#dieter bravo x f!reader
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Once in a Blue Moon
One Shot // Dieter Bravo x HotelStaff!F!Reader
Description: You're the only person working when a Christmas blizzard rolls into town and snows you in with a notoriously difficult guest, Dieter Bravo.
Rating: E (Explicit 18+ Only)
Word Count: 12.9k+
Tags/Warnings: one shot, slight dub con elements (power imbalance, isolation, alcohol) although both parties are enthusiastically consenting, hotel guest x hotel staff, blizzard, Minnesota because that’s my best friend, dieter generally being an ‘if you give a mouse a cookie’ ass bitch, kinda enemies to lovers???, Christmas, loneliness, palm reading, food and eating, cannabis, conspiracy theory mention, fluuuuuufffff, smut, dirty talk, a dash of conflict, painting stuff, power outage, poverty mention
Note: Merry Crisis! This is part of a secret Santa gift exchange and a present for my dearest Syl (@all-the-way-down-here @im-sylien). I hope you enjoy!! Have an excellent holiday, friend ❤️🎄
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 23RD, 2:00 PM
“We are right in the bullseye for what people are already calling The Great Christmas Storm. Blizzard Warnings remain in effect throughout most of Minnesota until Tuesday morning. Forty to fifty mile-an-hour winds, combined with an anticipated twelve to twenty-four inches of heavy snowfall, are expected to create whiteout conditions, making travel dangerous or impossible in the Blizzard Warning areas. If you must travel—”
You kill the engine and look up through the windshield at Blue Moon Manor. The white exterior of the three-story Tudor Revival mansion seems to glow in contrast to the dark clouds hanging overhead. Some rich guy built it as a family home in 1905. It stayed in the family for over a century before a property management company scooped it up. Now the ornate family heirloom is a boutique hotel. Go figure.
You open your car door and grab your backpack from the backseat, swinging it over your shoulder as you step out of the vehicle. As you walk up the path to the staff entrance, snowflakes start floating down from the gray, low-hanging clouds like teeny-tiny feathers, landing on your cheeks and nose, melting on impact.
So it begins.
You press your security code into the door lock, waiting for the quiet beep-beep-beep of approval before shoving the door open to the back office.
Your coworker Jenna looks up at you when you enter giving you a nod of greeting as she zips up her jacket, “How is it out there?”
“Just starting,” you drop your backpack on the built-in bench and take off your stocking cap, shaking out your hair as you ask, “How’s it been here?”
“Let’s just say I’m ready to go home and drink some wine,” she snorts, “Should be a piece of cake for you, though. 202, 203, and 101 checked out early because of the storm, and the check-in today cancelled.”
“Storm of the century,” you mutter, “Merry fucking Christmas.”
“I hear it’s gonna get nasty. Do you really have to stay the whole time?”
You wave her off as you peel off your jacket, “It’s fine.”
“I’m sorry I can’t cover some of the shifts.”
“Really, it‘s fine,” you insist while hanging up your coat, “Bossman said he’d pay me double time to stay ‘til he gets back to town.”
“You’re goddamn right he’s gonna pay you double time.”
Trying to change the subject, you go over to the daily checklist, “Ok, 202, 203, and 101 are gone,” you frown, running over your mental tally of guests, “So, what? Just 302?”
“Just 302. Lucky you.”
“Yeah, lucky me,” you roll your eyes, then look out the window at the snowfall, heavier now, “You better head out before you get stuck here with me and Mr. Fluoride Mind Control.”
“I suppose,” she sighs, grabbing her purse, “Well, have a Merry Christmas?”
“You too,” you smile and meet her eyes as she extends her arms and beckons you closer. You groan, but accept the hug, face pressing against her puffy winter coat.
When she steps back and starts towards the door, she tells you, “Don’t have too much fun now.”
“I’ll try not to,” you snort, “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” she calls behind her as she opens the door, letting in an icy-cold draft of snowflakes before closing it behind her.
You sigh and wiggle the mouse on the computer. The second you do, the service bell dings.
“Fucking already?” you mutter to yourself as you follow the floorplan through the kitchen, into the formal dining room, then finally arrive at the archway to the parlor.
You find the man staying in Suite 302 leaning against the grand piano, thrumming his fingers on the shiny surface.
Wearing pajama pants and a grubby t-shirt, chestnut curls shooting up every which way, he sighs and taps the call bell again. The shrill ding makes your eye twitch a little, but you paste on an amenable smile, “Mr. Bravo, how can I help you?”
He spins towards you and looks at you over his sunglasses, dark eyes flicking up and down your body before settling on your face, “Can I get some towels?”
“Of cour—”
“And can you do that thing where you fold them into animals?”
You furrow your brow and tilt your head at him, lips parting to ask what he means, but he preemptively answers.
“Some hotels fold them into swans or elephants or whatever. You know what I mean? Towel animals.”
There’s no way he’s not fucking with you.
“I, uhh…”
He raps a knuckle on the piano, then saunters off, calling back, “Thanks, you’re the best!”
You stand there for a moment, mouth agape as you watch him disappear up the stairs, thinking: No fucking way I’m doing that.
And yet, half an hour later, you’re sitting in the back office watching a YouTube video on how to fold two towels into an elephant.
Following along with the step-by-step, you make the legs. Easy enough. The head ends up looking like an uncircumcised cock with wings, though. You set it on top of the legs and take a step back, glancing between your creation and the video’s example. As a final touch, you stick a couple googly-eye stickers on it.
“Good enough,” you sigh and tuck the microfiber monstrosity under your arm.
When you arrive at Suite 302, you pause for a moment, turning your ear towards the door. You hear the old wooden floor creaking as he walks around humming to himself. It smells like paint and skunk spray.
You swallow your buzzing nerves and knock on the door, fidgeting a little as you wait.
Inside, a fit of coughing erupts, and he chokes out, “Hang—on—”
His footsteps squeak across the floor to the kitchen. Clink of glass. Water faucet. The coughing stops for a few silent seconds, then he groans and the footstep squeaks grow closer.
A cloud of weed smoke bitch slaps you when the door to Suite 302 swings open.
He frowns at you, crossing his arms in front of his broad chest as he leans against the doorframe, “Hey, uhhh…”
“I got your towels,” you smile, presenting the towel elephant to him.
His eyes drop to the elephant, then he raises his eyebrows, “What is this?”
“An elephant?”
He glances between you and the elephant, flattening his mouth into a line before telling you, “Looks like a dick and balls with googly-eyes.”
The force you use to hold down your laughter makes you snort.
So fucking professional.
Your eyes meet his. An amused smile graces his lips as he takes the elephant.
“Anything else I can get for you?”
“Yeah, can I, uhhh… can I get some snacks? Something sweet, something savory.”
“I’ll see what I can find,” you nod, peering over his shoulder into the hazy room, “Just a reminder, we don’t allow smoking.”
“Oh, it’s not cigarette smoke.”
“I can smell.”
It goes straight from your brain out your mouth, drenched in sarcasm. So fucking professional.
His eyebrows shoot up in a surprised expression.
“I apologize, Mr. Bravo—”
“Oh, fuck that. Don’t,” he chuckles, waving off your stammering, “Call me Dieter, by the way. Mr. Bravo makes me sound like a fucking… karaoke machine.”
“Ok,” you chuckle, then put your customer-facing demeanor back on and tell him, “I’ll go see what we have for snacks. Let me know if you need anything in the meantime.”
He pushes off the doorframe, giving you a nod of acknowledgment as he steps back into Suite 302 and closes the door.
You return sometime later with a silver serving tray hosting a variety of cheeses, dried fruit, olives, spreads, and crackers. When you knock, he hollers to leave it outside the door, so you do.
The remaining daylight you spend cleaning.
Blue Moon Manor has eight suites: one on the first floor, four on the second, and two on the third. Working from the bottom up, you rid the recently vacated units of dirty dishes and trash, then collect the linens and haul them up to the laundry room on the third floor.
By this time, the serving tray you left outside Suite 302 has disappeared. The pot smoke, however, dissipated throughout the entire level. It seems even stronger than the last time you were up here. Almost like he completely disregarded your polite reminder of the no smoking policy.
You decide to table the issue temporarily. If he was still smoking by the time you returned to take his dinner order, you’d remind him again.
The prospect of confronting what your boss referred to as “a very important client” intimidates you, though, if you’re being honest.
Not that you’re particularly intimidated by him as a person or anything.
Sure, he has an IMDb page and some awards, but beyond that, he’s just another entitled guy.
It’s more so the influence he has on your employment that intimidates you. Sometimes your feral mouth speaks before your poorly-domesticated brain can articulate a proper response. If you were to say something combative, and this guy complained to your boss, you’d probably lose your job—a loss you cannot afford.
When it’s time to take his dinner order, you gather yourself before knocking on his door, repeating your script in your head as you wait. Then the door swings open and you’re absolutely blindsided.
He answers while wringing his hair out with a towel. It’s one of the two you brought him earlier. You can tell because there’s still a googly-eye stuck to it, pupil shaking around inside its little plastic dome. The other towel clings to life around his waist, parting to show off a slice of his tan thigh.
Regrettably, you follow your knee-jerk reaction to ogle him, looking him up and down before returning to his expectant eyes.
This results in an uncomfortable staring contest, where you’re trying to make your mouth work and he’s trying to figure out what the fuck you want, as made evident when he asks, “Do you need something?”
“Dinner,” you blurt out, then shake your head, “Sorry, I mean—What’ll you be having for dinner, Mr. Bravo?”
“What’re the options?”
“Chicken roulade or salmon.”
He groans, throwing his hair-drying towel over his shoulder.
“Do you guys have any normal food, or does it have to be upscale bullshit?”
You pause to once again gather yourself, and in that two-second silence he decides, “I’ll take the chicken roulade.”
“Dining room or room service?”
He shrugs, looking over his shoulder into the suite, then back at you, “Dining room.”
“Fabulous. While I’m here, can I take your tray from earlier?”
“Let me get it,” he mumbles, closing the door. While he’s gone, you go over the lines you rehearsed, and when he opens the door to hand you the tray, you tell him, “Just as a reminder, we don’t allow indoor smoking—”
“Look, usually I open the window and use a doob-tube, but, uhhh… the weather outside won’t allow it. I don’t want the wind to fuck up the crank windows.”
“But still—”
“And not that it’s any of your business, but I have a medical condition that I treat with cannabis. This is prescribed to me—”
“What? I’m not—”
“Besides, it should be legal—”
“Ok, you know what? Fine! Smoke away, but don’t be surprised when the manager fines you for it, plus the cost of extra cleaning charges.”
He crosses his arms and straightens his spine, “I can live with that.”
“Great,” you snip, taking a big step back, “Dinner will be ready at six.”
He closes the door a little harder than necessary and you stomp down to the kitchen, fuming the whole way.
Lucky for you, dinner prep involves flattening chicken breasts with a meat tenderizer, which helps tame your frustration. As you follow the recipe, sprinkling seasonings and feta cheese onto the breasts and rolling them up like neat little sleeping bags, potential consequences for your outburst run through your mind. Bad review, getting canned, all that.
Maybe if you hadn’t been dealing with this guy’s shit for the past two weeks, you would’ve been able to handle the situation with a level head. But his haughtiness is fucking grating. He can’t just answer a question or make a simple request. It has to be a whole production that makes it clear: he thinks he’s better than you.
By the time you finish cooking, though, you come to peace with the fact that you’ll probably have to kiss his ass to rectify the situation.
When the grandfather clock in the parlor chimes six times, you plate the chicken roulade and bring it to the dining room, slightly surprised to see him already seated at the table.
“Mr. Bravo,” you smile in greeting.
“Dieter.”
“Dieter,” you repeat as you set the plate down on his place setting, “Can I get you anything to drink? We have a Sauvignon Blanc that would pair well with the chicken—”
“I’ll take it.”
You go to the sideboard and find a bottle of wine. As you pour him a glass, he wrings his hands together and glances around, “Anyone else coming down?”
“Just you.”
“What about you, where do you eat?”
You shrug, setting the bottle down beside his glass, “In the kitchen.”
“You could eat out here.”
“Oh. It’s fine, sir. Really, I don’t mind.”
His nose wrinkles up under his sunglasses and he shifts in seat. You study him for a moment, sensing an air of loneliness about him.
“Unless you want me to join you.”
He shrugs, “Seems silly for both of us to eat alone.”
“So true,” you nod, clasping your hands together, “I’ll uhhh… I’ll be right back.”
When you return with your plate, you sit across the table from him. An uncomfortable silence settles in the room. The kind that makes your skin feel too tight and amplifies every little noise. The chewing, the utensils clinking, the wet swallows, everything seems ten times louder than reality.
Clearly, it’s not just the two of you in this dining room. There’s a third guest, the giant invisible elephant wedged between you.
He finishes his glass of wine and pours another, asking, “Do you want some?”
“I… shouldn’t.”
“Uh-huh,” he raises his eyebrows, looking at you over his sunglasses, “Do you want some anyway?”
You consider it, squishing your face to one side with indecision.
“I won’t tell on you, sweetheart, I promise.”
Your eyes flick to his, finding a sort of amused playfulness there.
“Fine,” you smirk and push back your chair, going over to the wine cabinet to grab a glass, “Just one.”
“No one’s twisting your arm about it.”
You return to your seat and reach across the table to grab the bottle, pouring only a small helping.
“Cheers,” he holds up his glass.
You mimic the sentiment and take a big sip, then tell him, “Mr. Bravo—”
“Dieter.”
“Dieter,” you nod, glancing at your wine glass, “I, umm… I apologize if I was rude earlier.” You meet his eyes and shrug, “If I’m being completely transparent, my boss will have my ass if the whole third floor smells like weed when he comes in next week.”
He watches you as he absorbs this, face inscrutable.
“But if you want, I can show you the back patio. You can smoke out there all you want, I really don’t care about that part.”
Leaning back in his seat, he takes a swig of wine, then says, “Fine.”
“Thank you, I appreciate it,” you smile.
“Uh-huh,” he sets down his glass, wiggling around a little as he tells you, “For the record, you weren’t being that rude. Well, maybe a little, but… I don’t mind. Suits you better than the bullshit customer service thing you do.”
You blink at him, biting your tongue, then return to cutting your food and making small talk, “Well, I hope you didn’t have any big plans for the holidays. Traveling might be tough the next couple days.”
He shakes his head, “Not doing it this year.”
“Not doing Christmas?”
“Nope. What about you? Do you celebrate Christmas? Any plans?”
“You’re looking at ‘em,” you gesture around the room with your wine glass and take a sip.
“No shit, you have to work?”
“I’ll be working until the storm passes. Tuesday at the earliest, by the sounds of it.”
“Yuck. You guys have a staff bedroom, or do you get to stay in a suite?”
“I have my pick of the empty suites.”
He pokes the food on his plate with his fork, “Which one are you picking?”
You chuckle a little before answering. Maybe it’s your imagination, but you detect a certain vibe coming from him. Not only that, but he’s attractive in a way you’re not entirely immune to.
“I think I’m gonna try a new one each night,” you tell him, “101 for sure, maybe 301 and 203. Not 201–“
“Oh well obviously, fuck 201.”
“Obviously,” you laugh, shaking your head.
He smiles at you, sparking heat at your center, then both return your attention to your food. The rest of the meal passes in a much more comfortable silence. Not wanting to overstay your welcome around a guest or veer further into unprofessionalism, you rise as soon as you finish.
“I’ll get out of your hair, but if you need anything, ring the bell. I’ll be around.”
“Sure,” he studies you over his sunglasses as you gather your dirty dishes, his jaw ticking back and forth, then he says, “Hey, thanks for keeping me company. It was nice.”
You want to tell him you thought it was nice, too. Or maybe say something about how it felt like a mildly off-putting but not entirely unsuccessful first date. Not at all what you assumed it would be like.
Instead, you give him a polite smile and nod, “Of course.”
—
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 23RD, 8:00 PM
DING
You look up from the cribbage game on your phone at him, just a few strides away but apparently oblivious to your presence. He fidgets with the sleeve of his high-drama fuzzy jacket, shifting his weight from side-to-side. Waiting.
“Hi—”
“Holy shit!” He startles, gripping his chest, “Where the fuck did you come from?”
Before you can stop it, you snort out a laugh, then cover your face reflexively, “I’m so sorry Mr.—”
“Dieter.”
“Dieter,” you nod as you rise to your feet, stuffing your wide grin into a neat smile, “How can I help you, sir?”
“Call me a fucking ambulance for the heart attack you just gave me,” he jokes, shaking his head, then takes a step towards you, “No, uhh… I was gonna step out to smoke, do you wanna join me?”
“Oh—umm,” you chuckle a little, briefly considering the offer before politely telling him, “No, thank you.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure,” you glance down at his feet, clad in mismatched socks and crocs, “But here, let me clear off the back patio so you don’t have to stand in the snow.”
He shrugs and follows you through the parlor into the dining room, where you tell him, “Just give me a minute, I’ll put my stuff on.”
“Take your time,” he murmurs, going over to the sideboard, “Is this fair game?”
“Help yourself.”
“Do you want one?”
He flips over a lowball glass on display and sifts through the decanters of liquor, plucking out a bottle of finely aged whiskey. A drink sounds good. But the prospect of this virtual stranger fixing you a drink makes you uneasy.
Does he know that it’s just you and him under this roof for probably the next few days? Between the offer to smoke you up and pour you a drink, is he intentionally trying to intoxicate you? Or is he just being cordial?
You realize he’s staring at you, waiting for a response. Heat rises to your face. Shaking your head, you tell him, “I’m fine, thanks.”
He uncorks the decanter and turns to pour whiskey into his glass, so you dismiss yourself to the back office.
After bundling up in winter gear, you grab a shovel, then start towards the dining room. You stop short in the kitchen. The motherfucker walked right past the STAFF ONLY sign and started rummaging through the fridge.
“You’re not supposed to be back here.”
He glances back over his shoulder at you, “Why not?”
“Because—well, because—”
“Can you make me grilled cheese?”
He straightens and closes the fridge door, turning to face you. You, clad in your coat and boots and hat and all that shit, holding a shovel, just blinking at him, mouth agape.
“Right now?”
His jaw shifts to one side as he genuinely considers the question.
“Can I shovel first?”
“Sure,” he shrugs.
“Thanks,” you mutter, then trudge past him into the dining room.
He follows along behind you, through the hall to the back door, asking, “Do you have tomato soup?”
“Probably. Want some with your grilled cheese?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
When you twist the door handle and yank it open, a knee-high snow drift topples over at your feet.
“Jesus Christ,” you hiss and flip on the outdoor light switch to peek outside. A strong gust of wind knocks you back a step, carrying a flurry of shimmering, swirling snowflakes. Your cheeks sting at the icy cold sharpness of it, eyes watering in protest.
What a fucking nightmare.
“Forget it,” you huff, slamming the door closed. You prop the shovel against it and turn to Dieter, pulling your gloves off, “I don’t care, can you just use the doob-tube and turn on the fan in the bathroom?”
“The fan doesn’t work.”
You release a big sigh, tugging off your hat as you lean on the wall and kick off your boots, “Of course it doesn’t. Alright, plan C.”
—
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 23RD, 8:45 PM
The range hood’s fan roars to life.
“Have at it,” you tell him as you walk over to the sink and unlock the window, pulling it up a few inches.
Dieter pulls a palm-sized wooden container from his coat pocket and leans back against the stove, twisting the top open. A one-hitter pops up from one of the two barrels of the container. He takes it and stuffs it into the dugout, “So, what, we’re all trapped here until the storm passes?”
You cross your arms in front of your chest and shrug, “Theoretically.”
“Figures,” he mutters, then pinches the pipe between his lips. He pulls a pink lighter from the pocket of his fuzzy coat and brings the flame to the other end. The tip brightens to a glowing ember as he inhales.
“I thought you didn’t have any plans.”
He holds the smoke in his lungs and croaks out, “I don’t,” before turning to blow the smoke into the fan intake.
“Are you upset that you’re snowed in with me?”
“It has nothing to do with you, sweetheart” he glances at you, then takes another hit.
“Ok, let me rephrase,” you shift, casting your gaze to the floor, trying to conceal the warmth blooming beneath your skin, “Are you upset that you’re snowed in?”
He shrugs, “I don’t like being stuck places. Especially another fucking hotel.”
“Whadda you mean?” you frown.
Your question hangs in the air while he takes another hit. He grimaces and steps over to the sink beside you, tapping ash from the little metal pipe with his lighter, then returns to his place at the stove and packs another onie.
“Did you ever watch the documentary Beasts of the Bubble?”
You shake your head.
“Don’t, it’s dogshit,” he snorts and takes another hit. On the exhale, he asks, “You know that I’m an actor, though, right?”
You nod.
“Right, well, long story short… Early COVID days, I was out in England shooting a movie and they wouldn’t let us leave the hotel.”
You have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, sensing heavy dramatics on the horizon.
“They wouldn’t let you leave the hotel?”
“My friend—well,” he wrinkles his nose, “Yeah, my friend. She tried to escape, got her fuckin’ hand shot off.”
“Holy shit, seriously?!”
“Yeah, Lauren Van Chance. Pow! Shot right off. Fucking brutal,” he shakes his head and takes another hit. As he blows the smoke into the fan, he coughs a little, then shakes his head, “Anyway—wait, why am I talking about this?”
“Because we’re snowed in.”
“Oh—yeah. I dunno, feeling like I can’t leave… my therapist said it’s a trigger, I guess.”
“I get that,” you search his face, watching him frown at the one-hitter. Apparently satisfied with how stoned he is, Dieter releases a relaxed sigh and sets the onie down on the counter.
“If it’s any consolation, I promise I won’t shoot you if you try to leave. Like… I don’t know, you might need some snow shoes or whatever, but you could—”
He waves you off, “Eh, it’s fine. It’s just a thing, you know? Makes me feel all fuckin’ cagey and on-edge. Restless.”
You lick your lips and nod, glancing at the floor before you look at him, “Anything I can do to help?”
“Bud helps,” he shrugs, “Talking helps.”
“Does grilled cheese help?”
It takes him a moment to understand what you’re asking, but when he does, he chuckles, “Grilled cheese is basically a fucking Xanax.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then let’s get you a grilled cheese.”
—
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 24TH, 10:00 AM
“The Department of Transportation has declared a state of emergency, and urges people to shelter in place as snow will continue to fall in the Twin Cities and across most of central and southern Minnesota through tomorrow. Overnight, some places received as much as 10 inches, with 40 mile-an-hour winds creating drifts—”
DING
Regrettably, your heart skips a beat.
You tuck your phone into the back pocket of your slacks and cross the kitchen, pushing through the swinging door into the dining room. When you get to the parlor, you find Dieter fiddling around with priceless antiques displayed on the shelves of an ornate built-in bookshelf. He glances over at you, “Hey.”
“Good morning, did you sleep ok?”
Nodding, he pulls his attention away from the bookshelf and takes a step towards you, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants, “Did I miss breakfast?”
“No, what can I get for you?”
“Denver Omelet?”
“Sure,” you clasp your hands together behind your back, “Hashbrowns? Fruit? Anything to drink?”
“Yes, yes, and yes—coffee, water, orange juice with pulp.”
“Down here or in your room?”
“Here is fine.”
“You got it,” you smile, walking back to the kitchen. The creak of his footsteps mimic yours on the old hardwood floor, so you think he’s going to sit at the dining room table, but the duo whine of the swinging kitchen door takes you by surprise.
You turn to face him, “Oh, you don’t have to—”
“May I?” He holds up the wooden onie box.
“Sure,” you nod, clicking the range hood on, then go to crack the window open.
The soft murmur of the radio fills the silence while you prep his breakfast and he smokes. You absentmindedly hum along to the Christmas music, dicing a green pepper, an onion, and some ham. By the time you approach the stove to start cooking, he’s tucking the paraphernalia away in the pocket of his pajama pants.
“Have any big plans for the day?” He asks as he goes over to the coffee pot and pours himself a cup.
“Ahhh, well… I think I’m gonna knock out some tasks that are hard to do when we’re busy. Inventory and deep cleaning, things like that. What about you?”
He shrugs, leaning back against the counter, “Gonna try to keep plugging away at painting ideas.”
“Oh yeah? What’re you painting?”
“It’s uhhh… it’s part of a series I’m working on, capturing the essence of interesting hotels across the country.”
“Really? That’s—that’s actually really cool. I love that. And you chose Blue Moon Manor?”
“Well yeah,” he sighs, looking around, “It’s gorgeous. The original features are well-preserved, all the intricate woodwork and craftsmanship. It’s unique, I like it.”
“I agree, it’s a special place.”
“I’m just… I don’t know, I’m stuck at the starting line, not sure what to paint. I haven’t found anything here that feels right yet.”
You look between him and the menagerie of omelet fillings sizzling in the pan, “Have you seen any of the other suites?”
“In pictures.”
“If you want, I can show you around today? All the vacancies are made up pretty. You can poke around and see if you find any… I don’t know, inspiration, or whatever.”
“Yeah?” He grins, “That would be… yeah, fuck yeah, that would be amazing.”
—
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 24TH, 2:00 PM
You may be in trouble.
Not the kind of trouble punishable by anyone but yourself, but still.
What you mean is that you think you might have a crush on Dieter. Or, more honestly, what you mean is that you know you have a crush on Dieter.
This revelation occurred to you about halfway through your impromptu tour of Blue Moon Manor.
You were standing in the sunroom of Suite 203 while he wandered around, jotting down notes and taking pictures on his phone. The snow fell heavy outside, coming down in thick wet clumps that made it difficult to see beyond the border of the property. Everything blanketed in a pristine, shimmering white.
A deep sense of isolation plummeted your heart to your feet. Christmas Eve, when people all across the world gathered with loved ones, and you were working. Not that your empty one bedroom apartment missed you much. At least if you were there, you could lay in bed eating raw cookie dough while watching your comfort tv show. Throw yourself a proper pity party.
So, there you were, wallowing in your circular loneliness, going around and around the drain of self-pity, when Dieter approached you.
“Hey, you alright?”
You snapped out of your trance and looked at him, finding something very earnest and knowing in his eyes. It surprised you. He didn’t strike you as the kind of person who generally cared about what others were feeling.
“Yeah, just… thinking about how much I’m gonna have to shovel,” you chuckled, brushing off his concern.
“Sorry, you just looked… I don’t know, kind of sad.”
“I’m fine,” you assured him with all the sincerity of someone whose pants were on fire.
“Uh huh,” he studied you for a moment, then looked down at his phone and shook his head, releasing a big sigh, “I think I’m ready to move on.”
“Alright, follow me,” you pushed off the window and walked past him. As you did so, you misjudged your space and brushed up against him.
Pure negligence or subconscious desire, you’re still not sure, but the contact was a static shock. This quick jolt of heat that made you gasp and jump away from him, stammering, “Oh shit. Sorry, I, um—”
He chuckled, a handsome, dimpled smile stretching across his face, “It’s fine.”
“I’m embarrassed,” you blurted out. As if it wasn’t obvious enough.
“Don’t be,” he shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged, “Accidents happen.”
“Ok,” you laughed and buried your heated face in your hands, then regained your composure and said, “Ok, let’s see Suite 201.”
“Is that the shitty one?”
“It’s not shitty,” you snorted, starting towards the door, “It’s perfectly fine, just not as glamorous as the rest of them.”
“Uh huh. Like the ugliest Miss America contestant.”
“Sure—”
“Or the uhh… the smallest blue whale.”
“Yeah, I mean—”
“Suite 201 is to this hotel what Def Leppard is to glam rock.”
“Wow, ok,” you laughed, ushering him through the doorway into the hall, “Yeah, I think you got it.”
The whole dumb interaction is all you can think about. It plays over and over again. That look, the accident, Def fucking Leppard. The rush of excitement you feel when you see him or even just think about seeing him.
It is undeniable.
You have a big fat crush.
So fucking professional.
For what feels like the hundredth time, you lose count. You toss your clipboard down on the stack of fluffy white towels in defeat, scrubbing your hands over your face.
Maybe a cleaning project would be more productive. The first floor common rooms need dusting, or you could scrub the floors, or prep dinner, or blah blah blah… god, it all sounds so fucking boring.
Curiosity prods your heart.
You tiptoe through the laundry room, out into the third floor hallway, and linger there for an indecisive moment, listening to the low bass of his humming to himself and the thick pulse behind your ears. A few cautious steps towards Suite 302 reveals a DO NOT DISTURB sign hanging from the doorknob.
Rejection takes the shape of a stone in your mouth, heavy and hard and cold as you swallow it down. It settles uneasy in your gut.
Dusting it is.
—
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 24TH, 6:59 PM
Every minute that drags on feels like an eternity.
The grandfather clock in between the library bookshelves mocks you.
Tick-tock-tick-tock
Begins to sound more like:
He-doesn’t-like-you
You glare at it, then down at your phone, swiping away a low battery warning to continue playing cribbage.
Outside, the wind snarls. Blue Moon Manor groans in resistance, and you wriggle deeper into the sofa cushions, telling yourself: Five more minutes then I’ll check on him.
It’s so dumb.
Really, you know how it sounds.
But not once has he put out the DO NOT DISTURB sign. For two weeks, he has been consistently demanding, never letting more than three daylight hours go by without asking for something.
As soon as you let yourself feel some affection for him?
Can’t get far enough away from you.
He-doesn’t-like-you-DING! DING! DING! DING!—
You sigh at the clock.
—DING! DING! DING!
“Fuck’s sake,” you mutter.
The lights die.
All white noise drops except the crackle of the fireplace, howling wind, and ticking clock.
“Fuck.”
Two floors up, something clatters to the ground, then Dieter hollers something unintelligible.
Well, he seems chipper.
You climb off the couch while googling power outages in the area.
Footsteps thud down the steps onto the first floor landing.
“Hello?”
“I’m in the library,” you call, not looking up from your phone as you text your boss.
His steps draw closer, then there’s a light in the doorway.
“This place is so fucking creepy in the dark, Jesus Christ,” Dieter hisses, “What’s the deal?”
You squint up at his dim figure, “Storm took out the power. I texted the manager to see if there’s a genny.”
“Genny?”
“Backup generator,” you turn on your phone’s flashlight, “Sorry for the inconvenience, I’ll go see if I can find some lighting if you wanna wait here—”
“I’m coming with you.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that, sir—”
He gestures for you to lead the way, so you start towards the back office with Dieter hot on your heels. Once inside, you go over to the desk and pull open a drawer, fish out a headlamp, and slide it around your head. When you press the on button, a beam of light shoots from your forehead onto the desk.
“Cute,” he teases.
You look at him, unintentionally shining the light in his face.
He steps back and shields his eyes, “Jesus!”
“Ope. Sorry sir,” you stifle a laugh, grab a second headlamp from the drawer, and hold it out to him, “Do you want one?”
Grumbling under his breath, he takes it from you and slides it over his fluffy hair, then turns the light on.
“Ok, this is pretty sweet,” he admits as he starts wandering around the room, “I feel like a miner or something.”
“There should be a tote in here somewhere that has a bunch of candles,” you tell him as you start rifling through cupboards. When the search comes up empty, you try the closet, where you find a big purple tote labeled CANDLES.
“Here we go,” you pull the heavy container out into the room.
“Want me to carry that?”
The offer holds about as much conviction as a drain holds water. He leans back against the desk, plucks a pen from the pencil cup, and starts doodling on your daily checklist. Barely interested.
“No, I got it.”
You lift it and shuffle past him, slightly demoralized, then immediately bump into the doorway, “Oop.”
His headlamp blinds you, making you wince, then he chuckles, “Here.”
Dieter pushes off the desk and steps towards you, laying a gentle touch to your shoulder.
When you forfeit the tote, you notice the dark smudges dried onto his hands and forearms.
“Were you painting?”
“Yeah,” he awkwardly adjusts his grip, then starts back the way you came. You follow behind him, trying to aim your light at the ground by his feet.
In the kitchen, he says, “It smells good in here.”
“Probably the roast I made for dinner,” you pause for him to maneuver through the swinging door into the dining room, “I can get some for you after we get the candles going.”
He holds the door open with his foot and waits for you to pass through the threshold before setting the bin down on the dining room table.
“Thanks,” you say as he steps aside.
The white candles come in three shapes: pillar, votive, and stick. All of them unscented, so when you pop off the lid to the tote bin, the only thing you can smell is wax and dust and old flames.
You grab a half-melted pillar and ask, “Hey, do you have a lighter?”
He rummages through his pockets and pulls one out, then takes the candle from you. The flint sparks into a tiny flame that he holds up to the wick until it ignites, casting a warm golden glow onto the walls and ceiling. You pass him another pillar. The pads of his fingers brush against your hand when he takes it, sending your heart racing.
“Hopefully this isn’t a uhhh… weird or alarming thing to ask—”
“Oh god, what?”
“Is there anyone else here?” He lights the pillar and hands it to you, “You’re the only other person I’ve seen around.”
You take the lit pillar and set it down shrugging, “There, aren’t umm… no, it’s just me and you.”
“Oh.”
Where hyper vigilance should be, that old warning to not take candy from strangers, or not to turn your back on a man you don’t trust, something hungry and loud starts to grow. A devastating need for him to creep closer. For him to cross the boundary of what might be considered moral or right in such a situation. To touch you in ways that inspire heat between your thighs.
He doesn’t, though.
He just helps you light candles and strategically place them around the common rooms on the first floor, uncharacteristically reserved. You both remain quiet while you go about doing this, but the silence isn’t entirely uncomfortable. It’s the kind of silence that feels more like a peace treaty than a punishment.
Your phone buzzes with a notification, and you pull it out, reading the text message out loud, “We don’t have a backup generator.”
“Shit.”
“And power might be out until Tuesday.”
“Tuesday? Are you fucking serious?”
“I apologize, sir—”
“Don’t do that,” he scoffs, shaking his head, “That whole… hospitality voice thing.”
The words come out sharp and bitter.
Your blood pulses hot, and you hear yourself say, “I’m a hospitality worker, exactly what tone of voice do you expect I use?”
“Like I’m a person, not a fucking client or whatever. I’m so sick of that shit, everywhere I go people kissing my ass,” he goes to the sideboard and flips over a glass, pouring whiskey while attuning his voice to a feminine, mocking tone, “Oh, Mr. Bravo, sir yes sir, do you need anything? Do you want a snack or a nap, do you need to be swaddled, do you want your dick sucked?”
He pauses to take a swig of the liquor.
Meanwhile, steam might as well be coming out of your ears. Just fucking boiling with rage, needling the red danger zone.
“I hate it. You all talk to me like I’m a goddamn toddler, it’s so fucking annoying—”
“Oh, fuck off. I’m annoying?”
He leans back on the sideboard and blinks at you, swirling the whiskey in his glass.
Stomping over to the liquor display, you pour a drink and seethe, “Ever think that maybe if you didn’t act like a fucking toddler, people wouldn’t treat you like one? I mean, for Christ’s sake, dude. You literally take a nap every afternoon and demand we cut the crust off your sandwiches. Last week you threw a temper tantrum because we put tap water in your sippy cup.”
“Ok, first of all that was a water bottle. And, have you ever tasted the water here? It’s disgusting. Not to mention the fucking—”
“The fluoride, I know,” you roll your eyes, “I know I know I know. It’s gross and contains fluoride and tastes like blood or whatever the fuck—”
“I did not say it tasted like blood,” he quips, pauses to take a sip, which you mimic, then he adds, “It does, though, for the record.”
“My point is that… If everywhere you go smells like shit, maybe you should look under your own shoe. You dig?”
For a moment, you can’t read him. He stares down into his glass, twisting his wrist around in a way that draws attention to the thick-banded rings on his fingers. Then he glances up at you, a smirk playing on his lips, “That’s perfect. Can you just talk to me like that from now on?”
Your head jerks back, and you let out a little scoff, “What, like a bitch?”
“No,” he chuckles, “Like… I don’t know. Real. Real-er, anyway. You seem cool. You, though. Not your toothless, sanitized worksona.”
“Jesus,” you scoff into your glass, shaking your head, “I’m not sure what to say to that.”
“Anyway. I just mean… talk to me like I’m a person, not a fucking guest or whatever.” When you look up at him, he shifts a little and adds, “Please.”
You hold his gaze long enough for your stomach to flip, then chicken out, dropping your eyes to your glass, “Sir yes sir.”
He lets out a chuckle, shaking his head, “Uh-huh.”
You appraise the remaining whiskey in your glass, then tip it back, wincing at the burn as you set the glass down.
“Do you want me to bring some candles up to your room, or will you be dining down here?”
“Will you be joining me?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Yeah, of course,” he shrugs, “If you’re not busy.”
“I think I can squeeze you in,” you tease.
His tongue pokes out to wet the seam of his lips, then his smirk breaks out into a big, boyish smile, “You think so, huh?”
The innuendo makes itself clear. Your face heats up and you snort, “Shut up.”
“Hey, you said it, not me,” he raises his hands defensively, following you as you start towards the kitchen, “Is it cool if I smoke?”
You push through the swinging door, holding it open for him, “I can’t turn the fan on.”
“Uh-huh,” he ambles over to the counter beside the sink and casually hops up onto it, “Is that a yes or a no?”
After taking a moment to weigh the pros and cons, you sigh, “Just… blow it out the window, ok?”
So he smokes while you pull the roasting pan from the oven and prepare two plates, piling on potato wedges and green beans and hearty slices of roast beef. You wrap up your activities simultaneously, then move back to the dining room.
While you set the table, he goes over to the wine cabinet and asks, “Wine?”
You hesitate, once again contemplating the pros and cons of answering in the affirmative. If the wine goes to your head, you could make a mistake. On the other hand, maybe it would help untangle your knotted stomach. Make it easier to converse with him.
“Don’t feel like you have to say yes,” he adds when he notices your trepidation.
“Fuck it, why not?”
So fucking professional.
With his back turned to you, he surveys the bottles displayed in the wine cabinet, “Pinot? Cab?”
“Actually, I was thinking of breaking out the 2016 Cos d'Estournel.”
He looks over his shoulder at you, “The what?”
“Left side, second row from the bottom,” you point to it from across the room, “Dark bottle, white label.”
Once he finds it, he lifts it from the rack and studies it, “Cos d'Estournel. Ritzy stuff,” he sets it on the table between your seats, “What’s the occasion?”
“What is this, a role reversal?”
He grins at this. Then, as if committing to the bit, he strides over to pull out your chair. When you raise your eyebrows at him, he smirks, “Humor me.”
You roll your eyes a little as you sit down, but truthfully, your heart stutters.
Dieter walks back to the cabinet and picks out two wine glasses, “So? The occasion?”
“I don’t know,” you frown, “Well, I mean, I do know, but it’s hard to explain.”
He doesn’t say anything as he twists a corkscrew into the wine bottle and yanks out the cork, then pours the rich red wine into one glass, and the other.
“It’s just… I don’t think I’ve been in a situation like this before. It’s strange. The storm, the holiday, the manor, the-the you.” He smirks, sliding a wine glass over to you, and you give him a nod of thanks, “I feel like anything could happen or nothing at all and I wouldn’t be surprised either way.”
Again, he doesn’t respond, but a thoughtful expression creases his face as he takes the seat across from you. Not sure what to make of it, you ask, “Does that make sense?”
“I know what you mean, yeah,” he leans back in his chair and swirls the wine around in his glass, meeting your eyes from across the table, “The possibilities within the confines of these walls are endless.”
The way he looks at you conjures impure thoughts. Hand between your thighs, nails digging into his back. Bending you over the table and pulling your hair.
You raise your glass in the air, “To the possibilities.”
“To the possibilities.”
—
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 24TH, 9:30 PM
You sit at either side of the lush Victorian sofa in the library, cashmere blankets draped over each of your legs. Illuminated by the warm glow of candelabras and the crackling fireplace, you flip through a book on palm reading while Dieter draws in a sketchpad.
For a while, he seemed quite engrossed in the project. Brow furrowed, hunched over the pad of paper as he scribbled. But with each monotonous tick-tock-tick-tock from the grandfather clock, he starts to stir more and more.
He finally tosses the sketchpad down beside him, leaning back and letting out a long groan, “I’m so boooorreeeeed.”
“Drama,” you tease, peeking over your book at him, “Can I do anything to help?”
“Can I open another bottle?”
“Go for it.”
Dieter jumps to his feet and clicks on his headlamp. The dancing beam of light fades out of sight as he walks into the hallway.
With a sigh, you look down at the book and try to continue reading, but keep losing your spot. Your attention instead is drawn to the fireplace. Its flickering flames seem to pull you into some kind of a trance, coaxing out bite-sized daydreams and nightmares, trying to predict what will happen when you and your fresh new crush start drinking in the dark.
What happens if we get drunk? Would we fuck? Would we fight? Would he be mean? Or pushy? Would I make a fool of myself?
You sit here for a while, letting these tiny fires burn out in your brain, so engrossed that you barely notice Dieter mosey back into the room.
“Hope wine is ok,” he says as he clicks the headlamp off, then he sets out two wine glasses and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon on the coffee table.
“Of course, sir.”
He snorts and shakes his head while leaning over to twist a corkscrew into the bottle.
“Sorry. Habit.”
“Don’t sweat it, sweetheart,” he yanks the cork from the bottle, then pours out two servings, “What’ve you there?”
“Hmm?”
“The book.”
“Oh,” you hold it up to show him the cover, “Cheiro’s Palmistry for All.”
He holds out a glass to you. You set the book aside and take it from him, crossing your legs to get more comfortable.
“Palm reading?”
“Yeah,” you chuckle, “I don’t know, it seemed interesting.“
“Have you ever been to a palm reader?”
Shaking your head, you take a sip of wine. Then another. A warm buzz tingles on your tongue and you ask, “Have you?”
He nods, “Yeah. Well, kind of. I dated this girl who dabbled in divination,” he takes a big gulp of wine, then sets his glass on the coffee table and moves closer, gesturing for your hand, “Here.”
“You know how?”
“I picked up on some stuff,” he shrugs.
Leaning forward, you place your glass next to his and bring yourself closer, extending your hand to him.
He holds it like a fragile thing, gentle but steady, “Is this your dominant hand?”
You nod.
Smoothing a thumb over your palm, he coaxes you to unfurl your fingers. His skin is warm and soft on yours as he examines you, thick fingers tracing the creases of your palm.
It feels nice. Intimate, almost. No thanks to the wine and ambient lighting.
“This side shows your conscious mind. Your life right now,” he clears his throat and says, “You’re perceptive, intuitive, a little moody. Emotions tend to run the show, but you’re also a realist. You have a passion for life and adventure, but often find yourself paralyzed by the reality of your situation, leaving you in a constant state of dissatisfaction. Logical, hard-working. You’re independent. You’ve had financial and emotional hardships. Not many serious romantic relationships, mostly flings. But this doesn’t mean you don’t get attached easily. You do, but tend to put up walls to protect yourself and disconnect before it gets too serious.”
Static vibrates through your skin. An eerie, frantic feeling of being seen too close for comfort. You swallow hard and study his face, too afraid to confirm or deny its accuracy.
“Cup your hand,” he instructs, guiding your hand to do so. Furrowing his brow, he examines the soft fleshy bits on your palm, poking and prodding them, “You have a temper, but you’re shy. You’re cynical. Closed-off. Reliable, because you have to be, but you wish you could just say fuck it and run away sometimes. That’s umm… that’s who you are in practice. Other hand.”
You give him your non-dominant hand. It’s shaky and sweaty and as he takes it you chuckle, “Sorry, I’m… nervous.”
Grinning, he glances up at you, “So I’m doing well, then?”
“Yeah,” you gulp, heat rising to your face, “It’s… yeah. Hang on, can I…?”
You take your hand back and wipe it on your pant leg, then reach over to grab your wine glass, swallowing the remainder of your wine. He does the same, then refills them.
While this is happening, you can’t help but notice the thick current of electricity pulsing between you.
You take turns stealing fleeting glances, and when you return to face each other, legs crossed, you’re much closer than you were before. Your knees meet his, maybe probably definitely crossing the line of what is considered appropriate distance for you to have with a hotel guest. Neither of you seem to mind, though.
In fact, it seems like quite the opposite.
As you extend your non-dominant hand to him, he huddles even closer, so close you can smell the Bordeaux on his breath, and cradles your hand in his.
“This side shows your natural tendencies. Who you are in theory, who you will be if you follow your intuition,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to yours, then back to your palm as he slides his index finger along a deep, diagonal crease, “First of all, your fate line is strong. If you follow your intuition, you’ll succumb to it.”
“Ominous.”
He frowns and shakes his head, reverentially tracing the sensitive map of your palm, “No, actually. You’ll have a crisis or two. One big one, at least, some kind of a revelation that causes you to upend your life. But it sets you on a path of vitality and happiness and strength. A few smaller ones, not as momentous, but still significant. The hopeless romantic you are, you’ll fall in love hard and fast, but that’s the one that sticks. You freely express your emotions and feelings. It’s… I mean, it seems good. Who wouldn’t want that? Cup your hand for me, sweetheart.”
You do.
He smooths his thumb over the mounts and divots, tilting his head at them, “You’re stubborn and you have a strong sense of self. Hedonistic. Imaginative. You daydream a lot. I don’t think you’re as reserved and shy as you let on. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism you learned along the way.”
You look up at him, finding his eyes locked on yours. A deep longing bubbles up your spine and you feel yourself lean in a little closer. He continues caressing your hand, dropping his gaze to your mouth, and asks, “Do you want my advice?”
“Sure.”
“I think you should follow your intuition. See where it takes you. I think… you need to let go of whatever reservations you have from the past, because it’s holding you back from a beautiful life.”
There’s a part of you that boils red and hot with denial. It screams from the back of your head that this is all bullshit, he’s just trying to fuck you, to use because he’s bored and tipsy.
But really, you know he’s right.
You know you’re dissatisfied with your white-knuckle, fake smile existence. You ignore your desires and inner-most knowing in favor of security. You attribute more weight to the negatives than the positives in every aspect of your life.
“You’re saying I should follow my gut?” you ask, studying his face.
He brushes your palm with his thumbs, “Yeah. I think so.”
You look down at his touch, hesitantly bringing your unoccupied hand to his forearm, allowing yourself to feel his warmth, “But what if it’s wrong? What if I make a mistake?”
“But what if it’s right?”
Meeting his eyes, you recognize the longing in his heavy-lidded gaze. You bring your hand to his cheek, sliding your thumb across his patchy facial hair, heart pounding, nerves buzzing as you close your eyes and lean in.
His soft lips meet yours. A gentle, questioning kiss that flips your stomach upside down. You pull back to make sure it’s ok. He seems to do the same, dark eyes flicking around your face before slipping a hand behind your head and pulling you back in.
The second kiss holds more conviction. A spark that ignites you both, quickly leading to the third and fourth kiss, at which point they start to blend together, a mess of tongues and spit and gasps.
You climb onto his lap, straddling him, pressing your body onto his. Through the fabric of his pajama pants, you feel his hardened excitement and use it to your advantage, rolling against him to gain friction. He grabs your hips and rocks them in sync with your movements, groaning into your mouth.
Heat builds steady at your core, tingling and gushing through your veins, screaming for more more more. Aching to feel the warmth of his skin on yours, you slip your hands under the hem of his shirt and slide your palms up his back, pulling him closer.
He parts from your lips to take off his shirt. You do the same, unbuttoning your shirt and tossing it aside, then reach back and claw at your bra clasp.
“Let me,” he signals for you to turn around. You do, climbing onto your knees with your back facing him. His fingers ghost along your spine, leaving a trail of twitching, hungry nerves in their wake.
“That feels good,” you tell him, arching your back with a whine.
“Good,” he murmurs, continuing the tedious touch, “I wanna make you feel so fucking good, sweetheart. Is that what you want?”
“Yes.”
When he unclasps the bra, you slip it off while he slides a hand around your belly and pulls you back into his lap.
He leaves a trail of kisses from your shoulder to the nape of your neck, where he stops to massage his tongue against you. A moan erupts from your throat at the tingling, hot sensation it cultivates. His hands roam around your body, over your breasts and ribs and abdomen, activating all those often-neglected nerves, but never staying long enough to bring relief.
“Fuck, Dieter,” you whine, “You’re teasing me.”
“Maybe,” he chuckles, smoothing a palm up your sternum and urging you to lay back onto his chest. You follow the suggestion and recline against him, head resting on his shoulder. Your skin buzzes where it meets his, the warmth of him flooding your brain with feel-good chemicals. He drags his fingers along the soft skin of your belly, making you whimper.
“But it feels good, doesn’t it?”
You nod.
“Don’t you want to savor it?” He cups your breasts and rolls your nipples between his fingers and thumbs, sending a rush of pleasure to your head, “Don’t you want me to show you how good it feels when you finally let go?”
“Yes,” you gasp, nodding, eyelids fluttering closed, “I want it, I want it—”
“Good,” he coos, pinching your nipples harder, “I want it too. Wanna see you fall apart in my hands. Will you let me do that for you, sweetheart?”
“Yes.”
He releases your tits and tugs at the waistband of your pants, “Take these off for me, will you?”
You roll off the couch onto your feet, facing him as you slowly tug at your waistband, teasing every inch of skin you reveal. He watches you with lust-blown eyes, palming himself as he drinks in the spectacle.
“Underwear too?”
He nods.
You hook your thumbs under the soft fabric of your bikini, “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“I wanna see it.”
“You wanna see it,” he mutters, chuckling a little, “Ask and you shall receive, Princess.”
He shimmies out of his pajama pants, keeping his eyes on yours as you slide the underwear down your thighs. His thick, hard cock bobs out and waves hello.
“Fuck,” he sits up and rests his warm palms on your hips, glancing between you and your cunt, “Look at this pretty pussy, holy shit. Come here, baby. Come sit on my lap again.”
“If I sit on your lap, will my Christmas wish come true?”
“Maybe,” he smirks and leans back onto the sofa, tugging on your hand to follow. You turn around and carefully lower yourself onto his thighs, his knees between yours. Guiding you closer, he murmurs in your ear, “Tell me what you want, sweetheart, I’ll see if I can make it happen.”
You lay back on his chest, once again letting your head rest on his shoulder, and stroke his cheek as you tell him, “I want you to touch me.”
“I can do that,” he chuckles, kissing your forehead as his hands begin to wander, sliding down your sides to your hips and thighs, between your legs to pry them apart, “There we go, baby.”
When he touches your entrance, you both groan. His cock twitches against your back. He drags his fingers up and down your seam, spreading your slick, hissing in your ear, “Fucking soaked for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
“Uh-huh,” you whimper, nodding, watching him pet your swollen clit so soft and slow it sends sparks of need up your spine, “That feels so fucking good holy shit—”
“Yeah? You like the way I play with your sweet little cunt?”
“Oh my god—I do, Dieter, I do.”
A feral noise rumbles in his chest, and his fingers pick up speed, working in quick, tight circles as he pants in your ear, “I love it when you say my name. Sounds so fucking good on your lips. Say it again for me, baby.”
“I love the way you touch me, Dieter, please don’t stop.”
“Wouldn’t fucking dream of it, sweetheart. I just wanna make you feel good, make you feel so fucking good—”
You moan when he sinks one thick digit inside you, making your body buzz with pleasure. Your eyes flutter shut and you reach back, blindly carding your fingers through his hair, caressing his cheek, his neck, tugging on his earlobe, anything you can do to ground yourself and somehow repay the ecstasy accumulating thick and hot inside your belly.
He kisses your palm and asks, “Do you want more?”
A sort of strangled noise comes out of you, but you nod in the affirmative, and he obliges, sliding another finger inside you. They rut in and out at a steady pace, keeping tempo with his undulating touch on your clit. Heat branches out at the center of you, coursing through your veins, making your heart race.
You gasp and nod, “Keep doing that, Dieter, don’t stop please don’t stop holy shit—”
“You gonna cum for me, baby, hmm? Cum all over my fucking fingers?”
“Yes yes yes yes yes—”
Your whole body clenches as the feeling grows and grows, reaching a precipice.
“That’s it, sweetheart, let it go,” he pants in your ear, and when you plummet over the edge, whole body twitching with blinding pleasure, he coos, “Theeere we go—”
You whimper and clamp your legs shut, letting out a series of gasping breaths as the waves of your orgasm pulse, then start to peter out. Your tensed muscles go limp, and you open your eyes to look up at Dieter, “Jesus Christ.”
“Yeah?”
He gives you a boyish grin that makes your chest swell with desire. You sit up and turn around to face him, straddling his lap with his cock pressed hard against your wet, throbbing pussy.
Tracing the curve of his lips, you purr, “I have another Christmas wish.”
“What’s that?”
You roll your hips, gasping at the pressure of him against you, “I want you to fuck me.”
He moans, eyelids fluttering and lips parting, head falling back against the sofa as he grabs your hips and silently urges you to keep going. You whimper and start to move to the rhythm of his suggestion, sliding up and down his length.
“Wanna feel your cock inside me,” you breathe, brushing his cheek with your knuckles, meeting his dark, wanting eyes, “Want you to stretch me out and make me yours—”
“Holy fucking shit—”
“Do you want that?” you coo, searching his face.
“God yes, please, baby.”
You situate the tip of him at your entrance and hook your hands behind his head, then lower yourself down.
The stretch of him is exquisite. He activates every nerve ending he touches with an aching, hungry need. Your mouth falls open with gasping breaths and pathetic little whimpers, and you hear Dieter groan, “So fucking tight, Jesus Christ—”
“Feels so goooood,” you croak, closing your fists in his hair.
He sucks in air through clenched teeth, digging his fingers into the meat of your ass, and rocks you back and forth, each thrust rubbing along something absolutely devastating. You blink your eyes open to meet his, all lust-blown and wide with awe, searching your face. His hand slides up to your face, cupping your cheek, brushing his thumb against your heated, damp skin.
“Kiss me,” he pants, reeling you in.
You fold over on top of him, meeting his lips with desperate urgency, a frantic exchange of messy kisses marked with gasps and moans. As the heat in your belly grows, you roll your hips faster, and he thrusts up into you, parting from your lips to growl, “You take my dick so well, sweetheart—that sweet pussy feels so fucking good wrapped around me, oh my fucking god—”
“Feels so fucking good, Dieter, don’t fucking stop,” you whimper, pressing your forehead against his, nodding in approval as he grabs your hips and fucks up into you hard and fast, “Oh my god, just like that baby yes yes yes—”
He captures your lips in his and you both moan into the heated, needy kiss, static building and building, spreading hot from your center. It feels so fucking good your eyes start to tingle and swim with tears, and you cry, “I’m gonna fucking cum, don’t stop—”
“That’s it baby, just let go, let it go, let me feel you—”
“So fucking good—Ffffuck—”
The force of your climax steals your breath, ecstasy pulsing liquid static through you, then yanks you down from the clouds and sends you crashing into the earth. Your body convulses and you let out a choked sob.
“Oh my god—oh my god, fuck,” his hips stutter and he pulls out, stroking his cock to completion, shooting hot ropes of cum onto your bodies with a moan.
Both of you remain rigid for a few moments, chests heaving, silently reveling the sweet rush of release before going slack. You collapse on top of him, eyes closed, and release a content sigh as you play with the damp curls at the nape of his neck.
He hums and wraps his arms around your middle, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, “How do you feel?”
“Amazing,” you chuckle, “Wow.”
“Wow is right,” he snorts, then pets your hair and asks, “Any other Christmas wishes?”
After thinking about it for a few seconds, your lips part with an answer, but you chicken out and close them.
“Hmm?”
“It’s dumb.”
“Uh-huh,” he pulls back to meet your eyes, “Tell me anyway.”
You chuckle a little, tracing his jawline, “It’s ok.”
He just blinks at you, waiting, so you swallow and shrug, “I don’t want to sleep alone.”
He hums, pressing a kiss into your forehead, then your cheek, “Do you wanna spend the night with me?”
“Is that weird?”
“I don’t think so. Do you?”
You shake your head.
His gaze drops to your mouth, and you lean in to kiss him. It’s warm and soft and sparks hopeful optimism in your chest, like this is something and not nothing.
When he pulls back, a sly smile spreads across his face, “Your place or mine?”
—
MONDAY, DECEMBER 25TH, 8:00AM
When you wake in Suite 203, it takes a moment for the events of the previous night to catch up to you.
The power going out, the candlelit dinner, the palm reading, the best fucking sex you’ve had in your life.
Was it a dream? Did that actually fucking happen?
But when you hear rustling from the other side of the bed, and feel an arm slip around your waist, pulling you back into his chest, reality punches you in the gut.
You stay still and wait for Dieter’s breath to fall back into a pattern of soft snoring, then slip out of bed and take a shower. With the power still out and the blizzard still raging outside, it takes a bit of guesswork to navigate the process in the dim bathroom, but you emerge successful.
When you tiptoe back into the bedroom, Dieter is still sleeping. You get dressed and go downstairs to make some coffee and think about your decisions.
For an hour or so, you pace around the kitchen island, ruminating over the things he said to you, the things you said to him, the way he made you feel, and the reality of your position in life versus his.
What felt good and right last night takes a different appearance in the harsh light of day. He could hurt you in so many ways if he wanted to. He could get you fired. He could be using you. He probably doesn’t actually care about you, he was just bored and horny and you were wrong this isn’t something, it’s nothing and you’re no one—
“Hey.”
You freeze and look up at Dieter, standing by the fridge in a soft chartreuse bathrobe.
“Hey,” you flash a nervous smile and wave, “How’d you sleep? Can I get you some coffee, anything to eat?”
He frowns, squinting at you, “Why’re you doing that?”
“Doing what?”
For a few seconds, he just stares at you, letting tension twist your guts to shreds, then he drops his gaze to the floor and nods, “Ok. Ok sure.”
Your whole body turns to cement. Cold and heavy and unmoving.
He walks over to the French press and pours a cup of coffee, “So… you’re having some regrets, and you’re gonna go back to this now? Miss hospitality?”
You swallow down a feeling like fire, avoiding eye contact as your vision blurs with tears, “I don’t know, I’m just… I’m just kind of freaking out, I guess?”
“What’re you freaking out about?”
“I guess it’s just that you were right,” you shrug, wiping at your eyes, “You know, with your palm reading. I get attached easily and, I don’t know… I don’t wanna scare you away because, umm… yeah.”
When he doesn’t say anything, you glance up at him, finding a warm smile on his face. Surprised at the expression, you sniffle, “What?”
He approaches you, still smiling, “Because you like me?”
Heat rises to your face. You hold his gaze, watching him lean back on the counter beside you, and you mumble, “Maybe.”
His smile grows wider, digging out dimples in his cheeks, “Yeah? Maybe a little bit?”
You shrug.
“And you think that’s gonna freak me out?”
Again, you shrug.
“Come here, sweetheart,” he murmurs, tugging on your hand. A fresh wave of tears floods your eyes when he wraps his arms around you, stroking your back as he assures you, “I like you too.”
“You do?”
“Cross my heart.”
“You’re not gonna get me fired and ruin my life?”
“What? No—I mean, I hope not. Unless your boss somehow finds out you got dicked down in the library—”
You laugh through the tears, “Oh my god, that would be a fucking nightmare.”
He chuckles, pulling back to look at you. You hook your hands behind his head, and the two of you stare at each other for a few seconds, humor fading from your faces, then you whisper, “This is… this is something, though, right? I’m not crazy?”
“I think it’s something,” his eyes flit around your face, and he shrugs, “You know, I’m a lot like you. I, umm… I tend to keep people at a distance, because I fall easy and hard and yeah… it’s scary. But, I don’t know. I have a good feeling about you.”
You nod, glancing down at his mouth, “Intuition?”
“Yeah,” he smirks, leaning in closer. His lips press against yours, giving you a slow, tender kiss that blossoms in your heart.
When you pull back, he tells you, “I do have one immediate problem, though.”
“What?”
“I don’t know how to ask you to make me breakfast without sounding like an asshole.”
“Like that’s ever stopped you before.”
“Wow. That’s it, I’m docking a star from my review.”
“Uh-huh,” you grin, running your fingers through his messy hair, “I cannot imagine what your review of this place would be.”
He takes a deep breath, then puts on an infomercial voice and says, “Four out of five stars. Gorgeous building, the food is amazing. Truly unique place. One of the employees let me eat her pussy for breakfast—”
You snort with laughter.
“—could not recommend enough. Deducted a star because she said I was an asshole.”
“Lovely, but you did not eat my pussy for breakfast. I’m sure I would’ve remembered that.”
“Not yet I didn’t,” he waggles his eyebrows at you, sneaking a few kisses as he herds you backwards onto the kitchen counter.
—
MONDAY, DECEMBER 25TH, 6:00PM
After breakfast—real breakfast, not oral sex in the kitchen, which was a treat in itself—Dieter went up to Suite 302 to finish the painting he wasn’t able to finish yesterday.
On paper, you had a very busy day. Your daily checklist gives you credit for every single item and some extras.
In reality, you cleaned up the messes made yesterday, which mostly involved washing dishes and following a wiki-how on getting cum out of velvet, and put together a charcuterie board for whenever dinner would happen.
With the remaining daylight hours, you laid on the chaise in the parlor, then the bed in Suite 203, and flipped through books of poems, and successfully resisted your many urges to disrupt Dieter’s work.
The snow stopped overnight, but the blizzard continued to howl all day. Strong gusts whirled the freshly-fallen snow through the air like some kid shaking up a snow globe. But when sunlight started to fade, so did the wind. Everything settled in its place, and the thick blanket of white finally became distinguishable from the nighttime sky.
Inside Blue Moon Manor, Dieter completed his painting, then crawled into bed with you. Apparently it had been just as difficult for him not to disrupt his own work.
He said he thought about you all day. He said he wanted to say fuck it and put the painting on pause to spend time with you, but felt he needed to finish it. He wanted to show it to you after dinner.
Naturally, your nerves have been buzzing since.
You insisted on an earlier dinner, blaming the lack of a lunchtime meal, but the look on his face when you made the argument made it clear he could see right through you. He didn’t mind, though. He helped you pour out glasses of wine to pair with the charcuterie board, then the two of you set everything up beside the fireplace in the parlor and fucking demolished it.
Afterwards, you washed the dishes while he smoked pot by the window. You didn’t even care if your boss smelled it anymore. It seemed trivial.
As Dieter tucks away his onie-box in his pocket, you recount the thought to him. He hops down off the counter and scoffs, “I mean really, what would he do? Fire you?”
“I don’t think he even can. There are three people that work here, and I am by far the most reliable.”
“I believe it,” he takes your hand, leading you from the kitchen to the dining room, “Tell you what, if my smoking gets you fired, you get to stay here with me and make his life hell.”
You laugh at this, shaking your head, “Yeah, ok.”
He turns around, “What, you don’t believe me?”
“No, I believe you. I just think it’s the kind of bet someone knows they’ll win.”
“And winning in this case would be, what? You keep working this dead-end job while I drive myself crazy thinking about you?”
“Hey—it’s a good job,” you release his hand and cross your arms in front of your body.
“No, that’s not—” he sighs, glancing around as he shifts his weight from side-to-side, “It’s a fine job, I just mean… I don’t know what I mean. I mean I wouldn’t mind it, you staying with me. That’s all.”
Searching his face, you deadpan, “That’s so romantic.”
“God, I can’t wait for you to see this,” he chuckles, then takes your hand and pulls you along, “Come on.”
You follow him through the dining room into the dark hallway, where you pause to turn on your headlamps, then climb the service stairs to the third floor, coming to a stop in front of Suite 302.
“Alright, lights out,” he clicks the off button on both your headlamps and leads you through the doorway, then the pitch black room.
“Ok, it’s probably gonna look weird in the lighting, but,” he turns your headlamps on, and you gasp.
The canvas shows a sunroom with windows of blinding white light. Suite 203. And there you are, staring out the window, shadows falling over your face.
“Dieter—”
From behind you, he slips his hands around your waist and kisses your cheek, then tells you, “I was taking pictures, you know, on the tour you gave me. And… I don’t know, I saw you there and took a picture because you just looked so…”
“Sad? Lonely?”
“Kind of. More like a, uhh… a palpable kind of longing. Sorrow and isolation. Like you’re looking for something or someone, but you don’t know what.”
You reach back and cup his cheek, brushing your thumb against his patchy facial hair.
“I wanted to capture that because it is… exactly how I’ve been feeling for years. Just so fucking lost and alone.”
Butterflies flutter around in your stomach, and you whisper, “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”
“Neither do you,” he murmurs, “Better yet, people all over the country will see you and know they’re not alone, either.”
You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, your light bouncing around the canvas, then say, “It’s fucking beautiful, Dieter. What’s it called?”
“Once in a Blue Moon.”
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#dieter bravo#pedro pascal character fanfic#pedro pascal fanfiction#dieter bravo fic#dieter bravo smut#dieter bravo fanfiction#dieter bravo fluff#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo x you#dieter bravo x f!reader
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Scandal
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader
Prompt: Forced Proximity + “You’re going to get us arrested” / “I always wanted to see you in handcuffs.”
Summary: You get locked in a closet with Dieter at the Oscars
Warnings: semi public smut; forced proximity; reader has hair that can have bobby pins in it, is able bodied, is wearing a dress, and is an actress; the barest hint of enemies to lovers, but not really. WC: 1.6k
A/N: Written for a Dieter Bravo Brainrot Server event. Thanks to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin, @atinylittlepain, and @pr0ximamidnight for reading it for me <3
Dieter Bravo Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi
You just need to take a breather, that’s all. The Oscars can be a lot for an actress with social anxiety – there’s a million directors, former costars, and producers all vying for a conversation with you, not to mention the cameras catching you from every angle. And to make matters worse, they’ve allowed paparazzi into the lobby this year.
There’s a coat closet just down this hallway, if you can just remember which door it is. You walk down the ornate hallway and find a door cracked open just slightly, the smell of weed emanating from the gap. You push the door open and step in, closing it tightly behind you. And you should have known from the smell alone who you’d find on the other side.
None other than Dieter Bravo.
“Shouldn’t have closed the door.”
“And you shouldn’t be smoking in here. You’re stinking up everyone’s coats.”
“No, you really shouldn’t have closed the door. We’re locked in now.”
“What?” Your voice hits a high frequency. You do not want to be locked in a closet with this particular former costar. You try the door anyway and find that he’s telling the truth.
“I told you.”
“Fuck, Dieter. You could have warned me!”
He chooses not to respond, taking another hit of his joint instead. He holds his hand out in offering, but you shake your head. Being high and trapped sounds like a recipe for paranoid disaster.
You slump to the floor, pouting, but grateful they gave you a dress you can actually move around in this year. Dieter sits cross legged across the closet from you. There are coats lining either side of the walls.
His usually fluffy curls are slicked back and styled to perfection. His nasty green bathrobe and pajama pants have been replaced by a billowing white shirt and fitted black pants. He’s even wearing real shoes. He looks… good. And he’s surprisingly clear eyed for someone smoking an entire joint.
“You look nice,” Dieter comments. You look down at your dress – the color was chosen specifically to contrast well with your skin tone. The cut shows just enough bust and highlights your body shape. It’s a good dress.
“Thanks, Dee. I was just thinking the same about you.”
“Oh were you now?”
You roll your eyes. “Not like that, Dieter. You just clean up nice, is all.”
“I’m not um…” he trails off.
“Not on coke anymore? I can tell.”
You and Dieter had worked on a project together a couple years ago. It was in the height of his coke addiction and working with him had been an absolute nightmare. He’d show up for work absolutely out of his mind, having screaming matches with the director, the producers, you. And that was if he showed up at all. The project had never even made it to production, leaving you worried your career was ruined. You fucking hated Dieter Bravo.
But you could never deny how adorable he is.
“Yeah. Cleaned up. Went to rehab. The whole shebang.”
“That’s good, Dee. Really.”
You let your head fall back against the door, exposing the line of your throat to possibly the world's horniest man.
“You look really good in that dress.”
“I’m not going to have sex with you.”
You peek an eye open and see Dieter is already halfway across the floor, crawling to you on his hands and knees. He’s pouting at you.
“What else do we have to do right now?”
You sigh and try the door one more time for good measure, reaching up behind you and tugging on the door handle. Still locked tight. Dieter grins and crawls even closer, settling between your thighs. He reaches out and strokes his thumb across your cheek. You can’t help but lean into it.
“Always thought you were so beautiful.”
“Sure, Dee,” you scoff
“I did. I do. Can I kiss you?”
“Sure, Dee,” you whisper breathlessly.
He presses his lips to yours gently at first. His lips are soft and plush against yours and you can’t help but deepen the kiss. You open your mouth and his tongue meets yours, hot and wet. Arousal sweeps through you and you bury your hands in his gorgeous curls, holding him against you. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his lap. You gasp, causing the kiss to break as your core comes into contact with the hard line of his cock in his trousers.
“So fucking beautiful,” Dieter mutters into your throat, pressing kisses down into your cleavage.
He lays you flat on the floor and scoots back, settling on his belly in between your thighs and rucking your dress up to your hips.
“Dieter, you’re going to get us arrested for public indecency.”
“First of all, I’ve always wanted to see you in handcuffs,” he presses a kiss to your left thigh. “And secondly, I don’t see anyone here to catch us,” he kisses your right thigh, higher up this time.
He hooks his thumb in the gusset of your panties, stroking your already soaked folds. You moan as quietly as you can.
“So wet for me, already.”
You groan as he pulls your panties to the side and buries his face in your cunt. There’s no build up, he eats you like he’s ravenous, like he hasn’t eaten in days. His curved nose grinds into your clit as he laps at your hole. His tongue plunges inside you over and over and you can already feel your core tightening. He slips two fingers in to replace his tongue, drawing circles on your clit with the point of it now. You cry out, much louder than you mean to be, than you need to be. His left hand comes up to cover your mouth, his face now hovering above yours as he curls his fingers perfectly inside you.
“Quiet now, love. Wouldn’t want to get arrested for public indecency.”
The bastard. He thrusts his fingers into you a few more times and you’re coming all over his hand. You bite down on his palm to keep from screaming. He draws his fingers out of you slowly and rights your panties for you. He sucks your come off his fingers like it’s cake batter, letting out a little moan of his own at the taste.
The door handle jiggles and you both freeze. Just as the lock turns, Dieter grabs you and rolls you both under the lowest level of coats on the side of the closet. You’re on top of him, breathing heavily into his neck. Someone comes in, grabs their coat, and leaves the room, pulling the door closed behind them.
Dieter goes to roll you both back out but you stop him. You press a kiss to his very exposed throat.
“I love this shirt. Very Mr. Darcy.”
“It is romantic isn’t it?”
You drag your lips down his throat to his chest, pressing a kiss to the lowest bit of exposed skin. Your hands find the clasp on his fancy black pants, but you can’t quite get them open.
“The one time you don’t wear easy access pants…”
“Here, let me.”
You both fumble for a moment before the clasp finally comes open and his cock springs out.
“No underwear?”
“The lines were showing too bad.”
“Mmhmm,” you quirk an eyebrow at him.
You wrap his cock in your hand. It’s long, curved a little, and not terribly thick.
“Pretty,” you mutter before taking the tip in your mouth. He gasps as you suck him down. You swirl your tongue around his head, then flatten it out and let him fill your mouth. He hits the back of your throat and you suppress a cough, pushing him further down. His hands flutter into your hair as you start bobbing your head, sucking him down over and over again. He doesn’t push or pull you, simply rests his hands on the back of your head.
You pull off him and lick a stripe up the seam of his balls as you stroke his cock. You suck one into your mouth, rolling it gently on your tongue, then switch to the other.
“I’m gonna–”
You take his cock down your throat again, wanting to swallow his cum. You suck hard on the tip and then drop your lips down to the base as he comes in your mouth. His hips stutter beneath you and he groans.
You let his softening cock fall out of your mouth and press a kiss to his hip bone. He strokes the back of your head reverently.
“We should get cleaned up,” you whisper, your voice rough.
Dieter sighs, but helps you get back to your feet. You take in his rumpled appearance and know you can’t look much better. His chest is covered in lipstick, as is his face. His hair is an absolute mess. His outfit is askew and wrinkled to hell.
You help him fix his outfit, rub the lipstick off his skin, and finger comb his hair back into some semblance of a style. He pulls bobby pins out of your hair and stows them in his pockets, letting your hair down from the hours of work the stylist did. He smooths out your dress as best as he can.
“We look…”
“Like we just fucked on the floor of a closet?”
“Yeah.”
He takes a bobby pin from his pocket and picks the lock on the door.
“You could have done that the whole time?”
Dieter doesn’t answer. He stands and takes your hand in his and pulls the door open. You’re immediately inundated with camera flashes. The paparazzi have found you. Your agent is going to kill you.
“I fucking hate you,” you halfheartedly fuss at Dieter. This scandal will be fun to deal with...
#Dieter Bravo#Dieter Bravo fics#Dieter Bravo fanfiction#Dieter Bravo x reader#Dieter Bravo x you#The Bubble fanfiction#pedro pascal#pedro pascal character fanfiction#ppcu fanfiction#pedro pascal fanfiction#dieter bravo x f!reader
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Devotion - A Dieter Bravo x Curvy/Fuller body F!Reader One Shot
Written as part of my B O D I E S Series 🤎
BODIES MASTERLIST
Summary: Whilst on vacation with your partner Dieter Bravo, you get snapped in your bikini by paparazzi, causing you to question and evaluate your body shape when others start to pick it apart scathingly. Dieter however, shows you that you're perfect just as you are.
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Curvy/Fuller body F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader in terms of ethnicity. Reader has a fuller, curvier body type. Dieter is a little bigger himself in this fic too, it comes with natural ageing.)
Word Count: 8.4k
Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."
Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.
Triggers & warnings: Established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/oral F receiving/Dieter worships your body/angst/self-loathing/tiniest mention of being sick after eating food, but it's not an eating disorder/people being cruel jerks online/comparison of bodies/Dieter just Dietering/we love all types of bodies in this house and won't tolerate any body shaming of any kind.
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.
I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.
Author’s Note: It's important to me that all types of readers are represented in my work, therefore this collection of stories is written for readers with REAL bodies. However, anyone can enjoy them. Whilst this story may not specifically represent your own personal journey, it is my hope that it resonates and offers comfort and enjoyment. The body type mentioned in this story is not 'one size fits all' - everyone's journey is personal and unique, and I have undertaken as much research as I can to write accurately and respectfully. 🤎
MAIN MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST
Enjoy! 🖤
Nestled along the powdery white sands of Bora Bora's coastline, a sanctuary in an exquisite overwater villa perches atop stilts above the glistening lagoon, a retreat of luxury and tranquillity.
A private deck is greeted by sweeping views of the turquoise waters that stretch as far as the eye can see. A staircase leads down to the tranquil sea below, where one can choose to swim, snorkel, or simply float in the heady bliss of the ocean.
Entering the villa through glass-panelled doors, an atmosphere of understated elegance greets the inhabitant. The interior is adorned with natural materials, from polished hardwood floors to intricately woven rattan furnishings, creating a seamless blend of modern comfort and traditional island charm.
The bedroom, with its plush queen-size bed adorned with crisp white linens, offers a haven of serenity and comfort. A canopy draped overhead adds a touch of romance, while sliding glass doors open onto a private balcony, where champagne can be sipped under the twinkling stars.
The bathroom is a sanctuary of indulgence, featuring a deep-soaking jacuzzi tub overlooking the lagoon, where one can luxuriate in a bubble bath while watching the sunset paint the sky in shades of pink and gold.
And it’s here, in the giant whirlpool tub, where Dieter Bravo finds himself, biting into the skin of your shoulder as he fucks into you from behind.
His panting growls fill your ears as he fills you deep, fingers moulding into the soft curves of your hips as he pulls you back onto him with each thrust.
“Fuck, baby!” He hollers, as your cunt clenches around him, squealing as you come and gripping on the sides of the slippery tub for leverage.
You’re pretty sure the other guests can probably hear you in their own water villas, but you don’t care. Instead you twist in the water seeking his plush mouth as his tongue slips between your lips.
“Do that again, come on my cock.” Dieter husks, teeth biting onto your bottom lip.
He thrusts harder, wheezing at the back of his throat as bubbles and water spill over the sides of the tub. You scream louder; his awed laughter cajoling as you come again, and he soon busts a nut of his own, hollering loudly himself as he fills you up.
"Yeaaaah! Oh fuck, yeah!" He grunts, sweaty forehead lolling against yours and smiling with a blissed out face.
He lights a post-coital blunt and smirks at you as he stretches out naked in the giant bed; hair a damp, ruffled mess and a puffed out pot belly that he strokes absentmindedly, a half hour or so later. He's gloriously naked and completely unabashed about it.
In fact, he hasn't put any clothes on since being here with you; the both for you encased away inside your private villa where you can rusticate like Adam and Eve.
“I hate my feet. They look like weird hands.” He says slowly, as he wiggles his bare toes and eyes the chubby, little pinkies suspiciously.
"You have cute feet." You giggle.
"No. Yours are cute. Mine are... Hobbit feet. Look."
He nods down to his feet and you laugh. "They are a little bit. Which Hobbit are you?"
"Samwise, d'uh." He says, toking deeply.
"You look more like a Pippin to me," you grin, as you flop down beside him on the bed.
Smirking, Dieter brings his large palm down on your bare ass as you lay on your front.
He groans in delight at the playful slap rippling down your shapely thighs. The damp, sticky remains of multiple orgasms on the sheets feel gluey against your skin in patches.
“Mmm,” he grunts as you lean up to kiss him, tasting herbs and smoke around his teeth. “Hey baby,” he smiles dreamily at you with pink, twinkly eyes.
"Hey yourself," you smile, as you kiss him some more.
This is the most relaxed you’ve seen him in a while, having a sixth sense for when living in La La Land gets a bit much for him.
He gets this twitchy, deer-in-headlights look about him and starts saying things like I’ve had a headache for days, I think it’s a brain tumour, or that piece of broccoli is watching me as you regard him staring at it as he moves about the room, and launching into a paranoid diatribe when he’s mixed too many substances together and doesn’t know which way is up.
That’s when you know it’s time for a time out. Whisking him away to a private sanctuary where he can detox, kinda, and eat some damn broccoli without trying to fight and chokeslam it.
Where he can indulge in some freaky sex with you, and the cute waiter who brought him a double, when he only asked for a single, and the next thing his cock is in his mouth and your fingers are in his ass as the three of you paint the room in bodily fluids.
It’s a much needed retreat for you both, adopting the mutually agreed upon rule of no phones or internet as you truly switch off and lock your devices away in the room safe, as you spend time fawning over the intimate fronds of your deepening relationship with A-lister Dieter Bravo.
Once a washed up has-been floundering in the gross LA gutter, now a three-time Emmy winner and on his way to the Oscars. Yet despite the three-sixty turn around in his career through some clever reshuffling of his publicists and agents, he still retains that firecracker ability to go off the rails on occasion, despite cleaning up his act somewhat.
You’ve been credited as the main reason for this transformation, a positive impact; a grounding force in an otherwise chaotic timebomb. The rarely seen lover, opting out of the spotlight through your own choice, and Dieter’s support of it.
Although he’s name dropped you in a few interviews when asked about his infectious happiness, snapped numerous selfies of you both loved up and nuzzling on his Instagram, and on occasion you’ll hang off his arm at an event in a dress that costs more than your first mortgage.
But for the most part, you do your own thing, happy to let him do his, and come back to the home you’ve both been curating together.
You met just like in a trashy Hallmark romance, standing in line to get a green juice in a trendy cafe in downtown LA, and it was love at first wow, as he swooned at you over the tip of his Raybans and grinned crookedly at you, gold earring sparkling like those mischievous eyes.
You’ve been hooked on this lewd rapscallion, with a heart of gold, ever since.
You had no idea who he was or what he did, and for a while, he kept it a secret; fearing that if you knew about his fame and bawdy past shenanigans, you’d disappear in a puff of judgemental smoke.
But you didn’t, instead supporting him and drawing a line between the fame and the reality, and became an anchor when he needed one to stop him floating too far adrift.
Dieter has never said the L word before, but when he did with you, around a mouthful of grilled cheese as you both sat in the dark watching Humphrey Bogart movies, (often Sabrina - it's his favourite) something told you this fuzzy-haired doof meant it.
He can’t keep his hands off you, grabbing and pawing at your voluptuous curves. Burying his face in your breasts that suffocate him, and an ass that won’t quit when he fucks it and watches it ripple.
He’s always been fantastically open about how much he loves your body.
Your weight fluctuates at the best of times, growing when you’re comfy, and you’ve never felt more comfortable than with Dieter. He paints you when you’re asleep, waking to find another portrait of flesh coloured brush strokes on another canvas that’s added to the collection of worship pieces he creates.
Anyone would think he was obsessed with you, but you don’t mind the attention he lavishes, especially when he pours paint over your breasts and gets you to smoosh them into the canvas board whilst he fucks you from behind.
He’s insatiable for you, and for once you feel like you can be yourself around him, truly. Comfortable to be naked and bare with him in your skin.
You’ve spent years with your thoughts drifting inward, grappling with the complexities of your body. A regular love-hate relationship, which leans more towards the hate more often than not.
It’s no secret that you’re larger and more curvaceous than the slender figures typically celebrated by society, and the usual, skinny types that had draped off of Dieter’s arm in the past.
Your body, adorned with generous amounts of curves, dimples and soft contours, bear the marks of a life well-lived and enjoying the over-indulgence of it at times.
But sometimes, you feel a pang of insecurity flood through you; your eyes drawn to the lithe forms that grace the glossy pages of fashion magazines.
Feeling itchy inside your epidermis at the actors that flock around you both at the after parties in their tight dresses that look like a second skin, and the endless scroll of social media feeds perpetuating the allusion, that to be beautiful, you must be thin.
You feel like the “fat woman” when surrounded by slender, flat-tummied make-up artists and stylists who flood your home when Dieter has an event to prepare for. In a world that seems to worship perfection, you can't help but wonder if your own body falls short of the unattainable ideal at times.
But Dieter doesn’t see it that way.
He's continuously lavishing you with affection and love, and unable to keep his big hands off you from day one. You’ve been with him long enough now to know he’s serious about you, respectful of your choices to remain out of the spotlight and trusting that you’re not just a novelty to him.
He’s changed because of you; cleaned himself up and become a better man, and that only imbues the sense of worship he gives to you daily.
As you gaze into Dieter's glassy eyes, you find yourself bathed in a warmth that transcends the superficial constraints of beauty standards. In his unwavering stare you see not judgement, but genuine admiration - a reflection of the love and acceptance that he has for you, curves and all.
He makes you feel invincible when he looks at you like this. But sometimes, it's hard not to let the insecurities seep in.
This vacation has been relaxing, enjoying one another in the privacy of the water villa, but Dieter’s attention span can only survive in enclosed walls for so long, and soon he’s itching to get out and explore.
He suggests the nearby market for lunch and the beach, and you agree, pulling on a suitable dress over your bikini, and rolling up his yoga mat to shove into your beach bag.
You stroll hand-in-hand through the market, packed with tourists and locals. He stops at stalls to admire handmade crafts through his giant, dark Raybans, and purchases cheap beaded bracelets that he adds to the collection on his wrist, and rambles at you in great detail about the craftsmanship of them.
You stop for refreshing guava and pineapple smoothies from stall vendors, pose for selfies by a tropical flower bush as he picks one and places it behind your ear, and after a mouthwatering shellfish lunch, you end the afternoon lazing on the beach together.
He gets a little handsy when he rubs sun lotion onto your skin, fingers slipping under your bikini top discreetly to tug at your puffy nipples as he sucks the oily skin on your neck.
"D..." You whine, as he pulls them in his between his fingers and whispers in your ear how fucking hot you are. You shoo him away, grinning, as he heads into the water for a swim, and you lay back to bake in the sun with your book.
You lick your lips a little while later as he emerges from the water; pale lilac swim shorts clinging to his thick thighs, unruly greying fluff slicked back. Sea water drips from his chin down his chest, that puffs out into a little swollen tummy of his own with a slot machine belly button. Dark hairs disappear into his shorts as he pulls them up, strolling out of the waves.
Dieter’s ageing in the most beautiful way possible, broad too in every sense of the word as the sun blesses him with a gorgeous bronze tan, and he catches you staring like a drooling chimp as he heads back towards you.
He flashes you those enigmatic teeth as he approaches, sand clumped around his ankles.
“See something you like?” He grunts, as he bends down to kiss you, hooked nose all wet and dripping salt water onto your lips.
“Maybe,” you say, his crotch almost in your face as he stands.
He's already pitching a tent in them as he smiles down at you with a razor-like grin.
“Did you know a sea cucumber ejects its intestines out in self-defense? It looks like a sea dick squirting all over the place. And there's lots of it, too.”
You laugh. “Did you see a sea cucumber in the water just now?”
“No. I just remembered seeing it on Nat Geo. Fascinating.”
“You’re so random, D.” You titter, dropping your book down.
"You love it." He says, wiping at his face with the towel.
"I do."
“You know-" he sits behind you on the lounger and pulls you back against his wet chest, “-there’s nothing stopping us from fucking right here. I could easily slip my cock into you right now.”
“D, the beach is full of people.” But you groan at the thought of it.
“Yeah, but the danger, the anticipation. It’d be hot, no?” He whispers, fingers dipping into the waistband of your bikini bottoms. “Just fucking you in front of all these people and they’d never know. You'd have to be really quiet, baby...”
“Dieter!” You hiss, bringing your legs up to stop him going any further.
“Alright,” he chuckles in your ear, running his fuzzy chin against your face.
"Is that a sea cucumber in your shorts or are you just pleased to see me?" You remark at the hard bulge poking at your lower back.
Dieter chuckles, all waspy inside your ear. “I'm still hungry. Let’s go back to the villa and you can sit on my face for a while.”
The vacation comes to an end after another week of fucking all over the water villa, and you both find yourselves on the flight back to civilisation, somewhat more exhausted than when you'd set off.
You turn on your mobile when taxiing towards the terminal, back on American soil, and listen to the pings as your phone catches up with life.
You scroll through emails as Dieter quietly snores beside you, mouth open and catching flies.
Smirking, you scroll through social media and stop, immediately feeling sick when you open a message from your friend titled have you seen this?
There’s a screenshot of you on the beach in your bikini from a pap site, something that doesn't surprise you much at all - it’s bound to happen now and again when you’re spotted with Dieter, despite booking somewhere off radar.
Renegade photos of the two of you end up on the socials all the time, and you pay them no mind, choosing to abstain from looking them up.
But what you don’t expect to see is the vitriol in the comments underneath the picture, from none other than Dieter’s fans.
You read the words fat and beached whale and pity fuck, standing out like they’re flashing red neon at you.
Swallowing as your throat runs dry, it gets worse the further you scroll. They make fun of your body, make remarks about your face, your hair, sense of fashion, even your ankles of all things.
Who is offended by someone’s fucking ankles, for Christ’s sake?
Every part of you is pulled apart scathingly in deep conversations that go on and on, blurring out the compliments that say you’re a cute couple by the ones that say things like she carries it well.
Carries what well?
You’re pulled in, instantly scrolling to Dieter's own Instagram page and clicking on the most recent picture he took of you both as you watched the sunset on your last night in Bora Bora.
You have the flower in your hair that he picked and put behind your ear, and told you how gorgeous you were as he snapped the selfie, his lips pressing into your cheek. Under the photo he wrote the caption my heart.
Comparing how his belly in his swim shorts looks gorgeous and sexy and how complete strangers want to lick it, whereas your tummy in your bikini is branded hideous and disgusting.
It’s liked by over five million people, and you grimace when you realise there are also thousands of comments talking about your looks there too.
How your shoulders are much broader than his, your thighs the size of tree trunks. How you must crush him when you fuck.
Who's the whale next to Dieter?
They speculate that you’re pregnant. Some of them are calling you a cunt or a bitch because you’re carrying his fictitious baby.
The unjustified hate just keeps coming and coming.
Can't believe he's with someone so fat.
She’s so gross.
She’s disgusting.
He's fucking her for a joke.
Dude must be high AF to fuck that each night.
I've seen glory holes better looking than her face.
He deserves better.
It’s a staged relationship. No way he’d look twice at her.
You thought you looked pretty in your dress. You were wrong, babe.
You feel like you’re going to throw up and nudge him awake.
“D,” you groan.
“Mm,” he mutters.
“Dieter! Wake up!”
“Wha-what?” He jolts as he comes to, wiping his mouth free of drool. “Have we landed? Oh, we're here. What time is it? Fuck, my neck. I think I've dislocated my shoulder sleeping in this damn seat. Why'd you let me sleep for so long?”
His bleary eyes look around the cabin as he sits upright in his seat with wild, fuzzy hair. He turns to you and baulks.
“Babe, what’s wrong?” He sees you crying silently into your hands. “Hey, what happened?” He reaches for your hands, but instead you toss the phone at him.
Confused, he takes it and smiles at the selfie of you both together. “What, you don’t like it? I think you look really gor-”
“Read the comments,” you all but choke out to him.
As he scrolls through the comments, his jaw clenches in anger; his grip on the phone tightening with each cruel word. You see his nostrils flare as he breathes in and clicks the phone screen off.
“Babe,” he shakes his head. “Fuck that shit, man. Ignore it. Bitches be cray and all.”
“That’s easy for you to say, they fucking love you!” You shake your head and scramble up past him, heading for the door as the other passengers begin to disembark.
"I'll get the luggage then..." He huffs to himself.
Despite Dieter’s reassurances, the words have already taken root in your mind, poisoning your thoughts with doubt and reuniting you with that old, reliable friend, self-loathing.
In the days that follow, you find yourself sinking deeper and deeper into a depressive spiral, unable to escape the relentless barrage of negativity that haunts your every waking moment.
It consumes you. Strangers, people you’ve never met and don’t know or what they look like, get into your head. You suddenly realise the power that words have.
They have jagged edges that cut into your skin and leave you bleeding, dying.
They cause your head to ache profusely and your nose to become blocked, and your eyes to itch from crying so much. You’re suddenly paranoid, of everything, everyone that looks at you. Second guessing all the time, wondering what they think when they look you over.
You withdraw from the world, retreating into the darkness of your own mind, where the echoes of cruel words reverberate back and forth like a never-ending chorus of condemnation.
No amount of love or support from Dieter can penetrate the thick fog of despair that envelopes you, leaving you feeling utterly alone and miserable.
You cancel pre-planned events, leaving Dieter to go alone, whilst you curl up under the duvet and don’t surface for days, and you realise that ignorance really was bliss.
You find yourself standing in front of the mirror naked when you finally brave yourself to have a shower, and are disgusted at what you see.
Highlighted before the glass, your reflection is a cruel mockery of the beauty you once believed you possessed. The soft glow of the vanity lights illuminate every curve and contour of your body, each line a stark reminder of your perceived inadequacy.
Your gaze lingers on your reflection, tracing the lumpy ridges of your hips and the soft swell of your hanging stomach, the fullness of your thighs and the rounded shape of your ass, with a mixture of disdain and disgust.
You grab handfuls of your flesh, rolling it in your grip, shaking your head as your eyes fill with water.
Looking away, you cover yourself up with baggy clothes that aren’t flattering. You put on Dieter's green robe over the top and belt it up and climb back into bed, sobbing.
How can he possibly find me attractive? Is he part of it? Am I really just a pity fuck?
The invasive thoughts begin to chip away at the solid foundations you thought you had. Crumbling them into doubt and paranoia.
Their words haunt you, spin around your eyesight for days until you're back torturing yourself and scrolling back through them all. You shut everything out except their words - you just exist in this tormented space in the bed - refusing to entertain anyone, including Dieter - with your phone doom scrolling, and nothing but self-loathing and misery.
It lasts on a repetitive cycle for days.
You try not to eat, taking to self-punishment and abstinance, but then that only makes it worse because you inevitably get hungry and order take-out. Far too much take-out.
And then once you've eaten it all, a small comfort that is fleeting, you force yourself sick, feeling guilty and even more wretched for enjoying the food that you love.
Until Dieter’s had enough of it all.
He throws everyone out of the house on the eve before Oscar’s night, refusing to partake in any more fittings whilst he knows you’re upstairs hiding from him and hurting.
Forehead pulling into tight wrinkles with guilt, Dieter stares at the dress the stylist has brought over that he knows you’ll look incredible in.
You were so excited when you first tried it on, and now he can’t help but feel as though he’s had some part in this; coaxing you to try and be someone you’re not just for the sake of the glitz and solid bronze statues plated in 24 karat gold.
But he can't help it, he wants to share this side of him with you. Wants you to be proud of him and to show you off, because you make him so equivocally happy. And for a long time, Dieter wasn't happy. Just floundering and trying to shape himself so he could fit into their moulds too.
He said he'd keep you separate from his world if that's what you wanted, and for the most part you did, and now he wonders if it's because of this - this pressure that society puts on people in the spotlight to maintain perfection.
And he can't help but wonder if he's put that pressure on you too in some ways.
It’s like cleaning out wounds with dirty fingers, festering and making it worse the longer you're hurting and allowing them to hurt you. And now, he trudges up the stairs, woolly socks making static on the carpet, with the dress dangling from the hanger over his broad shoulder.
He misses you. Misses your smile, your smell, your warmth. Your body wrapped around his. It's not fun watching movies by himself, sleeping in one of the spare bedrooms without you.
He's given you space, but he needs you. Needs you to see how fucking beautiful you are to him. And needs you to know he's not giving up on you, not now and not ever.
“I’m not going.” You grumble with a huff.
Knuckles rap on the bedroom door and push it open gently when you grunt at him to go away.
You watch him, with puffy eyes, as he hangs the dress bag over the closet door.
You shake your head vehemently.
“You don't have to. But... you promised me.” Dieter says, as he kicks at the foot of the bed gently.
His zig-zag sweater is knitted and bobbly on the arms when he crosses them over his chest. Triad tattoos inked into his skin peep out at you under rolled up sleeves.
“You wanna see it?” He offers. "Might make you feel good to try it on again?"
“No. I’m not wearing it. I’m not going and that’s that.”
Dieter kneels on the bed slowly crawling up towards you. “It’s my night, baby, and I want you there by my side.”
You sigh. “I can’t,” you whimper, trying not to look at him.
“Yes, you can. You know you can.”
Tears fall from your eyes making warm tracks on your cheeks.
“No, I don’t.” You say, sniffing.
“I love you.” Dieter says, reaching your face and sitting over your thighs.
His thumbs catch the tears and he kisses your face. “I fucking love you. You’re so beautiful and sexy. God, you're so fucking sexy. You make me so hard.”
He takes your hand and puts it over his cock that’s indeed rock solid in his shorts.
“Yes you do, see? Even when you're crying and wearing my shitty gown. You’ve always been so fucking sexy to me.”
A renegade smile tries to break free at the corner of your lips as he starts smashing down your walls with a sledgehammer. And his aim is pretty on point.
"When was the last time you washed this? It stinks," you say, looking down at the stained softness of his gown draped over you. You don't even want to know the origin of some of them.
“That’s it, there you are.” He encourages.
“You really think I’m sexy?” You whimper. “All this?” You say, confused as you point to your stomach.
“I love your body, babe. Every. Inch. Of. It.” He punctuates each word with a kiss over your face; on your nose, your forehead, your chin.
“Why? You could have anyone...”
“I don’t want anyone. I want you. I've always wanted you.”
“Why?”
“Because I fell in love with you. Hook. Line. And fucking sinker.”
“Dieter-” You choke and snivel.
He wraps you up in his arms. “Let me show you, baby.”
He unbelts his gown that you’re wearing, leaning forward to kiss your lips gently. Your fingers tangle in his hair, silky greying fluff, as he swirls his tongue around inside your mouth.
"You taste like flaming hot Cheetos." You smirk around his lips.
"I may have eaten three king-size bags. My ass and the toilet will hate me later."
"Is that all you've eaten?"
"Well, yeah. That and microwave oven pizzas... I'm kinda floundering without you. It really is selfish of you to not come downstairs and cook for me. Baby, I'm wasting away." He pats his little belly for emphasis.
You laugh, a deep and haughty chuckle, and he smiles at that.
"You're such a doof."
"Yeah, but I'm your doof." Dieter says as he kisses you, sighing into your mouth as his shoulders sag.
He pulls away and runs his thumb over your lips.
“I love your lips,” he says, licking over them and nipping them between his teeth. “Mmm, yeah. Fuck. Love it when they wrap around my cock too,” he hums.
You chuckle through wet eyes. “Yeah?”
“Yeah baby, I love how you look when you suck my cock. So fucking hot.”
“How do I look?”
“Like a fucking Goddess!” He chirps enthusiastically, and you can see that he really means it. "Better than Aphrodite, Dionysus... that-that pale chick riding in the clam-"
"Venus." You hiccup through a smile.
"Yeah. They haven't got shit on you, babe."
"Dieter," you stutter as he nuzzles into your face. He slathers wet kisses down your neck as you groan.
“I love these tits… fuck,” he groans as he squeezes them in his hands, sucking on the nipples as he pushes your t-shirt up.
“Mmm, D…” you whine as he flicks his tongue back and forth over them, until they become hardened pebbles in his mouth making you shudder and clench.
"Fucking perfect tits." He grunts. He kisses and licks down the deep valley of your breasts, smooching over your sternum.
“I love this belly,” Dieter says, with more kissing, licking and stopping to blow a loud raspberry into your belly button.
You cackle as he strokes and tickles your hips.
“Dieter!” You howl as he tickles harder.
“See, stunning!” He laughs, watching you cackle and squirm as you try to bat him off.
“Stop it!” You howl. "I'm gonna pee!"
“I love these little lines here,” he says, as he runs his tongue over the crinkled stretch marks around your lower tummy.
He kisses further down into the swell of your thighs, pulling your leggings down as he goes, revealing more skin for him to lavish.
"I love this freckle right here, and this one here, and this little guy over here… But this one’s my favourite, right here. Hi cutie,” he smiles as he kisses it.
You giggle like an idiot as he kisses over each freckle, mole and dimple in and around your thighs.
“And I fucking love this pussy,” Dieter groans as he runs his tongue up the slit of you over your panties.
You watch as he hooks his fingers into the elastic and pulls them down, with darkening eyes smouldering up at you from between your legs.
His tongue runs on the skin outside your pussy lips, so close to your clit. He trails a hot, wet lap around and leaves you panting, begging. “Please, please…”
"What do you want, baby? You want me to kiss it?" He smirks as you nod, head all slack and mesmerised.
He spreads your lips and licks his tongue slowly up your slit, making you shudder as he swirls it around the bump of your buzzing nub.
“Fuck,” Dieter groans, reaching down to adjust himself. “I could just fucking come from eating you out,” his voice is muffled by doing just that.
Your head keens back into the pillows and you groan. Your fingers rummage inside his hair, twisting and pulling, as he laps you up.
He doesn’t shy away, nestling himself between your thighs so he can lavish you with deserved attention as he kisses all over your pussy.
Running his adept and hungry tongue back and forth over your clit before sucking it into his mouth and making those thighs quake and jerk around his face.
“D… Let me touch you.” You whine.
“There'll be plenty of time for that later, right now I’m happy just here. Right here..." He licks again, a long fat stripe up your seam, and you pant. "I want you to come all over my face, beautiful.” Dieter urges, rutting his hips into the mattress.
As the tension mounts within, you can feel every nerve in your body standing on edge, like a tightly coiled spring ready to burst. And then, in a moment of pure abandon, it happens. A wave of pleasure crashing over you; a surge of unfurling sensations that seem to consume you whole as you tumble through them.
He rubs over your clit, tickling it with the increasing pressure and speed from the pad of his thumb as he slips his tongue inside your hole and drinks you down. He hums around you, licking and sucking as he entices your body to just bend to his mouth.
And you do.
"Dieter! Fuck!"
Like a firework exploding in the night sky, a burst of light and colour leaves you breathless and exhilarated as he continues to lick and suck you through your orgasm.
You're a writing mess, groaning as you fill his mouth with more of your slick and clenching around his tongue as he fucks your contracting hole with it. As your body convulses with the force of your release, your thighs crushing further against his head, you feel a profound sense of relief wash over you, like a swampy weight lifting from your shoulders.
Bathed in a moment of pure ecstasy amongst the dread that’s consumed you; a fleeting glimpse into the freedom from it all.
"Fucking love this pussy," he mouths.
“Shit... I need you, D.” You gasp, your body buzzing for him.
You pull him out of his cargo shorts, hard and swollen in your palm. Just barely stroking across his soaked frenulum as he groans like he's been choked. The slick of his own drippings covering your fingers as you jerk him desperately.
“Fuck!” Dieter muffles into your mouth as you crush him in a kiss; teeth clashing with clumsiness at your haste to have him and cupping his balls.
You can taste yourself all over his furry lips and chin as he guides his swollen, weeping head inside your gorgeous cunt.
“Dieter!” You groan as he fucks into you, large hands roaming all over your body, squeezing, massaging.
“So fucking beautiful, baby.” He pants, burying his head into the ample swell of your breasts.
Your tits bounce wildly around his face with every thrust of his pelvis against yours, and he just whines and groans inside his happy place as he sucks on your nipples with eyes that stare up at you.
But it’s the love shining so deeply in his watery eyes that truly moves you - a love so profound, it seems to shimmer with unshed tears, reflecting the depth of his emotion.
“God, I fucking love your body, baby.” His words penetrate the barriers you’ve built around yourself, slowly chipping away at the walls of self-doubt and insecurity that has held you captive in a cage for days.
"I love you!" He gasps into your mouth.
As you look into his earnest eyes, you see no sympathy or pity, but genuine affection and admiration. You see a man that genuinely believes you’re beautiful.
A man that can’t get enough of your curves, and welted and dimpled thighs. Your stretch marks and tummy rolls. A man who’s not afraid to put his hands on you, who wants to show you off to the world and declare “she’s mine” at the top of his grizzled voice proudly.
You see a man who also has body hang ups of his own when he stares at himself in the mirror after hours of being preened and gussied up like a peacock for the world’s cameras.
Wrinkling his aquiline nose at his slick appearance, when all he wants to do is laze about in a grubby, green gown and broken crocs, smoke a bowl and eat bags of flaming hot Cheetos with you, whilst nestled in the comfy, safe place in your arms and cleavage where he feels most like himself.
He twists, so one of your legs is still hooked over him, his hand on your ass as he pushes into you as you lay on your sides facing each other.
And you wouldn’t have him any other way.
It’s a revelation - the realisation that you’re deserving of love and acceptance, just as he is.
His hands run all over your body, sliding up your back and fingers gliding down your chest delicately. He guides his cock back in, holding you in his other arm tight and kissing you.
Dieter whines into your face as he slips in, his eyes searching yours out to convey in unspoken words how good you feel squeezing around him.
You let your hips languidly bounce as he flexes his; both of you enjoying that heady rhythm without rush or eagerness to finish in a hurry.
“Mmm. Oh fuck, right there… oh fuck, fuck. This pussy, baby, you feel so good.” Dieter groans, eyes rolling back. “Amazing, amazing...” He babbles.
“Tell me,” you pant. “Tell me what’s amazing, D.”
“You. You’re amazing. Fuck I want you every which way. I-I want to fuck your ass again. Wanna have you in my mouth, swallow you all up.”
“Eat the world.” You grin.
“Yeah, eat the world.” He smiles. “My world. You’re my fucking world, baby.”
“Fuck, I love how you grip me so tight, baby.” He wheezes, fists punched into the pillow either side of your head as his hips do all the work.
A subtle roll and he’s on top of you again. Knees knocking your thighs open wider and sinking his cock into you deeper.
He kisses you as he slides in, filling you up with his love as you whimper into his mouth in sweet relief.
“Come on, Dieter, give me your cock. Like that, fuck yeah, like that.” You pull on his broad arms, legs wrapping around his chunky waist as his stomach slaps against yours.
Deep smacks of skin fill your ears as he fucks you harder. He wheezes as he breathes, panting into your face.
“Like this? Yeah?” He fucks you faster, drilling in quick, deep shunts; the headboard clattering against the wall loudly. "God!" He grunts deeply. "Oh fuck, I'm gonna come, baby!"
He’s weak for you. You can see it in his eyes, the vulnerability around the blown out glass of them as he comes and bites down on his lip through a laboured grunt. Spilling warm and thick inside of you, and you feel it pool and dribble out once he softens.
“Give it to me, give it to me. Give me all your come, Dieter!” You cry as you burst again - gold bokeh filling your eyes as the heat floods through your body.
Your spine twists, your back arching. Toes curling and ears ringing as you come around him.
“Baby!” He yells as he momentarily stiffens and strains before exploding inside of you.
He stays plugged in for a while, pelting your breasts with unrelenting kisses as he rubs his nose against your nipple, tasting the salt of your sweat on his tongue. Eventually finding your lips once more as he holds your head in his giant hands.
“How do you do that, D?” You ask breathlessly, afterwards.
“Do what?” He lays beside you, pants slowly dying down and nose nuzzling against your own.
“Make me feel so good?” You peep, timidly.
“The same way you make me feel so good." He hums out as you watch his eyes close, dark, fluttery eyelashes fanning out. "I’d probably still be in the gutter if it weren’t for you loving me.” He says quietly.
“Do you really believe that?”
He nods, his greying hair ruffling against the pillow. “Yeah. I do. You saved me, baby.” He says, with deep chocolate eyes lanced on you. “My brain scrambles when I'm with you, but in a good way.”
“I wish you could see yourself how I see you. Then maybe you’d believe it.” His eyes soften at you, a mixture of relief and gratitude washing over him. "I just want you to know how beautiful you are to me," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "I never want to make you feel like you're anything less than perfect, because to me, you are. And I know I'm a bit much sometimes... but I really do love you.”
You don't try to unpick the sweetly soft truth that pours out of him in sincere revelations, you just listen with a smile spreading across your lips.
“I love you, D. You and your scrambly brain always make me feel beautiful.”
“From the first day I met you, I’ve always thought so.” He smiles, his thumb pulling on your bottom lip. "And I'm never wrong." He grins.
A wider smile escapes you as you lean in closer, your forehead resting against his, damp with sweat.
“I’m not gonna force you, baby, but please come with me tomorrow night.” He implores with soft eyes. “You’re gonna look so beautiful and I really want you there with me. We'll have a great time, you and me.”
Your response is hesitant, your fingers tracing invisible patterns on his pudgy hip as you struggle to find words. Unable to speak, like rust clogging in your throat as your mind recalls all the nasty slurs said about you online and the panic prickles again.
You want nothing more than to carry out stringent ablutions, cleanse yourself of the tarnish they’ve left inked under the layers of your skin with all the other jibes and taunts you’ve heard throughout your life.
It's hard not to let your body physically define you when physicality is so superficial in this world. There isn't anything that anyone has said that you haven't heard before, or said to yourself in your moments of dark masochism.
You've seen all the looks people give you, like you're an exhibit in a museum to be gawked at. Heard all the whispers and mean girl things that ultimately mean girls say in earshot.
You've spent years planning routes around rooms as you step in, avoiding scenarios where you'll have to squeeze yourself through tiny gaps or past people.
Accepting the fact that the dress you really like in the shop window won't be in your size. Slicking your thighs in layers of anti-chafe balm in advance when your friends want to go for a walk and you struggle to keep up.
And words cut deep.
You try to tell yourself it's jealousy. You try to tell yourself that they’re not real. Faceless drones sitting behind a screen with nothing better to do than tear you down, because you ultimately have what they want.
They want him, Dieter. But you have him.
A woman who is so far removed from themselves in terms of looks, that it's hard for them to comprehend and accept that he could genuinely want you and love you, and get turned on by you.
You breathe in slowly, trying to push down all the negative thoughts that try to worm their way back in.
And sometimes, it's hard for you to accept too.
But then he does things like this, makes you believe and accept it, because his love for you is real. It's so fucking real that it guts you. It's all you've ever wanted, someone to see you.
Will I have to suck in my belly? Will people see me doing that? Is the dress going to cling onto my stomach and thighs too much? What if my dress tears? What if I fall? What if I embarrass him?
But then you look in his eyes keening back at you, and he has this power to get inside your head and sweep them all away again into a dark corner.
“I promise you, you won't be alone. I'll be right there beside you, every step of the way." Dieter reassures.
Your eyes soften at his words, a glimmer of hope shining through the murky uncertainty. "But what if-"
"No 'buts', candy and nuts," Dieter interjects, headbutting you gently. "You’re stunning, babe. Inside and out. And I'll spend the rest of my life reminding you of that."
“The rest of your life, huh?” You smile.
“Yeah. If you can tolerate me for that long.” He snickers, eye creases crinkling.
“That’s a pretty big if.” You smirk.
“The biggest.” Dieter smiles, his big browns pleading silently and soft at you, and melting you further in the process.
You nod, smiling. “Okay. I'll go.”
“Amazing.” He croons with a satisfied yawn. “We got any KitKats left?”
“In the kitchen, I think. I’ll get you one.” You smile.
“Rockstar.” He mumbles, nuzzling further into the pillow.
You catch sight of him over your shoulder, his bare, round ass naked and furry as he adjusts and gets comfortable on the bed.
You pad down to the kitchen, not bothering to dress, and catch sight of your reflection in the dark pane of the window.
A wobbly silhouette at first glance, but as you look closer, you can see the sheen of sweat gleaming on your skin, the warmth that coats it from the afterglow of Dieter’s touch.
Your gaze lingers on your shapely form, but instead of scrutinising the perceived flaws, you find yourself noticing the things you’ve overlooked - the gentle curve of your smile, the sparkle in your eyes, the fact that you’re here, naked and comfortable to wander freely around the house again, whereas only a few hours ago you were wrapped up and hiding.
As you regard your reflection, something is different. The harsh judgement and self-doubt that has plagued you tirelessly has been replaced by a newfound, creeping sense of acceptance and appreciation.
A small glimmer, but it's still there nonetheless.
You turn, admiring your shape with a small smile lighting you up at what you see.
In this moment, you realise that you’re beautiful like he says - not just because of your physical appearance, but because of the love Dieter has for you that makes you see past any self-loathing.
His unwavering affection lifts you up when you sink, helping you to see yourself in a new light, as a woman worthy of love and admiration.
You come back into the bedroom and toss the KitKat on the dresser when you see Dieter snoring gently.
Your leg hooks over his puffy middle as you listen to his heartbeat. The soft thrum-thrum emanating in the pit of his chest soothes away any worries or fears.
You feel his thick fingers twitch against your skin, a silent snuffle as he breathes laboriously, lost in sleep.
Dieter Bravo sees you and loves you for who you are, so maybe, just maybe, you should try to love yourself, too.
It's the last conscious thought you have before you fall asleep with him.
“Does my pocket look okay? It looks weird, it’s doing shifty things. I don't trust it.” Dieter asks, as he looks in the mirror and fiddles with the silk handkerchief poking out the top of it.
You can feel the nerves radiating off of him in droves. His fingers twitch, rings clacking against every surface he passes. Lips gnawed on until they’re scarlet, despite the make-up artist slicking them with balm tirelessly.
“Your rebellious pocket looks fine.” You say, as you step fully into the room.
“Oh wow! Baby. Fuck, look at you!” Dieter turns, his whole face lighting up. “You look so good in this colour.”
“Yeah?” You ask, smoothing down the dress that fits you like a dream.
It hides a multitude of sins in your opinion, as you turn this way and that in the mirror - you’re satisfied with how you look.
“Yeah, your eyes really pop, wow!” He comes over to you, all perfectly coiffed curls blown out, and crushed velvet sleeves embracing you. “Fuck…” He says, eyeing you up and down.
He makes no effort to hide it when he adjusts himself in his pants so brazenly.
“You scrub up pretty well yourself, Mr Oscar Nominee.” You smirk, eyeing how good he looks in his suit.
A crisp shirt is open at the neck revealing an abundance of golden skin you long to lick and taste. He channels Adam Ant with the eighties romance of it all; lace sleeves hanging low and unruly from his jacket cuffs, matching velour Gucci loafers on with no socks, and wearing fitted pants that finish above the ankle.
“I’m so fucking nervous.” Dieter murmurs to you, quietly in the car on the way there. He rubs at his sternum with a large palm and keeps it there. "I need an antacid. And possibly a shit." He mumbles, belching quietly into his fist. "Fuck. I should've taken a shit before we left."
You giggle. “You'll be alright. Just breathe.” You reassure him, ghosting your nose over his. "I've got you, D."
“I’ve got you too, baby.” He promises, squeezing your hand and smiling at you. "God, you look so beautiful."
The cameras are flashing in your retinas as you walk the red carpet with him. The dress dazzles back, accentuating your curves and features, and looking at yourself once more in the mirror before you left, you were awash with awe at how good it actually made you feel.
He leans in for a kiss, but belches again in your face, and you chuckle as he laughs, embarrassed. "Sorry, sorry."
"At least your breath doesn't smell like Cheetos."
"No, but my sweat does." He chuckles, then turns to you. "Please, for the love of God, don't let me shit my pants."
You remember that feeling, coming back to you slowly as you stand tall and proud beside your silly man, who won't stop discreetly belching in the back of his throat like a toad where he's so nervous.
Where did that other woman go? She was lost for a while, pulled into the mud, but she kept moving, getting herself out of it once again. She has strength after all. They won’t drag you under.
Dieter is in awe of you too as you hold onto his hand, fingers interlocked with yours tightly, with his other on his chest holding in his anxiety - and nervous burps - whilst you smile beside him and support him on his big night.
You hold each other up with words unsaid. Pillars of strength when the other one needs it. With him by your side, looking at you the way he is now, you’ve never felt more beautiful and loved in your own skin.
The paps call you to look this way, gorgeous, as they snap your picture with him whilst you pose, growing more confident as Dieter holds you close, beaming at you.
The interviewers want to know all about your dress and compliment you beside him as he talks about his film, and then forgets about it entirely and starts talking about you instead with starry eyes, when he loses his train of thought.
Interviews pop up online of Dieter just dumbstruck at you standing next to him, peppered with heart-eye emoji's and the comments flood in under the photos and reels.
Look at how he looks at her!
They make such a cute couple.
She looks so beautiful in that dress.
Aww, he really loves her!
I want them to get married and have lots of babies!!
I hope he wins tonight, he deserves it.
She's so good for him.
I wish I looked that good.
But their words, no matter how kind this time round, won't matter. Because right now, nothing anyone could say could make you feel better than he does about yourself.
Dieter leans in, his arm sliding around your curvy waist, his voice husky and pouring liquid silk in your ear.
“Later on, I’m gonna fuck you in this dress, baby.” He promises, with a shit eating grin that’s just as gleaming as the devilish gold hoop twinkling in his ear.
“You better, it’s Valentino.” You smirk. “Gotta get your money's worth.”
Crookedly grinning at you, he places a lingering kiss on your glossy lips as the paparazzi go wild, snapping pictures of Oscar Nominee, Dieter Bravo, affectionately worshipping his Goddess for the whole world to see.
I really hope you enjoyed reading this story with Dieter, and welcome your comments/thoughts. I'd appreciate a re-blog if you liked it so others can find it on their dash to read and enjoy too - thank you very much! 🖤
BODIES MASTERLIST
MAIN MASTERLIST
DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#dieter bravo#dieter bravo x reader#pedro pascal characters#dieter bravo x f!reader#dieter bravo x you#dieter bravo x female reader#dieter bravo smut#dieter bravo fluff#every body is beautiful#bodies series#diversity#inclusivity#jett's writing
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i crawl home to her
rating: 18+ explicit
pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader
word count: 8.2K
summary: you bring dieter home to meet your family over the holidays.
warnings/tags: discussions of food, mentions of weight gain, brief biphobia, bad family dynamics, hiding parts of yourself to make yourself more palatable, dom!Dieter when his type-A girlfriend needs him to, smut in places it shouldn’t be, a family can be two people, bad jokes, mentions of marriage and kids, one light booty smack, peep the super obvious bob's burgers reference, minimal edited, you can pry the image of dieter in ugg's from my cold dead hands
a/n: i've caved and finally added to the evergrowing pile of "Pedro boy fucks you in your childhood home". @sp00kymulderr i told you i'd get it out today -- it might be tomorrow for you, but it's not yet midnight! i present to you part 2 of merry thanksgiving nonsense2023!
🤍Masterlist
You nearly miss the exit off the gray-slushy highway because you’re trying to remember Aunt Gayle’s food allergies.
And Uncle Rick’s preferred way of taking his coffee in the morning.
And the right detergent to use when washing your niece’s clothes, or else your sister will come after you with a hatchet.
“Baby, you’re gnawing your fingernails bloody.”
You blink, surprised to find your hand anywhere near your mouth, the other white-knuckling the steering wheel, and to your enormous embarrassment, he was right – you’d pulled up several hangnails, leaving tiny pink gouges, right under your immaculate holiday nails you got for the express purpose of looking presentable in all the inevitable Insta photos your sister demands every year.
“Fuck,” you mutter and curl your fingers into your fist as if to hide temptation. From the passenger’s seat, Dieter frowns.
“Twizzler to make it better?” He spins the red, bendy candy enticingly. Your mind suddenly flashes back to the time you both got way too high on his new bong and he made the exact same motions with his dick. You had never laughed so hard in your life.
The red candy whipping around in a circle, you groan into the steering wheel.
“I’m turning around. This was a terrible idea.”
“What are you so nervous about?” Dieter half-way laughs. He pulls his Ugg-stuffed feet off the dashboard and sits up. Crumbs from the Starbucks Christmas sugar cookie spill off his “Kris Kingle My Jingle” sweater and onto the seat, but it’s those fucking earnest, curious eyes that always seem to rock your world. You occasionally don’t like to be touched when you’re stressed, so out of the corner of your eye, you see his hand waver before falling back in his lap. “It’s just dinner.”
“Yeah, but it’s holiday dinner with my family. They’re all so judgy and mean and every time I come home for more than twenty-four hours, I’m reminded exactly why I fucked off to California.”
“Maybe they’re jealous you’re a hot shot director,” Dieter suggests. “Or that you have a ruggedly handsome movie star boyfriend.” Eyebrow raised, he twirls the Twizzler again and manages to bite it out of the air. You half-way expected it to smack him in the face. “They know I’m coming, right?”
You bite your lip, the last phone call with your mother still achingly heavy in your chest.
“You know what she asked when I told her I was bringing home the one and only Dieter Bravo as my boyfriend to meet my family?” You don’t need to look at him to see the furrow in his brow, the slight curve in his shoulders. You prop your elbow up against the window, rubbing your forehead with your fingers. “She asked if it was a career move. If I was dating you to get ahead in the industry . . . like I’m trying to sleep my way to the top.”
There’s a fraught silence. You listen to the wheels churn dirty black snow so you don’t have to look at him.
“Then why in the world would you start with my dumb ass?”
Despite yourself and despite what’s coming, you smile. But you fight it, wrapping your lip up between your teeth. So he continues:
“If you really want to make it big, you gotta date someone at least forty years older than you. So, what? We’re talking seventy. But, wow, think of the money. Bet he has his dick dripped in gold just to keep it hard–,”
“Dieter!” You swat at him, smile too big to contain, and he grins, grabbing you by the wrist. “That’s terrible!”
“But I made you laugh, didn’t I?”
You smirk. “Barely. More like ha ha than a big chuckle.”
He nips your palm, the rough hair on his chin scraping the soft skin.
By some minor miracle and a forcible act of God, your mother is allowing you two to share a bedroom. Not out of respect for your relationship, of course, but there is simply not enough room to spare. You watch those perfect lips imprint themselves in the cup of your hand and you’ve never been more thrilled to have to share a double bed. God, you cannot be this wet before you have to look your mother in the eye. You retract your hand with a breathy exhale.
“We don’t have to stay long,” Dieter says, a weight to his gaze that proves he hasn’t completely blown off your concern. He twists his body in the seat and crosses his arms, his shoulder pressed into the seat. He watches you with his head against the headrest. “I hate seeing you like this.”
“I’m already on thin ice because we’re just staying two days.” You shake your head. “My sister and her family have already been there since Monday and plan to stay the rest of the week.” You inhale, hold, and exhale until you can feel your shoulders drop. “It’s just . . . I’ve worked so hard to make something of my life, to be someone I can be proud of, and it just doesn’t matter to them. They want me to marry a banker or something, and quit my job to do cutesy family blogging on Instagram. They’ve never, ever liked the real me.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you see something come over Dieter’s face. Not annoyance, or irritation, but as if someone kick started his brain. But it passes and he brushes the back of your hand resting over the gearshift with his fingers.
“I like the real you,” he says quietly. “In fact, I really, really, really like the real you. I gotta keep you around. Who else is gonna remember the name of the best Chinese food place when I’m high?”
Dieter is sweet, knows the wonders his smile can accomplish, with a twinkle in his eyes. A bit crude, a little distractible, but ultimately, well-meaning. However, he seemed physically incapable of maintaining sincerity. Which in the beginning, was also cute, but now, in a moment of crisis, it was boyish in a way that made you worried. A little scared. Like too much pressure and he’d break.
Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on?
History says no.
So, maybe you’d just carry everything.
You smile at him and return your hand to the steering wheel.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
The car squeals as it stops in the driveway, wheels crunching the cold ice. You look up at your childhood home with the same unease and trepidation that’s been there since childhood.
“Go let ‘em know we’re here,” Dieter says as he unbuckles his belt. There’s still crumbs in the knit of his sweater. At least his sweatpants are clean. But there’s nothing you can do about those Uggs right now–
His hand squeezes yours, centering the universe that’s spinning like the inside of a martini shaker. You can feel the weight of his gaze press into your chest – heavy, warm, forgiving. He smiles, then slides into a smirk.
“Chillax, bro. Your vibes are not gnarly.”
You huff, trying to offer a smile that’s not a grimace. This was such a bad idea. Maybe it’s not too late to go pay for one of those mail-order boyfriends and keep Dieter in his nice California, hippie plastic wrap.
You hear your name being called from the porch and that smile fully plummets into a grimace. Gathering from that reserve of confidence that makes you look at male writers, directors, and (yes) actors and tell them they’re idiots and get the fuck off your set, you open the door and head around the corner to the front of the house.
Yeah, in the face of your mother, that reserve is basically a trickle.
She’s waiting for you on the porch, red dish towel in hand.
“I thought that might be you, darling! I’d recognize that squeak from that rust bucket anywhere.” She smiles, arms wide, as you bend down to give her a hug. You've had to bend down to hug your mother for years now and you still feel about two feet tall. “How are you? You’ve been good? You look pale, but you’ve definitely been eating, haven’t you?”
She pinches your cheek as if to show you all the extra fat you have on your face.
“Where’s Dad?” You try not to look like you’re tearing your face out of her grip and glance into the surprisingly quiet house over her shoulder. “Aren’t Emma and Dan supposed to be here?”
“Your father is out finishing his latest woodworking piece. He’s been at it for days, no matter how much I beg him to help with the food or the house. It’s all on me again to save the holidays.”
As it is every year.
“Your sister and her family went out to get more sweet potatoes. They eat sweet potatoes in California, don’t they?”
Here it comes.
“Yes, Mom, they eat sweet potatoes.”
“Oh good, I thought it’d be considered a carb.” She frowns, hands on her hips as if you’re about to get a proper scolding. “Now you told me you’re going to be bringing your fancy actor boyfriend. Damian Bravado, right? I cooked for exactly seven people, darling, a single empty chair will throw the whole thing off!”
“Yes, Mom, my boyfriend, Dieter Bravo, is here. He’s just in the–,”
Someone, distinctly not your boyfriend, or at least not the boyfriend you left in the car, waltzes up the front steps.
Rings gone.
Earring gone.
Gloves that would make Ryan Gosling seethe with envy covering the tattoo on his hand.
His hair slicked back and curling deliciously around his ears, his dark jeans cover the laces of maroon Timberland boots. His black turtleneck clings to his wide chest, the leather jacket broken in enough to be soft, but not so used there’s tears in the seams. And, to top it all off, his cream-colored scarf curled around his throat looks like it came out of a Hallmark movie.
Maybe you are in a Hallmark movie. Maybe on the way up the porch, you slipped and banged your head and all of this is a bizarre, weirdly-erotic dream. Maybe someone actually did call in a mail-order boyfriend who looks exactly like Dieter and the real one is hog-tied in the trunk of your car. Maybe –
You’d heard of quick costume changes, but this is ridiculous.
“Debbie!” He calls out, like they’ve been best friends for twenty years. He flourishes a wrapped bouquet of flowers, bright red against the white snow, and hands them to her after bouncing up the steps. His cheeks are tinged pink, as if he’d run the block, but without a drip of sweat on him, he’s simply glowing with what could be presumed as the holiday spirit.
To your never-ending and horrific surprise, your mother squeals as she takes the flowers.
“Poinsettias! My –,”
“Favorite, I know.” You stumble out of the way when he leans down and kisses her on her cheek. “And they’re fake, so you can reuse them next year. But you’d never know it at $300 a pop.”
Okay, yes, this is a clone of your boyfriend, a walking holiday Ken doll – Dieter never, ever brags about money.
“I’m not a banker or anything, but I like to spoil my girls.”
The bastard winks at you.
Your mother has turned to gooey, drippy putty in his hands. She’s redder than the hand towel and the poinsettias combined. She flounces, flutters, eyes springing back and forth between the ruby-red flowers in her hands and Dieter’s achingly handsome face – one that hasn’t dimmed that thousand gigawatt smile since he first arrived.
“Oh, oh my goodness – well, this is just lovely – it’s so nice to finally meet you – I can’t believe she’s been hiding you from us all this time – please, please come in, you must be freezing!”
She backs into the house, still staring at the flowers, then as if she hadn’t been living here for the past fifteen years of her life, she bounces towards the dining room, then on a quick turn, heads for the kitchen, then turns again to the hallway closet.
“Oh gracious – where did I put – it must be – come in and shut the door behind you – you know where your room is, darling, I’ll be back in just a second, I just have to – ah, these are spectacular –”
A door down the hallway finally swings shut and muffles your mother’s insane rambling.
So dazed, you don’t see him move until he’s pressed you up against the glass etching of the door, his hand palming your hip and the other diving to cup the back of your neck. He tugs you down into his mouth before you have time to blink.
Jesus Christ, mint? His breath smells like mint??
God, he even fucking kisses like a Hallmark Prince. His mouth pulls you into him and your brain whites out – careless of the little whimper you make, careless of the fact that literally any one of your family members could walk in right now, careless that you’re teetering into him as if on string. Your breath flutters down his throat and he huffs through his nose. The tips of his fingers are chilly enough that you shiver at his touch.
He edges the bottom of your lip with his tongue before pulling back and tightening his grip in your hair.
And there’s that Dieter smirk you are all too intimately familiar with.
“How’m I doing?” He mutters. His gaze flickers between your eyes, your nose, and your kissed-pink lips. “I’d say I got Mama Bear on my side.”
Maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t always like this. Between the fresh breath scent in his mouth, the fragrance of his much-too expensive cologne permeating your senses, and his thick thigh shoved under your groin, you are embarrassingly boneless in his arms. You pluck your fingers over the soft leather collar at the back of his neck, just as much to inspect the jacket, as much as to release more of that delicious smell.
“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” You mutter, smirking, as you wind your fingers into his curls. “Spoil my girls, what the fuck was that?”
“Ah, ha, ha, ha,” he gloats as he lowers his head to your neck. You expect a warm kiss in the length of skin you’ve exposed to him, but instead his teeth lightly tease your throat above your pulse point and you feel your knees buckle as your face warms. “I can be very charming when I want to be.” He squeezes your ass as if to make a point.
You hold back a moan, flattening it to a shudder in your chest. You can feel his grin in your neck and he shifts you, pulls you closer and compresses you deeper into the wooden door. You can feel your conscious thought melting through your fingers so you blink, lick your lips, try to wiggle out from under his teeth.
“This isn’t a Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. This is Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” You gasp his name into the foyer of your childhood home when he licks you from the curve of your shoulder up under the soft place below your ear. Your hips jerk unconsciously, baser instincts seeking out the friction of his jeans, and you push against his biceps. “Dieter, she’ll be back any minute. She can’t – can’t see us like this.”
You’ve never heard him chuckle like the way he does, so darkly pleased with himself.
“Once I’m done schmoozing her, your father, your sister and her – what did you call him – cardboard husband, we’ll fuck in front of them and they won’t say a word.”
“Dieter!” You shove him just as your mother returns from the kitchen.
She frowns and you feel the scolding coming, the scent of Dieter so obviously entangled in you. You might as well be wearing a sign that reads, hi, yes, I’ve been recently groped why do you ask?
“Did you forget where your room is? Honestly, what would you do without me? Now, follow me and I’ll remind you.”
Schmooze he did.
From the same magical bag of weirdly specific and perfect gifts, Dieter presents a bottle of Buffalo Trace bourbon and two very illegal, but very Cuban cigars. Your father forgets to scowl in the face of some of the most expensive bourbon in the world.
For your sister, he somehow senses that material objects won’t go as far, so he endears himself to your niece first. Asking her questions about her doll, about her school, what she likes to play with her friends and how crazy it is that hopscotch is his favorite game too.
In twenty minutes, he’s on his hands and knees, black sleeves pulled up over his immaculate forearms, and etching out a hopscotch board with pink chalk. He nods and interjects while your niece runs around him, demanding a dragon in the corner, or a crown in another, and suddenly your biological clock starts blaring like an air-raid siren.
“He’s so good with kids,” your sister mutters to you from the door to the garage. A single glance tells you she’s under the same effect of watching a hot man play with a child. You’re so aroused and confused you can’t even eye her with jealousy.
“Mhmm hmm.”
“When are you going to have some of your own?”
And you’re back inside before you can see the look on his face as he lifts his head.
It would be insulting to call it eerie.
It’s not like he’s physically incapable of smelling clean, or dressing nice, or even combing his hair. You’ve seen him do it time and time again for galas and interviews. Hell, that time he took you on a date to get sushi in the tallest building in Toronto, he didn’t look that much different from how he does right now . . . and yet . . .
You feel your face scrunch in suspicion when he remembers your aunt’s food allergies, how your Uncle Rick likes his after-dinner coffee.
Dieter might forget to put on pants, but he’s never forgotten the important dates of your relationship. He remembers what you were wearing the first night you kissed, but can’t remember to take out the pizza before it burns in the oven.
This, this Dieter, feels wrong.
You watch him laugh with your father and uncle by the fireplace with brandy in his hands as you work with your mother and sister to unwrap a dozen saran-wrapped pies. He comes by later and takes the stack of plates from your mother’s hands and assures her he’ll do the dishes, as thanks for such a wonderful meal.
This Dieter Bravo needs a smoking jacket and uses words like “wonderful meal”.
Initial surprise at his near magical transformation from the car this morning long gone, you sit with this uncomfortable feeling, as everyone around you eats pie and laughs and looks all the part of a fucking Hallmark card for “joyful festivities”, long enough to finally understand it for what it is:
Anger.
Shame. Guilt.
Hot embarrassment.
You look at the man who’s invaded your boyfriend’s body as he charms the pants off your mother and father, and ugly, heavy embarrassment boils over in your chest. Washing the knife in your throat down with your fourth glass of wine all night, you excuse yourself with the last bit of breath in your lungs before ducking upstairs, then stumbling to your childhood bathroom you once shared, and share again, with your sister.
You lock the door forcefully in lieu of slamming it shut and sit down on the tile, your head against your knees. Rationally, there’s a part of you that knows this shouldn’t affect you like it is. Women would kill for a boyfriend like this – your sister very nearly jumped him in the garage.
But that’s just the thing – this isn’t your boyfriend. This isn’t the man you spend your days and nights with and this isn’t the man you fell in love with. This isn’t the Dieter you want to show the world.
A soft knock comes from the other side of the door and it breaks you out of your self-deprecating spiral.
“Just a second,” you call out as you stand. You flush the empty toilet (this night is filled with ruses after all) and twitch the faucet on for two seconds. But when you open the door, you’re immediately cowed back in.
“Dieter, what are you–,”
“Are you okay?” Beneath the veneer of the Million Dollar Man, his eyes are soft, coaxing the anxiety out of you. “You looked pale when you left.” He tucks an escaped strand of hair over your ear, watching how his fingers brush up against your skin. He gently tangles his fingers in your hair as he pulls back. He smirks. “Mom’s dressing wasn’t that bad.”
White-hot shame blooms again and you turn your head from him, tugging your hair out of his reach. You catch his hurt expression out of the corner of your eye.
“I’m fine. Just needed some air.”
“You’re not a good liar. I’ve told you that.” His voice is clipped. Not irritated, but not interested in lengthy bouts of misdirection either.
“Well, I don’t feel like bearing my problems to Mr. Perfect.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He crosses his arms, shoulders swelling in the space of the tiny bathroom, and he leans on the sink.
“It means you’re a better liar than me so I guess you’ll have to do it for the both of us.”
You know it’s ridiculous to try and move around him – but maybe this Dieter wouldn’t care if you left angry. Even sober, he could manhandle you without a second thought, but between the heat of the drink in your throat and he’s blurred at the edges, you know you’re fighting a losing battle.
“Dieter, please, just –,”
He stands his ground, effectively blocking the door, and you huff, pushing up against his waist with your hands, your teeth bared behind your lips. He steps back, you think you’ve won a mile, but then his hands grasp so firmly around your elbows, your entire consciousness is pulled into where his fingers curl against your skin.
He gently, but seriously, shakes you slightly.
“Stop fighting me. You tell me what I did wrong and we’ll talk about this.”
The past two weeks of dread, and fear, and worry, and shame – shame that this is your family, this is how you go to pieces around them, this is all you can offer him – slam into your chest and your breathing hitches. The fingers at his chest dig into his shirt. The fourth glass of wine makes your eyes hot and tight.
“This isn’t you.”
You grimace in the bright light of the bathroom and your confession. But beyond your closed eyes, his demeanor hasn’t changed.
“What’s not me?”
A tear slips out the moment you open your mouth, your throat closing and gagging on your words. You swallow and try again, eyes peeling open to stare at the curve of his shoulder.
“You’re Dieter Bravo. You dry-clean your favorite pajamas to preserve the material. You do astrology charts of people who piss you off to find out how to best get back at them. You paint until four in the morning and sleep in our bed until I wake you up–,”
Your heart thrusts its way into your airways and cuts off your ability to speak. You know you’re not making a lot of sense, but all you can think of right now is how much you want to peel this fucking black, Steve Jobs-esque, goddamn ugly-ass turtleneck apart with your bare hands. Like freeing a mermaid from a net. He squeezes your waist, his broad palm settled in the curve of your lower back.
“Darling, I don’t see why this has you so sad –,”
“They won’t fall in love with you like I did.” You lift your watery gaze to him, unable to stop the spilling of tears. You always got teary when you drank a bit too much, but fuck, if you didn’t love him so much, you wouldn’t be so mad . . . at yourself. “I hate that you feel like you have to do this to be accepted by my family. I hate that they can’t see what makes you so special to me. I hate . . . I hate that they don’t see the real you.”
And out of nowhere, he smiles.
Never one to shy away from bodily fluids, Dieter kisses your tear-soaked cheeks, his hands rising up your back, taking their time to press into the curve of your hips, the bones of your ribs, the high arch of your spine, before settling on your cheeks. He kisses your wet mouth, thumbs against the corners of your lips like a soft leather bridle. He holds you, just like that, until your heart eases, stops racing in your chest, and you lean more into the kiss, chasing instead of hiding. You wrap your fingers around his wrists as he pulls away.
“With all due respect, this is just another gig for me.” His gentle smile hides no bitterness, no anger. No disgust. “I know what people like this are like, how they think, what they want. What they value.” He smears away the cold tears from your skin with his thumbs. “It’s fun, in a way, to infiltrate their little circles. It’s all fake, it’s all bullshit, and fortunately I’m fantastic at bullshit.”
You let out a watery laugh and he reaches behind you for some toilet paper to dry your tears. He blots your eyes for you before you can even take the tissue.
“You’re not forcing me to do anything, baby,” he murmurs. “My family was exactly the same way, so I know how the game is played.”
“Yeah, and you don’t talk to them anymore. I just wish I had your bravery to cut them out of my life like you did.”
Dieter’s mouth twitches. “Well, that had more to do with the fact that I like to occasionally make out with boys, than dysfunctional family dynamics.”
You squeeze his forearm as he continues to clean your face, trying to catch his eyes but they’d gone hard where a moment ago they were soft. He thinks, using the silence to carefully fix your make up with his thick thumb under your eyelashes to lift off the smeared mascara.
He didn’t talk much about his life before Hollywood, but when he did, you understood why he was so closed off about it.
“Let’s put it this way: they did the cutting off, not me. And even if we have to be completely different people, your family still talks to you. I’m not saying that to guilt you, or compare trauma scars, but . . . most times we can’t pick who we love, but sometimes we have to.”
You nod, a sense of ease washing over you. His small, I don’t know if I should say this but I’m gonna smile widens across his mouth.
“It’s okay if they don’t see the real me, because I know you do.” He finally pulls away the tissue, his mouth pulled up in sweet earnest. “What can I do to make you feel better?”
A physical string connected between your ribs and his could not have tugged you faster. Tripping into his wide, warm chest, you drop your head onto his collarbone as you wrap your arms around his torso tighter than his own rib cage.
“Just . . .”
His bulky arms pull you into his chest, the bristles of his beard scratching at your temple. It’s not until you sink away from your own thoughts, into the silence in the bathroom, that you realize your breathing is synced with his.
That realization hits you particularly hard, that without trying, without meaning to, you become one with him – you turn and bury your face into the pulse of his neck. If you can get to his heartbeat, maybe that’ll calm you too. Dig through the crust of the earth and end up in China. You shift in his arms, and he does too. Dieter cups the back of your head, thumb rubbing the arch of your skull. His entire arm circles your back.
“What do you need, hm, baby? What can I give you, huh?”
You know he doesn’t mean it like that, but the girth, the weight of his voice has your toes curling in your shoes. His rasp is so often used to light that first spark.
“Dieter –,” the moment shifts and so do you. You squirm, itching for his face in your hands, his mouth over yours, but he holds you steady. Holds you firm. So firm, you can feel he’s half-hard in his jeans.
Oh.
Maybe he did mean it like that.
You press your tongue against his pulse point, your fingers splayed across the back of his rib cage, and he shudders. You’re about to bite down, when his hands peel your fingers from his back and pinch your wrists in one single, meaty grip. Heart suddenly thundering in your chest, he steps back to allow for just enough room to turn you – barely any at all – and pushes you face down on the sink counter, your wrists clasped over your ass behind you.
Cold marble pressing up against your tits, your face turned towards the window and the towel bar where you used to hang your Barbie swimsuits when you were seven, you feel his other massive palm dip under your sweater and press flat against the ridges of your spine. He hums when you let out a small whine. Flexes his fingers when you wiggle your ass against him. You seek out the marble with your cheek, heat rising under your skin, arousal suddenly burning hot in your low belly.
“This is what you need, hm, baby? Need me to touch you? To feel you?” He murmurs. Dieter always did like playing with his food. You nod helplessly, cheek sticky against the marble. He shifts his hips into the crack of your ass, with just enough pressure to have you bucking back against him, but not enough to find relief from the stirring between your legs.
He strokes your hair away from your neck, fingers brushing over your collarbone, gaze languid and slow. Like he can see where he needs to pluck to unravel you.
“Why is my baby so tense?” He muses quietly, patronizing. His hand maps your spine in a single palm, edging slowly up your back until, with two fingers, he pinches your bra open. You feel the snap of the release and you rub your nose against the edge of the counter, whimpering. “Don’t I take care of you?”
You gulp. “Y-y-yes, you treat– treat me so good. I want it.”
He has you pressed too tightly against the counter to slip his hand down your front, the edge pinching your hips. So, instead, with your hands still pinned against your tailbone, he palms your ass and rubs a thick finger down between your legs and up over the seam of your jeans. The whine building in your throat breaks into an open moan when he presses your zipper teeth into your clit.
“Want what? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”
“F-fingers – tongue – fuck – y-your cock. Anything inside me.”
The surprised, breathless chuckle that reverberates down to the button of his jeans seared against your ass has you bending, stretching, just for a glimpse of his face in the mirror.
His mouth open, tongue curling back and forth over his bottom lip, he’s hungry. Wants so much. Can’t satiate this need without something between his teeth. Grinning around a mouthful of incisors. Patience has never been Dieter’s strong suit.
With a firm jerk around your wrists, your back arches up off the counter, shoulders pinched, hands caught low near his groin. You know he wants you to watch him touch you in the mirror – he’s stopped before when you close your eyes – but it’s hard to look at the woman reflected back at you, with her bleary eyes, mussed hair, heaving chest, and exposed belly button where his hand hovers between the waistband and a green sweater, and recognize yourself.
“No one can take you from me. Do you understand?” He dips his head, arched nose dragging up the curve of your neck, breathing hot through his teeth against the lines where your hair and your skin meet. You can’t help but arch up into his waiting mouth. “Not your family. Not mine. You’re so greedy for me – who else is gonna make you feel this good?”
“N-no one, Dieter, no one can.”
His hand rising under your sweater, thumb first at your belly button, then up between the spread of your ribs, and finally, it catches under the wire of your bra and he tugs it down. The material rubs against your sensitive nipples – it almost stings, your body pulled taught like a bowstring – the straps falling low off your shoulders, but your sweater keeps it from falling off completely and he goes no further. You whine, eager for something other than the scratch of the bra – something warmer – and push your sensitive tits into his soft hands, but his hand drops, fingering the waistline of your jeans instead. He ignores what you want to show you what you need.
This is a thing he did. He watched you wind yourself up with deadlines and scheduling and meetings and arguments on set and and doubt and worry and fear and then he took it upon himself to tire you out enough that all of it shattered – crashed and consumed under the white noise in your head. Dieter liked to play however you needed it.
You can feel the seam of his jeans hover just beyond your fingertips, as though his hips swing unconsciously forward while he nips and sucks on your neck. God, you’d give anything to have the weight of him between your palms.
When he speaks again, you realize at some point you squeezed your eyes shut, forgoing sight to chase the sensation that sparks across your skin every time he touched a new bare patch of skin on you. He pulls his head up from fixating a tender purple blush just below where your sweater covers your shoulder to catch your gaze in the mirror. Panthers do not watch with such hungry eyes.
“Arms up.” It’s not a command, a request, but the words drip from his mouth, rich and sweet. He lets go of your wrists and your arms flutter above you, his fingers already rolling up the edge of your sweater. He drags it up, snagging your loose bra with it, and peeling them both off you. The immediate heat of his chest on your bare back is so hot, it burns cold.
“Dieter,” you cry, nipples hardening in the cold air, goosebumps spiraling out along your skin. He’s there for you in an instant.
He bites the soft, invisible hairs at your jaw, thick paws coming up to clutch your breasts, the sudden swap in temperature making your head swim. He pulls you against his chest, a new outer skin that breathes and moans and gasps, one that has a steady heartbeat your own has synced to.
With his eyes fixated on you in the mirror, he molds your breast to his palm, rounding your nipples with his thumbs before sliding down between the curves of them. He licks the back of your neck.
“Face down, baby,” he says.
“But it’s cold,” you huff, pouting. You smooth your hands over his, his angular wrists, his broad thick forearms entombed in long back sleeves, then settle with your fingers in his hair. His height over you has your torso stretched, your tits bare and ripe, and he palms your stomach to the top of your ribs in two hands. He grunts when you twist his curls, keeping his head still so every bruise and wet spot on your shoulders and throat are all too visible. “Don’t you want to see all your good work?”
He blinks, slow and purposeful, his eyelids heavy, mouth parting. You can’t be sure of his decision, of what he wants, what he’s going to give, when his hands arch up the cradle of your arms, soft enough to tickle below your elbows, then around your wrists. He’s done this enough for you to know he wants you to let go.
You do.
Fast as venom moves from fangs to flesh, he plants your hands on the counter, forcibly gripping the edge. This is how you hold on.
He steps up against you again, iron-hot cock pressing without hesitancy between your ass cheeks, and unbuckles your pants without preamble.
“I’d rather just show you.”
Broad hand bending your shoulders forward, fingers pressed flat over your shoulder, you gasp when your tits make contact with the cold counter, and an instant later, he’s filling your open mouth with his fingers. He wets them against the slip of your tongue and grabs your jaw.
Your mind fracturing like cracking ice, you don’t hear the zip of his jeans, the groan as he takes himself out – barely feel the rub along your wet slit, the arranging of his fingers around your bare hip, the widening of your stance with his ankle.
But you do feel it when he’s suddenly hilt-deep inside of you.
You lurch forward with the weight of it, whining as though scalded at the sudden blinding pressure of pleasure and pain, and you slap a palm against the mirror to keep yourself from shattering through it. Behind you, Dieter looks like someone dislocated his kneecaps.
“You good, baby?” He pants, drawing his hand out of your mouth, wet spit between his fingers as he cups your hanging breast. The sensation bleeds hot, then cold. Unable to help himself, he nuzzles your shoulder blades.
You nod, eyes shut, the magnetic north sense of you spinning wildly off-kilter as you try to gulp in as much air as you can. You know you’re about to lose it anyway. He stands upright, not so much as inching out of you, when he plants his feet and nestles your ass against his hip bones, hands wiggling you further down his cock.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous.”
It’s said with such wonder, a breathless reverence, that you think he might not have realized he said it out loud. You glance over your shoulder, turning your head instead of finding him in the mirror.
The facade of the Brooklyn banker is gone. Your Dieter stares, awe-struck, at the body he’s got impaled on his cock like it’s the first time he’s seen a naked woman. Soft, pliant, eager to please, your Dieter lets you collar him, peg him, and give it to you exactly as you ask.
“How do you want it?” The phrase is so familiar, so intimate when spoken from his pink lips, you shudder, a Pavlovian response that’s got you drooling somewhere else than your mouth. He lifts his gaze and finds you staring.
There is no one else in that moment. Not a single living soul besides you and him in this white-tiled bathroom. You can almost hear the absence of people ringing in your ears. His open, hot mouth draws your eyes away from his and you want every bit of him as stuffed up inside you as you can handle. Twisted around, you lick his bottom lip over your shoulder before offering your tongue for him to suck.
He groans, and you breathe in intimacy you’ve never experienced before. A flushed ache rises from your chest, a precursor to the aches he’ll leave you with by morning.
You tip your head back and thumb the bristly skin against his chin.
“Hard, baby. Please.”
For all his faults, for all his forgetting, Dieter switches brain waves as fast as you do, tethered together like the gravitational spin of space rocks in the wake of a gleaming comet.
“Okay.”
He distracts you from the pain of that first rough thrust by biting down on your shoulder.
His motions are short, targeted, and right up into the cradle of your cervix, the pace driven, unrelenting and hard. You shake with the force of them, as fragile as silverware on a table near the drop of an atom bomb.
“Oh – fuck, Dieter–,”
He pins your arm that had touched his chin to your chest, then his chest to your back, sealing your damp skin to his shirt. The curl of that wretched black turtleneck scratches deliciously against your low back.
Grunting in low, short bursts, Dieter sabotages his own breathing by crushing you so tight to his chest. He sucks on your neck as if to draw the oxygen straight from your blood. The fingers on your hip steady you, just for his cock wrecks your insides.
“You wan-na – ngh – you wanna know why it doesn’t bother me?”
Each word is spat out from between his teeth. He’s giving you your requested punishment as much as he is sprinting after his own release.
“Tell me. Tell me please.” Your voice is scraped raw, breathless and gooey at the same time.
“Because when you’re my wife, they won’t be able to do a fucking thing about it.”
Around him, your cunt squeezes, his words sending shocks through your nerves. You whine as if he’d smacked your ass.
“I fucking felt that. You like that. You want that. You want my fucking cock every day.”
Again, he plants your hands on the cold counter.
“Push back against me, baby.” You anchor yourself, ass out, elbows and knees locked. “That’s it, that’s my fucking good girl.”
He lifts his body up right, off your sweaty neck and back, and with both hands pinching your waist, he yanks you up and down on his cock in long, rough thrusts, knees bending with enough force to send you onto your toes.
“Gonna have to take it. Just – fucking – take – it –,”
His leaking cock drives up against that spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll back and body tense again and again, but yanks back before that hot feeling swells. It’s so close you’re dizzy from it.
You want to fuck yourself on his cock but you can’t time your aching hips right, so you stop trying and bend forward more, exposing more of your cunt to him.
“Dieter, please –,”
“Baby, you gotta be quiet. I know you feel good, but you can’t let them hear us.”
The words are out of your mouth, breaking through the thick, drowning fog and through the hindbrain barrier.
“Fuck them. Let them hear.”
Dieter’s hips slow, punch not as deeply, as if he’s curious what you’re going to say next.
“Take off your shirt. I wanna feel your skin.”
He listens immediately, a very good boy at heart, and the first press of his soft chest against you nearly has you coming then.
“Harder again, please.”
Again, without a second’s hesitation, he kisses your ear before grappling your shoulder with one hand and your hip with the other and he takes up his position as owner and keeper of your sloppy cunt.
You cry out, high and wrecked, some semblance of sanity knowing you’re being far too loud, and he bucks the words out of you.
“I wanna suck on your earring, Dieter.” He grunts as he doubles over as if trying to yank back an unrestrained and early release. He rubs his damp forehead in the patch of soft skin by your shoulder blade.
“Say it again.”
With every rock of his hips, you swing up higher, and higher, your thighs tensing, nails scraping the counter.
“Wanna put it between my lips and suck until you’re cherry red. I wanna choke on your rings. So far down my throat I gag. Wanna – wanna – lick your tattoos – all of them – ‘til the ink blurs from my spit. I –,”
The noise he makes is pained, weak, a man at the end of his rope.
He pops your ass. “Shut up. You’re gonna come now.”
His sweaty palms slip against the soft skin of your hips, and he keeps slipping with no leverage.
“Stand on your toes.” You do and for an absurd second, you think he’s going to pick you up in a bear hug. He wraps his arms around your rib cage, his face nestled into the hot, sticky curve of your neck, in the flipped image of when he takes you after your legs get sore from riding him. Your tits spilling over his forearms, he keeps the ludicrous bend in your spine as well as the short, rough pace. You reach your fingers around the back of his head and hold on for dear life.
The change in angle has stars blowing across your eyes, has you whimpering strings of pleas, veneration, and curses all threaded together. His own thighs shaking, he rubs the pads of three of his fingers across your clit and you’re over the edge.
“Oh – oh, shit –,”
The electrical storm that’s been building one wiry shock at a time finally bursts and you go rigid from head to toe, turning to marble, to steel, bright and sharp. You can feel your own release dribble down your thigh, Dieter stuttering behind you.
“Wait – fuck,”
He tries to speed up, or press harder, but he’s coming so hard you feel it expand your cunt and ends up just making a leaking mess. The sensation shivers you through another minor wave. The crest goes high, then crashes, and you slump forward, cold nips be damned, and he follows you down a second later.
The heated weight at your back and hard, cool marble squishing your tits is too much for your dazed brain to handle. Any looser and you might slip off the edge of the earth.
Dieter seems to be in a similar state. He not so much pulls out of you as he goes weak-kneed to the floor. A single tug on your hip has you stumbling down with him.
Despite the garland around the stairs, despite the smell of cranberries in the air, despite the veneer of perfect holiday wholesomeness, it’s the slick layer of sweat, grime, and cum over your skin that has you finally smiling.
You recognize you have been gone far too long – there’s not enough spiked hot cider in the world to ignore two missing bodies and a locked door. Dieter puts his barefoot preemptively up against the door frame and you giggle into his shoulder.
“Oh, there’s the sound I’ve been missing!” He nuzzles you, a blissful smile breaking open his face, sunlight over storm clouds. He wiggles beneath you, trying to tug you on top of him, but with your jeans constricting your thighs, and his barely below his hips, all it really accomplishes is the two of you rolling around on the bathroom floor.
In a heap of limbs, slick skin, his knee catching the button of your jeans, you bump your nose against his chin, there’s something bright building in your chest – it’s twisting your mouth, pinching your cheeks – his fingers grab your elbow, his eyes lock into yours –
And you’re laughing.
You’re laughing too loud, all pretense gone. You can’t honestly care what they’re thinking downstairs.
He manages to get you under him, his damp hair clinging to his temples and tangling down in frizzy strands.
“I’m gonna say this and I need you to actually hear me.”
You nod, grinning up at him and lightly tracing his clavicle.
He swats at your hand and holds it to your chest.
“Don’t wait until it’s that bad, okay?” You chuckle and he bites the tip of your nose. “Listen to me, you little goblin, I’m trying to be serious for a second.”
You settle under him, fingers intertwining with his over your chest. Sincere Dieter is a beautiful thing to look at.
“This holiday bullshit can be a lot. Spent a lot of them either in coke up to my eyeballs, or in the bathroom the next day. It fucking sucks that these are the people we can from, but we can’t change that. What’s important is the family we build right now–,”
Your mouth drops open, his words suddenly illuminating a future that had always seemed so blurry and distant.
“Dieter, I –,”
“I’m gonna marry you someday, so let’s start with us.” He kisses the back of your hand. “We carry each other, okay?”
You nod, the white light of that future searing a hole in your chest, exposing your heart to the open air, and bringing tears to your eyes. You nod, more assured, before kissing him on his bottom lip.
“Okay.”
The next few minutes play out just like they would if you were at home: cleaning each other up, trying on clothes only to realize he grabbed your sweater instead, and bumping affectionate kisses wherever they could reach.
At the top of the stairs, you don’t know what awaits you in the living room. What exactly you’ll be returning to. Who will catch you and who won’t.
But it doesn’t matter. His hand is around yours and he’s grinning petulantly against all the world.
Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on?
Your heart says yes.
#dieter bravo#dieter bravo x you#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo x f!reader#dieter bravo fic#dieter bravo x female reader#dieter bravo fanfiction#dieter bravo x oc#pedro pascal character#pedro pascal character fanfic#the bubble fanfic#the bubble#pedro pascal#merry thanksgiving nonsense 2023
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Dieter's Daughter {Dieter Bravo x F!Reader}
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 13.7k
Warnings: Dad!Dieter, mentions of drug use, unplanned pregnancies, freaking out, mentions of foster care, anxiety, lactation kink, babies, domestic bliss, falling in love, sudden marriage proposals, Dieter being a sap, adult breast feeding, oral sex (female receiving), face riding, vaginal sex, pregnancy
Comments: When a baby is dropped off on Dieter's doorstep, he is completely out of his element and doesn't know what to do. Attending a single mother support group meeting, he finds you. Begging you to become a nanny to his daughter.
Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers
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|| MasterList || Dieter Bravo MasterList ||
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.
It takes several minutes for the sounds of the doorbell peeling insistently to break through Dieter’s nearly catatonic state. Too much booze and too many pills are the result of another day of discontent and wishing that there was something other than numbness of life for him. Leaving him grumbling when one eye pops open and he groans when the cotton mouth and headache hits him. “Go away.” He huffs, knowing that there is no way that whoever is at the damn door would hear him all the way in his bedroom. Hell, the only reason he hears the doorbell is because it’s wired to the sound system in the house. Again the bell rings and like the dead rising from the grave, Dieter drags himself out of the safety and comfort of his bed. “Fuck! I’m coming! I’m coming!” The bathrobe he had tossed down last night is put over his boxers and he shuffles towards the stairs as fast as his lethargic body can go.
When Dieter opens the door, he’s shocked to see a woman standing there holding a baby. “Can I help you?” He asks, rubbing his eyes, and she snorts.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” She asks and Dieter squints, “am I supposed to?”
She laughs humorlessly, “I shouldn’t be surprised, you could barely remember my name that night. I was just amazed that a big actor wanted to fuck me. Remember me? That cocktail waitress from the club you took home about ten months ago?” She says and Dieter scratches his neck.
“Listen lady, I sleep with a lot of people. It’s hard to remember them all.” He admits with zero qualms.
“Wow. You’re a fucking asshole. Anyway, I guess the condom broke because congrats, you’re a daddy. It’s a girl. Her name is Rosie. Her birth certificate is in the bag.” She holds the baby out towards him and his eyes widen, looking down at the baby bag in the ground.
”What? I- what the fuck?” He looks bewildered before he starts to laugh. “Good one. Real funny. What do you want? Money?” He scoffs and she shakes her head, tears in her eyes.
“No. No. I need you to take her. I can’t afford her and I- I didn’t want her. When I found out - I was fucking eight months pregnant so it was too late to get rid of her and I can’t work so I can’t pay for my place. I can’t keep her. You gotta take her. She will be better off with you.” She says and pushes the baby into Dieter’s arms.
He scrambles to hold the baby, not wanting to drop her and the woman immediately sprints off towards her car. “Hey! Wait! You can’t just- I don’t know how to look after a baby! I need you to - hey. Where the fuck- get back here!” He yells as she squeals off of his driveway and he curses himself for not fixing the gate yet. “Shit.” He hisses. He didn’t even get her name. Looking down at the baby, he sighs and knows he has to find her mom. He can’t be a daddy. He can barely look after himself.
No, first thing is a damn DNA test and then he’s gonna find that bitch and give her back her baby. He’s gotta call the police after he cleans up his counters from the coke powder. “Fuckkkkk.” He groans, knowing his quiet day just got a whole lot busier.
****
“If we take her, Mr. Bravo, she’s just going to go into a state home. An orphanage.” Dieter frowns and wraps his arms around his chest, nervous for having the fucking cops in his house. Paranoid they were going to find the baggie of Coke he just remembered was in the little box next to his car keys. “You are listed on the birth certificate.”
Snatching the paper from the officer he squints at it. “How the fuck is that legal?” He demands. “That means anyone could put me down as the father of their kid.”
The officer shuffles, clearly uncomfortable and slightly in awe of being in the actor’s presence. “That’s for the courts to decide. Look,” he lowers his voice and looks around. “I don’t think you understand how bad the system is for babies.” He tells Dieter seriously. “Just- keep the baby with you, at least until the DNA tests come back. That way you don’t have to fight to get her back when she is yours. You already said you might have slept with this woman. Stranger things have happened.”
Dieter huffs, upset by the idea of the tiny little human being in an orphanage. Even if she doesn’t look anything like him. He had found diapers and a can of formula in the bag that the mother had left with him but that’s it. He has nothing to take care of a child. “What am I supposed to do? I don’t know shit about kids.” He demands, making the officer chuckle.
“Hire a nanny.” The officer suggests, smirking. “Isn’t that what you Hollywood types do?”
Dieter knows he can’t just ship the kid off. She’s so tiny and vulnerable. He can’t do it, even he’s not that big of an asshole. He will call his assistant to get a nanny in today. “Listen, do you, uh, know how much formula to use?” He asks the cop who nods and walks over to the counter to show Dieter.
“One scoop for every two ounces of water. Get baby water but bottled will have to work for today. So four ounces, two scoops. And shake. After she is finished, shift her to your shoulder and gently pat her back to get her to burp.” He says and Dieter nods.
“How much does she need?” Dieter asks and the cop chuckles, “she’s gonna be hungry a lot. I remember mine at that age. Endless bottles. Be sure to wash them thoroughly.” He says and pats Dieter on the shoulder and makes his way towards the front door of the Sherman Oaks mansion.
“Fuck.” Dieter groans, rubbing his cheek when the police leave and the baby starts to cry. He knows she must be hungry so he fumbles to open the container, grabbing the bottle to fill it with bottled water and putting two scoops in. “I’m coming.” He says, struggling to do the bottle up, and he curses again as he walks over to carefully scoop the baby up. “How do I-?” He struggles to get her to suck on the bottle and sighs in relief when she stops wailing and gulps down the milk.
Dieter holds the baby awkwardly, trying to remember how from that role a few years ago. The baby had been a prop doll, but they had shown him how to hold it. “Your name’s Rosie, huh?” He asks, looking down at the infant. According to the birth certificate, she’s only two months old. “I’m Dieter, but you don’t talk so why am I telling you that?” He huffs, but the baby gurgles around the nipple of the bottle and it makes him grin. “Did you like that?” He asks, lifting a brow. Apparently he’s a natural with kids.
The baby grunts and the grin immediately slides into a frown. “What’s that?” He asks, feeling something moving. “What are you doing?” Instead of sucking down the milk, the baby is grunting and straining and Dieter stares in horror as the smell starts to reach his nose. “Oh shit! You shit!” He groans in disgust.
The baby starts to cry, unhappy with a full diaper, and Dieter is reaching for his phone.
“Hello?” His assistant answers and Dieter is panicking.
“I need you here right now. I need help.”
Johan, his assistant, frowns, “is that- is that a baby?” He asks and Dieter groans, “get here now. And call a nanny service!” He demands and hangs up. “What do I do?” He asks the baby, shifting to lay her down on a towel so she doesn’t get shit on his expensive rug. “I- shit. You - fuck. That’s disgusting.” He groans and pulls his phone out. “YouTube! I’ll try YouTube.” He looks up ‘how to change a diaper’ and grabs the baby bag.
Dieter watches the video, studying it intently as he keeps a hand on the baby’s stomach. “Looks easy.” He frowns at the squirming baby. “But the doll wasn’t moving.” He sets the phone down beside the bag so he can see it and bites his lip as he tries to figure out the snaps on the onesie she’s in. “Holy shit.” He huffs, amazed at how easy it unsnaps. “I need this in a fucking adult version.” Wrinkling his nose when the smell gets even worse, he groans. “Wheeeeew, God you stink.” He nearly gags and pulls his shirt up over his nose. “What did you eat?”
Trying to plug his nose, he follows the YouTube video, wiping the poop off of her skin after rolling up the dirty diaper and putting it in the diaper bag. Anyone watching would think Dieter is dealing with a bomb. He gags when he pushes the wipes into the bag after cleaning her up and he grabs the rash cream, placing some on her bottom where the video details he should. He curses the new diaper, trying to figure out what way is the front until he sees it says “back” on it and he pulls it tight on her tiny body before he clips her onesies back into place. “Shit. That - that wasn’t too bad.” He murmurs, breathing in the fresh air and she hiccups, looking up at him with wide eyes.
“You’re kind of cute.” Dieter murmurs. “In a weird, ‘you don’t look like me’ kind of way.” He frowns when she grins at him, kicking her feet. “You’re weird.” He huffs, but she just waves her arms at him and squeals. Is she his? After all this time, did he finally fuck up and procreate? His mind spins and he wishes he remembers what the woman looks like better than he does but it had been early (for him) and he had just woken up. “We will have to find you someone who knows what they are doing kiddo.”
****
“What did you do?” Johan accuses Dieter who shakes his head, holding the baby in his arms and he looks at her, unable to deny that she looks a little like Dieter.
“I don’t know man. Some woman, I- Jesus. She said I fucked her and don’t even remember her. I’m waiting for the nurse to come for the DNA test.” Dieter confesses, knowing he has to be sure before he does anything.
“Oh my God, Dieter.” She rolls her eyes and immediately steps closer to the baby, unable to resist seeing her up close. “This is why you said you needed a nanny?”
Dieter nods and rocks his body as the baby’s eyes start to drift closed. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.” He huff, looking around the house that is definitely not baby proof. “I don’t have anything. I need-” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what the fuck I need. More diapers? That formula?” He nods towards the diaper bag. “She didn’t leave me shit for this baby.” He growls, pissed off at the poor planning of that woman. Who just abandons their baby with someone they didn’t know?
“Let me make a list and we can get what we need for her.” Johan says, knowing Dieter will not know anything that he will need.
“I need help. And stuff. Like now.” Dieter says, feeling the need to use but he can’t since he’s responsible for a fucking baby now.
Johan nods and bites his lip. “I’ve got a call into a nanny service. They are going to send someone over today.” He knows Dieter will be relieved. “Maybe she can help us with what we need.”
“Let’s get her. I need help. I- shit. I don’t even have a crib or anything. I need you to go out. Take my card and get all the baby shit from the best store there is in town.” He orders, wanting the baby to have the best even if she isn’t his. She’s cute and she deserves a good start in this world. “I need - shit - I have no idea what I’m doing. Please help me.” Dieter begs, the baby falling asleep against his chest and he looks down at her, her lips pouting as she sucks on the pacifier he found in the bag.
Johan grimaces and nods, aware that he has even less experience with babies than Dieter does. “I’ll be back.” The other man promises, quickly making his way towards the door and out of the house. He had no clue what the hell to do for his boss, he’s gotten himself in a mess this time. As much as he wants to claim he doesn’t know that baby is his, it is. Dieter Bravo is a father.
****
“It’s nice to meet you. I’ve always been such a fan of your work.” The woman gushes. Dieter can barely remember her name. Violet, Vivian, or something like that. She seems nice enough and her qualifications from the service are good. He doesn’t really know what he’s looking for in a nanny except he desperately needs help. He’s waiting on the DNA results to come in but the little baby is cute and she listens to him rambling without complaints.
Viola looks around the house and wonders how the hell Dieter Bravo became an overnight father. “You must attend parenting classes.” She insists after Dieter finally runs out of steam and shuts up. “There is one I can sign you up for. It’s for new parents and you qualify.” She chuckles, shaking her head. “They have a meeting in two days, I can see about getting you halfway set up.
“What? No. I don’t need a parenting group.” Dieter scoffs and Viola raises her eyebrows.
“Respectful sir, I think you do.” She offers him a wry smile when the baby starts to cry in his arms.
“I’m hopeless, aren’t I?” He sighs, trying to rock Rosie and he is struggling to calm her.
“Here. Can I-?” Viola asks and Dieter practically shoves the baby into her arms.
“You’re hired.” He declares when Rosie calms down and the crying stops. He can’t do this alone.
“Mr. Bravo,” Viola frowns and shakes her head. “I’m sorry if you misunderstood. I am here temporarily.” She explains. “I have already signed a contract with another family. I came today because it was an emergency.” She wonders if he had heard anything she had said when she arrived, he had looked frazzled but she thought she had been clear.
“What? No! You seem like such a nice lady and Rosie likes you. Please. I’ll pay more. I’ll do anything to get you to stay.” He pleads, “name your price. I’ll fucking pay it. Please!” He pouts, eyes wide and pleading.
Viola shakes her head, “I’m so sorry. I can’t get out of the contract. I’ll help you as much as I can. Johan said you need help learning the basics so I’ll show you the basics and take care of Rosie while I can but you’re going to have to learn what to do.” She says, knowing it’s going to be tough.
“I can’t do this.” Dieter wails, knowing life as he knows it is over. Without someone here, he going to fuck it up. “Please, please, you have to stay.” He begs, making Viola shake her head.
“I am here for one week, Mr. Bravo. Then it will be up to you to find someone to help you care for Rosie. Now, let me show you how to bathe your daughter.”
****
“She’s yours.” Dieter exhales shakily as Johan announces the DNA results.
“Shit. I- I have a daughter.” He shakes his head and looks over at Rosie who is asleep in her bassinet. “What am I gonna do?” Dieter asks as reality sets in. He has a child that he’s responsible for and Viola is only here for two more days. “She’s - she’s so tiny and I’m gonna fuck it up. She’s gonna get fucked up because of me.” He starts to panic now that reality has hit.
“You are going to go to the parenting class tonight and we are going to continue to look for a nanny.” Johan tells Dieter practically. He’s been surprised that Dieter hasn’t done as many drugs as he normally does, even smoking weed outside because of the baby. “So far all the services I’ve called don’t have anyone available until next year.” He shakes his head. “Apparently it was baby season this year.”
Dieter groans, covering his face with his hands and dragging them down his cheeks. “I have pre-production for the movie coming up in a few weeks. I can’t take her with me to a table read.” He whines and Rosie shifts in her sleep, making Dieter’s heart melt when the movement catches his attention and he looks over. “Fine. I’ll go to the parenting class. Maybe…maybe someone can help me find a nanny there.” He says, determined to find help.
****
Dieter walks into the church hall, surprised he hasn’t burst into flames. He hasn’t been to church since he was a kid. His mama used to drag him on a Sunday and when he became famous at ten years old, he managed to bail on church because he was working. He sits down in a seat, noticing how all the other attendees are women. Rosie is asleep in her carrier for now and he has the diaper bag at his feet. “Welcome ladies and - oh. Hi, we have a new member.” An older woman smiles at Dieter, “welcome to the single mom support group.”
“Oh, uh, I thought it was-“ Dieter falters for a moment, panicking about being kicked out of the group. “I thought this was a single parent support group.” He explains, shuffling. “I just- uh, the mother of the child- my child- I just got the DNA test back, dropped her off on my door with no warning.” He rambles, trying to explain why he needs to stay. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.” He confesses, nearly sounding defeated.
“It’s okay. It’s okay. You can stay.” A few of the moms recognize Dieter and he looks exhausted. Rosie had kept him up half of the night since Viola has been weaning him off of her help, and he glances around.
“I’m sorry to - shit. I can go.” He says and you are sitting next to him.
“No, stay. It’s okay. We are all here to help each other.” Your own son, three months old, is whining and you sigh, pulling your tank top down and unclipping your bra to breastfeed him.
Dieter’s eyes widen at the sight of your breast and he can’t deny his cock twitches a little at the idea of drinking down some milk. Shit, when did that kink happen? “I appreciate it. I have no clue what I’m doing.” He admits again and all the women laugh, “none of us do. It’s instinct and a lot of books.” One giggles, “and Google.”
“I didn’t even know.” Dieter moans, shaking his head. “It was- it was a one night stand.” He feels bad about that, not even able to tell Rosie about his relationship with her mom when she gets older. “I’m trying to hire a nanny but all of them are booked up.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to fuck her up. She’s so tiny. Two months old.”
“What’s her name?” You ask him, looking at the little girl asleep in her carrier.
“Rosie.” He says with a soft smile, it’s hard to not love the little girl now that he knows she’s his. He wants the best for her, even if she’s stuck with a manic mess like him. “This is Oliver.” You gesture to the baby now asleep on your breast.
Dieter smiles and tries not to notice the grunting sounds the kid is making. Feeling guilty because he knows that he would be making the exact same sounds the kid is if he was sucking down milk from your tit. “That’s nice.” He offers.
“So what is your name?” The woman in charge smiles fondly at him and he’s surprised no one recognizes him.
“Uh, Dieter.” He offers, curling his shoulders slightly. “Dieter Bravo.”
“Welcome Dieter.” Several of the women say to him with a smile.
“So do you have any questions?” Julia, the group leader asks.
“Where the fuck do I begin?” He replies dramatically, making all the women chuckle.
“Well, we are here to help each other so might as well start.”
“So my first question. So is their shit always gonna be that black color?” Dieter shakes his head, making a face as he remembers the last diaper he had changed.
All the women laugh. “No that won’t last for much longer since she’s three months old.”
Dieter rolls his eyes gratefully. “Oh thank God.” He chuckles. Looking over at you again. “You said your son is two months old? Is he sleeping all night? Is that something that she has to get used to?”
You shake your head, “he isn’t sleeping through the night yet. I breastfeed so he wakes me up every couple of hours. It takes a while for them to sleep through the night. Like six months or so. Have you read any baby books?” You ask and he shakes his head. “Oh you must read - you know what. I’ll send you a list. What’s your number?” You ask and the women all giggle, making you fluster. “I mean, to help. We have babies close in age. It’s good to have help.”
“Do you need a job?” Dieter blurts out, wondering why he hadn’t thought of it before. “I mean- if your husband doesn’t mind.” He corrects himself, forgetting it was a single mother’s group. “I'm just- I’ve got to start pre-production on the next movie and it’s going to be crazy and you seem like you’re perfect. You handle your baby so easily.” His eyes are wide and pleading, begging you to say yes.
Your eyes widen, "I- um, oh wow. A job?"
The other women all nod, telling Dieter about your history as a teacher and how you know CPR. You fluster, knowing you need a job. Your maternity leave ended two weeks ago and instead of letting you come back to work, your job had fired you. Between losing your job and your landlord chasing you up on rent, you know this is too good to turn down. "I'm not married and um, what job do you have in mind?"
“Nanny.” He jumps immediately on your question. Knowing that it’s not a ‘no’. “I’ll pay you really well and you can- can you live there? I mean, I can have odd hours and you can stay at my place. You and Oliver.” He makes sure to include your son. “I have a big house. In Sherman Oaks.” As if that would sweeten the deal. “Help me with Rosie and teach me how to be a dad. How to look after her. I don’t expect you to do it all.” He clarifies, having already gotten used to the idea of being a ‘girl dad’. He’s watched a few Tik Toks about it and it looks cool.
You know it sounds too good to be true. A job and a place to live with your son. “I think we need to sit down and talk this through properly. You don’t even know me. Don’t you wanna do a background check?” You ask, knowing you’d be doing that if you were hiring someone to live in your house. “We have a lot to discuss.” You bite your lip and look around the room to see the other moms nodding to encourage you.
“Yeah. Yeah.” Dieter nods seriously. “My agent will have that done. Plus the NDA you would have to sign.” He’s grateful you are even thinking about it. “But don’t worry. Most of the tabloid stuff is bullshit. I’m not that bad.” He promises with a quick, charming grin. “We can hammer out the details after this, right?”
“Uh, sure.” You nod and Dieter winks at you before turning back to the women, their own babies in their arms and you know this is too good an opportunity to turn down. “You wanna go get a coffee?” You ask Dieter after Oliver is in his stroller and you look at Rosie who is still asleep, unaware of her father trying to hire her a new nanny.
“As long as it’s quiet.” He says and you frown, “uh, sure. You said you are going into pre-production so does that mean you are an actor?” You ask, unaware of if he’s famous.
Dieter stares at you for a moment, wondering if you are just trying to play coy but you are just looking at him curiously. “Yeah, uh, I am.” He admits, finding it refreshing that someone on this planet doesn’t know who he is or have any expectations of him. “I normally do two or three movies a year, depending on how long they take to film or whatever.” He struggles with the carrier and the door, holding it open for you on the other side. “Gotta get one of those.” He tells himself, eyeing your stroller.
“We can make a list of what you’ll need. I’m guessing you have the basics but there’s so much stuff.” You sigh, knowing it’s not always been in your reach but someone like him could buy it all.
“A list sounds good. Coffee?” He suggests, gesturing to the small coffee shop down the street and you nod.
“Sounds good. I desperately need one. He kept me up all night. He was hungry last night and wouldn’t settle unless he was against my breast.”
Dieter keeps his dirty thoughts to himself, but he doesn’t blame the kid. He would love to sleep with a nipple in his mouth too. “We will make sure to get you an extra shot of espresso.” He promises, carrying the car seat and diaper bag as he walks alongside you. “I’m being serious. About the job, I mean.” He tells you. “I have tried every nanny service in the greater L.A. area with no luck, although I’m on their waitlist.” He sighs and shuffles the carrier when his arm gets tired in one position. “I have an in-law suite you and Oliver can use, if you want a little more privacy than just sleeping upstairs.” He knows he sounds desperate, because he is desperate. Johan knows less than he does about babies and has zero interest in watching the kid while he is busy.
“Let’s sit down with the babies and then we can order.” You suggest and he nods, guiding you over to a table in the back. Rosie is waking up and he panics when she starts to cry. “Oh hello gorgeous.” You murmur, leaning down to look at his daughter and Dieter is fumbling to get the bottle from the bag to make her formula. You sigh, sensing he needs help and you unbuckle the baby, Oliver asleep as you cradle Rosie, her cries settling a little and you stand up, rocking her and you reach for the formula Dieter has, a whole damn container, and work fast on a bottle. “My sister has kids. I used to babysit them.” You explain and work fast with one hand to prepare a bottle and bring it to her lips. “Here you go sweet pea.” You coo as she starts to gulp down the milk.
“You’re really good at this.” Dieter says in awe, watching you handle things so smoothly. “I’m just-I don’t know.” He sighs, feeling bad that he’s not good at this.
“Babies sense the emotions around them.” You tell him quietly. “You panic, she’s going to become more frantic. Just talk to her while you are getting her bottle ready. Or have one already mixed up, ready to go.” You think about all the formulas that are already bottled and just need a nipple slapped on them. “We can find a routine that works for you.”
Dieter nods, “yes. Yes. God, please take the job. I need you.” He pleads and you shift Rosie into his arms, transferring the bottle to him.
“I’ll take the job. On one condition.” You say, sitting back down and you rock Oliver’s stroller.
“Anything.” Dieter vows.
“You learn too. I don’t want you to just shove her into my arms at the first sign of difficulty. She’s your daughter. You need to know how to care for her, to bond with her. You can’t just hand her off and expect me to do it all. She needs to know her daddy.”
Dieter nods, knowing that he would do that if given the opportunity. “Okay.” He agrees. “I want you to help me become better at taking care of her.” He bites his lip and looks at you. “What do you want for pay?” He asks, listing off a number that the nanny services had given him. “Does that sound okay? Plus, you’ll have full use of the house. And a card for expenses. I don’t expect you to buy the diapers or wipes or any of that shit.”
Your eyes widen, it’s way more than you were making at your old job. Your landlord has been threatening you with eviction since you’re struggling to pay, and this almost seems like fate. “Wow. I- are you sure?” You ask him and he nods, “I’m absolutely sure.”
You swallow and offer him a soft smile, “then I’m your new nanny.” He grins and your heart thumps in your chest at how handsome he is. “There’s something you gotta know though.” You sigh and Dieter nods, waiting for you to go on. “Oliver’s father. He - he died.” You feel yourself tearing up, “we - I was only a few months pregnant when we got into the car accident. I didn’t even know I was pregnant at the time but Ollie- he- he died. We were- we were friends, friends with benefits and we got pregnant and he- he never got to meet his son.” You choke, the grief that’s consumed you threatens to take you again. He didn’t have any family left alive so Oliver would’ve been his only family.
“I’m sorry.” Dieter frowns, unsure of how to comfort someone about a death that meaningful but he feels like he should say something. “That is rough. Hopefully- hopefully this will turn into a good arrangement.” He offers with a small shrug, realizing that things could be worse. He can’t imagine what it would be like going through this alone. “After our coffee, do you want to come over? See the house?” He asks. “I can call my agent to draw up any kind of paperwork you want.”
You nod, sniffing to stop yourself from crying about Ollie. You loved him, he was your friend, but you were never in love with him. He had his problems and you had yours. It would’ve never worked. Oliver is here now and you have to be strong for him, to keep Ollie’s memory alive. “Yes. I- this is a lot but I want to change my life. I need a change. I want to work for you.” You say as the barista takes pity on you with the babies and comes over to take your order. “I’ll have a vanilla latte please.” You order and Dieter adds, “with an extra shot of espresso.”
After taking your orders, Rosie finishes her bottle and Dieter shifts to put her up on his shoulder to burp. “Hang on, you need a spit rag.” You insist, digging in your own diaper bag to produce one.
“Huh,” Dieter huffs, “I just thought I was supposed to wear her puke until she stopped doing that.” He jokes, the stains on his shirt only partly from his daughter.
“No, you always carry multiple burp clothes and changes of clothes, for both of you.” You tell him with a smile.
He nods, mentally taking notes. He has so much to learn from you to make sure his daughter is well looked after. He doesn’t want to fail at being a father. He wants her to know he did everything he could to be a good daddy. He knows you will be good for Rosie, for him too. He sips his coffee and watches you with Oliver, rocking his stroller, and he can see you’re a good mom. He feels comfortable with you. “Do you wanna come back to my place?” Dieter asks, realizing that’s the first time he’s asked that question without it being for sex or drugs
You bite your lip and look up at the frazzled, yet handsome man who is offering you a dream situation. A place to live and the ability to stay at home with your son while still earning money. You don’t know if you would ever get a better offer. “Yes.” You agree. “I’ll follow you? Maybe you can text me the address in case we get separated?” You want to look it up really quickly, just to make sure it’s a real place.
He nods, taking your number to text you his address. He is anxious for you to see the house, hoping you love it and it helps to get you to take the job. You strap Oliver into his car seat while Dieter does the same to Rosie and soon enough, you’re driving to his house.
“I, uh, I’ll ask the housekeeper to come in more than once a week.” Dieter offers, climbing out of his car as you do the same. He doesn’t want you to think that it’s all going to fall on you. “Oh, Johan told me about a diaper delivery service. All natural diapers? That’s better, right?” He asks, anxious about doing the right thing. He had read about the chemicals used in the nappies he currently has.
You smile at his anxiety, wanting the best for Rosie, and you know he’s going to be a good daddy once he gets his feet under him. “Johan?” You ask and Dieter nods, “my assistant. He’s - he is my lifeline.” Dieter confesses and you nod, understanding he lives a completely different life to you. He needs an assistant to manage his schedule. You take Oliver out of the car in his carrier and follow Dieter into the house, your eyes wide at the gorgeous home he owns. “This is - wow.” You exhale as you enter the grand property.
“Thank you.” Dieter shows you the bottom floor and opens the door to his study. “I have all this shit I don’t know what it’s for.” The room is filled with boxes of toys and jumpers, cribs and carriers. Johan had gone overboard but Dieter had wanted to make sure that he had everything he needed. Your eyes widen and he blushes, “I was trying my best.”
You nod, understating he has struggled since Rosie was dropped on his doorstep. “We can get everything set up. Does she have a nursery?” You ask and he shakes his head, “she’s been in my room. I- I haven’t really slept. I’ve been trying to watch her sleep in case, you know.”
You understand, knowing you stay awake watching Oliver breathing. It’s a lot of anxiety being a first time parent. “We will get her nursery set up and then you can keep her in your room if you want but then she has somewhere to nap and call her own.” You smile and rub his shoulder after you set Oliver down in his carrier, he’s asleep. “It’s gonna be fine.” You promise him, glancing around the beautiful living room. “It’s gonna need some baby proofing and, uh, that needs to go.” You gesture to the powder packet on the counter.
“Oh, I, uh-“ Dieter rushes forward and grabs the packet to sweep it off the counter and into his pocket. “I haven’t- that’ll be put away.” He promises, cursing himself for leaving it out. He hadn’t taken any lately, not since Rosie arrived because he’s too fucking scared of something happening to her while he’s bombed. “Sorry.” He hopes you don’t decide to leave him high and dry because of that. “Do you want to see the rooms you and Oliver could have?” He asks desperately.
You stop him, “I- I am taking the job but you won’t do drugs in this house with the babies. If something happened or they got hold of it - I couldn’t - no drugs in this house. Period. You wanna go get high somewhere else? Fine. But your daughter comes first, you understand?” You ask him, knowing you won’t risk your own son around that kind of bullshit.
Immediately nodding, Dieter understands what you are saying. “I haven’t- not since she’s arrived.” He confesses. “I’ve been too scared to even try in case something happens.” He’s not stupid enough to think he won’t do drugs anymore but he does want to be there for his daughter.
You nod, knowing it’s not ideal but it will have to do. As long as they aren’t kept in the house and he doesn’t do them around the children, it’s his business. You are just his employee. “Okay.” You pat his shoulder and he guides you to the guest suite. “Dieter…this is…wow.” You gasp at the massive room, “this is - this is a lot. Are you sure - there’s no other room you want me to have?” You ask, knowing this room is the size of your apartment.
“You need room for you and Oliver.” He shrugs, not wanting to say that he doesn’t have guests unless it was someone from a party. And he doubts he’s having those here anymore. “This way you have privacy and your own bathroom.” He knows that is important and figured this would be perfect. “And using another room for Oliver is okay too.” He doesn’t want to suggest the nursery can be shared, but he wouldn’t mind. “Will this work?”
You smile, reaching out to pat his arm, “this is more than enough, Dieter. It’s perfect.” You promise and he grins, pleased that you are happy. He sighs when Rosie starts to cry and Oliver follows suit, both babies waking up. “Come on daddy, let’s go feed the babies.”
He feels more confident with you beside him. Even if it’s just your presence reminding him that he should test the bottle on the inside of his wrist before popping the nipple in Rosie’s mouth while Oliver is greedily suckling at your breast for his own meal. “That wasn’t too bad.” He grins down at his daughter, eyes wide but slowly starting to close as she gulps down the bottle. “How often do you have to feed Oliver?” He asks, trying to keep his eyes on your face respectfully. You aren’t giving him a show.
“About every one and a half to two hours. Depends on when he’s hungry. He lets me know.” You chuckle and watch your son as his gulps turn into suckles which lead to him falling asleep against your breast. “It’s - it’s exhausting but he’s worth it.” You smile at Dieter who is rocking Rosie. “You’re getting better already. We will make a list of everything we need for you and, um, I guess I better go and pack.” You smile bashfully, knowing this is a big move but it’s what’s best for you and Oliver.
“Why don’t we hire someone to pack you?” Dieter asks with a frown. You have your hands full and he knows that it will take a lot to take care of your son and try to pack. “I’ll pay for it. I don’t mind. That way we can get the nursery set up.”
“Are you sure? I- I don’t know if you’re gonna find someone so late notice. I don’t have much. And I will need Oliver’s crib and -”
You don’t get to finish because Dieter is pulling out his phone to call Johan and arrange for your things to be moved today. “Whatever it costs.” Dieter says and you swallow, knowing Dieter has more money than you could imagine if he can waste it like that.
“Thank you.” You tell him, cradling Oliver who is fast asleep.
“It’s nothing.” Dieter waves away the thanks and looks down at Rosie as she finishes the last of her bottle. “Okay little girl, let’s get you to burp, and then maybe a nap?” He asks, grinning. “She has the manliest burps.” He brags, astounded that something so small could make such a racket. “I have the other cradle thingy if you want to lay your son down.”
“The bassinet?” You smirk and he shrugs one shoulder, “I’m still learning.” You nod and let him guide you to the bassinet and you carefully lay Oliver down before adjusting your shirt after clipping your nursing bra. Rosie burps and you giggle softly, liking how proud Dieter is of her and you watch him lay her down in the cradle next to Oliver. “Maybe they will be best friends.” You whisper, leaning closer to him.
“That would be cool.” Dieter imagines it, his own childhood lonely and isolated. There were times he had wished desperately for a built-in friend. “Let’s get out of here before we wake them up.” He has learned that Rosie is cranky if she gets woken up before she’s ready and he doesn’t blame her, he’s the same way. Maybe she got it from him. “So, uh, since there’s two kids….just, um, we’re gonna need that double stroller thingy, right?” Dieter asks as he walks down the hall with you. “And can you show me that carrier thing? The one you have the baby wrapped to your body? That looks cool. Oh, and uh, the diapers. The service, when we get that set up, use it for Oliver too.” He adds. “No need to have two different types of diapers, right?”
You nod, realizing it’s best not to argue. “Let’s leave them to sleep and we can work on getting the nursery set up. I- I really appreciate this opportunity, Dieter.” You tell him and lean in to kiss his cheek. He blushes as you set your phone up as a makeshift baby monitor, calling his phone, and you leave the babies to sleep. Dieter follows you, his eyes dropping down to your ass, and he curses internally when he realizes he finds you hot.
****
“Dieter!” You call out, trying to find your boss. Oliver and Rosie are having tummy time on the play mat and you need your breast pump. It’s been a couple of months since you moved in with Dieter to become his full time nanny and it’s been surprisingly nice. Rosie is a good girl and you’ve grown to fall in love with her, making sure her and Oliver get equal treatment. “Can you get my pump?” You ask when he doesn’t respond.
“Yeah!” Dieter reluctantly lets go of his cock and tucks it away in his dress slacks. He had been trying to tug one out before he had to go to court, formally getting custody of his daughter. Nervous and not able to get high, jerking off had become even more of a habit than before now he had started thinking about you while he was doing it. You’re so fucking pretty and kind. Looking like an angel as you take care of his daughter. Dieter knows that he’s falling in love with you but he can’t do anything about it. Not willing to risk you leaving and denying Rosie the best nanny in the world. Washing his hands quickly, he rushes to the kitchen to grab the pump where you had cleaned it last night while he sterilized bottles. “Here it is.”
You thank him, breasts aching and you attach the suction, not thinking about Dieter as you sigh in relief at the milk finally being pumped. “Shit. That feels good.” You groan, the whooshing of the machine pumping and you have been pumping enough for Rosie to have milk too. It’s been a lot but you love the babies. “What time do you have to leave?” You ask Dieter, catching him staring at your tits and you hate that it thrills you. He’s so sexy, unintentionally so, and goofy as hell. He’s good with his daughter and you’ve grown close, raising the babies together, and you know it’s getting harder and harder to deny how you feel every day.
“Oh, uh, I gotta leave in twenty minutes.” His cock is still hard in his trousers and he twitches at the groan you make. Every day you pump, having no modesty around him now and you shouldn’t - it’s natural but Dieter still thinks it’s sexy. “I’m nervous.” He admits, glancing over at Rosie as she squeals and waves her arms on her tummy. “I know that my lawyer said it’s a formality, but what if the judge doesn’t like me? What if he takes Rosie from me?”
You shake your head and reach for his hand, squeezing it. “I promise you, it’s gonna be fine, D. You’re a good daddy and that will be shown. I know your past hasn’t been ideal but you got this. You’re a good man, Rosie is lucky to have you. We all are. It’s gonna be fine. I promise you.” You offer him a soft smile and squeeze his hand again.
“I’m more nervous than the night I won my Oscar.” Dieter confesses with a nervous chuckle. He doesn’t tell you that he was high, sure that you could guess that, although he has done anything more than hit his weed pen since you’ve moved in. Rosie is surprisingly therapeutic, although he’s glad she doesn’t understand what he talks about during the nights he gets up with her. The movie is almost halfway done shooting and he’s going to make sure that once he’s done, you get a week off so you can veg for more than a night. He looks down at your joined hands and smiles. “I’ll call you when I get out, okay?” He asks, and you nod, letting go of him. “And eat that kale and beet salad in the fridge”, he throws over his shoulder as he rushes towards the door. “It’s supposed to help the milk supply.”
You roll your eyes playfully, looking back at the babies. “Daddy is silly, isn’t he?” You talk to Rosie and look at Oliver, saddened that he isn’t going to know his father. You wonder what Ollie would think of Dieter. They are similar in a lot of ways but Ollie was always practical, making sure you weren’t in a relationship because of his strenuous job as a firefighter. He didn’t want you to be one of those women sitting around waiting for him. You sigh and wonder what you are going to do about Dieter. It’s too comfortable with him.
****
“Dinner’s ready!” You call out. The babies are now six and seven months old. Sitting in their baby bouncers, watching you setting the dinner out for Dieter. He’s finished filming and you want to celebrate. The nice bottle of wine on the table alongside his favorite pasta.
“Oh my god, you spoil me.” Dieter groans as he comes into the dining room, freshly showered and in comfortable clothes. Rosie squeals happily and so does Oliver, both of them in their high chairs. Dieter grins leaning in and blowing a raspberry on his daughter’s cheek and then on your son’s. He never thought he was a kid type of person, but his playfulness extends to your son. He’s a good kid and it would not be right when you are so good with Rosie if he ignored the little guy. It makes him imagine that the four of you are a family, a real one and he was coming home from work to all of you. “You didn’t have to do this.”
You shake your head, enjoying the way his hand finds your waist as you reach for the parmesan on the counter. You turn to face him, cupping his cheek, “you just finished filming. You deserve a treat.” You smile, caressing his cheek and your eyes dip down to his lips for a second. He stares at you and you clear your throat, lowering your hand, “let’s eat. You must be starving.” You set the cheese down and glance over at the babies, you fed them while dinner was cooking so now you and Dieter can enjoy your meal.
“How was your day?” He’s finding that this, fatherhood and responsibility, is grounding for him. Not just concentrating on his whims and trolling through boredom. Every day is different and challenging with kids, especially when he’s trying to make sure that none of his own parents' mistakes affect Rosie. “The kids were okay?” He asks, pouring more wine into each of your glasses. You hum in protest but Dieter shakes his head. “Just pump and dump. You deserve more than one glass.” He huffs.
You sigh but let him pour some more wine, it’s been stressful with the babies today. “Rosie decided to throw up all over Oliver and herself so both of them needed a bath and then Oliver managed to get his diaper off in his onesie so he needed another bath and then Rosie wouldn’t stop crying because Oliver wasn’t next to her. It’s been - it’s been a day.” You sigh and Dieter nods, reaching for your hand. It feels so normal, like you’re complaining to your husband about your hectic day over wine and you look up at Dieter, “I love them both so much but today was…it was a lot.”
“I can imagine.” Dieter squeezes your hand gently and once again thinks that it’s odd that you don’t feel like his employee. You feel like his wife, although he’s never kissed you, or touched you like he’s imagined. “Let me take both the kids tonight.” He offers. “I’ve got the next week off before I have to do all the press bullshit for the other movie coming out in two weeks. Why don’t you take a little vacation? A spa or something?” His parenting skills have improved drastically and there have been times where he’s watched Oliver for you. Like when you had to go for another postpartum checkup.
You groan, letting go of his hand so you can continue eating. “I won’t lie…a massage sounds good. My back has been killing me.” You confess, twirling the pasta around your fork and you bite your lip, wondering what a massage from him would be like with his hands. “I wouldn’t mind going to the mall. I need some new clothes that aren't leggings.” You chuckle, “and I need some new underwear.” You sigh before you chew on the pasta.
Dieter’s cock twitches at the thought of your underwear. Not that he sees them. You’ve taken over doing the laundry even though he offered to have someone come in. Or he could help. Insisting that it was no problem. Johan had even commented that you made his house seem like a real home, and Dieter couldn’t deny that. “You could do all that.” He promises. “I’ll watch the kids. I want to spend some time with R and O.”
You feel guilty leaving the kids behind but you trust Dieter, something you never thought you’d say, but he has proven himself to be an amazing father. You smile, “thanks baby.” You tell him and he swallows the wine down. It’s getting harder to deny how you feel. After finishing eating, Dieter helps you clean up while you have the babies in the play pen. “Bedtime for the bubbies.” You coo, picking up Rosie and kissing her hair. “Daddy is gonna change you, baby girl.” You slide her into Dieter’s arms and pick up Oliver.
“Why don’t you go take your own bath?” Dieter offers, grinning down at Rosie. “You’ve had them all day and you said it’s been rough. Go take a bubble bath. I can get them ready for bed.” He’s made huge strides as a father, as a caretaker and now that he’s more confident, he finds he likes it. Kids are fun. And easy to learn how to please. “I can rock them both and get them settled.”
“Are you sure?” You ask, trusting him but you want him to be comfortable.
“I am for this.” He promises and you nod, “you got this. I- I can feed O before they get to sleep.” You say and he shakes his head.
“No. I got it.” He promises, knowing he can warm up your milk.
You lean in to kiss the babies’ heads, “goodnight my loves. I love you so much.” You say to them and you look up at Dieter, offering him a grateful smile. You make your way into the bathroom, sighing in relief when you sink into the tub.
Dieter hums to the babies as he warms up their last bottles of the night. Changed and in clean onesies, they are ready for that last bottle. Smirking to himself as he tests the breast milk on his wrist and barely resists licking it. He wants to try it, but he feels like that might be crossing a line. Getting both of the babies settled in each arm and they can hold their own bottle now with a little help. “You two are like twins, you know that?” He coos at both of them, settling in the rocker on the nursery while they eat. Watching their eyes grow heavier as they suck. You had both decided to keep them in the same nursery, letting them bond and it has worked out so much better than he had ever hoped. He loves Oliver like Rosie and when they fall asleep at the same time, he’s grinning as he holds them for a little longer before shifting to put them to sleep in the same crib. They cried if they were separated, curling up together during the night as if they were twins.
You sigh, relaxing in the hot water until you decide to get out and say goodnight to the babies. You shrug your robe on, tying it as you make your way to the nursery as Dieter leans over the crib. “They asleep?” You whisper and he nods. You caress their heads, loving how they are asleep together, keeping each other safe. Sometimes you see them holding hands in the night. It’s adorable. You rest your head on Dieter’s shoulder as you watch them for another moment and he turns his head to kiss your hair. It makes your heart pound and you pull away, letting the babies sleep with the white noise machine running.
Dieter’s hands seem to be twitchy as you walk out of the nursery in front of him. He knows that you are only dressed in a robe and he wants nothing more than to strip you out of it and touch you. Make you shake in pleasure. “Do you want to have a drink?” Dieter asks. “Or are you calling it a night?”
“A drink sounds good. Relax after a long day.” You smile, walking into the kitchen to open the second bottle of wine you’d bought earlier. You work fast to open it, pouring a glass and handing it to him before you settle on the sofa. “You wanna continue watching that show on HBO?” You ask, knowing he hates it when you watch an episode without him.
“Yes!” Dieter lights up and he narrows his eyes at you playfully. “You better not have already watched it.” He threatens playfully, handing you the remote. He likes when you relax and loves that you feel completely at home here. It is your home. He leans towards you and takes a sip of the wine. “What do you think is gonna happen, this episode? The previews looked good.”
You nod, shifting closer towards him. “I promise you. I haven’t seen it yet.” You assure him and have another sip of your wine. You love and hate how relaxed you are, how easy this is. How real it feels. Like you’re a proper family. The baby monitor is on the coffee table and you rest your head on Dieter’s shoulder as he presses play. You barely watch the show, too focused on the way Dieter feels pressed against you.
About halfway through the show Dieter shuffles, throwing his arm around the backside of the couch and around you. Letting you slide down against him more. You pull the throw blanket over your legs and he smiles, wondering how you are always cold but it’s a cute quirk he’s noticed.
You snuggle into his side, hand finding his chest and you caress the skin under the shirt he always has half buttoned. He sighs and you breathe him in, pleased to feel his heart thumping under your touch. This intimacy, it’s what keeps you satisfied when you yearn for more but you can’t risk it. Your job. Your home. Your life is connected to his and you can’t afford to mess it up.
“Marry me.” Dieter says and you think you misheard him.
“What?” You ask, not moving.
“Marry me.” He repeats and you jerk back from his side so you can look him in the eyes.
“What- did you just ask me to marry you?”
“I did.” Dieter nods, turning towards you and reaching for your hand. “I love you. I love how you make this house feel like a home. I love how you care for Rosie and I love Oliver.” He adds. “I love coming home to you and I want this-“ he motions around the house and between the two of you. “To be real. I want to touch you, kiss you. Make love to you.” Dieter isn’t a man who talks in terms like ‘making love’ but that’s exactly what it would be. “I think you love me too, don’t you? I know you do.”
You shake your head, wanting to tell him you love him. He’s crazy, he leaves his socks everywhere and he has so many holes in his shirts but he’s kind and whacky and so damn funny. You love him, you’re in love with him, but to marry him would be a bad idea. You can’t risk this life you’ve created together. “Dieter.” You sigh, pulling your hand out of his. “We can’t. We can’t risk the babies. We - if it all went wrong, then I’d be moving out with Oliver and Rosie loses him and vice versa. If it all went wrong, I’d be homeless and I wouldn’t have anything. I can’t risk that for my son. I can’t. I’m sorry.”
His heart breaks but he’s determined to convince you this is a good thing. Latching onto what you said about being homeless, his eyes widen. “I’ll buy you a house.” He bursts out. “In your name alone. It’ll be yours. Completely.” He nods to himself, grinning like an idiot and picks up your hand again. “It won’t go wrong, you’re perfect and I love you. I want to be with you and our babies all the time and fuck, I want another baby when you’re ready.” He missed everything about Rosie’s birth and he wants to see your stomach large with a baby, his baby. “But if it did-“ he stresses the word ‘if’, “-you would have a house for you and Oliver. And you could rent it out right now. The money would be yours. Totally yours.”
Your eyes widen and you shake your head, “I can’t - that’s too much. A house here is insane. That’s a crazy amount to put into this. That - a whole damn house? That’s what you want to do?” You ask incredulously and he nods.
“All I know is that I can’t stop thinking about you. I need you. I love you.” He promises and you swallow harshly, tears stinging in your eyes.
Your heart yearns for him yet your head tells you it’s too much of a risk. “Dieter…” You trail off and he frowns, pulling away slightly, sensing your rejection. “I love you.” Your eyes water and a sob escapes your lips as you start to cry. No one has ever been so kind to you. To know he loves you enough to buy a house so you feel secure in case something goes wrong. It has you sobbing.
He lunges forward, crushing you to him in a comforting hug. “Don’t cry baby, please don’t cry. I never want you to cry.” He pleads, sure that he’s messed up somehow. “I’m sorry, I just can’t stop wanting you. Seeing you with our babies, I think- I wish they were ours. Our twins and we had them together.” He rubs your back and pets your hair as you sob into his chest and he tries to think of how he could make you feel better.
You sob into his chest at his words, wishing they were true but it’s not and that’s okay. The babies brought you together and you know you and Dieter would’ve never met if it weren’t for that single moms group. “I - I love you.” You offer him a watery smile as you pull back and he reaches out to gently wipe your tears away. “I love you and I want you to be mine. I want to be yours. I love you Dieter.” You confess, cupping his cheeks.
Dieter’s smile is slow, soft and he can’t believe that you are saying yes. He leans in and presses his lips to yours softly. Loving how you immediately open for him to slide his tongue against yours with a groan. Pulling you close against him again, this time shamelessly pressing his body against yours. “I love you.” He promises, kissing down your jaw line. “Do you want to have sex with me? Or do you want to wait?” He wants you in his bed, but if you wanted to wait until the deed to the house was in your hands, he would understand that. He would go out tomorrow and buy you the best house he could find.
You know you’ve spent far too much time thinking about him, having him inside of you, pressing against you, and you know you should slow down but you can’t. “I want you. I don’t want to wait. I want you now.” You tell him breathlessly and you press your lips to his, cupping his cheek while you slide your tongue against his.
Groaning, Dieter pulls you closer and starts to lean you back against the sofa, knowing that he needs to take you to bed but right now, he needs to feel you under him. “So beautiful.” He praises, kissing your chin and nips your skin with his teeth.
You sigh, loving how it feels to have him touch you. His hand sliding along your thigh and you whimper, “Dieter. Please. I want you to touch me.” You plead, guiding his hand to the tie of your robe while your hands caress his chest under his ratty t-shirt.
He hums, twitching against your hip and he leans back and grins at you, “I’m going to, baby. I’m going to make sure you know exactly what you are getting from me.” He pulls your robe open and groans at the sight of your tits. Looking back up at you. “Can I taste?” He asks. “I’ve dreamed of tasting your milk.”
Your cunt clenches around nothing at the thought. “You’ve imagined it?” You ask breathlessly and he nods so you move fast to straddle him, his cock hard against your thigh, and you lean in towards him to kiss him as you shrug your robe off of your shoulders. “You can have a taste.”
He knows your tits are tender, hearing you complain and watching as you sometimes have to massage them. He cups them in his hands, groaning at how full they are, grinning. “Fuck, I can drink it all since you were going to dump it.” He realizes as he leans forward to wrap his lips around one nipple.”
“Oh shit.” You gasp, groaning softly at the relief and arousal coursing through you. You love it. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you watch him gulp down your milk and you’re amazed that he enjoys it. “Oh God baby.” You pant, feeling the relief of your milk draining and the way he sucks on your nipple, biting it now and then.
“Shit.” He gasps, feeling his cock throbbing. “It’s better than I expected.” He moans, switching to your other breasts and he knows this will become a favorite thing for him now. One hand slides down between your thighs and he is so fucking happy to find you wet.
“Dieter. Please.” You beg, needing more from him. It’s been so long since someone touched you. Not since Ollie. You rock down onto his fingers, loving how he rubs your clit while his lips suckle on your other breast. “Oh fuck, D. So good.” You whimper, caressing his shoulders.
“What do you want, baby?” He pulls off your nipple with a pop. “You want me to eat your pussy?” He groans at the thought. “Want to sit on Dieter’s face? Smother me with your cunt?”
You giggle breathlessly, “that’s the only way to shut you up?” You tease and he nods, “one of the few ways.”
You laugh and he moves fast to shift, laying down and he pulls you over to hover over his face. “Shit baby. So good to me.” You gasp when he drags you down on top of his face.
The first taste is always amazing. Sliding his tongue though your folds as he pulls your hips down onto his mouth. Holding you there as he licks and then sucks on your clit.
You whimper, “baby. Oh baby.” You moan, grinding down onto his face. “So good. So fucking good.” You moan, loving how enthusiastic he is and he squeezes your ass, encouraging you to move. You do, rocking your hips down even more.
He doesn’t care that you two are on the couch or that he is throbbing in his pants. All he cares about is making you moan his name. He knows he will slide inside you as soon as you cum for him. He moans against your clit, loving how you are smothering him just like he wanted you to. Using him for your pleasure.
“Fuck. Fuck. It’s so good, baby.” You pant, lost in the pleasure of his mouth on you. You rock on top of his mouth, his nose pressing against your clit as his tongue pushes deep. “Fuck baby. Yes. Yes. Yes. Keep - keep going.” You beg, moaning his name.
He can’t breathe, but he doesn’t care. Too busy licking into you to feel your walls start to convulse around his tongue. Moaning when the first rush if your juices hit his mouth and your moan of his name almost makes him cum in his pants. Digging his fingers into your hips, Dieter doubles down on making you shriek his name.
You throw your head back as he makes you cum, moaning his name as you clamp down around his tongue. “Fuck baby. Fuck. I- I love you.” You whine when he works you through it and you whimper, lifting off of him when it becomes too much.
Panting like he was the one who had cum, Dieter licks his lips, completely pussy drunk as he caresses your side. Enjoying the boneless way you collapse on top of him as you try to catch your breath. “I love you. Fuck, you’re my new favorite meal.”
You inhale deeply, shifting off of him and you waste no time in tugging his shirt off of him. “Baby. I want to see all of you.” You tell him, tossing the ragged shirt away and you pull his sweats down to expose his cock. “Holy - that’s what you got?” Your eyes are wide at the girth and you wrap your fingers around him.
Dieter groans, bucking his hips and biting his lip in pleasure. “Fuck, is that not enough?” He gasps out. Normally women have no issue with his size but maybe your Ollie was hung like a horse.
“Not enough? Dieter, baby, I’m gonna feel you tomorrow.” You assure him, “I’m gonna need - wow. You might have to get some lube.” You admit and you start to pump him, in awe that your fingers don’t touch. You know it’s been so long since you’ve had sex and he is thick. You’ve always preferred girth over length anyway. “You’re big.” You promise him, leaning in to flick your tongue over the leaking slit.
He preens at your praise, eyes rolling back in his head at the feel of your tongue. “I’ve got lube.” He promises, reaching down and cradling your jaw. “Use it all the time, jerking off thinking about you.” He’s not ashamed of masturbating while thinking of you. “Baby let's go to the bedroom. You can ride me if you want more control.”
You want to suck his cock but you know you’ll have plenty of time to do that later. Right now, you need him inside of you. Releasing his cock, you pick up the baby monitor and stand up, smirking as you make your way to his bedroom. He’s scrambling to get his sweatpants off and you disappear down the hall, throwing over your shoulder, “don’t keep me waiting, Bravo.”
“Shit.” He hisses, eager to chase after you. Noticing that you are headed to his bedroom and not your own. “I’m coming baby, fuck.” He watches your ass shake as you sway your hips. “Gonna buy you the biggest fucking house I can find.”
You giggle, setting the monitor down on the nightstand and you gasp when Dieter’s hands grab your hips, pulling you back into him. You quickly spin and wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your lips to his. “I love you.” You murmur against his mouth, his hard cock pressing into your stomach.
“I love you too.” Dieter moans softly, sliding his hands down and squeezing your ass. “Do you- do you need me to wear a condom?” He asks, sure that you aren’t wanting to get pregnant so soon after having your son. It wasn’t like you two had discussed birth control.
“No. I- I got an IUD put in. Figured they might as well do it while I was there and it wasn’t painful. I’m clean too. Not been with anyone since Ollie.” You promise and wonder if he’s clean. You don’t know when he slept with someone last. Maybe after you arrived. You don’t know. It’s not like it was your business when you were just his nanny.
He nods. “I uh, I haven’t been with anyone since Rosie has shown up. I’m clean.” He promises, eager to slide inside you and feel you without a barrier. “I didn’t want to do that kind to shit around her. Give her a good example. Don’t want her to be like me.”
You cup his cheeks, “you’re a good father and she’s gonna be just fine. You’re doing a good job.” You remind him, leaning in to kiss along his jaw. “Come on baby, you want me to ride you?” You ask and he nods. You let go of him and he walks over to his nightstand to grab the lube while you kneel on the bed. When he’s laying down, you grab the bottle and squirt some into your hand, wrapping your fingers around his cock to coat him before you swipe your fingers through your folds to make sure you’re slick enough. “Fuck, you’re gonna stretch me out.” You tell him as you straddle him.
“Want to see it.” Dieter pants, chest heaving as he watches you position his cock at your entrance. Moaning your name as you start to sink down on him, he can feel his entire body light up in pleasure at the hot clutch of your cunt. “I love you. I fucking love you.” Dieter cries, his fingers digging into your thighs as you slowly take him deeper, watching your mouth drop open and loving the way you moan his name.
Your eyes close as you slowly sink down onto him. He’s so thick, it stings, but you like that. It’s been so long since you had sex and this is the man you love. Your heart pounds in your chest as your thighs meet his, his cock fully inside of you, and his fingers sink into your flesh. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” He grunts and you giggle, leaning down to kiss along his jaw. “I fucking love you too.” You murmur, licking along his neck until you are biting his earlobe so you can give yourself a moment to adjust to him.
He whines, unable to stop himself from lurching up in pleasure. “Oh did you like that?” You giggle breathlessly, making him moan and turn his head so you can do it again.
“More baby, fuck. Want you to mark me up.” He begs, so starved for attention that he needs to drown in it. His hand squeezes your ass again and it takes concentration to not urge you to move, your walls fluttering so deliciously around him.
You love how desperate he is for you. Biting down on his earlobe again and his cock twitches inside of you. You take pity, finally feeling comfortable, and you shift, rocking on his cock while you nibble on his ear, whispering “you’re mine. I’m gonna make sure everyone sees it.” You smirk as you kiss down his neck, sucking and biting on his skin.
“Fuck yes, I’m yours, I’m yours.” Dieter chants, rocking his hips up to chase your cunt when you lift off of him. Hating even the brief few seconds where he’s not buried inside your warmth. “All yours baby.” He groans, closing his eyes at the pure bliss of being able to touch you, to tell you what he’s thinking without worrying about offending you. “Gonna marry you. Give you everything.” He gasps out.
You moan, “I’m yours too. Been yours since I moved into this house. I’m gonna be your wife.” You promise and he groans, hands caressing your back. You kiss his collarbone and shift back, making his cock sink deeper and you grab his hands to help you balance as you ride his cock. “Fuck. Yes. God, so good. So good inside of me.” You ramble, squeezing his hands as you start to pick up the pace.
“God, fuck, your pussy is gold.” His toes curl and he loves how you start to bounce on his cock. Making your tits away heavily and he watches with them unabashed lust. “So fucking gorgeous.” He pants. “Can’t wait to see you pregnant, riding my cock.”
“One day.” You promise with a grin, breathless from how good this feels. You let go of his hands, leaning back to grab his knees, and you grind down onto his cock, hitting just the right spot to make you gasp. “Fuck, baby. Oh my - I’m - it’s gonna make me cum.” You confess, reaching down to rub your clit.
Dieter frowns and slaps your hand away, pouting up at you. “Let me.” He insists, pressing his thumb to your clit and rubbing a tight circle over the bundle of nerves while you bounce on his cock. “Fuck baby, cum, please cum. I’m gonna -“ he hisses. “Not gonna last. Too fucking tight.” Your walls clenching down around him every other bounce is getting to be too much and he grits his teeth, praying he lasts long enough for you to soak his cock.”
Your moans are getting breathier as you struggle to breathe from the pleasure. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Dieter. I’m gonna - oh!” You moan, clamping down on his cock and soaking him, his thumb still working your clit until your thighs are shaking. “Cum for me.” You beg breathlessly, wanting to feel it as you convulse on top of him from your orgasm.
You don’t have to say anything else. His entire body is aching to cum, gripping your hips harshly as he starts to thrust wildly up into your body. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shiiiiiiiiiit.” Dieter whines, burying his cock half a dozen more times before his back is bowing and he is crying out your name, filling you with hot spurts of his seed.
You pant, collapsing onto his chest as his cock twitches inside of you, and you kiss along his neck. Unable to speak, you enjoy the aftermath of your orgasms. The connection you feel to Dieter has you on cloud nine. He’s a good father and a good man, despite what the paps print. He’s changed for his child and that makes you love him more. “Good?” You ask breathlessly, hoping he enjoyed it as much as you did.
“So fucking good.” Dieter’s eyes are closed and his expression is one of pure relaxation. Enjoying the way you feel on top of him. “God, you’re spending the night right here. Every night from now on.” He slides a hand up and down your back, enjoying the feeling of your slick skin under his palm. “Now we just need the kids to sleep through the night.”
“Soon. They are getting better. And you want another one to keep us awake?” You tease, giggling when his cock twitches inside of you.
“I do.” He promises and you caress his cheek, leaning back to look into his eyes. “Me too. One day.” You lean in to softly kiss his lips, knowing you want this man to be your husband, to be everything. ****
“Diet, babe. Can you get me that - shit.” You hiss after you feel the baby kick your ribcage.
“Bad word mama.” Rosie points at you and you nod, “sorry, love. Mama needs to sit down.” You tell the three year old. Ollie comes over to sit down on the sofa next to you, his small hand on your belly as he leans in to talk to the baby in your belly. Rosie follows suit, wanting to do what her brother is doing.
“Hello baby. It’s me. Your big brother-”
“and sister.” Rosie adds as she leans in to press her ear to your stomach. You smile, tears in your eyes and look up to see Dieter walk into the living room.
“You called baby?” He asks, paint splattered all over him from painting the new nursery.
“Yeah. I’m sorry. Can you- can you get me some ice cream?” You bite your lip, knowing he’s been run ragged with your cravings.
Dieter grins, shoving his hand through his paint flecked hair, although he teases that the gray is because of you and the babies. “What kind of ice cream do you want, babe?” He strides over and rubs your bump before dropping a kiss on your lips. “Rocky road or are you wanting that cheesecake strawberry swirl?” He knows you will probably text him with more cravings, but he doesn’t mind. You are carrying his baby and you get what you want.
You smile at him, loving how flustered he looks when he has to go get your cravings, and you run your fingers over the kids’ heads before they look up at Dieter.
“Can we have ice cream, daddy?” Rosie asks, that pout she definitely got from Dieter on her face.
Oliver nods, “yes! Vanilla.”
Rosie shakes her head, “chocolate!”
You giggle and look at your husband, “I’ll have rocky road. Guess it’s an ice cream day.” You say and the kids cheer, excited to have ice cream.
“Vanilla, chocolate and rocky road.” Dieter nods, smiling down at the kids. He could never deny them much and while they would be considered spoiled, they were very well behaved. “Oh-“ he snaps his fingers. “Before I forget. The management agency called. They found another renter for the house and said that the repairs for the house were minimal, just paint to freshen up.”
True to his word, he had bought you a house, deeded it in your name and hired a management company to handle the day to day issues and repairs. All of the profits were deposited into a bank account that was solely yours, even though you had access to everything of Dieter’s. “So that’s a weight off before the baby comes.”
The money going into that bank account is going to pay for the kids’ college. You won’t use it for yourself, not when you are happily married to Dieter. “Yes. Glad they managed to find another tenant.” You smile, reaching for his hand to kiss the back of it.
“Daddy!” Oliver rushes over to him after shifting off of the sofa.
“Yeah, buddy?” Dieter groans as he bends over to pick him up.
“Can I come? To get ice cream?” He asks and Dieter nods, “of course.” You smile, loving how close Oliver and Dieter are. You adopted Rosie and he adopted Oliver not long after you were married. It felt natural and meant to be. Your little family, complicated but perfect.
“We will be right back. Rosie, you wanna come?” Dieter asks and she shakes her head, climbing onto the sofa.
“I wanna stay with mommy.” You pull her close, “we can watch our show while the boys are out.” You tell her in a playful whisper and she grins.
“We will be back soon.” Dieter promises and you smirk at him, “after ice cream, the kids need to nap. Mommy needs ‘nap time’ too.” You say to Dieter and he smirks back at you, “what mommy wants, mommy gets.” He promises, knowing he wants you to moan his name while the kids are asleep. From Rosie getting shoved into his arms on a random day, to having a family with a baby on the way. Dieter never imagined being a family man but now, he wouldn’t have it any other way.
#pedro pascal#dieter bravo#dieter bravo x f!reader#dieter bravo x you#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo smut#dieter bravo imagine#dieter bravo fanfiction#dieter bravo the bubble
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Crawling Back to You
Pairing: Incubus!Dieter Bravo x Virgin F!Reader
Summary: Have you no idea that you're in deep?
Word Count: 8.2k
Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, religious corruption kink, bastardizing prayers, brief drug use, mentions of alcohol consumption, grinding, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, breaking a hymen, descriptions of blood, biting and drawing blood, pheromone incubus anatomy, size difference/kink like whoa, monster transformation, monster fucking, PiV sex, wildly unrealistic sex, kind of dubious consent in the way that she has no idea what she's getting into so Dieter checks in A LOT, consent is sexy and monsters especially should ask for it, Reader has no idea what she's doing when it comes to summoning an incubus.
Notes: Like most things Dieter's involved in, it takes twice as long but you reap the most rewards. A little late for Halloween, but spooky season is 24/7 and I needed to put this out into the world as soon as possible. Very special gold star mutual thanks due to @ezrasbirdie who gave me the prompt for this story and then talked me through some of the ideas she had. Religious corruption kink is super new for me, not being raised in a formal religion, but it was incredibly interesting to explore in this way. Apologies for the sacrilege, friends, it's all in the pursuit of sexyness.
A big disclaimer! This is not a blueprint for losing your virginity! This is some wildly unrealistic sex, especially for someone who has never experienced PiV intercourse before! Please be safe and careful with your bodies. While we thirst over these scenarios and would love to take monster cocks, always practice safe and fun sex with partners who care about your comfort.
A second disclaimer that in this fic, the Reader defines losing her virginity as experiencing penetrative sex and breaking her unbroken hymen. Virginity does not look the same for every person, and each individual's circumstances may be very different. Virginity is also a social construct that has some gross stigmas around it, which we'll be briefly addressing. I've also kept the reader's age unspecified (18+ of course) but that she has gone to college, so whatever age you may be reading this, your own sexual journey moves at your pace and if/when you define that you've passed this milestone, that's the right time for you.
Cross-posted on AO3
The lines chalked into your hardwood floors glow with a sudden and panic-inducing heat, smoldering as a phantom breeze whips around your kneeling body. The lights in your apartment flicker and dim as a sooty haze hangs around your ankles. Springing to your feet, you frantically search for something to smear the careful symbols to nonsense while a crackle of electricity raises all of the hair on the back of your arms and neck.
It’s much too late to go back now.
Something pulls in the center of your chest as the room expands and contracts like a great beast breathing. You try to stand strong but the tremble in your frame chatters your teeth. Suddenly the room plunges into darkness, and a crack echoes in your ears before the light swells back to full strength. Bracing yourself for what may be in the circle you foolishly copied, you peel open your eyes.
Then, your mouth falls open, because never in your wildest dreams did you expect Dieter Bravo, famous actor, to be sitting in the middle of your half-assed summoning circle.
“What the fuck?”
He looks just as bewildered as you do, cross-legged on the floor and pulling his lips from a turquoise bong cradled in his lap. He’s wearing sunglasses - did you spirit him here from halfway around the world? - and an open silk bathrobe patterned with roaring tigers. The waterfall of folds bundle in his lap, and for a mouth-drying moment you wonder if he’s got anything on beneath. Then he shifts, billowing a cloud of skunky smoke at your ceiling and placing the bong at arms length.
Well, he is wearing socks at least, pulled halfway up his legs and under Crocs. You don’t know whether to laugh or choke on your tongue.
“What the fuck to you too,” he grumbles, creakily getting to his feet and dusting little frills of ash from his shoulders. It’s now easy to see he’s sporting tiny black boxer briefs, and your eyes fight to land anywhere but there. They finally find the book, opened to the page you scoffed over until your finished glass of wine goaded you on.
“This can’t be happening,” you finally squeak out, shifting on the balls of your feet as you spin and press your fingers into your cheeks.
“Sure is,” Dieter says, one hand on his hip and looking at you with naked curiosity. He’s swept back the robe on one side, showing off the shapely curve of his thigh, the soft definition of his stomach, how large his hands…
“I didn’t…I couldn’t have…you…go back,” you stammer, heart and head pounding. Does this mean you’re a witch? Did you honestly summon something with a book you rented from the library? Nothing makes sense with this man staring at you - practically leering - as you contemplate whether you’re having a dusty-old-book-based hallucination.
“Breathe, baby,” Dieter purrs, hands making soothing motions in the air between you. Taking in a big breath and letting it out explosively, you follow Dieter’s motions to sit down with him. The floor is hard and unforgiving on your bottom, but you criss-cross-applesauce with him as he leans back on his hands.
“Normally when I show up, people aren’t all that surprised,” he says, and his voice is raspy and sonorous in the room. You swallow hard, finding comfort in twisting the hem of your pajama shirt in your palms.
“Well, it’s pretty damn surprising to have THE Dieter Bravo in my living room,” you say, a momentary swell of pride when you realize your sarcasm hasn’t flown the coop with your sanity. Dieter chuckles, tilting his head onto one shoulder.
“Who were you expecting?”
“Honestly, no one. Nothing,” you lie. Half-lie. You were hoping for something pretty specific.
“Very cute, but let’s not pretend we don’t know what’s going on here. I know exactly what you were hoping would pop up in this pretty little circle of yours.”
Your eyes wander to his inner thigh, then snap to a symbol on the floor.
“I thought…” You sigh, ducking your head. “I thought I was summoning some sort of…sexy demon. At least that’s what the book said.”
“An incubus,” Dieter offers, and you nod.
“But clearly something went wrong, because you’re here, somehow.” You scrub a hand over your face. “No idea how I messed up this bad. I didn’t even know you could mess up this badly.”
“Oh, you didn’t,” Dieter says in a carefree voice. “Mess up, that is.” You arch an eyebrow at him.
“But I got…you.”
Dieter leans forward, elbows on his knees as he cocks his head with a knowing smile. In the dim light of your apartment his eyes seem even darker than before.
“Exactly what you asked for. At your service.” He tips his head, tongue slipping from between his plush lips to swipe along his full lower one. A sudden patter of arousal grips your hips, and he half closes his eyes and breathes deep.
“That can’t…you’re Dieter Bravo.”
“Yes.”
“You’re an…incubus.”
“Also yes.”
The next question blurts out of your mouth too quickly to stop.
“Why?”
His laugh is just as quick and breaks some of the tension digging into your spine. The warmth of it wraps your head in cotton, smiling along.
“Oh, starlet, I should be pissed as hell to be pulled away from that fantastic party I was about to ruin, but this is turning out to be much more fun.” Your cheeks warm at the affectionate name. “How many people do you think summon incubi these days? A demon’s gotta get by.” He’s sliding closer to the edge of the circle but not moving past it. A small voice in the back of your mind notes that he might not be able to.
“So…acting,” you say, not without a little smirk. He seems to like that, smile stretching wider and crinkling the corners of his eyes.
“What, should I be slinging burgers?” he asks with another snort of laughter. “C’mon, don’t tell me it doesn’t make sense. Beautiful people, sex appeal galore, fast living and high octane relationships? I haven’t been hungry in ages.”
Your hands still in your lap, studying your fingers as you let the silence linger. Dieter allows it for a time before his voice pulls you back.
“But you summoned, and I came. You must have a reason.”
Now that the silly half-buzzed fantasy is mere feet from you, saying it aloud is daunting.
“You’ll…you won’t get it.”
His eyebrows lift in slow surprise.
“Try me.”
You're turned on more than you’ve ever experienced in your life, and Dieter’s nostrils flare as his jaw ticks.
“I was having a drink. A couple,” you correct, the dregs of the bottle giving you away. “And I was just hating the way I was feeling about everything going on and I looked at this book and it seemed like a funny thing, to try and summon a demon…”
“Incubus, get it right,” Dieter purrs, and the air thickens.
“I didn’t think it would work,” you protest, hands coming up to cradle your temples.
“But you hoped, enough to do all this work on the one day of the year when magic is easiest to grasp,” he teases, tilting his head to the side to catch your eye. It’s definitely not helping the situation that he’s Dieter Bravo, solid C-list star who’d captured your attention in more than one of his movies. Thoughts of his dark eyes and full lips drew your hands down your body on more than one occasion before…
Dieter growls low and frustrated. “Let’s cut to the chase, starlet. You’re laying out a buffet and I can’t even have a taste.” You blink owlishly at him before he smirks, licking an incisor. “I can smell how much you want me.”
Shock slams your mouth shut, face burning. Your traitorous body has failed you again.
“You called and I answered. I’m still in your circle, so you could send me away, but I doubt you know how to do that.”
He’s right. You’ve trapped him here. With little old you.
“Or, you could tell me what you really wanted when you spent all this time writing all these little symbols so carefully.” Dieter’s fingers dance along the chalk lines, smile turning cheekier. Steeling yourself, you let the truth out into open air.
“I called you because…I’ve never had anyone before.”
Dieter’s face remains cooly neutral, but you can see his nostrils flare briefly.
“You’ve never…”
You shrug, self-deprecating smile cutting through the awkwardness.
“I’ve done some things, by myself, but never…I’ve never had sex with anyone in the…classical way.” The words are starched and wooden but hit a chord with Dieter. He repositions to sit back on his knees, hands splayed on his bare thighs. The smooth expanse of his chest begs to be touched.
“I thought I smelled something special here, and I was oh so right,” he rasps, nipping at his lower lip while he drags his eyes over your body. “Human virginity is a social construct, but inexperience in pleasure? Being allowed to revel in your body discovering all the ways it can feel? That is a rare treat.”
You don’t expect the sudden rush of emotions at Dieter’s eagerness. Years of people either finding you broken or fetishizing your “purity” had given you an even larger complex than you thought.
“It’s not…fucked up that I’m doing this?” you ask.
“What sounds better to you, letting some Chad fumble through trying to pleasure you when his dick can barely handle your sweet cunt, or allowing someone with centuries of experience give you everything you ever desired?”
Your aforementioned cunt knows which one she wants.
“May I ask why you’ve waited until now?” he says, interrupting your railroading thoughts. Shyness and shame clouds your eyes.
“My parents were very religious. Lots of ‘thou shalt nots’ and ‘obey thys’. But I wanted to be a good daughter. So badly.” Dieter’s eyes are darkening as you speak, fingers pressing divots into his thighs. “So I did everything they said. Followed all the rules. And I grew up their perfect little girl. Never got caught sneaking out with a boy, never drank or smoked or anything.”
“How…boring,” Dieter comments. It stings between your shoulders.
“Yeah, that’s pretty much all I heard when I went to college. That I was boring for not liking weed. A buzzkill because I was nervous about breaking rules. And sex…”
Here you swallow, your lower lip trembling before you bite it back.
“I thought I was doing everything right. Everyone told me I was doing everything right. And then I get into the real world and nobody wants…” Looking up you catch a softer expression on Dieter’s face, true understanding blunting the lust.
“How have these fumbling fools tried to pleasure you?” he asks, and maybe the wine is still thrumming in your veins (it’s not), but your tongue is looser than it’s ever been.
“Grinding mostly. I think they’ve…cum…but I don’t. Not like when I do it myself.”
Dieter snarls softly. “Fuckers,” he rumbles, an oncoming thunderclap crackled with electricity.
“Every time I feel like I’m damaged goods,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I thought maybe this would…fix me.”
The lights in the room dip low as Dieter chuckles. Darkness seems drawn to him, settling around his shoulders like a fine stole.
“Betrayed by the God you worshiped so faithfully,” he muses, rolling his shoulders and licking his lips. “Don’t worry, starlet, I’ll take care of you tonight.”
“Can I…do anything for you?” you ask. Dieter’s smile softens, tutting quietly.
“Believe me, you’ll be perfect,” he praises, the heat in your cheeks even more unbearable. “Like I said, I’m rarely hungry anymore, but your arousal will be delicious. I’ll gorge myself on your peaks and leave you sated…and ruined for any after me.”
That should be a warning. It only makes your want greater.
“Okay,” you breathe out. Dieter’s smile widening again. Are his teeth…sharper?
“Now we can fuck to our heart’s content in this summoning circle here,” Dieter says, tapping his finger in the air. Motes of copper light and sparks rain down from an invisible barrier. “I’ve had more challenging obstacles. But if you would like me at my best, break the circle starlet.”
Standing back up, you retrieve a cloth from your kitchen table. When you return Dieter is standing in the center, prowling ever so slightly in his tiny prison. You move to wipe the line connecting the circle when…
“Are other celebrities incubi?” you ask, kneeling in front of him with open curiosity on your face. Dieter’s predatory smile quickly shuffles to confused and incredulous.
“I mean, maybe, I don’t keep close tabs.”
“Tom Hiddleston could totally be one. Or Robert Downey Jr. Heck, maybe Marvel just employs incubi to keep their revenue going…” Leaning down, you move to wipe the mark.
“Strange little starlet,” Dieter chuckles, and a warm breeze tickles the back of your neck. With one swipe the circle is broken.
“Hannah Waddingham would totally be…” you start to say, nerves tumbling words from your lips, but thankfully Dieter’s stop them.
He moves so quickly for a moment you’re sure he’s going to devour you, tear you limb from limb for imprisoning him. Instead he crashes your mouths together, hand firm on the back of your neck as his broad shoulders press you on your back. His hips slot between your thighs so smoothly you’re arching into them before you can think straight. Once your head is carefully lowered to the floor his hands find your wrists and press them above your head, maneuvering your thighs to wrap you around his waist. The dizzying feat of agility pales in comparison to his kiss.
Dieter commands your mouth to submit, tongue hot and lewd between your lips. You’re afraid you’ll choke on your own but he strokes delicate paths into the lush depths that keep you barely breathing. His lips are plush and yielding, pulling away to drag against the corner of your mouth or teasing the edge of your lips. And his teeth. You’d had boys clack against you, or press them harshly against your lips. Dieter knows exactly when to scrape them against your tongue, how much pressure to put with your lower lip trapped, the anticipation of them sliding against your skin before he dives in again.
“What a soft, pretty thing you are,” he rasps, and there’s a deep grinding quality to his voice now. Like stones moving slowly past one another, it vibrates straight to your clit as he inhales deeply behind your ear.
“Dieter…” you manage, his face lifting from his ecstasy to study your own. His eyes are somehow losing the edge of white, expanding into inky blackness. He lazily laps at his lower lip, and when you lean up to kiss his chin he snarls and presses deep into your apex.
“I’m sorry, starlet, I forgot you’ve been waiting to break promises,” he teases, sliding a hand down to knead at your ass. As quickly as you were laid out you’re suddenly in the air, legs wrapped around Dieter’s waist as he carries you out of your living room. His strength has you feeling light as a feather, barely a nuisance as he searches out a place for his plans.
“The bedroom.” You motion to a half-opened door and Dieter’s knowing smile precludes entering.
“Eager, aren’t we? What if I wanted to lay you out for everyone to see?”
The image of your body laid bare, covered in moonlight and monstrous hands, flutters your eyes as the bedroom door shuts behind you.
“No, tonight you will remain in my confessional,” he says, kneeling down on the bed and letting you fall back into the mess of pillows and sheets.
“You’re very fond of religious metaphor,” you rib, rubbing your thighs together as Dieter sheds the robe and his Crocs, a brief moment of clarity bubbling a giggle up your throat. Dieter’s motions slow as he regards you again, kneeling between your legs.
“Maybe I am rather fond of…corruption,” he husks, the word lighting on your skin like sparks. “Maybe I like seeing you forsake all for me.”
If he asked, you just might. The high of his attention is so great.
“But in this moment, what I mean is we will speak no lies in this room.” His hands trail down your thighs, and now your body remembers it has no experience from here. You shake, heart pounding as Dieter crawls up your body with only brief brushes to guide his way. “My promise is that you will know pleasure as great as I can offer. And you will tell me everything you think, and feel.”
He hovers over your body, broad enough to block the paltry light through your window.
“Would you like to be pleasured?”
“Yes, Dieter, please.”
His smile is wicked, and the scrape of his fingernails up your ribcage arches your back. In a fluid slide of his fingers your shirt is over your head and tossed into darkness, leaving you bare-chested under him. He hums with appreciation as his face descends, curved nose dragging along your tender skin. Time hangs in the balance as you tense for what may come, but Dieter only traces dizzying paths with the tip of his nose and the fullness of his lips. Up one side of your ribs, placing kisses at intervals, then along the underside of your breast. His hot breath warms skin, nipples hardening sharp and sensitive at the scratch of his facial hair. Then down the center of your stomach, a long and cyclical detour around your bellybutton. Stomach trembling, he hushes you as his fingers slide under your waistband and bunch your sleep shorts and underwear in his hands.
Another fluid drag and you’re nude, still swimming in endorphins at Dieter’s skilled touch. It’s only when hot palms wrap around your knees and begin easing them apart do you balk. Instinctively you clamp your legs together, heat flooding your face. Dieter tuts, smoothing his hands up and down your jittery thighs.
“What are you afraid of, starlet?” he asks, ghosting his fingers over the apex of your sex. Just the brush against your mound steals your voice, that same hot shame and anxiety pulling you in on yourself. When you don’t answer, Dieter commands more firmly, “Look at me, sweetheart.”
Dragging your eyes from the ceiling back to him doesn’t help. He’s all mischievous eyes and knowing smiles, pressing a kiss to both of your knees as he rests his chin on them.
“I can make it easier for you,” he says, fingers finding a soft crease in your hip and stroking along it. “Give you something for the nerves, for any pain. I’ll only let you feel good here with me.”
You take two more grounding breaths and ease the pressure on your knees.
“”Sorry, I’m just…no one’s ever…” you say, but before you can explain your woeful inexperience he’s wedging his way between your legs and holding your thighs open in his firm tight grip.
“I’m the first to taste this forbidden fruit?” he asks, and you clench involuntarily. He waits as you gather yourself enough to nod. A deep, dark chuckle falls from his lips. “Starlet, you have no idea what you’re in for tonight.”
The question claws up your throat but no sooner has he glanced at your pussy he’s diving in to press his tongue deep and sweeping through your folds. The velvet slither arches your back off the bed, a strangled cry earning a satisfied hum between your legs.
“Holy shit, Dieter, oh my god,” you rasp as he flicks his tongue in fast swipes over your clit. It’s foreign and taboo, so much wetter and softer than your fingers and you can barely stop your hips from bucking into his mouth. One hand presses you down to the bed, his chin tilting up to catch your eye. Slick shines his mouth, and your pussy throbs when you realize his eyes are the shiny black of nightmares and creatures used to the dark.
“No god here, sweetheart. Only me. Only take my name in vain,” he growls, and the rush of blood in your ears speeds up when you realize the hand pressed on your abdomen spans the width of your hips. Black-tipped claws indent the flesh, prickling your skin just shy of pain. Dipping low again, Dieter swirls at your entrance and prods in, nose pressed tight to the button of your pleasure. The supple stretch is unfamiliar, pulling at a primal need to let him fill you. It tightens your thighs and shudders you against him as he forces you down again, the bite of claws a sharper warning. His jaw doesn’t stop, plunging and delving into you as deep as he can manage.
“Dieter, it’s never…oh fuck, it’s never felt this good before, please…please, I can’t stand it,” you beg, a rush of slick coating his tongue. Now a true snarl seeds your cunt, and in the charcoal dark his silhouette thickens, shoulders broadening under your knees. He pushes you further up the bed, pulling even greater cries from your chest. Dragging his tongue from your sopping hole, he sucks greedily on your clit, hands wrapped around your waist to lift you half off the bed. Suspended and flowing with arousal, your hands unclench from the sheets and circle his wrists. The skin is hot under your palms, and they dig deeper in at your scrabbling touch. It’s not enough, so with a boldness you pull from a dizzying depth you bury your fingers in his curls.
At first touch they’re soft. Long enough to wind around your fingers. You give a gentle tug and swear you feel a shudder around you. But as you bury them deeper another sensation tickles your palm. Something unyielding and curved, smooth like bone. Two protrusions fit in the webbing of your thumb and forefinger, short enough that the blunt tip brushes your knuckles. Horns, you think. A demon is eating me out and he has horns. And where you might have tried to wake yourself from a nightmare at this thought, instead you wrap your fingers around them and tug.
Like lightning something changes in Dieter. His lips tear from you with a roar that fills the room, your mind, spreading like forest fire and drying your mouth out. You hold on as he drops you back to the bed, the sound still ripping from his throat. Then there’s pain, supernova-like in intensity and scorching through arousal and fear. Your eyes snap down to Dieter’s mouth, but it’s no longer defiling your pussy. It’s clamped hard on your inner thigh, air puffing sharply through his nose. The pain radiates, and you realize he’s bit you. Not an overzealous love bite, you can feel the puncture of incisors and pump of blood into his mouth, the same pattern as your racing heart. Your hands release his horns, pushing you up as your mouth drops open in horror.
“Dieter,” you gasp, but with his horns released the pressure abates. His eyes open slowly, catching your terrified face. The curve of his brow morphs from surprise to apology to determination. Then a thumb presses firmly to your clit and circles it, washing pain away with pleasure teetering right on the edge. His fangs remain in your thigh as you stare at him, incredulity on your face but pleasure rocking your hips. He adds pressure to the bite again, speeding up his fingers as your brain struggles to differentiate one from the other.
Then, just as your spine begins tingling and your fingers go numb, one slick finger penetrates your cunt, smooth and deep, barely noticeable compared to the symphony of sensations. Like a reward, Dieter gives you the final stroke that crashes your orgasm over him, slamming you back to the bed as pain and pleasure and shame and exhilaration floods your brain. You barely register Dieter’s jaw releasing, fingers working you through your orgasm as the slow laps of his tongue lull you back to your body. Every muscle quivers, attempts to sit up failing twice before you manage to come up to your elbows.
Between your legs Dieter is pressing devotions to the spot he bit, open-mouthed kisses with peeks of tongue soothing the injury. His finger is still inside, a lazy caress of your walls foreign but not unpleasant. Finally he lifts up to his knees and turns his attention back to your face.
“I’m sorry, starlet, you got me a little too riled up there. I’ve fixed it, but you might be sore tomorrow.” A bloom of teeth circle your inner thigh, but no blood oozes out. You felt the pop, felt him inside you, and somehow he’s taken it back. “Can’t have you injured because of me, not very professional.”
“I hope it stays,” you pant, fingertips tracing the dark marks. The tenderness arcs down your spine.
“Fuck, you’re made for sin, starlet,” Dieter purrs, and now your attention can turn back to him. Grounding yourself with a healthy, “oh fuck,” is the only way you can fathom what he’s become.
He towers over you even kneeling, broad body only more tantalizing as he’s grown in stature. The well-known triangle tattoos you’d seen in paparazzi photos are joined by swirling patterns up and down his arms, concentric rings and text you can’t read patterning his skin. Where only wild curls were before now jut two smooth horns, curved away from his face and looking suspiciously similar to a goat’s. His skin almost steams in the room, wisps of smoke or condensation haloing his silhouette like an ominous aura.
Then his hand flexes again and you realize how full you are with just one finger inside, even observing how thick and wicked they’ve become.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, and there’s only a hint of teasing now as he works his finger inside.
“It’s…okay,” you gasp, staring at the place where you’re connected. His thumb ghosts over your clit again, but so soon after your high it’s over sensitive, making you hiss and tremble.
“Shhh, starlet, just relax. Thought it would be better to take advantage of the pain.” With a final stroke that lights up your nerves he slips out, holding his fingers up for you to see. They’re wet with your arousal and a little blood, a lot less than you thought. “Now that’s out of the way, we can take our time giving you the best fuck of your life.” With a knowing smile, he pops his fingers into his mouth and licks them clean.
“Fuck, you really are…an incubus,” you say, acquainting yourself with the dull ache of your loss. There isn’t much fanfare, no swelling of emotion. If anything, breaking your hymen is probably the least memorable part of your night. Dieter’s smile falters briefly, and in a dizzying turn of events he shrinks back, closing in on himself. Ducking his head, you might think he was embarrassed, or shy. It looks stranger than the horns on him.
“Yeah, sorry about that. Touching the horns got me a little too worked up. Let me open you up on my fingers for a little while longer, that’ll give me enough time to…change back.” His smile is sheepish now, hands roaming your thighs and stomach. Instead of the skin-crawling terror you thought that would instill, you’re practically preening under his touch.
“Is this you? This form?” you ask, and you let your boldness move to your hands. You stroke your fingertips over his, investigating the smoothness of his claws, how the joints of his fingers are more pronounced than yours. He scoffs an uncomfortable laugh.
“Uh yeah, mostly. But you’ll have a lot more fun bragging that you lost your virginity to THE Dieter Bravo,” he redirects, shaking his head like he’s annoyed he’s not that man yet.
In your brief and paltry handful of intimate moments, you never considered yourself bold. You’d let men touch you until your discomfort was too much, or your embarrassment pulled to the forefront. You never asked for the touches you enjoyed, or sought out the pleasures you dreamed of. But now, with a creature that’s endearingly vulnerable before you, your voice is finally strong enough to be heard.
“I’d like you to stay this way,” you say. Sitting up further, you skim your hands up his arms to cup his face. Your touch snarls his lip briefly before he settles.
“You can’t handle that, starlet. I’ve kept my human form reasonable, but you will not be able to take my cock,” Dieter husks. Tugging your wrist down to his waist, you palm him through fabric barely able to contain him. Thick and long in your hand, he drops his head and thrusts against you and gets bigger.
“Ruin me, then,” you whisper, filthy and naive into his ear. “I’ve waited all this time, saved myself for no one but you. Make me take no lover but you. Make me pray to you for ecstasy.” Leaning in to the metaphor rewards you. With a dangerous rumble he pushes you flat on your back, one hand wrapped around your throat.
“You want this, starlet? All of it?” he grits out, sickening cracks and pops echoing in the room. His hips force yours wide, planting his other hand by your head and carefully watching your face. The shine of his fangs whips your heart into a gallop, more ink dancing on his skin as he transforms from something beautiful to something magnificent. The room darkens perplexingly until you realize wings spread from his shoulders, thin light gleaming through the stretched web of skin. His aura crackles with molten motes, a whiff of fire and smoke making a home in your lungs. When he looks back at you, half familiar and half transcendent, his roguish smile brings one to your lips.
“Strange little thing, wet and ready for me,” he croons, removing his hand from your throat. A rip of stitching signals he’s as nude as you are now, and your eyes widen when the heavy length of his cock rests on your mound, curving past your navel and thicker than your hand can circle.
“Say you want Dieter Bravo back, and I’ll have just as much fun wrecking you in that form,” he says, but there’s something cautious between you now. A shimmer of anxiety and distrust. You’re holding a thread of something truer than he intended to give you, and if you drop it you’ll never find it again.
“Can you help me make it feel good?” you ask, sliding your palms along his chest. Without proper pupils it’s hard to track his expression, but you think it’s awestruck.
“Of course, starlet. You’ve learned to cum from pleasure and pain, but I won’t have you suffer more than necessary.” Dieter leans down and cups your head, bringing your nose to his neck right where it meets his shoulder. “Breathe,” he instructs, and you inhale deep. Below the smoke and heat you smell sweet new earth, lush and fruitful. It makes your mouth water, clutching at his shoulders as he begins rocking his hips against yours. His monstrous cock slips in the wet mess between your legs, slicking the underside generously.
“Fuck, you arousal is so delicious, I could taste you for centuries,” Dieter whispers. Lifting up, he smiles at your dazed expression and wandering hands. They trace his features, lingering on his lips. “How are you feeling now?”
You want him inside you, filling you up to bursting, to breaking. The need is hotter, all-encompassing. It’s surety that he won’t hurt you, that you’ll be shown pleasure beyond anything you’ve experienced. It’s lust but also trust.
“Can you kiss me?” is what you say, and Dieter’s smile is a touch softer before he leans down and claims your lips.
You swear you hear a hiss when he touches you, his skin scorching but not enough to burn. Parting his lips and nudging your jaw open, he traces the inside of your lower one with the tip of his tongue. One hand cups the back of your head, cradling you to his mouth, and with a forbidden thrill you realize his hands are now large enough that his fingertips caress the perimeter of your face. The threatening pressure of claws in your skin arcs arousal back in your cunt, winding your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck.
“Tell me if it hurts,” he orders, and with a magnificent beat of bat wings his silhouette glows with dancing light much like a breath sparking fire to life. The warm hue of his human skin has gilded to gold, tattoos moving along the dips and peaks of his body. Eyes black and fathomless, his smile is a lifeboat in a raging ocean. He lets the heavy weight of his tongue wet his lower lip as your eyes widen, hefty cock lifting from your mound to press at your entrance. Scrabbling fear overtakes you, and you clutch at Dieter’s shoulders as the pressure mounts.
“Again, starlet,” he croons, but his voice is the rumbling of great stones moving over one another as you inhale deep of his scent. Cool water pours through your limbs, easing your muscles and letting your legs drop open wide. His other hand presses at your lower back and arches you off the bed, resting your thighs atop his own. Then, with a controlled push his head breaches you, wrenching a wrecked moan from deep in your chest. He stops as soon as he’s engulfed in your heat, the only betrayal of his own state residing in the long exhale of breath that tickles across your chest.
“Fuck, you’re so tight. Tell me if you need me to stop,” he grits out, but you shake your head and roll your hips. It’s sloppy, inexperienced, but he moves ever so slightly within you and it punches a groan from between Dieter’s clenched teeth.
“Please, Dieter, more,” you beg, his claws tightening around you again. Another measured advance, another wail, more snarling and groaning from the creature stuffing himself inside you. Whatever aphrodisiac he’s fed you is working magnificently. You’re full, the pressure intense, but the pain is dull and quiet. He’s watching where you’re joined so closely, stretched obscenely around his cock, waiting for your thighs to unclench before backing out and pressing deeper in.
“Touch your clit,” he gasps, “Rub that pretty clit so you can take all of me.”
Your fingers are nowhere as decadent as his tongue but they pull bursts of ecstasy close to the surface. Venturing a look down, you’re dismayed to see he’s barely halfway there, so much more of his pulsing cock still to take. He already feels like he’s in your stomach, battering against your lungs. Tears spring to your eyes, lower lip wobbling.
“It’s not going to work,” you whisper, and even with the knowledge that Dieter could turn human at any point you still wallow in the rejection you anticipate. Not good enough for anyone, not even the person you called for.
“Shhh,” Dieter soothes, easing you back down to the bed. He tugs over pillows to tuck under your hips before covering you with his body, still looking in your eyes even at his towering height. “Breathe. Do you want me to stop? I can let you rest, change back to my human form. If you can take all of this…” His hips twitch forward, a soft cry tumbling out. “...then you can take my human cock perfectly.” With a tenderness your eyes water for, he strokes his thumb along your cheek. “Do you want me to stop?”
It’s already so much, so intense and mind-blowing, but you can’t help yourself.
“I want all of it, Dieter,” you say, consequences be damned.
Much in the same way touching his horns unleashed something in Dieter, hearing those words unlocks something even more primal and greedy in his face. Dropping down to his elbows, he presses your face against his neck.
“Bite,” he orders, the word igniting every pleasure center in your body. “Hard, starlet, give me one as good as I gave you.” The words are barely out before you sink your teeth into the crook of his neck, but instead of blood or other ichor you’re flooded with pleasure. The sensation rips an orgasm out of you, hips bucking on his cock. You register Dieter pulling out to the tip before slamming his hips into yours, seating himself fully inside your throbbing cunt. You don’t know how your body makes room for him, how you’re not screaming (well, maybe screaming some), but he’s inside you and littering your body with, “oh fuck, oh fuuuuucks” as he swirls his hips.
“I did it,” you coo in pleasure-dipped delirium, head flopping back on a pillow as Dieter starts thrusting into you in slow passes.
“You sure fucking did sweetheart, look at that perfect pussy taking my monster cock,” he praises, now sliding along your clit with focus. The overstimulation rolls right into desire again as your cunt learns how to gorge itself on pleasure.
“It feels…good,” you say, bearing down on his thrusts to meet him with a little more force. He purrs in admiration, starting to speed up ever so slightly.
“Yeah? Like how good you feel all stuffed full?” Dieter asks but it’s nonsense now, his focus pulling between your face and his cock pumping in and out of you. There’s a little more pain now, places where his cock brushes that zip sharp up your spine, but it’s far from unpleasant. In fact, you might like it. Maybe really like it.
“More, Dieter. Want to feel you. Please,” you moan, restraint flickering in Dieter’s eyes.
“Fuck, baby, you can’t say shit like that when I’m so deep in you, I won’t be able to…” His thought falls off as his thrusts speed up, a little more force at the end each time. It’s kissing at something devastating inside, something clawing its way to the surface through years of shame and dread.
“Please Dieter, I’ll beg for it. I’ll…” Your brain wraps around a wicked idea. “I’ll pray for it.”
That does the trick. Dieter’s lips curl back in a snarl as he rears up to his knees, wings spreading to fill the room with only him. Hands gripping your hips, he looks down at you not like a lover, but like a fallen god.
“Then do it, starlet,” he challenges. His smile is cool, but his cock twitches in your cunt. You have him.
“Glory be to you, Dieter,” you say, and hellfire light erupts around him. Dragging himself out of your cunt, he holds tight as a bowstring.
“And to your…fucking massive cock,” you continue, eyes rolling back as he fills you to the brim. “And to your true form, in all its beauty,” you add, softer now, drawing his eyes back up to you. Time hangs as he studies your face before dipping down and sealing your lips with a kiss that means too much for words. When he lifts away you finish the prayer.
“As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be.”
Dieter’s smile glints.
“A-fucking-men,” he rasps, giving you just enough time to press your hands against the headboard before he starts railing you.
You’re lost in pleasure and ache and sin and Dieter pounding recklessly into your cunt. His grip paints bruises along your waist, battering thighs marking the inside of your hips. His claws dig into your flesh and sharp scrapes tighten your nipples. Hands roam up over your breasts, around your neck, pressing your wrists into the bed as ominous splintering and cracks echo in your ears.
“Another before I cum on your tits, sweetheart,” he pants, spitting down onto your clit and circling it with vigor. You cry out, hips bucking as the thickness of his cock impedes on your quivering walls. “It’s so close baby, just cum around me. Let me feel you cum on all my cock this time.”
“I can’t,” you cry out, shaking and sobbing around him. Dieter tuts, his rapidly increasing slap-slap-slap of thrusts maddening.
“You can, and you will starlet. You didn’t think you’d take my cock. I didn’t think you’d take it, and look at you now. So you’re going to cum. You’re going to cum now.”
The order shakes the room, pictures rattling on the wall as a final flick hurtles you off into oblivion with Dieter’s roaring triumph right behind. He’s somehow still fucking his cock into you even though you’re so tight it almost hurts to be cumming so good. A final crackling roar and you’re achingly empty, followed by a hot splash of cum across your stomach. Then another cresting your breast, and more and more until you’re covered in it, sticky trails sliding to pool in your bellybutton and drip over your sides onto the covers. Dieter is gasping above you, glowing like a sacred artifact as he pumps the last drops from his cock.
You close your eyes once and it’s a mistake. As soon as you let your eyelids touch exhaustion grips you, fighting your desperate attempts to reopen them. It’s battling this bone-deep tired when you experience Dieter’s return to a human form. The horns receding, tattoos fading to just the ones that grace tabloid pages. The wings fold away, and soon a sexy as hell rumpled and soft body replaces the supernatural one.
“Wore you out, starlet?” Dieter Bravo asks, kneeling between your parted knees with a rakish smile. You try to return it with a nod but your whole body is heavy, the mess barely bothering you. Dieter hums thoughtfully, and in a few moments a warm washcloth is cleaning up his cum.
“Side effect of my influence, helps a lot in the moment but it’s got some pretty strong sedative properties. Good for a speedy exit.” His chuckle sounds faraway now, even as you try to clutch at it.
“Stay,” you manage to croak out, hands seeking his body. You find his hair again, nose buried in your sex as he licks softly at your folds. The building ache there creeps back down to something dull and manageable.
“Our contract is up, can’t stay once you’ve given me what I’m owed.” Dieter’s lips start leaving small kisses along your abdomen, fingers soothing your skin. “Even if it was very, very good.”
“Please,” you try again, racking your rapidly puttying mind for anything to keep his hands on you.
“Even when you say it so sweetly,” Dieter says, but there’s melancholy now. It glances off your fingertips as sleep pulls you under.
In the between world of dreams, you think he says something more to you, but Morpheus snatches it away.
Hail, starlet, full of grace, Dieter is with thee.
This might be the silliest thing I’ve ever…well, hmm…
Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, all those delectable orgasms you gave me.
Holy starlet, bringer of…something special.
Pray for this sinner.
There’s blood on your sheets when you wake, though less than you expected. There’s also less pain, though the ache takes your breath away when you sit up too fast. Hobbling to the bathroom with the cool pink of morning light guiding, you inspect your body in the mirror.
You don’t look much different than before. Some strange notion of losing your virginity making you suddenly appear “mature” is dashed away. Maybe there’s a little glint of a secret in your eye, but not much more. Actually, surprisingly not much more. You expected bruises, scratches along your body and love bites marring your landscape. Instead your canvas is unblemished, no marks or injuries to hide. It’s almost as if he’d never been there.
Sitting down on the toilet, you wonder if maybe he wasn’t. That you dreamt up debauchery due to food poisoning or someone spiking the punch at the Halloween party. You couldn’t possibly have summoned an incubus.
A dark mark inside your thigh catches your attention, and any doubts dissipate. A ring of teeth, four larger fangs prominent, marrs the inside of your thigh. Brushing your fingertips over the circle, the skittering thrill of those memories settle in your chest.
You ride on the endorphins for a few days, a handful of people noticing. A work friend tries to interrogate you on it but “a lady never tells” is a saucy enough reply for her to give an approving look. You buy a new bed online, the base of yours splintered to ruin, but you keep the cracked headboard like a souvenir.
Online dating doesn’t seem as daunting now that you’re not so worried about the dreaded “first time.” You even accept a few dates, meet some generally nice men with generally boring personalities. They don’t make your heart race like a certain celebrity whose name you googled briefly before slamming your laptop shut. They certainly don’t kiss like him, or make sexy little jokes or terrify you as much as intrigue you.
So for a while you try to move on. There’s no other option, right? Dieter Bravo the Movie Star would never give you a second thought. Dieter Bravo the Incubus surely has better things to do, more lascivious living. So you try to find something even remotely like what you felt that night.
It’s mid-November when you find yourself sitting on your living room floor again, piece of chalk in hand. You lit candles this time, bought black lace lingerie, made yourself up to feel pretty. It doesn’t help your shaking hands as you pull the rug off the summoning circle. Touching up a few spots, you settle by the broken line where you released Dieter. It all popped off when you completed the circle last time, so with a deep breath and a swipe of the chalk, you reconnect the chalk.
And you wait.
And wait.
A bulb in a lamp flickers but it’s brief. An errant breeze almost snuffs out a candle. But nothing happens. Your knees are sore, eyes watering but you blink the tears away.
It was a long shot, you have to admit. A fluke chance, never to be repeated. You’ll have to settle for something bland, safe, loving but…
Nothing like Dieter.
You’re about to get up from the floor when one other idea tempts you. Something you thought he might have said before leaving you ruined.
Pray for this sinner.
Clasping your hands in your lap, you close your eyes and take a deep breath.
It’s been a long time since you last prayed.
“Dieter…” you whisper. The fine hairs on your neck rise up, but you press on.
“Dieter, I pray to thee,” you continue, closing your eyes. “Come to me in my hour of need.”
A pause, then a final entreaty. “Please.”
A rumble creeps into your body, tiny puffs of candles snuffing out reaching your ears. You dare not open your eyes yet, too hopeful for disappointment. Instead you wait, and hope.
A hot hand, thick fingered and human, slides up your chest, over your throat and cups your chin. Relief floods your body, melting back against a solid chest and chuckling lips.
“Hello, starlet,” Dieter croons in your ear, wrapping his arm around your waist and tucking his head into the crook of your neck. Your fingers search for curls, burying in his hair as you lace your fingers with his.
“You came,” you breathe, sparks igniting on your skin as he presses a line of kisses from your shoulder to your ear.
“How could I not, when you prayed so sweetly?” he teases, tugging you back to sit in the cradle of his crossed legs. “Smart of you to try the circle, but outside of all hallow’s eve you don’t have access to enough power for that trick.”
“But you came,” you repeat, turning your face into Dieter’s ministrations. He nips at the side of your jaw, soothing it with his lips before murmuring a confession into your skin.
“I hoped you would call again.”
A thick emotion swells in your chest, and you spin in his grasp to crash your mouths together. The momentum knocks him backwards to the floor, letting you straddle his waist and feast on his ample lips. His hands roam your back, reverent in their paths. When you break to suck in lungfuls of sweet air he leans up to mouth at your neck, possessive hand on your ass urging you to grind against him.
“Have you let anyone else fuck you?” he growls. To your delight the anxiety and trepidation that colored your first encounter is nowhere in sight. You smile wolfishly down at him.
“How could I? You’ve ruined me for any man,” you tease, and under your body he writhes, the whites of his eyes trading for inky black. “Plus, one time is hardly enough to know if I even like sex. I’ve barely begun to explore.”
The fangs flash between his kiss-swollen lips, and under the promise of any delight you desire you glimpse the even more exciting fondness that will draw you back to him again and again.
“Then we have a lot of work to do.”
END
Crawlin' back to you
Ever thought of callin' when
You've had a few?
'Cause I always do
Maybe I'm too
Busy bein' yours
To fall for somebody new
Now, I've thought it through
The Arctic Monkeys, "Do I Wanna Know?"
#dieter bravo x female reader#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo x you#dieter bravo x f!reader#dieter bravo fanfiction#incubus!Dieter#virgin reader#prolix fics
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pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader
rating: Explicit (18+ only!)
warnings: dual narrative, masturbation (m), voyuerism, drug reference (our boy is sober but struggling), subby Dieter, slight humiliation kink, very brief mentions of other sex acts (anal play, PIV, cum play), reader talks Dieter through a very nervy wank.
word count: 3.7k
summary: The Academy Awards, the most well known, well planned, film award ceremony in the world. So why is the host missing?
A/N: @agentjackdaniels happy holidays from your space sisters secret santa! sorry if this is a bit early for you - it's the 20th in my time zone, I promise! I went the route of award show!Dieter with a twist. Welcome to the Oscars, with your eccentric host - Dieter Bravo.
the suits mentioned are from SNL (blue, we're ignoring the yellow pants), the late late show (pink) and the tonight show (green).
dividers by @saradika-graphics
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"Bravo, you're up."
You rap your knuckles against the door again, hoping against hope that he just hasn't heard you and he isn't coked up out of his mind.
"Bravo!" you shout, knocking harder this time, as a voice blares through your in-ear. Fifteen minutes until showtime and the host is still nowhere to be seen. And it is your fault. You'd drawn the short straw and had been tasked with being his handler for the night, keeping him out of mischief and on time. Currently, it looked like you were failing at both.
"Right, I'm coming in!" You cannot be dealing with this shit. You're not paid enough.
You open the door, poking your head around to see if he's inside the dressing room, like he should be, only to find it completely empty. Stepping inside and closing the door behind you, you take in a deep breath and put your hands on your hips. Fuck. Whoever's idea to put Dieter-fucking-Bravo as the host for this years Oscars really needed a kick up the ass, and you'd be first in line to do it.
The room looks tidier than you expected. There's not an obvious illicit substance in sight. Sparkling water sits on the vanity, along with make up and haircare products. You didn't even know where his stylist is, but it was nice to know she'd at least been here. His clothes are still neatly lined on a rail - the first hanger is empty and you assume that's a good sign. It's got to be, right?
Except, Dieter Bravo is still nowhere to be found, and you've ran out of places to look for him.
The only conundrum is all the lights are still on. He'd left the room in such a hurry that he hadn't bothered to switch them off, and yet no one had reported him frantically dashing out in a drug fueled mania.
Even the bathroom light is on. And the door is ajar. You think it won't hurt to check inside, or at least turn the light off. A place like this burned through electricity like nobodies business, but your compulsion to turn off unused lights wins out and you're heading toward the bathroom on auto-pilot.
You only hear the whimper when you're already pushing the door open, and by then it's too late to stop.
That's how you find yourself stood in the doorway, watching as Dieter Bravo furiously jerks his cock with his eyes slammed closed and his head thrown back. You could back out, you should, but instead you stare transfixed as his fist moves over himself, so lost in it all that you don't even think he's noticed you standing there. You really should go before he notices.
Making a quiet retreat you -
"Stay."
Your eyes snap to his. He's looking at you now. His hand has stilled, squeezing himself tight, and you frown. You shouldn't. You shouldn't have even come in, and you definitely should not be seeing this, and you even more certainly must not be considering his offer.
"If you want. Please."
The nod of your head is so small it's practically imperceptible, but he sees it and groans deeply, resuming his strokes on his cock. It's framed in vibrant blue, and you're reminded how he wouldn't even be here if he didn't have that suit. One of the conditions he'd made on hosting was he would get to have a "more exciting" wardrobe, and the green, pink, and blue you'd seen wheeled in on his rail earlier today certainly lived up to that.
It looks good on him. He looks good. Fuck. You really should go, why did you nod your head.
You watch him swipe pre-cum from his head and draw it down his cock. He looks painfully stiff, and you wonder how long he's been at it, if this is the first time today or if he's been jerking himself every opportunity. Either way, you're mesmerized, watching as his large fist draws up and back down his length. You should do something - go, say something, tell him to stop, join in.
Instead, you just stand there, gaping at it like a fucking idiot. Why is your mouth watering.
"Please I-"
"You don't have long," you interrupt.
"I know, I know, I just - I can't -" he pants, looking at you with desperation.
"You can't what?"
"Come. I can't come."
You hold back a laugh. From what you'd heard about Dieter Bravo, that was not a problem he seemed to have very often. You don't hold it back well enough though, and a small sound escapes you, triggering a shudder that you watch run down his back.
"Oh god."
"Did you -?" like me laughing at you, you cut yourself off.
You lean against the doorframe, attempting nonchalance as Dieter tugs on his cock, watching you as you watch him.
You dismissed him earlier, regarding him with indifference and not ever really looking at him. But, appearances alone tell you he's changed. No longer is there a sunken look to his face from too many nights spent out of his mind. He looks healthy, healthier than you've ever seen him, but he looks scared. Frightened, borderline terrified even. You know the only thing standing between him and pure panic is his stiff cock in his hand.
It's probably why he can't come, but is equally desperate to. And if he liked you laughing, well, maybe you could give him a hand without actually giving him a hand.
"If you don't come soon, they're gonna catch you."
He groans, and his strokes slow, becoming more deliberate and focussed as you talk to him.
"Do you want that? Do you want to be caught with your dick in your hand?"
"F-no. No, I don't."
"Then you've gotta be quick and come."
He nods his head frantically, then looks down at his cock here it lays heavy in his hand. He spits, gliding the saliva across his length.
"If you're not careful you're gonna make a mess all over yourself."
"Fuck, don't stop. Please don't stop."
Five minutes - has anyone got eyes on Bravo.
The stage managers voice blares through your in-ear so loudly that you know Dieter has heard it. You purposefully hold the button on your mic as you watch him, making him pinch his lips shut to hold back his moan.
"I've found him," you say into your headset, releasing the button. Let it be known you are not bad at your job, and if anyone was going to find him first it would be you.
"Didn't say you could stop. You still need to come."
"I do, I do, I need to - "
You're holding down the button on your headset again, and he audibly groans this time.
"He's in the bathroom."
When you release the button for the final time, you raise an eyebrow at him. His breaths are coming in ragged and heavy, his eyebrows pinched together as his eyes threaten to flutter closed. You're no expert, but you can tell he's close, and by the movement of his hand you can tell he's still struggling to get there.
"Look at me."
Dieter looks up, pleading with his sad, pathetic eyes. You'd be lying if you said all of this wasn't turning you on. If it hadn't turned your legs to jelly and you weren't grateful for the sturdy doorframe propping you up. If your panties weren't soaked through and your core wasn't throbbing just from watching and speaking. If you weren't desperate to take him in your hand, bend yourself over the sink in front of him, anything.
But there was no time.
With four minutes to go, you do the only thing you can.
"Come, Dieter."
He's due on stage soon. He knows he is. That very thing is the reason why he shouldn't be doing this, but the very same reason why he's doing it in the first place. He needs it, something, anything, to take his mind off of it all and to take the edge off. Six months of sobriety and too many people to keep him accountable meant he couldn't - wouldn't - turn to his usual vices, so this would have to do.
He's struggling. Any other day and he would've come already, maybe to the thought of some gloriously plush tits, painting golden tan lines with his cum. Or a tongue swirling expertly around his asshole. Or the grip of something warm and wet and hot around his cock that wasn't his own fist. But today, nothing is working.
The bang on his dressing room door startles him, not only making his whole body twitch, but his dick too.
And then comes your voice, muffled but so obviously you even through two doors.
"Bravo, you're up."
Shit. He's gotta finish fast, he can't go out here like this, and he can't go out there with nothing to relieve the panic coursing through his veins. And then his mind flicks back to earlier in the day, meeting you and shaking your hand. Your hands had been soft, and you'd smelled fresh and clean. It calmed him. But then you'd listed off everything you needed him to do and told him and his team to get to it with a sharp click of your fingers before stalking off. His cock twitches again, and suddenly he has exactly the fuel he needs to get himself off.
He begins moving his hand again, stroking his balls gently in the other. You've probably gone away, stalked off with your ass jiggling in your pants just like earlier. He grunts, closing his eyes to savor the image. You'd looked good. He can remember the clip of your sensible heels on the floor now. Fuck, he'd let you step on him with those shoes given the chance.
"Bravo!" Another knock on the door and another sigh. If you stay there knocking long enough, it'll get him off. He just knows it.
"Right, I'm coming in."
He knows he should panic. Knows he should stop, tuck his cock away, pretend he was just using the bathroom and washing his hands. But he doesn't. The threat of being caught, by you, spurs him on. If only he could get closer and just fucking come already.
The door of his dressing room opens, and Dieter has to bite back a moan. When the door closes again, he has to fight back disappointment until he hears your footsteps just outside the bathroom. He never fully closed the door, and there's no time to shut it now. He's so close.
"Oh fuck," he whispers, looking down at his weeping cock where it's gripped in his hand. It's rock solid, flushed tip oozing pre-cum that trickles from his slit and coats his fingers with every jerk of his fist.
Time drags on as he hears you walk around, looking for him. And then your footsteps approach the door and he can't help but whimper at the idea of you catching him with his cock in his hand.
His eyes slam shut, his head tilting back as he bites back a louder moan. He doesn't hear the door open, but feels the air shift, blowing a cool breeze over him that makes his dick throb in his hand. If the blood wasn't pounding out of his head so hard he would have heard your small intake of breath as you took him in.
He really should stop. But he doesn't.
And when you go to leave, he really should let you go, but he doesn't do that either.
"Stay."
You're beautiful, in a way that you wouldn't even recognize in yourself, but fuck are you beautiful. Even when you frown at him, eyebrows pinching together, you're beautiful.
"If you want. Please."
Dieter Bravo is not a begging man. Outside of the bedroom. Or the bathroom. Or anywhere else where his dick can get involved really. He didn't beg for this job, they'd approached him. He tried to make himself into such a diva that they'd retract their offer, but his agent was determined for him to take it and for once get some good PR under his belt. The promise of good PR did nothing to stop his nerves.
When your head does the tiniest of nods he feels like he could cry. Knowing that you're watching him - and, fuck, how attentively you're watching him - his balls draw tight, threatening to spill themselves before backing off. It's still not enough. Why the fuck is it still not enough.
"Please I-"
"You don't have long."
Your voice. It's like it's just been drizzled over his brain and is melting him from the inside out, turning his body to goo.
"I know, I know, I just - I can't -" he pants, looking at you with desperation. He doesn't want to admit it, but he knows it's painfully obvious that he can't come if his life depended on it. And it practically does - if he didn't come and get out there as soon as possible, his career would very likely be over. He can see the headlines now - BRAVO ABANDONS OSCARS IN COKE FUELED FRENZY. If he still did coke, he wouldn't be having this problem.
"You can't what?"
"Come. I can't come."
He knows you try not to, but he hears your laugh. It's small, but coming from you, directed at him, it does things to him he didn't expect. He lurches forward as his whole body shudders.
"Oh god."
He squeezes his eyes shut again, hoping that this'll finally be it, finally be the thing that sends him over the edge.
"Did you -?"
He didn't come, that much should be obvious, he thinks. But then he's looking at you again and gets lost in your eyes as you watch him with such nonchalance that it makes him ache down to his bones.
"If you don't come soon, they're gonna catch you."
He groans, desperate strokes becoming slow and more deliberate as he listens to your voice. If you just keep talking to him he'll get there, and this will all be over and he can get out there and do his damn job.
"Do you want that? Do you want to be caught with your dick in your hand?"
"F-no. No, I don't." Liar.
"Then you've gotta be quick and come."
He nods his head frantically, and spits down onto his cock, watching as his hand glides up and down. He imagines it's your hand for a moment, smaller more delicate fingers pulling at his cock, smoothly moving back and forth in an attempt to get him off.
"If you're not careful you're gonna make a mess all over yourself."
Dieter doesn't give a shit about that right now. Just a little longer and he'll be there, he knows it. He just needs you to keep going.
"Fuck, don't stop. Please don't stop."
Five minutes - has anyone got eyes on Bravo.
It's muffled, but he can hear the words clear as day through your in-ear. The stage manager sounds pissed, and the devilish look in your eye as you reach to press the button to respond has him biting back a moan and stilling his hand on his cock.
"I've found him."
He lets out a shaky breath when you finally release the button again, his cock feeling red hot and angry in his hand.
"Didn't say you could stop. You still need to come."
Looking to you, he starts jerking his cock again and nods. "I do, I do, I need to - "
And then you're pressing down the button to speak into your headset again and he's groaning before you even speak.
"He's in the bathroom."
He doesn't give a shit if they heard. His knees feel weak and his eyes are ready to clamp closed, but he can't resist staring at you and that cocky look on your face as you release the button again. Your eyebrow quirks at him and he knows in that moment he'd get on his knees and beg you for something, anything, if only he had the time.
"Look at me."
Dieter looks up, feeling the desperation roll off himself in waves. He wonders if you can feel it, and if any of this is having any affect on you at all. Fuck, he hopes it is. He's going to come. He's really, actually, going to come.
Time's ticking, he knows it is, and his balls are getting tight and tighter again, he can feel them pulling up but he still can't -
"Come, Dieter."
And his vision goes white as he explodes in his palm.
You're staring at him. He can't believe he just did that and you can't believe you stayed to watch. And you talked him through it.
More specifically, you're staring at the cum splashed all over his shirt and how it's slowly but steadily trickling down the fabric. He's lucky he opened his jacket before pulling his cock out, or the whole outfit would be ruined. Dieter is so blissed out that he doesn't even notice, softening cock still in his hand and eyes still closed.
Until rapidly cooling cum drips onto the back of his hand and he's opening his eyes, looking down to the crime scene splattered across his shirt.
"Fuck."
The panic in his voice is obvious. People will be bursting in to collect him any moment, and there's one hell of a mess to clean up. But, you're a problem solver by nature, it's why you're so good at your job.
"Take it off!" you tell him, snapping out of your cock induced trance and gesturing to the ruined shirt.
"What? I didn't think there was time to-"
"I'm not fucking you right now," you hiss. "You've got two minutes, take it off, I'll grab another. You've got other outfits, right?"
"Yeah. Yeah the shirt with the pink suit should work. My stylist is gonna fucking kill me - wait did you say right now - "
He's alone in the bathroom, tucking his dick away, throwing his jacket aside and peeling the soiled shirt from his shoulders before you can answer. Usually he hides the evidence, but there's not time to stash the extra shirt anywhere when there's another sudden knock on the door. The best he can do is throw his jacket back on over his bare shoulders so at least he's not seen to be topless and alone with you as he steps into his dressing room.
The door swings open just as you reach for the hanger of the pink suit, stopping you in your tracks.
"Dee. They're looking for you," his stylist walks in, looking at her phone. She spots you first, before flicking her eyes to Dieter and pointing in confusion. "Oh, hi. Where's your shirt?"
He shrugs, shoulders rising high as you stare at the exposed section of his chest now on full display beneath his jacket. "Changed my mind about it. Looks good enough like this, right?" He checks himself out in the mirror and adjusts his hair a fraction as if nothing untoward had just happened.
You're starting to understand how he won his own Oscar all those years ago.
His stylist seems to be just as eccentric as he is, and is thrilled by the choice to go shirtless. You're not sure your boss will be, but before you can offer a different shirt, Dieter is being whisked away by the production crew, all with confused looks on their faces as they take in his outfit. Dieter takes one last look back at you, mouthing a quick thank you as he's dragged off to begin the show.
The 96th Academy Awards go off without a hitch. You're already hearing reports from online that Dieter Bravo is a hit, his opening outfit being lauded as unique and a breath of fresh air for a sometimes stuffy and overly serious award ceremony. You watch him out of the corner of your eye through two costume changes - both times watching as he leaves wearing a shirt under each of his bold colored jackets.
It's a chaotic, well oiled machine, and by the time all is said and done and after parties are in full swing, you're winding down and saying thank yous and goodnight to the crew who made it all happen. One last sweep of the dressing rooms and you'll be on your way home too.
Empty, empty, empty. And then you're opening the door to Dieter's dressing room, ready to flick the light off and put the building to bed.
Except, Dieter Bravo is there, a vision in deep emerald green, holding the messed shirt from earlier in the evening in one hand and scribbling a note onto the back of a small card with the other. He sees you enter, and looks as stunned to see you as you are to see him.
"No after party?"
He looks sheepish, almost embarrassed when he answers.
"Not any more."
Admittedly, it was perhaps a stupid question to ask a recovering addict. "Oh."
You both awkwardly stand for a moment, Dieter keeping his eyes locked on the card in his hand before he's walking toward you and shoving it in front of you. You take it just as he edges past you out of the dressing room.
There's a note addressed to you and a number, scribbled hastily in Dieter's messy handwriting.
"I didn't want to be too forward, I know these things are..." he trails off with a wave of his hand. "Was just gonna leave that here and leave it up to you."
I owe you my life. Let me take you for coffee. Call me? D x
Looking up from the note, you can see him hesitantly make an exit. Calling after him, he stops in his tracks, spinning on his heel to look at you with more hope than you expect he intended.
"I'm just about to close up, if you wanted to go grab that coffee?"
And so, at 11pm on the night of the 96th Academy Awards, you find yourself in an empty diner, drinking bad coffee with Dieter-fucking-Bravo.
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This is the Way…. To Your Pussy
Dieter Bravo x F!Reader
Main Masterlist | Dieter Bravo Masterlist
Summary: Dieter happens to know someone in the costume department of The Mandalorian who hooks you up with a special surprise…
Word count: 1.6k
Warnings: porn with little plot, established relationship, role play, restraints, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names (mesh’la, baby), no use of y/n
Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics Fic recs: @kelbellsficrecs
You’re sitting on the couch with your boyfriend, Dieter, watching the newest episode of The Mandalorian. The third season is close to wrapping up and you’ve come to a certain realization… You’re head over heels for Din Djarin.
You’re pretty sure Dieter’s realized you have this little crush, too.
“Baby, are you sure you’re not attracted to Mando?” he would ask you, at the end of every episode each week.
“I’m sure!” you’d lie, wanting to spare his feelings.
But in this particular episode, you can’t hide your attraction. Din’s just been captured by Moff Gideon and he’s on his knees. Your jaw is on the floor.
Dieter looks over at you and notices the expression on your face, shouting, “I knew it! I knew you were attracted to him!”
You close your mouth and look at him, taking note of the devious expression on his face. You were worried he’d be jealous or angry even. But instead, he looks… gleeful.
“Fine! He’s hot… Are you mad?”
“Mad?? Why would I be mad?”
“I don’t know! Maybe jealous is the right word?”
“Not jealous. Not mad, baby.”
“Then what are you?”
“Interested.”
“…Interested?”
“Mhm,” he says, returning to his comfortable position on the couch.
He says nothing more and you’re left to wonder what he meant by that.
-
In fact, Dieter doesn’t bring up again all week. You figured he would poke fun at your little crush but he doesn’t. You’ve even made some out-of-pocket comments about Din to bait him into saying something but he doesn’t bite.
It isn’t until the night before the season three finale of The Mandalorian that Dieter finally says something about it. You’re about to get ready for bed, standing at the bathroom sink brushing your teeth.
“Baby, I have a surprise for you,” Dieter says, poking his head into the bathroom through the doorway.
“…Oh boy.”
“It’s not a bad surprise! Just stay here, okay?”
“…Okay,” you respond, watching as he reaches for the doorknob and closes the bathroom door.
You blink a few times, staring at yourself in the mirror and wondering what he could possibly be up to now. Sounds of him struggling come from the bedroom followed by a few curse words.
“Dee? You good?”
“Just stay in there! I’m not done yet!”
“Alright, alright,” you sigh.
After what feels like forever you hear him quietly say, “Okay, you can come out now…”
Something is making his voice sound muffled.
You slowly open the door and find Dieter, standing with his hands on his hips. Except he’s not wearing his normal pajama pants, fuzzy green robe, and Crocs combo. He’s wearing the Mandalorian suit. Your jaw falls to the floor, much like it did when you watched Din Djarin fall to his knees when he was captured.
“Dieter… Where did you get this?” you ask, taking a step closer to him and running your hand along the breastplate. He fills out the suit so well.
“Uhh, I called in a few favors.”
“To who??”
“I know someone in the Mandalorian costume department…”
“And they lent it to you?”
“I may have had to tell a little lie.”
“Oh God.”
“I said I needed it for my nephew’s birthday party.”
“Oh my fucking God…”
“Yeahhh, I know. But I did it for you!”
“Can we bet on how long you’ll keep the helmet on for?”
“Ooh, good idea.”
“Ten minutes.”
“Ouch. I’ll say twenty.”
“You’re on!”
“Okay cool. Now get naked.”
“Nooo, you gotta say it how he would.”
“Get undressed for me… baby?”
“Mesh’la.”
“Mesh’la?”
“It means beautiful.”
“Damn, maybe the Mandalorians do have game,” he chuckles.
You pull off your sleep shirt and kick off your pajama bottoms, standing in front of him naked while you wait for your next command. He reaches around his belt and under the cape for something. You can only imagine what else he has planned. But you couldn’t have guessed anyway.
It’s a pair of pink, fluffy, handcuffs.
“You’re joking,”
“Sorry, baby– Fuck I mean, mesh’la, I couldn’t get the Star Wars ones.”
“You got the suit. That’s all that matters,” you reassure him.
“Turn around,” he commands.
You face the bed and he grabs your wrists, locking the pink handcuffs around them. He pulls you into him so your back is against his chest, and whispers in your ear.
“This is the way… to your pussy,” he says, only half-joking.
“Don’t even,” you snort.
“Okay, okay. Let me think of a scenario… Looks like I have to bring you in,” he says, tugging on the cuffs.
“Please, Mando. Don’t turn me in. I’ll do anything.”
“Anything?” he says.
“Anything.”
“Bend over.”
You do as you’re told, bending over the bed and arching your back.
“Good girl, mesh’la,” he says, pressing his bulge against your ass.
He steps back for a second to take his cock out of the suit, tugging off his glove before stroking himself. Pre-cum built up at his tip spreads down his shaft. But he lifts the helmet briefly to spit in his hand and slick his cock even more.
One hand grips your shoulder and the other holds your waist, keeping you still as he thrusts himself inside you. You moan, feeling his cock stretch your walls while he buries himself in your cunt.
“Fuck, Dee,” you moan, forgetting the roleplay for a second.
“Mando’s got ya, mesh’la,” he says, playfully correcting you.
“You feel so good,” you breathe out.
“That’s right. Let me fuck this little pussy and I’ll let you go.”
He draws his hips back and slams into you, keeping a steady pace. Your bedroom fills with the wet sounds of Dieter’s cock sliding in and out of you. You’re so turned on and still in disbelief at his surprise. It’s hard to believe this is your Dieter fucking you like this, getting dominant for once.
But you also wish you could look directly into the helmet's visor, too.
“Mando…” you whine.
“What is it, mesh’la?”
“I want… I want to look at you.”
“How cute. Cum for me once and I’ll let you out of these cuffs. Can you do that for me?” he says, thrusting into you harder.
You go to respond but a whimper forces its way out instead. His pace quickens and his cock hits the most perfect angles inside you. You grow wetter and your core tightens up in anticipation of release.
“Already gonna cum for me?” he teases, squeezing your waist.
“Fuck… Yes, Mando. I’m so close.”
“Cum all over my cock, mesh’la,” he says. You can tell by his voice he’s wearing a smug smirk under the helmet.
With one last thrust, you cum around his cock, knees buckling underneath you. He sighs as your walls clench around him, fucking you through your high.
“Good girl,” he praises, slowing to a stop as you finish. He reaches for the cuffs and unlocks them, pulling his cock out of you and flipping you over on the bed. You inch up on the bed and spread your thighs, letting him get situated between your legs.
He hovers above you, visor staring directly at you. Having him tower over you like this turns you on even more. He takes your hands and pins them above your head. He slides his cock inside you but this time, he takes his gloveless hand and rubs his thumb over your clit.
“Fuck,” you moan.
“Mando’s taking care of you, baby,” he says, slowly thrusting in and out of you. He cocks his helmet to the side and watches as you writhe underneath him. He picks up his pace and swirls his thumb faster around your clit. Your orgasm is nearing again, somehow even quicker than before.
“Already?” he teases.
“It’s so good,” you whimper, your entire body tingling at this point.
“Cum for me,” he commands again.
Your orgasm spills over again, waves of pleasure washing over you. You were sure he would cum by now, feeling your second orgasm around his cock. But he doesn’t. Instead, he keeps thrusting in and out of you slowly, holding onto his release.
Once your orgasm is finished, he lets go of your hands and removes his thumb from your clit. He reaches for the helmet and takes it off, setting it on the bed beside you. And this is when he pounds you like crazy. Matted curls fall onto his forehead as he rails you, hands planted by either side of your head. He’s got a wild look in his eye and his forehead is slick with sweat.
“Fuck baby, you take my cock so good,” he moans. His voice is higher pitched like he’s desperate for his own orgasm now. He climaxes inside you, painting your insides with his cum. His eyes are closed and his head is thrown back in pleasure. He keeps himself balls deep until he’s done, pulling out of you and collapsing on the bed inside you. He pants as he catches his breath.
“Was it hot under there?”
“A little… But anything for you.”
“Aw, you’re sweet,” you say, rolling over on your side.
“Told ya I’d keep it on longer than ten minutes,” he teases.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever…,” you roll your eyes, “Maybe you should get the suit again sometime… Or look into getting your own.”
“Let’s get our own… And the Star Wars handcuffs.”
“Oh, for sure.”
“Maybe next time Mando isn’t gonna let you go.”
“Oh yeah? Maybe he shouldn’t.”
His mind short circuits for a second before he jumps up and says, “I’m gonna go order those cuffs.”
You can’t help but laugh.
#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo x f!reader#dieter bravo fanfiction#dieter bravo#dieter bravo smut#dieter bravo x female reader#the bubble fanfiction#pedro pascal characters#pedrostories#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal fanfiction
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𝑯𝑰𝑮𝑯 𝑬𝑵𝑶𝑼𝑮𝑯
pairing: dieter bravo x actress!reader x bodyguard!joel miller
genre: super duper explicit smut, actress & bodyguard au, minors dni
word count: 4.5k
summary: an afterparty, weed, drinks, a grumpy bodyguard, and an eccentric actor. What can go wrong?
warnings: mlm dynamics, threesome, blossoming feelings, messy two-person blowjob, piv, polyamorous, dieter has a praise kink, hair pulling, bdsm dynamics, high sex, getting high, this is an au where sarah was never conceived sorry, petnames all around (good boy/girl, sweetheart, darlin, honey), guidance kink, handjob, implied age gap reader being the youngest and joel being the oldest
a/n: you voted and here it is! This can be considered as a continuation of the drabble I wrote but you don't need to read that in order to read this. It just takes place in the same universe. enjoy! If you want to see more adventures of bodyguard!joel and actress!reader feel free to send requests xx
Joel is a grump.
He knows this. Everyone does. He’s been called many things before in this industry: unkind, an asshole, a fucker, a bummer, a grumpy old man. But despite all the negative feedback, he’s never been out of a job. When it comes to feeling safe and secure, everyone realizes that pleasantries aren't really a priority. After a while, he learned to let those remarks bounce off of him. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy having fun; it’s the fact that this industry is riddled with slimy, untrustworthy characters. You could be happily sharing a drink one moment, and the next you could find your drunken words being sold off to the highest bidder. He has a lot of stories, some of which he wishes he could forget about.
However, he's not a kid. Far from it, actually. So he also knows that not everyone fits the bill of assholery. He's met some nice people, worked for them, and thanks to those nice people, he met you— one of the biggest rising stars of your generation. You're actually quite kind— albeit a bit of a brat, but he's starting to realize that side of you might be reserved only for him. Most impressively, you've managed to knit yourself a loving, supportive circle. He met your family once and has a sneaking suspicion they had something to do with your good manners.
Family. He misses his. Tommy still lived in Austin, running a not-so-shabby bar.
Joel used to pride himself on not getting involved in his clients' affairs, but with you, that proved difficult.
A sea of people crashes into him, pushing him in the opposite direction of where he's trying to go. These Hollywood parties, they're always the same - loud music, annoying lights, and foaming glitter always coming from somewhere. He catches a whiff of champagne and strawberries. Rolling his eyes, he helps a director he barely knows who stumbles and nearly collapses on the shiny marble floors. With one swift motion, he grips her torso and lifts her back up. She slurs a drunken thank you and moseys off.
He hates it when you drag him to parties, and he hates it even more when you disappear. By some miracle, he spots you sitting down within the awfully lit room. You're wearing a mermaid-style dress (at least, that's what you told him prior to the event), which hugs your curves in all the right places. The fabric is covered in pearls, giving it a shimmering, iridescent quality that catches the light and reflects it into his eyes - thank fucking god, or else he suspects he'd never find you in this crowd.
His relief in finding you is short-lived when he sees who you’re sitting with.
Fucking Dieter Bravo.
You know he doesn’t like the man. Of course, you would sit with him just to spite Joel. That’s what he hopes this is anyway, he’s praying to every god he can think of (which isn’t many) that this isn’t a blooming friendship, or something else. He doesn’t think he can handle seeing that man more than he has to.
Ironically, Joel actually used to work with Dieter. It only lasted for about a week as Dieter was just too unpredictable and chaotic for him. A complete hedonist who was used to getting what he wants. Before Joel could resign, Dieter had fired him. Which was good, because Joel wasn’t sure if he would’ve actually gone and done it.
Joel feels a mixture of excitement and anxiety as your entire face lights up upon seeing him. With an open smile, you wave frantically and point to the couch across from the two of you. It's a tight fit, and his knees brush against both yours and Dieter's as he sits. The actor is holding a joint loosely between his fingers, looking up to Joel and nodding in a way that resembles an informal greeting. Joel notices the vibrant pattern of his button-up, the chain around his neck, and the rings on his fingers. Dieter takes a drag then offers it to you. Your gaze briefly meets Joel's before you take it from him. However, you don't immediately bring it to your lips.
“Where were you?” Joel asks loudly, trying to get his words over the sound of the music. “You can’t bring me to these things and then just disappear on me.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry.” you answer with an apologetic smile. Joel narrows his eyes and you bring the neatly rolled joint to your glossy lips. You take a deep, long inhale. He watches the way your body seems to melt unconsciously. You close your eyes. “I just saw Dee and you know his habit of disappearing as soon as you blink. Had to pounce him before that happened.”
Joel’s eyes drop to where Dieter slides an arm around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. He rests his chin on your shoulder, his eyes fixed on Joel. Your eyes flutter open and much to Joel’s surprise, you extend the joint to him.
“Don’t bother, sweetheart,” Dieter says, his lips too close to your cheek. Joel bristles unknowingly. “He has a stick up his ass.”
“Dieter!” you hiss, glaring daggers. “Behave.”
“I don’t smoke on the job.” Joel says, a bit smugly and enjoying the other man’s prominent pout. “Unlike some, I’m a professional.”
Dieter scoffs. The joint still lingers between your fingers, your gaze snapping to Joel. You accusatorily point at him, your brows drawn together. “And you—” you warn. “Don’t act so high and mighty. You’re off the clock remember? I invited you here so you would loosen up a little.”
What?
“What?” he blinks rapidly. “Why on earth would I need loosenin’ up? And why would I want to loosen up with you lot? This ain’t exactly my scene honey.”
“Because we’re friends, smartass.” you chide. The burnt tip of the cigarette is now closer to your fingers. With a sigh, Joel finally takes it, which provokes a burst of laughter from Dieter.
“She has you on a leash!” Dieter points out, fingers digging into your hip and moving over the pearls. “That’s fucking adorable.”
Joel grunts, “Shut up.” he takes the joint clumsily, holding it up to his lips. It’s been a while since he’s done this. When he does he usually prefers the privacy of his own home. Joel ignores the way your eyes are fixed on him, two wide eager eyes eating him up from head to toe.
He takes a deep inhale, his lungs expanding with smoke. Joel can taste the champagne you left behind. Goosebumps rise over his skin, a tingle, and a buzz making him groan. He allows the smoke to linger inside him, then, without parting from the joint much, he exhales. It’s very subtle, but he notices both you and Dieter taking deep breaths, filling yourselves with his breath. He’s amused. His lips twitch as he takes another drag. Then he extends it back to Dieter. The actor doesn’t waste much time and wraps his lips around the butt of the joint deliberately slow. Joel fights the urge to roll his eyes. Dieter takes a deep breath, exhaling cannabis in a way that the smoke doesn’t move forward, it pours from between his lips, like a dragon’s mouth.
Joel doesn’t think much of it, now feeling more relaxed than ever, he says, “You look surprisingly cleaned up. They groomed you well.”
“Does it look like I care what you think?” Dieter snaps back, and Joel frowns.
“I think the word you’re looking for is thank you,” you say, words directed at Dieter. Your eyes flit between the two tense men. “Also I'm starting to think you two have some history together.”
“Didn’t your knight in shining armor tell you?” Dieter grins, rather smug. “He used to work for me.”
You turn to Joel, brows pinched together with confusion. “You did?”
Joel rolls his eyes, ignoring the way his cheeks heat up under your gaze. “It was a long time ago.”
“I fired him.”
“How come?”
“Too distracting.”
Joel breathes a little too fast, the air catching in his throat. He clears his throat, his veins alive with tension. It almost feels like it’s the only three of them now. The rest of the room fading and turning black. Joel leans forward, the already tight space becoming even tighter.
“Excuse me?” Joel asks, his speech slurred. “What do you mean “too distractin’”?”
Neither of them answers you. Actors, he thinking begrudgingly, a puff of air parting his lips. Dieter brings the joint to your lips and without taking it from him, you look at Joel. He watches as your lips brush against the length of Dieter’s fingers. Annoyance brews in his stomach.
“Is he like this with you too? Oblivious?” Dieter asks you. You grin, teeth shining under the dim lights and you nod. The actor’s tongue pokes out from between his lips and swipes over his bottom lip. “Poor baby.”
“You two are startin’ to get on my nerves,” Joel grumbles, crossing his arms across his broad chest.
You stick your tongue out and Joel has half the urge to grab it between his fingers and teach you a lesson. He hadn’t noticed, but the joint had made its way back to him. Slightly confused and disoriented, he finishes it off. The last bit of it burning his throat and lungs. He’s incredibly flustered, heat crawling up from his chest to his cheeks. He doesn’t miss the way you and Dieter steal glances at each other, smiling giddily.
Finally, you find Joel’s gaze, a Cheshire-cat like grin plastered on your face—he’s slightly creeped out by it actually.
“How about we show you what we mean?”
Joel should’ve said no. This is the last time he’s ever coming to one of these damn parties.
Joel wasn’t thinking much when Dieter led all of you to one of the many bedrooms in the residence. Your hand was clutched tightly around his, and per instinct, he had held on to you just as tight. And as soon as the three of them entered the stupidly large bedroom with an equally stupidly large bed, he found himself sitting on the edge with his pants down. The two actors knelt between his legs, eyes hungry and mouths flooded.
He has to admit, it’s a rather enticing view.
Dieter wraps his fingers around the base while you kiss the inside of Joel’s thigh. Heat settles at the base of his spine, his cock twitching and growing thanks to Dieter’s slow strokes. You drag your lips up, kissing his shaft before swirling your tongue around the head. A strangled moan leaves him. Joel’s gaze drops, only to see Dieter staring back at him. He holds his breath as the other grins from one ear to the other.
“You like that?” he coos, darting his tongue out. He licks a clean stripe up, the curve of his nose brushing against yours. “God, the number of times I came in my pants thinking about this. . .”
Joel’s quick to follow up, “You thought about this?”
Your sudden bubble of laughter makes him frown. His lips become a tight line, his teeth clenched as he grinds the molars together. He watches as you ignore him and pull away. You cradle Dieter’s cheek, and as if he read your mind, the actor leans in, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. Joel tenses. His skin taut over muscle. His cock stands with attention, beads of precum rolling down his length. The thought of his taste lingering on your tongue, being passed to Dieter—his chest heaves, maybe he is too old for this.
He sees Dieter shoving his tongue between your lips and you moan into his mouth, Dieter swallows the noises you make eagerly. Joel is surprised he’s not feeling any jealousy or protectiveness. Usually, when the actor attempts to make passes at you he puffs up like a rooster. But not his time. Dieter cups your face with two hands, tilting your head so he can kiss you deeper. Only then it dawns on Joel that the reason he was bothered before wasn’t that he hated the actor—though he still found him annoying—but because he wanted to be included. He almost laughs. Loneliness truly is a bitch. His fingers twitch and he makes a move to cup himself, he pouts when his hand is batted away by no one other than you.
“No,” you say wetly with swollen lips. “We’re going to take care of you. Isn’t that right, Dee?” the second half of the sentence is directed at the actor who looks just as debauched. But he manages to nod anyway. Then your gaze moves back up to Joel. “Okay?”
He’s lost for words for a brief moment, mouth opening and closing before he can find his speech again. “Okay.”
It’s messy. Debauched. Downright sinful. And Joel is ninety percent sure this is all a dream and his alarm is about to burst through the speaker of his phone. Dieter purses his lips and spits into his palm, coating Joel’s shaft with a generous amount. You kiss the head and swallow him halfway, your nostrils flaring as you try to take more of him. Joel’s hand lifts to comfort you but Dieter beats him to it. The actor leans into your ear, smiling slyly. He pulls down the straps of your dress and exposes your breasts. Joel’s mouth feels dry all of a sudden.
“That’s it, sweetheart. You’re doing so well,” Dieter purrs, Joel can barely hear him. “Just breathe through your nose, don’t rush it. He’s a big boy, isn’t he? Flatten your tongue and swallow. That’s it. . .” Joel’s arms buckle as you do what you’re told, his eyes rolling back. Dieter kisses your cheek and kneads your breasts, thumbs wiping over the pebbled nipples. “You’re making him so happy right now. Such a talented girl.”
“Oh, fuck,” Joel groans, slightly thrusting into your mouth. Dieter meets his gaze and winks, a wide grin spread across his handsome face.
Handsome. Joel finds Dieter handsome, always has. Though he always assumed he found him handsome in a more general way, the same way he found Oscar Isaac handsome. Some people just are. But he’s starting to think he might like the infuriating actor a bit more than he thought. Or maybe it’s just from the heat of the moment and the weed still buzzing in his veins. Regardless, he’s enjoying the view very much. God, what has he gotten himself into?
You swirl your tongue and hollow your cheeks. More praise drips from Dieter’s lips. Without thinking much of it, Joel reaches out and touches the side of Dieter’s face. The actor stills for a moment, brows furrowing, a delicious shade of red coloring his cheeks. Joel drags the pad of his thumb down Dieter’s cheek and then cups him tenderly.
“Good boy,” Joel says before his filter kicks in. “You’re doin’ so well too.”
Dieter’s face is priceless. He’s stunned into silence, eyes wide and round, lips parted. A low chuckle trembles within Joel’s chest, he continues to trace his thumb up and down the contours of his cheek. Dieter leans into the touch ever so slightly, eyelids fluttering. You must notice the change in the air because you pull away and drag a pointed tongue down Joel’s length. Then you grip Dieter’s chin and guide him down.
“Have a taste, Dee.”
Joel watches with bated breath as you guide Dieter down towards his aching member. The actor's lips part and his breath hitches as he takes in the sight before him. He looks up at Joel, his eyes dark, before finally taking him in his mouth, tongue swirling and lips tight. The actor's eyes never leave Joel's as he bobs his head, taking more and more of him into his mouth. Joel’s legs shake, his lungs expand, it feels too much, everything tumbling onto him like an avalanche.
Joel's head falls back, his eyes closing as he feels the warmth of Dieter's mouth. He can hear the wet sounds of his mouth moving over him, the way his lips slide up and down his length, and he can't help but let out a low moan.
You reach out and grab Joel's hand, entwining your fingers. Your touch electric. Leaning over you capture Joel's lips with your own. He moans into your mouth, the pleasure almost too much to bear.
Dieter pulls back, a thin line of saliva connecting his lips to Joel's length. He looks up at Joel with a wicked grin, before taking him back into his mouth. Parting away from you, Joel groans, hips bucking up involuntarily. But when he sees Dieter grinding into his palm, his cock hard and aching under his pants, Joel tugs on his hair, fucking his mouth with shallow strokes.
Joel’s eyes go wide when the other man chokes, the sound of it equivalent to someone raking their nails over his body. His stomach flips. Something raw and visceral awakening inside him. He thrusts deeper, the head going down the other’s throat. Dieter chokes again and Joel moans, loudly. His heart beating too fast.
With the corner of his eyes, Joel watches your movements with a parted mouth. You dip lower and drag your lips up his shaft, your mouth meeting Dieter’s. You both mouth at him simultaneously, your tongues dancing. Joel fists the sheets. His eyes fixed where his cock disappears and reappears between their lips. The two moan at the same time, the reverberations seeping into the sensitive skin of his cock and making him shudder. His muscles grow taut. Precum heavily coating both of their lips. Dieter dips his tongue into the slit groaning at the taste, and you unbutton the actor’s pants, sliding your hand under his boxer briefs.
“Oh god,” Joel swallows thickly, his voice hoarse. “I’m gonna come—” he can feel his body tensing, his breaths coming in short gasps as he gets closer and closer.
You pull away and Dieter follows. Instinctively, Joel pulls at Dieter’s hair, willing the other back to his cock. His cock twitches when Dieter’s eyes roll back at the blossoming pain. You climb up the bed, cradling Joel’s face before slipping his tongue into his mouth. It’s a quick one but leaves him breathless nonetheless.
“I want you to fuck me,” you mutter, lips moving over his beard. “Will you, please?”
Joel helps you up to your feet, his hands still shaking slightly as he pushes down your dress, finishing what Dieter had started. He dips down, sucking a nipple into his mouth. His cock drips at the way you moan for him. Dieter stands behind him, his fingers trailing down the center of Joel's back as he helps him out of his shirt.
You reach for Dieter's pants, feeling the heat rising in your chest as you gaze into his eyes. He watches you intently, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. You slide the zipper down slowly, your fingers brushing against the growing bulge in his boxer briefs.
Joel steps back, allowing you to guide Dieter towards the bed. He climbs up first, propping himself up against the headboard, his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding in front of him. You kneel on the bed beside Dieter, your fingers reaching for the waistband of his underwear. You tug them down slowly, revealing his cock, already hard and throbbing.
Joel's breath catches in his throat as he watches you take Dieter's cock into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the head before sliding down the shaft. Then you pull away from him with a pop and lay down next to him, your head resting on his hip. Dieter’s hands smooth down your body, spreading your thighs. He holds Joel’s gaze as the older man’s mouth suddenly feels dry at the sight of you.
Joel moves between your legs, his fingers tracing over your slick folds, making you moan softly. He positions himself at your entrance, his eyes locked onto yours as he slowly pushes inside you. He can feel you getting wetter with every inch. You claw at Dieter’s bicep and he shushes you, one hand moving to the swell of your breasts and holding it gingerly. The small hairs across Joel’s body stand up when you let out a sharp whimper.
“Dieter,” you whine, eyes glossy. “H-He feels so good.”
God, you’re shaking around him, your pretty pussy squeezing him. Joel grunts.
“I bet he does,” Dieter murmurs, eyes looking at where you and Joel connect. He’s only halfway in. “Want me to play with your pretty clit, baby? You’re taking him so well.”
You nod quickly and Dieter doesn’t make you repeat yourself. Joel swallows. Dieter begins to draw quick, tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. You gasp, your lips barely touching Dieter’s shaft. Joel feels you clenching around him, walls fluttering thanks to the actor. Dieter makes a point of brushing the tips of his fingers while attending to your need, and every time Joel feels it, his cock throbs. He buries himself deep inside you, forcing the air from your lungs. Your back arches beautifully, your nails leaving crescent moon-shaped marks into Dieter’s skin.
Joel's breathing is ragged, his eyes locked onto yours as he pumps into you harder and harder. Your eyes flutter closed. His fingers dig into your hips, anchoring you to the bed as he pounds into you. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room.
“Hold me,” you cry out, head turning to Dieter. Joel’s thrusts become harder, faster. “Shit—He’s in so deep.”
Dieter obliges, wrapping his arms around your trembling frame as your body sways back and forth with the strength of Joel’s thrusts.
“You’re taking him so well, sweetheart,” Dieter groans, his own cock heavy and dark between his legs. “You look so beautiful with him buried between his legs.” suddenly his eyes snap to Joel’s, and the older man falters a bit, his pacing becoming uneven. “Doesn’t she?” he asks him.
“She does,” Joel grunts out a response.
You let out a whimper, Joel can feel you convulsing. Your body growing taut and tense, you’re close. Joel’s not that far from it himself, dangling over the edge.
“She’s such a good girl,” Dieter continues, eyes never leaving Joel’s. “Isn’t she?”
“Jesus, she is. So fuckin’ good to me. Always.”
And with that, Joel witnesses your fall from heaven.
He watches with awe as you writhe and convulse around him, your head thrown back in ecstasy. Your body trembles with every pulse of pleasure that courses through you, and your breaths come in short gasps. You arch your back, a low moan escapes your lips, and your body tenses up around Joel's length. Your fingers dig into Dieter’s forearms s as you ride out the waves of ecstasy that ripple through your body. Joel can feel your inner walls squeezing him tightly, and he groans.
Joel can feel your wetness coating his cock, and the slickness only intensifies the pleasure he feels. He continues to thrust into you, his pace quickening as he chases his own release. Somewhere in the distance, he can hear Dieter praising you both, though mostly you, and he shudders.
Your orgasm starting to subside, he feels your body relaxing against him. He slows his pace, savoring the feeling of your hot, slick walls wrapped tightly around him. He wants to make this last as long as possible, to make you feel every inch of him. However, Joel knows nothing lasts forever.
He’s right at the edge when he pulls out, spilling over your stomach. His hot breath slides over your skin, his head buried between your breasts. Unthinking, he presses heavy, wet kisses. The tremors of his orgasm slowly fades and Joel realizes that among the three of them, there’s still one person left unsatisfied.
Joel looks up to Dieter. Despite his cock still being hard, the head an angry shade of red, he looks content with just peppering the top of your head with kisses. But he must’ve sensed the bodyguard staring because Dieter’s eyes meet his.
“You didn’t come,” Joel states.
Dieter rolls his eyes, “No shit,” he follows it up with a shrug. “But it’s okay. Seeing you two going at it was satisfying enough.”
Joel moves his jaw, thinking, contemplating on what to do. Your lids are heavy as your eyes move back and forth. Watching. The older man comes to a decision and peels himself away from you.
“Can I?” he asks, pointing at Dieter’s dick. The actor flushes.
“Can you what?” he answers, voice squeaky.
“Um. . .Jerk you off. It’s only fair.”
Joel reaches out a hand and tentatively wraps it around Dieter's shaft, giving it a gentle squeeze. Dieter lets out a small moan. His fingers start moving up and down, slowly at first, getting a feel for Dieter's size and shape. Joel has done this with another once or twice before and he can sense his confidence that was already hanging by a thread slowly dissolving. He looks up at Dieter who is already staring at him with half hooded eyes.
“Is this good?” Joel asks, licking his lips.
“Fuck yes. I’ll take whatever you give me.”
Joel’s eyes widen at the admission. He tightens his grip and strokes him faster. Your hand comes up to Dieter’s chest, caressing flushed skin with a smile. You lean closer and kiss his neck, which Dieter hums gratefully. Joel feels the heat emanating from Dieter's body, and the slight tremble in his legs as Joel picks up the pace.
"Good boy," Joel murmurs, watching as Dieter's eyes close and his mouth falls open. "So well behaved than from what I give him credit for."
Dieter lets out a soft whimper, his hips bucking up into Joel's hand. Joel adjusts his grip, tightening his fingers around Dieter's cock as he works him harder. Dieter drips all over his fingers and he uses it to lubricate his movements.
"You're so hard," Joel whispers, his mouth suddenly feeling incredibly dry. His gaze falls on you with slight envy, a tingle spreading throughout his lips. A desire to lay his lips on the other man and feel his frantic pulse for himself is a strong one, but he swallows it down. "You want to come, don't you?"
Dieter nods frantically, his breathing ragged. Joel can feel his own cock twitching.
"That's it, let go," Joel encourages, stroking him faster and swiping his palm over the head. "Come for us."
With a loud groan, Dieter's body tenses, and Joel can feel the hot spurt of cum as it lands on his hand and on Dieter's stomach. Joel keeps jerking him through his orgasm, murmuring words of encouragement as Dieter's body shakes with pleasure.
Finally, as Dieter's breathing evens out, Joel releases him, wiping his hand on the bedsheet. Dieter looks up at him with a dazed expression, a small smile on his lips.
"Thanks," he says, his voice hoarse.
Joel exhales a stuttered breath, not really knowing what else to say. "Anytime."
“Awwww,” you chime in giddily which gets on Joel’s nerves. “Look at my two boys getting along.”
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x f!reader#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo x f!reader#dieter bravo x female reader#dieter bravo x you#bodyguard!joel miller#actress!reader#joel miller x reader x dieter bravo#the bubble fic#pedro pascal character fanfiction#pedro pascal character fanfic#pedro pascal characters
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This made me think of Dieter and Poppy 🎨 I can see Dieter absoutely taking care of her sore feet as he listens to her talk about her day 🥰
dieter x f!reader (nicknamed poppy)
word count: 1341
content warning: 18+ blog; established relationship, sweet creature universe, foot massage, mention of food, massaging with foot, foot job— FJ (is that a thing?), slight begging on dieter’s part, praise (one use of good boy), poppy being a menace this go around, Poppy is readers nickname, no descriptive features given for reader, let me know if I forgot anything
notes: thank you @kteague for sending this. I was like “oh this is so perfect and cute” but then my mind started wandering and this happened… oops!
“Ugh— I’m so glad parent teacher conferences are over.” You groan as your body collapses into the plushness of the couch. “No more late nights or dealing with parents who think their children are too perfect to get less than an A on their tests.”
“Can’t be that bad.” Dieter says as if he’s the one partaking in these meetings.
He holds out a white paper carton of warm noodles and chopsticks from your favorite takeout place from where he’s sitting on the opposite end of the couch. You gladly accept, your mouth watering as you settle back into the pillows.
“Ha! Can’t be that bad? I had one parent this week tell me her son needs to stay late sometime next week because she has a date and won’t be able to pick him up. I had to explain to her that I’m not a daycare.” You mumble out between a heaping pile of noodles, suspended from your mouth to the chopsticks.
“Did she offer to pay though?” Dieter asks before taking a bite of a crispy roll. He nods, approving of the flavor as he inspects the contents, then shoving the rest in his mouth.
“You’re ridiculous!” You playfully kick his leg resting on the couch, he’s quick to grab for your ankle before you can pull away, his thumbs instantly kneading into the arch of your foot. “No, she didn’t offer to pay. But she was offended when I gave her the number of an actual daycare.”
“Could be good money if you ever considered. So, did they ask about me this week?” Looking down at where his hands continue to massage out the stress you’ve been under dealing with nagging parents over the course of the last week.
The achiness is quickly exchanged for a more enjoyable pressure. Dieter’s foot rubs and takeout at the end of a long work week is a ritualized experience you always look forward to going into a relaxing weekend.
“You know I thought something was off! Not one kid asked about you. They must have forgotten who you are— shame.” You smirk at him over the carton of noodles.
“What do you mean they forgot about me?” His hands still, a mixture of shock and sadness plastered all over his face at the thought of your students forgetting who he was.
You love messing with him because it’s so easy, but his pinched brows and sad puppy dog eyes is your least favorite reaction when you do take a chance at joking with him.
“Babe, I’m just kidding. They never stop talking about you. I swear I get asked at least once by each of them at some point during the day, When is Uncle Dude going to visit us?”
“That’s it, foot rub is over for you! Can’t believe you would do that to me!” He drops your foot into his lap, hands lifted to prove he will no longer be implementing your weekly foot rub tonight.
“You make it too easy sometimes. I saw an open opportunity, so I took it.” Wiggling your untouched foot at him, hoping he has it in his heart to even out the lingering pain still radiating through it.
“I’m sorry, did you need something?” He asks, a singular eyebrow arched, looking at you then back to your foot before grabbing for another crispy roll and television remote off the coffee table.
The man is a menace and he knows it too. Luckily, or unlucky for him, you are too and take any chance to give it right back to him.
Your attention shifts to Dieter’s pants, his favorite pair he wears when he’s lounging around the house. The thin material covered in stripes running lengthwise of the pant legs, varying in different shades of gray. Material so thin, they do little to prevent what hides beneath the cotton fabric. So they’ve easily become your favorite pair— for obvious reasons.
It’s innocent at first. Your foot skimming over the top of his thigh. Back and forth, back and forth. He doesn’t even mention anything, too focused on flipping through the selected streaming service in search of some sort of cinematic entertainment for the rest of the evening.
You sense he was getting aroused as you inched further and further up his thigh, your own body responding in kind. Feeling bold, you slowly slid your foot across his lap and let it rest on his growing bulge, applying just enough pressure which resulted in Dieter letting out a low moan, encouraging you to continue.
“Poppy, what do you think you’re doing? fuck.” His locked on you, lids already heavy as he began to succumb to your pleasurable wrath.
“Hmm— I don’t know what you mean. Did you find a movie?” You could feel the heat radiating from Dieter's body already. “Maybe that one Nic Cage movie where he plays himself?”
“Mmmmmmmmm.” A blissed out groan is all Dieter manages.
Mission accomplished!
But you couldn't resist the temptation to tease him a little more. With your toes, you traced the outline of his cock. Every delicious inch of him rock hard and straining beneath his lounge pants.
“Fuck, Poppy!” Dieter gasps, his head falling back onto the arm of the couch, your touch proving to be too distracting.
“You like that, Baby?” Taunting him with a sultry voice as you take another bite of noodles.
“Mmhmm!” His eyes screw shut, nodding his head frantically.
“I need words, Dieter. Otherwise I don’t think I can continue.” You tell him, stilling your foot.
“YES! I like it so much, Pop! Please don’t stop!” Practically begging with you to keep at it.
You could sense that Dieter was already on the edge, and you wanted nothing more than to push him over it.
Feeling bold, you decide to take it a step further. With one swift move, cupping the bulge in his pants with both of your feet. Oscillating your movements between lazy up and down caressing to hard drawn out dragging motions down the length of his cock.
It’s no surprise when Dieter lets out a loud groan when you jump straight to his most requested stroke that is always one to reduce him to a whimpering mess. Now mimicking the move without the help of your hands by applying just enough pressure at the base of his shaft with one foot while the ball of the other foot moves in circular motions over his leaning head. His pants are sticky with pre-come under your feet, smearing everywhere, completely delighted by the effect this is having on him.
Dieter hips start to buck against your feet, grinding and rhythmically rolling in search of more friction. Poppyyesyesyes, he was desperately pleading, signaling that he was close.
“Dieter, you’re doing so well. Be a good boy and come for me.” You purr, continuing to move over his cock, rubbing and teasing him.
He doesn’t get a chance to warn you, but the way his body goes rigid as he grips at couch cushions is more than enough warning for you that he’s going to come.
“F-fuck!!” That coiling tension winding tightly in his abdomen finally snapping as he lets out choked sob.
Dieter dissolves into a euphoric pleasure as he explodes inside of his pants, releasing his hot arousal all over himself and your feet.
There was a pleasant sense of control and satisfaction that washed over you watching Dieter come undone. The way his cheeks and neck were flushed from the satisfied desire buzzing through him. A sheen of sweat speckled across his forehead, a few drops managing to roll down his face. His already disheveled hair now soaked and messier.
You dig the chopsticks back into the carton, winding the noodles around and around in preparation for your next bite.
“I forgot to ask— how was your day, Babe?” A lopsided grin forming as you lifted your gaze up to admire the way Dieter’s chest expanded up and down. His labored panting filling the living room as he tried to regain some sort of consciousness.
“Fuck you, Pops!” Lifting his head so he can give you his full attention, his mouth curving into a smile that makes your stomach all fluttery. “It was good— So fucking good.”
#dieter bravo#dieter x poppy#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo x you#dieter bravo x female reader#dieter bravo x f!reader#pedro pascal#wildemaven writes#pedrostories
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save your tears
4.6k | 18+ MDNI | Dieter Bravo x f!reader
Warnings: dubcon (sex while high), alcohol & drugs, unprotected piv, rough sex, choking, loss of virginity, mention of blood, degradation/praise, hurt no comfort, mean!Dieter
Summary: It’s your lucky night! Your favorite movie star, Dieter Bravo, picks you up at a club and takes you home. You don’t want to blow it by telling him you’re a virgin, do you?
A/N: Never meet your heroes...and please don’t fuck Dieter Bravo raw without seeing a notarized STD test first.
I’m super excited to share this fic with you and I really hope you’ll enjoy it!! Let me know your thoughts! ♥︎
Dieter Bravo masterlist ♡ main masterlist
Another kiss with a stranger, another fiery shot of tequila, another night immersed in the opulence of a luxurious club in the heart of Beverly Hills.
The pulsating beat of the music reverberates through the venue, drowning out any coherent thought. A sea of bodies sways in a synchronized rhythm, lost in the intoxication of the music, the free-flowing drinks, and the swirling lights.
You and your friends are no exception, caught up in the vibrant chaos of the dance floor, laughing and moving to the infectious energy of the night.
The tight dress you’ve chosen for the night clings to your every curve, a sleek fabric that accentuates the enticing contours of your body. Its deep, midnight black hue embraces you like a second skin, tracing the delicate curve of your breasts, descending sensuously over your torso, and accentuating the gentle swell of your hips.
As you move, the straps, delicate and barely there, become ethereal threads, caressing your skin with each sway and twirl on the dance floor. The dress’s neckline is daring, a subtle plunge that hints at mystery and allure, inviting the eyes to linger for just a moment longer.
Your choice of footwear is equally as captivating. The heels, sleek and strappy, elevate your posture and add a tantalizing sway to your every step. The ensemble not only looks exquisite but feels like a second skin. In this carefully chosen outfit, you feel an undeniable sense of confidence and allure – you feel like a goddess.
As the night progresses, and a few shots later, you find yourself losing inhibitions with each beat. The alcohol warms your veins, and the euphoria of the moment takes over. The atmosphere inside the club is charged with excitement, the air thick with the scent of perfume, sweat, and anticipation.
And then you see him.
Amidst the crowd, your gaze collides with a pair of intense, dark eyes that seem to cut through the chaotic haze. Recognition strikes you like a bolt of lightning – Dieter Bravo, the famous Oscar winner, stands at the fringes of the dance floor, his gaze fixed on you.
The look in his eyes is predatory, stirring desire deep within you. He gestures with a subtle nod of his head towards the exit, a silent command that sends your heart racing.
You excuse yourself to your friends, your words lost in the overwhelming discord of music and laughter. They barely register your departure, the night unfolding in a blur of colors and sound. The crisp air outside is a welcome contrast, a momentary escape from the heated chaos within.
You take a deep breath.
Before you know what’s happening, a strong pair of hands seizes you, pushing you against the cold exterior wall of the club. It’s Dieter, his eyes burning with desire as he takes in the sight of you. His words come out in a low, husky whisper that sends shivers down your spine.
“You’re so beautiful, baby, I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” he confesses, his breath hot against your ear. You’re trembling slightly as he pulls back a little to look into your eyes, one hand planted on the wall next to your head, the other gently cupping your hot cheek. His touch sends a jolt through your entire being and your skin tingles beneath his fingertips.
“Why don’t we take this party to a more private setting, hm? My place is just around the corner,” he murmurs, his gaze searching yours for a sign of rejection.
His proposition hangs in the air, a surreal moment that seems too fantastical to be real. Dieter Bravo, a man renowned for having his pick of any woman he desires, wants you to come home with him?
You hesitate for a fleeting moment, the thrill and exhilaration of the unexpected encounter mingling with a feeling of unease. Is this a good idea?
Oh, fuck it.
With a breathless nod, you give in to the magnetic pull of his desire. You’re never gonna get a chance like this again in your life.
Dieter’s eyes flicker with satisfaction at your willingness and a self-assured smirk plays on his lips. “Smart choice, beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice low and seductive, intertwining with the rhythm of the music coming from inside.
With a confident yet gentle touch, he guides you to his waiting car, his warm palm resting on the small of your back.
His driver awaits, a stoic figure leaning against the passenger door with crossed arms, well-acquainted with the routine of escorting the renowned womanizer and his conquests. The man looks a few years older than Dieter, and as you approach, you can’t help but ponder the untold tales and silent observations this seasoned driver must harbor as living witness to the enigmatic world of his famous boss.
Dieter leans in to whisper something into the driver’s ear, a private exchange that ends with a wink and a grin directed at you. With a confident saunter, he rounds the car, slipping into the back seat from the other side.
“Good evening, Miss,” the driver greets you with a practiced courtesy, opening the back door and gesturing for you to step inside. In that fleeting moment, as he meets your gaze, you detect a subtle flicker of concern in his eyes, swiftly masked before you fully register its presence.
You swiftly dismiss the uneasy feeling that briefly fluttered within you and gracefully slide into the luxurious car, taking the seat beside Dieter. The plush interior envelops you, a cocoon of opulence that showcases the movie star’s wealth. As the door closes with a muted thud, the insulating quiet of the vehicle amplifies your anticipation.
The car ride is a blur of sensations.
Dieter pulls you onto his lap, his lips finding yours in a fervent kiss. His hands explore the contours of your body, a mix of escalating desire and urgency palpable in every touch.
Glancing at the rearview mirror, the driver is a silent witness to a scene that unfolds with unsettling familiarity. Dieter’s reputation as a notorious womanizer is well-known, but the silent driver remains impassive, steering the car towards your destination.
“Fuck, baby,” Dieter whispers against your lips, his erection straining painfully against his pants. “You wanna sit on my cock right here or wait ‘til we’re home?”
You sensuously roll your hips, and he responds by squeezing your ass, a deep, guttural groan escaping his lips at the tantalizing friction.
“I want you to take me in your bed,” you purr, as the champagne and tequila flowing through your veins embolden you.
“Alright, beautiful,” he murmurs between sloppy kisses to your neck and jaw, his hand tracing the delicate skin of your shoulder before sliding down the strap of your dress with practiced ease. “I’ll give you anything you want.”
Every word Dieter utters, every caress of his hands, the heady scent of his cologne—the fact that your idol, a man larger than life, is currently drunk off your beauty—adds fuel to the intoxicating fire that courses through your body, making you acutely aware of the pulsating ache and growing wetness between your thighs.
You’ve never wanted to fuck anyone this badly.
Dieter slides down the other strap of your dress, the fabric yielding to his touch as he pulls it down, leaving it to pool around your waist and revealing your naked chest.
“Goddamn, your tits are perfect,” he whispers in awe, his hands tracing a delicate path from your shoulders down to your breasts, cupping one in each hand. “I almost forgot how good real ones feel.”
Your smile widens in response to his comment, relishing the sensation of Dieter Bravo praising your tits.
He massages them, softly at first, his touch a gentle prelude that gradually escalates in intensity as you wrap your arms around his neck, deepening your kiss, moaning against his lips. Your body responds eagerly, writhing on his lap, your swollen clit rhythmically rubbing against his hard bulge, each movement eliciting a wave of pleasure that has your eyes fluttering shut and your back arching.
Dieter leans in, spurred on by the movement of your body and your little moans of pleasure, pressing your tits together with a hunger that mirrors his escalating passion. His kisses are sloppy, a mixture of lust and possessiveness as he licks and sucks on your nipples, twirling his tongue around them.
The sensations alternate between pleasure and a tingling pain as he bites down, eliciting a desperate whimper from you that he hungrily absorbs by pressing his lips against yours once more.
“This your first time fucking a real movie star, baby?” he murmurs, trailing kisses and bites down your sensitive neck.
Your head is spinning, and it takes you a few seconds to register what he just asked you. Even if it weren’t true, you’d be smart enough to stroke his famously big ego and tell him what he wants to hear. But, in this case, it is true.
“Yeah,” you breathe, your fingers tangled in his now-disheveled curls.
God, his hair is soft. The thought crosses your mind that being a millionaire must afford you great hair care. Just one of the perks of being one of the chosen ones, you muse with a smile.
“I promise you’ll be thinking of me every time you fuck someone else after I’m done with you, darling,” he smirks at you, satisfied with the fact he’s the first man of his stature you’ve experienced.
If he wasn’t already rock-hard before, he would be now.
You giggle and bite your lip, your dilated pupils telling Dieter everything he needs to know – you want him as badly as he wants you.
“I’ll hold you to that,” you purr, leaning in to suck and nibble on his neck while rolling your hips again.
“Oh shit,” he whispers, letting his head fall against the headrest and gripping your hips with his hands. “I knew you were a bad girl the second I saw you.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Good girls don’t rub their needy little pussy on some stranger’s cock minutes after they met.” His breathing is strained, and he needs to concentrate hard to not come in his pants. “Good girls also don’t let me do a line off their perfect tits.”
You pull back a little to look into his eyes, and he raises an eyebrow.
Against your better judgment, you nod, and he reaches into the right pocket of his pants to retrieve the biggest coke baggie you’ve ever seen. Goddamn, how does this guy get any acting gigs done if he does massive amounts of coke like this? His manager must be nothing short of a god.
“Push them together, baby,” he says, watching hungrily as you take your tits and press them together to create enough surface for him to put his powder on. “Fuck, that’s it.”
He pours a generous amount onto your skin, creating a line with his finger.
“You’re so fucking hot, baby,” he murmurs, planting a kiss on your warm lips. His gaze drops to the line of coke on your tits before he lowers his head, presses a finger on his right nostril, and inhales the powder in one swift motion.
The lewd, forbidden feeling of letting him do drugs off your body has your pussy clench around nothing. You’re beyond turned on.
“Phew!” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “This is some primo shit, holy fuck. You wanna try?”
Dieter’s eyes find yours as he wipes his nose and tilts his head. “You’re never gonna find something this pure again.”
“Sure, why not,” you coo, succumbing to the excitement of the moment. One more bad decision��s not gonna kill you, right?
“Such a bad girl,” he murmurs with a smirk, then pours some coke on the back of his hand. He arranges it in a line for you and brings it closer to your face.
The fine white powder lies on his skin like a whisper of the night, and with a quick, controlled motion, you inhale. The sensation is immediate, a rush that starts from the point of contact and spirals into a heady euphoria. The sharp intensity sends a tingling sensation through your nostrils, a mix of heat and exhilaration.
In that fleeting moment, the world seems to shift.
The pulsating lights of the city take on a surreal glow, and the hum of the car’s engine becomes a rhythmic accompaniment to the rush coursing through your veins. The nightclub’s music, still echoing in your ears, melds with your newfound energy, creating a synesthetic experience that blurs the boundaries between the external world and your internal sensations.
You’ve never felt this much like yourself and not like yourself at the same time before—it’s surreal.
A tingling warmth radiates through your body, a sensation that is both invigorating and disorienting, like an electrifying surge that momentarily disconnects you from reality.
Dieter watches in real time as the coke takes effect and your pupils dilate further, your features signaling an intensified awareness of your surroundings.
“That’s it, baby,” you hear him purr before you feel his hand on the back of your neck, pulling you into a messy kiss.
You’re not entirely sure how you made it to Dieter’s bedroom.
– – –
His sheets are incredibly soft, some sort of luxurious fabric that feels heavenly against your naked skin. You’re clad only in your panties, lying on your back with Dieter on top of you, your legs spread to accommodate his hips.
You hear music coming from a speaker somewhere in the room – he must’ve put it on when you got in. You moan as he kisses your neck, his warm tongue and lips tracing your skin, nibbling, biting, marking you.
He props himself up with his forearms on the bed beside your head, the soft hair on his belly grazing against your skin with each rhythmic movement of his hips.
“Look at me, baby,” he tells you, breathless, eager to finally bury himself in your pussy. You open your bloodshot eyes, biting your lip at the delicious pressure he’s putting on your clit.
“Tell me you want me.”
He caresses your cheek, his fingertips leaving a tingling sensation on your hot skin. You nod in response and moan when his hard cock rubs against your sensitive clit once again.
“Hey,” he taps your cheek not so gently and bores his eyes into you. “Use your words.”
You’re startled, but a grin forms on your lips as your foggy brain registers what he’s asking.
“I want you, Dieter,” you coo, your nails digging into the meat of his ass. “I want you to fuck me.” His lips crash against yours in an instant, and you whisper, “Please,” against them as your mind drifts off into another realm again.
“Don’t worry, baby,” he murmurs as he straightens up to take off his boxer briefs. “I’m gonna give you exactly what you need.”
Your eyes follow the movement of Dieter’s hands, mesmerized, watching in slow motion as his cock springs free. Fuck. It’s a lot bigger than you’d imagined, and it’s so…beautiful. You wish he’d put it in your mouth for you to taste it, but since you can feel him pulling down your panties, you guess he’s gonna go straight to fucking your pussy.
You feel his hands on your thighs as he positions himself between your spread legs. Then, you watch as he spits on his hand and strokes his cock. You moan at the sight, wanting nothing more than for him to take you, to ravage you, to become one with you.
“Fuck, you’re so wet, baby,” he murmurs more to himself than to you, haphazardly swiping his fingers through your dripping wet folds. You can’t hold back the moan that escapes your lips when he brushes your clit.
He scoots closer, and you can feel the hairs on his thighs against yours as he guides the tip of his cock to your entrance. It’s warm, slippery, feels kinda nice. You close your eyes and turn your head.
This is it. You’re gonna have sex for the first time.
And with none other than Dieter fucking Bravo – Oscar winner, movie star, womanizer extraordinaire. If you weren’t so out of it, you’d laugh at the ludicrousness of the situation.
He pushes in with one slow, deliberate thrust, savoring the feeling of each inch gradually disappearing into your body.
You inhale sharply, your breath catching at the initial discomfort of his cock stretching you. Your brow furrows in response, and you instinctively grip the sheets with your hands, a mix of pleasure and mild pain coursing through your body.
“Holy shit, your pussy’s tight,” Dieter groans, his hips stuttering at the sensation of being completely sheathed in you. “Feels so fucking good.”
He withdraws again just as you begin to acclimate to the girth of his cock inside you, leaving you whimpering at the sudden loss. Your hypersensitive system is so overloaded with sensations that it compels you to moan, whine, and writhe under his touch, uncertain of how to process everything you’re feeling and experiencing.
Dieter chuckles at your desperate little noises, more than ready to give you as much of his cock as he can, and to show you pleasure you didn’t know you were capable of.
If there’s one thing he takes pride in, it’s leaving his sex partners thoroughly satisfied, mind empty, covered in cum, and wanting more.
He spreads you open again in one smooth movement, your pussy eagerly devouring every inch. Pleased with your moans and the tight grip of your walls, he grabs your thighs and shifts his weight, pressing them against the mattress to penetrate you even deeper.
“Fuck,” is all you can get out as he sets a brutal pace, pushing your body up the bed repeatedly. His cock relentlessly strikes a deep spot within you, each thrust accompanied by the rhythmic slap of his balls against your ass.
“That’s it, baby. Take my fucking cock. Fuck, you’re the best slut I’ve had in a while.”
Dieter wants you to scream his name and come all over his cock. Sure. But he’s greedy and craves more than your physical surrender. He wants to etch his name into the very fabric of your desires, your being, a memory that will linger in your thoughts for the rest of your life.
The initial discomfort you’ve experienced slowly gives way to raw, carnal pleasure, a drug-induced dance of sensations that leaves you breathless. Dieter’s movements are harsh, designed to bring you to your limits, and you find yourself meeting his thrusts with an eagerness that surprises you.
The vast expanse of Dieter’s bedroom is filled with the intoxicating sound of your moans and smacking flesh, creating a dizzying symphony that envelops you in the throes of ecstasy.
“Look at me,” you hear him growl somewhere over you, and when you don’t budge, you feel his bruising grip on your jaw. “Hey, I’m not telling you again.”
You open your eyes, your eyelids so heavy you need to summon all of your strength to pry them open. Dieter’s face hovers close to yours, his breaths ragged, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, tracing a path down his temples.
His eyes are dark, hungry, dangerous. He gazes at you like he wants to devour you, to consume you wholly. You sense the intensity of his desire, and you’re more than ready to surrender to it.
You feel his hands tighten around your neck, the diminishing flow of oxygen to your brain heightening your senses even more. As your vision blurs and your pulse quickens, you’re caught in a paradoxical dance of ecstasy and fear, an exhilarating moment that pushes you to the brink.
Dieter deliberately hits your G-spot over and over again, his cock throbbing and leaking precum at your increasingly loud moans and spasming walls.
“Is this what you wanted, huh?” he pants, intensifying the grip on your neck and the force of his thrusts. Instinctively, you start clawing at his arms. “What a sick little thing you are, getting off on me hurting you.”
Your eyes roll back and you feel yourself slipping away as Dieter’s pelvis puts enough pressure on your clit to bring you closer to climax with every roll of his hips.
“Oh fuck,” you faintly hear Dieter’s voice, “you’re choking the shit out of me, holy–”
You don’t hear the end of his sentence as an abrupt, violent orgasm takes over your body and mind in waves. Your walls spasm and contract uncontrollably around Dieter’s cock, every single muscle in your body tensing as you release a silent scream, caught in a tumultuous mix of ecstasy and distress.
Dieter lets go of your neck and bites down on your shoulder as he comes, emptying himself deep inside you with a guttural groan. His cock pulsates as your pussy eagerly milks and swallows up every last drop of his seed.
He pulls out of you and collapses onto the mattress, his chest heaving, heart racing, utterly spent. His cum leaks out of you, pooling on the sheets between your thighs.
The room is heavy with the lingering scent of sex as Dieter finally catches his breath. Sweat glistens on his forehead and chest, and his erratic breaths permeate the air. You lie there, silent and still, your body sore, and your mind in turmoil.
The reality of the moment slowly dawns on you – every heartbeat sobering you up a bit more, tangled emotions leaving you disoriented.
Shit. What have you done?
“That was…holy shit,” Dieter chuckles beside you as he props his head up on his hand.
His face falls immediately as he glances at the bloodstains on the sheets. His eyes widen in shock, and a pang of guilt hits him deep. He wasn’t gentle, and you never spoke up. The room is silent for a moment before he breaks it, his voice sharp and accusatory.
“You’re bleeding.” His eyes meet yours, and the storm within them is unsettling. Your heart beats rapidly, fear coursing through you. “Tell me this isn’t what I fucking think it is.”
You look away, a lump forming in your sore throat. “I...I didn’t expect it to hurt so much,” you admit, your voice barely audible.
“Oh my fucking god.” Dieter’s tone is harsh, his face contorted with a mixture of confusion and anger. He swiftly rises from the bed, the mattress shuddering under his abrupt departure. His pacing is agitated, a restless back-and-forth that adds to the already palpable tension between you two.
You sit up against the headboard and pull up the covers to shield yourself from the chilling air that envelops you. You’re shivering.
“Why the hell didn’t you say something? Are you trying to ruin me?”
Your heart drops. “Wha–”
His accusations hang in the air, and the room feels suffocating. Deep down, Dieter knows he should feel remorse for his actions, but instead, he redirects his hurt feelings towards you. The drugs and alcohol coursing through his system amplify his irrationality and paranoia.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” His voice rises, echoing off the walls. “Is this some sick ploy to get your fifteen minutes of fame or some shit? To expose me?”
You’re left stunned, the whirlwind of pain, confusion, and the sting of betrayal clouding your mind. The vulnerability you shared just moments ago morphs into an uncomfortable reality, a hurtful reminder of what you were to him — a warm, nameless body he could fuck.
And now, you’re a nuisance at best, and a PR nightmare at worst.
“Dieter, it’s nothing like that," you say, pleading, attempting to diffuse the escalating tension as the walls close in on the shattered remnants of a fun night. “I didn’t know how to tell you and…it’s not a big deal, I’m okay.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he shouts, shaking his head in frustration. “I wouldn’t have fucked you like that if I you’d told me you were–” he cuts himself off, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
The resentment in his gaze sends a shiver down your spine, making your blood run cold.
“Dieter–”
“Get the fuck out of my house.”
“Please, I’m sor–”
“Get the fuck out!” he roars, the anger in his eyes intensifying.
You immediately get up and scramble to get your clothes back on, your hands shaking. You grab your belongings, trying to maintain a shred of dignity as you hastily dress.
Dieter, seething with anger and regret, roughly hands you a wad of cash from his nightstand when you’re done.
“Here, take this. Get a Plan B or whatever the hell you need, and keep your mouth shut.”
You stare at the money in your hand, then at the man who’s throwing you out in the middle of the night after taking your virginity. The bills are cold in your hand, and you crumple them up, throwing them back at him.
“I’m not your whore, Dieter. Go to hell!”
Heels in hand, you make your way past him and out the door. You don’t stop as he calls after you, his voice strained with genuine remorse.
“I’m sorry!”
He really is.
– – –
The cold night air hits you like a slap, tears blurring your vision as you stumble away from Dieter’s mansion, the weight of what just transpired inside heavy on your shoulders.
His hurtful words echo in your mind, the throbbing pain between your legs intensifying with every step you take. Your breath falters in the frigid air, and you clutch your arms tightly around you as you make your way toward the waiting car.
The driver, standing beside the sleek vehicle, regards you with a mixture of concern and pity. His eyes have seen this scene unfold countless times before – another half-naked girl leaving his boss’s home in disarray.
You hate the way he looks at you, as if he knows more about your vulnerability than you’re willing to admit.
He opens the car door for you, and you gratefully sink into the plush leather seat. The warmth inside the car is a stark contrast to the chill outside, but it does little to ease the ache spreading through your body.
The driver takes his place behind the wheel, stealing glances at you through the rearview mirror.
“Where can I take you to, Miss?” His voice is gentle, filled with a practiced sympathy that makes your stomach churn. You hesitate for a moment, wrestling with the words you don’t want to say.
“Home,” you finally mumble, offering your address with a numb detachment. It feels like a betrayal, a surrender of your secret world to this stranger who witnesses the aftermath of Dieter Bravo’s fleeting affections.
The car glides through the silent streets, and you find yourself staring out of the window, the city lights blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors.
Your head is spinning, and the pain in your body intensifies with each passing moment. Tears escape as you touch the bruises on your neck, tracing silent paths down your cheeks. You wipe them away with the back of your hand, hoping the darkness conceals your shame.
The driver glances at you in the mirror.
“Are you alright, Miss?” he asks, his tone a delicate inquiry into the depths of your distress.
“Just…drive me home, please,” you whisper, your voice cracking with the weight of unshed tears. You don’t want his pity, his judgment. You just want to escape the haunting echoes of what happened tonight.
But you know that will never happen. Dieter got his wish after all.
You will forever remember him.
– – –
♥︎ Thank you for reading!! ♥︎
Dieter Bravo masterlist ♡ main masterlist
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A Cup Of Love - A Dieter Bravo One Shot ☕️
Summary: Dieter makes you a cup of tea.
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub. However, I have made a brief mention of Reader having a real body with stretch marks, as with Dieter with him ageing and greying.)
Word Count: 2.1k
Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️“Don't hurt me, cadejo.”
Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.
Warnings/Triggers: Established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!) Brief mention of drugs - nothing graphic. Dieter and Reader have REAL bodies. Mostly fluffy and soft. Dieter is a total sweetheart.
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.
I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.
Author’s Note: The amazing Gi @tightjeansjavi and I got to talking today about Dieter and tea, and we were both inspired to write a little something about, uh, Dieter and tea! ☕️🫖 Please ensure your check out Gi's amazing Tea Party story! And her other Dieter story Chamomile, which started our adventure down the tea-drinking rabbit hole! Love you, Gi 😘
MAIN MASTERLIST | A CUP OF LOVE MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST
Enjoy! 🖤
As Dieter stands in the kitchen, preparing the tea with careful precision, he can't help but marvel at the stark contrast between the often debilitating chaos of his career, and the tranquillity of his home life with you.
It still feels new, that band around his puffy wedding finger gleaming up at him, not tarnished like his other rings. Shiny, untainted.
Like a whirlwind on set, he often finds himself swept up in the frenzied gluttony of fame, dabbling in the temptations that lurk in the shadows with shiny lacquer talons beckoning him in.
They whisper his name with insidious crackles, sharp teeth that glisten in their false fanged smiles. His dishevelled face imprinted on sleazy tabloids, and ruthlessly scathing reviews of his work, that seek to further besmirch his tattered legacy.
There was a time when Dieter Bravo gave them two thick fingers, caring little and indulging in the hedonism that such a career and all of its chromatic glitz offered in abundance. It literally fell into his lap and gyrated suggestively on it.
And instead of pushing it away, he stuffed crumpled, one-hundred dollar bills into its g-string and snorted lines from its ample cleavage without a care in the world.
He was sucked in, drowning in front of an unsatisfied audience, who clapped lazily and jeered instead of throwing him a much needed life buoy. The drowning man, coughing water from his lungs as they hand him gold statues, and plaques with his name engraved on.
A name that sounds more like a third wheel in his life with you, dragging its baggage in from the doorstep and forgetting to wipe its feet as it traipses the clotting mud of his life over the polished wooden floors.
But here, in the quiet sanctuary of your shared kitchen, humble with the soft glow of morning light filtering through the window, Dieter feels it all wash away; the bawdy grime of a soiled past rinsing down the plug hole.
Gone are the days of wild partying with yes-men, drug-fuelled binges and scandalous social feeds, to be replaced with knuckling down, taking the better scripts with characters of substance, and potential Oscar nominations attached to them.
He’s traded the bizarre, the outlandish, for the quiet and the subdued. For the homemade, the curated and the simple joys of growing older with an aching back.
He’s traded it all for something far greater than any of it all; coming home to you.
With each measured movement - the precise amount of tea leaves, the exact temperature of the water - he finds solace in the routine of making a simple cup of tea, a stark departure from the unpredictability of his previous, voracious world.
With the tea steeped to perfection, Dieter pours it into your favourite cup, feeling a sense of contentment wash over him.
As he stirs the heady tea, watching the leaves dance in the whirlpool of hot water, he can't help but think of you; his anchor, his steady hand in the midst of the choppy storms.
With you by his side, he feels grounded, connected to the earth by his feet once more; his erratic impulses tempered by your steady presence and a spiritual awakening.
The heavy drag of his hand over his weathered face as he yawns, an itching nostril that tickles, and he tosses the spoon in the sink, metallic chimes echoing in his ears.
He allows himself a moment to savour it, the scent, the quiet. A moment to just breathe. In and out, his chest expanding as he closes his eyes, hands resting on the counter.
Leaving the nagging ache in his shoulder from the stunt work dulling into a silent pang. The bruises will fade, it all heals in the end. Regrowth, second chances... another shot at the important things.
With the cup cradled in his hands, rings chinking delicately against the porcelain, he makes his way to the bedroom, where you lay in the billowy sheets, your features softened by sleep.
He takes a moment, lingering in the crack of the door silently, a ghost in his own home watching from afar, unable to be fully corporeal, a real boy.
Hovering in the draw of you, he wonders what you dream about. If the world you’re in is better than what he offers you. He tells himself to stop being ridiculous, that he’s deserving of your love, right?
Right?
You looked so fucking beautiful on the day you vowed to love and cherish him, warts and all. A lump in his throat, seafoam in his eyes as the wind tousled the flowers in your hair.
The hushed, reverend tones of your friends and families, they all washed away, swept out with the tide, and it was just the two of you for a few moments, hands knotted, hearts entwined. An intricate lace dress and a sand coloured suit. Dieter knew then he could do this, with you.
For you.
He could pick himself up, dust himself down and be what you needed. He vowed to be strong for you when he'd spent so long feeling weak, small.
On that day, he finally learned how to be selfless.
A tender smile unfolding over his crooked lips, Dieter observes you for a moment, marvelling at the gentle rise and fall of your bare chest on display for him. Nipples swollen, seemingly double their circumference in the heat, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by his own body as he stiffens at the sight of you.
Throbbing and heavy between his legs, the view of you melting him into the floor.
As he holds the scalding cup in his hands, the steam curling into his nose in gentle tendrils, he pushes the door fully open and approaches the bed.
He knows just how to rouse you from slumber without disrupting your tranquil state.
The aroma of the tea wafts through the room, a delicate rapture of fragrances that wilt in the air. With each inhale, Dieter is greeted by the rich, earthy scent, mingling with delicate notes of jasmine and bergamot.
It’s a quietly comforting aroma, one that envelopes him like a warm embrace, soothing his senses and calming the restless tornadoes in his mind.
A smell that is familiarly and uniquely, you.
Sitting gently on the bed beside you, resting on his elbow, he traces the curve of your jaw with his fingertips, watching your eyes flicker under the lids.
A soft moan escapes you on a gossamer breath, barely heard over the timid whistle of the radiator in the room.
As Dieter leans closer into you, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply the sweet scent of your hair. It’s a fragrance that never fails to intoxicate him, a delicate blend of coconut and vanilla that lingers long after you've left the room.
He’s transported to the beach once again where you'd promised you were his, forever. A hand he can squeeze and show off on the red carpets, look, she’s mine. She loves me… A smile he can eagerly chase with his lips.
A partner he can grow old with and reminisce about life whilst your bones shape around the rocking chairs on your porch. Papery hands held tight together as you wait for the pearlescent dust of death.
An eternal cup of tea he can make for you, just because.
With each breath, he feels a sense of calm wash over him, as if your very essence has the power to chase away the lingering shadows of doubt and uncertainty that like to piggyback on his shoulders.
It’s in these quiet moments, when the world seems to stand still, that Dieter feels the full force of his love for you wash over him like a tidal wave. The drowning man, coughing water from his lungs as you pull him out of the salty brine and into your arms.
He could just paint you right now, whip out another canvas and let your love guide his brush once more. Your face adorns the walls in collections of his signature style; a wallpaper of affection. Your eyes, your smile; the way your hair dances and beckons him into the acrylic world created by his once numb fingers.
Dieter presses his cracked lips to your forehead and then your cheek as you stir.
When you wake up, your eyes slowly flutter open, adjusting to the soft morning light filtering through the curtains and the delicate smooches painting your face.
As your gaze meets his, there’s a fleeting moment of confusion, followed by a dawning recognition that spreads across your features like the first golden light of the sunrise. Your lips curve into a sleepy smile, your eyes alight with warmth and adoration as you take in the hazy, messy aura of him beside you, holding the steaming cup in his big hands.
There’s a certain softness in your gaze, a tenderness that speaks volumes without the need for words to be sounded out around clumsy vowels. It’s as if you can see straight into him, unravelling the layers of his complicated and erratic being with a single glance that strips him to bone and sinew.
“You look tired, baby.”
“Long flight.” He yawns, all fillings in his back molars, all deep crinkles around his eyes.
He slips you the cup as you smile at him, offering him that grin that makes him feel so big and powerful, even when he feels like sludge.
He watches you take a sip, eyes closing in blissful contentment and humming at the warm taste as you feel it make its way down into your chest.
“Good?”
“Perfect,” you say, your fingers stroking the fine, grey scruff of his jaw as he blushes.
He nestles into your palm, mouthing a kiss on it, deep brown eyes lancing at you longingly. A lost boy in a tired man’s body coming home to you, offering more than the riches of a name chiselled inside a scuff-worn star on a boulevard in a dirty city with dimming bright lights.
No, he offers you his love in fragrant liquid form, a small yellow ocean to sail together in a teacup. An I love you curated in the moments of the simple art of patience and preparation.
You can taste it as it warms through your insides.
“Come here,” you open your arms out, after discarding the cup, and he can’t resist, shuffling out of his clothes that carry the stress of his journey quickly, leaving the sag of them hanging off the bed like shedding his skin.
He seeks your own for that one-on-one comfort, sharing your sleepy heat in the soft sheets. He covets to feel you pressed up naked against him, slotting easily around the misshapen lumps and bumps of a body well-abused.
He sniffs you in deep, to the back of his nostrils, but you don’t burn or fizz as you go down. Dieter can breathe you in freely and doesn't choke when you make his head spin.
You're his favourite kind of drug.
Wrapping his thick arms around you, Dieter pulls you close, revelling in the familiar weight of your body against his; your fingers sweeping across his broad chest, rifling through the sparse grey hairs here and there. A journey finalised when you finger in the grey, fluffed curls at the back of his neck, twirling them around the tips.
Nose pressed under his jaw as you inhale notes of his dying cologne and musky sweat from his travels. Eyelashes tickling softly against a constellation of freckles. Your clammy thigh hooked over the softness of his belly that he grips, his own fingers stroking at your marred skin with crinkly stretch marks.
He runs his fingers up and down the zig-zags of them, making you shudder, and he hums into your scalp, awed at the reaction from his touch.
Dieter takes a few moments, remembering what it feels like to be home in your arms. To understand finally that home isn’t just some fancy condo on a hilltop overlooking the City of Angels, nor a place full of frivolous, pointless things - it’s you.
Home is in the smile you blind him with, the sound of your laughter pummelling his ears deafening him. The feel of your body crushing him into the mattress as you gift him every piece of your love without expecting anything in return.
But he gives you all of him back, because that's all he has to offer.
And you accept this disasterous, frail human, cradling him tight like a scraggly bear left out in the rain, cold and discarded.
He gives you all his love in the only way he knows how; raw and scarred.
Dieter kisses you, tilting your chin up to his and losing himself in you. He’s been lost for so long, only being found the day he met you. The day he fell head over heels for an angel.
Lips sweep over one another, reminding him of your taste, the way you moan gently into the cavities, how your nails rake gently, but tingly, down the broad expanse of his back making him shudder in turn with want and need.
The way you simply kiss his bruises and aches, from weeks of throwing himself around sets, away, makes him fall harder to his knees.
You reach out to him, your hands seeking his naked flesh in the crumpled sheets, your legs cinching around his paunchy waist, the brush of his hardened cock catching in the crease of your thigh.
He feels your breath, warm and pleasant on his eyelids when you gasp, filling you up with him. Thick, warm, wet…
Pushes his thick cock slowly and deliberately inside of you, equally burying himself in this feeling that comes without a name, an unconditional tattoo inked on a pair of stumpy hearts.
You bind him to you, his face in your chest, kissing, nuzzling. Your hands in his hair, stroking, combing. A ghost of his name falling from your lips, mouth full of him.
“My tea will get cold…” You pant softly into his eyelashes as you take him all in, connected as one again; hips gently grinding against one another. Chests pressed together, hearts beating as one.
“I’ll make you another cup.” Dieter murmurs, as his mouth latches onto yours.
Thank you so much for reading this little, soft Dieter story. I hope you enjoyed it and as always, would love to know your thoughts. 🖤
MAIN MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST
#pedro pascal x reader#dieter bravo x reader#pedro pascal#dieter bravo#pedro pascal characters#dieter bravo x you#dieter bravo x female reader#dieter bravo x f!reader#dieter bravo the bubble#jett's writing
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fade into you
rating: Explicit (18+)
pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader
word count: 4K
summary: counting down the days until the new baby arrives, you’re already wound to a breaking point. Fortunately, Dieter is as good a husband as he is a father.
warnings: pregnancy, hormonal behavior due to pregnancy, fluffy cute behavior with kids, oral (m!receiving), Dieter is a sensitive king and loves your tummy, brief body insecurity, pregnancy sex, smut, thigh fucking, daddy/mommy dynamic – mostly tongue in cheek, and finally the return of the greatest tag gone far too long from our lives - daddy!dieter
a/n: congrats @burntheedges you are the first prompt for my 1k follower celebration! This was your prompt for Dieter: "Your shirt is inside out." "Can you help me fix that?" This takes place in the same universe as Little Monsters, but you don’t have to have read that one to understand this one. Thank you SO much for sending this in!
🤍Dieter Bravo Masterlist 🤍Masterlist
I wanna melt in I wanna soak through
I only wanna move when you move
I wanna breathe out when you
breathe in then I wanna fade into you
“C’mon – c’mon, just –,” your outstretched toe barely scrapes the end of the pen. You’re sweating – of course, you’re sweating, you’re always sweating these days. You try inching further down on the bed, as far as your aching back will allow, your leg fully extended, stretched so long you know you’re just flirting with a massive cramp –
You manage to snag the pen between your toes but as you bring it forward, the weight of the top slips back – “fuck, no!” and with a clatter, the pen tips backwards out of your grasp and onto the floor. After spending ten minutes trying to a fucking pen that you accidentally put there only after you managed to roll your way off the bed to go to the bathroom for the third time in forty-five minutes, the weight of it all hits you. The massive weight of you sinks back against the pillows, eyes scrunched shut, begging yourself not to cry.
You had all but demanded some time alone to work on the bills the producer wanted you to sort through. It was the last thing on your to-do list before you mentally allowed yourself to start your maternity leave and at this rate, it would be done by the time the nearly-grown baby in your stomach was a walking, talking ten year old. In that weird sixth sense mothers and their unborn children share, you feel your son turn and gently one foot presses against your forearm draped over your massive belly. In any other context, your heart would have been made ten times stronger, fortified by the love of your son.
Right now, it just makes you burst into tears.
You’re crying so hard you don’t hear the back door open, or the rousing chorus of Baby Shark that echoes through the house. If you were listening, you’d hear the squelch of wet flip flops traipsing through the kitchen floor, the song only occasionally broken by giggles and jokes about towel monsters coming to get little girls who drip water all over the living room, and a loud raspberry on soft skin.
He opens the door before you even have time to try to pull in the loud, wailing sob.
“Baby, look at –,”
“Dieter, don’t –,” you snatch up a pillow and shove your face into it, ashamed, embarrassed, and angry all at once. “Don’t look at me like this.”
When he had left you an hour ago, you had your hot tea by the side of the bed and your game face on – one of your sexier faces, if anyone asked him. You swore up and down this was the last thing and then it was smooth-sailing. You loved overworking yourself even while eight months pregnant, so Dieter and your doctor managed to make an agreement with you: all work must be done in bed.
You had your tea, a snack, even a towel wrapped around the headboard so you could pull yourself upright out of the bed to go to the bathroom unassisted while Dieter and Zelle went down to the pool . You, like you so often do, had a fool-proof plan. And to be quite honest, those were Dieter’s favorite kind of plans.
Listening to his ‘you think I can’t do it? watch me, fuck you’ wife and mother of his child (soon to be another) wail like the house was on fire made something inside of him break on a microscopic level. Like his organs were suddenly perforated with a million tiny cuts.
His bottoms still wet from the pool and Zelle’s wet suit quickly soaking the front of his t-shirt, Dieter approaches, his hand squeezing the arch of your foot to let him know he’s there. That did nothing to deter the anguish sobbing or inch the pillow away from your face.
With Zelle on his hip, he slides closer, touching you the whole time until he’s seated right beside you, his hand on your thigh. Your sobbing might only be second to Zelle’s own yelling cry in successfully destroying him from the inside out.
“Baby . . .”
You don’t flinch but he sees your knuckles go white – you’re nearly at the end, but you can’t seem to stop. As Dieter waffles between drawing you into his chest with his free arm or just being there for you while you let it all out, the weight on his hip shifts and a little pudgy hand brushes the back of your knuckles.
“Mama?”
Your sobbing stutters to a halt with a deep hiccup and all at once you go still. Very slowly, the pillow is lowered and your pink, snotty, dribbly face peers up at him. It’s not funny for you, and he knows this and he knows he won’t laugh but he wants nothing more than to pull you in close and kiss off those tears that have been nearly a constant presence in the last two weeks. Instead, his little girl beats him to it.
Zelle wiggles off his hip towards you and you take her in your arms, letting out one more whine as she wraps her tiny arms around your neck. She rubs her little face in your neck and you huff.
“Now, I feel silly,” you blubber. With a small chuckle, Dieter reaches over and gets a few tissues from the bedside table. He hands them over and you try to juggle Zelle and reaching over your swollen tummy to take them.
“C’mere, baby, let Mama have a second.” Zelle folds into his shoulder, her bright, inquisitive eyes never leaving your face as you wipe yourself dry and blow your nose. He rubs your thigh in circles. “You’re not silly. Whatever ever made you break out into deep sobs on a Thursday afternoon in our secluded bedroom is totally normal.”
You give a watery laugh, sniffing as you try to adjust your pillows, Baby Brave Number Two rolling back into your kidneys. He doesn’t kick, he's as unassuming as possible, but he can’t help how he floats.
“I dropped a pen,” you murmur with a sigh. “I just got comfortable after waddling back in from the bathroom and I dropped my pen.”
“Mama mad?” Zelle hides her little face beneath a curtain of hair. Dieter Bravo’s offspring in every conceivable way, Zelle is rarely this timid – only when there’s even but a hint of an implication that she’s in trouble. You’d see those same puppy dog eyes come out of the man with his hand up against her small back more than a dozen times.
“No, baby, I’m not mad.” You shake your head and those wide eyes get even bigger. “I’m just having a lot of feelings and I’m not doing a good job at managing them.”
“Yeah, like remember how you felt on your first day of preschool?” Dieter slides Zelle across his waist so she sits between you two. She glances back between your faces, anxiety and confusion twisting up her little features. “You were mad and sad and scared all at once so you started crying when we dropped you off?” She nods and he tucks a strand of delicate hair over her ear. “But then we had that talk in the car and you felt better. Mama just needs to do that.”
“Talk? Mama talk?”
He smiles at her and pulls her into his chest, smelling her strawberry L’Oreal shampoo, and a peace he’d never known before sinks into his bones. He feels whole with his little girl in his arms.
“Yes, she just needs to talk. Right, Mama?”
He pulls back and watches you visibly swallow. Not a knot of sadness but something else. It’s gone from your eyes by the time Zelle turns back around.
“I’m just really excited for your little brother to get here,” you say with a soft smile, your hand absentmindedly stroking the swell of your stomach where a little foot had been pressed just a few minutes ago. “Aren’t you?”
Zelle nods, smiling, and puts her ear to your stomach. A minute later, Dieter’s wide palm covers yours. He interlaces his fingers with yours and he smiles. The smile that’s been cultivated and cured over half a dozen years together, and recent late nights as new parents. A smile that has never graced a single magazine cover or Instagram reel. A smile that is forever and always will be yours.
“Come on, love bug, it’s bath time.” Dieter swings Zelle up into his arms and nibbles on her neck making her giggle.
“Then dinner time,” you grunt as you inch towards the edge of the bed. You try and swing your legs off the edge but end up nearly toppling over your lowered center of gravity.
“Baby –,” his firm grip steadies you, stops you from rolling into the bedside table. Those lines at the corners of his eyes sharpen for a second as he looks you over, worry all at once endearing and annoying. You hated being coddled but Dieter loved to coddle.
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you can hear how out of breath you sound and you grimace. Dieter doesn’t let go of your arm until you’re firmly planted on the ground next to him and you squeeze his bicep as reassuringly as you possibly can. He loosens his grip, concern wrinkling his forehead, his hand sliding from your arm, to your elbow then over your belly once again. Baby Bravo jostles you where his father’s hand sits.
“See, we’re all okay.”
Your gazes meet at the same time and something softens in his eyes, soothes him and you down to the very beat of your heart. As if in a daze, Dieter’s eyelids flutter half-shut and his eyes slip to your mouth, he puts his hand on your swollen waist as he kisses you – deeply, with an intensity that makes your knees quiver.
“Ew.”
A puff of breath fans your cheeks as Dieter breaks the kiss with a laugh. On his hip, Zelle chews on her little fist, an all-too-familiar glint in her eye.
“You can’t say ‘ew’. You only exist because of kisses like that –,”
“Dieter!”
He shakes his head before kissing Zelle on her little nose. “Tough crowd tonight. But even little sharks need to get a bath before dinner.”
Zelle scrunches up her nose, baring her crooked little teeth, and raises her fingers like claws. “Rawr.”
You hear Dieter chuckle as he walks her down to the bathroom. “Yes, baby, that’s definitely the sound sharks make.”
The bills aggressively shoved to the floor, you are folding the last bit of laundry over the bed after dinner when Dieter saunters in. Still in his trunks and shirt from earlier in the day, a faint pink blush warms his nose and cheeks – which would be gone in a few days, only to be replaced by a gorgeous dark almond color. Dieter Bravo could naturally tan so perfectly it was honestly heart-breaking.
“She’s out?”
“She’s out.” He nods with a sigh. He scratches the back of his head and snags his phone off the bedside table. When he sits down on the edge of the bed, you see the tag of his shirt over the lip of his collar. You muffle your grin and quietly finish with the towels. “The guy who came up with the lyrics ‘Baby Shark, doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo’ is either a genius or a madman. Two rounds of that and she’s basically comatose.”
“How do you know it was a man?” You arch your eyebrow at him.
Dieter lifts his head from his phone and smirks at you. He reaches for you and you let him tug you between his legs. He kisses your wrist, your hands curled around his broad shoulders. “That was incredibly sexist of me, darling, can you ever forgive me?”
Dropping his head, he presses a soft kiss to the swell of your stomach, his eyes flicking up to you at the last second, the bottom half of his face hidden. The sight, one you haven’t seen in recent months but one you craved like a drizzle of honey over a bowl of fruit, loosens the tension in your back and liquifies your underwear.
“Dieter?”
“Yes, O Love of My Life?”
��Your shirt is inside out.”
The sultry look in his eyes immediately flickers out and he huffs a laugh, shaking his head and pressing his face into your neck.
“What would I do without you? Can you help me fix that?”
“Mhm hm.”
His back arched, you roll the faintly damp shirt up his spine, careful to take in the notches visible through his skin. You watch in delight as more of that broad back is revealed, more golden skin and freckles. The rim of the collar catches the back of his head so when you finally tug it off him, his hair is scattered in a dozen different directions. It takes nearly all of your willpower not to moan at the site.
“Or . . .” you make a deliberate show of dropping the shirt and Dieter goes honey-eyed again.
“Yeah?” He tilts his head up, wraps his massive hands around the back of your thighs, squeezing you above the backs of your knees, then higher up, his fingers pressing into your inner thigh muscles, and finally resting on your ass.
You nod and gently push him back. He goes without being told twice. “I want to thank you for taking Zelle to let me work today.”
His eyes go wide, his elbows locked with his arms set apart behind him, when you go onto your knees in front of him.
“B-baby, your back –,”
“Then give me a pillow, Dieter.”
He nearly launches himself back to snag a pillow by the headboard.
“My back is one thing, but I’m more worried about the knot of your trunks.”
Dieter busies himself with the drawstring of his shorts, his movements frantic, giving you a chance to muffle a grunt as you ease the pillow underneath your knees. He’s right, of course, but fuck if you couldn’t get those goddamn bills done, the least you could blow your husband until he popped off in your mouth.
“Love, you really don’t have to do this.” You glance up at him and despite the evident tent in his swim trunks, his wide eager eyes, he will do everything in his power to make these last few weeks even somewhat bearable.
With a smile, you lean forward and squeeze his knees. “I know. And honestly, I don’t know how long I’ll last, but I wanna try. Is that okay?”
An awe-struck grin splits his lips apart and he laughs, a high-pitched sound and breathless. “How long you’re gonna last? Been half-hard all day since you put on those leggings this morning.”
“Well, you were so good with Zelle today, talking to her about feelings, it made me kinda hot and bothered so I feel especially grateful.”
You lean forward, fingers plucking at the damp strings and out of the corner of your eye you see his knuckles go white against the sheets. You tug and he helps you by lifting his hips.
“S-so that’s what that look w-was.” He swallows roughly as you take him in your hand, stroking him gently at first. He squeezes his eyes shut – god, could you really make him come with just a few touches? “I’m j-just – fuck – doing my part.”
You kiss along his length and his shoulders lock up as his breathing quickens. You suck the spit in your mouth before dropping a string of drool right on the head and Dieter’s groan elongates, the muscles of his neck tense.
“Well, Mommy likes it when Daddy does a good job.”
Tongue out and jaw loose, you swallow him down nearly to the base. Maybe you’re biased because you married the himbo attached to it, but Dieter’s cock is one of the – if not the – very best cocks you’ve ever seen in your life. Thick without being overwhelmingly long and always oozing precum the instant you breathe on it. A slick vein that has him whimpering with a single lick.
“Fuck, Mama, you’re so fucking good at this.” Dieter’s hand floats to the crown of your head, his nails scratching your scalp, the weight of his palm soothing as it follows the motions of your head. With every little sigh he makes, your pussy squeezes with every bob of your head. Dieter’s sensitivity has always been a near drug for you, a chemical reaction that floods your brain, branding those noises on the lining of your skull as he drips down the back of your throat. You meet his hot gaze just as you drag your mouth up and nearly off him, only to kitten-lick the lip of his head and he clamps his eyes shut, shuddering.
When you hear his heel kick the ground beside you, his chest heaving and chin tilted up, you drop your mouth down to his base – years of taking him training you to smother your gag-reflex – and with hollowed cheeks, suck him all the way up to the tip. His wiry curls smell like chlorine and musk.
Dieter jerks, his hand flying to your shoulder as if to pry you off him.
“Mhmm – baby, p-please – shit,” he swallows and you pop off him, his cock red and shiny from your spit. Dieter is panting, soft center fluttering, flush high in his throat. Your underwear sticks to you as you realize he very nearly came in your mouth without warning. Call it being a masochist but you loved making him come before either of you realized what was happening.
“Get off your fucking knees and come here –,” he yanks you into his naked lap and you go, giggling as he palms your ass and kissing you so hard you tilt back. He bites your bottom lip and you keen. “Can’t believe I let my pregnant wife fucking suck me off like that when she knows I worship that little pussy.”
He cups you through your leggings and the dampness soaking through the fabric sends a moan through both of you. Dieter’s jaw goes lax as he rubs his thick fingers across your folds, the material catching and dragging, and you whimper – and not in a way he knows means a good thing. His gaze floods with worry and you shake your head – the instant the doctor gives the go-ahead you’re gonna have him rail you through a bedpost – “It’s okay. I’m just sore, baby. Last night –,”
He tsks, frowning. “I told you I was being too rough.”
“I asked for it. Also, so not the time for an ‘I told you so’. Help me stand up.”
With his hands on your hips, he eases you off of his lap and onto your feet. You lift up your exasperatedly large shirt, the hemline of which has been steadily shrinking as you grow, and clip off your bra. Dieter stares, mouth open, as you slip your leggings and your sticky underwear off your round hips and to the floor. With your second baby, you’d managed to quell the looming anxiety about your body changing but with a boy, you just feel ten times your normal size, bigger than you did with Zelle. Your heart hitches in your chest as Dieter’s eyes roam from your shoulders to your swollen tits, your belly, your thighs, and you’d be happy if he just thought you were –
“Gorgeous, baby, just fucking gorgeous.” He stands and kisses you without another word, his thumbs on your jaw tilting your mouth into his. He palms your breast, hard and weighed with milk. He approaches you with a level of sensuality that makes your eyes roll back in your head and your knees shake. How can he touch you like that when you’re already filled to the brim?
“How do you need it, baby?”
The tension that had been locking down the muscles in your back, your hips, since you woke up this morning, only heightened over those stupid fucking bills and feeling incredibly sorry for yourself, cracks at his words. Without your hands on his chest and his big hands cradling your jaw, you’re sure you would have melted to the floor. You lick your bottom lip, eyes scrunched tightly to clear the sudden tightness behind them.
“On my side, but between my thighs?”
His eyes are all heat, all dark wanting, but he hits you in the knees with one of his crooked grins. “Yeah, you’re gonna let Daddy fuck your thighs?” Total reverence, filth that has your toes curling coming as easy to him as it is to breathe.
“Please.”
He stands back at a distance, watching with half-set eyes as you climb into bed and peel back the covers. As you settle, Dieter flicks off the overhead light, and then the lamp by your bedside. His body lined in dark shadows and the cool touch of the moonlight, you track him as he rounds the bed, sliding in behind you in bed, the covers up to his shoulders. There’s a breath of silence, of anticipation, of a yearning so deep your skin flushes with goosebumps at his proximity. You know he’s there, you watched him dip on the other side of the bed, but a spark of panic tightens your lungs, you want to reach back for him, your baby unmoored as you are, trembling and desperate for the calming touch of the father –
He kisses you over your shoulder, broad, warm hand starting at your hip, then scooping down around your naked bottom to settle on your belly and from where his hand sits, you radiate with heat. Melting and growing sticky like tree sap, you drip for him, slick smearing across your thighs with no material to soak you up. His mouth is warm, the short hairs of his mustache numbing your upper lip, the taste of the red wine from dinner light against the back of his tongue.
When he cups you again, finds the sticky sap gathered in your curls and leaking onto your thighs, he breaks the kiss with a grunt and presses his teeth into your shoulder, his cock fully present against your back. You nip his bottom lip with your thumbnail, pleased beyond words at his reaction.
“I love you.”
That’s not what you thought he was going to say. He lifts his furrowed brow, eyes dark but struck with such earnestness, you feel your heartbeat in your ears. He sucks the mark his teeth made on your shoulder, his hips hitching closer, turning his weight over you, before dropping closer to kiss you again.
“How did I get so fucking lucky with you, hm?” He asks of no one. Delicately, he guides your knee back over his hip, his breath warm across the curve of your shoulder, his other hand pressing gently on the back of your neck. He would never, ever choke you in this state, but fuck you missed it. You missed it when Dieter loses himself entirely in you.
The head of his cock taps the wet triangle of your thighs and you fist the pillow beneath your head. He shuffles closer and you can feel his chest trembling with restraint.
“Tell me if it hurts,” he says in one breath. You know if you look over your shoulder, he’s fixated on watching you take his cock. Oddly enough, his ADHD always seemed to clear out during sex. “Do– do you need my fingers – a-a toy to prep you, ‘cause I can–,”
“Dieter, please.”
He exhales and, with a slow thrust that smears your arousal all over his spit-licked cock, you finally feel relief. The noise that leaves your throat is unrecognizable. That ruddy tip kisses your clit and the moan that tears out of you is nearly a scream.
A wide palm claps over your mouth, a breathy giggle falling down your back.
“Baby,” low, strained, barely audible over the sounds of your slickness sucking your thighs together around Dieter’s cock. “If you wake up that child before I’m balls deep in you, I will never forgive you.”
Using his hand as leverage, he pulls you back against him, pressing himself even further between your soaked lips, prodding your clit so gently it sends sparks up your spine and you come, a small wave, that somehow has you leaking more onto his cock.
“Ah – oh my god – did you just –?”
You whine and wrap your hand up into his hair, and finally he’s skin to skin up your back. His hips jolt you forward, the hard smack loud and sloppy in the mess between your thighs. Dieter leans over you and nips at your earlobe, his thrusts faster now, each one catching your clit with just enough time apart to send you ratcheting higher.
“That’s so good, Dieter, you’re doing so good –,”
A sharp intake of breath, high through a vocal shudder, and he drops down onto his shoulder against the pillow, looping his arm around your chest, a wide palm cupping your sensitive breast. Skin to skin, he is a wall of heat behind you, his hands both steadying you and begging you for more against your hip. It’s moments like these, when he’s swallowing up every sense you’re still in control of, that you really believe your soul lives in two bodies.
He tucks his lips near your ear and your skin tingles. “Can I touch your clit, or does that hurt?”
“Just put your hand –,”
You take him by the wrist from the curve of your waist, where he grips you tight, fingers pocketing your flesh, and slide him down between your legs.
“That’s it, baby, take what you need.”
Between the consistent bouncing of his cock between your pussy lips and the heat of his four fingers, stocky and thick, you have nowhere to go but up, your own hips thrust back aimlessly, bliss hurling towards you, until it breaks – and you whine, squeeze Dieter’s hand so hard, you think you hear a bone pop.
Wetness floods your thighs and, half a dozen strokes later, Dieter spills with a groan, white cream splattering against the low curve of your belly and onto the sheets. Covered in literal spend, exhaustion soaks your bones, gasping for air and never finding enough. You lie together, your bodies buzzing, blood roaring loud beneath your skin, until Dieter tilts his weight off you – you didn’t even realize he had nearly smothered you – and his cock slides out from between your numb legs, his grip loosening from your breast and his hand flopping down into the sheets. His skin is pink from exertion.
You grin and roll over as gracefully as you can, out of breath and the size of a house.
“An unexpected bonus,” you sigh, ringing your belly button with your finger, “I think we rocked him to sleep.”
Dieter huffs a laugh as he pushes a handful of damp curls off his sweaty forehead and his other arm curls around your shoulders. He rests his other palm over your fingers on your belly.
“Glad I could tire all three of us out.” You giggle into his shoulder. Both of you are sticky hot, sweltering in a fog of your own mess, and you can feel sleep tugging at the corners of your eyes. Humming, you curl up closer to him, your knee over his hip, tucking your nose into his neck as his fingers absently play with strands of your hair.
“I meant what I said, you know that right?”
Your body as supple as warm wax, eyes melting shut, you nod vaguely. “Mhmm hmm.”
“I love you, baby. Thank you, for everything.”
You return the sentiment, the words dribbling out of your mouth as sleep overwhelms you.
Later, when you wake up in the early blue hours of the morning, rain pattering against the glass, and you feel something cool and soft against your belly, you stir, reaching for him.
“Hush, baby, stay still for me.” He hums somewhere above you. You nod, on the precipice of sleep again. “You gave me the world, I’m just returning the favor.”
Later still, when you awake to a soggy light, Dieter and Zelle down the hall excitedly picking out which movies to watch on this designated Stay on the Couch day, you roll onto your back and realize he’s painted a globe onto your stomach.
A foot inside you presses up against Chile and you grin into space, content beyond your wildest dreams.
+
#dieter bravo#daddy dieter#gonna make this an official tag if its the last thing i do#dieter bravo x you#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo x f!reader#dieter bravo fic#dieter bravo x female reader#dieter bravo fanfiction#dieter bravo x oc#pedro pascal character#pedro pascal character fanfic#the bubble fanfic#the bubble
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The Hotline {Dieter Bravo x F!Reader}
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 24k
Warnings: Phone sex, sex work, Dieter being a dick, dirty talk, masturbation, mentions of anilingus, mentions of edging, switch Dieter, dominate/submissive undertones, lying, betrayal, drunk Dieter, mentions of drugs, crying, exhaustion, oral sex (male and female receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, mentions of pregnancy.
Comments: Taking on a job as a phone sex operator to survive takes on a surprising twist when your daytime boss, Dieter Bravo calls in. Even more surprising when he starts calling everyday. Letting you learn things you never would as his assistant and the lines between your jobs become blurred.
Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers
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|| MasterList || Dieter Bravo MasterList ||
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.
Dieter barely looks up from his script when you set his green tea down on the vanity. "I can't do this anymore, Evangeline. It's impossible, baby. I can't leave my wife." He says his lines, trying to memorize them and he licks his lips as he grabs his pen to make a few notes. He never says thank you for anything you give him and you've gotten used to that. "Thank you." You mumble sarcastically under your breath as you walk away to get him the special socks he wears while filming. His "lucky socks" are what got him the Oscar and "lucky you" has to wash them every night when he is done filming for the day. They are as ratty as the rest of his clothing but he swears they make his scenes better. You hear a beep and your purse vibrates with the spare phone you keep in there. With a glance around the bustling studio, you head into the bathroom to take the call from the familiar number. "Hey baby." You coo into the phone, sitting down on the toilet. You know this is wrong but it's paying your bills. You have a flashback to the night this whole thing started and you lean against the wall in the bathroom as he starts to ramble.
****
Dieter huffs as he sits alone in his bedroom. The large suite, expensively decorated, doesn't fulfill him tonight and he feels like the only man in the world. He hates feeling vulnerable like this. No amount of coke makes the feeling go away. He hums as he starts to look up some porn to jerk his feelings away when he sees the ad. Some phone sex service and he has never called a sex line like some pathetic loser who can't get laid but tonight, he needs to talk to someone, to hear a real voice moaning in his ear. Too lazy to find the real deal, he copies and pastes the number and dials. "Hello sir and welcome to the sexiest phone service in L.A. Please wait to be connected to a concierge." He should hang up now but he doesn't, desperate for attention so when the concierge comes on the line, he eagerly gives his credit card details and a fake name. "What are you looking for?" The concierge asks, tone of voice is slightly bored but Dieter pays them no mind when he asks for someone sweet and sensitive. The operator nods and connects him to "Kitty" and he waits on the line, chest heaving in anticipation.
Your phone buzzes and you are slightly surprised, it’s normally a bit between calls unless the lines are busy but you can’t turn down an opportunity to make more money. Gemma announces that ‘Daniel’ was looking for someone sweet and sensitive so you curve your lips into a smile as the beep indicates that the calls have been patched together. “Hello, Daniel.” You purr into the phone. “What are you doing tonight?”
Dieter bites his lip, hesitating for a second and wanting to hang up but your voice is so sweet, he wants to hear you speak again. “All alone.” He confesses, “thinking about things I shouldn’t be.” He admits, “what are you up to, sweetheart?”
You freeze, wondering why the voice on the phone sounds like your fucking boss. You actually pull the phone away from your ear to check to make sure you have picked up the right one. It would suck if you hadn’t, although you had just talked to Gemma. “You aren’t alone now.” You coo softly. “I’m just sitting in my bed, wondering what I’m going to do with my night.”
“Yeah?” Dieter asks, his fingers tracing his thigh as he sits in his ratty sweatpants, cock twitching at your soft tone that makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside. “I know what you’re gonna do with your night. You’re gonna talk to me.” He says it like it’s obvious, and then he clears his throat. “I haven’t - I haven’t really done this before. Phone sex. Well, I’ve had phone sex. I’ve just never paid for it and I- shit, I’m rambling. Uhhhhh, what are you wearing?” He tries and wants to slap his forehead for being so cliche.
It is Dieter. You want to disconnect the call and pretend like it never happened. Unsure of how this could affect your relationship, but the soft ping of the minute timer echoes, reminding you that every minute you keep him on the phone is another payment towards your debt that is crushing you. “Hmmmmm.” You decide that you like that Dieter, asshole that he normally is, is a little off kilter. “I’m in a white tank top with no bra and red panties.” You tell him honestly, but you drop your voice to make it sound sexier than it is. “It’s so hot, I have to lounge like that to try and stay cool. What are you wearing?”
Dieter swallows, his cock twitching as it starts to harden. He has no clue what you look like but that kind of turns him on more. The mystery. You have no idea who he is. No idea that he’s an Oscar winning actor. He’s anonymous and that’s probably the hottest thing to him right now. “Sweatpants.” He answers honestly, “no shirt. No underwear.” He smirks a little, looking down at his bulge, knowing that women love the look of gray sweats. “It’s a hot summer.” He coos, “so hot. I think you better take the tank top off to really cool down.”
“Naughty.” You chuckle quietly, shuffling the phone slightly and pretending like you are taking off your clothes. This is your boss. No matter what school girl crush you had on him when you were first hired, Dieter hadn’t given you the time of day. Which was insulting when you realized that he constantly hit on anyone that walked by him. “That is cooler. What about you, baby? Aren’t those sweats hot?”
“They are.” Dieter agrees, placing the phone on speaker so he can lift his hips and shove his sweatpants down. His cock is hard now, aching at the dulcet tones of your voice and he wants to hear you moan, wants to hear you whisper dirty things to him. “I’m naked now…and hard for you, Kitty. I- fuck - I want to suck on your tits.” He blurts out, hating that he’s always had a breast feeding kink but he’s terrified of being a father. You don’t know him, he can act out these fantasies without your judgment.
“Ohhhhh.” You sigh softly and even though he would never know the difference, you actually do reach down and cup your breast. “I love having my tits sucked on.” You admit, imagining your boss with that whiny, pouty mouth wraps around a nipple. “It feels so good to me, baby. Would you squeeze them while you sucked or would you want them to just beg for your attention?”
Dieter groans softly, imagining pliable soft flesh he can squeeze and he nods against the phone, “yes. Squeeze them. Suck on them. I’d - fuck - I would suck on them until you were begging me for more. Until - until your milk squirts into my mouth.” He groans, caressing his thigh in an effort to drag this out and not jerk off so fast. You might judge him, but he doesn’t know you and you don’t know him, so he doesn’t care.
Your brows shoot up, discovering that you are learning one of Dieter’s secret fantasies. He’s open about sex, talks about it enough, but you’ve never heard about that. “Would you like that?” You ask him softly. “Drinking down my milk? Letting you nurse?”
Dieter can’t stop the groan that escapes his lips at your dirty words. “Fuckkkk. Yesss. I- I would drink it all down. Leave none for the baby.” He pants, brushing his fingers over the leaking tip of his cock. “Want to suck on your tits while you sit on my cock. You wanna do that, baby?” He asks, curious if you’re into this or just acting. He doesn’t care either way. He’s enjoying this.
You moan, surprised yourself that the thought actually turns you on. It’s not like you haven’t seen Dieter’s dick. You’ve seen the man walk around his house in nothing but a bathrobe and crocs. Or sprawled out naked on his bed with his flaccid cock out. He’s pretty impressive and you’ve always wondered how he would feel. “I do. You want me to squeeze your cock tight in my little pussy while you gulp my milk down?”
“Fuckkkkk.” Dieter hisses, wanting to jerk off but he wants this to last. “Yes. I bet you’re so tight. Like a goddamn vice, aren’t you, Kitty? God, you sound so beautiful. Want you to be round with my baby, sitting on my cock.” He confesses his darkest fantasy. He has come to realize in his older age that he wants a family but he can never have it. His job, his personality, his lifestyle…none of it is conducive to having a wife or a child. He’s accepted it won’t happen for him but he likes to think about it.
You feel your cunt flood with arousal and you gasp quietly. It will play into the sweet and sensual that Dieter apparently craves. “So tight. It would be so good.” You promise him, wondering what he would do if he knew the woman he is calling beautiful is the same woman he ignores every day. “I’d run my hands through your hair. Do you like it when someone plays with your hair, baby?”
“Yes. I fucking love that.” He practically whimpers as he imagines it. “I want - I want to feel you cum around me. Gush and soak my cock. God, I bet you taste so sweet too. Have you sit on my face. Tell me, are you touching yourself?” He asks breathlessly.
“Yes.” It’s an easy lie, but you’re actually wishing you were touching yourself. You squeeze your breast and moan softly. “Are you touching yourself? I know you have the best cock. Nice and thick for me to impale myself on and ride until I cum.”
“I- I was waiting for you to tell me I could touch myself. I- I haven’t done this before and I- I didn’t know what was appropriate.” He confesses, his fingers twitching, “I’m so hard for you. I want to touch myself. Kitty, can I touch myself?” He asks, voice strained with the restraint he’s showing.
He’s submissive. You bite your lip, eyes wide as you realize this man would be putty in your hands, even if it’s over the phone. “Spit in your hand and wrap it around your cock, baby.” You order him softly. “I want you to feel good. Imagine it’s my pussy, squeezing you tight.”
Dieter follows your order, groaning in relief when he spits in his hand and wraps his fingers around his hard cock. “Fuck. That’s - your cunt is so tight.” He murmurs, closing his eyes as he tries to imagine you - Kitty - on his cock and squeezing him tight. “Feel so good, baby.”
“Oh baby.” You breathlessly moan and reposition in bed. “Fuck, you’re so big, filling me up.” You praise him, knowing how much men love having their egos stroked. You moan again. “How do you want to fuck me? Slow and steady or fast and frantic?”
“Slow. I want slow.” He confesses, yearning for the softness that is missing in his normal liaisons. Usually, it’s fast and frantic and rushed because he wants to retreat back to his solitude. He’s tired of meaningless sex but that’s all he can get. He can’t have connections. How many NDAs can someone have signed? “Are you touching that little clit for me?” Dieter asks, voice deepening with his arousal.
“Yessss.” You whine softly, tempted to actually touch yourself and your hand does slide down to the edge of your panties but you don’t delve under them. “Rubbing my clit so gently and imagining your head between my thighs. Feeling how softly you would lick me, while I play with your hair and tell you how good you are.”
"Fuck yes, baby. Oh God, I can practically feel your fingers running through my hair. I love it. Shit. Feels so good. Wanna - wanna feel you cum on my tongue." He admits, imagining a woman sitting on his face, using his tongue. His cock twitching in his tight grip and he knows you can hear him jerking his cock.
“Oh I’m gonna baby, that tongue is gonna make me scream your name.” You promise him breathlessly. It’s incredibly satisfying to hear him pant for you, the sounds of him fisting his cock doesn’t sound vulgar. It sounds pretty empowering. “Baby, you’re gonna- oh fuck.”
Hearing you moan has him cumming. Worked up from sitting and thinking about having sex and then the call with you…he can’t last much longer. “That’s it baby. Oh shit. That’s it. I’m gonna - you’re gonna make me - fuckkkkk.” He groans out, squeezing his cock as he spills his hot seed onto his chest and belly.
You pretend to pant as you listen to Dieter groan and work himself through his orgasm over the phone. Surprised that he still hasn’t figured out your voice, you hum. “Was that good for you, baby?”
“So good. So fucking good.” He pants, his eyes closed as he enjoys his orgasm and he can’t believe how good he feels. He doesn’t feel used or dirty like he does when he finds some wannabe model or a fan to fuck. “You’re so good.” He murmurs, letting go of his cock.
“That’s you, baby.” You coo softly. You know the phone call will end soon, it always does after the entire point of the call is fulfilled. “Never had it this good before.” You feel like he won’t believe that, and it’s just lip service, but you’ve actually enjoyed talking to your boss tonight.
Dieter smiles against the phone, satisfied both physically and emotionally for the first time in so long. “I wanna talk to you again.” He says once he’s sobered up a little from his orgasm.
“You can call anytime.” You promise him with a small smirk, very aware that he would be talking to you in just a few hours. “If you want to call me again tomorrow night, I’d really like that.”
“Yeah? I'd love that.” Dieter says with a sloppy smile on his face. He doesn’t know why but he felt a real connection to you. Something he hasn’t felt in so long. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Kitty. Sweet dreams.” He murmurs, suddenly wanting to get some sleep before he has to be up for his call time. ****
“Can’t you just get me a fucking cup of tea?” He growls at the catering assistant before he spins to see you. “Oh good. Get me some tea.” He orders, grumpy despite his good sleep.
Your brow shoots up, sure that he would have been in a better mood after last night. “Yes sir,” you throw him a sarcastic salute, grinning when he just rolls his eyes and stomps off towards his trailer. You turn towards the caterer and give them an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry, can I get a tea?”
Dieter doesn't look up at you as you set the tea down on the counter in front of him as he sits in front of the makeup trailer mirror. He sighs and looks up at you, "took you long enough."
“They were having a problem with their hot water.” You tell him, even though you know he won’t care in the least. “I’ve got to go pick up your pages.” You tell him, knowing there will be script changes, there have been every day since shooting has started.
Dieter hums, glancing up as you exit the trailer and his eyes drop down to your ass. He’s never really allowed himself to pay attention to you before. Your pretty eyes and the way you unknowingly sway your hips. He’d fuck you if you weren’t employed by him. He sighs and sips the tea, glancing up at Josh who handles his makeup on every movie. “What?” He asks and Josh chuckles, “you gotta be nicer to her.” He says and Dieter snorts, “she’s not paid for me to be nice.”
You sigh as you walk back to the make-up trailer. Pulling out your second phone so you can check when you need to be available. When Dieter is filming, you will have at least two hours to take calls. Dieter doesn’t recognize your voice, which is a good thing, but he’s also being his most difficult self. That’s normal, but you feel oddly deflated after that conversation last night.
****
Dieter bites his lip as he listens to the dial tone. He had asked for Kitty specifically and he is already half hard. It’s late, his script abandoned as he waits to hear that sweet voice he’s been thinking about for the past twenty-four hours.
You look at your phone as you finish up your dinner, sighing softly. You had expected at least a few more hours before he called. You answer and wait for the call to connect as you turn off the stove and plate up your food. Hopefully he won’t hear you trying to eat.
Dieter grins when you answer the phone, “hey Kitty. I’ve been thinking about you all day.” He confesses and you snort, “all day?”
Dieter hums, “all fucking day. Imagined you moaning out when you cum.” He coos and clears his throat a moment later when you don’t reply. “Are you there, baby?”
You swallow the bite of your food and almost call him out on this shit today, but Dieter doesn’t know that it’s you. If he did, you bet he wouldn’t be thinking about you all day. “I’m here baby, I’m sorry, I was getting comfortable.” You aren’t lying, eating is getting comfortable. Especially since you had been working, talking to other clients while Dieter was on set and you didn’t manage to get lunch today.
“No problem. Are you comfortable?” Dieter asks, wanting you to be comfortable while he’s on the phone to you.
“Yes. I’m all comfy baby.” You promise and Dieter hums in delight.
“Good. I- I - I didn’t have a great day today. It was shit. Work didn’t go too great and I want to just forget about it.”
"What do you do?" You ask him, curious if he would brag about being an Oscar winning actor like he is so apt to do in real life, or if he would say something else.
"Oh, I'm - I do creative licensing." He tells you, making you hum, intrigued by this interpretation of acting.
"Wow, that sounds really important, I'm sorry that you had a bad day, what can I do to make you feel better, baby?"
“You can talk to me. Tell me about your day.” He demands softly, wanting to hear it. He wants to hear you talk, comforted and turned on by your voice. “And tell me what you’re wearing.” He adds, his cock semi hard from hearing that sweet voice answer the phone.
It’s surprising that he wants to hear about someone else’s day. You hum and look down at your work clothes. “I’m just wearing my robe after taking a shower. I needed to wipe the day away too. My boss-” You break off, not sure if you should tell him such a thing.
“Your boss is what?” Dieter asks and you sigh.
“My boss is…ungrateful.” You decide. “But I shouldn’t talk about that.”
Dieter shakes his head, “no. Tell me. I want to hear about it.” He says, wanting to hear about someone else’s life instead of his miserable existence. He’s tired of being alone, of spending his days alone, spending his days being someone else. Pretending to be something else. He wants to hear something menial, not his complicated shit.
You sigh softly and take another bite of your food. “I am the senior executive assistant to the CEO of the company I work for.” You know Dieter has his own company for tax purposes, so that’s technically correct. “My boss just seems to never have a kind word, or not treat me like I’m supposed to jump every time he says.”
Dieter frowns, “that’s not right. You should be treated with respect. You work hard? You should be looked after.” He says with a harsh tone towards your boss. Your voice is so sweet, you shouldn’t be having to jump at a moment’s notice. “If I was your boss, I’d look after you.” He promises, having no idea how ridiculous it is that he actually is your boss.
You roll your eyes, aware of how untrue that was. “Yeah baby?” You want to turn the conversation away from you. It would be too easy to give something away he might recognize. “What would you do to take care of me if I was yours?”
“Everything.” He sighs dreamily. “I’d look after you. Make sure you’re treated with respect. Paid well.” He promises despite his mind drifting to you. “You deserve to be looked after. Relaxed and happy.” He murmurs, glancing over at his script that you gave him. “You’re just wearing a robe?” He asks, his cock still half hard.
“Yes baby.” You are delighted he has come back to sex. Reliable, that’s Dieter. “Red silk. It comes to my thighs and I think it’s the sexiest thing I own.”
“Shit.” He grunts, “and nothing underneath?” He asks and you hum, “nothing.” He groans at that news, “take it off. The sexiest thing you can wear is nothing. Is your little pussy weeping?” He asks, wanting to hear you talk some more.
“Soaked and dripping down my thighs.” You confess, even though it’s just what he wants to hear. “Your voice is so sexy baby, it turns me on. I started getting wet when you said hello.”
“Good. Good. I- I fucking - fucking love that. I love that. I’m getting hard for you baby.” He groans, spitting into his hard and wrapping his fingers around his cock. “Your voice is so sweet. I love it. I wanna listen to you all day.”
You smirk to yourself and coo softly into the telephone. “You like my voice? I think yours is sexy. I bet it sounds amazing when you're right next to my ear, about to cum.” You flatter. “How hard are you right now? Are you throbbing? Squeeze your cock for me, baby.”
"Yes. I'm throbbing for you now." Dieter groans, squeezing his cock as you order. "Tell me what to do. I want to listen to you talk. Fuck, so sexy when you order me around." He whines softly as he starts to slowly pump his cock.
Your groan comes through the line and you hum. “Press your thumb over the tip and smear your pre-cum around the head.” You order him. “Are you cut, or uncircumcised?” You ask as if you don’t know.
“Uncut.” Dieter confesses, “I- I came here as a kid from South America and my parents - they don’t- it’s - do you prefer cut or uncut?” He asks out of curiosity as he follows your order and moans when his thumb swipes over the head of his cock.
Uncut is more sensitive and you like peeling the foreskin down to reveal the leaking head. “I like uncut, baby.” You purr. “Love when your eyes roll back when I press my tongue to the head. So responsive.”
“Fuck baby. Yes. Yes. I love that. Wanna see you take my cock into your mouth.” He groans and he pumps himself a few times, squeezing and trying not to cum too fast. He loves listening to you. “Baby. Fuck, keep talking for me baby.”
“I bet you're thick. Nice and thick and veiny. Easy to jerk off and you love when someone looks up at you when they are sucking your cock, don’t you?” You have heard him talk about blow jobs but you tried to tune it out as much as you could since he was bragging. “Eyes wide and maybe innocent looking?”
Dieter groans, “yes. Yes I do. Oh God. You know me baby. You know me so well already. Wanna see your eyes as you look up at me, mouth full of my cock. Jesus, so fucking sexy. You sound so fucking beautiful.” He pants, jerking his cock a little faster.
You know he doesn’t think that way about you, but it’s nice to hear. “I bet you like having your balls sucked on too, don’t you?” You hum. “Hand around your cock, jerking you off while licking and sucking on your balls. Does that sound good, baby?”
Dieter let’s out a sound between a choke and a moan. The whine makes you smirk and he can’t help but groan out “Kitty. Yes. Fuck. And - and want - God. Want you to lick my ass.” He groans, cock twitching in your hand.
You wrinkle your nose, having zero interest in eating ass, especially Dieter’s, but you moan softly. “I’ll do that for you baby.” You lie, knowing that he would never know the difference. “Make you feel so good. You’ll be cumming quickly. Do you want to cum down my throat or on my tits?”
“Down your throat. Fuck. Want to see you swallow my cum down that pretty throat of yours.” He groans, pumping his cock a little faster and he whimpers when he twitches, so close to cumming. “Fuck. I wanna - I wanna feel you. Wanna see you. Are you- are you close?” He asks breathlessly.
“I’m close baby,” you moan softly. “Imagining the two fingers inside me is your thick cock.” You tell him. “Pumping into me like you are trying to make me scream.”
“Yes. I’d make you scream my name so fucking loud baby.” He promises, “everyone would hear it. God, wanna hear you cum. Can you cum for me?” He begs, his cock throbbing and he’s so close. The tip of his cock is an angry red and he is leaking pre-cum onto his sheets but he doesn’t care.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum for you baby.” You whimper, knowing he wants to hear you. You aren’t touching yourself, but you know how to sound like you are. “Oh fuck, I’m- you baby, moan for me, I’m gonna- gonna cum!” You squeal quietly.
Dieter nearly drops the phone as he listens to you cum and he swears he’s about to blackout from the pleasure until he finally cums, spurting onto his sheets and his chest, a low strangled sound escaping his lips as he orgasms.
You listen to him cum, panting into the phone as you ‘come down’ from your high. “So good, you’re so good, baby.” You coo. “How does it feel? Do you feel relaxed? Sleepy? I always get so sleepy after I cum.”
“Sleepy and relaxed.” He slurs slightly. He hasn’t gotten high tonight, wanting to talk to you properly and he is drunk on you, on your voice. “Thank you, Kitty.” He murmurs, his cum already drying on his skin.
“You’re welcome.” You smile as you hear his voice slip into the pitch that it normally is when he’s about to fall asleep or just waking up. “You should get some sleep, baby.” You murmur softly, aware that you’ve collected a nice paycheck from this call. “I hope you have a better day tomorrow.”
“Me too.” He murmurs, reaching for the tissues on the side so he can clean himself up. “Thank you, Kitty. Have a good night.” He says, hating to lose the connection but he has to get some sleep for his call time tomorrow. “Goodnight.” You murmur and he hangs up, hearing the amount he’s spent but it’s worth every penny to hear that voice.
The next morning, you wonder what kind of mood Dieter will be in. He had been in a bad mood yesterday after talking to you, and he had spent longer on the phone with you last night. “Good morning, Mr. Bravo.” You had swung by the caterer to grab his tea on your way to his trailer. His call time is in an hour, so he has ten minutes before he has to be in makeup.
Dieter rubs his cheek as his hair is styled and he looks up at you, frowning for a second. There’s a tone to your voice that reminds him of Kitty and he has the sudden urge to call her but it’s too early and he has resigned himself to a call a day. “Morning.” He mumbles and you hand him the tea. He doesn’t say thank you as he takes a sip, “have you organized the dinner with that model my PR wants me to ‘date’?”
“Yes.” You want to sigh but you resist. You know you will need to arrange to have his housekeeper come by tomorrow even though it would be a normal off day. She will need to change the sheets and clean whatever toys Dieter used on the model. Plus any of the drug residue. “You are booked at the Palm for nine o’clock. Table for two, very visible. I’ve got a call into Star for a photog to take pap pics.”
Dieter nods, glancing back at himself in the mirror. “She’s gonna have about three brain cells but I’ll see what I can do with them.” He snorts and his hairstylist chuckles, shaking his head. “Fucking PR wanting me to ‘settle’ down because I’m getting older.” He scoffs, “I’m not old.”
You don’t point out that he’s solidly middle aged and the hair department has to dye his hair to rid him of the grays. “Of course you’re not.” You agree softly. “Maybe she will be a marvelous conversationalist.”
Dieter can't help but laugh, "oh sure. That's how she got her job. Her brains." He chuckles softly and shakes his head, "you do make me laugh." He points at you before he clears his throat. "I want those tacos from the place opposite the studio for lunch. Chicken. No, beef. And don't let them skimp on the guac."
“Okay.” You nod. “Chicken, good amount of guac, cilantro and onions.” You know his order practically everywhere at this point but he continues to tell you like it’s your first day. “Do you want queso, or pinto beans?”
“I said beef.” He huffs, rolling his eyes. “No beans. We are doing some action and I don’t wanna be farting up a storm on the set. Tummy gets gassy with beans.” He admits and you wrinkle your nose, “queso. I’ll have queso. And get me a side of rice.”
“Beef.” You know he said chicken but you won’t argue that point. “Extra guac, cilantro and onions, queso with a side of rice.” You barely suppress the urge to roll your eyes. “Aqua Fresca?”
“Of course.” He scoffs like you should know his order without him even saying anything. “Always. See if they have the lime flavor I like.” He says, reaching down to flip the page of today’s lines. “God, it’s exhausting trying to order food.” He huffs softly to himself.
You sigh, your shoulders rounding slightly at the comment. Dieter is egotistical and high strung, making the smallest tasks difficult and for a moment, you wish you were talking to him on the phone. You like that version of him. “Text me if you need anything.” You murmur before leaving the trailer.
He doesn’t look up but he can feel his hair stylist’s eyes on him. “What?” He says without looking up.
“She’s good for you, Dieter. Don’t run her off. You need to be nicer.”
Dieter looks up, “she’s a tough girl. I’m just preparing her for this business. I’m doing her a favor.” He says and looks back at his lines.
****
“So I can’t believe how absolutely amazing tonight went.” The model, Sabrina, smiles at Dieter who offers her a fake, Oscar winning smile back.
“Soooo good. So, uh listen, this went well but this is purely PR.” He says and she frowns, “you don’t want me to come back to yours?” She asks and Dieter usually would be all over snorting coke off of her perky ass and having her sit on his cock but all he can think about is going home and calling Kitty.
“As incredible as that sounds, I’m tired and honestly? You could talk less about Kylie and Kim. It’s a little too much, ya know?” He tilts his head, “this is to help your career, baby girl, so just kiss me for the paps and we can both go home to our comfy beds, m’kay?” He hums and her mouth flaps like a fish, shocked at his rejection. Dieter pays the bill and the couple walk outside to the paps waiting for him. Dieter ignores them, walking Sabrina to her car and he leans in to kiss her, his hands sliding down to squeeze her ass and he pats it after a second. “Nice date, baby. See ya for the next one.” He winks, slinking off to his own car. He drives a little too fast but as soon as he’s home, he’s grabbing his phone to dial the number he’s memorized.
It’s hard not to sulk tonight, drowning your sorrows in a pint of ice cream and watching Netflix. If you didn’t have a humongous debt, you probably would be pouting. Instead, you are talking to a priest, listening to his fantasies about fucking the leader is the choir in front of the congregation on Sunday. You’ve already role-played and he’s cum, now you are just getting rid of him. Trying not to think about the fact that your boss should be balls deep in that model by now.
The phone rings and Dieter requests Kitty. “She’s on another call at the moment. Do you want to call back?” The operator asks and Dieter’s stomach twists at the thought of his girl talking to someone else. Ridiculous when she isn’t his but he likes to imagine she is. “I’ll call back.” He says, hanging up and he decides to get something to drink to run down the minutes. He calls again twenty minutes later, anxious and itching to talk to you.
You’re shocked when your phone rings and Gemma tells you that Daniel is requesting you again. “He’s becoming a regular.” She giggles and you hum, telling her to put the call through.
“Hello?”
“Hey Kitty.” Dieter smiles, feeling relaxed just hearing your voice. “I’ve missed hearing that pretty voice.” He admits, “been thinking about you all day.”
“You have?” You lean back onto your couch and resist the urge to call him out. “That’s good. You sound like you’ve been busy.” It’s a question, but maybe not. “Or not busy enough if you’ve been thinking of me all day.”
Dieter snorts, "to be honest...I had a date tonight but I wasn't into her. It was, uh, a blind date, and she was boring as fuck. I didn't want to waste time taking her home when I could talk to you." He confesses, "she didn't have your voice."
That’s interesting. “What’s wrong with her voice?” You had seen some clips of her, but never an interview, maybe she has a really nasally voice, he hates that.
"She wasn't you. She - she wanted to talk about the fucking Kardashians all night and I - she didn't know any of the classics. She hasn't even seen The Godfather. Who the fuck hasn't seen The Godfather?" He rambles a little, "she was boring and she kept looking at herself in the mirror behind me."
“Hmmmm.” Yeah, totally not Dieter’s type. Despite his complete self absorption, he loves classic movies. “So I guess that means she’s never seen Some Like it Hot, or Casablanca?” You snort, shaking your head. “The latest TikTok make-up trend is probably more her speed then. I’m sorry, baby. I’m sure that you won’t be seeing her again.”
Dieter rubs his cheek, "it's, uh, it's complicated. I have to. For my job. I have to see her again and she's gonna bore me to death. She was talking and I could barely stop myself from stabbing my ear drums with the cocktail stick from her martini." He snorts, "how was your evening?"
“It’s okay.” You shrug. “A little lonely.” You tell him teasingly, although it might sound flat. You really wonder what you’ve done to make him hate you as his assistant, it must be something. “Wanted to relax and have a bottle of wine, but I have to have wine to do that.”
"You don't have any wine?" Dieter frowns, "you gotta have some wine if you want it!" He says and he runs his fingers over his sheets, feeling guilty for going on that date even though he doesn't know who Kitty is. He wants to though. More than anything.
“Maybe I’ll treat myself this weekend if my boss doesn’t have me working.” You hum softly, aware that Dieter will have you working, he always does. “What do you want to talk about tonight, baby? I want to make you feel good.”
He doesn't actually want phone sex. He just wants to listen to your voice. "I- I want to hear you talk about your day. Then I want - I want you to tell me what you fantasize about." He declares and you shake your head despite knowing he can't see you. "This is about you." You remind him but he snorts, "exactly. And that's what I want."
You scramble to tell him about your day without giving too much away. “It was frustrating.” You admit. “I think my boss purposely tries to make me feel worthless.” You tell him. “He wanted me to go run an errand for him, tells me what to do, I repeat it back to him and then he changes it and complains.”
“He sounds like a dick.” Dieter scoffs and you bite your lip to smother your chuckle at the irony. “Why do you work for this guy if he’s such an asshole?” He asks, curious as to why you’d let someone treat you like that.
“I need a job.” You answer honestly, wondering what he would say if you told him the truth about the guy who’s a dick. “It’s also why I am on the phone with you. I have a lot of debt that is drowning me. My degree became useless when the industry tanked.”
Dieter frowns, not liking how desperate you sound. “What did you get your degree in?” He asks, trying to figure out how he can help you more. You’re so sweet and kind. He doesn’t want to see anything happen to you because you can’t pay your bills.
“It’s definitely not something you’ve heard of.” You promise, not sure if you’ve told Dieter or if he paid attention. “But that makes my fantasy to be a sugar baby.” You joke, giggling quietly. “Not really, but I can dream, right?”
Dieter snorts, “you can definitely dream, baby. I want to send you some money. Can I?” He asks, wanting to look after you even if it’s not as a sugar baby/sugar daddy relationship.
There’s no way that you can have him send you money. He would know it’s you. “No, no, don’t do that baby.” You insist. “Talking to me right here is enough.”
Dieter whines, “but I’m willing to help you out, Kitty. I don’t want you to struggle. I- I can help.” He says but you turn him down again. “Can we - can we stay on the phone for longer? Extend the calls so you get more money?”
“That would work, baby.” You are surprised that Dieter is willing to spend more money, or give you money. He had turned you down when you asked for a raise a few months ago. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Tell me about your dreams. What do you wanna do? I’m guessing that being a phone sex operator isn’t your ideal. I wanna know what you want for your life.” Dieter says, knowing he’s had so much success but he wants to hear what someone else wants from their life.
“No, being a phone sex operator isn’t ideal.” You admit with a small chuckle. “Honestly? My secret dream? The one I’ve never told anyone?” You tempt him, making him huff and impatiently exclaim, “of course, tell me!” You bite your lip. “I want to be a writer.” You confess softly. “I could be a stay at home mom if I ever met someone and wanted kids. But I want to write. Books, films, it doesn’t matter.”
Dieter smiles, “you written anything?” He asks, curious since he has read enough movie scripts during his time. “Have you written anything or just have some ideas?”
You hum softly. “I have nearly two hundred pages written. A story about a girl who is an assistant to a movie star. A real asshole.” You clear your throat. “I figured it would be different from my real boss so he wouldn’t recognize himself.”
“Smart.” Dieter chuckles, “can I - can you read some of it? I wanna see if it’s something…I have a friend in the movie industry. I could see if he can get it to someone. Maybe get it picked up?” Dieter offers.
If you had asked Dieter Bravo to read your script, he would have scoffed and tossed it in the trash. Now he’s begging you to read your story. “I - I can email you a copy.” It would be easy to create another email account that isn’t linked to your real life. “If you really want to read it, don’t feel obliged to, though.”
“I want to read it.” Dieter says, almost hungry to consume every thing you’re willing to give him. “I want to read it and see if I can help you. You sound so sweet, so beautiful, I want to help any way I can.” He says and clears his throat, “you- I love how you sound. Think about you during the day…what you’re up to.”
“You would be surprised.” You huff, rolling your eyes. “It would bore you and probably annoy you.” You honestly believe that Dieter believes that he is better than your imaginary boss. “I did my boss’s laundry and arranged for him to have business meetings for the next few weeks.”
“He sounds like a dick.” Dieter scoffs, “you should quit. Let me take care of you.” He says playfully, “we could spend our days talking about movies or going to the beach. I haven’t been to the beach in so long.” He sighs, “when was the last time you went to the beach?”
“Honestly? It was about a month ago.” You admit. “The beach is free entertainment. I was…out of town for a while and when I got back from the business trip, it was the first thing I did.” You had needed the time to clear your mind, Dieter had been horrible while on location and you needed the salt and sand to decompress.
“I wanna go.” Dieter huffs, feeling impulsive but unable to go. It’s too late. “Maybe one day. I- my schedule is so busy. I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a tiny bikini though.” He smirks, imagining laying out in the sun, flirting and kissing. Something he hasn’t enjoyed in so long.
You giggle but you want to snort. You doubt he would want to see you in a bikini, he’s never even glanced at you twice. Unless he’s angry and ridiculing you. “Maybe one day, baby. What’s your favorite thing to do at the beach? I love laying out and sunning. I- the last time I was in Europe, I went to a nude beach.”
“You’ve been to Europe?” He asks, knowing it’s rude to assume you haven’t but he is surprised you have. “I like the nude beaches.” He adds, knowing he can’t go to them in case there are paps but he enjoys laying out in the sun.
“They are great, I came back with no tan lines.” You hum, smiling at the memory. It had made it worth it to put up with Dieter’s antics that entire trip. “I would like to go back, or even better, have a house with a private pool and be able to sunbathe nude next to it.”
“Ooo that sounds relaxing. And sex by the pool. Sex in the sun.” He fantasizes, “fucking someone in the pool. Fucking you in the pool.” He amends, “the sun on our skin. Imagine that, baby. Just enjoying life with no worries. Sex and sun and wine.”
“Sex is great.” You admit. “But I want a connection with the person I’m with. Intimacy. Laying in bed and talking about our day, our hopes and dreams. Planning out our future even if we both know it will never happen.” You smile sadly.
He understands that. His ex wife…that was a disaster and he is still paying out the alimony for that mistake. “Yeah? I want that too. To talk about anything and everything. The future. God, the future. I don’t even wanna think about the future most of the time.”
“Yeah, I have to survive the day, let alone plan for the future.” You snort and shake your head. “I can barely have a date, let alone find something permanent.”
Dieter understands that too. His schedule is so scattered he can’t make plans. His December could change three times before it’s finalized. “You deserve to be treasured.” Dieter says after a few moments.
“I’m glad you think so.” You murmur softly. “Maybe you can treat people in your life since I’m not there.” You suggest. “Do you have anyone you see everyday? A co-worker? Assistant? I don’t even know what you do.”
“I have an assistant.” He confesses, avoiding your question about what he does. “My job is stressful. I- I was brought to America as a young kid and immediately, my parents signed me up for drama class thinking it would help me learn English. It did and I fell in love with movies. I have had a life dictated for me by my parents’ desire to see me become successful in this country and it worked but - but I missed having a childhood.” He confesses, “I missed my family.”
“Oh.” You frown slightly, feeling bad for Dieter and the stress he must have been under as a young child. You never knew that about him. “I’m sorry.” You murmur softly. “I hate that you missed your family and your childhood. What did you imagine doing?”
“I wanted…it’s so dumb.” He snorts, “I wanted to be a zoo keeper. I loved - I love animals. I wanted to work with lions and tigers. And monkeys. I wanted to nurture something. I - I don’t nurture anything now.” He says with sadness, a little upset at how fickle his life has become.
“That’s great.” You sigh softly. “You should. I’m sure that there’s some wildlife conservations you can help out. I always try to donate to my favorite causes when I have some extra money.”
“Yeah. I could do that. I’ll speak to my ma - my finance manager and see what can be done.” He says, “I want to help out. Especially here in California. Are you in Cali or somewhere else?”
“I’m in California.” You tell him. “Los Angeles, although I would love to live out in the desert.” You smile, thinking about the movies that have been filmed out there. Dieter never wanted to do one because the sun was so bright. “Where do you live?”
“Uh, L.A. too. North L.A.” He says vaguely, “funny. In this big city and I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re so…genuine. I love it.” He admits with a soft smile, “do you- are you going to - what are you wearing?” He asks, his voice dropping.
This is something that you are used to. Dieter is always horny. “Another tank top and panties.” You tell him. “I need to do laundry but I can’t muster the energy.”
“Don’t do laundry. Just walk around your house naked.” Dieter chuckles, “so I can call and you can tell me how you’re making that sweet cunt of yours weep for me.” He groans, his cock twitching as he starts to harden, imagining Kitty sitting there, listening to him.
“Do you walk around your own house naked?” You ask, knowing that he’s more likely to walk around in his boxers and ratty bathrobe, but maybe he strips down when you aren’t around. “I should be naked. Save on clothes.”
“Sometimes. Depends on the weather. If it’s really hot I’ll walk around naked.” He doesn’t tend to do it a lot just in case someone snaps a photo. Despite his vivacious sex life, he hasn’t been caught naked on camera, not even for an indie movie. “You should be naked. I - I wish I could see you naked.”
“I’m afraid you would be disappointed.” You claim, making his scoff.
“No I wouldn’t.” He insists. “I would be in awe of every inch of your body.” It’s a nice claim but you highly doubt it, you’ve seen the people he fucks. They are way beyond your league.
“The best part of this, you can imagine I look like whatever you want.”
“Baby.” He whines, “I- I know you won’t but I wish you could describe what you looked like. So I could imagine sinking inside of you, making you moan my name. Wanna watch you cum on my tongue, my fingers…my cock.”
“I won’t tell you what I look like,” he huffs even though he expected it and you grin. “But I will tell you that I waxed my pussy. So it’s nice and bare. Brazilian. Clean front and back.” Dieter had tossed you a gift bag telling you that he didn’t want it and you had used the generous gift card inside to treat yourself a few weeks ago.
“Shitttttt.” Dieter hisses, imagining sliding his tongue through bare folds, rimming smooth skin. “Fuck. You have noooo idea how hot that is.” Dieter admits, “does it feel good, baby? Silky smooth?”
“It’s so good. I never want to have hair again.” You admit with a giggle. “Sometimes I just touch myself just to enjoy the soft skin. Turning myself on. I bet your tongue would feel so good on my bare pussy.”
“It would.” He says with utter conviction, “I would make you cum on my tongue. Over and over. I’m- fuck - I’m hard for you, baby. I need you.” He pants, his cock aching now and he wraps his fingers around his hard length.
“You need me?” You bite your lip and actually palm your breast. “How do you want me? If I was right in front of you, right now, what would you do to me? Touch yourself and tell me.” You order.
Dieter chokes at the sweetness of your voice. “I - fuck. I’d want you to sit on my face while you suck my cock. I’d lick that sweet pussy, God, that sweet soft pussy. Suck on your clit, bury my tongue inside of you. Lick you up.”
“Yeah? Ride your face while I take your thick cock down my throat and moan around you when you push your tongue inside me?” You coo. “I would love that. I could have my pussy eaten all day. And I love sucking cock.”
Dieter hisses, squeezing his cock, “baby. Oh shit. That - I want you to suck my cock. Take all of it down your throat. I want to - shit - want to lick your ass and your pussy. Make you soak my face.”
The groan you give is dirty, imagining smothering him in your pussy and him begging for more. “Good boy.” You purr, wondering how he works react to that.
Holy shit. He nearly cums from that. “Yes ma’am.” He whines, “wanna- wanna be a good boy for you.” He whimpers, squeezing his cock again. “Can I - can I - can I pump my cock, ma’am?”
“Yes you can.” You agree, enjoying the submissiveness of your boss. “But don’t cum, I don’t want you to cum just yet. Can you do that for me, my good boy?”
“Yes.” He nods against the phone, “I promise. I- I won’t cum.” He groans low as he pumps his cock, “ma’am. I wanna - I won’t cum but tell me - what are you doing?” He asks, his voice a little desperate.
“Sitting in my chair, legs spread wide on the arms and rubbing my clit.” You whimper. “Imagining you on your knees with a cock ring on your hard cock while you eat me out until I let you fuck me.”
“Jesus Christ yes. I- I have a cock ring. Don’t get to use it too often.” He confesses, “I’d make you cum. Over and over again.” He promises, “until you let me fuck you.”
“I know you would, you’re a good boy.” You giggle, enjoying the power you weld over him. “If you cum, you would be punished, you know that right? I would spank your ass and you couldn’t fuck me.”
“Oh my God.” Dieter groans, never experiencing this before. Every lover he’s had wanted him to be in control. And he does like that but he loves feeling out of control. He’s just never found a lover he trusts enough to let go of the dominance. He loves hearing you talk about this. It’s safe and yet he can indulge. “Baby. Oh ma’am. I’m a good boy. I promise.” He assures you, “I want to fuck you. You’ll let me fuck you?”
“Yes.” You hum. “But you would have to listen to me. If you didn’t, I would tie you to the bed and ride your cock while you have the cock ring on.” You warn him. “Not let you cum while I cum over and over on your cock.”
"You say that like it's a punishment." He jokes softly despite the rasp in his voice from his arousal. He spits into his hand, squeezing the head of his cock and his hand drags his foreskin down, having him release a moan at the way he imagines being denied like that.
You snort and shake your head. “Then what would be punishment for you?” You ask, curious to hear more of those deep fantasies of his come out. He’s jerking off now. The slick sounds coming through the phone.
"Slapping me. Edging me. Fuck, I want - I want you to deny me but I want to feel your mark on me. Dig your nails into my skin." He begs, knowing that he can never have hickies or marks on his skin due to the nature of his work.
You groan quietly, aware that his manager and whatever director he was working with at the time would be pissed but it’s a sexy image, having Dieter wear your marks on his skin. “You want that? Mark you up, make you remember me?”
“Yesss.” Dieter hisses, “want to remember you. Want to see your marks on my skin long after I leave your bed. I want to feel you. In every way.” Dieter groans and twists his wrist, pumping his cock a little faster.
“You would baby.” You promise him. “I’d suck hickies into your neck and score my nails down your back.” You grin when you hear him whimper. “Does it feel good baby? Is your cock getting harder? Does it ache?”
"Fuck. It does. It's - I need - can I cum? Please ma'am. Can I cum?" He begs, needing to orgasm and it's almost painful to touch his cock but he keeps pumping himself, needing that release.
You want to deny him, to draw it out, but you decide to be nice. “You can cum baby.” He tells you. “Cum for me, baby boy.”
“Yes. Yes. Fuck. Baby. Oh shit.” He pants, eyes clenched as he pumps his coco frantically, hot cum spurting across his sheets and across his chest. He lets out an almost inhuman sound as he orgasms.
You listen to him through the phone, feeling your cunt clench at how sexy it sounds. There’s something so wrong about this, but you also love it. Love the power you hold even if he doesn’t know it’s you. “Good boy, fuck, work out every drop.”
He wrings himself dry, cum drying on his skin and sheets as he closes his eyes, nearly dropping the phone from how hard he cums. God, he's addicted to this. To hearing you. To wanting you. "Fuck, I - I think I fuckin' - I nearly blacked out." He reveals with a soft chuckle.
You giggle quietly and hum. “That good, baby?” You ask softly, knowing he will be ending the call soon but he’s already spent three times the normal amount of time on the phone.
“So good.” He murmurs, lust drunk on you as he keeps his eyes closed, enjoying the sound of your voice. “I- I wanna stay on the phone with you all night. Let me - let me just listen to you.” He pleads, wanting to feel connected to you.
“You want to listen to me?” You ask, surprised by the request. “I had planned on taking a bath.” Your apartment might be a tiny hole in the wall, but it has a bathtub. “Are you sure you want to listen to that?”
“Yeah. I wanna listen. Talk to you when you want. I- I want to feel like I have someone nearby. I get lonely.” He confesses, opening his eyes and looking out at his vast pool deck. His home is one that many would kill for but it feels so hollow to him.
“Oh.” Your frown is soft and sad. You hate that he feels lonely. “Do you have any friends? Family? You talked about missing your family yesterday.”
Dieter scoffs, “my family- they only want to know me now to pay for their shit. My friends? They aren’t friends. They want me because of the connections I have. The things I can buy. They aren’t real friends. If I lost everything, none of them would even think twice about me.”
You know that the people he hangs out with are shallow and that’s true. If he wasn’t rich and famous, they would move onto someone else. “That’s not fair.” You tell him honestly. “People deserve to be appreciated for who they are, not what they can do for you.”
Dieter sighs, “a symptom of the industry I'm in.” He says without remembering what he told you he does. He doesn’t care now, too relaxed and enamored with you to truly care if you know the truth about him. “What about you? Do you have friends? Family?”
“I- I don’t really talk to my parents.” You admit quietly. “They are….ridged and it has to be their way or they threaten to disown you.” You snort, reminding yourself that you had basically told them ‘good’ the last time they threatened you and packed your shit and left. It was Christmas two years ago when you started working for Dieter. You had spoken to them twice since then.
“Sounds like bullshit. Why do parents think they can control us so much?” He scoffs, “using us to fulfill the dreams they were too shit scared to ever go for. It’s ridiculous. Not that I would ever have the chance to be a father but if I did, I would never allow them to live their life according to my desires. It’s not - I want my kid or kids to be happy. That’s all that would matter.”
“You want kids?” You zero in on that. “How many would you want? Boy or a girl? I’ve always been the type that’s wanted one of each, maybe a set of twins.”
“Twins? That would be - God. One of each. I want to feel important to someone. Kids - they don’t care about your previous sins. They love you regardless and you get a chance to be a better parent than your parents were to you. I desperately want to redeem myself somehow. I want one of each.” Dieter decides even though he can’t keep a relationship to save his life.
Dieter with kids would be a sight to see. He would either love it or hate it. You could kind of see him becoming obsessed with the kids if you were honest. “One of each.” You hum in agreement. “Teach your son to be a gentleman and your daughter to not take shit from anyone. Love them unconditionally.”
Dieter smiles against the phone, “exactly. I want my children to have a better life, be more mentally stable.” He snorts and knows he needs to talk to his therapist next week. “Are you gonna get into the bath?” Dieter asks, grabbing the wipes he keeps in his nightstand to clean himself up.
“Yes.” You stand up and move towards your bathroom, snagging your headphones so you can charge your phone. “I feel like soaking in a bath after today. Too bad I don’t have some wine to drink, or someone to share it with.”
“I’d love to get in the bath with you, baby.” Dieter says, cleaning up and he tosses the wipes aside onto his nightstand. “I’d get you some wine. Rub your feet. Rub your shoulders.” He promises, imagining relaxing completely like that.
“Do you have a big bathtub?” You giggle. “We would be squeezed tight in mine.” You admit. “Sometimes it barely fits me when there’s bubbles.”
“I have a big bathtub.” He brags playfully, “you could ride my cock in that bathtub and still have enough room to relax after.” He smirks, “we could have wine and order take out. I’ve never really had a homey relationship like it. It’s always been clubs and fancy restaurants. I want movies on the sofa and takeouts.”
“You should. You deserve to have the kind of relationship you want.” You tell him adamantly as you start the water to warm up. “Honestly? I hate going out to clubs. My boss loves them and I just have to fend off creepy, drunk men and it’s too loud. You can’t talk to anyone there. You have to shout your order to the waitress.” You admit. “Plus, you could always cook together. Make dinner together? I would love to have a relationship like that.”
“That sounds like a dream but it’s not in the cards for me. I’ve made my bed. Now I gotta lie in it.” He sighs and rubs his cheek, “I hate clubs. I pretend to love them because everyone else does and yeah, at some point I loved going to the club but that stopped like ten years ago. I’m too old for that shit now.”
“You can change anything you don’t like.” You put in your ear buds and start to strip down, testing the water with your toe before stepping into the bath. “You aren’t at a nightclub tonight. Why don’t you go run a bath too and we can take one together?”
Dieter is tempted. “Sure. Let me go run the bath.” He shuffles out of bed and groans at the pinch in his back. Maybe a bath is a good idea considering how his back has been today. Filming isn’t as easy as it used to be and he is struggling after filming for weeks on end. He pours some bubble bath his ex left there when she would use the bath while he worked and he groans when he’s finally sinking into the water.
“That feels good, baby?” You hear the splashing and the groaning as he gets into the tub. “A hot bath is always good at the end of a long day. The one good thing about traveling with my boss is the rooms booked for me always have a big tub.”
“Well that’s a plus. He sounds like a fucking dick apart from that.” Dieter snorts and leans his head back against the edge. “I- I really want to meet you.” He confesses after you go silent, “like…not tomorrow or next week, but at some point.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Daniel.” You use the name he gave you on purpose, reminding him that he’s keeping something from you too. “I’m afraid we won't live up to each other’s expectations. Maybe one day.”
He bites his lip, knowing it was a stupid idea. He’s lied to you about who he is. “Yeah. You’re right. I, uh, I think it’s best we keep it like this.” He says after clearing his throat. “You came earlier, right?” He asks, wanting to make sure you enjoyed yourself too.
You relax, happy that he’s seeking reason and lean back on the lip of the tub to soak. “I actually didn’t.” You reveal softly. “I was wrapped up in listening to you and stopped touching myself. I enjoyed it though.”
"I want you to cum." Dieter whines, "I want you to cum for me. You always sound so sweet when you cum." He coos, "I wish I could suck on your tits, I want to lick that sweet pussy. I know you are so fucking sweet. Like candy. I'd spend hours between your thighs."
You’ve never actually cum with Dieter on the phone but you slip your hands between your thighs. “You would? You would spend all day licking my pussy if I told you to?” You ask, starting to circle your clit with your fingers, moaning quietly. “Bite my tits? I like a little pain too.”
"I'd do whatever you want. I'd be yours." He promises, "are you touching that cute little clit for me?" Dieter asks and he smirks when you breathlessly reply "yes."
He groans softly, "good. Squeeze your tit, want you to pinch your nipple and imagine it's me."
You follow his order, finding you getting wetter when he’s talking to you with a low, raspy voice. “Fuck.” You whimper, rolling your nipple between your fingers.
“That’s it, baby. Keep going baby. Pinch it again.” He orders. Your whimper goes straight to his cock but he’s too old to get hard again so soon. “Now…I want you to slide your hand down to your pussy, find your clit and rub around it. Don’t touch it.” He orders, wanting to control your pleasure like you controlled his.
You whine, pulling your fingers from the bundle of nerves and rubbing around it like he had ordered you. Finding this dominating side of him just as sexy as the submissive side. “It’s so good baby, I bet you have thick fingers. Would you push them inside me?” You ask breathlessly.
“Yes. God, I’d push one in just to see how tight you are then I’d add another. Wanting to stretch you out to take my cock after. I want you to touch your clit now. Tell me how it feels.” He commands, the water sloshing around him.
You gasp when you press your fingers back against your clit. “So good, it’s- my stomach is tightening up. I can feel it building up inside me, taking my breath away.” You explain.
“That’s it. Good girl. I want you to cum for me. So rub that little clit. You have a hand free? Use that to push two fingers into that tight pussy. Want you to make yourself cum for me.”
“Fuck D-Daniel.” You had almost called hun Dieter but you caught yourself. Obeying him and whimpering when you slide two fingers deep and curl them up. “I’m gonna cum.” You ramble. “Can I? Can I c-cum?”
“Yes. Cum for me baby. Wanna hear you when you cum.” He orders, wanting to hear you and his cock twitches in interest. “Cum for me, Kitty.” He demands, wishing you could moan his actual name.
Your mouth drops open and you let out a long and breathless moan as you start to cum. Water splashing and your body jerking as your cunt clenches down around your fingers and pleasure courses through your body. Wondering if it is more intense because it’s your boss or because you are giving up control. Working yourself through it while Dieter pants on the other end of the phone until you slump down against the back of the tub.
Dieter listens to your orgasm and he thinks that's the prettiest sound he has ever heard. He groans softly, his cock interested and he murmurs, "that's it. Good girl. Good girl. Love to hear this. Wanna hear it all the time."
“God.” You pant, giggling drunkenly from the pleasure. “It’s been a long time since I’ve cum that hard.” You admit. “I was wearing out my wand trying to get that feeling. So thank you.”
Dieter is proud to say the least and he recognizes that you could be bullshitting him but he likes to hear it regardless. “I’m glad I could be of service.” He says teasingly. “You sound so sexy when you cum.” He says softly, “I wanna hear it again and again.”
“Glad you think so.” You smile and sink a little lower into the hot water. “Now that we are both relaxed, why don’t you tell me something? It could be anything. I don’t mind.”
Dieter thinks for a moment, humming to himself. “I - I would really love a dog. I used to have one when I was a young kid and I would love another one, but I’m always traveling and it wouldn’t be fair to make a dog wait around for me when they should be loved and cared for. Plus I think my assistant would have a cow having to look after a dog too.”
“Have you talked to her? I’m assuming your assistant is female. See what she thinks about a dog.” You personally would love to have a dog around, maybe it would help Dieter’s attitude. “Would you want a big one? There are small ones that fit in a bag. It would be easy to travel with that.”
Dieter hums, imagining his assistant handling a dog. “I guess I could ask her and see if she’s okay with it before I go to a shelter. I want to connect with the dog. Big or small…I’ll know when I meet them.” Dieter says with confidence, suddenly spurred on to get a dog.
“Is- is your assistant nice?” You ask, unsure if you really want to hear what he thinks about you but it’s an opportunity you can’t pass up. “Does she take care of you?”
“She does. She - I don’t appreciate her enough.” He confesses, “she’s - she’s incredible and she puts up with my demanding ass. I should buy her something nice to thank her. I take her for granted and I guess - it’s because I’m so focused on my job, it’s intense and it takes a lot out of me so figuring out where my meal comes from is the last thing I want to think about.”
“I can understand that, but I’m sure she knows what you like. Just like I know what my boss will eat out of every type of cuisine. Why don’t you let her take over?” You suggest. “Just tell her that you’re craving Chinese or Indian and let her take care of you.”
"Yeah. I have always been a control freak. I like things a certain way and I- I know I am harsh on her. I'm gonna try and change my ways a little." He sighs, shifting so the water splashes over the side of the tube.
At least he’s not been doing it on purpose. You can see that now. You hun and nod even though he can’t see it. “That’s okay. Just try talking to her. Tell her that you appreciate her. I wish my boss would acknowledge a fraction of what I do.”
"I'll talk to her." He promises you, "God, you are - I wish I could meet you. I bet you're gorgeous, huh? I bet you have men lining up to kneel before you." Dieter says, suddenly changing the subject.
“Oh yeah.” You droll sarcastically. “Lining up. I’ve had some men ask me out, but I’m often too busy.” You admit, Dieter often has you running errands all day after he gets done shooting. Especially when it’s on location.
“You gotta make more time for yourself.” Dieter shakes his head, the water getting colder. “We better get out of the bath.” He says, “mine is getting cold and I don’t want you getting sick.”
You want to tell him that you don’t actually get sick from cold water but it’s sweet that he cares. “Okay.” You agree, sloshing water as you stand up and reach for your towel. “What’s your nighttime routine?”
Dieter chuckles, “depends on how sober I am.” He confesses, “i get all these creams and shit so I try to use them but sometimes I forget. I am getting old and wrinkly.” He jokes, “and then I get into bed and read my - read my book to prepare for the next day.”
Reading is a surprise. You didn’t know that, you never see books beyond the pretentious ones his decorator set out. “What are you reading?” You’re interested to see what Dieter likes to read before he goes to bed. What calms him down.
"It depends on my mood. Sometimes I like a thriller. Other times I like science fiction. Right now, I'm reading The Martian. It's relaxing and I enjoy escaping into a different world." He explains, part of why he loves acting is so he can escape from himself.
“Oh I’ve read that. It’s a really good book.” You tell him with a smile on your face. “Sometimes I read on my phone when my boss is busy. When I’m not writing.”
Dieter smiles, “maybe we can form our own book club.” He says as he puts his phone on speaker to dry off after he steps out of his bath and pulls on a pair of boxers after he’s cleaned up. “I’m gonna brush my teeth.” He says, letting you hear him run the water and brush his teeth.
You rub your lotion into your face and smile. “I’ll brush my teeth too.” It’s domestic, and homey. “Don’t forget to floss.” You tease playfully.
“Never.” Dieter chuckles after he rinses and grabs his waterpik, he actually likes his teeth after enduring braces as a teenager. They are perfect and he is happy to have some part of him be perfect in the movie industry.
The next few minutes are spent relatively quiet, both of you brushing and flossing until you are satisfied with the results. “Nothing feels better than climbing into bed all clean, unless it’s to also climb into clean sheets.” You tell him, walking out of your bathroom and into your tiny bedroom.
“Ooo yes. I love when my housekeeper changes the sheets and it’s all snuggly.” He confesses and he groans as he slides into bed and turns the light off. “I guess you gotta get some sleep, huh?” Dieter asks, pouting slightly as he lays in bed in the dark.
“I do. My boss has to be up really early and he is an ass if I’m not there with his coffee.” You tell him, swapping coffee for tea when you are describing him to himself. “He made one barista cry because she didn’t have the kind of drink he wanted.”
“Jesus. He sounds like an absolute dick. I’ll let you go baby. Speak tomorrow?” He asks and you hum, “yes of course.”
Dieter smiles, “sleep well, Kitty Kat.” He grins against the phone.
“Sleep tight.” You respond and he chuckles as the line goes dead. He’s spent a crazy amount of money tonight on the call but he’s never felt happier, more relaxed, and comfortable. He dreams of meeting Kitty when he eventually falls asleep.
****
It’s been weeks since you’ve started talking to Dieter every night, and you are grateful for it. It’s the only way that you are making any headway in the money to owe. It still amazes you that he still hasn’t recognized your voice, although he has been more considerate. “Maury!” You huff, rolling your eyes when Dieter’s older dog he had adopted head butts your leg. “You want to go out, boy?” You ask him with a smile on your face as you reach for his leash.
The dog pants as you leash him and Dieter walks into his trailer, bending down to greet the dog. “Hey boy. You okay in here while I’m gone?” He asks as the dog licks his face and he chuckles, letting him. “I know, buddy. We will be leaving soon, okay? I gotta shower while you’re on your walk then we will pick up some tacos on the way home.” He promises and rubs his head. Dieter looks up at you, “you, uh, wanna grab tacos? My treat?” He asks, knowing he has to be better to you. Kitty would want him to be nicer to you.
Your eyes widen slightly and you nod. “Uh, sure, if you’re serious.” You tell him. “I’ll take Maury on his walk.” The fact that you’ve started falling for Dieter is solely because of the nightly conversations you have. “If you don’t have plans for tonight that it would interfere with?”
Dieter shakes his head, “no. I don’t have plans.” He had told his PR he wanted a break from the fake dating and they had conceded. “See you after and we will go to that place with the outdoor seating so we can bring Maury.” He says, knowing that the outdoor section is secluded and he won’t be disturbed by paps there.
“Sure.” You guide Maury out the door and try not to imagine your boss in his shower. You are slightly addicted to the conversations you have and wonder if he’s going to call you tonight once you leave.
Dieter is quick to clean up and redress in his sweats. He loves to wear shitty clothes to piss off the paps if they capture him so he is soon grabbing his backpack and you are following him and Maury to the taco place in your car. He wants to call Kitty tonight, tell her how much nicer he’s trying to be since she told him to attempt to be good to his assistant.
“Thank you.” You murmur quietly. “This is very sweet of you.” You acknowledge with a smile as you kneel down to pat Maury. “Do you want some tacos, boy? I hear they have a sweet potato taco on the menu now, specifically for your dog.”
Dieter lights up at that, “really? Damn, Mau, looks like it’s tacos for all.” He says and opens the door to his car so Maury can jump in. “Meet you there?” Dieter asks, knowing you know his favorite taco shop. It’s nothing fancy and that’s what he loves. It’s normal.
“Sure can.” You nod and walk over to your older car and climb inside. You crank it up and wait for Dieter to pull out. Impressed that he’s not still driving like a maniac like he normally does when he’s doing a lot of drugs.
Dieter taps his fingers to the song playing on the radio and for once, he feels happy. He hasn’t been taking as many drugs. Honestly not wanting to be high when he speaks to Kitty so he’s calmed it down to only when he’s super anxious or needs to sleep. He glances in the mirror at you following him in that piece of shit car you own and he wonders if he should offer to help you out to get a newer car. He doesn’t want something to happen to you. For some reason, he’s grown closer to you since he’s started talking to Kitty and he finds himself imagining what you’d taste like if he were to kiss you. Absolutely insane when he’s pretty sure he’s falling in love with Kitty but he feels a connection to you he can’t explain. He’d never risk it, you’re an amazing assistant and he can’t lose you. He knows that now. When he pulls into the parking lot, he cuts the engine to his car and gets out, grabbing Maury who is wagging his tail and Dieter chuckles, “come on boy. Taco time.”
You find a parking spot and cut your engine, sure that you heard a knocking sound and praying that it wasn’t going to be something expensive. You have a neighbor that is always offering to look at it, maybe you’ll take him up on it. You smile when you see Maury excited and Dieter waiting for you. “Tacos and maybe a beer. God, I could use one.” You joke.
“Beer sounds good.” Dieter nods, guiding you to one of the outside tables. “What do you want?” He asks after he hands you a menu once you’re seated and settled, Maury laying down at your feet under the table. The waitress comes over and Dieter orders two beers and some water for Maury. “I was thinking…your car is literally gonna die any moment. Can I help you? Like…give you some money or something so you can get something else?”
You bite your lip, wanting so badly to take Dieter up on his offer. You need another car but you also know that most offers for help, especially giving money comes with stipulations. “I don’t know.” You shake your head. “I don’t want to feel like I’m taking advantage of you.” You tell him. “You have enough people doing that.”
Dieter shakes his head, “I can help. I want to help. You can’t be driving around in that. It will be a death trap and I- Kitty, please let me help you.” He says without even thinking about it.
Your heart drops and for an instant, you think that he’s figured out that it’s you on the phone. You barely keep yourself from gasping but you manage to frown. “Kitty?” You ask, trying to seem curious rather than panicked. “Is that some kind of new nickname, Dieter?” You shake your head. “I appreciate the offer but I can’t take your money. I can’t pay you back.”
Dieter's eyes widen, unable to believe he called you that. It was a mistake and one he desperately wants to take back. You aren't Kitty, you are his assistant and just because he might have melded the two of you together one night when he was smoking weed doesn't mean you're the same person. He swallows, "I, uh, sorry. Thought I saw a cat." He gestures over to the empty space but Maury hates cats and usually barks his head off. You frown but he reaches out to touch your hand, "I know I have been an asshole but I want to be better. I want to help."
You bite your lip, looking into his eyes and are startled by how much he has changed since you’ve been talking to him on the phone. “Okay.” You relent with a sigh. “Maybe we can find a cheap used car? And I’ll pay you back every week. It might take me a million years, but I will.” You promise.
Dieter nods, “pick what you want. I - I don’t care about the budget. As long as it’s safe and works. I don’t want you breaking down on the side of the road and something happening to you.” Dieter says softly until he clears his throat, “It’s too much fucking hassle to find a good assistant nowadays.” He says, pulling down the blinds on his emotions as the waitress brings your beers.
You chuckle quietly, used to the offhanded comments that completely takes the sweetness out of whatever he has just done. Self sabotaging is what his therapist had told him. “And I’m the best.” You tease, picking up your beer and holding it up in salute before taking a sip.
Dieter can't argue there. He sets the water down for Maury and picks up his beer, "you are the best." He admits softly, his stomach twisting with an unknown emotion and he clears his throat when the waitress comes over to take your orders.
You order your tacos, grinning when Maury’s taco order is put in and then Dieter orders a plate very similar to yours. “When you wanted me to come here, I fell in love with the food.” You admit. “It’s tiny but it’s amazing.”
“Right? And it’s private. Probably my favorite part about it is that I don’t get bothered by paps or fans.” He confesses, “and it doesn’t hurt that the food is fucking incredible.” He winks, “how’s everything in your - your personal life?” Dieter asks, wanting to try and be more interactive with you like Kitty suggested.
“Nothing much.” You shrug vaguely. “Most nights I’m busy. I got another job.” You tell him. “One that won’t interfere with my job with you.” You add, not wanting him to think you would slack off. “Just been trying to focus on the future.”
Dieter hates to hear that you’ve gotten another job. “Why - why do you have another job? Am I not paying you enough?” He asks, concerned that you’re doing too much. He doesn’t want you to be worn out by working too hard.
You’ve talked to Dieter about your money issues as Kitty so you shake your head. “I’m bored at night. When we travel so much and have such odd hours, I can’t really have a social life. So I figured I could earn extra money to put away.”
Dieter leans back, taking in your answer, and he sighs. “I’m sorry. I guess I don’t think about your social life. I- I can be a dick. A selfish dick and I’m sorry that you don’t have a social life because of me.” He mumbles, his gaze cutting across the street.
“Don’t worry about that.” The need to comfort him makes you reach across the table and touch his hand. Something you wouldn’t have dreamed of doing a few months ago. “We have busy lives and I knew that when I came to work for you.”
Dieter turns his brown eyes back to yours, “I know. I- I don’t think I can keep doing this forever. It’s lonely. Not knowing who your real friends are. Not having a family. It’s, uh, it’s wearing me down now.” He confesses, squeezing your hand as he takes it in his.
“You are a talented, handsome and charming man.” You remind him. “If you want to have a family, there is someone out there that would be thrilled to make that commitment to you.” You promise, wishing you could tell him that you’ve been falling in love with him when you talk to him as Kitty. “They’d be crazy not to.”
Dieter snorts, “you can barely stand me. Imagine a partner? They’d kick me to the curb after I have to cancel too many dates because of last minute reshoots. Or someone who can’t sit by and watch me film sex scenes even though they are literally the least sexy thing ever. I can’t be dealing with that drama on top of everything else.” He sighs, shaking his head.
You hate that he’s pulled away, his hand slipping from yours as he wallows in self pity. “Your job is demanding and important. While yes, you have been a dick, you’ve been getting better. If someone couldn’t handle the scheduling and the sex scenes, they don’t deserve to be with you and reap the benefits of the career you’ve created.” You argue. “Get someone who doesn’t give a shit that you are ‘Dieter Bravo, Oscar winner”. Find someone who wants you, the man, not the fucking PR campaign.”
Dieter swallows harshly, knowing your words are pretty but his life is too ugly for most to understand, let alone see the real him. The insecure mess that has to console himself with drugs to just endure the day. “When you find that someone, let me know.” He chuckles softly, picking up his beer to take a long swig.
“Sure will.” You tell him, flashing him a grin even though you feel like crying. “Don’t complain when I remind you about this on your wedding day.”
Dieter snorts, “now that would be a fucking result.” He thinks about Kitty for a moment until the waitress comes over and sets your plates down. “Two taco plates and I’ll be back with the plate for the fur baby. You two make a super cute couple by the way.” She comments with a smile and strides off.
You stifle a giggled watching as Dieter seems to have some kind of internal struggle with how he should react to the compliment. “Don’t worry.” You reach for the bottle of hot sauce on the table. “I won’t read into it, or start calling you baby, slipping into your bed or anything.”
The way you say ‘baby’ itches his brain and he’s so sure he’s heard that before. It sounds so familiar. Part of him wants to say he wants you to slip into bed but he swallows that down. He lets out an awkward chuckle and picks up his taco, wanting to eat instead. The waitress brings the tacos for Maury and sets them down so the dog can dig in too.
“Good boy, Maury.” You coo as the older dog tears into the tacos. “Sweet potatoes are good for you.” You praise, picking up one of your own tacos to take a bite of it. “I’m so glad you got Maury. He’s such a sweetheart as it seems like you really love having him around.”
The “good boy” coming from your lips makes his cock twitch but he shoves that aside and murmurs “I love having him. He’s - he is the best.” Dieter smiles at the dog and goes back to his meal. “I’ll get this.” Dieter insists when the check comes up, “the least I can do. And seriously, look into another car. I don’t want to lose you.”
“Remember I need my job.” You smile, watching Dieter pay for dinner and you turn your attention back to Maury. “I promise I will start looking.” you tell him. “See what is out there.”
Dieter nods, satisfied with your answer, and he finishes his beer. “I’m sure you wanna get home. We have a long day tomorrow.” He says, standing up and bending down to pick up Maury’s lead.
“We do.” You know that you shouldn’t pry but you need to. “What are you going to do when you get home?” You ask curiously.
“I, uh, usually read my script for the next day and then I make some calls.” He says nonchalantly and as vaguely as possible. He wants to call Kitty as soon as he’s home, tell her about his day and how he’s trying to be a better person.
“That’s good. At least you have a plan.” You walk with him out of the tiny restaurant and towards your cars. “Well, I'm going to go home, you call me if you need anything, okay boss?”
Dieter nods, “thanks for having dinner with me.” He says and you offer him a smile that makes his stomach twist. “Of course.” He murmurs and guides Maury over to his car. He waits until you are in yours before he leaves.
****
“Hey, Kitty Cat.” Dieter smiles when you pick up the phone, “how’s your day been?” He is always excited to hear your voice and listen to you.
“Hey baby.” You purr into the phone, feeling buoyed by your time off the phone with Dieter. “My day has been good, but it’s better now. How has yours been? Still enjoying taking Maury for walks after work?”
“Yes. I love taking him out on walks. He’s such a good boy.” He grins, loving how the dog he found in the shelter and he knows Kitty played a big part in him finding his dog. “I missed talking to you today.”
“Yeah? What did you want to talk to me about, baby?” You ask, grinning slightly because he has been talking to you, he just didn’t realize it was his Kitty. “Did something bad happen?”
“No. No. I just miss hearing your voice.” He smiles against the phone. He dreads to think about how much he’s spent on these calls but he knows that every penny helps Kitty out and he doesn’t begrudge that at all.
“You are always so sweet.” You tell him softly. “I don’t know why you keep calling yourself an asshole.” One thing that you’ve learned from these conversations is that Dieter has a horrible self image. He thinks the worst about himself in almost every sense and the bravado he puts on is just that, an act. “I’ve been thinking about you. How was your day?”
“It was good. I am getting closer to being done with my latest project at work and I’m working on building better relationships. I took my assistant to have tacos after we finished work. With Maury. It was fun. She - she’s so good at her job. I feel so guilty for not treating her properly for so long.”
“I’m so glad you had fun.” You tell him honestly, feeling like he’s not just telling you that. “Developing relationships with the people you work closely with is important, not just your ‘important’ people.” You remind him.
“I know. I know. I’m working on it.” Dieter sighs, rubbing his cheek, “I know I gotta work on being a better person.” He huffs, “trying my best but it never feels like it’s enough.”
“I’m sure that it’s enough.” You assure him. “You are a wonderful man, and I know that if you are trying to change bad habits, it’s being noticed.” You don’t want to dwell on it for too long. “So you had tacos? Do you have a favorite place?”
“Yeah. There’s this place. God, it’s over on Adams. It’s so good. They have this really nice outdoor area and it’s good for Maury because they have sweet potato tacos. Apparently they are good for him.”
“Oh that’s fantastic!” You hum excitedly while you sort through your mail. Grimacing at the bills. “I’ve heard they are. Something about making their coat healthy, I think.” You tell him. “Even better, he got to join you for dinner. I bet he loved it. How is your assistant liking Maury?”
“She loves him too. He’s really brought us together. She takes him out while I’m filming. I like to take him with me to my trailer. I don’t want him getting lonely while I’m working and I don’t want to leave him at home.” He explains not realizing he slipped up and told you about his real work, “what did you have for dinner?”
“Oh, I had some leftovers from dinner last night.” You lie. You hate doing it, but you can’t have too many coincidences. “I wish I had tacos. I love tacos.”
“I can buy you all the tacos you want.” Dieter blurts out, “I, uh, I mean, I want to buy you all the tacos you want. How’s work going? Is your boss being nicer?” Dieter asks, shifting from his spot on the sofa
“He’s getting better.” You sigh. “Although I don’t know if it’s going to last. He can change his colors like he changes his socks.” You laugh. “So you’re almost done with your work project? I bet you’re excited.”
“Yeah but then I have to go away for a press - pressing matter. I’ll be gone for a few weeks.” He nearly messes up and says press junket. With a sigh, he slumps down on his bed, Maury already snoring in his bed across the room.
“Oh, I hope nothing is wrong.” You offer, letting him slide on that little slip up. You know he’s trying to keep his profession a secret from Kitty. “If there is anything I can do, you let me know?”
“Yeah I will. I- I just want to hear your voice. You always sound so sweet. I bet you taste sweet too.” He says without really thinking. “I wanna taste you, Kitty Cat.”
"Ohhhh someone's horny tonight?" You hum, smiling against the phone. You know that Dieter hasn't been out with his PR date for a while and you've not had to call Uber for the random strangers that he could pick up and bring home when he's left to his own devices, so he's just not been getting any. Unless you count his hand. "Would you duck under the table and lick my pussy for me?"
Dieter groans, “yes. I’d risk it. Just to taste you. Get down under the table and spread your legs. Lick that sweet little pussy until your hand slams down on the table because you’re trying to keep quiet. Fuck, I’d do it. For you, I’d do anything.” He confesses, his cock hardening at the thought of touching you, tasting you.
You moan quietly, imagining Dieter Bravo sliding under a table in public and using his tongue on you. He is brazen enough to do it. “It would be so hard to keep quiet, I just know it.” You tell him breathlessly. “And I would do the same for you. Get down on my knees and suck your cock while you read. See how much you remember when my tongue is swirling around your cock and sucking on it.”
“When was the last time you had a slow, gentle blow job?” You ask, curious about his once vigorous sex life. “Someone taking their time and just drawing it out while you moan and relax. Maybe rubbing your puckered hole and fingering you while swallowing around you.”
“Jesus Christ.” Dieter hisses, “I don’t - I don’t remember. Usually it’s quick and urgent because I - I want to get to sex. God that sounds so good. You’d do that for me?” He asks breathlessly.
“Yes.” You promise him. “No matter how much you beg me to sit on your cock or let you fuck me, I’ll take my time. Slowly make you cum down my throat until you are slumped into your chair and unable to move, you are so relaxed.”
“Shit. You’re too good to me. After you make me cum, I’d want you to sit on my face. Use me to orgasm over and over. Wanna hear those pretty moans as you rock down onto my chin while I tongue fuck you.” He groans, “wanna taste you.”
“Fuck.” You feel yourself getting wet and your hand slides down to unbutton your jeans. “After I rode your face, would you want me to ride your cock? Or would you want to fuck me?”
“God, baby.” He groans, unable to help himself as he reaches down to squeeze himself through his boxers. “I want you to ride me. Want you to make yourself cum over and over again. I want you to deny me so you can get as much pleasure as you want. As you need.”
You wish he would let you ride him. Your attraction to Dieter has become almost painful and every night you think of him while you use your vibrator. “Yeah, baby? You’ll be my good boy and let me use that cock? Cum all over it until you are soaked with my cum?”
“Yes. Yes. I’ll be your good boy.” He promises, “I want to be your good boy.” He wraps his fingers around his aching cock. “Are you touching yourself, pretty girl?” He asks.
You whimper, sliding two fingers inside your wet cunt. “Yes.” You confess. “Are you stroking your cock? Thinking of me?”
“Yes. So hard. Pre-cum is literally leaking out of me. I think you’re so hot. So fucking hot.” He hisses when he squeezes his cock and starts to pump himself. “So fucking beautiful. I know you are. I know you’d look so pretty sitting on my cock. I wanna feel it. I wanna see it.” He whines with desperation.
“One day.” You feel so guilty when he talks of needing to meet you. Knowing that he is with you everyday and yet he is just now starting to get to know the real you. He would be so disappointed by the ruination of his fantasy girl. “Close your eyes and imagine me riding your cock baby.” You coo. “Tits bouncing and cunt tight around you.”
Dieter groans, closing his eyes like you asked and he sees his assistant. Mouth opening and moaning his name as she rides his cock. Fuck, he can see it. Can touch her. “Fuck, so pretty. I wanna - wanna see you cum.” He pants, speaking to his assistant, imagining her instead of Kitty. He knows it’s a lot to process, his feelings for both women, but he finds himself merging them together in instances like this.
“Oh fuck…” your fingers curl deep and you pant slightly when you find that spot deep inside you. “I’m going to baby, you’re gonna make me cum.” Any guilt you have at masturbating with Dieter on the phone has been left behind, enjoying yourself with him on the phone is what he wants. “My fingers aren’t as good as your cock. I bet your cock will make me scream.”
“Yes. Yes. God, I’d make you scream so loud the neighbors will call the police. I’d want you to soak my cock.” He pants, pumping his fist even harder, pulling down the foreskin to swipe the head with every move and he’s so close.
You moan nearly saying his real name but you just manage to cut yourself off. “Deee.” You pant, breathing heavily. “I need you to make me cum baby, I need it so bad.”
“Cum for me. Rub that pretty little clit for me baby.” He coos, his eyes still closed as he imagines his pretty assistant cumming on his cock. He is so close but he wants to hear you cum first. He needs to hear it. “Cum for me baby. Cum for me.”
“Oh fuck, oh fuck.” You whine, shaking as you move to rub your clit. You’re so close it only takes a few swipes of your fingers before you are flying. “Baby!” You choke out, legs shaking as you cum.
Hearing you cum sends Dieter over the edge.
He lets out a strangled “fuck” before he orgasms, his cum spurting across his chest and his sheets and down his fist. “Fuck.” He pants, the words he wants to say are on the tip of his tongue but he swallows them down.
You hum quietly, basking in the aftershocks. “That was good baby, did you enjoy yourself? I love when we cum so close together.”
“Me too. So good. It’s always so good.” Dieter mumbles, lost in the pleasure, and he’s telling the truth. He has never cum this hard, even during orgies or with sexual partners one on one. That voice - it just hypnotizes him and he can’t hold back.
“I’m glad you enjoy yourself baby.” You coo softly. “I like talking to you every night. It’s the highlight of my day.” You admit with a smile. Every night you go to sleep right after hanging up with Dieter. You’ve even watched tv together sometimes.
“Same here.” He murmurs, knowing there’s so much to say but it’s unlikely you feel the same way. He’s certain a big part of this is you getting paid and that makes him feel dirty but he loves speaking to you. He’s become a better person because of you. “I, uh, I better clean up.” He murmurs, frowning at the way his heart pounds.
“Do you want to take a bath together or do you want me to let you go?” You frown slightly, aware that his tone has changed and you wonder if something is wrong. “It’s up to you.”
���I better get some sleep.” He says, confused by his feelings, “I’m gonna have a quick shower and get into bed.” He murmurs, shuffling out of his bed and into the bathroom. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow?” He asks, his heart aching and his head throbbing with confusion.
“Of course.” You frown slightly, wondering if you need to text him as his assistant from your other phone. “You can call me anytime baby, you know that.” You remind him. “Have a good night and sweet dreams.”
“Goodnight, sweetheart.” Dieter smiles sadly against the phone. He’s fallen for the voice on the other end of the phone and he’s also fallen for his assistant. He’s torn. He knows his assistant, can touch her, but he doesn’t want to fuck up the best thing that’s happened to him with Kitty who he doubts would ever meet him in person. He’s shallow, one of his worst qualities, and he wonders if Kitty has something extremely wrong like a third leg or some weird shit like that and that’s why she won’t meet even though she’s in L.A. He sighs, head aching so he showers and finds some aspirin, passing out in his bed from emotional and mental exhaustion.
****
The next day, you can tell that there is something wrong with Dieter but you can’t quite figure out why. He’s quiet and subdued but you can feel his eyes on you as you go about setting his schedule and doing for him. “Is there anything else you need right now, boss?” You ask, sending him a reassuring smile as he looks up from his script. “I picked up your drying cleaning for the press junket, the outfits will look very good.”
“Great. Thanks for doing that.” Dieter offers you a small smile and he lays his script down in his lap. “Nothing else I need.” He says, “go take a break. I’m gonna take a nap, probably.” He says and you nod, reaching for your purse but you leave your backpack on the floor. After so long working with Dieter, it’s become a habit to have a second bag with essentials just in case you end up staying overnight somewhere or need a change of clothes. You leave and Dieter sighs, rubbing his cheek. He is battling within himself and he doesn’t know what to do. He sighs and reaches for his phone, deciding to dial the familiar number to see what his heart truly wants. Selecting Kitty’s number, he listens to the dial tone and he’s confused when he hears a ringtone coming from your backpack. He’s never heard that tone before. He frowns when Kitty doesn’t answer and the phone stops ringing from your bag. Deciding to try again, he’s even more confused when the ringtone sounds once again. Ever curious, he gets up and opens your bag, knowing it’s wrong but he soon locates the small flip phone. His cell hangs up and the phone stops ringing. He can’t help it. He rings again and the contact on the flip phone comes up with “Dieter/Daniel” and he feels sick. Staring at the phone as it rings, he doesn’t know what to think. You’re Kitty. This is Kitty’s phone. You’re the same person.
After getting your drink, you realize that you had forgotten your laptop. Figuring that you would sit outside at craft services and do a little writing while Dieter naps. He should be back in his bedroom in the trailer, so you will slip inside and grab it. Opening the door, and stepping inside, your eyes widen when you see Dieter holding the familiar flip phone that you use every night when you talk to him. Your heart drops and want to shrink back when he turns his eyes towards you and his expression is devastated. “Dieter, I-“
“You’re - It’s you. You’re Kitty?” He practically chokes as he stares at you in shock. “You- you’re the one I’ve been talking to every night. You didn’t - oh my God. You didn’t tell me it was you and I’ve been- shit. I- holy fuck. It’s you.” He chokes, trying to mentally piece everything together but his body feels like it’s on fire and he doesn’t know what to do.
“Dieter, I- I can explain.” You start pathetically. “I wanted to say something, to tell you, but I thought you just wanted the fantasy. That you would be upset when you found out I knew.”
Dieter shakes his head, getting angry. “Was this a fucking joke to you? ‘Oh my poor fucking boss. He can afford to pay me and also pay my sex line. And I’ll laugh at him while we talk’ I bet you were sat there trying to hold back the tears from laughing while I - while I fucking jerked off. I bet you got off the phone and had a good fucking giggle about how pathetic I am and how much you were getting from me. Am I - do I look like a fucking idiot? Is that why you did this?” He asks, tears stinging in his eyes at the betrayal.
“No.” You gasp, shaking your head. “It wasn’t like that at all. I promise you-“
“You fucking lied to me!” Dieters shouts, making you jump at the venom in voice.
Your own eyes start to water. “I didn’t laugh at you.” You insist. “Our - our talks were real.”
Dieter shakes his head, stepping back from you. “You were laughing at me. I bet you thought this was some kind of revenge, huh? Make me look dumb. Get me to tell you all my fucking secrets and then you’d - what? Blackmail me? Sell it to the Enquirer or TMZ?” He chokes, feeling betrayed by the two women in his life that have turned out to be the same person.
“Never.” You promise him, shaking your head and your heart breaking. His expression is pure disgust and you want to cry. “I’d never tell anyone. I just- I started working phone sex because I needed the money. And you called and I was surprised but then I liked talking to you, I really enjoyed our calls.”
“Bullshit. I know you hate me. I know I make your life hell. Why- why would you do this?” Dieter chokes, “why would you do this to me? Why didn’t you tell me right away that it was you?”
“I was embarrassed!” You snap. “I had to take a phone sex job so I didn’t lose my apartment or ruin my credit.” Your own tears start running down your cheeks. “I was- I don’t know. I didn’t think you would want to know that the girl you were jerking off to was the same one who brought you your coffee and couldn’t possibly get your fucking lunch order right.”
Dieter shakes his head again, in complete disbelief. “I don’t give a fuck. I - you should’ve told me. I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I- I told you - I told you so many things I’ve never told anyone and you didn’t say a word.” He swears he’s about to cry but he stays strong enough to say “you’re fired. Get your shit and get the fuck out of my trailer.”
You feel like you’ve been punched in the gut, knowing you can’t afford to lose your job. Not for long. You can barely see through your tears as you grab your bag and take off the key to Dieter’s house that was on your key ring. Finally, you hold your hand out for the flip phone that is still in Dieter’s hand. “I’m sorry.” You offer quietly.
Dieter can’t talk, he slaps the phone into your hand, his brown eyes watery as he watches you and he hates losing you but the betrayal cuts him deep right now. He stares as you take the phone and he lets you walk out of the trailer, his heart breaking with every step you take.
You rush to your car, not acknowledging anyone and barely keeping it together until you get behind the wheel. Once safe, you break down, sobbing and leaning your head against the steering wheel as you cry. You don’t know what just happened but you know that Dieter hates you.
Dieter slumps down in the chair, confused and feeling betrayed by you. You concealed this information from him and he’s so hurt that you could be so deceptive. “Fuck!” He growls, reaching out and shoving everything off of the table in front of him.
****
A few days pass with Dieter having to lie to his management about why he fired you. Even worse, he keeps picking up his phone to call you. He wants to call Kitty, to talk about how he feels, but Kitty is you and you are Kitty. His head still aches at the news, his heart is broken at the news that the women he fell in love with are one and the same which he should be overjoyed about but she lied. He picks up his phone for the fiftieth time and finally, he snaps. He tosses the phone so hard it hits the wall, smashing, and he pants as he stares at it until the realization hits. He rushes over to pick it up, pressing the button to turn it on. “No. No. No.” He panics. He doesn’t know your number or Kitty’s number by heart. It’s gone. His last connection to you is gone.
No one will hire you. Your eyes water when the last agency, a sketchy one, tells you that you’ve been blacklisted. Becoming an assistant for another celebrity is out of the question, Dieter went scorched earth out of spite apparently. It hurts just as bad as that first night that he didn’t call you. You had expected it. More questions, possibly a drunk former boss accusing you of leaking his secrets but the silence had hurt you even more. You sigh and shake your head. You had been hired on to work as a waitress in a diner, odd shifts that no one wanted and yet you know you need another job too. You just need to find one.
Dieter is glad the movie has finished and he may have gotten drunk at the wrap party. He had offers from people on set and from the studio to go home with him but he ended up going home alone, unable to go home with anyone after he had such a connection with Kitty/you. He gets into the car he was assigned for the evening and he orders the driver to go to your house. He gets out and rings the doorbell after he arrives and he slumps down on the doorstep when you aren’t in. He isn’t sure how long he waits there until your car pulls into the driveway.
Getting home, you sigh as you put the car into park and curse yourself for ever accepting Dieter’s help getting a new car. It’s just another crushing debt on you and despite the fact that he had fired you, you were still going to pay him back for every penny. You needed to make sure that you made it to your next shift so you could send the money to his accountant like you have been. Dieter would never know, but you would and you hadn’t even been late on a payment so far. Now you just need to get into your apartment and sleep for the next four hours so you can be up for your next job on time. Slowly climbing out of the car, you realize someone is waiting on the doorstep and you warily approach with your keys in your fist until you recognize your former boss. “Dieter!” You huff, too exhausted to even be relieved it’s not someone robbing you. “What are you doing here? Go home, I’ve got four hours of sleep to get.” You move past him to unlock your door.
Dieter stumbles as he stands up, “no. No. I won’t leave. Not until -” He hiccups, “until you tell me why- why you did it? Was it to mess with me? Or did you want to do something to fuck with my head? Or was it funny? I want to know why.” He says, waving his arms around.
“I didn’t call you, you called me, remember?” You hiss, pushing your door open and your feet are killing you. It’s late and you are exhausted. All you want to do is take your bra off and sleep for a few hours before you have to go back to work. “I was shocked when you called and I- I was curious if you were as big of a dick to everyone as you were to me.” You tell him, “happy? Now go home. I have to sleep.”
Dieter shakes his head, following you into your place and he repeats his question, “why did you do it? Keep talking to me? We - I told you things about myself that I haven’t told anyone. Why did you not - why didn’t you tell me?” He chokes, hating you and loving you all at the same time.
“Dieter-“ you turn around, ready to kick him out and fall into your bed, but his face is scrunched up and sad. Making you think of a kicked puppy. “Because I liked talking to you.” You admit with a sigh. “I- learning about you helped me understand why you were a dick. I just-“ you shake your head and your ears nearly pop when you yawn. “I told you things too, but I was afraid that you would fire me.” You snort. “And I was right. But I’m not going to tell anyone what you said or the fact that you called a phone sex line. Happy? Now please.” You motion towards the door. “I have three hours and fifty-two minutes of sleep I can get before I have to be at my next job.”
“You got another assistant job?” Dieter asks, shifting to sit down on your sofa and he looks up at you, ignoring the fact you need to get to sleep.
“No. No. You managed to get me black listed, remember?” You scoff and Dieter frowns, “I didn’t do that. I swear. My manager must’ve done that. To protect my privacy.” He says, “and to - to stop me from bumping into you. I swear, I didn’t get you black listed.” He insists.
“I have like three fucking jobs to stop me going bankrupt and to pay you back for the car you made me get.”
Dieter shakes his head, “I was trying to make your life better because I- I realized how much of a dick I was and I wanted to be better for you. Because of you - you as Kitty.”
You sigh again, aware that you aren’t going to get to sleep until Dieter says what he needs to. You flop down onto your couch next to him and groan in pain, sore from the long shifts on your feet. “And I wasn’t trying to manipulate you.” You promise. “I didn’t use any information you gave me when I was working for you. I kept things separate, but it made me want to be better for you too.”
Dieter nods, knowing you are exhausted but he needs this closure. He swallows harshly, his throat suddenly dry as a dessert and he glances at you, “I love you. You know that? You as Kitty and you as you. I fucking love you.” He confesses, his eyes wide and glassy.
Your eyes close and your head tilts back against the cushions. “I love you too.” You confess with a small groan. “I fell in love with you while we were talking on the phone. I was scared. You never looked at me twice when I was me, your assistant me.”
Dieter squeezes his fists on his thighs, “I - I was so mad when I found that phone. Knowing that I’m in love with you. I was so fucking angry because I don’t do emotions. I don’t do connections. It gets messy and I was right. I can’t stop thinking about you. I couldn’t - I wanted to call. So many times. I even broke my fucking phone and then I freaked out because your numbers are on that phone and I couldn’t remember them. I didn’t know them. I- I - shit. Are you the same? Was it all an act or do you really love me?” He asks, wanting an answer.
“I cried when you didn’t call.” You admit softly, rolling your head forward so you can look at him. “I- talking to you had become part of me. I would ache to talk to you, to just ramble about hopes and dreams, to listen to you. I want to tell you, so many times, but I hated that you might not want me.” You sigh heavily. “It wasn’t an act.” It wasn’t, not when you spent all night talking to him and wishing you could hold him while you slept. “I really love you, Dieter. I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“Baby. I-I love you.” He murmurs, “I don’t want you to work three jobs. I’ll- I’ll pay you double if you come back to me. I want to help you out. I want you by my side. Please, don’t leave me.” He pleads, reaching for your hands to squeeze them.
It sounds amazing but you shake your head. “I can’t- you already fired me once.” You remind him. “I can’t be trapped by your whims. Firing me if you get upset at me? I can’t do that.”
“I’ll have my manager put it in writing that I have to have a legitimate reason if I fired you again. I swear, I wouldn’t, I’m not that person anymore. I don’t want to lose you. I need you. I promise you that I will be better. I’ll have my manager put it in writing.” Dieter promises, not wanting to lose you.
“Dieter….” You’re too exhausted to really think about it. “I need some sleep. Either go home, or let me sleep.” You tell him. “I can’t even think right now.”
“Go shower. I’ll call Cynthia while you shower so she can get something in writing before you make your decision. I’ll make you some tea and get you a snack for you to have.” He says, completely out of his normal character but he loves you, he wants to be better.
You nod, finding that sounds amazing to not have to think. “Okay. I’ll go shower.” You moan, taking a long minute to shuffle off the couch and stand.
He watches you go and stands up to boil your kettle. He gets a good look around your place and he wrinkles his nose. He can tell you've tried to make the best of it but it's in bad condition, clearly a shitty landlord, and he feels guilty for living in a big Sherman Oaks mansion alone while you live here.
You shuffle to the bathroom, uneasy that Dieter is in your house, but you are too tired to really worry about it. stripping down and groaning at the lukewarm water that seems to be all hot water heater can produce lately. "Shit." You close your eyes and you wonder if Dieter meant what he said, if you could possibly go back to one job, maybe your phone sex job too for extra money, but not be working yourself into the ground. You wash and when you go to dress, the urge to lay down once your panties are on is overwhelming and you stretch out, immediately closing your eyes.
Dieter prepares your cup of tea and grabs a snack before he makes his way into your bedroom. His eyes widen and he nearly drops the mug in his hand when he sees you laid out on your bed topless and wearing panties. Jesus, you’re beautiful. He realizes after a moment and averts his eyes, setting the tea and snack on the dresser, then he grabs the blanket on the bed, managing to get it out from under you so he can cover you up. He doesn’t want to leave so he quickly rushes outside to tell his driver to go and then he locks up your place, making sure the front door is secure. He’s exhausted himself so he toes off his shoes and shrugs off his jacket and he wants to be close to you. It’s wrong, he should sleep on the sofa, but he makes his way into your room and lays down on the bed beside you, a good distance and a blanket away but he’s immediately comforted. He falls asleep within moments, his hand reaching for you.
When you wake up, the first thing that you notice is the light coming through the blinds, making you gasp as you bolt upright. You’ve overslept. The blanket bunches at your waist and you see Dieter sleeping next to you, reaching out in his sleep as he does. “Dieter! Oh shit, I’ve - fuck! I overslept.” You scramble out of the bed, not concerned with the fact that you are topless but you wonder if he covered you up as you rush towards your dresser to pull clothes out. “Fuck, I’m going to get fired.”
Dieter is woken up by your panic and he squints, hair everywhere as he sees you trying to pull clothes on. “Wha- what’s wrong?” He rasps, still sleepy but doesn’t stop his eyes from taking in your ass in those tiny panties.
“I overslept!” You don’t turn around, too busy pulling out clothes to wear. “I- my alerts didn’t go off and I’m going to be late.” You curse and fling another shirt out of your way. You’ve been so busy you’ve just shoved your clothes into the drawers.
Dieter shakes his head, “no. No. You don’t have to go. I - I promised I’d pay you double to come back to me.” He says, confused about your panic and the way you’re shoving your bra on. “Please baby, Don’t put yourself through this shit. Let me help you.”
“Huh?” You stop, turning towards him and frowning in confusion. “You really want- I still need to work my shift.” You tell him. “I can’t just quit without warning.”
“You can and you will.” He says, narrowing his eyes slightly, “you are exhausted. You can barely walk. You can’t - I don’t want to lose you.” He chokes, “please baby. Don’t leave.”
Shoulders slumping, you nod, knowing you can’t continue to keep working at this pace. You are killing yourself. “O-okay.” You agree. “I’ll stay.”
Dieter’s grin is wide as you agree to stay. “Excellent. I’ll call my manager to reinstate you.” He promises, “with double pay.” He glances around your home, “I- I wish you’d told me this is where you live.” He says and you scoff, “why? So you can judge it.”
He shakes his head, “because I would’ve offered to let you live with me.”
You snort, “there’s no way you would want your assistant to live with you.” You remind him. “It’s a place to live, and it’s what I can afford.” You shrug slightly. “I have worked hard and I’m hoping that I will be able to move sometime next year.”
“I wouldn’t have wanted my assistant to live with me. I would want you to live with me.” He clarifies, “please baby. Move in with me. I want to take care of you.” He pleads, feeling a little desperate and he feels you slipping through his fingers.
“Dieter….” You don’t know what you can possibly say when he is begging you to move in with him. “If- if I do this, I want to contribute.” You tell him. “I need to, I can’t just live off you. I won’t be like your friends who take and take and never give anything back.” You need him to know that you don’t want him to just take care of you, you want to take care of him as well.
That makes Dieter fall for you even more. He reaches for your hands, “I don’t want you to be my friend. I want you to be my lover, my partner, my - my girlfriend.” He says, his brown eyes soft as he looks at you. “I fell in love with you as Kitty and as you. I was torn, thinking I had issues because I was in love with two women but it turns out they were the same person. I love you. I want you back in my life. I want to provide for you.”
“And I want to provide for you.” You squeeze his hands in return. “A safe place for you to vent, to talk about your worries and fears. A home for you to relax in and not be judged.” You bite your lip. “I want to talk to you in person, actually lay in a bathtub with you while we do, rub your sore back and make you feel loved. Remind you that you aren’t alone.”
Dieter smiles and leans forward to rest his forehead against yours. “Baby. I love you.” His hands let go of yours so he can grab your waist, dragging you up against his body. “I know I’m not easy to love. I know we will argue. I know I’ll piss you off but I want that. I don’t want easy. I don’t want simple. I want you.”
“You have me.” You promise, caressing his cheek and leaning in to press your lips to his. The first kiss gentle. “You’ve had me and I don’t care if we fight.” You smile. “I’m sure you’ll call me to make up.”
Dieter grins, his heart pounding with happiness and he cups your cheek, “I love you. So much.” He murmurs and presses his lips against yours, sliding his tongue into your mouth, his hands squeezing your waist and his mind goes blank to anything but you.
Moaning, you sink into the kiss, your fingers sliding into his hair like you’ve always wanted to do. He’s a fucking good kisser and it makes you dizzy. Pulling back and smiling at him, you bite your lip. “We aren’t on the phone.” You remind him. “Soooooo we can actually experience some of those things we talked about.”
Dieter smiles, his hands sliding down to squeeze your ass. “Later. Right now, I just wanna feel you. I- I can’t believe you’re here and it’s you. I want to experience the emotion and the kinks can be explored later.” He murmurs, kissing your jaw and down your neck as he reaches for the hem of the t-shirt you threw on. He pulls back reluctantly so he can pull it over your head and he groans at the sight of your tits when he throws the shirt to the floor. “Fuck. You’re so gorgeous.” He groans, kissing down your chest until he’s able to take your nipple into his mouth.
He apparently wants soft and slow. Making you smile as you realize that he had slept in his pants. “I know you love your sweats but I want them off of you.” You hook your fingers under the threadbare band and start to tug them down. “Did you change after the party or did you wear these to your wrap party, baby?”
Dieter chuckles, “I changed in the car. I hate those fucking tight pants. Always take a change of clothes with me.” He confesses and you giggle, knowing that Dieter hates wearing any clothes at all when he is at home. You push them down and he’s blushing because he’s already hard. Just the thought of you has him on edge.
“Fuck.” You wrap your fingers around his hard cock and roll the foreskin down. “You don’t know how many times I imagined doing this. Just touching you while you tried to figure out what the fuck was going on.” He moans when you squeeze him gently. “How many times I touched myself thinking about it.”
“You have no idea how many times I’ve jerked off. I haven’t been with anyone since that first week we started talking. No one made me feel the same.” He confesses, breaths heavy as you squeeze him and he’s groaning your name - your real name - as you pump his cock. His hands find your panties and he pushes them halfway down your thighs so he can sink his fingers between your folds to rub your clit.
The first touch has your eyes rolling back and moaning his name. “Dieter.” You pant, shuddering at the way his fingers slip through your folds. “I- I need you.” You admit quietly. “I have - I haven’t been with anyone in a year.” You promise. “I’m clean, but- but I’m not on birth control.”
Dieter groans, "do you - do you have condoms? Or I can pull out?" He offers, wanting you to be comfortable and tell him what you want. His fingers slow on your clit, giving you a moment to think about what you want.
“I-“ your mouth drops open and your hips rock towards his fingers, chasing the feeling. “Don’t pull out.” You suggest breathlessly. “Cum inside me.” It’s a risk, especially since this relationship is new, but you want to risk it. “I - I shouldn’t be- but if I do- I want- your baby.” You manage to pant out, your thoughts jumbled.
“Shit.” Dieter hisses, lost in the idea of you pregnant with his child. If anyone else had said that, he’d be running out of the door but the thought of you pregnant with his child has his cock twitching. “Fuck, you’re so perfect.” He groans and he shifts his fingers so he can push two inside of you, wanting to stretch you out for him.
Your mouth presses against his neck, whining into his skin and deciding that you will make that dream of marking him come true. Sucking on his skin as he fingers you, your walls clench down around him.
Dieter pants when you squeeze his cock and he twists his wrist so he can press his thumb to your clit. “So tight around my fingers. Can’t wait to feel you around my cock. God, you’re so - so incredible,” he murmurs and turns his head so he can kiss you again.
You whine into his mouth and squeeze him again. “On the bed.” You pant, eager to have him deep inside you. “Please Dee, I need you.”
He reluctantly withdraws his fingers, unable to deny you, and he kicks off his sweats and pulls his shirt over his head. He’s older now, no longer the lean mean actor he used to be when he did Hunger Strike and he’s a little self conscious of that.
“Fuck.” You bite your lip and step up to him, caressing his chest. “How do you want our first time?” You ask softly, enjoying the softness of his skin and the slight muscle underneath.
“I want you on top.” He decides, knowing he wants to watch you, to worship you, like he’s dreamed of doing so many times. Like that last phone call when he imagined you riding him while he was on the phone to Kitty. “Please baby.” He whines, growing impatient as his cock throbs.
You smirk as you push him back onto your bed and straddle his hips. Grinding your wet cunt against his cock just to hear him moan and jerk his hips up. “Let me ride you then, baby.” You coo, reaching down to wrap your hand around his cock again so you can impale yourself on him. Your eyes on his as you slowly start to sink down.
“Holy shit. I - shit. Fuck.” He chokes, his hands finding your hips and he can hardly breathe. “Fuck baby. I- I don’t - Jesus Christ.” He pants, his cock twitching violently inside of you as you take him inside of you and his eyes drift down to your pussy lips stretching around his length.
“Fuck Dieter.” You whine softly, your eyes slipping closed and you tilt your head back. “So good, fuck, you’re so thick.” You’ve seen his cock, had your hand around it, but it hadn’t prepared you for feeling him inside you. It’s like he’s pushing against your guts and you’re glad you can set the pace this first time together. “I love you.” Your hands slide to his chest and brace there before you open your eyes and lean down to kiss him.
He groans into your mouth, his hands caressing your back as he enjoys the way you feel around him. He can’t believe you’re sitting on his cock. He feels so lucky and he doesn’t plan on letting you go. His tongue slides into your mouth as his hands grip your ass, squeezing and encouraging you to move.
Rocking slowly, you don’t build up a pace that is anything but languid. Wanting to draw this out and make it last. You run your fingers through his hair and moan into his mouth.
He is lost in the sensations of you.
The smell of you. The sounds you are moaning out, and he loves it. He whimpers into your mouth, his hands caressing every inch of you he can reach.
You slowly rock on his lap, every kiss slow and full of emotion. Despite being on top, this feels like making love. Holding tight to one another and making the most out of your first time together.
“God, I love you. Imagined this so many times. So many goddamn times. With my fingers around my cock. Imagining it was you. Wanted you for so long.” He pants, thrusts up into you when you lean forward to kiss him again.
“I love you, Dieter.” You moan, smiling down at him and caressing his cheek. “I fell in love with you on the phone and couldn’t imagine you wanted me, but I wanted you.”
He offers you a love struck smile as you look down at him and he swears his heart is about to beat out of his chest and he knows you can feel it. He wants you to cum so he thrusts up into you, wrapping his arms around you to keep you close.
“Dieter.” You squeal, collapsing against him and kissing his neck while he takes over. “Oh fuck baby, your cock is so thick. So good inside me.”
up into you, a little faster but this is still slower than frantic sex he’s ever had. “It’s because - fuck - fuck you’re so tight, Kitty Cat.” He gasps the nickname he gave you. “I need you to cum for me.” He pleads, his fingers digging into your ass.
“Gonna.” You pant, grinding down on him as gasping when the curl, short hairs above his cock catch your clit just right. Providing the friction you needed to send you flying. “Deee!” You cry out, shaking and coming apart in his arms as you soak his cock.
He groans as you clamp down on his cock, making him moan your name. “That’s it baby. That’s it. Fuck.” He pants, normally boastful of his stamina but you send him over the edge. He pants as he thrusts up into you, “can I - inside? Or no?” He asks, needing permission before he cums inside of you.
“Inside.” You moan, desperate to feel him paint the inside of your womb with his hot seed. Even if it does not take, you want to feel it. You will go get on birth control if he’s not quite ready for the responsibility of a child. But you track your period and you should be safe.
Dieter groans, thrusting up and inside of you, and he thrusts a half dozen more times until he’s pushing deep and painting your walls with his hot seed. “Fuck fuck fuck.” He hisses, lost in the pleasure and he tilts his head back, eyes clenched shut.
You kiss along his jaw and clench around him, enjoying the way that he moans your name when he’s pump the last spurt of cum inside you. “That was amazing.” You giggle. “I love you. I love you, baby.”
“Is this real life?” Dieter asks and you giggle.
You caress his cheeks, “it’s real.”
Dieter opens his eyes to look at you, “you’re real. I can’t believe it. I’m so fucking lucky.” He murmurs, kissing your chin.
“I’m lucky.” You feel more relaxed than you have in a long time, snuggling against his chest and tilting your head up to kiss his jaw. “I love you.”
Dieter caresses your back and closes his eyes, feeling like he’s where he belongs. With you. He just needs to get you back to his home so he can look after you.
****
“Baby! I’m home!” Dieter shouts as he comes into the hallway balancing his backpack and the take out he picked up on his way home. “I got the tacos!” He shouts and Maury jumps up to greet his daddy as he comes into the house. “Hey boy. You been looking after your mama?” Dieter asks and Maury barks. Dieter carries the bag into the kitchen and finds you sitting on the sofa, reading on your phone. Anything good?” He asks and you shake your head.
“No. Just researching what the best pre-school is. The other moms at the prenatal class are already signing their babies up and they aren’t even born yet.”
Dieter snorts, coming to sit beside you and his hand finds your bump. “Hey, baby boy.” He murmurs, leaning down to kiss your bump. He brings his head up to kiss your lips. “Hey mama.” He murmurs, nudging his nose against yours. “Don’t worry about that. Our baby is a Bravo. He’s gonna be first on the list.”
“Yeah?” You giggle quietly. “You gonna flirt with the admissions personnel?” You ask, covering his hand with your own. Since that first day at your apartment, things have changed drastically. He had moved you into his Sherman Oaks mansion immediately and true to his word, he had a contract written up to protect your job from rash firings. He had also added clauses that would give you time to find another place to live if things didn't work out. Although they have, beautifully. You are expecting his first baby within the next two months and you’ve never seen a more eager father. He’s still letting you look after his schedule, but he has you working at home when he’s going to spend long days at the studio, his schedule open for the next six months after this project wraps. He wants to be home to bond with the baby.
“I only flirt with you, Kitty Cat.” He promises with a chuckle, “buuuuuuuuut maybe a little eye flutter from Oscar Winner Dieter Bravo might get him admission into the best damn preschool in town.” He says with a confidence he didn’t have before he started talking to you.
“Mmm. If it’s for our boy, we can figure something out.” You tease and Dieter kisses you.
“But you are my number one.” He promises, “that’s why I’m gonna marry you.” He says and you rear back. He’s never really mentioned marriage. Kids, yes, but not marriage. “Marry me.” He murmurs, his dark eyes meeting yours.
“Dieter.” You bite your lip and reach out to caress his cheek. “Are you sure? We don’t have to get married.” His ex-wife had been a bit contributor to his badly beaten self image. “I love you no matter what I am to you legally.”
“I want you to be my wife. I want to be your husband. I want you. Forever. Our family.” He murmurs and caresses your bump. “I love you, Kitty Cat. Marry me. Be mine.” He requests, “I - I gotta get a ring and I should ask you in a fancy restaurant but - shit. I’m doing this all wrong?”
“No.” You promise him, beaming as you lean in and kiss him. “You aren’t doing it all wrong. The only way it could have been any better is if you had proposed over the phone.” You tease, your love of talking on the phone hasn’t diminished since you’ve lived together, just changing to times when you can’t be together due to his work schedule.
Dieter offers you that awkward half smile as he looks at you, waiting for your answer. “So, uh, are you - is that a yes?” He asks, biting his lip.
“Of course I will marry you.” You giggle when you realize you hadn’t answered him and you kiss him again. “I would love to marry you, Dieter Bravo.”
Dieter cups your cheek, “I love you, Mrs Bravo. Soon to be Mrs Bravo.” He grins, excited to be your husband and for you to be his wife. He never imagined his entire life would change when he decided to call the sex hotline but fuck, he’s so glad he did. His life has changed for the better and all he had to do was open his eyes and see what was in front of him the entire time: His assistant. His Kitty Cat. The mother of his child. His wife.
#pedro pascal#dieter bravo#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo x you#dieter bravo x f!reader#dieter bravo smut#dieter bravo imagine#dieter bravo fanfiction#dieter bravo the bubble
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chamomile
A/N: I was making myself a cup of tea earlier this evening and the idea blossomed from there 🥺
for @morallyinept Valentine’s Day masterlist 💗
~word count: 1.3k~
Summary: it’s Valentine’s Day and Dieter Bravo is alone and missing you
Pairing | Dieter Bravo x f!reader
Warnings: mature, fluff, angst, language,implicit smut, one mention of dieter giving himself a handjob, mentions of alcohol and ouid, fwb’s, pining, assumed one-sided feelings, two idiots in love without realizing it, typical dieter behavior, reader has no physical descriptions, readers nickname is petal, +18 minors dni!
On the long, lonely nights where Dieter Bravo is away from you, his solace, his person, he always finds himself struggling to sleep. An hour here, and an hour there, but it can never compare to the deep, dreamy, snooze he gets when you’re laying next to him, tangled up in his legs, under his sheets.
He knows deep down he’s got it bad for you. So bad, he can hardly think straight on most days. Dieter, you missed your cue, again.
He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose and shakes his shoulders to relieve any pent up stress he’s feeling and to get back on track.
Did you even read the fucking script, Bravo?
He scoffs, jaw ticking under the harsh studio lights that buzz in his ear like a swarm of angry bees. Course I did. He lies through his teeth.
How could he even think about reading his lines when he spent hours of his night staring down his phone as he deeply contemplated the pros and cons of calling you up.
If I tell her how I feel, it makes everything fucking weird.
Or you get to live out your very own rom-com!
Or she never wants to speak to me again
Or she also confesses her deep, profound love for you.
Or..she doesn’t feel the same way and breaks my fucking heart into a million tiny pieces!
Or your dreams come true, Dieter.
-
You met Dieter Bravo through a friend of a friend at one of the movie star’s infamous parties. Dieter was drunk, a bit of a stumbling mess, but when his warm, and slightly clammy palm wrapped around your own, you knew you were donefore. And how was it possible for a scruffy man such as himself to have the kindest, softest, warmest brown eyes you ever had the pleasure of gazing into?
No, you were not in love with Dieter Bravo. He was just your friend..with the occasional benefits. Nothing more, nothing less.
When Dieter finds himself alone in his too big of a house for another night, he packs a bowl, and then another, and another. He takes a relaxing bath, alone with nothing but the comfort of his own fist wrapped around his cock. His lashes flutter shut, plush lips parting as he sinks further into the chamomile scented bubbles.
You told him once that chamomile should help him sleep better. He sent his assistant out the next day to buy chamomile tea, and literally any and all the chamomile scented products that she could find.
You took a bath together once, and he vividly remembers dragging his nose across the base of your neck, inhaling the sweet aroma while you nearly dozed off in his saccharine grip. Muscles relaxed, limbs pliant under the soapy water.
But you weren’t here. You were thousands of miles away on a girls trip with some of your single friends. It was the trip that finally made it out of the group chat, and it happened to fall on the week of Valentine’s Day.
Wait, that’s today, right? Shit. How pathetic. He thinks to himself, stroking his cock faster, creating ripples in the sudsy water.
Yeah, so fucking pathetic. Alone on fucking Valentine’s Day, and higher than a goddamn kite.
He doesn’t come, and while that in itself should be frustrating, he accepts his fate of misery while the temperature of the water becomes too cold to bear and he’s forced to retreat.
He packs another bowl, yanks his leftover Taco Bell from the fridge and eats it cold, like the feeling of his heart.
His king sized bed feels even larger than usual, and he chuffs a laugh, taking another bite of his half eaten crunch wrap supreme.
That’s because I’m fucking alone on Valentine’s Day.
He knows he’s not really alone. But on a day that is all about love, he sure as hell doesn’t feel the love.
He misses the way you would roll over mid sleep and drape your arm across his bare stomach. Your fingers would play with the dark, soft hair that led down to his happy trail while you drooled into the crook of his neck, soft snores escaping past your parted lips. He found it endearing. You were like a koala, and he was the tree branch of your choosing.
He so badly wanted to be your tree branch right now.
Was that lame? Probably. But Dieter could give less of a shit about any of that. He missed you, and the feeling ate away at him, carving a hole in his chest and yanking his heart right out.
He didn’t mind that you would accidentally kick him off the side of the bed, or steal all the covers. He loved it when you would talk in your sleep, babbling about pure nonsense that somehow to his ears made perfect sense.
Okay, so he missed you…a lot. He wasn’t the only person to miss someone this much. Hell, maybe even his neighbor was going through the same feelings and emotions as he was.
Love. Yeah, that’s what he was feeling. He was in love with you, and you had no fucking idea how he truly felt.
He tossed and turned, fluffed down his pillows, scrolled on his phone, watching his favorite saved tik toks, and he even tried listening to the soothing sounds of a thunderstorm through a podcast on Spotify. None of it was working. He couldn’t sleep, and you were to blame.
That’s how Dieter Bravo found himself in his kitchen, fully exposed sans some fluffy slippers on his feet that had seen better days. He dug through his pantry till he found the familiar box of chamomile tea. He let out a sigh of relief and tore open the silver foil with his teeth.
His phone screen read 2:30a.m as the kettle on the stove whistled loudly in his eardrums.
The familiar scent of chamomile coated his senses in a warmth that could only be described as you as he let the tea bag steep in his favorite chipped mug.
His knuckles drummed along the countertop nervously as he stared down his phone once more. He let out a huff, bringing one hand to scratch at the patches in his scraggly beard.
As steam billowed from the mug next to him, he finally picked up his phone and dialed your number.
He chewed on the tip of his thumbnail, eyes dancing nervously as the dial tone rang, and rang. He was ready to hang up and toss his phone in the garbage disposal when you finally answered.
His heart skipped a beat and his weed-hazed mind couldn’t keep up with the rate that words were flowing past his lips.
“Petal? Hey, happy Valentine’s Day. Well—er, happy belated Valentine’s Day? ‘Suppose it’s already over. Uh—hope I’m not bothering you, I just couldn’t sleep, so I’m in my kitchen having a cup of chamomile tea, like you suggested. Fuck, I’m rambling, aren’t I? I smoked a few too many bowls so my brain is a bit scrambled. Anyway, I miss you, baby. I’m so lonely, and I wish you were here.”
His stoned rambling continued on as you listened silently, holding your phone close to your ear and swatting at your friend's arm when they asked who was on the phone. The club music was booming at the same rate that your heart was pounding in your chest.
“Hi, Dee. I miss you too. I've been thinking...when I get back, can we grab dinner sometime?" You warmly suggest.
His pupils are blown wide like two shiny marbles illuminated under the soft glow of the moonlight trickling in through his tall kitchen windows.
“Fuck yes. I’d fucking love to grab dinner with you sometime, Petal.” He rasps softly through the receiver.
banners made by the lovely @saradika 💗
I no longer have a taglist so please follow @tightjeansjaviupdates for fic notifications and updates!
#fic: chamomile#dieter bravo#dieter x reader#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo x you#dieter bravo x f!reader#dieter bravo x female reader#dieter bravo fanfiction#dieter bravo fic#dieter bravo fluff#dieter bravo angst#dieter bravo smut#dieter bravo imagine#pedro pascal characters#the bubble#the bubble fanfiction#the bubble fic#pedro pascal fanfiction#valentine’s day fic#pedro pascal
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(Met) In the restroom
Dieter Bravo x f!reader
summary: Dieter looks good. Good enough that you let him fuck you in the public restroom at Met Gala
warnings: SMUT (vaginal fingering, oral-f!receiving, semi-public sex, mirror sex, unprotected p in v, spitting, biting, dirty talk, hair pulling, choking), cursing and fluff
word count: 3.8k (surprirse, surprise -quite short for me :D)
A/N: when I saw this look I instantly thought of Dieter. And you know I had to get this out of my head
It was unfair how good he looked tonight. Too good. And he knew it. He also knew you were watching him the whole night - catching your gaze a few times and sending you his signature cocky smirk or a sultry wink. And god, did that make you want to grab him and fuck his brains out right there on the carpet in front of all the other people.
His -other times- unruly hair was now slicked back enchanting his sharp features. His sharp jawline and aquiline nose were even more prominent from the side. You watched as he scratched the bald patch in his salt and pepper beard - the spot where you knew he was sensitive, always shuddering after you kissed him there.
You never saw Dieter dress up much - he loved his loose sweatpants and robes too much and felt comfortable in them so it was a rare treat to see him like this.
The thing that drove you the wildest though were the black shorts. You thought it looked silly when you first saw him arrive but after watching him longer and longer, watching how he strode on the red carpet with confidence made you reconsider. He pulled it off well and oh, you were thanking whoever decided on his outfit because his muscular thighs on display had you sweating in your dress.
The flash of cameras and people shouting and calling your name was something you got used to after the years. It came in handy sometimes. Like right now as you ignored them and watched Dieter as he talked to one of his co-stars on the current film he had been working in. He laughs and the corners of his eyes crinkle, his hand coming to rest on her waist as photographers quickly take pictures of the two of them. And you shouldn't feel jealous - you and Dieter weren't in a relationship. But still, the possessiveness that quickly washes over you is something you aren't proud of so you turn around, your back now facing them as you smile and wave at the people.
And maybe, just maybe you would feel a little bashful watching him like he was a piece of meat all night. But you knew Dieter. And he certainly did enjoy the attention you gave him - his posture always straightened whenever he saw you looking at him, his chest puffing in pride. Because even though he did not show it as much as you, he was affected by you in that pretty dress you were wearing tonight more than he’d liked to admit. You weren’t the only one with dirty thoughts swimming through your mind.
You and Dieter met on the set of Cliff Beasts 6. It was a silly project but your agent said it would get you places - it didn’t, not really. You met the Dieter Bravo and suddenly it was even worst than you anticipated because now you had to be in quarantine with him.
You two definitely weren’t the best buddies right off the start. Dieter is an "over-the-top" kind of guy and downright childish. Not a lot of people can stand him. He knows it. Maybe that’s why he got into acting. Pretending to be someone else every once in a while because nobody liked the real him.
He snorts coke in his free time and fucks anything that moves on two legs. So when he asked you with his puppy dog eyes and pouty lips if you wanted to sleep with him you immediately blew him off. But he was persistent, actually spending time with you and getting to know you - mostly because you were the only one who actually wanted to spend time with him even after he basically asked you multiple times if you’d allow him to “stick his glow stick into your dark cave”. And after a while, you got used to his eccentric persona and to be quite honest, you even enjoyed spending time with him. He was like a breath of fresh air.
One night you got drunk together - neither of you were good at holding your liquor.
That was all it took before you were in his room, your ass up in the air as he drilled into you from behind. And honestly, you never expected Dieter Bravo to make you cum three times in a row in one night. He was everything you’d thought he’d never be - attentive, passionate, eager to please. Also vocal. Very vocal.
And so you kept on sleeping with each other - even after the wrap of Cliff Beasts. You came to his, he came to yours. You fucked and then one of you left the other’s apartment. It was just that - release. Nothing more. But after a while, you started having breakfasts together, then it came to you keeping some of your belongings in his apartment, you just chatting as you watched him paint in his studio - you actually figured out Dieter was a smart guy if he wasn’t high, movie nights, dinner dates at home…you eventually moved in but neither of you would ever admit that.
For fuck’s sake, you weren’t even sure if you were dating or not. Dieter was scared of commitment, that much you learned from spending time with him, so you never pushed. And you were comfortable with it - no labels on your relationship, no pressure, no public exposure, no paparazzi or magazines that would start drama.
But at the moments like these - where he was pretending you didn’t even exist and you tried to do the same - you wished that you would go public. That you two would be now together here - as a couple. But alas, it was just your wishful thinking.
And before you know what is happening, a hand snakes its way onto your waist, a familiar cologne fills your nostrils and makes your heart skip a beat. You slowly turn your head to look at him and he squeezes your waist tighter, the rings on his fingers digging into your flesh, as he mutters a quick: “Smile for the cameras, sweetheart.”
You want to ask him what does he think he is doing but the words die on your tongue when he pulls you closer to his side. And so you do as he says, his touch sears its way onto your skin and yeah, you were in big trouble. Because fuck buddies definitely didn’t make eachother feel how he made you feel right now - like a fucking teenager whose crush smiled at them for the first time. Minutes pass, you aren’t sure, as his hands finally leave your waist and you think you are able to finally breathe again. Before he leaves, his hands brush against your lower back, his breath hitting your neck - you can smell the mint gum he chewed before he got here.
“I can’t wait to fuck the sweet cunt of yours tonight, sweetheart. You look so good in this dress.”
And with that, he leaves. Leaving you with your mouth wide open and your gaze burning into his back. But it does make you feel better - you would be the one who he was leaving with tonight. You would be the one who'd feel his plush lips on your skin, his tongue tracing your curves. You would be the one who'd ride the muscular thigh of his tonight because Dieter loves when you use him for your own pleasure. You would be the one who would make him cum and hear his pretty pleas and whines, and groans because they were only for your ears to hear.
Yeah, you had problems.
The afterparty makes you loosen up a little. You chat and laugh, drink expensive champagne and for a moment, totally forget about Dieter Bravo. You don’t see him, the room is crowded and loud as people talk. One of your friends leaves the table to get another glass for the two of you when you spot him - your eyes narrowing as he laughs at something one of his female co-workers says as she grabs him by the bicep and he is already looking at you from the corner of his eye, his mustache lifts upwards with the little smirk he throws you.
And you do need to get away because it’s not about you being jealous - even though you hate the fact. It’s about him toying with you and you not being able to do anything about it. Because what could you do? You never said you two would be exclusive and it hurts. It hurts because you have no right to be jealous - he isn’t yours. Oh, how freaking stupid you were to tangle up with Bravo.
You enter the restroom - it’s spacious and clean and it smells nothing like restrooms. More like lavender? You see your reflection in the mirror - she doesn’t look like you. Were you so desperate for a man that did not want you? That he was so afraid of being seen in public with you he rather flirted with anyone else but you? You put your purse on the edge of the ceramic sink and lean your hands on it, breathing in as you look down into it. You hear the door open and close quickly before you hear the lock click but you pay it no mind. When you look back in the mirror you yelp - jumping in the air comically. He chuckles and grabs your hips so he can spin you around and face him.
You don’t have a time to ask him what is he doing as his lips are already on your neck - you can feel him smile into your flesh when his tongue traces your collarbones and a quiet moan escapes from your mouth, your fingers gripping his coat and you pull him away from you because you can’t do this anymore. Sneaking around, only stealing a few minutes of time sometimes. His brown eye search for yours as he looks at you confused, pupils blown wide, his tongue quickly coming out to lick his lower lip. You do not dare to look at him.
“I think we should end this.” the room falls silent. You can only hear the music from outside the door and your beating heart that needs to call the fuck down. He pulls away from you completely, his expression more heartbroken than shocked.
“What? Why?” It hurts to hear him say it like that - his voice quiet as he almost chokes on the words. He looks like a kid that just broke his favorite toy. He waits and when you don’t answer hurt quickly turns into anger, his face hardening. “Just tell me why and then I’ll leave you alone.” His voice is monotoned without any traces of emotion and it’s scary how much of a good actor he can be. It spikes anger in your guts in return - for him to dismiss it just like that. You don’t want him to leave you alone. Is he blind? Why can’t he see it?
“Because, Bravo. I can’t stand another second pretending we don’t know eachother in public while at home you practically whine for me to not leave. I am tired of pretending that I don’t care when you flirt with other people. I am tired of pretending that what we have between us is just some “let’s fuck” deal. I am tired of pretending that I don’t have feelings for you. And I am tired of pretending that you might care for me where in reality you clearly don’t.”
Your chest heaves and he looks at you as if you had grown a second head. The Dieter Bravo that has always something to say now falls quiet and it makes the insides of you burn with anger because how dare he walk into your life and fuck you, make you feel like he cares and when you finally confess just stare at you?
“You have nothing to say now, Bravo? Really? That’s oh, so great because-“
“Shut up.” He grits through his teeth and your mouth falls open. Did he just say you should shut up? Fuck him.
“Fuck you. Don’t tell me what to do you prick.” You jab into his chest, solid under your fingertips and he doesn’t even move a muscle as you do. ”I pour my heart out for you and you-“
You squeal when his hand moves on the back of your neck pulling you close, his mouth finding yours and he breathes you in. His eyes fall tightly shut as you moan into his mouth and his tongue strokes yours. It’s different than the other times you’ve kissed. It’s passionate and desperate - but not in a sexual way.
It’s intimate and his other hand slowly strokes your hip, his thumb smoothing the fabric of your dress and goosebumps erupt on your skin as you feel his rings on the back of your neck - digging into your flesh with the need to pull you closer into him. Your lower back collides with the counter and he hoists you up on it - your feet now dangling in the air as he pulls his mouth away from yours and settles between your legs.
His eyes are soft and his thumb strokes your cheekbone, a soft smile on his lips makes your heart do a somersault in your chest. His forehead bumps with yours and you smile too when he whispers: “I have feelings for you too, sweetheart.”
And then he is kissing you again, his hands finding the zipper of your dress before he expertly pulls it down and the material of it pools at your waist, his hands instantly coming to hold your tits, his thumbs stroking your nipples and the cold of the rings makes you gasp. He smiles into your neck, his mustache scraping you as he trails soft kisses from your jaw to the juncture of your neck and bites you there, your keen into his touch as you moan, his tongue soothing the assaulted flesh with ease. He is quick to undress you completely -the dress falling onto the ground and he kneels on it, his mouth kissing your inner thighs, his teeth scraping you, his hands exploring and mapping your body before they settle onto your hips as he taps two times so you’d lift up a little. He hooks his fingers into your panties before they are off you too and he is kissing your mound.
Your hands fall into his slicked hair and he moans when you grab him by it and pull him closer to your cunt, his fingers quickly finding their way into his mouth before he pulls them out and shows you the saliva-covered digits as the ring shines with it before he slowly enters you with two of them and you throw your head back, your grip tightening in his hair as he kisses your clit.
The pass of his fingers inside you is slow, languid as if he had all the time in the world and wasn’t just fucking you in the restroom of Met Gala. It makes your core floods with arousal - that anybody could hear you two. His fingers dig into your hip while his others work their way in and out and before you know it he is babbling into your core - his hot mouth still lazily kissing your clit, his tongue poking out to lick you.
“You dirty little girl. This is what you wanted, right? Is that it, sweetheart? You wanted me to fuck you where anybody could hear?” You squeeze around him, your fingers digging into his scalp and he hisses your name, his cock aching in his shorts as the only thing he can do is hump the air. “Oh, you like that. You dirty little thing. You’d want me to fuck you somewhere anybody could walk in?” You whine and nod, looking down at him and he smirks. His eyes glazed as you watch his tongue lick you slowly. Because he knows you have a bit of exhibitionism kink - he figured out when he fucked you against the glass walls of his apartment telling you what a “Dirty girl you are. Letting me fuck you where anybody could see the two of us.” You came almost instantly when the words left his mouth and he kept this information in the back of his mind.
Your thighs shake around his head and that’s when your mouth opens into a silent “o” as he spits onto your pussy and slurps at you, the filthy sounds coming from him making your inside squeeze him tighter and you can feel that you are close, your eyes rolling in the back of your head when you feel the deep rumble coming from his chest.
Dieter Bravo was godly at eating out pussy and he enjoyed it too. You can feel it even now as he enthusiastically pulls his fingers in and out of you, speeding the movements of his tongue and fingers when you squeal, your toes curling and he knows he found the spot. It only takes two or three passes of his tongue before you are cumming and he grins into your mound when you try to push his head away. He takes the fingers that were in you mere moments ago into your mouth to “clean his rings” before he is pulling them out and kissing you - the taste of you on him makes you kiss him deeper, your tongue tracing his teeth and he smiles into the kiss.
“I like it when you are jealous.” You want to protest - tell him you aren’t. Lie to him. Rile him up. But he puts you back on your jelly feet and you are met with your fucked out expression. He isn’t any better though - his pupils blown back wide and his slicked hair disheveled because of you.
He crowds you in - his hard cock that still strains in his shorts presses against your bare cunt and you moan, your head falling back onto his shoulder. The fabric of his shorts makes your thighs tremble and you are sure if he keeps this up you will cum again. Your hazy brain stops working alongside your mouth when you say: “I want to ride your thigh tonight while I hold onto the coat. You look so good in that outfit.” And he stops. You hear a choked sound behind you and then the zipper of his shorts before you feel the fat head of his cock notching at your entrance.
“Yeah, fuck yeah, sweetheart. You can ride your sweet pussy on my thigh when we get home. Want you to soak my thigh. Fuck. Want you to get off on it while I watch you.” He whimpers as he slides his head between your pussy lips. When he enters you it knocks the air out of your lungs. No matter how many times you two fuck, you will never get used to the size of him.
His fingers dig into your hip as he sets relentless pace, his hips smacking against your ass and his other snakes into your hair and tugs at it harshly -making you open your eyes and your gaze meets with his in the mirror.
“Yeah, watch how I fuck you. You are so filthy, sweetheart. Letting me split you open right here on my big fat cock.” He spits.
You watch as your tits bounce with every pass of his cock. You see his throat bob and the small droplet of sweat running down his temple. You see the vein on his neck is now prominent, his teeth barred for you two to see as he looks down where you two join and he moans -his head falling back and his hand that was gripping your hair now pinching your nipples. He is attentive and he can feel you squeezing him again. He knows you're close and he grinds against you -his pubic hair stimulating your clit and he grabs you by the throat, his teeth catching your earlobe. You feel the puffs of air leave his mouth. It’s hot and sweaty and you swear you never felt this good in your entire life before.
“Watch how I fuck you silly with my cock. Who do you belong to?” You cry out when a particular rough thrust makes you see stars and he groans as you squeeze him. He is close too, sweating under the coat and shirt. “Come on, tell me, sweetheart.” He grits out and he sucks at the skin on your neck, marking you.
“Yours!” You cry out and he hums, his fingers squeezing around your windpipe tighter and your hand comes back to fist at his hair as you watch his ring-clad fingers hold onto you before you are cumming, tugging him by the hair closer so you can kiss him. It’s messy -teeth and tongues clashing together as he fucks you through it and when you part a string of saliva connects the two of you.
“Yes, that’s right. You are mine. And I am yours, sweetheart. Just yours.” It makes your heart constrict because yeah -he is yours. Yours. Your walls pull him tighter even though you already came and he chokes on air because he is so fucking close. And when you kiss him under the hinge of his jaw and whisper: “I love you.” He is a goner.
Because nobody ever loved Dieter. And you just said you did. And his heart swells because he loves you too. As much as Dieter can actually love somebody.
He cums with a hoarse groan of your name, his hand digging into your ass. He kisses your shoulder blade lazily before he calms down and pulls out of you - putting back on your underwear. And helping you back into the dress. Neither of you looks presentable but neither of you seems to care.
“Want you to drip my cum all night and when we come home I want you to show me before you fuck yourself on my thigh.” Home.
He gives you a chaste kiss on the lips before he checks himself out in the mirror - trying to fix his hair, unsuccessfully, before he leaves you in the bathroom with a silly grin on your face.
You couldn’t wait to get home.
TAGS: @harriedandharassed @bbyanarchist @completelyoverit @cutesyscreenname
#dieter bravo#dieter bravo bubble#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fandom#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal ff#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal met gala#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo x female reader#dieter bravo x you#dieter bravo x f!reader#dieter bravo smut#dieter bravo one shot#dieter bravo x reader smut#dieter bravo x female reader smut#dieter bravo x f!reader smut#dieter bravo x you smut
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