#dieter fics

[wannab-urs]

The Spreadsheet Digest - Vol. 24

Howdy folks!

I love how I said I was never waiting two weeks to do a digest again and then almost immediately did it again. Anyway if you're new here, this is every new (to me) fic I read this week (and last week) and some of my silly little thoughts about them. I have 19 fics for you this week!

As always you can find all of my previous recs here and the original spreadsheet here (now updated with warnings, author summaries, and word counts + I'm checking for broken links).

Recs below the pedro!

Multiples/MMF/MMMF

Euclidean Geometry - Frankie/Jack/Pero one shot by @leslie-lyman

I’d never have thought to put these three together and even if i had, it would have been straight up PWP no feelings. But this is STUNNING. It’s only 1.4k words but there’s such a depth to it. The different dynamics each of the boys and reader brings to the relationship, the way they care for each other AHHH and then the little flash scenes of smut 🥵🥵

The Impaler - Tim Rockford/Max Phillips one shot by @kiwisbell

This is my first Tim Rockford fic EVER and I adored it. I’m a big fan of making Max into a more serious and scary vampire and this was… so fucking hot y’all. (kinda dubcon for Tim bc he seems to be under a bit of a trance). Guys this has like every MMF position you could ever want. DVP… Spitroast… It’s so hot. And reader is so hot. And I’m melting fr.

Joel

Attraction Spell - joel one shot by @jksprincess10

I love a vampire Joel, I really really do. And I love a witchy reader just as much if not more. TW for NonCon bc Joel like… stalks reader and then gets her to basically drug herself with an attraction spell and then he also like.. Is a vampire? So there’s that. I loved this so so much. Joel is hot and scary.

Made by Hand - Joel one shot by @tinycozycomfort

Reader is married and Joel is your lover. He doesn’t really have anything to offer you at all – I mean he can’t give you something that would get you caught and he doesn’t seem to have much to give anyway. But he hand sews you a pair of cuffs made from blue ribbon AHHHHH. This fic is heartbreaking and so beautifully written. Of course the smut is hot, but the peek into Joel’s mind is really what does it for me here. He is so sad. UGHGHGHGHGH. Gimme 800 chapters of this STAT.

Garden of Earthly Delights - Joel one shot by @thesimulationswarm

What’s Gin a slut for? That’s right. Sub!Joel. Reader is a little badass in this and Joel is honestly pathetic and it’s so hot. His general air of violence and like… being a terrifying man are still present, which just makes it better that reader reduces him to a pathetic whimpering mess. Submissive Apple Washing is my favorite tag ever, also. 

Balsam - Joel series by @thesimulationswarm

This one is great if you love characters. The author really takes the time to build up the characters in the town, really situating you in the lives of the people of Jackson. There’s no smut as of yet; this is a slow burn and Nina/Doc (the OC) is really just starting to connect with Joel at this point. I cannot say enough how much I love the worldbuilding in this. I adore the characters and their intricate and detailed relationships and the inner conflicts going on with each of them. This is gorgeous and I’m so excited for the next chapter.

@theywhowriteandknowthings Murder Daddy Kinktober

Neighbor's Gardener's Brother Joel, MDKT Sex Pollen - Joel, MDKT Day 17 - Din

Ok the neighbor’s gardener’s brother Joel is hotter than it has any right to be. He’s filthy, reader is filthy. It’s beautiful. 

The sex pollen fic… man I fucking love sex pollen. And you also get tentacles and mind fuck and all the other delicious monsterfucking things that drive me up a damn wall (dub con obvi…). 

And Day 17 - a bounty who keeps running from Din because she loves to be caught by him. She’s thrilled by the chase so much she…. Oops spoilers… Just read it. It’s being turned into a full series and I cannot wait to read it! 

Din

Good Taste - Din series by @charnelhouse

Pornstar!Din – the crack fic this came from is also great, but I really enjoyed this. Din is so fucking hot and like kind of a dick, which I love very much. I only read the crackfic and the main fic, but there’s a whole list of drabbles that I’m sure I’ll dig into later. 

Ezra

Long Fall into Oblivion - Ezra one shot by @oonajaeadira

As usual, Adira wrote something I love with my whole heart – who’s surprised? Not me. Anyway Ezra is training you to be a prospector and he is absolutely lovely. Reassuring, kind, protective. Adira does non-explicit smut so well she basically invented the concept. 

Shorn - Ezra one shot by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Ezra really likes your body hair, but it is time for you to shave – I love a fucking weird ass fic and I’m gonna go out on a limb and say erotic shaving is weird. I also don’t normally love shaving scenes in fics/books because there can be an element of shaming the natural body? But this fic does the opposite. It celebrates the natural body through the lens of Ezra and is also just unreasonably fucking hot. I love that weird little man with all my heart. 

Dream Within a Dream - Ezra one shot by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Incubus!Ezra – so yes, you die, because that’s what incubuses (incubi?) do. They rock your dream world and then they consume you. But listen… Ezra is ethereal and gorgeous, the dream world is absolutely stunning, the smut is hot, and honestly I’d beg him to eat my heart out too. I can’t say enough about this fic actually. I read it this morning and I’m still reeling. 

Javier Peña

you miss me? - Javi P one shot by @amanitacowboy

You tease Javi while he’s at work and he punishes you for it when he gets home… and it is so deliciously good. Dom!Javi has me in a chokehold (or I wish he did). 

The Raid - Javi P one shot by @toxicanonymity

Some dark!Javi from toxic! Your boyfriend or whatever gets his house raided by the DEA and Javi saves you from getting uhhh used… by his coworkers. But then he takes you for himself. Based loosely on her Raider!Joel series. Obviously non/dub con. Javi is so mean and hot pls. 

Pent Up - Javi P one shot by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

Javi hurt his ankle (which Ang did as a dig at me because I did the same) and can’t drive, so he hasn’t been able to get any… release… which leads to him jacking off at his desk after hours. It’s so hot. I was like laughing at him up til he actually touches himself and then I about fell over. What I wouldn’t give to be his lil stress reliever. Javi baby I would live under your desk if you asked me to. 

Frankie

You hired a cleaning lady, Mr. Morales? - Frankie one shot by @beskarandblasters

After the events of TF Frankie is in a bit of a depression (understandable), and his house gets more than a little messy. Santi hires a cleaning service (you) to help him out. Listen… I wish I was as bold as reader. After the sexual tension between you and Frankie gets too much to bear, you show up in a god damn sexy maid outfit to torture him into convince him to finally make a move on you. It’s so hot… reader is a sexy bad ass bitch and Frankie is adorable and so hot. 

snowball kiss - Frankie one shot by @beskarandblasters

The discord found this definition on urban dictionary and Kel ran with it. It’s filthy in the best way. Pussy eating king Frankie learned a new trick and honestly it’s devastating me emotionally that I can’t have him

Dieter

Dress me up and call me pretty - Dieter one shot by @morallyinept

Messy Messy Messy Dieter – my favorite type of Dieter. His drug addiction and overall patheticness are in full force here. He wants to make himself look pretty so he uses your makeup. You come home and make sure he feels loved and beautiful, and also ruin his makeup. Pegging/sub dieter/etc but also… this fic is really fucking sweet. It kind of broke my heart despite also being filthy and depraved and I love that in a Dieter fic. I love how reader is like "we'll try again" like??? How dare you make me cry when I'm reading sub!dieter. Dammit. 

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My most recent work is Starving Season - a twisted little Dave York love as consumption three parter that I plan to add a fourth part to soon.

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Happy Reading!

[lovesbiggerthanpride]

DANCING DIETER?

Sign me up. 💙

Closed Position Masterlist

Last Updated 03/22/2024 ||| Dieter Bravo x OFC

Series Summary: Dieter Bravo, now sober, was looking to change his bad boy image after hitting rock bottom. His team hoped that having him join the nationally televised family friendly dance competition would be a good first step, if they can keep him out of trouble. 

Katarina Stamos expected her last season as a professional dancer on Dancing with the Stars to go the same as it had for the past thirteen seasons. That all changed when she was partnered with the infamous Dieter Bravo. 

Dieter and Katarina are reluctantly thrown into their partnership and must learn to work together to succeed in the competition. In the process they form a deeper connection beyond the dance floor that neither anticipated.

👉 Warnings: Themes dealing with intimate partner violence, alcohol abuse, and drug abuse. There will be fluff, tears, spicy language, and smut. This will be a slow burn. Read at your own risk. Dieter Bravo comes with his own warnings.

EXTRAS ||| TEASERS ||| VIBES ||| MAIN MASTERLIST

Prologue

Week 1 - Introductions

Week 2 - Foxtrot

Week 3 - Cha Cha

Week 4 - Jive

Week 5 - Rumba

Week 6 - Argentine Tango

Week 7 - Paso Doble

Week 8 - Jazz

Week 9 - Viennese Waltz

Week 10 - Quickstep

Week 11 - Samba

Week 12 - Finale

Epilogue

If you would like to be added to the tag list, let me know in the comments or shoot me a DM.

Credits: Divider courtesy of @saradika. Support divider/MDNI courtesy of @cafekitsune

[umadosedepascal]

WHAT CAN I SAY? Please help me… 🤤

[pedrosyouknowwhat]

Falling from grace

You fall from grace as a group of raiders destroy your lavish community, taking in you as a macabre spoil of war

Warnings: Dark dark topics, noncon, abduction, mentions of killing a whole community, raider! characters, psychological, physical and sexual abuse, sexual slavery

Pairings: Dark! Joel Miller x reader, Dark! Javier Peña x reader, Dark! Marcus Acacius x reader, Dark! Oberyn Martell x reader, Dark! Agent Whiskey x reader, Dark! Dieter Bravo x reader, Dark! Frankie Morales x reader

Chapters:

Who owns you?

Clean

Someone's

Feather light touches

Defiled

Miller's

Breaking in (Part 1)

Breaking in (Part 2)

Breaking in (Part 3)

Drabbles

Period drabble

Before punching Acacius

Oscar Isaac Crossover

Aftermath?

cumplay

Headcannons

Feel comfortable to request any idea you’d like to see play out in the story; I’ll try either to integrate it or create a hc or drabble about it!

Love, Red

[thosewickedlovelies]

D R O O L I N G

Girl I'm as weak as Snaps rn, what the FUCK horny adorable nonsense did I just read 😩😩😩😩😩😩

Episode 1: Old Habits & New Beginnings

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader "Snaps", Tim Rockford x OFC "Eden"

Summary: Rockford’s mask slips for a moment with Eden. Dieter and Snaps get to know each other.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, oral sex (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), grinding, mutual masturbation.

Notes: Welcome to the first episode of Midnight Alley! The response to Simulated was so overwhelming I had to continue their story. This series is going to have some fun playing with form and storytelling both in and out of the show. I hope you all enjoy it!

For anyone who missed Simulated and needs a quick refresher, Dieter's character in Midnight Alley is Tim Rockford, and our reader character Snaps will be playing Eden, Tim's love interest. Lots more will come out in further episodes, but until then enjoy the fun babes!

Cross-posted on AO3

Midnight Alley Series Masterlist

A darkened room, moonlight filtering in through the blinds. The house breathes softly, expansively. No, not the house.

The couch shrouded in shadow moves. A hand reaches up, lined in silver light, and grabs the cushioned back. Knuckles prominent, but a feminine hand, twisting the upholstery in her fist. A car headlight rakes across the room, outlines of two bodies melting into the foreground before disappearing again. As the camera pans in, we hear whistling pants, and the rhythmic creak of the couch. A woman’s head is tossed back on the armrest, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut. A hulking figure presses her into the cushions, the dim light highlighting her legs braced on either side. As our eyes adjust her features come into focus, camera tight on her upper body. Her patterned blouse is open, draped in crumpled wrinkles across her heaving chest. She’s familiar, but we can’t quite place her. Her body shakes, back arching as a quiet, wet noise tickles our ears off camera. 

“Tim…” she croons, a rasp at the end as a large, blunt-fingered hand slides up her stomach to wrap under her breast. A pop, followed by a thick sigh. 

“Good to know you’re not mistaking me for God anymore,” a voice rumbles, thick with lust as we watch her smile and reach for him. When he shuffles up to kiss her, Tim Rockford’s broad shoulders stretch white cotton across the screen. He deepens the kiss but pulls away quickly, making her chase his smirk. She nips at his chin, smiling when he curls his fingers around her jaw and thumbs her lower lip. 

“God’s never touched me in the ways you do,” she retorts, voice like velvet and smoke curling through our ears. The camera holds on Tim’s face, a rare gentle smile carved in the darkness. We can’t recall the last time his cheeks weren’t cut with frown lines, the permanent wrinkle between his brows miraculously smoothed. 

“I’m grateful you let me into your garden of Eden,” he says, tracing her figure below him. She rolls her eyes, but it’s playful. Cupping his cheeks, his eyes flutter. We sit up, pay attention now. There’s something different about this one. Rockford always treats his women well, leaves them sated and glowing, but rarely gains more than a modicum of weight lifted. This is something new, something special.

“Pretty sure what you were just doing would get you kicked out of Paradise,” she shoots back, earning a huff from his parted lips. He shakes his head, a glint in his eye as he shifts back down her body.

“Good thing I’m not a God-fearing man,” he says, one expansive palm lifting her leg to drape over his shoulder. He dips down, keeping eye contact as her thigh obscures his scruff-dusted jaw, when…

“Cut!” Adam calls, cameras whirring to a stop with a cacophony of shuffling shoes. Dieter sits back on his heels, rolling his shoulders as you stretch out your bent knees on either side of his hips.

“I still think he should have a wet face when he comes up for air,” Dieter says with an edge of petulance. It makes you smirk, turning your face into the couch to hide it from the director, but Dieter catches it.

“I told you it’s too much Di,” Adam says back, the exasperated tone of a parent telling their kid one last time he can’t have a cookie before bed. But in this case the cookie is a stroke to Dieter’s ego.

“Just saying, Rockford would be all up in there. He’s getting soaked. He’s not kitten licking her to completion, man is covered from nose to chin,” Dieter reasons, the hollow shout of, “Knock it off, Bravo,” coming from the back of the room where the intimacy coordinator sits.

“I’m fine, Molly,” you call back, settling into the couch as you roll your ankles and flex your knee. You’ve got one more scene in this position then it’s a set change, but your butt has started going numb and your legs are stiff after the constant faux gyrating. 

“Here, let me Snaps,” Dieter offers, scooting back to the end of the couch and wrapping his warm palms around your calf. You warm at the endearment, the playful moniker a result of Dieter catching you taking photos of everything on set. From the makeup trailer to the sweet lady who hands you sandwiches, you documented everything on your first day back. It’s still surreal, knowing that your name isn’t going to be a one-time showing in the credits. The photos serve as proof when you’re lying in bed and worried that you’re in some bizarre longform dream. 

Dieter presses a thick thumb into the meat of your calf, searching for a moment before a sharp pain races into your pelvis. “Got this tip from All Hands, my hips kept aching after shoots and Joji taught me this acupressure spot.” 

The sensation is like liquid fire running up your leg, but something is releasing around your hip joint. Dieter holds pressure there for a little while longer before slowly releasing, the pain subsiding. His hands don’t leave though, remaining spread and soothing on your calf. His left creeps slowly past your knee, thumb stroking the delicate skin of your inner thigh.

“Good trick,” you say back as casually as you can muster. No one else seems to have noticed, and you’d like to keep it that way.

It had only been one date. You didn’t want to get your hopes too high. Didn’t want to touch him like he’s touching you in front of too many people in case he’s done with you in a week.

Definitely didn’t want to touch him like that night.

He’d picked you up from your apartment, and while you didn’t expect him to be wearing a gun holster or a ratty t-shirt-sweatpant combo, you were surprised at how nicely he cleaned up. A loud button-up that you’re sure is by Gucci or Versace or some other name brand, the top three buttons open to reveal his smoothly freckled chest. Devastatingly fitted dark jeans that made his already swoon-worthy thighs all the more gorgeous. Rings glittering on his fingers as he tucked his thumbs into his belt loops. The wild mane he’s known for, and that you covet, as tempting as ever. 

He was oddly demure when you came out to meet him. He gave you a hug, a whiskery kiss on the cheek, and ushered you into his car. It took two minutes of silent driving, your heart hammering in your chest, before he blurted out, “You look fucking amazing, I think my brain just vacated my body for a minute there. Am I driving?” The nervous giggles devolving into snorting laughter shook you both, fighting to regain composure at the stoplight.

It was easily the most fun date you’d ever been on. The place he took you was out of the way enough that paparazzi wouldn’t be hovering for photos, but not so intimate to assume it was a precursor to a quick fuck. The conversation hopped from past work to favorite hobbies and actor in-jokes. He complimented you on your theater training, you complimented him on his movie trivia knowledge. You shared tapas and white wine sangria, Dieter speaking to the servers and staff in Spanish with a warmth that hinted at a long-term friendship. You shared a caramel flan and he ghosted his fingers over your hand. 

It’s so different from what you thought Dieter might be like.

Sure, as he’d gotten older his escapades had faded several pages back into the tabloids, but he’d been wild for a time. A new scandal, a lover speaking out. Mostly things that inferred him being a wild partier, or an exhibitionist, or hedonistic to a point that made you blush. You half expected the date to be at a loud bar or a celebrity hot spot. The fact that it’s soft and quiet makes you reconsider how soft and quiet Dieter might be under all the bravado.

When he parked out front of your apartment you blurted out an invite up, which he accepted with a sly smile. The heat of Dieter’s presence tingled up your spine, but he only sat on your worn couch and accepted a glass of whiskey. So you talked. And talked. And laughed. And flirted. And you would have worried that he had a terrible time and was trying to let you down easy except for the fact that it was nearing one in the morning and he hadn’t left. 

When your anxieties bubbled to the surface and past your lips he pulled you into his lap and kissed you until your lungs burned and your head swam. “I wanted, for once, to take it slow. With you,” he admitted, sliding his hands up your spine with a sheepish smile. “Didn’t want you to think all I wanted was a one nighter.” When he cautiously looked up at you through his thick lashes your awe-struck smile smoothed the wrinkle between his brows.

Dieter didn’t fuck you that night. He deserved an Oscar for denying himself that, especially when you pressed so sweetly against his growing erection. Instead he guided your hips to roll against him, mouthing at your neck and telling you how good you felt, how pretty you were on top of him, how he couldn’t believe how sexy you are. A shuddering little orgasm flooded your brain, making you loose-limbed and heavy on his lap as he rocked you through it. The insistent lap of your tongue and scrape of your teeth against his mouth softened into indulgent kisses that dragged you closer to sleep. Dieter’s voice cut through the fog - “As much as I’d like to, I probably can’t carry you to bed with my shitty back,” - and he helped you stumble under the covers, leaving with a gentle kiss to your lips, another on your forehead.

That night would remain secret and special to only you. Something no one could syndicate. 

“Better?” Dieter asks, his attention narrowed in on your face. His fingers still dance inside your thigh.

“Much. Thanks Di,” you say breezily, settling into your starting position again. Dieter repositions, read to dive back in (figuratively). His coffee eyes catch yours again, a little anxiety of his own coloring his usually confident smile.

“Dinner at my place tonight?” he asks quietly, and he probably doesn’t know how vulnerable his voice sounds. It pulls a soft smile to your lips.

“Yeah, sounds great.”

Adam’s voice cuts into your conversation.

“Quiet on set!”

“Good thing I’m not a God-fearing man,” Rockford says, one expansive palm lifting her leg to drape over his shoulder. He dips down, keeping eye contact as her thigh obscures his scruff-dusted jaw, when…

The telephone rings.

They freeze, frustration etching deep into his face.

“I’m sorry, I have to…” he groans, untangling himself from her limbs. The camera cuts to the kitchen, an outdated corded phone hanging off the yellow wall. Rockford, dressed in dark slacks and an open button-down and undershirt, stalks in to stop the offensive ringing. He holds the phone to his ear, the steely expression melting into disappointment, and resignation. While he exchanges a few low questions with the person on the other end of the line, the woman emerges from the shadows. The brighter wash of light reveals that we do know her. She’s the one he picked up in the bar three episodes ago, now standing in a blouse she’s wrapped around her chest and a pair of white socks. She watches Rockford’s back, waiting a beat after he hangs up the phone to wrap her arms around him. He settles his hands over hers, head tilting back as she rests her forehead between his shoulder blades.

“They found something. It can’t wait,” he says simply, a weariness returning to his broad shoulders. “I can take you home on the way.” 

“I could stay,” she offers, Rockford turning in her arms. “So you don’t have to come back to an empty house.”

He cups her cheek, a grateful look quickly replaced with regret. She watches, nods. We all know that can’t happen. Not yet. There’s too much standing between them for him to accept. 

“I’ll get dressed,” she says, walking back into darkness. Rockford braces his hands on the door frame, hanging his head. He takes a breath, then follows.

The ungodly moan you let out makes Dieter’s lips quirk up into a prideful smile.

“That good?” he asks.

“Fuck, Di, where did you learn to cook like this?” you say through a half-full mouth of the best pasta you’ve ever had. His cheeks flush prettily as he pushes his own around the bowl, another forkful already on its way to your lips.

“I’ve got a handful of home runs I save for special occasions,” he says, taking a sip of the red wine he decanted while you were walking in the door. “But outside of that? I’ll gladly order takeout.”

“It’s fantastic, thank you for making it,” you say, enjoying how he busies himself with his plate to smile into his chest. It makes your own smile tug at your cheeks. You know how hot he can be, how sexy and thoughtful and suave, but he’s also cute?

After a spirited discussion about some of the dialogue in recent seasons - nobody talks like that coming up against it’s a play on the trope - you help clear the table and loiter in the kitchen while Dieter puts the dishes in the sink. The immaculate marble countertop, plus a little of the wine thrumming in your veins, tempts you to hop up and sit on it as he rinses out the wine glasses and sets them on a drying rack. The dishes are sparse, only four bowls, a handful of cups. The kitchen is artfully, but not practically styled. You meant to ask if this was Dieter’s home or if he was renting it, the modern pristine aesthetic clashing against what you know of him, but before you can voice your thoughts Dieter is standing in front of you, hands on your knees.

“Would you like some dessert?” he asks, the dip in tone carrying the thrum of your heartbeat straight between your thighs. Heat creeps up your neck and blooms across your chest, but you hold to the words Dieter soothed you with last time.

Take it slow.

“What did you have in mind?” you ask, letting Dieter part your thighs to stand between them. One hand slips around your waist, the other skimming up your arm to cup your neck. He has to tilt his head up to look at you, and from this vantage you can admire the little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the deep crease in his bottom lip, the little scar on the bridge of his nose from an old on-set injury. You can’t help melting into him, sliding your fingers into the unruly locks at the base of his neck and holding him precious in your hands. His eyes slip shut, and you swear you hear a low purr rumble in his chest.

“Something delicious,” he whispers before he pulls you down to meet him. 

It’s as intoxicating as the first time, his lips slotting between yours while he sighs like a man returned home. The tips of your noses brush as he tilts his head to better lick into your mouth, tannic laps as you savor each other. His hands pull you closer to the counter edge, your legs coming up to wrap around his waist. The plush flesh of his stomach presses against your core, and for a moment you imagine grinding against him, coating his skin in your slick. How he would look watching you writhe against him. Was he the kind of man to cast dark, demanding eyes along your skin, or watch you like a goddess with wonder?

A final sweep, and he parts from you with a little pant and shiny lips.

“Fuck, I said I was going to go slow and you’ve got me wanting to toss all that out the window,” he says, stealing a smaller kiss from your parted lips. 

“I like where this is going right now,” you say breathlessly, rolling your hips along his clothed stomach. He groans, pressing your foreheads together.

“I’d like to have dessert first,” he says, and you’re about to ask him how he can think of food at a time like this when two large, firm hands slide under your skirt and search for the hem of your panties. Once located, he drags them down your legs, aided by the lift of your hips. They’re a lacy pair, more substantial than a thong but not by much. He crumples them in his hand and slips them in his pocket.

“Can I eat your pussy, Snaps?” he breathes, ghosting his lips over the top of your thigh, dragging his nose along the stretch of your skirt hem. Your cunt is practically gushing, but you still have to laugh.

“I can’t believe you used that cliche-ass line,” you giggle, Dieter’s eyes snapping up to your mirth at his expense. 

“I think it worked,” he drawls out, and one hand slips between your legs to thumb at your soaked folds. “Made you fucking drenched, didn’t it?” Your tongue struck dumb, he steals a glance at your face. “Oh, yes it did. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” he says, smug smile giving way to the open-mouth kisses he trails down your thighs as he fists your skirt up over your hips. The shock of cool marble on your bare ass steals your breath before Dieter’s lips pressing a chaste kiss just above your clit suffocates you. One large hand spreads across your chest, gently pressing you back to lay on the expansive countertop. Your whole body thrums in anticipation as he lifts your leg over his shoulder, pressing your hip open so he can breathe you in.

“Fuck, Snaps, you’re not dessert, you’re a whole damn meal,” he groans. A retort dances behind your teeth before dissolving to nothing when Dieter’s tongue slides slowly over your clit, savoring your taste. He pulls back, staring at your silky pussy on display, then with a whispered, “fuck,” he dives in for more. 

The tenacity and fervor with which Dieter slurps and moans into your cunt clenches your walls and bows your spine. He grips your thighs, spilling flesh between his fingers as he swirls his tongue on your clit and sucks greedily. There’s nothing for you to hold onto on the smooth counter, so you bury your fingers in his hair to an approving growl that vibrates your core.

“Just like that, you tasty little thing, give it a good pull if I’m doing well,” Dieter rasps, sliding his tongue down to prod your entrance. Thighs tightening, hips rolling, you feel gloriously untethered to the world except for Dieter’s touch. After working his tongue inside you he presses deeper into your folds, hawkish nose sliding over your clit. He rocks his face against you, a mess of his pulsing tongue, hot puffs of air against your intimate flesh, and his dark eyes coaxing gush after gush of slick into his waiting mouth. 

Fuck ever faking it with him again, Dieter could rail you on set in front of craft services and you’d thank him for it.

The shudder of your impending orgasm raises your voice, hoarse gasps and whines as Dieter intensifies his technique, rubbing hard circles on your clit with the tip of his tongue and sliding one perfectly thick finger inside you. You throw an arm over your eyes, coherent enough to whimper and weakly wail when he presses into your g-spot and drags your clit along his tongue in a neverending roll. It’s right there, you’re going to cum on Dieter’s face, when…

A phone rings.

Dieter’s phone.

The harsh tones of Apple’s default ringer still your hips, Dieter’s mouth still moving against you. 

“Di…” you call out weakly, tapping your fingers against his temple to get him to look up at you. His mouth pops off, and true to his on-set assumption he’s coated from the bridge of his nose to the base of his chin with your slick. It glistens in his mustache, one silvery smear dragging up his cheek. His eyes are glassy and fucked-out when he meets yours.

“Wha’s wrong?” he slurs, licking his lips and suppressing a groan. Your cunt clenches hard, screaming to cum.

“Your phone,” you say, the glow across the room visible from the coffee table. He looks over at it for a moment, slow blinking when he returns to your face.

“And?” he asks, blankly taking in your nervous energy.

“It could be…something…important?” you squeak out, legs still splayed lewdly around him. He watches you for a moment more, puzzling through something, before understanding dawns on his face. 

“How much like Rockford do you think I am?” he asks, leaning down and pressing a sticky kiss just above your bellybutton. It makes your abdomen jump, the tickle of his mustache trailing as he slides your shirt up below your breasts. “Do you think anything at all is worth tearing myself away from your gorgeous fucking body?” He licks a line up to your bra, scraping his teeth on the supple skin. “You think a phone call could stop me from making you scream?” 

His hands and mouth still, prompting you to sit up to stare at his hungry face. Hair disheveled from your hands, a flush across his cheeks, and a devious smile all answer his questions, but you know he needs you to say it.

“No.”

His smile turns devilish.

“Good girl.”

With increased voracity he returns to your cunt, sucking his fingers into his mouth before strumming them quickly over your clit. The stimulation arches your back and snaps your thighs closed around his head, only stopped by one hand pressing you open mercilessly. The wrecked gasp he tears from your throat stops the onslaught, redirecting two fingers deep into your cunt to press hard into your g-spot, his hot tongue back on your clit with a pattern of quick circles and soft laps. You scrabble for his hair, the broad expanse of his shoulders, the fingers wrapped around your thighs. He finally gives you something, threading your fingers together so you can grip him while your orgasm burns you from the inside out. Your lungs scream, eyes screwed shut as Dieter pours molten pleasure into you, fire and ice and ecstasy. He growls into your cunt, refusing to stop until your spasming hips fall back to the counter and each breath ends on an overstimulated gasp. Only then does he lift up to gather you in his arms, pulling you around him so he can mouth at your neck and trail kisses back to your gasping mouth. He strokes long paths up and down your thighs, letting you drape over his broad shoulders and rest your head. Faintly you still hear ringing, but so far away that it could be a dream.

“That’s a good girl,” he purrs into your ear, earning a weak tug of his hair. “I knew you’d be fucking delicious.” 

“Shit, Di, did you suck my soul out?” you joke, laughter rumbling you both.

“Now you know how I felt when I first saw you,” he muses, stroking the back of your neck. You turn your face into his throat, savoring the warmth and masculine scent of his sweat. The ringing pauses for a few seconds, then starts back up again. 

“Do you need…” you ask, leaning back to smile down at Dieter. He rolls his eyes.

“On principle I’m not going to answer it for the rest of the night. Camille has my calendar, she should know better,” he says, dipping his head to scrape his teeth on your collarbone. Your thighs clench around his waist, his supple mouth dotting a kiss over his teeth marks.

“Unlike Rockford, I don’t put my work above my partners,” he says nonchalantly, as if that word doesn’t make you lightheaded. “I also don’t drown myself in drink and drugs as heavily, or engage in as much casual sex as I used to.” His hands splay wide over your back, brushing your noses together as you fight to meet his eyes. “My dark and brooding past is mostly full of self-loathing and coping mechanisms, not failed murder investigations.” Dieter draws you closer to the edge of the table, his hard cock grazing your core just enough to make you hum into his ear. “And I’ll make you cum three times tonight, not two.”

You take a playful nip at Dieter’s ear, the clink of his earring against your teeth thrilling.

“Is your technique as good as his?” you ask innocently, his hands suddenly possessive on your skin. 

“Better,” he promises. Then he takes you to his bed and proves it.

END

[baronessvonglitter]

I read so many fics over the holidays and found great new (well, new to me) authors. Starting next month I'll be doing monthly fic recs instead because whoa.. this is a lot ❤️

Please take time to read these stories, and others by these creative and beautiful people 💫 And mind the tags, as the majority of these blogs are 18+ and come with their own warnings.

dividers by @plum98 👑

Joel Miller

Borrowed Time by @aurorawritestoescape ~ Joel x f!reader

Darkest Desires by @myownwholewildworld ~ Boston QZ!Joel x f!reader.

Fade Into You by @probablyreadinsmut ~ Joel x Afab! Reader

Girl Dinner by @slimybeth69 ~ kidnapped!Joel x isolated&unhinged&potentially crazy!reader

A good grade by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Perv Art Professor!Joel x afab!reader

Guilty Pleasure by @for-a-longlongtime ~ dbf!Joel x reader

A Hell of a Morning by @aurorawritestoescape ~ Stepdad!Joel x f!reader

It feels like hope by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Hot Priest!Joel x f!reader

Lock the Gate by @almostfoxglove ~ Joel x f!reader

The Older One by @frannyzooey ~ Joel x f!reader

Overloaded by @katiexpunk ~ Joel and Tommy Miller X fem!Reader

Pregame Play by @joelmillerisapunk ~ Dbf!Joel x reader

Seeing Pink by @gutsby ~ Joel x Reader

Texas Red by @studioghibelli ~ Joel x reader

this one thing you did by @joelscruff ~ Joel x f!reader

Three Strikes by @maiamore ~ Joel x f!reader

Unwrapped by @sunshinehaze1 ~ Joel x f!reader (f. Marcus Acacius & Lucilla Aurelius)

The Warden by @arcanefox207 ~ GameWarden!Joel x F!Reader

you got me thinkin' nonsense by @joelmillerisapunk ~ Dbf!Joel x F!reader

Dave York

In Vino Veritas by @yxtkiwiyxt ~ dave x f!reader

The Lonely Space Between Floors by @morallyinept ~ Dave x F!Reader

One Day at a Time by @drewharrisonwriter ~ Dave x Female Reader

A Quiet Neighborhood by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Dave x f!reader

The Road Not Taken by @guiltyasdave ~ Dave x f!reader

Under False Pretenses by @joelalorian ~ stepdad!dave x f!reader

Javier Pena

How could you love somebody like me? by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ f!reader x Javier

Lost and Found by @oliveksmoked ~ Javier x f!reader

A New Year's Distraction by @lotusbxtch ~ Javier + f!Reader

Pump by @morallyinept ~ Javier x GN!Reader

Marcus Pike

Merry Christmas, baby by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Marcus P x f!reader

Sign Here, Please by @inept-the-magnificent ~ Marcus P X f!Reader

Dieter Bravo

A Better Man by @drewharrisonwriter ~ Dieter x reader

Din Djarin

Best Kept Secret by @lincolndjarin ~ bodyguard!din x princess!reader

Pero Tovar

Baron Tovar Takes a Wife by @604to647 ~ Bridgerton AU Regency!Pero x fem!reader

Confession by @sawymredfox ~ Pero x fem able-bodied reader

Marcus Acacius

Searching for the Stars Pt. 2 by @the-mandawhor1an ~ Marcus A x f!Reader

Frankie Morales

Extra cream and sugar by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Frankie x f!reader

Multi/Other

Blackmail by @milla-frenchy ~ Javier Pena x fem reader x Joel Miller

Cosmic Love by @kedsandtubesocks ~ Marcus Acacius x F!Reader x Marcus Pike

Datura by @suzdin ~ Joel Miller x f!reader x Dave York

Don't say a word if this word is not "please" by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ General!Marcus Acacius X slave trader!Javier Peña

Fuckboy by @sizzlingcloudmentality ~ unnamed ppu character x f!reader

Paris, Texas by @almostempty ~ Joel Miller x Javier Pena x f!reader

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Hey there!

This month felt endless, am I right? Can’t believe it’s finally over.

This is a list of all the fics I read in January, I started writing it at the beginning of the month so they are in chronological order based on when I read them.

There’s a lot of stories but I still feel like I haven’t read enough lol

I loved every single work on this list so I highly recommend for you to read them and give some love to authors! They’re unbelievably talented and bring so much joy to this fandom, someone even in my life but this is another story.

I put the link to the Masterlist for series, so you can see all the chapters, some of them are ongoing and some are finished.

Please mind the tags and warnings to make sure a story doesn’t trigger you and makes you uncomfortable, I’m not responsible for what you choose to read, only you are.

Happy reading!

❋ Consume - @sunshineispunk

Stepdad!Joel x reader , DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

❋ Liquid Gold - @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Joel Miller x f pregnant!reader x Tommy Miller

You are super pregnant and currently miserable after a third trimester issue crops up. You don’t know how to fix it, and Joel is determined to make you comfortable again. Will he come up with the right solution or are you going to spend the last few weeks of your pregnancy in awful pain? (Lactat!on kink)

❋ The First Time - @fettuccin-e

Frankie Morales x afab!reader

Size kink

❋ Mouthful - @pedgito

Joel miller x reader

Joel finds the perfect way to keep you quiet while he showers you with compliments.

❋ Holiday Heat - @baronessvonglitter

Joel Miller x f!reader

Only one bed trope, grumpy x sunshine, age gap, strangers to lovers

Sharing a hotel room with a grumpy (and handsome) stranger while a storm makes travel inaccessible. What could possibly go wrong?

❋ The Warden - @arcanefox207

Joel Miller x f!reader - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

Your hike into the woods doesn’t go as planned when a depraved Game Warden catches you breaking the rules.

❋ Quicksand - @javier-pena

Pedro's unnamed character in Materialists x f!reader

You meet a stranger at a party

❋ Borrowed Time - @aurorawritestoescape

Joel Miller x f!reader

Joel and you are enjoying an ideal vacation together. Warm ocean, white sand, soft kisses, and hot sex make it feel like paradise. But as your time here is running out, the thoughts that you‘ve been trying to keep at bay start eating at your soul.

❋ After hours - @mssalo

Sub!Joel x Dom f!reader

❋ Wandering Hands - @gothcsz

Javier Peña x f!reader

Javi can't keep his hands off you during a dinner with some friends.

❋ Strangers - @joelmillerisapunk

Stripper!Javier Peña x f!reader

you meet a sexy stripper at your bestie's bachelorette party and he tries his absolute hardest to get your number

❋ Law of Attraction - @baronessvonglitter (Series Masterlist link)

Dave York x f!reader - Romcom AU

Dealing with emotions is difficult when you and Dave realize how you really feel about each other. When a night in turns sour, you seek help from an unexpected source.

❋ Easy - @slowdivinqs

Joel Miller x f!reader

waking Joel up in the best way possible.

❋ Bad blood - @aurorawritestoescape (Series Masterlist link)

you want your stepdad and your step uncle offers to help

step uncle Joel Miller x f!reader x stepdad Tommy Miller

❋ Never have I ever - @wannab-urs

Dieter Bravo x afab!reader

You and Dieter play never have I ever and it gets spicy.

❋ My paramour, my evermore - A Joel Miller Story - @schnarfer (Knights and Kings AU)

Joel Miller x f!reader

Joel Miller is the loss of your life

❋ Let's Go - @thundermartini DBF!Joel x f!reader

you decide to channel your inner party girl on this Friday night. But things won’t go as planned. You’ll get even more from this night than a dance in a club and free drinks from strangers. (Or, I just wanted a pretext to imagine bouncer!joel railing me in the back room of a club.

❋ Yes ma’am - @sizzlingcloudmentality

Dave York x dominatrix!reader

life goes sideways and Dave is close to snapping. he needs professional help. aka let himself be dominated and be at the receiving end for once. good thing he has your number.

❋ Untitled - @aurorawritestoescape

Joel’s twin x f!reader || 500 words

❋ Girl Dinner - @slimybeth69 Dead dove do not eat (Series Masterlist link)

Joel Miller x f!reader

After the civilized world you once knew came to an end-- the men that survived... well they just take, take, take. Growing tired of having things taken from you-- you have a hankerin' to take somethin' for yourself... and make him perfect.

❋ Foxglove Downs - @whocaresstillthelouvre (Series Masterlist link)

Marcus Acacius x f!reader x Lucius Verus

In the exclusive realm of elite show jumping, where wealth stretches as far as the polished estates, Marcus Acacius and Lucius Verus are locked in a fierce competition that reaches far beyond the arena.

❋ No strings to hold me down - @baronessvonglitter

fwb!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Enjoying the freedom of being friends with benefits with Joel Miller, a new emotion flares when you see him out with someone much younger.

❋ What’s a Tomdaya? - @604to647

Modern!Pero Tovar x fem!reader

Pero regrets getting into a group chat with your friends

❋ Prisoner - @almostempty

f!reader x Din Djarin

this time our fav bounty hunter is the bounty and you're on a mission to capture him and claim your reward

❋ Final part of the neighbor series - Masterlist - @gothcsz

Javier Peña x f!reader

❋ All the good girls go to hell - Masterlist - @aurorawritestoescape

Stepdad!Joel Miller x f!reader

you can't stop thinking about your stepdad so you do something risky to have a little more of him. But Joel is not the "little more" kind of guy.

❋ Close-up - @milla-frenchy

Joel Miller x f!reader

Joel receives a script that takes him back to the memories of your love story. He realizes that out of protective instinct after the break up, he has not been honest neither with his own feelings nor with you

❋ El cumpleañero - @gothcsz

Javier Peña x f!reader

It's Javier's birthday, so you show up to his party and things get fun.

❋ Reincarnated - @joelmillerisapunk

Joel Miller x f!reader

A late-night text from an unknown number stirs up memories you thought you’d buried. It’s been years since Joel walked out of your life, but now he’s back. Old wounds resurface, boundaries blur, and the question lingers: is this a second chance or just another heartbreak waiting to happen?

❋ Leather and Lace - @probablyreadinsmut

Javier Peña x f!reader

Javier Peña is back in Loredo after retiring from the DEA. He's horny and looking for something new. That's when he finds you.

❋(Un)faithful - @probablyreadinsmut

Rbf!Javier x Married!Reader

Your marriage is lackluster, your sex life even more so. When your best friend Javier finds out, lines are crossed and lives are changed forever.

❋ some thoughts on hbf (husband's best friend) joel @baronessvonglitter / Drabble

❋ BDSMaid - @mountainsandmayhem (Series Masterlist link)

After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

[thosewickedlovelies]

Girl this is so??? I don't even know how to articulate everything I feel about this fic. Usually I avoid angst, but your Dieter is just so...poignant. like I know that however your dieter angst is going to hurt me, it's going to be in the right way. Maybe I just resonate with like, missed connections, things that don't work out but you just can't let go of, even when it's not good for either of you. 12/10 work

Also the smut. Fucking hot and perfectly Dieter

ONLY BACKWARDS

pairing: dieter bravo x you, dieter bravo x reader rating: explicit (oral sex (female receiving), pinv, references to unprotected sex, hate sex, light dirty talk (not degrading) tags: angst, age gap (reader is 34 and bravo is 48), hurt/comfort  word count: 2.8k+ summary: it has been 6 months since you last heard from dieter bravo. this time he comes back to you with a black eye, and he asks for too much. it is just like always.  a/n: i wrote this in about a day so if its a little funky, that’s probably why. unbeta’d. songs i recommend you listen to while you read (if that’s something you enjoy): american dream by lcd soundsystem, sculptures of anything goes by arctic monkeys, californication by red hot chili peppers, and conversation 16 by the national 

Fourteen years and two days. Depending on the way you look at it, that’s either a long time or too little of it. 

As you take a good look at the man who you share this age gap with, you aren’t sure where you fall on the spectrum. 

Keep reading

[drewharrisonwriter]

What Matters

Status: Complete.

Pairings: Javier Pena x Female Pregnant Reader

Word Count: 3,768 words

Summary: A late-night errand to the convenience store forced you to confront everything you thought you'd left behind

Author's Notes/Warnings: MDNI. 18+ only. This fic contains explicit content, gun violence, and themes of hidden pregnancy, inconvenient labor, and birth. Reader discretion is advised. I'm also not a medical professional nor do I have a background in medical procedures, I only have childbirth experience twice, and those are two different experiences that I pulled inspiration from for this fic. So sorry for any unrealistic expectations or mistakes on pregnancy and birth in this story. This is a fic requested by someone on Ko-Fi. I really enjoyed writing my first Javi Pena fic. But I also know the themes are pretty weird, so, if this is not your kind of fic or these things trigger you, please scroll away.

Read this on AO3 | Check out my Masterlist | Updates Blog | Ko-Fi

The fluorescent hum of the convenience store lights grated against her nerves, already worn thin by the rhythmic tightening in her belly. She’s so close to feeling overstimulated. She reached for the carton of juice on the shelf, her fingers trembling slightly as another wave rolled through her. I have time, she told herself. Babies don’t always come on time. But the pattern, sharp and increasingly regular, betrayed the truth she didn’t want to face.

She shouldn’t have been out here tonight, she should have driven herself to the hospital two hours ago. Yet, here she was, scanning the shelves for the electrolyte drinks and snack bars she'd forgotten to pack in her hospital bag. A ridiculous errand, in hindsight. She’d been too stubborn to ask for help. Too scared of the pitying looks, the probing questions if someone saw her. 

Too scared of seeing him.

And as if the world is playing some cruel prank on her, the bell on the store’s glass doors jingled and startled her from her thoughts, and her head shot up reflexively. The door had opened before she even registered the familiar silhouette, framed by the warm glow of the streetlights spilling through the windows and the ugly fluorescent lighting of this old convenience store. 

He says her name. 

His voice, low and rough, was unmistakable. For a moment, her heart stalled, her breath catching painfully in her throat. Javier Peña stood frozen in the doorway, his brown eyes wide as they zeroed in on her—and the obvious swell of her belly.

She hadn't seen him in six months, not since she'd sneaked out of his apartment before the sunrise and slipped away without so much as a goodbye. Not since she'd found out she’s carrying Bogota’s Cassanova’s bastard child the day before. Now, months later, here he was, Cassanova himself in the flesh but feels like a ghost pulled straight from her dreams—or nightmares.

“Shit,” she hissed under her breath, gripping the juice tighter and turning sharply away from him. She started walking away but the contraction clawed its way up her abdomen, making her wince, she straightened quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed and continued walking. 

“What the—?” Javier took a cautious step forward, his brows furrowing. He caught up with her and gently grabbed her hand and said her name again, softly. She took a deep breath and turned back to face him. 

His gaze flicked to her stomach, then back to her face, and the disbelief gave way to something sharper. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Hey, Javi.” She sighed. 

“You’re pregnant.” He stated. 

“Yeah, no shit.” 

“I-it’s mine, right? It’s gotta be m–”

“Javi, I need to go.” 

“What the fuck?”

She tried to speak. She wanted to tell him that she knows a baby is not part of his plans, heck they’re not even exclusive. There were so many things she wanted to tell him at that moment, to cut him off before he could launch into the inevitable storm of questions, but the words wouldn’t come. 

He says her name again with a sigh.

“Look,” He started. “I think we need to talk.”

“I don’t have the time to talk, Javi. Besides, there’s nothing to talk about.” She tells him, tugging her hand back from his grip. 

“What the hell does that mean? You’re obviously pregnant, it’s obviously mine—”

She scoffed and shook her head. “I’m gonna stop you right there. Pena. I have shit to do. Forget you saw me tonight.” 

She turned away once again and started to walk away when another contraction rippled through her body, stronger this time, and she had to brace herself against the shelf to stay upright.

“Are you alright?” He asked. Great, he’s not budging. She could just drop these things and waddle as fast as she can to her car and drive away, far from him. But oh, this horndog’s child is pressing so low and the pressure is starting to feel too much. 

“I’m fine, just leave me alone.” She started panting and Javi trembled slightly at the scene. 

“Are you in labor?” 

“No,” she snapped, though the lie sounded thin even to her own ears. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“You’re sweating and leaning against the goddamn shelf,” he shot back, his tone climbing. “And pregnant. What the hell are you doing here?”

Her glare was sharp enough to cut through steel. “What does it look like I’m doing, Peña? I’m picking up—”

The sharp crack of gunfire outside drowned out the rest of her sentence. The air seemed to freeze between them. 

On Instinct, Javier yelled “Down!” and tackled her and his head whipped toward the door, his body tensing as he reached for the holster on his hip.

“Get down,” he barked to the others in the store, the command sharp and immediate. The cashier let out a strangled yelp before ducking behind the counter

She didn’t have time to argue. Before she could process what was happening, Javier had closed the distance between them, his hand gripping her arm as he pulled her toward the back of the store while hunched down. Her heart hammered in her chest, every contraction now fighting for dominance against the adrenaline flooding her system.

“This can’t be fucking happening,” she muttered under her breath, clutching her belly as she stumbled along behind him.

“Yeah, well, it is,” Javier snapped, his voice taut with focus as he scanned the dim aisles for an escape route. “And you’re about five minutes away from telling me why the hell you didn’t think to call me before any of this.”

She bit back the retort on her lips, swallowing the bitter taste of fear. Her body had other plans. Another contraction hit, and this time, the flood she’d been dreading broke loose. Warm liquid pooled at her feet, the unmistakable sign that there was no more pretending.

“Javi…” Her voice trembled, quieter than she meant.

He stopped, turning just in time to see the wide-eyed panic on her face. His gaze dropped to the floor, where the sheen of amniotic fluid glistened under the harsh lights.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

She nodded, her breath hitching as she clutched her stomach. “Yeah.”

“Okay. Okay, just—breathe,” Javier muttered, more to himself than to her, as he scanned the store. His hand tightened on her arm, steadying her as her knees threatened to buckle. “This is not the place for this.”

“No kidding,” she ground out, teeth clenched as another contraction raked through her. “This isn’t part of my birth plan.”

The gunfire outside grew louder, punctuated by the shattering of glass as bullets tore through the storefront. 

“Move,” he ordered, his voice low but commanding as he led her toward the storeroom door at the far end corner of the store. His free hand hovered near his gun, his eyes constantly flicking to the front of the store. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

She wanted to argue, to tell him that moving felt like an impossible task when her entire lower body was on fire, but another round of gunfire stole her breath—and her choice. Javier pushed the storeroom door open with his shoulder, guiding her inside. The dimly lit space smelled of cardboard and spilled soda, and it was marginally quieter than the chaos outside.

“Got a magic escape route I don’t know about?” she bit out, clutching the edge of a nearby shelf for support.

He ignored her sarcasm, already moving toward the back wall. His fingers skimmed along the edges of stacked boxes until he found what he was looking for—a steel service door. 

“Stay here,” he barked, glancing back at her.

“Not going anywhere,” she shot back, doubling over as another contraction took hold. She let out a low groan, her nails biting into the shelf’s metal edge.

Javier paused, his jaw tightening as he watched her. For a moment, the hard edge in his expression faltered, replaced by fear, but this is not the time to let his vulnerabilities show. So he shook it off quickly, yanking the door open and peering out into the alley beyond.

“Clear,” he said, turning back to her. “Come on. We’re not waiting for the next round.”

“I—” She started to protest, but he was already at her side, one arm sliding around her waist as he guided her toward the door. Every step felt like climbing a mountain, her legs shaking under her weight. By the time they reached the alley, her vision was swimming, and the cool night air hit her like a slap.

“Javi,” she gasped, her fingers clutching his jacket as another contraction hit, this one stronger than the last. Her knees buckled, and he caught her, lowering her carefully onto the ground beside the wall.

“Shit,” he muttered, crouching beside her. His hand brushed her hair back from her sweat-dampened forehead, his other hand resting lightly on her shoulder. “How close are they? The contractions.”

She let out a shaky laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Close enough that you better start figuring out how to deliver a baby.”

His face paled, the words hitting him like a physical blow. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious,” she bit out, her voice rising with the next contraction. “This kid is coming whether we’re ready or not.”

For a moment, he just stared at her, his hand hovering uselessly in the air. Then, with a muttered curse, he pulled himself together, standing abruptly. “The jeep. We’re getting to the jeep.”

“You want to move me now?” she demanded, her voice a mixture of incredulity and panic. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“We don’t have a choice!” he snapped, glancing back toward the convenience store as another round of gunfire erupted. “It’s either the jeep half a block away or right here in the dirt.”

She hated that he was right. Hated him even more for the way he grabbed her under the arms, hoisting her to her feet with surprising gentleness. Every step to the jeep was agony, the contractions relentless and unforgiving. By the time they reached the vehicle, she was panting, tears streaming down her face.

He opened the passenger door, helping her inside before running around to the driver’s side. “Hang on,” he said, his voice tight as he started the engine. The alley blurred past as he navigated the narrow streets, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lightly on her thigh. She wasn’t sure if the contact was meant to steady her or him, but she clung to it like her life depended on it. 

“Oh no…” She gasped, “I can’t— It’s happening.”

His knuckles went white on the wheel, his voice a desperate growl. “Hold on. Just a little longer.”

But it wasn’t up to him. The jeep jolted over a pothole, and she let out a strangled cry, her body doubling over with the force of another contraction.

“Javi!” she screamed, her voice raw. “I can’t—oh God, I can’t hold her in!”

“Shit, shit, shit!” Javier gritted his teeth, his hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. “We’re almost there, just—breathe or something!”

“She’s coming, holy fuck!” she cried, her voice breaking on a sob. Her legs shifted instinctively, her body bearing down whether she wanted it to or not. “Oh my God, she’s really coming!” She pulled her dress up, revealing her contracting belly. 

The jeep jolted again, and she let out a guttural scream, her back arching against the seat as her body pushed on its own. Her legs spread as far as the cramped space of the passenger seat would allow, her hands gripping the edges of the door and dashboard like a lifeline.

“I’m sorry about the seaaaatt—hgggnnhhh!” she wailed, her head snapping back as another contraction hit like a tidal wave.

Javier’s startled laugh broke the tension, echoing in the enclosed space as he risked a glance her way. “You’re apologizing for the seat right now? Jesus, we’re having a daughter, and that’s what you’re worried about?”

“We?” she managed between ragged breaths, glaring at him through the pain. “We aren’t doing anything, Peña—I’m the one—oh God!” Her words dissolved into a scream as the pressure reached an unbearable peak.

His eyes darted between her and the road, the hospital’s glowing sign barely visible in the distance. But her cries pulled his attention back to her. “Shit—okay, okay, just—keep pushing!” he said, his voice pitching higher as panic bled into his usual cool.

“What the hell do you think I’m doing?” she snarled through gritted teeth, her hands trembling as they pressed against her thighs. Another guttural cry tore from her throat as the baby’s head began to crown, the unbearable stretch making her gasp.

“Holy shit,” Javier muttered, his grip on the wheel tightening as he tried to stay focused. “She’s crowning! The head—it’s—oh, God, I can see her head!”

“Good for you!” she shot back, sweat pouring down her face. “Get us to the damn hospital before—aaahhh!”

Her body bore down again, her muscles screaming as the baby’s head emerged slowly, bit by agonizing bit. Javier’s focus faltered, his gaze darting between her and the road as he tried to process the surreal scene unfolding beside him.

“We’re almost there,” he said, more to himself than to her, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and panic. “Just a little further, okay? You’re doing—uh, great.”

Her glare was sharp enough to cut through his nerves. “If you tell me I’m doing great one more time, I swear to—aaahhh!” Her scream drowned out her threat as another push brought the baby’s head fully free.

“I can see the hospital,” Javier blurted, his voice barely audible over her cries. The glowing red sign of the ER loomed closer as he turned sharply into the entrance drive. “Just hang on—we’re almost there!”

Another contraction hit, and her body took over, her legs shaking as the baby’s shoulders emerged, followed by the solid bulk of her torso. The jeep skidded to a stop in front of the emergency room entrance just as she let out a sob of relief, the baby halfway out.

Javier threw the jeep into park and jumped out, shouting for help. “We’ve got a baby—she’s having the baby! Right now!”

A team of nurses sprinted out with a stretcher, their hurried footsteps a blur as they reached the passenger side. One nurse crouched beside her, calming her with a soothing voice as she braced her hands to support the baby’s tiny body.

“Push one more time,” the nurse instructed, her voice firm but kind.

“I can’t—” she sobbed, her strength wavering as the final contraction built.

“Yes, you can!” Javier’s voice was suddenly at her side, his hands hovering near her trembling shoulders. “You’re almost there. You can do this.”

With a final, raw cry, she pushed, and the baby slid free into the nurse’s waiting hands. The tiny, squalling baby with thick black hair was placed on her chest, all surprisingly heavy, slick and warm, as her teary laughter broke free.

“She’s here,” she whispered, her voice trembling with exhaustion and joy. “Oh my God, she’s really here.”

Javier stood frozen for a moment, staring down at the scene as though he couldn’t believe it was real. Then, with a shaky laugh, he reached out to touch the baby’s head, his fingers brushing gently against the dark, damp curls. “She’s perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

The nurses sprang into action, guiding the stretcher toward the ER doors, but Javier lingered beside her, walking next to the stretcher, never leaving her side as they cleaned up both mother and child. 

Later that evening, she lay propped against a mound of pillows in her hospital bed, exhaustion etched into every line of her face, but her arms cradled her daughter lovingly. The baby let out a small sigh, her tiny hand curling around the edge of the swaddle.

Javier sat in the chair beside the bed, elbows resting on his knees and his fingers steepled under his chin. His eyes were fixed on the baby, his expression caught somewhere between awe and a simmering tension he hadn’t yet voiced. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His voice was low, but it carried a weight that made her chest tighten. She glanced at him, her fingers brushing over the baby’s soft, dark hair. “Javi, don’t—”

“No.” He leaned forward, his tone sharpening. “Please.” He sighed, and softly followed, “I at least deserve an answer.”

She sighed, her shoulders slumping as she looked away, her gaze falling on the bassinet next to her bed. “What would it have changed?” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

“Everything,” he said, his frustration mounting. “It would’ve changed everything.”

“How?” She turned to him. “You’re not exactly a picket-fence-and-family type, Javi. I didn’t want to—”

“To what?” He sat back, his hands gesturing wide. “To let me know I have a kid? To give me a chance to step up?”

“That’s exactly it,” she hissed, looking down at the baby who stirred at her father’s rising voice and glared at him. “I didn’t want you to feel trapped and like you had to step up. I didn’t want my child to be an obligation you resented later. I know how you are. You would’ve done the right thing because deep down… deep, deep, deeeeep down… you’re a good man, but it would’ve eaten at you.”

His jaw tightened, frustration flickering across his face. “So what? You thought you’d do me a favor by deciding for me? By just disappearing?”

“I didn’t want you to feel like you had to give up everything for something you didn’t ask for.” Her voice was firmer now, but there was a tremor beneath it.

“You don’t get to decide that,” he cut in, his voice rising slightly. “You don’t get to decide who I am or what I want.”

“I’m sorry…” She whispered, casting her gaze back down to her baby. 

Javier sat back, his hands falling to his thighs as he stared at her. “You really think I’d look at my daughter—our daughter—and see her as an obligation?” He shook his head, his voice dropping softer, but no less resolute. 

“I’m not saying I’ve got it all figured out, baby. But I know what matters. And you’re wrong if you think I wouldn’t have wanted this.” She looked away, tears pooling in her eyes as her defenses began to crumble. 

“I didn’t want to mess up your life, Javi. I didn’t want to hold you back.” 

“Hold me back?” He let out a humorless laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “You didn’t even give me a chance. You just—what? Decided I’d be better off without knowing my own kid? You thought that was fair?” 

She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think it mattered.” 

“It mattered,” he said firmly, leaning forward again. “And it still matters. I don’t care what you say, I should be on that birth certificate. She’s my daughter, and I’m not walking away from her.” 

Her tears spilled over, one hand trembling as she reached up to wipe them away. “I don’t know how to do this with you Javi. With how you live your life…”

Javier let out a slow breath, leaning back in his chair as if to give her space, though his gaze never wavered. “I don’t either,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “But we don’t have to figure it all out tonight. We just… start. We’ll figure it out for her.”

She looked down at the baby, her tiny fingers curling against the soft blanket. “You’re sure you want this? You’re sure you won’t regret being tied to us?”

“Stop,” he said firmly, sitting up again. “I’m already tied to you, baby. I’ve been tied to you since day one, couldn’t shake you off my head even if I tried… and boy, did I try. And now…” His voice softened, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at his lips as he glanced at their daughter. “Now, there’s no question.”

Her heart ached at his words, the raw sincerity in his tone. For a fleeting moment, she wanted to believe him and reach out, to close the distance between them, to let herself believe that this could be more. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. This is Javier fucking Pena. Bogota’s Cassanova. He fucks information out of women, he fucked information out of her once, too. 

“I’ll let you put your name on the birth certificate,” she said finally, her voice steady despite the tears still clinging to her lashes. “And you can see her. As much as you want. I won’t stand in your way.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, though his brow furrowed as he studied her. “But?”

She shook her head, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips. “But that’s all this is, Javi. I’ll let you be her dad, and I’ll do everything I can to make that easy for you. But… we don’t go back to what we were. I can’t.”

He stared at her for a long moment, the weight of her words settling over him. He nodded slowly, though his jaw tightened. “You’re still afraid I’ll mess this up.”

“No.” Her voice was firm, her eyes meeting his. “I’m afraid I’ll let myself believe in something that’s not real. That you’ll get caught up in this—in her—and think it means we should try again. And then one day, you’ll realize this isn’t the life you want, and it’ll break me.”

“Baby…” He leaned forward, his hand brushing the edge of the blanket around their daughter. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Maybe not on purpose,” she said softly, her lips trembling. “But we both know the life you live, Javi. And I love you too much to risk hating you later.”

Javi was left speechless by her confession. He didn’t even know if she meant to say that out loud…  She loves him…

The words hung between them, a truth she couldn’t take back. Javier’s expression shifted, he wanted to confirm if he heard her right, but he didn’t press her. 

Instead, he reached out, his hand covering hers where it rested on the baby. “Then we start here,” he said simply. “She’s what matters.”

She nodded, the weight in her chest easing just enough to let her breathe. “She’s what matters,” she echoed.

[dilf-docs]

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

dieter bravo x younger fem!reader

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

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., pwp, size kink, brat taming, degradation kink, fingering, oral (f. receiving), pussy spanking (again?! dilf-docs u horndog WE GET IT), creampie, tbh this is just pure self fullfing filth pls forgive me Lord I have sinned, dieter bravo (yes that's a warning), nicknames (doll), reader is a glorified porn writer, she can also speak spanish but no physical description/nationality is mentioned

word count: 6,324 words

side note: hello someone please take away ai bots from me thank you. won't add anything else, just enjoy this horny mess sponsored by our fluffy disaster king (did enjoy writing their banter though). i need to be on horny jail bc i'm on those days and wrote this in about 24 hours talk about desperate like i'm going to hell wow if you know me irl no you don't

The set was quiet, well, as quiet as it could be: quick footsteps, flickers of lights, turning of pages, sips of freshly bought coffee and instructions yelled to the air.

That is something you can control. Like, even. But this job isn't easy, given not only what but also who you need to handle.

And speaking about the devil, here comes the who: world-renowned asshole and actor, Dieter Bravo, storming into the place with a strenuous walk.

Just what you need: he's coming in your direction with what you recognize is the movie's script in his hands.

"Who wrote this?!" he angrily shouts, glaring at the people on the set.

"I did" you stand still, defiant even. "Is that a problem?"

Dieter scoffs when he hears your response.

"Is that a problem?" he mocks. "Look at this!"

He holds up the script but you don't even bother to look at it: you've read it so many times, you could recite it from memory.

"This crap isn't going to sell" Dieter argues. "People aren't going to be interested in this story"

There's an irritated expression on his face as he looks down on you. Does Dieter think you care? Of course you knew it was bullshit as soon as you finished the first page, but you had to pay bills, and working this shitty jobs would get you closer to the contacts you needed―the only reason you're doing this in the first place.

"Tell me" he stands before you, and he's so close, you can hear his uneven breathing. "Did you really write this garbage?"

What's the point in lying? The only reason why you did is because you wanted to make him mad. Is it childish? Yes. But you have your reasons, the biggest one being that in no way would you allow a celebrity to talk down on you like that. It's one of the worst parts of your job, and not even Dieter and his handsome face would let you take his shit.

"No, I didn't. But I approved it" you cross your arms, revealing the truth. "You know, you're being very dissmisive of people's hard work because you can't stand not being so called perfect. It's called humilty, you could try"

(You don't really care about this people's hard work that much. They did a bad job, but in the end, a job. He should respect them for that, not the result. A bad one, objectively speaking)

Dieter scoffs at your response, obviously not liking the snarky tone.

"Oh, you approved it?" his tone comes out annoyed. "Which means you know it's crap, right?"

You shrug your shoulders, making him visibly frustrated with the conversation.

"This has nothing to do with me wanting to be the spotlight, you idiot" Dieter raises his voice, "did you even stop to think about the viewers?"

Okay, so now you're the villain. Frankly, it's been a bad week, and the last thing you want is this guy thinking he can get away with harrassing and talking down a less payed crew member just because he's rich, famous and hot. Whatever. If he wanted to play with fire, you'll happily be the match.

"Listen, I approved it because I want to go home and be at peace. Don't give me crap about the viewers. Of course I know this is shit! But I don't get paid enough to care. Besides, even if I wanted, I couldn't change it. You're angry at the wrong person; I'm just following orders"

Dieter clenches his fist, clearly struggling to keep his calm.

"So you just do whatever the hell the director says?" he spits in a irritated tone.

"That's about my job"

"You do know that could mean this movie flops, right? Is that how little you care about what you do?"

Dieter stands before you, crossing his arms, the veins on them popping with annoyance.

"You don't know shit about me" you reply while trying not to look at his flexing biceps too much, hoping he doesn't notice. "And I'm sorry to break it to you, but not all of us are big names that can do whatever they please or hold that much power. If it was up to me, I wouldn't hire this stupid director, writer or you, who, by the way, are way past your prime"

It's an unnecesary offense you truly didn't mean, but you hate the way he talks to you as if you were stupid. And maybe the blow felt bigger because you are a fan. Geez. You thought working with him would be a dream, despite his reputation, yet now all the claims are becoming true in the worst way possible. The last thing you need is Dieter finding out you're a fan, and even if it's a coward way out, you'll defend what's left of your dignity however it takes.

Dieter's brown eyes widen in disbelief at your petty comment. Then, they spark with rage, as he looks quite furious.

"Excuse me?! You don't get to talk about me like that" Dieter moves his ringed hands erratically in the air, as to make his point any more clear. "Do you know how hard I've worked for my career? I won't have anyone, less a little brat, tell me I'm past my prime"

You admire his career, that's the worst of it all. But the annoyance has settled deeply in between you both, and you find yourself at loss for words or energy to keep bickering. Besides, behind you, you can hear the order to continue filming in a few.

"Yeah, you don't get to talk to me like that either. I guess we're even" you sigh, tiredly. "Anything else I can help with, Mr. Bravo?"

If you could, you would cover your mouth in horror. You didn't mean to call his name like that, as if you're allured by him. Fuck Dieter. You hope he doesn't read too much into the tone.

But of course his drug-fried brain would notice that, the actor staring at you with a puzzled look when you call his name.

"Oh, now you're calling me Mr. Bravo, eh? Trying to flirt your way out of this? I'm not a dumbass, you know"

The fact that he associates the calling with flirting rather than nerves makes your eyes twitch. He keeps staring at you, heat making it's way to your face. It's like he's trying to find out if what you said was indeed flirting, and given by the smirk he's giving you, it seems Dieter's got the wrong veredict.

"I'm not stupid either, but here you're talking to me like I am"

Great. That came out even more childish than you intended.

You think the color painting your cheeks is noticeable now, as Dieter lets out a small chuckle. He then cuts the distance even more, the irritating smirk still on his face.

"Well, then don't try and play me like I'm an idiot." Dieter pauses for a moment, then continues in a teasing tone when he sees your flushed face. "Oh, you're so red... It's cute"

"Cute?" the sound you let out is a mix of a chuckle and scoff. "Did you just call me cute? Are you too trying to flirt your way out with of this?" you repeat his same words from earlier. He chuckles amused at your behavior, his smirk turning into a cocky smile as he stares down at you.

"Me? flirt my way out? I would never." he then continues to speak in an amused tone. "I call people I find cute, cute...and you are definitely cute"

"Oh, I'm not the only one then, huh? And here I thought I was special" you feign hurt, and even if you're not an actor, you hope it sells. "And here I thought we were playing the same game. Well, I suppose we're done, and you can go back to filming or complaining, whatever suits you. Oh, the director is here: now bother someone else"

"Special? Nah, can't say you are." he says playfully at your attempt to brush him off. Then Dieter glances over in the director's direction but his gaze returns to you. "Oh, I'll deal with him later, you worry about yourself, sweet cheeks"

You know it's part of the banter, but it's no news to anyone who truly knows you the insecurity you've felt after so many projects rejected, ideas scrapped and terrible dating life. The you're not special hangs in the air, suffocating you; it feels like a slap to the face. Not to be a downer or such a mood changer, but it's hard to pretend. Yeah, you couldn't be an actor even if you tried to.

"Yeah I know" you answer, this time not pretending. Your voice may have given you away, so you turn around, hoping he doesn't get to see your face fall. "You're right, I'll take care of myself or whatever you said before. Bye, Mr. Bravo" you rush the words out, embarrased at yourself and how easily he's got you wrapped around his finger.

Really? And I called him again like that? So stupid.

But he notices that your face has changed a bit, picking up the slight change. Dieter feels a slight pang of guilt for what he said, his smirk disappearing from his face. He lets out a sigh when you bid goodbye; he was having fun.

"Hey, wait a minute"

The actor reaches out and gently grabs your arm, stopping you from leaving.

"What do you want?" you dryly ask, trying to keep a stoic façade, hoping Dieter doesn't catch the racing heartbeat by touching your wrist. "Go bother someone else"

"What I want..." he pauses for a brief moment, "...is for you to not walk away"

Dieter's grasp on your wrist loosens a bit, but he still keeps a hold on you. "I made a mistake. I was being an ass"

Was he, apologizing? For a moment, it seemed like Dieter was going to admit to what he did, which was unlike him, but his voice sounded genuine.

"D-Dieter!" you squeak his name in surprise, then blushing at the embarrassing sound. "You can't be serious, I mean- I'm the one that's sorry, I was an ass first. I think I deserve that"

It doesn't make sense and yes, you deserve his apology, yet at this point you're braindead and this is nothing but just nervous rambling at his actioms, so out of character from what you've heard and know.

A small chuckle escapes from the actor's mouth when he hears you squeak his name.

"I am serious. I mean it. You did not deserve it" his light grasp on your wrist stays as he slowly runs his thumb over your skin. Dieter stands even closer, making your breath hitch.

"W-what are you doing? You realize we're on set, right?" you laugh nervously, yanking your arm, even if you want him to still hold you.

The actor slowly loosens his grasp on you and lets go of your wrist, but the relief is short-lived as he moves his hand to your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

"Of course I know we're on set. Why? You think I'm doing something you don't like?"

Mischief glistens in his eyes, and you gulp nervously at the turn of events.

"I don't like it because it's not what I've heard from you" you confess before even stopping to think a proper answer. "You know, they warned us... to not get involved with the cast, and you? This isn't who I thought... heard- I think I'm going insane" you get very nervous, well aware you're doing a very poor job at hiding it. "Y-you have an exhibition kink or something?"

Ah, why. Yes, of course your mouth and brain had teamed up against you, the duo an expert on ruining your life.

See, it was a joke, but it comes out horribly wrong, making you cover your mouth. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I truly didn't mean-"

Dieter lets out a soft chuckle when you cover your mouth in embarrassment, clearly enjoying this.

"An exhibition kink? That's interesting. I've never been asked that before..."

His hand gently grabs your wrist, slowly moving it away from your mouth.

"Oh, don't cover your mouth. I like the things you say, although some are dumb"

"Wow, you're still hellbent on calling me dumb. I thought we were friends" you breath relieved at the way he took your stupid move, playfully nudging his side, feeling plush skin under his clothes. Fuck. You better leave before you dig this hole deeper. "So, do you or not? Answer the question. The joke may have backfired but my curiosity is still there"

"Dumb, stupid, idiot... you choose. I'm still going to call you that, doll. Can't let you off that easily" Dieter chuckles before answering your question, because of your boldness and the reappearing dark shade over your face. "Alright, I'll answer your question. Are you sure you want to know, though? You have a wild imagination"

"How do you know?" you fake gasp. "Have you read my works?"

It came out in the moment, not something you're used to saying out loud, especially when you're simply an assistant, because honestly, it's embarrassing.

Dieter gives you a small smirk when you fake gasp at his statement. He then continues to look down at you.

"I've heard some things. That some of the scenes you've written are a bit... steamy. If you know what I mean"

There is that same treacherous blush again. How could you get out of this?

"No I don't" and a tricky smile adorns your features, "enlighten me"

Great. The best way out seems to be going down.

"Is that right? You don't know what I mean? Well, you're the hand behind these love scenes, aren't you?"

The small input in this movie, by yours truly. When he received the script, he recoiled at how bad it was, almost calling his agent to call quits on the project. But then he had read the first of many scenes involving a certain type of action, and he decided to stay. Now that he stands before you, knowing it's you who's written them, he finds the discovery amusing and worth entertaining, no matter if he was initially pissed at the fact you were also part of the reasons why he wanted to quit.

A cocky smile appears on the actor's face when you get closer: he likes how, despite the embarrasing events you still find it in you to stand before him, spark behind your eyes full of mischief. It all starts to make sense, he thinks with amusement.

"Love scenes?" you taunt. "You mean the ones were they break furniture and blow off steam with the nasties sounds ever heard to human kind? Nope, doesn't sound like it; no idea what you're talking about" Then you pause, to keep suspense. You lick your lips, making sure to hold his gaze. "Unless..."

Dieter snickers when you describe the scenes; filming hadn't yet get there but he is eager. The actor's gaze is fixed on you as he lets out a low hum.

"Unless what? You can't just pause there, now that got me intrigued"

This isn't real, because he genuinely seems interested in what you'll say next.

"Unless you want to recreate them before filming, since you know, you're so damn interested. Sweeping your big nose in business you shouldn't" you called his nose big not as an offense but rather a compliment: it's literally the prettiest you've ever seen. Hell, it's not only endearment you feel towards it; you've literally wrote a scene where the female lead grinds off it, all while thinking of him. You really hope he's lying about reading your stuff. "Metiche"

Dieter lets out a surprised laugh at your comment about his nose, positive in his mind. He found it amusing that you called it big, which usually would be negative to some, but he didn't really mind. It's also funny in a way, and he finds to be enjoying this more than he should, long forgotten his complains or the movie he's supposed to be shooting as of now.

"Metiche, huh? You have quite the mouth on you"

"Do I?" are you confident, bold or stupid? "You haven't even seen anything yet, Mr. Bravo"

Dieter lets out another chuckle at your confidence. He's definitely entertained by your responses. He tilts his head while giving you a curious expression.

"Is that so? You have something more you'd like to share, doll? I'm open to see whatever you have if I haven't seen it already"

"Or read" I joke, "like I seriously need to check my friends to see who would sell me out. Did you truly read my stuff or you're just fucking with me?"

Dieter lets out another chuckle, finding your joke funny. He then gets a more serious, but still amused, expression on his face.

"I'm not messing with you, I did read some of them, including the ones on this movie. I didn't lie about that, I promise" he pauses for a brief moment, letting out an amused hum. "Y no te preocupes, linda. No estoy jugando contigo"

"If you didn't lie then I suppose you'd know who I had in mind when I wrote that scene of a guy eating a girl's pussy while she sits in his face, grinding on it. I'll give you a clue" you tiptoe, until the hot of your breathe clashes against the cold of his ear's skin, "he's got a big nose"

Dieter lets out a low hum when you drop the clue. "A big nose huh? Sounds familiar"

"It does?" you ask on an overly saccharine tone, fingers carressing the bridge of his nose, softly.

How did we get here?

He leans in a bit to get closer, clearly into your little taunts.

"Yeah, it does. And you just confirmed it too, no need to try to hide it now"

"Woah, don't let the ego win over, Mr. Bravo. A lot of people got big nose, you included" you smirk, removing your fingers from his face, and he would never admit out loud he instantly misses the warmth of your touch. "It's just coincidental you got the part and matched the character's description. You know what they say: all events depicted in this movie are fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental" you recite.

He laughs, shyly. "I know a lot of people have big noses, but I do wonder why you chose that trait in particular"

"I wonder too" then your tone drops low, "We should try, you know, to see if it's viable before we get to filming that part... call it exploratory research"

He feels your fingers touching again his nose.

"Exploratory research, you say?" Dieter lets out a soft chuckle. "How about you be a doll and show me some of that research. I'll gladly be the test subject"

You get flustered. This went too far. Why aren't you running away, or banging your head against a wall for some common sense? This is getting ridiculous, but so is the wet spot between your legs.

"Um, I- wow, I- do you really...? No way" you become a rambling mess again, trying to steady yourself, "You want to eat my pussy?"

The words come out brash, making you cringe.

"Is that what you're saying, Mr. Bravo? You can still turn around and pretend you don't know me. Muero de pena"

Hee tilts his head to the side, looking at you with an almost wolf-like look in his eyes. He takes a step closer, so more of his body is against your own, his face closer to yours.

"Don't do that. You don't have to be embarassed, doll" his finger plays with your lower lip. "I'm saying exactly that"

"Please" voice so small it feels like you'll break, "do it"

The actor lets out a hum in response to your small voice.

"Right here...?"

"No!" you jump horrified, getting out of the horny haze for a bit. "Oh, God. Do you want to be blacklisted, Dieter?" squeaky, lowering your gaze to avoid his, resorting to playing with your fingers. "You have a room, right? They gave you one.... just for you, right?"

He nods his head in response.

"Perks of being the lead actor" he beams a bit proud with full-blown ego in display. "I have my own trailer, and it's not that far away"

"It's okay, I like walking anyways" you reply. "As a matter of fact, I like a lot of things"

The actor lets out another soft laugh in response.

"You're cheeky, you know that, baby?"

He starts to lead you towards his trailer, putting his arm around your waist. It feels big and warm, his touch making a current shoot down until it looses in between your legs. If this is what fighting and low paid terrible jobs got you, you'd do it more often.

"Cheeky? Cute? Do you want to kill me?" I laugh as we almost make it there. "Turns out, I kinda like that"

Now, where you testing your luck by keeping on running your mouth? You need to shut it up forever.

The actor chuckles when you ask if he wants to kill you, stopping in his tracks when you mention that you kind of like that. He looks down at you with a soft, yet cocky smile, but his arm still lingers around your waist.

"I've never heard a woman say that before, doll. I'm starting to believe you have some weird things you're into"

I'm a porn writer, but now you stop before saying more shit. His comment makes you flustered, getting shy all of the sudden as if you hadn't just half-admitted part of your kinks.

Whatever, what's out in the open air can't be unsaid. And Dieter seems to be just as into this as you, finally someone to match your freak after all those men whose cowardice made them leave before the fun started. I'm a porn writer, what'd you expect? It would be fun if I was into vainilla stuff.

"Weird things?" you pretend to be offended, "what do you have in mind?"

"Me? You want me to think? My head is still hurting from yesterday's hangover" he jokes, "why don't you be a doll and tell me exactly what you want?"

You smirk devilishly and he's taken back by the change of your demeanor. You were truly a little wolf disguised as a sheep.

"What I want is for you to press your weight onto me as you fuck me raw" you get red as you spill the lewd thoughts out loud, but it's what you write so it's not new. Your eyes dart to the curve of his soft belly, tight against his shirt. You look away, even redder if possible. "For the research, of course! All with purpose, to uh- See if I don't suffocate- the character, I mean!"

Your dirty words darken his brown kit-kat eyes, clearly enjoying the way you talk to him.

"Of course, for the research. Got to make sure the scene is accurate, right?"

He lets out a small hum and moves his hand on your waist, until they dig in your hips.

"Yeah, because we're professionals. Is this your trailer?" you ask, trying to deviate the conversation because your face keeps getting hotter. "This is your last chance to turn your back before this gets weirder. Hell, I might even leave the country"

The actor smiles at your comment about being professionals, finding it amusing.

"It's my trailer, doll. And I'm not turning my back after how this conversation is going. If I wanted, I would've already left. You'd have to try to get rid of me yourself"

Dieter then grabs his door handle and turns it, opening the door to his trailer. Your heart beats faster than humanely possible.

"Please don't look at me like that"

Dieter lets out a soft hum and looks down at you with a cheeky smile.

"Why not? I like to look at you"

He leads you inside the trailer. Once you're both inside, he shuts the door behind him. With lock. Hearing the click makes your heart skip a beat.

"Don't look at me like you'd do all the stupid things I've said"

The actor is clearly amused by your words.

"What makes you think I wouldn't?"

He licks his lips with anticipation, bracing himself for what's to come.

"I think you're smart. That you know what's best for you" your fingers go to his curls, and you can feel him shiver at the touch. His hungry expression goes soft for a brief moment, and you think you like that too.

"Mmm... your hands feel nice..."

You smile like the Cheshire cat. "And they feel even better when you put them to good use"

The actor lets out a low chuckle in response to your words and looks down at you with a cocky smile.

"Is that a hint, darling?"

"A hint?" you snort. "That's a whole ass answer in red, bold and capital letters"

The man lets out a loud laugh at your response.

"Damn, you're feisty with that attitude, aren't you, doll?"

"Am I?" your eyes darken, body walking in automatic, closing the distance. His soft body irradiates warmth, the section between his pants feeling hard. "Will you punish me for that?"

The actor lets out a soft hum when he feels your body against his own. Dieter's face slowly gets more lustful.

"Mmm, depends on how bad you are, doll. I could punish you if you misbehave"

"What would you count as misbeheaving, Mr. Bravo? I just want to be a good girl" you whisper, batting eyelashes.

The man smirks at your comment and the way you bat your eyelashes teasingly.

"You'll see. You wouldn't want me to spoil the surprise, doll. Being a good girl will get you a nice reward, though"

"Like" you caress his nose, "helping me on the research part?"

Dieter enjoys your teasing touch on his nose and smirks at your comment.

"Mmm, just like the research part, doll"

"Would you show me?" you ask out in a tone so sweet, he's about to come right there. He didn't think it was possible, even. So he lets out a cocky laugh as he says, tone dropping too:

"Maybe I should if you're so persistent in not believing me"

You roll you eyes. "You really think I'm that easy to convince?"

"That's not a no" Dieter smirks.

You scoff. "It's also not a yes"

His tricky ringed fingers trace until it gets in the middle of your legs, feeling your dripping arousal. He then removes the finger and licks it with his long tongue, the scene as obscene as it is but never removing his gaze from yours.

"You sure? Your words might say one thing, but your body says something else"

You get defensive, despite him cornering your frame against one of the trailers walls.

"What would you know about my body?"

Even if his eyes bear irritation, he lets out an entertained laugh.

"I see you like playing these games. Pissing me off until I shut you up myself"

"I don't care" your tongue drips in snark, and he's equally pissed and turned on.

"You're a bad liar, doll. Can't act even if your life depended on it"

You scoff, as you muster the most annoyed tone you can. "Yeah?"

"I ain't met you that long, but I can tell how your body needs me" his voice sends shivers down your spine. "Still think I'm dumb? That I can't see the way you look at me, lips almost drooling, body shaking, pleading me to touch it?" all words you could say die in your throat. "What's that? Cat got your tongue? I see you're busier getting wet"

"I-I don't know what you're talking about" but there's no confidence in your voice anymore, giving away how turned on you were. Your mind goes numb at the dangerous game you're playing, coming only to your senses when his hard cock grinds against your soaked panties.

"I think you do" Dieter bites his lip, giving your core another hard rub. "I know you'd love to feel my cock around your pretty soaked pussy. Hell, you've been begging for it"

Your mind may be backtracking, but your body definitely wasn't.

"C'mon. Stop playing hard to get, doll" Dieter chuckles, "I know you want this"

He doesn't get a word out of you, but the patch against his jeans growing wetter is enough.

"Answer me" a little moan leaves your lips as he presses himself closer, his lips devouring yours in a rough fashion. "You better talk when I tell you to. Thought you'd behave" his hand easily pulls up your knitted sweater, revealing no bra. "Damn brat. Of course you wanted this: wearin' nothing to the set and writing those scenes getting off to me like some fuckin' creep" you moan at the humiliating words coming out of his filthy mouth as he touches the rosy skin gently before giving your hardened nipple a lick and then a little bite just to hear you whine.

Dieter then grabs you by your thighs, placing you down on top of what appears to be a small kitchen's counter, his growing bulge pressed against your cunt: the hard, the cold meeting hot... it all has you incredibly turned on. You feel the cool of the rings on his hand as it starts to eagerly wander under your skirt, rubbing his middle finger in between your clothed folds.

"That's right, I wore this to have you" you moan against his lips as his fingers find your clit, making slow but steady circles, "because yes, I wrote those scenes thinking of you"

"What a bad bad girl" Dieter chuckles darkly, "wanna hear you take your well deserved punishment. And don't worry, we're far away so you can scream my name as loud as you need to, doll"

He wastes no time in giving you such, pulling down the hem of your panties until they fall down to the trailer's floor. Before him, the best sight ever revealed to men: your sticky mess of a pussy. Dieter grabs onto your thighs, spreading them slowly as he leaves a trail of kisses on the inside, his beard and fluffy hair creating tickles. He then licks the folds of your moisty entrance. When you move, you hear him tut. "Be a good girl, yeah? Stay still" and now his hands hold your thighs, keeping them in place as the rings fig in your skin. His tongue hits your sensitive folds just right, making a series of sounds leave your lips. So addicting, he thinks.

"I-I'll be a good girl" you whine, "just please. Don't stop"

Your toes curl and you begin to see stars. You're surprised he's quite compliant, adding extra pressure with his tongue, slurping on your juices with a sound so obscene, even your dirty horny mind hadn't been capable of picturing. But here he was, Dieter fucking Bravo: the reason you started writing steamy scenes and agreed to do them for this project he was starring in, him always in your mind, now eating your pussy like a starved man inside the walls of his trailer.

Your mind turns into goo and your body into a sensitive mess. Your legs start to shake, clench up and tremble, leaving you a moaning mess. You weren't going to pull away, and Dieter seemed to like that feisty side of yours, yet his hold didn't loose a bit. His index and middle finger leave your red clit and slide into your soaked nub, his thumb now doing the work on it.

"That's right, baby. Tell Dieter how much you love his fingers inside of you, you cock hungry slut"

You come all over his hand, legs tensing up as you tug his messy curls into your now tight-white fists.

"I said talk" he now grabs your hair, pulling your face closer. "Gonna be ungrateful, when I just gave you the best orgasm of your life? Say it, brat"

"Thank you, Mr. Bravo" you pant out, still recovering from the high.

That makes it two discoveries as of now:

You weren't wrong when you wrote those scenes picturing him

Dieter lived up to his reputation, because that is indeed, the best orgasm of your life

You won't stroke his ego, though. And he doesn't need it either, as he's calling you good girl while leaving love bites all over your neck. "Mine" he hisses, and you let yourself believe it for a while.

"We done, sweetheart?" you shake your head. "That's right, research has just began. Bet you want my rock hard dick inside of you now"

You whine, and he leans closer. "Why do I even ask? Gonna give you my cock for you to take like the little whore you are"

You slid your hand into his pair of briefs, giving his cock a few strokes.

"See? such a hungry girl" he seethes. "Who gave you permission, you fucking brat?"

A sting spreads across your bare clit, making you moan. That's not what you had in mind, but it's embarrassing how turned on it's making you. Well, you have some certainly interesting ideas for what to write next.

"Answer me" his tone is demanding, his large palm delivering another harsh slap to your cunt.

"N-no one"

"How do we say, then? Be a good girl and show me your manners"

"P-please!" you mewl, soon feeling his tongue soothing the pain.

"So you do know how to be a good girl" Dieter praises, pressing a light kiss to your puffy folds. "Now, where were we?"

He frees his pulsating member from the confines of the underwear, revealing his throbbing cock, ready to rub it against your folds. A little whine left your lips as he kept rocking his hips back and forth.

"Talking back to me before, where is that girl gone? All I see is a hungry slut, ready to take my cock like the little good girl she is"

Dieter pushes his tip further enough to be at the entrance of your burning hole, and you whine in frustration and need, that attitude he teases you with, long gone. All you want is him to fuck you.

"That's right, beg like the fucking whore you are"

"Just fill me up with your thick cum and fuck me until I won't be able to stand up"

"Dangerous game you playin', doll" but his expression is all hunger and no warning.

"Just fuck me" you spit. "I'm yours. Use me"

That seems to do the trick.

"Good girl" and Dieter fully pushes himself inside of you, he abuses your clit, entering him fully inside of you over and over again, not even giving you time to adjust to his girth; surprinsgly (or not), you liked it rough. His wet kisses become sloppier and rushed, landing on your lips, corners of your mouth, jaw and neck. A string of drool is on his as he pulls them out, rather prefering to hear the sounds you drowned against his lips on full volume. His hands grab you by your hips while his buck back a forth in a rough pace. Surpringsly, Dieter remembers his promise, your body caged by his bigger frame as he fucks you on the counter, feeling the swell of his belly against your lower abdomen. He pushes hard, his heavier weight making your back start to ache against the cold metal, the wall behind you digging painfully on your skin. But doesn't it feel so good?

"So fucking good" he groans, his forehead pressed against yours, breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he stares intensely into your eyes, "so tight"

You grab onto his back as he stretches you out, his pace speeding up. You moan against his ear as your nails dig further into his back with every thrust, saying his name. You come closer to your orgasm as he hits the right spot over and over again.

"Fuck... the way you beg for it, like a needy little slut. It's so fucking hot" Dieter wraps his hand around your throat, his thumb pressing lightly against your pulse point. "I'm going to ruin you, doll. Gonna fuck you so hard that you'll forget your own fucking name" his voice is a low, guttural growl, filled with a raw, animalistic desire. "All you'll know is the feeling of my cock splitting you open, claiming you"

His words and movements edge you close, sweat dripping and clinging uncomfortably to your skin due to the reduced space.

"I-I'm close again"

"But you better come with me, spoiled little girl. Ain't doin' it alone after all I've done for you" he groans, his thrusts becoming more and more aggressive.

Your walls clench against his soaked dick, his pace suddenly slowing as his cum fills your hole, coating your walls.

"F-fuck"

You try to even your breaths as he rests his head on your shoulder, bodies pressed together.

"So, was I of help?"

You chuckle at his attempt for small talk.

"You did good, Dieter. Mission accomplished"

"Right" he sounds a bit dissapointed, making the corners of your lips raise. "Well, If you ever need a helping hand" he wiggles his brows, "you know were to find me"

"I do" you press a brief kiss to his lips. "As a matter of fact, you can also tell me when you need my helping hand" said hand travels down, feeling his dick hard again. The sight alone makes you drool. "What'd you say, cowboy? Up for analyzing the collected data? We didn't even try with your nose"

"I knew it was mine!"

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

This Must Be The Place

Dieter Bravo x Female Reader

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

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

Previous Chapter Golden Girl Masterlist Masterlist ✨✨✨

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

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

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

“Yep, every single one.”

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

“I’d trust nobody else.”

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

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

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

"She deserves it all. And more."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Focus, man.

He really needs to pack.

—-

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

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

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

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

You force a smile. “Just concentrating.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

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

“Welcome back, Mr. Bravo.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Welcome home.”

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

—-

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

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

“Looks good in here,” he says.

“Just making it mine,” you shrug.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want you in my bed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Home,” he hums lowly. “With you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please,” you pant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Welcome home,” you whisper.

“Home,” he sighs contentedly.

✨✨✨

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

[umadosedepascal]

DIRTY HOLIDAY | Pedro Pascal X f!reader | One Shot

Written by Santa Trindade

Banner by @missyorkswhore

Made in Brazil

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Summary: You go with friends spend the holidays in Mexico, such a coincidence to be at the same resort as Pedro. What a world, so small huh?

wc: 3.7k

rating/warnings: [little surprising plot] [Pedro being Pedro][unprotected PIV][oral sex m/f] [alcohol comsuption] [Curse words]

a/n: C’MON GUYS. Do I need to explain myself after yesterday pictures and videos? NO. FUCKING HELL NO. wtf Pedro.. WHY is he so fucking hot??? WTF. 😭

You are going with your friends to Mexico to spend the holidays this year. It was a tough decision to make because you always spend the holidays with family, but this time you decided to try something new away from home since your whole family always judges you. Your dad always comes to you saying, “You’ve been drinking a lot, my baby; slow down…”

All you want to say is that you are a grown woman and do whatever you want, but every year you keep behaving as an angel to them.

You and your girlfriends get on the airplane on the 24th, heading to Mexico for 2 weeks.

All of you are very excited and feeling some freedom in the air.

“Hell yeah, the first thing we get there will be a round of tequila shots… you gotta deal with me…” and your friends laugh with your sassy attitude.

A promise is a promise. You check in, change to your bikinis, and go to the bar by the pool.

“Hey buddy, 3 shots of tequila, por favor?”

The barman looks at you with half-closed eyes. “ID first, my ladies; you look under 18…”

Although you are all over 27, actually, you three hand your IDs on the counter and look around the pool waiting for your drinks.

One of your friends comes to you and says, “Hey, isn’t that guy from….”

Your jaw drops, your legs start trembling and shaking, trying to hold on to something and not to fall… “YES?”

Pedro is lying down on a sun chair in red shorts, drips of water are running down to his bare chest, and he is really deep into a book.

“I need my shot RIGHT NOW!” You say loudly to your friends, trying to compose yourself at the same time.

They know you have a crush on him and talk nonstop about his work, so this is going to be a wild trip if you get to meet him even for a second.

“Second round is on me; let’s do it,” one of your friends says.

All you can think about is him. You don’t stop to look in his direction and try to plan how to approach without being a silly, stupid, drunk idiot.

The most down-to-earth friend of yours tries to calm you down, saying that you will have your chance, etc., but you are so far away in your thoughts that you ask for a large margarita and tell them you're going to take a sun chair as close as possible to him and see what happens.

“You crazy! But yeah, good luck; I hope he’s not a dick with you…” one of them tells you, hopeless, not trying to hurt your feelings.

“Dick? Yeah, I want some dick… You laugh, already buzzed, walking towards the chair right next to his.

As long as you get near him, by himself, still deep into the book.

You already worked up the courage and asked, “Hi, is this chair taken?”

He gives a side eye, looking at you from head to toe. “No darling, all yours…”

As you sit on the chair, you can hear your friends from the bar cheering like party animals.

You look at him saying, “Jeez, these people know how to party, huh?” Hoping he didn’t see you before taking shots with them a few moments ago.

“Yeah, yeah… young people... having their time…” he says with a smooth voice.

You feel relief because he didn’t see you before with them and anxious at the same time because YES, you could start a chit chat with him.

“Erm, yeah…” You don’t know how to keep this going and pick anything that you find inside your ecobag just to create other possible ways to talk.

Lay down on the chair, put on your Ray-Bans, and open the FUCKING MAP of the resort.

Jesus, what am I doing? Should I say I know him? Should I just ask what he is reading or maybe wait for another brief comment coming from him?

You can see by the side of your eye that from time to time he looks at you, but very, very fast, you just hold that giant map, feeling like you're on mushrooms with empty thoughts on your mind.

You’ve got your friends getting drunk and cheering for you from the bar and the hottest guy in the world by your side.

Think wisely…

You grab your drink from the side table and sip it.

“Is that good?” He asks you.

Pretending like you got scared, almost dropping the fancy glass on the floor… “Did you just.. talk to me? Um, well, I had better ones. But this one isn’t bad at all…” you describe your drink with a shy smile.

What the fuck did I say???

He chuckles, closing his book and now sitting down on the chair.

“Hm... 3-star review? I’m getting one myself; I like cheap stuff.”

You simply just give a “ha” to him as he stands up and walks towards the bar.

Your friends get wild; at this point, they might think he is going to talk to them for sure.

You immediately look at them trying to mimic something like, “Nooooo, noooooo, don’t say shit, you motherfuckers!!!”

You are in a panic because you know them and what they are capable of, especially under alcohol influence.

But they understand wrong; they know you always need a hand in terms of trying to flirt with someone else.

You see one of them approach him, saying something and looking at you at the same time.

You are screwed up. You know.

The only thing you can do now is wait for your end, getting big gulps of your drink and trying to calm down.

He comes back with a wild smile on his face saying, “I just met your friends over there; they told me things... you don’t need to hide anything…”

You sit down quickly. “What? Hahaha, they… They are buzzed; don’t believe in what they say…”

He keeps looking at you with half-closed eyes. “Hmm,” he sits on his chair sipping his drink and says, “Yeah, it’s not that bad at all…”

You simply don’t talk for some moments; your anxiety is building up like a pressure cooker.

Until then… “Hey Pedro… I’m sorry… I just wanted to say hi, but I’m already drunk, and I don’t know how to start a proper conversation. They probably told you I’m a sucker for you… and the ‘dick’ thing as well. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not a stalker; I don’t want to bother you. I just think you're awesome, and it was a stupid idea to come over right here, right now.” You run over words.

“Wow, wow, wow, they just told me to be nice to you, haha, because you care... about me.” Pointing to himself.

After you say all that with a flushed cheek, you let out a loud laugh looking at your friends that are already out of sight. You get more desperate saying sorry a million times, trying to compose yourself.

“What more did they say?”

“That you are awesome and know everything about my stuff, but with moderation… I don’t know what they meant, but yeah, I just didn’t catch your name…"

You tell him your name with eyes open and disbelief that your friends, for the first time, did a good job, but not you… not you.

“What’s the dick thing you told me?” He asks you with a smirk.

“Aaah, nothing… being a dick… that’s it.” You say, looking to the ground with shame.

He grabs you by the chin and says, “I would never be a dick to a beautiful girl like you…”

You feel a shiver down to your spine when he touches you like that.

Oh shit…I’m already wet without even getting into the pool.

“I, I think I need to… brb…” You leave everything behind and go straight to the toilet, locking the door and sitting there.

Breathe in, breathe out.Ok, I will just grab my stuff and disappear…What did I do?

As soon as you open the door, Pedro is there waiting…

“I usually don’t do things like that; it can be the vibe, my drinks, or even Xmas. I don’t know…” He says, grabbing your hips, pushing you back to the toilet, and closing the door behind him.

“Is that what you wanted? hm" He rubs his beard on your face, searching for your mouth.

He guides your hands to his growing bulge while running his right hand from behind you, rubbing one finger over your pussy.

You moan when he rubs his finger roughly against you…

“So wet already for me…” he says in between sloppy kisses.

“Since the moment I spotted you here, yeah…” you whisper, with both hands stroking his cock over the shorts…

Then Pedro takes you slowly to the sink and sits you there, spreading your legs…“Let me see what you got, beautiful… spread more…” putting your bikini bottom aside and lowering to the same level.

You grab his wet hair with one hand while he tongue darts you deep, sucking your lips and moaning low with pleasure…

You don’t even blink, just looking down at him savoring you, such a tease.

No fucking way this is happening…

You can feel his nose rubbing against your clit; you are getting close to the edge, but suddenly people knock at the door…

“Oh dammit…” You murmur disappointedly.

Pedro stops his worship on you and tells you with a low voice, “My room isn't far... want to see what naughty presents Santa has for you?" His fingers trace small patterns on your thighs, making you shiver.

“But we need to be discreet… What’s your room number? I meet you there…”

Pedro chuckled softly, his breath tickling your ear. "Discreet, huh? I like the way you think." He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your earlobe as he whispered, "Room 217, second floor."

Luckily nobody is at the door anymore, so you sneak out the toilet.

You try to find your girls just to quickly freak out and disappear again, but there's no sign of them.

You come back to the pool area, and Pedro isn’t there anymore; you bite your lip, get a deep breath, take your stuff, and go towards the elevator.

Room 217

You knock twice.

The door slowly creaks open, revealing Pedro standing there, his shirt half unbuttoned, revealing his chiseled chest. He's holding a bottle of tequila and two glasses. His eyes roamed over your body hungrily.

Stepping aside to let you in, he whispers suggestively, "Merry Christmas to me, indeed." He gently shut the door behind you, his free hand trailing down your arm. "Hope you like tequila..."

“Hm, yeah, better be careful… right?

Pedro's eyebrows shot up, a devilish grin spreading across his face at the memory. "Ah, but that was just a sample of what I can do sober. Imagine what I'm capable of now, all loosened up." Doing a little dance…

Then he pours two generous glasses of tequila, sliding one towards you before picking up his own. "I've got a list of naughty things I want to do with you..."

Oh, he wants to play a game…I’m just gonna faint 😮‍💨

“Oh… tell me more…” You push him to the sofa, sitting on his lap.

A deep, sexy chuckle escapes his lips as he lets you push him onto the sofa, his hands immediately finding your curves. "Mmm, you're being a naughty girl..." He takes a sip of his tequila, then offers you the glass. "You first."

“My list? With you... it is an extensive list. Better you tell me yours first…”

Pedro leans back into the sofa, a confident smirk playing on his lips as his hands continue their exploration of your body. "Well, since you asked..." He takes another sip of tequila, his eyes never leaving yours.

The motherfucker is a tease; I knew it… I knew it!!!

His hands wander up and down your body possessively as he continues. "I want to see those perfect lips wrapped around my... gifts." He punctuates his words with a gentle bite to your neck.

"Then I want you bent over this fireplace mantel while I take you from behind, watching your reflection in that mirror across the room.” His fingers trailed along your waistband suggestively.

“Wow…You really don’t waste time on your list, huh?” You start unbuttoning his shirt all the way down.

He chuckles, his eyes locking onto yours as he sees you unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his chest and abs one button at a time. He helps you finish the job, tossing his shirt aside. "Guess not..." He growls, pulling you closer.

Pedro's lips curled into a wicked smile as you slowly head down towards his chest, his hand lightly gripping the back of your neck.

"Well, since you asked so nicely..." you murmur approvingly, pressing your lips against his nipple.

He let out a low groan as you began to suck, his other hand coming up to gently stroke your cheek. "Fuck, just like that..."

You let out a soft laugh. “So… you like some worship on your nipples, huh?”

A deep, sultry chuckle escaped his lips, his voice husky with desire. "You're learning my secrets, aren't you?" His hand urges your head towards his other nipple. "Not just my nipples... but every part of me deserves some worship."

“That’s how I make my way down…” you whisper.

His breath hitches as you whisper your intentions, his body tingling with excitement. "Well then, I can hardly wait to feel those heavenly lips trailing lower..." He guides your face down his torso, his abs clenching instinctively under your touch.

As you kiss and nuzzle your way down his abdomen, Pedro's hands rest lightly on your head, his fingers gently guiding you. "Lower... lower... yes, just like that..." He hisses as your lips brush against the waistband of his red swim trunks.

You slowly peel back his zipper, the sound echoing in the room. Pedro's breathing grows heavier as you reach inside and wrap your hand around his thick, hard length. He lets out a low groan as you pull it free, his eyes rolling back in his head. "Fuck... oh god..."

Pedro's cock twitches eagerly as you firm your grip, the skin velvety soft, a prominent vein runs along the underside. The head is broad and round, flushed a deep red, with a tiny slit oozing with pre-cum. His hips giving an involuntary thrust forward, seeking more of your touch. "Don't tease me, beautiful..." He breathes out, voice strained with lust. "Put those gorgeous lips to work."

As you bob your head up and down, Pedro's hands tighten on your shoulders, his fingers digging into your skin. He starts to thrust gently…”Fuck... You look so beautiful with your mouth full of me..." He pants, his abs flexing with each thrust. His hands move to cup your jaw, his thumbs caressing your cheeks as he guides your movements. The wet sounds of your sucking fill the room, mixed with his guttural groans.

I take you out of my mouth for a few seconds. “You taste so good, but I don’t want you to reach the edge, hottie…”

His breath catches at your words. "Mmm, teasing me now? You know exactly what you're doing..." His tone is a mix of both frustration and deep satisfaction. "Yeah, don't make me come just yet…”

“Yes, let’s work on your list…” You say, sitting back on his lap, cleaning the corner of your mouth with his precum.

Pedro's eyes darken with desire as he watches you clean your mouth with his precum. "Fuck, you're so naughty... I love it." He reaches out and runs his thumb over your lips, spreading it around before leaning in to claim your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss.

“So…What did you say about the fireplace? Second of the list…”

Pedro smirks mischievously. "Ah, the fireplace... I was thinking we could move our little session over there." He stands up, lifting you with him effortlessly. "I want to bend you over the mantel and fuck you from behind, watching your reflection in that mirror across the room.”

Pedro carries you to the fireplace, setting you down gently on your feet. He spins you around and bends you over the ornate wooden mantel, the cool marble pressing against your skin. "Keep those elbows locked," he commands, a firm hand on the small of your back.

Not happy with that, you just suggest, “Why don’t you just take me to the bed?”

"Because the bed is too ordinary," Pedro murmurs, running his hands down your thighs possessively, "I want to do this here, where I can watch myself take you in the mirror." He steps back to admire the view, his eyes roaming over your arched back and rounded bottom.

With a mischievous tone, you ask him… ”and you like to watch yourself?”

"Right now I’d love watching myself fucking you," Pedro confesses, his voice low and husky with desire. "Seeing my cock disappear into your pussy, feeling your body shake as I pound into you... it's fucking incredible." He reaches out to run his fingers through your hair, tangling them in the loose strands.

"And the mirror," he continues, his other hand reaching out to the mantel to steady himself as he lines himself up with your entrance. "Watching myself push into you, feeling your tight little hole squeeze around my dick as I fuck you hard against the mirror... fuck, it's going to be perfect."

With a deep grunt, Pedro thrusts forward, sheathing his hard length inside you in one smooth motion. He pauses for a moment, savoring the feeling of being buried inside you before he starts to move, his hips slamming against your ass as he fucks you hard against the mirror.

"Look at us in the mirror..." He reaches around to cup your breasts while continuing his steady pace. "Watch how beautifully you take my cock. Those whimpers you're making... fuck, you're perfect." His pace quickens, his breath becoming ragged against your ear.

His fingers pinch and tug at your nipples as he fucks you relentlessly, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. The mirror fogs up from your panting breaths and his sweat, obscuring parts of the reflection but not enough to hide the lewd scene unfolding before it.

In between moans, you beg him to take you to the bed; you can’t stand your legs anymore with so much pressure.

Pedro growls, pulling out of you abruptly and spinning you around to face him. He lifts you up and carries you to the bed, tossing you onto it before climbing on top of you. "I need to be inside you again, now."

He settles between your thighs, his hard cock pressing urgently against your slick folds. "Wrap your legs around me," he demands, easing the tip of his shaft teasingly along your slit. As you comply, he grips your wrists, pinning them above your head with one strong hand.

Pedro leans down, capturing your lips in a fierce, dominant kiss. His tongue pushes past your lips, claiming your mouth as his other hand guides his cock to your entrance. In one powerful thrust, he buries himself inside you again, swallowing your gasp with his mouth.

He breaks the kiss, his eyes blazing with lust as he begins to move, thrusting into you with deep, measured strokes that make the bed creak beneath you. "Fuck, your pussy feels amazing," he grits out, angling his hips to hit that perfect spot inside you.

Pedro quickens his pace, his grip on your wrists tightening as he chases his release. The room fills with the sound of his hips slapping against yours and your breathy moans. "I'm going to fill you up so full," he pants, nipping at your jaw. One of his hands slides between your bodies, finding your clit and circling it with his thumb. "I want to feel you come on my cock…”

"Fuck, you're getting tighter... Is this what you need, baby?" His thumb presses harder against your clit as he fucks you with deep, forceful strokes, the intensity in his eyes unwavering. "Come for me..."

Pedro feels your walls clench around him, and he growls, "That's it, cum on my cock." He slams into you one last time, burying himself as deep as he can go. His thumb circles your clit frantically as his release builds. "Fuck, I'm close..."

With a loud grunt, Pedro explodes inside you, his cock pulsing as he fills you with his hot seed. His thumb presses hard against your clit, sending you over the edge as you scream in pleasure, your pussy milking his cock for everything he's got.

He stays buried inside you, his thumb slowly circling your sensitive bundle of nerves as he nuzzles his face against yours, breathing heavily. "Damn it, I will tell your friends you are amazing… they were right..." He murmurs, his voice muffled against your neck.

After a moment, Pedro slowly pulls out of you, his softening cock slipping free from your still-quivering pussy. He collapses beside you on the bed, pulling you into his arms and holding you close. "Can we keep up with this list?" You say.

He kisses the top of your head, his heart still racing from their intense encounter. "I think we should keep going, yeah. There are a lot more things on that list I want to try with you." He pulls out his phone and starts typing, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Hey, I need to check on the girls...” you say, worried about them being away for a couple of hours already.

Pedro looks up from his phone, his expression softening. "Of course, go check on your friends. I'll be here when you get back. But don't be too long, okay?" He says giving you a little wink.

As soon as you go back to your room, you find your friends passed out on the bed.

Well, I guess you will leave a note at the door saying thanks for the little help, and you guys will catch up on the next day because you won’t sleep in the same room for a while… The list is endless.

😈

————————————————

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[wannab-urs]

Never Have I Ever

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

Dieter Bravo Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

“Okay, okay, what’s the next card?” 

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

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

“Really Di?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I would.”

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

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

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

“Tomorrow,” you smile at him. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Please?”

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

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

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

“Perfect… ma’am.” 

“Good boy. Let’s get started then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, please, ma’am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me when you’re close, baby.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Good boy, color?”

“Green, ma’am.”

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

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

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[pedrosyouknowwhat]

Who owns you?

Summary: You fall from grace as a group of raiders destroy your lavish community, taking in you as a macabre spoil of war

warnings: Dead dove do not eat, noncon, murder of unnamed characters (community), kidnapping, man handling, gang bang (not in this chapter but yeah), humiliation, virginity loss, reader being basically a sex slave, unprotected p in v, threats, darkness overall

Pairings: Dark! Joel Miller x reader, Dark! Javier Peña x reader, Dark! Marcus Acacius x reader, Dark! Oberyn Martell x reader, Dark! Agent Whiskey x reader, Dark! Dieter Bravo x reader, Dark! Frankie Morales x reader

series masterlist

Your boots padded on the uneven ground as your heart hammered on your chest, what was left of your community rising in flames. Once the habitat of the most prosperous survivors of the Cordyceps outbreak, reduced to ashes and death; and you, it's only remain.

You didn't even know of what you were running from, just doing it the second the alarms went off; it meant chaos, worse, Raiders.

That was what spared you. Your short flowy dress snagged on branches, red cowboy boots that were mostly a fashion statement proving themselves not ideal as you stumbled face first into the cold, sharp ground.

"What do we got here?" You heard a thick accent drawl, and your shivering body jolts your head upwards. A man, wearing a thin striped shirt and a thick, beige vest; His eyes are shaded by dark sunglasses and all that is recognizable is a thick mustache and a curved nose. "Are you alright?"

The rifle on his hand looks at you threateningly, as you retreat on bruised knees; The man takes off his glasses, realizing how intimidating he looked. "Oh-I'm sorry sweetheart, didn't mean to scare you."

You slowed your movements, gazing up at him, studying him. His chuckle still pulled at his lips softly. "I-I, My home-My home is being invaded by raiders."

You spluttered, and his eyes soften in understatement, body crouching to lift you off the ground. His arms were strong and tanned, and the way his hands wrapped around your arms gave your mind the slight fuzziness of comfort.

"Anyone with you?" He asked, his accent so foreign, you shook your head. "Alright, let me take you somewhere safe, mhm? can you tell me slowly what happened? My name's Javi, by the way"

You nodded, mouth blabbering everything you could remember, from the siren to the gunshots ringing to the fire; his hands never leaving your skin as he softly nudged you to follow him. He cooed at you, face scrunch in worry.

You didn't realize you were walking back into camp until the smoke hit your nose, making your head snap around wildly.

"Javi?" You ask, the name sounding bitterly in your tongue as you see him, lips pressed into a thin line to suppress laughter. Panic fuels into you as you see the group of men, thrashing the city. The boutiques, the stores, everything you knew.

Their gaze fall on you. Slowly, one by one, as they arise from the remains of your town; they are like walking dead, eyes hungry. You realized Javi's grip on you had become tighter, stopping you from moving.

His laughter rings in your ear as his arms envelop you, making it harder to breath. The man around you crowd closer, and you see flashes of your faces as the fear of the imminent swoons over you. You faint, knowing as soon as your eyes shut together that you are going to regret it.

The man, Javi, holds you tightly as you feel your knees buckle and your vision starts to swim. His strong arms keep you upright, even as the world around you begins to spin and darken at the edges.

Javi's voice reaches your ears, muffled and distant, as if he's speaking to you from the bottom of a deep well. "Easy there, sweetheart. I got you. You're safe now."

As your vision fades and your consciousness slips away, the last thing you see is the leering, hungry faces of the men surrounding you, their eyes glinting with a predatory light. The last thing you hear is Javi's low, rumbling chuckle, filled with a dark amusement that sends a shiver of dread down your spine.

The world goes black as you slip into unconsciousness, your mind reeling with the horrors you've witnessed and the unknown dangers that lie ahead. In the back of your fading consciousness, a small voice whispers a warning - that you may have escaped one nightmare only to stumble into an even darker one.

When you wake up, the first thing you see is an unfamiliar wooden roof; your muscles ache as you attempt to move, the hard mahogany floor hard against your spine, as if the soft blanket sprawled beneath you was non-existent.

"Finally." An unknown, Texan-accented voice sang; your head whipped painfully to see him. Your heart picked up, as behind the man were more.

You had seen him before; he stopped by your camp for food once. You cringed as you recalled how the townspeople turned him away, asking him if perhaps yesterday scraps were good enough for him.

“Feral stray” they had called him.

You remember getting a peek out of him, by the gates, his broad shoulders and pepper and salt hair branded into your mind.

Close behind him another man stood, same greyed hair, though he looked taller and held a scar along his cheekbone; his face was scrunched up, but his eyes told a different tale.

And then was Javi; you wanted to scoff as your mind recognized the nickname he told you to call him. He had taken off his sun glasses, dark eyes sliding up your face as he held a pleased grin, proud of his little catch.

You couldn’t get a proper look to the rest of the men as the “feral stray” spoke once again.

“Fuck, she looks terrified.” He commented, though no pity took place in his tone; a deep growl that warmed his skin.

You accessed the situation; they were bigger, stronger and more than you, but they stilled in their place, eyes raking slowly and precisely over your shivering form. You weren’t tied up, just laying there, and if you ignored hard enough the way Javi-Javier- had grabbed you before you fainted, there could be a simmering chance they were truly trying to help you.

“I-I-“ You staggered, but your brain couldn’t think of one thing to say in this situation. You planted your hands on the floor as you pulled yourself to sit up.

A breeze ruffled your skirt, and you eyes widened, feeling an unfamiliar chill in your core. A hand shot to your thighs, fingers gracing your most intimate place that you found bare.

“Looking for this?” Another men spoke, far more rough looking than the rest as he held your panties in his ringed finger. He laughed, eyes narrowing under brown tinted sunglasses.

Your hope was out the window, and you wished you’d be out the window too.

“I-please,” you managed to croak out, your best fake smile pulling at your teeth, as if attempting to back away. “I-I don’t want trouble.”

You suddenly weren’t a girl trapped in a house with seven men, but a highly esteemed comedian as the room erupted in laughter.

“Trouble?” One of them repeated, the one who looked the youngest, with short dark hair and a trimmed beard that shaded around his jaw; he gripped his dark yellow shirt as he cackled.

“Little girly doesn’t want trouble!” a thick, cow-boyish accent hollered as he took off his hat and pressed it against his chest.

You didn’t know if to laugh along or to cry, so your gazed fixed itself on the only one who wasn’t laughing; “feral stray”.

His glare was set on you, and you prayed and prayed he wouldn’t remember you, stealing a glance of him through the watch tower as the Community leader sent him away.

“That’s a pity,” He sighed, words profound and careful. “cause we do want trouble.”

With two long strides of his strong kegs he was besides you, looking down at you. Your mouth clamped as you pleaded with your eyes, tears kissing the brim.

Seven men.

One you.

Trapped in a house.

They were going to kill you.

Raiders were ruthless, never to be messed with, at least that’s what your community taught you, and by the cold, dark eyes that were posed on you, you knew then that it was true.

Stories flood your mind, murders, vandalism, theft, but never rape, despite it being the only reasonable thing this bunch would want to do to you. You had never heard about it.

“Please,” you attempted once more, hands sliding you away as they become clammy against the hardwood floor. “I-I’m no good, I’m a virgin, please-”

Their laughter dulled at your words, not suddenly, but intriguingly. You could hear some groans, some “sweet jesus” under their breathes.

“Feral Stray” bent at his waist, knees popping with effort as he reached his hard, calloused hand to grace your cheek.

“You know what they called me?” He asked.

Feral stray.

And he waited for you to answer, but you couldn’t. It was like kicking a bear that was already mauling you.

His fingers laced between the threads of your hair, still fresh from your expensive shampoo. You see his muscles flexing before you feel the stinging pain across your scalp. He tugs harder.

"You know what they called me, your stuck up, bitchy community?" He growled, and you whimpered. "Come on, pretty girl, give me the answer."

You felt as if he was going to rip out your hair, and you feared he might do it. Your neck craned painfully, looking at his furious face as a small trace of mockery, amusement was hid in his dark eyes.

"F-feral stray." You mumbled, barely above a whisper.

"Louder!" He screamed, the sound ringing in your ears as his face etched closer. You felt hot tears cascading down your cheeks, blurring the vision of the men in front of you.

"Feral Stray!" You yelped, as loud as the knot in your throat allowed you to say it. The grip stayed tight, pain blooming to your temples along the dull thump thump thump of a headache.

Suddenly you were pushed face first, your hands rapidly supporting you against the hard floor. You sighed, no longer feeling the head-exploding tension in your scalp.

A pair of hands pulled your hips up, forcing you to support them on your wobbly knees. Your head hung low, tears wetting the blanket beneath you.

"look who's the dog now," The man chuckled, a hand running over the expanse of your back. You sobbed at his words through ragged, half filling breathes. "that's it now, little puppy, come on now, bark."

Shame filled your cheeks as you slowly turned to look at him, pleading silent eyes, begging for it to be a joke. But he looked sternly at you, hand gripping your waist.

"Boss said to bark, puppy." The second eldest said, the one with the white t-shirt and the scar.

You couldn't bring yourself to do it.

"Seems like we got a disobedient one," Javi teased, boots etching closer to your line of sight. You dared to look up, look him in the eyes. "Bark baby, or you're gonna get in a lot of trouble."

His eyes looked slightly softer, still hungry and disturbed, but for a moment you had a deja vu of how he found you, even thought it was mere hours ago. The dusking sky outside told you so.

"P-please," You whispered to him, feeling the urge to cling to his leg. "please don't make me."

A grin tugged at his lips as he let out an amused breathe.

"There there," He cooed. "Not disobedient, just shy, am I right?"

Your head seemed to be locked in place as you attempt to nod at him.

"Well, she can't be shy when I'm asking her to suck my balls." The one who was holding your panties blurted; if you were looking at him you would have realized he had done a line of coke off of them.

"Patience, Dieter." The youngest one reprimanded him. "We can't expect a highborn girl to act so whorish on our whims."

"Like any good mare, just needs to be broken in." The cowboy one joked, making them laugh.

It felt so dystopian, how they joked about the situation. They could joke about it, while you stood shivering like a leaf.

"Don't get too excited," The scarred one spoke, with the regality of a Roman Emperor. "Boss is going to be the one to deflower her."

It irked you now, the casualness of all of it. The way they spoke of you like if you were merely a piece of meat, an animal even. Your knuckles turn white as you clutched the fabric beneath you, the warm blossoming from "Boss'" hand now unbearable.

"Do I even get a say?" You barked, immediately clamping your lips shut.

There were no slaps, no hair tugs, no pushes. All seven cold gazes directed to you. The hand on your back shifted towards your ass.

"Glad you asked," He grunted, kneeling behind your body as his immense back roamed over your flesh like a silent threat. "You don't."

You bit your lips as his touch became more demanding, kneading handfuls of flesh as he slowly pulled your thighs apart, your knees giving in. He hummed as he looked at you, and you never felt as bare.

If you looked forward, you could see the other men, hands wandering over their legs as they observed the scene, and if you looked backwards, you would see the look in his eyes. You opted to look down, the sound of zippers going down and Feral Stray's groans filling your ears.

"Haven't properly introduced myself," He spoke, pulling your ass cheeks apart and a breathless gasp from your lips. "Name's Joel; but you won't be calling me that."

You sensed an interchange of glances before Joel's fingers slipped once again into the hair at your nape, touch so gentle it almost cooled the sting of the previous grip, and pulled you up to face the men.

"Marcus." The one with the scar grunted, feeling your gaze on him.

Before you could continue to stare at him, the youngest one shifted “Oberyn.” he said, smirking.

“Whiskey.” The cowboy huffed, though you could tell it wasn’t his name. Not that it mattered as you felt Joel paw at your flesh.

“Dieter Bravo,” the coke-snorting one said, pulling up his sun glasses. “you may know me from the movies, did a shit ton of them back before the world went to shit-“

“Not now.” Joel bellowed, annoyed. His hands skimmed up and down your thighs, as if warming you from the biting cold.

Your eyes shifted to the one at the back of the room, the one wearing a baseball cap. He was deadly silent, had been all the time; you wouldn’t have noticed him if Javier wouldn’t have moved out of the way.

As they traced your stare, he lifted his eyes from the thing-looked like a toy helicopter- he had been fidgeting with. “Catfish.” He huffed, uneasy, returning his attention to the toy.

Silence wavered, only broken by your gasp as you felt one thick, calloused finger traced your slit. Fresh tears sprung as your neck gave out, once again facing the floor.

Two thumbs pulled your lips apart, exposing your most vulnerable oar to Joel; a deep seated growl roared through his chest as he observed.

"Gonna take your time?" Javier asked, leaning against the mossy green wall.

You felt his finger delve between your folds, touch warm as he pushed a little dipper; a soft whimper escaped you as he finally pressed a pointer finger at the top of your slit.

"Just this once." Joel muttered, deep in thought as he begun circling your nerve, weakening your elbows as your body urged you to lean forwards. Your nails dig into the wooden floor, urging you to stay up.

Their eyes, pairs of dark brown eyes posed on you, each glimpse of fresh skin they could get, your chest heaving and shining softly with a new layer of sweet, your jean jacket becoming unbearable under their hot gaze. Shame, shame warmed you up too.

They noticed, the dampness beading on your skin, cheeks red and heavy pants. How could they not? they were staring at your every move, how you shivered with Joel's swift touches on your clit, how you clamped your lips tightly, everything. If one wouldn't notice, at least the over five would.

"Getting warm there, honey?" Oberyn wondered, and you refused to meet his eyes.

"I think she is, why not shed a layer?" Whiskey teased, the low fap fa fap getting louder. It cringed in your ears.

"Acacius." Joel commanded, your brows furrowing, questioning if you had forgotten a name, or if there were more of them.

Your question was answered when Marcus thick thighs appeared in your vision, only recognizable by his worn down grey jeans. He pulled the jacket down your shoulders, the movement brief but forceful enough to let a small sound that you had withhold, all due to Joel's unwavering touch on your clit. He lifted one arm, gently, slipping the oversize denim off as you supported yourself in his scarred arm. The men almost moaned at the sigh of more exposed skin, and he finally pulled off the jacket.

He lifted himself on his knees, bulging crotch grazing against your forehead as you felt a tug on the soft cotton dress. Your head shot up, stuttering your words.

"P-please."

You didn't even know what you were begging for, an unfamiliar heat spreading through your core to your belly and to every bit of flesh you owned.

He looked down through almost black eyes, continuing to tug the fabric off your body until it came to your armpits. You wouldn't budge, hoping to sympathize with any trace of humanity in him.

For a few seconds he stopped, and you almost let out a sigh of relief as he dropped the dress; but then, his hands gripped around the hemline of the arm holes and a powerful screech of fabric ran through the air. After that, he continued ripping through the dress until it pooled beneath your quivering form.

The only thing you still had on was a flimsy bralette and your red cowboy boots.

Dieter commented something about it matching, but your mind race to the feeling of Joel pulling his hand away.

"This too?" Acacius-Marcus-you didn't even know now- asked, pulling at the clasp of your bra.

"Yes." One of them sighed, not Joel. He didn't break it, just let it slide off your arms.

The scene was almost ridiculous, clad in only fashionable boots, but it got them going. A palm smoothed down your shoulder blades, forcing your chest into the blanket and your discarded clothes. Before much warning, you felt two thick digits sink into your hole.

You cried, whining, trying to get away, but the hand was pressed to firm and in front of you Marcus still was there, working his belt buckle off. The sting opened your walls, and his pace was deliberately strong; in and out, against the sloppy holes that pushed tightly.

"Easy," He chastised, pace never faltering. "Gonna hurt more if you fight it."

You obeyed silently, fingers twisting against the floor, the sound of skin slapping skin growing louder as Acacius shifted beside you. You clenched your eyes, wishing to ignore everything as Joel sawed his fingers in and out of you.

The pain diminished, briefly, and your hand slapped against your mouth to stifle any pleasurable sound. He chose to scissor his fingers inside of you, preparing you for the inevitable.

It was normal it felt good, you knew that, that the way he was touching you was meant to feel good, but still shame crept over you as a coil begun tightening in your lower belly, cunt eager to take it in deeper.

Despite your efforts, whimpers and breathy moans escaped your palm, brows furrowed in submission as you felt him pull out his fingers, thighs shivering and rubbing to dissipate the pleasure that had struck you.

It lasted little, for the hot tip of his cock begun pressing against your entrance. You snapped out, grabbing Acacius thighs in order to get away as your hips were held prisoner in his hands.

"N-No, no please," You whimpered, but the other pair of hands tugged at your forearms, pulling you up to face him. With a steel grip, he forced you to plant your arms over his shoulder, back stretching and twisting as Joel pushed you onto his length.

"Hold-fuck-still," He grunted, pushing a girthy inch. Face inches apart from Acacius, you couldn't evade his glare as his hands clamped on your forearms. You stalled, getting lost in the enigma that held his face.

You pursed your lips as Joel brought you down further on his cock, pain irradiating from your core as he stretched you. As you attempted to move, Acacius held onto you with a force that told you he could dislodge your arms if he wanted to. From over his shoulder you saw blurry visions, the other men stroking their cocks, eyes like hyenas waiting for left overs.

The pain was unbearable, growing each time as you felt yourself being ripped apart by his cock, groans and moans were chanted in your ears, forcing you to take it.

"Fuck," He grunted, voice lost in pleasure. "So-fucking-tight."

He punctuated his words sheathing more of it into your core, though you felt as if you couldn't take more, as if he was fucking all the way to your guts. Your cunt clamped on his cock.

Acacius doesn't let up, his grip on your arms tightening as he forces you down further, impaling you on Joel's massive shaft. The pain is blinding, your walls screaming as they're stretched beyond their limits, forced to accommodate his incredible girth.

Joel grunted, his face contorted in pleasure, lost in the tight, wet heat of your core. His hands gripped your hips bruisingly, holding you in place as he continued to thrust, driving his cock deeper with each powerful surge.

As Acacius leaned closer, his breath hot and heavy against your face. His eyes, dark and intense, bore into yours, holding you captive in their gaze. "Take it, you fucking slut," he growls, his voice rough and demanding. "Take his fucking cock like the greedy little whore you are."

The other men watch, stroking their own hard shafts, their eyes gleaming with sadistic lust. They enjoy the show, reveling in your suffering and Joel's pleasure. The room is filled with the crude sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, guttural moans, and your own cries.

Joel's thrusts become more forceful, more punishing. He's chasing his pleasure, using your body for his own gratification. The pain is overwhelming, tears streaming down your face as you feel yourself being split open, ripped apart by his relentless assault. Acacius smirks at your tears, his grip on your arms not loosening even for one second. 

"Fuck, she's gripping me so tight," Joel groans, his words punctuated by a particularly hard thrust. "Gonna... fuck... fill this cunt up..."

Acacius' fingers dig into your soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises, holding you mercilessly in place as Joel uses you like a fuck toy. Your body jerks and bounces with each violent thrust, your tits swaying hypnotically to the hungry hyenas.

"Look at them, whore," Acacius hisses, nodding towards the circle of men fisting their cocks, their eyes wild with lust and greed. "Look at how much they want to ruin your holes too. They're going to love wrecking your sloppy cunt after Joel's done flooding it with cum."

Joel lets out a guttural roar, his fingers sinking into your hips, leaving finger-shaped bruises. Your vision blurs as he hilts inside you with a final, brutal thrust, his heavy balls slapping against your clit. At the same time, his cock throbs and pulses, erupting deep inside your core.

"Fuck, fuck, fuuuccckkk..." he bellows, his hot seed flooding against your unprotected womb, painting your insides white. Your stomach bulges slightly from the sheer volume of his release.

Acacius' grip becomes loose as your body shivers, loosing strength with each final thrust Joel gives you. Soon enough, you cascade down his body, head laying weakly against his thigh as his open zipper rubs against your cheek. Your aching muscles betray you,

"There, there," Joel cooed, almost mockingly as his hand raise shivers along your spine. Your eyes become blurry as all you can hear is the men chasing their release and pain slowly overtakes your body, leaving you numb, almost lifeless. You found a strange sense of comfort from the warmth emanating between Acacius' legs, almost as if you wanted to curl up closer, but suddenly, you were pealed off by a sharp grip on your hair.

"Fuck, gonna cum in this throat-"

It all happened so quickly, but the one in the back, the only one who wasn't jerking off to all of this, shot up, stopping Javier with a harsh "WAIT" that shook the room. Hands slowed down, and gazes shot to him.

Catfish, he had said, rubbed his face in distraught as he hesitated his next words.

"Let her sleep, it's her first night."

You weren't focused on the laughs and hollers, but in Javi's leaking shaft mere inches from your lips; you have never seen one so close, each vein and ridge and it's pink tip, it's musky scent filling your nose.

"Awww," Dieter teased, pumping his cock with your underwear. "so sweet little Frankie, let the slut sleep huh?"

The Cowboy, Whiskey, chuckled. "Look at your pants boy, you are no better than us-"

"Alright." Joel cut them short, standing behind you. "She can sleep tonight, not gonna get much sleep in the next days..."

Tag list:

@tateypots

[604to647]

Crawling Back to You (Dieter’s Version)

3.7K / Dieter Bravo x fem!reader

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

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

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

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

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

Well, part of it, anyways.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rest as they say, was history. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He promised you without really understanding what that meant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Someone slips a KitKat under the door of the bathroom. 

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

A moment weakness.  A lifetime of regret.

Not if Dieter could help it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Three weeks pass and Dieter hears nothing back.

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

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

It's you.

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

“An angel,” he answers honestly.

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

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

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

“You got my letter.”

“I did.”

“You’re wearing the necklace.”

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

“May I kiss you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[jessthebaker]

With Sticks and String

a/n: This fic started as the response to the #writingthroughtheseasons challenge by the wonderful @guiltyasdave and @sizzlingcloudmentality. It developed a life of its own and, uh, grew beyond the original prompt. There will be two definite chapters, and possibly a third?

I did as much research as I could to be mindful of the details of NA, substance addiction, and milestone ceremonies but there will be errors. Please be kind.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Challenge prompt: Dieter in Autumn. “Are we a moment, or a lifetime?” Trust me. You’ll see.

Dieter Bravo x reader

word count: 1.7k-ish

A church basement. A large circle of uncomfortable metal folding chairs. A table at the side with hot water urns, a stack of paper cups, a basket of tea bags and instant coffee sachets. A disused pulpit at one end of the circle for someone to stand and speak.

Dieter stands in the doorway and feels the familiar deja vu. He’s been going in circles for more than a year now, the endless loop of losing control, using, rehab, enforced sobriety, falling into using again. His agent is fed up with his bullshit and finally gave him the “I may be your employee but I’m the only friend you have left, go to rehab and make it work this time or we’re done” speech.

That was two months ago, and he’s done his mandated time at the rehab facility. Now he has to find a NA meeting to attend. He’s been to every NA meeting group in the city over the last few years and never lasted long at any of them. This group is the final one left on the list of available options that gelled with his location and schedule. Not like his schedule was that full anyway.

He notices you at his first meeting and as cliché as it was, there is something different about you. You seem to have the same dark sense of humour as him, the same cheekiness in danger of being stamped out in the name of sobriety. The same marks of near-silent desperation that you can hide from everyone but other addicts. However, the strand of fuzzy yarn running up your legs to connect the pile of fabric on your lap to your bag on the floor is new to him.

After that first meeting, he keeps stealing glances at you from across the circle of chairs. He notices you always have a project in your lap during meetings, your needles clicking softly as a backdrop to the sound of other attendees telling their stories. Sometimes it’s your crochet hook flashing in the light, as your wrist twirls it effortlessly through the air. He’s more fascinated with watching you work than paying attention to the speakers. Your motions are graceful and practiced; you deftly create something out of a jumble of fuzzy string without even looking. It’s like magic to him.

After a few meetings he works up the nerve to say hello to you afterwards. Swap names over weak shitty coffee in flimsy paper cups. A few more meetings, and he sits next to you. A few more weeks, and he asks you about your project. You smirk (got another one, you think to yourself) and show him what you’re working on.

You ask him, “Do you want to have a go?”

“Uh, yeah, if you trust me not to ruin it.”

You scoff lightly. “Don’t worry about ruining anything, it’s crochet. Whatever you fuck up, I can pull back and fix. Just...play around with it.”

You show him the basic stitches, the way to maneuver the hook and where to place it, how to pull up a loop and draw it through. He’s surprised to find he likes it. He works through your row and you show him how to make a turning chain, encourage him to work back through the next row. A soft cough behind you both makes you jump. It’s the meeting leader giving you the wind-up. It’s past time to turn off the lights and lock up. Dieter is surprised to find half an hour has passed in your company.

As you start packing up your project again, you can tell he wants to say something. His eyes are a little wild, his teeth biting at his lip nervously.

“Do you think you could teach me more next week? I think I need something like this. Something to keep - keep the hands busy, you know?”

His hands are always restless, you have noticed this. He’s always fidgeting during meetings, pulling at his coat hems, fiddling with at his pant pockets or the buttons on his lapel, twiddling his earring. Right now as you both stand together, his hands are twitching at his side, making flicking motions as if ashing an invisible cigarette.

“Of course. Come early next week and I’ll show you more.” You beam indulgently at Dieter, and to him it’s as if a shaft of sunlight has put a spotlight on your face.

His face relaxes instantly and a shy half-grin emerges. You get the feeling he has a nice smile when he lets it really show. You secretly wonder if he might have a dimple. You agree on half an hour before the regular meeting time and say your goodnights.

The next week, as promised, you bring a ball of yarn and an extra crochet hook and teach him more of the basics. You get him started with a simple dishcloth project that will fit on his lap during the meeting. You don’t say anything, but you do see that he’s more relaxed with this in hand – he’s not actively working on it during the meeting itself, but he is idly stroking the yarn, turning the partial square around in his hands, rolling and folding and twisting it up. You catch his eye and glance at the wadded up square of crochet stitches in his hands. He looks down too, sees what he’s done subconciously, and gives you a sheepish grin. You wink and grin back.

After that first crochet lesson, your friendship with Dieter grows. You look forward to the weekly meetings in a different way, now. He does too. Beyond the obvious connection of being fellow addicts in recovery, he can talk to you and you don’t stare at him like he’s a nutjob. You enjoy passing down the crafts that have helped you to stay sober these past thirteen years.

And there is the attraction. That doesn't hurt.

You can’t help but stare sometimes when he’s not looking. Does he not realise how handsome he is? Maybe he does. But he doesn’t draw attention to himself that way. Over time he lets slip little details, offhand comments, that give you the impression he used to fuck around but he doesn’t anymore. It makes sense, you think. His celebrity and fame lent itself to partying and access to people as well as drugs. If he’s working this hard to stay sober from substance abuse, maybe he’s also staying away from the rest of it. You try not to let your crush get in the way of your friendship. You know he’s not supposed to get into any relationships for the first year of his recovery, anyway.

For all that, you really, really enjoy watching him work. His broad frame hunches over the project on his lap. Even the longest knitting needles always look tiny in his big hands. To say nothing of a short crochet hook, it’s practically fully hidden in his paws. His brow furrows in concentration and his tongue pokes out subconsciously when he’s trying to maneuver the hook the right way.

For Dieter’s part, he can’t help but stare when you don’t notice. Do you not know how beautiful you are? Maybe you do. But you don’t draw attention to yourself that way. Over time you let slip comments about your past that give him the impression you used to party, but you don’t anymore. It makes sense, he thinks. If you’ve worked hard to stay sober for this long, maybe you’re also staying away from relationships. He tries not to let his crush get in the way of your friendship. He knows he isn’t supposed to get into any relationships for the first year of his recovery anyway.

For all that, he really, really enjoys watching you work. Whatever you’re knitting or crocheting, you make it look effortless. During meetings you sit with your feet crossed neatly underneath you, project in your lap, hands moving deftly through the yarn. Sometimes you don’t even look down, you just move without having to see what your needle or hook is doing. It’s like the tool is an extension of your hands and they work independently of your conscious brain. He wants to know what that feels like.

He’s an eager student. You teach him to crochet first. He wants to be able to “make ALL the things, I don’t want to limit myself!” So you teach him what you know. You teach him to make increases, decreases. Amigurumi toys, granny squares, knitted stockinette. Ribbing, lace, cables, socks, shawls, hats.

He learns to notice mistakes and fix them himself. He teaches himself to alter a pattern to suit his own tastes. He teaches himself to do colourwork through YouTube tutorials, after you admit it’s something you aren't interested in yourself. He figures out what he likes and doesn’t like in his crafting.

Just as Dieter’s path along sobriety has entwined with yours, your lives become more and more entwined over time.

For his six month pin you knit him a slouchy beanie.

For your 14 year pin he crochets you a little stuffed heart, which he presents to you with a shy smile.

For his 1 year pin, you crochet a little stuffed raccoon (his favourite animal) holding the stuffed heart he gave you last year. You’ve embroidered a little word “yes” on the heart.

For your 15 year pin he knits you a simple lace shawl.

For his two year pin, you knit him a handsome scarf and a matching pair of fingerless mittens. (Not too long in the cuff, his tattoos like to be free to breathe.)

For your 16 year pin, he knits you an intricately cabled scarf that he designed himself.

The next year you crochet an afghan together, using your combined stash scraps to make wildly colourful granny squares and crochet them together. Dieter drapes it proudly over the couch in the house you’ve bought together.

When he met you, Dieter was desperate for a hobby to keep his hands busy, to distract himself from the cravings and needing to chase his next high. Thanks to you, he found a different path to the high. Now he chases the euphoria of sinking into a trance as his hands move unconsciously in rhythm with the yarn. The way his brain hums peacefully as he reaches a meditative zen state. He craves the feeling of creating something and watching it grow in his hands.

He loves you, and he loves that you’ve been with him to celebrate every finished project, and every milestone date. Together.

With you, he thinks he can actually do this sobriety thing.

Part 2 is here

Tagging some peeps who were interested in this as a wip!

@toomanytookas @avastrasposts @schnarfer @galway-girlatwork

@grogusmum @jolapeno @bitchwitch1981 @sunnytuliptime @dieterbravobrainrotclub

@ghotifishreads @covetyou