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A Little Sun part 6 Dieter!Bravo x f!Reader

rating: 18+ words: 8.4k pairings: Dieter x f!Reader

tags: pregnancy, details of body changing with pregnancy, insecurity, mention of family death, mutual pining, idiots in love, soft dieter, fluff, lurve, angst, miscommunication trope, female masturbation, male masturbation, dirty talk (thoughts). summary: You move in with Dieter after the fight with your mom and things get... complicated. a/n: Y'all this thing has turned into such a fuckin' beast. Remember when I wanted it to be a one shot? Anyway, we're nearing the end with these two idiots in love but I think this one ends pretty damn sweet.

Also I think I'm in love with Dieter Bravo?

SERIES MASTERLIST

REBLOGS, COMMENTS, ENGAGEMENT ARE WHAT KEEP US FIC WRITERS GOING. PLEASE REMEMBER THAT IF YOU ENJOYED THIS.

Dieter doesn't even let you step fully into his home before he's got you in his arms, wrapping you in his warm embrace. Your suitcases clatter to the floor as you cling to him, burying your face in his neck and fighting back tears.

"You can stay as long as you want," Dieter promises you as one hand cups the back of your head. "Stay forever."

You give a watery chuckle into his shoulder, not quite ready to let go of him. You only break apart when the smell of European cigarettes wafts into the room.

You swipe at your damp eyes while Dieter turns to greet the tiny woman with a shock of white curls. She wears an oversized green t-shirt and loose khaki pants. She shuffles from place to place in her oversized moccasins.

"You remember Magda, right?"

"I think we've met a few times," you say extending your hand. The old woman gives you a look before shuffling over and placing her hand on your belly. You're in too much shock to pull back.

"A healthy boy," she tells you through a thick Eastern European accent. You and Dieter exchange looks of surprise.

"Uh yeah," you peer down at her shriveled frame, "How did you know that it was a boy?"

"I can tell."

She says it with a sage nod and then with that revelation she shuffles off to the kitchen, the feather duster still firmly lodged under her bony arm.

"She's the best," Dieter says says fondly before turning back to you with a look of expectancy. "Lemme show you where you're staying."

He takes both of your suitcase handles and jerks head to the left indicating you should follow.

You follow him out into his garden beside the pool. A place that you've never really visited much before. Most of your business has been conducted inside in his kitchen or in his office. You've heard about his guest house, how he had so many decorators come in over the years.

When you enter into it now, you're surprised at just how normal it seems. You were waiting for whips and chains and other strange memorabilia to line the walls. But instead it looks like something out of a Martha Stewart magazine. Crisp White's and Blue wainscotting. Overstuffed chairs and couches surround the coffee table from the photo he sent you. It's strangely tasteful.

It doesn't suit him at all.

Dieter must notice your surprise because he smirks before he rolls your suitcases towards the kitchen bar.

"Remember that Danish woman I dated for a couple months right after you started working for me?"

"Yeah, Lyda something.'

"Right. She wanted to start a career as an interior designer. I let her run the show in this place. Not really my taste."

"Not really mine either," You admit looking around the space. "It is beautifully done but I prefer the place we stayed in Ireland, like, that aesthetic. Old wood and big windows."

"I like that too," Dieter agrees. He sees you yawn and immediately feels guilty for keeping You up after such an emotional day.

"I'm going to have Petra whip you up something for dinner."

Petra is Dieter's chef who stocks his fridge with high end

"Dieter you don't-"

"You gotta take care of you and little Bravo remember?"

Dieter feels something in his chest bloom when instead of rolling your eyes you smile at him, nodding.

"Thanks Dieter."

You wake up the next morning in the plush duvet with your arms stretched above your head before rolling an absent hand down your swollen belly.

"Morning little boy," you whisper to the tiny being there beneath your fingertips. You give a groan as you gently roll yourself off the bed sliding into your slippers and pulling on your robe. Despite your devastation of what happened with your mother, waking up in this beautiful space on this gorgeously sunny day has you feeling hopeful.

This feeling is dampened slightly when you glance at your phone, looking to the calendar and seeing a date in the coming week starred. A date you have been dreading for months. Your birthday. The first one of yours since your father passed. Without your mom around this seems especially painful to consider. You close your phone, not wanting to think about it.

You spot a tall figure out the window and feel your cheeks flush. Something has shifted since Ireland. Something that terrifies you. The whisper of feelings that you're having a hard time repressing when you think of how he supports you.

But you push it from your mind. Your worlds don't match up. You’re serious, you take life seriously, you want to dedicate yourself to science. Dieter wants to fuck and party and grab life by the balls.

Plus he's with Mia and she makes him happy.

Dieter saunters across the backyard, narrowly missing the pool as he heads to the guest house. He's wearing an old t-shirt and sweatpants under tattered robe, his eyes hidden behind his sunshades. He's carrying a tumbler of whiskey in one hand and a smoothie in the other.

"Dieter it’s ten in the morning," you say as you open the sliding door to greet him.

"I'm still on Ireland time," he says giving you a waggle of his brows before setting the pale

pink smoothie down on the kitchen counter. "Breakfast when you're ready for it."

He sees you eyeing the smoothie warily and gives a deep rumbling chuckle.

"Petra made this one so you're safe. You like strawberries right?"

You take a tentative sip, before giving a soft moan of approval and drinking down the rest.

He rocks back on his heels a moment and despite the dark of his glasses, you can feel his gaze lingering on you.

"So... What're you up to today, Bravo?"

"You mean you don't know?"

"I'm officially no longer part of team Bravo remember?" You remind him with a sad chuckle as you place the empty glass back on the counter. "Diane cut my access to work emails and calendars."

"Shit that's right, I forgot." He looks at you with such a guilty expression. "I'm sorry."

"S'okay. I'm looking at this like a real non working vacation," you tell him honestly pointing out the window. "I figure you have a pool, there's a chef, a housekeeper, I brought books, what more could I ask for?"

"Plus you have a recreation staff," Dieter grins, taking you by the hand and twirling you gently towards him. "Dance lessons by the pool, movie nights, anything the customer wants."

"Hmmm an end to global warming?"

"Sorry that's only with the premium package."

You let out a loud laugh as Dieter joins you, spinning you into a hug. His mouth is only inches from yours and when the two of you realize this your mutual laughter ebbs.

Dieter wants nothing more than to press his mouth to yours, to taste you, to fuck you here in his home. But he knows it's not what you want. You don't want that from Dieter. You want somewhere safe to stay and he'll provide that to you.

Besides there is someone who does want his affection, his touch: Mia.

You swallow, your body poised and mouth slowly tilting towards Dieter before he seems to realize himself. He slowly extricates his arms from around you before reaching into his robe pocket, clearing his throat.

"Here's the key," Dieter tells you, holding it out to you. You take it, looking at the tiny Jameson keychain on it. The one that matches the one Dieter got you in Ireland that you wear on your own keychain. You smile at the sight of it before looking puzzled.

"A key?"

"For the guest house."

"I don't need to lock it," you chide even as you take it from him and toss it into your purse. "It's just you and me here right?"

"Yeah," Dieter hides the broad of his grin behind his whiskey glass. "Just you and me."

For the next several days Dieter tries to give you as much space as possible. He brings you a smoothie every morning citing that Magda is too busy. In the evenings he texts you to invite you over to the big house for dinner. Sometimes you join him, sometimes you’re just too tired.

You always go back to the guest house feeling a little bit down. You didn’t realize you missed sleeping in the same house, how Ireland made it almost feel like living together. Dieter’s place is so large it’s like you’re in separate neighborhoods.

Dinners are starting to be hard as well. Knowing you’ll be leaving to go back to the empty guest room. It’s a luxury, that’s for certain with its tall ceilings and plush bed. But it feels quiet without Dieter’s music or loud laughter.

And so you can admit to yourself that every morning he comes by with the pink smoothie and a big grin, your heart leaps a little bit. Like now, seeing him rushing over more frenzied than usual. He smiles, pushing the drink into your hand hurriedly.

“Here. Drink fast, I finished the nursery and want you to come look.”

“When did you have time to do the nursery?” You ask amazed as you follow him to the main house, smoothie almost drained by the time you reach his place.

“I’ve been in touch with this guy Diora from Albania over email since Ireland. He’s all the rage, super hard to get but he was really excited about trying his hand at a nursery. He just finished Criss Angel’s man cave and James Franco’s bedroom.”

Dieter sweeps a hand to the middle of your back, guiding you down the hall. When he opens the door with a flourish it takes everything in you not to gasp in horror. Your hand still rises to your mouth, though when you step into the room.

It looks like a sex dungeon.

Black and white striped walls, a beautifully ornate crib painted a ghastly red.

"Contrasting colors are good for baby’s retinas," Dieter says confidently. "I read it somewhere."

It takes you a few moments of staring at everything before you can speak.

"You have whips hung on the walls."

"Those are vintage skipping ropes," Dieter tells you aghast at your misunderstanding. You turn slowly, taking everything in. Finally you shake your head slowly.

"Dieter, this is totally inappropriate for a nursery," you say. "What baby would be happy here?"

Dieter takes a moment to glance around the space, his previous elation dimming with every word from you.

"This is what Diora suggested. He's the hottest designer right now."

"Of millionaire bachelor pads," you say as you look at a particularly ugly piece of metal hanging from the ceiling. "Not for a baby’s room."

"I'm not gonna have some tacky nursery with stuffed bears and shit,” Dieter defends. “I can't do it. Anyone who comes over and sees that'll think I've lost my edge."

The thought of being a father is immensely appealing to Dieter. The thought of being a loser Dad is not.

“Mia said it was cool,” Dieter shoots out. “I sent her photos.”

Mia is also in her early twenties, you want to snap. But you hold your tongue, trying to see the upsides to this nursery. Unfortunately you can see none. Everything is a safety hazard.

Dieter paces around the room, suddenly sour at the whole thing. He thought you’d be excited to see where the baby will be. Instead you’ve come in with your judgments and frowning face.

"Please let me... Dieter let me help you with this," you almost beg. "I just.... I know he's not mine but I can't stand the thought of him being in this... Baby prison."

I know he's not mine.

This hurts Dieter to hear it. He knows that you face no interest in being in this baby's life or his the week after you've given birth. But he can admit he's fooled himself with you being here.

But this? This is a project the two of you can work on. A potential to have more reason to have you in the house, not in that fucking guest house. He can only think of so many reasons to knock on your door apart from smoothies.

"Okay, sure."

“Okay,” you say looking relieved. “How about a pale blue or green? Then we can get a nice crib and some rugs and gauzy curtains.”

“That’s so boring.”

“And safe,” you emphasize. “You have to think of his safety, Dieter.”

Dieter pouts slightly in thought, trying to see the nursery through your eyes. He has to concede that perhaps this is a bit much for a newborn.

"Actually, you know what would look really beautiful on this far wall here?" You muse, looking at the space. "That painting you bought me for my birthday."

You think of the artwork hanging in your bedroom. The one of the woman looking out over the ocean, her hair whipping in the sea air. It’s the one thing you didn’t bring from home that you regret. There was something about that painting that made you feel relaxed.

"I didn't buy you that," Dieter says with a furrowed brow.

Your stomach sinks at this admission from Dieter and you wish you could take back everything. The intimacy of the moment, the vulnerability. He never even fucking bought the thing himself. Diane probably did and here you are pouring your heart out about it.

"Oh, uh-Or Diane or whoever-"

"I painted it for you."

All the animosity that had been brewing behind your sternum drains from you. A smile blooms immediately, your body tingling as you roll onto your side to fully face him.

"You did?"

"Yeah," Dieter is smirking at you from the shadows. "I love painting. You think I'd buy you a fucking painting?"

“I think I just assumed that you got Diane or whoever to ship it to me."

"Maybe if you were someone else," Dieter muses, his gaze wandering around the nursery. "Someone who doesn't do everything for me." He falls silent a moment. "You really thought I bought it?"

"Yeah."

"Didn't you think it was weird that the girl in the painting was you?"

Now you're stunned and it must show on your face because Dieter is chuckling softly now.

"You've had it hanging up your room for how long? Did you even look at it?"

"Of course I did, I do," you say in a rush, feeling embarrassed. You look at it every night you’re in your bedroom. "I just ... I never thought..."

"What?"

"I never thought you saw me."

Dieter blinks back at you, his dark eyes searching your face.

"I just mean you never even said thank you before this whole baby thing," you explain. "I've worked for you for a while and you kinda just expected I'd be at your beck and call all hours of the day and night, even on my days off."

"I'm sorry," Dieter whispers. "That was shitty of me."

"Why do you do it?

“I went through so many assistants I just assumed you wouldn’t be sticking around long.” Dieter looks ashamed as he says it out loud. “But then the longer you stayed the more I depended on you. I think… After a while I think it just felt weird to not message you.”

You both lapse into a thoughtful silence.

“You’ll manage just fine without me when I leave,” you tell him, needing him to know. “And if you’re ever feeling really lost and like you just need to talk to someone, you can always call me. Not as an employee, but as a friend.”

“Really? We’re friends?”

“Yeah,” you nod, heart hammering. “Friends.”

Dieter wakes up hard every morning for the next two weeks. He doesn't try to; he actively tries to think of other things before he goes to sleep. He watches documentaries, he reads art books, he meditates. He tries to push you from his thoughts so he can wake up normal.

But he always wakes up aching with the head of his cock weeping, flickering remnants of his dreams still floating around his subconscious. And those dreams are always of you.

Today he wakes up with the memory of his dream still lingering. You on your knees, his cock in your mouth and your eyes heavy lidded. As he shifts in bed Dieter realizes his boxers are sticky with previous release. A fucking nocturnal emission? How old is he?

And what's worse is that he's still fucking hard. Throbbing, actually He groans low in his throat and tries to ignore it.

You're here at his home. You're practically living with him. You're only a few steps from his back door. You're so close and yet so frustratingly far from him. He misses being in the same home as you, like the rental in Ireland. He misses the feeling of coming home after a long day on set and seeing your sweet face on the couch.

He wants that again.

Dieter rolls onto his belly to try and squash his current erection against the mattress. But that doesn't help, it just gives a delicious friction. He shifts again experimentally, groaning at the shiver that travels from the base of his spine to the tip. In his sleepy arousal he imagines that it's not the mattress but you that he's fucking.

"You like that?" Dieter murmurs, eyes closed as he rocks against his bed. "Like feeling me like that, baby?"

He pushes his hips into the bed, starting to rut when the pleasure increases.

You're so big, Dieter.

And suddenly he's thrusting against it, picturing your body writhing under him.

Need it, Dieter. Fuck me harder.

"Yes," Dieter groans into his pillow, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress. He thrusts furiously into the soft fabric of the bed, hips bouncing up and down on the mattress.

Need your big cock, daddy, your dream self moans. Need it deep.

"Fuck yes, baby. Take Daddy's cock. Take it and-"

His phone chirrups loudly on the table next to him, breaking him from the immersive fantasy.

A name and photo flash up on the screen.

Mia.

Immediately he feels guilty. Here he is humping his mattress to thoughts of you as his gorgeous, talented, funny, sexy girlfriend is calling.

He breathes rapidly through his nose, slowing his grinding movements. He rolls over in the bed, reaching for the phone.

"Hey babe," Dieter says, panting as he answers. He flips onto his back, willing his cock to go down.

"You okay? You sound like you've been exercising and I know that can't be true."

Dieter barks a laugh at that. He's about to reply when he hears a splash outside his window. Mia starts chatting in his ear but he's completely taken with the view outside his window.

You're in a bikini, gliding through the clear water of his pool. Dieter feels his mouth run dry at the sight, especially when you roll over onto your back, your belly protruding from the water like a beacon. Your hair dances around your head, your eyes closed, face tilted towards the sun. You have the sweetest little smile on your face.

You're so fucking beautiful.

"Dee? You there?"

"Huh? Yeah, sorry babe what?"

"I wanted to know how you're getting on? I've been staying off socials for the last little bit of the shoot trying to stay focused. I finally saw the photos from the airport. How is the poor thing holding up?"

"Stressed, but better."

"She must be happy to be at home away from all that madness."

Dieter feels his stomach clench. He knows he has to be honest with Mia, she's his girlfriend, she deserves to know. And yet he hesitates because he knows how it sounds.

"She's staying in my guest house, actually," Dieter offers in what he hopes is a nonchalant voice.

The warmth from Mia's voice is immediately gone.

"Pardon me?"

"She's, uh, in my guest house for the time being," Dieter adds, closing his eyes and bracing himself.

Mia shuffles on the other end before her voice reaches out to him confused.

"I thought you wanted a relationship with me, Dieter. Otherwise why did your agent go to so much trouble to confirm it? To do a splashy roll-out?"

"I do want it."

"But you have the employee you got pregnant living with you?"

"Not with me. In the guest house."

"This is weird, Dee."

He hears the concern in her voice and he feels his stomach drop. He doesn't want to lose Mia.

"Her mom kicked her out," Dieter explains quickly. "What was I supposed to do?"

"Pay for a hotel?"

The answer is so clear, so obvious. Why didn't he offer a hotel? He has the money. Why had it been so important for him to have you here?

Because then he could see you every day.

The answer is immediate but he won't admit it. Not now.

"The paps have been relentless," Dieter says finally. "They'll camp out outside of wherever I put her up. Not like here where I know she's safe away from the public eye."

"But-"

"She's not like us, Mia," Dieter insists. "She doesn't want fame and all that shit. She's just a regular person who's pregnant and alone. Her mom kicked her out, she's got no one else."

He can almost hear Mia softening over the phone.

"It's just hard, Dee," she says finally. "Especially when I haven't seen you in weeks."

Dieter feels a flutter of panic at how sad she sounds. He wants to make it up to her and has a great idea of how.

"Prague!"

Dieter bursts out with this, wincing when he hears how loud he is.

"Sorry, what?"

"What do you think about Prague?" Dieter corrects himself, rubbing nervously at his beard. "You're flying to LA next week for our magazine spread, right?"

"Yeah."

"And you've always wanted to go to Prague, right?"

"Yes."

"So let's do it. After the shoot let's get away from everyone and everything for a few weeks just us two."

"You'd really want to do that?"

"Of course."

He hears Mia weighing the choice on the other end of the line. He holds his breath until he can almost hear her smile.

"Okay Dee, let's do it."

“Amazing,” Dieter says grinning. “I’ll get Diane to send you the details. See you next week.”

He hangs up quickly, undressing and pulling on his swim trunks.

You’re floating on your back, sunglasses on your face, your body most submerged in the cool water. You hear the sound of a door opening and crack one eye open to see Dieter approaching.

Dieter never uses his pool. He got the house on a whim and didn’t even notice it had a pool until he officially moved in. But right now seeing your tits overflowing out of your bikini cups has him so utterly thankful to his former self.

He shrugs off his robe, sliding into the chilly water with an exaggerated brrrr. He swims over to you, sunglasses perched on the end of his nose.

“Looked so refreshing I had to join.”

“It’s so nice,” you sigh, your arms and legs out as you soak up the sun and enjoy the lack of strain on your lower back. “I never want to get out.”

Dieter paddles near you for a moment, wanting to remember this moment before he recalls his conversation with Mia.

“Well you’ll have the place to yourself the next couple of weeks.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Mia and I are going to Prague like you suggested.”

“That’s so great," you say with a tightness in your voice. “When do you leave?”

“Next Thursday.”

Next Thursday.

Dieter stars to drone on about how Mia has all these restaurants and museums she wants to go to but all you can think of is that you’ll be alone on your birthday. The first one since your father passed. No mother to turn to. Nothing. You’ll be completely alone.

A sudden flutter begins in your abdomen and you give an absent smile, hand slowly sliding over your stomach.

Well, not completely alone.

From where you stand in your guest house kitchen you can see into the main house. Specifically into the dining room. At night when the landscape is dark and the lights are on inside you can see it very clearly.

Like tonight.

You can see him pacing inside the house, his tall frame gesticulating wildly. He's obviously going over some lines. He asked you to have dinner and run through them but you’d texted back some feeble excuse.

The truth is you need to separate yourself as much as possible from Dieter because you’re convinced that what you’re starting to feel can’t be explained away by hormones. This desire to be with him.

But he’s leaving with Mia in a few short days on some whirlwind romantic escape. You even showed him the best way to pack his fucking suitcase! The sight of a box of condoms at the bottom of it hidden by the toiletries bag made your throat tighten.

Despite this your eyes sail over to Dieter’s house again, watching him make a note on his script before running through the lines. He looks so sexy when he does it, totally lost in the moment. It reminds you of the character he played in Ireland.

Fuck, that insatiable need is coursing through your body again. The hormones kicking into overdrive as you feel your thighs press together at the memory of Dieter and that regency costume. He looked so good in it. You can almost hear his husky voice in your ear.

It's okay if you want it, baby. Lemme give it to you.

You throw yourself into your plush bed, your hands sliding down under your panties and working frantically against your straining clit.

Uh huh. Just like that. Gotta come on my fingers before you get this cock.

You throw your head back, thighs squeezing as you rut against your fingers. This phantom Dieter plays in your mind, his husky voice full of dark, delicious promise.

Gonna fuck such pretty sounds out of you.

"Dieter," you groan, unable to help yourself. It's pathetic how quickly and easily your orgasm overtakes you. It leaves you shuddering and whimpering, rutting into your fingers and then finally collapsing back as you stare at the ceiling.

What the fuck are you doing?

Despite everything Dieter is still your boss in some ways. He’s still the man paying you to have a child. Yes, he’s sort of a friend, but at the end of the day he still holds some authority over you.

You wish that last thought didn’t turn you on so much.

You’re still groaning when you hear the light tap of knuckles on glass and you jerk up in your bed, face flushed.

You wipe your damp hand on the sheets before slowly stumbling out of the bedroom. Dieter is standing there at the glass door, giving you a stiff wave. You move quickly, tugging the door open. The sound of cicadas and LA night traffic punctuate the formerly peaceful space.

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m really sorry to come over here so late but Magda just told me when she was cleaning this place this afternoon she saw a roach.”

“What?��

Immediately you’re moving towards him, glancing behind you in disgust. Your eyes sweep the floor and counters for any trace. Strange, you haven’t noticed anything and this place is kept perfectly clean.

“Yeah,” Dieter nods, looking tense. “So I gotta get this place fumigated ASAP.”

“Of course.”

“But the fumes are bad for the baby so you’ll have to move your stuff into the main house until it’s finished.”

“For how long do you think?”

“Dunno,” Dieter shrugs, motioning to the room airily. “I was gonna call a guy in the morning to get some quotes. Might be a couple weeks before they can get someone out here.”

A couple weeks? Dieter has enough money to have the place fumigated tonight if he really wanted to. You gaze up at Dieter about to say as such when you see the searching nature of his eyes and suddenly the shoe drops.

There’s no roach.

You note the tense way he rubs his fingers together, the way his brows rise and eyes go owlish the longer you stare at him.

“I’m terrified of roaches,” you finally tell him as you start to throw your stuff into your suitcases. “Can I move my stuff in tonight?”

“Would be the safest,” Dieter nods exaggeratedly helping you to pack. It takes no time at all before he’s helping you carry the suitcases across the yard and into his home.

The guest room is just as nice as the guest house with tall ceilings but slightly less homey. Dieter prefers marble floors and gold accents. Things he was taught as a child meant rich. The bed is lovely, but minimalist. You are however very impressed with the large bathtub and even bigger rain forest shower. You put your suitcases to the side, feeling Dieter watch you from the doorway.

“It’s still early you wanna watch a doc or something?”

You bite back the delighted smile that threatens to bleed over your features before you turn to face him.

“Sure.”

“Okay, you got your passport, the tickets are on your phone, your bags are packed,” the young man’s reedy voice lists off things from his checklist as the three of you stand in the kitchen the following week. Dieter is sitting on one of the stools dressed nicely and looking nervously from the paper to you, completely ignoring Rupert.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go.”

“Dieter.”

“What if you go into labor?”

“Almost three months early?” you force a laugh from where you stand by the fridge. “Then we have bigger issues than you not being here. Now c’mon. Mia’ll be here any second.”

Today is the photo spread for the movie Mia and Dieter starred in. It’ll run late so the lovebirds have decided on spending the night in a fancy hotel before shuttling off to Prague the next day. Dieter is always nervous about trips away but he realizes this is especially daunting since he’ll have no PA with him.

Diane has sent him someone new over during the week. A young man with bloodshot eyes and a nervous countenance named Robert or Roger. Dieter can’t remember. All he knows is that the kid does his job decently but he isn’t you.

But he promised himself that he would plan this trip for he and Mia. He researched the restaurants and hotels with her and booked it all. He got them the best seats in the plane and the nicest suite in the hotel.

But all he can think is that he’s going to be away from you for two weeks. Away from his son nestled safely in your body.

“I made a new tape for him,” Dieter says, suddenly snapping. He reaches into his pocket and slides the tape towards you. “Make sure he listens.”

“Yes, yes,” you say rolling your eyes.

The doorbell rings and Rupert immediately goes to answer it leaving you and Dieter alone. He watches you peering into the fridge trying to find something to satisfy your current craving of salty vanilla pudding.

“I don’t want to leave you.”

His voice is a quiet hum. Your mouth tries to form the words but all you can think of is Dieters warm eyes, his hands caressing your belly, the sweet timbre of his voice when he reads to you when you can’t sleep.

“I’m going to be okay,” you promise him softly as you glance over to him. “Now go say hello to your girlfriend.”

Dieter nods resolutely before bolting around the corner to see Mia. You hear his excited greeting and you try not to feel upset. Instead you dig around in the cupboard for something salty. You hear your name being called and you turn to see Dieter and Mia entering the room.

Mia’s eyes go round with shock at seeing you waddle towards her. You give a bright smile, despite the pang that goes through you at the sight of them hand-in-hand.

"Oh wow," Mia says when you waddle into the room holding a bag of chips.

"Weird right?"

"A little," she laughs. You join in, knowing how strange this entire scenario is. You feel like a baby hippo meanwhile Mia looks like she just stepped off the runway.

“So nice to see you,” she says, giving you an awkward hug as she avoids the bump. “I brought a little something for the baby,” she hands a wrapped gift to Dieter, “and one for you.”

Dieter unwraps the package, bringing out a first edition copy of Winnie the Pooh. Your eyes widen at the sight. That must have cost her a fortune.

“Thanks babe,” Dieter says warmly, kissing her. You look away, unwilling to watch and unwrap your gift from Mia which turns out to be a delicate crystal flower vase. Arguably one of the most useless things on the planet since you hate flowers. Dieter knows this and you think you catch a curl of amusement in his face.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you falter.

“I know,” she says sweetly. “I just saw it and thought of you.”

“It’s beautiful,” you say, careful not to exchange amused looks with Dieter across the room. You shoot a soft smile at Mia. “Thank you so much. I’ll go pop it in my room so it doesn’t get broken. Magda tends to be a little chaotic when she cleans.”

You turn, about to go down the hallway to the bedroom when you feel something like tension in the room. You don't know why you pause but you do.

"I thought you were staying in the guest house?" She asks you but her eyes are scanning Dieter’s face.

“She was,” Dieter explains, hoping his cheeks aren’t red. “But there were roaches.”

Mia’s face scrunches. “Roaches?”

“Yeah,” you finally fumble, rubbing absently at your stomach. "The guest house needed to be fumigated and that’s not safe for the baby. That’s the only reason I’m in the guest room. I’ll be out in the guest house as soon as the fumigation is over."

Mia nods, but you don't miss the lingering look there in her light eyes.

With Dieter in Prague for the next few weeks you have a lot of free time to yourself. The only problem is you have no one to spend it with. You can't be seen in public now without a bodyguard save for your short walks through Dieter's Calabasas neighborhood. Phone calls with your mom are no longer an option. So you spend most of your time scrolling through social media, watching movies and swimming.

Dieter has always been annoying but he's the kind of annoying that brings you comfort now. Without his loud presence in the house you start to feel lonely. A strange feeling you've never really experienced due to your busy lifestyle.

It makes you long for the sound of Dieter's record player in the art room. Makes you long for his brash laughter during a funny commercial. Makes you long for the way your voices worked against one another when practicing lines, the sound of him muttering to himself when he reads something that interests him in the paper, the way he rasps your name when he’s just woken up.

All the sounds of Dieter that you realize have come to be their own comforting symphony to you.

But he’s with Mia and that's how it should be. They're on the same level. And you know that these feelings are from your hormones. This warmth will fade the second this child is taken from you and is likely contributing to this lonely feeling that arises with you each empty morning.

He’s only been gone four days but those days seem to stretch into eternity. Your mind is usually so full and your schedule packed. But you’re almost annoyingly free right now. Dieter has made only one request of you and that is to update the app every day at least once. He says it makes him feel less guilty about leaving, even though you're the one who encouraged it.

So you do.

29 weeks

Cravings

SALT

Vanilla

pie filling

chips

peanuts

Missing

the ability to see my feet

Baby is size of butternut squash

The only thing that tethers you to Dieter are the sporadic text messages he sends you. Where you once found his constant need to stay in touch annoying, now you crave his random messages, re-reading them with a smile.

[1:44pm] D: I hate not speaking Czech. I feel like everyone is making fun of me and I have no proof. [1:44pm]: You're being paranoid. [1:44pm] D: I'm not!!! [1:46pm] D: Okay maybe a little. Mia and I did an edible. [1:46pm]: Dieter! [1:46pm] D: Diane said no hard drugs! Edibles are natural.

You roll your eyes.

[1:47pm]: Whatever. Hope you're having fun.

You wish you could see his face when you recall Mia's instagram. You forgot you follow her. The second you click on her story you wish you hadn't. It's her and Dieter in a gorgeous spot in Prague chatting with the caption: Czech us Out! @BravoitsDieter

Your loneliness hits you on the fifth day quite acutely. And instead of turning to television or swimming you lay on your back in bed and stare up into the ceiling before your fingers fumble for your phone and you type hurriedly.

[6:08am]: I think he has your hair. [6:12am] D: Huh? What?? Why? [6:12am]: They say if the mother has lots of heartburn then the kid will have lots of hair. Right now I feel like my heart has been dropped in acid. [6:13am] D: No way. I thought babies were always bald. [6:13am]: Not always. I wasn't. Were you? [6:13am] D: Dunno. Never saw baby photos of myself. [6:14am]: Why not? [6:14am] D: My mom cared about stuff like that. When she died my dad just put everything in the attic and tried to forget.

You didn't know that about Dieter. You've heard snatches of information from other staff that Dieters dad is a low life, but to not save photos of your kid? That seems cruel.

[6:14am]: I'm sorry. [6:15am] D: NP. [6:15am] D: Mia is taking me to a museum so I gtg ttyl

You frown at the phone.

"What a bitch," you murmur before stopping yourself. You think about how your baby can probably hear sounds outside the womb now and you feel guilty.

"No, actually, she's not a bitch. She's really lovely and she's so good for your dad."

Your hands drift over your belly slowly, subconsciously as you speak and soon your eyes follow suit.

"Strange to think you're just in there all snuggly," you tell your belly with amusement. You gasp when you think you can feel a slight flutter within you abdomen.

"Is that you?" You wonder aloud. "Can you hear me?"

The fluttering continues and you feel something in you shift. Your heart squeezes pleasantly. He rarely moves around for just you. It seems he's most active when Dieter is nearby.

"You're really in there," you laugh to yourself. "And you can hear me."

The lonely feelings begin to dissipate. You're not alone - you have your son to keep you company. You talk to him through the day. You make jokes about bubble having Dieters hair. You talk to Bubble about the book you read on the porch. When you watch a documentary you narrate for the baby.

You update the app with a cheerful photo of you making a heart over the bellybutton with your fingers. You think Dieter will get a kick out of it.

When you go to bed you put the headphones over your belly and hit play on the walkman.

"This is a new one from your Dad," you tell your belly wryly as you position the foam on either side of your bump. "So I apologize now if it's fucking annoying."

With a serene smile you go to sleep with his muffled voice against your skin. And when you wake up on the sixth day you feel good. It's not until you look at the calendar that you're reminded of Friday's date.

Your birthday.

The first one without your father. It makes your stomach drop.

As if all of California has gotten the memo the day is grey and drizzly. You spend most of the day napping and eating whatever Petra has put together. But by mid afternoon you’re feeling restless. You try walking around the block, but the weather drives you back inside. You try to distract yourself but nothing seems to work.

Petra and Magda have gone home for the day. It’s just you and bubble and right now it feels like it’s just you. You decide to order a pizza for dinner, and as you wait for your Hawaiian Delight to arrive you can’t help but reach out to the one person you wish was here.

[5:48pm]: How is Prague? [5:50pm] D: Boring. [5:50pm]: Only you would say Prague is boring, Dieter. [5:51pm] D: In the airport now. Gonna go to Germany for a couple days. Mia really wants to see Cologne Cathedral and apparently they’re doing some once-in-a-decade tour event thing. I dunno. How’s the bubble? [5:51pm]: Still here.

You don’t know why you’re both still calling him Bubble. The tabloids have made it impossible not to be aware that you’re pregnant after all. But there’s something sweet about referring to him as your little Bubble.

[5:52pm] D: airport is so fucking noisy and I'm so tired. found coffee though.

[5:52pm]: Make sure not to drink too much. You won’t sleep on the plane. [5:52pm] D: U didn’t update the app today. [5:53pm]: Sorry, been distracted. [5:53pm] D:??? [5:53pm] D: How come?

You have no desire to get into this over text. Besides it’s not Dieters problem, it’s yours. And it’s not a problem it’s just. . . life.

[5:55pm]: Doesn’t matter. Here, this will have to do.

You attach a picture of your hand over your swollen bump and send it over.

You’re surprised when you see Dieter calling.

“Hello?”

“Why are you distracted?”

“Dieter don’t you have better things to do than call me about this?” You say rolling your eyes, but still delighted to be hearing his raspy voice. “Aren’t you in the airport?”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t Mia with you?”

“She went to get another magazine for the flight. You gonna tell me what’s going on? Is it the Bubble?”

“No,” you say grunting as you lean back against the sofa.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine!”

“Cmon,” Dieter cajoles. “You know I’m just gonna keep calling and texting until you tell me.”

“Its pregnancy brain,” you throw out, hoping this will satiate him.

“Liar. Your voice always does that clipped thing when you lie.”

You can’t help but feel a small smile cross your features. You hear the distant boarding call for his flight and you decide you might as well tell him. It’s not like he doesn’t already know that your dead is dead.

“It’s just… It’s my birthday. The first one since my dad died and ...."

You trail off. You hear silence on the other end of the phone and then a soft fuck.

“Dieter?”

“I thought it was next month,” Dieter is murmuring and you can hear him tapping on the phone. “Fucking calendar. Fuck. I thought it was next month same day. That’s what I have it as. Fuck. This is why I don’t program my own fucking electronics. Fuck.”

“Nope. Today,” you clarify, amused at how frazzled he sounds. “But it’s not your problem. It’s just this is my first birthday without my Dad and, my Mom isn’t talking to me and I realized I’ve worked so hard so long I have no real friends and…. It’s just…”

You break off when you feel tears starting.

“Anyway, not your problem,” you say forcing your voice up an octave. “I’m only telling you because you asked. I hope you and Mia enjoy your trip! I can’t wait to see photos.”

“Hey, wait-“

“I gotta go,” you say, brushing the stray tears that have escaped. “Pizza guy is here. Bye!”

You hang up the phone and then place it on silent. You don’t want to talk with him anymore. You don’t want to talk with anyone. You just spoke to Dieter but that doesn't stop you from missing him. It gets to the point where you pull up old interview footage with him on YouTube just so you can hear his voice and see his smile.

When the pizza arrives you pay the guy delivering it, but then you just shove the box in the fridge. You take a shower, letting the tears mingle with the steamy droplets before pulling on a new nightdress. You grab the walkman and headphones, about to put them on when you pad t the kitchen for a glass of water.

You walk back, about to retire to your guest room, walking past Dieter’s bedroom. You’ve rarely ever been inside it and never when he isn’t at home. But something about today compels you into it, something make you push open the door and walk to his bed.

The room is recently cleaned by Petra, the bed freshly made, the floors sparkling, his clothing put away. The fireplace is off but you switch it on, noticing his tattered green robe freshly washed and hanging on the back of the bedroom door. You don’t even think about it, you just pull it on over your sleep dress and stumble into his bed.

Dieter’s bed is so comfy, even better than the one in his guest house and room. You curl under the sheets, burying your face in his pillow. It smells like his expensive shampoo and the cologne he sometimes wears. It brings tears to your eyes.

You wish he was here.

You turn onto your back, tummy swollen and resting heavily. It makes you long for Dieter in all aspects. Not just to fuck, but to spend time with. He's so different from anyone you know. He doesn't follow rules or social norms. But when you're with him you feel calm and not judged. It makes you feel like you can let go.

"Your daddy really is wonderful," you murmur to your belly, stroking it. "You might hear bad stuff but you need to know what a good heart he has. He's so generous and funny and he loves so deeply. You're not even here yet and he's so in love with you."

You look at the walkman resting beside you, and instead of putting it around your abdomen something inspires you to put the headphones on yourself. You’ve never listened to the message before but tonight you do.

You slip the cheap foam over your ears, rewinding the tape and smiling when his voice sounds out over the tape.

“Hey little Bravo, this is your dad speaking. I just found out you’re gonna be a boy. Woah. My son. Uh, I need you to know that you are so special and that when you’re born we’re gonna have so much fun. I’ve already made a list of places we’re gonna go. And-“

It goes on like this for several minutes with Dieter excitedly detailing all his future plans for he and his son. You hang onto every word, enraptured with the life he has in store for his son. You imagine a future with Dieter holding a baby with his same wild hair. And in this future you see him reach for a woman, but she isn’t you. It’s Mia, and she looks so happy with them. The perfect family.

Dieter’s voice draws you back in.

“You need to know that your Mom loves you just as much as me. I watch her patting you and whispering to you all the time. She told me last week that you were the size of a head of cauliflower. Then she started humming a song about her cauliflower son.”

You laugh out loud at the memory of you swimming a few weeks ago humming a tune about a cauliflower son. You didn’t even realize Dieter was paying attention. You turn your attention back to the recording.

“I just want you to know how much I love you. I love you so so much. I’m so excited to meet you.”

You stop the tape, rewinding it.

“I just want you to know how much I love you. I love you so much.”

You sniffle, rewinding the tape again.

“I just want you to know how much I love you. I love you so much.”

Again.

“I love you so much.”

Again and again you rewind to hear that section. And as you finally drift off into sleep it’s to the gentle sound of the man you desire whispering how much he loves you.

Dieter arrives at home late, toeing off his sneakers as he yawns, scratching his belly before heading for his bedroom. The suitcase is left at the front door, tomorrow’s problem. He’s exhausted from the flight and he needs to get some sleep before he talks to you tomorrow morning.

He opens the door to his room, preparing to throw himself into bed when he notices the fireplace is on. He pauses, seeing you in your bed lying on your side sleepily soundly. A small smile curls onto his lips when he sees the bright yellow walkman in your hand, fingers loosely around it. What strikes him is that you're wearing the headphones; you don't have them around your belly.

Dieter is quiet, looking down at your peaceful sleeping face illuminated by your bedside table. One of your hands is splayed over your belly protectively and this makes him smile. He gently pulls the earphones from off your head, sliding the walkman from your grip and placing both on his nightstand.

He figures he’ll sleep in the guest room tonight, musing that you’re playing musical beds tonight.

You murmur something sleepily, something be doesn't catch. He takes a minute longer to look at you and then his face hovers over yours. He kisses you softly, an innocent press of his lips to yours.

"G'night baby mama."

You shift partly awake, arms reaching out to wrap around his neck. He grins, allowing himself to get pulled into the bed next to you. You’re so warm. You don't say anything; you just snuggle up against him, face nuzzling against his neck.

"Go back to sleep, baby," Dieter tells your sleepy frame. "Just turning the light off."

He presses a ginger kiss to your temple before his free hand clicks the light next to the bed.

"Okay, love you, g'night," you murmur, still mostly dozing.

Dieter is silent, unmoving as your words rattle around in his head. He waits until you're snoring before he finally replies.

"I love you too."

TAGLIST: @getitoutofmymindwrites @manuymesut @whirlwindrider29 @mostardentlypascal @lu62 @missladym1981 @heareball @sptbear @drewharrisonwriter @lizzie-cakes @daddy-dins-girl @moel-jiller @tammythr @guelyury @lilyevanstan1325 @lu62 @sptbear @staywildflowahchild @whirlwindrider29 @pedropascalsbbg @cherrycosmos392

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guelyury · 3 days

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PEDRO PASCAL out and about in New York City | April 23, 2024

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guelyury · 3 days

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PEDRO PASCAL spotted out and about in New York City

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guelyury · 4 days

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Love this

🌷 Who's up for a creative challenge? 🌷

If it's not apparent already, I love flowers and I love the Pedro Boys! So, what could be more fun than combining the Pedro Boys and flowers in a creative challenge? 🌷🪻🌻

Perhaps Marcus brings you flowers on date night, Dave's scattered sumptuous petals leading you up to bed, you and Ezra get stranded on a planet with alien-esque florals, or you're showering sweet Javi G with his favourite blooms for his birthday... 🌷🪻🌻

Running during the month of May, I challenge you to write and share a fic - or fics - featuring any of the Pedro Boys and flowers. 🪻

You can also make mood boards or art if you're not a writer - or don't want to write - but still want to participate! 🌷

🌻 See below for the full challenge details! 👇🏻

The challenge deets:

Must feature at least one Pedro Boy - can be any character Pedro has played, no matter how popular. You can feature more than one Pedro Boy too, if you like.

Must contain flowers or plants in some capacity. 🌷🪻🌻 Can be the main feature of your story, or a background aesthetic. Florals, plants, succulents - you name it, you can feature any of them!

Can be as smutty or fluffy as you want! Hot, soft, gentle, fun, quirky - you've got freedom on whether you wanna write smut or not.

No word limit - you write as many words as you see fit.

Any Reader type! You can write in X Reader, original character or just the Pedro Boys engaging with one another. Any gender/race/size or physical ability of Reader is absolutely welcome too! 🌈 This is an inclusive house! 🙌🏻

Mood boards, video edits and original artwork is also welcome - but must feature a Pedro Boy and flowers, and must be your own creation.

No limit to the number of submissions - you can write more than one fic, or submit more than one artwork, but the Pedro Boys must be different for each submission.

Tag me in your work and use the #jettsflora&faunachallenge so I can add it to a Masterlist.

This challenge will run from 1st May - 31st May 2024 and I'll add works as they're posted.

☝🏻 Don't worry too much if you miss the deadline, life happens, and you'll still be able to submit your fic/art after the deadline. Just let me know. 🌷🪻🌻

🪻🌷🌻 And as a flowery bonus...

I will pick one piece of work submitted at complete random, when all the works are posted, and will send that person a bunch of flowers!* 💐

I hope you'll participate and have fun & I can't wait to see what you'll come up with! Would really appreciate a signal boost too - thankies 🖤

A-Z of Flowers Database Look up your flowers 🌷🪻🌻

*I can send flowers worldwide. In order to send them, I'll need a name & a delivery address. I appreciate it if you don't feel comfortable sharing that info with a stranger, however please rest assured those details will stay with me and only me. The recipient will be picked at random using a generator. If you have floral allergies, I can send a substitute little floral themed gift instead. 🖤

#pedro pascal #jettsflora&faunachallenge

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guelyury · 4 days

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Feliz día del libro

#pedro pascal #my sunshine boy

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guelyury · 4 days

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Sometimes I'm coming back to this cause is fucking gold

Dress Me Up & Call Me Pretty - A Dieter Bravo One Shot

Summary: Dieter gets into your make-up stash, and all carnage breaks loose.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It's you, bub.)

Word Count: 6.8k of depraved filth.

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶🌶🌶 "You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here

Explicit - Established relationship/oral F receiving/M anal play/ass eating/pegging/dirty talk/come eating/playing dress up/feminisation kink/praise/sex toys/drug use/angst/Dieter being a fucking menace. 🐼

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

Author’s Note: This was supposed to be a GIFLET... 🙄 I blame @for-a-longlongtime & @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for encouraging me, you gorgeous rascals. Inspired by the BTS pic of Pedro on SNL with make-up on from his Miss Flores skit. Plumping lipgloss idea courtesy of the absolute legend @secretelephanttattoo 🖤

Finally get to play & write something for my homeboy, D - Yay! 💋

☝🏻If this story isn't to your taste, that's cool. Just skip past it quietly. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

“...I know I messed up, but this audition, it’s a game changer. Put me forward for it. I’m ready.”

The voice on the other end of the speaker sighs heavily.

Brown, darting and bloodshot eyes flick up to the mirror, pale bottom lip chewed on listlessly. The rings on his pointer and pinky clack against the marble surface as he rocks his hand back and forth against it, increasing in speed.

Clack-clack-clack...

“You’ve gotta fucking get it together, Dieter. I can’t keep pulling your ass out the gutter. That stunt at the Emmys? Shit man. Fucking memes are everywhere.”

A finger swipes in the tiny mountain of white powder and is brought to pale gums. He releases with a squelchy pop. The heady feeling bottoms out in his gut too quickly.

“I know. I-I fucked up-”

“Fucked up? Jesus, Dieter!”

“I know. I’m just… I’m feeling the pressure, you know? I can’t fucking sleep.” He scratches under his chin. That little spot that feels raw and tight. "Just need some sleep."

“You checked in with your therapist?”

He snorts and bends over the vanity growling. “That quack doesn’t know me.”

Clack-clack-clack...

There’s a long sigh. “Get yourself straight. Sleep. For a week. Then we’ll talk about work.”

“Get me the script!” He wails.

“Goodbye, Dieter.”

He tosses his phone into the sink and tugs at his hair. His eyes find his disapproving reflection staring back at him vacuously.

The mirror never lies.

It shows us the unbidden, hideous truth that we try to deny; shows us who we really are, even if we don’t know who that person is anymore.

Who are you?

It shows you your weakness, that disgusting perverse swill that rides inside your veins and is one with you - it’s a part of you and always has been; the root of its origin undeciphered. You’ve just known it to always exist inside of you; accustomed to the customs of your vile ways.

Who the fuck are you, Dieter Bravo?

He points at his reflection. “I see you, you… fuck! I see you.”

Dieter is seeing it once again, the way he always had when he beheld his wrung out reflection staring back at him. The sight of himself in the mirror hung over the giant basin causes a tidal wave of images to stab at his eyeballs. So much so that he feels slightly unsteady on his feet for a moment or two.

A rush of recall; the sordid details of that fucking Emmy after party in all their purest, most vivid forms, taunting him and confusing him for a relapsed second or two, where he lets them slip inside his walls.

His guard relinquishes but if for a moment, and it's a singular moment that brings unbearable consequence and destruction with it.

It brings guilt, shame; unabashed disgust. It brings that look on your face as you shake your head and storm out, cameras flashing in his face as he chases after you and peddles fraying excuses that you've heard before.

And once those feelings fester in, they’re hard to rinse out. A cataclysmic effect that renders him incapable of anything else but mental self-flagellation; an emotional top drop strangling him until he can no longer breathe.

Tasting the smells and hearing the colours that are laid out inside his head like sleazy schematics, drowning in the cloudy dopamine. A suffocating feeling engulfs him; a fire raging through the driest desert, burning up everything until there is nothing left to destroy.

He knows his dick was probably involved, it usually is. Drugs too. Lots of drugs. But he'd arrived sober and with you glittering on his arm. He'd been doing so well, polished up.

You were right, those people that surrounded him, they weren't his friends. They were enablers. Leeches. Revellers in his misery.

But your face, your pretty, pretty face... You didn't scream, you didn't shout. You just held him whilst he sobbed. All night. God, he hadn't cried like that in... well, he can't remember.

And he couldn't sleep that night, and hasn't been able to since.

He begs internally, to make it stop.

Screaming silently not to allow him to be the spectator anymore on his last deviances, but he’s still rendered useless whilst it omits the heinous, fucked up truths about him.

Truths that should have ruined him; if it was anyone else, it would have. Game over. Hollywood says bye-bye. But instead he’s celebrated for his bawdy reputation in the industry. One janky scandal after another, racking them up like it's fucking awards season.

He scratches the underside of his scruffy chin listlessly. He taps his cheeks, hollowing his mouth open so it sounds out of his mouth like bongo drums and does that on repeat. His fingers are buzzing, his toes feel weird. What day is it?

Dieter grips onto the sink with both hands straining to keep himself up right and gasping as though he’s been punched in the gut; his reflection is not making it easy on him at all.

You did this. You fucking did this.

He dry heaves into the sick, but nothing comes up anymore.

Sort your shit out.

He sees it. He sees his face. The mirror never lies. It shows you your real face; the one under the professionally groomed cheekbones and ageing skin pulled crinkly round the eyes. Perhaps he should get some botox.

He decides he loathes his face, it’s hideous and he wants nothing but to claw it off and leave it bloody and scarred.

He decides that he hates being alone and left to his own perilous devices like this, and wonders why you’re not home yet. Wonders how you can always silence the nagging and twittering, even though he is less than deserving of silence.

He snorts two more powdery lines and takes a deep, shuddering breath, clears his throat as though trying to find the right baritone as the sherbet fizz rips craggy down the back of it.

The conversation with his agent leaves him ruminating further in the dark of the unhinged; ebbing paranoia starts to gnaw at him and he knows he has to calm down; somewhere in the static fuzz, he knows he should probably calm the fuck down. Regain his composure, even with a head full of luminescent bubbles that make his cortex feel uncomfortably numb.

His fingers blindly selects a tool from the pot of brushes on the sink; he takes the fuzziest one with the biggest head and retreats into the bedroom, a lost boy, running its silken fibres up and down his cheek.

The gentle stroke of the compacted hairs feels like a tender touch, comforting, grounding him as he breathes in and lets the make-up brush, that you use to coat your cheeks in pretty fuschia colours, soothe him for a few seconds.

And that’s when Dieter has an idea; cracking open his skull like a lightning bolt. Dashing back to the bathroom as though he’s shit all down the inside of his harem pants; the adrenaline, the rush floods down the veins in his triad inked arms as he scatters the brushes across the vanity clumsily and cackles wildly.

The same rush he gets when he’s about to paint a new, heinous masterpiece. Only this time the canvas will be his own face.

Layer by layer, he conceals the signs of his turmoil, the long, binge worn-in trenches under his eyes. As if he could mask and tame the chaos with every stroke. The eyeliner is meticulously applied, despite the visible shake in his fingers, although two more lines of coke will sort that out, give him sharpened focus, if but for a few minutes.

The act of shaping his eyes allows Dieter to momentarily escape the storm inside his mind, even if he doesn’t take the opportunity to bask in its sloshy puddles.

He looks back at his reflection and sees not the paranoid, reclusive and somewhat maniacal man he’s become, but an esteemed, Oscar-worthy actor who can transform into another character, if but for a while.

And it stuns him, not his handiwork, although he’s quite in awe of it - he’s always been expressive with a brush - but the fact that he’s forgotten that he’s this person rather than the catatonic failure being held together with strained, thread-like seams.

That he, too, could be… pretty.

But Dieter knows this is only a temporary reprieve, another coping mechanism before the turbulent thoughts blow in again to rattle his tired skeleton. But for now, it’s enough to roll with, to revel in the ignorant bliss.

And it’s having a profound effect on his body as things start to tingle back to life again; fingers, nipples, cock… Pieces of him coming alive that have felt so anaesthetised for so long.

Staring at his lips, he frowns at their bareness. Rummaging through your make-up bag in a road to Damascus dash, he audibly growls when he can’t find it, the finishing touch.

He ends up tipping it all in the sink, burying his phone that has been incessantly pinging for days, as he searches for his coveted prize frantically with gnarled claws.

“Fuck!” He paces out of the bathroom; a renegade hand partaking in the regular tug and twists at the curly hair on his nape. He pulls open the dresser drawers and rifles around.

No, not in there either.

The bedside table shows no hint of the final piece that will complete the look.

Sighing and feeling his fingertips throb, Dieter stops stomping when he spies it, taunting him on the side of the sink where it had always been.

Come here, big boy…

He pulls the cap off and twists up the bottom to reveal the velvet bullet, shaped down to a flat nubbin by your copious wear. He sniffs it; it even smells of you. The lipstick is a pretty, deep rosy pink.

He runs it over his lips and rolls them together. Blotting it with his fingers, a few soft taps like he’s seen you do a thousand times before; he puckers and licks around his teeth. He loves this colour on you, his favourite.

Loves that it leaves the markings of you all down his chest and around his cock.

Dieter reaches into the front of his pants and adjusts the heavy weight of his dick in the throes of hardening and tenting them out. He gives himself a squeeze and the groan that escapes him sounds so alien.

He leans forward and kisses the mirror, leaving a print of his lips, and smirks.

"Would you fuck me? I'd fuck me. I'd fuck me hard. I'd fuck me so hard..." Dieter recites Jame Gumb imitating his accent, and snickers at his reflection.

He paints on a sticky glaze of gloss over the top of his lips, then retreats into the bedroom, back to the dresser drawers where he pulls out your silk and lace in abundance and laughs maniacally as he repeats the quote.

"I'd fuck me so hard..."

When you reach the bedroom, the carnage stops you in your tracks. For a moment, it looks as though there's been a robbery.

What the...?

There are clothes everywhere, on the floor; your delicates and unmentionables. Outfits strewn over the bed, sequins and suede crumpled on the chair like deflated ghosts.

The closet doors are wide open and you can hear the muffled sounds of him from somewhere amongst the throes of it. Garbled curses and strung out laughter that echoes.

“D?” You call as you place your purse down.

“Yeah!” He calls as you make your way towards the closet door, but he bounds out, wrapping his green gown tight around his waist.

He looks at you, hair dishevelled, but you stop in your tracks.

You smile, slowly and wide, as he stares at you like he’s just woken up.

“Babe.” He acknowledges, blinking widely and fast.

“Damn, you have good taste. That colour is gorgeous on you.” You say, zoning in on his lips.

“What?” He questions with a twinkly void in his eyes. He baulks then remembers his face is caked full of make-up.

“Oh. Yeah?” He blushes.

More scritching at the underside of his chin commences and he frowns at the foundation now embedded under his nails.

You smile softly. “Yeah. But let me fix your eyes. Come here. Got a little smudge there.” You say as he follows you over to the vanity like a loyal puppy and sits himself down, proverbial tail wagging crazily.

You smirk, noticing his legs are swathed in a black, nylon sheen under the flaps of his corduroy gown.

“Nearly fucking blinded myself putting that shit on. Don't know how you do that everyday.” He nods to the eyeliner that you pick up.

“Masochist,” you smirk. You dab at his eye corner, redraw the line and smile. “There. Perfect.”

He blinks a couple of times, as though there’s something in his eye. Or perhaps he’s having a stroke.

“You look…” You swallow as you can’t find the words.

“Do I look pretty? Do you want to have sex with me?” He puts to you, and it’s like he just whispered it directly to your clit. He stares up at you with perfectly lined, brown doe eyes.

Sucking in a breath you query “is this for a role, or…?”

“No.” Dieter shakes his head standing and his gown falls open. You see he’s wearing black stockings with lace tops, held up by suspenders. And your black, lace thong.

“D. Is that my thong?” You ask, bewildered and bemused, as he turns back to you.

“My thong now.” He simmers at you.

“Oh my God. Don't do this to me.” You say feeling the heat ignite your cheeks.

It suddenly feels very hot and stuffy in the bedroom as you take him in. Sweat makes itself known on the back of your neck and you feel damp between your legs. Your inherent need for him grows fangs and wants to sink itself into the meat of his thigh and suck deeply until you grow fat and full and fall off.

“I'm not doing anything, baby.” Dieter remarks, twiddling his curly tufts around his finger.

“Fuck, D. You're fucking hot like this.”

“Yeah I am.” He says twirling, and twirling a bit more vigorously, until you stop him.

You take his head in your hands and peer at his blown out pupils. “Are you high?” You question, eyeing him with a dipped frown.

“Maybe. It's irrelevant.” He shrugs and shakes out of your grip. You’re too good to him, and he knows it.

He is completely fucking unworthy of this, of you. Look at you; you’re stunning there in your effortless grace and the way you behold him like he shits out gold nuggets, even when he’s fucked up - again.

You’re a fucking Goddess, and the no good, piece of shit needs to worship at your feet and beg for your forgiveness for his latest relapse. He can’t look at you, he can’t look at himself.

He wraps his robe around his belly again.

This was stupid. Pathetic. Why does this fucking foundation itch so much? It’s your eyes, it’s as though he’s tumbling through tunnel vision, hurtling straight at your damn eyes. Stop looking at me.

But you pull him to you, wanting to get your hands on him. Wanting to reassure him and quell those shakes that rattle him. Wanting to scrape those scabbied layers off of him and bathe until the skin feels soft once more.

But he’s making it very difficult to concentrate on any kind of admonishment right now.

Right now, you just want to lick him all over.

You take his hands and his gown flaps open again. His little tummy paunch rests softly on top of the silk elastic of the suspender belt and you run your finger along the width of it. His cock barely fits inside your thong, and you’re trying not to dribble as you stare down at it.

Thick and swollen and hard. And thick... fuck.

“I like this.” You pant.

“Yeah? How much?”

“A lot.” You nod to him slowly as you look up at him. That clit of yours thunders like it’s kicking crazily at a locked door to get out. You clench, squeezing your thighs together and try to stifle your moan.

But he hears it. And he fucking runs with it.

“Am I your good girl?” Dieter pouts and flutters his clumpy mascara eyelashes at you.

“Oh-ho.” You whine, shaking your head and punching your fist against his bare chest gently.

Yeah, he went there.

You know exactly what he wants, how he wants to play this out. He's playing the part, and you're his partner in scene. So you give it to him.

“Yeah. You're such a good girl, D. So fucking pretty for me.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you make yourself all pretty just for me?”

He nods. "You like it?"

“Look at those blow-job lips… Jesus.” Your thumb pulls on his sticky, cerise bottom lip before he sucks it fully into his mouth and eye fucks you darkly the whole time he does it.

“What do you want?” He whispers coyly as your thumb pops out.

“I wanna ruin your make-up.” You husk.

“Fuck.” He says, giddy. "Do it."

“Wait here.” You say, scurrying over to the closet and disappearing inside.

“The strap on!” He calls.

Your head pokes around the door like a Meerkat sniffing out danger. “Yeah?”

He nods enthusiastically with serious eyes. “Fuck yeah.”

“Oh, you’re such a fucking cock slut.” You call back excitedly and giggle as you rummage around in the drawers in the closet. The drawers that are chock full of an arsenal of sexual weaponry. Dildos, plugs, vibes… Everything you can think of, and then some.

“It feels so silky and nice. I can't stop touching it.” He groans as he watches you step into the bedroom again with the harness and dildo dangling from your hand.

You pull down your jeans and step out of them, kicking them away in haste, and he bites his lip beholding you.

You're too much and not enough.

“Touching your little pussy?” You observe him running his hands over the silk of the suspenders and the stockings. He fiddles with the tiny bow on the thong.

“Yeah. My pussy feels real nice.”

“Show me how you touch it, Dieter.” You tempt.

He sits back on the chair, legs open, manky gown falling off his thighs. His hand cups over his cock that’s grotesquely hard. Thick, swelling and the head as flush and pink as his lips.

Poking out the top of the thong, it’s so small to hold him all in fully, and there’s a little sheen on his belly just below his slot machine button, that glimmers sticky at you where he’s leaking.

Your throat runs immediately dry because all the fluid in your body is pooling in your cunt right now and dripping into your panties. Fuck...

You watch him pump that hefty cock of his over the lace. You can hear him breathing hard and moaning with unrestrained pleasure as he goes. He hisses, you watch mesmerised and unable to look away, trying not to drool in the process.

He says your name and you feel it all over your body as it fires in your core.

“Mmhm, mmhm, fuck… feels so good.” Dieter purrs as he strokes up and down his thick length, taking the time to rub the pre-cum slick around his head.

You watch keenly as the insides of his thighs jerk each time he does it.

“Come here, pretty girl,” you coo sitting on the end of bed and tapping the space beside you.

“You want to do scissors with me?” He smirks.

“Fuck, D!” You groan.

You run your hand through his fluffy, messy hair as he reaches you. No matter how well put together he can look - and it’s rare - his hair always resembles a chaotic mess that you love tugging on.

You yank him forward by it, eliciting hisses from him. Those plush, pink coated lips of his are puffed out as you twist his cocoa hair tightly inside your fingers. He coos, enjoying your fuss.

“You feeling a little out of sorts, baby?” You whisper to him, kissing his crown as he kneels between your parted legs.

You know, you always know when he needs you. But never asks.

He sits back on his heels and doesn’t look at you, his hands wringing, fidgeting. The obvious signs that say he’s not ready to talk about it yet. He scratches under his jaw, in a patch that is soothed as he digs his nails into it again. You take his hands and he hangs his head.

“D.” You prompt. “Tell me what you need right now.”

Why do you do that? I hurt you, and will continue to hurt you, and yet you still want to take care of me...

You smile at him, plugging in and powering up the sun, and it tears at something inside of him.

Dieter leans forward, planting soft smooches up the inside of your thigh and leaving wet, lipstick kiss prints.

“This.” His nose presses into your crotch. He flicks his tongue out and up the front of your panties. “I want to taste that pussy, baby.”

“Yeah, you wanna lick my cunt, pretty girl?”

“Mmhm,” he says, his fingers now tugging your panties aside eagerly as those brown eyes lance at you for permission, for approval. His brain is yammering away twenty to the dozen.

Pussy-pussy-pussy-pussy-pussy-

“Eat it, Dieter.” You groan.

He runs his nose up your slit inhaling in deep and humming out in satisfaction at your scent. He slides his long fingers up underneath your panties and pushes them to one side to reveal your soaking lips glistening at him.

He leans in, eyes still looking up at you in their droopy, tired haze, and runs his tongue against you.

You feel that wet muscle weave inside your folds and begin to lap you up like he’s starving.

He listens to them; those whimpers around his fingers as he slides them into your mouth as he tongues you, and the way you look at him; you trust him, you adore him, and it fractures him and leaves wounds opening up all over his body as he bleeds out, bleeds for you.

He reaches down and slides his other fingers inside your pussy as he slurps hungrily around your clit; so wet and so fucking tight.

Dieter watches every time you come; really studies your face and the sounds you make from his fingers fapping hard inside your cunt, bringing you to the edge, and instead of holding you back or denying you, he lets you fly. It's the best part. It's like fucking Icarus, man. He always flies too close. He wants to see your psychedelic colours and bask in their vividness as they blind him. Feel your corona melt his face.

He feels you tighten and constrict around his fingers, hilted to the silver bands at his knuckles, your slick soaking all over the metal. He knows this is real, not a spaced out trip. Knows that he makes you feel these things for him. Even when he feels like utter shit.

You can’t fake it when you’re this open, this vulnerable before him. He inhales you, he needs you. He lets you dissolve on his tongue. Needs you more than the nose powder, more than the glittering lights, more than the fans chanting his name and his face blown up on billboards.

You’re his fucking drug and he’s hopelessly addicted to feeling you flood through his veins.

The pointed tip of his tongue probes and flicks wildly against your clit, and you die. He grabs a hold of your waist, hoisting you up and back further onto the bed where he tugs your panties aside further and delves into your cunt with a heated fervour.

You watch, gasping, as that perfectly pink lipstick smears wet and sticky across his mouth and cheeks as he goes to town on you like he’s starved.

“So fucking good, baby. Just like that!” You gasp feeling dizzy and unbearably hot.

Amidst the heat of his lapping, you start to feel a subtle, yet almost electric feeling that radiates on your lips and clit. It’s like a cascade of tiny, pinprick vibrations; invigorating and soothing at the same time.

Tingles, leaving a pleasantly cooling sensation around his wet tongue.

“Mmm, you’re wearing the plumping lipgloss, aren’t you?” You smile as the tingles increase over your clit, pulling tight and localised; you start clenching internally as you feel it deliciously sharp and aching as that nub pulses whilst he teases and strokes it with his tongue.

“Mmhm,” he confirms with his mouth full of you.

“Good choice.” You groan. “Yeah, D…”

Your fingers rake through his crown, tugging his face closer into your centre where you start to grind. Snuffles of his nasally breaths are felt on your mound; his tongue diving deeper and you feel the thickness of his fingers sliding into you, immediately stroking at the fleshy spot where he knows to coax your orgasm out of hiding and into his waiting mouth. The beads on his wrist jangle and clack as he faps hard, finger fucking you into oblivion.

“Mmm, oh God, D…” You groan and writhe. “Just like that, pretty girl. You’re gonna make me come.” You pant glancing down at him and that darned lipstick is everywhere, all across his lips, peppering his scruff pink and smeared across your cunt and thighs.

“Oh fuck! Yes!” You caterwaul, your body tensing and pulling tight as you start to unwind and flood his mouth.

Drinking you down, he licks long and fat stripes up your pussy. He sucks on your plumpy clit and smirks as you catch your breath; your thighs clamp hard around his face from the overstimulation.

“On your hands and knees, pretty girl.” You instruct and he grins.

The gown comes off, flying through the air, to reveal him bare chested, clad only in your suspender belt and stockings, and that damned thong with his cock spilling out of it.

Bending over on all fours and presenting that ass up to you, Dieter groans as you grab his cheeks and bite into them.

“Yeah!” He growls as he feels your teeth indenting the skin. You slap his ass a few times, watching the fat of it jiggle; sharp, quick stings from your palm as he moans and stretches out like a cat pushing his rump closer to your face.

You part his cheeks, unhooking the black line of the thong riding deep up in that crack. Holding it to the side, you slide your tongue all over that pink, puckered urchin that's waiting for you.

“Oh, baby!” He groans.

You reach between his legs with one of your hands; his butt cheek closing against the side of your nose when you let go, and stroke his rigid cock as you lick and tease his hole.

You spit, lathering him up, and the wet clicks of your tongue flickering around his rim are filling the room obscenely.

Your tongue pushes in, delving into his ass deeper as you fuck him with it, and he whines and bucks. You pump his cock, feeling your hand sticky from his silky fluids, and his balls are full and swollen as you grope and pull on them gently. It makes his head feel all fizzy, like a soda pop all shook up, and he could burst and spew out at any second from the carnage your tongue causes as you push it deeper into his ass.

“Fuck!” He grizzles, his head hanging low like it's snapped off his vertebrae.

“You love it, look at you. I wanna watch you get fucked in this pretty little hole, D. Take pictures. So everyone can see what a cock hungry, little slut you are.” You say.

“Fuck baby, yeah.” He growls.

“Let everyone see you get ruined.”

“Ruin me, baby. Please.” Dieter grunts.

"Stretch you out and watch you gape for me."

"Fuck!"

You reach for the strap on and begin buckling it in around you as you carry on feasting. You take off your top and bra in between licking and sucking around his hole.

Once it’s on and secure, you tap his ass. He turns as you stand, and you jut the dildo towards his mouth.

“You look so good with my cock in your mouth.” You praise as he sucks on the end of it.

You stroke through his hair, and run your thumb across the lipstick smeared around his mouth. Shiny, sticky with the gloss and your cunt slick. He's a mess and it delights you.

Your hands clutch his head; the length of your rubber cock inside his mouth, his tongue swirling around it. Whining for it, able to take it in deep and getting a little too enthused for it that he chokes a little here and there.

“You like sucking cock, don’t you, pretty girl?” You cajole.

“Mmhm.” He nods with his mouth full, taking the dildo in as deep as he can to the back of his throat. It's impressive that he can deep throat so well.

“You wanna fuck this, hmm?”

“I do.” He gasps as he takes a breath. Strings of crystalised saliva pulling from his lips.

“Get the lube.”

He scrambles towards the bedside table and yanks open the draw so hard, the whole thing comes out and crashes on the floor. Grinning, Dieter tosses the bottle up at you and you squeeze it out over the dildo.

“Bend over, let me see that ass again.”

Dieter eagerly presents once more, and glances over his broad, tan shoulder at you. His sultry eyes are expectant, wanting - needing.

“Ready baby, deep breath…” You chime jauntily squeezing his cheeks.

His face scrunches, that initial pinch felt as the large, globular head of the dildo breaks through, but you can feel him instantly relaxing against it and welcoming you in.

You slide the dildo into him gently, slowly. All the way until you reach the hilt.

“You take it so well, pretty girl. That feel good?” You stroke and pat his butt.

“So good, baby. Fuck!” He groans. "Oh God, you're so deep."

"Your sluttly little hole can take it." You move your hips forward steadily, easing the dildo’s thickness in and out of him.

You watch as his ass indeed takes it; the lube helping to glide it in effortlessly as it squelches and bubbles around his rim.

“Nice and deep, D. God, you should see this right now. See how your ass just takes my cock.”

“Feels so fucking good.” He gurgles, trying not to dribble on the sheets.

“My big, fat cock filling you up, hmm?”

“Yeah. Fuck me."

His little breathless pants echo around the tincture and colour of his voice, barely able to come through as he breathes out through it all. “Oh my God, oh my God…” Dieter trails off.

“That’s it baby, take my cock.” You whisper at the sight of him doing just that. “So, so pretty.”

You work the dildo in and out as you reach underneath again and pump his dick up and down; squeezing and applying the right pressure as he fucks into your fist.

You still for a moment, just enjoying him pushing back and twerking on the end of you like some mad evangelist for anal. Marvelling at how his hips flex and his back arches and sinks like a cat as he works and fucks hinself on the end of your cock.

He flashes you an enigmatic grin over his shoulder again.

"Good girl," you praise.

You grip tighter around his cock and start to pump him in rhythm with your increasing thrusts into his ass.

“Oh you’re so hard, you like that don’t you?” You whine. “Look at my pretty girl taking this cock so well.”

You let go of his dick and press into his thighs as you lift yourself up a little and begin to fuck his ass harder and faster.

“Oh shit, baby!” Dieter whines. “Yeah, fuck my ass!”

He takes it, somewhat cross-eyed, as you go harder and deeper inside him. You see his large hands claw into fists around the sheets. He grits his teeth so hard the cords in his neck pop out.

He’s close. You always know. Those little telltale signs of an imminent climax when he starts to strain and tense before biting down his lip and panting wildly like a dog trapped in a hot car, reveal themselves like clues to solve an orgasmic mystery.

But just as he’s there, just as his eyes are rolling into the back of his head in sweet delusion, is when you pull out.

It’s the perfect, sweetly sinful moment to destroy him.

Dieter’s head immediately snaps round at you. “What the fuck?!”

You smirk and slap his ass.

“Please…” He whines. He tries to back his ass back on it as you step out of his reach.

You shake your head and then plunge back in. You do it again, and again. And a-fucking-gain.

It goes on for quite some time; the agony, the prevention - the acute thwarting of his pleasure. Leaving him on the edge of never, that peak where his body can’t unwind or uncoil or release fully.

You throw him up to that height, but don’t allow him to fall back down.

His body responds in all the right ways each time - the clenching, the jittery spasms; the gasping and incoherent babbling as it builds, and each time he thinks this will be it - that you’ll show mercy and let him fly free.

But then you snatch it all away from him; robbing him of his hedonism with a wicked smirk creeping across your mouth like The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.

Dieter growls out - and somewhat close to damn tears too through glistening, black lined eyes - when you pull out of his ass again and let go of his dick, just when he is on the cusp.

Keeping him balanced on the edge precariously for the final time.

"Baby, you're fucking killing me, please." Dieter whines.

You slather his butt and your dildo in more lube; you can see it dripping shiny down his crack and onto his balls. You slide back up into that puckered hole of his ass, taking him by surprise, forcing your way in this time - no pleasant warnings or easing him in.

“Going to destory this hole, D.” You growl, grinning as you grab a hold of his ass cheeks like he does yours, and you fuck the shit out of that ass of his.

You watch as the shiny dildo plunges in deeper each time as you draw back. “This ass is mine!" Tiny squirts of lube are felt pelting your thighs.

Dieter grunts away crazily, face pressed down into the pillow, covering it in foundation and eyeliner as it sweats off of his face. His body struggles to stay upright and you adjust your position.

You sit over his ass; the dildo plundering in so deep. Your hands rest on the back of his stacked shoulders, and go hard on him like riding a bronco.

“Fuck!” He mouths into the pillow. His cock rubs against the duvet deliciously.

“Look at you taking my dick,” you snarl in his ear full of awe. You lick across his cheek, over that little wondrous scruff, and then suck on his ear lobe, tasting the metal from his hoop.

“Such a good little cock slut for me, aren’t you D?” You tease.

Dieter groans out, his eyes crane to look at you. Jaw slack and nodding. You push your fingers inside of his mouth and you can feel him tonguing them as he pants with his ass chock full of your girthy strap on.

He mewls as your fingers slip out of his mouth all shiny from his saliva.

“Can I sit on it?” He asks and the request takes you both by surprise.

“You wanna sit on this cock?” You ask him, your thrusts slowing down.

“Please.” His voice is so tiny, like he can’t believe he is actually begging for it.

His dick brushes against the dildo as he manoeuvres upright to face you, and it makes him gasp and smile in delight. You clamp your hand around them both and jerk them slowly for a moment or two, bewildered by how he reacts to it with his mouth open in a small 'o' and glassy eyes smeared with mascara.

It’s so fucking hot, the state of his face; it’s a fucking mess, a pink cloud around his mouth and panda eyes, and your cunt is literally throbbing at it.

“Fuck…” Dieter curses as he throws his head back enjoying the sensation. It may be silicone or whatever, but crushed and rubbing against his own cock, it feels so damn good.

“You like that?” You put to him and he looks down at you nodding and placing his hand over yours as you both start frotting together.

He slips his fingers on his other hand into your cunt; ringed thumb stroking on your clit and bringing you close.

You’re both watching and panting together, all the perverted, lusty visions of it flooding your senses. You imagine him doing this with another guy - with another real cock - and it turns you the fuck on. You wonder for a moment if he’s thinking the same thing. You want to see that. You want to watch.

You make a mental note to discuss it with him at a later date. Your clit pulses in response to it, like it’s been zapped as he strokes against your spot expertly, and you squeal as you come over his fingers.

He sucks them and groans deliciously.

“Sit on it like you wanted, pretty girl,” You say, laying back on the bed.

Dieter kneels, straddling over you, as he lowers himself down slowly onto the dildo; whining out as it begins to fill him up again.

You can see him taking his time, being hesitant as he fucks the tip mostly. Sitting tentatively on the top so he can control the depth.

“Take it all in, D.” You instruct him boldly. You push down on his hips and he takes more of it in. His nylon covered thighs buckle and shudder, his massive hands grip onto your stomach for a moment and you can feel his fingers prodding at you sharply.

“Fuck all of that dick!” You order him and you buck up, the dildo going further into his ass and making him cry out.

You start to fuck him and he pushes back against you each time, taking it deeper and starting to whine and groan with sexy, gruff melodies again.

He sits backwards, his hands behind him and gripping around your thighs. His own cock slapping across your stomach and his as he bounces up and down on that dildo jammed into his ass that feels so fucking good.

Dieter starts rolling his hips around on it and almost passes out.

"Fuck..." he growls, eyes rolling back again.

“You're such a hungry cock slut, Dieter… that's it, ride it. Look at you, you can't get enough. Stretched all around my cock. Do you love it?”

“I fucking love it, baby.” He pants, sweat beading down his temples; his suprasternal notch shiny.

“Tell me you love my cock, pretty girl.”

“I love your cock. Ahh yeah… fuucccck!” He’s there again, so close. You can see it.

“Come all over my tits, D. Come on, you slut. Do it.”

“Fuuh-uuuckkkk!” His balls lurch and surge and you can feel him stiffen and tense in his body before he cries out through delicious grunts and strangled curses.

His toes are stretched out and he’s cricking against it; holding onto the pleasure for as long as he can until he eventually bursts all over your chest.

He sighs deeply as he releases; a geyser of pearly deliciousness spurting upwards and splashing onto your skin and nipples.

“Good girl.” You praise. “You gonna lick it up, like a good girl for me? There we go. Get it all.”

He runs his tongue all over your skin, licking and getting all of it. He then leans into you, kissing you and slipping his salt soaked tongue into your mouth so you can taste him too.

“Mmm,” he whines as he tries to control his breathing, cheeks as pink as his smeared lipsticked lips.

Dieter flops forward fully onto you, his weight crushing. The dildo slides out of his ass with a wet pop, and you both stay like that for a few minutes as you wrap your arms around him and kiss the top of his damp crown, over and over affectionately.

“You okay? Feel a bit better?” You whisper to him tentatively, the hair on his head tickles your lips as you speak into it.

He nods and reaches up for your face and strokes your cheek with his knuckles.

“Yeah.” he replies, satiated. “Fuck. That was-”

“I know.” You giggle utterly beside yourself. “Your make-up’s ruined.”

You kiss his fingertips and cuddle him tighter, wrapping your legs around his waist. As you do, the stickiness of his sweat squelches between you both and sounds like you just let rip ungraciously.

He snorts, his shoulders heaving against your chest, and you giggle into his hair.

He places a few lingering kisses on your clavicle. “We're doing that again. And I'm keeping these.” He says, flicking the elastic of your thong against his hips. “You hungry? I'm fucking hungry.” He croons, looking at you.

“I could eat.” You agree.

“Waffles? Or no, no, no, wait… Ramen. Fuck. Yeah. Then some waffles. Some of those peppery chicken things… you know with the Haberno sauce?” His eyes are still blown and you peer into him carefully.

He stops yammering and tries to look away, but you kiss him again, pulling him back to you. You sigh, as his head rests sweaty against yours, so close that it looks like he only has one, twitchy eye.

“You know this fuck up loves you, right?” He murmurs in the smallest voice you’ve ever heard peep out of him.

“Never doubted it.”

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He mumbles. Dieter presses a kiss to your cheek and gets up.

“D?”

“Yeah, yeah?” He reaches for his gown crumpled on the floor.

“Go flush it.” You nudge. “All of it. We’ll start over again, okay?”

He sighs. He doesn’t deserve you. You, and your soft eyes staring back into him encouragingly, with misplaced love and forgiveness that you force him to confront.

He wants to do it, wants to be better for you. He wants to be as pretty for you as you are for him. He’s tired of disappointing you, even if you never show it each time he falls back into the muddy, cold gutter. You always reach in to pull him out. How do you do that?

Padding to the bathroom, he pulls the thong out of his ass; a dishevelled, chaotic mess with a ladder running the length of the left stocking down the back of his calf, and you smile as you unbuckle the strap on.

Moments later, you hear the toilet flush in the bathroom.

“Good girl!” You praise, and you hear Dieter chortling wildly.

Dieter catches sight of his face smeared in the mirror. The mirror never lies, no matter how much your dress yourself up and call yourself pretty.

Sniffing in deeply, tasting some flavour of of a mild clarity, he reaches for a cotton pad and begins clearing the smeared make-up off of his face. Slowly revealing his features back to him with each swipe of the pad. New skin, a new man.

He smiles at himself, blushing.

You’re not afraid to be lost with him. To indulge him and be unabashed. And Dieter knows that eventually, you’ll help him find his way back to himself again.

Because you always reach in to pull him out of that muddy, cold gutter. And he loves you so fucking much for it.

Tagging the Dickin' Around With Dieter On Discord Lovelies: @secretelephanttattoo @rhoorl @maggiemayhemnj @trulybetty @for-a-longlongtime @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @goodwithcheese @musings-of-a-rose @avastrasposts @undercoverpena @gemmahale @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @linzels-blog @sin-djarin @beboldbebravethings @legendary-pink-dot @laurfilijames @ladybess-a03

(If you want to be removed, that's cool.)

MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST

🖤

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guelyury · 5 days

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Two years of one of the most beautiful curls ever known to mankind

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #javi gutierrez #the unbearable weight of massive talent

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guelyury · 5 days

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Da smirk 😏

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guelyury · 6 days

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Tengo calor 🔥

Something spicy 🌶️ 🥵⬇️

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guelyury · 7 days

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#love a good leather jacket

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guelyury · 7 days

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Ezra is so fucking awesome, is my space poet

I love Javi P. He, his maximum effort, whines, and sex afghan are legendary we know, we have seen 👀

BUT before you cast your very important vote, just a little remember-

@goodwithcheese best sex sounds poll

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guelyury · 7 days

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He’s the cutest

Also, at this moment Pedro’s a little worried about what he said to Ross Lee.

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guelyury · 8 days

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Sweet baby Jesus

It’s a hot day on Nevarro…. 🥵

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guelyury · 8 days

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #oberyn martell #prince oberyn

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guelyury · 8 days

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Soooo goooood

SO MUCH TO LOSE part 10 - dark!Joel x f!reader

rating: 18+

words: 7.5k

TW: HEAVY EMOTIONAL CHAPTER. MENTIONS OF TRAUMA. Allusions to oral sex, m receiving, allusions to f/m penetrative sex.

a/n: I told y'all this chapter's a doozy. Well it is, but maybe not for the reasons you think. . . To me its one of the most important chapters of this whole story.

series masterlist

REBLOGS, COMMENTS, ENGAGEMENT ARE WHAT KEEP US FIC WRITERS GOING. PLEASE REMEMBER THAT IF YOU ENJOYED THIS.

-----------------------------

SO MUCH TO LOSE CHAPTER 10

You visit Maria the following week with a plate of cookies in hand. She’s the one to answer the door and you are relieved when you see that she is showered and dressed. Things must be improving. She brings you into a tentative hug when you arrive, urging you inside out of the fresh dusting of snow.

“Tommy has Douglas out for a little walk. I’ll make you a coffee.”

“I’m fine,” you insist. “Just came to drop off some baking. I’m heading to Ellie’s later this week and needed to get some practice in. I haven’t done much baking lately and wanted to make sure I wasn’t rusty.”

You join her on the couch, watching as she wraps her hands tightly around her coffee mug. She takes tentative sips between munches of cookie. At the first bite she literally moans.

“This is so good.”

“Thanks. They were Charlotte’s favorite.”

Maria licks the crumbs from her lips before leaning back on the sofa. She’s always been slender and she looks almost as she did back before she gave birth, except for the small pouch at her lower belly. You think she looks better with it.

“Was Charlotte your daughter?”

“Oh no. I never had kids.”

“We’re you ever married?”

“Me?” you almost laugh. “No.”

“Oh,” Maria blinks and her mouth tugs to the side. “I thought you might be. You have a nurturing quality about you.”

“I think you give me too much credit.”

Maria grins, taking another bite of cookie. The two of you chat amiably a bit about the changing weather, of the way the inhabitants of Jackson City get along so well. Of how she feels the pressure of being Jacksons’ ‘First Lady’. Of how the bandits that fuck with the dam that supports the city stresses her daily.

“It’s a fucking nightmare some days,” she cites with a grumble. “Thank goodness for Tommy.”

“He’s a good man,” you tell her.

“He is,” she smiles indulgently before shooting you a lingering look. “What do you think about Joel?”

“How do you mean?”

“You do patrols with him, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t say I was always his biggest fan,” she says, taking another sip from her mug. “But he’s grown on me.”

You hold in the scoff that’s already begun in your throat.

“My friend Jennifer seems to think he’s pretty wonderful,” you offer instead. “She was delighted to help him repair the window last week.”

“She the blonde one? Used to do textiles?” Maria knows everyone thanks to her position.

“Yeah.”

“Not his type,” Maria insists with a shy grin. “She’d eat him alive.”

Jennifer doesn’t seem like she would eat anyone alive.

“Joel is all harsh edges,” she explains when she sees your confusion. “He needs someone soft to balance him out. That Jennifer girl is hard.”

You don’t think that you would consider Jennifer hard and you don’t fight Maria on it because the conversation quickly turns to Jackson’s continued increase of population, the place swelling with new life.

“Plenty of single men,” Maria says with a quirked brow in your direction. You give a soft laugh.

“Not really interested.”

“Single women too.”

“No no,” you laugh again, cheeks pinking. “I like men, I just . . . I don’t think I’m the partnering type.”

You think of Luke and his sweet features and his muscled forearms. For him you could perhaps be the partnering type. Perhaps. The thought of romance appeals to you; it just doesn’t seem realistic at times. A crush feels fun and safe.

“You must have had your share of dates,” Maria insists. You can see her relaxing and you think she must be enjoying what she views as girl time. You think she must not have had much of it lately.

“Normal crushes and stuff,” you shrug. “But I was a late bloomer and then the outbreak started when I was a teenager so I didn’t have a chance for a lot of firsts back then.”

“Sex,” Maria nods.

“Uh yeah… that…” you say, trying to appear nonchalant. “And uh, kissing, dating, all that stuff.”

“But you did eventually,” Maria cites smiling.

“Sex? Oh yes,” you nod. You weren’t a monk or anything in your time before Jackson City.

“What was your first time like?” Maria settles back against a cushion, nibbling at her cookie looking at you eagerly. “I remember mine was all fumbling in the backseat of his truck before curfew.”

You laugh and think Maria must be starved for company to be intrigued by your limited romantic experience.

“Uh… fast,” you say with a laugh before allowing yourself to be transported back to that time. “He worked at one of the bakeries that I assisted in. I remember he had the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen on a man. They were so blond you could only see them if he turned at a certain angle. He made me laugh. One night he invited me back to his apartment and… that was that.”

“How old were you?”

“Uh, twenty two, twenty three?”

“And you didn’t date after?”

“Nah, my family left that QZ kinda in a hurry.”

You aren’t expecting your voice to hitch on that last sentence, but it does. Maria grows somber, her dark eyes expressive.

“Can I ask why you left?”

You blink back the sheen of tears starting and gaze around the room, trying to land on something that will steel you. You find it in the small carving of a horse on the bookshelf nearby. You tell your story to that delicately made creature instead.

“We moved east through the QZ’s for about ten or eleven years. Stayed in a few of them before we’d pick up and keep moving to the next one. Hard to make connections and date with all that. I didn’t trust that I’d have the time.”

Maria looks like she wants to ask more when the door is opened and Tommy’s cheerful voice rings out announcing he and Douglas are home and ready for lunch.

“We have company!” Maria says cheerfully.

Tommy turns the corner to see you and he greets you. He wears Douglas strapped to him with fabric, snuggled under his large jacket. Jackson is sleeping soundly and barely notices when Tommy unwraps and hands him off to his mother.

Douglas squirms, his tiny head burrowing into Maria’s neck. She smiles and for the first time you’ve known her it looks sincere. There is a lightness in the house you realize, something that had been missing before.

“He enjoyed being out in the fresh air,” Tommy announces. “Everyone who saw him wanted to kiss him.”

“Tommy!” Maria looks horrified.

“But I didn’t let ‘em,” Tommy finishes, pressing a gentle kiss to his wife’s worried brow. “I’m gonna make some soup. You two want a bowl?”

“I’m alright,” you say. “I just brought by dessert. I’m actually heading over to Ellie’s to do some baking.”

“Joel’s letting you use his place to bake?”

You still, brows raised. “Uh… yeah. Is that… should I not be?”

“No, I’m just surprised,” Tommy admits after a pause. “I don’t think he’s ever let anyone in that house aside from me and Maria. Think the only reason he and Ellie don’t kill each other is ‘cuz she’s in the garage.”

“Oh.”

You don’t know what else to offer besides that.

Tommy nods and for a moment you see something in his expression, a pinched look when Maria looks away from him. You realize that Tommy looks harried, running a hand through his glossy curls.

“What’s up?”

“Nothin’,” Tommy replies too quickly.

You see the panic in his eyes as his gaze darts from his wife back to you. You understand immediately. Maria is doing well, if there’s something stressful in Jackson City he doesn’t want to bother her with it.

“Thanks for the tea Maria, but I better head out,” you inform them both.

Maria wraps you into a side hug, one arm around your shoulders, the other holding her son. You run your knuckles down his spine gently.

“Come back soon,” she whispers.

“I promise.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Tommy says, feigning manners. The two of you walk to the front door around the corner. As you toe on your boots you look up at him expectantly.

“Well?”

Tommy looks over his shoulder anxiously before dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper only you can hear.

“Rumor is Raiders were spotted by A Patrol this week,” Tommy says with a sigh. “Up by the traps.”

“Fuck,” you breathe. “Really?”

“Not positive. A Patrol isn’t always the most reliable. They spook easy and are overly cautious. But I’d rather that than the alternative.”

“Of course.”

“Just make sure you and Joel are extra cautious,” Tommy says. “I know you’re both responsible but, you know…. Just be extra responsible.”

You nod, feeling your heart thrumming in your chest as you make your way to Rancher Street.

///

You didn't really want to go to Joel's house today. But Ellie had found you last night heading home from The Tipsy Bison and had guilted you into it when she told you that Joel had brought back all the supplies needed.

You'd tried to sway her into baking at your place but only the burners on your oven work. You'd never really considered getting the main oven fixed, since you take most of your meals in the dining hall.

But in moments like this, you heavily regret that choice.

You feel like even your footsteps sound timid as they make their way up the wood steps.

Ellie is at the door, pulling it open before you can even knock. She must have been looking for you at the window, counting down the seconds until your arrival. The thought warms you. She gives you a broad smile that lights up her face.

"I got everything set up!"

She takes off down into the kitchen and you venture into the Miller home tentatively, still anxious about what happened last time.

A sound to your right draws your attention and you take in the tall form of Joel coming into the room. He's dressed in jeans and a sweater, obviously feeling the chill despite the cheery fire that roars behind him.

"Mornin'," he greets.

"Morning." You lick your lips nervously. "Thanks for letting me bake with Ellie."

"'Course. She's been looking forward to it for weeks. Can't stop talkin' about it.'

Joel gives you a whisper of a smile but the thing that really throws you about this interaction is that he looks almost nervous. You've never seen Joel look nervous.

He'd been so stiff after last patrol, not even saying goodbye to the group after you'd all disembarked off the horses.

It had been embarrassing. Him storming off like you'd all done something wrong. Only Jennifer seemed to still be under Joel's spell citing that watching him hammer the window would fuel her fantasies for months to come.

You're still really irritated with him but it's lessened slightly because his greeting isn’t hostile. You could almost relax if it weren’t for the intense way he’s staring at you.

You hear your name being called by Ellie in the next room so you toe off your shoes and head into the kitchen. She's got an apron on, borrowed from the kitchen or Joel because it's far too big for her small frame.

"Alright," you give her a warm smile as you enter. "You got everything?"

"Yep."

You place the bag you brought on the counter. You remove your own apron, baby blue with ruffles on the end. A recent gift from Jennifer who told you “since you’re a real chef you need your own apron”. You tie it as you speak to Ellie.

"So what I like to do is set up all my supplies on the counter just to double check I have everything. Nothing worse than being halfway through a recipe and finding out you you’re missing ingredients."

The sentence isn't even out of your mouth before Ellie’s opened up her cupboards and ice box and begun to take everything out. Flour, eggs, bowls, milk and more, all the items you gave Joel on the list. She places them on the counter before looking at you like a proud student.

"You'll need measuring spoons."

The two of you turn at the same time to see Joel standing by the entrance to the kitchen, lingering. His hands are in his jean pockets, standing like a chastised student outside the classroom.

"I brought some," you inform him, trying to hold in your irritation. You pull them from your bag, putting them next to the eggs.

You feel Joel's eyes on your back and you're sure he's silently judging you, eager to point out what you're doing wrong. You stiffen under the perceived scrutiny. Ellie must sense the change in the room because she whips around to shoot him a jeering look.

"Joel you don't need to supervise," Ellie says rolling her eyes. "We won't break the damn stove."

Joel looks at his feet mumbling something about needing to do stuff upstairs anyway before he's making his way out of the kitchen.

You go back to your lesson with Ellie who turns out to be a very focused student.

She asks smart questions, measures everything perfectly and takes her time. It's only when you put her in charge of cracking three eggs into the bowl that she gets frustrated.

"Fuck, it cracked wrong. Shell got in."

Her fingers pinch into the egg bowl, trying to grasp the fallen eggshell. Of course the viscous nature of the raw egg makes it impossible and it’s not long before she pushes at the bowl angrily, her face is set into a deep frown.

“S’fucking bullshit.”

"Happens all the time," you tell her kindly. "Don't stress about it. I’ll show you a secret my mom taught me and my sister to get ‘em out."

Ellie watches as you take the empty shell half still in her hand. Her brows knit in confusion as you lower it into the bowl, using it as a scoop. Unlike with her fingers, the egg shell piece floats easily into the makeshift scoop. You pull the shell from the bowl, tossing the mess into the garbage.

“Holy shit that actually worked.” Ellie smiles at this and it transforms her pale pinched features into that of a warm, approachable teenager.

You smile, feeling strangely proud. You’ve never baked with anyone else before, aside from the kitchen. But that was following the same boring recipes given by the head chef. You were usually boiling rice, cutting onions or apples. Baking is a different beast, a calmer, more relaxing one.

After that hiccup Ellie is more patient with herself. She's keen to learn about baking but she's very eager to talk to you about you. When you pop the formed pastries into the oven and set the timer she decides that now is the time to chat.

"What kind of music did you used to listen to before?"

Memories of Joel’s warning float in your mind. The reminder not to tell her too much. To make her long for a life that he can’t give her.

"Enough about me,” you deflect. “I want to know about you."

At this Ellie balks slightly, the smile wavering just a fraction before the mask is replaced and she nods. Her mixing increases but now her eyes are on the batter.

"Whadda you wanna know?"

"What was your life like before Jackson?"

"I was in the QZ back in Boston,” she says slowly, as if she's trying to make sure she doesn't give too much away. "Hated it."

"Parents?"

"Never met 'em."

"What brought you to Jackson City?"

"Joel."

She doesn't offer you more or less than that. You understand it, you don't push it.

"How'd you end up here?" She asks, mixing the dry ingredients.

You realize the stupidity of you asking her those questions. How easily you opened them to be doubled back on yourself.

"You asked me what kind of music I listened to before?" You smile, hoping that this will distract her. "I remember I saw Chicago about a billion times," you laugh. "I was obsessed. I listened to the soundtrack over and over."

"Chicago," Ellie says slowly as if trying to recall before a light seems to go on. "Oh, I've heard of Chicago. Joel likes ‘em."

Them?

It takes you a minute to understand what she's talking about. You finally answer giggling.

"Chicago the musical, not the band. The musical had great songs. And dancing."

"Do you dance?"

"Not very well."

Your dual laughter combines and you can't help but enjoy the sound. Ellie really does make you laugh. She reminds you of how life was before. When everything seemed new.

You can tell Ellie wants to know everything about your life before the outbreak. And you want to indulge her but Joel's words rub their imprint on your the inside of your skull.

"Hey I promised your D- Joel that I wouldn't keep talking about this stuff with you," you explain quietly. "He's worried it makes you want stuff you can't have."

"Jesus," Ellie says rolling her eyes. “Overprotective much?”

"No he's right," you insist truthfully. "I mean, I get where he's coming from. He doesn't wanna keep disappointing you."

"Joel could never disappoint me."

The timer goes off and you peer into the oven. The pastries are a golden brown. You smile before taking them out with the oven mitt. Ellie closes her eyes, inhaling.

"They smell so good."

"Just wait until you put icing on them," you encourage with a grin. "Delicious."

The two of you get to work making the icing while the pastries cool.

"It's gonna snow," Ellie comments out of nowhere as she peers out the window, mixing idly.

"Hate to break it to you, El, it's already snowing."

Ellie gives you a smirk along with her side eye. You don't know if it's from your sarcastic comment or the fact that you called her El.

"I mean I think it’s gonna snow a lot." She explains. "I heard some of the other kids talking about it at school."

"Huh," you offer noncommittal as you look at the consistency of the icing. "Wonder how they can tell."

"They said they could smell it," Ellie says with a grin, pushing up the sleeve of her shirt so that it doesn't drip into the icing bowl. "They said tha-"

You can't hear anything she's saying after that. All you can focus on is her now bared arm and the ugly bite mark. Blood rushes in your ears and you cry out before giving a blood curdling shriek.

“No!”

Ellie jumps, startled at your sudden screams. She throws herself back against the wall, eyes wide and glancing around as if she expects hordes of infected to come streaming in.

"What? What is it?"

You know she's never seen you be loud, never seen you scream and the sight must terrify her.

But all you can focus on is the clear outline of bite marks on her forearm visible after she rolled up her sleeves. The clear sign of an infected’s mark. She’s going to turn into a clicker before your eyes. She’s going to become soulless and inhuman and you need to go. You need to get somewhere safe.

Joel. He’ll be so devastated.

You can hear the heavy footsteps of Joel approaching the kitchen but all you can think of is escaping and getting yourself safe. You have to warn the town. You run towards the front door, your socks slipping over the smooth floor.

You're still screaming incoherently, your voice cracking as you lunge for the doorknob, tears in your eyes. Your hand closes around the brass knob just as two muscled arms go around your waist, pulling you back harshly. A hand covers your mouth and a deep voice is at your ear.

"Quit," he repeats, shaking you slightly in his arms. "Stop screamin'."

There's an increasingly paranoid thought that believes this was all a trap. A way for Joel to get his daughter fed. You feel it, Joel's arms wrapped around your entire body, pinning your arms to your sides. His body is warm and solid behind you, terrifying in its strength. It takes you to a time you've tried to forget.

"Get the fuck off of me!" You shriek against his palm, trying to wriggle out of his grip but he holds firm. You're screaming expletives, trying to kick out. You shake his hand off your mouth. "She's bit, Joel! I saw it!"

Ellie hasn't moved from where she stands cowering in the corner of the kitchen. But you can only imagine how soon it will be before she turns. You can't be here for that. You can’t watch that sweet girl turn into one of them.

"I know," Joel rumbles against your temple, hands still gripping you tightly.

"You know," you repeat and now a dread begins in your feet and floods the rest of you.

Joel knows she is bit. Joel welcomed you into his home knowing she was bit.

You are going to die.

"Let me go!"

High on fearful adrenaline you give a frantic kick backwards, elbowing into Joel's abdomen at the same time you thrust the ball of your foot onto his socked toes. Joel gives a strangled grunt and his arms loosen in pain momentarily allowing you a chance to break free from him.

You tug open the door and speed out without your boots. You feel the snow on the porch under your feet, freezing your toes immediately. You throw yourself down the porch stairs, feet slapping the wood as you hold back sobs. The street is deserted; the houses all empty as they usually are on bright Saturday afternoons. You go to cry out for someone, anyone, when Joel's arm bands around your waist.

You give a devastated howl of defeat before Joel is dragging your struggling frame back into the house, telling you to calm down.

Ellie is by the sink, her eyes on the ground.

But you still struggle, trying to get away from this house. Joel gives a frustrated growl before he pushes you up against the wall, pinning you there with his hips. His hands hold your wrists on either side of your head, pressing them into the wall.

"Stop fuckin' strugglin'," Joel seethes when you jerk against him, his chest pressing you so tightly to the wall you can't breathe.

"Please let me go," you beg brokenly as you continue to struggle in his arms. "Please I just-“

"She's immune," he rasps in your ear. "She's fucking immune! Stop!"

Immune. Immune.

"What?" You stop your screaming just long enough to twist your head to face him. "Immune? That's not possible."

But you’ve stopped struggling as hard.

You take a closer look at Ellie’s arm from where you stand, noticing that it doesn’t look particularly fresh. In fact it looks scarred. And yet something in you is still terrified. So terrified that you yelp when you feel Joel's wide hands go to either side of your face, forcing your face up and eyes to his.

"Everything is okay," Joel tells you in a husky rasp. "You're safe, I promise. I've got you. You're safe."

His eyes are locked with yours as he says this and you don't know how those words work their way into your body, but they do. The same way they wind around you as you allow yourself to get lost on patrols with your mouth on him. That sense that someone else is in charge, someone else is protecting you.

You're safe.

Your entire frame goes boneless in his arms and when he finally releases your face your head drops to your chest. He continues to press you gently against the wall with one heavy hand holding you there.

"What if it's slow acting or -" you whisper quietly, "or what if you can still pass it on with saliva or-"

"The dogs don't detect it," Joel tells you, his hold on you not lessening. "Ellie and I've shared drinks plenty a' times. She's immune."

You stare at the girl at the table, her entire countenance shifted. You can see the devastation, the fear and anger floods out of you immediately, like a deep sigh. You sag in Joel's arms, feeling as he slowly loosens you.

"She's had it for months," Joel tells you, no longer pinning you to the wall.

"Months?"

You're still stunned by the developments but it doesn't stop your eyes from traveling over to Ellie. You see now that tears are slipping off the end of her nose as she silently cries. She’s pulled her sleeve back down, covering the scar.

Your heart immediately breaks because it's you who did this to her. This girl who trusts so few. You treated her like she was a monster.

"Ellie I'm sorry, I just..." You trail off, your heart still beating wildly.

But Ellie has tears in her eyes, her neck blotchy. She's raced to the garage, slamming the door after her. You flinch at the sound of it.

Then it’s just you and Joel in the quiet kitchen.

"How long have you known?"

"Since I met her," Joel explains quietly. "Was bringing her to the fireflies with a friend in exchange for a battery. Rumor was there was a cure."

"Guess not if you're both here," you say absently, missing the pain in his dark eyes when you say it.

"Not a lot of people know about it. We'd like to keep it that way."

You nod, your mind whirring. You realize you've never seen Ellie in anything but long sleeves. Never seen her wearing bracelets or anything that would draw her attention to her arms. She’s been hiding in plain sight. You think of the friendships she hasn’t made, the way she keeps to herself, the hostile way she is with most and it all clicks into place.

"We were thinking of gettin' her a tattoo to cover it up,” Joel continues. “Haven't found anyone to do it yet."

You nod again, eyes falling on the pastries now lying squashed on the floor, the warm berries oozing out onto the wood.

“I’ll take care of this stuff,” Joel mutters, dropping to his knees and starting to pick up the supplies you brought. You think of how excited Ellie had been to recreate the pop tarts, how devastated she’ll be when she realizes they’re all ruined.

"I- I think I should go talk to Ellie."

"She doesn't wanna talk. Trust me."

"Just lemme try."

Joel looks as if he's about to protest but you're already walking quickly until you've reached the door to the garage. You knock gently.

"Ellie? It's me. Please don't be upset ... I was just startled."

There's a pause, then a sniffle that makes your heart lurch.

"Can we talk? Please, Ellie?"

You hear shuffling and then finally the door to the garage is opened a crack and you see Ellie peering through. Her eyes are swollen and red, the end of her nose pink. She glares at you through the small slit in the door.

"Fuck off."

"I just want to explain. Just let me explain and then I promise I'll leave."

She doesn't move, doesn't attempt to close or open the door. She just stands there like some sentry.

“Five minutes. That’s all I need.”

"You think I'm a freak."

"I don't," you insist, palm on the door as if you could transfer your emotions by osmosis to her. "Ellie I was having fun right before all this. I really was. Can we talk? Please? I want to explain properly."

Ellie’s glossy eyes scan your body and with a labored sigh she steps back, opening the door and allowing you entrance.

"Come in."

You follow her into the warm space, watching as she drops onto her made bed. Ellie hugs her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as you look at her. Ellie's eyes drag from the floor up to your face and you see her chin trembling as she holds in tears.

“Can I sit?” you ask motioning to beside her on the bed. She nods, shuffling to give you room to perch there.

“I know you’re not gonna come back after this,” Ellie says, eyes wide with a quiet pleading as you look over at her.

“Of course I am.”

“No you’re not,” Ellie says shaking her head and rubbing angrily at her eyes. “You’ve seen my arm. You think I’m a fucking freak.”

"Ellie I swear I don't think you're a freak," you emphasize as you shuffle on the edge of her bed. "I was just... That bite took me back to a really scary time."

"Yeah," Ellie says with her chin balanced on her kneecap. "No one wants to think about... All that stuff."

You see the desolation there in her eyes. She's hurt and even though you didn't mean to do it you did. You feel responsible for her sadness. Your eyes go to her closed door, wanting to make sure you have privacy before you turn back to her.

"Ellie, can I share some stuff with you?"

"Yeah.”

"It's not happy stuff," you tell her.

"Figured." Ellie shrugs again like it doesn't matter. Like she's seen it all. Maybe she has, but you doubt it. She doesn’t make eye contact with you.

“It’s just. . . I’ve never told anyone this stuff before. Ever.”

Ellie’s eyes go to your face now. She can see how serious you are and she straightens slightly. She goes from being hunched and holding her legs to sitting cross legged across from you on the bed.

"Okay..." You take a sharp inhale. “So, I was about your age when Outbreak Day happened. I was with my Dad and my sister. My mom was visiting my Aunt in Wyoming-“

“How come?”

“Ellie you gotta let me get this all out quick okay?” you say gently. “No interruptions.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” you breathe deeply again. “She was visiting my aunt because my aunt was getting a divorce and my mom wanted to support her. Anyway, about ten years ago my dad and my little sister and I were travelling between QZ’s. We were looking for my Mom because my Dad was convinced she was still alive and she’d be out in this direction.”

You swallow; hating talking about this but knowing that Ellie deserves this truth. So far she looks intrigued, her eyes wide.

“So one night we were exhausted. We’d been travelling for days and we were low on food and water. We see this old cabin and it looks like it’s abandoned. We figure it’s a good spot to hunker down and get some energy before we keep going.” You exhale a shuddering breath.

“Except it wasn’t abandoned. It was a trap set up by this group of Raiders. I called them The Group. They killed my dad and they were gonna kill me and my sister when one of the guys had the bright idea that they could use us as bait.”

"Bait?"

Ellie seems to remember she’s not supposed to say anything because she ducks her head slightly.

"Yeah. they made us go into new places first," you explain detached, as if you’re talking about another woman in another life. "So if there was anything dangerous it would get us in enough time to give The Group a chance to escape.”

Ellie is staring at you wide-eyed, all her teenage ambivalence lost as you detail the most terrifying years of your life. You omit lots of the more gruesome details and you definitely don’t tell her about Rock River.

"Once they hung me from a tree," you tell her, trying not to sound emotional. It's not hard. Years of hiding how that part of your life affects you makes you good at it. "They tied me to a rope and hung me on a branch to attract clickers."

"Jesus."

"Yeah," you nod. "It worked really well. There was a big group and they piled underneath me, trying to grab at me, their mouths all black and their teeth gnashing and...” you stop yourself when you see Ellie’s eyes widening. “Anyway, The Group got ‘em all and managed to get some good supplies in the town because of it. I just... It just left me kind of..."

You wince when you realize you’ve trailed off, your focus blurred.

"The point is that when I saw your arm it just all came flooding back and I reacted out of instinct. Not because I think you're a freak. I could never think that about you.”

Ellie is quiet, digesting all that you've told her. You think you hear a creaking outside her door, but you're not sure. Your attention is drawn back to the girl who’s eyes hold such a myriad of emotions; pain, empathy, fear, anger.

"How did you end up here?"

You think about not telling her. But it feels so good to be getting some of this information out, like you’re coughing up a thick black piece of flesh that’s been festering in your lungs for years, making it so you can now finally breathe.

"One guy, Chiyo, he joined up with our group a few years after I was taken. He owned a shooting range before everything.... You know…. Well, he'd broken his ankle in a recent raid and couldn’t really move much. If we hadn't come upon him when we did he probably would have been killed by another group of raiders. But as it was he had this giant stash of weapons and The Groups ranks were thinning so..."

You trail off, thinking of how you'd come upon him first when you and The Group got to town. How the leader you thought of as Red due to his hair (you never learned their real names), shoved you brutally by the shoulder.

Always the bait.

But after what had happened only the week before you didn’t care anymore. Red pushed you and you entered willingly, your feet not even dragging as you walked. It was either be shot by one of The Group attempting to escape, or see what resided inside the shop with the boarded up windows.

Chiyo’s gun was trained on you the second you walked in. The way you held your hands at your eye level when he told you he was going to shoot.

“I’m gonna blow your head clean off if you take another step.”

And suddenly you’d decided that you were done. You were so tired. And at least this way it would be quick and it would be away from The Group. And so you’d taken another step towards Chiyo, hands still raised.

You can still recall the furrowing of his thick brows and the lowering of his weapon as he stared at you.

"You want to die?"

You hadn't answered him but that had been answer enough for Chiyo. He'd hobbled over to you, dragging his lame leg, dark eyes fixed on your face.

"I'm not gonna hurt you."

And when he'd said it, you'd believed him.

You remember the way you'd convinced the rest of The Group they needed someone like him. A crack shot, you told them. You'd had no idea of knowing if it was true. But there had been warmth in Chiyo's eyes that was missing from the rest of The Groups. Something that you clinged to in the coming months.

"Thankfully he was a really good shot,” you explain. “He joined up and we stripped his shop of his guns and eventually his ankle healed thanks to the medic in The Group and he was suddenly part of the team.”

“Was he nice to you?”

“Yeah. He was really kind. Whenever they used me as bait he insisted on going with. He said it was so we could save me for really bad missions, but I knew it was to protect me. They let him get away with it because he was such a good shot, I think. Everyone liked him. When the rest of The Group was asleep we'd talk by the fire. Chiyo was afraid of horses," you tell Ellie with a small smile. “Was about the only thing he was afraid of.”

You don't tell her everything. You don't tell of the tender way he fucked you in the wee hours of the morning before The Group rose most mornings. How he whispered that he missed his dead wife and would never dishonor her memory by kissing you. But you hadn’t minded, you understood and you’d both been gentle with each other.

You’d enjoyed getting lost in the sensation of him. Of his cock in your mouth, of your cunt stuffed full of him. The rhythmic sensation of sex that took you out of your body and away from your every day horrors.

You remember how he would hold you, tears sliding onto your collar as he spilled himself onto your belly whimpering his dead wife’s name. How he would thank you over and over with your hand at the base of his skull, mouth against his shoulder while you quietly sobbed your own gratitude.

"After a few months he told me he was escaping. He'd heard about Jackson City and that's where he was headed. He wanted to bring me to see if we could find my Mom."

"Holy shit,” Ellie breathes. “Where is he now?"

"He didn't make it," you tell her tightly.

And now the shield is back in your voice and eyes and she must sense it. Ellie doesn’t press this, seems to understand that there is more there. With a teenagers’ sensibilities and a teenager’s romanticism she asks you her next question.

"Were you in love with him?"

Chiyo is a faint memory, a watercolor blur if you think about him in too much detail. When you try to recall things like the scar over his left eyebrow or the dragon tattoo on his inner thigh. But these are just pieces of him. They aren't him.

When you think of Chiyo there is a warmth. But it's the warmth that comes from having a benevolent savior. One who never told you that you were in his debt. Yes, you cared for him. Of course you did. He was gentle and he was kind and his heart was soft.

"No," you say firmly. "He was nice though and I cared about him. Probably as close to love as I'll ever get."

You and Ellie are quiet for a long time.

“I tried saving a bit boy once,” she finally offers. “His name was Sam. Tried rubbing my blood on him. Thought it would save him. It didn’t. He turned and his brother had to kill him before he killed himself.”

You don’t allow yourself to cry. You know that isn’t what Ellie needs right now.

“I’m the reason so many people are dead,” Ellie explains when you say nothing in return. “My Mom died having me. Riley… Tess… Sam…Henry... Ellie’s voice is doing that same detached thing yours does. “Sometimes I honestly think it would be better if I was never born.”

You can’t help the way your arms leap out in front of you to gather the girl into your arms. She tries to fight you on it, flinching from the contact before your unrelenting arms pull her into a tight squeeze, tugging her into your lap. Angry tears slip down her red cheeks, her cries breaking free as you wrestle her into a bear hug.

“I’m so glad you exist, Ellie.”

And then all the fight is gone from her body and she’s sobbing quietly into your shoulder, her tiny frame shaking. You hold her against you, wanting your adoration and affection to move through your body into hers so she knows how much she’s wanted.

“The world would be so much worse without you in it,” you assure her honestly. “You’re special, Ellie. And not because you’re immune. Because you’re smart and brave and funny and you make people like me feel like we’re worth something.”

Her arms wrap around your neck, face in your shoulder and she allows you to continue holding her, rocking her gently in your lap as if she were your own teenage daughter.

“And yes you’re stubborn and you can be annoying,” you add, trying to lighten the mood. “But there’s no one I like talking to as much as I like talking to you. You made me look forward to breakfasts in the dining hall because it meant I got to speak to you.”

“You’re just saying that,” she sniffles, arms loosely circling your neck.

“You don’t like liars, right?” You remind her. “Well I’m not lying. Plus, I know Joel loves you and he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that loves many people so you must be pretty great.”

Ellie gives a shallow huff of amusement in your shoulder.

“And I know Maria and Tommy adore you just as much if not more than I do. And if you opened up a little more with the kids around here I know they’d love you just as much as we do because you’re a wonderful person. The world would be so much worse without your light, Ellie. You bring light to the darkness.”

You continue rocking her for several moments, waiting until her sobs turn into hiccups and then gentle swallows. Finally she pulls back from you, almost embarrassed at the emotional display. She shuffles back onto the bed, picking at the loose string hanging from her pillow.

“I think I’m cursed.”

“Hey now that’s not true,” you insist. “I’m here aren’t I? How is that a curse? If anything it’s a blessing.”

She gives you a weak smile that you return.

“C’mon, let’s go and finish the pop tarts.”

“We’ll have to start all over again,” Ellie almost whines.

“Then I guess I’ll be staying here a little longer.”

Ellie wipes at her blotchy face, running her hands down her cheeks before nodding and standing abruptly. You two make it back into the kitchen, surprised to see Joel standing there. His broad shoulders ripple as he works on something in front of him, his back to you.

Ellie sails over to him, her eyes wide when she sees what he’s done. “Wait are those the pop tarts?”

“Yep.”

“I thought they were ruined.”

“Yours were,” Joel shrugs, spreading icing onto one of the homemade pop tarts. “Mine went okay.”

You feel as if you’ve been physically pushed.

Joel baked?

Ellie snags one of the still warm pastries from the plate as Joel starts running the cloth over the counter and wiping the crumbs into the sink. You look at the joy on Ellie’s face as she takes a bite.

“Holy shit, Joel, these are so fucking good.”

“Language,” Joel admonishes over his shoulder, though there’s nothing harsh in it. He turns around, hip resting against the counter.

“I’m gonna have you do all my baking,” Ellie continues as if she hasn’t heard him. “I’ll just be your taste tester.”

You want to grin at this but all you can do is stare at Joel and the soft way he’s smiling down at Ellie. This open look of adoration you so rarely see. Like there’s this secret Joel inside the mean Joel shell that the privileged few witness.

Joel could never disappoint me.

Joel seems to feel your eyes on him because he blinks over at you, dark eyes darting around your face. His expression is unreadable, but there’s nothing cruel or cold in it. He’s just looking at you, almost as if he’s trying to figure you out as well.

“Well looks like we’re all set here so I should go,” you start awkwardly, suddenly feeling strangely light headed. Joel steps towards you, brows rising.

“You could stay for a dr-“ Joel begins, but you’ve already made your way to the front door, pulling on your boots and jacket.

Your hands are trembling for some reason and you think it must be all this emotional turmoil you’ve shared with Ellie. It has you feeling vulnerable and exposed and you want to escape home to the safety of your bed, away from soulful brown eyes and soft smiles.

“Ellie you wanna grab breakfast before patrols?” you ask, studiously ignoring Joel who stands next to her looking at you. You don’t want her to think you’re rushing off and forgetting about her.

“Sure,” Ellie says brightly before motioning to the plate of pastries. “You want any of these to go?”

“Nah, you enjoy them,” you insist with a flash of a smile. “You worked hard.”

You don’t look backwards as you rush out the door of their home and down the sidewalk of Rancher Street, convinced you can feel Joel’s dark gaze on you the entire way.

-----------------------------

secondary a/n: The other parts I wanted to include in this chapter were gonna bloat this installment into over 10k and I wasn't even finished so I had to break it up!

CHAPTER 11 SPOILERS BELOW THE JOEL

in chapter eleven there be smut.

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