coke than I’m used to’ with the emoji that’s laughing so hard it’s -”

“Ok, yeah, that might have been what did it.” He fully entered the room, and you took a few seconds to watch as he wrinkled his nose, raising both hands to drag them through his hair and push it into even more disarray. “I still think we should go, though.”

“We’re going, Dieter. You said you wanted to, and that’s fine, I’m just telling you what to expect. This isn’t LA or New York, and the people I know here aren’t exactly drowning in celebrities, so … just be prepared for people to be a little overeager to impress you.”

It would be the first real test of your relationship, and the first time Dieter met anyone in your life. And the fact that we’ve known each other for so long at this point makes that feel… fuck. It’s strange. You’d existed in a bubble of sorts for almost the entirety of your relationship, and with him visiting you, that was coming to an end in a very final way.

“‘I’ll be fine.” He stepped up behind you, one hand on your shoulder and the other arm winding around your body to pull you back against his chest. “And so will you.” Dieter spoke into your ear, his voice quiet. “And if she flirts, I’ll shut that shit down right away, because -”

“No.” You bit your lip, turning toward him. “Don’t.” He was confused, but you didn’t let him stay that way. “I think it might be funny to watch her try to handle you.”

“Handle me?” He scoffed. “You can barely handle me and you’ve known me for over a year.” That made you laugh, and you used one hand to pat Dieter’s chest gently. “What?”

“I learned a long time ago that handling you is impossible.” You blinked slowly, trying to school your expression into nonchalance. “I tolerate you.” It took about three seconds for Dieter to respond, and when he did you caught the roll of his eyes before he leaned in, mouth meeting yours.

“That’s what you call it now?” He mumbled between kisses, his hands roaming over you. “Tolerating me?” You nodded, winding your arms around his neck and laughing against his lips. “Fucking unbelievable.”

Having Dieter in Atlanta was better than you could have ever hoped for, and it seemed like he was enjoying himself, too. You’d spent plenty of time alone together, but he’d also wanted to go out and explore, asking you to show him the parts of the city and suburbs you liked most. It was easy to blend into the larger than usual holiday crowds in public places, and when Dieter wore a hat pulled down low over his ears and slipped on a pair of glasses, it disguised him almost completely.

He wasn’t doing it on purpose, either, and that was what made it better.

You hoped that you were able to settle into LA just as easily, though you didn’t think it would happen quite so fast. We’ll see. You pulled back with a sigh, closing your eyes. “As much as I’d love to stand here and do this all night, if you want to go to this thing, I need to finish getting ready.” You looked down and then gestured to your robe and slippers. “I don’t think I pull off this look as well as you do.”

“No.” He backed away, arms dropping from you before he raised one ringed finger and pointed it at you. “You pull it off much better.” It was a joke, but at the same time, you understood that it meant that Dieter truly didn’t care what you wore or how you looked, and if you chose to actually go out in public wearing the robe, he wouldn’t have batted an eye. “But I should probably put on a shirt to go into a restaurant, so I’ll stop annoying you now and go do that.”

He winked and then turned away from you. As he made it to the doorway, you called out his name, waiting until he’d turned back in your direction to say anything else. “I never want you to stop annoying me.”

—

You’d barely taken a step into the room, and you were already ready to leave. But we’d have to wait for another Uber, and it’s surge pricing and … It wasn’t that it was loud in the room, because it wasn’t, or that it was overly crowded, because it was still early and people were filtering in - it was just that you knew exactly what you’d be dealing with for the following few hours.

Dieter was beside you when you headed over to the bar, and after you both ordered, you carried your drinks over to a small, raised table with a good vantage point. You spent a few minutes pointing people out to Dieter, but after the third “I met them in college,” you stopped, shaking your head. “Are you even going to remember any of these names if you talk to them? It’s pointless, you won’t ever see them again after tonight.”

“I will.” He sipped his drink, angling his body toward you and resting his elbow on the table. “It’s just like memorizing lines.” That made sense to you, and you were somewhat irritated that you hadn’t made the same connection.

“This feels kind of like that first Thanksgiving after high school where everyone’s home from college and pretending they didn’t just see each other a few weeks earlier.” He drank again, watching you from over the rim of his glass.

“Or like a fucking Hollywood circlejerk where everyone’s too fucking excited to tell everyone else that they know someone and can get them in touch with -” You snorted, reaching up to cover your mouth to hide your laugh.

“It’s so good to see you!” A cheerful voice interrupted Dieter, and when you looked toward the source, you saw Meg approaching the table, a necklace of blinking Christmas lights resting against her chest and highlighting the low-cut top she wore. “I’m glad you made it.” You caught the way her gaze moved from you to Dieter and barely stopped the roll of your eyes at how obvious it was. “And you, too. It -”

“Dieter Bravo.” He held his hand out, smiling. “Are you the one that organized this?” The smile stayed on his face, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nice to meet you. Meg?” She took his hand and shook it, her giggle audible even over the music playing through the speakers.

“That’s me.” She bit her lip and tossed her hair over one shoulder. “I’ve met you before though. When you filmed here? We were eating dinner at the same restaurant, and I sent a drink over to your table.” She cleared her throat, leaning in, and for a few seconds, you were horrified at the thought that she was going to remind him of something happening between them. That would ruin everything, even though it was so long ago. “You came over and talked for a few minutes, and -”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t remember that.” He pulled his hand back, lifting his drink to sip from it. “That was a while ago, and I probably had a lot going on.” You watched her recoil slightly, Meg’s eyes dropping and then rising again to meet Dieter’s as he reached over to put his arm around you. “Thanks for the drink, though.”

It shocked you how dismissive he was being, because you’d never seen Dieter act that way before. Not even with David. “I… you’re welcome.” Meg took a long drink from her wine glass, and you could tell she was nervous - and a little surprised at his reaction. “How long are you in town for?” She looked at you then, wetting her lips. “Are you back for good? You’ve been busy; it feels like you haven’t been home since before the pandemic.” I didn’t know you kept tabs on my travels.

“I’m back for a little while.” You finally spoke, shifting your feet and shrugging your shoulders. “I just signed a new contract for the show, so I’ll be working on that starting next February.” But I won’t be doing it from here. “And Dieter’s just here for Christmas. He wanted to meet my family and couldn’t make it out last month.”

“I was filming.” He grinned again, wiggling his eyebrows. “TV show.” You knew what he was doing - trying to throw Meg off balance by flipping between being aloof and almost too friendly within the same conversation. I think it’s working. “But we’re going to LA for New Year’s, so I won’t be out here for too long.” He laughed, his fingers circling slowly against your lower back. “And between the three of us? I hope she likes LA enough to consider staying.”

His words surprised you almost as much as they surprised Meg, and you knew with certainty that that was exactly what Dieter had hoped for. Sneaky little shit. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” You turned your head and Dieter did the same, meeting your gaze. I see you, Bravo. “But we’ll see.”

He smirked for a second and then closed the distance between you, lips soft when they met yours. “We will.” He spoke so that only you could hear, and when you looked back at Meg a few moments later, you saw that her eyes were wide. That just confirmed everything even more than anything we’ve said here. “You married, Meg? Or dating anyone?”

It took all of your self control to keep from laughing at Dieter’s abrupt change in topic, but when she spluttered out a response and then pointed back over her shoulder, you followed the gesture, moving in your seat to see who she was pointing at. “I hope it’s not weird, but I’m here with Sam, and -”

You froze at her words, and suddenly it all made sense. Dieter stiffened beside you, and when you reached for your drink, your heart was pounding. Sam as in… fuck. It made sense - you’d all known each other for years, but no part of you had realized that Meg and Sam had kept in touch. Or that they liked each other enough to date. He told me last month that … what the fuck.

She excused herself to go and get him, and once she walked away, Dieter pivoted toward you, concern written all over his face. “You alright? That went from zero to fucking 60 in -”

“I’m fine.” You paused. “It’s going to be a little weird for you to meet the last guy I was with, but … it just took me by surprise.” Dieter’s other hand rose, fingers bent, and he trailed his knuckles against your cheek. “And she was flirting with you, just like I said she would.”

“She was, but do you blame her?” He fluttered his eyelashes, the genuine smile back on his face. “It’s me after all.” That made you laugh, some of the tension leaving your body. “And it won’t be weird. I promise.” He shrugged and then leaned in so that he could speak directly into your ear. “Think about how fucking weird it’s going to be for him to meet me, though.”

You hadn’t considered that - but he was right. It will so much weirder for Sam. Dieter kissed the space just in front of your ear before straightening up and scanning the room. You did the same, eyeing the buffet table set up a few feet away and frowning. I wish we’d stopped to grab snacks. “What was that, by the way? I’ve never seen you act that way with anyone, and I’m surprised you were so quick to pull the I’m not into this card.”

“She fucked herself over.” He sniffed and finished his drink, tossing the last swallow back before sucking an ice cube between his teeth. “Flirting is one thing but being fucking rude to you and bringing up sending over that drink? Fuck that. It’s a game to her, and that’s not what you are to me.”

His words hit hard. Dieter’s playfulness was one of the things that drew you to him, as was his sense of humor and his ability to read a situation and play off of it. But with you, from almost the beginning, he’d been honest with you, speaking his mind and giving things to you straight. He’d never led you on or made your friendship the butt of a joke, and while you hadn’t thought he would do it regarding your relationship, either, that night was proof. I needed that. I needed to know.

“Thank you, Dieter.” You reached out to take his hand, linking your fingers with his and rubbing your thumb over the ring you’d borrowed. “That means a lot.” He squeezed your hand and then lifted both of them, bringing the back of yours up so that he could kiss it. You were no stranger to Dieter’s tiny moments of intimacy, but after keeping yourselves hidden for so long, them happening in public took you by surprise.

Movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention, and you sighed as you watched Sam and Meg heading toward you, their shoulders touching as they walked side by side. You wondered how long they’d been dating, or if they’d talk about it, and then you wondered if it was strange for you to ask. But she said she was here with him, not that they were dating. Maybe I jumped to conclusions.

Sam spoke first, saying hello to you and then sticking his hand out to Dieter as he made an introduction. Dieter moved smoothly, keeping your fingers linked as he reached out to shake Sam’s with his free one. “It’s nice to meet you, Dieter.” He retracted his hand and then leaned against the table, nodding before he looked over at you. “And it’s good to see you again, too. Sorry I haven’t had a chance to get ahold of you, the holidays are just…” He rolled his eyes. “You know.”

“I do.” You exhaled slowly, giving him a wary smile before you turned your attention to Meg. “We were supposed to meet for lunch, and we just … haven’t.” She seemed surprised, her lips parting as her eyes flicked to Dieter. He doesn’t care, but nice try. “I didn’t know the two of you were still in touch.” You arched a brow and sipped your drink as your attention returned to your ex. “You didn’t say anything about it when we last talked. How’d this happen?”

“We did a lot of Zoom game nights.” Sam reached up and ran his fingers through his hair. “We couldn’t do bar trivia because everything was closed, so…” He shrugged. “Kept in touch that way for a while, and then a couple weeks ago...” Sam trailed off, and even though he looked slightly uncomfortable, he didn’t try and overexplain anything.

“We had our first few conversations over a balcony wall.” Dieter rolled his eyes. “Well, after we met in the hotel lobby, anyway. We weren’t allowed to leave our rooms for two weeks before we started working on the movie, and she was in the room next door.”

“You make it sound like you settled for talking to me, Dieter.” Nudging him with your shoulder, you laughed. “Ouch.”

“You were quarantined with him?” Meg leaned in, her attention fully on you. “Oh, I didn’t know that.”

“It’s all going to be talked about in the documentary.” You scratched the side of your neck. “I can’t really go into it now, but yeah. I only got the job working for Cliff Beasts because I got sick filming my show, and got stuck in the hotel. So I actually ended my quarantine just as the cast got there to start theirs, and it all worked out.”

“I’d sit on my balcony and watch her walking around the hotel property.” Dieter let go of your hand and put both of his on the table. “She was the only one that wasn’t hotel staff that wasn’t stuck in their damn room. It was fucking depressing.”

“We got through it, though.” You finished your drink, too, and then pushed the empty glass to the center of the table. “And now we’re here.” Sam nodded, eyeing you and then looking over at Dieter. What are you thinking about?

“Is it weird for you, Dieter?” He smiled, nose wrinkling. “To be standing here, talking to -”

“No.” There was no gestation on Dieter’s part when he answered, the hand that had been holding yours moving to your back. “Not at all. I’ve heard a lot about you, and I figured we’d meet at some point.” That surprised Sam - and Meg, too, the woman sucking in a breath as she straightened up. “And since we’re out of here in a couple days, now’s as good a time as any.”

“She’s going to Los Angeles for New Year’s.” Meg reached over and touched Sam’s arm. “And maybe for longer.” Well shit. You hadn’t counted on her bringing it up again so quickly - or having to explain yourself to your ex. But I’m going to have to tell my family so fuck it, I guess.

But as silence hung between the four of you, you felt yourself sway, anxiety building in your chest. It’s too much. It’s happening too fast.

“Well, this whole thing is weird for me, to be perfectly honest.” You reached for your glass again, picking it up and then staring down into it, like your wish for a refill would make one appear. “But yes. Meg’s right. Christmas in Georgia. New Year’s and beyond in California.” You set the glass down and then backed up, lifting both hands. “Right now, though? I’m going to get another drink.”

You left the table without saying anything else, heart pounding in your chest while you headed for the bar. What the fuck was that? You’d gone from being totally at ease and joking around with Dieter to being overwhelmed in seconds, even though you had no real reason to be.

It wasn’t that telling Sam bothered you. It wasn’t even that the two men were face to face. So what is it then? Why do I feel this way? You ordered your drink and then waited patiently, fingertips tapping on the bartop.

“Are you Dieter Bravo?” A woman’s high-pitched voice reached your ears, and when you turned toward the sound, drink in hand, you saw that one of the other party guests was gaping at Dieter, who stood a few feet away, one hand in his pocket. “I loved you in -”

“Yes. I am. Thanks.” He flashed her a quick smile, and then pointed at you. “I’m just trying to get to my girlfriend, though.” It was the first time he’d referred to you in that way, and even though the crowd was loud, you heard him clearly. He called me his …

Your unease faded as Dieter approached you, concern in his eyes. “Dieter, I -”

“Come on.” He reached out, taking your hand and leading you away from the bar. “Come with me.” He opened a door that you hadn’t noticed that led out into a back hallway. Once the door shut behind you, he backed away and leaned against the wall, loosely crossing his arms. “I’m not going to ask if you’re alright, but I’m going to ask if this is better.”

“Yes.” You closed your eyes and nodded. It is. “Yeah, Dieter, I don’t … I don’t know what happened in there. It -”

“I know exactly what happened.” He said your name, waiting until you opened your eyes to say anything more. “You got ambushed. And you had to answer questions you weren’t expecting because you shouldn’t have expected ‘em five minutes after you walked into a Christmas party.” He moved closer to you, reaching for the drink you held and taking it from you. “It wasn’t what you answered that fucked you up, it was that you felt like you had to tell them anything in the first place.” He took a drink and then handed it back to you, waiting.

“I didn’t have to answer. I could have changed the subject. I should have. But when she said she was here with Sam, it threw me off, and I felt like I should say something back.” You couldn’t even pinpoint why, exactly, but it was the truth. “Dieter, what if this happens in California? These are just people I know. Out there, it’ll be people you’ve worked with or might work with in the -”

“I don’t care.” He reached for you, putting one hand on each shoulder and squeezing. “I won’t care. Say whatever the fuck you want. That’s what I’ve done for my entire career.”

“But I’m not you.” You felt tears welling up in your eyes. “And if this is what happens to me at a party like this with people I know, LA is going to … fuck, Dieter. What if I fuck it all up? I’m going to embarrass you.” That’s it. This… this makes it real, and when it’s real, it might fail, and I don’t want that failure to be my fault.

“It takes a hell of a lot to embarrass me.” Leaning in, he pressed his forehead to yours and shook his head slowly. “I almost fucking died in front of you, and you’re worried about saying too much or the wrong thing to someone you may never see again? Fuck that. And fuck anyone that makes you feel like that.” Dieter’s hands slid from your shoulders to your biceps, the motion soothing. “Sam congratulated us, by the way. And I think it surprised Meg that he’s cool with it, but they still walked away together, so… who knows.”

That made you laugh, and after you took a deep breath to steady yourself, you cleared your throat. “Maybe she thought that I’d get jealous seeing them together, and it would leave you free.” He widened his eyes and then made a face. What, is she not your type? “I heard what you called me by the bar, Dieter. I … I didn’t realize how much I’d like hearing that.”

“After telling you I love you, calling you my girlfriend seems pretty damn inadequate, but…” He lifted and then dropped his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “For now, it’s the truth.” For now? What does that mean? “It’s going to be fine. All of it. I don’t care if every single one of those people out there fucking hates me. I’m here for you and for your family. They’re the important ones.”

Dieter wet his lips and then pulled the lower one back between his teeth, frowning as he eyed you. “What?” You took a small drink, swallowing and then taking a deep breath. “What’s that look for, Dieter?”

“I knew what coming out here meant.” He gestured at the door behind you with one hand, his rings catching the light, silver flashing as his hand moved. “I knew that being here unannounced and ‘unplanned’ was going to get people talking. I can handle it, because I’m used to it, but I didn’t… fuck, I didn’t think about you not being used to it or the attention or the questions. I’m fucking sorry. I should have. I’ve been deflecting bullshit for years, and it’s like breathing for me, but you … shit.”

“Dieter, no, it’s fine. I’m… I’m going to have to get used to it, right?” You rubbed at the bridge of your nose with two fingers, sighing. “There’s a public aspect that comes along with being with you, and even though some people are familiar with me, if I go places or to premieres or events with you, I’m going to get asked questions, and -”

“If?” He scoffed, his smile returning as he stepped closer. “You’re not gonna be able to get rid of me that easy. As far as I’m concerned, you’re coming to everything with me.” What? Is he serious? “So get ready for it.”

That made you laugh, and as the sound escaped your lips, you realized that you actually felt better. You were calmer and more collected, your heartbeat almost back to normal. “I love you, Dieter. I didn’t mean to … I don’t know. It’s just a lot.”

“It is.” He slid one arm around your waist, the other going around your shoulders as he pulled you in for a hug. “And I’ve got a secret to tell you.” He kissed your cheek before turning his head, his stubbled cheek rubbing against yours as his lips moved to hover just over your ear. “I’ve never cared so much about whether or not something goes well in my entire life.” He paused, and despite the muffled noise of the party just beyond the hallway, you heard that his inhale was shaky. “So you’re not gonna fuck this up. That’s not even an option.”

“If you say so.” His words stunned you, but you believed them, and could feel the sincerity pouring off of Dieter as he held you close. “Thank you. I know this isn’t how you wanted to spend tonight, so…” You nuzzled against his cheek, tightening your arms and being careful not to spill your drink down his back. “I appreciate it.”

When you separated a few seconds later, the two of you took deep breaths, but it was Dieter who spoke first. “Do you want to leave?” He shrugged. “We can stop on the way home for food, or just go back and order something.” He paused, cocking his head to the side and then grinning at you. “Or, do you want to stay and spend the next couple hours listening to me come up with new bullshit stories about making movies and filming TV shows and being friends with half of Hollywood?”

He was giving you an out - two of them, if you were truthful. Because if you left, you’d both have a relaxing night in your apartment doing what you were already so comfortable with. And if you stayed, he’d volunteered to do the heavy lifting for you with the party crowd, turning on the charm and keeping them occupied. It took a lot out of him - and you both knew it - but you also knew that Dieter wouldn’t have made the offer if he hadn’t wanted to. He’d do that for me.

“How about this.” You flattened one hand on his chest, and then used two fingers to undo another button on his shirt. “We go back out there and get something to eat and mingle for a little while.” He nodded slowly, eyes locked with yours. “And then, when you’re ready to leave, you tell me it’s time, and I’ll walk out of here with no questions asked.”

“You sure?”

“I am.” Sliding your fingertips under his shirt, you rested them over his heart. “I just needed a minute, Dieter. It got real all of a sudden, and I wasn’t expecting it to.”

He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours. “I know.” He nodded twice. “I’ve been there.” When he backed up, you let your hand drop from his body. But Dieter didn’t let it fall all the way, catching it and linking your fingers together. “But the difference is that I didn’t have someone like me to step in.”

He didn’t say anything more, but he did turn and head for the door without letting go. His words hit you hard; it was always the little things that he added as almost an afterthought that impacted you the most. He revealed the most about himself in small doses - Dieter’s admissions giving you a more thorough picture of exactly what his younger years had been like. And he trusts me enough to tell me the truth.

You’d need his help navigating the new - and much more public - lifestyle that being with him would bring, and you both knew it. Nights like that one and other firsts would be difficult for you, but as you re-entered the party, the music and sounds of people talking growing louder, you understood that it wouldn’t always be that way.

The two of you joined the small crowd around the buffet table, and Dieter finally let go of your hand to reach for a plate, handing it over to you before taking one of his own. You watched him fill it with finger foods and dips, turning his head and making an offhand comment to the man next to him, both of them laughing as they reached for pretzels.

He fits in here. It was the final thing you needed to calm yourself entirely, and when he looked over at you, his smile wide, and winked, you laughed too. He can do this, and so can I. It would take time and effort to make your relationship work, but it was worth it. No question there.

And the more comfortable you became with things, the more both of you would be able to relax and just enjoy being together - as you had in the months you’d spent getting to know each other. Once all of the formalities - and introductions - were done, it would be easier to focus on the future, whatever that entailed.

And you might not have had anyone before, Dieter … but now you do.

—

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x female reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #dieter bravo: locked down #locked down #locked down masterlist #the bubble #the bubble au #dieter bravo masterlist #pedro pascal masterlist #pedro pascal is dieter bravo

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absurdthirst · 2 years ago

Text

Accidentally Mrs. Bravo {Dieter Bravo x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 24.8k

Warnings: Drug use, alcohol, dub con due to spiked drinks, vaginal sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), vaginal fingering, Dieter being a sub, face sitting, period oral (Dieter has his red wings), hand jobs, angst, Dieter being a sassy asshole.

Comments: Being PR for Dieter Bravo is a nightmare, the idea of him going to Vegas for a birthday weekend absolutely horrifies you. Even more when it’s suggest you go with him. It’s going to be horrible, you just know it. Especially when you wake up married to him.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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

When Dieter told his team he wanted to go to Vegas for his birthday, you had told him no. As his PR manager, Dieter and Vegas are a bad combination. God knows what he’d do when fuelled by drugs, gambling and endless booze. Surrounded by people with camera phones and men and women who would want him to fuck them. Maybe get knocked up. You get a headache even thinking about it. When his manager suggested you accompany him to make sure he says out of trouble, you protested and put your foot down, telling her that you hate Vegas. It’s a cesspool of bad decisions. However, the next thing you know you’re on a private jet going to Vegas while Dieter snorts coke off of the mahogany table while his “friends” drink champagne. You know this is going to end in Disaster.

Inhaling deeply, Dieter throws his head back, letting the endorphins rush through his system and he lets out a loud whoop. “Fuck, that’s some good shit!” He crows and looks around, spotting you sitting in one of the plush leather chairs across from the couch with a sour look on your face. “You want some?” He asks, offering you the one hundred dollar bill he had rolled up to snort the coke with. “Maybe it’ll get that stick out of your ass.”

You watch him with disgust. You might have been hired to handle his PR but the man makes it a never ending job. Being caught with prostitutes, arrested with coke possession and a general bad attitude with paps has made you have many a sleepless night. This trip will be no exception. “No, thank you.” You respond coolly, shaking your head. “The stick will remain firmly in my ass for the entire trip.”

Dieter chuckles, pulling his hand back, “I bet you like having something up your ass.” His joke makes you roll your eyes and you cross your legs, looking out of the window.

Huffing at your lack of appreciation for his joke, Dieter passes the rolled up bill off to one of his friends and frowns at you. “Why are you here if you don’t want to have fun?” He whines. “You should have stayed in L.A.” He doesn’t want you here. All you do is complain about his behavior, his manners, the way he dresses. He wants to relax and have fun, not be nagged to death by a fish wife. If he wanted that, he would get married.

“I don’t want to be here but your team - including me - thought it would be best to come with you to control what happens. The last thing you need with your new movie coming out is a mug shot.” You tell him. “Besides, I have fun. My fun just doesn’t involve doing copious amounts of drugs, having sex with prostitutes, and drinking more tequila than what’s available in the entire country of Mexico.”

Dieter scoffs, “what do you do to have fun? Read?” His words make you bristle, swallowing down your retort that reading would be better than spending him in his company.

“Just behave yourself and we won’t have any issues.” You finally respond, glancing around at his “friends.” All people who are here because of what he can give them, not because they like him as a person.

“I always behave myself.” Dieter gives you an offended look and shakes his head. “Just because I don’t adhere to your version of behaving doesn’t mean I don’t behave.” He chuckles and looks around the plane. “Haven’t you ever just had fun? Fuck what they say or what they think? Just be yourself?”

You try not to react, but his words hit. You went to college for media and you ended up getting a job right out of college with a PR firm. You needed to prove yourself and that meant working all hours. You’ve never really let your hair down and done whatever you wanted. You huff, shaking your head at him. “You don’t behave. You make my job so much harder. I’d hate to see you when you’re not behaving.”

“Have I flashed my dick at the paps?” He asks you, titling his head and smiling in amusement at the mental image of doing just that. “Or come up with some love child with a prostitute? Because I’ve fucked a lot of women. It could have happened.”

God, you hate this man. He’s so self indulgent it infuriates you. He does what he wants, when he wants. Damn the consequences. “Just try to not let either of those things happen during this weekend.” You reach for your phone, deciding to check your emails while he continues to indulge.

When the pilot announces the plane will be landing soon, you steel yourself for what will no doubt be an exhausting weekend. The plane lands and the limos are waiting on the tarmac. Dieter’s assistant - who luckily has the weekend off - had arranged every detail even down to the baggie of coke waiting for him in the limo.

“Vegas baby!” Dieter squints and nods his head so that his sunglasses flip down onto his nose and he pushes them up. He wraps his arm around the girl he had met just this morning who had said she would be willing to go to Vegas with him. He smirks as he looks back at you, “try to keep up.” He tells you before he and the bottle blonde he’s wrapped around stumble down the plane’s stairs onto the tarmac.

You scoff in disgust, watching him squeeze the woman’s ass when she gets into the limo. He’s wearing sunglasses and it’s fucking nighttime. What an asshole. You get into the limo, sitting in the far corner and he has already found the baggie. This is going to be the weekend from hell. The woman kisses his jaw and he manages to snort some coke off of her tits when she pushes them together. “Classy.” You mutter, ignoring the entourage.

Dieter doesn’t even pay attention to you, too busy motor boating Cindy, or was it Kathy? He doesn’t know, nor does he really care. He just wants to get to the hotel and get another bottle of champagne. “We should hit the club!” Someone suggests, and like the easily distracted creature that he is, Dieter latches onto the idea.

“A strip club!” He agrees happily.

You shake your head. “No. No strip clubs.” You put your foot down. You’re not going into a strip club with Dieter Bravo.

“It’s my fucking birthday. We are doing what I want.” Dieter growls, pissed that you’re doing everything you can to ruin his birthday weekend.

“No strip clubs.” You repeat, crossing your arms.

“Go sit at the hotel if you don’t want to go.” Dieter huffs. “This limo is going to a strip club.” He lowers the glass between the back and the driver and grins. “Hey Buddy, take us to the best fucking strip club in Vegas. ‘Kay?”

You huff, knowing you have no choice. You can’t leave him be. He would run riot in Vegas. “You don’t want to change?” You ask, “or check into the hotel?” You frown, knowing he’d requested the best suite at Caesars.

“No. I want to get this party started. We can change later.” Dieter declares.

“Later? It’s nine.” You check your watch.

“It’s early for Vegas.” Dieter shrugs and you sigh, knowing you have no choice.

Fueled by cocaine and champagne, Dieter is the first out of the limo when it comes to a stop. He likes the look of the place, the sound of the music is loud but he doesn’t care. Soon enough he will be watching women dance. “Hey, are there men here too?” He asks, suddenly curious. That would be cool. A strip club that caters to men and women, or people who like men and women.

You exhale deeply, trying to remain calm as you follow the group into the strip club. It's loud and full of bodies - both men and women. Some partly dressed, some naked as the day they were born. A half naked man walks past and you fluster when he winks at you. You have never been somewhere like this and you're no virgin but your life has been pretty vanilla.

It’s nothing but VIP for the group. Even if Dieter wasn’t recognized, a few folded up bills passed to the server assures that you are quickly seated at the best tables. “Uh huh, I want a dance from her and him.” Dieter lowers his glasses and leers over the rim with a grin on his face as a pair of dancers walk past. He turns to watch the rear view and catches sight of you. “I’ll even buy you a dance.” He tells you, blowing you a kiss. “Get you to loosen up. Tuck a few bills in a G-string.”

You roll your eyes and have a sip of the glass of champagne. You won’t get drunk but a glass or two will help you deal with this asshole all night. Some people ask why you work for him if you can’t stand him but honestly, he’s a PR nightmare and you always said you wanted the hardest cases for a challenge. He’s definitely been the hardest. “Gee thanks.” You respond sarcastically.

The woman Dieter brought along is a little offended that he wants a dance and she slaps his chest ‘playfully’ and says “what about a private dance from me baby?”

Dieter rolls his eyes and tugs her close. “Of course I want a private dance from you.” He coos, leaning in and presses his lips to her neck and makes her giggle when he playfully bites her. “Later. We’ll have our own little strip tease.” Later on he has no clue what he will be doing, but she’s fun and he will hopefully get lucky. He’s getting laid for his birthday. Or at least a blowjob. “Don’t you want to shove some bills into his g-string?”

You huff, deciding you might as well do something fun for once. You make a grabby gesture and he grins, handing you the bills. You call a man over and he saunters, moving his hips and he holds out his hand. “Oh, I don’t want a dance. Here, take this. Put it towards your education or your rent or food or whatever. Just - take it.” You shove the notes into the man’s hand who is shocked.

Pouting, Dieter rolls his eyes. “God, you are no fun.” He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest and shoots you a glare. “He was hot, he might have enjoyed the stick in your ass.” He’s pissed that he didn’t get to see the man dance, or see if you would fluster and loosen up. He doesn’t care about the money. It’s about having a good time.

You scoff, “you act like he wouldn’t have been nice to me because he’s getting money. All of these people are here because of your money, Bravo. They aren’t your friends, they want your wallet. Especially her.” You point to Cindy, Kathy, whatever her fucking name is. “I’m going to the bathroom.” You huff, standing up and grabbing your purse. You need to calm down and compose yourself if you’re gonna survive an entire weekend of this.

For a split second, Dieter’s face falls, hurt shining in his eyes before he shakes himself slightly and blinks it away. You’re just pissed that you’re here instead of locked away in your depressing house with whatever boring ass book you were going to read. The waitress comes over and he orders a magnum of champagne and glasses for everyone, including you. You’re at his birthday weekend, you are damn well going to celebrate,

When you come back from the bathroom, there’s champagne flowing and you see the glass waiting there for you. You shouldn’t drink it but you have to. You won’t endure tonight without a drink or two…or maybe three. You sit down and pick up the glass, downing it. You choke on the bubbles and Dieter cheers, clapping his hands. “Now we are fucking talking.”

Little do either of you know that one of his entourage snuck something into your drinks. You sway slightly, a giggle escaping your lips. “Wow. That champagne was so fucking good.” You feel tingly, like you’ve had ten drinks instead of two.

“So you are human.” Dieter gets up and moves around Cindy or Kathy and wedges himself in beside you. His grin is wide and happy and he clinks his glass against yours and takes a large sip of his bubbly. “It’s nice to see it. I didn’t think that I would ever witness you ‘let down your hair’.”

“Don’t get too excited, Bravo. The night is young and I am - I am supposed to be watching over you.” You can’t help the giggle that escapes your lips. You lean against Dieter, all hatred for him seems to have disappeared and you have another glass of champagne. “Happy birthday Bravo.” You cheer, suddenly excited for the night.

****

You groan at the bright light that shines into the room, your head is throbbing and you can barely open your eyes. Fuck, what happened last night. You don’t remember a thing. You wince, realizing you must’ve drank way too much, and you shift, turning over away from the light and you hit something. Without opening your eyes, you reach out, gasping at the feel of hot skin and you freak out, opening your eyes. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck.” You panic, seeing the familiar tattoos on your boss’s back.

Dieter groans, hearing someone’s panicked voice and shifts, turning over and covering his eyes with his hand. “Throw up on the floor.” He grunts, not wanting to lay in puke if whoever he took to bed is about to get sick. He doesn’t open his eyes and groans again, wanting to go back to sleep.

You slap him, “wake the fuck up!” You slap him again. Shrieking when you realize you’re naked. “You need to wake up now, Dieter. I- we are in bed and - and naked.” You look at him and frown when you see the gold band on his hand. “What the fuck is that?” You reach for his hand, pulling it away from his face and that’s when you see the diamond in your left hand. “What the fuck? Wake up!” You slap him with his own hand.

“Ow! Ow! What the fuck?” Dieter bolts upright and throws his hands up defensively. His eyes are wide and he looks at you like you are crazy. “What the fuck are you doing? I’m sleeping!” He isn’t questioning why you are naked and in his bed. He doesn’t even really care, but dammit, he was enjoying the sleep. And you rudely interrupted it.

“Sleep? How can you sleep when a) we are in bed naked together, and b) WE ARE APPARENTLY FUCKING MARRIED!” You shout, grabbing his hand to show him the new gold band and holding up your own hand. “Oh God. This is - it’s gotta be a joke, right? We aren’t married. We just bought rings.” You try to reason, knowing no matter how drunk you could be, you wouldn’t marry him.

His eyes widen and he looks at your hand and then back at your face for a moment before he busts out laughing. “Oh good job!” He crows. “You had me for a second. And showing me your tits to sell it? Genius.” He chuckles and looks around, spotting a glass of champagne on the nightstand and twists around to grab it, swallowing down the flat champagne. It’s disgusting, but his mouth is dry and he needs something. He pulls the glass down from his lips. “You should stop the bullshit babysitting and act, sweetheart.”

You narrow your eyes at him. "What the fuck are you talking about?" You growl, pissed that he thinks this is some kind of joke. "Do you think this is funny? Bravo, this is - oh God. I think I'm gonna be sick." You scramble to get off of the bed, racing to the bathroom and you kneel down just as you throw up. You gag and cough until you're done before you slump down on the floor, pressing your forehead against the cool porcelain. You inhale deeply and look down, eyes widening at the crusted liquid on your inner thighs. "Oh shit." You hiss, reaching between your legs. You stand up, rinsing your mouth, and stumble back into the bedroom. "We had sex. We had sex." You're in shock.

“What?” Dieter frowns, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t have sex with me. Believe me, I’ve asked.” He had asked you the first day he met you and you had scoffed and acted revolted so he had never asked again. Although you’re standing in front of him naked, and that is something he thought he would never see. “You just probably spilled something on yourself.” He rolls his eyes and flops back onto the bed.

You shake your head, tears in your eyes that he doesn't believe you. "I know what dried cum looks like, you asshole." You spit and search around the room for your phone, knowing you need to find out what happened. When you find your phone, you see the notifications. Opening the first one, your eyes widen. "Oh shit." You read the headline, "Oscar Winning Dieter Bravo Gets Married in Vegas." You scroll until you see the video. "Dieter." You take the phone over to him, hitting play.

A picture is worth a thousand words and apparently a video is worth a million. You and Dieter are obviously intoxicated and grinning happily at each other. In the video, he grabs your ass and hauls you closer while the two of you kiss, tongues tangled and the group that Dieter had brought is cheering and clapping. Pulling away, Dieter looks around. “Now, I’m going to fuck my wife!” He yells out, grabbing your hand and dragging you towards the limo - presumably to take you back to the hotel. “Shit.” Dieter groans, knowing his manager is going to kill him. You probably didn’t sign a prenup.

You cannot believe this. You don't know what happened. You vowed you wouldn't have more than a few drinks, how the hell did you end up blacked out and married to Dieter? "Shit." You echo, wondering what the hell you're gonna do. That video is all over the internet and you know that this press is going to be impossible to tamper. The phone rings and you groan at the name of Dieter's manager flashing on the screen. "Hey Alex. How are you?" You ask, trying to act nonchalant.

"How am I? How am I? You fucking got married to Dieter. You were hired for PR and you orchestrate the biggest fuck up in the history of fuck ups."

“Hey.” Dieter huffs, hearing her screech over the phone. “I wouldn’t say it’s the biggest fuck up.” He throws the covers off his body, obviously not going to be able to go back to sleep and climbs out of the bed, stretching with a groan. Completely unconcerned with his nudity as he stumbles to the bathroom to take a piss.

You watch him walk into the bathroom, jaw dropping, and you realize now why there's an ache between your thighs. "Not a fuck up? You got married! To your PR manager. Jesus Christ Dieter. You need to fix this." Alex says your name and you bite your lip, unsure of how you can fix it.

"I- I don't know - he can't just say it was a joke. There's..." You rack your brain. "There's one way but he's gonna hate it." You look towards the bathroom.

"I don't care. Just fucking fix it. He has a new movie coming out and we don't need the studio on our ass because he has fucked up - because you have fucked up." She hangs up and you stare at the phone, wanting to cry at this entire fucked up situation.

The best thing about Dieter is his ability to go with the flow. Or at least he thinks he does. Often he’s just too strung out, but right now, he’s finding this hilarious. “Just call me Brittany.” He chuckles into the mirror before he groans and reaches for the bottle of antacids that he keeps in his bag, along with his illicit drugs. Getting older sucks. He pops four into his mouth and chews them, reaching down and scratching his balls while he tries to remember if he did anything else last night besides marrying you. That can’t have been the worst thing he did.

You know what the solution is but fuck, you hate it, you really fucking hate it. You grab the shirt he was wearing, throwing it on without care, and you walk towards the bathroom. "We can't get an annulment." You declare. Dieter frowns, turning to look at you, his hand still scratching his balls.

"Why not?" He huffs.

"We have to stay married. If we get an annulment now, it will be recorded and the press will get hold of it and it will be a bigger story than it already is. If we stay married, even on paper, for six months or so, we can get an annulment and no one will even care to look because it will be old news."

“We can just say it was an accident.” Dieter shrugs and smirks. “What happens in Vegas and all that.” You shake your head.

“No Dieter, not what happens in Vegas. That’s the problem!” You shriek and he winces at how loud you get.

“Jesus, there’s the stick again.” He grumbles and sighs, trying to ignore the fact that you are wearing his t-shirt. “I don’t want to be married to you,” he whines. “Your going to tell me I can’t have sex while we’re married.”

“I won’t be married to you in any way other than a piece of paper. We are going to have to suffer each other for the time being. Once we get the annulment, you will give me a reference so I can move on from this shit show. You - you can fuck whoever you want but you won’t be doing it in public. We need people to think we are really married. You need to act like we are actually married, not just a terrible mistake. You need this to work otherwise you will be a laughing stock. With the cocaine possession and DUI, you can’t afford another fuck up.” You warn him, knowing that the last thing you want is to be married to him but you need this job more, you need that reference more than anything.

Dieter huffs, knowing that you aren’t wrong, but it’s all bullshit. “What the fuck, you don’t do your job and I’m the one punished?” He gripes, hating the entire idea. Especially where you said you would be leaving him. He hates when people leave him. “How did Ms. ‘Holier than thou, stick in her ass’ manage to get married to a man she can’t stand in a Vegas wedding chapel?”

“I don’t - I don’t remember anything past going to the bathroom in the strip club. I - I didn’t do my job? How dare you! I tried to prevent something like this but you bought me the drink and it was poured and - oh fuck. Do you think- do you think our drinks were spiked? Oh fuck. That explains it. One of your goddamn gold digging groupies spiked my drink and now I’m - oh God. I knew I shouldn’t have come along. Oh fuck. Dieter - we got married and had sex and I don’t even remember.” You freak out again, hands shaking as the weight of this settles on you.

Dieter frowns, while he loves using drugs and thinks that you could personally benefit from the occasional snort or toke, he doesn’t like the idea of being unknowingly drugged. Again, completely unconcerned with the fact that he’s naked, he walks over to you. “It’s okay.” He hesitates to reach for you, but then he does, pulling you against him and hugging you. Only slightly awkwardly considering you are just wearing his shirt and it is morning. “I’m sure there’s a video of it.”

You are so distraught that you actually wrap your arms around him and allow him to comfort you. Only for a moment until you realize that you’re married to him. “We need a game plan. What’s done is done and you don’t need anymore bad press so we gotta stay married.” You declare as you pull away from his embrace.

Dieter groans, hating that you keep saying that. Because he knows that means that his fun in Vegas will be over if you have your way. “Just lay low.” He shrugs his shoulders and turns around, wanting to look for the pills that he had yesterday. He spots a silk robe and snatches it up, throwing it on but not bothering to close it. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s not - we got married. It is a big deal. It’s a massive deal. I never - I wanted to get married and not get divorced. I wanted to be in love with the man I married. Not - not just - this mess. Oh God. My parents are going to kill me. Everyone expects you to be this reckless but not me. I’m the sensible one. Always have been. I’ve always had to be good.” You admit, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Dieter turns around and stares at you, amazed that you are so…worried about what your parents are going to say. “You’re legal, right?” He demands, squinting at you as if he could tell your age by staring at you. “Worried about your parents? Why? What are they doing for you? Are they supporting you?”

“Of fucking course I’m legal, you idiot.” You huff, “my parents love me and I love them and they are going to be mad when I tell them I accidentally got married in Vegas to a drug addicted actor.” They had told you that moving to L.A was a bad idea and now you’re inclined to agree.

“Who cares what they think?” Dieter scoffs, finally finding the baggie.

“Who cares? I do!” You choke, tears stinging in your eyes again.

“Then just don’t tell them.” Dieter says, like it’s the easiest thing to do.

You shake your head, “I can’t lie to my parents. I can’t do it.” You watch Dieter roll his eyes.

“You can. It’s easy. Just tell them you got married for real and they’ll be disappointed when their favorite son-in-law asks for a divorce in six months time but hey, what can you do? It’s fucking life.” You watch him, knowing your parents are gonna wonder what you say in him compared to your clean cut exes.

Dieter pops three of the pills in his mouth and offers you a couple. “Want some?” He asks and you scoff, shaking your head and looking at him in disgust.

“Shit like that got us into this situation!”

He rolls his eyes and closes the bag, shoving it in the pocket of the ridiculous pink silk robe. It only comes down to his thigh and doesn’t cover anything since he hasn’t closed it. “Just release a statement saying that after spending a night with you in Vegas, I realized that I couldn’t deny my feelings anymore.” He tells you. “Or say that we’ve been secretly dating for months and just decided to go for it.”

You are surprised he’s suddenly agreed to go along with it. Your eyes dip down to his impressive - even flaccid - cock and realize why he’s so obnoxious. “I think the secretly dating one is the way to go but you have been out with most of the men and women in L.A in the past six months. We gotta explain that.” Your mind whirls with the best way to cover this up. Your PR mind taking over to try and distract you from the panic that you also had sex with your boss. One thing at a time.

He shrugs, obviously unconcerned about the details. “We’re poly.” He chuckles, knowing that with as stiff as you are, there is no way that you would ever be in situation like that. “Or that it was just a front. Throw people off.” He grunts and scratches his belly. “I’m hungry, are you hungry? You should order us breakfast.” He switches topics suddenly and looks at you expectantly. “Doesn’t the wife take care of her hubby?” He teases with a smirk.

You huff, walking over to the phone and you grab the room service menu. “Aren’t husbands supposed to stop their stupid fake friends from roofieing their staff?” You retort, glad that you only have one more day of this before you return to L.A and you can get away from him. His assistant can run around doing this shit. You order a healthy breakfast, making him pout, and you smirk, “I’m looking after you baby.”

“Look after me by ordering bacon.” Dieter grumbles and sighs when you just lift a brow. “I’m going to shower.” Despite the rumors, he did shower. He just dresses like he doesn’t give a fuck. Because he doesn’t. Shooting you a grin, he waggles his brows. “Wanna join?”

You wrinkle your nose, “absolutely not. You haven’t even asked if I’m on birth control. We had sex last night. I take the pill, by the way.” You inform him and he wrinkles his nose.

“Too many chemicals. You should just check your basal temperature.”

You shake your head, “how have you not knocked someone up yet?”

Dieter shrugs, not bothering to tell you that he normally does use a condom. Doubting you would believe him. “Guess I’m just lucky like that.” He eyes you again, seeing the streaks of his dried cum on the inside of your thighs. “You wanna take a bath while I shower then? I know you want to clean away the evidence.” His tone is oddly hurt and he purses his lips at you.

You nod, deciding that a bath sounds nice, especially since your body aches. God knows what he did to you last night. You follow him to the bathroom, bending over to turn on the bath and there’s a flash in your mind of Dieter bending you over the bath, his cock buried deep inside of you. You gasp, making Dieter look over at you.

“You okay?” He frowns and you nod.

“I’m fine.” You choke, grabbing the bubble bath.

Rolling his eyes, Dieter leans into the marbled shower to turn on the water. It wouldn’t be so horrible being married to you for a few months if you weren’t such a stick in the mud. You’re hot, he had been grateful that he was battling a headache when you were standing in front of him naked. Or maybe he had too much sex last night. Maybe that was the reason he wasn’t popping a boner at the sight of your tits and bare cunt, because he likes the look of you. “I guess we go home this afternoon?” He asks with a pout. It’s his fucking birthday today and he’s gotten yelled at, scolded and there is zero chance of getting a birthday blowjob from you.

You ponder it for a moment, realizing that you can’t just go home. It would look bad. You need to be seen out and about. “We can’t go home today. It’s best if we go out. We are gonna get swarmed but the public needs to see you and your wife out and happy.I’m sure even you can manage to act like you actually love me. Happy birthday by the way.” You offer him a smile despite being so mad that the thing you tried to prevent had happened.

Your smile throws him for a loop and he just stares at you for a moment. It might be the second time that you’ve smiled at him, a nice smile, since you’ve become his PR person. “Thanks.” He swallows back the urge to make a comment, something dirty that you wouldn’t appreciate and just nods. “Okay. Be seen. We can do that.” He shrugs. “What would be good?”

You test the water before stripping off his shirt to sink into the hot water, a moan escaping your lips at how good it feels on your aching muscles. “I’m thinking we go to dinner. No entourage. Then we go dancing. We gotta appear close and I doubt you’d be spending your birthday apart from your wife. This is just until the news has died down so we can divorce.”

He rolls his eyes at how boring that sounds. No doubt dinner will be talking about how much of a fuck up you think he is and the dancing will be some sedate oldies music where no one there is under one hundred. He shrugs off the robe and steps under the shower spray with a groan. “Sounds great, grandma.” He quips. “Senior specials? Gotta get there before five.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes. “No. I’ll book dinner for nine and then we can go to a club. Not a strip club.” You huff, swaying your hands through the water. His sarcasm has pissed you off since it’s technically his fault that you are in this situation. “I gotta go out and get something nice for a club since everything I brought with me is for a nice dinner and not the club. I guess I gotta dress the part of Mrs. Bravo.” The words make you feel sick but what can you do? You need to keep your job and the way to do that is to create the narrative that you’re in love with the man. As disgusting as he can be, you hope you find something good in him. He’s selfish, indulgent, and completely self obsessed. Traits you would never want to marry, yet here you are.

“Got it, you don’t like strip clubs.” He feels guilty, something that he hates feeling. He doesn’t know why, he didn’t spike your drink, but you are stuck with him because of it. “Take my card when you go shopping.” He tells you, shampoo in his hair. “This is my fault, so you should at least be able to buy what you want until it’s done.”

You want to argue and say you can afford your own things but honestly, you deserve something nice since this wasn't your fault. It was his fake fucking friends. You wash up and wash your face, standing up from the bath just as he steps out of the shower, reaching for the towel. He really is sexy in that Oscar the Grouch kind of way.

Water droplets glisten on his chest as he wraps his towel around his waist, covering himself for the first time since he got out of bed. “You’ll need to stay in this suite too.” Dieter reminds you. “The paps watch the hotel rooms.”

You huff, knowing he’s right, and you wrap the towel around yourself. It’s hard to resist licking up that drop of water going down to his - your mind flashes with an image of you doing just that and you stumble. “Shit.” You hiss and he reaches out to steady you, causing you to pull your arm away. “Do you- do you remember anything from last night?” You ask, curious if he’s having these flashes too.

“I-“ Dieter bites his lip and almost lies to you. “I remember most of last night.” He admits quietly. He’s done so many drugs that some things just kind of stick with him. Especially sex. He knows you will probably be mad at him, since you were drugged too, but he didn’t know that you weren’t just drunk.

Your eyes widen but you’re not surprised. He’s done more drugs than most of the population of California combined. He must have some kind of immunity. “Tell me.” You demand. “Tell me everything.”

“I don’t know.” He swallows harshly and gives a small shrug. “We came back to the hotel, but we started in the limo.” He flashes you a grin. “You demanded I eat you out. Told me that you hadn’t cum on someone’s face in a long time.”

You fluster, unable to believe you said that. “And did you?” You ask breathlessly.

“Of course I fucking did.” He scoffs, “I practically laid on the floor of the limo so I could eat you out. You were bucking against my face like a goddamn bronco.”

Your cheeks burn and you need to know more despite it being mortifying. “Then what?”

He smirks, amused with how flustered you look. “Then we came back here and had sex. In the bathtub, in the bed, in front of the windows.” He chuckles. “You liked that.”

There’s a flash in your mind of him pushing you up against the window, your cheek smashed against it as he rammed into you. “Oh God.” You choke, unable to believe that he fucked you like that. “No wonder I ache. God, thank God I’m on birth control.” You grip the towel tighter around your body, even though it’s ridiculous now he’s seen every inch of your body.

He hums, not mentioning how you had moaned about how good he felt. He’ll save that for himself. “You wanted it again, wanted to ride but you were so tired I stopped you.” You had pouted at him until he promised you could ride him in the morning. Although it seems like that won’t happen. “You can wear some of my clothes until you get your bags to the room.”

You want the floor to open and swallow you when he says that you wanted to ride him. It’s true you haven’t had sex for - who the fuck knows how long it has been. You can’t even remember. You had seen Dieter naked and now you can see why you wanted to ride his cock. Now you’re sober, you couldn’t do it because it’s Dieter Bravo. “Okay. I will wear some of your clothes then go get my things then I’m gonna go shopping and you are gonna stay here and call your manager to apologize.” You tell him, striding out of the bathroom and you walk into the closet to his suitcase, wrinkling your nose at the lack of options that don’t involve holes or stains. “You need new clothes too.” You tell him, holding up his tatty sweats.

Shrugging, he doesn’t understand why you are upset about his clothes. “So buy me some.” He offers. “Hate shopping. Never do it. All that was stuff I acquired.” Half the time it’s stuff that comes from lovers or once expensive clothes that he wears to death when he’s given them after modeling. “But don’t throw them away.” He huffs, a snatching shirt you had picked up away from you. “They’re comfortable.”

“Comfortable can look good too. These are - what the hell do you do in these clothes?” You pick up a tatty shirt and pull it over your head. “What’s your size? I’ll buy you some clothes. We can’t - I won’t be married to a homeless millionaire.” You scoff, “I promise you’ll be comfortable but you need to look good. Your entire image is your income.”

Dieter snorts and rolls his eyes. “I’m still getting worked, aren’t I?” He asks before he drops his towel and starts rooting around for a pair of boxers. “I need to look good on camera. And the makeup and hair people accomplish that.” He honestly doesn’t care about how he looks off set, comfort is his goal. He works long hours when he’s shooting a movie and it’s always uncomfortable. “I honestly don’t- oh! The last movie.” He rattles off sizes. “That’s what the tailor told me when I was fitted.”

“Okay. I’ll get you some new clothes. I just - I know you think I hate you but I want you to be successful. I want you to look good and be loved by your fans. I want you to have everything you’ve ever wanted and that’s my job. To make you look good. For people to love you. I’ll get you some new clothes and some new shoes. Those Tom’s…they aren’t it.”

“Hey….” Dieter pouts and looks down at the Tom’s he had pushed his feet into after sliding on his boxers. “I left my crocs at home.” He argues. “I could have worn them.” He would have too, he doesn’t care. Although he’s surprised by your speech about wanting things for him. Besides last night, you always seem to look at him like gum on the bottom of your shoe.

“God no. I will get my stuff and then we are going shopping. You’re coming with me so we can get you some new stuff.” You tell him, not taking no for an answer. “Let’s get my stuff and then we can go get started.” You shove your feet into your shoes, grateful you didn’t wear heels last night.

“I hate shopping.” He whines, huffing dramatically. “I hate it. It’s boring and people are always assholes.” He hates having to make small talk and all the fucking sales associates thought if they talked to him that he would buy more shit.

You roll your eyes, “tough shit. Your wife wants to go shopping.” You quip and make your way out of the closet to grab your purse, intent on going to your room to change. “Breakfast should be arriving soon. I’ll get my stuff, we can eat, and then we will go out.”

“Bossy.” The fact that his cock twitches doesn’t surprise him, he likes following orders sometimes. “Fine, we’ll go shopping.” He calls out as you walk out of the closet. “But I’m going to complain the whole time!”

****

You hold up the shirt against him, liking the purple against his skin tone. “I like this. What do you think?” You ask, knowing that people are watching you and taking photos but there’s nothing you can do.

“It’s fine.” Dieter huffs, hating the actual shopping more than the color or style of the shirt. He always feels like a rat in a glass cage when he goes shopping. “If you like it, get it. I’ll wear whatever.”

You huff back, hating his lack of enthusiasm and you know it’s because he hates being with you. “We will get it and then we can go, okay hon?” You promise, knowing he’s uncomfortable. “I won’t make you endure this anymore.” You take the shirt over to the cashier and you feel guilty when you see the total. “I’m sorry. Oh God. I didn’t know - I can put stuff back.” You tell him, picking up the clothes.

Dieter scoffs and takes the clothes out of your hand and sets them back down on the counter. “You want it, don’t you?” He asks, reaching into his pocket to pull out his little card case. The black card is quickly snatched up by the sales associate. “Besides, you told me you wanted to go shopping. Shopping means buying things.”

“Yeah but -” Your protest is cut short as the sales associate starts to fold the clothes. All of these are for Dieter. Yours are already on the way to the hotel. “I promise you I’ll pay you back.” You vow and he shakes his head. Dieter spends more than this a week on coke.

“Anything to make you happy dear.” He sasses and you playfully slap him, a little too hard but you don’t want to look like you’re not flirtatious with the sales associate there.

“Happy wife happy life.” You quip.

Dieter rolls his eyes and shoots the clerk a grin. “She’s already figured it out.” He tells them. “I just go along to get along.” He can almost say it with a straight face, but he looks over at you and shoots you a playful wink. “As long as you model the clothes you bought, or let me throw them on the floor, we’re good, baby.” He takes the opportunity to slide his hand down your back and squeeze your ass.

You want to be disgusted but you’ve had more flashes in your mind about how he fucked you and it’s beyond anything you could imagine. So sexy and intense. You find yourself being attracted to him and it’s so dangerous. You’re supposed to hate him, hate how he’s a PR nightmare, one that you’ve now gotten involved in, but you just want him to squeeze your ass again.

His grin gets wider when you don’t gasp and he leans in to kiss your cheek, making sure he drops another kiss right at the corner of your mouth. You’re a little looser than you were last night when the plane landed and he likes that. After your champagne at the strip club, he had ditched Cindy or whatever her fucking name was and it had been all about you. Not that what’s her name minded, she had latched onto some IG model that was there.

You can't stop the shiver that runs through your body and you hope he thinks it's from disgust. "Thank you." You tell the sales associate who promises to take your purchases back to your hotel room. You hold Dieter's hand as you walk back to your hotel. "Gotta let people take photos." You murmur, realizing how many people recognize him and you feel terrible that this is his life every day.

“I know.” He keeps his voice down, but he squeezes your hand. “That's why I hate shopping. The stores turn into a giant fucking fish bowl.” He’s feeling a little jittery, wishing you had let him take something before you left the hotel. But you had said you wanted people to see him happy and sober. Dieter didn’t mention that no one had seen him like that.

You notice how anxious he is and you feel awful for forcing him out like this. You can’t imagine being recognized like this. To be constantly under the public eye. You can understand why he finds solace in the drugs. “It’s okay. Don’t pay attention to them. You’re okay sweetheart. We are going back to the room.” You promise, feeling his hand shake in yours.

He grips your hand a little tighter and looks over at you, almost pathetically grateful that you are here. “Now you know why I’m normally baked.” He quips with a crooked grin.

You feel sorry for him, finally recognizing why he doesn’t dress nicer or go out or be sober. You can’t imagine the stress he must have even going out to the grocery store. You are swift to get him back into the hotel but you enter the elevator and what appears to be several young women all gasp when you enter. “Oh my God it’s Dieter Bravo.” One of them announces and you find yourself defensive when they start to take selfies without even asking.

“Hey. Can you not just take his photo? You could at least ask.” You huff and one of the women points at you.

“You’re his beard.” She declares.

“His what?” You narrow your eyes.

“He’s actually with a man but you are his cover up so female fans think he’s still an option. It’s okay honey, we all know you’re not his type anyway. He likes them looking like supermodels. You’re…average.” She drags her eyes down your body and you feel every insecurity you’ve tried to overcome rush back over you.

“Hey.” Dieter scowls and shakes his head, pushing the outstretched hands with phones away and reaches for you to tug you close to his side. “How about you not talk about my wife like that?” He demands. “Have I been with men? Yep, not a secret.”

Dieter has never cared how he was perceived, he was too self absorbed for that, but he’d be damned if someone was going to insult his fake marriage. “And your logic makes zero fucking sense. I like men, but then I like women who look like supermodels, so she isn’t good enough?” He rolls his eyes and smirks. “Be jealous all you want but don’t be a bitch to her. And you can swing by the hotel room to hear how unattractive I find her later.”

You can’t deny that you are turned on by his display. His defense of you is sexy and you can’t stop the smirk appearing on your lips as the woman is shocked, blinking several times until her friends usher her off of the elevator when it arrives on their floor. “Thank you.” You tell him, “you didn’t have to do that.”

“Husbands protect their wives, right?“ he likes the way that your hand is on his chest, the admiration in your eyes appealing. It’s real, unlike a lot of the shit he gets. “Besides, they are fucking insane. You aren’t average, your fucking gorgeous.”

You fluster, caressing his chest before stepping away. You can’t get involved with him, this is a PR disaster to begin with, let alone getting actual emotions involved. He’s more than what you thought he was. “Thank you. You- you aren’t too bad yourself.” You tell him just as the elevator doors open and you walk to his suite.

He snorts, appreciating the sass and his eyes are glued to your ass as you walk. The maid has come while the two of you are gone and the suite is nice and tidy. “So, I guess we need to talk about what’s going to happen when we go back to L.A.” he doesn’t want to, but he also doesn’t want you lecturing him when the two of you had such a good moment.

You sigh, knowing he’s not gonna like your response. “We need to live together. Just until we divorce. The paps might catch me leaving my home or not being in your home. It will raise questions and we need people to think we are together and stop questioning…like that woman did. We need to - to make this work and when we divorce, you can tell everyone that I’m the evil woman that broke your heart so you can get all the attention and hopefully your next role.”

Dieter shakes his head. “No,” he frowns at the idea of what that would do to your career. “We’ll come up with something better than that.” He insists. “I- there’s three other bedrooms in the house.” He offers, looking over at the door to the bedroom of the suite. “You can have whatever room you want.” He sighs. “I’m a selfish asshole, but I’d never make you stay in the same room or sleep with me.”

You appreciate how he isn’t forcing you into more than what you have agreed. “It will only be for a few months. We need to suffer each other until people get bored of you being married. Tonight, we need to put on a show to convince the public we are married. I’m sorry this happened. I know you didn’t want to get married.” You sigh, having heard him say that several times when his manager would try to set him up on dates.

“Yeah, I know you don’t want to be married to me.” He reminds you with a rueful grin. “I’m not complaining though. I get to say I know what you look like when you cum.” Winking at you playfully. “So I’ve got that goin for me.” He’s thought about it all day today and he knows that it’s not going to happen, but it’s a nice thought.

You roll your eyes playfully and slap his chest. “That’s not gonna happen again. It was…a lapse in judgment. We can’t do that again. It will complicate things even more. That was…it was the drugs.” You lie despite knowing you’d love for Dieter to fuck you again.

“Yeah….the drugs.” Dieter frowns at the reminder and turns around to start striding to the bedroom. “I’m gonna go find my coke.” He calls over his shoulder. “You can do whatever you want. If my manger calls, tell her to fuck off, I’m on my honeymoon.

You chuckle, starting to unpack and hang up the clothes you’d bought him so he can pick out an outfit for later. Everything is stylish yet comfortable. You admire the dresses you’d bought for yourself, excited to wear something beautiful that you could never afford. Dieter lays on the bed, napping between snorting the coke, and he watches some movie while you get ready for your dinner. You take your time to do your hair and makeup, coming back out in a robe. “Bathroom is free. I’m gonna get changed.” You tell Dieter.

His hair is sticking up in every direction, not caring to style it after his shower this morning but he sits up when you walk past. Your makeup is sexy and your hair perfect. You look like an actress getting ready to perform her starring role. Right…this is just an act you are putting on so you can divorce him in six months. Dieter grunts and shuffles off the bed to trudge into the bathroom. If you want this to be a role, he can give you that. He’ll be your perfect co-star.

When you are ready, you walk back into the bedroom to find Dieter walking out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, water droplets still rolling down his skin, but his hair is styled and he has shaved. Fuck, he looks good. “You, uh, you look good like that.” You manage to choke out, hoping he likes your riskier outfit. You know that being with Dieter means you have to have a certain image. The man wouldn’t be married to someone who wears jeans and sneakers all day every day. So you hope he likes the skimpy dress you had bought for tonight.

His mouth drops open slightly, eyes fixed on the skin you are showing and his cock twitches. He loves it and he hates it, because he’s not going to be able to touch you. “You look amazing.” He compliments you breathlessly. “We need to see those cunts in the elevator again.” He chuckles. “Let them see I’m sporting a constant boner.”

“Thank you.” You giggle nervously, eyes dipping down to the slight tent under his towel and there’s a flash behind your eyes of you sucking his cock. Fuck, you can’t let him touch you again. You have to keep this professional. “Did you take viagra again?” You tease, sliding your feet into your heels to distract yourself from pulling him close and kissing him.

Scoffing, Dieter shakes his head. “Hell no.” He doesn’t add that there would be no point since he’s not getting laid on his birthday. “Natural reaction to you, sweetheart.” He turns and walks towards the closet. “Another reason I wear baggy clothes.”

You pause, watching him walk away, and you wonder if he’s just joking with you or if he’s being serious. Has he always found you attractive or does he even find you attractive now? After he is dressed, you swear your pussy drips because damn, he looks so sexy when he’s dressed up and tidy. “You look- you look good.” You choke, hoping your face doesn’t betray you, and you fumble to grab your purse so you can make your dinner reservation on time.

Dieter smirks and holds his arm out for you to take with a wink. “Can’t embarrass my wife when I take her out, can I?” He coos, knowing you hate being reminded that you married him. He can be charm itself when he wants to be and surprisingly, he only took a single Xanax while he was getting ready. The wedding band on his hand is foreign, but it somehow mixes with his other rings. “Ready to put on a show?”

With a sigh, you nod, wrapping your fingers around his arm and let him guide you out of the hotel room to the elevator. He seems…sober. You’re not used to seeing Dieter sober like this and you find you like him more. He’s not as brash or obnoxious. He’s charming and, surprisingly sweet. “I just want this to be successful so you don’t end up another failed Hollywood marriage. You don’t wanna beat Kim K and Britney on an annulment, do you?” You tease as you step onto the elevator and you lower your hand from his arm.

“First place is first place.” He jokes, looking up at the LED monitor that shows the floors rapidly descending. “Besides, I’m sure that whoever you are dating wants to kick my ass and have their girlfriend back.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, feeling twitching and he doesn’t want to touch you more than he needs to. He likes it too much. “Just blame everything on me. They’ll believe I did something stupid.”

You snort, “you think I’m-? First of all, no. I’m single. Have been for…longer than I care to admit. Second, I would never do what I did with you if I was with someone. I was drugged and - God, thank fuck I wasn’t with someone because we - it wasn’t exactly once that night.” You’ve had more flashes, able to piece most of your night together. The things he did to you…they should honestly be illegal, it felt far too good. “Legally, I’m yours. Reality, I’m no one’s.” You answer him, feeling a little insecure that you haven’t dated anyone for a while since you’ve been so busy with work.

“Yeah, I get it.” The doors open and Dieter takes a breath before plastering a happy look on his face. “The only reason you would ever look at me is because you were drugged.” He sighs under his breath, his low tone at odds with his expression. “Can you please stop reminding me how much you hate me. It’s my birthday.”

You take his hand, “I promise you I will make sure you have a good birthday. Come on, let’s go get dinner. I’m starving. Then we can go dancing.” You can’t wait to let loose a little and remember it instead of the crazy night you had before.

The photographers are everywhere, lights flashing and Dieter just smiles and acts proud that he is with you. Lifting up your joined hands and kissing the back of yours. “Dieter! What made you marry your PR agent?”

Dieter laughs and gives you a smoldering smirk. “Well I’ve been in love with her for forever and finally managed to convince her that I was serious. She thought I was acting!”

He is acting but damn, the loving look in his eyes almost convinced you that he loves you. “And we decided to just go for it since I’ve been in love with him too.” You coo, kissing Dieter’s cheek and the cameras flash once more. You gasp when Dieter turns his head to press his lips to yours and you let him kiss you for a moment. “Sorry fellas. We are gonna be late for dinner. Thank you.” You declare, squeezing Dieter’s hand and he guides you through the crowd of paps.

Getting into the car is relatively easy and he allows you to slide into the car before him. The driver pulls away and he looks over at you with a smirk. “Looks like they believed you.” His lips burn where he had kissed you and he turns to look out the window so he doesn’t try to do it again. “They might fall in love with you.”

You snort, looking out of the window. “If you don’t like me, I doubt they will love me. I’m just a five minute wonder. When the Kardashians or the Hadid sisters do something, I’ll be old news and that’s when we can divorce under the radar. We just gotta make them think we are in love for the time being. I know that will be hard but you’re an Oscar winning actor so you should be able to manage it.” You wonder if you’ll be able to manage it. He’s more than what you thought he was, already changing your opinion after twenty four hours in his company. Maybe it’s a residue high from the drug. You don’t know.

Dieter sighs and doesn’t comment. It won’t do any good. You wouldn’t believe him if he told you that while he hadn’t been in love with you, he had found you very attractive and he liked the sass and the fact that you didn’t put up with his shit. He was contrary by nature and you were just so good. And last night….fuck, you showed him how wild you could be.

When you arrive at the restaurant, there’s another throng of paps and fans with their cameras but the restaurant staff usher you inside to a private booth and you exhale in relief when you lean back against the cool leather. “I don’t know how you handle that all the time.” You say to Dieter when he sits beside you.

“Drugs.” Dieter jokes, giving a small shrug as he reaches for the water glass. It’s not wine, but he will order a bottle quick enough and he’s oddly thirsty. “Some days it’s okay, especially when I meet someone who is passionate about movies, but it can be a lot when it’s the paps.”

“I can only imagine. It’s…intense. I’m sorry you have to deal with that. I sit at a desk and don’t really see that side of it. The reality of it. For so long, I’ve just done damage control on different situations you’ve gotten into like when you hit the pap and I never - I always thought you overreacted but now I know.”

He stares at you a moment, amazed that you had just said that. When he had hit the pap, you had raked his ass over the coals. “Thanks.” He ducks his head slightly to study the menu. “Hopefully they don’t bother you too badly.”

"I can handle them. They just need to be bored by me and they will move on. If we have an orgy in the middle of the strip, then we might be on their radar." You joke, browsing the menu. "Shit. This place is pricey. I didn't -" You are cut when Dieter rolls his eyes and tuts.

"Hellooo?? My wife gets whatever she wants. Plus, I make way more money than I need. Probably why I buy so much coke." He murmurs to himself and you fluster at the way he easily calls you his wife even though no one is around to hear.

The waiter comes over and Dieter orders the wine and you soon order your meal. "I don't - I haven't really been anywhere this nice before. My parents always preferred to cook homemade meals and special occasions were few and far between and my exes, none really took me anywhere super nice."

He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Wow, sounds like you dated some winners.” He doesn’t mind spending money, the people he hangs out with would verify that. But someone like you needs to be appreciated. “Well, while you are married to me, you can do whatever you want and eat everywhere you’ve wanted to try.” He lifts his brows. “A Hollywood wife must be seen after all.”

You chuckle, "I guess so." You watch the wine sommelier pour the wine for Dieter to taste and he nods, letting the man pour you a glass before filling Dieter's up. "To being fake married." You toast softly with a smirk on your lips as you clink your glass against his. "To being fake married." He responds and you take a sip of the wine, moaning in appreciation of the fruity full bodied red wine.

Your moan punches him in the gut, making it twist as he members the way you sounded last night. You still haven’t realized that he knew that the two of you got married. He wonders what you will say when you rationalize it out.

You eagerly dig into your appetizer. So hungry after so much stress. You see Dieter fidget and flex his fingers as he plays with his food. “Is everything okay?” You ask, reaching for his left hand. Another flash plays through your mind of when he slid the diamond ring onto your finger. You gasp and squeeze his hand. “Do you - if you remember last night us having - then you must remember us getting married?”

Shit…..Dieter stares down at his plate and swallows, suddenly not hungry. You are going to be pissed at him. “I do.” He admits, not looking up. He doesn’t want to see the anger on your face. Plus it hurts less when he gets slapped if he doesn’t see it coming.

You inhale sharply, now knowing that he married you and remembers it. He knew what he was doing. You feel betrayed. "Why?" You whisper, unable to muster anything else.

Dieter sighs and leans back in his chair, wishing that he had done some Coke before dinner. “It was your idea.” He reveals. “You climbed into my lap and told me that you had always wanted to slap me and then kiss me.” He huffs out a small chuckle. “So I told you to do it.” He picks up his wine glass and takes a long gulp. “It went from there, but you asked me to marry you.”

Your eyes widen. “I- I asked you- oh God.” You lean back in your seat, absorbing the news that you asked him to marry you. “Why - did I give a reason why? I need you to tell me everything.” You order, leaning closer to him.

He gives a small shrug. “I thought you had just decided to take the stick out of your ass.” He defends himself. “Plus I wasn’t close to sober. But we made out in the club, damn near had sex in that booth. Then we went cruising down the strip and you saw the chapel and demanded we pull over.” He chuckles. “You claimed you loved those cliche movies about eloping and something about it could be a weird version of married at first sight?” He shrugs. “I didn’t know what you were talking about, but you were happy.”

You stare at him, tears stinging in your eyes and you swallow harshly. The tang of the wine on your lips when you lick them. “Wow. I- wow. It was me.” You can’t believe it was you that suggested getting married but you supposed it makes sense now. You sigh and reach for his hand. “I’m so sorry. It’s my fault we are in this fucked up mess and I - oh God. I’m so sorry sweetheart. I shouldn’t - my parents got divorced when I was a teenager so I guess I’ve always wanted to get married and do it right but now I’ve completely fucked that up.”

He reaches out and covers your hand with his other one. “It’s okay.” He knows how you feel now, in the light of day. He should have known you weren’t yourself, but he convinced himself that you had just given into bottled up feelings. It’s not true though, you are horrified at being married to him. So you’ll get it annulled or get a divorce or whatever. “We’ll have you single again in no time.” He chuckles and sends you a wink. “Smart girl, we got married without a prenup too.”

Your eyes widen, “oh God. I didn’t - I don’t want your money Dieter. You can keep it. I don’t - I don’t want you to think I did this because of - because of the money. I didn’t.” You promise, “I don’t - oh God. What a mess…and it’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.” You shake your head, knowing that your job is to protect his image and you’re the one who got you in this position.

He chuckles, enjoying the abject horror on your face. “Nah. I’ll just sign up for some really shitty movie, Cliff Beasts 75 or some shit, and tell the press at the junket that it’s so I could pay my alimony.” He teases, squeezing your hand so you don’t think he’s serious.

You roll your eyes at him, half playful, and you look down at your joined hands. For some reason, it feels far too right to hold his hand, even with the ghastly amount of rings he has on each hand. “So you wanted to marry me…even though I’ve done nothing but be rude to you?” You ask, frowning again.

“What can I say?” He gives a small shrug. “I’m a masochist.” His joke is meant to make you roll your eyes and scoff, perhaps say something sarcastic. Anything to keep you from delving into why he thought marrying you was a good idea. He was high, sure, but he never was so high that he married someone else before. His insecurities and loneliness came out last night and in typical Dieter fashion, he was selfish.

You stare at him, unsure of what to think, but you can see something in his eyes. You just can’t put your finger on it. “I- I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch to you. I should’ve been more professional and I understand why you…self medicate. It must be so overwhelming.” You squeeze his hand just as the waiter comes over with your food.

He doesn’t respond with a pithy reply, instead he just leans back and lets the server set down the food. He speaks when the extra ears have left. “I get it, I’m annoying.” He gives a small shrug. “Byproduct of being lonely, I guess.”

You feel sorry for him which surprises you. You can’t imagine how lonely it must be to not know who your true friends are. To know that everyone wants something from you. “I- I really am sorry Dieter. I don’t think you’re as annoying now that I understand why. You’re just…eccentric.” You tell him and start to eat, wondering what you can do to make this man happy. How bizarre, to have gone from loathing him to…something else in less than twenty four hours.

“Don’t feel sorry for me.” He’s slightly prickly after exposing something so raw. “My life is great. Drugs, sex, whatever I want.” He huffs like it’s ridiculous to imagine being unhappy. “I live in Sherman Oaks.”

You snort, “money doesn’t buy happiness. It’s clear that you are lonely and you buy your friends and your lovers. It’s…I want more for you Dieter. You deserve to be truly happy. I know we have fucked up with this marriage but you deserve to be with someone who loves you.

Dieter sighs, knowing that will never happen. He either fucks up or they do. Or they never loved him at all. “Can we talk about something less depressing?” He whines before he changes the subject. “Like you showing me your tits at the strip club?”

Your eyes widen, “I did what?!?” Your mouth drops and you lower your knife and fork.

“Yeah. You flashed your tits while we were in the club. Said you could get up on that stage and make me hard.” Dieter smirks at how mortified you are.

“Oh my God. I didn’t.” You cringe, knowing you must’ve embarrassed yourself while high thanks to your constant need to suppress your wilder side.

“You did.” He chuckles and leans in. “But you were right, I did get hard.” He smirks and winks at you. “Got really hard. You liked it. Really liked it.” You had loved how hard he was and that he was a multiple rounds kind of guy.

You fluster, another flash in your mind of you taking his cock into your mouth in the limo, and your cheeks burn. “Oh shit. I did. God, I- I didn’t know - I’ve never behaved that way. I just - oh no. I’m so sorry.” You wince, not even wanting to know what he thought of you. “I, uh, I never behave that way. At least not outside of my kind.”

Dieter grins, eyes alight with dirty delight. “Yeah?” He gives a low chuckle. “You have a lot of dirty thoughts swimming around in that pretty little head if yours?” He nods. “Yeah, you do. You probably read all those smutty romances and watch porn thinking about what you would do if you just let yourself.”

You fluster, thinking of all of the books you’ve read and the porn you’ve watched. “A lot of dirty thoughts.” You murmur, looking into those beautiful dark eyes of his that are just one of the reasons he’s such a popular actor. You lick your lips and shift a little closer to him. “We shouldn’t - we should keep this professional.” Your eyes dip down to his lips and you remember how good it felt to kiss him. You want that again.

“Maybe.” Dieter gives a careless shrug, as if it’s of no consequence. “Although….we already have. And you are my wife.” He reminds you with a grin. “So technically speaking, fucking each other’s brains out would be keeping it professional.” He can tell you are curious. If it’s because you don’t remember a lot of last night or if you want to see what Dieter Bravo is like in bed, he doesn’t know. “You know what they say. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

You want to kiss him, fuck, you really do, but crossing that line isn’t something you can let go. You pull back, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “I- I don’t think it would, considering everyone takes our photo.” You gesture to the people across the room who are trying to covertly take your photo. You go back to your food, knowing it’s for the best. “We can go dancing after this, show off those infamous moves.” You nudge him playfully, trying to lighten the mood.

He wants to pout, but he knows that he’s not going to push. He never pushes, it goes against his code. “Okay.” He lown meal and forks up a bite. You don’t want to sleep with him again. Fitting for the woman who hadn’t even wanted to come here. He can see you retreat back into your professional armor and he sighs softly. “We’ll dance for like an hour, then I think I’m just going to go to bed early.” He decides. “There’s got to be another baggie in the room somewhere.”

You sigh, wishing he wouldn’t escape in drugs. Maybe some therapy would help him process better. You push that thought aside and know that you’re not his actual wife so that would be overstepping. The rest of dinner is spent in silence and you groan when you finish dessert. “I don’t think I’ve had a meal that good…ever.” You dread to think what the bill is going to say.

Groaning in agreement, Dieter doesn’t even look at the bill when it comes, pulling his wallet out of his jacket pocket and handing the card to the waiter as he reaches for his wine glass to drain the last sip. “Have you decided what club?”

“Not a strip club.” You snort and he pouts, making you playfully slap his arm. “Not a strip club. There’s this club at Venetian that’s supposed to be nice. Let’s go there and we can dance then go back to the room because these shoes aren’t gonna hold up an entire night.” You stretch your legs, accidentally brushing against his. “Thank you for dinner.” You tell him when the waiter sets the bill down.

“You’re welcome.” For all his douchebaggery, Dieter tips. He had spent too many years waiting tables to survive while he was working towards breaking into the business. He signs a large tip and scrawls his signature before he takes his card and closes the leather booklet. “Ready?” He asks, standing up and moving over to your chair.

You take his hand, happy to keep your hands joined as he guides you out of the restaurant and through the hotel to your awaiting limo. Dieter tells the driver the name of the club and he leans back in the leather seat as the driver makes his way across the strip. “Can I ask you a question?” You ask and he chuckles, “you just did.” You roll your eyes and look at him and he nods. “Why do you do the drugs? What about it makes you - makes you happy?”

That hadn’t been the question he was expecting. He frowns slightly and thinks about how to answer. “It’s freeing. Fun.” He gives a small shrug. “I like the way I think, the way I feel when I’m high. It can be creative.” He snorts. “Or it can make me not give a fuck about what’s going on.”

You nod in understanding, “I can get that. Just - just being you without any kind of mental barrier. I just - last night I was free. I have never acted like that before.” You admit, “but don’t you ever get tired of it? Don’t you ever want something real?”

Dieter scoffs. “Real checked out when my first multi million dollar role was announced.” He tells you. “Real left when I slept with someone only to have them sell pictures to The Sun.” He gives a shrug that’s meant to hide the hurt and betrayal that he had felt when he realized that he was just some kind of commodity to a lot of people. “Maybe one day, when I’m old and the roles stop coming in, or they aren’t blockbusters or Oscar winners.”

You feel sad for him, you can see the pain in his eyes. He feels used and not truly loved, he has been wrung out for every penny people can get out of him. “I’m sorry you’ve been treated like that. You deserve to be treated like any other human. Just because you’re famous doesn’t mean you don’t get to be treated with respect. I- I can understand now why you act that way you do. It’s an escape and a facade. If you don’t let them see the real you, you won’t get hurt.”

“Knew you were a smart cookie.” It’s not exactly a compliment, because it means he’s let you see beyond his facade. He looks out of the car window and chuckles to himself. “Want to flash the strip?” He asks, making a crude joke to lighten the mood.

You chuckle, rolling your eyes at him. “No I don’t. I’m not even drunk.” You tell him, “or drugged. God, I really did flash my tits everywhere. Thank God no one got a photo of it.” You cringe at the thought.

“Oh there are photos.” Dieter smirks, holding up his phone. “But only I get to see pics of my wifey like that.” He had every intention of deleting them, but hadn’t remembered to do it yet. “You wanna see?”

Your eyes widen, “you took photos? Oh my God. You asshole.” You slap his arm making him give a dramatic “ow” then you demand he shows you. He grins and unlocks his phone, pulling up the photos he had taken. “Oh God. I- I look - I look hot.” You settle on that word. You look happy and carefree and hot. Words you never thought you’d put together.

“Yeah you do.” You do look hot, doing exactly what you wanted and not apologizing for it. The picture where you were pushing your tits together and winking at him is his favorite. Inviting him to come suck on him. He had waited until the limo to do that. “But no one else got photos. Apparently there’s not supposed to be photos taken in the club.”

You stare at the photos, not even recognizing yourself. You look so happy. You don’t remember the last time you were that happy. Work took over and then your relationships were lackluster and you haven’t had much time for yourself. “That’s good. You, uh, can you send those to me? I really like them.” You admit quietly, loving that side of yourself that you’ve never seen.

He lifts his brow in surprise, not expecting you to want to keep any evidence of you letting loose. “Sure.” He nods and opens his messages to start sending you the photos. If you want them, you will have them. “I’ll delete them off my phone after I send them to you, but I don’t believe in that sharing photos shit. That’s disgusting.”

You have a new appreciation for him, knowing that he is many things but he isn’t a liar. “Thank you.” You kiss his cheek, wanting to thank him for being a good man. Your phone buzzes and you ignore it since the limo pulls up outside of the Venetian. “More paps but after that, it’s time to celebrate your birthday. First round is on me.” You promise, grabbing your purse as the driver opens the door.

Dieter follows you out of the limo, wrapping his arm around your waist and starting to weave through the paps. If he didn’t know better, he would think someone tipped them off. Smiling and grinning like he’s happy they are all witnessing his arrival, he tugs you closer. “Talk later! Gotta dance!”

You sigh, knowing you will need to investigate who tipped the paps off. You imagine it’s his assistant who arranged the reservations. “I’m sorry. I don’t - I’ll gotta find out who tipped them off.” You tell him as you take his hand, walking through the casino and you sigh in relief when you see the entrance to the club after several fans took photos of you and Dieter. “It’s exhausting. Having to be ‘on’ all the time.” You can’t imagine how he handles it. You enter the club, skipping the line, and are escorted to the VIP section.

Ordering a drink is quick, the server specifically assigned to your section for preferential treatment. “What do you want, sweetheart?” He asks, leaning in and speaking into your ear over the loud music. His arm is wrapped around your shoulders and the entire world would believe that you two are are enamored with each other.

You force yourself to not turn your head, your lips would be so close, and you know that kissing him, or touching him, would complicate things even more. He looks so good though, the lights flashing over his face, and you want to just protect him from the fucked up world he is in and keep him safe and...loved. Shit, you gotta push that thought out of your mind. You mumble that you want a vodka soda and Dieter orders a whole bottle. "Gonna be a good night." He promises, his lips against your ear and it makes you shiver.

The music plays as the two of you wait for your drinks. He’s aware that there are eyes on the two of you, taking advantage of it by stroking your arm and leaning close, nuzzling your cheek with his nose. “You look delicious in that dress.” He breathes into your ear. “Can’t wait to dance with you.”

You try to smother your whimper as your entire body lights up from his simple touch. Biting your lip, you turn your head to look at him and you swear he looks angelic with the lights flashing over his handsome face. He’s no angel though, he’s the devil in disguise. “Let’s dance.” You tell him, not bothered about the drinks.

Dieter smirks as you practically drag him out onto the dance floor. He doesn’t normally dance as much as wildly gyrate, but he can grind on someone. It helps that even though he’s behind you, you are leading the dance, something that is wildly sexy to him as he lets you take control.

You grab his hands, placing them on your hips as you grind back against him. You may be stiff and starchy most days to be professional but you love to dance. You don’t care who’s watching, deciding to finally let loose and you grind your ass against Dieter. Dipping low and pushing up against him as you grab his hands to help you stand upright. You put on a show that he clearly likes if his hardening cock pressing against your ass is anything to go by.

He groans, grinding against you and gripping your hips harshly. “God.” He hisses in your ear, loving how uninhibited you are being. “You are so dirty under that prissy veneer, aren’t you?” He teases. “You would do anything right now, wouldn’t you?”

You gasp when he bites down on your earlobe. “God yes. I would. I just - I haven’t had anyone to bring this side out of me.” His words send a thrill through you and you grind back even harder, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck, arching your back.

Chuckling against your ear, he slides his hand down your hip, fingers teasing the edge of your dress and tracing the hem. “Let me.” He demands, waiting to see if you push his hand away. When you don’t, his cock throbs against your ass as he dips his fingers under the dress and starts caressing the skin of your thighs as he works his way higher to the beat of the music.

You don’t push his hand away, leaning back against him, and you whimper when his fingers press against your clit through your panties. “Fuck Dieter.” You moan into his neck when you turn your head. You know you shouldn’t be doing this, this is going to complicate things and you haven’t got the excuse that you’re drugged. You’ve had a couple of glasses of wine. You are practically sober and his hand is under your dress.

“You said that so many times last night.” He coos in your ear, rubbing your clit over your panties. “Fuck Dieter, harder.” He moans. “Fuck Dieter, your in my guts.” He slips a finger under the fabric and pushes it inside you, his thumb still outside your panties and pressed against your clit.

You don’t have the capacity to be embarrassed at what you had said to him last night. The flashes you had gotten told you that you loved what he had done to you. His thick digit inside of you has you gasping his name and his chuckle makes you gush, getting more aroused while you continue grinding on him. “God, what else did I say?” You ask with a raspy moan.

“That my cock was the best you ever had and you wanted to ride it.” He pumps his finger in and out of your tight, hot cunt - loving how you’re gripping it. It’s dirty, doing it right here on the dance floor and he loves it. “Whined when I told you to go to sleep. I think you would have slept with me inside you.”

His words cause a whine to rise up your throat, making you grab onto his hair as he works his digit in and out of you. "Oh God. That - that means you must've done a good job making me cum. Was I - was I good for you? Did you enjoy it?" You ask, knowing he's had more sex than you've had hot dinners so it's a valid question and you hope he doesn't lie to appease you.

“Fuck yes it was good.” He groans in your ear and slides another finger under the panties to push in with the other on the next twist of his wrist. “Fucking hot and tight. Like a perfect glove.” He twitches against your ass.

His second finger stretches you just right and you start to lean more against him as he works you towards an orgasm. "Oh fuck baby. You're gonna make me - it's so good. Dieter. I-" You turn your head to bite down on his neck. The music is loud but you don't need to alert people around you that Dieter just made you cum. His fingers work you through it and you slump back against him, feeling almost dizzy from the pleasure. "So good." You murmur, eyes closed as you breathe him in.

Dieter whines as he pulls his soaked fingers out of your cunt, holding them up so the shiny cum can catch the light in front of your eyes before he slides them into his mouth with a grin. You’re leaning against him and not moving to the music any more. “Time for that drink, right?” He murmurs in your ear, kissing the shell again.

You nod dumbly, feeling his cock hard and twitching against your ass as he guides you back to the VIP section. When you are under the stroud of exclusive cover, you reach for his pants. "Want to make you feel good too." All care of your PR job goes flying out the window as you scramble to pull his hard cock out of his pants. The section you're in is private and the curtains hide you from near everyone in the club. When his cock is finally free, you groan at the sight of it. It's beautiful, thick and veiny and you immediately lean down to take him into your mouth, not caring about anything other than making him cum.

“Shit.” Dieter hisses at the surprise move, throwing his head back as his hand comes to rest on the back of yours. He hadn’t expected this. Maybe some teasing, but he knows you aren’t drunk or have taken anything. This is you, taking him into your mouth and moaning around him like he’s a fucking lollipop you’ve craved. “Fuck, baby. You are so dirty, I love it.” His other hand slides around your side to squeeze your tit through your dress. “My wifey’s a little exhibitionist, sucking my cock in the club.”

This is so wrong. You shouldn’t be doing this but fuck, you can’t stop yourself. His moans and the way he touches you spurs you on and you bob on his cock, using your hand to work the length that you can’t take down your throat.

Letting out a needy whine, Dieter’s eyes close and he shuffles his hips up slightly. Wanting you to try to take him deeper. “Oh fuck baby, that mouth, oh fuck it’s so good.” He rambles, practically shuddering under the hot pressure of your palette against the head. “So good, you- fuck baby.” He forces his eyes open again to watch you suck his cock, amazed that this is happening and everyone is sober.

You’re sober but you’re also drunk on Dieter. Taking him deeper until you are choking around his thick cock. You breathe through your nose, working him deeper until you aren’t gagging. Hollowing your cheeks, you press your tongue against the underside of his cock. Your eyes water but you force yourself to open them to meet his gaze, wanting to look at him.

Dieter is such a fucking needy little shit that the moment that you lock eyes with him, his entire body gives in. Gasping out your name, his cock starts to throb, face twisting pleasure while he is pumping ropes of salty cum into your mouth.

You struggle to keep up, swallowing each spurt of cum, but a drop escapes to drip down your chin and lands on his pants. Working him through his orgasm, you pull off of his cock and kiss the tip, loving the way he twitches, then you lean down to lap up the drop that is threatening to stain his pants.

“Jesus Christ.” When you are sitting up, Dieter lunges forward to press his lips to yours. Sliding his tongue into your mouth, not caring about the taste of his own cum in your mouth, just needing to kiss you. Dragging you closer while he groans and deepens the kiss for a long minute before he pulls away and sighs as he nudges his nose against yours. “Shit…I wasn’t expecting a birthday blowjob.” He giggles, practically euphoric.

“Neither was I.” You admit with a giggle, kissing his jaw. “I just - I can’t seem to stop touching you now. I want to give you birthday sex.” You murmur, wanting to recreate the night before and relive the flashes you get here and there. “Plus it will be good if people believe we are actually married, like not just on paper. Maybe a noise complaint will help our case.” You tease, caressing his chest through the open buttons of his shirt.

He smirks and nods eagerly. “I can make a noise complaint happen.” He jokes, before he leans in and kisses you again. “You want to have sex with me?” He asks, lifting his brows as he looks at you softly. He hadn’t expected this, this change of heart towards him, but he’s not turning down getting you into bed again.

You nod eagerly. Ready for him to make you cum again. “Yes. Want you to fuck me until I scream your name. Until we get a noise complaint and everyone knows that dieter Bravo fucks his wife hard.”

He knows you don’t mean that beyond the fact that you accidentally married him. Fully aware that in a few months time, you are going to divorce him. But right now, the fact that he has a wife and that wife wants him to make a claim on her has him standing up. Shoving his cock back into his pants and zipping up, he grabs your hand. “We’re leaving.” He growls.

Your cunt clenches at his growl and you let him practically drag you out of the VIP section after he slams some cash down on the table to cover the drinks you never had. When you are out of the club, he ignores anyone that talks to him as he practically drags you to the car, pushing you inside. As soon as the door closes, you are straddling his lap and pressing your lips to his.

He’s greedy right now, pushing your dress up to your hips and nearly ripping your top as he pulls your tits. Dragging his lips away from yours so he can kiss down your chest. He’s not hard yet, that will take at least until you get back to the hotel, but he can suck on your tits and see what you like while his body recovers enough to fuck you.

When he takes your nipple into his mouth, you arch your back and cry out, tangling your fingers in this hair. “Oh fuck baby. That feels good.” You gasp when he bites down on the sensitive flesh.

Dieter loves tits. Big ones, small ones, he just loves them. He might have a bit of a lactation kink, but he’s never been with someone that had milk, but he always imagines it as he’s sucking on them. He flicks his tongue over the hard flesh and suckles eagerly, making it even stiffer before he scrapes his teeth over it to make you shudder. Pushing your tits together and licking between them happily before he buries his face in the cavity and groans happily.

You moan, loving how fucking eager he is, and he switches rapidly between nipples, sucking each one and making you shift to grind down onto him, your panties soaked. You know this is a bad idea but you can’t stop yourself. He’s sexy, in a garbage driver kind of way - and you find yourself needing him more than you need air. “Oh fuck. Yes. Just like that.” You hiss when he nibbles the flesh.

He grunts, keeping his mouth busy. His hands sliding down and gripping your ass as you roll your hips. Reaching around with one hand to push your panties to the side so your clit can grind down against the seam of his pants. He doesn’t care if you soak them and ruin them, he wants to see you cum again.

“Fuck.” You cry, grinding down until your clit rubs against the zipper of his pants, catching just right to make you shudder. His mouth continues to nip and suck on your tits and you swear you’ve never been this wet. You must have soaked his pants by now and you haven’t even cum yet. “Fuck Diet. You’re gonna - I’m gonna cum.” You warn him just before you fall over the edge, crying out as you shake above him.

Groaning into your tits, Dieter feels you fall apart. Your body tense and trembling gives him a rush of endorphins and his flaccid cock is starting to respond, hardening slowly as you grind against him. He holds you close and continues to lave affection on your tits until you slump against him, panting breathlessly. “I want to die like this.” Dieter’s comment is muffled from between your tits. “Just like this.”

You chuckle breathlessly, caressing his neck and running your fingers through his hair as you try to catch your breath, still feeling the haze of your orgasm washing over you. “If you die right now, I’ll get all your money.” You tease, knowing he knows that you don’t care about that stuff.

“Worth it.” He huffs against your damp skin. “Just bury me with a mold of your tits in my face.” He jokes, pulling away from you to kiss up your chest and chin before placing a surprisingly gentle kiss on your lips.

You sigh against his mouth, a little shocked by the tender kiss, and you respond, gently kissing him back. Your hands slide down to caress his chest and you nibble on his bottom lip, in no rush to pull away. This is dangerous, being this intimate and comfortable, but you know things will change when you get back to L.A and have to face reality.

The driver pulls to a stop outside the hotel and Dieter groans slightly, pulling your panties back into place and tugging your skirt down as he kisses you one last time. “Time to get out of the car and pretend we weren’t making out back here.” He smirks and looks down at his wet crotch. “Although that’s gonna be hard.”

You fluster, biting your lip as you try to compose yourself. These damn hotels make you walk through the casino to get to your room. You take Dieter's hand once he exits the limo and the cameras flash, making you lean into his side. "They definitely know what we were doing." You whisper, giggling when people stare at his crotch. "Helps confirm we are really married."

“I don’t think that we will have them convinced just yet.” Dieter winks at you before he hauls you close and kisses you again. It’s wet and dirty, the kind of kiss that leads to sex and he’s very happy when he hears you moan into his mouth, clinging to him.

You whimper into his mouth, nails digging into his shirt-clad shoulders as he slides his tongue against yours. Cameras flash and you pull back, knowing that you need to get him to the hotel room now before you fuck him here and in front of fans with cameras and the paps. "Need to - to get to the room." You manage to pant, grabbing his hand to practically drag him to the elevator.

Chuckling, he eagerly follows you into the car, somehow managing to be in there with only one other couple. “We’re gonna have to behave.” He warns you playfully, smacking your ass before he turns to the other couple. “Sorry, it’s our honeymoon and she’s irresistible.” He shares a smirk with the older man, and then grins back at you.

You slap his chest, shaking your head despite the grin on your face. Shit. He’s not too bad when he’s not playing up being an obnoxious Oscar winning movie star. The other couple - older - just chuckle. “I remember when she used to be like that for me.” He winks at his wife.

“What do you mean used to be? Still am.” The wife smirks and the husband’s eyebrows raise.

“Have a good night.” The husband says when the elevator arrives on their floor.

“You too.” You respond and the wife smirks over her shoulder, “oh we will.”

“Damn, he’s gonna get lucky too.” Dieter huffs in amusement. The question of if you would still be that hot for him when you're their age is on the tip of his tongue, but then he remembers that he’ll be alone again by his next birthday. He pushes that out of his mind, grabbing you and flattening you against the wall of the car, his tongue desperate to chase away the thought and have as much of you as he can while you are still here.

You moan as his tongue slides against yours again. It’s like you can’t get enough of him. Never mind having a drug in your system last night, you’re certain that half of that was Dieter. Your entire body is on fire and you struggle to find any reason as to why you hated him. The bell dings and you slide out from the wall and your husband.

“Does the birthday boy want some birthday sex? You want me to ride you like I promised?” You coo, smirking as you start to walk down the hall to his suite. When he starts to follow you, nodding his head eagerly, you grin and grab the key from your purse. “Better catch me then.” You rush down the hall, knowing it’s gonna be hard for him to run with his cock hard and throbbing already.

“Fuck.” Dieter groans, watching you take off and he starts to shuffle after you. “Wait up!” He whines, actually enjoying himself even though he wishes he was still crushed against you. It’s been a long time since sex was just playful and he is loving how easy it seems to be with you. You aren’t the uptight woman you pretend to be. “Fuck baby, watch that ass.” He huffs.

You giggle, trying to open the door, when he grabs you. You struggle to unlock the door with his hands everywhere and your hand shakes as you press the key against it, finally managing to open the door. “You’re just too slow, old man.” You tease, kicking off your shoes as you step into the suite and spin out of his arms to set your purse down.

“Fuck you I’m too old.” He huffs, slapping your ass harshly and then grabbing the hem of your dress to start dragging it up. “I’ll show you old.” He drags you back against him, grinding his cock against your ass. “Want you to ride me, I’ve been thinking about it all fucking day.” He admits with a grin, biting down on your shoulder.

You grind back against him, head lolling as he kisses up your neck, and you gather your senses enough to tell him to take his pants off. "Get undressed. Now." You order, desperate to sink down onto his cock. "Then sit back against the headboard."

“Yes ma’am.” Dieters draws out, happy to follow that order. Disrobing is careless, tossing clothes on the floor without any care until he is standing completely naked, save for his black socks. “Keep my feet warm.” He teases with a wink before he crawls up on the bed and leans back against the headboard. Wanting to see what you will say about the ridiculous look of just being in socks.

You chuckle at the sight of him in his socks, his cock resting on his lower stomach, and you push your panties down, kneeling on the bed and shuffling forward until you are hovering over his cock. “Like an old man keeping his socks on.” You tease, reaching between you to grip his cock and position him at your entrance. You slowly sink down onto him, mouth falling open at how he stretches you.

“Does that make you the young gold digger?” He demands, leaning forward to kiss you and drag you to his chest. Wanting to feel your bare breasts against his skin while you get used to him. He knows you are probably sore from yesterday since you had told him it had been awhile since you’ve had sex. “Gonna fuck your old husband to death?”

You chuckle, “yeah. Especially since we have no prenup. You want me to - to fuck you to death?” You joke, moaning when you manage to rock your hips slowly until he’s fully inside of you. “Oh God. How don’t I remember how this feels?” You say to yourself.

“Blacked out from bliss.” Dieter huffs, reaching up and pinching your nipple. “Hearts gonna give out when you squeeze me with that tight pussy of yours.” He groans when you do just that, cock twitching inside you. “Fuck me baby.” He whines, wanting to feel you move.

You grab onto his shoulder for leverage, lifting yourself up until only the head of his cock is notched inside of you. You meet those entrancing dark brown eyes of his and sink down. Starting a little slow but building up the pace until you are rocking your hips on his cock.

“Fuck.” He pants out the word, loving how you feel around him, riding him. He caresses your hip and looks down to watch you take him. “Look at that. That pussy must be so full.”

"It is. Oh fuck. It is. I - never been this full." You admit shifting to lean back. Your hands braced on his knees as you grind forward, allowing him an even better view to see your pussy. "Fuck. This is just - so good."

Dieter is entranced, loving how your lips are stretching around him. It makes him throb and he reaches down and rubs your clit. Loving your gasp and the way your body shudders. “You look good on my cock.” He groans.

“Feels so good.” Your thighs start to shake and you nearly collapse backwards as you try to continue grinding down on his cock. It becomes too much, his fingers on your clit and the head of his cock hitting just right on every grind down, makes you fall apart. Your cry of pleasure echoes off of the walls and you slump forward as your thighs shake violently with your orgasm.

He whimpers at how tight you squeeze him, hissing through his teeth and letting go of your clit so he can start rolling you over. Needing to cum himself. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He groans out. “So perfect.” He starts to jackhammer his hips, carelessly chasing his own high while you thrash underneath him.

You cling to him, wrapping your legs around him to push him deeper as he thrusts hard and deep into you. “Cum for me baby. Cum for me.” You plead, wanting to feel him fill you up. “Please Dieter. Cum for me.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” It’s all Dieter can manage as he careens towards another orgasm. Looking down at you as he starts to cum. Hissing out in pleasure as the vein in his temple throbs and his entire body locks up as he buries his cock deep and starts to fill you up.

“So good. So good.” You choke as his cock throbs inside of you, painting your walls with his cum and you send a silent thanks to your birth control. “Baby. Oh baby.” You sigh, rubbing his back as he works himself through his orgasm.

When he’s done, he collapses against you, snuggling into your chest and tucking his head into your neck. Unwilling to let this moment end right now. Soon enough you will put that wall back up and try to keep him at a distance. “Fuck.” He slurs, feeling slightly drunk on pleasure. “Best birthday ever.”

You stroke his back, kissing his neck. “Happy birthday baby.” You murmur, closing your eyes and trying to ignore the way your heart flutters. He may be your husband on paper but after this weekend, this can’t happen again. You can’t afford for it to happen again. You need to be serious and focus on his image and the press. Work through this until you can quietly divorce.

He can feel when you start to pull away, shuffling under him. Dieter groans and starts to move off of you, pulling out of you gently and flopping onto his back with a sigh. Staring up at the ceiling and wishing that he could be granted a birthday wish.

“I, uh, need to pee and then we should get some sleep. We have an early flight back to L.A.” You tell him, shuffling off of the bed to make sure you don’t get his cum over the mattress. While you pee, you rub your eyes, uncaring of your mascara as you try to figure out what to do. You don’t know what to say to him after you just had sex sober bar a few drinks. You weren’t drugged. When you come back into the bedroom, you slide under the covers where Dieter already is. “Night. Happy birthday.” You lean over to kiss his cheek before you turn away, forcing yourself to close your eyes.

“Thanks.” Dieter stares at your back for nearly an hour, watching as you pretend to sleep and then your body relaxes as you finally do give way to sleep. Sighing, he looks back up at the ceiling again and wonders when the hell he had done the dumb thing and fallen in love with you. Rolling his eyes at himself and huffing into the dark. Admitting to himself that he had been enamored with you, and this experience had just made it crystal clear he would never have what he wanted.

The next morning, you and Dieter barely speak to each other, focusing on getting to the private jet and you’re thankful his entourage seems to have disappeared. “I- I know you don’t exactly enjoy being married to me but need to make this look good in public. I can’t - I can’t live with you Dieter. I’m sorry. I just can’t do it.” You don’t tell him why, not wanting to admit that while you hated the party person he is, you have seen a different side to him, a side that you know is the true Dieter. Not the façade he puts on, what he thinks people want from him. His true self is sweet and kind and deep. He’s smart and you wish he would let others see that side of him, not just the party animal.

Dieter’s brow furrows, a hurt expression in his face and he shakes his head. “I don’t want-“ he takes a breath and decides to be honest. “I don’t want to get divorced. I want this to- try it.” He moves from the seat that he was in to drop down onto his knees in front of your own plush leather seat. “Give me six months. Six months really being Mrs. Bravo. If you aren’t happy I’ll give you the divorce. But I- I want this.” He confesses. “I was happy when we got married. I’ve been happy with you.”

You swallow harshly, unable to believe he wants you to be actually married to him. “It’s been two days, Dieter.” You shake your head, knowing you’ll be a 5 minute wonder with him.

“Please baby. Give me a chance.” He pleads, those pretty brown eyes going glossy and part of you wonders if this is all an act. Even if it isn’t an act, he will get bored of you and if you say no, he will badger you until you say yes.

You nod, “fine. Six months.” You agree, knowing that he will be begging for a divorce within a couple of weeks when someone else catches his attention.

He lights up, grinning from ear to ear as he pushes up to kiss you. Cupping your cheeks and moaning happily against your lips. “Six months.” He promises. “It’ll be the best six months of your life.” Smirking, he waggles his brows playfully. “And the most orgasms.” He chuckles.

You snort, knowing that he is being true when he says that. He has made you cum more times than any ex lover during an entire relationship and he’s done it in two days. When the plane lands, the paps are swarming near the gate to the private airfield but thankfully, the car is waiting on the tarmac. The cameras flash and people shout as the driver carefully navigates the crowd as he exits the airfield. “God, I hope we are old news soon. Perhaps JLo and Ben will break up soon.” You chuckle, “or maybe Chris Evans gets married and they can focus on him.” You grab your phone, knowing you still need to do your job and you wince at the amount of emails. “You have a lot of interview requests.”

He smirks and nods towards the cameras, giving them a wave before he tucks you close into his side. The luggage is already being transferred and all the two of you need to do is to get to the car. “As long as you are there, book them all.” He shrugs carelessly and reaches over to pluck your phone out of your hand.

“Dieter!” You huff, reaching for it, but he pulls it out of your reach. “I need that!” You stubbornly insist. He shakes his head and grins at you.

“No, my wife needs to kiss me in front of the cameras.” He taunts, holding the phone up as hostage. “Gimme a kiss and you can have it back.”

You want to slap him but instead you kiss him, cupping his cheeks and sliding your tongue into his mouth as you kiss your husband. Hoping he gives you his phone back and satisfies the vultures. You hear shouting and you press yourself up against Dieter whose arms are now wrapped around you.

Dieter grins against your lips when you pull back, already half hard and winks at you before he pulls away, handing you the phone back. “That wasn’t so hard, was it, snookums?”

You poke his chest with your phone, "never call me that again if you want your balls, Bravo." You warn playfully and he grins.

"Whatever you say Mrs. Bravo." His words make you pause and you look down at the ring on your finger, knowing you are going to have a hard time taking it off. It seems too easy, too comfortable with Dieter. Not even 72 hours ago, you hated the obnoxious, reckless movie star and now you, God you can't even fully admit it to yourself, may even love the sweet, smart man standing in front of you.

"We, uh, need to go." You tell him when the cases are put in the back of the car.

Opening the car door with an exaggerated flourish, he blows as he waits for you to get in before him. Totally hamming it up for the cameras and generally being in a fantastic mood as he climbs in beside you. “You’re going to love the house.” He babbles. “Have to get rid of a few things, the toys that were used with others and whatnot, but it’s perfect.” He grins as he looks over at you. “Unless you want to see the toy collection first?” He asks with raised brows. “Pick out some that you want to keep? They’ve all been sanitized.”

You raise your eyebrows, "uh, how sanitized? You know...I think we can buy some new ones. Maybe pick them out together. That would be a good couples day for the paps. Bravo and wife seen shopping for sex toys." You tease, nudging his arm. "I need to move some things over, the main things I need for everyday, and I will need to get my passport and birth certificate to change my bank account for the time being. I won't legally change my name, just my status. Less complicated."

“Okay.” He pouts, but he won’t argue with you about that. He knows that this is a trial run and you could still decide to divorce him. “I need to order you a card anyway.” He pulls out his own phone to tap out a text message to his manager to get that done for him. “I’m assuming you’re keeping your place?”

You nod, “it’s an incredible rental. Great location. I have another six months left on the rent so I don’t want to let it go. I need somewhere to live. As for the card, I know we joke but I’m not a gold digger. I’ll use it for things for the house or for you but I won’t take advantage.”

He frowns, both at the idea of you going back and the comment about being a gold digger. “Sublet the place and you use the card for whatever you want.” He insists. “I don’t even look at the statements, they just get paid.”

You huff, knowing you can never win. You nod, knowing you won’t use the card unless you need to. You look out of the window and watch L.A pass by as you make your way to his home…your home for the next six months…or less. When you arrive at his home, you are impressed and automatically in love with it. “Your home is beautiful.” You haven’t been to his home before, always conducting meetings by zoom.

The thing that is surprising about where Dieter lives is that Sherman Oaks is a residential neighborhood. It’s not the party scene and he was careful not to let things get too crazy. But often his partying is done in hotels so the neighbors adore him. “We have a pool.” He announces, leering at you. “So you can lay by the pool naked and work on my publicity.” Waggling his brows, he imagines eating you out while you are on a phone call or typing up an email.

You imagine it for a moment, just enjoying your life in your new home until you remember it isn’t your new home, it’s your temporary home. “We will see, huh?” You offer him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes and you know this entire experience can go two ways: 1) you fall for Dieter hook line and sinker, or 2) you hate him, truly hate him. With a sigh as the car comes to a stop, you thank the driver who opens the door for you and you adjust your purse on your shoulder as you admire the house.

He fidgets beside you, wondering what you think of the house. “I- you can change whatever you want.” He offers quickly. “We can hire a contractor or decorator or whatever.” He knows that most of the house is already decorated, but maybe it’s not to your taste. He gives a shrug. “I’m not sentimental about anything there.”

You shake your head, “it’s beautiful, Diet. Besides, it’s your home and I wouldn’t change anything since I’m going to be here for the next six months.” You say to yourself as much as you say it to him. With a sigh and no response, he guides you into the home, telling you to security codes as he unlocks everything, and he knows you will want to stay in a guest room. He picks the one closest to his bedroom and you admire how clean and pretty everything is. “This room is bigger than my entire apartment.” You joke, setting your purse down.

“I liked the space in this house.” He comments as he hovers in the doorway. The driver is depositing the bags in the entryway and he sighs. “Well, I guess I’ll let you get settled.” He offers, feeling oddly depressed now that you’re here and you don’t seem very enthusiastic about being here.

****

It’s been a few days that you’ve lived with Dieter. He had arranged for movers to collect your things from your apartment and you managed to sublet it for six months. It’s been strange, living with Dieter but not actually living with him. A lot of your work is done remotely so you’ve been hanging around the house, working on the PR disaster of your own making, plus dealing with the interview requests that come in hourly.

Since you’re so stressed, you decide to take up Dieter’s idea of sitting out by the pool. He is in his art studio, manically painting something when you last looked in on him, and you strip off, wanting to feel the hot sun on your entire body. You hum in delight when you lay down on the lounger, spreading out to enjoy the heat and just relax.

Dieter is in his own private hell. You are here but he feels like he can’t touch you. There’s a wall between the two of you and despite the fact that he had promised you orgasms, you haven’t seemed open to sex. He’s snorted plenty of coke, groaning as his mind mellows out and feels his body relax into a blissful state. Looking out the large double doors to see that you are spread out bedside the pool, naked. Groaning, he grabs a bottle of wine and a glass abs ventures outside.

You hear him approach, his feet slapping on the concrete and you open one eye to look up at your husband. “Hello hubby.” You tease, “brought me some wine?” He nods and pours you a glass, handing it to you. “Thank you.” You sip it and moan in appreciation. “Are you going to get naked and sit in the sun too or are you gonna stand there all day blocking it?” You joke.

It’s an invitation, and Dieter isn’t turning it down. Reaching for the hem of his shirt to drag over his head before he pushes the baggy, paint stained sweats down. His cock isn’t hard, but it’s starting to get that way, seeing your tits on display. “I guess I’m joining you.”

The lounger is big enough for you both and you shuffle over to allow him to lay down. You sip your wine and hand the glass to him so he can take a sip. “How’s your painting coming along?” You ask, admiring him in the sun. God, he’s too sexy for your own good.

“It’s done.” He groans at the taste of the white that he had chosen. “It’s pretty good, I think, but you can see it if you want.” He hands the glass back over to you and nods towards your phone. “Getting my image back in pristine order?” He asks sarcastically, knowing he’s never had a great public image. He’s too much of a wild card.

You chuckle, "that's an impossible task. Those coke snorting photos are still on the internet." You tease, knowing he was younger then. "I am working on it though. Bit hard to paint you as a happily married man when you've been such a whore." You sip the wine, setting the glass down and shifting closer to him. You reach out to trace the tattoo on his chest, unable to stop yourself from touching him when he's so close.

“It’s not like people change.” He huffs, skin tingling when you touch him. “When you're single, who cares who you do?” He smirks over at you. “Not like you didn’t sleep with people, you just didn’t have everyone taking pictures of every one of them and keeping tabs like it was a lottery list of who I was going to fuck next.”

His words hit you and you realize how intense it has been for him to have his entire life under a microscope, constantly photographed. "I'm sorry you've had to deal with that. I have only dealt with it for a week and it has been intense. I can understand why you sought solace in drugs and sex." You look at him as you caress his chest, down to his tummy.

“I’m sorry.” Dieter murmurs softly, feeling bad that you’ve been put through this. “It’s one for the reasons that no one lasts.” He admits quietly. “They either can’t handle the pressure or all they wanted was the press.” He doesn’t mention that he was a shit partner. He was or maybe is (?) selfish. After all, you’re here when you don’t want to be.

You shake your head, looking at him, "you shouldn't be sorry. You are a successful actor. An Oscar winner. You have achieved greatness and you should be with a partner who appreciates that and understands that your life is under the public eye. That you are beloved by the masses. You need someone who can ground you and remind you of the simple things in life like cooking dinner or going for a walk on the beach. You are a good man Dieter, selfish sometimes, but you care too much and I think that's why you haven't found the right person for you."

He bites his lip to keep him from blurting out that he had, but she just hates him. At least doesn’t like him enough to stay married to him. Instead he plasters a shit eating grin. “I always like being ordered around.” He growls suggestively, meaning in the bedroom.

"Yeah?" You tease, sliding your hand lower until you are caressing his thigh, his half hard cock near your touch but you haven't touched him there since Vegas. "You want me to tell you what to do?" You murmur, shifting closer so you can kiss his neck, licking up to the tattoo he has behind his ear.

“Shiiiiiit.” He hisses softly, cock twitching. You touching him is like a drug if it’s own. Making his cock start to throb and grow as he hardens. “Yes.” He huffs out the whine, turning his head to beg him with his eyes. “Order me around.”

You grip his chin, keeping your eyes on him, and you lean closer. “I want you to let me ride your face. I want you to make me cum on your tongue.” You order, knowing he’s hard but you want him to have to wait. This moment is about you. You want to be in charge.

Whimpering, Dieter nods eagerly and pulls his chin out of your grip so that he can slide down the longer and lay flat. “Take a seat.” He groans, licking his lips in anticipation.

You shift, straddling his face, and you exhale shakily as you look down into those beautiful brown eyes, hungry as they flick between your face and your cunt. You lower your pussy to his face and he immediately grabs your hips, practically suffocating himself with your cunt as his tongue slides through your folds. "Fuck!" You yelp, moaning his name as you cling to the top of the lounger for balance.

He groans happily, tasting you and falling in love with the musky, tangy taste. His fingers dig into your hips and he drags you closer. He wants to suffocate himself in you, he would die a happy man right here with your weight on his tongue. Flicking his it against your clit, he groans into your folds when your thighs tighten around his head.

"Oh God baby. Feels so good." You pant, rocking your hips on his face, and you cry out when he sucks your clit between his lips. "Oh God yes." You cry, rocking your hips and using the lounger as leverage to ride his face.

He chuckles, loving that you are letting go. That woman that he had experienced in Vegas is here again, rocking her cunt on your face. Dieter slaps your ass and loves the way you squeal his name again, lurching forward and he slides his tongue deep into your walls, pressing his nose against your clit.

“Oh fuck.” You buck wildly, grinding down onto his mouth as his tongue probes deep, curling and his nose rubs your clit just right. “Shit baby. You’re gonna make me cum. Always - always know just what to do. You’re gonna make me cum and then - then I want you to fuck me. Want you to - to make me scream your name so loud, everyone in this goddamn neighborhood knows you are fuck- fucking me- oh fuck!” You squeal, thighs shaking as he hits just right, sending you over the edge.

You drench him, making him groan and rock you on his face more. Drinking down your juices as they pour into his mouth with a muffled moan of your name as you slowly grind down onto him. Happily coated in your cum and cock throbbing.

You shake above him, riding your orgasm and you move quickly despite the lethargy the orgasm grants you to shift back and straddle his thighs, gripping his cock to sink down on his hard cock while your walls still flutter from your orgasm.

“Shit!” Dieter cries out your name, shocked by the sudden way you engulf his cock in your pussy. “Oh fuck.” He looks up at you, pussy drunk and still wearing your juices as you start to move. “Oh fuck me baby.” He groans, grabbing and squeezing your tits while you bounce on him.

You want control and you take it, grabbing his wrists and pushing them back to rest against the lounger, stopping him touching you. "You don't get to touch me unless I tell you too." You order, starting to move your hips, grinding down onto his cock. You lean forward, biting down on his chin. "Your cock is mine, I decide when you cum. You understand?"

Wailing his agreement, Dieter nods frantically. “Yours, all yours baby. Oh fuck, it’s all yours.” He babbles. “Have- haven’t jerked off since we - we got back.” He confesses, blushing hotly at the fact.

The fact he hasn't touched himself makes you wild. You start to fuck him, rolling and rocking your hips frantically like you can't get enough of him. "Oh fuck. That - this cock really is mine. Fuck Dieter. It's so good. No one has ever made me feel like this. Love it. Love it." You ramble, sweat beading on your brow as you ride him like a damn bronco.

His fingers wrap around the lounger slats desperate to obey your orders and not touch you. God, he wants to. Your tits are bouncing and he wants to suck on them. He wants to slap your ass and beg you to go faster, to use him to make yourself cum again. “Love- l-love it.” He agrees breathlessly.

Your nails dig into his wrists as you desperately seek your orgasm. “Oh fuck. I’m gonna cum.” You lean forward a little more so the coarse hair at the base of his cock rubs your clit and it sends you over the edge. Coming to an abrupt stop above him as your thighs shake, a wail escaping your lips as you cum, soaking his cock.

Keening at the hot rush of liquid covering him, he bucks up into you. Knowing that he is on the edge but your words linger in the back of his mind. “Can- can I cum?” He begs. “Please, oh fuck, please let me cum.”

You ride your orgasm, catching your breath as you look down to see the desperate look in his eyes. “Not. Yet.” You say through gritted teeth, starting to rock on him again. “I want to cum once more. Do not cum.” You order, wanting him desperate and whining and pleading.

Whimpering, Dieter clenches his eyes shut, knowing that he can’t look at you. If he watches you cum again, he won’t be able to hold back. “Fuck Bravo, think about stocks. Think about your bullshit dealer.” He hisses quietly, trying to keep from cumming before you let him as he shuffles his legs under you and tries not to cum.

You giggle at his struggle until you moan when you find the right spot inside of you. “Oh fuck Dieter. Feel so good. So good.” You moan, cupping his cheeks after letting go of his wrists. “Keep your hands where they are. You can’t touch.” You remind him, biting down on his bottom lip to stop his ramblings. You are so close to another orgasm, your thighs burning while you grind down onto him.

“Fuck.” He hisses, pouting at you. “You’re so- so, fuck.” His back bows slightly when you clench down around him and he cries out in frustration. “Fuck baby, I-I-I need to cum!”

"No!" You gasp, on the precipice of your own orgasm and you want to deny him. He gets whatever he wants and you have a chance to control this, make him beg. You cup his cheeks before you slap him, making his cock throb inside of you, so close to busting his nut. "Beg. Fucking beg me." You demand, breathless with how close you are.

“Let me cum, please, please, please let me cum.” Dieter whines, his eyes popping open and pleading with you desperately. “Please baby, please I want- I need- oh fuck.” His body goes taunt and his hand grips the slat of the lounger so hard he breaks it, trying to keep himself from cumming.

His pleas send you over the edge and you whine his name as you cum, clamping down on his cock and soaking him again. "Cum for me. Cum for me." You order with a squeal, "fucking cum."

Shouting your name, Dieter follows your order immediately. Whining and whimpering while he experiences the most intense orgasm he’s ever had, not even cognizant of what is coming out of his mouth. “Fuck, I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You freeze on top of him, your entire body going cold as you look down at him. “What did you say?” You whisper. You lean back to look at him, his cock still twitching inside of you and he is blissed out, eyes rolling into his head. “What did you say?” You ask louder, heart pounding in your chest.

Sighing and relaxing, Dieter reaches down and caresses your sides. “Fuck baby.” He pants softly, eyes still closed with a smile on his face. “God I love you.” He slurs and sighs again. “That - was, Jesus, I must have cum a fucking gallon’s worth.”

You slap his chest, shifting to get off of his cock. "Oh my God. What have you done?" You choke, grabbing your towel to wrap it around yourself as you walk into the house, tears stinging in your eyes as you absorb his words, most likely said in the heat of the moment.

Dieter sits up, dumbfounded and staring after you. “What did I do?” He demands loudly, calling after you, but you are already gone. He flops back onto the lounger and huffs, confused and hurt that you hate him so much that you play hot and cold with him. It’s cruel.

After his lust fueled confession, you stay away from Dieter, and avoid him whenever you can. Going to coffee shops to work or going out for lunch by yourself. It's not good for his PR but you manage to go to less popular areas to avoid the paps and anyone taking photos of "Mrs. Bravo" alone. You feel guilty, essentially abandoning your husband but you imagine he has some new pussy or ass to fuck that has distracted him. You usually go to your room, avoiding him, and feeling guilty and angry at your own silly emotions.

Since you left him alone, he’s drank, a lot. Realizing that you don’t love him and it’s almost enough to sober him. Ironic, he fucked around and did whatever he wanted for so long, but now he’s wanting the one person he can’t have. His head is pounding and he wants something to eat that didn’t come from a bag, so he shuffles downstairs to see if there is anything in the fridge. Hating how he feels even more alone than he did before his birthday.

You are bringing in groceries when you find Dieter rifling through the pantry. "You hungry?" You ask, speaking to him for the first time in God knows how long. You can see the dark circles under his eyes and the stains on his clothes. He hasn't been taking care of himself. "I can cook us something. Sit down." You order, setting the grocery bags on the counter.

“‘M fine.” Dieter mumbles, ready to slink off to another part of the house again. To wallow in the misery that he’s created. He’s good at that. “Just gonna order something.”

"Sit down." You tut, knowing he hasn't eaten properly. He never does unless you arrange it. He gets too in his head, too in his art and you know he's been studying that new script. "Sit down and let me make you something." You reach into the fridge to get him a beer and set it down on the counter before you put the groceries away, figuring out a quick pasta meal to cook.

Grunting, he twists the top off the bottle and gulps down half of it before setting it back on the counter. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand he watches you move through the kitchen as if you own it. “What did I do?” He asks quietly, staring at the counter so he doesn’t have to look at you. He can tell the world to fuck off, but he’s terrified of you hating him.

You set the tomato sauce down and turn back towards him. “You- we agreed to do this for six months and then you go - you told me you loved me. I don’t know if that was in the moment but Dieter - I can’t - you don’t love me. You just - I’m the closest person to you right now so you think you do but you don’t love me.” You turn from him so he doesn’t see the pain in your eyes.

Dieter snorts and huffs out a laugh. “Wow. So you know me that well huh?” He spits, irritated that you keep looking down on him. Treating him like he’s the gum on the bottom of your shoe. “You told me you’d give me an honest chance for six months.” He reminds you. “Nice to know you're counting down the days.” The chair he had sat in scrapes back as he stands. “Wonder why I’m an asshole? I admit how I feel and I get ghosted by my wife. But you don’t really want to be my wife. You’re just biding time.” He tosses the rest of the beer in the trash. “I lost my appetite.” He tells you, turning to walk out of the kitchen, desperate to snort something to make him not give a shit.

You stare as he rushes out of the kitchen, tears stinging in your eyes and you turn to flick off the stove. You clench your jaw, suddenly angry at his dismissal. He always gets the last word. You set the spatula down and follow him, banging your hand on his bedroom door after he slammed it. “You’re such a coward. You told me when you had just cum. What was I supposed to think? That you actually meant it? It’s torture living here. Knowing that you don’t really love me, you’re just - you need attention whereas I am actually in fucking love with your selfish ass and yet I can’t escape because you let us get married while I was high. I just - I hate you. I love you! I love you too, you fucking prick. Is that what you want to hear? Because I do. I can’t stop thinking about you and I thought that if I avoided you I’d save us both the heartache when you move on to the next best thing and instead you decide to mop around and then you - God, I don’t know what to do. You’ve complicated this by making me fall for you.” You slump against the wall opposite the double doors to his bedroom suite.

Snatching the door open, Dieter growls, ready for a fight. “Then fucking leave!” He hiss, grabbing you by the arms and dragging you upright. His eyes are dark and passionate. “Leave if you’re so goddamn miserable, because I’m fucking miserable. I just want to-“ he doesn’t say another word, just crushes his lips to yours desperately. Breaking down and confessing his worst fear. “Don’t leave me.” He begs between sloppy kisses, hands pulling you closer. “Don’t. Fucking. Leave.”

You react immediately to his words, reaching for him to tangle your fingers in his hair and you press your lips to his again. “I don’t want to leave.” You admit against his mouth, sighing his name as you slide your tongue between his lips, finally feeling like you’re home.

He pulls you back and starts to steer you towards his bedroom. He needs to touch you, to taste you. Pushing you through the doors as he continues to keep kissing you. Pawing at your dress in a desperate attempt to get it off of you while he keeps his mouth locked to yours.

“Wait. Wait baby.” You push on his chest, groaning when his lips attach to your neck. “Baby. I - I am on my period.” You warn him, not wanting him to be surprised or grossed out when he fucks you. He might decide not to, if it’s not his thing.

Scoffing, he bites down on your pulse and pulls away. “So? It’s natural.” He tells you casually. “Doesn’t mean I’m not going to lick your pussy until you cum for me.”

You shiver at his words, realizing once again how different he is compared to your exes. That’s why you love him. “Oh God. You are insatiable.” You joke, letting him guide you back towards his massive bed. You haven’t been in here before.

He snickers and nips at your collar bone before he pushes you back onto the plush bed. Throwing off his shirt, he keeps the sweats on, knowing he will want to rush if he strips off too fast. “Yep.” He watches as you pull off your dress and he reaches for your panties, far more practical for your time of the month than sexy. “Period panties turn me on.” He jokes, winking at you. “Played a vampire once.”

You let him drag your panties down and he pushes your legs open, exposing your folds, and you fluster when Dieter finds the string of your tampon. “I- you can leave it in. You don’t - I know it’s not - God I have never done this before.” You fluster, covering your face, “can you leave it in?”

He thinks it’s adorable that you are so worked up over a tampon being inside you. “You’re so fucking cute.” He coos, wiggling his hips and settling between your spread thighs. “Don’t worry baby, it just tastes a little coppery.” He chuckles and peels your lips apart with his thumb. “Not even messy, besides-“ you pull your hands down from your face and look at him. “I eat my steaks rare.” He jokes before he flattens his tongue against your clit.

Your groan is a combination of embarrassment at his words and pleasure of his tongue flicking over your clit. With a whine, you buck your hips into his face and reach down to tangle your fingers in his hair. “Fuck.” You sigh in bliss, having missed this…missed him. “Always so good. You’re so good at that.” You moan when he sucks on your clit.

He wants to make this good for you. Needing you to feel loved and taken care of. Plus he doesn’t mind the way you taste at all. He hums against your flesh when you tug on his hair and grind shamelessly down on his face.

“God, that feels so good, baby. So good. I love it. I- oh shit.” Your head rolls into the pillow, so sensitive from your period, and it doesn’t take long to work you up to your orgasm. His name escapes his lips as you cum when he sucks on your clit.

He groans along with you while you ride out your bliss, watching you carefully and pulling away to kiss your inner thighs while your chest heaves. “Can I fuck you, baby?” He asks softly between kisses. He’s had enough lovers to know that every woman is different during their period. He’s a selfish asshole, but he’s not that big of a dick to expect or demand sex.

“I don’t - I’m sorry. I don’t really like sex during my period. It hurts too much. Can I- I want to jerk you off. Want to watch you cum.” You offer, reaching down to squeeze his cock through his thin sweats.

Dieter kisses your stomach and shuffles up to lay down beside you. “You don’t have to, sweetheart. I don’t expect it.” He promises. “I’m not going to be upset if you just want to lay here and rest.”

“I want to make you cum. Please.” You lean forward to kiss his neck, reaching for his sweats and when he doesn’t push your hand away, you reach in to wrap your fingers around his cock, pulling him free of his sweats. “Such a gorgeous cock and it’s all mine.” You murmur, kissing his jaw as you start to pump him in your hand.

Groaning, Dieter turns his head and chases your lips. “All yours.” He pants into your mouth, groaning again when you squeeze the head. “Fuck, all yours.” He’s needy, lifting his hips into your grip but he doesn’t care. Your touch feels so much better than his own and he wants to fall apart to it.

You love how eager he is for you, and you twist your wrist as you pump him, swiping your thumb over the head of his cock, and you slide your tongue into his mouth when he whines your name. “I love you, baby.” You murmur against his lips, pumping him a little faster before you squeeze the head again, swiping your thumb over it to gather more pre-cum.

Shuddering under your confession, he groans. “Fuck, gonna cum baby.” He warns you, cock throbbing in your hand and one twist of your wrist, he’s cumming. Painting his chest with hot ropes of his sticky seed while you milk him of every drop while he whines. “Love you.”

You work him through it, loving the wrecked look on his face as he enjoys his orgasm. You kiss all over his face when he relaxes, “so beautiful.” You whisper before bringing your hand up to your mouth to lick his cum from your digits.

“I do love you.” Dieter promises softly. “It’s - I know you think that it’s just some kind of amusement or passing fancy. But I do.” He reaches over and cups your cheek. “I don’t regret marrying you in Vegas for a second.”

You smile, shifting to snuggle into his side, uncaring of his drying cum. “Me neither. I thought I did at first but I look back on it and it was just…comfortable. Like it was meant to be. I know we have a lot to discuss for our future and I know it’s gonna have bumps in the road but I don’t want to pretend to be Mrs. Bravo anymore, I want to be Mrs. Bravo. I want to be yours, your wife. I love you Dieter and I’m so sorry I’ve been such a bitch. It’s just - it’s been a lot to work through and I have needed time to figure out how I feel. I know what I feel and I know what I want…a life with you.”

Dieter beams happily, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. “Good.” He chuckles against your lips. “Because I want you to be Mrs. Bravo. For real. Us, together.” He waggles his brows. “Will you move into the bedroom with me?” He asks. “Let me snuggle you after sex at least once?”

You smile, nodding at him. “Yes. I’d like that baby. I’d like that a lot.” You sigh, breathing him in.

“And I want babies.” He adds, making you choke.

“One step at a time, my love. We have a lot to figure out but we will do it all together.” You promise and he smiles, nudging his nose against yours.

“Together. I like the sound of that, Mrs. Bravo.”

You giggle, giddy with happiness that he loves you. “Me too, Mr. Bravo.”

#pedro pascal #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo imagine #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo the bubble

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hauntedhowlett-writes · 1 year ago

Text

𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀, 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓?

PAIRING: Ex-Boyfriend!Dieter Bravo x Female Reader

RATING: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

WORD COUNT: 3k

SUMMARY:

Your ex-boyfriend, Dieter Bravo, is in town and sends you a text. Meeting up with an ex, especially one you’re still in love with, is a bad idea, right? Based on the song “bad idea, right?” by Olivia Rodrigo

DEAR READER:

My first Dieter Bravo fic! If you enjoy, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging 💕 You can also support my writing through my kofi Dividers and banners by @saradika

CONTENT WARNINGS:

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, no referenced age difference, dubcon - alcohol consumption prior to sexual activity, domme/sub dynamics, sub!dieter, teasing, masturbation (f), oral (f receiving), praise, pet names, begging, unprotected p in v, love confessions, dieter being bad with feelings and words. please let me know if any are missing!

Dieter sits on the couch in the penthouse hotel room he's currently renting in New York, phone in one hand and a fresh Salty Dog in the other. The TV flickers with a porn he rented after not finding anything worth watching on the limited number of free channels and to be honest, he likes the background noise of moans and skin slapping against skin to fill the silent void.

He scrolls through Twitter as he sips his drink. There's one tweet that catches his eye, a familiar name in the hashtag that gives him pause. A glutton for punishment, he clicks the hashtag, his screen flooded with cell phone quality pictures of you, enjoying a night out.

In New York.

It's a blurry photo of you on a rooftop in a sexy outfit that looks like it was made just for you, a shimmery black fabric hugging all your curves just right. You're surrounded by people he doesn't recognize and your head is thrown back in an easy laugh.

Dieter frowns. He used to make you laugh like that.

Dieter scrolls some more, a glutton for punishment, and comes across another picture, a different angle, but this time there's a man leaning into your space, mouth close to your ear and an arm settled at the base of your spine. He takes a hearty sip of his drink, wincing at the bitter taste as he sets the glass on the coffee table.

He closes Twitter and opens his messages, scrolling until he finds your name.

wyd?

Your phone buzzes in your hand and the name that flashes across the screen has your breath catching.

Dieter: wyd?

You roll your eyes at the message. Of course.

You set your phone down on the table and look up, catching the judgmental stare of your best friend, Melanie.

"What?" You ask. She raises her eyebrows at you.

"That was very much the Dieter Bravo eye roll," she says, tone accusatory. "Did he just text you?"

"No."

Your phone buzzes a second time and her eyes drop to the screen, her hand reaching across the table to snatch it before you even have time to blink.

"'I'm in New York'?" She reads. "Oh my god, he did not send you a 'wyd' text!"

You're in a nice restaurant with a six month long waitlist for a reservation so you're desperately trying to keep yourself from launching across the table at her to get your phone back but the urge is certainly strong. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you hold your hand out to her. "Give me my phone."

"Are you going to text him back?"

"No." Yes.

The look she gives you momentarily leaves you wondering if she can actually read minds. You straighten yourself in your seat, tilting your chin defiantly as you say, "I am a grown adult who can make her own decisions."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean you always make good ones," Melanie replies, handing you your phone.

"It's a bad idea, right?" You ask. "Like...an extremely bad one?"

"Catastrophic even," she agrees. “He’s your ex for a reason!”

“Okay, but can’t two people reconnect? Isn’t the goal to be like…friends or something?”

You stare at each other for a moment. Her smile falters. "Oh my god, you're going to answer."

"I'm going to answer." Your fingers fly across the screen and hit send before you allow your logic to return.

Address?

The car you ordered pulls up to a boutique hotel, the kind that has a symbol for its sign instead of a name, and the driver comes around the front of the car and opens the door for you, holding a hand out to help you from your seat. You thank him and take a deep breath before entering the glittering lobby.

There's a separate elevator for the penthouse suite and the attendant on duty asks for your name, checking an iPad in his hands before pressing the button with a gloved fingertip. Once the car arrives and the shiny golden doors silently slide open, you step inside.

You stare at your reflection in the doors as the elevator rises, wondering why you're doing this. Your relationship with the actor lasted about eight months - long enough for you to fall in love and long enough for him to decide he was bored of you. After citing scheduling issues as his reason for breaking things off, you went back to hearing about him rather than from him and trying to fix the cracks in your life that he had left behind.

When the elevator stops and the doors slide open, Dieter is standing there with his familiar messy brown curls in disarray, a hotel robe open over his chest and tied loosely around his waist. He opens his arms wide as he grins.

"Hey, baby. Miss me?" He asks. You roll your eyes.

"Like a cavity, Bravo,” you reply, but your feet still guide you forward and you let yourself get enveloped in his embrace, the familiar smell of faded cologne and weed invading your senses. “Why did you text me?”

“Why did you come?” He asks.

“I asked you first.” You pull away, stepping around him and entering the living room of the large suite.

“You want a drink? I got you that wine you like,” Dieter says, pulling a bottle from an ice bucket set on a room service cart. He holds a glass up and you nod, watching as he fights with the corkscrew.

He finally gets the bottle popped, pouring each glass to the brim and stepping carefully across the room with one in each hand, settling beside you on the couch. He passes one to you and you take a quick sip to prevent disaster. Dieter opts to chug half of his serving in one go.

“So,” he says, drawing the word out, “You wanna have sex with me?”

You drain the rest of your glass, leaning forward to set it on the coffee table beside his. You kick your heels off, shifting in your seat until you’ve got your knees beneath you, pressed into the cushion. Planting a hand on his shoulder for stability, you swing one leg over him and settle on his lap.

“This is a bad idea, right?” You ask, face close enough to his that your lips nearly touch when you speak. His hands slide up your thighs.

“Probably,” he agrees, brown eyes half lidded as he stares at you.

“Fuck it, it’s fine,” you decide, pressing your lips to his. Your mouths move together hungrily, six months apart fueling a fire that’s ready to burn you alive.

“Fucking hell,” Dieter groans, hips bucking up and dragging his hardening cock against your center. “Want you so goddamn bad.”

“How bad?” You ask, already breathless as he trails his lips down your neck, his beard scratching the thin skin over your rapid pulse.

“Thought of you every time I fucked my hand.” A bite to your throat has you hissing from the combination of pleasure and pain. You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging his head back in retaliation. “Even bought one of those pocket pussy things. Didn’t even come close.”

That gives you pause. With six months gone between the breakup and now, you would have thought he’d been drowning in women and men clamoring at the chance to fuck him.

You kiss him again, your tongues sliding together in a messy, dirty dance you’ve missed more than you care to voice. Your hips move over his while his hands explore every exposed inch of you they can find.

“Take your clothes off,” he demands when his lips break from yours.

“Ask nicely,” you chastise. His brown eyes go wide, a pathetic puppy dog glimmer in them.

“Please,” he begs. “Pretty please, with a cherry on top?”

You stand, laughter spilling from your lips as you reach for zipper at your back, tugging it down slowly while he watches. He licks his lips like he’s being presented a six course meal and his hands curl into the material of the robe that’s fallen open, giving you an unobstructed view of a broad chest and soft tummy. You turn your back to him, easing the sleeves of the dress off your shoulders slowly.

“Come on, baby,” Dieter whines. “Quit teasing.”

“Good things come to boys who wait,” you tell him, shimmying the fabric over your hips, bending at the waist to ease the dress over the curve of your ass and down to the floor. This leaves you in only a thong, the red straps of it a gorgeous contrast to your skin that you know he’ll go crazy for.

“Fuck. Me.”

You turn back around to face him, the man’s eyes dropping immediately to your breasts. He raises his arms, making grabby hand motions toward your chest that have you giggling.

“What if,” you tap your finger to your chin in thought, “I just wanted you to watch me?”

Dieter pouts. “I could be a lot more help with my cock,” he argues.

“Hmm.” You take a seat on one of the cushy arm chairs in the sitting area, spreading your legs wide. “I’ve been doing just fine these last six months without it,” you tell him, sliding a hand beneath the elastic of your panties.

“This is fucking cruel and unusual punishment,” Dieter says. “A violation of the Geneva Convention.”

“Always so dramatic,” you reply as you circle your clit with your fingertips. He leans forward on the couch, hands gripping the cushion tightly as he watches. “You want a closer look, baby?”

He nods his head rapidly and you lift your hips to shove your panties down your legs, gathering them in your hand and tossing them at his face. The wad of fabric drops to his lap and he balls it up in his fist and brings it to his nose.

“Pervert,” you say affectionately. You hook your leg over the arm of the chair, spreading yourself wide for his gaze. You tease your clit with two fingers, trailing them lower to your entrance and dipping one inside, your head dropping back against the chair with your moan.

The sound of skin sliding over skin reaches your ears and when you look up, you find that Dieter has shoved his boxers down to where they now sit looked around his ankles, his thick cock caught in the tight grip of his fist. You lift your hand away, closing your legs and leaning forward with your eyes narrowed.

“Now, Dieter, I don’t remember saying you could touch yourself,” you say.

“Can’t touch you, can’t touch myself,” he whines, releasing his cock and gripping the couch cushion. “C’mon, baby. Please? I’ve missed yo—“

“Cut!” You yell. Dieter’s mouth snaps shut in surprise. “That wasn’t a very Oscar worthy performance, Di. I think you can do better than that.”

His blank stare morphs into heated understanding and you watch as he slowly slides from the couch and lands on his knees. He slips the robe from his shoulders, leaving him gloriously naked. You take a moment to appreciate the muscles of his chest and arms, his softer belly dusted with hair that draws your eye to his flushed cock and his strong thighs.

Then he starts to crawl.

Those big brown eyes of his look up at you with so much desperation and, dare you say it, adoration that your heart skips a beat as he moves closer. When he reaches your feet, he sits back on his heels and settles his hands on his thighs.

“Please, baby,” he murmurs. “Let me touch you. Let me show you how much I’ve missed you. You know me, my tongue is much better at giving you an orgasm than it is with words.”

“Fine,” you say, tone implying he’s inconveniencing you with his desire. He grins, his hands immediately grabbing at your thighs and tugging your ass to the edge of the seat. He positions your legs over each arm of the chair before diving in with his talented tongue, licking through your slick folds with practiced finesse.

“Fucking hell,” he groans, sucking your clit between his lips. “Your pussy is even better than that six course meal we had at that pretentious restaurant in Paris.”

“L’Arpege?” You gasp, fingers tangling in his hair. “You never told me you didn’t like it. I only picked it because of your two month experiment with veganism!”

“Wasn’t there for the fucking food,” he says. Two fingers press to your soaked entrance, sliding into your tight heat with little resistance.

Your head is spinning, stars bursting in your vision as his thick digits curl against your G-spot. His other hand presses on the top of your pelvis and the look in his eyes tells you exactly what his goal is.

“Dieter,” you say, his name a warning as you squirm beneath him. He grins up at you from between your legs.

“How’s my performance now?” He asks. “Oscar worthy yet?”

“Nominated at best,” you bite back through gritted teeth despite the pressure building in your core. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks hard, tongue flicking rapidly against the bundle of nerves until that pressure bursts as you cry out, “Oh, fuck!”

The orgasm he pulls from you is overwhelming and leaves you gasping, vision blurry as you look down at Dieter’s smug expression and dripping chin. He runs a hand over his chin, collecting your release on his palm and using it to ease the friction of his hand as it pumps his cock roughly.

“‘Nominated at best’,” he says, voice pitched higher to mimic yours. “Please, that was the performance of a lifetime.”

“Don’t get cocky, Di,” you mumble, planting a foot on his chest and pushing him back. He topples over, landing on his back with an oof.

You drop from the chair and crawl over his body, making sure to drag your soaked pussy across his cock. Your hands are planted on the floor on either side of his head and you stare down at his blissed out face as you rock over him.

Dieter’s hands grip your hips tightly. “Don’t good performances get awarded?” He asks, voice tight.

You reach down between your bodies to hold his cock steady, allowing you to sink down slowly, his thick length damn near splitting you open. You’ve missed this, the way he fills every inch of your hungry cunt, the way he looks at you like you’re the best damn thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

Which is saying something because the man knows art and is constantly surrounded by beautiful people but you’ve only seen this look when you’re alone with him, at the end of a long day on set or when you finally stumbled home together from a night out. It’s the way his eyes go soft and his touch grows reverent, fingertips gliding over whatever skin he can reach with a featherlight touch, and the combination wipes the dust off memories with him you’d been trying to forget and move on from.

“Dieter,” you say, voice shaky. You rock your hips, lifting slightly to your knees and relishing the drag of his cock inside of you before you slam your hips back down. “God, fuck, feel so good.”

“Your pussy was made for my fucking cock,” he says through gritted teeth, his hands gripping your hips tightly and encouraging each rock of your body. “Missed this, missed you, fuck. Love you so much.”

You stop abruptly, the man beneath you whining. You grip him by the chin as you ask, “You what?”

“I…uh…shit,” he mumbles. “I didn’t mean to say it.”

“Oh.” You let go of his face, sitting up straight. “I see.”

“No, no,” he rushes to say. “That’s not what I meant.”

It occurs to you that you’re still impaled on his cock and this doesn’t exactly feel like a conversation to be had in that position. You make a move to get up but strong hands hold you steady in his lap.

“I just meant,” he say, fingers flexing nervously against your thighs. “I didn’t mean to say it right now. Like…I wanted you to maybe not hate me for a bit before I professed my love or whatever.”

“I don’t get it,” you admit. “I thought you just texted me to hookup because you were in town.”

“I’m in town for you.”

“For me?”

Dieter nods. “I’m not good with words that aren’t written for me. Too much going on up here,” he says, tapping his forehead. “But I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we broke it off and I feel like that’s a cosmic sign that we’re meant to be or whatever.”

“Oh my god, you really are bad with words,” you say with a laugh. “Meant to be, huh?”

“Or whatever,” he finishes. “Marriage is a scam.”

“Right, right,” you murmur, rocking your hips the slightest bit. “Total scam.”

“It’s just a way for the governme—oh, fuck,” he says, words trailing off into a moan as you pick up your pace again, your hands on his chest to steady yourself. “Just like that, baby.”

“You’re lucky I missed you, too,” you tell him, gasping when his hips flex to meet yours. Your communication with each other devolves into moans and the movement of your bodies until the desperation you feel for one another reaches its peak.

Dieter wraps both arms around your lower back as you cum, holding you to him as your cunt squeezes around his cock. It’s only a moment before you feel him pulsing, warmth pooling inside of you as your orgasm starts to fade. You collapse against his chest, breathing heavily and listening to the rapid beat of his heart beneath your ear.

He rubs his hands up and down your back as you both catch your breath, sweat cooling between you in the chill of the hotel room.

“You wanna order pizza?” He asks. You turn your face into his chest, muffling your laughter into his skin.

“Absolutely.”

#dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter x reader #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo the bubble #the bubble fanfiction

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trulybetty · 9 months ago

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two-pack habit & a motel tan

pairing: lucien flores x f!reader word count: 1,712 warnings: M | spoilers? cigarettes, alcohol, angsty in parts, aside from being noted as having breasts no other descriptions of reader estimated reading time: 7 minutes summary: no matter how hard you try, you find yourself coming back every time ao3: linked

A/N: Honestly, not sure what I'm doing as I know nothing about this movie and character other than those tiny clips from yesterday. I tagged it spoilers, but really this is a stab in the dark, because while writing this, this could have easily been Dieter, so who knows? Hopefully you enjoy this!

two-pack habit & a motel tan.

The room was dark, the only light that came was from the street lights outside. The cheap gaudy curtains disturbed by the forced air from the air conditioner unit swung lazily casting shadows across the green shag carpet. On the small round table beneath the window sat two empty bottles of beer and an overflowing ashtray, a cigarette hung on its lip, its embers still glowing despite being disregarded. The television flickered on a muted late-night talk show, its dull illumination serving only to highlight the lingering haze of smoke in the air.

Lucien was sprawled out on the creaky bed, barefoot with his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. His dark brown curls were tousled, his dark eyes staring into nothingness as he took another drag from his cigarette.

The click of the bathroom door opening drew his attention as you walked out, damp hair and wearing an oversized t-shirt that had seen better days, one that you had stuffed in your bag earlier that afternoon on your way out. Lucien’s eyes followed the trail of water droplets that traced your collarbone and disappeared beneath the threadbare and distressed collar of the shirt.

He sat up, patting the space next to him, inviting you to join him on the bed. You hesitated for a moment before relenting, moving across the room and climbing onto the bed knee first.

“Feel better?” He inhaled deeply before turning his head to exhale the smoke from his cigarette, all the while his gaze had followed the line of your bare legs.

You nodded, settling in next to him. He took one more drag of his cigarette before he stubbed it out. Turning back to you, his hand, warm and calloused settled on your thigh just below the hem of your shirt.

“Don’t know why you bothered to get dressed doll,” his smokey voice intoned as he moved his hand an inch higher, this thumb tracing patterns on your skin as his other hand played with the chain around his neck, running the St. Anthony charm between his fingers out of habit.

His dark eyes met yours, a playful challenge in their depths. You looked away, your heart pounding in your ears, trying to remember the reasons why you’d said this wasn’t going to originally happen in the first place.

“Luce,” you started, but he cut you off with a laugh that was laced with a tinge of bitterness.

“You’re going to tell me this is a bad idea again, right?” he said cynically as his fingers continued to draw meaningless shapes on your skin.

He leaned back against the worn headboard, pulling you with him and over to straddle his waist.

“You know it is,” you murmured but made no move to escape his grip, your hands instinctively settling on his chest. His heart beating rapidly beneath your touch, echoing the beat of your own.

He raised his eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, “Yeah, but we’re not exactly known for making good decisions now are we?” His fingers slipped beneath the hem of the oversized shirt, making your breath hitch in your chest. His fingers not finding the material of your panties at your hips he gave you an almost smug impressed look, “Well, this is certainly a surprise.”

You couldn’t help the smirk on your lips as you leant down, yours meeting his. The lack of underwear had been a conscious one despite your reservations about even being in that motel room, to begin with. He let out a low groan into your mouth, as his fingers traced a path up your side. His thumb brushed the underside of your breast, causing you to gasp. He laughed, a deep warm sound that vibrated against your lips.

You tanged your fingers in his already tousled curls as his traced their way back down your sides, his hands cupping your bare hips. The feel of the denim of his jeans licked at your core and you couldn’t ignore the surge of desire that pooled in your belly. The scent of his cigarettes on the air, intertwined with the taste on his lips, unspoken promises hung heavy between the two of you, your hips buckled in an all too familiar motion seeking release.

His lips moved from yours, tracing a fiery path over your jaw and down your neck. You tilted your head back, allowing him better access as he trailed hot open-mouthed kisses over your skin.

“Jesus, you are so—” he sucked in a breath as your fingers with reluctance left his hair and slid underneath the barely buttoned-up silk shirt, your nails dragging up his torso to his chest, “maddening,” he murmured when he found his voice.

“I could say the same about you,” you retorted as you pulled his shirt up and over his head.

When you got his text that afternoon you knew where it would lead, it was an all too familiar path you couldn’t help but revisit again and again. For all his flaws, Lucien was a magnet that drew you in, each time harder than before.

His chest bared, the dim light from the nightstand lamp cast a soft glow between the two of you. Your fingers traced the fine outline of the chains around his neck until they reached the pendant that lay below the hollow of his throat. As you looked at St. Anthony, the irony was not lost on you. He was the patron saint of those who were lost, and here he was standing between you and the man who you continuously found yourself drawn back to, despite your many attempts to distance yourself from him altogether.

His lips found yours again, his teeth nipped at your bottom lip, teasing as you tried to go in for another kiss. His hand snaked up your back, coming to rest at your neck, his thumb massaging your nape. His thumb pressed in just the right spot that managed to undo you and have you mewing in response. He grinned with the knowledge that he knew your body better than anyone else ever could, better perhaps even than you knew yourself.

“Tell me,” he whispered, his voice husky as he toyed with the hem of the shirt you were wearing. “Tell me you want this,” he lifted your shirt, pushing it up to your chest before you took over and pulled it over your head. His brown eyes appeared even darker with his pupils blown wide with anticipation.

“I want this,” you said meeting his gaze, your voice barely above a whisper before in one swift movement he rolled you onto your back.

His hands roamed your body freely now, tracing all too familiar patterns they knew so well; the curve of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the softness of your thighs.

As his lips met yours once more, your fingers traced the waistband of his jeans making short work of the button and fly. He groaned when you freed him from the confines of the denim, taking your time to run your hand appreciatively up and down his length, a low, throaty sound that made your heart skip a beat.

You knew that this should be the last time, but you weren’t trying to fool yourself. You knew there’d be another. It was a constant push and pull between the two of you that was years in at this point. There’d be no way the two of you could make a relationship out of what fractured pieces this already was, but you knew the minute he’d call, you’d come running. You knew it and he knew it, and as his warmth enveloped you, you couldn’t find it in your heart to care.

#lucien flores #lucien flores fanfiction #lucien flores fanfic #lucien flores x you #lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x f!reader #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #the uninvited spoilers

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 2 years ago

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What Fools

June Drabbles 2022... in 2023 Days 16 & 25 - Flower Crown & Midsummer

A/N: Better 365 days late than never, right? Hahahaha. This was the ONE AND ONLY one shot that I did not finish from last year’s June drabble challenge, and damnit I wasn’t going to let another whole June pass without giving this one its due. Dieter and Reader deserve it so here we are. This one takes place in the Bad Idea universe, after Vena Amoris.

Word Count: 5, 636

Warnings: language, brief smut, mention of needles/tattooing, stupid fucking tabloids, Dieter’s hair in the sunlight

Summary: You have a gallery opening in L.A. Dieter has a part in a play in New York. You can’t be in two places at once, but you can do something to illustrate how important your relationship is - and how important it will always be.

You were already awake when your alarm sounded, the tingling chime mixing with the gravel of Dieter’s groan to draw a smile across your face. Good morning to you, too, Bravo. One of your hands came up to cover the arm that he’d flung heavily over you in an attempt to keep you in place while the other reached for your phone on the nightstand. Eyes still shut, you groped blindly until your fingers closed around the device and you let out a sigh. Time to start the day.

Dieter had a different suggestion, though, and he gave it to you as you finally blinked yourself awake enough to silence your alarm, his arm snaking more tightly around your middle.

“Throw it out the fucking window.” His lips were still pressed to the top of your shoulder, the skin there damp from the drag of his mouth and the flick of his tongue, which was what had actually woken you up. His warm breath combined with the low rumble of the words he spoke directly into your flesh sent a slow moving heat wave through your lower belly. The fact that you could feel him straining at his pajama pants, already half-hard, and not at all shy about it, only fueled the growing flame.

Oh, this man is going to be the death of me before eight a.m. on a Monday.

“Stay in bed until mine goes off.” His touch roved up beneath the hem of your tank top, fingertips brushing lightly over your abdomen before drifting up to stroke the underside and inner curves of your breasts. “I’m not done sleeping with you yet.”

You took a slow breath in through your nose, letting it out in a hum as you shifted your hips teasingly back into him. I can play that game, too. At the increased friction, he released a throaty sigh that devolved into something deeper, and you felt the scrape of his teeth where your neck met your shoulder. You’d purposely set your alarm twenty- five minutes earlier than you needed to, because you knew how difficult leaving the bed would be that morning. And because you knew Dieter, you knew he would do you no favors in making it any easier. And I don’t want him to.

Your grin grew as you rolled your lower half against him again. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Dieter.” Reaching back with the arm that had been resting atop his, you raked your fingernails through the untamed curls and waves of his hair. He responded with another groan from where he was mouthing at the skin behind your ear, the sound vibrating through you and spurring you on. “Can’t miss my flight. I have that dinner meeting, remember? And today’s your last dress rehearsal. You have to-”

He cut you short by turning you to your back and lowering himself down over you, pinning you to the bed with his hips. “Your flight’s not until noon, and I don’t have to be anywhere-” The tip of his nose trailed along your jawbone until his lips could land perfectly in the place that he knew would turn you to jelly before finishing his sentence. “-until two fucking thirty. And you know it.”

“Was it two thirty?” You hummed as your head tipped back into your pillow, exposing more of your throat to Dieter’s insatiable mouth. “I thought it was ten thirty.”

“Nope.” I know. He shook his head, the sleep rumpled ends of his hair tickling your chin as he kissed across your collarbone. Using one finger, he slid the strap of your top aside so he could continue. That feels amazing. Your hands dove under his shirt, palms gliding up the warm, wide plane of his back as the fabric bunched up on your forearms. “��S two thirty.” He mumbled, letting you pull the practically threadbare undershirt over his head until he was only wearing it by the sleeves. “And until then?” Lifting himself onto his left elbow, he yanked his right arm free before switching to do the same on the other side, your body still caged beneath him and a mischievous glint chasing the rest of the grogginess from his eyes. “There’s only one thing on my agenda.”

You arched one eyebrow, tongue flicking out to wet your lips as you shifted your lower half against him. “Just one?”

Dieter didn’t hesitate before he nodded. “Just one.”

Within seconds your tank top had joined his tee on the floor, your underwear following not long after, and then the foil wrapper of a condom from your nightstand drawer fluttered down to top off the pile as Dieter got to work on his to-do list.

Summer had the tendency to either stretch and pull like boardwalk taffy, languid and slow, or else swirl to a rapid close, whipping from June straight into August with all the speed and grace of a hurricane. The current summer had been a mix of both. Dieter’s work had pulled him away to Los Angeles for the better part of June. While you missed him when he was away, you had been just as busy with the summer session you’d agreed to teach, and so the weeks had passed relatively quickly. Once he was back in your apartment, though - in your arms and in your bed - the two of you had worked to melt the hours instead of burn them away, relishing the few days that neither of you had any commitments outside of each other.

But with Dieter being cast in A Midsummer Night’s Dream for Shakespeare in the park, and you traveling for gallery openings and conferences, the two of you had to make due with the snippets of time you had together in the early hours and evenings when both of you were home. That was fine with you though, and you treated those mornings like the last drip of an ice cream cone, licking them from your fingers and savoring the flavor, letting it remind you of what was waiting once things wound down again in the Fall.

On the other side of September. When we… when I get to…

You gasped as he pulled back just enough to change his angle, his next thrust going deeper and pulling a low moan from your lips.

When I get to marry you, Dieter Bravo.

The thought of forever with him while he was buried inside you was almost enough to drag another strangled sigh from your lungs. But before that could happen, Dieter was kissing you, swallowing the sounds of your pleasure as though they could sustain him. As though he craved them just as much as he craved the rest of you. There was not a single thing about him that didn’t make you burn, and to know that he felt the same way about you only intensified it further.

The tip of your tongue slid across his lower lip before you took the fullness of it between your teeth and sucked. Dieter responded with a husky hiss of a sigh, and a devastatingly deliberate roll of his hips. A thin sheen of sweat had started to form over your skin from the heat that he was sending through your body in waves, but you urged him even closer with both of your palms pressed into his back as though you were trying to leave your handprints in the sand before the surf came through again. You released his lip to let out a low moan that started as his name and turned into something incoherent as one of his large hands came up to cup your left cheek. His patchy beard scratched along the right side of your jaw as he worked his mouth towards your ear, and with another agonizingly, delightfully slow thrust, he growled the words that would send you crashing over the edge.

“I Love you. So fucking much. All I need.”

You cried out as you came, the sound muffled by his flesh as you pressed your face into the crook of his neck, but audible enough to pull him right along with you. Dieter moaned into your hair and the pillow as his hips snapped and stuttered out of rhythm, his fingers spreading wide against the side of your face. The angle of his arm gave you a full view of his tattoos - both the thick black lines of the open triangle, and the colorful recreation of one of the pieces you’d created together. You reached over to trail two fingers lightly over his inner forearm. His full weight pressed down on you then as he collapsed into you, your legs twining with his and both of you panting unevenly. Oh, fuck.

Closing your eyes you brought your hand up to the back of his head, fingers disappearing in his disheveled curls. “I love you, too, Dieter.” Your voice was thin and raspy but you knew he heard you. Making a loose grip in his hair, you tugged to lift his face level with yours, a soft shine present in his deep brown eyes that made your still-racing heart go tumbling over itself. “So fucking much.”

You kissed him slowly then, taking a breath in through your nose so you could keep your lips sealed to his for a few seconds longer, and smiling into it as you felt him do the same. On any other morning you would have pulled him into the shower with you after that. But you both knew you would have needed to set your alarm much earlier than you did to account for another round under the water while still making your flight - and the “meeting” you had scheduled shortly after landing at LAX. As you rinsed the soap from your body you grinned to yourself, imagining Dieter’s reaction when he finds out that it wasn’t a gallery owner you were meeting with that night to discuss another showing in the future, but Fiona, the same artist who did his painting tattoo.

Because if I have to miss opening night while I’m out there, I’m going to make the best of it.

The two of you spent the remainder of the morning in your sunlit kitchen, picking at a bowl of fruit over coffee until it was time for you to leave for the airport. When it was, he walked you down to the car that was waiting for you outside of your building. He set your suitcase down at the curb as Vince, Dieter’s personal driver whenever he was in New York, reached for it to put it in the trunk. Thanking the man, who responded with a nod and a smile, Dieter turned and placed both of his hands on your hips, using them to pull you closer. “C’mere.”

You placed your palms flat against his chest, bare beneath the bathrobe he’d pulled on over his sleep shorts, and looked up at him. His head was tilted, the angle of it blocking the sun from shining in your eyes but allowing it to swim through the strands of his hair, still bed-rumpled despite having been awake for a few hours. The sight filled your heart and you wondered how it was possible for you to continue falling in love with him. At the same time, you knew you would never stop, and the thought from earlier repeated in your mind.

I can’t wait to marry this man.

You slid one hand up the side of his neck, thumb stroking the skin there. “I’m right here.” Wrinkling your nose, you leaned in to kiss the heart-shaped patch in his beard. “But I gotta go, Dieter.”

His arms wound around your waist and shoulders as he pulled you into his body. “I know you do.” Turning his face, he pressed his lips to your temple. “You’ve got places to be.” He tightened his arms, crushing you closer. “You’re gonna knock ‘em dead.”

You laughed, returning the hug. “So are you.” Leaning in again as he chuckled , you lowered your head this time so that your kiss landed near the hollow of his throat, a few inches above the inked butterfly on his chest. “Can’t wait to see the show when I get home.”

“I can’t wait to see you when you get home,” he countered through a grin, stepping back to loosen his hold on you. “But yeah, I’m excited for you to see it, too. And I’m excited for the show to end, so I can get out to L.A. to see the gallery.” Dieter’s palms slid down your sides, and then he reached for both of your hands, bringing them between you. “Hey.” You felt the gentle pressure of his thumbs near your wrists as he squeezed. Blinking up at him, you watched his brown eyes soften. They still held onto some of the jovial laughter that you’d just shared, but the look in them had deepened. It took your breath away. “The collection is incredible. You should be really proud of yourself for it.” Raising your left hand, he kissed the knuckle of your ring finger, just above the stone he’d put there. “I sure as hell am.”

“I…” You circled your wrist from his grasp and laid your hand against his cheek. “I actually am, Dieter.” Scratching your nails through his beard and into the curls that hung around his ears, you grinned at the throaty sound he made. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” This time it was him that leaned in for a kiss, catching you slightly off guard. “Now,” he continued to kiss you as he spoke. “You better go.” His teeth closed gently around your lower lip and then released it, only to catch your lips with his once more. “So you can get back.”

You shook your head, laughing as your nose bumped his. “Yeah, I guess I should.” Letting out a sigh, you looked up at him again, carding your fingers through his sun-drenched hair. “I love you.”

“Love you, too. Safe flight. Call me when you land, yeah?” At that he dropped his hands to his sides, the rings on his fingers catching the midday sunlight.

You nodded. “Promise.”

“Alright.” He winked at you. “Now get out of here.”

– – – –

After an uneventful flight - you’d used the time to look over some capstone project proposals from the handful of students you’d agreed to take on for the final summer session - you landed in sunny Los Angeles. As soon as you’d gotten your suitcase from baggage claim, you pulled out your phone to call Dieter, pressing the video button and waiting for him to pick up. He might not though. You turned your wrist to check your watch. Dress rehearsal starts soon, so…

But just as you were getting ready to hang up and shoot him a text instead, Dieter’s face filled your screen and you couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out at the sight of him. Two stubby little prosthetic horns had been attached to his forehead, and they peeked out between his curls which had been styled with super hold gel. Set around his head and balanced on the horns, was a crown of colorful blossoms - snapdragons, hyacinth and larkspur. You recalled the conversation when he told you that he’d personally requested those specific flowers be part of his costume, because they symbolized deception, playfulness and haughtiness, all qualities that his jesterlike character embodied and ones that he wanted to make sure were represented. Stickler for the details, aren’t you, Dieter?

It was part of what made him so good at what he did, the way he tried to completely immerse himself in the identity of his characters. You realized, though, that it didn’t end with acting, that Dieter paid the same level of attention to everything he cared about. Oh I love this man so much it's stupid.

Pressing your lips together as you hid another laugh, you finally greeted him. “Oh, wow. Hey there, handsome.” Pointing to the wreath of blossoms, you smiled. “Looks good.”

“Hey yourself.” He flashed a grin that you felt through the screen. “You look good.”

That earned him an eye roll. “Dieter.” From the way his grin broke into a chuckle, you could tell that the screen and the distance did nothing to dilute the feeling for him, either. “I just got off a five and a half hour flight. I look like-”

“Like I want to do things to you.” His tone turned into gravel and you nearly stumbled over your feet. Oh, fuck. “That’s what you look like right now.” He tilted his head and the flower halo shifted. “Things that’ll make you-”

“Jesus, Dieter!” Your eyes went wide as you cut him off, and then you were both laughing again. “You know, they really nailed it with your casting for this play. You as Puck? You’re just as-”

Poking at the tip of one of the protrusions from his forehead, he lifted an eyebrow. “Horny?”

You groaned and gave him another eye roll that turned into a smirk. “Well I was going to say mischievous, but yeah, that works too.”

“Only for you though.”

From anyone else in the world it would have sounded like some cheesy line. It would have sounded smarmy - like something someone would say to deflect your attention from something they didn’t want you to know. But not from Dieter. From him it was sincere - he’d never been anything but sincere with you, right from the start. “Yeah,” you responded, biting down on your lower lip. “Same goes for me with you, Bravo.”

Someone out of view called Dieter’s name, and he turned to let them know that he’d be right there. With a sigh, he turned back to you. “Alright, looks like they’re ready to get started. I have to go.” He said your name then, staring straight into the camera so that it was almost like he was looking in your eyes. “Good luck with your meeting. Can’t wait to hear about it later.”

You thanked him, telling him that you hoped rehearsal went well and that you’d call him later that night before you went to bed. And the whole time you hoped that he couldn’t read the excitement that you were barely concealing over the truth about your “meeting.”

As soon as you finished your call with Dieter, you opened the text thread that you had with Fiona. Scrolling through the messages that you’d sent back and forth over the past few weeks discussing the details of your tattoo, you smiled to yourself. You’d had the idea as soon as Dieter had gotten back to New York after his last trip out to the West Coast, when he’d had Fiona reproduce a sliver of one of the paintings the two of you had worked on together on his inner arm. Yours was going to be a different cut section of the piece to complement Dieter’s, and smaller than his. Fiona was almost as excited as you were to be able to make it happen even though you’d only be out in L.A. for a few days. Typing out a quick message to let her know that you just had to drop your things off at the apartment - the one Dieter had lived in before the two of you started living together, and that he decided to keep so that either of you would have a familiar place to stay when you were traveling for work - before you’d be on your way over to her shop. She sent back a string of thumbs up and excited emojis along with a “see you soon!” and then you were on your way.

– – – –

The tattoo took a few hours, but true to what Dieter had said about the woman’s technique and personality, it didn’t feel that long. There were areas that hurt more than others, but she warned you about them before she started on those spots, and there was no part of it that was that bad. You even felt yourself relaxing at one point, watching in a trance as she filled in the colors to bring the art to life on your arm. When she needed to take a break to stretch, she brought you back an iced tea and the two of you chatted for a while as though you’d known her for much longer than a day.

“You and Dieter are great,” she said, just before getting ready to settle in to finish. Her smile was bright. “I can tell how happy you both make each other and-” She gestured at your arm. “Well this is just some real romantic shit.” That had gotten you to laugh, the woman joining you. “I mean that in the best way possible, by the way. Seriously, I’ve done all the cliche couples tattoos you could possibly imagine. And then about a million more.” She sighed and sat back down on her stool, waiting for you to make yourself comfortable again, too. “But this? This is unique just to you two. And I know we just met today, but that is very Dieter, and it seems really right for you, too. I’m just… I’m happy for you both.”

Your cheeks hurt almost as much as your arm as you grinned at her words, thanking her. “It means a lot to hear that.”

She nodded then, asking if you were ready for the final details. Before you knew it, the design was done and the woman was cleaning and wrapping your arm, giving you instructions on how to take care of it for the next few days. Luckily, you’d thought ahead and packed dresses and tops with loose fitting sleeves for the two night gallery event, wanting both to be comfortable in the warm weather, and to be able to conceal your surprise until you got home. You thanked Fiona again, letting her know that you’d add her and her boyfriend to the guest list for the gallery opening if they wanted to come. She told you enthusiastically that she would be there, and after paying and tipping the woman, you headed back to the apartment.

When you were finally settled in - suitcase unpacked, takeout delivered, and clothes changed - you pulled out your phone again to call Dieter, angling the screen carefully so that your arm wasn’t in view. This time, when his face filled the screen, it had been scrubbed of stage makeup and sans horns. But like always, your heart swelled the moment you saw him. Oh, look at him.

He was sprawled in your bed, laying on his stomach and clutching what you realized was your pillow. His hair was wild, the way it always was when he washed it and let it air dry without running anything but his fingers through it. He looked tired, but comfortable, and happy, and when you glanced up at your own image in the corner, you saw that you looked exactly the same. Smiling at him, you spoke first. “Hey, handsome.”

“Hi.” He adjusted his position so that less of his face was hidden by the pillow, propping himself up on one elbow, his whole face lighting up with his yawning grin. “You look cozy.”

Leaning back into the cushion of the overstuffed chair you sat in, you nodded. “I am. Be cozier with you here though.” You carefully bent your freshly tattooed arm and laid it in your lap, making sure that the camera stayed on your face. “How was rehearsal? All set for tomorrow?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “A bunch of things went kind of …sideways?” You snorted. “But that’s the point. Means it should be smooth sailing.” He arched one brow. “For the first night, at least.”

You hummed. “Hopefully the magic lasts until the third night so I can see you all on top of your game.” You cocked your head to one side. “Although, it might be fun to see it a little sideways, too.”

That got a chuckle out of him, the sound deep and warm. “Yeah, well, if we all do our jobs right you’d never even know it was tilted.” That’s true. “How about you? How was the meeting? You book another show?”

Letting out a short, hesitant laugh, you swallowed and tried not to let your eyes give you away. “Uh, well it was a good meeting. Too soon to know anything definite, but-” Your tongue slipped out to lick your lips and you fought against peeking at your tattoo. “But I’m feeling good about it.”

“Good.” He switched the phone to his other hand and he rolled to his back, your pillow rolling with him. “And I’ll be there for that one.”

“Dieter, I just said nothing is set in stone, so-”

“Yeah but when it is,” he stretched his shoulders, letting out a quiet groan as he did. “I’ll be there.”

You felt momentarily guilty over keeping the truth about where you’d been earlier from him. He’s so damn supportive and sweet. But then you remembered that when Dieter had gotten his surprise tattoo, he’d kept it hidden from you for a full month. And this is only two more nights. You sighed. “Yeah, Dieter. You will be.”

The topic shifted back to the play then, Dieter letting you know that Anika had reached out to him because she was in the city and would be at the show. “We might get something to eat afterwards, too.” He blew out a breath and rolled his eyes. “I just wanted to tell you before the fucking internet blew up about it.”

You groaned. “Dieter, I don’t care what people say, okay? I know how you feel about me and how I feel about you, and that’s all I care about, so-”

“I fucking love you so damn much.” He shook his head, teeth showing through his smile. “And I know you know it. Just didn’t want you to get blind sided with it at the gallery thing. Tacky headlines and shit..”

“Thanks for telling me, Dieter.” You yawned then, the day catching up with you. “Tell Anika I said hi, and have a good time.”

“I will. And we will.” His mouth opened wide then, and he pointed at the screen in accusation. “That was your fault. I yawned because you did.”

“No,” you laughed. “You yawned because you’re tired. And so am I. And we both have big days tomorrow, so we should both get some sleep.”

“Wish we were getting it in the same bed.” You and me both.

“Dieter.” You narrowed your eyes at him and pursed your lips. “You know damn well if we were in the same bed we wouldn’t be doing much sleeping.” That earned you another laugh, this one weightier, and you knew it wouldn’t take him long to fall asleep once you hung up. I won’t be far behind him. “But yeah, I wish we were, too.”

“You’re right though, I’m beat. I was kind of dozing off before you called, so-”

“So let’s say goodnight, hmm?” You stood from the chair you occupied and started to make your way to the bedroom as he nodded. “I’ll talk to you before the show but crack an egg.” He rolled his eyes and snorted at your insistence to never wish him boldly harm by saying “break a leg”. Because we don’t need to invite injury. “I love you, Dieter.”

“Love you too. Sweet dreams.”

You dreamed of him that night, though it wasn’t exactly sweet. You dreamed of him and of you. Of him doing things to you like he’d teased about when you called him from the airport. And you woke up feeling great.

– – – –

The next two days flew by, and you couldn’t have been happier about that.

Not that you weren’t excited about what you were doing. You were thrilled. The gallery opening had gone off without a hitch. More than that, several of the pieces in the collection had sold between the two nights, leaving only a handful of others to sell throughout the duration of the showing. You’d been in touch with Dieter, too. Mostly via text, as both of you were working and not in the same time zone. But you’d talked on the phone and with video chat once or twice as well, Dieter telling you that both nights had gone well. By the time you were at LAX heading home, you were just itching to see it and him for yourself.

And to show him this. You glanced down at your arm, impressed at how the swelling was already down and starting to heal. I can’t wait to see his face.

The last conversation you’d had with him, his expression was less than thrilled over the round of tabloid headlines he all but predicted when he told you about his plans to see Anika.

While the fiancée is away, Bravo plays //CLICK FOR MORE//

Cold Feet in the Summer Heat for Dieter Bravo? Actor looking cozy with ex-girlfriend Anika Stoyanova following Midsummer performance

Xander Vance, Bravo’s Orion co-star and love interest front, row at the Delacorte - fuels speculation that the pair were more than on screen lovers

Artist fiancée nowhere to be found for first two nights of shows - Does this spell trouble in paradise for Dieter Bravo?

You rolled your eyes as you recalled the various alerts on your phone. Such bullshit. Sure, it sucked seeing those headlines and reading the venomous lies and stories attached to them. If you thought about it for too long, yeah, it hurt to know that there were people out there who took shots at your relationship - at Dieter and who he was, who you knew him to be, not to mention the terrible things you were sometimes called. People actually get paid to write that crap. Unbelievable. It bothered you, yes. But a lot had changed since the first horrible round of headlines had steamrolled through yours and Dieter’s lives. You’d learned how to handle the scrutiny and the speculation, how to ignore the unfounded rumors and how to take every comment from fans in stride. More importantly that anything though your relationship had grown strong and solid, and you were no longer worried that it would end over some stupid headlines. Because he made sure I knew that this is what matters to him.

It was the same for you.

Your flight landed in New York with just enough time for you to drop your things and home and head immediately back out the door to head to Central Park, finding your seat right before the actors took the stage. From the moment it began, you were completely wrapped up in the magic of Midsummer - in the warm night air and the swaying trees and the brilliant performances. When it was over, you were grinning ear to ear, on your feet applauding with a thousand others. Dieter was right. If anything went sideways, I missed it.

You made sure not to miss him for another second though, following his instructions to head backstage when it was over. “Security knows you’re coming. Some of the others are having family back after too so it’s fine.” Hearing him call you his family was something you’d never get tired of.

And neither was the way he kissed you when you’d been apart for more than a day. Even in public he managed to keep it looking decent as his tongue delved into your mouth and stroked slowly over yours, as though reminding you what it could do. You had to fight to stay standing and to keep from moaning right there in the dressing room. Not fair. He’s a damn actor and I’m only so strong. “Hey, you.” He said, lips still sealed to yours, one hand resting on your cheek and the other settling against your neck. “Missed you.”

It wasn’t until you opened your eyes and pulled back that you noticed he was still wearing the horns and flowers, and a short laugh burst through your attempts at catching your breath. I love him so much it’s stupid. You had lost count of how many times you’d had that thought. But as you reached up to pluck the wreath from his head, you had another. No one I’d rather be stupid for. “Hey yourself. Missed you, too.” Raising on your toes, you kissed his cheek, not caring that you were getting his sweaty makeup on your lips. “You were great, Dieter.”

“Yeah?” He used the thumb of the hand on your face to swipe the smudge from your lips as you nodded. “Thanks. It was a fun show tonight.” He sighed and smiled. “Glad you’re home.”

You hummed. “Me too. I’ve had something to tell you, well show you, really, for three days now and-”

“Show me, huh?” He arched an eyebrow and stepped back to look at you more clearly. “Show me wh- oh, shit.” Yeah. His eyes had dropped to the inside of your arm, and you turned it so he had a better view. “You…” He licked his lips and turned his own arm to line it up next to yours. “You got the other… the piece I cut out on mine.” He brought his eyes back up to yours then, big and soft and spilling over with affection. “I fucking love it. I fucking love it and I fucking love you.” He swallowed and leaned in to catch your lips with his again. There was a slight tinge of salt but you weren’t sure if the tears were his or yours and it didn’t matter.

“I fucking love you, too, Dieter.” So damn much.

Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please feel free to let me know or you can fill out the form on my masterlist.

tags: @something-tofightfor @littlemisspascal @tentacruels @alraedesigns @practicalghost @trickstersp8 @princessxkenobi @imtryingmybeskar @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @haylzcyon

#dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #bad idea dieter #pedrostories #the bubble dieter bravo #dieter bravo fic #june drabbles 2022 but make it 2023 #better late than never #midsummer #flower crowns #what fools #i love these fools

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bitchesuntitled · 3 months ago

Text

Broken Hearts Mended

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader, Joel Miller x F!Reader

Warnings/Tags: 18+ Minors, get out! Language(at this rate, just expect it. That's just me), Pregnancy, Dieter trying to fix his past, sad!Dieter, dad!Dieter, smut, pinv, oral(m!recieving), wedding crasher!Dieter, TIME TRAVEL, OFC

a/n: This is for the Roll-A-Trope Challenge by @burntheedges I got Time Travel! Never dabbled with that before but it was fun and sheesh, Kate- this is the longest story I've ever written! This could be considered a part two of Some Broken Hearts Never Mend but can be read as a standalone! The OFC is based off my bestie IRL @hessofather - thank you for being you, for helping me with the witchy stuff, and love ya bitch! Thank you @beefrobeefcal and @jay-zzle(for the moodboard &) for your eyes on this one! Love you both!

Masterlist||AO3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

He’d been staring at the clock for an eternity or what felt like an eternity. Today was the day, the day Dieter’s been dreading since he found out.

Today is your wedding day.

In typical Hollywood fashion, a friend of a friend let it slip when the wedding was. Saturday afternoon, 3 pm to be exact. Mark was supposed to be on standby to ensure Dieter stayed at home today and didn’t do something stupid, but what Mark didn’t expect was to be locked in the pantry with Dieter sitting outside.

“Dieter, come on man,” Mark pleaded, “Think about this before you do something dumb.”

“Would it really be that bad if I went?!”

“Yes,” Mark sighed, “Dieter, you need to let her go. If you go to that hotel all that will happen is you make a fool of yourself and embarrass her!”

“Embarrass her?!” Dieter scoffs, looking at the closed door with offense. “I got sober for fucks sake! For her and she didn’t even let me see my kid! Instead that bastard is playing daddy to my Lexi! My peanut!”

“Dieter!” Mark shouts, slamming his fists against the door, “Let me out and let’s talk face-to-face about this.”

“Sheesh Mark, calm down,” Dieter says, glancing at the clock, “If I go, maybe she’ll see me and remember how much she loved me. I gotta try right?”

“Dieter, please,” Mark sighs, “Don’t do this. It’s not a good idea.”

“I have to try, Mark.”

“Damn it, Dieter!”

More punches are being thrown at the pantry door as Dieter slowly backs away from it.

“If I don’t try now, I’m just going to spend the rest of my life wondering what if!” Dieter shouts, “Mark, you gotta understand that man.”

—

Dieter was able to bribe a waiter into letting him in through the kitchen, he had tried the front but the hotel staff quickly guided him right back through the front door. The place was gorgeous, decked in all navy blue, gold, and white, and the flower petals spread down the aisle he stood in front of. Joel is standing next to the officiant, fiddling with the gold cufflinks on his wrists. The bridal song began and everyone looked back at Dieter.

He stood there frozen, unsure of what to do until he heard the door behind him open, he turned slowly. There you were, standing before him in a gorgeous flowy white gown.

“Dieter?” You asked, confusion painted across your face before it turned into a silent rage.

“I- I need-“ he began, trying to think of what to say.

“Jesus Christ,” your father muttered under his breath before shouting for security.

“Wait-“ Dieter gasped, as two men in suits grabbed his arms pulling him towards the hall, “Please! Let me just ha-“

“Wait!,” you shout panicked, before clearing your throat, “Sorry everyone,” you announce, “Let me just take care of this real quick then we’ll be ready to get this wedding started.”

Dieter was dumbfounded. You were actually going to listen to him. You wanted to hear what he had to say. He knew it! He still had a chance. You let go of your dad’s arm and looped it around Dieter’s, leading him out into the hallway with a polite reassuring smile to your guests.

In another life, this would be the way it went. You in your gorgeous wedding dress, walking down an aisle on his arm, smiling politely to your guests before he whisked you away to ravish you the entire night. Once the doors closed, you stepped away from him clearing your throat.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing here?” You hiss, the rage in you tipping over its boiling point.

“I wanted to-“ he starts softly before you interrupt him again.

“Wanted what Dieter?!” You seethe, “Did you not feel it was enough when you showed up at my home? My work? Lexi’s fucking school?”

“I didn’t think-“ he winces, knowing immediately those are the wrong words with the laugh you let out.

“No Dieter, you didn’t fucking think,” you scoff, “You’ve spent the past six years not fucking thinking and it’s shown plenty!”

“Baby-“ Dieter tries again.

“Don’t you dare call me that!” You stop him, “Dieter, you need to leave. I’m marrying Joel and Lexi finally has a dad who wants her and loves her.”

“But I do love her,” Dieter says, tears blurring his vision, “That’s why I stayed away from you both. I love you both so much, I didn’t want you wrapped up in my shit and I’m trying to change!”

You shake your head with a sigh.

“You just have to give me another chance,” he whimpers, the tears steadily falling down his face.

“No,” you say quietly, “You’ve had enough chances.”

—

You were officially done with his shit and let him know he’d be hearing from your lawyers on Monday. His heart broken, his mind felt numb, and Dieter’s legs began to move. He felt like pins and needles were pricking all over his skin, trying to ignore the feeling, he began to speed up. He’d be fine as long as he kept moving. His chest felt like there was a weight on it, trying to catch his breath.

He needed to find somewhere with air conditioning, maybe it’s the heat finally getting to him. Standing outside a store called Vixen’s. Huh, he thought, a sex shop would be the perfect way to distract his mind. A dinging sound chimes as he enters the store.

“Good afternoon!” A cheery feminine voice calls out from the back, “I’ll be right with you.”

Dieter stood next to a counter, focusing on his breathing. The place smelled like sage, rose, and lavender. This was definitely not a sex shop. His hands held onto the counter in front of him as he closed his eyes and took in the sweet aroma of the shop. Whatever it was, it was working to help calm him down.

“Sir?” A feminine voice called out to him, “Ya alright?”

Dieter looked towards the voice to see a short woman with auburn hair standing next to a door that stated Employees Only. He gave a short nod, signaling he was okay. He just had to focus on his breathing.

“Fuck!” She gasped, flailing her hands in the air, “It’s you! C’mere!”

“Huh?” Dieter asked in confusion, trying to catch his breath.

“C’mere!” She said more sternly, motioning for him to follow her, “Been expectin’ you to show up any day now and you’re finally here!”

Dieter began to follow the stranger apprehensively down a hall, passing multiple doors, as she began to talk more.

“The names’ Willow Vixen. Now that you’re here, maybe I can finally stop using the rose.” She states, wrinkling her nose, “Not my favorite but that’s what the ball suggested for your arrival. Considering it doesn’t give me much of a time frame I figured fuck it and just started making sure it was around at all times.”

“Ball?” Dieter asks, his legs taking over, continuing to follow Willow until they meet a door that has her name on it, “I’m sorry but do I know you?”

“Not yet, Dieter,” Willow hums, grabbing a key ring from her belt loops, and unlocking the door, “When we get inside I’ll explain.”

Once she opened the door, he was hit with a powerful smell of sage and rosemary. She ushered him in, closing the door behind her.

“Sit,” she commanded, pointing to a table in the middle of the room.

He wasn’t sure what he was even doing here. Following a stranger into some back room of a store sounded like the beginnings of some ritual sacrifice and by the way her office was set up, it looked like it, too.

The room was dim before Willow fluttered about lighting candles while humming, beginning to shed more light on her space. He could see a table covered in an emerald green cloth with four chairs surrounding it, and a crystal ball sat upon a perch in the middle of it with dozens of candles surrounding it.

“So… uh,” Dieter hesitates, hands scrubbing through his hair. The fuck is he doing here? He should leave. Willow continues to hum while she lights more candles by a thick open book sitting on a desk, flipping through the pages before she stops.

“Ah-ha!” She announces with a joyous clap, “Would ya look at that! Found it on the first try.”

She looks up to see Dieter still standing by the door with a nervous energy about him.

“Gah damn it, Dieter,” she grumbles, approaching him, “Ain’t gonna hurt ya. I’m here to help ya. Now go on, sit,” Ushering him to the table, lightly patting him on the shoulders, “Let me just get a few more things ready before I truly start this process, alright?”

“Help me?” He asks, watching Willow move in the space around them. She grabbed a bottle and began spritzing it around the chair he sat in.

“Duh, I told ya,” Willow said with a raised eyebrow smirking, “Oh wait, maybe I didn’t? Did I?”

Dieter looked at her in bewilderment, continuing to watch as she placed the spray bottle of liquid beside him and grabbed incense instead, placing them in their holders and lit them.

“T- tell me what?” He asked nervously, placing his hands in his lap and beginning to fidget with his fingers.

“My apologies, sir.” Willow bows, “I am a witch! Well, kind of a-a witch. I’m a witch practicin’. My great great great great grandma was one and it kinda skipped a generation or two cause my folks decided we should follow Jesus instead. Ya in any sort of religion? I’ve been involved with… too many.”

Dieter shakes his head. Fuck, this is how it ends, he was right. She’s gonna sacrifice him.

“I’m spraying lavender right now to try and get your ass to calm down,” she states matter of factly picking the bottle up again, Dieter flinches when she sprays some directly onto his hair, “Your energy is thick with nerves. Now what was I sayin’?” She asked, stopping in place and staring at the table cloth.

“Oh yeah! Sorry, I have a disorder where my memory ain’t the best. Think Dory from Findin’ Nemo,” Willow smiles brightly, “I’m a witch and this here crystal ball-” she taps a finger against the clear ball in the middle of the table, “-showed me to be expectin’ ya.”

“Sh-showed you?” Dieter asks, cocking his head to the side with wide eyes.

“Yeah!” Willow exclaims, “Showed me you comin’ here, us doing some magic and then you fuckin’ off to whatever it is you’re tryin’ to change!”

“Wait,” Dieter stops, eyes widening, “What am I changing?”

“Beats me,” Willow shrugs, fanning the incense around before plopping down in the chair across from him, “Alls I know is I’m supposed to help ya get there.”

Dieter looks at her and then the ball in between them. It starts sparkling inside as the clear crystal becomes dense with a weird purple fog, swirling around the inside of the crystal.

“Oh shit! It’s doin’ the thing again!” Willow shrieks in excitement, bouncing in her chair, “I told ya the thing showed me what I needed to do! Maybe it’s trying to show you what you need to do.”

Dieter stares at the ball before the swirling fog reveals you lying in your shared bed years ago. He remembers this morning clear as day, it’s the morning before he went to that stupid party and relapsed.

“It’s her,” he chokes back a sob, “What kind of sick fucking trick is this?!”

“It’s not a trick!” Willow protests, “I’m tellin’ the truth! Just watch the damn thing!”

Dieter continues watching the fog swirl within the ball, seeing himself join you in bed. Dieter perks up as he watches himself undress you and begin worshiping you like the goddess you are. Willow clears her throat turning her head.

“Ope,” she murmurs, cheeks becoming flaming red, peering at the ceiling out of privacy, “Don’t think I’m supposed to watch this bit.”

Dieter is entranced, watching the two of you, reliving that entire day. Except in this version he never leaves the house, he stays home with you instead. That’s what he should have done, stay home and hang out with you instead of go to that stupid fucking party.

The purple fog disappears and the crystal becomes clear again, leaving Dieter even more confused.

“Wait!” He shouts, gripping the ball with both hands, “Come back! Show me more!”

“Now hold on just a damn minute,” Willow scolds, pushing his hands off the ball, “Don’t break my damn ball. It’s the only one I got.”

“But I want to see more,” Dieter lets out a pathetic whine, “How can I see more. Make it show me!” He demands.

“Not how it works, bub,” Willow huffs, “But, from the looks of it that’s where the ball wants me to send you.”

“S-s-send me?” Dieter stutters out with a scoff, “How are you gonna send me back to the happiest time of my life?”

“Time travel, duh,” Willow snorts, “The hell do you think you showed up here for?”

He looks at her with bewilderment. How the fuck is this girl supposed to help him go backwards in time?

“Now, now,” Willow says, clicking her tongue in annoyance, “I recognize that look. Ya don’t believe me,” she adds with a roll of her eyes, “I’ve got everything ready.”

She stands making her way to a small tea kettle, filling it with water from a jug before placing it on her desk beside the book. Willow moves through her office with a practiced ease, opening and closing cabinets, grabbing the things she’ll need for this ritual. Taking one last glance at the book on her desk before clearing her throat.

“Now, I’m gonna brew this tea for you to drink. It’s got some cloves, rosemary, garlic and cinnamon in it,” she explains, plunking and sprinkling the herbs in the kettle, “Oh shit!” She laughs, opening a desk drawer to pull out a small hot plate, “Ain’t gonna get very far without boilin’ it.”

Dieter watches as she softly hums, flitting about the room as the tea gets ready.

“Now, I got white sage and mullein burning already,” Willow explains pointing at each, “Helps with clarity.”

He nods, still confused and a little scared. He has no clue how this is supposed to actually work. Time travel isn’t real, this isn’t some movie like Back to the Future. Although, he thinks tilting his head, would be pretty cool to drive the DeLorean. His thoughts are interrupted by Willow chanting something over the tea right as the kettle lets out a shrill whistle. Willow pours the tea into a little cup bringing it over to the table, placing it in front of Dieter.

“Ain’t gonna lie to ya,” Willow grimaces, “Probably gonna be nasty as fuck with the herbs I had to use but it’s what the book said to use.”

“Probably not the worst thing I’ve ever ingested,” Dieter shrugs, “So how’s this work? Do I just drink it?”

Willow nods, “I said the spell, I have the scents going, all you have to do is keep an open mind,” she continues with a smile.

Dieter nods, staring at the cup. What’s the worst that could happen? His life is already fucked. At least he can say he tried if it doesn’t work, grabbing the cup and downing the drink. Willow was right- it’s rancid, he begins to cough placing the cup back on the table.

“Now what?” Dieter asks with a grimace, glancing at Willow.

“Now,” a grin spreads across her face, “We wait.”

- - -

The sun’s rays shone through the curtains causing Dieter to wince as he woke the next morning. How was he supposed to know if the ritual worked? Willow said they just had to wait. Wait for what though? Hearing a soft groan next to him he peeked one eye open at the sound, looking around he noticed this wasn’t his room. Well, more so not his room anymore. The soft yellow walls and white curtains had all been replaced after you left with dark grays.

Glancing next to him, he felt like his heart stopped. There you were, snoring softly next to him. Maybe he was dreaming and his mind decided to torture him, it wouldn’t be the first time it had happened but then you reached for him. Your hand laying on his chest above his heart. Dieter didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, shout with joy or all three at the same time. His palm reaches out, gently touching your face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers to your sleeping form as he rubs the apple of your cheek with his thumb, “I was such a fucking idiot.”

You crinkle your nose and let out a huff as you sleep. A grin plastered across his face, he can’t believe it actually worked. If he ever sees Willow again he’s going to have to thank her. She may not know what for, with traveling back in time, but he’ll thank her anyway.

“You’re staring,” you let out a sleepy grumble.

“Can’t help it,” Dieter whispers, grinning like an idiot. You open an eye to look at him, raising your brows.

“Why are we whispering?” You giggle, scooting closer to lay your head on his chest, listening to the thump of his heartbeat.

Dieter takes a deep breath into your hair, shrugging his shoulders, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tight. Afraid if he loosens his grip you’ll be gone again. His hands begin to roam under your shirt, feeling the softness of your skin, the roundness of your belly. You’re still pregnant, grinning to himself as he sits up and moves you to lay on your back, rubbing his hands down to your hips. You’d always complained of them hurting with the added weight of Peanut, their little Lexi who would be coming into this world.

“Mmm,” you let out a soft moan, as his hands gingerly massage your hips, your fingers digging into his thigh, “Dieter.”

He couldn’t stop smiling, unable to believe this is actually happening again. Being with you, being back in your shared home, being here during the happiest time of his life. Dieter leans over your belly, pulling up your shirt to expose your bump, placing a soft kiss there.

“I love you,” he breathes out, his voice cracking before trying to get a grip on his emotions.

“Babe?” You ask, concern lacing your voice as you reach for him, “What’s wrong?”

“Missed you,” he says, kissing your bump again, “Both of you.”

“Babe,” you laugh, “All we did was go to sleep.”

“Yeah,” Dieter huffs, rolling his eyes, “Just went to sleep,” he hums, lifting your shirt more to uncover your breasts, his lips placing a trail of open mouthed kisses until he meets one of your nipples, sucking it into his mouth. You let out a soft hiss as your fingers tangle in the soft waves of his hair. There’s one thing Dieter knows he can’t fuck up, sex. He’ll figure the rest out later.

You moan as he spends equal time on each of your breasts, sliding a hand down your front into your underwear. Dieter lets out a groan when he feels the wetness already collected there. He needs this, to you it was yesterday, to him it’s been six years since he’s felt you around his cock.

“I need you,” Dieter grunts, pushing you on your side, flopping down behind you and pushing his boxers down. His stiff member pushing into your ass.

“Jesus, Dee,” you giggle as he quickly pushes your underwear down enough to get to your core, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Please don’t,” he whispers into your neck, slipping his length between your folds, coating himself in your arousal. Dieter grips his dick, slowly pushing into you, simultaneous moans spilling from both of you.

“Fuck, baby,” you moan, throwing your head back against his shoulder, “So fucking big.”

Dieter pants, feeling your walls constrict around him, stopping himself when he’s fully sheathed inside of you. He doesn’t want this to end before it’s even begun.

“Oh god,” he whimpers, grabbing your hand, lacing your fingers together, “Missed this.”

“Dieter,” you pant, hips squirming against him, “I need you to move, baby.”

He nods against your head, slowly pulling out, his tongue laving against your pulse point as he sharply pushes back in.

“Fuck,” you cry out, gripping his hand tighter. He knows it’s your favorite so he keeps the same rhythm, pulling out slowly before plunging back in. He can’t stop the words flowing from his mouth as he thrusts into you. His pace grows quicker as he speaks.

“Please don’t leave me,”

“I need you,”

“I love you,”

“I won’t fuck up again,”

“I promise,”

“I love you.”

Every phrase punctuated with a sharp thrust into your wet heat, producing a moan from your lips.

“Dieter,” you moan, “I’m gonna come, baby, I’m gonna-“

Dieter can feel the fluttering of your walls, gripping you tighter he moves faster, unable to control himself any longer.

“Fuck,” Dieter groans, “Look at me, baby.”

Your head lolling against his shoulder as his hips snap into you, he grips your face turning you to face him. Slotting his lips over yours, smothering your cries as your orgasm rips through you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dieter grunts, grinding his hips into you as your walls constrict around him, warm ropes of his come painting your insides. He kisses you softly while both of you try to catch your breath.

“You okay?” You ask, eyes gazing up at him.

Dieter nods, keeping his arms wrapped around you.

“Bad dream,” he murmurs into your hair.

“I’m sorry babe,” you give him a sympathetic smile, giving him a quick kiss before moving off of him with a hiss, “Wanna go look at stuff for the nursery?”

“Hmm,” Dieter hums, wrapping his arms around you again before you can leave the bed, “Let’s stay in bed all day.”

“We just woke up,” you squeak out with a giggle, as he pulls you back against him, “Already need a nap?”

“After that workout?” He laughs, kissing your neck, “Uh… yeah!”

Dieter’s eyelids are heavy. He felt calm, more at peace than he has been for years, having you back in arms, the comforting weight of you next to him. The hint of your perfume surrounding him, causing him to quickly drift back to sleep.

- - -

“Dieter wake up!” Mark shouts, “Time to go.”

Dieter jumps, how long had he been asleep? The room is dark as Mark flings the gray curtains open allowing the sun to burst in.

“What the fuck?” Dieter groans, covering his face with the pillow next to him, blocking the sun from his eyes. His sleep-addled brain hasn’t registered what’s happened.

“Come on, man,” Mark says more sternly, grabbing the covers to pull off of Dieter, “Gotta get Peanut.”

“Peanut?” Dieter asks, flipping the pillow off his face, sitting up taking in his surroundings, “No, no, no. This isn’t right.”

He looks around at the gray bedding, the curtains, the walls. Where’s your house? He was just there, wasn’t he? Was it just a dream after all?

“Yes. Peanut,” Mark says, giving him a confused look, “Lexi, Your daughter.”

“I know who Peanut is, Mark.” Dieter snaps, “But she won’t let me see her.”

“Dieter,” Mark scolds, “Do not tell me you've been using again.”

“What? No!”

“You’ve had your daughter every other week for years now.” Mark explains, “Are you sure you're not using anything?”

“You mean, I have custody?” Dieter asks, beginning to choke up, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

Whatever Willow did, it worked, well kind of. If Dieter had some sort of custody of Lexi that means he must have changed something going back in time.

“I gotta go see Willow.”

“Willow?” Mark asks, shaking his head, “Dieter, you don’t have time to go on some wild goose chase looking for whoever it is you’re talking about.”

Dieter rushes out of bed, grabbing random clothes he finds throughout his room to throw on, running down the stairs to find his crocs.

“Dieter!” Mark shouts after him.

“I gotta fix it, Mark,” Dieter yells back, finding his car keys, and opening the front door, “I gotta fix it!”

—

“Willow!” Dieter bellows, bursting into Vixen’s, “It worked! It kind of worked!”

He hears a crash a couple aisles over and a gah-damnit!, before Willow appears at the front of the shop.

“The hell you comin’ in here yellin’ about?” Willow asks, rubbing the top of her head, “You made me drop a jar of Dragon’s blood on my damn head. I do not need any more feminine power right now!”

“Sorry,” Dieter chuckles, “I think we need to do the ritual again. I have custody!”

“Custody?” Willow asks, confused.

“Custody of my kid, Willow!” Dieter says, gripping her shoulders giving her a little shake, “All I did was fall asleep, had a crazy vivid sex dream about my girl and now I have custody! I’ve never even met my daughter!”

“Alright, alright, alright,” Willow says, wiggling out of his grip, “Don’t touch me and I don’t wanna hear about your weird sex dreams but come on back.”

He follows her through the dark hall, to her office, the white sage and mullein is lit, the tea is brewed while Willow chants the magic words. He chugs it again. The warm liquid tingled in his throat as it went down.

“Not as bad the second time,” he sputters out through a cough, “Should you make extra so I can take it home?”

“Not how it works,” Willow chuckles, “Gonna have to come see me. Door will always be open.”

“I don’t understand how this is working at all,” Dieter admits, “All I did was go to sleep?”

“Maybe in your sleep is when you’re traveling,” Willow shrugs, “I won’t lie, I’m not sure how it works either. Remember, I’m new at this.”

—

Dieter leaves Vixen’s, feeling on top of the world as he makes his way to your house. He cannot believe he’s about to see his kid for the first time, well maybe not the first time but it is for this Dieter. He pulls up to the address he found saved into his phone under your name, taking a deep breath before getting out of his car.

He makes his way to the front door. It’s a different house than the last time he showed up, hoping you’d forgive him for running off and taking forever to get his shit together. Taking a deep breath he presses the doorbell, hearing the chime inside.

“Daddy!” He hears screeched from behind the door before it opens. A little girl looks up at him with wide brown eyes and soft curls.

“You came to get me!” She exclaims, grabbing his hand with both of her little ones and pulling him through the entrance.

“Y-yeah, I did,” Dieter murmurs, unable to stop staring at the back of her head. Her hair bounces with every step she takes as she continues babbling at him about something.

“Hey Dieter,” you smile at him from the couch with a book in your hand, “She’s been super excited for you to get her this week. Thank you again for keeping her an extra week.”

“Extra week?”

“Please don’t tell me you forgot,” you groan, “Dee, you promised me you wouldn’t forget! This is super important! Joel’s taking me to meet his family.”

“Joel?” Dieter asks, clenching his jaw, fingers flexing of his free hand against his thigh. Of course, Joel is still present.

You study his face, taking in the tension rolling off him in waves, putting your book down and getting off the couch.

“Peanut, baby,” you say in a sweet tone, “Why don’t you go upstairs and get your stuff ready so you can go have fun at Daddy’s?”

“Okay,” she chirps, climbing the steps to the second floor. Leaving the two of you alone.

“Dee?” You ask, approaching him, “You doing okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” Dieter lies with a nod of his head, “Just forgot you have plans next week.”

“Look,” you start, gripping his hand, “I know this whole thing is weird for you but I know one day you’re going to find someone to love,” Dieter’s thumb begins to rub against your fingers softly, noting the absence of a ring on your hand.

“You don’t get it,” Dieter scoffs, shaking his head, “It’s you. I want to be with you.”

“We tried Dieter,” you say, giving him a sympathetic smile, “We just aren’t meant to be.”

- - -

When he wakes next, Dieter is blinded by the brightness of the room, closing his eyes again, not ready to get up.

“Daddy,” a little voice says, poking his cheek with tiny fingers.

He groans feeling a weight on top of his chest. He can hear you humming softly downstairs in the kitchen, little fingers continue poking at his face trying to wake him.

“Peanut,” he chuckles, “Why are you poking my face?”

“Time to wake up!” She announces, standing up on chunky legs before plopping her butt back down. Dieter lets out a grunt before opening his eyes, spotting the soft yellow walls of the room. He can’t stop the smile forming on his face. He’s back to where he wants to be, this timeline seeming to be much better than the present.

“Come here,” Dieter playfully growls, tickling Lexi’s sides. Her high pitched squeals echoing throughout the house.

“Breakfast is ready!”

“Hear that Peanut?!” Dieter asks enthusiastically, “Momma made breakfast!”

“Breakfast!” Lexi shouts, throwing her arms up in the air, “I hungry!”

Dieter scoops her up as he gets out of bed, carrying the toddler with him down the stairs to the kitchen.

“Morning,” you hum, smiling at both of them, “The contractor was supposed to be here earlier but he overslept so said he’d be by soon.”

“Oh?” Dieter asks, setting Lexi down into her booster seat as if he’s done this every day, “Who’d we hire again?”

“Dieter, I swear,” you laugh, rolling your eyes, “You’d be so lost without me.”

“You have no idea,” he murmurs, kissing the side of your head as he grabs the plates of food you had set out, giving one to Lexi and sitting down next to her to eat his own.

“It’s Miller Bros,” you huff, “And no, they’re not like the Mario Brothers from Nintendo,” you add after seeing Dieter’s head perk up. You always were good about knowing what was on his mind.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” Dieter asks, stabbing his fork into the eggs, “Besides the contractor coming, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging. The rest of the meal went on, the scraping of silverware against plates and random chatter from Lexi the only things to be heard. It was eerie how quiet you were, Dieter stared at you as you scrolled mindlessly on your phone. He can’t pinpoint what’s going on but he feels there is something different here. Lexi finishes her breakfast, scooting off her booster and running off to watch TV.

“Is everything okay?” Dieter asks, fidgeting with the fork in his hand, he can’t risk losing you but he needs to know the answer.

“No,” you admit quietly, “I just- I don’t know what to do anymore Dee.”

“What do you m-“ he tries, the doorbell chiming interrupting his sentence.

“That must be the contractor,” you sigh, “Wanna start the dishes while I get the door?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dieter nods, “Sure.”

He gathers the dishes, rinsing each item before putting them in the dishwasher, hearing you speak with the contractor.

“I’m so sorry ma’am,” the contractor says with a gruffness in his voice, “Would’a been here earlier but my idiot brother wrote the time down wrong.”

“No worries,” you reply in a cheery tone, “You deserve the extra sleep, you work so hard.”

Dieter hears a deep chuckle from the man and a thank you, you’re too kind darlin’. It makes his stomach twist, he knows who this is. Joel fucking Miller. Can he not escape this guy?

Dieter slams the dishwasher closed, pacing throughout the kitchen. In his present time, the man is there. Now in his supposed past the man shows up too?! He wishes he could call Willow but a quick google search shows that Vixen’s doesn’t exist just yet, groaning as he tosses his phone onto the counter. What is he supposed to do?

He sees through the doorway how you look at Joel, the sparkle in your eyes, the way you seem almost bashful as Joel continues to talk about the most mundane things. Dieter can’t help the idea that’s popped into his head as he makes his way to the couch, sitting with your shared daughter as she watches cartoons.

It wouldn’t be the craziest thing he suggested, he’s Dieter Bravo. He’s definitely said worse things in interviews. He continues watching the two of you, the slight smirk on Joel’s face, the shy smile gracing your own.

Maybe if you fucked Joel you’d get it out of your system.

Dieter sees the attraction to Joel, of course he does. He’s rough, burly, and has that southern charm about him. The way his shirt hugs his biceps, his jeans clinging to his thighs. Joel clears his throat and Dieter snaps his head up, finding Joel staring directly at him, having been caught ogling he can feel his face turning a shade darker. You smile at Dieter, covering your mouth while a giggle escapes your lips.

“I’m gonna get started on the bathroom,” Joel says, eyeing Dieter on the couch, “Don’t let me interrupt your morning, Hollywood,” he adds with a wink.

You make your way to the couch, curling into Dieter’s side.

“So,” you giggle, with that sparkle still in your eyes, “Joel, huh?”

“Joel,” Dieter smirks, wrapping his arm around you, nodding his head. He brings you closer to his side, kissing your temple, before he scoops Lexi into his other side, keeping both his girls close to him.

- - -

“Dieter,” Mark says, giving Dieter’s shoulder a shove, “Need to wake up, you’re home.”

“Home?” Dieter grumbles, scrubbing his hands down his face, he feels metal on one of his fingers. Eyes popping open, he spots a band on his left hand. Married. He’s married?

“Yeah, home,” Mark chuckles, “And don’t worry. I took care of everything so the three of you could spend some time together for the next couple days.”

Dieter grins, saying your name out loud quizzically, he needs to make sure it worked this time. Mark nods, he gets to spend time with his girls. His girls. Dieter hops out of the car, grabbing the duffle bag from the backseat.

“Thanks for the ride Mark,” he hollers as he makes his way to his front door, shaking with nerves as he stands there. Taking a deep breath he opens the door to find the house covered in darkness, flipping on the light he takes in the room before him. Toys, books, and small shoes scattered around. His smile grows wider as he hears a noise from upstairs.

You must be upstairs waiting for him. Dieter sets his duffle bag down next to the door before flinging his crocs off on his way up the stairs. The door of the master bedroom is opened by a jar and he can hear grunts coming from within.

Fuck, Dieter thinks, manly grunts can only mean one thing.

He tiptoes to the door opening it more, seeing you naked on your knees before Joel. His thick cock in your mouth as you bob your head faster along his length.

“S’it baby,” Joel groans, throwing his head back as you take more of him down your throat, “So fucking good at that.”

You’re moaning as he grips your head, holding you on his cock.

“Fuck,” Dieter whispers, feeling his dick twitch with interest, watching you gag on Joel’s length. Joel’s head snaps towards the doorway.

“Ya just gonna stand there Hollywood or ya gon’ join?” Joel smirks, eyeing Dieter up and down, “We’ve missed you.”

You moan, pulling off Joel's cock with a soft pop, twisting your body to see Dieter.

“Hi baby,” you purr at him, “Glad that you’re home.”

Dieter stands there frozen, watching you stroke Joel’s shaft with a sly grin.

This present time is nice, Dieter thinks with a smirk on his face, I can live with this.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo smut #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #dieter bravo fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #roll a trope challenge

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nerdieforpedro · 9 months ago

Text

A Poor Plan to Confess

Dieter Bravo x plus size female reader (Moon Pie)

This is fic is for readers 18+ MDNI

Word Count: about 2.1k

Warnings: Dieter being a bit rude, porn use, mention of masturbation, teasing, improper toy use?, very bad communication, some mentions of sexual activities and acts, Nerdie is unsure of what she wrote

Summary: Dieter is doing his best to stay sober. You have a large part in his plans. They aren’t well thought out.

Notes: Written for the Dieter Bravo Brain Rot Server Challenge. @wannab-urs brought me back to Dieter, originally I didn’t have any ideas for this and then boom! 🤯 I had a few. Thanks to @missladym1981 for beta reading for me. 😘

Main Masterlist / Dieter Bravo Masterlist

A joke between old friends. Dieter was doing well. Three years sober, well from the harder drugs. He still had the occasional joint and alcohol. You weren’t really into the weed, thought it stunk to high heaven. Dieter always managed to find some really fragrant strains though, smelled like incense. Type you would burn laying on a chase couch in a fancy silk robe. Maybe smoke one of those long cigarettes except it had bubbles coming out of it. Dieter bought you one and told you to make bubbles come out of it over FaceTime.

The two of you have many silly jokes over the years. Some about video games, some about animals, some about his job and yours. He never wanted to hear about relationships and didn’t mention any of his to you. You asked why one day because friends normally at least mention if they’re dating someone or not and Dieter flat out told you, “I don’t need to have the image of you fucking somebody in my head.” Had you not been as secure as you were, you’d take offense, but you left it alone, keeping it in the back of your mind.

One thing Bravo hadn’t joked about thankfully was his sobriety, finally taking it seriously. He told you that if he ever called you mentioning coke or pills to lock him up and prevent him from calling anyone for the drugs. This was another joke. He even bought you handcuffs, zip ties and some bondage tape. His assistant dropped it off with a quizzical look on their face. You smiled and put them in your office. You knew why they had that look, you two as just friends and Dieter’s never given you anything like that before. Like an idiot, you googled how to use the zip ties and tape, ending up on Pornhub and unaware that someone was banging on your door.

When the next pop-up blocked your screen again, that was when you heard, “Hey! You alive in there?! Open the hell up! What kind of friend are you?” Running downstairs, you open up the door recognizing the voice, Dieter’s at your door. It’s 11:30 at night. He stares at you and you wonder why. Ah…I’m in my nightgown. My pink satin one to match the handcuff fuzz. I don’t think I washed my hands, and they smell like…fuck.

You now know why.

“Moon Pie, you got someone up in here? Didn’t know you had someone. I need your help your help though, just a room.” He pleads at your doorstep, before you can answer, whatever ad has finished and there’s loud moaning from the video you had been watching. His eyes cut upward to where the noise is coming from. “Or maybe not. I didn’t think you watched porn.”

Putting your hands on your hips, “Anyone can watch porn Dieter. Am I not allowed according to some weird ass rule you have? I have sex sometimes too!” His eyes went wide as you stepped aside letting him in and he raised his hands to signal defeat, though he did laugh when you said the word sex.

“You can’t even say fuck Moon Pie. Listen, let’s not talk about that. I need you to keep me here. I’m feeling like I may need to make a bad call. I did give my assistant my phone, but I don’t want to chance it. You still got that box?” He pays your shoulder, plopping down on the couch.

“Go find your silly box yourself Dieter. I’m going back upstairs.” Waving your hands, you start upstairs, making it up three stairs before some slaps are heard from your laptop in your room. You really need to turn that off.

“To finish your porn instead of helping your friend?” He popped up met you at the bottom of the stairs, “Come on! You still have the tools, right?” His hands ran up your arms. This man. Despite showing up unannounced, late, interrupting some ‘me time’ and requesting he use tools you don’t know how to use save for the handcuffs, you’d still help him out. Even if he could be troublesome and rude at times, he always supported you in work endeavors and listened to you talk way too much about Final Fantasy games. He blames you for knowing about crystals and different jobs like paladin and black mage.

You didn’t answer him and walked upstairs to your room, to turn the porn off but the screen was frozen, playing the same moan ever and over. The image had a man zip tied to a pole while standing as a woman sucked him off. They both were letting out a combined moan. Swallowing hard, Dieter watched you switch your weight between your large hips, he removed his robe and brown t-shirt leaving himself in his brown pajama pants and removing his gray socks. “Moon Pie. Have you ever done that sort of thing? I doubt it.” His voice snapped you after your haze, turning to look at him, confusion dots your face.

“Why did you remove your shirt? I just need to tie you up and prevent you from leaving right? Put your shirt back on Dee.” His chest only has a small splattering of dark hair on his golden skin. He lays across your bed grinning. “Wait how long am I supposed to keep you here? You’re not getting me arrested.”

“I was hot and until I don’t feel like using. Where’s the box?”

“Stay there, it’s in my office.” You’re back momentarily with the fabled box and open it, taking out the handcuffs, zip ties and tape. “Here which do you want me to use? I’m tired.” Dropping the box on the bed, he frowns, you’re not playing along, you see annoyed. Shouldn’t you be happy he’s across your bed? Dieter is, why aren’t you?

You are tired sure, but you’re hornier and more aware that Dieter is not going to want anything to do with relieving any frustration you have. Holding your hands palms out, “Just tell me what you want me tie you up with so I can set up the guest room.”

“Hey, why are you pissed at me? I’m not leaving until you help me, you said you would.” Dieter scoots to the edge of the bed and leans on his elbows. “Are you really that mad I stopped you from finishing your porn? You don’t need it.” He picks up the handcuffs out of the box and studies the pink fuzz. It looks about the same shade as your nightgown. Moon Pie hasn’t used these has she? No, they don’t look used. I think. These are mine, I bought them for her to use with me. She shouldn’t be watching porn. I need to be the toy.

“Damn it Dieter! I’m not just your friend, I’m a woman who has needs no matter if you wanna think about it or not! Fuck you!” Charging at him, you grab his shoulders and knock him back on the bed, pinning him to bed. He slaps the handcuffs on your wrist and his. “What the hell?! They’re only supposed to go on you not me!”

Bravo licks his lips and turns his head to the side to kiss your hand after pulling his wrist to his mouth. “Oh, I’ve always liked the idea of you in handcuffs. You should fuck me Moon Pie.” His curved nose inches closer to your hand and sniffs it. He has your scent now, sticking one of your fingers into his mouth and pulling it back out.

The sensation from his lips went straight to your cunt and you stifled a moan. He will not have his way; you can ensure even if you’re handcuffed to him. “You said you couldn’t picture me fucking Dee? Are you looking for that much of a distraction?” You moved to sit beside him on the bed, but he pulled you back on top, his free hand roaming freely over your love handles. “Dee, I’m not just going to be used for you staying sober.”

Leaning forward, his face connected with your neck, licking it, “I’ve been using you to stay sober since I finish rehab three years ago. I knew if I went back, it would disappoint the hell out of you.” His teeth bit into your neck and a whimper escaped, small but it was enough to encourage him. “I didn’t want to think of someone fucking you other than me. I’m sure you have; they’re flies drawn to honey.” His hand ran from your rolls to your ass squeezing it. “If I’m going to stay sober for you, I should have you, shouldn’t I?” Rolling his hips up into yours, he licks the bite and lets go of your ass slapping it.

Dropping your hips, you press right into his clothed bulge, feeling it throb against your bare cunt. “You’re insane Dieter, how does that make any sense….?” Unfortunately, he’s making it so much worse, your nipples are visible through your nightgown, erect as you leak onto his pants from your core. “This is only because you stopped me earlier with your stupid request.”

“Whatever you want to tell yourself Moon Pie. Only I’m going to see you like this from now on, right?” The pads of his fingers trail up your spine and pull down one of the straps of your nightgown letting a breast become fully exposed. He licks it before blowing on it, eliciting another whimper. “Tell me I’ll be the only one. I’ll take the handcuffs off and make sure you come. Don’t be difficult tonight. Not when I need you.” He doesn’t wait for your answer before taking it in his mouth, and sitting up, pulling you into his lap. Instinctively, both of your hands grab his head, pulling his one hand back. He disconnects from your nipple to yelp from his shoulder suddenly going back.

You grin and try to reach for the key that’s in the box since he’s distracted, but Dieter gets on his knees and pulls on his wrist, having your arm come back toward him and making you fall face first into the bed. “Dieter let me get the key, then I can lock you in another room. Clearly you need to be.” His fingers trace your thighs but don’t go any higher, sighing, he lays down next to you.

“You seriously don’t want to have sex with me? Even after I tell you I want you to be my only one? So cold to me.” He pouts. This man is seriously pouting after he’s teased you? He doesn’t move as you get the key and unlock yourself. You consider handcuffing both of his hands but release him as well. Moving to the edge of the bed, you stand and turn off your laptop then return to sit on the bed.

“You’ve got to do better than trying to guilt me into it. You’re horrible at this.” You laugh as does he. If it had been anyone else, you’d never speak to them again at minimum, Dieter rolls on his side and kisses your thigh.

“We’ve been friends how long? You know I’m shit at this. I feel like I should ask, you’re not going to have me arrested for this are you?” You poke the scruff on his cheek.

“No, though I should. You’re insane Dieter Bravo. We’ll sleep on it.” You lay back and scoot up to the head of the bed, closing your eyes.

“Did you want to finish your porn? Or make our own? It will be Moon Pie’s debut!”” Slinks up the bed and lays his head on your chest, kissing your collar bone.

“You’re a dumbass Dieter. I would tie you up but you’d like it too much. Go to sleep.” Placing your fingers in his hair to scratch his scalp makes him purr, wrapping a leg around one of yours.

“Keep scratching my head like that and we won’t be sleeping at all you cheeky Moon Pie. I’ll be under that gown soon.” His face found its way back to your neck, licking the teeth marks he made earlier. Letting out a soft groan, you pull on Dieter’s hair, so he pulls his head back. “Jokes on you, I enjoy my hair being pulled. Manipulate me more.” His grin is criminal, he should be arrested for that if anything.

It wasn’t even two hours before Dieter had your legs up around his waist. He’s temperamental and a horrible communicator but damn if he didn’t have you call him an Oscar winner while he rutted into you from behind giving you your third orgasm before one in the morning.

Trash Panda Pals 🦝: @katw474 @readingiskeepingmegoing @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @megamindsecretlair @pamasaur @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @sp00kymulderr @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @titlee78 @tinytinymenace @magpiepillsjunior @soft-girl-musings @morallyinept @rhoorl @wannab-urs @survivingandenduring @missladym1981 @yorksgirl @pedroshotwifey @heareball

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x plus size reader #dieter bravo x you #Nerdie fic rec #dieter bravo brainrot club

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psychedelic-ink · 2 years ago

Note

Hi, Sil! 💗Hope you are doing great! For the writing challenge /ofc if you please🙌/ Bodyguard Joel x actress reader and forbidden romance -age difference/ also she’s his boss and this old grump doesn’t wanna be unprofessional. I’d never say no to some smut😏

love love love that you requested this, thank you lovey! 💗💗💗

𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒

pairing: bodyguard!joel miller x actress!reader

genre: bodyguard and actress AU + forbidden romance & age gap

word count: 866

summary: Joel is fed up with your bratty behavior.

warnings: age gap, unprofessional situations, dirty talking, thigh fucking, intercrural sex, explicit, bj, brat taming, sub/dom dynamics

He snapped. Simple as that.

It’s been a busy day. He took you from one event to another, scanning his surrounding suspiciously every time you stopped to give someone an autograph. He was fully frustrated when you stopped for the tenth time, a fan this time wanting to take a picture. It didn’t help that you’d been teasing him all day. Purposefully leaning over to expose more of your skin, or when you were seated next to him, the way your hand lingered on his thigh. It’s been an ongoing game for months. He knew what you wanted. But he couldn’t give it to you. Not when you were much younger than he was, and especially not when you were his boss.

But, of course, you had to be a little shit about it. Knocking on his hotel door at 2AM telling him that you were going to go to a party with Dieter Bravo—no way in hell would he let you go. Not when the man mentioned was nothing but bad news.

And nothing good ever happens after 2 AM.

“Joeeel,” you whine underneath him. “Just fuck me already.”

His cock throbs at the way your voice thins. He has both your hands pinned against your back, your vare chest flushed against his bed. You whine again and push back. His length hard and heavy as it slides between your thighs. He catches the way your breath hitches. His head spinning, he thrusts forward, your folds slick with need.

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he rasps, voice shaking. “You’re such a little brat, teasin’ me all day with your nonesense. The last thing you need is a reward.”

Your cunt pulses and Joel groans at the heat. Precum dips from the head, throwing his head back, he grinds his hips. He doesn’t stop. Your moans and whines become louder, your body quaking underneath him. You look so small like this. The most famous actress in the world, at his mercy. Something hot and searing burns the inside of his stomach. With a sharp breath, he rolls his hips again, feeling the way you drip around him, your folds spread from his cock.

“Take your punishment without makin’ a fuss and maybe I’ll reconsider,” he grunts, enjoying throughly at the way you wantonly moan at his words.

Pushing back the thoughts that are screaming at him that this is a bad idea, Joel hammers into you. Your thighs are so fucking soft and wet from the way you’re soaking him. And after the day he’s had he’s more an ready to come between your legs and make even a bigger mess.

“J-Joel,” you stammer. Joel grits his teeth, anger fueling his thrusts. He hammers into you, pressure coils tight in his stomach. You let out another moan, crying out his name. “P-Please kiss me—Please—I’m…I’m about to come—”

He’s the stupidest man on earth to think he could deny you of anything.

Letting go of your wrists, Joel wraps an arm around you and pulls you up. He grips your chin and twists your neck enough so that he can reach your lips. Joel kisses you hungrily. He shoves his tongue between your lips and claims you as his own.

Joel can feel your desperation in the way he kisses you. His roughness turns into a wild hunger that takes over his body. You want to pull away, to catch your breath, but you can't. His tongue is everywhere at once, tracing every inch of your mouth.

Joel can feel your body tense, coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. He's close. And so are you. He can feel the pressure building, a knot forming in his stomach that's ready to burst. Before he does, he sucks on your bottom lip and pulls it between his teeth. You shudder against him, pretty pussy gushing and dripping down his lenght. You’re choking on his name, repeating it over and over. His head spins.

Suddenly, he pulls away from you, leaving you gasping for air. "On your knees," he commands, his voice harsh and deep. You obey without question, dropping to the floor beside the bed. His cock twitches at your obedience. He stands above you, his cock jutting out hard and thick from his body.

"Open your mouth," he growls. Words coming out of him without a second thought. You comply, taking him into your mouth. You suck him hard, deepthroating him as he grips your head tightly with btoh hands. He tenses up, his muscles clenching as he comes deep in your throat. His hot, bitter seed spills down your throat, and you swallow every drop, savoring the taste and the feeling of him pulsing against your tongue.

When the room finally stops swirling around him, he collapses down to the bed. You’re pliantly looking up at him, still between his legs, your pupils blown wide. His eyes linger at the drop of come sliding from the corner of your lip, he reaches out, catching it with his thumb, and pushes it back into your wet mouth.

“Are you goin’ to be good from now on?” he asks with not much conviction.

You don’t answer him, only smile.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #bodyguard!joel miller #bodyguard au #joel miller smut #hbo the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters

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chronically-ghosted · 1 year ago

Text

stay gold, baby boy

rating: 18+ (expliiiiicit)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: almost 6K

summary: six months into your friends-with-benefits situation, you institute a new game. A gold star on the board every time Dieter is a good boy. Today, he gets bingo . . . for wearing real pants.

warnings: friends with benefits (with more feelings), oral (m receiving), dom/sub dynamics (guess who subs today!), talks of edging, hair pulling, creampie, piv sex, praise kink, my mother raised me to have better taste in men but fuck it

a/n: remember when i posted this picture? And then this one? Remember how you could hear me yelling from space? Well, @sp00kymulderr has added fuel to the fire – Dieter and stickers. I can’t explain myself except that I was horny and I wanted to take his pants off with my teeth. So I did.

✨gif credit goes to the ever incredible, talented, and enabler of my dieter fantasies @perotovar! she saw me floundering with the header and immediately was like 'hold please i can make his baby cow eyes even better'✨

🤍Masterlist

With your foot on the low table, your ass firmly planted on the middle poofy cushion of the dumpster bin couch at the back of the trailer, thumbnail nibbled between your teeth, you have to admit it’s starting to get a little embarrassing. It’s honestly such a bad look.

Not that he would ever shame you for it. In fact, he’d probably like it.

And it’s not like you waited for him here all day. You had things to do as one of the co-screenwriters on this film. You had things to do and people to see and stuff to organize – all of which had nothing to do with Dieter fucking Bravo.

Okay, so a lot of it actually had to do with him. Lots of scene rewrites, lots of notes from the studio, lots of instances where the two of you had to put your heads together and come up with a solution that made the studio happy and didn’t make you want to claw your eyes out artistically speaking.

Which had led to this.

And the past six months of whatever this is. Working together led to seeing each other (outside of work), to eating with each other, to fucking each other – with the line firmly drawn there.

Whatever you may say about Dieter, the man could compartmentalize in a way that would make Marie Kondo weep with joy. By the way he treated you on set, no one in their right mind would ever have guessed he knew what you looked like naked. Or that he knew your left nostril twitched just before you came.

The same could be said for you too. Out of boredom one morning in the grocery store, you bought a trashy magazine with his face emblazoned across the top – Dieter Bravo and His Lonely Hearts Club. You weren’t one for the gossip rags, but flipping through it, not a single one of his “club members” mentioned his raging praise kink. You bought the damn thing on the spot, giving them all a consolation prize of some sort. Sorry, ladies, guess I win. Ha. Ha.

But, at the edge of the cushion, eyes occasionally flicking between the door and the failing darkness outside, you didn’t feel much like you’d won anything.

In fact, you’d lost. Big time. When all of this had been your stupid idea in the first place.

It had been your idea (and your initiative) to buy a packet of gold star stickers. Like the kind teachers use with their first graders. Actually, exactly like the ones teachers use for their first graders. You couldn’t form words when the woman at the education supply store ringing you up asked, “oh, what grade do you teach?”. You just tossed a twenty at her and booked it, your face painfully hot for a fairly innocuous purchase.

But all of that was his fault for dropping a praise kink and a teacher kink on you all at once the night after you jokingly spanked him with a ruler in front of the director, in-front of his co-star, because he wouldn’t agree to a line change, and he had to excuse himself from the room.

A month later and he forgoes touching himself for a gold star. He agrees to your line changes without argument for a gold star. He picks you up in the morning and drives you home at night for a gold star (you could drive yourself, but there’s always that last minute thing you need to talk to him about so you do it just because it’s easier, really).

He lets you come, over and over again, and keeps nothing for himself – all for a gold star.

Someone is bound to figure it out. They have to. Six months in and you’re getting sloppy. Obvious. What the fuck would you be doing in his trailer at seven o’clock at night after a full day of shooting unless you’re fucking him?

But you, worryingly, can’t find it in you to care.

You had lost your mind, that’s what you lost. Because tonight is the night Dieter gets his final gold star. It’s his reward but you’re about to vibrate out of your skin with want.

(It didn’t matter that you hadn’t seen each other in two weeks and by the third day, an ache had settled in behind your breastbone, one that clutched your phone in your hand, and forced your eyes to the screen every minute, checking for a new text message.

He called on day five, by the way.)

Your neck snaps up when you hear voices outside of the trailer. Laughter, his.

You suddenly feel the need to flatline against the floor in case anyone might see you.

Fuck, and how are you supposed to explain yourself if the someone he is with follows him into the trailer? Too many frightfully bad scenarios and you’re rooted to the floor, unable to make a single decision.

The metal latch clinks and his trailer door swings wide open.

“Yeah, man, I’ll catch you tomorrow.”

You can hear a deep, “see ya” from the other side (maybe Daryl from craft services?) and the scrap-metal trailer squeaks, as the lock clicks shut.

Dieter scratches his cheek, surveying the trailer as if some part of him knows something is different, but his conscious mind can’t figure it out.

Until he turns. And nearly leaps out of his skin.

“Fuckin’ – what are you doing in here? Wait – I thought you left town to scope out the new location in San Diego.”

You want to answer him. You know how – open your mouth and tell him the trip’s been delayed for a few days, nothing serious, timeline bullshit – but you can’t.

It’s officially embarrassing.

It’s embarrassing how turned on by Dieter Bravo you are.

Hair in all kinds of directions, skinny cloth bracelet loose around his wrist, he had pushed up the sleeves of his henley shirt, exposing the thickly drawn triangle over his forearm and the clear one near his wrist. His hand with the rings hangs by his side and something inside of you silently whines.

But what really sets you off, what really makes this embarrassing and terrible because there’s no bluffing here, no hiding your cards and folding – nothing you can do to keep spit from flooding your mouth the longer you look –

He’s wearing pants.

Black with loose belt loops. Zipper and all. A silver button sitting between his hips. Fuck. Just like you told him to. Fuck fuckfuck.

You’re briefly aware when he says your name and you have to make a physical effort to tear your eyes away from that glinting silver eye winking up at you.

Dieter’s frowning, knowing silence isn’t really your thing.

“Are you okay? Why are you –,”

As though it had called his name, his gaze drifts from your face to the table between you and him. Where his scorecard rests with four stars in the Good column, and shockingly, none in the Bad.

His mouth parts, eyes going dark, as the realization hits him like a mack truck.

“Delays,” you say suddenly, preemptively, knowing that normal people usually have some sort of preamble before tearing each other’s clothes off. You stand up a bit straighter, tilt your jaw away from him, gaze leveling him from the end of your nose. You have got to get this thing under control. “Frank ran into some scheduling issues with the boat for the lake scene so, until further notice, the trip to San Diego has been delayed.”

He blinks slowly as if he’d been struck over the back of the heat, mouth parted. He has such fucking gorgeous, fucking perfect lips –

“So you’re here?” he asks, his voice low, disbelieving.

You scoop up the scorecard and step over the table, your shoes long since gone. It’s like his vision narrows the closer you come; he is transfixed, gaze on you as if molded at the seams, as you step up to him. You tap him on the chest once with the corner of the scorecard, excitement and nerves and that ache making you tremble despite your confident appearance.

“So I’m here.”

“On the last day of the week.” Words thick, as if all the moisture had been sucked out of his mouth.

“On the last day of the week.”

“When I,” he swallows thickly, “when I should get my reward.”

God, this kind of power trip should not be making you this wet.

You lift your gaze from his chest, taking in his beautifully dumb-struck face.

“You will.” You nod. “And do you know why?”

His breath quickens, lip between his teeth, when you scratch off the final star from the package and stick it to the Good column.

“Because I was a good boy?”

You toss the scorecard behind you, it clatters onto the table, and you cup the back of his hot neck.

“Because you were a very good boy.”

He stumbles back, knees unsteady, when you kiss him. You see his eyes a split second before you close yours and hot electricity swoops down to the pit of your stomach. It would be mortifying if you just fucked him right here and now – he does deserve something extra special – but fuck – you want his whole hand inside of you.

His warm palm slides across your jaw, pulling you into him, and Dieter breathes, deep and long, inhaling as much as he can. You don’t think he realizes that he’s picked you up off the ground with his arm around your back until he opens his eyes, vision hazy and off-center.

“Go lock the door, baby.”

He nods and puts you back down. You slip off your jacket as he bolts the trailer door shut.

Dieter’s mouth drops open when he turns around and sees you on your knees.

Shit, you should have stolen some knee pads from the costume department.

“Really?”

You smile at him because he asks like a kid that just got offered a puppy for Christmas. You reach towards him and he takes your hand, unsteady on weak knees

“For as long and as much as you want.”

You palm him and Dieter groans, mouth-closed at the sensation, the hard ridge of the metal zipper not one he is entirely familiar with. At least, not like this. Beneath the warm press of your palm, you feel him thicken, harden, and you press more, digging your fingers into his thighs. The muscles in his legs tense, his mouth falls open, as his hips cant forward, desperate for the new weight of the zipper.

“And I won’t make you wait, Dieter,” you say, eyes tripping up from where your hand sits, up to the flash of exposed tummy where his pants have ridden down and his shirt slid up, into his almost surprised gaze. “You’ve been very good, wearing this for me, but I want you to learn why it’s important to wear pants with buttons.”

“I-I t-t-thought,” he tries, voice abruptly cutting off when you nuzzle the constrained bulge in his pants. He tries again, eyes slamming shut as if to stifle the sensation of your warm breath so near to where he needs you the most. “I thought i-it was so I d-din’t – didn’t look bad.”

Your face still pressed into his crotch, you briefly massage his calves, then the backs of his thighs. You cup the curve of his ass through the starchy back pockets, which is remarkably prominent now that he’s in something else than baggy sweatpants.

You shake your head, nose dragging along his hot length, against the space between his hip bone and his cock, smiling.

“Baby, you know I like how you look. I always want you to be comfortable.” You look up and meet his eyes. The remaining brown not yet wholly consumed by a blurry, heated darkness softens. Somewhere beneath the hazy, disarming feelings of lust currently filling his head like a bike tire, he’s still your Dieter. Or – well, wait – at least the Dieter you know. The Dieter you have impossibly fun times with. The Dieter who makes you laugh like no one else. The Dieter that can make you fall apart until you’re a gooey, dripping mess and he still manages to stitch you back together. The Dieter that keeps you up at night thinking he might possibly want something more. “But this is so much more fun.”

Grounding your chest against his thighs, holding yourself against him as leverage, you sink your teeth into the corner of the fabric fastening his pants together. Eyes up at him again, you tug and his cock is pushed up against your tits from the force of the pull. He rocks forward, an airy gasp escaping his mouth, and the button gives, the lip of the fabric sliding back as the silver disk slips through the hole. Now your touch is unimpeded by rough fabric when you lean forward and kiss him just below the waistband of his black boxers.

It takes you a second to realize that Dieter Bravo is wearing underwear at all and you smirk up at him.

Something about your gaze makes the tips of his ears go red, as if he had been caught being very naughty. His big hand cups from your jaw to your ear, as if trying to placate you, beg you not to be mad this close to his cock.

“You said I had to dress u-up,” he says, eyes wide and round. God, he’s trying to be so good. One week of the rating system and Dieter Bravo is a trembling mess. Despite your wildly beating heart, you smirk, your thighs shaking briefly at the sudden rush of tenderness you feel for the man in front of you. You hide your own blush by mouthing that open spot just below his tummy and above his cock, wetting the black material with your tongue. Before he can whine about it, you pull back just barely, enough to curl your fingers around both his black underwear and the pants he wore for you. Just as you begin to pull down, you nip the zipper between your teeth and slowly, slowly, rubbing your nose against him, tug the metal teeth apart. His pants open and Dieter groans loudly. He’s already so sensitive.

For a mouthy, ego-driven bastard, he really did have a magnificent cock. Flushed at the base, thickest you’d ever had inside you, and he’s leaking silvery threads from the head. The vein thickly pulsating on the side makes you wonder how he hasn’t passed out from all the blood rushing to his cock.

You lick that vein, that beating pulse, and his knees buckle. His massive hand grips your shoulder and Dieter shakes his head, his mouth wrenching open.

“Please, please — mhmm — don’t tease. I-I can’t – you haven’t – please.”

As if you would be cruel to him. You feel rather dizzy, elated on the idea that you wield this much power over him. That he trusts you with all of him. There it comes again, that arching ache in your chest.

“I’m just trying to get myself ready for you,” you confess quietly. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

Dieter swallows something large in his throat, panic receding from his eyes. His smile is small and his touch on your cheek is light.

“I know.”

And you weren’t lying. You’d never forget the sound of your jaw popping and cracking the morning after you sucked him off three times before you let him come. Dieter is shockingly big, annoyingly only when he uses it against you or makes you tell him over and over just how big he is before giving it to you. For now, you just want to remind him how very appreciative you are that he gives it to you at all.

Eyes decidedly looking away from the warmth on his face, you squeeze the backs of his thighs as you relax your jaw as much as you can. Above you hear him huff with his mouth shut as you start to take him in, your tongue wetting that soft skin on the underside of his cock. One move forward and you’ve wet him halfway, tongue massaging that vein. Another drop of your head and you’ve taken him completely.

“Fuck,” Dieter murmurs, the hand on your shoulder tightening. Your heart pounds in your chest all the harder when he takes his other hand and knots your hair with his fingers. By the twitching of his thighs beneath your palms, you know it’s taking every ounce of his restraint to not buck his hips forward. “That’s it that’s my girl you take me so fucking good you feel so fucking good.”

The thing about your mouth that is markedly different from your pussy: you can’t release your gag reflex to take more of him. But fuck, you want him to fuck the back of your throat – you just might drown before it happens.

He smells surprisingly clean as your nose inches closer and closer to his skin. With each pull, you slide your tongue down the other side, until it pokes through and licks where you haven’t reached with your mouth yet, inches from his pelvis. He shudders when you use the tip of your tongue.

“Oh my god, your mouth, baby, your mouth.” The words dribble out of his slack mouth, fingers flexing in your hair as if he can mimic pushing your head down further. You pull all the way off him, tongue catching the rim of his cock and he drops his head back against his shoulders and moans. The sound of it makes your pussy throb and you breathe out your nose to stifle your own noises. This is about him. He did good. He was a good boy the whole week.

You replace your mouth with your hand. Sufficiently wet from the way you slobbered all over his cock, you use a fist around his flushed head to smear pre-cum all the way down to the base of him. You brush his balls with your knuckles, just as you fit the tip between your lips, sucking – and Dieter bucks, hard.

“Ngh – shit! S-sorry!” His nails dig into his thighs, eyes squeezing shut as silvery threads spurt out from his cock.

Maybe you’d gone too far with the whole sticker thing and he really thought this was another test. His cheeks are burnt pink, his chest heaving and it’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen.

“Dieter,” you cry softly, gently, comfortingly. He still doesn’t open his eyes, not even when you resume stroking him. You lick the soft skin of his balls and his gasp punches the air out of his lungs, his eyes splitting open. He looks down at you, thighs trembling and you squeeze him gently. Not to edge him or punish him, but to make this last a bit longer for him. “Dieter, take your shirt off and sit down.”

He can’t move fast enough. He yanks the henley over his shoulders, the collar scraping his hair up in wild directions. He goes to sit but his thighs are shaking too much and he just sort of tumbles onto his ass. Smiling, you take your own shirt off, hoping to save this particular bra reveal for another time, but fuck, this time is as good as any. Despite his panting and squirming, his gaze rolls from your face to your tits. Emerald green with black lace, this is far too nice for a work bra and it properly communicates to him that you were going to fuck him whether or not he was going to get that final gold star. The realization is visible as it crosses his mind, bleeding hungry black in his eyes.

You take off his pants all the way, before sliding your own jeans down and to the floor. His roving gaze catches the matching panties and the noise in his throat is deep, like a smothered grunt.

“Now, I’m going to suck you off no matter what,” you say as you crawl in between his legs, before leaning back and sitting on your heels. You smooth your hands down his thighs, near his red, stark cock, but not touching. Dieter’s breathing hitches in anticipation, not sure where to put his hands or his gaze. “But I want you to answer one question for me first.”

He nods rapidly, spreading his knees further for you as if to remind you there’s other places he could be fucked.

“Why did you think I was going to punish you today?”

You’ve asked this question paraphrased a dozen times, usually when you both know the answer: he came without asking, or he came by himself, or any of the dozen reasons Dieter liked to push your buttons, only for you to break him as far as he can go. But today, there’s no sultry edge, no double meaning. Your question is sincere and it takes him a moment to understand. He swallows as his eyebrows tug down on his forehead, something vulnerable flashing in his eyes before a look of uncertainty crosses his face.

“We’ve never had sex just to have sex.” He says it like a question. He settles into the floor one hand going behind his head, the linear tattoo on his forearm dark like a third eye. “Not that I’m complaining but it’s always a competition, or because we’re bored, or you wanna work out some personal shit because of the costume department. I know this is my reward, but I figured there had to be some kinda catch to it.”

You frown deeper than him. “There’s no way we haven’t had normal sex.”

Something like a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Define normal sex.”

Now it’s your turn to go warm across the cheeks. “I mean, like . . . outside of . . . our roles. Where there aren’t roles at all. It’s just . . .”

You break off for the third time, the look in his eyes forcing you to snap your mouth shut before you say something incriminating like, just us.

Dieter shakes his head. “No, we haven’t.”

“You’re telling me in six months, that’s never happened once?” You adjust on your heels and cross your arms. “It’s not like you can remember every time we’ve had sex.”

“I do.” This, coming from him, is not a question. It’s an irrefutable statement that you don’t seem able to refute with a no you don’t. There is no room for arguing.

Driving right on through the heat of your cheeks, that ache returning, you shake your head. “Then doesn’t that get old? Having to play games every single time?”

Dieter pouts as he thinks, eyes on the roof of the trailer. “Sometimes, but I don’t mind. Not enough to want to stop fucking you.”

“So, after a week of nothing, you were totally willing to let me edge you within an inch of your life? Let me treat you badly?”

Dieter smirks and it suddenly feels like you’re the one under him. “Sure, but you like me too much to keep it going for too long. And you like watching me come.”

Your teeth grind together at this very bold accusation, your entire face blazing. Weren’t you supposed to be domming him today??

His feet slide out beside you and Dieter is the very picture of arrogance, his arm still tucked behind his head. He drums his fingers on his stomach.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he says, the smirk around his mouth soft, “I like you too.”

It doesn’t. Not really. Not when his words spear through you hot and hard, landing in your chest like a landmine. Fuck.

Fuck.

“Oh, so this is all for me, then?” You ignore the fact that you’ve slipped back into your role in active defiance of talking about this anymore, and crawl forward until your forearms frame his head. That teasing contentment fades from his face as he watches you, eyes following a line that only he can see from your nose, lips, chin, throat and tits. Your hair slips off your shoulder, darkening the light on his face when you straddle his waist. “But what about you? Don’t you want to come?”

He nods, slower than before, but only to keep from breaking eye contact with you. Light as feathers, Dieter trails his fingers up the backs of your thighs, over the curve of your ass, to settle into your hips. His mouth parts in anticipation, pink tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

“I do,” he says, rolling his neck as if he can see more of you this way. “I really fuckin’ do.”

“What a coincidence.” You shift down, dragging the wet patch on the emerald green underwear beneath your drooling cunt, shift until it slides across his half-hard cock and Dieter’s hands dig into your hips, a groan breaking off in the back of his throat. His eyes slip half-closed, a thick, smoky black enveloping that beautiful brown. “So do I.”

Grinding down over so slightly, you roll your hips once more – Dieter tenses, his hands easing to the tops of your thighs – before sitting back on his knees.

“Now relax, baby, you’ve earned it.”

You drop forward over his hips, open your mouth, and slurp him up between your lips.

The noise that comes out of his chest is broken, knocked loose, split down the middle. You take him all in one, down until your nose is tickled by his coarse hairs, and you swallow. He is immediately, instantly, rock hard and dribbling. You swallow again and his hands dive into your hair, knotting the strands around his fingers, the way a rider draws up the reins of his horse. He goads you down with just gentle pressure, needy and demanding all at once, and you take him, and you take him, and you take him until the blunt head prods the back of your throat and you gag, throat constricting, and Dieter’s eyes roll back in his head.

“Shit, that’s too fucking good.”

You breathe out your nose, pulling up just enough to keep him off your reflex, but instead you hollow out your cheeks and suck, tongue pressing up against him and around that hammering vein.

And here, here comes the sound you’ve wanted from him all night –

Dieter whines, high and keening, his neck straining, your skull pinching from where he pulls. Between your thighs, the emerald green is completely ruined, buffed out dark in the wet.

The vein throbs again and you nearly drop onto your elbows, not caring if you choke or drown or sputter, you want him in your mouth, you want that salty, gooey taste of him that you find you can’t seem to lick up enough. You want him inside you –

With a grunt that morphs into a groan as it rises up his chest, he tugs hard enough on your hair that the pain splits your mouth open, head tugged back enough that he slips out of you, a thread of pre-cum from your puffy lips to the tip of his blunt head.

You lied. This wasn’t entirely for him.

You can feel your lips twist into a snarl. “Dieter, what are you –,”

He kisses you with such a force, that noise in his chest is transferred to yours, a collision that sparks a causal nexus and his own desperation bleeds with your own. The kiss is messy, dizzying, spit and pre-cum smearing across swollen lips and wet tongues. He twists his fingers deeper into your hair, as if he can consume you through the bowl of your skull.

Your name is something that tumbles, falls, drips from him, his mouth tilted a fraction of an inch away from yours. Eyes dark, full, a beast that howls for the moon in your eyes.

He’s going to fuck your brains out on the floor of this rickety-ass trailer.

Dieter tugs you forward, drags you onto your knees over him as he settles beneath you. Your fingers knock with his in a fight to reach your panties first, to shove them down your hips and thighs, get them to the floor.

Dieter’s flushed, pupils dark, big hands grappling against the weight of you as he pulls you onto him. You are so aroused, so sunken into the smoke of lust, you go as you are moved, his cock smearing apart your wet pussy. Dieter sits up, eyes locking onto where you’ve nearly become a single creature, and then he hesitates.

Sanity seems to ring his bell, for just a moment. Without waiting, he sucks two fingers into his mouth, coating them with his spit, and you can see what he’s about to do just before he moves. You shake your head, knees aching from carrying your weight against the flat trailer floor, and sit up off him, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Don’t need it,” you mutter before licking into his mouth. He drops his head back to let you sink your tongue between his lips. Both hands wrapped around his jaw, you thumb his earring and he grunts out the side of his mouth. “I want –,”

His big hands settle and it’s like he dropped a thousand pound weight between your ribs. You drop, right onto him, his cock forcibly shoving you apart in a single thrust. Dieter barks out a moan, his hands clutching your spine, teeth going for your shoulder to muffle anything else that threatens to escape him.

You swear your nerves are on fire.

He always takes his time with you, for your benefit, and his. He can be maddening and incessant and demanding, right up until this part, the part where he could actually hurt you. Right then, he waits. Lets you come to him. Let you take as much as you want and he holds you tight.

But this, this is you taking all you want and then some.

In the split second you allow for your bodies to recognize the give and the take, the swell and the invasion, you meet his gaze.

No roles. No games. No landmines.

Exposure.

Blistering and brittle.

Safety.

You curl your toes underneath you, grip his shoulders, and slide up on an inhale. On an exhale, you thrust down and you don’t know who cries out louder.

Dieter pulls you to him, arm banded around your back, the other to balance as he leans back to meet your downward strokes with his upward thrusts. His fingers pinch the clasp of your bra and the straps slide off your shoulders, your frantic bouncing knocking those emerald cups loose.

“Oh, yeah, oh fuck yeah.” He mouths at your collarbone, tonguing the sweat that blooms across your skin. Your short huffs have your chest trembling, a shudder disrupting your breath when he uses the blunt edge of his teeth against the soft curve of your breast. His nose against your skin, he turns his head and licks your nipple into his mouth. He sucks, licks, your rapid rise and fall catching your sensitive peak against the tops and bottoms of his teeth. He uses the barest hint of pressure and your back arches. He sucks your other nipple into his mouth, repeating that same pattern with his tongue, while his fingers flick your hardened bud.

You think you’re going to melt, fracture and ooze into this hot pool of pleasure that hums between your legs.

“Fuck, Dieter,” your own voice is unrecognizable, breathy and high, cut short every time his hips meet yours in a harsh slap, “I can’t –,”

He rubs up against something truly devastating inside of you and immediately your legs give out. You topple into him, arms around his neck, nose pressed up against his jaw. You feel his overheated skin, a balm, a solidifying force, against your cheek. The whirling inferno in your head soothes. A drop of sweat from his hairline trails down by your eye and you lick it.

“Make me come, Dieter,” you whisper for him, of him, beg in a way that only he can hear. You nuzzle his earring and he keens. “Please – I need it – n-n-need you.”

Open-mouthed, breath hot, flush down to his chest, he slithers the hand against your back between your warm bodies and finds your clit. Drags his thumb across it as his hips pound up into you – you can’t hear what he says in your ear, the edge you’re dangling over loud and pulsing – and then there’s a softness against your throat.

The white spark between your thighs erupts and you come so hard you scream. A release. Controlled and contained brightness now spilling out everywhere, you can feel it as you soak his lap. It drips and winds down, and it drunkenly slides off you. Finally, you curl into him, a muddled tingle radiating out across your nerves.

You sink into your skin again and hear him, still whispering, still talking.

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you come it’s okay baby I’ve got you I’ve got you I’m here – I’m gonna – g-gonna – oh, shit,”

His hips thrust up one more time before a full body shudder yanks his words and the air right out of his mouth. You melt as his cum floods your insides, the warm pulses intoxicating in the place he so forcefully claimed for his own. His shoulders curved towards you, his hand pinches the knot of your spine as if to steady himself, palm scalding against your skin. In your exhaustion, your sweaty forehead falls against his.

He doesn’t seem to mind.

Seconds mold into minutes, minutes into maybe hours then days.

Dieter’s trembling elbow finally weakens and with his arm around your back, he tips you both backwards.

His cock rubs up inside of you in a new way and your cunt clenches involuntarily. You both groan when his cum leaks out of you, squeezed out by the contraction. You shift your hips to lay fully on him, and his cock slides out, but his arm around you remains.

It remains long after your breathing settles, long after the sweat dries and your exposed skin grows cold. The longer you lay together, the more you feel he’s going to start stroking you, touching you in a way that a fuck buddy shouldn’t. But he doesn’t. He keeps you close but doesn’t move.

The feeling, the ache in your chest. It’s soothed and hastened by the beating of his heart beneath yours, your ear lying flat against his chest. It beats so loudly for you.

For some unfathomable reason, you glance up at the window. It’s dark out, the sun set and gone. For all you know, you two might be the only two people on the entire lot.

“Dieter.” His name sticks in your mouth. “Dieter, I –,”

“Five stars?”

You blink, lifting your head for the first time in ages, sweat on his skin almost suctioning your ear to his chest. He’s grinning, curls matted and damp against his forehead.

He reaches up to the table behind him and snags that stupid bingo card, along with that packet of shiny gold star stickers.

This feeling, you can contain it.

For now.

Smirking down at him, you peel off one of the bigger stars and with your thumb, you press it into the center of his forehead.

“Five stars, Dieter. Five star dick.”

His smile widens.

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