#i didn't expect so many votes AND for it to be so close omg | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

imaswellkid · 2 years ago

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Cee my darling Cee, my love, I feel like I've been MIA this entire week, trying to balance everything, but I AM BACK!!

And you know what sustained me through this crazy time? Of course your do... CONSENT DIETER (and Bailey's but 🤫)

First, a disclaimer: I've never watched Bridgerton but it didn't matter in the least!

It's unfair that I'm only reblogging this new instalment only now with how many times I've read it already. I'm sorry I'm gonna try to be concise about all the things I love about it, but we all know how that usually ends... 😬

The first thing I really adore about it is very personal: I was expecting a fun, light holiday "drabble" from the Consent universe, but it's really a full blown chapter that tells us so much about how their relationship has evolved, and most importantly, how they grew into and thanks to said relationship. A partner who helps you grow and flourish with their love and support and benevolence is the ultimate turn on to me.

So to find this beautiful idea weaved into this chapter? OMG. I weeped. First I had to take a cold shower, but then I weeped.

Dieter's learned how to really listen, to try and anticipate her needs, he's way less selfish and self-centred and yes, it's Dieter, so it's still very clumsy, and results in mayhem, but the way he loves her, entirely, softly, tenderly but also very much with a passion absolutely sends me.

And Sweetheart? Oh my beloved Sweetheart... She's grown too, right? I thought she was going to shred him, and especially Gail... By the way, kudos for the way you wrote Gail. You could've fall into an easy caricature and did not. I mean we were all ready to hate her, but you didn't make her out to be a lazily written detestable character, which is really great.

Ok so Sweetheart did lose it at first. It's still her, right? It is how Dieter and we love her, she's got a fiery temper. But then she apologised, almost immediately (what a drastic change!) and remained open to what he had actually tried to do. Her softness towards him is priceless...

This entire scene is my favourite and I've read it many times over:

You look up into big, brown eyes.

‘What are you doing?’ you blurt out in panic as Dieter spins you into the thick of the swaying crowd. ‘You’re not supposed to be dancing with me.’

He tugs you closer, close enough that your noses brush together. ‘I don’t give a fuck. I’ve wanted to get you alone all day. I’m sorry, sweetheart, I fucked up.’

You shake your head, fingers finding the nape of his neck. ‘No, I’m sorry. I overreacted.’

He smiles - you’ve missed the crinkles at the corner of his eyes when he does - and teases, ‘I should know by now that you don’t handle surprises well.’

‘Always been too much of a control freak,’ you shoot back self-deprecatingly.

‘Just the way I like it,’ he retorts, his palms warm on the small of your back.

As Dieter glides you across the dance floor, you catch Gail glaring daggers at the two of you. You admit in a small voice, ‘It was hard seeing you with her.’

He doesn’t even spare a glance the way of his ex. Reaching up to catch your chin between his thumb and index finger, he says, ‘I’m with you, sweetheart. You know that, right?’

‘I know. It’s unprofessional of me to be jealous.’

A playful growl rumbles in his chest, and you feel it when he leans into you, hot breath on the shell of your ear. ‘But I love it when you’re unprofessional, sweetheart.’

‘Dieter,’ you chide, ducking your head. ‘People are looking.’

He hums into the crook of your neck before spinning you around, back to his front. ‘Let them. My character is a rake. I’m expected to be prowling about corrupting young ladies.’

And then.... Then there's the matter of the matching tattoos... Which I had voted for, because I'm a shameless romantic sap, and I am so glad and thankful you included it! But I could not anticipate the way you did it. I had imagined they'd get new matching tattoos together, but you're far too good and clever for that... She got hers to match his when they were apart and oh my heart 🫠🫠🫠🫠

By the way, I don't believe one second she was really that drunk, please do not take that away from me, she knew what she was doing. And his primal, possessive reaction to seeing them and the way he wants to look at them as they fuck...

The smut in this... Christ I am OBSESSED buy this titties fucking scene... When he spits on her cleavage I was already completely gone... I agree with you, it had to be Dieter!

As per usual, this is already far too long, so I'll wrap it up... by saying that I absolutely love your conclusion. It sums them up and their dynamics perfectly, I love it:

With an exasperated shake of your head, you sigh, ‘You’re such an imbecile, Dieter Bravo.’

He beams with pride. ‘Only for you, sweetheart.’

Thank you for this Consent gift, my darling Cee!!!

Anachronisms

Dieter Bravo x f!reader

|| Consent universe oneshot but can be read independently from the series ||

{ Fuck Yeah Holidays | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Prompts: Bridgerton (+ bonus prompt matching tattoos because these two were neck to neck for so long!) | Thanksgiving

Summary: Dieter’s plan to surprise you on the set of Bridgerton for Thanksgiving goes awry when he unwittingly gets cast opposite his ex-girlfriend for a steamy intimate scene - that you have to coordinate.

Warnings: Secret relationship, mention of hair for plot purposes, fighting, jealousy, swearing, dirty talk, spitting, titty fucking, safe unprotected sex, workplace sex. These holiday fics are for fun, so not as *rigorously edited* as my regular stories, please forgive any mistakes or plot holes!

Word count: 4.3k

Notes: Kicking off the holiday season with some Bridgerton action, which came in third place in the holiday vote! This is dedicated to the amazing @nicolethered for having supported this idea since I first mentioned it months ago. You should check out the amazing Dieter in Bridgerton costumes edits she made here. Thank you Nicole for always feeding our community with your content, you are the best ❤️

It’s 7:03 in the morning, and it’s bedlam.

The gravel crunches harshly under your winter boots as you march towards the makeup trailers, parked outside the magnificent historical manor house where the crew is filming on location this weekend. Hooped skirts, elaborately starched wigs, a pod of six pomeranians floofed to perfection and a peacock on a leash pass you by, but none turns your head, blinkered by only one thing on your mind.

The coffee in your gloved hand has long grown cold, the steaming cup having been a mere breath from your lips when the day’s call sheet was delivered to you. It had you spinning on your heels and storming out of the break room on the other side of the expansive, manicured grounds.

It’s just your luck that the most intense filming of the season is scheduled over the long Thanksgiving weekend. While you don’t expect the British production to take a break for the American holiday, you’d at least hoped that you could make it through with as few hitches as possible.

And you probably could’ve, if not for the fact that someone had crossed out the name of the male lead in one of the intimate scenes you’re coordinating on the call sheet.

Next to it, scrawled in a messy hand, is the name of the replacement at the eleventh hour -

D. Bravo.

Spotting the very same name on one of the makeup trailers, you stomp up the rickety stairs and proceed to unceremoniously kick down the door.

Considering the fact that the crew would’ve had to scramble for a decent trailer for the last-minute, big-name casting change, it’s a surprisingly comfortable space. The furniture is a notch up from bog-standard Ikea, including the currently occupied, expensive-looking leather chair at the brightly illuminated makeup station.

In a carefully choreographed movement, the said chair turns in a lazy swivel, creaking on its axles to reveal the man you haven’t seen for three weeks, and hadn’t expected to for another few.

His curls are airplane tousled, sunglasses slid halfway down his nose, and it’s clear from his bloodshot eyes that he just got off the plane.

‘What do you think you’re doing, Dieter Bravo?’

The corner of his mouth, which was ticking upwards into a grin seconds ago, freezes in uncertainty as he wilts under your glare. ‘Sur-prise?’ he trails off into a question.

It’s clearly not the welcome he’s expecting. When Netflix came knocking about the unexpected opportunity for a two-month contract on Bridgerton, you were on a flight to London that very same evening, with only grainy videos tiding you over the Atlantic-wide distance between you since.

‘Surprise?’ you scoff with a roll of your eyes. ‘Yes, it’s a fantastic surprise to find out that the actor I’ve been rehearsing with over the past week for the big scene today has been replaced by none other than you?’

Per usual, when he doesn’t get his way, the puppy eyes come out to play. ‘But sweetheart - it’s the only way I can be with you for Thanksgiving since you’re working the whole time!’

If you were any less overworked and sleep-deprived, you might have folded. But you’ve been scraping by with barely four hours every night since you arrived on set, and you snap. ‘Oh yeah? You were so desperate to be with me that you got yourself cast opposite your ex-girlfriend in one of the steamiest sex scenes of the season?’

His eyes bug out comically as he jumps out of his chair. ‘What?’

‘Yup,’ you grin sarcastically, throwing in a slow clap for maximum effect. ‘I guess I’ll spend the weekend watching you simulate hot sex with your ex, who will probably try every trick in the book to get you back. Happy fucking Thanksgiving!’

‘But - I’m your boyfriend,’ he points out with such maddening conviction that it would’ve been endearing under any other circumstances.

You’re this close to stamping your foot in frustration. ‘Yes, but no one else here knows that!’

‘We’ll tell her.’

You shake your head vehemently. ‘Don’t you dare. If you do, it’ll be all over the newspapers by the end of the day, and I have no time or energy to handle that right now.’

He reaches for you, and you hate that despite your anger, your first instinct is to lean into him - to have him pull you into his arms and wrap you in his cozy cardigan. You catch yourself and shrink back, leaving him grasping at air, the regretful crease on his brow deepening. ‘Sweetheart, I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t know. I wasn’t thinking -’

Waving a stack of paper in his face, you cut in, ‘And you know what? Now I get to fill in this super fun, super long consent form for corporate even though you’re just in one scene I’m in charge of. To think I was getting worried that I wouldn’t have something to be thankful for this year!’

‘Baby, wait, please -’

You’re already halfway out the door, the cold winds doing little to douse your flaring temper. ‘You know what, I’m already late for my first scene. Just show up at the shoot prepared and don’t be late.’

For once, Dieter listens.

By the time you barrel into the grand library - wheezing most attractively, having sprinted full-throttle from your previous location - he’s already in full costume, nose buried in the script as a makeup artist touches him up.

And it’s not fair.

It’s not fair how good he looks in regency costume. The velvet tailcoat in midnight blue hangs from his broad shoulders, tapered at the waist, a black vest in rich brocade peeking out from underneath, unbuttoned.

It’s not fair that his thick curls and tidy moustache fit into the era seamlessly. They even let him keep his earring in - his character is a Rake with a capital R from America after all. The biggest change is his usual chunky jewellery swapped out for a gold signet ring on his pinky finger.

And if all this isn’t enough, he’s also drenched from head to toe.

It’s a shamelessly tropey scene where the Rake’s romantic interest pushes him into a fountain at the party in a fit of passion. When he emerges, soaked to the skin, cravat untied and white shirt hanging open down to his sternum, he chases her into the library and has his wicked way with her by the fireplace while the party goes on beyond the unlocked doors.

It’s not fair how he becomes the role so effortlessly, despite having just gotten off the redeye mere hours ago, no rehearsal other than a quick table read before the cameras start rolling. He’s obviously read all your notes, and he’s hitting all the cues and camera angles with almost infuriating ease.

And it’s not fair that your boyfriend’s first kiss in three weeks is with his ex.

You know it’s your fault. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that Netflix must have kept the identity of his scene partner from him when he signed on. It’s cheeky, but not nefarious - up until you submitted that consent form a couple of hours ago, they didn’t know you two were dating. As far as they were concerned, it was serendipitous timing when Dieter Bravo randomly came knocking for a bit part in the upcoming season.

As it often plays out, your temper got the better of you. Now that the day has started, you won’t be able to catch even two seconds alone with him to apologise, to tell him that you love that he came to surprise you, and that you miss him so fucking much.

Instead, you’re watching him pretending to get it on with his on-screen partner with an intensity that’s taking your breath away. Damnit, does he have to be so good at every job that he takes on? Can’t he just be mediocre, just this once?

You’re so deep inside your own head that you almost don’t hear the director yell cut. He turns to you and prompts, ‘Thoughts so far?’

You’re a professional. You’ve worked with Dieter on far more intense scenes than this. But still, the words taste so bitter on your tongue you almost choke on them.

‘Listen up, guys. The top half of the frame is looking empty, there’s not enough going on above the waist,’ you speak out clearly. ‘Dieter, put your lips on her neck. Gail, you ok for him to touch your breasts?’

She winks at you, before running a finger down the hook of Dieter’s nose. ‘You know very well that I ticked anything goes in my consent form. He can do whatever he wants with these titties.’

Dieter doesn’t even look at her, instead giving you the biggest puppy eyes, a plea in his voice as he calls your name. ‘But I don’t want anything to do with them.’

Gail grins and arches beneath him, her cleavage nearly bursting out of her corset. ‘Oh please, Dee. Don’t you remember your favourite way to eat breakfast when we were together? You used to lick the peanut butter straight off my nip-’

‘Ok then!’ you interrupt in a loud panic, wanting to plug your ears before you hear anything else you regret. ‘Positions everyone!’

You’re currently breaking every single rule in the intimacy coordinator rulebook, but there’s nothing you can do to stem the hot rush of jealousy through your veins. Despite Dieter’s reluctance, his chemistry with Gail is unreal, drawing your traitorous eyes to the director’s monitor. The camera follows a droplet of water dripping off his soaked curls over his eyes and onto her clavicle, which he chases with his tongue. His coat and waistcoat have long been discarded, his smooth skin golden against hers in the firelight. There’s no denying that they’re a beautiful couple.

There’s also no denying that your nails are biting into the meat of your palms as you watch hands that you haven’t held in weeks skate over her bare legs, lips that you desperately miss drag down her neck, the familiar snap of his hips not between your thighs, but hers.

You’ve never had a problem with his other co-stars - but this? This is personal.

While promoting her memoir on Oprah two weeks ago, Gail declared that Dieter is the one that got away, promising salacious details of their relationship in her book, setting tabloids and social media on fire.

The silence on his end only fanned the flames. Not because he didn’t want to say anything, that wasn’t the issue - Rebecca had to lock him out of Instagram so he wouldn’t post anything rash - but his agency decided that any response would only help sell his ex’s book, and they will not play into her hand.

It doesn’t help that the two of you haven’t gone public. It’s not that you’ve been hiding, industry insiders who work with you both are in the know, but the press haven’t caught on yet. And while that has afforded the two of you privacy while you navigate the new relationship, it has turned out to be a double-edged sword.

A high-pitched, breathy wail shakes you from your thoughts as the scene reaches its literal climax, and Dieter’s movements stutter to a halt - with a groan that is a pale shadow of what he sounds like when you make him cum.

A possessive half-smile curls on your lips.

That is just for you.

It’s 8:37 in the evening, and it’s still bedlam.

But the day is over, and you’re alive. You somehow made it through four back-to-back intimate scenes, including one slippery (ha!) bathhouse orgy.

It’s Thanksgiving afternoon back at home now, and your phone is buzzing with messages. You flick through photos of pumpkin pies, turkeys in ovens, potatoes of all renditions. You just want a nice hot shower to wash the day off, order room service and spend the weekend making it up to Dieter - or the other way round - or both.

You’re this close to making it out of there, your finger hovering over Dieter’s number on your phone screen, when a breathless runner waylays you.

‘Costumes and hair. Now,’ she wheezes and herds you in the opposite direction of the exit.

Thanks to a bunch of extras who decided not to show up for the ball scene, you’re one of the many unfortunate backstage staff who are now standing in as background actors. You’ve been squeezed into an ill-fitted dress that’s held together by safety pins, the corset underneath biting into your ribs. The white gloves that are pulled up above your elbows are a cheap polyester that’s making your skin itch.

The balls of your feet ache from running around all day, and your neck is so stiff you can hardly turn your head, but you can’t help gawking at the set. The manor’s orangerie is illuminated in warm light, every inch of the pillars holding up the soaring glass ceiling dressed up in creeping vines and fresh, colourful blooms. A string quartet fills the airy space with lively dance music, and there’s a buzz in the air just from being in such a big set piece with so many moving pieces.

You begrudgingly admit that you’re not mad to be here. You’re actually quite happy to sip on your mocktail and be a fly on the wall while the cameras roll on the other side of the room.

But when has anything gone to plan today?

At least he has the decency to wait until you’ve polished off your drink. The second you set the empty glass down on a cocktail table, a warm hand closes around your wrist and you’re spun headfirst into a familiar broad chest.