#dieter bravo fluff

[perotovar]

this protector — oneshot

moodboard by me

pairing: dieter bravo x din djarin rating: E (18+) content: slight angst, mostly fluff and smut, weed, dry humping, heavy makeouts, unprotected p in a, anal fingering word count: 3.1k dividers: @/saradika-graphics beta: @for-a-longlongtime (ily)

a/n: written for @burntheedges 's Roll-A-Trope! i got "dieter + only one bed". apologies for this being a couple days late! 🥺

summary: dieter and his bodyguard, din, get the wrong hotel room. i wonder what happens...

masterlist | follow @oakslibrary and turn on notifs ♥

“I don’t see an issue.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to make the best of the situation!” Dieter exclaimed, planting himself on the lone bed in the hotel room then flopping onto his back.

Dieter’s bodyguard, Din, felt like he’d aged ten years in the last five minutes. He exhaled a heavy breath and watched the actor’s form carefully.

“Besides, it’s not like I’m taking this threat seriously. I get death threats on social media all the time,” Dieter scoffed, sitting up to cross his legs on the mattress. 

Din blinked, looked toward the ceiling, and rolled his eyes. “I wish you’d take this one a little more seriously. They had addresses.” Din made his way to the table in the corner of the room and removed his backpack, taking out his supplies for the evening. His hands brushed over the cool metal of his sidearm at the bottom of the pack. Hopefully he won't need it this evening.

“We’ll be fine,” Dieter groaned, rolling across the bed to ungracefully get back onto his feet. “I’m gonna take a bath, go ahead and do whatever it is you do!” The hotel bathroom door slammed shut shortly after, leaving Din in the room alone. 

“I’ll be calling the hotel staff because they didn’t give us the right room,” Din grumbled, punching the numbers on the room’s phone.

Dieter was more worried than he let on, but he knew he’d be okay. Din was his personal bodyguard and had been longer than anyone else. Dieter knew he could be a lot for some people, but he was glad to see Din’s professional stoicism outlasted any personal issues he may have had.

Resting in the hotel bathtub with some 90s R&B playing quietly from his phone, Dieter exhaled a heavy breath and shut his eyes. 

The threat came from an account that had his own face as their profile picture. He knew his fandom was just as weird as he was, but he didn’t think they’d threaten his life or his career like that. Unless the person was pretending to be a fan of his. Somehow, they knew which hotel he’d be staying in and where the film would be shooting, so he had to have Din attached at his hip at all times. Not that he was complaining, Din was hot as fuck. 

Who was he kidding, Din had never given Dieter the indication that he ever wanted to sleep with him. Did that hurt Dieter’s feelings a little? Obviously, but he wasn’t going to let anyone know that.

After spending long enough to prune up in the tub, Dieter got out, wrapping a towel around his waist. 

When Dieter came back into the hotel room, Din was focused on his phone, typing away. 

Sometimes, when whatever upper he’d taken earlier in the day had worn off, Dieter would come back down to his normally introverted self. He quietly made his way to his bag and put on some pajama pants and comfy socks. He decided against wearing a shirt tonight.

“Hotel won’t give us a room with another bed,” Din sighed, looking away from his phone and setting it down on the table next to him. “They say all the rooms are booked for the next couple of weeks.”

“Oh,” Dieter hummed quietly, pulling out a baggy of weed and his favorite pipe. 

“I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

Dieter frowned as he cracked open the hotel window. Crawling onto the bed, he got all the pieces necessary laid out in front of him. “You don’t have to do that,” he said softly.

Din’s face was always hard to read, but it was especially so now. “Are you suggesting we both sleep in the bed… together?”

Dieter took a hit, held it for a moment, then exhaled. The smoke hovered around him as he shrugged noncommittally. “Why not? I’m not going to… do anything to you so,” he coughed.

Din blinked, his eyes softening slightly. “I didn’t think you would, I just… I figured it would be unprofessional.”

Dieter’s head started to feel a little lighter, fuzzier, and that made him chuckle. “Yeah, because that’s so easy with me,” he rolled his eyes, taking another hit. 

“True,” Din huffed and stood to take out his own pajamas from his pack. “I’m going to change in the bathroom.”

The bathroom door was shut before Dieter could protest.

Everything Din did was efficient. His nightly routine took exactly twelve minutes, but this time he stayed in the bathroom for three minutes more.

Sleeping in the same bed with Dieter, technically his boss, wasn’t how he was planning to finish his evening. He knew Dieter, probably better than most people, so he knew the actor was harmless.

But Dieter had this boyish charm to him that Din couldn’t fucking resist. He couldn’t believe he voiced that he was worried about things being unprofessional. He wasn’t worried about Dieter breaking any unspoken rules, but himself. 

Din always kept a respectful, professional distance between him and the Oscar-winner and it worked for him. He hated that he fell for Dieter’s charms like so many others. The only difference was that they all had just an idea of who Dieter was, whereas Din knew his true self.

Dieter’s true self was sweet, shy. Definitely eccentric and weird, but he had an incredible sense of humor and great taste in music. Din wasn’t very good at… people, or talking, so he never really engaged in Dieter’s excited rants about things, but he always appreciated them from the sidelines.

A knock on the bathroom door startled Din out of his thoughts.

“Hey, are you done in there? I gotta pee so bad!”

Din couldn’t stop the smirk from growing on his face.

An hour later, Din was laying on the bed close to the edge with the hotel blankets covering him from the waist down. He was checking in with Dieter’s manager and signing off for the evening. Dieter was curled up next to him a respectful distance away.

“Hey, Din?”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry,” Dieter mumbled.

Din plugged his phone in and set it down, looking back at the actor with a frown. “What for?”

Dieter sighed. “Making you share a bed with me, I know it’s not… I know you probably don’t want to.”

“You didn’t make me do anything, Dieter,” Din said softly. “Besides, this is my job. If anything, I can guard you easier from here.”

A flicker of sadness crossed Dieter’s features before he chuckled humorlessly. “True. G’night, Din,” he mumbled, turning onto his side away from Din and turning the lamp off.

Din bit his lip in thought, but ultimately didn’t push anything. “Goodnight, Dieter.”

3:37 AM

Din has always been a light sleeper, but especially so when on the job. So, when he hears Dieter moaning and groaning in his sleep, it doesn’t take much for Din’s eyes to open.

Dieter was often very cuddly, but he always kept a respectful distance from Din. Din supposed that changed once he was asleep, because it wasn’t long before Dieter was curling his arms and legs around the guard’s entire body and squeezing tightly.

Dieter made a satisfied hum in his sleep and cuddled closer, resting his head on Din’s broad chest.

Din froze, then subtly moved his arms so it was more comfortable. The actor made a quiet noise in his sleep, making Din watch him carefully. Dieter’s hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions. Din thought it was adorable, and before he could stop himself, tangled his fingers into the thick curls. 

“Mm, keep doing that,” grumbled Dieter, voice thick with sleep.

Din froze, tugging on Dieter’s curls in the process. A quiet gasp left Dieter’s lips, making the actor lift his head to blearily look at his bodyguard. 

“Wha’ y’ doin’?” Dieter slurred, rubbing a big hand over his face.

Din’s face was like stone, but he blinked rapidly as his cheeks warmed. “Um. Y-you were cuddled close and it woke me up,” he whispered.

“Ohh, sorry. I can move–”

“No, it’s okay. Just– Just go back to sleep, Dieter.”

Dieter furrowed his brows, assessing Din’s motives before a smirk grew on his face like he’d just clocked Din from across the room. He saluted Din sleepily and giggled. “Sir, yes sir!”

Din rolled his eyes, but smiled to himself when Dieter rested his head on his chest again.

“You’re warm,” Dieter hummed. It wasn’t long before he was snoring again.

Din snorted and shut his eyes. “Thank you.”

Din woke up at 6:30 every morning. It would be a miracle if Dieter got out of bed before 10am. Thankfully it was a day off, so Dieter didn’t have anywhere important to be for once. 

Even though Din’s eyes were open and he was awake, he didn’t move. Couldn’t move, actually.

Dieter was clinging to him and subtly, well, humping Din’s thigh. There was no way Dieter was fully conscious. 

Din took a deep breath and steeled himself. He looked down and the sight before him was probably one of the most erotic things he’d seen in a while.

All in Dieter’s sleep, the actor was rolling his hips against Din’s muscular thigh and burying his face into the bodyguard’s torso, mouthing at the thin material of the shirt. Din was sure if he weren’t wearing anything, there’d be a hickey on his chest.

“Mm,” Dieter moaned quietly.

Din blinked, then looked towards the growing bulge in his own pajama pants. 

“Dieter,” Din whispered. When the actor didn’t respond, Din tried again, voice sharper.

”Huh? What, what happened?” Dieter stirred awake, eyes still mostly closed.

”Um, y-you…” Din gulped, unsure how to say anything. This was probably the least composed he’d ever been on a job.

Dieter squinted at him, trying to figure out what was wrong. When he felt something twitch against his leg, he looked down, then froze. Dieter slowly looked back up, but never removed himself, his leg still curled around Din’s waist. 

“You, uh…” Dieter cleared his throat, a shy smile gracing his features. “You want some help with that?”

Din’s eyes widened as his mouth opened and closed like a fish.

Dieter giggled, leaned over, and kissed the bodyguard languidly. Din made a noise in the back of his throat, but slowly melted into it, kissing the actor back. Dieter hummed happily, crawling onto Din’s lap properly.

”I have lube, gimme a sec,” Dieter breathed and nipped Din’s bottom lip. He quickly got up from the bed and tossed his pajama pants to the floor, leaving him stark naked in the hotel room as he dug through his bag for the lube.

”D-Dieter, wait, this isn’t—“

”Do you not want to?” Dieter asked, standing over his bag, hard cock protruding proudly from between his legs and lube in hand.

Din blushed. He looked away for a second and asked whatever god above that would listen to make this not weird afterwards. He exhaled a heavy breath, and turned back to the actor.

”I do.”

Dieter felt like his face would split in two from smiling so hard.

They’d been making out for what felt like hours. Din’s cock was starting to throb between them. Dieter had removed Din’s pajamas like he was a piece of precious art and Din wasn’t sure how to react to that.

”Din, please, I’m ready,” Dieter pouted, humping Din’s thigh impatiently.

Din chuckled and nodded. “Alright,” he paused, holding Dieter’s pudgy hips. “Hand me the lube, please.”

Dieter grinned and leaned over, passing the bottle to Din’s strong hands. Din drizzled a generous amount onto his two middle fingers before pulling the actor closer to him. The sensitive heads of their cocks brushed against each other, making Dieter gasp weakly, and Din hiss in pleasure.

”C’mere,” Din grunted, pressing Dieter’s chest against his own so the actor’s ass was poking out and slightly spread from how he was sitting. “Relax for me,” he whispered.

The first press of Din’s middle finger against Dieter’s rim had the actor’s eyes rolling into the back of his head. The temperature difference between the lube and Din’s warm body had him shuddering hard. 

“That’s it,” Din hummed, pressing his middle finger inside to the second knuckle.

”F-fuck—!” Dieter gasped, his face buried in Din’s neck.

”Mhm,” the bodyguard grinned, slowly working Dieter up to a second finger. It wasn’t long before Din was pumping his two middle fingers inside Dieter’s tight hole, the lewd squelch from the lube nearly echoing off the hotel walls.

Dieter moaned, rolling his hips back against Din’s fingers as he tried to fuck himself on the thick digits. His eyes were half-lidded and his cheeks were flushed, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the handsome, competent bodyguard underneath him.

His cock oozed pre-cum onto Din’s belly, the head flushed a deep red color. “Want you… inside me,” Dieter panted, biting his lip to keep from moaning too loudly.

Din watched Dieter closely, fucking his fingers at a steady pace. “That what you want?” He asked, his heart pounding in his chest. He tried his best to keep a cool head, but Dieter could tell from the sweating beeding at his temples that he was holding back a lot. The actor wanted to see him let go for once.

”Y-yes. Please, Din,” Dieter pleaded, leaning over to kiss the guard’s neck tenderly.

”Alright,” Din groaned, slapping one of Dieter’s cheeks, but not enough to leave a mark. Maybe next time, Dieter thought. “Get up. You wanna ride me?”

Dieter’s cock twitched hard between them. “God, yes, more than anything,” he groaned.

Din got comfy against the pillows and squeezed Dieter’s thighs. “Go slow, okay? I don’t…” He bit his lip in thought. “Don’t want you to get hurt, okay?”

A crooked smile grew on Dieter’s face. “This ain’t my first rodeo, cowboy,” he winked. Dieter knee-walked until Din’s shaft was nestled between his ass. He hummed at the feeling and relished in Din’s big hands on his hips and thighs, but he could tell Din was a little nervous.

Dieter cupped Din’s face and kissed him properly, easing Din down from whatever ledge he’d led himself to. “I’ll be okay,” he whispered, lifting his hips. He reached between his legs and slowly, carefully sank down onto Din’s cock.

A punched-out groan left Din’s lips at the tight heat enveloping him. He breathed hard, closing his eyes. Dieter smiled, his chest heaving as his body grew accustomed to the stretch.

”It’s… It’s been a while, gimme a sec,” Din wheezed, pressing his head into the pillows underneath him. 

Dieter hummed happily and ran his hands over Din’s strong chest. He did this often enough that his body was already starting to relax. This particular stretch though, knowing it was Din’s cock inside him, had Dieter going a little lightheaded. 

Din nodded and looked up at him. “Okay,” he smiled shyly. “I’m ready.”

”Good, because I’ve been waiting for this for a long time,” Dieter smirked. He lifted his hips and slammed them back down, making himself moan out loud.

Din joined him, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration and lips parted in shock.

Before either of them knew it, Dieter was treating Din like his favorite dildo, fucking himself like his life depended on it. He rode Din’s cock lewdly, his own dick bouncing between them and covering their skin with pre-cum.

Dieter tossed his head back as Din’s cock hit his prostate. “Mm, fuck,” Dieter giggled, resting his weight onto his hands on Din’s chest. He rolled his hips, watching Din’s fucked out face closely.

”Fuck,” Din breathed. “You’re so…”

Dieter’s breath hitched a little and he smiled, wrapping his arms around Din’s neck. He kissed the bodyguard’s cheek. “So what, huh?” He teased.

Din groaned and gripped onto Dieter’s pudgy hips tightly, digging his nails in. “C’mere,” he growled, planting his feet onto the mattress to get better leverage. He lifted Dieter’s body enough so he could fuck up into the actor’s body.

Dieter moaned out loud, throwing his head back. Din set a punishing pace, fucking Dieter hard. “D-Din! Fuck,” he gasped. He could feel the weight on his tummy and thighs jiggle with each of Din’s thrusts and it made him blush all the way down to his chest.

A loud smack broke through the heavy, sweaty air as Din lost himself in the pleasure. Dieter felt a sting on his left ass cheek and it made him bite his lip. 

“I’m gonna c-come, Din,” Dieter whimpered, feeling his cock throbbing between their bodies. 

“Good,” Din growled again, holding Dieter’s soft body close against his hard one. “Come for me,” he panted, not letting up on the pace he had.

Dieter whimpered into Din’s neck and stilled, coming hard over Din’s chest and tummy. He moaned weakly in the aftershocks as Din followed the waves with his thrusts. 

Dieter deflated against the bodyguard’s broad chest, catching his breath. Din pet his hair, moving the sweaty curls off his forehead. “Did so good,” he hummed happily. Dieter’s eyes lit up with the praise and it made his head go a little fuzzy. 

”Now you. Wanna suck you off,” Dieter decided, voice full of determination. He was down there between Din’s legs before he could protest.

Dieter hummed appreciatively and curled his fingers around the thick shaft, lightly tapping the head against his tongue

”Jesus, Dieter,” Din groaned, hips bucking slightly. Dieter engulfed him in one fluid motion, bobbing his head in a steady rhythm. Din moaned, arching his back off the mattress. His fingers tangled through Dieter’s curls and tugged hard. Dieter whimpered, his whole body shivering in response. 

His cock twitching heavily and before he could warn Dieter, Din came hard down the actor’s throat. Dieter moaned in shock, but swallowed everything down happily. 

Dieter lifted his head off of Din’s cock with a lewd suck and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He grinned and crawled up the bed to cuddle against Din’s chest. “We’re doing that again.”

Din laughed low in his chest. “Not anytime soon, gimme a minute,” he chuckled.

Suddenly, the hotel room phone started ringing, startling them out of their afterglow. “I got it,” Dieter said, standing next to the bed and answering quietly. He hummed along in response to the hotel clerk before saying, “Oh, that won’t be necessary. Thank you.” He hung up shortly after.

”What was that?” Din asked, stretching his body like a lazy cat against the sheets.

”Oh, a room with two beds opened up,” Dieter said, jumping back onto the bed.

Din blinked, his brain slowly catching up with itself. A smile slowly grew on his face when he realized Dieter turned it down. 

“C’mere, you.”

Dieter giggled as Din pulled him close.

[alwaysmicado]

Hi Love!!, love your works! Do you have your request open? Or if you just open to my insecurity talk🫣😅, well i’m curious about your take on reader’s insecurity on their boobs *shocking* by their real life’s average size theirs are bigger (that’s the first insecurity) and by the online’s appearance (like how social media and corn looked to them) theirs are just not the type that is appealing (in their opinion) well if it’s too much i’m sorry and the world is still going on and the sun is still shinning if they’re just accept it is what it is. I love your works, have i said that? I’ll say it again, im justt ugh im loving it to the point of i need to consume it everyday, and i love you thanks for your masterpieces!!

Anon, I’m kissing your forehead and holding you close 🤍🫂 Thank you so much for your support! I’ve had my fair share of body image issues, so I get it, BUT I want you to know that you’re beautiful, your boobs are amazing just the way they are, and there’s zero reason to feel insecure.

Your body is part of what makes you, you—and that is wonderful.

In His Eyes

1.8k | Dieter Bravo x f!reader | 18+

Warnings: insecure!reader, fluff, sweet!Dieter, sex talk A/N: My mind went straight to Dieter somehow...he just strikes me as a tits guy. Happy reading! 🤍

The glitzy world of Hollywood feels like another universe, a place where everyone is unnaturally beautiful, perfectly polished, and always on display.

Ever since you started dating Dieter, that world has been closer than you ever expected it to be. It’s like being constantly thrown into the deep end of a pool you didn’t even want to swim in, surrounded by model-like women who make you feel smaller by comparison.

It’s not that Dieter makes you feel this way—he’s actually a lot more down-to-earth than you’d expected for someone who is, well, Dieter Bravo. But the groupies, the social media influencers, the actresses at those Hollywood parties—they make you feel it.

Like no matter how much Dieter is into you, there’s always going to be someone thinner, prettier, younger, with smoother skin and...nicer tits.

You’ve always hated yours.

They’re big, heavy, not the gravity-defying, perky kind you see on social media or in porn. There’s some sag, stretch marks that remind you they’re real, but not what’s considered “ideal.” Dieter’s never said anything about it, but lately, it’s all you can think about. Every time you see him surrounded by those women, it gnaws at you, leaving a pit of insecurity in your stomach.

You’re sitting on the couch in his apartment, your phone clutched in your hand as you scroll through Instagram, heart sinking with every photo you see. Dieter’s out at some event—another movie premiere, another round of beautiful people all posing for the camera. You hadn’t felt like going tonight, too overwhelmed by your own self-doubt to put on a dress and act like you belonged in that world.

You try to shake the feeling off, but it lingers, wrapping around you like a heavy blanket. Why does he even like me? you wonder, staring at a picture of some model with a perfect hourglass figure. What’s stopping him from being with someone like her?

The door opens, and Dieter steps in, still looking devastatingly handsome in his suit, his tie slightly loosened, a lazy smile on his face.

“Hey, babe,” he calls out, kicking off his shoes as he makes his way over to you. “You should’ve come. It was a circus, but the drinks were free, so...you know, could’ve been worse.”

You force a smile, closing out of Instagram and setting your phone down. “Yeah, I just wasn’t feeling it tonight. I’m glad you had a good time, though.”

Dieter pauses, eyeing you for a moment before plopping down on the couch beside you. “You’ve been ‘not feeling it’ a lot lately. Something wrong?”

You shrug, trying to play it off. “Just...stuff. It’s nothing.”

“Come on, don’t give me that,” he says, nudging you with his elbow, that familiar grin on his face. “You think I don’t notice when something’s up? You’ve been avoiding these events like the plague, and now you’re sitting here in the dark. That’s not you.”

You bite your lip, debating whether to brush it off or tell him the truth. Dieter’s easygoing, playful, not the kind of guy who dives into serious conversations. But he’s also observant, and you know he won’t let it go.

“I just...” you begin, taking a deep breath. “I’ve been feeling a little insecure lately.”

Dieter’s grin falters, his brow furrowing slightly. “Insecure about what?”

You hesitate, your heart pounding. “About...me. My body. My boobs.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you feel the words hanging heavily in the air. You brace yourself for whatever reaction might come, but Dieter just blinks at you, as if waiting for you to elaborate.

“You’re constantly around these beautiful women,” you explain, your voice quieter now. “These perfect, gorgeous actresses and models and whatnot...and yeah, sometimes I feel like garbage compared to them. Especially...I mean, my tits aren’t...”

You trail off, not sure how to finish the sentence. You expect Dieter to brush it off, to laugh it away or make a joke. But instead, he shifts, turning to face you fully, his expression surprisingly serious for once.

“Wait, wait, hold on,” he says, holding up a hand. “You’re feeling insecure because of them? Because of all those...what? Barely legal models and influencers who’ve already had ten plastic surgeries by the time they turned eighteen? Babe, they’re literally paid to look like that. That’s their whole deal—selling a fantasy. It’s not real.”

You glance down, feeling the weight of your insecurities pressing down on you again. “I know, but it doesn’t make it easier when it’s all I see here. I just...I can’t stop thinking that one day you’ll realize you could be with someone like that instead of...me.”

Dieter stares at you for a second, then lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Are you kidding me?”

Your stomach twists, and you can’t help but wince. “No, I’m not kidding. This isn’t funny to me.”

“Okay, no, I’m sorry.” He reaches out, grabbing your hands, his grip warm and grounding. “I get that you’re serious. But you’ve got this all wrong.”

You frown, unsure of what he means, but Dieter leans in, his dark eyes locking onto yours, his voice lower and softer now. “You think I’m into you despite how you look? You think I’m sitting here going, ‘Well, I guess I’ll settle for her, even though there’s all these other women’? That’s not how this works, babe.”

You blink, taken aback by his sudden intensity. “Yeah, but all your exes had–”

“Let me be crystal clear,” he interrupts, squeezing your hands a little tighter. “I’m with you because I wanna be with you. And that includes your smart mouth, your amazing brain, and your beautiful body. Every part of it.”

Your cheeks heat up, but you still can’t shake the doubt. “But my boobs–”

“Are fucking perfect,” he cuts in, his eyes flicking down to your chest before meeting your gaze again. “Jesus, how many boners do you need to give me just from existing in the same vicinity as me before you start to believe it?”

You can’t help the incredulous laugh that escapes you. “You’re a dork.”

Dieter lets go of your hands and moves closer, his fingers sliding up to gently cup your face. “I may very well be, but I’m also serious. Look at me.” He waits until your eyes meet his again, his voice steady and insistent. “I’m a shallow, sex-obsessed, movie star, right? If I wasn’t into every inch of you, why the hell would I still be here?”

You crack a smile at his self-deprecation, but the weight of your insecurities still lingers. “I dunno. Maybe you love other parts of me and take the bad with the good?”

Dieter groans softly, leaning against the couch, his hands dropping to your waist. “You don’t really believe that, do you? And, okay, you want me to be brutally honest?”

You nod, unsure but curious.

He smiles, his fingers grazing your waist as he speaks. “Every time you walk into a room, the first thing I notice? Your beautiful face, your radiance, how you light up the whole damn place with your presence. It’s like you pull all the air out of the room, and suddenly, there’s just you.”

“Oh, stop it…”

“I’m serious,” he insists, his eyes locked on yours, a smirk tugging on his lips. “And then, a millisecond after that? Your tits.”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “Of course.”

“They’re amazing. Like, out-of-this-world amazing. They’re real, and soft, and they’re part of you. And trust me when I say, I’m not looking at anyone else. Not like that.”

His words are sinking in, but part of you still struggles to believe it. Unfortunately, the insecurities you’ve harbored for so long won’t just vanish with a few compliments, no matter how sweet they are.

“But I’m…never gonna look like the rest of your…friends or whatever. And it makes me feel like an outsider,” you say a little quieter now. “And I know you love me, and I know I’m too old to feel this way, I know, but I just…do.”

“Why would you want to look like them, though?” he asks, genuine confusion in his voice.

“Um, what kind of question is that?” you ask incredulously. “Because they’re beautiful and successful and–”

“Fake,” Dieter interrupts bluntly, cutting you off without hesitation. “Airbrushed, filtered, and half of them are so miserable they can’t go to sleep without a cocktail of Percocet and vodka knocking them out. Trust me, I know.” He’s serious now, the playful tone gone. “Their lives? Their bodies? None of it is real. It’s smoke and mirrors, and it’s fucked up that it’s sold as something desirable.”

You open your mouth to say something, but he doesn’t let you. His hands move up, resting just below your ribcage, his gaze unwavering as he speaks.

“You’re real, babe. That’s what I want. I’m not interested in some blow-up doll version of a person. And even if I used to be into that, or if that’s what other people want—so what?” He leans in closer, the look in his big, warm puppy eyes making your heart race, clouding your senses. “I’m with you now. Because I want you. Because you’re the one that gets me out of bed in the morning and keeps me up at night.”

“Thank you, Dee,” you whisper, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips, your heart swelling. You wrap your arms around him tightly, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. His familiar scent and warmth surround you, comforting you in ways words alone can’t. His hands find their way to your back, gently rubbing, soothing. 

For a moment, everything is quiet, just the sound of his steady breathing against your ear. At last, your mind is calm. 

“You know I’m constantly daydreaming about your tits, right?” Dieter murmurs suddenly, catching you off guard like only he can. “Playing with them for hours on end, burying my face in them, licking them, sucking on them…pressing them together and fucking them. Or just watching them bounce while you’re on top of me.” 

You laugh softly, shaking your head at how shameless he is, but your body responds to every word. “Dee…”

“It’s bad, okay? Can’t even really jerk off to porn anymore…I think you broke my brain, babe.”

You chuckle and pull back just enough to look into his eyes. “Be careful, or I might just start believing you.” 

“Yeah?” he grins, his hands never leaving your body.

“Yeah.” You bite your lip, feeling the heat rising between you. “But I think I might need a little more..convincing.”

----- Thank you for reading! 🤍 Masterlist | inbox

[tightjeansjavi]

‘Cause After Midnight…

A/N: this idea came to be randomly yesterday morning and thus the brain rot began! Idk about y’all, but I would do ANYTHING for slumber party!Dieter 🤭 big thank you to @chronically-ghosted for sharing the brain rot cell with me this week! 🫡

~word count: 8.5k~ yeaaaah idk what happened!

Summary: a slumber party with your bestie Dieter Bravo, after midnight! What could possibly happen between the two of you?

Pairing | slumber party!dieter x best friend female!reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, a little sprinkle of angst, DUBIOUS CONSENT, mentions of alcohol and ouid smoking, infidelity (not by dieter) toxic relationship (Dieter’s ex) denial of feelings, secret pining, best friends to lovers?, pussy pronouns, domestic intimacy, mutual masturbation, masturbation with a shower head (iykyk), sexual tension, language, dirty talk, unprotected piv, aftercare, reader has no physical descriptions, readers nickname is bug, +18 minors dni!

Being Dieter Bravo’s best friend since…well, forever, came with a long list of perks. Your favorite perk of all, you may ask? Getting to spend time with your best friend. Whether that was at his home, lounging side by side next to his inground pool, stumbling out of a DTLA nightclub, clammy hands entwined together as you head to the nearest street food cart ASAP (Dieter demands steak tacos when he’s wasted) or when you were his glittering gem on the red carpet, dodging the incessant questions from the red carpet wasps—I mean, interviewers asking you and Dieter if you were dating.

It was like clockwork, you and Dieter would look at one another, laugh and shake your heads in sync, “us, dating? No, you have it all wrong! We’re simply just two besties that do everything together, don’t get it twisted!” (So what if you and Dieter would sometimes get equally wasted in the club and drunkenly makeout…and sometimes, while making out, he would grope your ass beneath your dress—you were just friends! Best friends kiss like all the time…right?)

Of course, Hollywood didn’t buy it despite yours and Dieter’s repetitive denial, and the fact that Dieter was currently smitten with his girlfriend—well, ex-girlfriend now. The tabloids spewed their cheap gossip, but your friendship with Dieter never soured.

You frequently slept over on the weekends he was home. It was your shared routine from Friday-Sunday (sometimes even Mondays), you and Dieter would get higher than two kites, cross off a few movies on your watch lists, paint together, and order takeout for every meal. Truthfully, it was fucking bliss.

This weekend, in particular, Dieter decided he wanted to have a whole ass slumber party. (Not nearly as extravagant as the princess diaries slumber party, or the Barbie movie) but Dieter knew how to throw a killer intimate slumber party. He invited all of his close, niche friends including you. He already had a whole array of different foods to munch on throughout the night so that no one would go hungry.

As always, Dieter was nearly glued to your side and if it were anyone else, or any other man for that matter, you would be annoyed, but when it came to Dieter, you shared your small bubble of space happily with him.

Everything was going swimmingly, until Dieter’s ex showed up uninvited. Dieter was in the whirlpool, wearing the tiniest swim trunks known to man. He had a beer in one hand while his other arm was resting along the outside of the hot tub. He was mid conversation, laughing about something one of his friends said before his eyes met yours when you appeared from the kitchen, a nervous look plastered on your face as you approached the hot tub.

“Hey, Dee?..” you crouched down along the edge of the hot tub.

“Yeah, bug?” He took a sip of his beer, brow cocking in curiosity. “What’s up? Why do ya look so worried?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, Dee. Just uh—well, your ex just sorta showed up uninvited. She’s in the kitchen—”

“What the fuck do you mean she just sorta showed up?! What the fuck.” He groaned, dragging his wet hand across his face, squeezing his eyes shut. “I reckon she just invited herself in, too?”

Your nod confirmed his suspicions. “Unfortunately she did. I told her she wasn’t welcome, but she essentially told me to fuck off.” You stifled a laugh.

“Yeah, well, she’s never exactly been the type to respect boundaries.” He sighed and handed you his beer so that he could pull himself out of the hot tub. The swim trunks he was wearing quite literally left little to the imagination, and you swore that you caught a glimpse of his infamous package when he bent down and grabbed his towel to quickly dry off.

His hand gently brushed yours as he reached for his beer. “I’ll deal with her. Not gonna let it spoil my night.” He gruffed out and draped the towel around his shoulders. “Be back in a jiffy, bug.” He winked and headed towards the sliding doors leading to the kitchen.

When he didn’t return to the backyard in over 20 minutes, that’s when you made the executive decision to see if he was okay. When you neared the front door, you could hear the distinct tone of Dieter’s voice through the thin glass and you caught a glimpse of him throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“You can’t just fucking show up here uninvited! You’re not only trespassing, but you’re crossing a boundary! This is exactly why we broke up in the first place because you’re just so fucking clingy!” He yelled.

“Oh, I’M THE CLINGY ONE?!” She laughed, jabbing her perfectly manicured finger directly into his bare chest. “So, it has nothing to do with the fact that you spent more time with your best friend than with your girlfriend?! Don’t you think thats a bit fucking weird, Dieter?!”

“Oh, for fucks sakes! Here we go again! Don’t you dare go bring her into this when she’s done nothing wrong! So sorry that you felt like the attention I was giving you was inadequate! Guess that gave you just the right amount of ammo to cheat on me with MY fucking pilates instructor?! Dude, I can’t even look the guy in the face anymore without wanting to rip his dick off, balls and all!”

“YES, because you left me with no other choice, Dieter! He gave me more attention than you ever have!”

“Right, sure! So instead of oh—I don’t know, acting like a fucking normal person, you let your jealousy take front and center and cheat on me?! Why the fuck couldn’t you just be like hey, Dieter! I’m feeling under-appreciated in our relationship and I’d like to talk about it in a healthy, productive way because I love and respect you as a person! I would have never fucking cheated on you, don’t you get that?!”

“Okay—you’re right! I’m sorry that I wasn’t mature, and I’m sorry I cheated on you, Dieter. I’m so sorry! Can we please just—”

He laughed, throwing his head back with his hands carding through his damp curls in disbelief. “You have got to be shitting me! You just expect me to what—take you back after all of that?! Fuck you. I may be a stupid fucking actor, but I’m not that stupid. Please, can you just—leave? I don’t want to call the cops, but I will if I have to.”

“Dieter, come on! Baby, please. Let’s just talk—”

“I’m not your baby.” He muttered and turned on his heel and walked back towards the front door. He really just wanted to bury his face in his hands and scream, but he was determined to not let her ruin his night. So, when he opened the door, and found you on the other side, he let out a visible sigh of relief. “Well, that was a crapshoot. Did ya hear any of it, bug?” He closed the door softly and made sure to lock it for good measure.

“You okay, Dee? I heard the last bit of it…I’m sorry that you had to deal with that.”

“S’okay. It’s done now and I’m gonna try and not let it ruin the rest of the night. Thank you for checking in on me, bug. I appreciate it.”

“Of course, Dee. Everyone is still in the backyard. Wanna join them? Otherwise I was thinking maybe you and I can get high?”

He grinned at your suggestion, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorjamb, “say less.”

That’s how you found yourself in Dieter’s bedroom, sitting on the floor with his rolling tray in your lap while he was changing out of his too-tight swim trunks and into a pair of boxers that were…equally as tight. You loved the way that his little bit of tummy pudge hung over the side of the boxer's waistband. What you wouldn’t give to worship that tummy while he shoves his—You kept your eyes focused on plucking a few bud clusters and placing them in the grinder. His phone was charging next to yours on the nightstand. You had Spotify open on shuffle playing yours and Dieter’s favorite playlist. The song that was currently playing was After Midnight by Chappell Roan.

He plopped down beside you, gently grabbing the tray and placed it in his lap so that he could roll the actual joint. He used the front of his bed as a backrest as he opened up the grinder and carefully distributed the ground up herb into one of the papers.

“I seriously don’t know how your dick can breathe in those tight fucking shorts, Dee.” you said with a playful edge to your tone as you let your head rest in the crook of his neck. He leaned into you too, naturally.

“They are not that tight!” He scoffed and looked over at you with a playful grin on his lips. “My dick can breathe in these perfectly fine, bug.” he retorted.

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say.”

Comfortable silence washed over the two of you while he finished rolling up the joint, looking over at you expectantly as he sparked the end of it, inhaling with his cheeks slightly hollowed, “should we have a full slumber party moment and paint our nails and do each other's makeup?” He asked softly, blowing the smoke upwards towards the ceiling and held the joint out to you between his pointer and middle finger.

“Shut up. I can’t believe you just brought that up because I was thinking the same exact thing!” You looked over at him In disbelief, reaching for the joint as your fingers briefly brushed against one another during the exchange. “I must have manifested this or something because I made sure to bring my nail polish this time!”

“Just start calling me Dieter the all knowing!” He chuckled, feeling the inhaled drug slowly send him into a relaxed state. He let his head comfortably rest against the back of the bed. “and I have my makeup that we can use! Think you can show me how to perfect the winged liner look? I’m shit at doing it on myself.” He huffed.

“I am not gonna start calling you Dieter that all knowing! There’s no way in hell I’m going to grant you all that power!” You nudged his shoulder gently with your own before you took a long drag from the joint, holding the smoke in your lungs before slowly exhaling it. “Of course I can help you with your eyeliner, Dee! Only if you let me pick out your nail color this time.”

“Okay, deal!” He was quick to respond with zero hesitation in his chipper tone.

So, after you each took a few more drags from the joint and your minds began to go hazy, Dieter lazily got up and walked into the en-suite to grab his bag of makeup from the bathroom cabinet. When he returned, you had grabbed your overnight bag and already had all of your nail products laid out.

“Damn, did ya bring your entire collection from home with ya?” He teased as he plopped down next to you. His movements were uncoordinated due to the drug coursing through his veins. He nearly fell into your lap, giggling and quietly apologizing as he sat back up. This was a normal occurrence for you and Dieter. Whenever the two of you would get high together, (which was frequent), you both became naturally affectionate and extremely touchy with one another. It was second nature, and something that neither you or Dieter ever thought about as being ‘weird’ and not the norm for most platonic friendships.

“Go big or go home, right Dee?” You had already picked out a pretty sparkly blue polish for his nails and set it off to the side.

“Absolutely, bug. Hey, can you do my makeup first, please?” He had his hands clasped in his lap, nervously twiddling his thumbs as if he was a child waiting to be reprimanded by his parents.

“Of course I can.” You said softly, and grabbed the makeup bag from his lap. “Hey, are you okay?…”

He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily and shook his head. “No, not really. I’m fucking pissed off about what happened down there with my ex.”

You nodded in understanding and stood up to grab one of his many pillows so that he would have something comfortable to lay against while you would do his makeup. “I gathered that.”

“That’s because you’re always reading the room, bug.” He chuckled, grabbing the pillow from you so that he could place it under his back. Once he was situated, he patted his thighs, beckoning you to come sit in his lap. (Doesn’t everyone straddle their best friend and do their makeup?)

“Am I?” You mused and wasted no time to straddle his hips, making yourself comfortable above him. He was looking up at you with that sparkle in his irises that only appeared around you. It was as if you were the reason why the sun shined, and the stars twinkled in the sky. You were too busy going through his bag of makeup to catch the look, and when your eyes did land upon his face, he looked like he was going through constricting emotions.

“Yeah, you’re really good at doing that, y’know?” He sighed, feeling his shoulders deflate and sink against the pillow.

“Do you want to talk about what happened, Dee?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, letting his hands gently rest around your hips, thumbs stroking the sliver of skin visible under your shorts in a soothing figure eight motion. “I mean, who the fuck just shows up to someone’s slumber party uninvited?”

“Well, she’s never really respected your boundaries, has she? Remember when you forgot to leave your phone in your dressing room at the Oscars, and when you were reading out the nominees and she called you, despite knowing that you were at the Oscars?” You grabbed his little bottle of toner and a couple cotton rounds, softly telling him to close his eyes.

He closed his eyes, flinching slightly when the cool mist of the toner kissed his skin. He relaxed further into the pillows when you gently patted the toner into his skin with the cotton round. “Yeah, that was a fucking disaster! I just remember going all red in the face and fearing that my career with the rest of the Hollywood assholes was over at that point.”

“I’m pretty sure she made that move out of spite, Dee. Y’know, because you didn’t ask her to be your plus one?”

He peeked one eye open to look up at you, “that’s because you’ve attended every single red carpet event with me, bug. It’s…tradition.” (Yeah, sure it is, Dieter. Just tradition.)

“I’m not justifying her behavior by any means, but I can understand why she was upset that you invited your best friend over your girlfriend to the Oscars.” You set the bottle of toner down and grabbed his usual moisturizer and squirted a few pumps onto your fingers and rubbed it into his skin.

“Yeah, I guess when you put it that way it does sound pretty fucked up huh? But I don’t think I deserved to be cheated on.” His lips curved into a downwards pout, brows furrowed intently.

“Oh, of course not, hun. Cheating is never justifiable.” You reassured him, reaching into the makeup bag and pulled out his primer, foundation and concealer. “Do you wanna do a full look or something on the more no makeup/makeup side?”

“So then why did she try to justify her reason for cheating on me? Not only that, she tried to sweet talk her way back in towards the end of the conversation. Oh, Dieter, I’m so sorry!” He scoffed, “she even pulled the baby card on me! I know I’m not the most emotionally intelligent individual 99% of the time, and I’ve struggled my whole life taking much of anything serious, but I still have a fucking heart despite what the tabloids gossip about.” He paused mid-venting, remembering what you had asked him, “surprise me, bug.”

“She pulled the baby card on you? What a fucking cunt move, honestly.” you shook your head. “Dieter, you have one of the biggest hearts in all of Hollywood, hun. You just don’t share it with everyone and that’s okay. Those tabloids are a load of crap. I told you before that you have to stop feeding into their agenda. It’s not worth it, Dieter.”

“Exactly! It was a cunt move. And if I didn’t realize my worth sooner, I probably would have fallen right back into a relationship with her again! You know what I’m starting to believe? Maybe…I just have to accept the fact that no one is ever gonna love me.”

You let out a sigh, reaching back into the makeup bag and pulled out one of his glitter shadows to apply on his eyelids. He let out a content hum when your fingers began to gently card through his damp curls while your other fingers began to gently pat the shimmery shadow onto his closed eyelids. “Dieter, don’t you fucking start that shit and claiming that no one is ever going to love you.”

“Well, it’s true! I can’t fucking hold a healthy relationship down to save my life! I’m the laughing stock of Hollywood, days away from fucking relapsing, and no one is gonna give a shit!”

“Dude, what are you talking about?” You fought the urge to laugh, not at him, of course, but at the situation at hand. “I love you, idiot. You are not the laughing stock of Hollywood, and you will not fucking relapse under my watch, Dieter.”

“Bug, I know you love me, and I love you too! But…that’s different. What I’m talking about is real, true love—ow!” He whimpered when you had accidentally poked his eye with your nail.

You weren’t even paying attention when he started rambling about true love and that the way he loved you was completely different…it stung and sent your heart straight through a shredder, and he had no idea!

“Shit, Dee! I’m so sorry—are you okay? My finger slipped.” Your palm came to rest around his scruffy jawline, leaning in close to make sure that you hadn’t accidentally poked his eye out with your fingernail. Your warm breath gently fanned his face as he blinked a few times to surpass the dull sting he felt on his cornea.

“I’m okay, bug. But damn, girl! Are you trying to poke my eye out or something?” He joked, trying to relieve the palpable tension growing between the two of you.

You were quick to change the subject, feeling slightly embarrassed that you allowed his words to affect you that much. You reached for the joint that was resting along the rolling tray and picked it up between your two fingers along with the lighter. “I’m going to take a couple more hits…you want any?” You asked while sparking the joint up, taking a deeper inhale this time to try and soothe your already scrambled brain.

He nodded, reaching his hand up to pluck the joint from between your lips after you were finished and placed it between his own and took a similarly deep drag. He looked so fucking pretty, laying there, joint hanging low between his lips, shimmering eyeshadow making his rich brown eyes stand out even more.

“Y’know…” he started, “if ya take a picture, it’ll last longer!” He mused, taking another long drag, blowing the smoke off to the side. When you didn’t immediately laugh at his weak attempt to ease the tension further, he frowned. “Hey, you okay? You’re never this quiet, bug. Even when you’re high.”

“I’m fine, Dieter.” You sighed, and went to slide off his lap, forgetting about doing his eyeliner when his hand resting around your hip tightened and you freezed under his touch.

“Hey, please don’t lie to me. Did I say something to upset you? I’m sorry if I did.” He was always so genuine in his apologies to you. He could claim to not know how to read the room, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Dee, I’m fine.” You reassured him. “I was just having a moment.”

“Well…stop that! It’s not allowed when we’re having a sleepover.” He really just couldn’t stand to see you upset. It tore him up inside and made him feel like he was always the root cause for your mood change.

“Fuck you.” You laughed, giving his cheek a light pat while your other hand ruffled through his hair. “Do you still want me to do your eyeliner?”

“Yes please.” He grinned. “Just promise to not poke my eye out again?”

“I promise, Dee.”

While you carefully began to apply the eyeliner to his eyelids with careful precision, he continued to ramble on underneath you, careful to not move too much because he really didn’t want to accidentally get poked in the eye. Once you were finished, you expected him to immediately want to check how he looked in the mirror, but instead, he switched positions with you, straddling your hips now so that he could do your makeup.

You didn’t protest, of course. You’d take any excuse to admire his handsome features up close while he was zoned in on his work, his muse being you. Whenever he was painting, his focus was intense and it was as if he had tuned out everything else around him. He acted all the same while he was gently applying a shimmer shadow to your eyelids.

The intimacy simmering between the two of you was becoming too much for you to handle. You could feel him through his too-tight boxers, the weight of his cock pressing right against your clothed center. Despite knowing Dieter for as long as you have, you never had seen his cock, only just the outline of it. However, you heard the stories from his past partners, flings, and even some colleagues. They were all shocked to hear that you yourself had not seen Dieter Bravo’s package.

The walls in his spacious bedroom felt like they were closing in on you from how flustered you were feeling. Surely there was sweat beginning to bead and perspire along the column of your throat and behind your neck. Perhaps there was even an evident sign of your arousal between your thighs. You hoped to god that he hadn’t caught on. But when his hips shifted forward, his tongue poking out between his lips while he carefully applied a swipe of eyeliner across your right eyelid, it was too much.

“Hey—Dee? I’m not feeling too hot. Think the weed is messing with me. I—I think I’m gonna shower and go to bed.” You stuttered out, trying to focus on the words coming out of your mouth and not the images of his thick cock—

He frowned, looking deflated when you said that you wanted to go to bed. “Oh—okay, bug. I understand. Do you wanna watch a movie or something? I’ll get you some food and water, okay? Maybe you’re just having a bad trip?” He was genuinely concerned, feeling slightly nervous that his trusted dealer had laced his stash with something, but he didn’t want to go down that rabbit hole just yet.

“No—I just…I want to shower and go to bed, Dieter. I’ll be fine. It probably is just a bad trip.” You reassured him and subtly tried to create any form of distance between the two of you to relieve the tension you were feeling.

The weed is only enhancing what I’m feeling right now. If he could see the thoughts going through my head right now—

“If you are having a bad trip, then I should stay with you, bug. I don’t want anything to happen to you—”

“Dieter.” You were on the edge of snapping and saying something you would inevitably regret, “I don’t want you to stay with me, okay? I just want to fucking shower and go to bed.”

Ouch.

He visibly recoiled, feeling like you had just stabbed him right in the gut and twisted the knife for good measure. Maybe I am the clingy one…

“Okay, okay. I understand. I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want.” He wanted to snap right back at you, but he didn’t have the heart in him to do so.

“Thank you.” You breathed out, and when he didn’t immediately uncage your thighs from under his hips, you took matters into your own hands and placed your palm flat against his chest, gently pushing him off of you so you could quickly stand up.

He felt his heart twist even further when you disappeared into the en-suite, slamming the door behind you. He wasn’t sure if it was done maliciously or on accident, it still fucking hurt.

Seconds later he hears the sink turn on and the sound of water splashing against your face. It felt wrong to leave you in this state, so even after he heard the shower turn on while he was cleaning up the strewn about makeup on the floor, he sat down against the door, his back leaning against it as he waited. For what? He really didn’t know the answer to that.

You knew that Dieter was concerned about your well being, and if he could have it his own way, he would be in the bathroom with you right now, sitting with his back facing you so that you would feel comfortable to shower. You also were aware that he was sitting against the bathroom door and your heart lurched at the thought. You felt the guilt swim and swirl around you. Snapping at your best friend was not on your bingo card for the night, but maybe this was a sign that you and Dieter needed to set some serious boundaries between one another. Maybe you were beginning to realize that the two of you were…too close.

“Can you just…let me know you’re okay in there?” You heard him ask through the door as the scalding hot water streamed down over your bare body.

“Dieter, I’m fine.” Your voice was muffled under the stream.

“Yeah, sure you are, but I’d be a terrible fucking friend if I just left you to deal with this bad trip on your own, bug.”

God dammit, Dieter. Why can’t you just be an asshole like a normal person?! Is what you really wanted to say.

“Okay…” you trailed off, “I’m going to be in here for a while.”

“That’s okay. You can use up all of my hot water. I don’t care.” He reassured you.

When you didn’t immediately respond he let out a sigh, resting his head back against the door, closing his eyes. He remembered that your phone was still playing music from where it sat on his nightstand next to his own, and the familiar tune of Pink Pony Club started playing. It was yours and Dieter’s favorite song off of Chappell’s album.

“I know you wanted me to stay, but I can't ignore the crazy visions of me in LA. And I heard that there's a special place, where boys and girls can all be queens every single day.”

Dieter Bravo could not fucking sing, but everytime that he did for you, it was the most endearing gesture ever.

“You fucking asshole.” You muttered under your breath, “I'm having wicked dreams of leaving Tennessee. Oh, Santa Monica, I swear it's calling me. Won't make my mama proud, It's gonna cause a scene. She sees her baby girl, I know she's gonna scream…”

“God, what have you done! You're a pink pony girl, and you dance at the club! Oh mama, I'm just having fun! On the stage in my heels, it’s where I belong down at the Pink Pony Club!” You and Dieter sung the chorus in unison, completely out of tune, but neither of you could give a fuck about that.

You could practically picture his dopey, weed-stained grin plastered on his handsome, scruffy face behind the door when you sang the chorus together. The mental image sent your heart surging out of your chest, and your pussy pulsing in tandem.

Fuck me.

You truly had just planned to take a hot, relaxing, mind clearing shower and then go straight to bed, but you were feeling bothered by the weed, and your blatantly obvious attraction towards your best friend. Not to mention, the little rasp in Dieter’s voice was not helping you out in this predicament, either. That’s when you noticed his attached shower head and the lightbulb went off in your weed-induced brain.

You reached for the attached shower head, gently removing it from where it was mounted against the shower wall. Before turning it on, however, you quickly got familiar with the numerous spray settings and chose the medium spray before slowly dragging the shower head between your legs and—oh, fucck.

The pressure was just right and was directly spraying a stream of water onto your exposed clit. You held back a moan, bringing the back of your hand to your mouth and bit down as you slowly sank to your ass along the shower wall, your thighs spread fully, eyes rolling back into your skull from the intense feeling. That’s when a moan slipped past and Dieter initially thought he was just hearing things, but then he heard it again…and his cock twitched to life beneath the tight confinements.

“There’s no way. I’m just high as shit right now and hearing things. Yeah, that’s the logical explanation!” He muttered to himself, scrubbing one hand down his face. But then he heard you distinctively moan, and his face suddenly felt hot to the touch. He pressed his ear against the door, raising his fist and gently knocked on the wood, “you uh—you okay in there?”

You were so close to hitting that big ‘o’ that you didn’t even hear Dieter’s low rasp through the door.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” You whimpered. “So fucking close, just a little more. Just a little more. C’mon, baby.”

Now that he could hear you more clearly, he knew exactly what was producing those little desperate sounds to slip past your pretty lips: his fucking shower head.

“Excuse me?? Are you getting yourself off with MY shower head, without me in there?!” It was a thought that he had meant to keep in his head, but now that it was out there, there was truly no going back.

You froze like a deer caught in headlights, immediately dropping the shower head from your loose grasp and it clattered to the shower floor just as the bathroom door burst open.

“Dieter—WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!” You screeched, hair drenched, thighs spread and trembling.

He shut the door behind him, muttering under his breath as he approached, looking you right in the eyes, “more importantly, what are you doing?” He placed his hands on his hips. “Your little moans and whimpers made me rock fucking hard!” He gestured to the obvious tent in his boxers, his cock straining against the tight material. “Had I known it was gonna be that kind of sleepover, I would have joined you a heck of a lot sooner!”

Oh. My. God. This isn’t happening, is it?!

“Dieter, you can’t just fucking come in here when I’m masturbating! Dude—what the fuck!”

“Oh, heavens! Are we going back to the 1800’s or something? Just call it for what it is! You playing with your pussy, and using my shower head to get yourself off! By all means, please continue, but next time? I want a personal invite!”

You were appalled…and a little turned on? Okay, a lot turned on! In fact, your pussy was pulsing between your thighs, the edge of your interrupted orgasm was still simmering, waiting to fully bloom. To make matters worse, Dieter had crouched down outside of the shower, his brows furrowed when he noticed the setting you had set the shower head to. He tsked under his breath, shaking his head as he reached into the shower and picked up the shower head from where it had been dropped between your spread thighs.

“Dieter, what are you—”

“Hush and listen to the teacher, okay? For starters, you’re using it all wrong. You gotta build yourself up first, and then go full blast. Otherwise you’re just gonna overstimulate your poor little clit, and that just takes away from the experience.” He said in the most casual fashion, as if this wasn’t crossing a million different invisible boundaries all at once.

“Dieter, I don’t need your assistance on getting myself off, okay? Please just—”

“Bug, don’t make this weird, okay? We’re friends, and there’s nothing in the friends handbook that says that we can’t help one another get off! It’s totally not forbidden.” He retorted.

“I think you just made the whole friends handbook thing up. It totally doesn’t exist and we absolutely should not be doing this, Dieter! It’s wrong for a multitude of reasons!”

“The friends handbook totally exists! I’ll get you a copy, okay? I’m not going to touch you, unless you want me to. I’m just gonna use the shower head to show you the right way to get yourself off with it, and afterwards you will be thanking me!”

“I can’t believe I’m about to agree to this. I cannot fucking—”

“Best start believing it, baby! Now, spread your thighs for me a little more, okay?”

“Okay, I’m giving you my full consent, but if I start feeling weird, we’re stopping this whole thing, okay?” You looked him directly in the eyes as you spread your thighs further so he had a better view.

“Bug, if at any point you feel weird, uncomfortable, or want to stop, just tell me, okay? I’m not gonna pressure you to continue doing this if you don’t want to. I’m leaving the ball completely in your court, and my feelings won’t be hurt if you change your mind, okay? I promise.” His words were sincere, and it was hard to look away when he was staring at you with those big, brown, puppy dog eyes.

“Okay.” You nodded.

He leaned forward then, briefly getting caught under the stream when his lips brushed across your forehead, leaving you both feeling slightly stunned. He softly asked you if it was okay if he did touch you, to which you obliged, lower lip taken between your teeth when his hand that wasn’t holding the shower head slowly dipped between your thighs and his fingers spread your slick folds apart so he would have better access to your clit.

“I always knew that your pussy would be pretty, baby, but goddamn—she really is so fucking pretty.” He took a sharp inhale of breath, his cock twitching painfully in his boxers.

“Dieter Bravo, you’re going to be the death of me.” You breathed out, heat rising to your cheeks from the way he was gazing at the spot between your thighs, eyes glazed over the same way a dog looks at a delicious bone, or a plate of juicy, rare, steak.

“You’re already the death of me, bug.” He whispered, unable to help himself when his thumb gently brushed across your clit. He swallowed hard, trying to focus on the task at hand but between you prettily spread out beneath him, and the weed still flowing through his system, he was fucked.

He changed the setting on the shower head without even having to look down at it. He was too focused on your face, particularly your eyes and how you both seemed to be drinking one another in, an invisible string tied between the two of you, reeling him in closer, and closer. You observe his face, and the way his eyeliner has now started to run and bleed under his eyes and down his cheeks from the water and steam. Your pussy clenches from the sight just as his thumb lightly presses against your clit, making slow, languid, figure eight motions.

He thinks he wants to kiss you—no, scratch that. He wants to kiss you, and you can tell by the way his eyes flicker from your face and down to your lips, and then back up again.

“Dieter…” you whisper, bringing your hand up to gently cradle his face in your palm, curling your pointer finger under his chin. “Do you want to kiss me?” Your warm breath fans his face as he slowly nods.

“Yeah, I do.” He rasped, slowly leaning in.

“So kiss me, you fool.”

And so he did, but instead of hesitating, and holding back, he dove right in, noses pressing into one another as he licked greedily into your mouth, tangling his tongue with yours while his hand holding the shower head angled it right against your exposed pussy and between his fingers where he was keeping you spread open.

“Oh fuck!” You whimpered into the kiss, keeping your one hand anchored around his jaw while the other came to rest at the back of his head, your fingers tangled through his drenched locks, tugging on them gently.

“Yeah, feels good, doesn’t it, baby? Told ya so.” He snickered into your lips, kissing you deeper. “Lower water pressure builds you up slower, drawing your orgasm out to last longer, and it’ll feel 10x more intense.”

“Mhm.” You mumbled into his lips, scooting your hips closer to the stream of water, and to him.

“Greedy little pussy, huh? Can’t get enough, can ya?” He teased.

“Dieter…” you warned him, playfully biting down on his lower lip and tugging it out gently before releasing it.

“I know, I know.” He chuckled and reluctantly detached himself from the kiss, pecking your lips once before he sat back on his thighs to give himself any form of relief. “You wanna give yourself a whirl while I go take care of this er—in privacy?”

Your cheeks were puffed out, lips swollen with his kisses as you stared up at him dumbfounded. “Are you insane? Just get in here with me, Dieter. Right now.”

He blushed, turning bright red all the way to the tips of his ears. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly turning all bashful as if he wasn’t just talking about your greedy little pussy seconds ago. “Are you…sure? I really don’t mind! I can just go jerk off in my bed like a normal person—”

“Dieter.” Your tone sounded strained, “get in the fucking shower now. Take those ridiculously tight boxers off and get in here.”

Well, you certainly didn’t need to ask Dieter Bravo twice as he scrambled to peel his boxers down over his hips and thighs, tossing the damp fabric outside of the shower. His cock bobbed between his thighs, hard, heavy and the tip was swollen a painful red color. Poor guy.

He climbed over you, situating himself and his cute little tush right next to you with his shoulders gently brushing yours. He spit a glob of saliva into his palm and wrapped his fist around the veiny girth of his cock. “I’ll come fast, I promise. You won’t even have to do anything, okay? Just pretend I’m not here!” His tone was rushed as he squeezed the base of his cock, lolling his head to the side so he could look over at you. His eyeliner was completely smudged now and his lips were swollen with your kisses.

All you could do was nod dumbly, your eyes transfixed by his fist wrapped around his cock. It was as if you were seeing a unicorn for the first time! The unicorn being er—Dieter’s cock.

He looked at your face, and then down at his cock, and then back up at your face. “Hello?” He waved with his freehand, “why are you looking at my cock like that, huh? Are you the only person in the whole state of California who hasn’t seen my cock before?” He was in disbelief, his mouth falling open when he realized that you never had seen his cock.

"I totally thought you'd seen his dick. Practically everyone else has." You remember his ex cruelly teasing you about it one day.

You shook your head, eyes glazed over as you watched his fist slowly twist and pump around his length. “Nope. First time, and it’s like I’m looking at a unicorn!” You exclaimed playfully.

Dieter snorted at your enthusiasm, feeling his heart lurch from his chest, “well, it is sorta like seeing a unicorn for the first time…I suppose?” He chuckled, squeezing the base of his cock for some form of relief. He felt like now was the best time to address the obvious elephant in the room, silly Dieter. “So uh—well, this doesn’t mean anything, right? Because we’re just friends and good friends masturbate together. It's cool, this is super casual!”

Sure, bud. You keep telling yourself that.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes and clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, spreading your thighs further so you could continue your ministrations with the shower head. “Sure, Dieter. This means absolutely nothing. Just two besties jerking it off, side by side. Totally casual!”

He let out a huff as he pumped his fist faster, “Well, we wouldn’t be in this predicament if those noises you were making didn’t make my cock as hard as a slab of concrete!”

“Dieter, shut up, and get yourself off! Or so help me—”

“Yes ma'am!” He squeaked out.

In tandem you placed the shower head close to your clit once more while he fisted his cock, and when your moans started to intermingle and become one, that’s when your glazed over eyes met once more. He had his lip harshly taken between his teeth, his cock was twisting and pulsing beneath his fist. He leaned in close, lips just barely brushing your bare shoulder where he had dipped his head down to nuzzle you. His eyes flickered upwards towards your face, pupils darkening by the second, “I really want to fuck you right now, baby.” He rasped.

You met his gaze, thighs trembling and your eyes rolling slightly as your orgasm rippled through you, “yeah, you wanna fuck me, Dieter? How badly do you want to fuck me?”

“So fucking bad, baby. You’ve got no idea.” He mewled, “there’s that convenient bench right over there.” He gestured to the shower bench with a coy tilt of his chin, “you can sit right on my cock, if you’d like that…”

“Did you have that bench installed for convenience purposes or for your old man bad back?” You asked teasingly.

He narrowed his eyes at you, glaring playfully before he chuckled, “a bit of both. More-so on the convenience side of things. And, it’s newly installed so you and I would be the first to use it.” He winked coyly.

“Really? Well, your offer is most tempting, Bravo. I’d like to take you up on it and sit on your big fucking cock.”

“Now we’re talking.” He grinned, loosening his fist around his cock so he could offer you a hand and helped you up. Now you were both directly under the stream of water, hands roaming everywhere they could reach. You kissed deeply, giggling in unison when you grabbed his ass and he grabbed yours. He could happily live in this moment forever with you, even if it meant that his skin would inevitably prune and probably fall off.

You backed him up against the shower bench, climbing into his lap as he slowly lowered himself into a sitting position along the marble bench that could easily fit both of you.

You wrapped your own palm around the base of his cock for the first time as you slowly sank down around his girth till he was fully pressed inside of you, bottoming out with a low grunt against your lips. He let his arms loop firmly around your waist, pulling you in as close as he physically could so that your chests were pressed flushed together. He swore he saw heaven behind fluttered lashes when you started to slowly roll your hips into his, bouncing and grinding along his length.

If it wasn’t for his steadfast orgasm, he probably would have lasted longer before he was shooting thick ropes of his cum deep inside of you, but he was a man, after all. And while his cum leaked and dripped from your weeping little hole that was still stuffed full of his cock, he made sure that you got to come again, too. He pistoned his hips upwards at an unruly pace, loving the way that your nails clawed at his back and shoulders, leaving little red crescents in their wake. Maybe I’ll get those tattooed on me later. He briefly thought as you came undone around him, crying out his name.

You stayed seated on his cock for what felt like hours before he gently eased you off him, his cock now soft between his thighs and glistening in a thick, pearlescent ring of your combined releases.

You washed one another’s bodies under the lukewarm stream and he was the first to step out of the shower, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist and when you emerged, he had a towel waiting for you. You kissed a few more times, gentle pecks of intimacy as you stood side by side in front of the mirror, brushing your teeth and doing your skincare.

“Soo, where are you sleeping tonight?” He suddenly asked with a mouthful of toothpaste. His deep pools of brown boring into yours.

You hadn’t really thought that far if you were being honest…and now with that fresh ‘I just got fucked good’ glow illuminating your features, and the remainder of your high still sizzling, you suddenly feeling nervous all over again.

“Um, well, where do you want me to sleep?”

“I asked you first.” He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for your response.

“Okay, fair, how about on the count of three we say it together?”

“Deal.” He nods.

“Okay—one, two, three—” you counted off in unison.

“Your bed—my bed.”

You both looked relieved at your answers, letting out breaths you didn’t realize you were holding. “Thank fucking god.” You both laughed.

He kissed you then, mouthful of toothpaste and all. You made a funny squeaking sound when he had unexpectedly kissed you, and the corners of his mouth curved up into a knowing grin. “I’ll get you one of my shirts to wear.” He mumbled into the kiss, pulling back slowly.

When you left the en-suite, you found Dieter already in bed, sitting up with the rolling tray resting in his lap. He had a fresh pair of boxers on, this pair was made of cotton and was far less constricting. He was rolling another joint to smoke before bed when he looked up, smiling softly at your lingering presence in the doorway, wearing nothing but his shirt.

“Well, don’t be shy, bug. Ain’t the first time you’ve slept in my bed.” He winked, patting the empty spot beside him on his massive king sized bed.

You took a deep breath, remembering that this was Dieter Bravo, your best friend and partner in crime. He would always be your best friend.

You made your way over to the empty side of the bed and pulled the covers back so you could climb underneath them.

He finished rolling the joint, grabbing his lighter from the nightstand to spark it up before he paused, looking over his shoulder at you. “Hey, we don’t have to like—do anything, okay?” He reassured you.

“But Dieter, I wanna do stuff with you. It’s just—in your bed it feels…” you trailed off, scratching at the outside of your arm absentmindedly.

He tucked the joint behind his ear and rolled over into his side so he was facing you, using his elbow to prop himself up, “I understand, baby. This is…new for me as well. We can smoke this joint and then make out a little? See where it goes?…”

You nodded, lips curving up into a soft smile that sent his heartbeat racing, “yeah, I’d like that.”

“Me too.” He grinned.

He sparked the joint up between you, taking a few hits before he passed it off to you. This went on a few more times before your bodies just naturally gravitated towards one another, and when the joint died out, he set it down on the tray on his nightstand before his lips found yours.

You kissed like this for hours, simply just enjoying one another’s company and soft touch when the sun began to rise over the Los Angeles landscape. Dieter was uncharacteristically quiet, even for being stoned.

Your fingers were gently dragging through the patches in his beard, playing with his scruff in between kisses. “I can hear you overthinking, Dee.”

“Are you a wizard?” He chuckled, “you can hear my thoughts? That’s crazy!”

“Shh.” You giggled. “I’m right here, baby. You don’t have to yell.”

“Sorry.” He whispered, scooting his body closer to yours. He would absolutely crawl inside of your skin and never leave, but well—-he might go to prison if he did that.

“I’m gonna say something that might sound stupid, but I gotta get it off my chest, okay?” He started, his glazed over eyes met yours as he pressed a few kisses to the underside of your fingertips.

“I’m listening.”

“Okay, so—well, this is just different for me because I don’t normally fuck my friends.”

You gave him a funny look at his admittance, unable to help yourself.

“I’m serious! I don’t fuck my friends—and well, I care about you a ton.Maybe even more than I care about myself? Anyway, I don’t want things to get weird between us tomorrow. Like if you wake up and regret everything that happened, I just want you to tell me, okay? My hopes is that maybe you felt the little spark that I did and if you did we can—”

“Dieter, I promise you I’m not going to wake up tomorrow and regret everything that happened tonight. No matter where this takes us, I’m always going to love you, and you’re always going to be my best friend.” Your words were sincere and directly from your heart and he knew you weren’t just saying shit just to say it.

“I think I just shat my heart out, that was so sweet.” He giggles, nuzzling his nose against yours. “In all seriousness, thank you. I was just afraid that this would ruin our friendship, and I would lose you forever.”

“Never, Dieter. You could never lose me.” You reassured him.

“Good, cause in the morning? I’m making waffles!”

Helen Mirren: Narrator for the Barbie Movie:

Dieter did not in fact make waffles the next morning. Instead, Dieter had his breakfast between your thighs, and then let you order whatever brunch you wanted on his black card

"You can be my sugar baby! I get to eat you out and you can order whatever you want on my card." He murmured between your thighs, mouthful of your pussy.

"That's not how that sort of thing really works, Dieter. But yeah, okay."

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[multimuseficreblogs]

❅ pedro characters a-j ↳ including pedro pascal, dave york, dieter bravo, dio morrissey, din djarin, ezra, frankie morales, jack "agent whiskey" daniels, javi gutierrez, javier pena & joel miller ❅ pedro characters k-z ↳ including pedro pascal, marcus moreno, marcus pike, maxwell lord, max phillips, pero tovar, tim rockford, zach wellison

[avastrasposts]

A Baker's Dozen - One

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stand alone short stories, all set in the same bakery.

Hello!

This is my first original fic after The Pilot and his Girl and it will be a very different read (just in case you're totally traumatised by The Pilot...😬)

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve short stories, each set in the same bakery. The plan is to post one chapter every Sunday night so hold me to that schedule when my procrastination kicks in!

Warnings won't be very serious, just lots of fluff, lots of food, some mention of drugs because you know some of these Pedro boys are just like that.

Series Master List

@harriedandharassed tagging you in this because you said you wanted to read anything new ❤❤❤

The drawback of being a baker is that your working day starts when others are still tucked in bed with hours left to sleep. Or just coming home from a party. But you don’t mind all that much, there’s a certain tranquil peace to being awake and working in the bakery while the rest of the world sleeps. 

In the warmer months you prop open the back door so that you can hear the birds starting to sing as the sky slowly grows lighter outside, today is just one of those mornings. 

The early morning radio show is on low in the background as you prepare the day. Yesterday's loaves have proofed overnight in the cold storage and are ready for the oven, the pie doughs taken out and softening while you prepare the cookie doughs. 

People don’t often knock on the bakery's back door before you open for the day, but it happens, so when you suddenly hear someone shuffle and knock, you’re not surprised. Wiping your hands on your apron you turn the corner into the small back room. A man is leaning on the door frame, but not the sexy, romance novel leaning. No, this man is leaning in a ‘lean-or-fall-over’ kinda way. His eyes are covered by large black sunglasses that he pulls down as you spot him, a tired but cheeky smirk on his face. 

“Hey, baker girl,” he grins, his voice gravelly like he’s chain smoked all night, “got any sna- oh whoops!” he giggles madly as he loses his balance and tumbles sideways, catching the other door frame before he grabs onto your arms and almost manages to stand up straight. 

“You might need coffee, not snacks,” you say, holding onto him to stop him from falling face forward into your apron.  

“I’m fine,” he grins, pushing himself upright again but still holding on to the door frame, “I just came from this party, were you there?,” he asks, giving you another over the glasses look, this time clearly checking you out as his eyes drag up and down your form, lingering on your pink crocs. 

“Actually, I would’ve remembered if you were there, love the crocs,” he chuckles. 

“What’s wrong with my crocs?” you ask, slightly offended, “They’re great for people like me, you know, people who actually work on Thursdays.” 

“No, no, I mean it, I love your crocs!” the man says, wide eyed and shoving his glasses up in his wild curls, “I have like ten crocs, one pair is pink too.” 

He furrows his eyebrows, giving you a confused look, “Wait, it’s Thursday?” 

“Yeah, five am, Thursday morning,” you say, wondering how to get rid of this disheveled man so that you can get back to the cookie dough. 

“Fuck, oh fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck….” the man groans, bending double and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, “I’m so fucked…I thought it was Wednesday.” 

He stands up again and you can’t help but feel sorry for him, he looks devastated. 

“I was meant to fly out to San Antonio yesterday and take my nice to Six Flags for her birthday, and I fucking missed it!” 

He slumps against the door frame and thumps the back of his head against it repeatedly, moaning, “I’m such a fuck up, I’m such a fuck up.” 

“Hey, take it easy, I’m sure it’ll be fine, just apologize and take her another day,” you say, putting your hand on the man’s arm to stop him from giving himself a concussion in your bakery, “I’m sure she’ll understand.” 

“You think?” he says, “I’m not the best at remembering birthdays, I may have missed a few in the past.” 

“Well, then she’ll be mad at you, but all you can do is apologize right? And try to make it up to her as best you can.” 

“Yeah…yeah…maybe you’re right, thanks baker girl.” He gives you a lopsided smile and you notice the smudges of dark eyeliner around his eyes, “How about those snacks? I’m fucking starving.” 

You can’t help but laugh, the man’s a mess but somehow adorable at the same time with his wild hair and stained t-shirt. 

“Sure, I’ll get you something, what do you like?”

“Do you have sausage rolls?” he asks, following you into the kitchen, “I fucking love sausage rolls.”

“What, like those things they made on the Great British Bake Off?” you reply, opening your walk in fridge to survey the snack options. 

“Yeah, I did this movie once, in England, and there was a bakery next to my apartment and whenever I got back from a party, early morning, I’d knock on their back door and they’d sell me these fat sausage rolls, fresh from the oven, fucking amazing.” 

“Sorry, no sausage rolls in this bakery,” you say, “but my cookies will be done soon, if you can wait.” 

You turn back to the man and realize he’s wandering around the kitchen, sticking his nose in your bowls, sniffing loudly. 

“Hey, don’t stick your finger in that,” you say, “Health and Safety are going to have my license if they catch you.”

“Sorry, I’ve just got the munchies, I’ve been high for like, two days,” he says, waving his arms around, “this place is torture for a high pers-OH! Do you know what I love?”

“No,” you sigh, exasperated, “I don’t know what you love.”  

He completely misses your tone as he spins in a circle around the kitchen and you realize that he’s wearing what looks like very expensive pajama pants and no shoes, just socks.

“I love those…what do you call them, like…millionaire’s something?” 

“Millionaire's shortbread?” you ask and he spins around to you with a big grin. 

“Yes! Those! With like the chocolate and the peanut butter and they’re like the best Reese’s ever, only even more fucking amazing. Can you make those?”  “I don’t know, maybe,” you begin and the man actually falls to his knees, shuffling over the floor to you. 

“Please, I’ll do anything, I’m dying here, beautiful baker girl, make me happy!”

“Are you asking me to bake for you or proposing?” you laugh, this man is too ridiculous as he grins up at you. 

“If you make them for me, I won’t marry you, but there are many other things I can do,” he says, pulling down his dark sunglasses from his head and winking at you from over the edge, his cheeky grin making it impossible to scowl at him. 

“Fine, I’ll make them for you, just get up from my floor, please,” you say, reaching for his hand. He takes yours with a bright smile, kissing the back of it, before he stumbles to his feet and follows you over to your big workbench.

“I’m Dieter, by the way. Can I sit here?” he asks, pointing to the stool that stands next to the bench. 

“Nice to meet you Dieter,” you say, “sure, go ahead, it’s got wheels on it though so be careful.” 

“Awesome,” Dieter says and sits down, immediately speeding across the floor with a kick of his socked feet. He stops himself from crashing into the fridge door by grabbing on to the handle before he shoots off again, rolling all the way over to the open back door. 

“Don’t fall out through the door please,” you call after him and you hear him giggle, a second later he comes spinning into the kitchen again. 

“This thing is awesome, I need to buy one for my house.” 

“Happy you’re enjoying yourself,” you laugh and walk to where yesterday’s bakes are stacked on trays. You’d made a layer of shortbread yesterday, you were planning on making lemon bars but Millionaire’s shortbread will work too. As you bring it over to your work station Dieter rolls past you and stops by the bench.  “Can I help?” he asks, looking up at you, his sunglasses back in his messy hair. He’s kinda cute when you think about it, gorgeous brown eyes, and the smile he’s giving you is open and curious with an adorable dimple. 

“Yeah, sure, you can be in charge of peanuts,” you say, walking over to the dry storage, “They need to be bashed into chunks with a rolling pin, something tells me that’s something you can probably handle.” 

“That sounds fun, please, direct me,” he says, kicking himself over to the storage cupboard on the stool. 

“Oops, sorry,” he giggles, grabbing hold of your hips to stop himself from crashing into the storage door, “I kicked too hard that time.” 

“Go easy there, Dieter,” you laugh as he untangles himself from the stool and stands up. You get on your tiptoes to grab the peanuts and suddenly realize he’s still holding on to your hips, standing close behind you. You swear you feel his nose brush the side of your head, a quick inhale from him, and then he steps back, letting go. 

“Peanuts?” he says, leaning past you and reaching up to grab the bag sitting just out of your reach. His arm brushes over yours and he’s suddenly very close again, his citrusy after shave, mingling with the heady sweet smoke of weed, fills your senses. 

“Uhh…y-yeah,” you stutter, “thanks. And the dark chocolate if you can reach it.” 

“Sure, this one?” he asks, grabbing the bag of Valrhona from the shelf. This time his chest is pressed against your back, you really should move out of his way, but he’s right behind you, almost pinning you in place, as he has to stretch to his full length to reach. And you find that you don’t mind at all, he’s warm and solid behind you, and this is more action than you’ve had in months. 

“That’s the one, thanks,” you say, trying to keep your voice neutral. 

Dieter brings it down to your level and you take it from him, expecting him to step back and give you room to go back to the work bench. But instead he stays right behind you, and this time you really do feel him bend down and brush his nose over your cheek, down to where your neck meets your shoulder. 

“You smell delicious, like a cookie,” he mumbles and your heart literally skips a beat. 

“Th-thanks,” you splutter and when Dieter steps back, letting you move, you avoid his eyes, feeling your cheeks burn. 

“S-so the…umm…rolling pin is on that shelf there,” you say, pointing down to your right, “and there’s a measuring cup too, just…umm…just get a cup of peanuts, and put them in a plastic bag and bash away. Just wash your hands first.” 

“Ok, I can do that,” he says with a grin and he walks behind you to the sink in the corner while you measure out the peanut butter into a sauce pan. 

Dieter gets to work on the peanuts with great enthusiasm until you tell him they’re broken up enough. 

“Just leave them there, you can come here and stir the peanut butter while I get the caramel ready,” you instruct him and he ambles over in just his socks. 

“What happened to your shoes? If you don’t mind me asking,” you point at his stripey, multicolored socks. 

“I’m not sure,” Dieter glances down at his feet, “I had shoes when I left home, I’m sure of it, but after that it gets a bit hazy.” 

“You’ve really been partying since Tuesday?” you ask and he nods. 

“Yeah, it was a good party so we just kinda kept going,” he grins, “there was a huge pool and we all went in. Actually, maybe that’s where I lost my shoes?” 

“Maybe, you could go back and look for them?” 

“And miss out on baking with a pretty baker girl? Never!” he chuckles and you’re not totally sure he’s being serious or not, but the grin he gives you makes you hope he is. 

“I think this is melted,” he says, draggin the spoon through the silky smooth peanut butter, showing you the bowl. 

“Yeah, that looks done. Just pass me that tray of shortbread and I’ll pour the caramel on top.” 

“Can I lick the bowl?” he asks, looking over your shoulder as you let the thick golden liquid pool on top of the shortbread. 

“I’m pretty good at scraping, there’s usually nothing left to lick,” you say, dragging the spatula around the edge. 

“Can’t you be a bit sloppy, just for me?” Dieter grins, standing entirely too close, “It smells so good, I wanna taste it.” 

This time he’s definitely flirting, the salacious smile on his face while he winks at you, makes you both roll your eyes and squash down butterflies on the inside. 

“Fine, I’ll leave some for you,” you smile, looking back at the shortbread again and scraping out caramel, leaving the last of it on the spatula. Putting the bowl to the side, you hold out the spatula for him. But instead of taking it, he grabs hold of your hand, and licks the caramel off the spatula with a long swipe of his tongue. His eyes don’t leave yours and the whole thing is so over the top you burst out laughing. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, tone it down maybe?” you snort, as he abruptly stops licking, letting go of your hand. 

“What?” he blushes, “I saw it in this movie, it looked sexy.” 

“Yeah, in a porno maybe!” you say, handing him the spatula, and only the spatula.

He takes it with a sheepish look, “Sorry, that usually works.” 

“Not in this bakery, I have to work with that spatula when you’re gone, I can’t have it being used as a porno prop, Dieter.” You grab a new spatula from the holder on the counter and start smoothing out the caramel. 

“You do smell good though,” Dieter says, still looking sheepish, “that wasn’t just a line.” 

“Thanks,” you shoot him a quick smile, working over the caramel, “you smell good too, underneath all that weed funk.” 

At this he grabs the front of his t-shirt and sniffs it, wrinkling his nose, “Yeah, it’s kinda obvious, huh.” 

“Can’t believe you partied for forty-eight hours, I’d be dead on my feet,” you say, mixing the peanut butter into the caramel layer, sprinkling in some of the crushed peanuts, “Do you want coffee or something while we wait for this to set?” 

“Fuck yes, coffee sounds amazing!” Dieter exclaims, dropping the spatula from his mouth, “And this stuff is amazing too, I’d eat a bowl of just this.” 

“You’d die of a sugar rush if you did,” you laugh, sliding the tray into the large fridge and setting a timer on your phone, “C’mon, the coffee machine is out front.” 

One of the advantages of being the sole owner of the bakery was that you got to decide what to skimp on, and what to splurge on. And the espresso machine was something you’d really splurged on. For a shop that mainly sold take out baked goods, it was way over the top, but it meant you always had great coffee on hand for your early mornings. The machine was already up and running, humming quietly as you started preparing two shots. 

“How do you take it, Dieter?” you ask and he winks at you.  “Anyway you wanna give it to me, baker girl,” he grins and when you sigh loudly, he laughs and holds up his hands in defense. “C’mon! I had to! You set it up perfectly!” 

“How do you take your coffee?” you emphasis and glare at him, but your smile is breaking through and he gives you a playful poke as he comes up and stands next to the machine. 

“Extra everything, cream, sugar, any of those coffee syrups if you have ‘em.” 

“Why am I not surprised?” you smirk, “A guy who loves Millionaire’s Shortbread, of course he wants extra everything. I bet you’re lining up outside your local Starbucks the morning they start selling Pumpkin Spice.” 

“I would never drink Starbucks!” he protests, “Fucking vile coffee and the worst of corporate America. But you can’t beat a good pumpkin spice if you’ve got quality coffee.” 

“I’ve only got great coffee here, but no syrup, you want a latte? Double shot espresso?” 

“Please,” he says, leaning against the counter next to the espresso machine as he looks over the front of your little shop, crossing his arms. You can’t help the glance up at his arms, the t-shirt hanging on for dear life as it clings to his biceps and broad shoulders. The many rings on his fingers look tiny on his large hands as he grips the outside of his arms, and you’re temporarily distracted by them, and his close proximity. 

The hiss of the machine pulls you back to reality, coffee sputtering out of the spouts into the cup. You glance back up at Dieter and find him watching you with a crooked smile, a dimple in his cheek. 

“What?” you say, looking back at the machine and begin to steam the milk. 

“You really are beautiful,” he says, almost matter of factly, “especially when you zone out.” 

“It’s early, and I’ve been up since two am, but thanks, I guess,” you reply, handing him the latte and pointing to the sugar bowl on the counter next to the till. 

“I wasn’t trying to make a move or anything,” he says, sounding slightly hurt, “I just wanted to tell you I think you’re gorgeous.” 

“No, I’m sorry,” you say, immediately regretting your tone, “I’m just not used to compliments I guess, I didn’t mean to sound so rude. I should’ve just said thanks,” you look over at him and give him a smile, “Thanks Dieter.” 

“You’re welcome,” he replies, smiling back. 

You knock out the used coffee grounds and fill it up again to make your own coffee. Dieter reaches over and grabs four sugar cubes and drops them in the latte, stirring while he watches you work. He’s watching you closely again and it makes your cheeks heat up. He’s got a strange energy of childish mayhem and intense magnetism, chaos that’s either going to make you laugh until your sides hurt or fuck you until you can’t walk straight for a week. And you’re not sure which one you want. 

Your coffee done, you add a splash of milk and lean against the counter opposite Dieter, taking a careful sip. He’s wrapped both his large hands around the thick glass and is delicately licking the foam, drawing a pattern in it with his tongue. You watch him for a few seconds until he notices you and gives you a sheepish grin. 

“What?” he asks, copying your tone from earlier. 

“You really think I’m pretty?” you ask, the question slipping out before you have a chance to stop it, immediately regretting your filterless mouth. 

But he gives you a disarming smile, “Gorgeous. Gorgeous baker girl that smells like cookies and caramel and chocolate.” 

“You’re just high,” you can’t help but scoff at him, but he just shakes his head. 

“No, not at all.” 

He doesn’t say anything else, just looks at you, the silence stretching between you until you think something will have to snap and it’s probably going to be you. 

The phone saves you, the timer going off just as you don’t think you can stand another second of his chocolate brown eyes looking at you like you’re the snack he’s been asking for. 

“Thecaramelisset,” you rush out, breaking eye contact and hurrying back into the kitchen as if another second in the fridge would ruin the whole thing. Dieter comes in behind you at a slower pace, still drinking his coffee. 

You pull out the tray and set it down on the workbench before turning on the burner under a saucepan of water, setting up a water bath. 

“I’m just gonna melt this chocolate, and then I’ll spread it on top, it’ll set pretty quickly. And then it’s done.” You work quickly, too flustered to look at him and he hoovers just to your side, watching your movements. 

The chocolate melts fast, you only need a thin layer, and then you pour it over the caramel. You scrape the bowl clean but leave a generous amount of chocolate on the spatula, giving it to Dieter. 

“Don’t burn your mouth, it’s still warm”, you say when he takes it. He doesn’t grab your hand this time, but his fingertips brushes over yours as he nods, and it sends a sharp little jolt through you. 

You turn back to the almost finished shortbread but can’t help glancing over at him. His pink tongue comes out and licks the chocolate, this time it’s not over the top, nothing provocative about it, he’s not even looking at you. But you swear you can feel every stroke of his tongue on your own skin, burning hot and wet.

You swallow and tear your eyes away, blindly reaching for the crushed peanuts, taking a handful and scattering it across the chocolate. The Millionaire’s Shortbread is done and you slide the tray back into the fridge, it only needs a few minutes. Dieter remains by the counter, finishing off the chocolate on the spatula as you start to clean up the kitchen and bring out the cookie dough that still needs to be taken care of. You see Dieters eyes widen as he sees the first scoop of dough land on the baking tray. 

“Is that chocolate chip,” he almost whispers reverently, spatula forgotten, as he slowly comes over to stare down into the bowl. 

“You want to try it? It’s double chocolate chip with browned butter.” 

He makes a gurgling noise in the back of his throat, tilting his head back before he looks at you and nods, “Please, it smells so good.” 

You grab a tasting spoon, giving him a generous scoop and watch with a smile as he puts it in his mouth. His eyes close of their own volition as he moans, far too enticingly, around the spoon. 

“Oh my god…” he sighs, slowly chewing the dough, “This is like heaven, better than sex, better than fucking coke.” 

“Knock yourself out,” you chuckle, “it’s not healthy but it’s sure as hell better for you than coke.” 

“And sex?” he asks with a wink, still rolling the dough around his mouth. 

“They’re probably on par, but this is tastier than cum.” 

Dieter nearly chokes, coughing loudly as you giggle. Between repeated attempts at clearing his throat he points his finger at you accusingly, trying to grin between his coughing.

“You’re…” he coughs again, “You’re a dirty baker girl!” he finally manages, grinning widely as you go back to scooping dough, still giggling. 

“I can’t believe I said that, but you did serve it up perfectly.” 

“I did, but I never thought your mind was that filthy, I’m appalled” he laughs, placing a hand on his chest in a mock gesture of shock. “Better than cum huh? You have a lot of experience in that department?” 

Now he’s winking again, poking to get more details out of you. So instead you take another tasting spoon, scoop up more dough and put it straight into his mouth to shut him up. It works, he grins around the spoon and smacks his lips at the taste. 

“So fucking good, definitely better than cum,” he smirks, earning an eye roll from you. “Do you wanna taste it?” 

“I’m good, I’ve already tasted the dough many times,” you reply, careful to specify that you’re talking about dough. 

“Maybe not like this though,” Dieter says, suddenly bending down and pressing his lips against yours. It almost makes you jump, his soft lips against yours, his aftershave, it all envelops you in an instance. He’s not touching you anywhere else, just your lips, and you can’t taste him, his mouth is still closed. Maybe you should push him off, the thought flits through your mind for a split second. But you want to taste him, taste the cookie dough you know is delicious, mingled with him, so you part your lips, your tongue coming out. 

Dieter lets a quiet groan slip out as he part his lips, letting you in, opening his mouth and tilting his head to come closer. You hear the spoon clatter to the floor as his hand comes up and cups your cheek, his big hand reaching behind your neck, another stifled groan from him. He tastes of sugar, coffee and chocolate, all flavors mingling into something enticing that pulls you closer.

There’s nothing delicate about this kiss now, you lick into his mouth, and he offers you all the space you want, holding you close and moaning softly as your tongues tangle.

“Touch my hair,” he mumbles, breathing into your mouth, “I want to feel your hands in my hair.” 

“They’re all sticky, Dieter,” you protest but you feel him shake his head, his lips brushing over yours. 

“I don’t care, touch me, hold me, I want to smell like you when I leave,” his tongue slips between your lips, and you run your hands through his hair. You can feel it sticking, tugging at his wild locks but he just groans, his hands holding you tighter and, encouraged, you let your own hands run across his body, eliciting another loud groan from him. 

Tension is building between the two of you, he is growing hard against your belly, unmistakably turned on and doing nothing to hide it. You can feel heat radiating from your own core, so scorching he must feel it too through the thin fabric of his pajama pants. If this doesn’t stop soon he’ll have you bent over the workbench in a minute, and Health and Safety would definitely have something to say about that. 

With a groan and tremendous effort, you put your hands on his chest and push him away. His lips chase yours for a few seconds, eyes closed, a protest coming from him, before he looks down at you with a sigh. 

“You taste even better than you smell,” he says, not letting go of your cheek, his other hand still around your waist. 

“The cookie dough goes really well with the coffee,” you reply, your mouth quirking up in a smile and he matches it, a dopey look on his face. 

“Amazing,” he breathes, "you're amazing, baker girl.” 

His adoration makes you tremble, you feel the heat in your cheeks, and he sees it, leaning into your lips. He stops and looks at you for a beat, to ask for your permission, and when you don’t pull away he presses a soft kiss to your warm mouth, so different from the hasty, heated kiss you just shared. This one lasts only for a few seconds, gentle, before he pulls back, his hand slowly trailing along your check. 

“I should probably call for my ride,” he says softly, “it’ll take a while to get here.” 

“Ok,” you nod, “the shortbread should be done too.” 

“Ok,” he replies, but he doesn’t make a move to leave and you can’t seem to take your eyes off him. 

“I really should…” he sighs, tracing his fingertips over your cheek again, “call that ride.” 

“Go, do that, I’ll cut the shortbread, we can have some while we wait for your ride.” You lightly put your hand on his warm chest and push him away, smiling, but you really want to bunch your hand in the soft t-shirt and pull him closer. 

“Ok,” he says, louder this time, as if making up his mind. He shoves his hand in his pocket, miraculously finding his phone intact as you bring the tray out of the fridge. 

The whole thing has set into layers, so you take a sharp knife and start cutting rectangles, slipping them up and onto the tray that goes in your display case, some go into a take away box, two you put on a separate plate and then look around for Dieter, spotting his broad back out by the back door. Just as you come over to him he ends his call, turning around to you with a smile. 

“My ride will be here in about twenty minutes,” he says, following you to the doorstep and sitting down. You sink down next to him, maybe a little bit closer than necessary, but he’s wide and takes up almost the whole door frame. Your cookie dough is still waiting for you, you’ll be playing catch up with your baking for the rest of the morning, but it’ll be worth it. This chaotic, disheveled man has made your morning a lot more exciting than usual and you’re a little bit sad to see him go. 

“Here, what you came for,” you say, holding out the plate, and Dieter takes one of the Millionaire’s Shortbread. 

“I can’t believe you made these just for me,” he grins and bites into it. You watch his face, this is your favorite part of baking, watching people when they taste the finished thing. And Dieter doesn’t disappoint, he groans, loudly, grabbing onto your arm and leaning his forehead against your shoulder, his whole body reacting to the flavors in his mouth as he chews. 

“I Iive here now,” he moans, “I’m giving up my career, I’m going to live in your bakery and pay you to feed me for the rest of my life.” He lifts his head up and takes another big bite of the shortbread, groaning again as he looks at you, his eyebrows pulled together, big brown eyes pleading. “How is this so good?” he moans, his tongue coming out to catch an errant peanut crumb, “you’ve got to taste this.” 

He holds up the last bite of the shortbread to you, and you open your mouth, letting him place it between your lips. You feel his fingers brush over them as he pulls back, his thumb coming up to swipe over your bottom lip. 

“It’s really good, I’m pretty happy with this,” you say, trying to not chew with your mouth open as Dieter looks at you, his eyes on your lips.

“Do you want another one?” you ask, holding up the plate and Dieter nods fervently and groans again as he takes a bite. 

“I can’t decide, this or sex, which is better,” he chuckles, and you nod. You know the cake is good, but you can’t help but wonder if sex with Dieter might not be even better. 

You sit side by side in the early morning sunshine, eating the cakes. Dieter soon finishes his second one and cracks the lid on the take away box you’ve given him, sneaking a third one with a childish grin that makes you happy to see. 

“Seriously, I live here now, I’m moving in tomorrow,” he mumbles, moaning between bites, leaning on you, his head on your shoulder. 

“You do that Dieter, I might even let you lick the bowl once in a while,” you say, patting his messy hair. 

“Lick the bowl or lick your bowl, baker girl?” he giggles and you give him a light smack, shaking your head. 

“Enough with the porn jokes,” you scold him, no menace to your words, he can hear the smile in your voice and giggles again. 

“Can I put my head in your lap?” he asks, “Nothing weird, I promise, I’m just really tired suddenly.” 

“Ok, sure, but your ride should be here soon.” 

“Yeah, I just wanna relax my eyes for a while….” Dieter yawns and slips down the stairs to sit on the last step, hooking his arm around your hips and putting his head on your lap. The warm weight of him on your legs is actually comforting, his arm a steady hold behind you. Without thinking about it you start carding your fingers through his hair, adding to the sticky mess, making it stand on end, but he doesn’t seem to mind. It takes him minutes to fall asleep, a low rumbling snore coming from him. 

You keep stroking his head for a few more minutes before you carefully lift his head up and slip out from under him, letting his arm be his pillow. You need to go back to baking, your first customers will be arriving soon and you haven’t even put the cookies in the oven, you want them fresh and warm when the early morning commuters arrive. 

Back in the kitchen you quickly scoop the rest of the dough on the trays and get them in the oven and start stocking the display case out front with what’s already done. You’re just sliding the last croissants into the tray when the opening hour strikes and you flip the sign on the front door. You’ve been listening out back for a car to pull up but you haven’t heard anything and once the morning rush starts, you’re swamped and a couple of hours pass before you even realize. When it finally calms down you wipe down the counter and clean your hands before checking out by the back door. It’s still open, but Dieter is gone, as is the take away box, not a trace of your chaotic, magnetic early morning visitor. 

Hours later, as you’re about to close up for the day, a delivery van pulls up in front of the shop. A man in a uniform jumps out and comes rushing in with a box and an extravagant bouquet of flowers with a vase.  “Delivery for you, miss,” he says, handing you a device to sign your name on, and then the flowers and the box. 

“Thanks,” you say but the man is already halfway out the door. 

The flowers fill the small shop with their scent, and you place them on the counter, next to the till, stopping to stick your nose into the white lilac and breathing deeply before getting the shop closed up.

You flip the sign and take the box into the kitchen, the back door is still open to let the warm spring air in. Sinking down on the stairs where you sat with Dieter just this morning, you open the box. It contains another box and inside that, a note. But there’s also a mouth watering, rich, smell of pastry and meat coming from the box. Intrigued, you open the lid, only to find a thermal container inside, like a small version of the ones used to keep delivery pizza warm. Inside are six fat, delicious looking sausages rolls. Your stomach gives a hungry grumble and you immediately grab one, laughing as you remember Dieter’s first request this morning; sausage rolls, like the ones he bought in England after party nights. 

The sausage roll really is as delicious as it looks and you grab a second one before you pick up the note that came with them. 

It's a double folded piece of paper, so thick it almost looks like part of a canvas. On the inside a note is scribbled in a looped, flowing handwriting. 

“Next time I’m asking you on a date, baker girl /D” 

Part Two

If you want to make Dieter's Millionaire's Shortbread, here's the recipe I used.

[chiriwritesstuff]

The New Girl in Tinseltown - Chapter 2 - Devil's Advocate

A Dieter Bravo x Actress! Reader PR Marriage AU

Previous Chapter │ Series Masterlist │ Next Chapter

Chapter Rating: E (18+, MDNI)

Chapter Summary: A look into Dieter's point of view at the night of our fated trip to Vegas. How does America's favorite Bad Boy™ end up married to America's New Sweetheart™?

Chapter Warnings and Tags: (Not So) meet cute, PR Relationships, what happens in Vegas ends up in the headlines, Dieter just does not give a FUCK, Smut, SO MUCH SMUT, a look at the inner workings of Tinseltown and the sleaziness it comes with, Dry Humping, A hell of a lot of dirty banter, is that yearning?, mentions of devious deeds by sleazy people in show business, our loverboy makes a 'Pride and Prejudice reference, SLOW BURN WE DONT KNOW IT, this is unhinged, no use of y/n, No beta we die like men!

Word Count: 8K (whoops!)

A/N: I know, I know, I KNOW. I promised the release of this chapter weeks ago, but I got struck by the not-covid-but-felt-like-covid virus and managed to get myself into the biggest writing slump. I really do apologize for that, and I want to give a big thank you to everyone who stuck around and showed and shared love and support for the first chapter and this series! I can confidently say that the writing slump has finally passed, and we can finally get this crazy show on the road...

An (almost) year before that night in Vegas.

“Dieter, I'm expecting you to be on your best behavior tonight."

Dieter scowls at his publicist while his groomer diligently applies yet another round of pomade in an attempt to tame his unruly curls. "Define best behavior."

"They're about to launch a new girl into the circuit, some unknown that the studio thinks will become the next girl next door," his publicist responds, tapping away at his MacBook. "She's a genuinely sweet thing, all doe-eyed and untouched by the suits. Apparently, she's so sweet that Feldman-"

“Let me guess,” Dieter deadpans, "Feldman wants to fuck her," he rolls his eyes at that, slightly curious at the prospect of fresh blood. "Why am I not surprised?"

"That's not the best part," his publicist quips, his eyes locking with Dieter's over the rim of his laptop. "The studio wants to protect their asset, so much so that they hired-"

"No fucking way, they hired the Shark for this broad? What? Does she have beer-flavored nipples or something?" Dieter exclaims, his curiosity piqued. "Is she really that sweet?"

His publicist's mouth quirks into a small smirk. "The sweetest, most fucking forbidden fruit, my friend. So sweet that the Shark doesn't want you within ten feet of his client."

"Oh yeah?" Dieter replies, his eyes raised.

"Hell yeah. He tried to corner me earlier, warning me to keep my client's - and I quote - Dirty fucking paws off of his Doll-"

"Doll, huh? I bet I could tap that," Dieter challenges, his chest puffed out.

Dieter's publicist chuckles to himself, shaking his head. "Dieter, I know you believe you're God's gift to the masses, but trust me, this Doll? She's a bit out of your league."

Dieter leans back in his chair, a sly grin forming on his face. "Out of my league, huh? That just makes it more interesting. The thrill of the chase, my friend."

His publicist raises an eyebrow, skeptical. "Dieter, I've seen you chase plenty, but this Doll is different. She's not like the others. There's an innocence about her that even your charm might struggle to crack."

Dieter smirks, undeterred. "Well, we'll see about that. The forbidden fruit always tastes the sweetest, doesn't it?"

The publicist lets out a resigned sigh. "Just remember, Dieter, not every fruit is meant to be plucked."

"What is this event even for?" Dieter counters, appraising himself as his stylist smooths the fabric of his suit, a deep emerald green number with a crisp obsidian button-down. He pouts at the mirror, glancing at his publicist and his agent behind him. "It's not the Nickelodeon Kids Choice Awards again, is it?"

"Why? So you could be caught doing blow off a toilet bowl seat like last year? I'm still doing damage control for that, you know," his agent deadpans. "You're in luck; it's the MTV Movie Awards-"

"... and this is Doll's debut, huh? Is she up for an award or something?"

"Several, actually. Surprisingly, her last film gained quite the following-"

"... let me guess, it's some rom-com," Dieter interjects, a hint of disinterest in his tone. "What are the categories?"

"Three, to be exact." His agent smirks into his cognac. "Best Female Lead, Female Breakout Star, and Best Kiss-"

"Best Kiss? Seriously?" Dieter retorts incredulously, his eyes widening. "What's the name of her movie? I might need to see it for myself-"

"Dieter, level with me. Are you gonna keep your dirty fucking paws off of the Shark's asset?" his publicist sighs, giving him a stern look. "As much as I want to shove my foot up his fucking ass, I don't have the energy to have him breathing down my back the entire fucking night-" he looks off into Dieter's direction, who is currently on your Wikipedia page. He frowns. "Dieter, do you hear me?"

"What?" Dieter snaps, slamming his phone onto his seat.

"Can you manage to be on your best behavior tonight? Stay clear of-"

"No. I mean, sure, fine, whatever-" Dieter interrupts, his tone dismissive.

"Dieter-"

"I heard you! I promise to stay away from her, but the real question is, are you able to keep her away from me?" He smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

The (not-so meet cute) at the MTV Movie Awards.

"Dieter!" you shout, hastily making your way toward him, clearly a few drinks in. "Surprised to see you here!" you shout excitedly, a little wobble in your step as you approach him. 

You adorn a sleek silver gown, your hair elegantly swept to one side, and your radiant face contrasting vividly with the venue's intense lights. Dieter finds himself momentarily breathless as he gazes at you, captivated by your ethereal presence, akin to an angel descending into the depths of hell. "Fuck me," he murmurs under his breath as you draw near, the collar around his neck suddenly feeling constrictive as he nervously swallows. "What the hell? I never get nervous around women," he mutters to himself, his eyes tracing the entirety of your figure. His pants grow notably tighter, his attention fixated on the hypnotic sway of your hips.

He greets you with a nervous smile as you come face to face, tenderly planting a kiss on your cheek. His eyes close momentarily as he savors your delicate scent, a sensation that electrifies his chest and courses through his veins, prompting his hands to instinctively caress the back of your head as he subtly tries to capture another whiff. A subtle sense of pride swells within him as he notices the blush unexpectedly blooming across your skin, its warmth cascading down your cleavage.

Forbidden fucking fruit indeed. 

"Doll," he attempts to say smoothly, a hint of nervousness lacing his voice. "I've heard so much about you. Congrats on your wins tonight; they're truly well-deserved!"

"Really?" you suddenly squeal, and Dieter feels like he could get lost in your energy. It's pure, sweet, and so inherently innocent—the childlike wonder of being thrust into the limelight, untarnished by the sleazy underbelly of Hollywood. He can't help but internally frown, foreseeing the inevitable vultures in suits trying to get a piece of you. Their insatiable hunger for new, sweet flesh is something he knows all too well.

"Well, yeah, Doll, you killed it, as expected. Winning tonight and sweeping all your nominations was a given," he muses, casually leaning against his chair. As he leans towards you, a subconscious desire prompts him to take another whiff of your perfume, desperately trying to commit its essence to memory amid the haze of his coke-induced high. He can't resist burying his nose in your hair, eyes closing as he takes you in once more. 

"Dieter-" you question his sudden boldness, a nervous chuckle escaping you. 

"I'm sorry, baby-" he moans into your neck, his hands traveling down the length of your back. "You must tell me what the name of your perfume is, its divine-"

"Oh," you laugh as Dieter pulls you into him tighter, groaning as his hands travel dangerously close down your hips. "It's 'Missing Person' by-"

"Doll," a voice emerges from behind the two of you, accompanied by a stern clearing of someone's throat. Dieter's expression darkens as he recognizes the owner of the voice, but not before planting one final teasing kiss against your throat. With a smirk playing on his lips, he straightens up and turns to confront the perpetually annoyed yet annoyingly handsome face of the man Hollywood dubs 'The Shark'- also known as the most ruthless of publicists in all of Tinseltown, protecting his clients with an iron fist so strong no one ever thinks of crossing him.

Unless they wanted a cease and desist letter shoved so far up their assholes... without any fucking lube.   

Dieter gets it, though. If he were in his shoes and he had a client like you? All sweet and pure with the face of an angel but a body curated by the Devil himself?

Well, he would fuck your brains out and make you forget your name first, but that's beside the point. The point is, he gets it, he really fucking does.  

"Well well well," Dieter croons as he holds his hand up towards your publicist. "It's been a long time, Shark. Tell me, did you have to call ahead to make sure that some poor bloke's mangled testicles made it onto your plate for tonight, or did you rip someone's balls off fresh on-site?" he snarks with the raise of his eyebrow, shaking his head as your publicist stares at his outstretched hand in greeting. Dieter scoffs as he retreats his hand, placing it on his hip.  

"Bravo," Your publicist grits through clenched teeth as he tries to appear as unbothered as possible. "Aren't you a little old to be here tonight? The rumors aren't true, you know. Fucking girls close to half your age doesn't keep you young, but I suppose it makes sense, considering a woman your age would know better-"

"Shark, I won't tolerate you talking like that in the presence of an actual earth-bound angel. Just because she's young doesn't mean she doesn't know right from wrong-" Dieter retorts, flashing you a smoldering smile. "... you know how to handle yourself, don't you, Doll? You don't need some uptight prick telling you what you can and cannot do, right?" he winks, a slight puff to his chest.

You visibly shiver at his cheeky insinuation, nodding. "Right," you breathe, taking a hasty gulp of your champagne. "I'm 29 years old, I don't need you defending my 'honor' like I'm some virginal maiden-"

"Well, when my client has far too many drinks in her and doesn't understand the kind of man she's in the presence of-"

"The Devil, right?" Dieter exclaims, pointing to himself. "A no-good washed-up actor who fucks anything with two legs while high off my rocker, who just so happens to be good at what I do with the Oscar in my shitter to prove it? Don't you think she knows all of this? My bare ass isn't on the front page of TMZ weekly because I'm a nobody, baby."

"Oh my god, Dieter," you gush, clapping your hands together. "I loved you in-"

"Doll," your publicist interrupts, a firm hand on your shoulder. "You have that meeting with Favreau at the Beverley Hills in 30 minutes. As much as we would love to stay and chat... we have our jobs to get to, right Doll?" your publicist says to you sweetly, his hand grazing your arm. He clears his throat, nodding at Dieter. "Bravo, it was stimulating, as always," he deadpans with a hint of finality, pulling on your elbow like a lost puppy on a leash. Dieter swallows as he witnesses your light dimming from your face, a small frown on your face as you try to remain cordial, a fake smile etched on your face.  

"It was nice meeting you, Dieter," you almost whisper, pulling him into one last hug. "... maybe we'll just run into each other again soon?" You quickly whisper in his ear, and the thought of the two of you meeting up in secret thrills him to no end. His dick certainly twitches at the prospect. 

Dieter takes one last whiff of your scent, his eyes closing as he wills the time to stand still, not wanting to lose the warmth radiating from your aura. He presses one last kiss on your cheek, his fingers caressing the spot as he gives you a genuine smile.  

"... it wouldn't be soon enough, baby."

He gives The Shark one last salute, flipping him off once his back is toward him. “Fucking asshole cockblock,” he mutters to himself, patting his suit pocket for his little baggie of E. He pinches the baggie between his fingers, looking at its contents in silent contemplation.  I guess if I can't get the girl, at least I can get the high, right?

The morning after.

Dieter is face down on his sofa in his boxers and his robe, groaning from the after-effects of his debauchery just a few hours before. As if his skull is splitting into two, he winces as he turns himself onto his back, staring aimlessly into his ceiling as his iPhone suddenly starts to go off from under him.

Sighing, he blindly reaches for his phone, one eye open as he squints into the tiny, shattered screen.

TMZ NEWS FLASH! Up-and-coming Actress who swept MTV awards show last night being groped by Resident Playboy Dieter Bravo? Her publicist sweeps in to save our New "It" Girl in Tinseltown from the grasp of the Devil himself-

Dieter scoffs as he swipes the notification away, his eyes scanning the next headline.

AP NEWS ALERT: Dieter Bravo seen kissing Rising Actress at MTV Movie Awards last night, is a new romance brewing between the Fresh-Faced Actress and Playboy Lothario Dieter Bravo?

"Dieter," his publicist groans as he walks into the room, picking up a crumpled pair of boxer briefs off the sofa, and throws himself on it, pinching the space between his eyebrows as he shakes his head. "What the hell did I tell you? Stay away from The Shark's client, don't grope her in front of him! Can't you just listen to me for once?"

"It was innocent! I kept my hands at a respectable distance from her ass," Dieter retorts, throwing his phone across the room. "I didn't even make a move—"

"That's not the point, Dieter!" his publicist spits back, pulling out his phone. "Do you realize how much this guy despises you? I'm good at my job, but The Shark? I can't go against a god—"

"You're making him out to be some untouchable—"

"...because he is untouchable, Dieter! Do you even know he's buddies with Feldman? After learning about your stunt last night, he's considering pulling you from the project."

"Please," Dieter scoffs, rolling his eyes. "They need me more than I need them! I'm practically doing them a favor, signing on to this fucking movie. They're not going to pull Dieter Bravo from a sinking ship! It's just scare tactics!"

"Yeah, well, you know what they say. The pussy is stronger than god, right?" his publicist replies, scrolling through his phone. "Feldman didn't appreciate your hands on his girl, and now he's out for blood. I warned you about this, D. Is some girl worth losing a multi-million dollar contract? Do you want to go back to doing 'surprise guest star' roles on cable TV? I heard they're thinking of rebooting 'Suits', it might be a good fit for you-"

"So what do I need to do then?" Dieter fires back, a joint between his lips. "I assume I'll be needing to make a public statement or some shit? Keep the old bastard happy?"

"It's funny you mention that D. I have an email from The Shark himself, with a list of what he wants you to say in your statement, promising he'll back the fuck off if you promise to not go within ten feet of his asset-"

"Have you ever heard of 'Missing People' perfume?" Dieter suddenly asks, taking a hit off his joint, his eyes following the thick plume of smoke as he leans back into the sofa. "Missing... Woman?" he mumbles to himself absentmindedly, licking his lips. "Fuck, what did she say it was? I need to stop going to these things blitzed out of my fucking mind-"

"Dieter, focus. Are we releasing the statement or not?"

"MARCUS!" Dieter calls out for his PA suddenly, ignoring his publicist as he grabs the phone out of his hands. "MARCUS! I NEED YOU!"

"Yes D?" Marcus responds as he rushes into the living room, pulling a fresh pack of Kitkat out of his back pocket. "Did you need a snack?"

"Have you ever heard of 'Missing Someone' perfume?" he asks once more as he pulls up the Safari app on his publicist's phone.  

"You mean 'Missing Person' by Phlur?" Marcus quips, picking up the stray pieces of discarded clothing strewn randomly around the room. “One of my favorite actresses just became the spokesperson for that perfume, swears by it-“ 

“Missing PERSON, that’s what it was!” Dieter shouts, tossing his publicist's phone back at him. “Marcus, you’re a fucking godsend! I knew there was a reason why I kept you around! Could you do me a small favor?”

"What do you need, D?" Marcus asks eagerly, his hand perched on his hip. 

"I need you to buy me 'Missing People'. A couple of bottles, at least."

"How many is a couple?" Marcus asks with a nervous chuckle. "Five? Are you giving these out as gifts or something?"

"Maybe I could call Chriselle, and tell her you're interested in the company, there are more scents suitable for men, D," his publicist says casually, pulling out his laptop from his messenger bag. "I ran into her at Erewhon the other day, she's a big fan of your work, and couldn't stop talking about Cliff Beasts... Now, about that statement-"

"Fuck asking, just go to Neimans or Sephora or something and buy out their entire stock. Lotions and body wash and candles if it comes in that scent, too, Marcus. Go to all of the fucking Sephoras if you need to."

"... the entire stock? D, what is this for?"

"Do I pay you to ask all of these fucking questions? Don't worry about what I'm going to do with it. Just get it in my hands by the end of the day, do you think you could swing that?"

"... yes?"

Dieter takes another drag out of his joint, nodding aimlessly. "Great. Also, stop by Blicks on your way back. I need an entire arsenal and the biggest canvas they have. New brushes, too! Set up my studio and put the 'Missing People' in my bathroom, and I'll want my usual In n Out order, too."

Flustered, Marcus pulls out his phone and starts typing Dieter's requests on his notes app. Running a nervous hand through his hair, he looks at his boss once more. "Anything else?"

"Yeah. Get the fuck out of my face and get to work, Marcus. Chop Chop!"

His assistant nods and scrambles out of the living room, tripping on the corner of the area rug on his way out. Dieter's publicist raises his eyebrow at the display, shaking his head as he types away on his laptop. "You know, you could be nicer to him, D. He tries hard to cater to your every fucking whim and fancy... now, are we gonna release that fucking statement or not?"

"What statement?" Dieter asks absentmindedly as he pulls out a small baggie from his robe pocket.  

"The one where you say that you had a little too much to drink and that you didn't mean anything by groping Doll at the Movie Awards, and that you're really sorry and will be donating a couple thousand to a women's shelter-"

"... and this will make The Shark happy? and Feldman off my ass?" he replies, rubbing his gums as he smiles to himself. "I'll be able to stay on the project?"

"You can start packing your bags, yes. Filming starts in a week for the next few months in Europe. It'll give this whole Movie Awards nonsense some time to blow over."

Dieter considers this for a moment. He sticks his tongue out in contemplation, coming to the unsettling realization that he hasn't been in a major studio project in the last few years. He needs this job more than they need him, and deep down, he knows this. He takes one last drag out of his joint, flicking the roach away as he turns towards his publicist.

"Release the fucking statement."

His publicist nods, fingers flying across the keyboard. "Good," he murmurs, genuine relief softening his features. "I can't handle you out of work for another month, not after the fucking pandemic... What's the deal with all that perfume, anyway?"

"What?" Dieter replies absentmindedly, scratching his beard.

"The stuff you made Marcus buy in bulk," his publicist clarifies.

"Forget the perfume. Do you still have those photos I sent you?"

"I've got them, but I haven't checked them out yet. Why?"

Dieter gestures toward the laptop. "Why don't you take a look?"

His publicist eyes him warily, opening the email. His expression shifts to shock as he glimpses the contents. "Is this—"

Dieter nods, a smirk creeping onto his face. "Yep."

"This is huge, Dieter. How did you even get these? They're screwed if this ever goes public—"

"That's why it's payback time. A little warning shot," Dieter interrupts, leaning forward eagerly. "We leak the photos. Anonymously, of course."

"Dieter," his publicist warns, "If they trace it back to you—"

"I'll take the risk. They messed with the wrong guy," Dieter scoffs, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "These amateurs think they can get away with it?" he mutters to himself, then clears his throat. "Remember our motto?"

"Nobody fucks with Dieter Bravo."

Dieter leans back on the sofa, nodding. "That's right. Nobody fucks with Dieter Bravo."

Six Months later.

"Hi, I'm Carol Cobb!"

"... and I'm Dieter Bravo!"

"And we are doing a Wired Autocomplete Interview!"

"Alright! Is Dieter Bravo..." Carol energetically rips the first sheet of paper off her card, a playful smile spreading across her face as Dieter looks attentively at the camera. "Is Dieter Bravo dead?!" She bursts into laughter, smacking Dieter with the card, who simply shrugs. "Wow! Why would they hit us with that right out of the gate?"

"Not dead yet!" Dieter exclaims, pushing his signature glasses off his face while gazing into the camera. "Got close... several times," he adds with a pointed smirk.

"...and we are very much thankful for that!" Carol shouts. "Shall we move on to the next one?" She tears the next slip of paper, her eyes widening as she reads, “Is Dieter Bravo secretly married?!”

“Well, it wouldn’t be a secret if I spilled the beans now, would it?” Dieter smiles conspiratorially, rubbing his chin in contemplation.

“I can't imagine you ever settling down,” Carol muses with a smirk. "It seems unnatural, like going against the natural order of things, like sea animals on land. Dieter Bravo, settled down with one girl? Hell would have to freeze over before that ever happens," she teases.

"I think it could happen," Dieter says matter-of-factly, crossing his arms over his chest as he settles back into his seat.

"What could happen?" Carol asks, her curiosity piqued.

"Settling down. Getting married, perhaps... even starting a family," Dieter replies thoughtfully.

"It would take quite the woman to make 'The Great Lothario' change his ways. Seems like an impossible feat," Carol interrupts, chuckling. "A woman who can stop the great Dieter Bravo from his manwhoring ways? Maybe someone who lives under a rock and doesn't know about your reputation."

"Actually," Dieter interjects, a hint of excitement in his voice. "I think I've met someone recently who's made quite an impression on me."

Carol's eyes widen in surprise. "What do you mean, you think you've met someone? Who is this mysterious girl that's captured your attention, D?"

"Well, she's an actress-"

"Of course," Carol quips with a knowing smirk.

"... she's new. I had the pleasure of meeting her at the MTV Movie-"

"You're not talking about Doll, are you? The woman you groped after meeting her for the first time? Someone even said that they caught you sniffing her! Who does that, Dieter?!"

"I am a connoisseur of all things exquisite and beautiful, ma chérie. She smelled absolutely divine, and I swear her scent lingered on me for days after, I swear, just let me nuzzle my face in between the valley of those luscious tits-"

"God, D. I think they're gonna have to edit this shit out!" Carol mutters, looking embarrassed by Dieter's boldness. She leans towards Dieter. "I thought you signed some embargo with The Shark promising you wouldn't mention her," she whispers in his ears. "Even I wouldn't think to fuck with him-"

"Well, Feldman was my main concern, and now he's facing jail time for all of those underage claims and those leaked photos, so fuck it!" Dieter counters, knowing damn well he worked behind the scenes for it to happen, leaking a few photos he had stored away on his iCloud, kissing himself on the mouth knowing it would come in handy sooner or later.  

AP NEWS ALERT: Hollywood bigshot arrested for leaked inappropriate images from an anonymous source of various actresses, denies all allegations of misconduct.

One asshole down, one Shark to bury next, he thinks to himself, chuckling at the thought. "Besides, I can't get her out of my fucking mind! I've never felt this way about a woman before, Carol, I mean it this time!"

"I mean, she's undeniably beautiful," Carol agrees, "but she's still new to the industry. They've been typecasting her in those romcoms with whatshisname, but I've heard she's pushing for more challenging roles—"

"Cut!" The director's voice slices through the air, his eyes narrowed at them both. "This interview is about promoting Cliff Beasts, not discussing Dieter's love life with some woman."

"Hey, that 'woman'? She's my future wife, so watch your damn mouth," Dieter snaps back, his tone defensive.

"Whoa, D, hold on. Future wife? You barely know her!" Carol interjects, her hand pressed against her chest in disbelief. "Take it easy, baby. Get to know her first, at least."

"It's gonna happen, Carol. I can feel it in my damn bones. I was drawn to her the moment I laid eyes on her," Dieter insists, his confidence unwavering.

"Listen, Casanova, I don't care who you think you're gonna marry, but we're on a tight schedule here!" the director interrupts, frustration evident in his voice. "Stick to the damn questions, and no more talk about your little 'girlfriend.'"

"Fine," Dieter mutters, rolling his eyes and taking a sip of water. "But do me a favor—don't cut out the part about her assets. It'll bring in views like crazy. I did you a favor there."

The director waves him off as he storms away. "Remind me why I took this job knowing this idiot would be here," he mutters to himself, heading back behind the camera.

The day of the (not so thought out) wedding.

Dieter is anxiously bouncing his leg, biting his pinky nail as his groomer meticulously applies another layer of concealer under his darkened eyes. "Jeez D, have you been sleeping at all lately?"

"What?" Dieter asks absentmindedly, running a shaky hand through his curls. "Yeah- I've been sleeping, why?"

“Your under-eyes, D. They’re darker than my fucking soul, man. Didn’t I tell you to lay off on the sauce? I’m on my fourth layer of concealer-“

“It’s nothing,” Dieter says dismissively. “Just… have you ever been in love?” 

"Sure I have," his groomer replies, a small smile on their face. "That's why I'm married, silly. Why?"

"Say you like a girl, and you think that this girl might be interested but then TMZ posts leaked photos of said girl and some beefed up Hollywood hunk "canoodling" with each other while filming their movie together in Canada-"

"This is Doll that we're talking about, correct? The one you groped at the MTV Movie-"

"I DIDN'T GROPE HER!" Dieter exclaims, groaning as he sinks further into his seat. "Why does everyone keep saying that? I was simply giving her a friendly, yet casual hug when she APPROACHED ME-"  He huffs like a petulant child, his arms crossed around his chest in defiance. "Anyway, I thought, after I desperately tried to shoot my shot, let my intentions known in that 'Wired' Interview with Carol, that she would contact me, you know? Maybe slide into my DMs-" 

“Slide into your DMs?” His groomer scoffs, plucking a stray eyebrow hair with their tweezers from his face as he dramatically flinches, narrowing his eyes at them. “You flat out said you wanted to smother your face in the ‘valley of her luscious tits’, I would be surprised if she hasn't filed a restraining order against you yet... Let me give you a bit of advice: Girls want to be romanced, not objectified! ... have you ever had a 'real' girlfriend before, D?"

"Hey! I've had girlfriends, alright?" Dieter groans, frustration evident in his voice as he clenches his fists. "Just because they didn't stick around afterward doesn't mean it was all my fault, okay?"

"The girls you hook up with during your benders and then discard once the high wears off don't exactly qualify as 'real' girlfriends, D! Let's be serious here!"

"That's what I'm trying to be," he whines, "I'm trying SO HARD to be serious for once! I can't get this girl out of my head, and it's been what? Almost a year since I've met her? I can't get my dick hard when I'm with anyone else anymore, I don't want to take drugs, it's like I'm fucking broken or something! ... and now she's off fucking Joe Hollywood over here like I'm not bleeding my fucking heart out for her-"

"Wait, you mean to tell me that you're actually sober right now?"

"Well, yeah. The last time I took something was before filming Cliff Beasts, I thought you knew that. Anyway, it doesn't fucking matter. All of that and she doesn't even notice me."

"Well, I would tell you that if you had bothered to read TMZ this morning instead of sulking, you would know that there are split rumors between this girl and Hollywood neanderthal," His groomer retorts, a shit-eating grin on their face. "It was over before it even began. I mean, I've heard for such a massive man, he has quite the tiny di-"

Dieter perks up at that. "Say that again."

"They've broken up. She's back on the market, silly goose."

"So that means-"

"That means that I'm going to groom the shit out of you and help you out by making her realize just what she's missing out on, D." His groomer replies, massaging his scalp as they make eye contact through the mirror in front of them. "You're lucky that I consider myself a hopeless romantic. If you promise not to break her heart, I'll help you get the girl, ok?"

"Shit, do you think she'll like me?" Dieter says nervously, fidgeting in his seat.  

"Obviously," his groomer replies cryptically, a smirk forming on the corner of their mouth. "I may or may not have some intel from another groomer friend of mine about their supposed breakup."

"Oh?" Dieter perks up, his eyebrow raised in curiosity. "... and what would that intel be?"

"Oh, you know. Someone might have asked their stylist if they think you'll be attending tonight, how she kept trying to be sly about it."

"Doll asked about me?! Are you serious?" Dieter's excitement is palpable.

"Well, according to my friend, the reason why they broke up was that someone might have moaned your name while being eaten out by 'Joe Hollywood' the other day-"

"No fucking way!"

"She's into you, D! I would say that your little ploy during the 'Wired' interview worked more than you think, bud."

Dieter nods, taking the biggest sigh of relief as he settles in his chair. "One last thing, do you groom just the top half of me, or are you open to grooming other places?"

"What do you mean?" his groomer cocks their head to the side.  

"Shit, well... are you open to grooming my nether regions? It's been a while since I've been with a woman, I'm almost full caveman down there-"

His groomer tsks, pulling out their phone. "Dieter, as much as I love you, I don't love you that much. Let me call someone for that, ok?"

A few hours later, on the red carpet.

"Dieter," his publicist says under his breath as they walk down the red carpet. "The cameras are this way, why are you so distracted?"

"I'm looking for someone," Dieter replies as he winks at the sea of paparazzi, flashing them a peace sign as he walks toward the venue's entrance.

"Well, who are you looking for?" His publicist replies impatiently, looking down the red carpet.

"Doll, obviously. Do you know if she's arrived yet?"

His publicist rolls his eyes, sighing. "She arrived about five minutes ago, don't you see her?"

Dieter inhales deeply, his gaze scanning past the vibrant red carpet until it locks onto yours. His breath catches in his chest, surprised by the unexpected connection. You appear taken aback at first, but swiftly compose yourself, subtly angling your body towards him with a seductive smile playing on your lips.

"Holy Shit..." Dieter's mind races with excitement. "She really does want me."

Filled with newfound confidence, he playfully purses his lips in your direction, sending a cheeky kiss your way as his eyebrows wiggle in amusement. A flush of color blooms across your cheeks in response, catching his eye. But as he revels in the moment, he notices The Shark's gaze narrowing in his direction, a whisper passing between him and you.

That's fucking right Shark.  I'm coming for my girl, and there is nothing you can fucking do about it.  

Later, Dieter observes you from across the room as you sit at your table, alone, nursing another glass of champagne. He notices how you try to avoid meeting his gaze, despite catching you stealing glances at him throughout the night when you think he isn't looking. It surprises him to see you being so reserved, so quiet, especially without The Shark hovering around you like a protective dragon guarding its treasure.

What's gotten you so down, babydoll?  he muses, leaning back into his chair. As if you could read his thoughts, your eyes meet from across the room once more, and you quickly look away, smiling to yourself at getting caught looking.

Dieter senses the moment's significance, his heart racing with anticipation. He knows he must seize this opportunity, the perfect moment to step forward and break the barrier between the two of you. With a determined smile, he decides it's time to make his move.

As he rises from his chair, Dieter's confidence swells, fueled by the intensity of the moment. With purposeful strides, he crosses the room, his gaze fixed on you, the anticipation building with each step. This is his chance to bridge the gap, to finally reveal the feelings he's kept hidden for so long.

He draws in another deep breath as he approaches you from behind, mustering his most seductive gaze as he leans in towards your exposed ear, his warm breath grazing your skin.

"I can't help but notice that you've been eye-fucking me the entire night."

He groans softly as he takes a seat in the chair beside yours, hoping to conceal any nerves as he attempts to exude charm. "I guess my little ploy of trying to get your attention with that 'Wired' interview worked out in my favor-"

You respond with a subtle smile, your fingers gracefully tracing the edge of your champagne glass. How does something as simple as that manage to rile me up? he wonders inwardly, returning your smile.

"You know," you say softly, a chuckle escaping you as you shake your head in disbelief, "There are more normal ways to get a girl's attention-"

The longer Dieter spends in your presence, the more he feels himself on edge, the tension mounting with every passing moment. His pulse quickens, and he can't ignore the growing semi in his suit pants. It's astonishing how much you affect him, like a siren calling out for him while lost at sea, lying in wait, ready to bring him to absolute ruin. 

Fuck. Keep it cool, Bravo.

"Ah, but you're America's Sweetheart, and your pitbull of a publicist won't let me near you, I had to let my-" he gulps at the sight of your ample bust, licking his lips in anticipation, "... intentions very clearly known."

"Well," you breathe, chest heaving. "I don't know if it's 'clearly' known," your voice drops to a whisper, like a secret that is shared only between the both of you, two lonely souls amongst a sea of chaos. "I think you're just going to have to spell it out for me."

Dieter, sensing victory, leans back triumphantly, spreading his legs as he subtly encloses you within his space. His dark, smoldering gaze meets your thinly veiled attempt at your best innocent doe eyes... but Dieter sees right through it. He grins widely, reveling in the knowledge that he's the cat about to get all of the cream—your cream.  That's right, babydoll, I've finally caught you, and I'm never going to let you go.

He laughs at the sight of you, his chin motioning to your breasts.  "Do you want to have sex with me, Dollface?"

Your eyes widen, and a small gasp escapes your lips, as you search his gaze, trying to decipher if he's just bullshitting or if he's actually fucking serious.  I'm serious, alright, he chuckles to himself. "If I miscalculated this fucking thing that's going on between us, tell me and I'll fuck off, leave you alone-"

"What if I don't want you to fuck off, and want to tell you that I'm this close to being plastered and that all I kept thinking about tonight is you railing me with that huge cock we both know is aching for me in some deserted hallway-" you challenge, picking your champagne glass for good measure, downing its contents in one swig.  For courage, he thinks. "I would beg to ask you... what's taking you so damn long, Bravo?"

WhatsApp chat between Dieter & Marcus: Dieter: Hey Marcus, are you still in the venue? Marcus: Yes! With your publicist. Did you need something? Dieter: This party blows. Can I borrow your car? Marcus: Oh, did you want me to drive you home? The party just started, Dieter. Dieter: I can drive myself back, stay for the party! Catch a ride with the suits afterward! Get shitfaced, you're officially off the clock! Marcus: Seriously? Do you know how to drive a stick? It's my baby, I don't know if I feel comfortable with you driving it, are you high right now? 🤦‍♂️ Dieter: No, for the last time, I'm fucking clean, man. Just do me a solid and let me borrow your car, I swear I'll give you a fucking raise! What do you want for one night with your baby? Tell me, I'll give you anything! Marcus: Fine. Just tell me what you did with all of that fucking perfume, there"s a bet going on and I would like to shove it in your publicist's face that I know! Dieter: Seriously man? That's all you want? Marcus: Do you want my keys or not, D? Dieter: Fine. I took the fucking perfume, doused my entire bedroom in it, and fucked myself smelling it thinking about Doll. Dieter: Is that enough of an explanation for you? Come the fuck on, man, I need your car! Please! 🙏 Marcus: 🙌 Meet me at the lobby in five. 

"So tell me," Dieter shouts as he peels out of the parking lot, laughing at the delighted squeal that escapes your lips as you throw your head back, your arms raised upward as he turns quickly into the streets of Los Angeles. "How often did you think about me, babydoll?"

You boldly reach over to cup his erection, your small hand wrapping around the tip of it. "As much as I reckon you thought of me, Bravo. Tell me, how often did you come, alone in that massive bed of yours, to the thought of your cock thrusting into my tight pussy?"

"Fuck baby, do you want me to crash this car? It's not mine, you know?"

"Answer the fucking question, Bravo."

"Baby, if you only knew how much I fucking came just thinking about your tits... I don't think you know just what exactly you got yourself into, little girl... but I'll show you just how I thought of you coming on my fat cock, giving me absolutely everything-"

I've been hungry for you, baby, and I'm going to feast on every inch of your body, just you fucking wait-

He cackles like a madman as he peels into the dwindling streets of LA. "Are you hungry, Dollface?" he yells, almost running a red light, his eyes fixed on the glowing In n Out sign in the distance.

"I shouldn't, I have that screen test next week-"

"Fuck the screen test!" he shouts. "The night is young, and you are gorgeous. Let Dieter take care of you, baby... while I still have you in my grasp. I ain't gonna waste a moment I have you in my orbit!"

He pulls into the In n Out parking lot, cutting the engine, and pulls you into his lap, his face immediately diving into the valley between your breasts. "You can suffocate me with these tits and I would die a happy man," he mumbles against your skin, his growl reverberating throughout your entire body like wildfire. "What do you say, Doll? Would you do me the honors?"

"Fuck Dieter," you moan, tipping your head back in pleasure as his tongue teases the edge of your dress covering your breasts. "Grab my tits," you beg, grabbing his hands for good measure. Dieter wastes no time as he grabs the back of your head, pulling you into a kiss, his tongue licking along the seam of your mouth, begging for entrance.  

"Open up for me, baby girl. Let Dieter taste you-" he pleads, and you pull away with him, your hair wrecked and lipstick smeared. Dieter imagines he looks as wrecked as you do, his pupils blown and chest heaving. You pull him into another kiss, sighing into it, your mouth opening slightly. Dieter takes this as a sign to devour you completely, your tongues fighting for dominance as you begin to rock your hot pussy against his thick cock.

"I want to ride you into the sunset, D," you whisper, pulling at his curls harshly. "Are you gonna give me what I want? Or am I going to have to find someone else to do it?"

"Fuck-" Dieter pants, his gaze reaching yours, his mouth agape in awe. "How in the fuck did I get so fucking lucky-"

"Grab my tits, D," you ask once more, moaning and throwing your head back, biting your lower lip as you grind on his throbbing erection. Dieter quickly obliges, his large hands engulfing both of your breasts. His fingertips graze the edge of your dress, the hardness of your nipple pressing into the middle of his palm, and he swears that if he were to be struck down dead right at this moment, he would die a happy man.  

"Shit, I knew that your tits would feel amazing, but you are so fucking soft-"

"Oh yeah?" you tease, your teeth grazing the shell of his ear. "I'm soft in other places, too." You whisper in his ear, and he swears he feels the ghost of your smile as he moves his hands back on your hips, his fingertips squeezing the softness of your ass as he angles his dick where he imagines your clit to be, thrusting into your hot, wet heat. "Fuck, so goddamn soft-" he groans, his tongue licking a wet stripe along the tops of your breasts. "You're fucking everything I never knew I always wanted, baby girl," he praises you honestly, cupping your cheek as he pulls you into another kiss, groaning as your tongue dances with his, leaving him breathless.  

"Am I?" you pant as you wrap your arms around his neck, your pussy dragging along the thick outline of his cock. "You talk like you want to marry me or something-"

"... oh, but I do want to marry you, breed you, keep you locked up in my mansion... you have no idea just how much I've thought about you, these last few months-"

"Dieter! My Man!" someone shouts in the distance. "What the fuck are you doing here?!"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he yells back, "I'm about to fuck this beautiful woman in an In n Out parking lot, what are you doing here?"

"Fuck, can I take a pic, man?" the fan shouts as he approaches the convertible.  

"Don't you see we're a little preoccupied?" you shout at the fan, flicking him off. "Get the fuck out of here!" you shout.

The fan quickly takes a shot of the both of you with his iPhone, a half-hearted apology mumbled out of his mouth as he quickly runs back inside of the restaurant, probably to the group of men who are completely unaware of the two celebrities dry-humping the fuck out of each other in their wake, eating their double-doubles and sneaking sips out of a cup filled with some cheap ass vodka, fist-bumping the night away.

"Are you gonna come in those Gucci pants of yours, D?" you tease, your pace quickening as you ride his dick relentlessly. "How does it feel having America's Sweetheart getting you to come in your pants, baby?"

"Fuck," Dieter pants, his hand wrapping around your neck as he pushes you against the steering wheel, angling the tip of his cock against your clit. "How does it feel to get fucked by The Devil, sweetheart? Your pussy is begging me to just rip those fucking panties off and just claim you, right in front of all of these fucking people-"

You shiver at that, a choked curse and his name out of your mouth as he sees the entirety of your body begin to quiver and shake.  

"Don't fight it, baby, I know you fucking like the attention, I know you want everyone to see how much of a bad fucking girl you are inside... but don't worry, Dieter knows, and I'll help you show them," he pulls you against him harshly, your chest pushed up against his, as his teeth sink at the hollow of your neck. "I'll get the world to see just who you really are, baby. Let me show you the way-"

You scream as he thrusts into you once more as he rips your orgasm out of you violently, crying out into his neck as Dieter explodes into his Gucci trousers, the mixture of your slick and his thick cum making an absolute mess of his loaned suit.  

I guess I'll have to pay for these, Dieter thinks to himself as he cradles your shaking form into his arms, licking away the salty tears running down your face. "You did so good, Doll, don't cry-" he whispers, stroking the back of your head as he tries to get you to calm down. "What do you need, baby?"

You lie quietly against his chest, your breaths falling into rhythm with his, as he assumes you're simply gathering your thoughts. "Baby," he pleads softly, his hands tracing soothing paths along your exposed back. "Please, say something—"

"Marry me," you whisper against his chest, the words barely audible but filled with undeniable certainty.

Dieter freezes, his heart skipping a beat at your unexpected words. For a moment, he's speechless, his mind racing to catch up with the sudden turn of events. Slowly, he lifts his head to meet your gaze, eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

"What did you say?" he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid that speaking any louder might shatter the fragile moment.

You lift your head, meeting Dieter's stunned gaze with unwavering determination. "I said, marry me," you repeat, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart. "Let's take this car and drive it to Vegas, get married by some overweight Elvis impersonator, and book the honeymoon suite at the Cosmo... I don't care how we do it, but let's get fucking married, D!"

Dieter's mind whirls with a mix of emotions—astonishment, disbelief, and a profound sense of joy. He blinks several times, as if trying to confirm that he's not dreaming, before a wide grin spreads across his face.

"Oh, my God," he breathes, his voice trembling with emotion. "Yes. Yes, a thousand times yes."

Taglist:@yxtkiwiyxt @skysmiller @picketniffler @readingiskeepingmegoing @islacharlotte @drewharrisonwriter

@missladym1981@amyispxnk@thespookywookies@stevie75@mysterious-moonstruck-musings

@daydream-believer19@survivingandenduring@darkheartgatita @gobaaby-blog-blog

[starry-eyes-love]

Hollywood Story

Masterlist

Pairing | Dieter Bravo X Curvy F!Reader (nicknamed ‘pretty little girlfriend’)

Summary | You wake up to find the Hollywood News article plastered all over the internet of Dieter kissing his co-star, Amy, while on set for the filming of his recent movie. At first, you find the article funny until you start reading the comments and see another article calling you a fat cow. Dieter puts these false rumors to rest once and for all with a funny live Instagram talk.

Note: For the text messages: bold with italic text is from Dieter, just italic text is from you, and bold and red colored text is from his agent, Kat.

A/N:  We all saw the photo that is making a lot of us feral with that kiss.  I wanted to have a funny little story that went with this.  For some reason, this screams Dieter at me in my mind.  

A huge thanks to my good friend from CAImages on Instagram for pulling this photo together at the last minute for me.  Enjoy :) 

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Warnings | 18+, language

References to body image issues for F!reader (no descriptions except that she is curvy), reference to a cast made of Dieter’s crotch, mentions of previous phone sex (but no details given besides that), Dieter being Dieter.

Word Count: 3.4K

You guys are too nice saying I’m sexy.  Who knew that the belly was sexy, huh? But you know what, you all want to fuck me and the belly, but yet none of you can say one nice fucking thing to my pretty little girlfriend.  I’ve spent all morning reading everyone’s comments online, saying how she isn’t attractive because she has curves. Fuck. You know I love those curves; they feel so good. I love making love to the woman who has those sexy curves.  So, if I’m sexy with this belly, then she can be sexy with her curves too, you know.”

When you pulled up the app to read your morning digital copy of the newspaper, the image popped up on your home screen.  The headline read, “Dieter ends long-term relationship with girlfriend for another woman.”  You usually never cared about those articles, especially when your longtime boyfriend of 5 years was working on a movie set.  You knew that Dieter was in the process of filming a romantic love comedy, and you knew there were kissing scenes.  But this headline piqued your interest, so you clicked on it to read further.

“Sources say that these two co-stars had connected during the filming of the latest romantic movie, titled “I Want You, which stars Dieter, as a lawyer who just moved to New York City and found love with the daughter of the man he is trying to put in jail. People have spotted these two co-stars snuggling up together and having private moments late into the night after filming has wrapped. Recently, reporters caught a private moment of these two as Dieter’s co-star walked him to his car after a long day of filming. Before leaving, reporters captured a long and tender kiss that co-star Amy had given Dieter before he left.  Hollywood wonders if this is it for Dieter and his long-time girlfriend. Sources closest to Dieter say that his current relationship with his girlfriend is over with and that he is moving on, citing the reason for the split was infidelity accusations, among other things.” 

You had to laugh at the tabloid article, considering that last night, you had some of the best phone sex with your boyfriend.  You were moaning his name as you fucked yourself with a dildo that he bought you before he left to go and film this movie.  It was a cast of his hardened cock, a present for his pretty little girlfriend who missed her man dearly on these long movie shooting times when he was away from home.

Pulling up your phone's message app, you sent your boyfriend a copy of the article and some accompanying sass.

Dieter had been lying in bed, dozing on and off this morning.  He had a late call back last night and had to shoot some nighttime scenes.  So after his long day and some nice phone sex with his pretty little girlfriend, he had to go back to work and shoot for another 3 hours.  Yesterday was a 15-hour workday, and he was exhausted.  The studio gave him a day off, saying he could rest up as the following scenes didn’t involve him. 

When Dieter heard the ding of his message app, and then another one, he figured he needed to check to make sure it wasn’t the studio telling him that they had changed their mind and that he’d still have to come in today.  When he pulled up his messages, he saw two were from you.  He stretched and sat up in bed, grabbing his glasses off the nightstand and placing them on his face so he could read what you sent.

So apparently, according to the tabloids, you are cheating on me, and our relationship is over.  By the way, it was a lovely kiss. I'm somewhat jealous that those lips on you weren’t mine.

“What the?” Dieter mumbled to himself at your message.  He clicked the link to the article and saw the picture of the kiss, of a moment playing out during a scene.  It wasn’t unheard of for paparazzi to snap photos of scenes filmed outside, especially along the roadway like yesterday. He glanced down the page and saw the quick article about the photo. As he read through the article, he cursed under his breath at the fact that the tabloids would print something so false.  He quickly typed out a reply to you and then got up and headed to the bathroom to take a piss. He needed to call his new publicist and give him a piece of his mind. He was paying good money to ensure articles like this would not appear in Hollywood, and if they did, he’d know about it ahead of time. So why did this get through without his knowledge? It blew his mind and angered him immensely.

You were slowly sipping your morning coffee, waiting to see what your boyfriend had to say. When you heard the ding of your message app, followed by a few more, you knew he had thoroughly read it.

Jesus

How do people even come up with this shit?

I need to fire my publicist.

No, you don’t need to fire your new publicist.

Are the allegations true?

What?  NO! 

Absolutely not, baby!

I'm just checking because, you know, apparently, infidelity accusations have happened, and I’m not giving you everything you need or something.

Another article cites that I have more curves, and that’s why you did it because I’m not skinny.

Stop! 

That’s not true, and you fucking know it.

I love your curves, baby, and I love you.

It’s just assholes thinking that they know what’s going on but don’t.

Yeah, well, I guess.

You guess? What the fuck do you mean, you guess?

Baby, that was a scene from the movie I’m shooting, a scene.

Not. The. Real. Thing

Ok, if you say so.

What, what the hell- look, I’m not even relaxed like when I kiss you.

Plus, my tongue ain’t even down her fucking throat like it is with you, baby.

I know; it’s just a lot right now. And everyone keeps asking me if the rumors are true. 

Fuck. The longer that Dieter looked online, the more he saw that it was a fucking nightmare.  People accused him of kissing his co-star, Amy, on his off times. One article even claimed that someone saw him fucking her in the ally, which was not even true.  He had to make them stop, not because they were true.  None of them were.  It was just a photo from a movie shoot that he was doing and nothing else.  His co-star was not his type; she was not someone he found attractive in the way he found you attractive.  Sure, Amy was pretty, and she had a beautiful personality, but she was not someone he’d want to be balls deep in, fucking her against the wall like he loved to do with you.  

He was glancing at all the articles, and then he came across one in particular, one that referred to you as a “fat cow,” and that was when he had enough.  He immediately dialed his publicist and gave that son of a bitch a piece of his mind.

Five minutes later, Dieter swore at his publicist, telling him this should never have happened.

“Sam, I don’t give a fuck. I am paying you to stop this shit from happening. Really? Did you stop it? I don’t think you did because I’m looking at an article right now that is referring to my girlfriend as a fat cow.  You better hope she doesn’t read this. Yeah, or you’re fired.”

But as soon as he said it, he heard the ding of a message. His heart sank when he glanced at it, tuning out his publicist's apologizing momentarily and assuring him that everything was fine.  

I can’t come down next week for that event thing anymore. Some stuff, uh, some stuff came up.

Dieter quickly texted you back, hoping that the reason the plans had changed had nothing to do with what you had seen online. 

OK, that’s fine if you don’t want to. Can I ask why there was a sudden change of heart?

I just don’t think me being in a bikini, helping kids, is the best message you want to send people.

Fuck. You must have seen the article.

Baby, why wouldn’t it be the best image?

Come on, honey, talk to me. What’s bothering you?

Nothing is bothering me; it’s just I’m overweight, and I don’t think walking around with a one-piece swimsuit and asking people to help make donations for homeless children is proper.

Baby, how is it not proper? You love that kind of stuff.

It just isn’t okay.  Plus, no one wants to see a fat cow walk around in a bathing suit.  I mean, how can people even print that?  I know I’m a little overweight, but I’m not that much overweight, I think.

Fuck, you did read that article, and it broke his heart to know this.

Look, I just don’t want to do it, ok.

Plus, you could do so much better than me, anyway.

I mean, look at her; she’s beautiful and sexy. What am I?

I’m not attractive, that’s what.  Why did you even ask me out in the first place?

I know cause I was skinny.

Okay, maybe I'm not skinny, but I wasn’t fat.

Okay, yeah, I was fat, but.

One text after another kept coming in as you derailed your self-esteem because of two dumb photos of him kissing his co-star during the middle of a scene for shooting a movie.  

Sam was still talking on the phone, but Dieter was no longer paying attention. He was more concerned about what his pretty little girlfriend was thinking. Dieter was with you because you made him laugh, and you were the love of his life. He had to make this right for you.

“Sam, I’m going to stop you right there. I’ll make this simple for you. You’re fucking fired.”  Dieter then hung up the phone and immediately texted his agent, a woman that scared the living shit out of him because she never took any shit from anyone in the world. Dieter doesn’t remember what her real name is; he’s always called her Kat because she’d claw his eyes out more than once if she had the chance with all of the shit he used to pull before meeting you.

Kat, I fired Sam, he’s a fucking idiot anyways. Please tell me you can stop this fucking shitstorm online. 

For once, remember that I DID NOTHING to start this one.

Kat had gotten back to him almost immediately, helping in the best way that Kat knew how to, taking control of the situation.

Well, Dieter, that didn’t take you long, did it? Just for the record, I fired him this morning before you called him. You were right; he was an idiot. 

I’m already taking care of the shitstorm in the media; the director is fucking furious at the accusations that came forward and is setting the record straight.  I’ll also have the production company make an official statement.

What about the article that called her a fat cow, what about that?

Seriously? Did they- oh, for fucks sake, I’ll take care of it.  I know the editor. I’ll just call him up and threaten to beat the shit out of him for publishing something like that.

Really? You’re going to beat the shit out of someone that isn’t me? Wow, talk about going soft.

Oh, don’t start, Dieter. I can still kick your ass, too.  And I may do it yet today.

But don’t worry, I’ll take care of it, but you’ll have to do damage control on the backside.   

Me? How the hell am I supposed to do that?

It’s called doing damage control with your girlfriend, Dieter. 

I’m sorry for her. No woman or person deserves that horrible humiliation. Take care of her; she’s going to need some reassurance.

Dieter looked at Kat’s last message and couldn’t agree more.  But he didn’t know what he could do to help calm your nerves. As he sat there thinking, he devised an idea that he thought would work. It should take some heat off you and even the playing field.

Dieter pulled his phone out, clicked on the Instagram app, then hit the live button.

You had been drowning in your mind at all the negative comments about your weight, about how people couldn’t believe someone like Dieter would ever be with you, etc. You had spent all morning immersing yourself in these articles and comments, working yourself up into a horrible frenzy of anxiousness and despair.  

You were curled up on the couch, attempting to watch your favorite TV program, missing Dieter, when you heard the ding at the live notification of your Instagram.  The only person you followed like that was Dieter, so you were surprised that he was going live, especially on a day like today.  You quickly pulled out your phone and hit the notification so you could watch and see what was happening.  Dieter already had over 5,000 people watching. So you knew you could hide and not say anything just to see what was happening.

“Hi, it’s me, Dieter…right. Listen. I’m sorry, I’m trying not to care, but it’s hard. It’s hard to see negative comments about the person I love, people calling her unattractive because she doesn’t have a flat stomach like my co-star does.  But you know what, I don’t have a flat stomach either.”

Dieter then stood up, removed his T-shirt and sweatpants, and sat in his boxers, his belly slightly hanging over them.

“So, do you guys want to have sex with me like this?”

After Dieter watched the notifications in the chat coming in of Yes in one way or another, he knew he had the audience right where he wanted them.

“Yeah, I know. Thanks, and wow. You guys are too nice saying I’m sexy.  Who knew that the belly was sexy, huh? But you know what, you all want to fuck me and the belly, but yet none of you can say one nice fucking thing to my pretty little girlfriend.  I’ve spent all morning reading everyone’s comments online, saying how she isn’t attractive because she has curves. Fuck. You know I love those curves; they feel so good. I love making love to the woman who has those sexy curves.  So, if I’m sexy with this belly, then she can be sexy with her curves too, you know.”

“I eat a KitKat every day, either from my mini bar or home. And then, in the morning, there’s always a new KitKat cause my girl knows I love them. And you know what, you don’t know me.  Nobody knows me, the real me, and that’s okay. But my girl, she does; she knows me for the real me, not the Hollywood me.  Like, after we have sex, I always ask her, ‘How do I know in the morning you’re not gonna sell the stuff I unloaded in you to the sperm bank?’ I think about stuff like that when I’m with her, and I tell her.”

“We also have conversations like what happens if your shit, like your literal shit, was alive. That scares me sometimes late at night, and I talk with my girlfriend about it. I go, ‘So, you know when I shit, I don’t watch myself shit. You should never watch yourself shit.  You should just wipe, flush, and then move on.’ We have conversations like that. And then when I have diarrhea and vomiting from food poisoning, I yell for her to hold my hair back because I don’t want the chance of getting vomit in my hair, even if it’s short.”

As you sat back, you watched your boyfriend talk crazy, like you do sometimes late at night. You knew that Dieter never said these things out loud except with you. You didn’t judge him, but the world isn’t always easy on everyone.

“Why do I say these crazy things? Well, if you’re going to judge the most beautiful woman in the world, and she IS the most beautiful woman to me, then you’ll see who I am without the mask of fame. She sees me for the real me and loves me for it. So, if you still love me and all of this crazy shit I do in life, then love her too, cause if you don’t, I won’t be making movies any longer.  I never want to read statements of me cheating on a woman that I’ve had to pinch myself every day in the balls to make sure that I’m not dreaming.  She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and if you guys can’t realize that, then I’m done making movies.  So yeah, goodbye, I guess, until you all fix this issue and stop shaming women or men who don’t fit a perfect image. And stop writing false stories, or this will be the last story you all write of me because I sure as hell won't keep fucking going if all I read are lies about me anymore. I love you all, but seriously, goodbye until you straighten out.”

You then heard him fart on camera and then ended the live right after that. You sat there with tears at how he publicly defended you, even though you never asked him to.  You quickly called him up to thank him.

“You know you didn’t have to say anything, D.”

“I know, but I did. I also thought that I saw you online watching.”  Dieter’s voice echoed like he was in a cave or a large room.

“Where are you? Your voice is echoing.”

“Bathroom,” was all he said, and then you heard it, a fart that echoed.

“Dieter, what-”

“Look, I haven’t taken my morning shit yet, babe.  I’ve had to deal with all this bullshit first, and I can’t hold it anymore, so yeah.”

“It's okay, D, you know I love you. Look, I'll let you go and-”

“No, babe, talk to me. I have nothing else I'm doing while sitting here. You feel a little better?”

“Yeah, a little bit. I mean, you didn't have to say those things about quitting and potentially fuck up your career.”

“Baby, I didn't fuck up my career. And even if I did, I don't care. I love you, and your happiness is just as important to me, if not more, than my career. I care about you, and I’m pissed off that people would say those horrible things about you, the most beautiful woman in my life. My pretty little girlfriend, I love you.”

The two of you talked for an hour until the production company called. They told Dieter that they were postponing shooting more scenes for a few more days until they could figure out the logistics of keeping privacy for more intimate shoots in the future. 

That was fine because it allowed Dieter to fly home to you for a few days. All was peaceful until Dieter got a message from the production company a few days later stating that scenes would begin shooting again next week. As Dieter was packing back up to leave, he received a message from his agent, Kat.

Dieter, you jackass, that’s not what I meant by damage control. You know what, fine, do it your way.  But don’t cry when the little stunt you pulled online results in you getting fired or not being offered any more movie roles.  

Dieter knew that Kat was blowing steam because he had received three tentative movie offers for comedic roles since his online speech.  When he asked Kat what she thought, she was honest with him.

Dieter, you know you can just go fuck yourself, right?

And for what it’s worth, I’m happy you made your girlfriend feel better. You really are a great guy.

To HER, that is.  Now start making my job a little easier, not harder, or so help me, God, I’ll rip your head clean off.  And I'm not talking about the one on the top of your neck. Lord knows you don't need that head anymore cause you don’t ever think with it. I'm talking about the other one.

Dieter laughed hard and knew Kat’s threats were just that, threats.  She has saved his ass more times than he cared to admit.  Yes, this stunt he pulled could have been a huge problem, but he didn’t care.  He’s weathered those harsh storms of his career in the past.  That’s why he paid Kat the big bucks, to help him get out of those shit storms.  But this stunt was for you, to get the negative attention off you. And to make you laugh more, which is what he did in the end.  The only thing that mattered to Dieter was that his pretty little girlfriend was safe, warm, and happy.  Everything in Hollywood was always so fake, except for you and the love that Dieter had for you, that wasn't fake. Dieter loved you more than anything: real, soulmate-type, passionate love. And to him, that was the only story ever worth writing about. 

[nerdieforpedro]

Notes with Dieter

Dieter Bravo/husband x female reader/wife

My blog overall is 18+ MDNI

Word Count: about 1.1k

Summary: You're leaving for another work trip and Dieter is sad once again. This time, he decides to show you how much he cares in full Bravo style.

Warnings: Dieter is the softest boi 😭, side-eyeing a suitcase, illusions to smut?, kisses, doodles, just all the fluff, bad jokes

Notes: So this is a follow up to The Day before was always difficult. @angelofsmalldeath-codeine and @mysterious-moonstruck-musings are always asking more for more soft Dieter. So naturally, I took it as a request even though they didn't really ask? FYI Dieter is a koala 🐨 in this one, but he'll always be our lovable messy trash panda. 🦝 I think I used all the colors Hemmy. 😆

Main Masterlist / Dieter Bravo Masterlist

Dieter used to love suitcases. It meant he was on the move to a new job or some new fun, sometimes both. Now he was more ambivalent about them. Coming home and seeing the hard shell gray suitcase meant that tomorrow morning you’d be gone again for a time.

It’s not like he didn’t know it in advance, you’d always let him know ahead of time. Especially if he was going to be at home alone. It didn’t make it hurt any less. Some might say that he should get over it, just relax and wait for your return, but Dieter isn’t that type of man. The tea kettle screeches with steam and he knows where you are: the kitchen. Instead of alerting you to his presence, he waits until you’ve poured your tea and is covering it to let it steep.

His chest gently presses against your back before his arms ensnare you just under your breasts, propping them up as you’ve showered and in your black cotton nightgown. You’ve decided on an early evening for yourself but Bravo has other plans as his lips to the nape of your neck tell you. A chuckle leaves your chest while you fix the rest of your tea, not intent on giving him a quarter into the game he’s trying to play.

But the two of you sit on the couch. Chatting about current events, he hasn’t made any more moves. Just watching you, listening to you, with an enamored grin. Another chuckle from you for how cute he looks, he’ll do this from time to time when you’re going to leave town again. Like he’s trying to paint a picture of you in his mind. You always remind him that he’s your reason to come home. Dieter always tells you he’s grateful for that.

After tea, it’s bedtime and there are kisses goodnight. He wraps his arm around your waist. You kiss his neck and begin the nightly activities. Apparently Dieter’s learned to just give you a nibble and you’ll do the rest. In the glow of the short hours of the dark, you pinch his cheek, figuring out his game before dozing off on his chest. Sticking to him, not wanting to let go.

Dieter steals out of the bed when you’re asleep and uses a notebook he keeps in his nightstand. He sketches your various expressions you made while on the couch and then how you look in bed right now, sheets half-covering you, your glory exposed for him to see. He has to capture it now else he could miss his moment.

Another idea pops into his head so he grabs his phone and steps out into the living room to record it for you. He plans to send it tomorrow morning while you’re at the airport so you can listen to it on the plane.

A handwritten note slid into your suitcase is for when you unpack. Carefully he slides back into bed, his thumb running down your back with a kiss to your shoulder.

The sun has barely broken the horizon when the alarm sounds, groans fill the room as you both stir. Washing up and getting dressed is your focus so Dieter makes a light breakfast for you with coffee. His eyes cut to your suitcase before he picks it up to carry it to the car his ordered for you, thankfully he was able to zip it back properly.

A text from Dieter says to listen to the message on the plane and to download it just in case. Your headphones are in after greeting your coworkers and the plane is at cruising altitude.

“Hey pretty lady, you know I never want you to leave. I know it’s selfish but I know I always feel better and do better when you’re here. You’re my person you know? Plus who else is going to tell me that many patterns don’t go together, everyone always tells me yes.

Anyway, have a safe flight and kick those old dudes asses. I hope your project goes well. I know you were trying to explain it to be but once you got into Access and databases I was gone. I’m so sorry. I’m gonna try googling it later. You can’t wear that navy blue dress because they’ll think they have a chance and you’re already with an Oscar Winner. They’re too late and I love you Ms. Smarty Pants. Hmm… You should wear pants. Bye.”

The two people sitting next to you thought that you needed some oxygen based on how hard you were wheezing trying to hold in your laughter. You told them that you were fine and it was just a message from your sweet husband, he has quite a way with words.

Thankfully when you landed, everyone was given time to rest in their rooms before the initial group dinner. Opening your suitcase, a piece of notebook paper fell out and you picked it up off the floor. Sitting on the bed you read it, shaking your head.

Sometimes I really do wonder why you’re with me at all, why you come home to me. Hell, why you call me home. I can be a complete and utter mess, irresponsible at times and I’m sure annoying. My one redeeming quality I thought was in creating art through film, painting and drawings. You helped me see that I’m more than that though. So much more. I can be faithful, I can be loyal, I can put someone above myself and I can do all these things without needing an escape.

I often wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t run over my foot with your suitcase and I didn’t sucker you into having lunch with me. You look as beautiful then as you do now, actually more so because we enjoy nighttime KitKats a few times a week. We dance it off part way so it’s fine.

I love you my brave, clever, gracious muse.

Your koala bear who runs hot,

Dieter Bravo

P.S. - You should frame this FYI

Falling back on the bed, you question when Dieter would have slipped this into your suitcase let alone written it. It’s completely in character for him and at the same time, seems so unusual. Trying to hold your tears back only makes them fall harder, you’ll need to re-do your makeup for the dinner but it doesn’t matter to you if you’re late. Dieter will never fail to make himself memorable.

Life as Dieter Bravo’s wife is always full of the unexpected and something to hold onto.

Trash Panda Posse 🦝: @katw474 @readingiskeepingmegoing @megamindsecretlair @pamasaur @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @sp00kymulderr @titlee78 @magpiepills @soft-girl-musings @morallyinept @rhoorl @wannab-urs @survivingandenduring @missladym1981 @yorksgirl @fhatbhabie @tinytinymenace @yourcoolauntie

Special fluff guests: @grogusmum @maggiemayhemnj and @frenchiereading

[whatsnewalycat]

“do you believe in aliens?”

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x GN Person

Summary: Meeting DB in a furniture store.

Prompt: “Do you believe in aliens?”

Trope: Meet-cute

Words: 1.4k+ (sorry can’t shut the fuck up)

Rating: Teen (because swearing)

Notes: For the @dieterbravobrainrotclub May Drabble Challege! Also slightly inspired by Broad City when Lincoln said he met Ilana in a foot locker in Times Square and she was just chillin’. First person POV.

—

It was one of those weeks.

The kind of week where you seem to have no patience for anyone or anything. The kind where extra heavy traffic adds an hour to your commute each way. When you find yourself picking fights and reaching for comfort foods and maybe smoking twice as much as you normally do.

You know the kind of week where you come home on Friday after a long day of suffering under capitalism, only to discover that your live-in boyfriend up-and-left with all of his belongings?

Maybe that last one is just a me problem.

Anyways.

After the first sleepless night on the floor of my apartment, I decided I should get a mattress. Maybe even a bed frame if I could find a good deal.

I went to this nearby furniture outlet, and right away I could tell the place was understaffed. The employees wore these bright sunshine yellow polos that made them easy to spot across the open air of the warehouse. They were outnumbered four to one, easy.

This was gonna take up my whole day. I didn’t mind, though. The way I looked at it, I could either go back to my half-empty apartment and cry about the fact that I didn’t have a bed or a tv or a boyfriend, or I could wait my turn to buy a goddamn bed.

I found the cheapest mattress/bedframe combo available, then laid down on the starch-stiff comforter and gave it a few test bounces before deciding it was good enough.

I walked up and down the aisles of sad-looking bedroom furniture sets, trying to catch the attention of a sunshine polo to no avail.

That’s when I heard him.

“They said it might be an hour wait.”

Following the voice, I turned around and saw this guy all stretched out on a king-sized sleigh bed. He radiated the same energy as a sulking teenager waiting for his parents to pick him up, scrolling on his phone with one arm tucked behind his head.

I checked over my shoulders, then asked, “Are you talking to me?”

He looked up from his phone, dark eyes peeking over the rim of his sunglasses, “You’re trying to get a sales person, right?”

“Yeah.”

He shrugged, sitting up to bend his legs criss-cross applesauce, “Might as well make yourself at home.”

“Well, what can ya do,” I sighed and looked across the warehouse, confirming the sunshine polos were neck deep in annoyed customers.

“Hey, uhhh… since you’re waiting, would you do me a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Tell me what you think about this bed.”

I turned to face the furniture in question, tilting my head as I studied the thing, “I don’t know, it’s big, I guess. Looks… sturdy,” I kicked the leg and nodded in approval, “Yeah, that frame is solid as fuck. Is it comfy?”

“Pretty comfy,” he took off his sunglasses, hooking them on the collar of his worn-out shirt before patting the bed beside him, “See for yourself.”

“You know, normally I make a guy buy me a drink before hopping into bed with him,” I teased, raising an eyebrow at him.

He gave me this charming, dimpled smile, big brown eyes all sparkling warm when he shrugged, “I’ll buy you one after, how’s that sound?”

Heat clung to my stomach and I couldn’t even bear to look at him wearing that devilish grin.

Shaking my head, I climbed onto the mattress, “I’m just giving you shit.” I laid back on the pillow and sank down into the plush bedspread, “This is so much better than the one I’m getting, oh my god.”

“Yeah?” He chuckled and laid down beside me, crossing his ankles as he stretched out, “I’ve been trying to find one that’ll put me right to sleep. I keep having these weird fuckin’ dreams and—”

He cut himself off with a sigh, then looked over at me, “Do you believe in aliens?”

The ludicrous question took me by surprise. This big bubbly laugh escaped my throat and I turned to him, lost for words. All I could do was repeat the question: “Do I believe in aliens?”

“Yeah.”

I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

Searching his face, I smirked, “Who are you?”

“Dieter,” he rolled on his side to make eye contact with me, “What’s your name?”

So I gave him my name and then I told him, “You know, when I was a teenager I lived out in the country. I’d always see things in the sky I couldn’t quite explain. These lights that would stay static in one place for minutes before zooming off into the stars, and… and, yeah, Dieter, I do believe in aliens. Why do you ask?”

“Well, ok,” he propped his head up on the heel of his hand, “See, the person I bought my bed from told me they were abducted by aliens. And I keep having these dreams where I’m in some kind of a spacecraft and these little gray fuckers won’t stop doing experiments on me. I dunno if it’s my subconscious or if I’m being abducted, but I gotta get a new fuckin’ bed either way.”

“Why would the bed make them abduct you?”

He frowned as he considered this, looking around before returning back to me, “Maybe they have a tracking device on it. I don’t know how it works. Probably not even real.”

“But just in case, you’re getting a new bed?”

“Yeah.”

I shrugged, “Doesn’t hurt to try, huh?”

He nodded, eyes flicking around my face, then rolled onto his back. We laid there staring up at the steel support beams and ugly lights fixed to the warehouse ceiling. For a little while I wondered whether or not he would think it was strange for me to bring up my own grievances. Then I decided fuck it, why not?

“Yesterday I came home and half my apartment was missing. My boyfriend moved out while I was at work, took the bed and everything.”

“Doesn’t sound like he’s your boyfriend anymore.”

“No, I guess not.”

“You don’t seem too broken up about it.”

“It was a long time coming,” I shrugged, “It’s… I don’t know, I’ll be fine. Right now I’m mostly upset about the bed. I set up camp on the living room floor last night and could barely sleep.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, then asked, “Are you gonna get this one?”

“I fucking wish. The one I have picked out feels like a cement slab compared to this.”

“Do you want my old one?”

“The one with the alien tracking device?”

“Oh yeah,” he giggled, “I forgot about that.”

Laughter rumbled up from my belly and his, thick and genuine, the kind that can’t be contained no matter how hard you try. It vibrated through my limbs and welled in my eyes as I choked out, “I—I thought we were gonna be friends, but now you’re trying to get me abducted by aliens? What the fuck, man?”

He doubled over on his side, whole body shaking with these gasping giggles that spread like a contagion to me until I could barely breathe.

Once the laughter died down, I looked over at him wiping the tears from his eyes and felt something rare and beautiful spark in my chest.

“I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard,” I admitted, rolling on my side to face him, unable to wipe the smile from my aching face.

“Me neither.”

From just an arms length away, I met his gaze and the most inexplicable compulsion overtook me. I wanted to kiss him, I realized, and that was truly insane.

His eyes dropped to my lips as though the same thought occurred to him.

“Do you wanna get out of here? Go get a drink?” he asked.

The question bubbled up my spine and made my stomach flip.

I nodded, “I do, but my bed—”

“I’ll take care of it,” he smirked, that devilish smirk that I knew would be trouble, and shrugged, “I’ll have my PA get two of these. Deliver one to your place, how’s that sound?”

“You can do that?”

“Absolutely.”

“How?”

“I’ll explain later,” he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, looking back at me, “You coming?”

Unmistakably, this was a leap of faith. It was insanity. He could have turned out to be any number of terrible things, but he wasn’t. He was a breath of fresh air. A clean break from the funk smothering the light from my life. He was the weirdest and best thing that ever happened to me.

[atinylittlepain]

Non-Disclosure Agreement

dieter bravo x publicist!reader

something unprofessional keeps them professional.

warnings | 18+ smut and nothing but(t), pegging, a little angst bc i like being sad lmao

a/n | another installment for the Peg that Middle Aged Man Campaign! In case you missed it, @beskarandblasters @wannab-urs @iamasaddie and @jksprincess10 have alllll posted delicious Pascalian pegging fics that you should go check out :) and there's still more to come, my darlings!

................................

They need this. Pressure released. Life forgotten. Whoever they are outside of this, dissolved at the door. They need this, and both of them are more than willing to provide it for the other.

It keeps him in line, just a touch more compliant, docile. And it keeps her from firing him, if not killing him, when he manages to whip up a new PR disaster for her to swoop in and fix. 

“You just gonna stare at it, or are you gonna get it ready for me?” His eyes are wide, dark brown blown out in lust as he looks up at her from where he’s sitting on the edge of her bed, hair in wild waves in only the way his could be. She had tried many times to get Dieter Bravo into an actual salon chair, but he’s always been too stubborn, too contrarian, and too goddamn paranoid to let anyone but her near “the goods.” But she doesn’t mind it right now, raking her fingers back through it, giving a sharp tug that makes him hiss.

“You know I don’t like to be kept waiting, baby. Are you gonna be good? Or am I gonna have to send you home right now with your dick still hard?” Neck arched from the grip she has in his hair, lips parted, and brow furrowed, it’s how she likes him best.

“Someone’s extra mean tonight. What? Is your husband fucking an intern again?” His eyes glint, lips just crooked in a smile, but she’s quick to wipe it away when she guides her strap into his mouth.

“That’s nice, isn’t it, brat? Give your mouth something better to do than run itself. That’s it, get it nice and wet for me, baby.” He lets out a low moan around her silicone dick, bobbing his head in an obscene rhythm, heat licking up her spine at the sight. 

They have it down to a science by now. He knows what it means when she calls him late at night, that it never has anything to do with a new script she has for him, and everything to do with expecting him at her front door in fifteen minutes, ready to be her human chew toy. And it’s always a rushed drag to tug clothes off and stumble into her bedroom. He’s learned not to ask her to come to his, she’d never go near his coked-out drug cave of a mansion.

“Look so good like this, Dieter. Always look so good when I get you to shut the fuck up for me.” Her biting words coax another groan out of him, the muffled sound getting cut off when she leans down to wrap her hand around his cock, squeezing him at the base before flicking her wrist up, thumb swiping over his leaking slit. 

“How do you want it, baby? Should I take you from behind tonight?” He pops off her strap with a lewd smack, eyes dazed and droopy as he jerkily shakes his head.

“Wanna watch you do it tonight. Wanna see your tits bounce, please.” 

“Well you know how much I like it when you say please. Lay back for me, pretty boy.” With that, he scrambles back onto the bed, legs splayed out, cock flushed and hard, resting on the sweet swell of his belly. And though she calls him it to tease, she has to admit, he really is a very pretty man. She kneels between his legs on the bed, landing a smack to the top of his thigh, eliciting a shaky huff from him.  

“Don’t be difficult, baby. You know this isn’t how I want you. Knees bent, feet flat, want you spread for me, there you go.” She can practically see his cock twitch at her words as he shifts into the position she demands, eyes glued to her as she rubs lube up and down her strap. 

“What do you say if you don’t like something and want me to stop?”

“EGOT.” 

“Good boy, gonna get you ready for me now.”

“Is that–”

“Yeah, paraben free, picked it up at Erewhon just like you requested, you spoiled brat. You gonna say thank you like a good boy?” She holds the bottle of ridiculously expensive, all natural lube aloft in her hand, flashing a smile his way as she waves it side to side. It’s his new thing, he read somewhere that parabens cause cancer and interfere with theta brainwaves, whatever the fuck that means, though it had caused problems for her last week when he refused to let her come anywhere near him with the lube she’s been quite literally using on him for months.

“Really, you should be thanking me, ok? Parabens affect us all.” That earns him another, sharper, smack to his thigh, forcing a grunt from his chest as she does.

“Fine, fine, thank you, boss. Now will you please do that thing with your fingers?” Warming a dollop of lube up between her hands, she curls over him, letting her lips barely drag along the underside of his cock, tongue flickering out over his tip before she takes him into the heat of her mouth, only a few quick passes to get him moaning before she glides a slicked-up palm down his throbbing length. 

“You think you deserve my fingers, Dieter? Really? After you showed up coked-out to that audition last week and I had to clean up your mess again?” She just barely lets her nails graze the leaking head of his cock, making him whimper under her ministrations.

“I– fuck, I’m sorry, ok? Won’t do it again, I swear, just– please, boss, need it bad.” She hums low in her throat, tilting her head at him as she gives his cock another squeeze, his moan cracking in his chest.

“Hmm, I’ll give you what you want. But there’s gonna be some conditions, ok?” She has to stifle a laugh at how rapidly he nods his head.

“If I’m gonna give you what you want, take care of you like you want, you’re gonna have to promise me that from now on, every audition I get you, you’re gonna show up sober, twenty minutes early, lines practiced, and not wearing yesterday’s clothes, you got that?” She emphasizes each point with a pass of her palm over his balls, a light squeeze that sends his eyes rolling back in his head as he frantically nods along to her words.

“Repeat it back to me, Dieter. What’re you gonna do from now on?” She keeps working his cock in her hand, his reply coming out stilted and whiny.

“Sober, e-early, fuck– lines, clean f-fucking clothes, I got it, I promise, please.” She shushes his cry with a pinch to the swell of his belly, finally giving him what he wants and slipping her fingers down to that tight ring of muscle, a slow press that sends him preening at her touch.

“Aw, there it is, feels good, baby? You like my fingers fucking you? You want another one?” He lets out a breathy uh-huh that she’s happy to comply with, slipping another finger in with her first one and finding a slow pump, her other hand lazily stroking his cock, setting his thighs into a weak tremor.

“Fuck, I don’t wanna come like this– wanna get fucked, want you to fuck me.” “I am fucking you, superstar. Gotta use your words if there’s something else you want.” He lets out a petulant groan at her crackling words, throwing his head back in the pillows as she continues to work him over. 

“Want your cock, now, please.” Well, at least he tried to use his manners. He lets out a hiss when she pulls her hands away from him to smear lube over her strap, her eyes set, steeled, on his as she leans over him, one hand planted in the sheets next to his face and the other pressing her fake dick forward, slow and smooth like she knows he wants it.

“So good for me, Dieter. Just relax, baby, I always take good care of you, don’t I?” His eyes roll back when she presses all the way in, her hips stilling between the frame of his shaking thighs. But she doesn’t wait long before arcing her hips back, finding a heady rhythm to fuck him to. It’s perfect power, feeling the way his eyes drag over her body, the sway of her breasts with each thrust, the swirl of her hips when she grinds against that spot that makes him groan, his hands fisted in his hair, having long learned not to touch while she’s working. 

“You do– shit, always take good care of me– so fucking good, boss– feels fucking amazing.” 

He always comes so fast like this, and she can tell he’s already getting there now, his chest flushed pink, moans turning long and ragged. And when she drags her hand down the length of his cock, dipping down to cup his balls, it’s enough to send him right over the edge, his come smearing over his heaving belly. 

“That’s it, superstar. You’re too easy, I swear. Just gotta keep you good and fucked out and you’ll do whatever I want, huh, is that it?” Her teeth nip at the arc of his neck, the hilt of his jaw, lips barely hovering over his as he comes down from his high, though she’s quick to jerk her face away when he tries to lean up for a kiss, giggling at the frustrated crease that settles between his brows. 

“I have something else for you to kiss, baby.” With that, she pulls out of him, shushing his whimpers as she shimmies out of her harness. 

“Aw, do you need to take a break, superstar? Can’t handle it tonight?” It’s the exact thing she needs to say to snap him out of his orgasmic stupor, his head whipping up from the pillows, eyes wide and hands grabbing for her hips. 

“Not a fucking chance, boss. I– you– just fucking– c’mere.” Not without a laugh at his impatient grumbling, she crawls up his body until her thighs are framing his face, scruff tickling the softness of her skin. As with most things, he doesn’t mind his manners, hooking his arms around her thighs and pulling her down hard onto his mouth, the flat of his tongue swiping through her cunt before she can even brace herself. It’s desperate, and almost too sloppy, the way he fucks his tongue into her before dragging her pooling slick up to her clit, his groans sending a shiver through her spine. His fingers press hard into the swell of her ass, holding her steady enough that her hands are free to hold her breasts, rolling her nipples between her fingers, her head falling back at the added sensation. His tongue is everywhere, finally settling into a heady rhythm of fucking into her as she grinds down on the perfect crook of his nose. She’s not the kind of woman to hold back either, dragging her hips over the heat of his mouth, gasping into the stillness of the room, the sound mingling with his muffled grunts and the slick slide of his smacking lips. 

A yelp looses from her chest when he brings his hand down hard to the curve of her ass and he giggles, a gruff hum into her cunt, the fucking tool. But she’s too close to that tight pull of pleasure snapping to reprimand him now, instead settling her hand in his hair and tugging harshly as she comes with a long whine, her hips spasming in his hold as he laps at her pulsing cunt. Eventually, she has to shove him back by his forehead to get him to stop mouthing at her dripping cunt, tenderly swinging one thigh over him to plop down on the mattress in a heaving slump. 

“Same time next week?” Still catching her breath, she waves her hand dismissively at his smug question.

“Just shut up and come shower with me.” 

Her husband had insisted on a shower the size of her first studio apartment, all clear glass and black marble, what her friends lovingly call the “douchebag shower.” But she doesn’t mind it now, sharing it with Dieter, who always hogs her fancy shampoo, smelling like her for days after. 

“You’ve got an audition on Wednesday, two o’clock, I’ll send you the script in the morning.” He hums at that, dipping his head back under the water.

“What’s the vibe?” 

“Limited series for HBO. Some kind of mystery-thriller-beach-read screenplay. Main character role alongside Nicole Kidman.” He tilts his head back down at that, eyebrows quirking at her. She just smiles.

“You can tell me I’m good once you’ve got the part. And remember our little deal, Bravo. I’m not gonna let you fuck all my hard work up with a few lines of cocaine.” His grin goes a little crooked as he nods, holding out her shampoo for her.

“You wanna do it for me, baby?” He does, slipping behind her and running his sudsed-up fingers through her hair, just a touch rough, how he knows she likes it. 

She gives him a pair of her husband’s boxers, knowing that he won’t even notice they’re gone, and they slip back into bed, limbs warm and sated after a fuck and a shower. It’s the strangest part of this whole arrangement, the way they always end up, tangled around each other in her bed. She only had to ask for him to do it once, and now he does it without her having to say a thing, tucking his arms under her waist and settling into her with his cheek pressed into her sternum, the weight of him pressing her down into the mattress, her mind running slow and easy from his warmth. They need this, and they give it to each other without having to say a thing.

“I want you out of here–”

“Before eight o’clock. Yeah, boss, I got it.” 

..................................

@swiftispunk come get your juice lol

[sinpathyforthedevilish]

The Lovesick Lines

Pairing: Acting coach!Dieter x Actress!female reader

Genre: Fluff, Romance

Warnings: mutual pining, tooth-rotting Fluff, Idiots to lovers.

Words: 555

Summary: Dieter helps you learn your lines for your monologue.

A/N: Once again, I got inspired by Pedro's monologue which I love it and I've always wanted to write something about that scene. Hope you enjoy it!!!

"Again," he tells you with conviction.

You sigh, standing straight on stage and looking at the empty crowd. It's the fifth time you are rehearsing this scene and still, Dieter is not satisfied.

"Do you remember? When we saw—fuck—do you remember?"

Shit. If you don't have this line learned by tomorrow, you know your role will be on trouble. And Dieter is aware of that.

"Wait, wait. Hold on," He hops on stage one more time, walking towards you. "Let's do it one more time."

Before you start again with almost resignation, he grabs your arms, turning towards his direction.

"Let's pretend there is no one. There is no crowd, no people. Just you and me. All of these that you are saying, is to me," He whispers, now closer than before. "Okay?"

You just nod, feeling a little more confident.

He gives you the sign to start, and you recite.

"I always think about you, this time. Do you ever think about me? A little?" You whisper as you stare straight into his brown and deep eyes, which are digging holes in your soul. He gives you a sign to continue.

"You got something most people never have . And I tried to quote that shit back at you..."

He chuckles, his dimples showing up.

And your heart starts beating like crazy.

"And you laughed at me, cause I fucked it up... and I kissed you," you breath as you stare his mouth. Without even thinking, you approach him, cupping his cheek, feeling his soft skin and his thin beard. The lines of the play possessing your body. His smile slowly fades, his eyes stare down your lips.

"And you let me, and it rained like we were in a fucking movie... and life was never better than that..."

"Go on," he rasps.

You are both alone in the spotlight. Just a woman expressing her feelings to a man. You don't know anymore if you are acting or if it's your true feelings rising to the surface.

"You have to know that you'd send me in a kind of madness. I think maybe sometimes I made you up..."

His arm is now wrapped around your waist, chest to chest pressed against each other. This is it. This is your moment where you tell him the agonizing love that you have felt for him all these years.

"So I go into the quietest parts of this house and whisper your name."

"I whisper your name... I could scream it," you tremble against his lips. There is no distance anymore, just an invisible magnet that pulls you towards him. "Should I scream it? I should, I will."

You finish your line. Dieter is cupping your cheek too, mesmerized by your confession.

"Was it—was it okay?" You ask with a small voice.

He smiles lovingly, biting his lips as he traces your jaw.

"I am fucking dying to hear you screaming my name," He growls and with that he grasps your face with his hands and he crushes his lips against yours, kissing you with a fervor that makes you melt in his arms.

You both smile in the kiss, wrapping each other right in the middle on stage. 

Indeed, after the show, he receives you into his arms, grinning so proudly and kissing you until you forget the acclamation of the crowd. 

[sweetpascal]

— 𝐭 𝐡 𝐞 𝐬 𝐭 𝐨 𝐧 𝐞 𝐫 𝐝 𝐢 𝐚 𝐫 𝐢 𝐞 𝐬 ༄

pairing: dieter bravo x fem!reader

MAIN MASTERLIST

— series summary: being dieter's only best friend—also long term friends with benefits—you've learned not to be an enabler like the other "friends" he's had in the past. after forcing him to only have weed as his drug of choice as therapy, you're soon trapped in his world of chaos, sex, and idiocy.

— series warnings: [ WARNINGS WILL BE MORE DESCRIPTIVE PER CHAPTER ]. MINORS DNI. idiots to lovers (boffum). TW: weed use. healthy coping mechanisms. TW: mentions of poor mental health. sex sex lots of sex. brief angsty-ness. dieter is just a huge dork in this.

— notes: the dividers used in this series have all been made by me. please give credit if you wanna take them for any fics you'd wanna use them for. thank you !! ≽^•⩊•^≼

follow @sweetpascal-notifs for updates on future fics.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓇𝑒𝒷𝓁𝑜𝑔𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝒶𝓅𝓅𝓇𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒹. 💌 ꒱ ˎˊ˗

— 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃.

ᝰ.ᐟ = s m u t 〤 = a n g s t

no. 01 — draw me like one of your french girl's

MORE COMING SOON. ༉‧₊˚.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ EXTRAS ꒱ ˎˊ˗

series pinterest board

[tightjeansjavi]

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.

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[tired-tyrant]

#Grr Mondays

note: what i personally think happened on the night of the met gala

warnings: no use of y/n, no physical description of reader

pairing: f!reader x dieter bravo

word count: 446

He stood in the mirror, looking over the floral details of his suit. It was a great suit, hell he'd wear it to every premiere for the rest of his career if he could- he just wasn't feeling it.

“Babe did you get-” you walked into the bedroom, words leaving your brain as you admired your boyfriend in the suit they had custom made for him.

He looked perfect.

“Too much?” He asked.

“Not at all. Fits the theme perfectly.” You smiled, expecting him to smile back but instead he just looked back into the mirror. “Dee, what's wrong?”

He let out a small sigh and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I don't feel like going.” You sat down next to him, wrapping your arm around his shoulders.

“How about we stay here? Maybe order a pizza or two.” Your fingers traveled up to his curls at the nape of his neck, gently scratching his scalp.

“Why don't I want to go?”

“Your tired baby. You've been working on projects back to back without much of a break.”

“Just don't wanna disappoint anyone…” he muttered, looking down at his hands.

“You're not going to. You have to think about yourself sometimes, Dieter.”

He sat there for a moment, taking in all the things you just told him. You were right- he had been overworking himself a bit and to be honest, he could use a day off.

“Can we get wings with that pizza?” You chuckled and kisses his temple.

“Anything my baby wants.”

— — —

Dieter woke up Monday morning, secretly hoping that he'd change his mind about going to the Met Gala, but he hadn't.

Who would put an event such as the Gala on a Monday night?

Just the thought about getting dressed and ready made his social battery drain before he even left the apartment. He had filming the early next day and he hadn't spent much time with you in between projects. Your idea of pizza in bed was all he ever wanted right now.

And that's what you did.

6pm rolled around. You were in an oversized t-shirt while Dieter was in his gray shirt and brown striped pajama pants, laying back against the headboard with a pizza box in between the two of you.

“What do you wanna watch babe?” You asked.

“How about the Gala?” You smiled and casted the Gala livestream onto the TV.

You both watched, cringing or admiring at the outfits of the night while downing a box of wings and pizza. Before you knew it, you both passed out in each other's arms around 10pm.

In Dieter’s opinion- it was the best night ever.

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Plastic Hearts, Chapter Eight: Angels Like You

pairing: dieter bravo x actress!ofc (Violet)

rating: E (18+ only, angst, talks of addiction/recovery, oral (fem rec), unprotected piv, these two are so (maybe unhealthily) lovestruck, more angst but this time parental)

wc: 6.3k

series masterlist

December 22nd — Los Angeles, CA

Though Los Angeles never really got all that chilly in the winter, the city felt colder than it had in years as Violet drove down Sunset Boulevard with the top of her all-black BMW down, the wind whipping through her hair. 

Dieter had been in and out of the city for the past month working on the pre-production for his upcoming project, leaving her alone as she began to start her Oscar campaign for her lackluster movie. Even on the rare occasion that he was in town for an entire night, he seemed to be pulling further away from her with every passing day, but she couldn’t blame him, especially after the incident at the club and his discovery that she was using. 

Violet spent most of her free nights driving all over the city. This ritual had become sort of holy and precious to her. She needed the roof to be down, the heater and music to be on high, and most important of all, Dieter’s thick, brown coat bundling her up. She couldn’t explain why, but this was the closest she ever came to replicating the feeling of being with Dieter; the thrill of the icy wind hitting her face, the music so loud all of her thoughts were silenced, the warmth of his scent enveloping her making her feel safer than she’d felt in her entire life. 

It was nearing two in the morning when Violet’s BMW rolled back into her driveway, the music and the heater going silent in an instant. She sat there in the quiet evening air for a moment, steel-faced as she stared ahead at her shiny new mansion, but internally there was no feeling of success or fulfillment to be found. 

After forcing herself inside, Violet kicked off her shoes and slugged into the kitchen to make herself something to eat, a once, or twice if she was in a particularly good mood, a day task lately. She had only just opened the fridge when she was interrupted by an urgent thought—where the fuck is my phone?—the ache in her stomach momentarily dismissed as she patted herself down before running off on a hunt. 

Finding it upstairs on her bed, she was shocked to find three missed calls from Dieter, especially since she’d only heard from him once in the last week. She immediately dialed his number, putting the phone on speaker as she headed back downstairs into the kitchen. 

“Hey,” Dieter’s voice crackled through her speaker, bringing a smile to her face even with his almost indifferent tone. “Called a few times.”

“I’m sorry, I was driving,” she said, setting the phone down on the island. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just missed you,” he said, sincerity mixing with something unknown turning his tone sadder than she would’ve hoped. “Been so busy, all these meetings and shit. Sorry if it feels like…I don’t know. Like I’m not here.”

“S’alright,” she managed, a lump forming in her throat at the constant tension between them. “We are good though…right?”

“Yeah, I mean—“ he sighed. She could imagine the way his hand anxiously was rubbing at his jaw. “Shit’s…been a little weird lately. But we’re—you and I are still—I still love you.”

“Still?” she repeated, scoffing under her breath. “How fortunate am I that you still love me.”

“Violet,” he sighed. “Do you really want to go there?”

“Honestly, yeah,” she snapped, abandoning all hope for a meal tonight as she walked over to the island and stared at her screen as though she were glaring at him face to face. 

“It’s hard for me to be around you when I know that you’re still fucking using. That’s all. Yes, I still love you. I still love you even though it’s fucking hard and dangerous and a slippery fucking slope for me,” he said, a sharpness in his voice that she had yet to hear from him in the six months of knowing him. 

“I’m not using,” she countered weakly, not even believing her own lie. 

“Vi, pretending like you don’t have a problem doesn’t mean you don’t still have a problem,” he softened his voice. “I just want you to get help, but you’re not. You keep saying you’ll quit cold turkey and it doesn’t fucking work. Trust me.”

“Is that what I have to do to see you?” she asked, her voice breaking a bit as tears flooded over her waterline. 

“You can’t make this about me,” he sighed. 

“I have to. I don’t want to stop, but you want me to,” she said. “And I want you more than anything. Especially lately.”

The line went silent for a few beats, prompting Violet to carry on with her tearful plea. 

“I want to see you, to go to bed with you, to touch you. It’s been a month since I got to spend more than a day with you, do you know that?”

“Trust me, it hasn’t been fucking easy for me either,” he exhaled. “But I need to set boundaries and shit. And a big boundary is that if you’re using or if there’s shit at the house, I can’t be there. I can’t be with you, and I can’t be there.” 

“Then I’m done using,” she said decidedly, as if recovery was as simple as making a declaration. 

“Baby,” he sighed for the thousandth time in five minutes. “Find a rehab, or some sort of accountability program—“

“Christmas is literally in three days,” she chuckled. “After the holidays, I will.”

“Okay,” he managed after a beat, still not sounding his usual self. 

“Okay, so…can I come see you for Christmas?” she said, biting her lip nervously. 

“Yeah, you know, as long as you respect this line I’m trying to draw,” he said. 

“Of course I will.” 

“Just to warn you, my awful parents decided they wanted to have an awful Christmas Eve together at their place, so…keep in mind you’ll have to deal with their passive aggressive bullshit.”

“That’s fine, I can be passive aggressive right back,” she said, smiling down at her screen as if nothing ever happened. Her knack for forgiveness was a trait she both deeply admired and utterly hated about herself. “I can’t wait to see you, D. Really. I’m gonna…gonna get my shit together. I’m just…I’m taking this loss of a movie really hard.”

“I know, baby,” he offered softly. “You’re doing your best to cope, I know that. I just—there’s better ways. I know it doesn’t feel like anything matches that high, but—“

“You do,” she cut in. “Being with you beats it.”

Dieter was quiet for a beat. “Fuck, I’ve really missed you.”

Violet smiled softly and nodded. “I’m gonna find a flight for tomorrow.”

“Alright, baby,” he hummed. “I’m sorry—for the way I’ve gone about all this shit. I should’ve said something instead of just pulling away. Wasn’t cool.”

“S’alright,” she said. “We’re good now.”

“Yeah. We’re good,” he agreed. “Call me before you head out?”

“You gonna pick up?” she teased, earning a chuckle. 

“Yes,” he snarked and Violet laughed, the sound fading into a more comfortable silence than she was used to as of late. Dieter must have felt the shift back to normalcy as well, his voice soft as he spoke again. “You know I love you more than anything, Violet.”

“I know,” she hummed, her smile tender as she stared at his contact picture on her screen. “I love you, D,” she mused. “M’gonna go get ready for bed.”

“Okay,” he rasped. “Have a good night, V. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Night night.”

Dieter’s month had been long and grueling, constantly flying back and forth between New York and LA, New York and London, London and Germany, all to meet studio executives without an ounce of creativity in their bones and kiss ass until they were sure his role in the movie could suit their monetary desires. On top of all of this, he felt like he was working a full time job trying to figure out his situation with Violet after the big blowout at the club. Everytime he sought outside advice, he heard the same shit. 

It’s not safe for your sobriety to be with someone who’s using, his therapist said. This shit is toxic, Andrea said. If it comes out that Violet’s on coke, they’re all going to blame you, his publicist said. 

But of course it was cut and dry for them. 

They didn’t love her. They didn’t know her. They weren’t him, didn’t feel the way he did about life, didn’t know what it was like to meet someone who just fucking gets it. 

It wasn’t as simple as saying goodbye and moving on, but he couldn’t be with her the way he used to be anymore—as long as she was using, that is. 

He needed to put distance between them for a while while he figured out what to do about loving her the way he did and fearing it’s total control over him at the same time. 

Tonight, after a particularly difficult day spent at the office punctuated by a once a year call from his mother, he couldn’t keep himself distanced any longer. He needed to hear her voice, and more importantly, he needed to finally lay out his terms for their relationship. 

After the call ended, he still only felt partly relieved. There was this selfish child deep within him that was clinging onto the thought of seeing her again that couldn’t be tamed. That desperate, love starved boy had no care in the world about what could happen if she started using around him again—he was just glad she was there. The other, more mature part of him resembled more of the man who he saw in the mirror. This man had been let down by love every time he’s felt it. This man knew that sometimes you just fucking lose in the end. This man had, through multiple relapses and years of falling on and off the wagon, finally gotten sober, finally had his career back to where he wanted it, and this man knew that all it would take is one slip up for it all to go to shit. 

He hoped she was being sincere about getting clean, but as the old saying goes, hope is a dangerous thing to have. 

It hadn’t snowed the entire month, but as if the city was just waiting for Violet to come home, New York was covered in a soft blanket of white ice as soon as she touched ground. Dieter couldn’t help but smile at the coincidence as he stood in front of a large glass window in the airport, watching as Violet’s plane hit the tarmac. 

By the time she came walking towards him with a wide, smitten grin hidden beneath her thick wool scarf, Dieter had managed to forget all about his concerns regarding the state of their relationship.

“Excuse me? Can I get a picture? I’m a big fan,” she teased, sliding her arms around his waist as he pulled her in for the tightest hug of her life, swaying her side to side with his face buried in her scarf. 

“Missed you, Apollo,” he mumbled, squeezing her tighter before letting her go just enough to look at her, his hands lifting to frame her face. “A shit ton.”

“I missed you, Bravo,” she said, her eyes tracing the curve of his bottom lip. Dieter took her cue and leaned down, his fingers holding her chin as he kissed her soft and slow until it started to get too heated for Violet’s comfort given their current location. “Maybe we shouldn’t make out in an airport?”

“Bathroom?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Violet laughed and swatted his hip before shaking her head and pulling herself away from him. 

“Lame,” he teased, shooting her a smirk as he grabbed her suitcase with one hand and Violet’s hand with the other, lifting it to his lips to kiss it as they headed through the dull terminal. 

“Where’ve you been staying?” she asked in the backseat of the towncar Dieter ordered to pick them up. 

She could hardly keep herself composed, every atom of her being singing now that she was back where she belonged. She sat in the middle seat, Dieter holding her hand on top of her lap. The proximity of his fingers to where she’d been craving them, where she knew they’d excel at making her feel better than anyone before him ever had, was turning her thoughts feral, and so, she went searching for a distraction. 

“I’m renting a place in the West Village,” he said, letting go of her hand to rest his across her thigh, his fingertips nestling between her legs. “It’s nice. Has a studio, so I’ve been painting again.”

“Yeah?” she asked, airy but focused as she watched his hand flex with every stroke of his thumb over her dotted black nylon tights. “Paint anything for me?”

Dieter smiled, his eyes fixed on his hand as well. 

“S’probably all for you,” he managed, drawing her eyes to meet his. “Fucking missed you, V.”

“Come here,” she said, her hand fitting to mold against his cheek as she pulled him down to kiss her, neither of them caring about the driver seeing. “Don’t wanna be apart anymore. This sucks.”

“I know,” he sighed, resting his forehead against her shoulder. “It’s not working for me, either.”

“I’ll…” She stopped herself, glancing at the back of the driver’s head. “I’ll do better. About everything. I just want you.”

“I can help,” he offered, keeping his voice hushed as he lifted his head to look at her. “We can figure it out.”

“Yeah?” she smiled, her brows lacing together as if she was about to cry. Dieter poked his bottom lip out at the sight and nodded. 

“It’s you and I, kid.”

“God, I missed New York,” Violet mused as she and Dieter walked back to his apartment after having dinner at Dieter’s favorite sushi spot, the city looking extra magical from the snow and festive lights on every building. She was bundled up like a true Californian, Dieter’s arm hugged close to her chest. 

“You should move here,” he said, pulling her eyes to the side of his face as he continued looking ahead. “You seem happier here. You have friends. We could…we could move in together. If you did.”

“What about my place in LA?” she asked, letting go of his arm to hold his hand instead as they stopped at a crosswalk to wait for traffic to pass. 

“Keep it,” he shrugged, reaching to fix her beanie so that it covered her ears better. 

“Really?” she asked, biting her lip. Dieter shook his head at the effect such a small action had on him, his lips lowering to meet hers for a small, necessary-for-his-survival kiss. 

“After I finish filming,” he mumbled against her lips. Violet tensed at the mention of his impending absence turning her mood sour. 

“Let’s talk about something else,” she said, gently pushing him away as the light for the crosswalk changed, signaling the all-clear. 

They walked together in silence for a moment, neither one of them knowing how to continue to avoid the looming fact that their relationship only seemed to fare well when they were together, and soon they wouldn’t be. 

“Your parents,” Violet started, breaking the silence. “What’s that gonna be like?”

“Dull as fuck,” Dieter chuckled and shook his head. “My mom is going to pretend to be the most elegant human being you’ve ever met, and my dad’s probably going to use complimenting you as a way to insult me.” 

“I don’t think your dad’s going to compliment me after what happened at SNL,” Violet said. 

“Forgot about that,” Dieter smirked. “Feels like such a long time ago.”

“We weren’t even together then,” she smiled at him. “Two idiots.”

“I’m still an idiot,” he said, leading them up the steps of his apartment and unlocking the door. “Treated you like shit lately.”

“D,” she frowned as they peeled off their layers in the entryway. “You needed distance, it wasn’t shitty.”

“The way I did it was,” he argued. “And I’m going to disappear again next month for filming—“

“I don’t want to think about that, Dieter,” she sighed, heading down the hall to the living room, finding her place on the sofa while he walked into the adjoining kitchen. 

“We should talk about it,” he replied over the hiss of a bottle of sparkling water being opened. “I’m gone three months—“

“Shhh,” she groaned, laying facedown on the couch dramatically. 

“Just because you can’t see me doesn’t mean I’m not still here,” Dieter teased, making his way around the island to walk over to her, crawling on top of her. 

“You’re heavy,” she croaked from beneath him. 

“I have to leave,” he said, kissing her ear. “But I want you to come with me.”

“Okay, get up. I’ll talk,” she sighed, waiting for his weight to leave her before sitting up and facing him. “You want me to come with you to…?”

“Germany for a month, London for the other two,” he said, lifting his water to his lips. 

“I have award season,” she said. “I’ll have to fly back and forth from Germany and LA.”

“So do I,” he countered. “To be with you when you win.”

Violet rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Shut up.”

“At least come to Germany,” he begged, using those eyes of his on her. 

“I suppose I can do Germany,” she said, smiling at him as she crawled onto his lap, her arms draping over his shoulders. “It’s going to be freezing and miserable, isn’t it?”

“Oh, it’s gonna be shit,” he mumbled, his hands sliding her sweater up and off her frame, leaving her in a lacy black bra, a black skirt, and black tights. His eyes darted rapidly from her thighs to her chest to her face and back down again, unable to choose a favorite sight. “But you’re going to make it bearable.”

“Andrea’s gonna be pissed you’re bringing me,” Violet whispered as Dieter slipped her bra straps off her shoulders, his face burying in her cleavage while his hands kneaded at her ass under her skirt. 

“She can fuck off,” he murmured, sliding his hands up her back to unclasp her bra. “Look at you, baby.”

“I’ve been neglected,” she smiled, combing her fingers through his dark curls as he cupped the weight of her breasts with both hands, his lips pressing wet kisses on every inch of skin he could find. 

“Yeah? I’m a fucking idiot,” he mumbled, swiping his tongue over one of her stiff peaks, earning a roll of her hips. Dieter moaned at the taste of her, one hand cupping her breast while the other slid down her spine to guide her hips against his cock strained beneath black denim. 

“Take this off,” she whispered, tugging at his sweater. Dieter quickly obeyed, shucking the cashmere off his body while Violet lowered herself to the floor, her hands working the button of his jeans open. 

“I got this, you work on taking that skirt off,” he ordered, peeling his jeans off. 

“And the tights?”

“Leave them on,” he said, licking his lips as he sat back against the couch. His legs were spread, his fist slowly stroking his cock as he watched her slide her black mini-skirt off with lust drunken eyes, leaving her in only a pair of black tights and a black thong underneath. “Fuck me. Look at you.” 

Violet smiled adoringly as she walked to stand between his open knees, Dieter’s hands finding her hips. He leaned in, pressing soft kisses to her stomach while his hands slid around to squeeze her ass before ripping her tights right down the middle. 

“These are expensive,” she scolded through a giggle, allowing him to spin her around so that her ass was facing him. 

“This fucking ass,” he groaned, almost pained by his desire for the woman in front of him. “Wanna take a bite out of it.”

“Yeah?” she taunted, turning to look back at him from over her shoulder, a finger between her teeth. “Go on, then.”

Dieter smiled and shook his head. “Bend over, baby.” 

Violet did as he asked, bending over and holding onto the coffee table for stability as she spread her legs a little wider for him, Dieter’s moan confirming that she’d done a good job at following directions. 

“Pretty fucking pussy,” he cooed, moving her thong to the side and swiping a thumb through the mess of arousal coating her lower lips. “You want my tongue, baby?”

“Mmhm,” she purred, arching her back for him. Dieter groaned as he palmed the round globes of her ass with both hands, bringing his teeth to the soft flesh to give her a lovebite. 

“I could write a sonnet about your ass,” he mumbled, leaving wet kisses on both cheeks as he stripped her thong off and tossed it across the room, leaving her in only a pair of ripped tights. “Shall I compare this ass to a summer’s day?”

“Shut up,” she giggled, standing upright and turning around to face him. Dieter’s hands found her waist, his eyes round as they peered up at her. She carded her fingers through his hair before tugging on it, earning a soft moan. Tracing her finger across his bottom lip, she smirked at the look of sheer obedience coming from this beautiful man she’d somehow stumbled into love with against all reason or odds. “I wanna sit on this pretty face of yours, Bravo.”

“Fuck, okay, baby,” Dieter groaned, wrapping his hand around the base of his cock and squeezing it to fight off the ache of arousal turning him into pudding at her feet. “Can I—can we turn the fireplace on first?” 

“Why?” she laughed. 

“I don’t know, I’ve always wanted to fuck in front of a fireplace,” he shrugged. 

“And you, Dieter Bravo, a retired, semi-professional whore, haven’t done that yet?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him as she leaned down to ghost her lips over his, her hands cupping his cheeks. 

“Not…here,” he shrugged. “And certainly not with you.”

“Who was it?” Violet asked with an amused smile. “Someone famous?”

“Probably, hard to remember when I’ve got your tits in my face,” he said, his eyes fixed on her chest before finally making their way back up to meet hers. “Anyways, is that a yes to the fireplace?”

“Sure,” she laughed, stepping aside to let him get up and walk over to the built in hearth. Dieter stood there, butt-naked, his dick half-hard, scratching his chin as he stared at the modern fireplace. “Do you even know how to—“

“Please, I’ve won an Oscar, I think I can figure out how to light a fire,” Dieter snarked, though he remained visibly clueless. 

“I think there’s a switch on the side, baby.”

“Right. I knew that,” Dieter pressed the switch and lit the fire, earning a sarcastic round of applause from Violet as she stood watching him. 

“You’re very pretty, you know?” she asked, meeting him in front of the fire. She cupped his cheeks again and smiled at him as his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her naked body close to his. 

“Did you know who I was before we met?” Dieter asked, sliding his hands lower to rest just above her ass. 

“You’ve been an A-list celebrity for the last twenty years,” she smirked. “Of course I knew who you were.”

“Were you into me?” he smiled, leaning in to press featherlight kisses against her collarbone. 

“Not really,” she sighed, feeling drunk from his touch. “Thought you were a douche.”

“Good judge of character,” he whispered just below her ear before taking her earlobe between his teeth. 

“What about me?” she asked breathlessly, melting into him as he started to lower them down onto the faux fur rug beneath them until she was flat on her back and he was hovering on top of her. “Did you think I was pretty?”

“I thought you were very pretty,” he replied, a soft, lazy grin on his face. “And I thought you looked like a prude.”

“Little did you know, I’m the opposite,” she quipped. 

“Mmhm,” he nodded. “A prude wouldn’t climb on top of my face and ride it like you’re about to.”

“Nope,” she grinned, pushing his shoulders to gesture for him to trade positions with her. 

Once Dieter was on his back, Violet assumed her position over his face and grinned down at him between her thighs, his eager eyes and plump lips glowing in the orange light of the fire. 

“Come on, baby,” he goaded her on, squeezing her thighs to pull her down to his impatient tongue. “Let me taste this pretty pussy.”

“Dirty mouth,” she purred, seating herself on his tongue and rocking her hips, one hand gripping his curls. 

At the feeling of his tongue against her, wet and soft and warm, she felt herself crumble just a little bit, softening into the rarest form of herself—a person she saved just for Dieter. “Fuck, D.”

He hummed and gripped her thighs, seemingly unable to get close enough to her. She responded to his neediness with a long, choked whine and her eyes on his, her face wrecked with pleasure that looked more like pain. 

“Your mouth is so—“ She shuddered at a spark of pleasure brought on by his lips surrounding her swollen bud, sucking it into his mouth. “Jesus, D. Fuck. Baby, keep doing that.”

One of Dieter’s hands left the top of her thighs to palm a handful of her ass, guiding her as she rolled her hips against his mouth, taking from him in a way that made it feel like she was giving him something instead. It was addicting, the sight of her chasing her pleasure so unabashedly, one hand tangled in his hair and the other kneading the weight of her breast. 

“I’m so close,” she gasped, her movements getting sharper and more desperate. “Fuck, I’m—fuck.” 

“That’s it,” his praise was a suffocated rasp against her as she came, both of her hands planting onto the floor above his head as she rode out the waves of her climax. Dieter’s hands slid up her spine and back down, over and over again until she relaxed and sat back to look down at him with a satisfied grin. “So fucking hot, baby.” 

“Look who’s talking,” she purred, sliding down his body to sit her still sensitive cunt over his cock, her hand lightly gripping his chin as she bent down to give him a deep, greedy kiss. “You should win an award for what this mouth is capable of.”

“Yeah?” he smiled, sliding his hands down her back to rest on her hips, urging her to rock forward against the throbbing underside of his cocl as it laid sandwiched between her cunt and his stomach. “What about my dick?”

“Your mouth gets ‘Best Supporting’,” she said, lifting her hips and reaching back to line him up with her cunt. Dieter’s jaw dropped, his eyes falling between their bodies to watch as she slowly took him down to the base. “But this dick…” She hummed, the satisfying burn of his size bringing a smile to her face. “This dick is the main event.”

“Fuck me,” he groaned, sitting upright and wrapping his arms around her waist, his face buried in her neck. “You make me so fucking hard, V.”

“Yeah?” she moaned into his ear, biting on the lobe just to feel him shiver. 

“Fucking own me,” he rasped, biting her shoulder. “My fucking girl.”

It was Violet’s turn to crumble for him, the possessiveness in his voice stoking the flame of arousal that was already burning brightly in her belly. 

“Want you to fuck me,” she whined, placing both hands in his face to guide his gaze up to meet hers. “Want you to bend me over.”

“Yeah?” he groaned, squeezing the globes of her ass so hard she hoped it would leave a mark for her to remember this by. “Want it soft, baby?”

Violet shook her head. 

“No, you want it rough, don’t you?” he hummed at her choked sob, her walls pulsing at the sound of his voice. 

“Please,” she begged, breathless and desperate. 

“Okay, baby,” he cooed, stroking over her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Go on, bend over for me.”

Violet’s legs shook as she scrambled off of him and onto her knees, her face buried in the rug, facing the fire as it crackled.

Dieter could’ve cum from the sight before him, Violet’s back arched, the light from the flames casting an orange glow in some places, a dark shadow in others. She was still wearing her tights, sheer black contrasting against her olive toned flesh, the pink of her exposed center. Spitting into his hand and stroking it over the fat tip of his length, he found the strength to stave off his orgasm in favor of giving her another. She deserved it. 

She deserved everything in his mind. 

“Gonna fuck you full of me,” he rasped as he slid back into her, his eyes glued to the side of her face as she turned her head, her hands clawing at the fur beneath her. “Shit, baby. You look—fuck, it’s unreal.”

“D, please,” she cried, her voice choppy from the harsh snap of his hips into hers, her body absorbing the shock like a pro. “Wanna cum so bad.”

“Need anything, baby?” he asked, his breathing ragged and sharp. “Need me to touch you?”

She nodded her head quickly. 

“Where?” 

“Everywhere,” she breathed, her eyes flickering shut as he honed in on a devastating spot inside of her. 

“Here?” Dieter asked, reaching around her body to rub perfect circles against her clit. 

“Fuck,” she cried, long and drawn out. 

“What about here?” he growled, licking the pad of his thumb on his free hand before resting it over her ass, pressing into the muscle gently. 

“Dieter, shit—“ she gasped, warmth trickling up her spine and down her thighs at the feeling of him all around her, taking all she had to give him greedily. “I’m coming. Fuck, I’m—fuck.”

“Good fucking girl,” he grunted, snapping his hips to punctuate each word. “You want me to fill you up?”

“Please,” she cried. “Want it all.”

“Shit—“ Dieter’s eyes lowered to where they were connected, watching as his cock pulsed with every spurt of his cum painting her walls, his brows furrowed and lips parted in awe. “Fuck, I’m still coming, baby.”

Violet hummed, fucking herself against him just to hear him whimper, his hands landing on her hips. 

“Don’t get me going again,” he said. “I’ll pull a muscle.”

Violet laughed, slowly pulling away until he slipped out of her. Dieter hissed at the loss of warmth, instantly moving to lay next to her, the fire making up for the snow outside that chilled his apartment. 

“I’m fucking dreading tomorrow,” Dieter sighed, nuzzling his head against Violet’s chest as she scratched at his scalp. 

“Your parents?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded, kissing over her pounding heartbeat. “I might not be able to take it and just fucking leave.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” she said, her voice softening with exhaustion. “We can leave whenever. You don’t owe them anything just because they birthed you.”

“They don’t see it that way,” he mumbled. 

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, pushing him to lay back so that she could lay on his chest instead. 

“I’m glad you came,” he said, almost asleep. “Love you. Shit tons.”

“Mm,” she smiled. “Shit tons.”

“Alright, if they start to act like dicks, we’re leaving,” Dieter said, his finger hovering over the doorbell of his parent’s place in Dumbo, a gray-brick building with a navy blue door. 

“Sounds like a plan,” Violet smiled, lifting her hand to his back to rub comforting circles on it. “C’mon, you got this.”

Dieter chuckled and let out a deep sigh before pressing the doorbell, his hands tapping on his legs anxiously. 

When his mother, Marianne, opened the door, she almost looked like a normal person to her son and not the villain he was used to facing only in memory. Her once-black hair had turned a sophisticated gray, her old Hollywood waves reminiscent of her glory days in the sixties and seventies—the woman Dieter studied in film since she was never around to study in person. 

“Dieter,” Marianne beamed, placing her hand delicately over the pearls on her neck. “Look at you. And your friend! Violet, is it?”

“Yes,” Violet nodded, offering Marianne a more polite smile than Dieter was used to seeing. “We briefly met when Dieter hosted SNL.”

“I don’t remember you hosting,” Marianne chuckled, turning to her son. 

“Checks out,” Dieter replied dryly. “Can we come inside?”

“Yes, come in,” Marianne moved aside to let Violet and Dieter inside her very blue home, the walls, ceilings, and floor all a different, complimentary shade. “Your father is in the living room, Dieter.”

“Okay,�� Dieter managed. 

“Violet, you can come help me set the table,” Marianne said, waving for Violet to follow her as she disappeared down the hall into the dining room. Violet turned to give Dieter a pleading look as she forced herself onward.

“I can help, too,” Dieter said, joining the two of them. 

“Oh, please,” Marianne rolled her eyes. “Go say hello to your father.”

“In a minute,” Dieter returned, reaching for the pile of silverware to start sealing it out. 

“Dieter. Now.” 

Dieter scoffed at her attempt at authority. She never had any reason to perfect it. 

“You’re impossible,” she spat. 

“Alright, I think we’re gonna go,” Dieter said, dropping the silverware in his hands.

“What?” 

“We tried. I tried to tolerate you, but, really, it’s hard,” Dieter said, turning to Violet. “Let’s go?”

“Sure,” Violet said, giving him a soft nod and following him as he led them out of the room and into the hall. 

“Dieter, where are you going?” Dieter’s father, Ed, walked into the foyer and narrowed his eyes at his son as Dieter slipped his boots and jacket back on while Violet followed suit. “It’s Christmas Eve. You’re supposed to be with family.”

“I am,” Dieter said, reaching for Violet’s hand to lead her outside into the icy Brooklyn air. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t deal—“

“You don’t have to apologize,” she cooed, wrapping her arm around his waist as they started back in the direction of the subway. Dieter pulled her in close, kissing the top of her head. 

“I love you,” he muttered, squeezing her into him. “Thank you for being here.”

“Thank you for letting me,” she smiled, kissing the tiny, heart-shaped bald spot on his jaw. “So…Chinese for dinner?”

“Fuck, yes,” he nearly moaned. 

It was relatively busy at the small, family-run Chinese place Dieter chose, his claims of the best soup dumplings in the city sounding too enticing to pass up. 

Now, Dieter and Violet sat in a booth in the corner of the restaurant, cuddled up without a care for the table of young tourists who were clearly snapping pictures of the two of them. 

“So, Germany,” Dieter started, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “They’ve got me in a hotel, but I was thinking we could maybe rent a place. Have more space and not feel like we’re in a prison the entire time.”

“Where in Germany are you filming?” Violet asked, sipping her diet coke through a straw. 

“Munich,” he replied, stealing a dumpling from her plate. “I was there once for a press thing. It’s pretty, I think you’ll like it.”

“Well, if I don’t, Italy’s right there,” she smiled. “I can just run off to Venice whenever you piss me off.”

“Great, then I’ll come chase after you and we’ll add Italy to the list of countries we’ve fucked in,” he smiled back, waving his fork at her until she laughed. Proud of himself, Dieter leaned over and stole a kiss, his thumb stroking the line of her jaw. “Do you want your gift now or later?” 

“You weren’t supposed to get me a gift,” she frowned. “I didn’t get you one.”

“I don’t need shit,” he shook his head. 

“You could do with a new robe,” she snarked, taking another sip of her drink while Dieter gave her an unimpressed look. “Fine. I’ll take my gift now, please.”

“Okay, so it’s not…it’s not physically with me because it’s back at my place,” Dieter said, reaching for his phone again to search for something on it. “You remember when we went to the museum—a million fucking years ago?” 

Violet laughed and nodded. “Well, I remembered you liked Monet a lot, but I couldn’t just fucking buy a Monet, so instead…” Dieter faced his phone screen towards her, showing her a very close attempt at Monet’s Water Lillies. 

“D, did you paint this?” she beamed, zooming in on the picture to study the details. 

“Yeah,” he bit his lip as he watched her. “It’s not…perfect. But—“

“But it is,” she turned to him with a touched smile. “It’s you.”

Dieter looked shy as Violet turned back to the picture. 

“I can’t believe I’m the owner of an original Bravo painting,” Violet grinned, leaning over to rest her head on his shoulder as she passed his phone back to him. “Thank you, D. I love it and I love you.”

Dieter kissed her forehead and smiled. “Love it enough to try the sex-swing that I ordered as a backup gift?”

[pedrito-friskito]

three…two…one… - dieter bravo x fem!reader

❄️’tis the season❄️

summary: you and dieter throw a new year’s party.

word count: 2.8k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, smut, fluff, unprotected p-in-v, dieter’s dirty mouth, mentions of drinking/drugs/classic dieter things, this is SUPER SELF-INDULGENT AND I DON’T CARE BUT I LOVE THESE TWO SO MUCH AND JUST WANT THEM TO BE HAPPY OKAY THAT’S IT THAT’S ALL

a/n: the beginning of this fic genuinely made me laugh out loud when I wrote it. thank you all for the love and support always (I’ll make a sappy new years post separately) and I know I’m a day late, but enjoy! (also special props to @mandoblowmybackout for giving me the pizza idea 😏)

“I wanna throw a party.”

Well, that’s definitely not what you were expecting.

“What did you just say?”

Dieter pauses, head snapping up, eyes flicking from where they’d been trained on your bare tits up to your face. His eyes are bloodshot, pupils blown wide, and his cheeks are rosy, a slick of sweat at his temple. “Huh?”

He’s stoned. You both are, truthfully. The last few weeks have been a blur of cardboard, tinsel, and red wine, flitting from one house to the next. You were Dieter’s plus one to a slew of holiday parties (which went much better than your Halloween escapades had, mainly because it was time spent with Dieter’s actual friends, people he trusted, not a bunch of strangers trying to get on his good side) and, in a not-so-shocking twist, a Christmas party thrown by your closest pals. 

They had been more than shocked when you announced you were bringing Dieter fucking Bravo along with you, doubly shocked when you told them you were moving in together. It was something to get used to, the talking about him, the calling him your…boyfriend? Partner? Something like that. But up until now, you’ve been so used to keeping it hush hush, reducing your relationship to what it had been, not what it’s turning into. And your closest friend had a keen eye on Dieter, knowing exactly what had gone down at Halloween.

“You’re sure moving in with him is the right thing?”

“There’s nothing I’m more sure of, trust me.”

She’d tilted her head to the side, stared at you a long moment. “You seem happy. Almost too happy.”

“I am,” you said, barking a laugh. “I’m really fucking happy.”

Parties, friends, a quick appearance by your parents — which Dieter had handled with such composure you had to restrain yourself from sticking your tongue down his throat in front of your mother — and the end of the era that was your apartment. You were officially moved out as of Boxing Day, the 27th of December was spent at a work party, and now…you’re officially living together.

The end of a long few weeks, both of you dead on your feet and desperate for a little reprieve, Dieter had declared it a night for celebrating. A healthy-sized joint had been shared on the balcony, reminiscent of the first time you’d set foot in his condo, and you’d swapped smoke, shotgunning between heavy giggles and tired smiles.

“I’m really happy you’re here, baby.”

“Me, too.”

Realizing this would be the first official meal in your now shared space, you spent nearly half an hour trying to decide what to order. Dieter had pouted at that, telling you he wanted to cook you something, but he’d nearly tripped over his own feet coming in from the balcony and almost ripped the curtains down in the process, and the last thing you want to do your first official night is have to call the fire department or an ambulance.

You settled on a giant meat lover’s pizza with extra cheese, bottles of root beer, garlic sticks, the works. You ate sprawled on the rug in front of his fireplace, licking grease from your fingers, watching old episodes of Family Guy, and Dieter’s Stewie impression made you laugh so hard you nearly spewed root beer out of your nose.

It was perfect.

After the pizza had been demolished, things took a turn. It had started innocent enough, the pair of you cuddled up on the couch, your head tucked under Dieter’s chin, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. Something else came on tv, but you were barely paying attention at that point, Dieter having tipped your chin in his direction, hungry kisses that tasted vaguely of pizza pressed to your mouth.

One thing led to another, and before you knew it, you were sprawled on the chaise end of the sofa, stripped of all your clothes. He’d started with your knees hooked over his shoulders, face buried between your legs. He’d pumped you full of three fingers, lips sealed around your clit, mumbling into you the whole while.

“Pussy tastes so fucking good, baby,” he rasped, curling his knuckles, making you keen. “God, you’re so good for me, aren’t you? Taste like a fucking dream.”

You’d cum so hard you saw stars the first time, your head thrown back on the couch, hands buried in his wayward curls. He’d worked you through it, lapping around where his fingers were splitting you open, pulling them out only to replace them with his tongue.

Dieter growled when you yanked at his shoulders, clawing at his t-shirt until he scrambled up the couch, shoving his lounge shorts down over his ass, pulling the hem of his shirt up and over his head. He dropped onto his elbows a second later, covering your mouth with his as he slid into you, both of you stark naked, thrusting so hard the couch slid across the hardwood. You were lost in it, chasing Dieter’s mouth, arms hooked around his shoulders, keeping him close to you.

And then—

“I wanna throw a party.”

He starts laughing, clearly realizing that he said the words out loud, but his pace doesn’t falter. He grins broadly, leaning up on his knees slightly, letting his hands skim along your shoulders and down over his chest, squeezing at your breasts, thumbs swiping your nipples.

“A party, baby,” he continues, glassy eyes raking down your body, trained on the spot where you’re joined together. “New Year’s, yeah? Wanna celebrate this.” He punctuates the word with the drop of his thumb, a slow drag over your clit. 

You make a choked sound, back arching slightly. “My pussy?”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “Something this good should be celebrated,” he says, swiping at your clit again. “God, you feel amazing, you know that? Fuck, I love you.”

“Dieter.”

“The New Year, baby,” he says, eyes flicking back up to yours. “Your friends, my friends, the people we actually give a shit about. Let’s celebrate it. This. Us.” He runs his other hand up your side, curls his fingers around your ribs, rubs a harder circle around your nerves. “Get all dressed up, drink champagne, the whole thing.”

You laugh despite it all, sliding your hand up his arm, squeezing at his bicep. “I’m used to New Years in my sweatpants.”

“Wear whatever you want, baby girl,” he purrs, leaning down and nipping at your lips. “I’m just gonna peel it off you at midnight anyway.”

+

You think he’ll forget, that you’ll wake up the next morning and his sudden desperate need to throw a party would have subsided, but you instead wake up to an empty bed. At eleven in the morning. Supremely uncharacteristic of Dieter, who usually lays in bed until the last possible moment, trying to keep you hostage every single morning.

Snagging one of his t-shirts off the bed, you pad out of the bedroom to find him perched at one of the barstools. He’s got his laptop open in front of him, a giant mug of coffee in his hand, and his phone pressed to his ear. “Yeah, hi, do you guys do those little fuckin’ pigs-in-a-blanket things?”

You just burst out laughing.

Two days later, and the condo is full of friendly faces. It’s by far your favourite party you’ve been to with Dieter, made all the more special that you’re throwing it together, in the home you both live in. You make the rounds, play hostess, resist the urge to go hide in the bathroom. You love the holidays, really, but the constant stream of people, the small talk and the drinking and the late nights, it’s weighing on you.

But when you saw the spark in Dieter’s eye as he called caterers and made drink menus and decided on a guest list, you couldn’t say no.

You still haven’t had time to unpack, and all of your boxes are shoved in the guest room, but even that doesn’t stop it from feeling crowded and overwhelming. You’re stopped by a few friends, remnants of your old life mixing with your new one, and you’re grateful, having a quick conversation before someone else is calling your name, pulling you away.

It’s quarter to midnight when you know you need a moment, and you excuse yourself from the people you’d been talking to and head straight for the bedroom. Your dress feels too tight, the necklace you’d worn with it making you want to claw your head off. Heaving a breath, you toss it onto the chest of drawers, reaching for the zipper on your dress as you head into the closet.

Toeing off your shoes, you reach for one Dieter’s t-shirts, the fluffy jacket you’d thrifted for him, a pair of leggings. You’re halfway into the leggings when you glance over and see the Mandalorian armour he’d worn on Halloween. It’s piled on the floor, the jumpsuit wrinkled and pieces of metal scattered. 

The helmet is now sitting beside his Oscar in the living room; your idea.

You already know the closet is going to be a project, a complete reorganization if you are gonna fit anything besides your underwear in with Dieter’s things (something you doubt he would mind). Pulling the leggings on all the way, you reach for the armour, gathering the pieces of metal first, stacking them on the shelves beside a pair of custom Crocs you know you’ve seen Dieter wearing around the apartment. 

The jumpsuit is next, and as you pull the fabric up off the floor, something tumbles out of it. Your eyes track it as it falls to the carpet. A little black box, perfectly square and shiny on top. You cock your head, putting the jump suit to the side as you sink down and reach for it. It must be a watch or something, but you realize as your fingers close around the box that it’s too small to be a watch, that it’s the perfect size for—

“Holy shit.”

Your breath stalls in your throat and for a moment, you pause. 

Should you open it? There’s a chance that it’s not at all what you think it is, but there’s also a chance that it is one thousand fucking percent exactly what you think it is.

What if he has a plan? Wait…then why was it in the Mando suit? Was he planning to ask at Halloween, before everything went down the way that it did? When had he bought the damn thing?

Your mind is a flurry of questions, a tiny voice screaming at you to just open the damn box! until you hear Dieter’s voice, snapping you out of your reverie so hard you have to shake your head.

“Baby? What are you doing back here?”

You nearly drop the box, shrieking as he steps into the closet before you have a chance to drop the box, hide it, put it back in the jumpsuit, anything. “Fuck, D, you scared me!”

He stares at you a long moment, eyes jumping between your face and the box over and over and over again. “Whatcha got there?”

You’re caught red-handed; there’s no getting out of this one. “I was putting your Mando costume away.”

Dieter chuckles, takes a half-step towards you, the closet door swinging shut behind him. “I can see that.”

“I was just putting it away,” you say again, and he takes another step towards you, until he’s close enough to put a hand on your hip, “and this fell out.”

“Oh, it fell,” he repeats, and his free hand moves to cup yours, the box held aloft in your palm. “It’s been there for a while now.”

“Did you forget you had it?” you ask, and there’s a crack in your voice you’re not expecting, a new sort of desperation crawling up the back of your throat. Is this actually fucking happening?

Slowly, Dieter shakes his head. You bottom lip trembles as he leans in and kisses you softly, squeezing his fingers around yours, around the box. “Not for a second.”

Realization sweeps through you, and you wince. “Oh god, you were gonna propose at midnight, weren’t you?” When he doesn’t answer, you take it as a yes, groaning. “Oh fuck, I fucked it all up, didn’t I? Fuck, Dieter, I’m sorry, baby, I’m—”

He kisses you again, cutting off your words as he pulls you against him. He plucks the box from your hands, snapping it open, and all your breath shoots from your lungs in a gush, knees nearly giving out underneath you. It’s beautiful, salt-and-pepper diamond winking back at you. Rose gold, flanked by two tinier diamonds on either side, an interesting octagonal cut that catches the light from every direction.

“Oh my god.”

“After the Halloween party,” he says, his voice dropping low, “I was gonna get McDonald’s on the way home. I was gonna get you a strawberry milkshake and put the ring on the straw, and then I was gonna write my question on a napkin and give it to you.” He gives a little chuckle, and his hand is at the small of your back now, holding you close. “Obviously, that didn’t work out how I planned it.”

There are tears in your eyes, thick and crawling up the back of your throat. Happy tears, the happiest you think you’ve ever felt. “No, it didn’t,” is all you can manage to mumble out.

“Then, I was gonna do it that day when you gave back the keys to your apartment, but you were so sad, and it didn’t feel like the right time. And then you agreed to this stupid fucking party, even though I knew you didn’t want to, and I thought now, but this—” He plucks the ring out of the box, reaches for your left hand. “—this is better.”

Vaguely, you can hear the sounds of the party, people yelling that the ball is about to drop, that it’s almost midnight, that the New Year is almost here.

Dieter smiles, and it’s a smile that’s now familiar to you. It’s love and it’s light and the man is beaming. “You know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, baby. And I know we’re not easy, or conventional, and maybe people are gonna say this is way too fucking fast, I don’t know. But I know that I love you, and I wanna have a life with you.”

People are counting down now, shouting the numbers as they tick by. Your heartbeat is in your ears, thumping loudly with every second that passes.

10…9…8…7…

“Y’know, I’m supposed to get down on one knee for this,” Dieter murmurs, but you’ve got a death grip on his shoulder, refusing to let him move.

6…5…4…

“Ask me.”

He grins.

“Will you marry me, baby?”

3…2…1…

“Yes.”

Happy New Year!

Dimly, you hear the celebrations in your living room, the whooping and cheering of your friends. Your heartbeat is still thundering, and your hand is shaking as he slides the ring onto your finger.

A perfect fucking fit.

As soon as it hits your knuckle, your arms are around his neck, mouth seeking his, knotting your fingers in his hair. You can feel his smile, a broad grin against your lips as he crushes you to his chest. It’s tight enough to lift you off your feet, your legs automatically lifting around his hips as you kiss him.

His tongue tastes like champagne, and you’re drunk off the feeling of him, the taste of him, the new foreign weight of the ring on your finger. Holy fucking shit. The kiss is just as sweet as it always is, but there’s something about it that feels different now, something more intense, new territory for the two of you to suss out together.

Dieter carries you out of the closet, and it’s only then that you realize you’re only half-dressed, in the leggings you’d thrown on and your bra. He’s got one arm around your waist, other hand pressed between your shoulders, and your lips don’t break as he walks towards the bed and lays you out on the mattress.

“Happy New Year, baby,” he says against your lips, still smiling, and so are you. You’re on Cloud 9, champagne high, over the moon, walking on air, every fucking cliché you’ve ever heard in your life.

You clasp your hands behind his neck, fingers automatically seeking out the ring on your left hand, rubbing you thumb over the diamond. “Happy New Year, Dieter.”

He gives you one last lingering kiss, your whole body tingling with it before he pulls away.

“You wanna go tell your friends?”

You shake your head no. “Not yet. I want us to celebrate it first.”

He nods, an understanding look in his eye. “Wait here,” he whispers, grabbing your left hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, kissing your ring. “I’m gonna go kick all these fucking people out, and then I’m gonna make love to my fiancée, you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

That beaming smile is back, and it sends a flurry of butterflies through your stomach. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you.”

As soon as the door clicks shut, you can’t hold back anymore. It’s that little girl moment, the kicking feet and the squealing and blushing so hard you think your cheeks are on fire. You can’t stop staring at your ring, and you just hope Dieter moves fast out.

—————

if you’re curious what the ring actually looks like, my inspo is HERE.