#get dieter sober

[mothandpidgeon]

My contribution to @bitchesuntitled GET DIETER SOBER event!

Dieter Bravo has made a name for himself as zany host of children’s tv show Dieter and Dino. But the network’s threatening to pull the plug as Dieter’s antics get worse (P is for punching puppeteers!). His only choice is to clean up his act or its curtains for him.

Or the Dieter Bravo Pee Wee’s Playhouse au.

Thanks @schnarfer for the puppet Pedro photo 😂

[almostempty]

dieter's party (dieter x f!reader)

Dieter’s party (dieter bravo x f!reader) | wc: 3k | other fics 

summary: after fighting with your bf and reluctantly attending a party, you find yourself complaining to the host who offers to let you sleep off your emotional hangover headache in the pool house. when your boyfriend finally shows up, it’s a welcome surprise and you accept his apology in the form of sex. but, when you wake up in the morning you’re faced with another surprise. 

note: this is my other version of the accidental adultery trope, only it’s the involuntary cheating/wrong bed trope bc that’s what i thought the prompt was originally! other version is here with stalker!frankie. (this is like a month late for the actual challenge but time is an illusion idc; it’s for u bb @auteurdelabre) 

warnings/tags: explicit mdni, smut, this IS noncon– but it’s not dark vibes (like how the wrong bed trope in media is somehow played off as a ~hehe whoops~ ???), infidelity/cheating, oral sex, piv, prone bone, drugs mentioned at the party but reader and dieter are sober, boyfriend frankie, again, i repeat, this is noncon- but they’re not real and also they’re into it, REAL LOOSEY GOOSEY flimsy plot pls don’t poke at it there are already enough holes to drain ur pasta, kind of ooc dieter tbh  

standard warnings for me at this point: unprotected sex with no consequences bc it’s fiction; f!reader is able-bodied otherwise, no specific descriptions; no y/n, likely many mistakes aka no beta and limited editing on this bish 

You sit sideways on the lounge chair, digging your toes into the sand and massaging your temples. The voices from the party behind you are easier to tune out as you look out over the water. The adrenaline rush of your anger has passed, and now you’re just left with a throbbing headache. 

It’s not a bad view. But you resent it anyway. You’ve been abandoned by your friend who dragged you to the party in the first place. She’d assured you that it would be low key, just some people on mushrooms having a bonfire on a private beach. The names and the drugs didn’t sell you on it, but the free night at a fancy beach house was appealing

You didn’t know anyone else, and she’d assured you she’d stick with you until your boyfriend showed up. But so far nothing had gone to plan. The cute little beach house is actually more like a mansion. There is technically a fire on the beach and people on some kind of hallucinogenics, but there’s also a party by the pool, and rooms filled with people on the main floor of the house. 

Your friend folded immediately–swooped up by the hot production assistant that told her about the party. You weren’t keen to follow them as they disappeared in search of a quieter room in the house to play tonsil hockey. 

You don’t really blame her. Your boyfriend was supposed to be meeting you anyway. Or, at least, he was before you’d got in another argument before he went to work. You’re miserable when the two of you are on bad terms. 

Frankie and you are both stubborn and can dig your heels in over the smallest arguments. Currently, you don’t actually know if he’s giving you the silent treatment or if he’s just working late. Either way, you figure you’re allowed to be a little pathetic over the situation. 

Yet, you can’t even slink off to have your moody moment watching the waves and the stars. Someone is walking up behind you causing you to sigh. Stiffening, you turn to address none other than the life of the party himself, Dieter Bravo. 

He’s undeniably nice to look at, but you’re still moping. Emotionally hungover and irritable. And stuck at loaded jagoff’s party full of nobody you particularly want to get to know. 

“Party is that way,” you point past him towards the pool surrounded by drunk people with shiny white veneers and ugly jewelry. He’s unfazed by your snark and sits down next to you. 

“Thought you could use some company.” His voice is low and sexy in a stupid movie star way that makes you roll your eyes. 

“That’s not even a clever line,” you chastise him. 

He flashes a grin at you that makes it hard to keep up the glum aura. 

Whatever they say about actors looking better in person rather than on camera is true, and even more so when they’re sitting so close you can smell their expensive cologne. He’s dressed more casually than the rest of the party, but you wonder if it’s part of the quiet luxury mystique with the four hundred dollar t-shirts or if you’re overestimating his net worth. 

Dieter likes a challenge. The more you try to shut him down, the more he turns on the charm and flirts with you brazenly. You aren’t immune. He’s fucking hot, and that builds up your ego. You figure it’s harmless to flirt. You’re busy complaining about the social climbers in attendance and how they must be inflating the ego of whichever rich asshole is throwing the party, when he cuts you off. 

“And which one are you? Social climber or rich asshole?” He asks, squinting at you like he’s going to take a guess. You play into it, making a few exaggerated model poses–framing your face with your hands and batting your lashes–for him to base his decision off of. 

He grins at you with a dazzling smile that makes you break character and laugh. But he doesn’t laugh with you. He just keeps his eyes on you, his sparkling dark brown eyes. Suddenly the moment feels charged, you didn’t realize you were so close, face to face. 

“Time’s up,” you say, “I’m neither.” But he’s looking at your lips now and you’re hyper aware of your heart beating faster. Until his hand slips onto your knee and you balk, turning away with a sharp inhale to recenter yourself. 

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” you give him a glare and he frowns briefly. 

“Like that’s real,” he scoffs and turns to watch his pseudo-girlfriend flirting with someone by the pool whose hair gel shines under the string lights. 

“Oh.” You didn’t realize. “Sorry.” 

For a moment, there’s a vulnerability between the two of you that draws you in, wondering what’s behind the curtain with Dieter. His hand, still resting on your knee, squeezes you slightly, and you snap out of his spell. “Well, my boyfriend most certainly is real,” you say. “Unless he doesn’t show up tonight,” you mutter, “then maybe he won’t be much longer.” 

Dieter hesitates as if he might have something to add, but you grimace. You don’t want to answer any follow-up questions. He’s too close for you to think clearly. You stand, brushing off his hand, and give him a smile. “I’m going to do a lap. Maybe find my friend or my boyfriend before the sun comes up,” you sigh and give him a final look before you walk back towards the house. 

Eventually, Dieter follows. 

You go through the motions, introducing yourself to people, laughing along with whoever you find yourself standing next to, and always staying aware of Dieter’s presence. You avoid his path as the two of you mingle and socialize with different clusters of people. But you keep finding yourself catching his eye in every room you enter. 

You weave through the house, pilfering some snacks and avoiding anyone’s attempts to talk one on one. You catch a glimpse of your friend, still entangled with her work crush, and continue on your path. 

The later it gets, the less tolerance you have for the other partygoers. You find yourself back on the chair on the beach. Alternating between staring at your phone, debating composing a text to Frankie, and watching the waves break along the shore. 

It’s not long before your suitor returns, joining you on the lounge chair again. Just as close, if not closer, than earlier in the evening. 

“No luck?” he asks. 

“Avoiding you?” you quip, and he shakes his head. 

“Finding your friends.” 

“Friend or boyfriend,” you emphasize for both of your sake, but he only smiles in return. “What about you? No luck with… whatever your goal was?” you ask. 

He sighs deeply at that. “There’s no goal. I’m just the host.” 

“Oh,” you blink. “I didn’t know this was your…thing,” you wave your hand towards the party. 

“Would you have treated me differently if you knew?” 

“Worse, maybe?” you laugh genuinely. “I’ve got a few complaints to lodge. Too many people, too loud, nobody is any fun,” you list them off on your fingers, “honestly–” 

“Why are you here?” he cuts you off. 

“I don’t know,” you pause to think about the real answer. “Thought it would be better than being miserable at home, a friend convinced me, thought it would be fun to stay at a fancy beach house with my boyfriend. Some combination of those?” 

You pick at something invisible on your dress. Avoiding the heat of Dieter’s gaze. “Now, I’m just stuck outside with a headache. Why are you here?” you counter. 

“I just told you. Did you take something from the guy in the studded jacket?” 

“No. I mean, why are you outside with me? Aren’t there drugs you could be doing? Or there was that guy begging you to do body shots in the kitchen?” 

“Kind of bored of it all,” he muses, scratching thoughtfully at his bearded jaw. 

“Maybe you need a more intellectually stimulating scene,” you suggest. It was more a grumpy dig at the belligerent attendees, but he seems to be genuinely considering your suggestion. You let yourself ogle his handsome features as he thinks. Then his eyes light up and he snaps his head towards you.  

“Do you want to go to the pool house?” he asks. 

Your eyes narrow into a fierce glare and he raises his hands in surrender. “No, I mean there’s a bed. You said you have a headache. If you want to lie down.” 

“That’s not where the orgy is happening?” 

“No,” he snorts, “I think there’s a sex party across the street, though, if you’re interested,” he smirks at you. You roll your eyes at him exaggeratedly and give him a playful shove. “You wish, Bravo.” 

You take him up on the offer to lie down, though. There’s a code to unlock the pool house, giving you a private little escape. 

You decide to send the code to Frankie, letting him know you’ll be here all night. Hoping he still decides to show up. You enlist Dieter’s help. He repeats after you, “Broad, brooding, brown hair, brown eyes?” 

“Exactly,” you confirm. “If you see him, tell him where he can find me?” 

“Of course,” he agrees with a chuckle. 

You spring to your feet, eagerly seeking out your solitude. Halfway across the yard you look back over your shoulder to mouth thank you at your generous host. He gives you a nod and a wink that is criminally hot. 

You let yourself in and explore the space. It’s bigger than your apartment. You pass the living space and mini kitchen, down the hall to find the bedroom. It’s like a luxury hotel suite. You slip out of your shoes and crawl directly into the bed. 

Dieter is still dumbstruck by you. Your our smile, your prickly yet playful aura, your sexy confidence. He lingers outside, caught up in his daydream of you, before he resigns himself to circling back through the house. He shares a few stories, laughs at some jokes, and does his best to enjoy the rest of the night. But his eyes constantly wander back to the the pool house. 

He’s drawn to it like a moth. Except–it’s dark. The lights are off. 

You’re wrapped up in a down duvet and crisp, clean linens. The noise from outside is significantly dulled, most people filtered back into the main house or down to the beach. 

You drift into a hazy slumber, fading in and out. Unsure of the time, too stubborn to check your phone afraid of being disappointed the sun rises before you hear from your boyfriend. It’s still dark out whenever you peek at the windows though, so you keep drifting back off, hoping to wake up to your man. You’re rolling over to stretch, once again, when you hear a soft knock on the door. 

“Yeah?” you reply, not fully awake. 

The door swings open, and he can see you in the glow of the light from the hall. 

You’re luminous even in the near dark, and he pauses before the critical thinking skills come to life and he can see the scowl on your face. “Sorry,” he starts. 

Dieter had been wavering since you walked away from him. Wondering if he was reading the right signals. If you looked back hoping he was following. If he was the brown eyed prince you were really waiting for. Now he worries that he waited too long in his indecision. 

You squint, eyes aching from the bright light in the hallway, only able to make out the silhouette of the broad shoulders in the doorway. 

“Sorry, I thought you might still be up,” he trails off, in that familiar gravelly voice. 

“Fucking finally,” you groan. “I thought you were going to just leave me here.” 

Finally? He was right. 

“Just get in here, please.” You toss the corner of the duvet back, inviting him in. 

He’s still smiling in the doorway, thinking of something perfect to say when you lose patience. 

“Look, you can either get in here and show me how sorry you are for making me wait for you all night, or you can fuck off–but don’t just stand in the doorway blinding me. Please.” You huff, covering your eyes and rolling onto your side to bury your face in the covers. 

You hear the door shut before you feel the familiar weight of his body slipping into the bed behind you, and it’s comforting to finally have Frankie here. You thought you’d be left tossing and turning until the sun came up. Wondering if he was upset or just late. 

He rests his hand on you, feather light but deliberate. You melt into his touch, stubborn words forgotten at the familiarity of his body heat. He moves slowly, tentatively caressing your shoulders as his nose grazes the back of your neck. 

“Finally,” you murmur sleepily, arching you back to press closer into him, moving on instinct. 

“Yeah?” his voice is low, husky and rich. Your favorite thing about him. 

“Mmhm,” you mumble, pushing back against him. “So late…” Your body responds to his presence, a heat stirring that’s impossible to ignore. 

Dieter’s ego flares. He knew there was something simmering behind your jabs. 

“You sure about this?” he whispers against your warm skin, hand sliding up your side. 

You assume he’s worried you’re still mad at him. Or maybe he thinks you’re too tired. You reassure him with whispered affirmations and a soft moan as your back arches instinctually, pressing closer to him, drawn to his warmth. 

It’s the breathy please that spears hot down his spine. Hearing you beg for him, it’s more permission than he needs. He kisses your neck, unhurried, letting his lips linger on your skin as his hands move along the dips and curves of your body. There’s a tenderness in his touch that surprises even him. 

He doesn’t rush, savoring the sounds you make, the way your body responds, and hoe pliant you are for him. Encouraged, he moves lower, rolling you onto your back, and settling between your legs. The sensations are overwhelming. Blurring the lines between dream and reality as he goes down on you with expert precision. 

He always knows how to make it up to you without needing words. You run a hand through his hair and when he groans against your soft, wet cunt it draws you to the edge. He’s greedy as you shudder and wriggle beneath him, eagerly sucking at your clit until it’s all too much. Lost in the moment, you’re floaty, murmuring praise between moans as you come undone beneath his skilled mouth. 

When you tell him to fuck you, he doesn’t hesitate. He rolls you onto your stomach, sliding his cock through your sopping folds, coating himself in the mix of your arousal and his saliva. 

“Oh, fuck,” his raw desire for you makes your tongue go numb. Unable to respond, until he starts to ease into you and the stretch, the angle, the intimacy of his body covering yours–it makes you both groan loudly. He fits against you so perfectly. You’re too drunk with the pleasure to question any unusual differences. 

Too lost in the heat of it all. He presses kisses into your spine while thrusting slowly, languidly, and deeply inside of you. When he lowers his chest against your back you can feel his heart beating loudly, like it’s calling to yours. With the heightened sensations and his velvety rich voice in your ear, he urges you closer and closer to a hypnotically intense, rolling orgasm. 

When your thighs tremble beneath him and you beg him to come for you, his body responds like he’s under your spell. Throbbing and pulsing inside of you until his weight collapses on you. He rolls you to you side with him, staying connected, limbs tangled like vines and he’s mesmerized by you. Listening to your breathing as you fall asleep in his arms, sated and secure. 

When you wake up in the morning, groggy and confused, the first thing you notice is the wrong smell. It’s not your boyfriend’s–it’s Dieter’s. Cold panic floods your body as you realize you’re in the wrong man’s arms. You try to pull away but Dieter’s still asleep, trapping you under his heavy arm. 

A dense, searing mix of guilt and arousal swirls within you like lava as you register his hard cock pressed against you and your recollection of the night starts to clarify. It makes you hesitate. 

Dieter, feeling your movement, tightens his grip around you and shifts. He’s hard and leaking against you and your traitorish pussy is slick between your legs, throbbing like a siren song for him to fill you up again. 

His body unconsciously grinds against you. Your heart races, mind scrambling to make sense of everything. Every kiss, every touch, the way he’d been so gentle and tender. It wasn’t your boyfriend at all. But he made you feel so desired, cherished. Things you haven’t felt in a long time. 

Your breath catches in your throat. The shock is dizzying, but there’s a quiet moment of mutual awareness as his breathing changes. You know he’s awake. Waiting on you before he dares to move again. 

Without thinking you press back against him, heart fluttering in your chest. It’s instantaneous. He flips you around and you’re finally facing him in the soft light. Barely able to take in his besotted expression before your lips are drawn together in an impassioned kiss. 

Your mutual arousal reignites like a blazing fire in the quiet early morning. It’s wrong. But in that moment, the connection between you feels inevitable. It’s as if it had always been building, a force of nature you couldn’t stop. 

The shock and guilt fall to the side. Regret doesn’t get enough light to grow. The anger at your boyfriend’s absence whispers convincingly in your ear. 

None of it matters when you lower yourself onto his cock, eyes fluttering shut, as his hands knead your thighs. None of it matters when you watch the lust cloud his eyes and his plush lips part as you start to move. None of it matters until you’re startled by the jarring sound of your phone buzzing on the night stand. 

You’re frozen in place as the buzzing continues. Dieter grabs the phone, reading the name on the screen. His other hand trails over your hip moving with purpose until his thumb draws a slow, firm circle around your clit. 

“You better answer,” he says, handing the phone to you, “think it’s your boyfriend.”

dividers by @cyberangel-graphics

General tags 💗:

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar @swankyorange

[nerdieforpedro]

The thing is, had Paul stuck around they could have made a square or something. 🤣🤣🤣 He could have eaten some BBQ with Fred and sunbathed with Edna. He missed out on a lot poor Paul 😭 They could have all worn the eggshell blazers together. 😎

Thanks so much for reading. ❤️❤️❤️

I had so much fun writing this crack fic. 🤭 I should honestly write more because Dieter’s perfect for them. I’m so happy to hear you cackled! 😄 That’s one of the best compliments I could get.

One small step for man…

One giant leap for Dieter Bravo

Based on this Moodboard created by the wonderful @secretelephanttattoo that she made for the Get Dieter Sober event to celebrate @bitchesuntitled ‘s milestone! 😎 ❤️

My entire masterlist and blog are for readers 18+ MDNI. I do not consent to my work being used in AI, recommended on TikTok, borrowed or plagiarized.

Summary: The only thing that can motivate Dieter Bravo better than sex or an interesting script is a grudge. Who cares if we’re talking about space? If Bravo can finally one-up Leonardo DiCaprio, he’ll take his chance, no matter the effort. Turns out it was good for him in the long run.

Warnings: Nerdie style bad humor, various celebrity mentions, no specified ages for Edna and Fred but assume they’re sixty-five and over for the plot, a goat (because when I write Dieter, 8/10 times he will have a goat), space?, DiCaprio slander and implied drug and sexual activity just not in detail, also BBQ.

Word Count: a little under 1.3k

Notes: El suggested that a crack fic should be written and leave it to a five hour plane ride for inspiration 🤣 So here we are. She did look it over and laughed so that’s really all it took for me to post it. 🥰 There’s no reader, just two OCs Edna and Fred who are living the life we want to live honestly.

Main Masterlist/ Dieter Bravo Masterlist/ AO3 Link

The only time Dieter Bravo thought of space is when he would stare up at the stars naked with only his fluffy grey robe on and yellow crocs on in his backyard. It’s normally when he needs to take five from whatever party/orgy/gathering/sex toy exchange he’s decided to have this week.

There had been a recent announcement that NASA was looking for Oscar winners to sent into space to not only find a new planet for earthlings to live but also negotiate and exchange information with any extraterrestrials they may come across. Given the deceptive skills and adaptive vibes actors have, there a buzz about who may be selected to fly out into unknown reaches with a crew of astronauts. Hallie Berry and Jamie Lee Curtis had already been selected and for men, there was one slot left as (insert some dude’s name) was announced. There were still six months left and more male Oscar winners were throwing their hat into the ring.

One name irked Dieter beyond all reason given that he actually a nice guy, but Bravo deserves it more than him: Leonardo DiCaprio. Doesn’t matter that he’s a stalwart advocate of green policies and climate change. Dieter should have been able to be in ‘The Wolf of Wall Street.’ It was basically written for him and the life he lives now. Though peering back at his home, he’s going to have to give this up for a while if he wants to be considers for the program. Leo only have to give up the liquor and twenty-five year olds. Dieter’s got to give up his wide array of drugs, though since he’s fine with men and women of all legal ages old and younger, he can just let the older women and men come at him. That one lady Edna pops her teeth out and hoo boy does she do some things with those gums. Fred is one guy who knows about those gams and if you know, you know. There’s always his trustworthy emotional support goat Cookie who’s white with black spots who gave a strong “baa!” When asked if he should give it a shot.

After the night’s festivities and clean up the next day, Dieter informs his team of his plan. They are shocked somewhat, they’re aware of his one-sided grudge and if it will motivate him off the drugs, they’re willing to lean all the way in. To ensure Bravo’s success, they do a through sweep of all his homes, cars and vacation spots. They also limit his contacts and ask Edna and Fred to stay with Dieter. They’re sure that the three of them are ducking but Dieter’s also learning some chess, shuffleboard, bingo, dominoes and some mandarin from Edna’s husband, rest his sweet soul. Cookie nibbled on everyone’s ankles and stayed looking cute as is her role.

It’s announced the next month that Dieter Bravo is going for the last Oscar space on the Galactic Noah’s Ark. Most think the choice is insane and mock in relentlessly but as time marches on, Dieter gains more supporters as he’s looking and feeling better. He also gets a lot of retirees and AARP members on his side as his two housemates interview with their magizine under the guidance of Dieter’s media team.

There’s memes, TikToks, interviews and a cribs episode showing off Dieter’s new healthy lifestyle and feature his two friends Edna and Fred. Edna is sunbathing naked and it had to be blurred out entirely but was still aired surprisingly. It was touted as support for not only all body types but representing older women who are just living life. Fred was cooking up some barbeque on a grill in his plaid shorts and orange sherbert polo shirt with dress shows on and a kiss the chef apron on. He told the interview that it’s been pretty cool getting to know Dieter over the years and that he had enough hair on his chest for the both of them. It garnered a laugh and they were asked what their families thought of them being in a throple with Doeter Bravo. Edna said it was pretty fun and she’d raised her children so it was her time. She should spend the twilight of her years, doing what she wants to do and then doing Dieter. She then called him a “nice young man who’s a cutie patootie.” Cookie let out a loud “baa!” As if to agree and went to eat some grass.

There were some that had an issue with the throple aspect saying that such a lifestyle should be sent into space, but it was argued that since Dieter was rather fluid in his sexuality it should bode well for communicating with other life forms. Debates continued while Dieter kept clean, worked with Paul Mesal and his trainer to get stronger and in better shape. The speculation was that maybe Paul was now added to the throple making it a square, and as many pundits called Edna ‘the luckiest damn woman on earth.’ Paul said that he’d love to be cool enough to be in the throple but when he’s stopped by and saw both Hallie Berry and Adria Arijona there, he said that he didn’t stand a chance. The two women were just there to visit Dieter as they’d worked with him on previous projects which their reps seconded. They did stay for a week though but mainly just to meet Edna and Fred who they thought were so amazing.

Paul visited again with Denzel Washington, his wife Pauletta who Bravo normally has tea with and it turns out Edna knows Pauletta from their old sorority. Public opinion was turning in Dieter’s favor as Leo was keeping a low profile. Well outside of breaking up with his girlfriend on her twenty-sixth birthday. That didn’t go over well.

The deadline was approaching for who would be selected out of the two men so the media decided they should have a sit down. It was to fill air time but Dieter Bravo was looking forward to it. He felt stronger, a little leaner but given the barebeque Fred cooks up and sweets Edna makes, he still has small belly. DiCaprio looks lean but has bags under his eyes from sleeping alone without his girlfriend and only his Oscar in the bed.

Both men were ask questions about what they would do if they encountered aliens, what to do to get along with fellow crew members, what they might eat in space, how they would establish and keep good vibes going and what kind of planet would they want to live on. The questions were going fine until Leonardo said that he felt sick during the sit down and had to go to the hospital. Given that he was so sick from not sleeping, it looked as though Dieter was the clear winner and was announced as such a week later.

Dieter Bravo is going into space over that pretentious prick!

A celebration party with sparkling wine, kool-aid, Edna’s sweet potatoes, Fred’s smoked pork shoulder and some Mac and cheese brought over by the Washingtons is has that evening. Did Dieter ever expect to be sober? No, but he didn’t expect it to be this full with friends either.

The Oscar winner is once again standing in his backyard while festivities occur inside, though they’re calmer and full of laughter instead of groans and sweaty bodies. He’s fully clothed, in his crocs, brown pijama pants and t-shirt holding Cookie and petting her. “I did it girl. I’m clear as a bell and going to space. I wonder of they probe or have tentacles. Who knows? But I’m going to find out. May the vibes be with us Cookie.”

May the vibes be with everyone but especially the following 😘:

@morallyinept @schnarfer @chronically-ghosted @sp00kymulderr @covetyou

@yopossum @whocaresstillthelouvre @toomanytookas @beefrobeefcal @trulybetty

@sin-djarin @megamindsecretlair @soft-persephone @604to647 @chaithetics

@inept-the-magnificent @djarinmuse @sunshinehaze1 @lotusbxtch @yorksgirl

@westside-rot @maggiemayhemnj @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @readingiskeepingmegoing

@littlemisspascal @pascalsanctuary @tinytinymenace @yorksgirl

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

On The Verge of a Usual Mistake ║ ⓞⓝⓔ๏ⓞⓕⓕⓢ

On the Verge of a Usual Mistake | main masterlist | PAIRING(s): ex!Lucien x actress!reader x ex!Dieter

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT:  2.3k | CONTENT: this is truly just porn with minimal plot (I'm so proud of myself lol), Dieter and Lucien are messy exes, threesome activities, Twister but with genitalia, Daddy and Papi kinks

| SYNOPSIS: You've been avoiding your exes Dieter Bravo and Lucien Flores all night at this event, but you're forced to come to terms with how things ended in both relationships when they seek to right their wrongs.

“My publicist is gonna kill me!” you hiss into the dampened light of the small room Lucien unceremoniously ushered you into.

“Baby, come on. The tabloids loved us together, remember?” he coos.

“The two of you can’t just be pulling this shit! Not when I’m trying to talk to Wayne from A24 about—”

“The fuck’re you two doing in here?” Dieter whispers loudly as he closes and locks the door behind him. “You seriously going back to him after turning me down?”

“Dee, this is not the time,” you snap. “And I’m not doing a fucking thing with this asshole. He practically herded me in here.” You’re grateful neither of them are aware of the pooling slick between your legs you’ve been dutifully ignoring all night with them both chasing you around and begging for a moment alone.

“Well, three makes a party then,” Dieter decides.

“We’re not interested in that sort of partying,” Lucien cuts in.

“Oh, cut the sober lifestyle bullshit. I’m not the one you’re gonna fool with those bogus rehab claims,” Dieter scoffs.

“Well I guess if anybody knows about stints in rehab, it’s you,” Lucien snipes back.

“Okay, I’m leaving,” you huff. You push past Lucien who grabs for you, but it’s ultimately Dieter’s gentle but firm hold that keeps you from exiting. “Dee, let go of me. The two of you can have at each other all you want. Besides, you don’t need me here when neither one of you is gonna listen to me anyway.”

“Don’t be like that,” Lucien pleads. “I’ve been trying to get you to talk to me all night.”

“Yeah, exactly,” you laugh without a hint of amusement. “You want me to listen to you. Never the other way around. It’s the same with both of you. Always has been. Neither of you know how to put anybody else first. Why do you think I ended things? You’re just two peas in a fucking pod.”

“You really feel that way?” Dieter’s hold on you has slackened to a weak grip. Your head whirls back around to look him in the eye. He looks hurt. Dammit. “You think I don’t want to put you first?”

“I never knew that,” Lucien admits quietly. He edges in closer until you’re practically sandwiched between your exes.

“It’s not like I didn’t tell you,” you grumble, aggrieved at their past mistakes and kicking yourself for not just bolting out the door before they mess with your head like they always do.

Some quiet exchange happens between Dieter and Lucien, and you recognize the silent conversation just as it appears to end. Lucien’s hand creeps along your lower back while Dieter’s hands crawl back up your sides and arms.

“You’re right, baby. I never did things how I should’ve when it came to you. I blew it. Messed up the best thing I ever had. S’why I’ve been on your heels all night just trying to get a word with you,” Lucien says softly into your hair. You shiver at his warm breath fanning across your skin.

“I miss you so much,” Dieter confesses in a hush. “Let me show you how much I miss you. Please.”

“Let us both show you,” Lucien adds. “Let us show you we can listen. Let us show you we can put you first.”

You’re going to give yourself a stern talking to in the mirror tomorrow morning, but right now all the reasons why this is a terrible idea are like wisps of smoke catching to the wind. When Dieter nuzzles against the crook of your neck and Lucien is already down on the ground and underneath your dress, your resolve shatters into a million pieces. “Okay. Yeah, I–oh fuck, Lucien–”

The fat wet line of his tongue between your folds jolts you forward into Dieter who busies himself with lifting and tucking your dress aside so he doesn’t miss the show. He’s already got the top of your dress shoved down so he can suckle on your tightening nipples. “Dee,” you gasp.

“I got you,” he groans, nipping and teasing your nubs. “God you look so good. Missed this so fucking much. Missed these tits so fucking much.” He gropes them in appreciation, and his eyes go wide in that wondrous sort of way that they always seemed to whenever the two of you fucked. Every time was like he’d never seen a woman before, not with the way he’d shower you with compliments and superlatives.

Your legs are already shaky with Lucien working between them, and you don’t even bother feeling ashamed at the orgasm that’s already building. It’s been a long time since you’d been with an attentive partner, and nothing quite compared to the likes of Dieter or Lucien. They’d ruined other sexual partners for you forever, but you wouldn’t be caught dead telling them as much. Their egos were inflated enough as it was. Besides, they’d just hear that and not the other side of the coin which was how they were stingy, selfish companions when it came to the emotional aspect of a relationship.

“You want to be Mommy tonight? Or do you want me to be Daddy?” Dieter asks a little breathlessly.

Throwing all dignity out the window, you reply, “I want Daddy tonight.”

He almost sounds pained as his eyes clamp shut at your answer. “Fuck yeah, I can do that. I can be Daddy. You need your Daddy?”

You nod so loose and frantic it feels like your head isn’t attached to your neck. Lucien never stops but inches forward until he’s looking up at you from between the cradle of your thighs. “Tell Papi what you want,” he husks.

“I-I want you to make me come, Papi,” you whine with a roll of your hips. 

He suctions onto your clit, and you’re gone. Dieter seems absolutely giddy to watch another man make you come, but something about it is comforting and endearing. You hate how familiar and heady this all feels, knowing full well that come tomorrow morning it’ll be another fading memory to lump in with all the others. You push away the painful acknowledgement before it ruins your orgasm entirely.

Dieter’s fingers slip inside you with no resistance, and you both moan in unison at the way you part for him. Lucien’s wet mouth and chin leave a sloppy trail across your neck where he lays even sloppier kisses. “Can I take this off?” he asks. You nod, and he unzips and unfastens your dress before tossing it onto a nearby table. “I fuckin knew you wouldn’t be wearing panties,” he says low and needy into your ear.

The rhythmic plunge of Dieter’s fingers has you hurtling towards another climax. “Been a while since somebody gave you what you needed, baby?”

You bite your lip and dip your head. You hate how easily they could both read you. It made you feel laid bare, and not in the fun sort of way.

“Let Papi and Daddy make you feel good, okay? Don’t think about anything except letting us make you feel good,” Lucien whispers against your temple from behind. You feel the hard curve of his clothed cock pressing against your ass. You push back against it and stifle a grin when he moans. The grin slips away the moment Lucien’s fingers slide down your body to rub your clit in time with Dieter’s fingering. You aren’t sure whose hand comes to cover your mouth while you come, but you’re glad somebody has enough sense right now to think about other partygoers overhearing.

“You were always so pretty when you fell apart,” Dieter reminisces with a goofy, tender smile. He slips his fingers from you and licks them clean. “Better than I remembered.”

The sound of Lucien’s belt and zipper draw your attention backward. “You gonna let me fuck you wide open, baby? Think you can take all of me? It’s been a long time.”

“I can take it,” you breathe, arching your back for him to enter you from behind.

“Good girl for Papi,” he praises. He jerks himself a few times with a slip of spit and lines his cock up to your entrance. “Always such a good girl for your Papi, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yes, Papi. I’ll be good,” you choke out.

He inches inside you with an agonizing, languid pace. Your breath catches when he finally bottoms out. He’s so much bigger than you remember, but you still want more. Dieter captures your mouth in a heated kiss just as Lucien starts thrusting, and your high pitched cries of pleasure are caught between his lips. “Daddy,” you whine as you latch onto his shoulders for support. Lucien’s pace picks up quickly, and for a few minutes the small room is only filled with panting and the squelching sounds of him splitting you open.

“You’re taking his cock so good, baby,” Dieter says against your teeth. “You like taking raw cock, don’t you? You always begged Daddy to fuck you raw.”

“Fuck! Yes, I like it when Papi and Daddy fuck me raw,” you cry. “I want Daddy to fuck me raw, too.”

“Yeah?” he goads with a smile. “You want Daddy’s cock after Papi fills you up?”

Lucien grunts and whimpers as he struggles to keep his pace with all the back and forth filth.

“N-No, Daddy. Want you and Papi to fuck me raw together,” you beg. “Please, Daddy. Please Papi?”

Dieter rushes to free his cock and wet it with spit as Lucien starts chanting yes yes yes. He stills for Dieter to push against his own length and fight for the tight space of your cunt. They work together to hoist you higher until Dieter is notched at your entrance and finally pushing inside. The stretch burns and makes you feel present in your own body in such an overwhelming way for the first time in a long time. The first few thrusts are experimental and slow, but it doesn’t matter. You’re already crying and coming and losing yourself in the intoxicating sting of both their cocks wedged inside the fist of your cunt.

“Christ,” Dieter hisses. “Fuck, this is gonna make me come too fast.”

“Tell us what you want,” Lucien urges, sounding close to the edge himself.

Your pussy throbs and clenches around them both as you try to make your brain and mouth cooperate. “I want you to come in me, Papi,” you whine. “Want you and Daddy to fuck me and make me come again. Make me come and then fuck me ‘til you come inside me.”

“Anything for my girl – Papi’s good girl,” he assents.

“Daddy’ll give you whatever you want, baby,” Dieter adds in a hoarse sounding wheeze. “Gonna milk my cock in this tight little pussy. Gonna give you whatever you want.”

Despite never really caring much for one another, Dieter and Lucien seem to sync up with the common goal of giving you another mind numbing orgasm. The feel of their thick cocks crowding your insides, sliding against each other so that each push and pull is a constant punch of a cockhead against your cervix. “Fuck I’m gonna come again,” you blurt out as your climax surges and swells without warning.

You’re sandwiched between two sweaty and breathy men who now seek their own release. Dieter comes first with a pitiful little stuttering whine. His mouth rounds out in a messy kiss as he pulses inside you. Lucien is just behind him with a gravelly moan as he fucks you nonstop. There’s so much of them spilling inside you and being pushed out, and the warmth of it makes you feel sated and soothed.

You’re a boneless bag of flesh when they both catch their breath and ease you off the spear of their cocks. You sigh at the feeling of them drooling out of your pussy. With their concentrated, streamlined focus, your dress is put back on and properly closed back up. Lucien turns you to face him for the first time since you tried to leave earlier. “Can I kiss you?”

You want to laugh at his request given the fact that he’s currently leaking out of you alongside the efforts of your other ex, but you know why he’s asking. He knows certain types of intimacy are something that mean more to you and have to be earned back in trust. “Yeah, Lucien. You can kiss me.”

His body nudges yours against Dieter’s, hands coming up to cradle your face as he tenderly presses his lips to yours. It’s slow and soft and damn near perfect, especially considering Dieter is dotting the curve of your neck with his own kisses. You aren’t sure how long you and Lucien are lost in each other, but it’s blowing your mind to see Dieter be patient for once. Maybe they both really meant it when they said they wanted to do better by you.

You pull back with red, puffy lips and heavy eyes. Lucien looks down at you with a soft smile. “I miss you.”

Your eyes flutter shut at the unspoken words laced within: I love you.

“I miss you every day,” Dieter agrees quietly.

“Look, I–I miss you both, too, but I can’t promise anything,” you warn them. “You both really hurt me before. But, tonight was… nice. It felt nice.” You wonder why it never occurred to you to do this before. The two best lovers you ever had, at the same time. It was a no brainer, really. Probably all that pesky broken heart stuff clouding your mind that kept you from realizing what a good time it could be.

“You don’t have to make promises anymore. That’s not your job anymore.”

“No, baby. We’re the one who need to make promises so we can show you that we can keep them,” Dieter adds.

It might be the dumbest mistake of your life, but you can’t fight it anymore. You can’t fight how good it feels to be with them both. Despite all the pain and heartache they’ve caused you over the years, they both always felt like home in a way. “I think I might be willing to let you try.”

Okay the Lucien Flores brainrot got to me. As far as exes go in the celebrity world, you could do a lot worse than Lucien and Dieter. Also, reader clearly has a type haha.

[wildemaven]

first anniversary | dieter x poppy

A Sweet Creature

Ava Greene sits down with actor and friend, Dieter Bravo. Hollywood’s new leading man gets candid about life in front of and behind the camera. He talks about his latest movie, his commitment to his sobriety and his newest role— husband?!

Ava Greene: You're approaching three years sober now, how are you feeling?

Dieter Bravo: Probably the best I’ve felt in a long time. Sobriety is a day to day progression that I take very seriously, and I try to not lose sight of that even when I’m having bad days. Though, I’m grateful bad days have been few and far between at this point in my sobriety. I can attribute that to the support system I have built for myself through friends, family, my sponsor that I still work with and most importantly my wife who keeps me grounded daily. They all continue to keep me in check and remind me how awesome my life is, especially right now. Staying clean is a full time commitment, and it’s really a beautiful thing.

AG: You followed in your famous parents footsteps by going into acting and your career and struggles with sobriety have been well documented but your parents have rarely commented publicly, are they supportive of your work and your journey?

DB: For me, I don’t need them to make a show of it by commenting or sharing their thoughts publicly to know they support me. There was a point in time where they did all they could do for me, but ultimately it had to be my choice to make the decision to get clean. Thankfully, we’ve been rebuilding our relationship over the last few years. And being in the public eye for most of our lives, the last thing we want is for outsiders thinking they have a say in our lives. In short, yes I have very supportive parents in all aspects of my life and I’m so happy for that.

AG: This is your second project since rehab, are you viewing this as a comeback or a fresh start?

DB: Comeback? I didn’t know I left… Kidding! Sure, some might say it’s a comeback. A fresh start. Whatever analogy best fits the narrative is fine by me— and I don’t mean that negatively in any sense. I mean, you’ve known me long enough to know I just try not to focus on any of that stuff, messes with my fucking brain waves. I just see it as me doing what I love with a new perspective and a different approach to choosing what projects I’m going to give my time to than I have in the past.

AG: What can you tell us about this project and the character you're playing?

DB: I had the best f*ckin’ time while shooting this film— sorry, but the emphasis was needed. I was really drawn to the vibrancy that this script evoked, even with the serious nature of the storyline and characters. I couldn’t stop thinking or talking about for weeks afterwards. I’d sit with my wife at breakfast and we’d discuss the script and my character for what felt like hours. I knew after I heard her feedback that I needed to be apart of this film— she might have said I’d be stupid to say no to it, in her own loving way.

The film is really about the process of rediscovering yourself. Navigating the challenges that come along with being at your lowest point and leaning on the ones who have been there for you. It’s about finding love in its purest form when you never thought you were deserving of it.

I found bits of myself in this character as we were filming, it was very much a cathartic experience for me. I guess you could say it was art imitating life in a weird way.

AG: There's already been some buzz about this year's award season, do you think this is finally your year?

DB: Ooooh! Is it too presumptuous for me to say yes?! I’ve started dusting the spot where I plan for it to go. I sound like some sort of pompous idiot! Now no one is going to go see it!*

I take it back!

In all seriousness, ‘cause I’m sure Poppy and my agent will be rolling their eyes when they read this. If all I get is a couple nominations, that alone feels like winning. A shiny statue would be nice though— just saying.

AG: You've talked often about your love of art and you recently purchased a gallery. Are you planning to publicly pursue other creative endeavors?

DB: I won’t be joining American Idol anytime soon if that’s what you’re asking. Oh, you weren’t referring to my ability to hold a note during our many karaoke nights— noted!

How did you put it? Other creative endeavors? I’ve got a few art pieces in the works right now that I’m itching to dive back into when I get home. I’ve got a major gallery in LA lined up later in the year for an artist spotlight exhibit, they’ll be housing some of my work through the next year. Shoutout to my wife for getting that all lined up while I was away shooting this film.

AG: What's next for Dieter Bravo? Any other projects lined up you can tell us about?

DB: I’m looking forward to some downtime I have coming up. Poppy has the summer off, so we’ll get to finally live that newlywed life. Settle into the role of doting husband while she does her thing at the gallery.

AG: Off the record, if you got married and didn't tell anyone I will kick yours and Poppy’s ass!

DB: We’re celebrating our one year this month actually. We eloped quietly last year right after we got engaged— wanted to keep it to ourselves for a little while. Which reminds me, you and Bryony should hop on a call with Poppy after this. Seeing as I let the cat out of the bag and this is our announcement— surprise!

Huge shoutout out to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for allowing me to borrow her Ava from Conversations with a Movie Star for this. Ava was so gracious and even wrote the questions herself. I’m so grateful for Lellen and all her support and advice she had given me throughout the writing process of Sweet Creature!

Sweet Creature Celebration

[nerdieforpedro]

This challenge was so much fun and congratulations again! ❤️❤️❤️

Get Dieter Sober Challenge Masterlist

Sometimes I am just as selfish as Dieter Bravo(plus who wouldn’t want more Dieter content), so for my own sobriety/birthday month I created the Get Dieter Sober event, the name speaks for itself. Let’s get this man sober!

Make a fic, make a moodboard, make whatever it is your heart desires!

Be sure to tag me and use #getdietersober if you want to submit something 🥰

Moodboards:

For “If Wishes Came True” by @schnarfer

One small step for man, one giant leap for Dieter Bravo by @secretelephanttattoo

Get Dieter Sober by @beefrobeefcal who also was kind enough to make the moodboard for this masterlist! 😍 Isn’t she amazing?! YES.

Dieter Bravo Pee Wee's Playhouse AU by @mothandpidgeon

Fics:

My Darling Muse series announcement by @pedges-world

Higher Love by @yopossum

One Small Step for Man... One Giant Leap for Dieter Bravo by @nerdieforpedro

My Darling Muse; My Darling Dieter by @pedges-world

Staystitch by @goodwithcheese

I am absolutely loving everything people have submitted and thank you so much for participating 😍🥰❤️

[mothandpidgeon]

Making Out to Pablo Honey (virgin!Dieter Bravo x f!reader)

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

pairing: virgin!Dieter Bravo x f!reader

rating: E MDNI

summary: Dieter’s always tried to be cool. The thing about being cool, though, the more he tries, the less it works. You, on the other hand, you’re cool.

contents: virgin!Dieter, young!Dieter, lots of 90s references, cannabis, mentions of masturbation, fingering, premature ejaculating, one ferris bueller reference, reader is able bodied and not described physically moth never uses y/n.

This fic is about horny teens doing horny teen things. It's not too late to not read this if that's not ok with you.

wc: 2.5k

a/n: I'm thinking of this as a Dieter origin story. I really enjoyed thinking about him before he was the DIETER BRAVO. Anyway, this was kind of healing I wish I knew him back when I was in high school. Thanks @moonlitbirdie and @whocaresstillthelouvre for betaing and cheering me on!

“Sweet or salty?” you ask. Your head is buried in one of the kitchen cabinets, rummaging through a selection of snacks. 

Dieter sits on the counter opposite, watching you with a lazy smile. 

“Sweet,” he says. “No, wait. Salty.”

You look at him over your shoulder, your eyes bloodshot under heavy lids. 

“You’re so stoned,” you giggle. 

Dieter blushes. Despite the fact that he coughs after every hit, getting high with you after school has become his favorite past time. You never tease him for it, just put the joint between your lips while Dieter wonders if you can feel the warmth from his there. You’re both well and truly blazed at this point after smoking up in the dugout of the school's baseball field.

Dieter gazes over your body as you stand on tip toe, reaching for the top shelf. It’s like he can’t control his eyes from wandering to you when he’s like this. Sometimes you notice. 

“What?” you’ll say. “You’re staring at me.”

“You’re paranoid,” he’ll lie. 

He wishes he was brave enough to tell you that he’s staring because he thinks you’re beautiful. 

It’s hard to believe that the two of you are actually friends now. He still remembers when you were assigned as his lab partner, a girl that he was equally drawn to and intimidated by.  

Now he’s in your house after school almost every day. 

“Honey?” your mother’s voice calls from the front door.

“Shit.” Dieter hops onto the floor before she enters the kitchen in a smart business outfit. 

“Oh, hi, Dieter,” she says, smoothing the bottom of her hair. 

“Hello, ma’am,” Dieter says. 

You stifle a laugh. 

“Dieter, you don’t have to call me ma’am,” your mother says.  

“Um okay,” he replies. He can’t remember her first name. She’s told him before. Does he seem stoned? Oh, god, he definitely does. 

She scrunches her nose.

“What’s that smell?” she asks.

Dieter’s stomach plummets. The two of you must reek of pot. He’s grown to like the scent– an earthy tang that now reminds him of you. He braces himself, trying to clear his foggy mind for a moment so he can’t act sober. 

“Somebody must’ve run over a skunk,” you say. “What’re you doing home so early?”

You change the subject so seamlessly. Of course. Nothing ever seems to scare you.

“I’ve got a meeting with the Vermont people but I left the damn file here,” she says, picking a folder up from the kitchen table. “I’ll be back late if we close the deal.”

“Good luck,” you say.

Dieter bursts with laughter as your mother goes out the front door. You join him, nearly doubling over with your giggles. 

“I was freaking out!” he tells you. “A skunk! I can’t believe she bought that.”

“I know, right? She’s clueless,” you chuckle. “Look.” 

You hold up your creation— a plate bursting with flavor and texture. It’s organized into little piles of treats— potato chips, Oreos, a handful of glistening strawberries. Chocolate covered pretzels rest beside dried cranberries and several ropes of licorice separate honey roasted peanuts from fun sized Kit Kats in glossy red wrappers. It’s a feast, every bite he could ever want just when he wants it the most. 

“Fuck,” he whispers as he takes in this offering. 

Maybe it’s the pot buzzing around in his head but he can feel himself falling head over heels for you. He wants to kiss you but what if you don’t want to be kissed? What if you reject him? He could play it off as a joke like the one he told in the biology lab that got you to notice him for the first time. Humiliation he can handle but he’s not sure he could take that heartbreak. 

The cookies are calling his name so he abandons any dreams of filling his mouth with your tongue in favor of a Nutter Butter. 

There’s a big, L shaped couch in the basement that Dieter sprawls out on while he munches on the fruit. They might be the best strawberries he’s ever eaten. Everything tastes so good when he’s high. He wonders what you taste like. 

“Do you like Radiohead?” you ask sorting through a pile of cassettes. 

“Yeah. I love them,” he says. He’s only heard one of their songs on the radio but if you like them, he wants to like them, too. 

Dieter’s always tried to be cool. He has a lot working against him— built like a string bean, a goofy personality. His own fucking name has betrayed him. He got the same haircut as Leonardo DiCaprio, he saved up to buy a pair of fancy sneakers, he spends hours in the mirror carefully choosing his outfits. The thing about being cool, though, the more he tries, the less it works. 

You, on the other hand, you’re cool. Effortlessly so in your black boots and chipped nail polish. It’s not just the music you listen to or the clothes you wear. There’s something in your attitude, an aloof confidence that he’s never been able to replicate. 

Despite his anxieties, you never make him feel judged. It seems like you enjoy introducing him to new things. You offered to make him a mixtape and it sent his heart fluttering. He’s shared a thing or two with you, too— leading you through the aisles of the local video store handing you his favorite obscure movies. Sometimes you laugh at his enthusiasm but it’s never mean spirited. 

You pop the tape in and climb up onto the sofa as rough guitar strums seep through the speakers. There’s something psychedelic in the music that has Dieter sinking deeper into his seat. 

Although there’s plenty of space, you sit alongside him, propping your feet up on the chaise beside his. Dieter’s pulse picks up. He’s so aware of you so close to him, each move of your muscles as you get comfortable. He can smell the pot tangled up in your hair and the fresh scent of cotton that always lingers on your clothes. 

“I like being high,” Dieter sighs. 

You laugh. He fucking loves the sound of it, wants to be a little clown to keep you giggling away.

“Give me a Kit Kat,” you say. 

The snack plate is balanced on Dieter’s lap so when you fish through it for the candy, he can feel the pressure of your touch right on his dick. He stifles a groan, trying to focus his attention on the crinkle of the wrapper in your hands. 

He’s touched himself to the thought of you more times than he’d like to admit. There was an incident when you unexpectedly brushed your ass against him at your locker and he popped a boner. He had to take care of it in the bathroom, one hand cupping the tip of his cock as he came so he didn’t make a mess. 

“Dieter,” you say. His name sounds so sweet when you say it softly like that. 

“Yeah,” he replies. 

Some time in the last fifteen minutes, his mind wandered away and he got lost in the haze of his high. He can’t remember what he was thinking about before you got his attention or how long he’s been out of it. There’s just a warm feeling in his head and every once in a while he remembers that you’re sitting right next to him and he smiles to himself and then he floats away again. 

“You’re staring at me,” you say. 

You’re close, laying on the same couch cushion, your face just inches from his own. You have pretty eyes. Maybe that’s what he’s been looking at. Or your hair. He likes your hair. 

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh. There’s no denying it this time. 

Your lips curl into a smile and your eyes dance over his features. He feels himself leaning towards you like his head is too heavy to fight your magnetic pull. 

Your noses brush, that’s when he realizes that you’re moving towards him, too. Both of you hesitate there, an acknowledgement of this point of no return— your friendship will never be the same. 

You kiss him. At first it’s a cautious meeting of lips and, suddenly, a crash of passion and excitement. It’s sloppy and unchoreographed but the two of you find a rhythm. He can taste the chocolate in your kiss. 

You climb onto his lap, sliding your hands beneath his shirt. Having all of you there, straddling him like he’s in his own wet dream, is overwhelming. Blood rushes to his cock. There’s so much of you to explore— soft places to touch and hold and taste. He wants all of you all at once and you seem just as eager. 

Your mouth roams his neck and teeth rake against his earlobe as you rock over the bulge in his jeans. He’s so sensitive from the weed, he can practically feel the hot drag of your pussy even through the layers between you. 

Dieter fumbles with the clasp of your bra and you knock his hands away to do it for him, then unbutton your pants and do the same for him. He keeps his mouth on yours as you pull off his shirt with eager kisses. 

He slips his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties. He’s met with the slick lips of your pussy giving him a delicious shiver. You gasp and sink your teeth into his bottom lip. 

Now your hand finds him, coating his length with precum and tugging. 

“Oh god,” he chokes. He wills himself not to finish right there in your hand. 

Dieter presses a finger into your entrance, slow and cautious, watching your expression for any signs of discomfort. You’re so tight, he can’t imagine the crush of it around him. The strokes on his cock stutter and slow as he thrusts deeper until eventually your limp hand simply holds him. He doesn’t care.  The feeling of you is addicting, all slippery and inviting. 

“Ow,” you complain. 

“Is this ok?” Dieter asks. 

“Don’t just finger me,” you complain. 

He blanches, unsure of how to correct himself. If you want more, he’s more than willing to give it to you but it has nerves churning in his belly. 

“I’ve never done it,” Dieter says. 

He immediately wishes he could take the words and swallow them back down. His neck burns with embarrassment. The coolest girl he’s ever met is letting him in her pants and he just spoiled it all by admitting he’s a virgin. 

You stare at him with big, round eyes, your lips swollen from kissing. Your adam’s apple bobs in your throat. 

“Me either,” you tell him. 

It’s Dieter’s turn to stare. He’s shocked. It seems like you’ve done everything already. At least, everything a high school senior would aspire to do. 

If you were embarrassed to tell him that, you don’t let it linger for long. “That wasn’t what I meant,” you say. “It just— I don't think I can come that way.”

Dieter nods in awe. This isn’t the first time he’s gone to third base but he hadn’t felt very sure of his technique during those few encounters. You look a little nervous, maybe for the first time ever, but he’s so impressed you’re confident enough to tell him what you want, to even know. He wants to give you exactly what you need. 

“Show me,” he says. “Show me what you like.”

Your pupils blow out and Dieter’s not sure which one of you is more aroused. Eventually you regain yourself, nodding quickly and climbing off of his lap so you can shimmy your pants all the way off. 

Dieter can’t help but stare at all the parts of you that are exposed. You’re so pretty he can hardly believe he gets to touch you. His cock throbs at the sight and he fists himself before realizing that he’d better stop if he wants to last more than half a minute. 

You lay back on the couch, parting your bent legs for Dieter. He sits up for a good view as you explain the secrets of the universe. You take his hand and guide his fingers to your pussy, carefully sliding them along the side of your clit. It’s velvety soft and warm and slick and you take in a sharp breath. His cock jumps. Again, a wet stroke over you. You set a pace, your hand around his as he makes you melt.

“Woah,” he whispers to himself as he watches your body respond. 

He’s not sure where to look; at the glistening lips of your pussy, a rare glimpse at the opposite sex in real life or at your face, eyes closed and brow knit as you float in ecstasy. It’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.

He forgets the throbbing between his own legs, entranced by your pleasure. Your grip around his hand slackens and Dieter experiments with slightly faster strokes, kissing your neck. Your pulse thrums under his lips, your whines vibrating. 

As he gathers more slick from your entrance, you grind your clit into the heel of his hand. Your hips lift from the wet patch that’s growing beneath you. Dieter keeps his hand planted on you, giving you all the friction you need. 

He tries to find a way to tell you to use him, to take what you need, but he’s speechless. Watching a girl get off on him, and not just any girl but you, feels like witnessing a miracle. 

Your muscles tighten, every single tendon in your body wrapped up like a rubber band about to snap. He can’t help himself. Dieter slides a finger inside of you. It feels even better than before, now that your walls are coated in that sweet release. 

That’s when it crashes over you. You lock up, your arms and thighs straining. He can feel your core tensing around him desperately and he thinks he might cum just from the sight of you like this. It’s not like he’s seen in porn. You’re quiet, focused, somewhere else and he wants to go there, wherever that planet of pleasure might be. 

He wants to kiss you, to taste your release and bury his face in your tits but he doesn’t dare move and ruin this exquisite moment for you. So he keeps moving with the same steady tempo as you flutter around him. 

You groan out his name, long and slow and it sounds like music. 

Dieter feels his hips jerk and, oh fuck, he’s cumming. He tears his hand away from you to squeeze it over his spasming cock. It’s too late and the wet press of you coated on his fingers doesn’t help. He paints his torso with his own warm, sticky spend. 

You stare, eyes wildly surveying the mess on his belly, still dazed as you come down. 

He should be mortified that he just blew his load all over himself the very first time he’s gotten physical with you but his veins are coursing with bliss. His head falls back, chest heaving as he catches his breath. 

“I really like you,” he says. 

Your face breaks out in a smile and you bashfully bite your lip. He feels your fingers intertwine with his own. 

“Yeah. I like you too,” you say. 

-

Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and my asks are always open!

[sanarsi]

Kinktober Day 11

Face Sitting

Dieter Bravo x f!Reader

Gif credits @a7estrellas

Summary: Dieter has run out of drugs, so he asks you to keep him occupied. Warnings: +18, MDNI, face sitting, pussy eating, needy!Dieter, soft!dom!Dieter, dirty talk Wordcount: 1,5k An: Okay guys, fuck, I did it, I managed to write this damn 11th day, so... yes, I'm still alive (yupi). I decided that since my birthday is coming up soon, I should break my writer's block and post somethin. Anything. I'm not proud of this one and it's definitely not one of my favorites but, it is what it is so enjoy

Masterlist and Kinktober Masterlist

“Fuck, where is it?!”

You looked up from your phone and slowly swallowed a piece of cookie. You were used to the sudden sounds your boyfriend sometimes made, so it didn’t surprise you much; what caught your attention was a slamming of cabinets.

You brushed the crumbs off your hands and headed towards the room he was making a revolution in.

“What are you lookin’ for?” you asked standing in the doorway and curiously began to watch him.

Hearing your voice, he popped his head out of the cabinet and blinked a few times, as if wondering who the fuck you were.

Well, nothing new, the important thing is that he loved you.

In his own way.

“I don't know where I hid the stuff.” You raised an eyebrow and an amused smirk appeared on your lips. “But it doesn't matter.”

He slammed the cabinet and moved towards you.

You opened your mouth to tell him that he was looking in the wrong room but when he stood in front of you, looking at you with those big shiny eyes of his, you couldn't even get a word out.

“I found something better,” he purred contentedly, smiling like a cat and before you could ask what he meant, his lips were already on yours.

You moaned in surprise and slowly started to melt under his kisses. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you even closer. You smiled feeling his soft belly pressing against you.

You slowly wrapped arms around his neck and tangled fingers in his hair but Dieter deprived you of the pleasure of deepening the kiss.

He pulled away unexpectedly, and the seriousness written on his face left you confused.

“Sit on my face.”

You blinked a few times in shock, not knowing what to say to that, much less if he was actually serious about what he said.

This time, you were the one who looked like you didn’t know who the man standing in front of you was.

“What?” you asked and snorted.

You searched his eyes for any sign that he was high, but he seemed remarkably sober. It had been a while since he had looked at you with such a serious and confident gaze as he did now.

“Sit on my face,” he repeated more slowly, making sure to emphasize each word.

“Are you high?” You raised an eyebrow at him suspiciously but he just rolled his eyes and tightened his grip around your waist.

“No,” he replied, slightly amused by your reaction, and if he wasn't desperate, he would have started teasing you. “But I wish I was,” he admitted.

This time you rolled your eyes and tried to pull away but he didn't loosen his grip.

“So—”

“So take off those damn shorts and let me take care of your pussy instead of takin’ coke.”

Your eyes widened in shock, as did your mouth, because you weren't prepared for this turn of events. Your reaction only made his remaining patience disappear.

Without unnecessary words, he slid his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and pulled you towards the bed.

You watched in silence as he sat up and focused on removing all the layers of clothing that separated you two, or rather, separated him from his goal.

You gasped softly as he began to trail kisses up your thigh. Holding on to his arm, you slowly stepped out of your shorts, kicking them to the side.

His hands slowly explored your skin until they gripped your hips, pulling you a little closer, his nose instantly disappearing into your pubic.

He inhaled your scent and groaned in relief like a wild beast, making you shiver.

“Oh god,” he gasped, his hot breath fanning over your crotch, sending waves of sparks to your lower abdomen. “I need you.”

He ran his nose up your stomach and began to place soft kisses on it. You moaned softly, tangling your fingers in his hair and watching with hunger as he worshipped every inch of your body within reach of his mouth.

The area between your legs was already getting wet at the sight of his desperate desire.

“Need to eat this pussy. Need to feel you leakin’ all over my face. Need to drown in you,” he said like a madman.

But when he looked up with that innocent gaze, you wanted to punch him in the face and then kiss him hard and fulfill his every wish.

Fuckin Dieter Bravo effect.

“Please, baby,” he pleaded. “Just let me. I n–need somethin’. Anything.”

You took a few slow breaths, watching your defenseless Dieter.

Oh man, you knew when he was desperate and now was definitely that moment. And who would you be if not the best girlfriend in the whole world?

“Lay down,” you said softly.

Without a word of protest, he simply collapsed onto the mattress and began breathing like he had just run a marathon.

You laughed to yourself and slowly climbed on top of him, not sparing yourself from grinding against him with every movement. It was enough to make him tremble with excitement.

You stopped before making your final move and looked down at him. He couldn't wait any longer, you could tell by the sparkle in his eyes.

“Be nice, I've been sensitive for a few days,” you warned him, and like a good boy, he nodded eagerly.

His hands came to rest on your butt and he lowered himself to be underneath you. He didn't even give you a moment as he pulled you down, sitting you perfectly on his tongue.

You gasped in surprise as you fell with your entire weight onto his face. He only groaned in response as if he had at least entered you himself and wasn't just crushed between your thighs.

He was thirsty and you felt it as soon as he got to work.

“Oh fuck.” You winced in pleasure as he began to lick you like the pro he was.

You closed your eyes, trying to give in to the new feeling that had taken over you in mere seconds. His tongue worked wonders, you had felt that before, but this time he outdid himself.

“Dieter, wha—” you interrupted with a loud moan and tangled your fingers in his hair, “what the fuck?”

In response, all you got were wet sounds as he licked your slit.

You tried to control the moans that escaped you, but you couldn't fight the overwhelming feeling as he teased your clit with the tip of his tongue over and over again.

You shivered, pressing yourself against him harder, which made him moan, and that immediately triggered a series of events. You clenched your fingers tighter in his hair, pulling him closer to your core, and supported yourself with hand on his chest you began to rub against him.

Dieter purred with satisfaction when you began to ride his tongue and with a groan he sank into you, pulling out everything you had to offer him, and you had a lot of it because his beard was already soaked with your juices.

“Oh fuck me,” you gasped, feeling the pleasure building in your clit with every passing second.

You didn’t speed up as your thighs trembled more and more from the overload of emotion the cutie beneath you was giving you.

You looked down at him, and seeing the bliss on his face as he let you use him only fired up your core more.

You saw how his tongue skillfully moved under you, not allowing your pussy to be left forgotten in any place.

You watched it as if enchanted, the sight only accelerated the pleasure that was about to explode.

“I'm gonna come,” you warned him and he only hummed encouragingly and tightened his hands on yours only knowing very well what would happen next.

And he wasn't wrong, because when you came, your body refused to obey you.

You moaned loudly, starting to tremble all over and if it weren't for his help, you wouldn't be able to move. So taking advantage of your moment of weakness, he set your hips in motion again, allowing you to prolong the orgasm that was already leaking down his chin.

You held on to him tightly as waves of pleasure slowly faded through your body. Breathing heavily, you slowed your movements until you finally just sat on his chest and, tired, began to look at him without a word.

Dieter took the moment to lick his lips and wipe his beard that was soaked in your pleasure.

And he didn't need a long moment to smile like a stoned idiot after that.

“You're the greatest addiction of mine,” he said, causing you to snort.

Despite the bliss and tiredness that took over you after your orgasm, you already knew that his look didn't bode well, at least for you.

You didn't even have time to ask a question and he already dispelled your doubts.

“I'll be fuckin’ you all night tonight.”

And the seriousness with which he said it only made you sure that he wasn't joking.

Tags: @mattmurdocksdumpy @milly-louise @rosi3ba3z @candlelover @gothcsz @tateypots @chloe302225 @natalieispunk @amyispxnk @mandoloriancookie @libre-sol @alex-does-art-things @xxchumanixx @ch3rryyyyyyyyyy @bbyanarchist @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @ilovejoel-andjavi @uncassettodiricordi @puddles221b @syd-djarin @audie-writes

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

Closed Position: Week 5 (Rumba Part 1)

Closed Position Masterlist ||| Main Masterlist Dieter Bravo x OFC (Katarina)

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, Dancing with the Stars, 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 the show 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.

Chapter Word Count: 9.5k

👉 Warnings: Themes dealing with intimate partner violence (not from Dieter), past alcohol abuse, and past 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.

Chapter Quote: “Are we talking about orgasms right now?”

Dieter’s POV  By the time we got to the hotel, I felt like a zombie and was beyond ready to pass out.  My patience was wearing thin with the clerk at the check-in desk as she went into a rehearsed speech about the amenities that the hotel offered. I was having none of it and completely cut her off. “I’m sorry, we’ve just gotten off a five hour flight. We really just wanna sleep right now.”

She gave me a bright smile, “Totally understandable Mr. Bravo. So, you’ll be staying in the South Loft on the 16th floor. The elevators are just over there. Do you need help with your bags?”

I shook my head as Kat began to tap on the countertop. She seemed just as impatient as she asked, “I’m sorry, but where will my room be?”

The desk clerk looked between the two of us somewhat nervously, “Well, you’re both in the South Loft.”  

My brows furrowed. Did I hear that right? No fucking way. 

“Excuse me?” I blurted out, glancing over at Kat. She looked like she was going to be sick.  

The hotel clerk stammered, “You were b-both booked in the South Loft. Is that not right?”  

“We can’t share a room,” Kat interjected, wide-eyed as she shook her head.  

The clerk looked almost relieved at Kat’s words, “No. I-It’s a two-bedroom suite with shared common space. You’ll each have your own bedroom and bathroom.” 

I relaxed some. I could handle that if Kat were ok with it. Not that I would have minded sharing a room with her either, but I didn’t want her to be uncomfortable.  

I watched the tension leave Kat’s body, “I guess that would be ok…it’s no different than being across the hall from each other. Right?” she asked, meeting my gaze.  

I shrugged, “I’m fine with whatever makes you comfortable.” 

Kat nodded, “Yeah, I think that’ll be ok. I can deal with that.” 

The front desk clerk looked relieved now, giving us a tentative smile. “Ok. Great. The only other thing I wanted to mention is that one of our conference spaces, the Harbor Room, was booked for the entire week as well. You can access it as needed.”  

I gave her a tired smile, “Sounds great. We’ll worry about that later, I need sleep.”  

I grabbed my key card, turned, and walked off without another word. I heard Kat snort behind me, I assume over my abruptness. She murmured a quick “thank you” to the desk clerk before catching up to me. We were quiet as we waited for the elevator. I stole a few glances in Kat’s direction. She was staring at the floor, seemingly lost in her thoughts until the ding of the elevator door opening caught her attention. When we stepped into the elevator, I noticed she was avoiding my gaze.  

“Are you sure you’re ok with sharing a suite? I can get a separate room.”  

She nodded, “Yeah, it’s not a big deal. I swear. I’m just tired and achy. I need to stretch out and relax.”   

The doors opened to our floor, and we quickly found our way to our suite. We both stood in the center of the living room area taking it in. It was a lot bigger than I was expecting.  

“Wow. This is…fucking huge.” Kat said in disbelief. 

I chuckled, “Yeah, and here I was worried we were gonna be cramped in on top of each other.”  

Kat’s mouth hung open slightly, before laughing nervously. “Yeah, I guess that won’t be a problem.”  

I dropped my duffle and moved to check out the two bedrooms, realizing the second one seemed to be a master. “This one has a big ass soaking tub in it. You take it.”  

She looked like she was about to argue, but I cut her off. “No, you take it. I won’t use it.” 

She smiled gratefully, “Thank you. I appreciate that.”  

I walked over, grabbed Kat’s bag off her shoulder and the rolling suitcase standing beside her and moved to deposit them in the master bedroom as she gave me a disapproving look. She walked in behind me, arms crossed over her chest as she looked around the room. Her eyes were drawn upward to the reflective metal panels on the ceiling that might as well be mirrors. Her brows furrowed, “That’s a little extra.”  

I snorted out a laugh, “Adds to the entertainment value of the space, I’m sure.”  

She arched a brow in my direction, a smile tugging at her lips as her eyes looked me up and down. What’s going through your head right now? There was something about the way she looked at me. It had my thoughts going straight to the gutter. The gutter that had what equates to a mirrored ceiling. I felt my dick twitch. So much for being tired.  

Her smirk shifted to a smile, “I’m sure it does.”  

She turned and walked out into the living room area, and I followed. She paused, staring toward the corner nearest to the room I planned to take. I glanced in the same general direction, my eyes landing on the rolling bar cart. She shook her head, “I’ll take care of that. Go get some rest. You’re gonna need it more than me.”  

I moved to her side, “You really don’t have to worry about that. It doesn’t bother me.”  

She shrugged, “Doesn’t matter. The studio should’ve made sure that stuff was removed. Last thing you need is the hotel staff spreading gossip. Now…go sleep.”  

She wasn’t wrong. I loved that she cared enough to think of that. I nodded, agreeing with her assessment, “Yes ma’am.”  

I grabbed my bags, lugging them toward my room, then turned on my heel, “Oh umm, it looks like I need to be at the studio around noon to start reviewing the skits. I’d love it if you would join me. I wouldn’t mind having your input.”  

Her eyes widened in surprise at my request. A small smile crept across her face as she nodded, “Yeah, I’d like that.”  

I gave her a toothy grin in response. I rubbed the back of my neck and looked down at the ground, now feeling a little nervous. “Alright. Great. Imma go to sleep then. I’ll probably get up around 10.”  

I was suddenly feeling awkward and out of my element. Sharing a space with someone was a whole new experience for me and I wasn’t sure what the proper protocols were. I abruptly turned and headed toward my room, momentarily struggling to get my luggage through the doorway. I thought I heard Kat snicker behind me as I shut the door.  

My room wasn’t as extravagant as Kat’s. It didn’t have a soaking tub or reflective ceiling, but it had a plushy king bed and TV, which was all I needed. After a quick bathroom break, I undressed down to my boxer briefs and climbed into bed. I was so fucking exhausted, but I couldn’t turn my mind off. So much had transpired in the past week - in the past few hours even. I couldn’t help analyzing it all.  

I wondered what happened between Kat and Alec. She had been acting odd since Thursday, so I figured whatever happened had to have been around that time. I was tempted to ask her that morning but didn’t want to pry. As long as she seemed ok physically, I could handle waiting until she was ready to talk about it.  

She surprised me later that evening. I had been working on another painting (of her) when the Instagram likes started to roll in. I wasn’t sure how to take it. How did she end up on my page? Did a random post pop up in her feed and she went from there? Or had she been thinking about me and sought it out? I smiled to myself, deciding to be bold and return the favor, going through and liking all of her posts, except the ones that Alec was in. Fuck that guy. I wondered, no hoped, that it would spark a response from her. I was not disappointed.    

What followed had me feeling equal parts giddy and so fucking turned on. I knew that I was probably pushing it with the subtle flirting, but she was completely into it. I don’t think she would have sent me the picture of her wet and bare soap covered legs if she hadn’t been. When that text came through, I stopped breathing and got hard instantly. It was so unexpected, and immediately had my mind wondering what sex with her would be like. That was all quickly shut down when she went cold on me, ending the conversation abruptly. It threw me off my game and took me back to wondering what was going on with her. My only conclusion, there was trouble in paradise, and she wanted out and didn’t really know how to handle things. I could work with that. I could be patient and wait for her. She could take all the time she needed and if she wanted to engage in a little harmless flirting in the meantime, I was here for it.  

I got the call about SNL the following morning. As excited as I was about the opportunity, my only thoughts were of Kat. My priority was dancing with her, and I made that known. Lenny was convinced he could make both things happen, so he reached out to Stacia and Joe. They were willing to play, but at what cost? And did I really care if it meant I got to do it with Kat? No, I didn’t. When Lenny called back with a half-concocted plan, I was beyond ecstatic that it was even a possibility, but only because it meant spending a week in New York with Kat. I had honestly expected her to turn it down and had already resigned myself to that fact. Especially if there was some sort of drama going on with her and Alec. I knew she wouldn’t want to leave town in the middle of that.  

However, she didn’t turn it down. I could tell as soon as she walked into the rehearsal studio that she had made a decision and was avoiding the topic. Her playful expression made me think that perhaps she was going to accept the offer, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up. The torture of waiting for her to finally answer me was almost agonizing. The moment the smile spread across her face; I knew. There was something about her that morning, her entire vibe had shifted, and I couldn’t really pinpoint how or why.

After that, it felt like the wall between us was beginning to crumble even faster. Of course I didn’t try to stop it, if anything, I tried to help dismantle it a little faster. I had definitely been pushing the boundaries, but she wasn’t giving me any indications that it bothered her. There were even some instances where it felt like she had gotten out her own little hammer and chisel to help bring it down on her side. I could see it in the way she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t paying any attention or in the way she responded to my blatant flirting. She was definitely interested but holding back.  

While we were in hair and makeup for Monday’s show, it really hit me that whatever had happened between Kat and Alec was a big deal this time. The way she reacted to his presence really jarred me and I wanted so badly to pull her into my arms to comfort her. There wasn’t really anything I could do without calling attention to us though. I had been meaning to ask her about being Zee’s secondary contact for several days, so I thought that might serve as a nice distraction, and also act as a cover for the emotional moment she was having.  

The distraction seemed to do the trick. She appeared to be much more relaxed after that, ignoring his presence until we left the room. I took her hand once we entered the hallway, immediately noticing that she still had her engagement ring on. I would be lying if I said my stomach didn’t have a sinking feeling with that realization. My first thought was that I had misread things, thinking it wasn’t as bad as I had thought.  

She shocked me after that, pulling me into a tight embrace just outside of her dressing room and thanking me for getting her through whatever that episode was. The way she nuzzled into my neck and inhaled deeply said so much. She felt comfortable and safe with me. I could sense it and took pride in it. I knew she didn’t feel that with Alec, the one person who should be able to give her that much and it made me absolutely sick. I made a point not to leave her side after that. Something was obviously going on and I didn’t want to leave her to deal with it alone.  

The tension between Kat and Alec seemed to be reaching a boiling point during the professionals' dress rehearsal. I couldn’t hear what was said, but I could see them having some sort of exchange in the middle of the dance floor. For once, Alec actually looked unsure of himself. I could tell Kat had put him in his place based on his body language - flinching at her words. I felt a surge of pride in the moment. I was proud of her for having the courage to stand up to him. I just hoped he wouldn’t try to take it out on her later.  

Kat seemed to be more at ease and fully focused on our performance after that. We got through it, receiving high scores again. I was excited about the scores, but my mind was more focused on what came after - leaving with Kat for a week in New York. It was all I could think about as I moved around my dressing room, changing and packing up the things I needed to take with me.  

I moved to crack the door open for Kat to come in when she was ready and overheard one of the other couples in the hallway saying something about Kat and Alec arguing. I felt a rush of panic as I pulled the door open further only to have the two of them turn to look at me with wide eyes. When I looked down toward Kat’s dressing room door, I saw Alec’s retreating form going in the opposite direction. I hurried down the hall, texting Kat as I went asking her to let me in. So many things went through my mind during those seconds. All of the worst-case scenarios of how he possibly could have hurt her.    

She seemed ok when she opened the door. However, that didn’t do anything to dampen my concern. I could see how upset she was, and I wanted to do nothing more than hold her and make it all go away. I didn’t hesitate to pull her into my arms, causing the tension to disappear from her body. I hugged her tightly, getting lost in her scent and how amazing it felt to hold her in such an intimate way. I wanted that with her. I wanted her, in every way.  

I was equally parts pissed and elated when I got the text that our ride to the airport had arrived. I didn’t want to let her go, but I also wanted to get her as far away from Alec as possible. During the ride, I could sense that Kat seemed lost in her thoughts. I reached over to give her hand a comforting squeeze, immediately realizing that something was missing. My thumb seemed to have a mind of its own as it rubbed over her knuckles. I thought my mind was playing tricks on me as my eyes dropped down to look at her hand, needing to make sure I wasn’t imagining things. The ring was gone. The ring that had been on her finger during every second that we had spent together was really gone.

When my eyes finally met her gaze, I nearly got lost in the emotions swirling there as my own threatened to swallow me whole. I turned to look out the window, worried she could hear all of the thoughts screaming at me in my head. This was a big fucking deal. She was finally done with him. It was over. Would she be willing to give me a chance now? Could I be good enough for her? Did I even deserve her? I had so many thoughts and feelings within a span of 30 seconds that it nearly gave me whiplash. I knew that I couldn’t possibly be worthy of her, but I would absolutely never stop trying to be.  

I moved to lace my fingers through the tops of hers, hoping it conveyed what I was feeling. I never wanted to let go, and I never would as long as she allowed me to hold on. At that moment, I knew this week was going to change things between us in a big way. There was no way it couldn’t. Add this revelation to the fact that we had been given one of the most intimate dances to rehearse for this week and I knew I was a goner. I wasn’t sure how long I could hold out, but I also needed to make sure that things moved at Kat’s pace. I didn’t want to scare her off by moving too fast. I was also afraid that she would turn me down. If that happened, it could possibly ruin everything and reinforce that wall between us that we had both been so diligently chipping away at.  

As I laid in bed, willing my mind to turn off, my final thoughts were of what the week would bring. How was this going to go? I had a feeling the dance rehearsals were going to be very different and would end up being our downfall. We would be able to completely lose ourselves in the emotions of the dance without the worry about prying eyes from passer byers. Without that tiny barrier to hold me back, I wasn’t sure how long I could hold out before making my feelings known. The prospect of that both excited me and freaked me the fuck out. I just hoped I didn’t blow it.  

When my alarm went off, it took me a minute to remember where I was. I had completely knocked out and slept hard. I sat up, feeling groggy and hot under the heavy duvet. I turned, planting my feet on the floor, leaning forward with my elbows resting on my knees as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. “Ugh, what have you gotten yourself into, Bravo.”  

I could already feel my anxiety ramping up, worried about how things were going to go with the SNL cast. Last time I was on the show, I hadn’t exactly made the best impression. Even though the episode received all sorts of attention for my performance, things behind the scenes were rough. At least from what little I could remember. I was pretty out of it for most of that week, turning up late or not at all on the days I was too coked out. I’m also fairly certain I was a dick to several of the cast members. Yet, like always, I pulled it together for the final performance and killed it, to everyone’s shock.  

I had an ulterior motive for asking Kat to come with me. I was nervous as fuck about how this was going to go. I thought it might be nice to have someone there I knew who would be supportive and maybe even act as a buffer with the rest of the cast. She had a way of bringing out the best side of me too, and I was going to need all the help I could get in that area. I wanted so badly to make a good impression and to make up for the chaos that I caused last time. I knew that wasn’t going to be easy.  

After pulling myself up off the bed, I took a quick shower, which helped alleviate the grogginess I was feeling. I made a point to dress nice and fix my hair. I even threw on a little cologne. Last time I was here, I showed up at the studio in my pajamas and robe, looking like the hot mess that I was. I wanted to make sure to make a point that that guy was no longer present. I’d be lying if I said it was all for work though. I wanted to look good for Kat too. Now that Alec is out of the picture, I couldn’t help hoping that she might actually give me a chance if I played my cards right.  

Once I was finished getting ready, I walked out into the living room area to find Kat unloading some breakfast items onto the dining table. I furrowed my brows, “Didn’t you get any sleep?”  

She shook her head, still looking down at the bag as she pulled food out, “Not really. I tried for like an hour, then gave up. I got us some breakfast and coffee.”  

I moved to stand next to her, surveying the breakfast options she had just laid out. When I glanced back in her direction, I realized her eyes were slowly taking me in. Her gaze eventually met my raised brows. Her cheeks flushed as she chuckled nervously, “That shirt fits you well,” she finally said after a moment. I smirked, then pulled her in against my side. 

“Don’t be embarrassed that you got caught checking me out, fine art is meant to be appreciated.” 

She snorted as she leaned into me further, “You’re awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you.” 

I chuckled and shrugged as she reached across me to grab her coffee from the table, pausing momentarily before grabbing it. She gave me an odd look as she righted herself. My brows furrowed, “Something wrong?”  

She shook her head as her cheeks reddened once again, turning away abruptly to go sit on the other side of the table where the top was clear. She looked a little flustered, finally breaking her silence to ask what the plan was for the day. That’s interesting behavior for her… 

I pursed my lips, pulling my phone out of my pocket, “Well, according to my ridiculously detailed calendar, it looks like we’ll review the skits first and decide which ones we wanna do, then have a quick table read. I’m sure we’ll probably discuss the monologue too…and after that I have a photoshoot so they can get their promos going. We should be able to rehearse some after that.”  

Her brows pinched together, “And how many skits do you have to review?”  

I grimaced, “We usually start with 40 or 50 and have to narrow it down to eight. They sent them ahead since I’m getting a late start though. I read through them on the plane…assuming everyone else got them early, I don’t think it’ll take that long to narrow it down. Some of them are pretty terrible if I’m being honest.” 

She snickered as she took a sip of her coffee. I sighed, sitting down across from her to start working on some sort of egg, bacon, and cheese sandwich concoction that actually turned out to be pretty good. I was trying to not think about how the day was going to go but failing. I could feel my nervousness creeping up on me again.  

Before I knew it, our driver had arrived to take us to Studio 8H to get the day started. My anxiety levels were through the roof after we got into the back of the SUV. Kat picked up on it almost immediately since I couldn’t seem to stop fidgeting. She reached over, grabbing my hand as it rubbed at my thigh. “Are you ok?” she asked. 

I shook my head, “Nope. Not at all. I’m freaking out a little actually…”  

Her eyes softened, “What’s the matter?” 

I chuckled nervously, “So many things…this is the first job I’ve done completely clean. When I was high, I didn’t really give a fuck about how it went. I do give a fuck now…a big fuck. What if I can’t do this without the drugs to chill me out.”  

I could feel the panic setting in now. I hadn’t felt this in a long time, and it was freaking me out a little. I thought for sure my heart was going to pound out of my chest. Get your shit together, Bravo.  

“There’s also the fact that I was a complete asshole last time I was on the show. I know half the cast hate me. I’m sure they’re expecting more of the same nonsense. That’s why I was so shocked they asked me to come back. They had to be desperate.”  

She sighed, squeezing my hand a little tighter, “Stop talking like this, you don’t know that. You’re too hard on yourself.”  

I felt her shift beside me before reaching to cup my chin to turn my face toward her, “Also, it’s not your first job since being clean…dancing was and you’re totally kicking ass at that.” 

I scoffed, “Yeah, but that’s with you. You make it easy.” You make everything better.  

She smiled, “And I’m here with you now. What can I do to help?”  

She took my hand in both of hers, gently stroking the palm with her fingertips. It wasn’t much, but I could already feel myself calming under her touch. I also found the sight of her bare ring finger to be distracting for a brief moment.  

I shook my head, “I think just having you here is enough if I’m being honest.” 

She gave me a small smile, continuing to rub my palm until we got to the studio. As soon as we walked into the main entrance, we were whisked off to a sizable conference room where the writers and cast were sitting around a large table reviewing scripts. Everyone paused, eyeing us as we found our way to the open seats near the head of the table. A few people gave us polite smiles, but there was definitely tension in the room.  

The Director, Liz, greeted us and quietly got us up to speed on where they were. I only vaguely remembered her, but from her reserved demeanor, I assumed she remembered me well.  

“How much time do you think you’ll need to look over the scripts?” Liz asked. 

I shrugged, “I’ve already looked over them all.” I grabbed my phone, pulling up the app I used to make notes, “I’ve made notes too. So, I’m ready to start discussing them when you all are.”  

The room was eerily silent all of a sudden as I realized most eyes were on me. Fuck. I don’t like this. I guess they weren’t expecting me to have my shit together.  

Liz now had a surprised smile on her face, “Well, that’s good news. Maybe we can pull a writer to get you started on your monologue then.”  

I gave her a tight smile. This might make their fucking heads explode. “Actually, I’ve got a rough draft for the monologue already…if that’s ok?” 

She gave me a skeptical look, “I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time the guest host has written it themself, but it doesn’t happen often…mind if I look over it? Can you send it to me?”  

I nodded, pulling up the file to airdrop to her and feeling proud of myself that I remembered the steps of how to do that after my assistant showed me how to the previous week. As Liz sat in silence, reading the script I had written, my leg involuntarily started to bounce a mile a minute under the table. As I glanced around the room, I could see everyone watching Liz for any type of reaction to what she was reading - waiting for her to laugh me out of the room. It suddenly felt like the walls were closing in as the sweat beaded at the back of my neck.  

Then, I felt Kat’s hand on my knee, calming my nerves almost immediately. I took a deep breath and grabbed her hand under the table, squeezing it gently before she turned it to lay palm up on my knee so that she could stroke it with her fingertips like she had on the drive over. She seemed to sense how that calmed me. I chewed on my bottom lip, glancing in Kat’s direction where I was met with an encouraging smile.  

Liz set her phone down and leaned back in her seat as she gave me the oddest stare. “You wrote this?” she finally asked. I nodded shyly, unsure of where this was going.  

A wide smile broke across her face, “This is actually pretty damn funny, Bravo.”  

I let out a sigh of relief as a goofy grin slid across my face. The confused faces that surrounded me did not go unnoticed either.  

Liz’s eyes drifted over to Kat, “Kat, would you be willing to be in on the monologue? Instead of having random audience members chime in, I think it would be funnier if it were you.”  

Kat’s eyes widened, “I don’t know. I’m not an actor…this could end badly.” She chuckled nervously.  

I bumped my shoulder against hers, “Come on Kit Kat, it’ll be fun.”  

She arched a brow in my direction. “Come on, you love giving me a hard time. That part will be easy for you,” I added. 

She smirked, “Fair point.”  

I snapped my fingers, “Oh, that reminds me! Do you have an extra copy of that Dirty Dancing skit? Kat hasn’t seen it yet.”  

Kat’s brows furrowed, “You really suggested that?”  

I snorted, “Hell yes. It’s gold. I couldn’t let that idea go to waste. I do have a few edit suggestions though.”  

Someone slid a script across the table toward Kat, she reluctantly picked it up with a soft “thank you” to whoever sent it over. I watched as she skimmed through it with a smirk on her face, her head shaking from side to side as she sat it down. She let out a nervous laugh, covering her face with her hands, “God, I can’t believe I’m considering this.”  

Liz gave me a sly smile before her eyes flicked back to Kat, “Come on Kat, that’s one I really wanted to do. It would be awesome to have you guys in it together. I don’t think it would be as funny without you.” 

Kat sighed, “I dunno. I’ve never acted before.”  

I cleared my throat, “Technically, you kind of do when you’re dancing. It’s still telling a story, just in a different format.”  

She gave me a blank stare for a moment, her brows raised slightly. Shit. I hope she doesn’t think that’s all I’m doing is acting. 

Liz cut in, “Also, this skit will be pre-recorded. So, if you fuck it up, you can try it again. There isn’t as much pressure to get it right.”  

I nodded, “Remember, I can coach you through it…it’ll be fun…and there’s dancing too. It’s not that big of a stretch.” 

She sighed, “Ok, fine. I’ll do the Dirty Dancing skit…I need to think about the monologue. Doing something live is a whole other can of worms.” 

I snorted, “Says the woman who lets Dieter Bravo sling her around a dance floor on live TV once a week.”  

She chuckled, “That’s also a fair point. I do let you do that.” She inhaled deeply, “Can I see the monologue?” 

I nodded excitedly and handed her my phone. Kat snickered quietly to herself as she read through it. All eyes in the room were still on us through this entire discussion, but it somehow seemed like the tension in the room had lessened.  

A few minutes later, Kat handed my phone back to me. She leaned back in the seat with a somewhat mischievous smile on her face, “Can I make some suggestions?”  

My brows pinched together. I wasn’t sure if I liked the sound of this or not. Liz, of course, told her to “have at it.”  

She chuckled, “We can make sex jokes, right?” 

My eyes widened. That is not what I expected to come out of her mouth.  

Liz chuckled and nodded.  

Kat smiled, “Well, dancing is often compared to sex…this bit where he’s talking himself up about being a good dancer…I can totally twist that.”  

I snorted, “What did you have in mind?”  

“You remember when I said you have loose hips?” She paused, giving me a wicked smile. “And to be clear, this was in reference to Latin dancing, so don’t you all get any ideas,” she added for those listening. The room filled with quiet snickers at her words. 

I nodded, unsure where this was going. She chuckled, “Well, you can mention something about your loose hips and how that makes you good at lots of things…some sort of sexual innuendo. I can interrupt you and point out that you have loose hips with no rhythm, so it’s pointless.”  

Me and several of the guys in the room gave each other curious looks while several of the women snorted out a laugh. 

I gave Kat a confused look as she chuckled. “The women get it,” she added.  

It finally clicked, “Are we talking about orgasms right now?” The question was out of my mouth before my filter kicked in.  

All of the women in the room cackled with laughter. Kat leaned over toward me with a smirk on her face as she peered up through her lashes. She was so close the sides of our bodies were pressed up against each other and I could smell her, a mixture of citrus and floral notes completely invading my senses.  

“Yes, we’re talking about orgasms right now. Specifically…how men fuck them up.”  

Fuck. She can’t be talking about this. My dick instantly stood to attention. I had never been more thankful to be sitting behind a table in my life. I laughed nervously, “Well, that’s an interesting take that I’m sure will get some laughs.”  

Liz leaned forward, still snickering slightly, “I may just let the two of you come up with the monologue yourselves. I never would’ve guessed you play off each other this well.”  

Liz called everyone to attention after that to see if they were ready to start narrowing down the scripts. I squirmed in my seat, attempting to adjust myself without being obvious when I felt Kat’s hand on my knee again. Fuck. No. Please stop. I glanced at her with a tight smile. She was biting her bottom lip as she winked at me and squeezed my thigh. It was meant to be a comforting gesture, but my dick didn’t see it that way. It took every ounce of strength I had not to come in my jeans. It’s gonna be a long fucking week full of cold showers.  

It was obvious what she was doing, trying to break some of the tension in the room. She had effortlessly succeeded in doing that and also managed to give me a raging hard on in the process. To make it worse, I think she was mistaking my tense posture for nervousness. She pulled my hand to rest on her thigh under the table so she could continue lightly stroking it with her fingertips. I could feel the feather light graze all the way to my toes and it was making it nearly impossible for me to focus on anything but her touch.  

Luckily, Liz asked to start with me on skit feedback. So, I took the opportunity to pull my hand away to open the notes I had made on my phone. It turned out to be just the distraction I needed, allowing my body to calm the fuck down before I made a fool of myself.  

After sharing my top 15 skits, we were quickly able to narrow it down from there. Surprisingly, Liz encouraged me to suggest edits on the final scripts. I couldn’t remember her wanting me to be this involved last time I was here. I took that as a positive sign and freely gave my thoughts and suggestions as we did some quick read throughs. That whole process went surprisingly faster than we had anticipated, which meant we got to start the photoshoot a little earlier too.  

After getting polished up for the shoot, Kat and I were waiting around in the hallway for the photographer to get the lighting the way he wanted it. As we stood there, we were approached by some guy who I thought might be one of the writers. I vaguely remembered him from the last time I was on the show, but I couldn’t remember his name. Dan, maybe? Daryl? Derek? I went through a list of names in my head, but nothing sounded right. I’m sure I was too messed up to have made an effort to remember it.  

Kat and I gave him a polite smile as he approached. I assumed he wanted to chat about one of the scripts. However, the way he pulled me into a tight hug and lingered in my space told me otherwise. Dammit, please tell me I didn’t fuck around with this guy.  

He finally pulled away, eyeing me up and down appreciatively. Yep, we definitely fucked around. Fuck.  

“How ya been, Bravo? Haven’t heard from you since you were here last.”  

I gave him a tight smile, “Good, been busy.”  

I felt Kat’s hand rest on my back as she moved in a little closer to me. She could clearly sense the tension. Fuck.  

“Ahh, yeah. Well, you free after this? We could head back to my place and have some fun. I’ve got some good shit you need to try too.”  

He ran his fingers down the front of my chest in a suggestive way. I could feel Kat tensing beside me as she realized what was happening. Fuck.  

I took a step backward, my brow furrowing as I shook my head. “Sorry, man. I’ve kicked the habit. I’m not into that shit anymore. I’m living the clean life now.”  

His eyes widened, “Oh. So, all that rehab gossip is true then?”  

I nodded.  

He shrugged, “Well, we can still have fun without the drugs. I don’t have to have them.”  

My eyes darted to Kat. She looked absolutely mortified. I was already fucking this up with her. 

He must have caught my worried glance because his eyes shifted to Kat, just noticing her for the first time. My realization finally kicked in that he was already high on something based on the way his pupils were dilated.  

“You can bring your girl, too. You know I'm all for a group thing.”  

Kat scoffed, “Excuse me?”  

I started shaking my head and moved to put myself between them, “Look, Dan…” 

“Dave,” he corrected me.  

Close enough. I gave him a tight smile, trying my best not to be an asshole, but he wasn’t taking the hint.  

“Dave, I’m not trying to be a dick when I say this…but I’m not interested in anything you have to offer. I’m clean and I don’t do the random hookup thing anymore. Got it?”  

His mouth dropped open slightly as he moved backward a couple of steps, looking between Kat and I. Kat’s arm looped through mine as she pulled me in closer to her. I now realized why, there was something off about the way Dave was looking at us. I chalked it up to him being high. His pupils were so dilated that his eyes appeared almost black. 

His lips eventually turned upward, “I get it…you’re in, like…an exclusive thing now, right? Well, more power to you babe. Can’t believe someone finally locked him down.”  

Kat and I were both shaking our heads as Dave turned to walk away without another word.  

I sighed, “I’m sorry about that. I’m pretty sure he was messed up on something.”  

Kat shrugged, “Why are you apologizing? You’re not the asshole here, he is.”  

I puffed air out of my cheeks, “Yeah, but if I hadn't been such a disaster before, he wouldn’t be talking to me like that.”  

Kat grimaced, “So, you hooked up with that guy before?”  

It was my turn to grimace, “I honestly have no fucking clue. If I did, I don't remember it. I’m still sorry you had to experience that though. I can tell it made you uncomfortable.”  

She cupped my cheek, “I’m fine. It just took me by surprise. I know you’re not that person anymore, so it doesn’t bother me. I’m proud of you for telling him no and sticking to it.” 

I gave her a small smile, “I appreciate that.”  

Her face changed to concern, “Are you ok? That can’t have been good for you to experience either. Do you need to talk about it?”  

I shook my head, slightly confused by her question. 

She seemed to sense it, “Someone just offered you drugs. Did it make you feel any kind of way? Do I need to be concerned?”  

My brows pinched together as I considered her questions, “No, not at all. I didn’t really feel anything other than concern about you having to deal with that shit. Really, zero cravings. The thought never crossed my mind.”  

She nodded, “Good. Seriously though, if you feel the urge to use or drink, please talk to me about it. I know this whole situation is stressing you out a little.” 

I pulled her in for a tight hug, burying my face in the top of her hair and inhaling deeply, “I promise…I’m good. You’re a good distraction from all that nonsense.” Damn Bravo, don’t push it.  

I felt her chuckle against my neck, her hot breath blowing against my skin in a way that felt far too intimate and caused little Bravo to twitch in my pants all over again. I’m definitely gonna need a cold shower later. I loosened my hold on her, reluctantly. She didn’t seem to be in any hurry to let go either but did. At that moment, someone from the hair and makeup team popped out into the hallway, “Kat, Liz just called and said she wanted to get you in a few of the promo shots if you’re willing. You cool with that? We can glam you up right quick.” 

Kat gave me a nervous look, before agreeing and disappearing into hair and makeup. The photographer was ready for me soon after that. We got started on some solo shots, going through several wardrobe changes and backdrops in the process. Kat finally joined me, in a deep purple evening gown. They put me in a tux but kept the look relaxed with the top shirt buttons open and tie undone. For the most part, Kat was out of frame, pulling me by the tie hanging loosely around my neck or pressing her foot to my face. It was all very playful, which led to a lot of laughter between us. 

It was hard not to be distracted by her as she stood just out of frame, essentially manhandling me under the direction of the photographer. She looked so fucking good. They actually hadn’t put her in a ton of makeup, allowing her natural beauty to show through the way I liked. The deep purple of the dress against her skin was creating so many images in my mind that I knew I would come back to later.  

The photographer did take several shots with Kat in the frame as well. I was excited to see the ones of her sitting on top of a piano while I fake played. There was something sexy about the way she was stretched out in front of me. There were also a few shots where I had my back toward her, and she was leaning down with her hands splayed out over my chest. In another, I was leaning back between her knees with one arm looped around her leg to rest my hand on her bare thigh. At one point she ran her fingers through my hair, tugging it slightly so that I looked upward at her. The photographer loved it…and so did my dick. I’m pretty sure I even whimpered a little, to my embarrassment. I had to start going through a list of plant names in my head so that I didn’t get hard again.  

Some of the photos seemed a little sexy for a SNL promo or bumper, but we went with it, giggling like teenagers through the whole process and relishing in the light touches. I couldn’t help but to joke about how the Dieterina stans were going to lose their minds over the photos, which honestly, I think was their intent. They had to be aware of the online gossip just as much as Stacia and Joe were. Why else would they be pushing so hard for Kat to be involved? 

Soon after that, we were finished with our SNL duties for the day. Both of us were already running on fumes by the time the driver picked us up from the studio, but we still had to put in dance rehearsal time. I tried not to complain too much because I told Kat that I would work my ass off to be able to do this and I meant it.  

We decided to grab some takeout on the way back to the hotel. After picking up the food, my cell rang. It was my assistant, Evan, calling to check in and go over some minor scheduling changes for the following day. I took the opportunity to see how things were going back home, “How’s Zee doing? Did she eat today?” 

Evan huffed, “D, I swear, that cat fucking hates me. She just gives me a judgy stare from across the room…like who the hell are you and why are you here? She swatted at me when I walked through to go to the kitchen, then hissed at me when I set her plate of food down.” 

I chuckled. I don’t know why, but it made me feel all warm and fuzzy that she didn’t like anyone but me and Kat. “It’s your vibes man. You need to relax and stop being so uptight around her. She doesn’t like that shit. Did she eat?”  

I glanced at Kat and smiled as she arched an eyebrow in my direction.  

“Yeah, she did. That’s not been a problem.”  

I nodded, “Good. I was worried she wouldn’t if I was gone. Did you do today's plant care routine yet?”  

Evan chuckled, “Yeeees, I’m working on it now.”  

I scratched my chin, now feeling like a nagging parent. “You’re using the rainwater, right? Not tap water?”  

Evan was silent for a moment before he finally answered, “I mean…does that really matter?”  

I let out a controlled breath and pinched the bridge of my nose, “Please tell me you're joking? Yes, it matters. The tap water has chemicals in it. It’s not good for the plants. The chlorine is terrible for the soil bacteria, and it can cause calcium and magnesium build up which fucks with their ability to absorb nutrients.”  

I could feel Kat’s eyes on me. I shot another glance her way, finding her fighting a smile as she turned to look out the window.  

I heard Evan snicker, “D, I’m messing with you. I’m following your instructions and watering schedule to a T. It’s fine…just relax and try to have some fun while you’re there. I’ve got it covered here.”  

I huffed, “Dude, don’t mess with me like that. It’s not funny.” 

Evan snorted, “It kind of is, actually.”  

I shook my head, “You’re a dick sometimes. You know that? Anyway…just a reminder…when you take care of the plants in the art studio tomorrow, make sure Zee doesn’t go in there, please. Those plants are poisonous to cats.” 

“I’m sure the giant ‘No Cats Beyond This Point’ sign on the door will remind me well enough, but thanks,” he replied sarcastically.  

I snickered, “Hey, I’m just making sure bases are covered. If my cat dies because you can’t follow directions, I’ll have your ass.” I was only halfway joking with that statement.  

Evan scoffed, “Excuse me? I’m the one that was hired to hold your hand. Don’t give me that shit. Anyway…go spend time with your hot dance partner. I’ll check in tomorrow.”  

Shit, I hope she didn’t hear that. I glanced at her again, she was still staring out the window with a smile tugging at her lips. Evan had been giving me hell about having “the hots” for my dance partner for the last few weeks. I hadn’t told him it was true, he just assumed based on our chemistry on the dance floor. He was very pro Dieterina. Knowing him, he was probably the one who got that hashtag started.  

Evan and I finally said our goodbyes just as the SUV was pulling up to the hotel. I quickly hopped out of the vehicle to open Kat’s door just in time for her to hand me our drinks. She grabbed her purse and the takeout bag before sliding out onto the sidewalk. Once back in the suite, we ate our takeout in hurried silence. Afterward, we quickly changed into more comfortable clothes then decided to rehearse on the large outdoor terrace just to save us the hassle of finding the conference space that had been reserved for us.  

I could tell Kat was tired. Her eyes looked heavy, and she wasn’t as energetic as she normally was during rehearsals. I felt kind of bad for dragging her into this craziness, but I didn’t regret having all of the extra time with her. I couldn’t. I was enjoying it too much. She didn’t let the exhaustion get her down though, immediately switching to teacher mode as soon as we stepped out onto the terrace.  

“So, the rumba originated from Cuba. It’s known for a specific hip movement which is often called the ‘Cuban Motion’ combined with two quick side-steps and a slow forward-step.”  

She showed me the movements as she talked through it. I tried to focus on her words rather than the way her hips were moving, because if I didn’t, I was going to have a problem…again. I mimicked her footwork as she smiled and nodded in approval. It seemed simple enough.  

“The rumba tends to be a very flirtatious and sensual dance. Think of it as…a vertical representation of a horizontal desire.”  

My brows arched at her words. Fuck. Here we go with the sex talk again. I’m done. I snorted, “Pretty sure I could pull that desire off vertically too. No representation needed.”  

Kat’s eyes widened. Oof. Too far, Bravo. Too Far. I pursed my lips, waiting for her admonishment. Instead, she chuckled, “Pretty sure we would be kicked off the show and arrested for that.” She paused, now smiling to herself as she peered up at me shyly, “Funny enough, the Cuban government did ban this dance at one point because it was too sexually charged to be performed in public spaces.” 

Well, that’s not a no. Is she teasing me? I gave her a flirty smirk, “Well, I’ll try to keep the lewd acts to a minimum then.”   

Her eyes narrowed as she fought a smile, “At least keep them off the dance floor.”  

My teeth sunk into my bottom lip as my brow arched in her direction. I really didn’t know how to take this. Is she flirting? It felt like she had been more and more as the day went on. I finally huffed out a laugh, “Don’t worry. I’ll behave unless I’m told to do otherwise.”  

She rolled her eyes playfully, “Noted.”  

An odd silence stretched between us as our eyes took each other in. It wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward, but it was different. She was standing a few feet away from me, but I could still feel the heat radiating off her as if she was pressed against me. I cleared my throat, needing to change focus to something else before I got another raging boner.  

“So, what are your plans for this one? Any ideas?” I finally asked.  

She sighed, “Yeah, some. I tried to think ahead on it because I knew we would be pressed for rehearsal time this week. Maybe we can go through what I have so far and take it from there?”  

I nodded in agreement. She approached me, holding her hands up, signaling for me to join her in a closed position. My left hand snaked around her waist and pulled her against me, much closer than she really needed to be for the dance, but she didn’t correct it. Rather than her right arm resting along mine, I noticed she had placed higher up allowing her fingers to gently run through the hair at the nape of my neck. The feel of it sent shivers down my spine and caused my skin to heat under her touch. When she took my right hand in hers, I felt her fingers lightly run along the inside of my palm before initiating a grip. It caused a tingle in my hand that radiated down my arm and through the rest of my body.  

There was something about the position this time that made it seem significantly more intimate than it had in the past. My senses felt heightened and craved her touch. I couldn’t get close enough. Maybe it was the fact that we were completely alone, dancing under the night sky and surrounded by the twinkling lights of the city - setting a completely different mood. Or maybe none of that mattered at all and it had everything to do with us pushing boundaries to see where the other stood. No matter the cause, I was loving every second of it.

We started by going through the basic steps together, then slowly worked through the rest of the choreography she had planned out thus far. The air remained thick between us and our touches seemed to linger, but that didn’t stop us from taking the rehearsal seriously. If anything, it seemed to make it more intense than usual. It was nearing midnight before we decided to call it quits. We had managed to get the first half of the routine nailed down, which was actually a really good start. We felt pretty good about having that much figured out so quickly.  

It was an odd feeling having her nearby as I got ready for bed. I swear that I could sense her presence two rooms away and it was torturous. I couldn’t help thinking how easy it would be to go to her room and slip into bed with her. I wondered how she would react if I did. These thoughts bloomed into a full-on fantasy that had me straining against my boxer briefs as I tried to fall asleep. I was torn between getting up to take a cold shower and taking care of it. I reasoned that a cold shower would only delay the inevitable. I sighed, leaning over to grab a towel from the floor that I had left there from my morning shower, then pulled my boxers down and got to it.  

The images in my head were so vivid. I could see her room and that damn mirrored ceiling above the bed. I could imagine how our reflection would look as we joined in various positions. Sometimes we were soft and sensual, others fucking and being absolutely feral for each other. I wasn’t sure which way I wanted her more.

Being soft and sensual was sort of foreign to me, making me realize that it seemed more alluring than my usual style of fucking. I finally settled on those images as I stroked myself languidly, panting and sweating as I imagined how her face would look when she came and the soft sounds she would make against my lips as I took her over the edge. It wasn’t long before I had to fight back my own moans of pleasure, turning to my side to bury my face in a nearby pillow as I spilled into the towel.  

I laid there, breathing heavily, now realizing what a long week this was going to be. I didn’t know how I was going to survive it. It was either going to break me or break us. I wasn’t sure which I wanted more.

Next: Week 5 (Part 2)

A/N: Happy Tuesday my lovelies! I'm sure you weren't expecting a new chapter this quick after yesterday's update. Luckily, I didn't have much left to add to the first part and I was able to finish it this morning. 😘

So for part 1, we got Dieter's point of view of how their week in NYC has started. Are we surprised at how nervous he was for SNL? And why? How do you think their first day went? Also, how about that interaction with Dan...Dave? I already forgot his name too...

Anyway, we see what our boy is up against in his sober life. You can bet that won't be the last interaction like that for him. It's really giving Kat a dose of something new that she's never really experienced.

We also got to see a little bit of worried Cat/Plant dad Dieter. He's too damn cute with that and I can't handle it. And we can't forget his reflection on the moment he realized that pesky ring was gone. Poor guy was feeling ALL the things.

Now, can we talk about the flirting? It's only the first day and Dieter already can't behave himself. I'd love to hear your theories on how all this is going to go down. 😂

Also, quick shout out to @quicax3 for sharing that "vertical representation of a horizontal desire" line with me. We can thank Mark Ballas from DWTS for that gem. If there ever was a line to make Dieter lose it, it's that one.

I have some good news! Part 2 is mostly written. I have a few sections I need to go back and add in from where I skipped around. I plan to post that early next week, so you won't have to wait long! That will be a rather LORGE chapter in Kat's POV.

I also have a good chunk of Part 3 written as well. No ETA on that one yet, but I don't think you will have to wait too long after part 2 is posted. Part 3 is where things really go down, so it's going to get a little extra attention from me before posting. It will definitely be smut heavy, but we will also get to see some of their vulnerability too. It will alternate between Dieter and Kat's POV. 👀

As for this chapter's video, I feel it's appropriate to share Jennifer Grey doing the Rumba. We can't talk about Dirty Dancing and not include Baby herself. Enjoy!

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@pedrostories @dieterbravobrainrotclub

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Starlet

Dieter Bravo x Co-Star x Wife Reader

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)  Summary: Your husband has a big movie premiere, sure he looks great, but his co-star looks even better. Warnings: PWP, threesome, smut, fingering, oral (f receiving), lesbian fun, unprotected p in v sex, cum eating, addiction talk, sober Dieter, Kit Kats, I wrote this for the bi girls. Words: 3,750

A/N: This has been a labor of love and horniness. You should all just automatically know I'm thanking @ohheypedrito for always being my sounding board. Also @magpiepills for sharing in my MFF joy. Shout out to "Kiss Me More" by Doja Cat & SZA.

Masterlist

___

Fancy hotel suites might just be the biggest perk of marrying a Hollywood superstar. Room service whenever you want, plush robes to relax in, a balcony view of Los Angeles’ glimmering lights, and a large plush bed perfect to fit two… or three bodies.

Sure, you could have stayed home and waited for the car service to bring Dieter home after the premiere, but when the studio offers a free hotel suite, you and Dieter happily accept. You love to get fucked by your husband in a new bed. 

You’ve just dove into your new book, laid out on the chaise lounge of the balcony, sunning yourself in the early evening Summer sun when your phone dings with its customary Dieter ding. 

He should be getting ready for the movie premiere; what does he need to tell you?

You unlock your phone to a pic of Dieter sadly pointing to a large brown stain on his crisp, light blue shirt. 

Baby, this just happened.  Did you pack a backup? Nope. Do you have anything of mine here? Just your old Rage Against The Machine shirt I was wearing earlier.  Sold. I’ll take it. I’ll send Julien up to grab it.  Go have him buy a shirt. It has holes...  Nope. Now that I thought of having your scent on me all night, I need to wear it. Spray it with that perfume you use… Fine. You win. Love you baby. xoxo

You wonder why his team of publicists, assistants, and agents let Dieter style himself… or why they never remember to pack him an extra shirt.

He’s the love of your life, your uber famous partner, deserving of all of the rekindled fame, now sober and in the best place he’s been, thanks in large amounts to your influence.

You walked into his life weeks after his divorce, a man lost with a floundering career. He was too dangerous to work with, too manic, too unreliable. Then, you came in and helped pick his life up, as a favor to your friend Chrissy, his tenacious agent. You’re never supposed to fall in love with a client, but Dieter was just too irresistibly charming. You fucked him in your office after his third session. All of that hard work and student debt that earned you a psychology degree ended up getting you a diamond on your left ring finger and a dream wedding full of Hollywood elites.

You spritz the faded black shirt with your signature perfume and fold it for Julien to expeditiously deliver back to your husband. The wild life of a celebrity wife…

___

Your phone is propped up against a crystal vase that probably costs more than your first car streaming the red carpet premiere and Q&A of Dieter’s newest movie. You chose to sit this gigantic blockbuster event out, but it doesn’t mean you can’t support him from the comfort of this five star hotel room.

Your heart skips when the camera pans to Dieter getting out of the car. There he is, your celluloid husband, clad in all black, wearing the holey t shirt he just fucked you in before leaving you this afternoon.

The barriered crowd goes wild when they spot him. He smiles that megawatt smile, his signature dimples pressing into his golden skin. He’s so fucking beautiful.

You’re so proud of Dieter, you can hardly believe your husband is the star of the biggest summer film, standing tall and handsome with flash bulbs sparking across his face. You’re enamored by him, even when he’s a tiny square being live-streamed through your phone.

He joins his co-stars for a quick interview, his famous charm and humor is on full display, the crowd, host and co stars all laugh at his jokes. He truly is the golden boy of the red carpet.

You wonder if anybody else notices how he reaches for the hand of Greta, the actress who plays his wife in the film, when he realizes she’s nervous, much the same way he grabs your hand when you get anxious, being dragged to Hollywood parties and random awards shows. He’s always so thoughtful.

The interviewer asks Greta what it was like to act along with Dieter and play his wife. She laughs and blushes, Dieter’s arm rubs up and down her back, cuddling her closer to his body as she explains how wonderful of a man he is, how she felt very lucky to star in a movie with him. 

She’s absolutely stunning in her form fitting gold dress, you’re watching all of this for your husband and yet Greta keeps stealing your attention, lean, elegant, and absolutely radiant. You think to yourself how badly you want to fuck her. 

Dieter and the crew wave to the crowd and cameras thanking everybody for attending the red carpet, you smile at the sight of his gold wedding band before shutting the app down and opening the room service menu. It’ll be two hours until you hear from him after the movie. Time for an episode of Dateline.

___

You’re in a post grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup coma, the cops have just solved the triple homicide in the sleepy New England town when your phone beeps with the Dieter ding. 

Movie’s out. have to deal with after party then back to u. Miss u like crazy xoxoix !! Hi! Have fun!  Did u watch the red carpet? I did. You looked fucking hot.  Ya? I actually liked the shirt, it made me think of this afternoon… Me too baby Greta looked amazing, I was almost watching her more than you. Don’t you think she looked good? Of course I did  I think she likes you… saw a video on Twitter that makes me really see the goddamn chemistry you wouldn’t shut up about during filming. She said i smelled good tonight I told her ur the one to thank She can smell me anytime she wants. 😮 baby... Tell me D, do you miss kissing her now that filming is over? I know how you look at her, I’ve seen the previews and press appearances. Go ahead and tell me, baby.  dunno about miss, but i did like kissing her What if I were to ask you to kiss her tonight… 😮 Oh? And film it for me.  ohhhhhhhhh I can do that for you baby Go find her then.  I’ll be waiting God baby I’m glad i married you Xoxo

The giddiness that courses through your body makes a big smile bloom across your face. You sit back against the soft cushions and imagine Dieter tucking his phone in his pocket and setting forth on his mission. Waiting for it is so hot.

___

The Dieter ding buzzes. You’ve never been this excited to pick your phone up.

Dieter Bravo Attachment: 1 Movie

Your hands are practically shaking when you touch the little bubble on your phone. There, in the freeze frame stands your husband and his beautiful co-star.

You hit play.

Greta smiles at the camera before she purrs out, “Hi, Dieter says this is for you.”

She’s so beautiful in the dim video, her silver eyeshadow glistens under the flash, her big blue eyes already look blown out with lust; you wish you were the one who was about to kiss her plush lips. If she’s willing to do this for him, you don’t doubt for a second how attracted she is to your husband. Dieter winks at the camera before turning to Greta, clutching his hand on her cheek and sealing his lips against hers. It’s… so fucking hot. You can hear the distant sound of laughter and conversation of the party goers just below the sounds of Dieter and Greta’s tongues tangling. You wish you could taste both of them, now you’re really regretting staying back. The camera grows more unsteady the deeper the kiss grows. He sucks her bottom lip, you can almost feel the slight tinge of pain, god you want to feel it. Dieter pulls away, and turns Greta’s face towards the camera. 

“You want to kiss my wife, Starlet?”

“I do,” she answers. 

Dieter lets out a low chuckle before winking at the camera and ending the recording. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You’re already soaked from that short video.

Dieter has been so good during his sober journey, being honest and forthright when he's tempted, allowing the help of counselors and his Narcotics Anonymous sponsor. You've stood by his side as he's made huge strides to conquer his addictions. His old vices are now replaced by a new vice... sex. You're so proud of him, you want to reward him... and yourself.

Jesus Christ D.  U like? Can’t stop thinking about u watching that video baby I like it… a lot. Fuck!  Greta wants to kiss me? Think she wants u more than she wants me... I’d like to meet her. I’d like you to meet her too baby Is she busy after the party? Seems like tonight would be a good night for us to meet. Maybe she wants to come back to our room?  If that’s what u want baby It’s what I want D. Okay baby 

___

The click of the keycard entering the lock alerts you to Dieter and Greta’s arrival. You rise from the couch, smoothing out the wrinkles of your simple blue dress. 

“Hi baby,” Dieter smiles, his eyes twinkling with adoration. 

Greta follows him in, she’s even more beautiful in real life. 

“Hi,” Greta smiles, her eyes spark with lust as she looks you up and down. “Nice to finally meet you.” 

“Yeah,” you breathe out, “you too.”

Dieter’s head bobbles back and forth, caught up in the chemistry that sparks between his wife and his co-star.

There is so much anxiety coursing through you but the sheer desire for Dieter and Greta easily obscures any second thoughts. 

He walks over to you, planting a searing kiss on your lips and wraps you in his strong arms. 

“I missed you baby,” he says before kissing you. He pulls away, his soft, brown eyes roam your face. “Are you sure about this?”

You glance at Greta, focusing on her soft pink lips. “Extremely.”

“Excellent. Now, come here, let me show you off to her,” he grabs your hand and leads you to the middle of the room. “Want to show you my girl, starlet, go ahead and take a seat.” 

Greta sits on the sofa, settling in her dazzling golden dress. You feel underdressed compared to her beautiful designer clothing and Dieter’s close to perfect look. No paparazzi in their right mind would want pictures of you in your pale blue dress, but the way Greta’s eyes roam your body and the way Dieter runs his hands up your back and grabs your ass, you feel like you just won an Oscar.

“See her tits?” Dieter wraps his arms around your torso, bringing his hands up to cup your breasts in his hands cupping around the silk of your dress. “They feel so fucking good in my hands, they’re so soft and bounce in my face so perfectly when she rides me. You want to see her tits starlet?” 

Greta nods.

He slips the straps of your dress down your arms exposing your breasts to the cool hotel air and Greta’s eyes. 

He pulls you against his body, grinding his crotch against you moving his hands back up to cup the weight of your breasts.

Greta watches, blue eyes wide as Dieter pinches and pulls at the peaks of your nipples. 

“Watch this starlet,” he lifts his hand and softly smacks one of your breasts, causing a moan to leave your lips, your body falls even harder against his body. “She fucking loves when I do this.”

His hands snake down your torso, pushing your dress to fall down and pool at your feet leaving you bare naked for Greta to see. 

Her tongue darts out to lick her lips, as her eyes travel over your naked form. 

“Isn’t she magnificent, starlet?”

She arches an eyebrow. “Quite.”

Dieter walks forward, pushing you towards the couch Greta sits on, still looking just like she walked off the red carpet, perfectly put together like a goddess.

He stops at the marble coffee table, grabbing your leg and lifting it to perch on the top. 

His wide hand runs up your leg and pets your thigh.

“You like my wife?” his voice is low and rumbly against you. There's a bit of possessiveness to it.

“I do, she’s gorgeous.”

“She is. Isn’t she?” he says with pride.

His hand moves closer to your pussy, now dripping for him and your guest. “See, starlet, this is my pussy,” your body tenses as he dips a finger through your folds, “and she’s fucking soaked for me.” He brings his finger dripping with your wet to his lips and licks it, a moan leaves his lips when he tastes you. “Come here and taste her.”

Greta rises from the couch, walking over to stand next to Dieter. She's even more exquisite up close.

His hand returns to your pussy, petting and rubbing making you weak in the knees. 

“She’s so fucking wet for us, starlet.” 

You whimper at the sensation of the hard stone of his ring rubbing against your clit. He pulls his hand away, admiring the way your wetness stretches across his fingers.

His fingers are placed against Greta’s lips. She opens her mouth wide, accepting his drenched digits, Dieter groans as she licks your juices off of his skin. 

Just four hours ago, they were watching the premiere of their movie together while you watched a rerun of Dateline… now the three of you are locked in the beginning of a ménage à trois. Isn’t it funny how Hollywood works?

__

Conversation flows easily between the three of you. You love the way Greta teases Dieter, how she laughs at your jokes. She fits perfectly in to your married comfortability.

You’re naked atop Dieter's lap, Greta sits next to you, her hand rests on your thigh lightly petting it almost as an ever present reminder of what the three of you are here to do. You can’t believe how comfortable you are in this situation. 

“Shall we take this to the bed?” Greta offers as you and her share a glass of champagne. Dieter happily sips his Topo Chico, his eyes lit with mirth watching his wife and friend enjoy each other’s company. 

“I’d like that,” you say, turning to her and downing the rest of the glass of bubbly champagne.

“Great,” she smiles, standing up and slinking off her gold dress before laying on the bed and taking her panties off.

“She is… tenacious, isn’t she?” you muse as Dieter hugs you close and kisses your shoulder. 

“She is,” he chuckles.

“You ready?” he asks.

“I’m ready,” you get up from Dieter’s lap, he rises behind you before turning you to face him.

He holds your face in his hands, his brown eyes rounded with softness, an adoring grin on his face. “You really want to do this baby?”

You bark a laugh out. “Honey, she’s already naked in bed, of course I do.”

His eyes darken, his grin replaced with a searing smolder, the same smolder that drives millions of women and men crazy, “I love you.”

“I love you too, now let me eat her cunt while you watch.”

“Jesus, alright baby,” he grabs your hand, leading you to bed before removing his shirt and pants. He takes a seat on the chair by the window to observe.

Greta lays in front of you, splayed out amongst the white sheets, her skin looks so creamy and delectable. You climb over her, smelling the sweet scent of her perfume. She giggles when you knock your nose against hers, a giddy smile is shared between the two of you before locking lips. Kissing her is different from kissing Dieter, gentler, sweeter, softer. Her tongue is much smaller, her whimpers and breaths pitch higher. You lay your body against hers, fuck, she’s just as soft as you thought. Velvety smooth and sweet. Your breasts sit against hers, your soft and her soft resting against each other. Your pussy and hers radiate heat against one another when you angle your hips against hers. You kiss a line down to her neck, nipping and sucking at her skin… she faintly tastes of sugary coconut. You look over at Dieter while kissing, he winks before you stick your tongue out and lick one of her nipples. Delicious. 

God, her tits are perfect. Perky, a little pointy, pink nipples the same exact shade of cherry blossoms, your favorite flowers. Your tongue runs across the small valley between her breasts, sliding across each nipple and back. Sucking hard against each, latching your mouth around it before letting it go with a pop. She’s writhing on the bed from your mouth and hands, your self esteem rockets higher as she loses herself under your touch. 

Her smooth body runs along yours, her delicate hands grab at your skin, clawing and pressing the harder you suck her skin. 

You kiss a trail down her tight stomach, licking grabbing her long legs and spreading them wide to reveal her perfect, milky skin surrounding her pussy. She’s drenched, absolutely dripping with her arousal, you lick up the spilled wetness on the bed sheets before licking up to her pussy. Her bright blue eyes focus on your mouth as you envelop her cunt with it. Buttery smooth and soaked, you taste the familiar hint of coconut in her wetness. Perfect. 

Your tongue dashes against her clit, flattening and swirling, treating her like the glamorous Hollywood star she is by worshiping her beautiful body and cunt. Your tongue licks a line down her sweetness before darting into her sweet hole.

You feel the bed dip behind you, your heart explodes with the thrill of feeling Dieter’s broad body behind you, a large hand digs between your thighs, dipping two thick fingers into your cunt, opening you up for him. His thumb swishes across your clit, your tongue attempts to duplicate his movements against Greta’s pussy. He angles his digits perfectly, hitting that perfect sensitive spot inside of you, causing you to dive even further against Greta’s heat, trying to take every single drop of sweet nectar from her body. You cum all over Dieter’s hands, moaning and whimpering against Greta’s skin. 

Greta clenches around you, her hips grind against your mouth as you lick an orgasm out of her. Your arms reach up to grab her tits and knead them in your hands. 

“That’s my baby,” Dieter coos, pulling his hand from your pussy and slapping it against your ass, causing a loud moan to rumble against Greta's cunt.

He pulls your hips up, your bottom meets the rigid skin of his cock. He taps his thick member against your ass before spreading your legs, you bring two fingers to Greta’s leaking hole waiting for Dieter to take you so you can take her. His thick cock enters you, stretching you with that sweet sting you love to feel. Your fingers mirror his actions, slow pumps in and out of Greta, scissoring to stretch her like Dieter stretches you matching the rhythm of his movements.

His hand splays across your back, petting your spine as he starts slowly, languidly fucking you. The three of you dance to a sensual song, grunts and moan chorusing across the sound of your fingers and Dieter’s cock. It’s beautiful.

You happily suffocate against her pussy, licking through her folds and fucking her with your fingers while Dieter fills your slippery cunt. Your moans are muffled by her skin, Dieter’s grunts echo his thrusts. 

Your body is slick with sweat, face soaked in Greta’s arousal, your cunt clenches around your husband's cock, your tongue sits steady against Greta's pussy as Dieter fucks an orgasm out of you. He holds your shaking hips close as he tells you how good you're taking him, how much he loves watching you eat Greta's pussy.

“This is all–nyugh–for you baby,” he groans, as he pulls out, Greta catches you in her arms as your body falls without his support. “Roll over, roll over baby,” he hoarsely gasps as he strokes his cock. You move to lay on your back, Dieter pulls your legs wide open right before he paints your pussy with his thick white ropes.

Dieter rises off the bed on shaky legs, before flopping his naked body into the chair. “Go on starlet, clean my girl up.”

She moves quickly, like she can’t wait to taste the two of you, settling between your thighs, lifting your legs over her delicate shoulders, spreading you wide open for her mouth. Greta’s breathy moan against your cunt makes your back arch while her tongue cleans your cunt covered in Dieter’s seed. She dips a finger into your entrance, swirling it around your sensitive walls, her one finger is nothing compared to your husband’s thick cock but god, does her gentle touch drive you wild. Her mouth seals over your clit, kissing and sucking your swollen bundle of nerves. Her head rises and lowers with each pump of your hips into the air, dancing right along with you as your pussy rises to another crescendo of an orgasm. You turn your head to look at Dieter, naked with his legs spread wide, sitting like a king on a throne. He mouths “I love you,” out of the lips you crave to kiss as your body tightens and releases with another climax.

Greta brings her lips to yours, licking into your mouth leaving the intoxicating swirl of flavors of your wetness and Dieter’s cum against your tongue. She breathily chuckles at your long exhale before laying next to you, pushing her soft curves against you and hooking her leg over yours. 

Dieter walks over, naked and cocky, your superstar husband is in full effect even in the aftershock of your threesome. He kisses Greta’s cheek and whispers “thanks starlet” before leaning over, kissing your lips and cupping your cheek. “I love you baby,” he says, big brown eyes staring into yours. You return his smile before he turns towards the minibar and grabs a Kit Kat. Greta cuddles in closer to you on the bed, sometimes it’s good to have a movie star husband. 

[qveerthe0ry]

The D-Files

Summary: Something weird happens when Dieter tries to post his X-Files fanfiction Word Count: 14,941 Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Fox Mulder x Dana Scully Rating: 18+ mdni Warnings: threesome, oral (m & f receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected PIV, rimming, d/s undertones, poor explanation of time travel and quantum physics, it's a little cracky tbh Beta: the one and only @for-a-longlongtime obviously A/N: listen. I have ten episodes left of the whole series so if something is totally off and not accurate to x files canon just ignore me :) Also I'm absolutely aware of how completely ridiculous this fic is but I heard the voice of Dieter Bravo speak to me and could not ignore it Ao3 link

Curled up under at least three blankets, in just his underwear, stoned out of his mind (just weed— he’s California sober now) Dieter watches Mulder and Scully shake hands for the first time. 

The first time for them. 

He’s had to have seen this episode at least a thousand times by now. 

He’s in one of those funks again. His therapist calls it a depressive episode, but that’s so dramatic. He’s just a little bit down in the dumps thinking about how worthless he is and how no one’s ever really loved him before, not even his own parents, and how he hates himself so much he’s not sure if he would ever get rid of the guilt of letting someone else love him because he knows he’d just be a waste of their time.

It’s no big deal. Nothing an X-Files rewatch, weed, and a footlong Subway sandwich can’t fix.

Except this time, the way Scully and Mulder instantly mesh so well kind of makes him feel like he smoked too much pot. His stomach’s a little queasy as he watches him give her his undivided attention, and fuck, maybe this is a job above these FBI agents’ pay grade. 

He eyes that stupid notebook on his nightstand, still wrapped in plastic from the Amazon order. 

His therapist told him to start writing his thoughts down in a journal. He doesn’t like writing. It’s not what he does. He can’t stand those actors who think just because they’ve starred in a few movies means they should start writing them, or scrawling down some convoluted, conceited novel. Just fucking act, y’know? 

But as Scully throws herself into Mulder’s arms after knowing him for only a few days, and they both look so comfortable, Dieter rips open the packaging and swallows down the bile threatening his esophagus.

—

I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be doing here. What should I even write down in this thing? How lonely I am? Get in line, right? I’m not the only one. Even though sometimes it feels like I am.

Maybe it feels so bad because I know I did this to myself. Everyone always told me I’d always be a piece of shit. Even when I was young. And I just let their narrative take over and now here I am. The biggest piece of shit. 

It’s like Mulder. Everyone always called him Spooky and said he was too ‘out there’ and he ended up in the basement chasing Bigfoot. 

Except I don’t have a hot redhead in my life to balance me out or slowly fall in love with me.

And I’m not a tall, boyishly handsome, charming FBI agent. 

I’m just a washed-up actor, and a slob, and a drug addict. That’s probably why.

Golly gee, doc, this sure made me feel better.

—

He writes in his journal a bit here and there. He also slowly rots away in his bed, takes far too little showers and far too many THC gummies. He talks to his therapist two weeks later and tells her he’s been writing down his thoughts and her impressed hum and “That’s very good, Dieter” has him riding a high the rest of the afternoon. 

So he keeps it up. 

He doesn’t leave the house much, and when he does, he just wants to get back into his permanently affixed blanket fort to watch more X-Files and get high. 

He writes a little about his day, about what he’s mulling over in his mind. But as he reaches the end of season two, he’s out of his funk enough to start feeling horny again. 

Who wouldn’t, watching the world’s hottest FBI agents on a near constant loop?

So who can blame him when his journal thoughts get a little spicy?

—

God, Mulder’s such an idiot sometimes. So is Scully. They waste so much time getting on each others’ nerves. This entire show is just years-long foreplay. I swear they get off on irritating each other.

I irritate so many people, why aren’t any of them ever turned on about it? 

They should have just let them kiss in the first season. There could have been so much sex. All the motel rooms these two wasted! On the government’s dime, too! 

Rental car sex, alleyway sex, OFFICE sex. The Sex Files. That’s what this show should have been. 

I wonder if Mulder’s better at eating ass or pussy. I just know he’s freaky with all the porn and phone sex hotlines. And the auto erotic asphyxiation thing, can’t forget about that. I’d choke the shit out of him if he wanted that. With my hand or my cock, his choice. 

I wonder if Scully is freaky, too? I think she’d deny it, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she was filthy kinky. She always has to be in control. I wonder if she’d be like that in bed, too? I wonder if she’d get off on torturing me and making me beg. Or maybe she’s always so in control that she wants to relinquish all of it when she’s in bed.

—

Dieter remembers that fanfiction exists shortly after that. 

His dick is raw and he hasn’t even made it through half of the explicit entries on archive of our own. But everything’s so… Vanilla. 

Don’t get him wrong, he’s a total sucker for tender, missionary love-making. But where’s the experimentation? Where’s the creativity? And why the hell does everyone think Fox Mulder is such a dom?

Just look at him.

He’s pathetic. Scully could have him begging on his knees with nothing but the snap of her finger and one of her sexy, stern glances. Maybe he’s projecting a little bit, but not much.

He gripes to his therapist about this while he avoids the topic of his greatest fear being dying without ever having a meaningful relationship in his whole life.

“Have you ever thought about writing your own fanfiction?”

And no, he truly never has. It seems like something so far away from appropriate given his profession. But then again, when has he ever been totally professional?

So he starts writing. At first he finds himself falling into the popular tropes— love confessions and sweet, romantic first times. Just little blurbs in his journal he ends up scrawling out with his pen. There’s enough of that already. He needs to explore the fun stuff with these two.

One night/early morning, he finally grabs his laptop from his rarely-used office. He snuggles up under all the blankets he can find, turns on The X-Files, and gets down to business. 

—

“I’m sorry Scully—”

“Don’t.”

Her icy blue stare pins Mulder in place. His pouty lips close and his sharp jaw clenches as he looks down at his feet.

“You almost got us killed!”

“I wouldn’t have let you get hurt, you know that.”

Scully doesn’t know what comes over her, but she crosses what little distance is between them to grab the back of Mulder’s hair and tug.

His jaw drops and as hard as he tries, he can’t stifle the whimper that slips from his lip. 

“You were reckless with your own life. You can’t— Do you know what I would do if anything ever happened to you?”

Scully’s sharp gaze softens. Tears prickle at Mulder’s eyes, partly from Scully’s death grip and partly because of the way her voice wavers. 

“Scully—”

“Get on your knees.”

——

Dieter fights the heavy, sharp arousal in his gut as he writes Mulder on his knees for Scully. He just knows he’d eat pussy like a champ, what with those sunflower seeds he’s always got between those pillowy lips. He’d be great at sucking cock, too. Dieter thinks they would look so fucking pretty around his own dick.

Or Scully’s strap. 

Perfect.

He stays awake for way too long, writing about Scully trapping Mulder between her thighs for hours, and then making him choke or her strap, and then making him beg and whimper and cry for it as she teases his prostate with her fingers. 

Scully’s so dainty, but the idea of her fucking into her big, tall partner with fury has Dieter leaking into his boxers as he types away. It takes all of Dieter’s willpower to write the sweet aftercare scene. Scully gently cleans up his cum and sweat and tears, telling him what a good boy he was as she pets his hair and kisses his face. 

As soon as Dieter writes the last words, he’s fumbling for his lube and dildo in the bedside drawer. He’s too worked up to prepare properly, and it burns, and he hears Scully’s disappointed tuts in his head as he fucks himself into a mess. 

He whines her name, and Mulder’s name, as filthy images of the two fill his head. 

He comes without even touching his dick. He makes an absolute mess of his sheets and just grinds into the puddle beneath him as he fucks himself through the aftershocks. 

And if he cries a little bit at the thought of two beautiful FBI agents telling him how good he was as they stroke his sweaty skin, that’s between him and his open laptop. 

—

“Do you think I should post my fanfiction?”

His therapist’s perfectly shaped eyebrows perk up. 

“Do you think you should post it?”

“I dunno. Probably not.”

“Why not?”

“Wouldn’t it be a little weird? An actor writing fanfiction about characters his peers portrayed?”

His therapist hums. He knows that’s his cue to keep talking, but they just sit in silence for a bit. 

“Do you want to post it?” She asks. 

He huffs. 

“I don’t know. What if everyone hates it?”

She shrugs and nods at him to continue.

“I’m afraid no one’s gonna read it. Or if they do, they’ll hate it. And leave mean comments.”

“Would that bother you?”

“Well yeah, duh.”

She hums again. Dieter rolls his eyes, half at her but half at himself. 

“I know, I know,” he sighs, “I’m a walking contradiction. I crave praise but I’m too afraid to put myself out there to receive any.”

“That’s not necessarily true. You’re an actor. It’s your job to put yourself out there and be consumed and reviewed.”

“Yeah but that’s not me, it’s just the guy they tell me to play.”

His therapist smiles. 

Shit. 

“I think you know what you need to do, Dieter.”

He does leave that therapy session crying, thirty minutes later. If he had a tail, it would be between his legs. 

It takes him six days to work up enough courage to even make an account. And then another two days to pour over every single word he wrote, change it, change it back, wash rinse and repeat. 

When he finally works up the nerve to post it, his laptop dies just as he’s about to press the publish button. 

You gotta be kidding me, he thinks, maybe this is a sign.

But then he thinks about what his therapist would say, that things that are worth it rarely come easy, and that he should probably stop assuming everything is a sign, and so he plugs his laptop in and waits for it to charge enough to come back to life. 

It’s the longest four minutes of his life. 

He stares at the black screen in silence. He blinks at his reflection as he listens to the storm brewing outside his window, only flinching slightly as lightning illuminates his dark room. 

His heart leaps up into his throat when the screen lights up again. Everything’s right where he left it. All he has to do is press that little button. 

He takes one, two, three deep breaths with his finger on the trigger and then—

CRACK

—

Everything hurts. Like, bad.

Dieter groans and tries to blink his eyes open. It’s bright. He’s no stranger to waking up in an unfamiliar place with a terrible headache and no recollection of how or why he’s there. However, he hasn’t touched a party drug in a year and a half, and hasn’t even been to a party for even longer than that. 

He finally blinks away the sleep in his eyes. He’s on the cold ground. The grass is plush and dewy under him. When he sits up, the world spins around him for a few moments and he just barely keeps his stomach from emptying. 

He checks his pockets. At least he has his phone on him. No wallet, though. And he’s in his pajamas, which is fine, not unusual attire for most of his outings. 

He goes to unlock his phone but of course it’s dead. 

Shit. 

He looks around a bit more and all this scenery does not look like Los Angeles. There are hills in the distance that are much more rolling than the jagged peaks in California. The smell of campfire fills the air and it’s humid, he realizes. Stiflingly so. 

He stands up. His joints ache even more than they usually do, stiff and popping. When he runs his hand through his hair he’s got wicked bed head. 

At least he can make out a dirt path amongst the grass and trees around him. He follows it for a while, and just as he thinks he might be wandering to his own death out in the boonies he sees a little shack in the clearing just by what seems to be a lake. 

It looks… Strangely familiar, despite the fact that he’s certain he’s never been here before. There’s a sign that reads “Bait & Tackle” that’s seen better days and a big giant inflatable… something tied down to the roof. 

He scratches his head as he stares. He has the feeling of something being on the tip of his tongue, but it’s on the tip of his brain instead. 

As he approaches, a high-pitched growl startles him out of his daze. His eyes frantically search for the source, and as he walks closer he spots it.

A tiny little yappy Pomeranian, tan and fluffy. 

It hits him all at once. 

He gasps and moves toward the fiesty little thing as his heart pounds. There’s no way…

It snarls and yaps at him as he crouches down to greet it— him. 

Once he starts giving the dog butt pats and head scratches, it warms up to him pretty quickly. He searches for the dog tag hiding under all that fur and gasps as he reads it.

QUEEQUEG

“Oh my god, Queequeg, I thought I’d never see you again, buddy.”

The pup wags his tail at the sound of his name and Dieter goes down on his knees to accept him into his lap. 

“How are you real? What’s happening?”

Tears well at Dieter’s eyes as he holds this fictional dog in his arms, who’s been dead since season 3. Sue him, he’s very confused and vulnerable and it was the most devastating death of the series by far.

As he pets the derpy little thing, he tries to wrap his head around everything that’s going on. Last he remembers, he was holding his breath and clicking the mouse pad and now he’s here, in the middle of nowhere Georgia if he remembers his X-Files trivia correctly. 

Which means this sweet little pup is going to die in this… episode? And if he’s in the episode, that means—

“Hey! What are you doing? That’s my dog!”

Dieter’s heart pounds, heavy and fast, like he’s done way too much coke. He looks up with wide eyes and it’s unmistakable, her bright red hair and sexy scowl and the lanky handsome man attached to her hip. 

“Scully?”

Dieter watches her face twist up in confusion, and watches Mulder’s eyebrows raise with a smirk on his face as he looks between him and his partner. 

“You know this guy, Scully?”

She squints at Dieter as they walk closer. He feels very warm under her gaze. He pets Queequeg’s head for comfort.

“No, I don’t. What’s your name?”

Dieter clears his throat. 

“You don’t recognize me?”

Mulder presses his lips together, trying to hide his amused smile as he nudges Scully’s side. 

“Should I?”

“Wait… what year is it?”

Scully’s face turns from annoyed to concerned. She kneels down in front of Dieter and looks into his eyes, and her gaze is too heavy, it spears right through him. 

“It’s 1995. Are you concussed?”

“No, I don’t think so. I mean— Maybe. Probably, to be honest. It’s 1995?”

“Has been for five months, now,” Mulder supplies. 

Dieter nods. 

“Do you know where you are?”

“I think so… listen. You guys aren’t gonna believe this— well, Mulder might believe it— But I’m from the future.”

Scully’s concerned gaze turns right back to annoyed very quickly, and she stands back up to cross her arms. 

Mulder just chuckles. 

“How do you know our names?” He asks.

Dieter feels a little weird on the ground while they’re staring down at him, in a horny way, so he gently places Queequeg back on the gravel to stand up himself.

“Would you believe it if I said I’m from an alternate reality where you guys are the main characters in a cult classic sci-fi television series?”

Mulder blinks at him. Dieter shrugs with a sheepish grin.

“Honestly? That’s more believable than the time travel.”

Dieter smirks. 

“That’s such a Scully thing to say.”

“That is such a Scully thing to say,” Mulder agrees. 

“Oh my god.”

“I can prove it! I swear. C’mon, let’s get this little guy safe and sound in your cabin and I’ll prove everything.”

Mulder shrugs, and gives Scully one of his looks, the c’mon, let’s see where this goes look that Dieter’s so used to seeing. 

She just scoffs.

“Mulder, we don’t have time for this. People are dying left and right, you’re on a wild sea-monster chase, and half the town is—”

“Wait, Scully, look at this guy. He’s going to tell you another body’s been found in the lake. Well— half of a body.”

They all turn to the man running up from the docks, and sure enough, it plays out almost exactly how Dieter remembers from the episode. Scully’s very focused on the legs floating in the lake, but Mulder keeps eyeing him in a way that makes him wish he was wearing something more than just flimsy pajama pants. 

“Scully…” Mulder mumbles as they walk back toward their car, “I think we should hear him out.”

“Hear him out!? We should be shoving him in handcuffs, he’s the only suspect we have that isn’t mythical.”

“I’d be into that, actually,” Dieter says, holding his hands out toward them, wrists pressed together. 

Scully grimaces and Mulder smirks but he drapes an arm around her shoulder in a way that seems suspiciously protective. 

“There’s not enough evidence to cuff him, but we can at least keep him close and see what else we can get out of him.” 

“Mulder—”

“If anything, he can just dogsit for us.”

The way they’re talking about him like he’s not even there makes the tips of his ears burn.

“I’d love to dogsit! I miss Queequeg.”

“What do you mean you miss him? He’s right here.”

Dieter winces. 

“Actually that’s a big plot point in this episode,” Dieter whispers.

They stop at the car and Scully glares at him, and Mulder looks a little bit like he’s just brought a stray dog home without her permission. Dieter kinda likes it.

“You never told us your name,” Scully grills.

“Dieter. Dieter Bravo.”

Mulder huffs. 

“What kind of name is Dieter Bravo? Do you do adult films?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Fox?”

The way the giggle bubbles up out of Scully’s chest makes him preen. 

“Alright. Where do you live, Dieter?”

He winces and scratches the back of his neck.

“Los Angeles.”

“Oh brother,” Scully grumbles. 

“How did you get here then?”

“Y’know, it’s the weirdest thing. I was writing a fanfiction about the two of you and when I went to post it, I think lightning struck my house and sent me here.”

The two agents stare at him in silence for so long that Dieter has the time to question every single moment that has led up to this. He determines that this is all his therapist’s fault when Mulder finally clears his throat. 

“You can bunk with me until we get everything sorted out, alright?”

Dieter straightens up and salutes him.

“Yes, sir, Agent Mulder.”

Scully rolls her eyes and turns to open the car door for him, but Mulder smirks.

“I think I kinda like this guy, Scully.”

——

Mulder’s nice enough to let him shower and lend him spare clothes that aren’t caked in mud and grass stains, once they’re back at the cabin. He cleans up in silence trying to wrap his head around this entire pickle he’s in, and how to go about making them believe him.

He’s got his work cut out with Scully, he knows this. But he works over every bit of information he can remember from each season, each episode, to remember something that couldn’t be denied. 

They’re doing their Scully and Mulder thing when he comes out with damp hair and Mulder’s clothes on. (He definitely had to will away a half-chub at the thought of being wrapped in his things.) 

They sit around the small living room with photos and paperwork all sprawled out and Dieter feels like geeking out a little bit. This is like the world’s greatest and most interactive X-Files museum. 

“Okay. I’m going to try to do this in the best way I know how. Just— Bear with me.”

They sit back in their seats, and Dieter lifts Queequeg onto his lap to take his place on the couch. He waits for them to give him a go-ahead, but neither of them are responsive. He tries not to feel so aroused by their focused gazes. Maybe he should have jerked off in the shower, as a precaution.

“Okay then… let’s see… this is Season 3, Episode… 22? So. You guys just went through the whole Skinner thing, right? With his— his bad dreams lady killing that prostitute?”

“How do you know Skinner?”

“I told you, it’s a TV show. Skinner’s always busting your balls. Big tough assistant director business. He’s actually just a softy though, I think.”

Scully looks disinterested and a little annoyed, but Mulder’s starting to shift forward in his seat.

“What’s the show called?”

“The X-Files.”

Scully snorts. 

“How creative.”

“Okay, okay, I know. It sounds whacky. But I’ve seen the show a billion times over, I’ve been unknowingly preparing for this moment since the pilot aired.”

He takes a moment to determine what to say and how to word it before he continues.

“Okay… Well… Your first case together was that weird kid in Oregon that kept helping aliens abduct his classmates. Scully conveniently missed the UFO though. Ever the skeptic. Then… let’s see… Deep Throat turns up in the next episode. Scully, he ended up dying in your arms and his last words were trust no one.”

“Mulder, we’ve been bugged for 90 percent of the time we’ve known each other, this doesn’t mean anything.”

Dieter huffs and Mulder shrugs. 

“Keep going. Give us a deep cut, man. You gotta try harder than that.”

“When did you become the skeptic, Mulder?” 

The agent shrugs and raises his eyebrows to urge him to continue. 

“Okay… Scully, when you were at your god son’s birthday party, you told your friend that Mulder is a jerk.”

“Hey, what the hell, Scully?”

“No, I said he was just—”

“Obsessed with his work, yeah. After you called him a jerk though.”

Dieter hates to see the way Mulder’s eyebrows draw up in the middle. It’s kind of funny to see Scully so embarrassed, though. He figures he’ll keep what else she said to himself, about him being cute, because it looks like she’s praying that he doesn’t blab about it.

“You wound me, Scully.”

“Oh, yeah, and there’s the time you shot Mulder in the shoulder.”

“You’re kind of a bully, y’know?”

Scully shoves at his shoulder to prove their point, and Mulder just laughs and leans into it. 

“Do you want to know what happens in the future? Wait, if I affect the future will the show be different? I dunno how I feel about that… new X-Files episodes in 2024 would be incredible. But what if the new episodes suck, though?”

“2024? That’s what year you’re going with?” 

Dieter nods. 

“It kinda sucks. We have smartphones and streaming services and stuff but also, you wouldn’t believe who the last president was if I told you. Also there was a global pandemic. Still kinda is one, but everyone’s just ignoring it. Actually, come to think of it, you guys would thrive in 2024.”

“Do we die before then?”

“Oh, no, no, the show just finished. And then came back and then— it’s a whole thing. But neither of you die.”

“Hmm.”

Mulder hums, and Dieter knows exactly what he’s thinking. Scully too, by the faraway look on her face. Total idiots. Why couldn’t he have landed at least after the first kiss. Or even the almost-kiss?

“Well, I’m tired, and this case isn’t going to solve itself. And Queequeg needs to go potty, so, I think we’re done here.”

Dieter’s whole body feels hot, like the time he was stabbed in the chest with that epi-pen. He shoots up off the couch so fast that Queequeg yelps and hops down to cower behind Scully’s ankles.

“Wait! It’s an alligator. Literally. It’s just an ordinary alligator killing these people. And if you let Queequeg walk into the woods he’s going to get eaten and if there’s one single thing you believe me about it has to be this, okay? For Queequeg’s sake.”

Dieter’s got his hands clasped in front of him, pleading. Scully looks startled and Mulder looks awed, but he’s desperate to drive this point home. 

“…Okay. I’ll keep him close. Thank you.”

They think he’s crazy. Scully does, at least. Mulder’s just quiet, uncharacteristically so. 

“Thank you.”

“Alright,” she sighs, grabbing Queequeg’s leash and hooking him up, “goodnight guys.”

“Goodnight Scully.”

Dieter sighs and sits back down. 

“She thinks I’m insane, doesn’t she?” 

“Welcome to the club.”

Dieter chuckles and looks to Mulder. He’s still got that pensive look on his face. It suits him, all brooding with that fucking jawline and those plush lips and sad eyes. He wants to kiss him so bad. He almost says it out loud, so used to his horny musings while watching this guy on TV that his filter is a little out of whack. 

Dieter doesn’t even realize he’s staring until Mulder tilts his head at him, confused. He opens his mouth and takes a breath but the door ripping open cuts him off. 

“Mulder, there’s something in the woods; Dieter was right. I think we should check it out.”

Mulder jumps up at her beck and call and seeing it in person is even more overwhelming, how he follows her without question and trusts her, so eagerly. 

“Queequeg?”

“He’s here, can you watch him?”

Dieter nods.

“Me? Yeah, yes ma’am, Agent Scully.”

He doesn’t miss the amused look on her face just before the door slams shut behind them. 

He lies on the couch with Queequeg on his chest, enjoying the silence after the… everythingness of his day. He really wishes he could smoke some pot, but even if he could get his hands on some, he’s sure it would be weak as hell. And there’s the FBI agent thing. 

Dieter’s not sure how long he’s been staring at nothing and snuggling Queequeg when the cabin door finally opens again. 

“Did you catch the alligator?”

The eerie silence he’s met with makes him whip his head around. Scully and Mulder are staring at him. He’s pretty sure 80 percent of his X-Files fantasies have started exactly like this. 

“… We did. We caught it just in time to save Ted Bertram.”

“That’s the guy with the lake monster feet, right?”

They both nod slowly. 

Queequeg hops down from his perch on Dieter’s chest, so he sits up. 

“I told you. You guys believe me now?”

He watches as Mulder nods his head yes and Scully shakes her head no. All he can do is shrug and start wondering what’s next for him, in the year of 1995.

“Hey, do you guys need an assistant? I could tell you how to solve the next case! I think it’s the one with the mind control cable. Mulder, are you really red-green color blind? I think that was a major plot hole. How do you tell the difference between human blood and alien blood if one is red and one is green, then?”

“Mulder’s not colorblind,” Scully says. 

“Uhh… Actually, yeah. I am.”

“What? How did you pass the color vision test?”

“I’m colorblind, not an idiot. I can still tell them apart, they just look different to me than they would to you.”

“I— I can’t believe you’ve been colorblind this entire time.” 

Mulder shrugs. Then his brow quirks up.

“Why does that matter?”

“I’m not sure I should tell you. It might mess with the space-time continuum and— quantum physics, you know?”

Scully’s clearly had enough. She sighs and finally kicks off her shoes. 

“I’m grabbing a shower and clearing my head,” she says, “don’t— don’t let him out of your sight for now, Mulder.”

Mulder nods and half smiles at her. They both look pretty tired. He wants to remind them that he’s the one who traveled 29 years into the past today, but it seems like a pretty sore subject. 

They stand still and silent in the living room until Scully closes her bedroom door behind her, Queequeg in tow.

“You heard the woman. There’s a TV in my room.”

Mulder nods toward the other bedroom door and Dieter follows dutifully.

“Does it get the good channels?”

He hears Mulder chuckle and watches from behind as he sheds his jacket. He admires all those lean muscles in his back, now that he’s not wearing one of those god awful baggy suits. Maybe he should suggest a tailor, he thinks, and wonders if the later seasons would be filled with more eye candy if he did. 

“You know about that?”

“All the video tapes that aren’t yours? And the hotline lady that leaves messages on your answering machine? Yeah. You wouldn’t believe what porn is like in thirty years. You’re gonna love it.”

Dieter’s torn between looking away and staring shamelessly while Mulder unbuttons his fly. He settles for nonchalant, hoping his eyes don’t pop out of their sockets like a cartoon character when he notices the outline of Little Mulder. This is even better than the gray sweatpants in the Humbug episode. 

“I was hoping to kick the habit in thirty years’ time, actually.”

Dieter shrugs and his staring contest with Mulder’s crotch ends abruptly as he slides into a pair of pajama pants. Which is weird, because usually Mulder sleeps in his underwear. Must be the fact that he’s sharing a cabin with Scully.

Mulder throws Dieter the remote and settles onto the bed. There’s no couch in here, not even a cuck chair, so Dieter settles next to him. His whole body burns. God, if 20-year-old Dieter could see himself now, he’d ruin the pants he was wearing. 

The silence feels a little awkward, so he turns the TV on. Nineties TV is so simple. It’s easy to settle on a channel playing Invasion of the Body Snatchers and sink into the mattress under him. 

It only takes a few moments before he realizes Mulder’s staring holes into the side of his face. 

“What’s up?” Dieter asks. 

There’s so little room between them it’s making Dieter’s entire body throb along with his pulse. 

“You’re telling the truth.”

Dieter nods and tries to give him a reassuring smile. Mulder sighs and throws his head back onto the pillow. His eyes close and his brows furrow and his jaw does that sexy clenching thing again. It’s all Dieter can do to not bite at it and soothe the sting with his tongue. 

“What happens to us?”

Dieter clears his throat.

“I mean— I know, you shouldn’t affect the future, yadda yadda. I just…”

Fuck it, Dieter thinks, if I’ve already solved the case way before the episode is supposed to end, I’ve thrown everything off anyway.

“You end up together.”

Mulder lets out a big, long breath. His face instantly relaxes. His hands flex by his sides and Dieter goes out on a big giant limb and grabs one of them.

Mulder starts at the touch, but lets it happen. 

“When?”

“Way later than you should have shacked up, in my opinion.”

He grumbles. 

“My opinion, too.”

“You should make a move, then. I’m pretty sure at this point she’s only waiting for you to make a move.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Oh, it’s a whole thing involving a shapeshifting guy with a tail. Trust me. She’s got it just as bad.”

They’re still holding hands. Mulder hasn’t moved a muscle. An idea so bright pops into Dieter’s head that he’s certain there’s a lightbulb floating above him. 

“You know when you met Bambi on that cockroach case?”

Mulder nods. 

“She was so jealous. Didn’t you pick up on that?”

“I— I thought so. But I also thought she was just annoyed with me, y’know, how she usually is.”

Dieter squeezes his hand. 

“She was annoyed because she’s into you, dude. It was envy. Very, very clearly.”

He hums. 

“So? What now? Do I apologize for something that happened months ago? You apparently know Scully as well as I do, how do you think that’ll blow over? ‘Hey, sorry I made you jealous because you have a big fat crush on me.’ She’d deck me.”

Dieter shakes his head. 

“No, man. You need to make her jealous. So jealous she can’t deny why she’s upset with you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, and I mean, why not just start right now, y’know? Get a head start on the whole thing. I mean, you’re here, I’m here, there’s only one bed…”

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were coming onto me.”

“I would love to come on you, actually.”

Mulder laughs, and Dieter deflates a little at the sound. But when he goes to pull his hand away, Mulder cinches it in his own. 

“Dieter…”

“Mulder.”

“We’re doing this, then?”

Dieter nods like an overexcited puppy wagging its tail. Oh my god. Oh my god. Fox Mulder in his prime, how fucking lucky can one guy be?

Mulder glances at the door to make sure it’s open. The faint sound of running water can be heard from Scully’s room, and he thinks he smells her shampoo wafting out with the steam. 

Like two nervous teenagers, they shift to face one another. Dieter brings their joined hands together on his own hip. Mulder’s palm is warm on his skin where his shirt rides high, and it makes Dieter’s breath hitch. 

Slowly, Dieter urges him to keep his hand still with a squeeze before mirroring Mulder’s, creeping his hand under his shirt and feeling his solid, trim waist.

Mulder hums into his touch and Dieter realizes this man is possibly just as touch-starved as he is. He starts swirling circles into his skin with his thumb and inches forward, but those beautiful hazel eyes hold apprehension in their timid gaze.

“What if this blows up in my face?” Mulder whispers.

“It won’t. I guarantee it. I’ll make sure of it. Trust me?”

A soft grin tugs at Mulder’s lips and he nods, and it’s all the permission Dieter needs.

Christ, his lips are soft. Soft and plush and exactly how Dieter imagined only a million times better. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this good, not on any drug, and they’re just kissing. 

It’s chaste until he feels Mulder’s tongue prod at the seam of his lips and then it’s filthy. As soon as Dieter opens his mouth to him, Mulder takes it with a grunt. His blunt nails dig into the soft flesh at Dieter’s hip as he traces the arch of his bottom teeth. Dieter tries to keep up, but his brain constantly shorts out at the thought of who’s tongue is poking and prodding around in his mouth. 

He’s a great fucking kisser. His tongue tickles the roof of Dieter’s mouth and it makes him shiver, makes his cock swell against his borrowed sweatpants, against Mulder. 

He doesn’t seem deterred. Quite the opposite actually. He tugs Dieter by the hip and presses his own solid prick right up against Dieter’s, and they both groan into the sloppy kiss. 

“It’s been quite a while,” Mulder says. 

Dieter can’t tell if the huffed little laugh is directed toward the eager way he chases Mulder’s lips, or toward himself for being out of practice. He likes the thought of either. 

“For me, too,” Dieter mumbles. 

Mulder hums and rolls his hips. As their dicks press together and twitch, Dieter decides they are not naked enough by any means. 

He presses his hand up, up, bringing Mulder’s shirt with it and grabbing a handful of his sturdy pec, admiring how stiff it feels under his palm when his lungs inflate. He gets with the program, and Dieter pulls his own shirt over his head, then promptly salivates over all the lean muscles and wiry hair and pale skin in front of him. 

“Fuck,” he breathes.

It’s not until Mulder’s breath hitches does he realize he might actually be into this, not just their plan, but being here in bed with Dieter. His pretty hazel eyes are dark now, pupils blown out, and his chest is heaving, and the tent in his pajama pants is far too enticing to resist. 

Dieter reaches down to cup him through the flannel material and Mulder gasps and falls flat onto his back. His eyes close and his jaw hangs open like an invitation. Dieter wiggles and shifts to press up against the length of his side and to finally press his face into the crook of his neck. 

The hint of aftershave that’s been teasing him all day is now overwhelming his senses, sharp and spicy. Dieter is delighted to know that his skin tastes just as delicious as it smells, salty and heady under his tongue. Mulder’s prick throbs in his grasp and Dieter’s torn between wanting to tease him over his pants and feel the hot skin of his cock in his palm. 

“Feels good,” Mulder whispers. 

“Yeah?”

“Mmm.”

Dieter nips at his racing pulse first, then down to his jaw and the impressive five o’clock shadow he’s always been jealous and in awe of. The prickly hairs there tickle his tongue and lips, and he grinds into the outside of Mulder’s thigh for a bit of relief. 

“You think about Scully doing this?” 

The way Mulder’s dick jolts in his grasp is answer enough, but he speaks up anyway. 

“Yes.”

The admission is so hot it makes Dieter’s brain spin. He himself has thought of it many times before, Scully torturing him with teasing touches, her little sharp canines digging into his flesh, but the thought of Mulder thinking of it too… 

All those heated glances Dieter’s mulled over, he wonders how many of those were fueled by Mulder’s dirty thoughts about her. Wonders how many times he’s seen a flash of something in Mulder’s gaze and it’s been him fantasizing about getting Scully in bed. 

Dieter huffs against the heated skin of Mulder’s neck before he pulls back. His head his thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, and he’s fucking gorgeous. He lightens his touch, teases the underside of his cock with one fingertip, and delights in the pleasure scrawled across Mulder’s face. 

“How often?”

Mulder’s gravelly chuckle is cut off by a low groan when Dieter presses against his sac over his pajamas. 

“All the time,” he confesses, “every time.”

“In the office?”

Mulder whimpers and nods his head. 

“On the job, in the field?”

“God yes.”

Dieter hums, squeezes his balls to goad him into continuing.

“When she— when she’s so serious, it’s hot. She’s so smart, it turns me on.”

Dieter smirks. He completely sympathizes.

“You like it when she debunks you?”

Mulder whines and nods his head again. Dieter tries his hardest not to react to the sound of the water shutting off across the cabin, or Scully’s door creaking open. Instead, he shoves his hand down Mulder’s pants and hopes to god he keeps his eyes closed, hopes Scully’s ever present need to call out his name is tampered down when she inevitably hears him talking. 

Mulder gasps and raises his hips into the circle of Dieter’s hand, and his brows furrow as he shuts his eyes even tighter.

“Why?”

Mulder moans. 

“Because she— she balances me out. Makes me feel even. Whole.”

Dieter chuckles. 

“Aww, does she complete you, Foxy?” 

He scoffs but bites his lip when Dieter thumbs at his head and spreads his slick, sticky pre-cum all around. 

“Tell me what you think about, Mulder.”

His breathing is so ragged that Dieter thinks he should maybe be concerned. But he can tell things are about to come to a head, can hear Scully’s little footsteps inching closer to their room, pointedly quiet. 

“Her, I think about her body against mine. And touching her.”

As if on cue, fiery red hair peeks through the door frame. Dieter’s got his free hand up and a finger at his lips before Scully’s face can even twist up in concern and shock. He gives her a pleading look as she stands stock-still and wide-eyed. 

“Where would you touch Scully, if she was here?”

“Everywhere. Anywhere she wants me to. I just wanna make her feel good.”

Dieter turns his head back to Mulder to confirm that his eyes are still closed. They are, positively scrunched shut as sweat threatens to penetrate his brows and slip into his eyes.

“Do you wanna taste her?” 

Mulder’s breath hitches and his cock pulses and dribbles more against Dieter’s hand. 

“Yes, yes, so bad. I think about it every time I— every time I touch myself.”

Dieter turns back to Scully. Her hair is damp and her silky pajama top is unbuttoned more than it was just a moment ago. It just barely hides her heaving chest and he has a hard time not giving her away when he realizes his plan is working. Her lips are parted and wet, like she’s licked them, and god he really fucking hopes they don’t kick him out once this all comes to a head. 

“You do?” 

“Mm-hmm,” Mulder nods, “I could spend the rest of my life down there and die happy.”

Dieter chuckles then, and Mulder does too, but he opens his eyes. It takes him just a second to blink and adjust but, ever the vigilant one, his eyes jolt toward the now closed bedroom door and Scully standing in front of it. His body goes stiff and still, aside from his prick, which twitches wildly in Dieter’s grasp. 

Mulder’s voice cracks amusingly around Scully’s name. She crosses her arms and lifts one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows as she shuffles to the foot of the bed. 

“Boys.”

Dieter smiles sheepishly at her. Mulder’s staring and gaping like a fish out of water, all tense now, one elbow on the bed so he can prop himself up. Dieter doesn’t miss the way Scully’s eyes trace over his naked torso or the activity going on at the front of Mulder’s pajamas. 

“Is it true, Mulder?”

He’s nodding his head before she can even finish the question. 

“Yeah, Scully. I—” 

He cuts himself off when Dieter squeezes and strokes him, and Scully’s gaze is locked on the movement.

“It certainly feels like the truth,” Dieter supplies. 

Mulder whimpers under him and Dieter swears he sees Scully’s ears perk up at the sound, like some kind of predator. 

“Mulder, c’mere.”

God, the way he follows so readily, like he always does, it warms Dieter’s heart just as much as it makes his dick throb. He kneels on the edge of the bed right in front of her. His cock is protruding obscenely out in front of him, but Scully doesn’t seem to care about that. 

No, she’s focused on his face instead where it’s settled gently between her dainty hands. God, the way they look at each other is so fucking intoxicating. Dieter’s bound by it, physically stuck on the mattress as he watches. 

Her brows furrow slightly as she looks at him, but Mulder’s face is slack, almost dazed as he meets her eyes. 

“What did he tell you, Mulder?” 

Mulder shifts awkwardly from knee to knee. His mouth opens and closes a few times, and she giggles under her breath. 

“You’re not in trouble.”

Dieter laughs, and god, it’s so fucking weird. It’s like he’s watching a director’s cut. 

Mulder sighs, though. 

“We end up together, Scully. You and me. And I— I believe it. I believed it long before this guy showed up, and it… Out of everything I believe, everything I’ve been working toward… it might be the only belief I have that keeps me going.”

Scully’s gaze grows soft as his confession, and Dieter refrains from squealing in delight at how sweet Mulder sounds and how Mulder it all is.

“Why now, then?”

Mulder huffs and tries to turn away, but she keeps his face tight in her grasp. His cheeks are so pink. 

“Just worked up the guts, I guess.”

Dieter doesn’t miss the quick flicker of Scully’s eyes down to his lips. His fingers twitch with the urge to smash their faces together. 

She sighs and brushes some errant strands of hair from Mulder’s forehead. 

“Well,” she says, and her voice wavers with a heavy breath, “I’m glad one of us did.”

Mulder visibly melts. His shoulders slump and he leans forward into her touch. His face loses all of that tension from earlier, and his lips look loose when Scully’s own finally brushes against them. 

He’s so gentle with her, in a way he definitely wasn’t with Dieter. His hands are nearly hovering over her with how lightly he places them on her waist. His lips stay slack and still as he lets her control the kiss. The only thing giving him away is the comical bobbing of his prick disrupting the front of his pajamas, and there’s no way Dieter can blame him for that. 

One of Scully’s hands tangles in Mulder’s hair and produces a beautiful, high pitched sound that Dieter and Scully both react to. 

She pulls away. Mulder chases her lips, but her grip on his hair tightens. He curses under his breath with a face more flushed than Dieter’s ever seen on him.

Her eyes flicker over to Dieter and he feels like a deer in headlights. Why is he still here? Is this weird, is he being a creep for staying? 

“C’mere,” she mumbles, tipping her head to urge him to kneel right beside Mulder on the bed. 

He does, of course he does. He wants to be good for her, for them.

He kneels, shoulder to shoulder with the man panting beside him. He grasps his hands behind his back and waits patiently as she looks the both of them over. 

“What did I walk in on, Dieter?”

The way his name sounds coming from her low, rasping voice makes his spine tingle. 

“It was my idea, Agent Scully. I was trying to make you jealous. I’m sorry.”

She clicks her tongue and the noise makes his cock throb. 

“And you went along with this plan?”

She looks back to Mulder and Dieter shivers. He instantly misses the warmth of her gaze. 

“I— yeah. I did... It worked, didn’t it?”

Scully’s eyes narrow, and Dieter can’t tell if Mulder’s an idiot or a genius for riling her up. He should have known Fox Mulder would be a brat. He thinks if he plays his cards right, maybe Scully will forget the whole plot and he can be her good boy while Mulder gets punished for his smart mouth. 

A whimper falling from Mulder’s parted lips knocks him out of his daze and he notices Scully’s grip all tight in his floppy hair. 

Fuck, he wishes that were him. Maybe he should mouth off too, maybe then he’ll get the attention that he craves. 

“Get on your knees, Mulder.”

“I am on my knees.”

Dieter gasps as Scully tugs on his hair and leaves him no choice but to scramble off of the edge of the bed, lest she rip all that perfectly coiffed hair out of his head. His shoulders rise and fall with baited breath when he’s finally sunken his knees on the gaudy rug on the hardwood floors. Dieter whimpers and no one’s even touching him. 

“You too, time bandit.”

Dieter gets whiplash with how quickly he gets on his knees for her. He breathes out a labored ‘yes ma’am’ and Mulder throws him a look of disbelief. He shrugs, what can I say?

They’re both rock hard for her, on the floor, staring up at her. She looks like an angel, or the devil, or maybe like God herself. Her breathing is suspiciously calm compared to their own, even though her nipples create tantalizing nubs at the front of her silk pajamas. 

“Keep your eyes forward, both of you.”

Dieter nods at her commanding voice. He wants to look to Mulder for— direction? Comfort? Some kind of trauma bonding? But he doesn’t. He wants to be good. 

He hears Scully behind them, bed creaking under her weight, sheets ruffling underneath her. There’s a pregnant pause where all of their heavy breathing can be heard and the anticipation is so much Dieter might explode on the spot. 

“Strip.”

Twin breaths release from both Dieter and Mulder and he swears he hears her giggle behind them. He’s quick to comply, tugging at the drawstring of Mulder’s sweats he’s borrowed and awkwardly shuffling them off while he tries to stay kneeling. 

He notices Mulder still motionless beside him. 

“Scully…”

Idiot, Dieter thinks. 

“Good boy, Dieter, doing exactly what I say.”

He can’t help the satisfied smirk that twists his lips up, or the way the back of his neck burns at the praise. In his peripheral, Mulder hastily shucks his pajama pants. 

He has a pretty cock. Dieter knew he would. Everything else about him is pretty. It’s long and lean, just like he is, and the upward curve of it makes him jealous. It’s going to feel so good for Scully, if she lets him fuck her. 

There’s more shuffling behind them, and he flinches when a pair of satin pajama pants land on the floor in front of both of them. He has to dig his nails into his thighs to resist the urge to turn around. Something nudges his arm. He doesn’t dare move his head, but from the corner of his eye he sees a pale, smooth leg and his breath catches in his chest. 

He hears Mulder curse under his breath and can nearly feel the tension in him vibrating out energy into this rickety old cabin. Dieter feels a gentle hand in the short curls at the back of his neck just a moment later, her nails scraping his scalp just right, and his leg may just start shaking like a dog’s.

“You want to taste me, Mulder?”

“Fuck yes, Scully, please.”

She hums. Her hand in Dieter’s hair stills. 

“Go on, then.”

A lightning flash of movement stirs beside him, but Dieter keeps dutifully still. He’s twitching in anticipation but he doesn’t dare turn to look. 

Scully sighs, all breathy and high-pitched, and Dieter’s never heard a more beautiful sound. Then Mulder whimpers, and it’s muffled by Scully’s thighs, and there’s a wet smacking noise and Dieter thinks this obscene music could be a platinum album. 

Scully gasps, and Mulder groans, and Dieter aches. He can smell her, a sharp and tangy scent of arousal underneath the flowery soap and shampoo. Her hand is still in his hair and it hasn’t moved since Mulder got down to business and he feels forgotten about but in the best way.

“Dieter, honey, you can watch.”

He breathes out with relief and shifts to get a good look of the action. She’s perfect, gorgeous, breathtaking. Her silky pajama top hangs open on her pointy shoulders and her perky breasts rise and fall with her breathing. Her nipples are a brownish pink that stand erect in a way that makes his mouth water like a leaky faucet.

Her toned, porcelain legs spread wide enough to accommodate Mulder’s shoulders. The man is greedy, and Dieter can’t see a thing aside from the triangle of copper curls on her mound. He wants to nuzzle them so bad, he wants to feel them tickle his nose, smell the arousal that catches there. 

“You taste so good.”

Mulder’s words are squished against her center. Dieter whimpers at the thought of her flavor. Her hand soothes through his hair. He wants to touch his cock so badly, but Scully hasn’t told him that he’s allowed. Instead, he balls his hands into fists and bites his lip. 

Scully moans, and Dieter watches her face fall slack with pleasure. 

“Feels good, just like that.”

Dieter can’t help the sounds that eke out of him, desperate and a little pained. He’s so hard that he’s lightheaded, but Scully’s firm grip on his hair grounds him just enough. 

“Don’t be selfish, Mulder.”

He makes a questioning noise between her legs. He looks up at her with wide eyes, mouth open, tongue out and flat against her slit. 

“Give him a taste.”

“Oh fuck, please.”

Dieter can see the reluctance in Mulder’s motions, like he’s struggling to break free from her orbit. He looks so fucking hot, absolutely wrecked. His plush lips are red and shiny and his chin is dripping and his pupils completely usurp his irises. Drunk, drugged off of Scully.

He leans away from Dieter to make room between her legs but she tugs his hair. Then she tugs Dieter’s hair, and their noses are bumping together before either man can put two and two together. 

He can smell her on his breath. It’s so intoxicating that he loses any crumb of decorum he may have had left. He licks a broad swipe from Mulder’s chin to his Cupid’s bow and groans at all the slick he’s able to lap up. 

Mulder’s mouth opens up to him, and he chases the taste of her off of his tongue, his teeth, his gums, anywhere. They’re both panting into each other's mouths, exchanging breath. Dieter feels a big, strong hand on his jaw and neck, and the contrast to Scully’s smaller, gentler touch has him leaking all over the rug underneath him. He feels like he’s drowning, and he just wants to go even deeper, like even death won’t be enough. 

He waits for Scully to say anything about Mulder touching him. When she doesn’t, he takes it as permission to reach up and find purchase in his hair. His fingers tingle when they find Scully’s still there, and his whole body shudders and twitches when she links her fingers with his. 

“You want more?” 

It’s depraved, the way they both pull away from the kiss so fast. Dieter’s nodding and looking toward her, her glistening cunt, her smooth skin and her mischievous gaze. 

“Please, Scully,” Mulder mumbles. 

His head lolls back against Scully’s thigh so he can look up at her. He looks like he’s just run a marathon, the way sweat is beading at his forehead and his chest is heaving. 

“Yes, please, Agent Scully.”

She chuckles. The sound is torture and it’s bliss. She ruffles Dieter’s hair and he hums and leans into it. Mulder whimpers at the lack of attention, so she ruffles his too. 

And then she spreads her thighs even wider, like, gymnast levels of flexibility, and both of their eyes are drawn to the way her lips spread open in invitation, puffy red, her clit all swollen while she drips onto the old comforter under her.

“Think you can share?”

Dieter curses. Mulder whimpers against her thigh.

“Play nice, boys.”

Mulder looks at him with a heated gaze that makes him a little bit scared but really really horny.

“Yes ma’am,” Dieter says, but he’s staring at Mulder. 

Be good, he’s trying to tell him through telepathy, we’ll get rewarded if you’re just good.

Mulder glances up at her, bats his pretty little eyes, and licks his slick lips. 

“Yes ma’am.”

It sounds more teasing than anything, but Dieter doesn’t miss the way she squirms when Mulder says it. He just has that effect, doesn’t he? Such a charming little shit. 

He and Dieter look at each other, assessing, when Mulder finally goes low. It’s a little bit awkward, at first. Dieter’s jaw prods at Mulder’s sharp cheekbone as they find a good position. 

He traces around her clit with a pointed tongue, delicately, so eager to work her up. He can hear Mulder’s tongue fucking in and out of her, a wet cacophony of sounds that make his ears ring. So much so that he nearly doesn’t catch the sounds of Scully’s breath hitching, her soft little mewls as her hips cant up into their faces. 

He’s hyper focused on her pleasure, so lost in it that he doesn’t even recognize how turned on he is until a heavy, warm hand wraps around his cock and he nearly blows his load. His tongue presses broadly against Scully’s clit when he groans. She curses and her hand tightens in his hair and it’s so much. 

He reaches out for anything, really, but Mulder’s cock is there, hard and proud and twitching when he wraps his hand around him. He finds solace in the fact that he’s leaking just as much as Dieter is, sticky and slick all the way down the underside of his shaft. His noises get breathier, and his tongue seeks higher ground just as Dieter’s travels lower. They lap at her folds together, briefly, trapping them between their tongues, trading their tastes as she whines above them. Dieter doesn’t even realize his free hand has grasped Scully’s slender hip until she squirms against it. 

All of a sudden, Dieter feels her go stiff under his grasp. Her hand tightens in his hair just shy of enough to make him lose it. She lets out stuttered little sounds and Mulder hums below him. 

“You like that, Scully?”

“Oh my god, Mulder.”

He groans and shifts and she begs and Dieter’s aroused haze clears enough to make him realize that he’s eating her ass. 

He makes a pained sound himself and sucks Scully’s throbbing clit into his mouth. She shakes, and her stiff body loosens just enough for her to roll her hips into them. 

“Don’t— don’t stop, I’m so close. I’m gonna come.”

Neither of them would dream of stopping, not for anything. Dieter works his tongue in pulses against her clit as he suckles, and he feels Mulder slip a finger in between them just as she cries out, loud, and falls apart against their tongues. 

Dieter drinks up the way her clit jerks and pulses between his lips. He drinks up her gasps and breathy noises. He drinks up the way Mulder’s cock mirrors his own, twitching with pure arousal at the way she’s coming just for them.

They’re both humming satisfied sounds as they work her through it. Their hands on each other’s cocks have stilled completely, just a loose grasp as they coax every last bit of pleasure out of her until she’s lax and shying away from them. 

Dieter pulls away first. He watches with a sticky feeling in his chest at the way Mulder kisses her holes gently, and the skin around them, nuzzling between her thighs so tenderly. Both his hands free, now, Mulder soothes them up the outside of her thighs as they tremble in her aftershocks. 

Mulder’s babbling, Dieter realizes, once the ringing in his ears finally subsides. Just under his breath, a chant, over and over.

“So perfect, Scully, thank you, thank you, Jesus Christ, Scully…”

Dieter settles back on his heels to keep gazing at them. Scully’s hands both pet through his hair as he leaves wet kisses that make her pale thighs glisten in the dim cabin lighting. He’s panting harder than she is, and his prick dribbles and twitches, and he looks up at her through misty eyes. 

“Oh, Mulder,” she sighs.

She bends down at the same time he arches up and their lips meet in a kiss so blindingly passionate that Dieter debates whether or not he should look away. Only for a split second though. Because Scully moans into his mouth and licks herself out of it and Dieter grabs his throbbing dick at the base to chill himself out. 

Mulder’s fingers run through her damp hair so gently, but his jaw works and his mouth takes from her in stark contrast. They look so goddamn good together, it’s insane. He’s torn between holding off to see how this plays out, or coming all over himself in three strokes or less as he watches them together. 

“Come up here, Mulder.”

Her voice is intoxicating, it sounds so fucked out and blissful. She shuffles up the bed some and Mulder chases her, always touching at some point, until she’s lying back and he’s covering her body with his own. 

He dwarfs her. It’s cute, in the show, the way she’s always looking up at him with a craned neck. Now, it’s just filthy, how Mulder’s cock looks so fucking huge lying hard against her small frame. The way he has to scrunch himself up to kiss her so his prick doesn’t go anywhere it’s not supposed to, yet. The way her tiny feet rub up and down Mulder’s calves, only half their size. 

The way his hand eclipses her face when he cradles it and pulls away. How his thumb sweeps so easily from her lips to her cheekbone as he sighs. 

“Scully…”

She hums and closes her eyes and smiles, a sated and relieved grin that makes her look so serenely beautiful. 

“I know, Mulder,” she sighs, “me too.”

Dieter huffs. Chris Carter himself couldn’t have created a more Mulder and Scully-esque love confession. It’s precious. He might cry. 

Unfortunately, the sound makes them both look over. Scully’s all relaxed but Mulder’s hackles are all raised, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Dieter slowly moves his hand away from his leaking cock and feels himself blush from his face down to his nipples. 

He’s caught in their crosshairs, stuck, eerily still and silent. Should he offer to leave? He really doesn’t want to leave. Maybe he can just peek through the keyhole of the door and leave them to it. 

“You too, Dieter,” Scully says, “get up here.”

Relief floods through him and makes his limbs all tingly. He’s nervous as he stands, gently making his way to the side of the bed and settling one knee on, then the other. Mulder shifts to the opposite side of Scully, their legs still tangled, as he watches Dieter with emotion he can’t quite put a name to. 

Dieter practically purrs when he slides right into their space. His cock drags a sticky design onto Scully’s smooth thigh and he apologizes, but she just chuckles and gently scratches her nails along his scalp. 

“Are you both going to be good for me?”

The tone of her voice makes them both shiver. Mulder huffs out a laugh but Dieter gasps as she tugs a little at his messy, sweaty curls. 

“Yes ma’am, Agent Scully.”

Dieter’s voice completely betrays him. He’s so turned on. There’s so much blood pumping to his cock that there’s a real and serious threat of him passing out. He hides his face in her shoulder and tries to even out his breathing and not hump her leg like an unruly dog. 

“I’ll be good for you, Scully.”

Mulder sounds a lot more in control. His deep, syrupy voice is just shy of even, only cracking on the second syllable of her name. Dieter feels the way she starts giggling before he hears it, her shoulders jostling with it. 

“You’re going to play by the rules, Mulder?”

He chuckles and it sounds dark, and Dieter opens his eyes to watch him smirk that irresistible smirk. 

“Hell, Scully, I’d write the rules over and over on the chalkboard to keep this going.”

She rolls her eyes at him, but she’s still grinning. His eyes flicker to her lips and there’s no hesitation this time when they kiss again. It’s tame and loose, until Scully wraps her dainty hand around his cock and he groans. Dieter matches his sound, and he just can’t help it, he rolls his hips into Scully’s thigh as he watches Mulder melt into a puddle against her. She bites at his plush bottom lip before she pulls back. 

“Fuck me, then.”

“Jesus,” they both say in unison. 

Scully bites her lip to keep in her giggles and it’s cute and debauched and insane. She’s insane. She’s going to kill them both, and Dieter’s going to return to his reality with 8 less seasons of The X-Files, and a season finale where Scully gets locked up for double homicide.

Mulder shuffles to straddle her. Dieter watches his heavy eyelids flutter and his jaw hang open and knows he likely looks the same. His cock twitches heavily where it hangs below him, and Scully teases the underside of it with her fingertips. He shivers, and so does Dieter, where he rocks his hips gently into Scully’s smooth skin. 

“You’re sure, Scully?” 

Dieter turns away and hides his heated face in the duvet. It’s too tender and raw and he doesn’t deserve to watch them love each other like this. 

“Positive, Mulder.”

He hears them kissing, wet, smacking sounds that give Dieter goosebumps. And then a whimper, a huff, muffled into Scully’s mouth and he drags his face away from its hiding spot. 

Mulder’s inching inside of her slowly, so slowly, with patience Dieter couldn’t even dream of. He cranes his neck to watch her take him, inch by inch. She looks so tight, and he bets she is, if the way Mulder’s eyes are squeezed shut is any indication.

Scully’s head tips back and breaks their kiss. Her eyes roll into the back of her head before she closes them. Her chest is heaving now with shallow breaths, her nipples taut and inviting.

“Oh my god,” she whispers. 

Mulder’s hips stay flush once he’s all the way in and he pants too. It looks like it takes all the strength he has to just flutter his eyes open and look down at her. His brows furrow and he licks his lips and gasps. 

“Scully,” he whines. 

She smirks, and christ, Dieter knows she’s clenching around him like a menace. Poor Mulder. He’s got the restraint of a god, he thinks, Dieter wouldn’t have made it even halfway inside of her. 

She soothes him by brushing the hair from his forehead, all damp with sweat. She does the same to Dieter and he hums as her fingertips massage his scalp. 

Mulder pulls out just as slowly as he entered her. She‘s soaked. He can hear it so well in the stilted silence of the room. When he pushes back in, she sighs and tightens her fist in Dieter’s hair and he needs something. He rocks against her again, and again, and the steady friction makes him gasp. 

Her hand slides down to the back of his neck and guides him to her breast. His cock throbs, deliciously trapped between his stomach and her silky skin. His tongue tests the waters, swirling around the pronounced peak of her nipple. When she sighs and arches into it, he takes it into his mouth and sucks. 

The noises she’s making are perfect. High pitched, breathy, needy. She’s letting herself go to Dieter and Mulder and it’s gorgeous. He presses his cock against her even harder and closes his eyes and whines around the bud in his mouth. 

Mulder’s starting to pick up the pace. Dieter can tell by the way her breast is jiggling just slightly under his mouth. And the sounds, god, the filthy slick sounds coming from her cunt. He’s leaking all over her just thinking about what it must feel like, how snugly Mulder must fit inside of her, how warm it is. 

As if Mulder could read his mind, he gasps out and his hips stutter against her. 

“It’s so good, Scully.”

Scully arches her back to grind down onto him and moans his name and tells him she needs more and Dieter bites down on her tender skin. 

She jolts and tugs his hair and curses and he looks up at her as he soothes it with his tongue. 

She’s the poster girl of pleasure. Her face is twisted with it, every beautiful feature dripping with tension. The length of her neck is so apparent with her head thrown back, and her skin is pink and looks hot to the touch. She begins to bounce when Mulder fucks her faster and harder. Dieter wants to do something, anything to make her feel good. 

He replaces his mouth with his hand, squeezing her flesh and teasing her nipple with his fingertips. He trails kisses up her chest, little love bites and suction until he reaches just below her ear. Her pulse is fluttering rapidly under his tongue, and she keens just as she turns her head and presses their lips together. 

They’re kissing. He’s kissing Scully. Oh god, her lips are so fucking soft against his. Her tongue ripples in his mouth and it tastes so good, minty with a hint of her arousal straight from Mulder’s lips. He whines and rolls his hips against her like he’s in heat, and he’s so close, and he wonders if she’d be mad if he came all over her warm, smooth, freshly showered skin. 

She jolts against him, against them, and bites down on Dieter’s lip with an almost pained noise. She turns away from Dieter and they both look to Mulder, who’s circling her puffy clit with his thumb as he fucks her. 

He’s looking to her for direction with a glazed expression. He looks like he’s hanging by a thread. 

“Here,” she whispers, and takes two of her fingers into her own mouth. 

Christ. The way her lips look wrapped around her two digits is sinful and debauched. Mulder must think the same, because he grabs her wrist and makes her stop. 

Dieter holds his breath as he waits for his next move. Is he going to pin her arms to the bed? Is he going to stretch them over her head and make her squirm on his cock, make her beg? 

It’s sweeter than that. Of course it is, with these two. Mulder brings her hand to his lips and kisses her palm, and then her knuckles. She sighs his name, and watches Mulder smile.

That soft, dopey smile gets an edge to it. 

“Let me, please,” he whispers. 

Dieter only gets the chance to be confused for half a second when he slips those two fingers into his own mouth. 

Scully gasps and moans and wiggles against him. Fuck, it’s beautiful. Mulder’s full lips take her all the way to the last knuckle and he hollows his cheeks as he sucks them. Scully’s hips squirm and rock and the way she moves against him is a sight. Mulder groans when Scully begins to thrust her fingers in and out, just a little, not enough to choke him but enough to make him close his eyes and sigh and start slowly fucking her again. 

They leave his mouth all wet and shiny. Mulder’s tongue tries to follow them and it makes Scully huff out a weak laugh. 

“You’re too good at that, Mulder.”

He hums, tries to hide his sheepish smile by ducking his head. But Scully grips his chin with her wet fingers to prevent it. His eyes struggle to focus on her, Dieter notices. He can’t blame him, it’s like staring into the sun. 

“Why don’t you show off to your little time traveler, huh?”

He opens his mouth, but no words come out. His eyes dart nervously from Scully to Dieter. 

“I— what?”

“Don’t be dense. Make him come. Make me come. You can multitask, can’t you?”

Dieter lies as still as the dead, afraid that if he moves maybe Mulder will snap out of this horny daze and tell him to get lost. He wouldn’t blame him one bit, either, but god he really wants to see this man’s lips wrapped around his cock. 

Scully chuckles at Mulder’s frozen stature. Or maybe she’s chuckling at the way Dieter’s heartbeat is pulsing through his dick against her thigh, dribbling all over it. 

“I bet you’re so good at it,” she continues to tease him, “with these pretty lips?” 

Mulder huffs and squirms when she rubs the pads of her wet fingers against his mouth. His tongue peeks out to taste them, coax them back inside him, but she doesn’t let him. 

“For me, Mulder?”

And Dieter can’t help but grin, because he’s never seen such a visceral loss of resolve so clearly before. Mulder closes his eyes and whines and nods his head. 

Scully makes a satisfied little noise, and her free hand sneaks down to squeeze Dieter’s slick cock, and he has to bite his own lip really hard to keep from losing it before the fun even begins. 

Then there’s some awkward repositioning and shuffling, mostly on his end. He kneels just above Scully’s head, and when he looks down she’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat from under his cock. He has to reach down to collect some of the pre-cum oozing out of him to keep it from dripping onto her gorgeous face, but she grabs his wrist and licks it from his fingers anyway. 

And then there’s Mulder, who’s slowly thrusting in and out of his partner like it’s second-nature, like auto-pilot, as he surveys the scene in front of him. 

“Mulder,” Scully mumbles. 

The deep, breathy, commanding tone of her voice makes Dieter shiver. 

“Yeah, Scully?”

“Make us come. Then you can.”

He groans, and his hips stutter then slam into her. Dieter’s torn between looking at the blissed-out look on Mulder’s face or the mischievous look in Scully’s eyes. 

“Are you— are you sure?” Dieter asks. 

Like an idiot, looking a gift horse in the mouth. But how can he not? They’re so perfect, so made for each other, and he’s just some weird fucking guy. 

But then Mulder’s expression turns into something darker, determined, and he nods with glassy eyes. 

“C’mon, McFly.”

And that’s all the encouragement Dieter needs, really. He widens his knees to line his cock up with those shiny, plush lips. Mulder gives Scully one last glance before he’s craning his neck forward and closing his eyes. 

Scully and Dieter gasp at precisely the same time, just as Mulder’s tongue swipes at his frenulum. Dieter’s eyes lose focus as he watches Mulder open his mouth wider, then looks past to see Scully’s icy blue gaze fixated on everything going on above her. It’s like an erotic kaleidoscope, the way they’re all blending together in pleasure. 

He suckles on Dieter’s head, a little too hard, but he thinks it might be on purpose. He hisses and grabs Mulder’s hair in one clammy, shaking hand. His tongue works the underside of his cock as he fits more into his mouth, and Scully was right, he is way too good at this. 

Scully curses under them, and only then does Dieter notice she’s touching herself as Mulder keeps pumping into her with a shaky, stilted rhythm. 

“So good, Mulder.”

His responding moan turns into a whimper as Dieter’s prick slides across the back of his tongue and hits his throat. 

“Fuck, yeah, so good,” Dieter agrees. 

It’s more than good. It’s incredible, unbelievable. He watches Mulder’s shiny, puffy lips wrapped around him, so in awe of how gorgeous he is. His pretty eyes are closed, half concentration and half bliss as he slides in and out of Scully’s dripping cunt. 

It takes him a while to find a rhythm that works, but when he finds his groove he fucking finds it. Of course he’d be good at this, too. He fucks in and out of Scully once, twice, and then sinks his mouth down as far as he can on Dieter’s cock (all the fucking way— Jesus christ) and holds there while he pumps in and out of her some more. 

And Dieter’s so, so torn. He wants to be good for Scully, wants to challenge Mulder for her and keep up the show. He wants to hang on so she can crumble as she watches her partner taking and receiving so perfectly at the same time.

But he wants to be good for Mulder too. He wants to come in his mouth and give him the satisfaction of satisfying. He wants to let Mulder prove to Scully how good he is, let him make them both come and writhe under his skill and rapt attention. 

And it’s like Scully can sense it. With her free hand, she reaches up and cups his balls. It makes his fucking toes curl, makes him cry out her name and slam his eyes shut to stave it off. He’s being tagged teamed by the objects of some of his earliest sexual fantasies and it takes him biting his lip so hard he draws blood to keep it together. 

He realizes the noises he’s making are borderline embarrassing. He’s mewling and gasping and whimpering as she squeezes and strokes, as her fingers meet Mulder’s lips every time he takes him deep. He’s shaking with the effort it takes to not fuck Mulder’s mouth. And he’s sweating, and he hopes to god it doesn’t start to trickle down and land on Scully’s blissed-out face.

And then it doesn’t much matter, because those dainty fingers and well-kept nails travel back, across his taint, and press. 

“I can’t— I can’t, oh my god.”

Mulder hums around his cock in an echo of the noise Scully makes under him. He’s teetering on the edge, tensed up, out of his mind as Scully massages that spot and Mulder swirls his tongue around the head of his cock. 

And in sync, like they always are, in a way that takes him completely off guard but should be absolutely predictable, they unravel him. 

Mulder takes him down his throat and swallows, and the pad of one of Scully’s fingers taps his entrance, and he’s done. 

He might scream, if he’s being honest. There was never any hope for a warning, the way they ganged up to play him like a fucking fiddle. Mulder groans as the first explosive spurt of Dieter’s cum shoots down his throat. He pulls back as Dieter continues to spill with each spasm of his muscles, as he tries but fails to suck Scully’s finger up inside him. He writhes and curses and clenches Mulder’s hair a little too tight as he works through his orgasm. 

Mulder dutifully collects every last drop, extremely intent on keeping it from spilling down across Scully’s face. He is such a good boy for her. Mulder whimpers when she tells him so in her breathy, sexy way she does. His hips stutter inside of her just as Dieter slips from his swollen lips. 

He doesn’t get reprieve yet, though. Mulder’s long, lean body arches up, and his arm reaches to grab a fist full of Dieter’s hair and tug and oh, god, he might just come again.

Their lips crash together, and before Dieter can think of how metallic the taste is, Mulder’s pushing his own load into his mouth forcefully. Dieter takes it all, sucks it down and swallows as he pants against Mulder’s mouth. 

Then he thanks him, and he thanks Scully, over and over with baited breath until he collapses to the side of them, completely spent and overstimulated. 

“You did so good,” he hears Scully say. 

Only she’s not talking to him. 

She’s got both her hands on Mulder’s face. Her lips just brushing against his own as she whispers. He watches her hike her legs up to wrap around Mulder’s waist, watches Mulder sag into her so he’s plastered against her front. 

“Scully,” Mulder whines. 

“Harder, Mulder. Make me come.”

He kisses her one last time before he buries his face in her neck and obeys, pulling nearly all the way out of her before driving back in. She’s really vocal now, now that she has Mulder’s undivided attention, now that he can focus on fucking her steadily and deep and fast.

Her head is thrown back and she looks so fucking beautiful. Mulder should be looking at her, shouldn’t miss a moment of the way she looks as he’s making her fall apart. But Dieter can’t blame him, or the concentrated, almost pained look he has on his face that’s just peeking out under her chin. 

It’s crazy how she seems to be fucking him from under all his weight, but she’s doing exactly that. Her toned legs pull him into her, her hips arching to meet his, so frantic and hot. One of her hands is leaving red marks down his back and the other one is petting through his hair, scraping his scalp and pulling so many gorgeous noises from him. 

Dieter couldn’t look away if he tried. His spent cock is twitching, trying it’s damndest to steal what little blood is left in his brain. He wants to help them along, maybe take Scully’s nipple into his mouth, but they’re both crushed under Mulder’s body in a way Dieter’s extremely jealous of. He could touch Mulder, could grab his pert little asscheek and squeeze. But he resigns to the sidelines instead, lets them share this intimate moment with only the intrusion of his eyes and heavy breathing. 

It’s over pretty quickly, anyway. Mulder starts babbling again, a great fucking look on him, there where he’s hidden in the pale crook of her neck. 

“Please, Scully. Come for me— I wanna make you come. I wanna be good, let me make you feel good.”

And she’s grinding her hips up as her back arches off the bed, no doubt catching her swollen clit on that enticing patch of wiry curls above his prick. She’s panting and gasping and then she’s shouting.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, Mulder, oh my god! So good, good boy— I’m gonna come—”

And she does. Beautifully. She tenses up and then she shakes, convulsing under him, around him. She moans and mumbles through it, with her eyes shut tight and her cute little nose all scrunched and her mouth hanging open. 

It’s so beautiful that she outshines Mulder. Dieter barely even catches his groans, the curses under his breath as his hips stutter and grind into her. They both ride it out for a while, it’s like it’s never going to end. They writhe against each other and Mulder’s panting into her mouth as she tries her best to kiss his open lips. Their rhythm takes forever to slow, and even longer to come to a stop. 

It’s better than anything Dieter ever could have imagined. He’s already half hard again, just watching them be together, and that fact only makes him want to leave, disappear, let them play this out without some stranger in their bed. 

But christ he wants to stay and watch just as bad. 

Their eyes flutter open at the same time, and the smiles on their faces are as nauseating as they are precious. Scully looks like the cat that got the cream, and Mulder has the audacity to look sheepish. 

“I uh—” Mulder’s voice cracks, and he clears his throat, “I didn’t pull out.”

Scully giggles. 

“I noticed.”

He huffs, and she smooths his sweaty hair from his forehead.

“I’m on the pill.”

Mulder sighs. 

“That’s— that’s good.”

Idiots, Dieter thinks. The situational irony is off the charts. His huff alerts them both, snaps them out of their little bubble to look over at him. 

He opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes to mind. Scully gives him an amused little smirk and reaches over to pet his hair. 

“You were so good,” she muses. 

He shivers at her words and her fucked-out gaze. 

Mulder shifts on top of her, and they both gasp a little noise when he slips out of her, but they’re both focused on him. 

Mulder looks him up and down and for a moment he isn’t sure if he’s about to kick him out of bed or kiss him within an inch of his life. 

He does neither, it turns out. Instead he holds the side of Dieter’s face in his big, sweaty palm and it’s so soothing that he closes his eyes and leans into it. His thumb strokes Dieter’s cheek while Scully plays with his hair and he could die happy here. 

“Yeah man, thank you. That was good— you were good.”

Dieter’s eyes open wide at that. They’re both looking at him with fondness— appreciation. His chest swells with a heavy feeling just as his eyes begin to sting. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. 

He just barely catches the confused looks on their faces before he hides his own, rolling over into his stomach to let his pitiful tears fall into the blanket below him. Scully ruffles his hair with a sympathetic coo and Mulder pats him on the back of his heated neck before he hears rustling and feels the bed shift. 

“Oh my god.”

Scully’s voice sounds horrified. For a quick moment, his tiny little pea brain thinks of Queequeg— is he alright, did he get out while they were occupied?

“What the hell?”

Mulder’s voice sounds much more amused. 

Confused, Dieter wipes his wet eyes in what he hopes is an inconspicuous move before he looks over his shoulder at them.

Scully and Mulder are both standing at the foot of the bed, looking equal parts mortified and puzzled. And they’re staring at Dieter’s bare ass. 

His bare ass that he now remembers is tattooed. Tattooed with Mulder and Scully’s face on each cheek, respectively. 

“Oh, ha— yeah. Maybe that could have proved it faster?”

His face feels hot. He’s had these asscheek tattoos for so long he sometimes forgets about them. He was young and drunk and high when he got them, but they still hold up. Full color portraits of his favorite FBI agents. 

“What do the words say?” Scully asks. 

Mulder takes one for the team and leans in closer to Dieter’s ass, and he wonders if his blush goes all the way to his buttcheeks. 

“Mine says the truth is out there, and yours says I want to believe.”

Dieter lets out a nervous chuckle and shifts, a little scrutinized, a little embarrassed, a little bit turned on at the way Mulder’s gaze settles over his body.

“When did you get these?”

“1998, right after the movie came out.”

“There’s a movie?”

“Two, actually.”

Scully shakes her head and looks from Mulder to Dieter’s butt, back and forth a few times. 

“I’ll give you this one, Mulder. Only because there’s no lake monster for you to boast about.”

Mulder preens, a satisfied smirk settling on his handsome face. 

“Finally,” he and Dieter say at the exact same time. 

She rolls her eyes. 

“Brag about it in the morning. I’m tired— and my bed’s clean,” she throws her voice over her shoulder as she leaves the room. 

Dieter stays put. His ankles roll around in an attempt to hide his hesitation. He stares at the empty doorway and avoids Mulder’s lanky form. 

“You coming, Doc Brown?”

He’d be stupid not to follow like an eager pup. 

They all nestle into Scully’s bed. She’s in the middle, wrapped up in blankets, and the guys take either side of her. Dieter rests his head on her naked breast as she kisses Mulder goodnight, as Mulder’s fingers intertwine with his own over her smooth stomach. Their pillow talk lulls him to sleep and he goes to bed happy for the first time in years.

He wakes up alone, on his couch, in his own clothes, with his face smashed against his open laptop. 

A dream. It must have all been a crazy, weed and hormone induced dream. Best dream he’s ever had. He sighs, scratches his head and takes in his surroundings. 

Everything’s normal, exactly how he left it. Except, when he moves to his bedroom to mourn the loss of the day he never had, he sees a red and white trucker’s hat on his nightstand. 

Show us your bobbers

[toomanytookas]

PPCU Fandom Projects Digest: October/November 2024

A summary of projects that wrapped up last month, ones to look forward to this month, and one plucked from the past to (re)discover for your TBR! First time hearing about the database? More info available here.

Celebrate October Projects!

@baronessvonglitter - Fuck-tober

@beefrobeefcal - Dave York Made Me Believe

@goodwithcheese & @jolapeno - jolabrew + withcheese challenge

@mermaidgirl30 - Halloween Writing Challenge

@mrsmando's birthday soirée

@norththelemon & @alyssamariag - Pedrotober

And some fun trick or treat games that folks played last week!

@prolix-yuy - Trick or Treat

@whocaresstillthelouvre - Halloweenies

Anticipate November Projects!

Open for Participants - November deadlines (sign up and/or post)

@beefrobeefcal - The Glandolorian [Mando as a gladiator? Let's get hype for all the sweaty fighting this month.]

@bitchesuntitled - Get Dieter Sober [Use your creative powers to help Dieter find a path to sobriety]

@bluestar22x - Christmas Writing Challenge [Get your holiday on early!]

@sp00kymulderr - Dick pronoun fic challenge [We all wanna know what that P boy uses to refer to... 👀]

@yopossum - November Nextdoor Nudges [Pilfer your next prompt from a possum pal's nextdoor feed]

✨(Re)Discover an Older Project Below the Cut!✨

(selected from the database via RNG)

@iamasaddie's Writing Challenge 2.0

Check out the masterlist for this challenge, which has 20 wonderful fics. Authors selected a colour and received a corresponding genre and prompt to act as the inspiration for their fic.

[toxicanonymity]

I love this, @beefrobeefcal !!! Beautiful poster, description. And lmfao at the cast 🤌

for @bitchesuntitled Get Dieter Sober campaign, I present my first offering: a film by renowned loon and respected cat lady, Beefro Beefcal - Get Dieter Sober

But with each step forward, Dieter discovers his inner strength and the power of forgiveness, not just from others, but from himself. He learns to celebrate the small victories and to find joy in the simple moments of life. Through therapy, support groups, and a newfound passion for helping others on similar journeys, Dieter slowly rebuilds his world. In the end, it was not just about achieving sobriety, but about finding a deeper understanding of himself and a renewed sense of purpose. This tale of addiction and redemption became a beacon of hope for others, showing that even in the darkest times, light can be found, and a new beginning is always possible.

Proud of you, Deedle! Keep on smashing through those milestones - we're all here backing you up!

💜🥩beef

[noxturnalnymph]

I Said I Wouldn’t Hook-up With Him, Then I Did Again

Dieter Bravo x F!Actor!Reader (WC: 1636)

A/N: Write a story based on the moodboard made by @iamasaddie ‘s random pinterest pics.

Summary: If you hook up with your ex (and co-actor), Dieter Bravo, you have to put $5 in the jar. Well shit...... we might have to tell the driver to stop at an ATM.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+ only please, Sex (Unprotected PiV), Mention of: previous sex (PiV and Oral F!rec), previous biting (and breaking of skin causing a scar), previous illegal drug use, previous sex with another woman (not described), getting high, sex toys.

🫙

“I’m not gonna fuck him.”

That’s what you’d said. Ten hours ago when Lily, your stylist, had plopped down the jar on the counter in front of the mirror. You’d said you weren’t gonna fuck him. Definitely not, you’d tacked on. You vaguely remember she might have rolled her eyes at that. She brought out the jar every time either of you were in close proximity with one of your big-bad-exes, to avoid the temptation of entanglement. 

You know the ones, the exes you were desperate to hear from but determined to avoid. Bad news time and time again, never meeting your (very) low expectations and somehow always finding new ways to disappoint you. You started the jar to hold each other accountable, making sure $5 went into the jar any time that either of you texted, called, or fell into bed with the ex.

Although, ex was a loose term, as you don’t think yours was ever more than a casual hookup played on repeat. Grabbing hands, scraping stubble, a huff of breath that smells like cigarettes and cinnamon gum. Your co-star, Dieter Bravo. Sometimes drunk, sometimes high, sometimes both. Never sober. Always on-set, still half in costume and makeup. Always teetering on the edge of getting caught, of ruining your reputation, of solidifying his. 

It was disgusting. You were disgusted with yourself every time it happened. You’re disgusted with yourself right now, as you sit on his lap in the back of your towncar home. He drags his hand under your shirt and up your ribcage, cold rings against your skin sending goosebumps across your chest, hardening your nipples. You feel his lips on your throat, teeth scraping but not leaving marks, suddenly extremely aware of your own arousal collecting in your underwear. Your own body is betraying you. Rude.

“Goddamnit,” you huff, defeated. 

He pushes his other hand up your thigh, lifting your skirt up to your waist. He knows he’s won. He always does. Without a word you untie the drawstring on his pants, of course he’d be wearing pajama pants, Dieter fucking Bravo… probably doesn’t even own jeans. You reach inside and wrap your hand around him, rock hard and velvety smooth. No underwear, obviously… you already knew he doesn’t own any of those.

“Easy access,” he says, as if reading your mind.

But then you look down and realize he’s talking about you. Fuck. You wore a skirt to work today. Now why would you have done that? You’re sure it’s not because one time, on the hood of a stunt car in a mostly-abandoned backlot in Burbank, he told you that your legs drove him fucking crazy right before he pushed them apart and dove face-first into your wet, waiting pussy. No, that couldn’t have been it.

He runs a finger along the inside of your thigh and sticks it in the side of the gusset of your panties. He moves his hand down so the back of his knuckle drags along your slit, giving away how wet you already are for him. You hear him hum, mmmmmm, and then giggle. Fucking giggle? He must be high already. He curls his finger, drawing the fabric in the crook of it and pulling it to the side.

“You gonna keep teasing me, or you gonna put it in?”

“Teasing you? Who is teasing you?” You shift yourself up on your knees, knocking against the headliner in the cramped backseat.

“You’ve been teasing me all day, baby. With your blonde hair and those pouty lips.”

“The hair was a wig Dee, you know that.” You line him up slowly at your entrance.

“It still looked good. And your lips? Those are new.”

“They’re not new lips, I just got some filler, it’s not a big deal.” You slowly start to sink down on his thick length.

“Well if you want people to imagine those full lips around their cocks, you’ve done a good job.”

Jesus Christ, you mutter simultaneously, for different reasons. You’re rocking your hips up and down, coating him with your wetness to ease the stretch of him pushing into you. You hear whispers about his dick in nearly every ladies’ room you go into in this town. His length is average, satisfying but not newsworthy, but his girth is massive. And even though you’ve taken it plenty of times before, you struggle every single time.

His large hands find your hips, fingers spreading back to cover your bare ass. Obviously you wore the thong so you wouldn’t have panty lines in your clingy cotton dress. It has nothing to do with the fact that once, while shooting in Wales, he went so insane with lust that he bit your ass and broke skin, leaving a tiny tooth-shaped scar that he likes to run his tongue over every time you hook up. Nope, it has nothing to do with that at all.

You finally get all of him inside of you, the sting of the stretch pushed to the back of your mind by the overwhelming fullness of him. God he’s so fucking big and you think you must say it outloud because you hear him groaning yeahhh into your neck. He squeezes you where his hands are gripping, encouraging you to move on him and then helps guide you back and forth on his lap.

You look down at his face, and realize he’s still wearing the sunglasses from set, his hair still gelled in the style of his character, with a little curl looped down onto his forehead. Come here, he says and you obey, bringing your mouth to his, tangling tongues and sharing spit. He passes you his gum and you try to give it back but then he pulls off your mouth to moan fuck yeahhh.

He moves one hand to the front of your top, yanking it down to expose your nipples. Okay if you’re being honest with yourself, you can’t think of a good reason why you didn’t wear a bra today. You know you had one in your hands at one point but then there was a memory that flashed through your mind. A memory of Dieter snorting a line off a table - a mixture of cocaine and viagra, literally ripping your brand new French-made underwear set to pieces, and fucking you on every surface of your trailer during a 3-hour weather delay in British Columbia. 

You guess ‘not wanting it to be destroyed’ was a good reason not to wear a bra, right? But you definitely weren’t going to fuck him, so why would it matter? He’s dragging his tongue all around one nipple and when he switches to the other side you feel the remnants of his spicy gum as a light burning sensation heating your pebbled nub. You don’t have much time to think about if it’s good or too much because suddenly he’s biting the other nipple, hard, causing you to cry out.

“Sorry baby, sorry,” he stammers. “I just got excited.”

His hands on your hips help you find your rhythm once again, slamming his cock into your fucked-out pussy over and over. You lean back and brace your hands on his knees and he uses the opportunity to bring a hand forward and run his thumb along his length, soaking wet where it repeatedly disappears into you. He strokes upward until he’s rubbing his thumb along you instead, at the apex of where he splits you, right over your hooded clit.

“Missed this,” he whispers so softly, you’re not sure if he’s talking to you or himself.

“I think you got plenty of this on your last job,” you manage to sound both snarky and uninterested, despite the increasing pressure of him petting at your sensitive, swollen bundle.

“Oh you think?”

“That’s what I heard. You and that Swedish girl, the new one, Ingrid whats-her-name?”

“Nooooo,” he moves his thumb faster. “She’s Norwegian.”

“Whatever,” you struggle to focus, “I don’t even-”

“Don’t be jealous baby," he purrs. "No one takes my cock like you do."

Fuck. Why is that working? Why does it feel so good? 

It always feels so fucking good.

“I think I’m gonna-” you start.

“Come,” he finishes.

And when you do, your orgasm rips through you, making your vision go out, shaking your legs, and stuttering your hips. His hands go back to your side, helping to bounce you for a few more thrusts before he yanks you off of him, finishing all over his own flannel pants and the bottom of his wrinkled t-shirt. He wraps his cardigan around himself, covering up the mess on his front and pops another stick of red gum into his mouth, looking at you across the bench seat.

“Wanna come in? We can order a pizza, get high, and then fuck again later. I got this new toy th-”

“What are you talking about Dieter, this is my house?” He gives you a look, and you open the dark-tinted window to see that instead of being in your own driveway, you’re parked in front of an unfamiliar home. “The fuck… I thought this car was supposed to be taking me home.”

“Well it was, but then I slipped the driver two hundred bucks so he’d bring us here instead. And also so he wouldn’t take any pictures of your ass.”

“You wouldn’t have had to pay him not to take pictures of my ass if you wouldn’t have snuck into my car as I was leaving work.”

“Yeah but it was fun, right?” He peers at you over his sunglasses. “C’mon,” he holds out his hand.

---

The next morning you get to work and, avoiding Lily’s gaze, you take a handful of $5 bills out of your pocket and silently drop them into the jar.

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🫙

[theperfectawful]

Blind Item / Chapter 1

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC

Chapter 1: Gimme More

Rating: Explicit (18+) Series Summary: 2007. Hollywood, CA. As a former child star, you face the harsh reality of growing up in the unforgiving spotlight. A car crash on Sunset Boulevard and a cocaine scandal give you one option: Rehab. Reluctantly agreeing, you embark on a 90-day stay at Promises Malibu to attempt to salvage your career. But when Dieter Bravo arrives, your journey takes an unexpected turn. Drawn to each other, you navigate sobriety and the wreckage of your reputation. As the double standard of Hollywood's treatment of troubled stars becomes evident, you question if redemption is truly possible in a world of unequal consequences. Word Count: 11k

Content/Warnings: Age gap (~10 years, Dieter is in his mid-thirties), alternating POV, heavy drug use, illegal drug use, alcohol use, driving under the influence, frenemy dynamics, oral sex (f!receiving), dubcon/noncon, it is neither reader nor Dieter's finest hour when we meet them. Period-typical language and behavior, Hollywood assholes.

Notes: This is my first fic - I've never written or posted anything like this before, so please be kind and feel free to share any feedback or suggestions. I never would have been able to write something like this, let alone work up the nerve to post it, if it hadn't been for the kind and gracious support of @pennyserenade, @whatsnewalycat and @frannyzooey all lending me their advice when I slid into their DMs. They all inspire me endlessly with their work and talent and it’s because of their work that I was inspired to write something of my own.

Our reader is, for now, and unnamed OC. While I’ve done my best to avoid using physical descriptors of her, it should be noted that this story is a period piece that takes place in early 2000s Hollywood. The main character would have been a contemporary of stars like Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan and Nicole Richie, and there are certain assumptions I’ve made about what she looks like based on that factor of this particular story. The early 2000s could be dark, ruthless times, y'all, especially for young women in and effected by Hollywood. My intention is to examine that. Thank you for reading!

Desperate times call for desperate measures: sources say that this former child star’s team is working overtime to keep her employed. When she made her not-so-graceful exit from her latest film, the star cited conflicting schedules as the reason for her departure. The film’s producer has a different story: the Hollywood juggernaut has been heard around town calling the star unprofessional, accusing her of being late to her call times and using drugs in her trailer. She’s got a shot at a last resort: a return to television. Word is, the bad publicity has her team bargaining and drawing out sober contracts just to get her hired.

Whenever you were in town for work, you stayed at the Chateau Marmont. You were in Los Angeles often enough and long enough to justify buying a home there, but you refused, the idea of actually owning a home in LA never quite sitting right with you. Instead, you rented the same room each time you visited. You loved that little bungalow. The thick, lush landscaping shaded the windows and kept it nice and cool inside, and your front door was only a stone's-throw from the swimming pool. 

It felt like home after a few years, anyway. These old, tucked-away places were what you liked most about Los Angeles, unlikely, quiet havens hidden between sky-high condos and overly sleek offices. The building breathed old-Hollywood luxury, vintage tiles and original hardwood floors and the ghosts of silent film stars wandering the hallways. The staff knew you well. The same breakfast was delivered to your door at noon every day. The top-tier maid service employed by the hotel kept the living room, kitchen, bathrooms and second bedroom impeccably tidy, though they were given clear instructions not to enter your bedroom.

Your bedroom did not inspire the same glamorous aesthetic as the rest of the hotel. Clothing was piled high against the walls and pouring out of dresser drawers, tags and receipts discarded in the wake. Empty bottles cluttered the hardwood floors, clear, crushed water bottles and rattly orange pill canisters. A full ashtray sat on a side table, a makeup mirror and various products scattered next to it.

In the middle of the room was a king-sized bed, an antique walnut headboard sprawling against the wall with a mountain of sheets and blankets layered atop a deep mattress. You laid swaddled in those sheets, rubbing your palms into your shut eyes and groaning as you rolled over, dragging your hands wide across your face to peek out at the clock on your nightstand.

4:41pm. You blinked, straining your eyes to focus and confirm you read that right. 4:41pm. Fuck.

Bleary-eyed, you reached for your phone, met immediately by a barrage of missed calls and unread messages when you slid it open.

MELANIE [3:21 AM]: Bathrrom

PETE [3:36 AM]: Did u leave

CORINNE [9:00 AM]: Call with NBC @ 1. Please be available. Corinne Roxford.

MISSED CALL: CORINNE

CORINNE [11:30 AM]: Confirming availability at 1pm. Corinne Roxford.

(212) 555-4325 [12:06 PM]: Hey gorgeous ;)

MISSED CALL [12:30 PM]: CORINNE

MISSED CALL [12:45 PM]: CORINNE

MISSED CALL [1:00 PM]: CORINNE

CORINNE [1:03 PM]: ??? Corinne Roxford.

MISSED CALL [1:05 PM]: CORINNE

CORINNE [1:07 PM]: Call immediately. Corinne Roxford.

“Hiiiii,” a soft, tired voice called from across the room. You looked up, squinting, at your best friend Natalie leaning in the doorway to the bathroom.

“Mmmm,” you hummed in response, peeking out from where you lay buried in the sheets. “Hi.”

She crossed the room, kicking piles of clothes out of the way and perched herself on the corner of the bed, her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. You cracked open one eye, locking eyes with her. In an unspoken acknowledgment of your situation - what you got into last night, the state you’re currently in, the splitting headache you’re certain she has, too - you raised an eyebrow at her. She smirked back at you and the two of you erupted into laughter. You lifted yourself up to sit, pushing your foot into her side from under the covers.

“You were insane last night!” she accused, still smiling as she resumed brushing her teeth.

“Me!” your voice was raspy and you coughed. “Me? You were the one making out with the bartender.”

“He wasn’t a bartender. He said he was with the DJ or something.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s better,” you snorted, the sound muffled by the plush pillows that cradled your head. You rubbed your palms across your face again, feeling the coarse texture of your own tired skin. The room was dimly lit, with the soft glow of morning seeping through the half-closed blinds. 

Your phone vibrated on the nightstand, disrupting the quiet ambiance. You picked it up, groaning when you saw your manager’s name blaring across the bright screen. With a sigh, you slid it open.

“Hi, Corinne,” your voice was a hoarse whisper as you did your best to sound alive. Natalie stirred from her spot and crossed back to the bathroom, old floorboards creaking underneath her feet.

“I needed you on that call this morning. This is your career I’m trying to save here. Do you think I’m doing all of this for my health?”

“I mean… you’re not not…” It’s out of your mouth before you can stop it. She is on your payroll.

“Very funny. I don’t think I need to remind you that you’re running out of friends and favors here, hun. I don’t think you want me to join that list.” Her sentence was punctuated by the sound of her horn honking and a muttered expletive. She sighs. “NBC still wants to speak with you, and soon, but they want to do a four-episode Growing special. The rest of the cast is on board, and they think if we play this right we can turn into a full-on reboot. But you have to straighten up, do you understand? I need you in the Santa Monica office first thing Monday to sign the paperwork.”

“I’ll be there. I promise.” Your eyes closed again, and you sunk into the plush embrace of the king-sized bed, the soft cotton fabric soothing against your skin.

“I don’t know how to make it any more clear to you how much trouble all of us are in. This is  your shot at a comeback.”

“I understand.”

There’s a bit of silence, the noise of New York traffic floating through the airwaves and into your ear. You insisted on total honesty from Corinne, unable to tolerate your team coddling you, so her words might have hurt more if this was the first time you’d heard them. Or maybe if the haze you’d woken up in were a bit thinner.

“Tomlin and the team will be in on Thursday night to get you ready for the VMAs. I’ll see you then, too.” Corinne changed the subject, her voice a mix of stern professionalism and genuine concern.

“Okay. I’m sorry.” Your voice was sickeningly sweet, a defensive baby voice you switched into when you were nervous, a trademark of yours that had been mocked by everyone from ex-boyfriends to the cast of Saturday Night Live. Corinne said goodbye and you felt Natalie’s weight return to your side.

You groaned, long and drawn out, tossing your phone into the labyrinth of sheets and blankets surrounding you. The show she referred to was a reboot of the sitcom you spent your childhood working on - Growing Together. It's one-half cast reunion, one-half desperate, nostalgic cash-grab. The producer you sat across from at the pitch meeting was almost delirious with excitement - explaining what a smashing success it was sure to be, a “televised homecoming for America's favorite family.” It took so much strength not to roll your eyes right in front of him that you thought you’d pop a blood vessel.

“Are you in trouble?” Natalie asked, a teasing tone in her voice.

"Yeah, almost always," you replied, casual in your admission. As you sat up, fully awakening, you stretched and planted your feet on the floor. You chugged the warm Vitamin Water on your nightstand before reaching for your bag on the floor and digging through its contents. Gum, a fluorescent orange paper wristband, a baby pink Juicy Tube, a black and white photobooth strip of you and Natalie with your tongues out. Not finding what you were looking for, you dumped it out onto your bed and continued rummaging through the items and garbage inside. Your iPod, a receipt from the drugstore, 3 loose cigarettes and half a dozen empty quarter-sized plastic bags. You sighed, shoving everything back inside carelessly. 

“Did we finish everything last night?” You call out, patting the bed behind you, your gaze darting around in search of your phone.

“We?” Natalie’s laughter rang through the room. “I don’t know about ‘we!’”

“God, no wonder,” you muttered, the realization of this morning's particularly splitting headache dawning. Locating your phone again, you typed out a text message to your dealer, padding out of your room to the kitchen.

[5:13 PM]: Andyyyyyy. U going to Lush tonight?

You tapped the side of your phone restlessly for a beat, then texted again.

[5:13 PM]: Can you bring what u brought last night

In the kitchen, you opened the cabinet, revealing an array of neatly arranged pill bottles. Without looking, you pulled out a bottle of Advil and an empty glass. Seated at the kitchen table, engrossed in her Macbook, was your assistant, Rhea.

“Corinne’s pissed.” She said before she even looked at you, focused intently on the screen in front of her.

“Good morning,” you responded, filling your glass at the sink and beaming an exaggerated, pageant-queen smile at her. She scoffed in response.

“The sun is going down in… 40 minutes.” she retorted, her gaze flitting momentarily to the clock on the wall, then back down. You made a mockingly offended expression, hands lifting with dramatic flair.

“Time is a social construct, Rhea,” you declared, tossing back the Advil and chasing them with the full glass of water.

“Yeah, for you, maybe.” She muttered, still typing like a maniac.

You were fired six weeks ago.

The movie was meant to signal a departure for you, a leap into serious territory - a drama marking an overdue graduation from the teeny-bopper films you’d spent the last decade of your life making. You’d been lucky a year ago - a really excellent writer took a chance on an elevated high school comedy with you at the helm that had people in the industry, finally, taking you more seriously. 

Seriously enough to get you in the door, at least. Being on set gave you a different impression. You felt as coddled as ever, still treated like an unqualified child star whose presence was more of a slightly annoying novelty than a creative asset.

You wanted to be treated like an adult - a real actress, a professional. This movie was supposed to accomplish that. Despite the fact that this project had a huge, award-winning director attached to it, it was subject to the same issues you’d experienced on countless, lower-tier productions. Poorly communicated call times, technical issues, handsy producers hanging around your trailer. The latter issue caused you to insist on Rhea being by your side whenever possible - power in numbers in an attempt to keep greasy Hollywood exec’s hands away from you.

You weren’t going out any more often than you usually did. Now that you were old enough to not have to sneak into clubs anymore, you were having fun. Though your evenings often bled into mornings, occasionally pushing the limits of your call times, it felt manageable. However, Corinne was relentless in reminding you of the stakes and your professional expectations: show up, behave, perform.

That morning, exhaustion hung over you more heavily than usual. The night before, you’d been out celebrating Natalie’s 23rd birthday. A friend of hers had just returned from Amsterdam and brought with him a bag of European ecstasy as a souvenir. After Le Deux closed, you threw an after party at the Chateau’s pool, you and Nat drank champagne on your floaties as the chemicals rushed through your systems. Your fingers dipped in and out of the heated pool, the two of you gossiping and giggling and floating along until the sun came up.

You were on set on time - early, in fact - but the MDMA had worn off and your energy was plummeting fast. You’d run through the scene several times with Rhea, but it didn’t seem to have helped much.

“Cut,” the director called out, sighing and stepping out from his position behind the camera. Your costar groans softly, standing up from his spot across from you and stepping away as the surrounding crew moves quickly to reset the scene.

“I’m sorry Alan,” you offered immediately as the director approached your mark. A makeup artist swoops in, tapping a brush to your under eyes.

“You’re furious with him, remember,” he coached you. “I understand it’s early, but I need you to manage to muster up some energy.”

You nodded, trying to focus despite the persistent buzzing in your head. “I’m really sorry.”

“I don’t need you to apologize to me like a punished child, I just need you to perform the way I’ve asked you to. Can you do that?”

"I'll get it right this time, I promise," you assure him softly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

He eyed you skeptically, his weaning lack of patience with you made clear by his expression.

“We’ll break for five.” He called out to the room, still staring at you as you stood up and shuffled off behind him.

Rhea arrived at your side with your cell phone and a Red Bull. You flip open the screen as you walk, quickly scrolling through your text messages and trying to distract yourself from your dull, nagging headache.

“That was okay, right?” You asked, trying to sound casual but unable to hide the uncertainty in your voice. “Is it as bad as he says?”

“You were fine,” Rhea’s voice was uncharacteristically high-pitched as she held out the straw of your energy drink in front of you. Her eyes flit back and forth, scanning the area, and her voice lowers into a whisper as she continues. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m tired,” You brushed her off, shaking your head and handing your phone back to her. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

Rhea nods, a concerned eyebrow lifting as you arrive at your trailer. Everyone in your life was looking at you like that lately - as if doing anything less than completely coddling you would cause you to fly off the handle. The cautious glances, the careful choices of words, the subtle tiptoeing around your every move - especially from Rhea, who never gave a fuck about your feelings - it all grated on your nerves like an itch beneath the surface. 

She held out her hand and you took it quickly, grabbing an orange bottle from her and slipping through the door of your trailer.

In your trailer, you sat at the vanity and closed your eyes, taking a couple of deep breaths before opening them and gazing at yourself in the mirror. You opened the bottle, pouring out two small pills on the counter in front of you. Scanning the surface quickly, you located a plastic card and pushed it against the pills with the ball of your hand. You pushed it again and again, finally finishing and scraping the excess powder from the card onto the table. Dragging the powder into two lines, you leaned down to inhale them and stood straight back up. You licked your finger and picked up the excess residue, pushing it into your gums and taking a couple more deep breaths to re-center yourself.

The acrid taste of the pills gave you a Pavlovian surge of energy, the anxious buzz in your chest subsiding and easing into a steady hum. You sat at the mirror, dragging a finger underneath your eye to wipe smudged eyeliner from your face. You sniffled, forcing the action into another deep breath and staring at yourself in the mirror. You belong here. You do. You know what you’re doing.

A sharp knock at the door pulled you back to reality with a jump.

“Jesus,” You called out “Alright, Rhea, one second!”

“It’s Alan. Open the door.”

Fuck. You frantically began cleaning the counter in front of you - slipping the credit card into your pocket and brushing your hands across the surface.

“Now!” Alan boomed from outside.

“Okay, okay!” You moved to the door and turned the lock, opening the door just enough for him to see you. You sniffled again, trying to camouflage the reaction with a cough. “Yes?”

Pushing the door firmly, Alan moved into your trailer, his body dwarfing yours in the small space.

“Listen to me,” he said, low but firm. “I’m done. I’m not doing this with you. I am not letting you fuck up my movie.”

“What?” You were dumbstruck.

“Don’t play dumb. Not now. You know exactly what I mean.” He was inches from your face now and getting angrier by the minute. You swallowed, desperately looking around for Rhea. Tears stung the corners of your eyes and you fought them, willing yourself not to blink.

“They’re prescribed,” you attempt. It doesn’t work.

“I don’t care what you do on your own time,” he continued “But this is mine. This is important to me and to everyone else out there whose livelihoods depend on this project, and I’m not going to let some spoiled, coked-out little actress spoil it.”

Your face burned with humiliation.

“Corinne fought hard to get you on this project. This was more of a fucking favor to her than you. But this movie does not live and die by your actions, do you understand me? You can kill yourself if you insist, but you will not pull my movie down with you. You’re fired.”

Your jaw dropped. You were unable to find words let alone choke them out. Rhea’s face was stark white when you spotted her just outside the door of your trailer, her cell phone firmly against her cheek, whispering into the receiver with her eyes wide.

“This is no longer viable for me or anyone else on this crew. I want you off my set now.”

You couldn’t move, your heart pounding in your chest. He stood there for another moment before exiting the trailer and slamming the door behind him. The force of the slam caused the door to open slightly, revealing Alan standing in front of Rhea.

“I don’t want to see you here again.” He said to her, loud enough for you to hear, his voice stern and uncompromising. “You’re lucky I don’t call the cops on you for bringing drugs on my set.”

You hung in the doorway as he stormed away, and as the room swirls into focus you see the eyes of the crew on you, their faces filled with curiosity and concern. Turning your head, you quickly blinked away your tears and wiped your eyes with the back of your hand.

Officially, you’d been let go due to ‘scheduling conflicts’. It was flimsy, Hollywood jargon for your star showing up fucked up, and unfortunately, the euphemism did little to quell the relentless scrutiny surrounding you.

Rhea had shown you the footage of you that began making the rounds after your firing was announced - a creepy, shaky video leaked by some PA of Alan berating you on set, cut with another clip of you walking around the soundstage. It was embarrassing - your hair was disheveled and you were pacing around in a way that looked strange out of context, but there wouldn’t have been anything interesting about it at all if the rumor hadn’t gotten out that you’d been fired for your drug use. Since then, the attention on you had been relentless.

The paparazzi had been a regular part of your life since you were a young teenager. It, generally, wasn’t as bad in New York, which is part of the reason why you preferred to stay there, but in LA it felt as if you were never more than a few feet from a camera. 

When you were 16 and working on your first film after Growing Together ended, you started going to clubs with your coworkers. No one ever gave you any trouble, and you didn’t even start drinking until you were 18, but despite that, the mere optics of a child star reveling in nightlife proved a lucrative angle for the media to exploit.

Since then, you were followed almost constantly. Leaving home, returning, getting groceries, getting your nails done, driving through McDonald’s - flashing lights in the corner of your eye were such a regular thing that you barely even noticed it anymore. There were photographers you knew at this point, friendly ones who knew your angles and creepy ones who constantly tailed your car.

It’d never been like this before, though. Literal throngs of photographers showed up anywhere you went, watching you like hawks, all waiting to swoop in on the slightest slip up. Going shopping was an event that needed to be scheduled in advance, boutiques needing to be warned that you’d be coming in so that they could prepare to lock doors behind you. Every step, every breath, felt scrutinized and captured for public consumption, leaving you suffocated beneath the weight of it all.

You were so angry about being let go - your behavior, truly, was no different from what any other actor your age was doing. You partied with your friends, you were out late sometimes, but you knew you were a good actress. It had been your passion since you were a child, and it was beyond frustrating to hear people tell you they loved you and wanted to see you win and then have them turn against you the moment you made a mistake.

So, although you’d behaved and spent the first week or two lying low at the insistence of Corrine, you were over it now. You stayed in LA, uninterested or unwilling to go home to your family and friends in New York and explain to them what's been going on. You were going out with Natalie every night, usually to Le Deux or Lush or Teddy’s. You stayed out late and slept in late and generally just did your best to avoid confrontation with any paparazzi or journalists or producers you’d pissed off.

You weren’t lying to Alan when you told him you were only taking what had been prescribed to you. It just happened that a lot of things had been prescribed to you. Lately, you’d been alternating between Adderall and MDMA for the last week or so, making you too speedy and anxious to really dwell on the current state of your career. You were, admittedly, running through your prescriptions more quickly than usual, causing you to need to make some calls in order to fill in the gaps.

Throughout dinner, you anxiously slid the screen to your Sidekick open and shut, open and shut. You thumbed through the wheel of apps, trying to will into existence a text from Andy that didn’t seem to be coming. It’s not exactly like you expected rigid punctuality from the guy who sold you drugs, but his radio silence was making you antsy.

[9:05pm]: Hellooooooooo

Natalie exclaimed as a tray of shots was delivered to the table, echoed by the group of acquaintances that you met up with at Don Antonios, the restaurant you always went to before a night out. Eagerly, you took one off the tray, blindly grabbing another as you knocked the first one back. You chased that shot with the other, the warmth of the liquid making you feel more like a human being and less like a raw nerve.

Seated to your right in the booth was a girl you kind of knew. She was always hanging out on the fringes of your group, some friend of a friend of a friend who was for sure going home and telling everyone she partied with you. She’d been gawking at you all night, beady eyes locked on you since you sat down, craning her neck and sitting uncomfortably close to you, your dress pinned under her studded jeans. You’d been resisting the urge to ask her what the fuck her problem was for the better part of an hour. As the group around you became distracted by the arrival of the shots, you seized the opportunity to confront her.

“Can you please get off of my dress?” you spat.

Her eyebrows shot up as she took her eyes off of you for what felt like the first time that evening to look down, apologizing and scooching over. She had tall red stilettos on and, when she looked back up at you, you could see the smudged mascara on her eyelid. Just as you were going to take the opportunity to move away from her, she leaned over to talk to you over the noise that surrounded you.

“Sorry. Hey, I’m Katie.”

You grimaced, not in the mood to talk to this person.

“Hi.”

You turn away for a beat, but your attention is grabbed again by Katie’s voice lowly in your ear.

“Hey, I have Xanax, if you want one,” the offer took you by surprise, the prospect lighting you up immediately.

“Oh, my god, I love you,” you said, quickly turning towards her and extending your palm. “Please?”

Downers really weren’t your thing, even booze wasn’t your favorite, but this evening was going to turn from boring to maddeningly insufferable fast if you didn’t get your hands on something.

“I know someone who needs one when I see them,” she laughed, discreetly dropping two pills into your palm.

The clubs in LA were the same thing every time. You showed up in big black SUVs, posed and made nice for the photographers outside for a moment and then clamored inside towards the booth that was waiting for your party. 

It felt like high school. Well, you assumed, since your high school experience took place entirely on set. You saw the same people everywhere, all scattered around the room, broken up into their own little cliques. All gossiping, the room alive with murmurs and whispers. Who’d just shown up? Who was fighting with who? Who’d stolen whose boyfriend? It all felt so juvenile, but not being here was worse, so you put up with it. The people changed, but not really - you usually ended up surrounded by the same cast of promoters, wannabe socialites and greasy LA club dudes, swapped out every couple weeks by stand-ins and understudies and new arrivals. They circled your table like vultures, mingled with one another and made use of your tab while you sat engrossed in your Sidekick.

The night became slightly more tolerable once you’d taken one of the bars Katie gave you, but you were still desperately trying to get a hold of a dealer. By the time you left the restaurant and were climbing into the backseat of your car to head to Lush, you’d even resorted to texting backup options, people you’d partied with once or twice who you suspected might be around. 

Sinking into the plush booth, you let your head loll to the side, eyes shutting against the assault of strobing lights. The steady, pumping rhythm of the bass sent a rattle through your bones.

After a minute, Natalie's hand landed gently on your knee, snapping you back to reality.

“You okay, girl?” She asked. Her voice felt distant, barely audible over the pounding bass reverberating through the room. The glitter on her eyelids shimmered in the blue light, the only part of her face you could clearly make out in the shadowy corner of the booth.

“I’m fine,” you answered impatiently, kicking your feet up into the seat next to you. Just then, your phone finally buzzed, your heart skipping a beat as your dealer’s name flashed across the screen

ANDY [11:03PM]: not goin tonite

You scoffed, pausing for a second before furiously tapping out a response.

[11:03PM]: FUCK U ASSHOLE

You hit send and threw your phone into your purse with a huff. You were going to have to come up with something else. Or maybe just slit your wrists right here at the table instead.

You surveyed your group as bottle service brought two large bottles of tequila to your table along with a tray brimming with shots. knew all it would take was a couple hundred bucks from a photographer outside for them to spill about how you’d begged them for coke. They'd probably do it for free just for the attention. You'd already asked Katie, but all she had was Xanax and a joint, and Natalie would've let you know if she got a hold of anything else.

You started scanning the rest of the room, looking for anyone you knew. The club was packed, some sort of launch party that’d booked a huge DJ filling even the VIP section from wall to wall.

Suddenly, your attention was grabbed by the sound of a man shouting at the booth directly across from yours. He was the typical guy you'd find in places like this: a douchey-looking producer type, each of his arms wrapped around two miserable-looking models to his left and right. Intrigued, you followed his gaze to see who he was yelling at.

Oh, bingo.

Dieter Bravo. You recognized him instantly. An actor like you, you knew you’d seen him around at award shows and parties, but you’d never met. His reputation preceded him, though; you knew he partied, knew that he, too, had been let go from movies due to 'scheduling conflicts' more than once. You knew he’d been in trouble for drugs. Last you'd heard, he'd been in the news for cheating on his wife or something. You were certain that all it’d take was a little bit of flirting and buttering him up to get him to share whatever he had with you.

Without a word to anyone, you rose from your booth, ignoring Natalie's questioning as you strode towards Dieter's booth. Immediately, though, you lost your footing, lightheaded from standing up too quickly. You brushed it off, saved from a fall by someone at your booth. Straightening your dress, you grabbed a bottle of tequila before pivoting on your heel and starting back towards Dieter.

Dragged out against his will, Dieter was a guest of honor at a launch party for Elysium Fragrances, the cologne brand he’d shot a campaign for last year. His presence was requested tonight as a make-good for being a no-show at the launch of his own campaign, instead being spotted that evening by the California Highway Patrol speeding down the Pacific Coast Highway with a model in the passenger seat. 

He’d been stopped by a cop as he attempted to pump gas, some asshole photographer seizing the opportunity to swoop in on the interaction and hurl all sorts of insulting names at his date. Dieter lost his patience, blowing past the cop to shove the paparazzo to the ground, shattering his camera in the process. He was arrested that evening on five charges - assault and battery, destruction of property, drunk and disorderly conduct, assault of an officer (come on) and, thanks to a thorough search of his car, possession with intent to distribute.

As his smug-faced mugshot circulated the tabloids, it eclipsed the glossy editorial photos that the brand had invested millions in. The extravagant campaign was reduced to a joke, its over-the-top glamour juxtaposed with candid snapshots of Dieter’s angry face shouting at the photographer.

Unbelievably, the brand hadn’t thrown him out then and there. He almost wished they had - he preferred the couple of nights he spent in jail to the following days spent in meetings, his team arguing with Elysium over their ability to sway this and use his reputation to their advantage. Ultimately, they maintained his status as a face of their brand as well as his 6 million dollar contract, with the stipulation that he shoot another campaign and make himself available for any event, launch or party the brand requested for the next year.

Being asked to party in exchange for six million dollars was a sweet deal - he understood that - but the reality of being a cosmetics brand’s puppet meant that he ended up at the same fucking parties week in and week out, always babysat by an appointed employee of the brand or, failing that, someone on his payroll.

Tonight was particularly torturous. The tabloids had latched onto the whispers of his crumbling marriage - rumors that were, fortunately or unfortunately, completely legitimate. Heidi was meant to be the one to tie him down, set him straight, clean him up. Their wedding photos looked like a fucking editorial, glossy photos ran with headlines predicting their domestic bliss. But a year and a half, a relapse, a DUI, and a string of affairs - all on his part - had shattered those illusions.

Last week, Dieter returned home from a 3-day bender to Heidi’s mother on the landing at the top of his stairs. She was screaming and hurling the contents of his closet at him, plus whatever else was within arms reach. Heidi, her once-bright eyes now dull with tears, cowered in a doorway behind her mother, slamming the door behind her when he called out in an attempt to reason with her. Her mom located his Oscar, hurling it towards his head with a warning to leave the house before she called the cops. He’d ducked just in time to avoid the statue concussing him, it instead crashing through the glass window of the door behind him.

The stories spread like wildfire, his team scrambling to reshape the narrative, casting Heidi as the cold, unfeeling spouse who couldn't handle his demons. They painted her as the villain, accusing her of rejecting him for his vices - after all, she knew who she married - all the while conveniently forgetting that she had stood by him through more than most people would be able to tolerate. It was an angle he wasn’t happy with; He may have been hedonistic but he wasn’t cruel. In the interest of giving her space and avoiding any additional negative attention sent her way, he moved out. He kept an apartment closer to town, and staying there made it that much easier to avoid any reminders of his failures.

The word on the poor, dejected husband had spread, causing every asshole he ran into tonight to look at him with the same pathetic, sympathetic expression. He resented their pity. He resented this party, this club, his obligation to be seen holding some stupid bottle of cologne in order to maintain his career. The four whiskies he'd downed had done little to numb him from it, and even the lines he'd snorted on the way over had failed to dull the edges of this evening.

You’d stumbled in about an hour ago, perching yourself in the booth across from his own. Your eyelids were heavy in a familiar way, his dirtbag instincts making him suspect you’ve popped a painkiller in addition to whatever you’ve been drinking. A group of giggly, hungry hangers-on swarmed around your table like flies, posing for pictures and parting only to let bottle service in and out.

Dieter knew you - or at least, he knew of you. The cute little starlet who always popped up next to him in the tabloids. He’d seen you in enough movies and on enough billboards to recognize your face, and he’d lurked around clubs like this often enough to have seen you before. Before you’d walked in, he’d resigned himself to an armchair as far back in the VIP section as he could find, determined to wait out the evening before bringing home whatever model ended up in his car. The whiskey he’d been drinking was only just beginning to kick in and he didn’t fight it, leaning back and willing the time to pass faster. But you… you were interesting.

Your gorgeous legs were stretched out along the booth, climbing up to the hem of your dress, a pink silky thing he imagined he could tear off of you with the smallest amount of force. Glossy lips pouted at your phone, eyebrows furrowed in a sweet little frustrated expression. When you looked up he didn’t look away - he kept his eyes trained on you as you looked around the room. You were looking for someone, obviously restless. A boyfriend? The thought twisted at his stomach uncomfortably and he willed himself to stop watching you, putting his glass to his mouth and draining it with a single swallow.

“Bravo!” a voice bellowed from his left, snapping him out of it. Clint - some hack from Elysium Fragrances and tonight’s designated narc waved enthusiastically from the booth next to him. “You gonna sit there and fuckin’ mope all night, bro?”

Fuck this guy. Like most of his brand-approved chaperones, he was content to accept the babysitting opportunity and spend the evening running up Dieter’s tab and shamelessly hitting on the girls at his table. The least he could do would be to leave him the fuck alone.

His attention returned to you when he heard a commotion from your direction. There you were, knees buckled, held at your elbow by one of the guys surrounding your booth. A couple of cell phone cameras lift and snap photos behind you as you attempt to compose yourself. He can’t take his eyes off of you as you stand back up, adjusting yourself, your little dress riding up for just a moment before you smooth it back into place.

The bottle he’d finished had begun to cloud his vision, so it took him a moment to realize you were stumbling towards him, your plush lips slightly parted as you swung a bottle of tequila at your side. Despite the haze, your smile was unmistakable as you arrived at his chair. When you held up the bottle with a subtle lift of your eyebrow, he nodded in agreement.

He wasn’t entirely sure if you climbed into his lap or if you simply floated there, an ethereal presence that captivated his senses. You were such a gorgeous little thing, soft legs draping over him effortlessly, while your electric fingertips traced delicate patterns along his arms.

“Where’ve I met you before?” You slurred, fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt as you settled in his lap.

You were fucked up. If it wasn’t obvious before, it was now. Good - he was, too. His plan had been to leave, get one of the models at his table to come home and roll over for him without much effort, but passing the evening with someone in his same state of mind would spare him from having another dull fucking conversation tonight. Plus, you were so pretty, big black pupils dilated and fixed on him beneath the lazy black fan of your eyelashes.

“You tell me,” he answered, running his finger along the rim of his glass.

Did you know who he was? He goes along with your guesses as to where you’d met before. Miami, London, the Met, whatever you said, as long as you didn’t piece together that you know him from a TV show that aired when you were still in middle school.

Music blasted through the speakers surrounding you, strobe lights flashing and highlighting flecks of glitter on your shoulders. He lifted his hand to run his finger along the thin strap of your dress as you lifted the bottle up between you and raised your eyebrows in question. He nodded, holding up his empty whiskey glass. 

“Glastonbury?” You asked as you filled his glass. 

“That must be it,” he agreed, knowing he hadn’t been to Glastonbury since 1995, and clinked his glass against your bottle. He watched as you took a long draw from the mouth and could see the grimace you were holding back as you squinted, your throat bobbing as you swallowed. He followed your lead, emptying his glass in three big gulps. Your eyes flitted over momentarily to the group he came with, crowded around the booth to his left, then back to him.

“You alone?” You asked him, glossy lips smirking.

“Just like you.”

You let out a knowing chuckle and leaned in closer to him, tequila and lime and smoke on your breath as it mingled with his own. The way you dragged your lower lip through your teeth had his cock twitching, the combination of the chemicals in his system and you purring in his lap like a kitten destroying any shred of inhibition he had left. 

There’s an acknowledgment between people like you and Dieter. It’s one of those things that doesn’t lend itself to description, but he knew it when he saw it - in the mirror, in friends and acquaintances and enemies, in blown-up photographs on the covers of tabloids, suicides and DUIs announced in newsstands. Raw nerves covered in glitter, celebrity or civilian, death drives winning over life drives every time. He saw it in your dilated pupils and the way your thighs were rubbing together, the silk of your dress doing nothing to hide it. You’re like him, too, and most importantly, you know better than to ask why.

His hand cupped your face before he realized he’d done it and he closed the space between you, your lips soft against his the next sensation he was aware of. You tasted good, and he wanted more right away, deepening the kiss and digging his fingers into your thigh forcefully. He ran his tongue along the seam of your mouth, his own lips going numb as he licked into yours. He pulled you up to straddle him and you moved easily, hips lowering onto him immediately and settling, the lace of your panties brushing up against the thin fabric of his pants. His mouth trailed to your ear, worrying your earlobe between his teeth and guiding your hips to roll against his crotch again and again.

“You don’t give a fuck, do you?” He said, his voice low and hoarse in your ear. He knew you had the attention of his group and your own, not to mention anyone else who happened to look over, but it didn’t seem to matter to you. He knew you’d been in trouble lately - the same limelight, coming-of-age growing pains he’d been through himself several years ago - and his own instincts threatened to kick in and shield you from the excess attention. 

You laughed with a shake of your head, tossing your hair over your shoulder and, without looking away from him, lifted his hand from your thigh to your lips, dragging your tongue across the length of his index finger and popping it into your mouth.

Oh, you were fun. You were already making him hard, and he knew you could feel it as you grinded into him again and again, letting his finger drop from your mouth when he pressed his lips back to yours. He needed to be careful - the linen lounge pants he’d thrown on to come here would betray nothing if you kept it up much longer.

It’s a noticeable absence when you hum and pull away from the kiss, the urge for more of you rolling over him and causing his fingers to dig into your thighs possessively.

“Do you have anything… funner?” You asked, big, blown out eyes pleading as you lifted the tequila bottle up again. Aha. It just so happened he did - a baggie of coke he’d brought along just in case sat in his pocket, along with two tabs of acid. It didn’t seem like that kind of night, though, at least not yet. He’d stick with the coke.

“I might have something,” he replied, a genuine smirk spreading across his face for the first time that evening. He sat up straight, smacking your ass and biting your jawline at the same time, the yelp it pulled from you quickly transforming into a wild giggle and sending a rush of blood to his cock as he peppered kisses and bites down your neck to your collarbone. 

Quickly, he helped you to your feet and guided you through the crowded room, following you across the floor, his index finger linked with your pinky, prying eyes and pointing fingers meaningless to the both of you. You may have been stumbling, but you were confident. Or at least not at all concerned. A camera phone at the bar flashed and Dieter instinctively ducked his head, moving a hand to your hip to rush you forward and out of sight. 

Tucking into a hallway at the back of the club, he kicked a door open and hurried you inside a small, dark room. It was clearly an employee restroom, high piles of backstocked paper towels and toilet paper toppling over when he pushed you up against the wall harshly, his hands cupping your face, the cool metal of his rings pressed against your cheek.

He pulled a pink baggie out of his shirt pocket, opened it and tapped a bump of white powder out onto the skin between his thumb and index finger. He held it up to your nose and, without any question about what it was, where he got it or if he’d already tried it, you’d inhaled, one hand holding his steady while the other held your nostril closed. 

Fucking finally. Your head lit up immediately with euphoria and relief as the amphetamines rushed through your system and you melted against Dieter as he lifted you to perch you on a stack of cardboard boxes. 

You let him move you like a rag doll, smiling as he propped you back and tapped out two more bumps onto your chest and snorted them, running your fingers through his messy curls as he dragged his tongue along your cleavage, licking up what was left.

His lips found yours again, and the pungent taste of the powder on his tongue mingling with his taste drew you in closer. Looping your arm around his neck, your free hand clutched his bicep. The acrid taste turned pleasantly tingly on your tongue, a numbness spreading as it explored his mouth.

“Here, baby,” he urged, breaking the kiss breathlessly, and you hummed in response as he tapped out another bump on the back of his hand. You inhaled it again, then he used his finger to gather the remnants of the powder. Cupping your cheek firmly, your jaw relaxed under his touch as he rubbed the excess powder into your gums. You reacted instantly, closing your eyes and drawing his finger deeper into your mouth, succumbing to the rush of sensation.

He groaned in approval, your lips already open when he kissed you again, drawing him in for more, thighs parting to wrap your legs around him. The flimsy strap of your dress fell off your shoulder, the fabric across your chest following shortly after.

Blissfully content with the relief of the chemicals rushing into your bloodstream for the first time today, you went numb, rolling your head back and watching patterns dance behind your eyelids. You allowed Dieter to touch and move you at his will, his hands skillfully brushing the other strap of your dress off your shoulder, exposing your chest completely. A throaty moan escaped him at the sight, the gentle sway of your breasts moving with the rhythm of the rough push of his hips into yours. He drew you closer, his lips finding purchase on your skin. Roughly latching onto you, he drew your breast into his mouth, his tongue drawing circles around the peak of your nipple before switching to the other side of your chest.

Sparks shot down your spine and your mind went blank for a second, lost in the feeling of him against you, the synapses in your brain firing and lighting up. You snapped back into the moment when you felt him grasp your hand with his own, his fingers intertwined with yours. He guided you down to press your hand into his crotch, grinding the firm length of himself into your hold again and again. 

A soft moan escaped your lips, surrendering to the warmth and pressure of his body against yours. You tightened your grip around his neck, allowing yourself to fully yield to his control, your body pliant and responsive to his every move.

You’d fuck him, you figured, as you moved against him. He was good looking - now that you were feeling a little less edgy, you could appreciate it. Corinne would kill you if word got out, but he seemed like someone who knew a thing or two about discretion. He stiffened even more as he firmly thrusted into the cradle of your hand and you cupped your fingers around his length, the soft fabric of his pants allowing you to feel him completely. You walked your fingers up to his waistband, nails dipping under the fabric and pulling at it slightly. You’d go home with him. Whatever. You’d bring Natalie with you and you could leave by morning. He probably wouldn’t even notice a missing gram or two.

You followed the thought as he trailed kisses up your chest and neck, finally settling at your ear. His hand rose up your thigh, thick fingers dragging along the lace fabric at your center. The bundle of nerves there erupted at his touch and your thighs instinctively squeezed around him.

“Let me taste you, baby, please,” He growled just above a whisper into your ear. You arched your back into his arms, moaning and nodding in agreement, the cool porcelain of the sink underneath you causing your skin to goosebump as your dress rode up further. You opened your eyes, peeking at the chestnut brown curls, the color blending into the dark room surrounding you. Your eyelids felt heavy, and you fought to keep them open, wanting to stay present with him. But the warmth of his breath against your skin and the gentle touch of his fingers on your cheeks were lulling you somewhere else. You felt like you were floating, your vision blurred at the edges and you fluttered your eyes shut again, feeling his fingers curl around the waistband of your panties and stall there for a moment. 

Your fading in and out like that threatened to spook him away. You couldn’t be too fucked up. He lightly tapped your cheeks a couple of times, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Stay with me, baby," he whispered urgently. "Gotta hear you say it."

“Mmmm,” Dazed, faraway eyes looked up at him, your blown-out pupils mirroring his own. You nodded again, dragging your teeth along your bottom lip. Your pulse raced between your legs, and you felt your hips moving towards him, trying to ride something that wasn’t there yet. “Do it, Dieter, please.”

There we go. He smirked, lifting you from the stack of boxes to push you up against the wall and sinking to his knees. He bunched up the fabric of your dress at your hips, roughly pulling your panties down your legs, the black fabric hanging loosely at one ankle as he lifted your leg to hang over his shoulder.

You shrieked when he slid his tongue through your folds, your knee buckling when he repeated the motion, his strong hands moving up to your hips to support you. His tongue pushed wide against you, him tasting and exploring you as his fingers dug into your hips with bruising force.

He felt fucking amazing. You typically hated when men touched you, especially when you were high, but he felt incredible. You’d give him anything. Despite your rapidly dulling senses, the feeling of his tongue working your clit back and forth was at the front of your mind. He pushed his tongue wide against you again and again, fucking two thick fingers up into you without warning. 

You gasped, your mouth opening wide as you root your fingers into his hair to ground yourself. He wanted to wreck you completely, to smear the dark makeup around your eyes and watch that glossy mouth of yours stretch around his cock. His lips locked around your clit, and as the blood rushed to the bundle of nerves there you threw your head back, chest heaving, loud, wretched moans spilling from your throat.

With your senses dulled, he knew it’d take a little more to send you over the edge. A third finger pushed into you with a stretch, starting slow and working up to get in and out of your tight, soaked cunt. You moved your hips to match his rhythm, your pace hiccuping as he began working you faster and faster, working your clit between his teeth with a pinch.

Your moans were frantic, hitching higher and higher as he confidently worked you towards an orgasm, your surroundings blurring and swirling around you. 

THUD, THUD, THUD. Just as you neared your release, a loud pounding at the door shattered the moment.

He groaned in frustration, pausing briefly before attempting to resume. You struggled to regain your focus, your chest heaving with heavy breaths, nerves coiled tightly at your core.

The knock was followed by a muffled argument and the clanking of keys from the other side of the door. Reluctantly, Dieter's head emerged from between your thighs.

“Fucking assholes,” Dieter grumbled in frustration as he stood up, moving the straps of your dress back up your shoulders and quickly adjusting himself. You steadied yourself with a hand on his shoulder as you pulled your panties back up, frustration pounding angrily between your legs.

“Find me, alright?” He breathed, smoothing out your dress, his hand lingering on your ass and eyes slowly moving up your body. “I’ll take you home.”

You nodded as the door was thrown open, the bright, white light of a flashlight shining into the small room. You stood up straight, quickly fixing your hair in the mirror and sneakily grabbing the small, plastic baggie Dieter left on the counter, hiding it in your fist behind your back.

“Let’s go. Knock this shit off,” a voice bellowed from behind the light, which darted back and forth between you and Dieter. “We’re not doing this in my fucking club, get the fuck out, let’s go!”

“What the fuck is this?” Dieter asks, moving to stand in front of you and block you from the bright light.

“I’m sorry, man, I tried to stop him,” Another voice followed from outside the room. You squinted and peeked over Dieter’s shoulder, annoyance showing on your face. A large bald man in a suit held the flashlight and to his right was the small, douchey-looking guy you recognized from Dieter’s booth. Natalie’s head popped up behind the both of them, looking relieved to have found you.

“You’re not doing drugs on my floor and fucking little girls in my bathroom. That’s it, Bravo. Get the fuck out of here, let’s go,” the angry man repeated. Dieter raised his hands and murmured an apology to you as he shuffled out, one hand poised defensively in front of his face. He pushed out of the room past Natalie, her brows furrowed at him in confusion as he passed. His counterpart flocked to his side, immediately rushing into what sounded like a flurry of explanations and reassurances. Natalie slid into the room smoothly, wrapping an arm around you to usher you out. You stumbled at her side, annoyed and disoriented.

“I’m TWENTY-TWO, ASSHOLE!” You screamed at the man with the flashlight, attempting to shove him with your balled-up fists. He raised his eyebrows, bald head wrinkling and frown deepening. Natalie pulled you away from him quickly and you could hear her apologize behind you. “Don’t tell’um sorry, Nat, ’m not fucking sorry, I was in the fucking bathroom!” you slurred, your voice disjointedly raising and lowering in pitch.

“C’mon, babe, let’s go,” Natalie urged you.

“Yeah, ’s get the fuck outta here,” you agreed, stumbling as she shepherded you out. She handed you your purse and you quickly shoved your hand inside, dropping the half-empty baggie into the side pocket. One or two flashing lights from the crowd gathered at the bar stole your attention for a moment, but it quickly returned to the big, bald, interrupting gorilla with the flashlight. “This place SUCKS!” you screamed as you began to turn back towards him, leashed by Natalie’s grip around your arm.

“Let’s go,” she repeated firmly. You followed her through the crowded bar, stomping across the floor and ignoring the unending stream of heads turning towards you. The two of you shoved out the heavy metal doors of the club, clicking and flashbulbs immediately erupting around you as the cool evening air breezed across your skin. Your name was shouted from your left and right as Natalie dug in her bag for the valet ticket.

“Having fun tonight?” A photographer asked. You rolled your eyes. “Alright, over here, honey,” the same voice continued. With a resigned sigh, you turned to offer a practiced pose, your mind ticking through your media training despite how fucking annoyed you were. Stumbling a couple of times as you attempted to maintain your balance, you moved through a lazy pose or two. You knew the routine - let them get their shot and maybe they'll back off. 

“Partying tonight?” Another voice interjected. Moron.

Natalie finally located the ticket and the valet handed the keys over immediately, your car already parked and waiting curbside. Impulsively, you decided you’d drive, intercepting the keys before Natalie could take them and nearly smacking them out of the attendant’s hand before stumbling towards the vehicle.

“She’s not getting in the driver’s seat. No way,” reasons the voice of a man with a video camera to your left. “There’s no way!”

Another blinding eruption of flashing lights emerged around you. You stared down at your feet as you stumbled forward, trying to see where you were walking through the relentless assault of flashbulbs. Natalie called out your name from behind you. You struggled a couple of times with the handle before throwing the car door open heavily.

“Hey, you can’t drive, honey,” Another voice called out. You rolled your eyes.

You climbed into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut, exhaling loudly as the noise of the chaos surrounding you finally muffled. Flashing lights continued, your windshield now completely blocked by cameras. The volume raised again for a moment, a cacophony of voices and camera clicks, as Natalie scrambled into the passenger seat beside you.

“Are these people serious,” you asked, angling your head in towards Natalie and shielding your eyes from the barrage of flashbulbs pointed at you, frustration mounting with each flash. “How’m I supposta drive when they’re fucking blocking me?”

“Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t.” Natalie said, concern in her voice. “Let me, okay?”

You shook your head adamantly. “’M not going back out there.”

“So climb over,” She suggested.

“Not in this!”

Natalie let out an exasperated sigh, her fingers tapping anxiously on her thighs.

“Hey, since when do you know Dieter Bravo?” She asks, momentarily changing the subject.

“Who? Oh,” you replied, the question registering with you once you answered. The reminder of him sent your attention between your legs and you shifted slightly in your seat. “I dunno. I know’hm from an awards thing.” You offered. It was an unconvincing lie, but Natalie didn’t fight you on it.

“He’s so random,” she laughed. “I can’t believe you hooked up with him. I think my older sister had a poster of him in high school. Right next to River Phoenix.”

“Whatever,” you huffed, everything about this evening now pissing you off.  The incessant clicking of the paparazzi's cameras only added fuel to the fire, and you narrowed your eyes in irritation, slamming your hand down on the horn for a solid ten seconds in a futile attempt to disperse them.

“MOVE!” you yelled, only inciting more flashing lights.

“Let me drive, babe,” Natalie tried again.

“Oh, my god, fuck this,” you snapped, frustration finally boiling over. With your hand still shielding your eyes, you shifted the car into drive. “You're my eyes now.”

“What?! No!” She replied, her voice rising in panic.

“Be my eyes. I’m going.” You repeated. Very slowly, you eased your foot off the brake, the car beginning to inch forward. Voices clamored outside the vehicle.

“Oh my god, um, okay. Go slow. Turn left. Slow!” Natalie began to guide you. The crowd cautiously parted around the car, photographers scrambling to avoid being flattened while still unwilling to sacrifice this shot. “Oh my god, this is so stupid. Slow, slow, slow.”

“They’re fuckin’ stupid! What am I supposed to do?”

“No, yeah, okay, just slow, keep going left.” Natalie's voice trembled slightly as she continued to navigate. The relentless barrage of flashing lights illuminated the interior of the car, casting everything in stark, blinding brightness. “Okay, cut it! Cut it and keep going straight.”

You cut the wheel to the right and straighten it out, cautiously peeking through the gaps in your fingers to confirm you'd cleared the throng of photographers.

“Haha!” you exclaimed, your laughter echoing through the tense air as you slammed the gas pedal to the floor once the street ahead is clear. With a screech of tires, you peel off into the night, Natalie's nervous chuckles mingling with your own laughter. “Bye, assholes!”

You rocketed down Highland with reckless abandon. A couple of familiar vehicles creeped up behind you - regular photographers who paid their bills by stalking you. The driver to the left’s hand hung out the window, a digital camera pointed squarely at you. The light was yellow at the intersection in front of you and you smirked, not letting up on the gas and rolling your window down to flip off the camera as you raced through the intersection just as the light turned red.

“Slow down!” Natalie yelled, panicked, her hand clutching the door handle in a white-knuckled grip. “What is your problem?”

“My problem?! These guys are the ones with the problem,” you fired back, your tone frustrated. “I can’t do anything without getting fucking cornered!” Your car veered dangerously across the yellow lines and Natalie yelped. You overcorrected, the vehicle lurching back into its lane just in time to avoid a collision with an oncoming car, its horn blaring in warning. Natalie’s body stiffened further in her seat as you took a wide right turn onto Sunset. You turn on the radio, a Rihanna song picking up midway through.

“Did he give you something?” she shouted, her tone urgent. You furrowed your brow, shooting her a confused look. “Dieter,” she clarified.

“Oh, right!” you exclaimed, mood shifting as you suddenly remembered the baggie tucked in your purse. “Look what I got us!” You reached for your bag on the passenger floorboard, swerving again. Natalie lunged across the seat, her hands fumbling for the wheel to correct your course, while a chorus of horns blared from the vehicles behind you. Finally retrieving your purse, you fished out the baggie from the side pocket and held it up between your fingers for Natalie to inspect. She grabbed it from you quickly, examining it in her lap.

“What is it?” She asked. You shrugged.

“Coke, I think. Shit, hold on,” you floored the gas to race through another newly red light.

“Stop!” Natalie shrieked. “This is so fucking stupid, dude, let me drive!”

“Jesus, Nat, fine,” you groan, slamming on the brakes. You both jolted forward as the car came to a stop in the middle of the road. “You wanna drive so bad, fine.”

You unlocked the car doors, opening yours slightly and reaching down to unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Are you serious?” She scoffed, disbelief etched across her features as she surveyed the chaotic scene unfolding around you. You nodded in affirmation, a defiant smirk playing on your lips. “You’re such a bitch.”

With a surge of stubborn adrenaline, you stormed out onto Sunset Boulevard, Natalie following suit. The gray Honda belonging to one of the persistent photographers tailed you, coming to a halt beside you as the driver scrambled out, camera at the ready.

“LEAVE ME ALONE” you shouted. “I gave you your shot at the club, I’ve been nice to you guys, what more do you want?!”

You considered what it would take to get him to go away. Words weren’t working. Should you kick his car? Throw something? You began to stumble towards him, interrupted by Natalie yelling your name again. You turned around to see Natalie standing in the street, gaze fixed on the intersection ahead. Your car - which you apparently failed to put into park - was rolling into the intersection on its own. 

With a frantic surge of panic, you and Natalie sprinted after the runaway vehicle, the strobe of camera flashes behind you incessant. Arms flailing, you both desperately signaled to other drivers to stop, your heels clattering against the pavement as you raced towards the car.

As the car veered left, you were powerless to stop it from crashing into a parked BMW at the corner. Rushing to catch up, you flung yourself into the open driver's door, slamming on the brakes and throwing the gear into reverse. You leaned across the cab to fling the passenger door wide open.

“Come on!” You shouted at Natalie as she climbed back into the car. With a tense exhale, you navigated the car backward, turning wide in the intersection before screeching forward.

Your mind was completely clear with pure adrenaline. You were only a few blocks away from the hotel now, the castle-shaped outline shrouded in trees just ahead on your right. You floored it, a tense silence hanging in the car, both you and Natalie’s eyes locked forward on the road in front of you.

Only slowing down to make a right turn into the hotel driveway, you didn’t bother waiting for the valet. Tossing your keys onto the driver’s seat, you left the door ajar as you stormed through the garage toward your room, ready to put this evening behind you.

[bitchesuntitled]

Memories

Summary: What happens when your husband, Dieter, forgets who you are?

Warnings: 18+ minors get outta here! Cursing, fluff, smut, feel good, oral(f receiving), fingering(f receiving), probably not like realistic medical knowledge but it’s fiction 🤷‍♀️

A/N: Thank you so much @papipascalispunk for editing. @jay-zzle for the idea AND the mood board 😍❤️ I really liked writing this and had a lot of fun with it. Hope y’all like it! @schnarfer(it's here!)

Masterlist||AO3 Link

“Wait, who said we can’t have fruit bars anymore?” you ask, turning from the pantry to look at your seven year old daughter, Luna, sitting at the kitchen island.

“Daddy,” Luna states matter of factly, “He said that it’s fake food and we should only eat organic stuff.”

“Yeah, we need organic food,” your son Leo pipes in from the seat next to her. At three years old, he is currently in the copy everything big sister says or does phase.

“So, what do you want as a snack in your lunch box then?” you ask, raising your eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

“Uhhh… banana?” Luna shrugs, “Daddy wasn’t very specific on what I should eat instead.”

“Okay but get your breakfast eaten before your cereal gets soggy,” you say, pointing at both before starting on the dishes.

Of course Dieter would be the one to tell the kids not to eat certain foods. The man scolds you every time he sees your Bluetooth headphones – droning on and on about the effects it’ll have on your brain waves and how it’s going to damage your mind. Your relationship with Dieter was a bit of a chaotic whirlwind, meeting randomly on the set of one of the movies he starred in, one your friend was working on the set of.

“Well, hello there,” Dieter had said, standing next to you by the craft table. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“Excuse me?” you asked, looking around to see who he was actually talking to.

“Or should I walk by again?” he said with a smile.

“Is that how you get all the girls?” you asked, picking up a piece of cheese and pointing it at him, “Because that shit was pretty cheesy if you ask me.”

“No, trying something new,” Dieter said, cracking up into a giant fit of laughter. “Sorry, sorry. That– yeah, that was pretty good.”

“Bravo needed on set!” someone with a headset shouted in the distance, frantically waving at him.

“Guess that’s my cue,” he sighed, “Hope to see you ar– wait, what’s your name?”

You introduce yourself and he takes your hand, kissing the back of it.

“Pleased to meet you,” he said, repeating your name and winking, “Hope to see you around.”

That was the conversation that started it all nearly eight years ago. Within the first year of knowing Dieter, you were married and pregnant – and no – it wasn’t a shotgun wedding, as much as the tabloids tried to pin it as one.

“Dieter Bravo and Mystery Woman Seen Leaving Las Vegas Wedding Chapel”

“Dieter Bravo Expecting First Child with New Wife – Shotgun Wedding?”

“How Long Before Dieter Bravo Gets His First Divorce?”

You both just knew you were meant to be together. With the birth of Luna, he had sobered up completely. These days he hardly even drinks beer. It’s weird in a way, that he’s changed so much from who you first met, but still the same Dieter in every other aspect. Wild, spontaneous, creative, romantic, chaotic at times, and so loving.

–

“Good morning, my babies,” Dieter says, waltzing into the kitchen, giving each of his kids a kiss on the top of their heads.

“Hi, Daddy,” Luna and Leo exclaim.

“Hello, my love,” Dieter smiles, wrapping his arms around your waist giving you a sloppy smooch on the cheek.

“Ew,” Luna shouts, making gagging noises.

“Yeah, what Luna said!” Leo says, copying his older sister with fake gagging.

“Stop with the fake gagging,” he replies, looking at them, “You’ll make mommy sick.”

“Hi, babe,” you laugh, “Someone’s in a good mood this morning.”

“I want to start doing my own stunts like Tom Cruise,” Dieter explains excitedly, “And I think I’m going to crush it today! I’m supposed to scale a building, don’t worry, everything is going to be totally safe.”

“Seriously, Dieter?” you sigh, “You may say that it’s safe but I’m still going to worry – please be safe.”

Dieter gasps, putting his hand to his chest as if he were clutching a set of pearls. “Babies, I don’t think mommy trusts daddy!”

“Momma,” Leo laughs, perching up on the chair more, “Daddy be fine!”

“Yeah, momma,” Dieter says with a grin, “Daddy be fine.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, snorting and shaking your head, looking at your watch you realize you’re going to be cutting it close in getting Luna to school on time. “Shit!”

“Mommy,” Luna scolds, “You shouldn’t say bad words like that!”

“Luna, hurry up with your cereal or else you’re going to be late for school again,” you say as you turn to Dieter who is rummaging in the fridge for his own breakfast. “What time do you have to be on set?”

“In about an hour, get her to school. My favorite son and I will be fine here at home. If need be, I’ll tell the director that I’m going to be late. Family first,” he says, “Not like they’d fire me at this point. I’m the entire reason people are going to want to see this movie.”

“I love you so much,” you say, giving him a kiss before ushering Luna out the door.

“Love you too, baby!” Dieter shouts.

–

“I’m back,” you announce from the front door.

“That didn’t take as long as I expected,” Dieter chuckles, “I gotta get headed to the studio though.” He scoops Leo up into a tight hug, “We'll play superhero when I get back home, okay?”

“Otay,” Leo says, pouting.

“Poor baby,” Dieter coos and glances up at you with a smirk, “You sure you don’t want another one?”

“Dieter,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck, “We’ve talked about this. If it feels right, then maybe, but right now? No.”

“Fine,” Dieter groans, “But the moment you think it feels right, tell me?”

“Promise,” you smirk.

Dieter tells Leo goodbye with the promise of playing superheroes when he gets back home. Your mind begins to wander back to Dieter’s question about another baby as you go about your chores. You start smiling thinking back to when you first decided to start trying for a baby –  lying in bed together shortly after getting married.

“How many kids do you want?” Dieter asked, playing with the wedding band on your finger.

“I’d always imagined three honestly,” you smiled, “Why?”

“I want whatever you want,” he grinned, slotting himself between your legs again. “But if you wanted at least one I wouldn’t mind trying now.”

“D, we just got married a month ago,” you said, shaking your head, “Is that the only reason you married me? To have a baby?”

“Of course not, baby,” Dieter said, linking his fingers with yours and pinning them above your head, “I just know I really, really want them with you.”

“Oh yeah?” you whispered, tilting your head up to capture his lips. He moaned into your mouth, slowly grinding his stiffness against you.

“Yes,” he panted, breaking the kiss.

“Let’s do it then,” you said, nipping his bottom lip, “Fuck a baby into me, Dieter.”

“Fuck yeah, baby,” he groaned.

“Momma!” Leo shouts, pulling you from your thoughts, “Your phone.”

You had been so deep in the memory you didn’t even notice your phone ringing. It’s just Dieter, probably checking in to see how your day is going. He tends to do that while he’s on breaks at work.

“Well, hello, Tom Cruise,” you answer, giggling – except it isn’t Dieter on the other end. 

Instead, you hear his assistant, Andy, saying your name before, “Dieter’s been in an accident. I’m almost to your house, I’ll watch Leo so you can go to Cedars-Sinai medical,” quickly spills out of his mouth, “It’s not good.”

–

It’s been two weeks that you’ve sat beside his bed in this damn hospital, waiting for him to wake up. The doctors are all hopeful that he’ll wake up at any minute, but it’s been two days since he’s been off the ventilator, and nothing has happened yet. The kids keep asking where their dad is, and you don’t have any other answer than he’s sick. 

“Dieter,” you beg, holding onto his hand, “Babe, please wake up. We need you. Luna and Leo miss you – I miss you. Please just wake up.”

The nurse comes in to check Dieter’s vitals for the third time today. Since she’s keeping him company, you decide to head to the cafeteria to get some food, grabbing something simple before heading back to Dieter’s room. When you return, you notice a flurry of activity.

“Mr. Bravo, can you tell me what year it is?” a doctor asks, shining a small flashlight in his eyes.

“Of course I can, dumbass! It’s 2016,” Dieter snaps. “Now will you stop shining that light in my eye?”

“What’s going on?” you ask hesitantly.

“He woke up while you went to get food,” a nurse explains, “We’re trying to make sure mentally he’s with us.”

“Oh, for fuck sake!” Dieter cries out, “I’m fine, never felt better! There, she must be my new assistant.”

All eyes turn to you. This was a possibility the doctor had talked about before – temporary amnesia. Hopefully that’s all it is. The doctor motions you to follow him out of the room.

“He seems to have hit his head harder than we thought. In all honesty, I would try to play pretend with him for a little bit. Try thinking of things that might remind him of who he actually is today,” the doctor suggests. “I’m so sorry Mrs. Bravo.”

Dieter is having a conniption in the room while nurses are trying to calm him down. As you step back in, you see your husband frantically disconnecting and throwing the wires off of his body and onto the floor. 

“Where the fuck is my assistant?” Dieter yells.

“Dieter, D, baby – Mr. Bravo!” you shout and Dieter immediately freezes, eyes wide as saucers. “You need to calm down before you hurt yourself.”

“What happened?” Dieter asks, looking around at everyone.

“We’ll give you guys some space,” a nurse says quietly while ushering the others out of the room. You grab the chair next to his bed and sit down, reaching for his hand but stopping yourself as you notice your ring. Right now, this isn’t your husband. This is Dieter Bravo who believes it’s the year 2016.

“You were in an accident, you hit your head pretty good,” you start explaining to him, “You’ve been in a coma for two weeks now.”

“So, who are you?” he asks, looking you up and down with a raised eyebrow. “I knew my team wanted to hire me a new assistant since things didn’t work out with the last one – didn’t realize they’d pick someone so hot. Would you wanna have sex with me?”

“Dieter, I don’t think you’re cleared for those types of activities,” you chuckle, “I’m here for whatever you might need though.”

“Can you get me my phone?” he asks with those puppy-dog eyes he does best.

“Sure,” you reach for your purse digging around and find his phone, handing it over to him. “The passcode is 332016”

“The fuck? Why would I change it from the classic 42069?” he asks, looking at you with confusion.

“It’s uh… an important day to you,” you say, looking away, not wanting him to see the tears forming in your eyes. The day you met. 

“So, did I have an accident on set?”

“Yeah, you were scaling a building and the cable holding you snapped. You fell a good distance and smacked your head on the ground.”

“Wait,” Dieter says looking at his phone calendar, pointing it towards you, “Why does this say it’s 2024?”

“Because it’s not 2016,” you shrug, “It’s 2024.”

“How long have I been in a fucking coma?” Dieter asks, starting to panic again, frantically searching through the contacts in his phone, “Why can’t I find my dealer's number? I need coke. Wait, you’re my fucking assistant – go get me coke!”

“You’ve only been in a coma for two weeks and the only coke I’ll get you is Coca Cola,” you say crossing your arms, “I won’t let you have drugs in m– the house, Dieter.”

“Wait, my assistant lives with me?” he gasps, “You’re just supposed to come when I call you.”

“Different kind of assistant here.”

“Wait, I can’t have you in my house! I see that ring on your finger – I don’t want to get in between a marriage,” Dieter says, pointing at your left hand.

“It’s– it’s complicated right now,” you shrug.

“Fine, stay in my house, but stay out of my way,” Dieter sighs in frustration.

This is going to be a lot harder than you thought. He doesn’t remember who you are to him. He doesn’t remember getting clean when he married you. He doesn’t remember anything. Going home that night doesn’t help either because Luna wants to know what’s going on with her dad.

“Andy said that daddy woke up!” Luna says vibrating with excitement, “How come he’s not home?

“I had to leave him at the hospital because he’s still sick, honey.” You sit down on the plush couch in the living room, “Come here. I wanna talk to you about something.”

“Okay,” Luna hesitantly says, coming to sit next to you.

“Daddy is still sick. He looks fine but his brain is sick right now.”

“What’s that mean?” she questions, looking at you with the same eyes as her father.

“He doesn’t remember some stuff about his life right now,” you continue, “But we are gonna try to help him get it back. We have to think of the best memories we have with daddy so that maybe he’ll remember better.”

“So, we have to fix daddy?” she asks with tears in her eyes as you grab her into a hug, stroking her hair.

“Yeah, sweet girl, we have to fix daddy,” you say, trying not to cry yourself.

–

What was supposed to only be a few days turned into a week at the hospital. A week of playing Dieter’s assistant and having him boss you around. He was still adamant on getting drugs, but you put your foot down on that one. You weren’t going to let him ruin his seven years of sobriety just because he lost his memory.

“Alright Mr. Bravo looks like you’re all set to leave. Just need you to sign a couple of papers here and then you can be on your way,” the doctor says, handing him the papers.

“Fucking finally,” Dieter groans, “Not that this isn’t a wonderful hospital, but I’d much rather be home.”

“Of course,” the doctor says.

“Will you go ahead and bring the car around? I’d rather not walk too much considering my condition,” Dieter asks, looking at you.

“Of course, D– Mr. Bravo,” you grit through your teeth with the most customer service smile you can muster. That was a new development, Dieter wanting you only to refer to him as Mr. Bravo. You rush out of the room so that it doesn’t blow up into another argument. He’s already tried to fire you twice because of the no drugs thing. You had to make up some story of how you’re in a five-year contract that cannot be broken and tell him three times before he finally bought the story.

Pulling the car around to the front of the hospital, you see him being wheeled out.

“Thank you again so much for taking care of me,” he says, winking at the nurse, “Best care I’ve ever received!”

“No problem at all, Dieter,” she giggles. 

“Could I possibly get your number?” Dieter asks, looking expectantly at the nurse after getting settled into the passenger seat of the car. She shakes her head violently.

“No, sorry,” she says before running off wheeling the wheelchair back into the building.

“Well, that was fucking weird,” Dieter says, looking at you. “Did I do something wrong? Most women don’t literally run from me like that.”

“No, Mr. Bravo, you didn’t do anything wrong,” you growl, “Nothing at all.”

You begin to play a song you hope might bring back some sort of memory of you. With all the hope you can muster you hit play and hear Clint Eastwood by Gorillaz, one of the songs you guys would listen to while you got high together. Dieter starts to chuckle listening to the song.

“What?” you snap at him.

“It’s just this song,” Dieter said grinning, “It reminds me of someone.”

“Oh?” you ask, trying not to pry too much hoping he’ll just continue talking.

“Yeah, I can’t remember what her name is, though. Good lay, that’s for damn sure,” he says, laughing a little, “All I remember is she wasn’t even in the business, she’d call me out on all my shit, and we would smoke weed together listening to this song a lot. I think that’s why I liked her. Wonder what she’s up to these days?”

“Oh um… who knows, maybe she’s still in town?” Your heart swells realizing he’s talking about you, that he remembers some remnants of you. 

“No way!” Dieter says and sighs, “Way too fucking good for someone like me anyways. Probably found some nice guy, got married, has kids, the whole white picket fence shit and everything. She was way out of my league.”

Pulling up to the house you don’t even know what to say to him. He looks almost defeated in a way and then looks confused when he sees the front door opening.

“Oh no,” you whisper, watching Luna run to the car, “Dieter, wait here. Do not move!”

“Why the fuck are there children at my house?” he asks while you’re getting out, but you shut the door behind you, ignoring him.

“Luna, baby, I need you to go back into the house. Daddy’s sick, remember?” you say, trying to usher her back up the driveway.

“Mommy!” Leo shrieks, running to you.

“Fuck – I mean fudge,” Andy says, frantically running out to the driveway, “I was in the bathroom. She must’ve heard the car, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“The hell is going on here?” Dieter’s voice booms while getting out of the car, “I asked you why there are kids in my house.”

“Da–” Luna starts, but you cut her off.

“You two, inside. Now,” you say, ushering them towards Andy. Once they’re inside you whip around to look at Dieter standing by the car.

“You,” you snarl, walking towards him, “Screw what the doctor said. I’ve had enough of this shit. I’m not your fucking assistant so stop bossing me around. I’m your wife – those two are our children!”

“Wha–” Dieter stares at you with wide eyes, “D– DNA Test, I want a fucking DNA test!”

“Dieter, there isn’t a need for a DNA test because they’re your kids. I mean, did you even look at them?”

“Those are not my kids, they look Latino,” he argues.

“Dieter!” you yell, “You are Latino.”

“Oh, yeah,” he whispers, looking down. “So, you’re my wife?”

“Yes, Dieter, I’m your wife. I’m the girl that would get high with you listening to Clint Eastwood.”

“Wild,” he says looking at the house, the ground below him, the yard, anywhere but you “Wild.”

–

It’s been a week at home now, but Dieter is trying his hardest to regain his memory after you lay everything out on the table for him. You show him pictures of your Las Vegas wedding, your pregnancy photos, the kids’ births – he finally relents to the truth when you show him their birth certificates with his name listed under Father. Luna has been trying to show him drawings that she’s done for him, but nothing is working. Poor Leo just wants to play superheroes, but at just three years old, he doesn’t understand what’s going on at all.

One night, after you put the kids to bed, Dieter comes to your bedroom.

“What if we had sex?” he suggests.

“Dieter, I don’t know if that would be a good idea,” you groan, flopping onto the bed rubbing your eyes.

“I’m just saying, what if we did?” he shrugs, “Was just a suggestion, but I get it.”

“Come here,” you say, patting the spot next to you in bed. He reluctantly sits down next to you as you open your arms as an invitation. “How about we cuddle?”

He nods, setting his head on your chest. You can tell he didn’t know what to do with his hands because he’s so tense. You grab one of them and push it around your back, hoping he’ll understand your silent suggestion. 

“Like this?” he whispers, carefully adjusting both arms to wrap around you.

“Just like that,” you hum, stroking the curls at the base of his neck, breathing his scent in for the first time in weeks. Clean laundry, a hint of eucalyptus, and something that’s so specifically Dieter.

“I like this,” Dieter purs, rubbing his head against your chest, “I wish so badly I could just remember everything.”

“I know D, I know,” you sigh, continuing to gently stroke his head, “We’ll get there.”

Dieter moves so his head is in the crook of your neck. You feel his lips begin to place soft kisses against your skin.

“Dieter,” you gasp, turning your head to look at him, “What are you doing?”

“I wanna make you feel better,” he says, giving you those puppy dog eyes you can never refuse. “You’ve had to deal with a lot and this is the only way I know how to try and make things right.”

“Okay,” you whisper, nodding your head. As much as you’ve avoided intimacy with Dieter while his memory was gone, he’s still your Dieter and you miss him. 

He starts nipping along your jaw and down your neck. One of his hands moves to your breast gently kneading it. His lips move down your throat to your chest, making his way down to your stomach and pushing your shirt up. He places several kisses around your navel down to the top of your underwear, looking up at you again for confirmation. “It’s okay,” you nod, giving him the go ahead. He peels them off your hips and down your legs, throwing them to the floor.

Without warning he flattens his tongue, licking a stripe up your seam. Working his tongue against your clit and back down to your entrance. Up and down, up and down.

“Fuck, baby, I’ve missed this,” you cry out, running your fingers through his hair, “Feels so fucking good!”

Dieter starts humming, loving the praise you were giving him. His tongue continues circling your bundle of nerves, hoping to hear more words of praise.

“Taste so fucking good,” he says breaking away, “Best pussy I’ve ever had.”

You grip his hair tightly and shove his face back to your core. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly you can feel your orgasm approaching.

“Please don’t stop,” you moan, “I’m so fucking close!”

Dieter doubles down his efforts after hearing those words. He’s determined to get you off now. One of his hands makes its way to your center, teasing your entrance before plunging two of his thick fingers inside, curling them up to hit that spot only he’s ever been able to reach.

“Oh, fuck,” you cry out, back arching, “Y– yes, just like that!”

He starts grunting, rutting into the mattress, so badly needing to make you come. He knows you’re close, listening to your breathing and hearing the pitch of your moans. 

“D,” you moan, while he grabs your thighs, pulling you unbelievably closer to his face to completely devour you before sliding his fingers back into you. “I’m gonna come!”

“Give it to me, baby, come on,” he says, pulling away panting before diving back in for more, “I need it”. He feels the way your legs begin to shake, your walls fluttering around his fingers.

“Fuck,” you hiss, head thrown back against the pillow closing your eyes, “I– I’m gonna… god.”

Dieter feels your walls constrict around his fingers and hums, collecting your release slowly. He takes his time licking you clean before you push him away, feeling overly sensitive. When you finally open your eyes to look at him, you notice his smile and a glint in his eyes. He crawls back up the length of your body and you grab his face, kissing him deeply tasting yourself on his tongue.

“I can’t believe you married me,” he says, breaking the kiss and wrapping his arms around you again, “Love me forever?”

“Dieter, I’m pretty sure I’ve already proven that I’ll love you forever,” you softly chuckle, beginning to stroke his back.

–

The doctor keeps saying to just be patient, that it’s going to take time for Dieter’s memory to return. But it feels like it’s been forever as another week passes. Everyone is getting frustrated, especially Leo.

“Why is daddy broke?” Leo screams at the top of his lungs, “He no play with me!”

“Leo, Daddy just doesn’t feel good,” you try to explain.

“He no like me!” Leo wails, “He only likes Luna.”

“Leo, daddy does too like you,” you try telling him, “He loves you very much.” 

“No,” Leo cries as you scoop him up as he buries his face into your shoulder.

“Shh, it’s okay, baby. It’s okay,” you soothe.

It wasn’t that Dieter wasn’t trying with the kids, he just didn’t know how. His dad instincts hadn’t been brought back full-force. He was great with Luna –  engaged in conversation with her, drew pictures with her, watched her put on fashion shows. With Leo though, he didn’t know how to interact with a toddler. Leo would get upset and Dieter didn’t know what to do besides call you for help. Before Dieter’s accident Leo was his little buddy, followed him everywhere, would play with him for hours being superheroes or whatever Leo decided on that day.

You were able to get Leo to calm down and because of his tantrum he wound up falling asleep. After putting him in his bed for a nap you went to search for Dieter.

“Hey,” you sigh, seeing him standing by the window looking into the backyard.

“Hey,” he says sniffling, wiping his sleeve against his nose, “I’m so sorry.”

“Dieter, I’m not the one you should be saying sorry to. Leo misses you! I know that you’re trying, I do, but I need you to try harder for him,” you sigh, “I can’t pretend that I even know what you’re going through, but our baby boy is hurting because he misses his dad!”

“I know,” Dieter says turning around, you could now see the tears falling down his face, “It’s just… he scares me! It’s easier with Luna because I can understand every word she says, she can show me things, she doesn’t throw a tantrum every five minutes.”

“Dieter, he’s your son! Not some little monster to be scared of! He’s three and doesn’t know any better,” you scold him, “Like I said, I just need you to try.”

“Okay,” Dieter agrees, wiping the tears off his face, “When he wakes up from his nap, I’ll try.”

Dieter could hear Leo awake in his room as he slowly made his way there.

“Dad-Bomb an’ dude-bomb! To rescue!” Leo says, jumping off his bed with a cape around his shoulders. Dieter stands in the doorway observing him. Why did that sound so familiar? Dad-Bomb.

“Hey Leo,” Dieter says cautiously, “What are you playing?”

“Superhero,” Leo smiles, “Want to play with me?”

“Can I?” Dieter exclaims, “I’ve always wanted to be a superhero!”

“Yeah!” Leo shouts, running to his closet to grab something. He comes back out with a big purple cape with D-B on the back, handing it to Dieter. “Put on your cape.”

Dieter pulls the cape around his neck, tying it so it wouldn’t fall off. He notices Leo’s little green cape he was wearing also had D-B on the back.

“Do we have names, Leo?” Dieter asks, “I can’t help but see we have stuff on the back of our super-awesome capes!”

“I’m Dude-Bomb, you’re Dad-Bomb!” Leo gleefully exclaims 

“Dad-Bomb?”

“Yeah, like ‘da-bomb’ –  means super cool,” Leo giggles.This was starting to feel extremely familiar to Dieter. 

Leo scampers off to his closet again, rummaging through it trying to find something. He comes back holding a piece of paper and hands it to Dieter. Dieter holds it up, staring at it. His drawing of Dad-Bomb and Dude-Bomb, fighting crime together, and it all comes rushing back.

“Oh my god, Leo,” Dieter yells.

He picks Leo up, swinging him around. Hearing the commotion, you start running towards Leo’s room fearing the worst. Rounding the corner into the room, you saw Dieter crying, hugging Leo tightly and swinging him back and forth.

“Dad-Bomb and Dude-Bomb!” Dieter exclaims, grinning from ear to ear.

“Yeah, that’s you an’ me!” Leo announces proudly.

“Everything okay?” you ask quietly, looking at both of them.

“Yeah. March 3, 2016 – that’s the day I met you,” Dieter says, tears rolling down his face.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, “Baby.”

“Yeah, baby. It’s all back,” he says, setting Leo back down and rushing to grab you in a tight embrace, “I’m back.”