#Dirk Brûlée

[hereticpriest]

Red Carpet

Relationship: Dirk Brûlée x reader

Warnings: Public displays of affection, flirting, inappropriate touching in public, light mention of alcoholism and addiction recovery, vaginal fingering, breeding kink, possessive talk, affianced couple, pussy talk (iykyk)

It was your first red carpet event. Your first truly public event, in which you were not just attending with Dirk and staying on the sidelines while he did an interview or photoshoot. This wasn’t your instagram announcement - which had had the side effect of boosting your instagram and making you thank God that Dirk had gone through your profile with you to delete all of your embarrassing or exposing posts - or any of your frequent appearances on one of his many social media profiles. You would have to face red carpet interviews, paparazzi, professional photographers, and countless reporters.

Your dress was made by Hass Idriss, a sunset-coloured orange, red and purple dress of flowy fabrics and a crystalled structured bodice in long, angular, geometric patterns. The bodice and top of the flowing train is a pale grey-lilac, which becomes orange and purple as it reaches your hips. The back of the dress is formed of two crossed strips of fabric off of which the train flows, and otherwise the dress begins at your lower back. The bodice flows down in a series of godets and crystal detailing. Normally, it wouldn’t be anything you’d ever dare to wear, but Dirk had been slowly introducing you to more and more of his fashion designer friends, which led to you dressing in much more interesting clothes at work to your boss and the gallery patrons’ delight. You were starting to embrace your body and becoming more confident in your physical being, which led you here. 

The theme for tonight’s award event was mythology, and everyone was meant to be going all out on their choices. Attendees had to submit their mythology choice and theming to the event runners, and Dirk thanked god for your quickness, as you’d managed to snag Greek mythology before too many people could sign up for it. You knew plenty about mythology as it was a popular topic in art, but you knew you looked beautiful in drapery, and you had been to Greece once for a highschool trip, and again before your mother remarried as a mother-daughter trip. Dirk, who couldn’t care less so long as he got the chance to dress up, had been happy to go along with your preference.

Dirk was proudly dressed quite similarly to yourself in flowy fabrics, a take on some sort of sun god with expertly draped fabric across his chest in one direction with a pinned broach of the sun, and a geometric patterned gold translucent fabric draped across his chest in the other direction. The bottom was flowy white pants with the same gold fabric along the outer and inner leg to create something of a peak-a-boo. That fabric also created something of a cape which Dirk had delighted in swooshing at you dramatically while he was getting ready.

Both of you wore sharp, expertly applied golden eyeliner and gold freckles, and while Dirk wore only clear lip gloss for a shiny look, you had your top lip painted pitch black while the inside of the bottom lip was shaded and the rest remained nude and glossy. You would post an instagram photo later tonight of your original lip look, which was a liquid lipstick that looked like you’d dipped your lips in liquid gold. Unfortunately, its staying power was minimal at best, and your makeup artist decided instead to go for what she referred to as a ‘Shego’ look that might make you look burnt by the sun as the partner of the ‘sun god’. You got a good photo before taking it off, and promised to post it and tag her for credit later that evening.

You may or may not have bought the black lipstick online while she was finishing the rest of your makeup because you loved the lipstick look so much. It was also, thankfully, kissproof, which Dirk had determined after thoughtlessly kissing you while passing by you to get his shoes. Both of you were wearing gladiator sandals, and Dirk’s laced up to nearly his knees while yours were mostly hidden by your dress.

Your loving boyfriend spent most of the limo ride rubbing your back, pressing kisses along your shoulder and whispering about all the dirty things he was going to do to you when the night was over. Or, in the bathroom if you kept looking so pretty and sinful, he threatened gently. He knew you were terrified of flubbing on the red carpet, and he also knew the easiest way to distract you was by teasing you with what he’d do to you with your privacy tonight. Sean was spending the weekend at Nadia’s, which meant that Dirk had you all to himself. You were fairly sure he’d make good use of it, even if you were only wearing your paint-stained sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt.

As you arrive at the event, he steps out first, then offers you his hand with a flourish of his cape that you knew was as much for him as it was for the cameras. He was very fond of the cape. As you step out of the car, he strokes his thumb across your knuckles, guiding you away from the limo and leaning in to kiss you for all the cameras to see. Gentle fingers trace the shell of your ear, then tap the sparkly purple opal earrings you’re wearing that catch like fire in the light. You’re thoroughly distracted from the flash of photographers, and are only pulled out of it when he offers you his arm.

“I’ll answer most of the questions. Speak up when you feel comfortable, ma déesse.” Dirk whispers to you, and you nod, following him up towards the doors. He pauses as a couple of reporters call for him, leading you over and introducing you as his girlfriend, his arm protective around your waist.

“Dirk, lovely to see you! This is the first time you’ve brought a date to one of these events since… well, you know. It’s great to see you with someone. How long have you two been together?” A male reporter with a curled old-fashioned moustache asks, and Dirk slides his fingertips into the open back of your dress.

“We’ve been together for four months and six days.” Dirk replies, and you snicker, patting his ribs affectionately while his fingertips slip deeper into your dress. You knew it had been four months, but the number of days wasn’t something you were tracking.

“Very specific.” The man comments with a grin that says he likes the idea of Dirk being that into his partner, though you’re unsure if that’s because he wants Dirk to be happy or he wants the drama, “your looks are obviously inspired by Greek mythology, and it looks like you’ve got a sun and sunset theme going on. Who are you wearing?”

“Hass Idriss.” You answer for him, and the reporter lights up to see that you’re engaging, “there’s an artist whose sculptures capture and reimagine key moments in Greek mythology at the gallery where I work, and I couldn’t help but be inspired. I’m lucky Dirk went along with my idea.”

“Well, it seems to me that Dirk is the lucky one. You both look stunning. Could you spin for us, please, Miss…?”

“Brülée is fine.” You reply, obediently parting from Dirk’s side to do a dainty little spin that causes the fabric to flow out like licking flames around your legs. Cameras click, and your cheeks get hot as you return to Dirk’s side. He takes your hand, twisting it so that the ring on your finger catches the light. The reporter gasps, holding out his hand as if asking for a closer look, and you let him take your hand so he can examine your ring. Photographers take multiple photos, and you giggle as Dirk kisses your shoulder.

“So quickly! You two must really be in love.” The reporter exclaims, and you beam, letting Dirk turn you to face him so he can steal another kiss.

“We are. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love her and our boy.” Dirk admits, nuzzling his nose against yours and looking at you with all of the love in the world. The reporter gives a dreamy sigh, and another one cuts in to ask.

“Your boy?”

Dirk smiles, kissing your forehead reassuringly while you slowly turn to face the reporters.

“My parents passed away a few years ago, and my younger brother was very young, so I adopted him. He doesn’t remember them very well, so he calls me his mother, not his sister. I’ve raised him on my own the last few years, but he’s… he’s really blossomed with having a guy around to give him some of the attention that I can’t always give him. Dirk is amazing with kids, I think we all know that from the show alone, but it’s all real. He’s so good with Sean and his friends.” You explain, and Dirk presses another kiss to your temple, his hand sliding into the back of your dress again.

“Does the age difference between you both concern you at all?” A female reporter asks, and you shrug.

“Dirk never makes me feel like there’s an age difference at all. He doesn’t treat me like a lot of older men treat me, like they’re superior. He’s very young at heart. He likes learning new things, and he tends to be the one helping me figure out new technology or new apps. And… well, look at him.” You shrug, gesturing to Dirk, whose smug grin only grows more smug, “He’s gorgeous, and he isn’t suffering physically from his age in any way I’ve ever noticed. I’ve always been very, very satisfied.”

The reporters chitter with laughter and the moustached one even gives Dirk a fist bump that he accepts with a laugh. You both pose for a couple of photos, then head up the red carpet a bit further for a couple more similar interviews. You see several celebrities you know as you pose for photos with Dirk, and he pauses briefly to say hello to a few people he knows while you pretend you aren’t as starstruck and unsure as you are. A hand slips into the back of your dress to give the back of your thong a tug, and you jump, then slap Dirk on the chest while he snickers and leads you into the event.

Here is where your job truly begins. Dirk has notoriously avoided these events since he entered rehab due to the alcohol present, but he trusts himself, and more importantly, he trusts you. Tonight, your job is to keep Dirk suitably distracted and make sure he isn’t tempted with alcohol. As you both approach your table, you ask a passing server for two glasses of water, and instruct them not to offer anyone at your table any alcohol. The server seems confused for a moment, but agrees, and you both take a seat. There isn’t a dinner, and the servers are really only for drinks between awards, so you aren’t too worried. You pet Dirk’s arm as you sit obnoxiously close to him, thigh-to-thigh so that he can feel you, unworried that you look clingy in that moment because you know he needs you.

The awards ceremony is long, but Dirk wins an award for his supporting role in a comedy he’d filmed before you both met. He thanks you during his speech, not for supporting him through it as you hadn’t been around, but instead for everything you’ve done since. For loving him, accepting him, giving him the experience of being a sort of father figure, and hopefully soon the role of a father as well. That earns you both quite a few cheers, and you have to work not to hide from all of the attention. Dirk returns to your side and pulls you up into a passionate kiss, murmuring against your lips that he’d quite like to get started on making that baby when you both get home.

“I love you.” Dirk whispers against your lips while several people around you down their champagne.

“I love you more. If you weren’t already marrying me, I’d ask you this time.” You tease, and Dirk laughs against your lips, nuzzling his nose against yours.

“You already got me a ring, baby, don’t steal all my thunder.” He replies, and you both sit down together. He pulls your legs into his lap, running his hands soothingly over your thighs and knees.

“We should’ve gone to Vegas.” You retort, “I’ve already stopped my birth control. If you knock me up now, I’m going to look fat on our wedding day.”

“You stopped?” Dirk asks, and you do a very bad job hiding your grin behind your glass of water.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?”

Dirk’s Adam's apple bobs, and you bite your cheek to keep from giggling at his obvious arousal. You can already feel it pressing up against your legs draped oh so helpfully across his lap.

“We should go to the bathroom.” Dirk says quite suddenly, and you finally laugh, even as his hand tries to find its way under the skirt of your dress.

“I’m not letting you get me pregnant in the bathroom of an awards show, baby.”

“Aww, come on, mon amour. I just won an award, don’t you want to give me a better one?” He asks, and you giggle, finally pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Call the driver. I’ll let you have whatever you like as a reward when we get home, okay?”

And you do.

He takes you home, carefully undressing you both and hanging your outfits to be returned to the designer tomorrow. He carries you to your bedroom with a snarky comment about how he definitely isn’t showing his age, throwing you down onto the bed and demanding Alexa play your special playlist that you both created together. You barely protest as he folds you in half, biting your ankle, then your calf as he presses two fingers into you and presses his thumb into your clit.

“Hold your legs open, mon amour, give me room.” He commands, and you obey immediately. You promised him whatever he wanted, you’d be damned if you didn’t give it to him. You had plenty of time as the dominant partner in your relationship, and you would never say no to him wanting to take over.

“Je t’adore.” You murmur, and Dirk bends to steal a kiss, gentle as can be despite the way he fucks his fingers into you at a steady pace. They curl, stroking hard across your g-spot in a way that makes you arch and struggle, but Dirk pins your leg down on the bed to keep you spread wide open. He groans as you come around his fingers in no time flat, always eager for the times when you’re so easy to please he barely has to put any effort in.

“I can tell you’re off that shit, mon amour, your cunt is begging for me. Listen to her cry for more.” Dirk coos, rocking his fingers up and down within you to stimulate the walls of your cunt while simultaneously creating a loud squelching sound from the honey dripping from you, “So wet, love. I bet I can get you there tonight, can’t I?”

You whine, but Dirk ignores it, pulling his fingers free of you to rub against your clit aggressively. Your legs tense and twitch as he slips his fingers back inside of you. You jerk, and he chuckles, finding that perfect pace that he knows will take you apart while he leans up to kiss you. His gentle but passionate kiss is in stark contrast to the way he roughly unravels you, and you moan his name breathlessly into the kiss as you feel a particular pressure building.

“Gonna-” You gasp, and Dirk moans eagerly as you start to clench around his fingers, nearly vice-like as your hips jerk, and you squirt.

“Fuuuuck, yes baby, there it is. God, you’re so fucking perfect. Ma petite femme, squirting for me so perfectly. M’never letting you go back onto your birth control, baby. I’ll keep this pussy, my pussy, nice and full all the time, yeah? Would you like that?” Dirk asks, and you sob a nonsensical response that he seems to take as a yes. He doesn’t give you much of a chance to protest. Before you’ve even finished coming, he presses his cock into you, stretching you open in a way that’s almost mean. It hasn’t been that long since you both have fucked, but if you don’t take Dirk every day, you find it to be a bit of a stretch.

“S’too much.” You slur, but Dirk ignores you, enjoying the way your cunt seems to suck his cock in deeper.

“Non, ma belle, your pussy knows better. She wants more. She’s begging for more, can you hear her crying?” He asks, shushing you so you can hear the lewd squelch of his cock in your wet, sloppy cunt.

“Dirk, please!”

“I know, I know. I’ll give you everything you want, mon amour. I’ll fuck a baby into you, make you swell with my seed, and then marry you while you’re still barefoot and pregnant. God, you’re so fucking beautiful. So perfect. You feel like heaven around my cock, ma déesse.” Your fiance groans, pushing your legs up further so he can fuck himself deeper into you. He leans down for another kiss, licking up the drool that slips past your lips while you’re unable to stop moaning. You devour each other - starving, and desperate, and insatiable - all sharp, biting teeth and questing tongues. As Dirk gets closer, he rolls his hips deeper, holding you tightly to him as he kisses you. The angle of his hips grinds his pelvic bone into your clit just right, dragging you towards a third orgasm kicking and screaming. A loud groan slips from Dirk’s lips as he tips over the edge, and you cling to his back, nails digging into his shoulder blades as he pushes you over the edge with him.

You fall asleep pinned beneath Dirk’s weight just how you like it, his seed stuffed so deeply inside of you that it takes minutes before it slowly begins to leak out. Thankfully, he’s fairly sure it’s already taken by then.

#dirk brûlée x reader #dirk brûlée #daniel brühl x reader #daniel brühl

[pannypunkpanda]

Oh! Todays drawings from the stream I did earlier today on youtube

#panny art #art #digital art #procreate #chibistyle #baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo #tiny baron zemo #tiny zemo #brühlies #daniel brühl #dirk brûlée #tiny dirk brûlée #tiny laszlo #dr laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler #tiny schmidt #ernst schmidt #tiny niki #niki lauda

[six-demon-bag]

im actually not done being mad about this

ITS DIRK BRÛLEÉ NOT BRÛLÉE GET HIS HORRID NAME RIGHT

i wrote a goddamn fic about this lunatic i demand respect!! who can i pay in fic trash to fix the ao3 tag please it’s driving me crazy

#i am going insane #why is everyone misspelling it #AAAAAAAAAAAAA #dirk brûleé #BRÛLEÉ #look at the video!!! or dont maybe actually #daniel brühl #im taggig him too bc its his fault for being like that #sixdemon nonsense #just cause the food is spelled one way doesnt mean he is!!

[bruhlpng]

Dirk Brûlée for @toobruhlforschool ( ͡❛ ͜ʖ ͡❛)

#daniel brühl #danielbrühledit #dirk brûlée #daniel bruhl #dailybruhl #mine* #*

[twwcs]

#daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #daniel bruehl #dirk brulee #dirk brûlée #everything at once #🤤🤤🤤

[spookyspiderboiii]

I was trying to get a still of Daniel as dirk brûlée & I’m on the fucking floor 💀💀💀

chaos in human form

#daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #dirk brûlée #dirk brulee

[the-winter-witcher]

Me: trying to fall asleep

Brain: here's a very vivid split second mental image of Dirk Brûlée as God, clapping his hands together and proclaiming "so, new campaign" as though he's a Dungeon Master and not an all powerful being who's just destroyed humanity

Me: .... what?

Brain:

#brain please #why am i like this #dirk brûlée #dirk brulee #daniel brühl

[fuddlewuddle]

Do you ever look at something and be like hope this doesn't awaken anything in me.

Thats how I feel reading your stories concerning Daniel bruhl characters other then zemo, especially dirk

Ehehehehe, I love that my legacy seems to be tied intrinsically to dirk 🤣🤣

I’m not sorry in the slightest tho.

Honestly, Daniel Brühl and Zemo specifically have a lot to answer for. The things I’ve written about Zemo…he definitely woke something in me and it is horny 🤣🤣

Ps @anadorablack tagging because it’s our 😈 again

#thank you for the anon #zemo #my fics #dirk brûlée #dirk comes with his own warning #daniel brühl

[mymindwent-bruehl]

Everything reminds me of him

#daniel brühl #dirk brûlée

[boneheadduluc]

yknow what? Fuck yall Im making Dirk Brûlée a playlist based off of the x reader fic @mypoisonedvine​ just posted and no one can stop me now. 

i hate this mf but also I love him

#what have i gotten myself into #what am i doin with my life #but him- #its just his mustache #im obsessed #dirk brûlée #playlists #daniel bruhl #everything at once

[anadorablack]

So I had yet ANOTHER shitty day.

I need something to cheer me up.

Apparently my brain has decided that it includes Dirk the Chaos Demon.

Watch me binge-read my @fuddlewuddle’s fics now. 🤣😭

#daniel brühl #dirk brûlée #dirk brûleé #shitty days call for drastic measures

[hereticpriest]

Sriracha

Relationship: Dirk Brûlée x Reader

Warnings: Loss of parents, single mom reader raising her younger brother, rough sex, sex toys, sybian, vaginal fingering, oral sex, barely-there handjob, bad flirting, bad puns.

Once upon a time, if someone told you you would be going to a taping of Everything At Once, you would have laughed at them. A variety-talk show hybrid aimed at children wasn't something you ever thought you would be interested in. Once upon a time, you had your whole life together and spread out in front of you, ripe for the taking. You were enrolled in university, living in a decent apartment, with a stable boyfriend and a steady side job to support you. You spoke with your parents every few days, and had just attended your mother's wedding to your stepfather, with whom you had a decent relationship. She had you as a teenager, and the split with your father broke her heart, but your stepfather was a nice guy who brought some stability to her life. She gave birth to your new little brother shortly into your first year at university, and you loved to visit him whenever you could.

Now, you were a single mother to your younger brother, struggling to balance your responsibilities as a mother, father and sister with duties at work. Thankfully, you had a decent job as a PA for an art gallery owner who was also letting you intern with his art curator whenever you finished your work. Having an educated PA was a bonus that he wasn't about to let go of, and he paid well because you were loyal, and reliable, and probably at least a little bit because he pitied you. But you weren't above pity money - you needed it to take care of your little monster.

Your boss was also the only reason you managed to get these tickets and secure your place as 'best mom ever'. Being called mom wasn’t what you expected from the birth of your little brother, however, your parents passed away in a tragic accident when your brother was only four, and he barely remembered them. You were Mom more than you were his sister, and you’d learned to accept that over the last three years. Sean was a rambunctious seven year old, and like many kids his age, he was absolutely obsessed with Everything At Once. Your boss had connections with some of the crew of the show, and he was able to secure you tickets as a birthday gift.

"Not a good birthday gift for you, I suppose, but I know Sean is your world so hopefully it will suit." He’d said as he handed the tickets to you.

He knew you so well.

Which led you here, standing in the back of the studio with the other parents while Sean was led up into the audience by a friendly-looking young PA. Your baby was vibrating out of his light-up sneakers, and you couldn't stop smiling, happy to see him so excited. He'd insisted on dressing up like his idol, so he was wearing his most colourful clothes - a highlighter pink shirt and lavender pants, paired with his trusty light-up shoes. He had his Dirk Brûlée shirt stuffed into your purse so that he could see if he could get it signed after the taping, and a rather stunning photograph of the talk show host that you’d printed on expensive photo paper protected within a manila envelope. You had to promise to frame it in order for Sean to let you hold onto it during the taping.

Unlike your brother, you chose to wear a baby blue midi sundress with corset boning in the bodice, puffy sleeves, a tulle skirt, and a lovely neckline that enhanced your chest. It’s all very appropriate despite the attractive bodice, and paired with cute wedge sandals, it gives you a youthful and charming look. Despite not being on TV, you put on makeup and styled your hair to make sure you would look good since you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of anyone. You wanted to dress your age, while still looking like an adult, and you never got to wear this kind of clothing at work since they had a strict business casual-adjacent dress code at the gallery. This dress would never fly without a blazer, and a blazer would be uncomfortable with the sleeves.

"God, she's young isn't she?"

"Gotta be a teen mom. She looks like she's barely out of high school. If she even graduated.”

You frown. You'd think by now you would be used to how catty other parents could be, but somehow, you still let it get to you. The judgement. As if they knew anything about you. A deep, centering breath brings you back to the present - Sean is happy, and their words don't matter. Instead, you focus on your sweet little brother, the most important (and only) man in your life. The hype guy is riling up the kids, bouncing around with an excitement you wish you could muster but have been struggling to manage with the extra hours you've been taking on. By the time you go to bed every night, you’re exhausted, passing out in bed the minute your head hits the pillow.

Thank god for your friends, all of whom act as amazing aunts and uncles for Sean. Your oldest friend, Nadia, has a son only a year younger than Sean, and they're thicker than thieves so they hang out often. Nadia picks the boys up from school every night, and watches Sean until you get home from work just after 5. After work, you make dinner nearly every night, then take a shower while Sean finishes his homework that he started at Nadia’s. Together, you watch the newest episode of Everything At Once on the PVR since Nadia doesn’t believe in letting the kiddos watch TV, and it’s a nice little hour of cuddle time that forces you to relax on the couch. Once that’s done, you both clean up - Sean cleans the living room and his bedroom while you clean the kitchen and whatever else needs to be tidied. Cleaning up throughout the week gives you the chance to spend weekends with Sean, with only very rare Saturday evenings reserved for gallery events.

You’ve committed to driving him to school every day on your way to work, and you’ve never missed a day except when you’re sick as a dog. You give Sean every moment of your time that you can, leaving very little for yourself, and you’re starting to feel the burn out. You haven’t had a real break since the death of your parents, and at this point, you couldn’t afford one any time soon either. Your friends would take Sean if you needed them to, but you feel guilty not spending time with him when you have it. Perhaps sometime soon, it wouldn’t feel like a failure to take more than a night or two to yourself. Even tonight, you have your friend Garrett and his wife Kimmie picking Sean up from the studio to go to their house for the weekend for their son’s birthday celebration, giving you a weekend to yourself for the first time in ages, and you feel guilty.

A PA informs the parents that Dirk is about to come out, and you snap out of the deep well of your thoughts, brightening up at the sight of Sean’s excited little foot taps. The theme music kicks in, and Dirk Brûlée swings out through the glitzy, colourful streamers to the raucous applause of the kids. You smile fondly as he passes out high-fives and fist bumps, and you can see the brilliant smile that spreads across Sean’s face as he gets one of his own. Your heart melts, and everything you’ve ever missed out on for him is worth it just to see him this happy.

Dirk greets a couple more kids, then ruffles Sean’s hair as he passes him towards his chair, and the show begins. The first guests are always there for an experimental, goofy skit-like interview - today being the stars of a popular children’s show that you vaguely recognize as something Sean watched when he was younger. The interview plays into the stars’ characters, with humorous nods towards the adults in the crowd with vague jokes that would go over a child’s head. This is followed by Dirk’s typical dance break, in which he introduces the musical guest, then hypes the kids up and dances with them to the musical guest’s set. You laugh as Sean gets his turn, and spins Dirk the way he normally would spin you when you two dance together, and you can’t help but feel some warm bubblies towards Dirk for the way he goes along with it seamlessly. It’s sweet that he seems to genuinely enjoy the children - there’s a sparkle in his eye that you recognize as sincerity. It’s such a rare thing to see, and despite hearing rumours that Dirk is a giant diva, you decide that you like him just for the way he interacts with the kids.

Once the dance break is over, Dirk welcomes the musical guest on stage for an interview, and you’re impressed that he was able to get a popular up-and-coming boyband. His accent is softer after years spent away from his home country, but you can hear it in his ‘r’s and the way he pronounces words with ‘th’ sounds. You don’t know much about Dirk, but you know his mother is a famous French actress and his father was a Hollywood director. Maybe growing up in the industry is what made him such a natural interviewer. The conversation flows easily, with Dirk asking surprisingly poignant questions for a show with a primarily child audience. He strikes an easy balance between fun and serious, keeping the kids engaged while also managing to keep his guests entertained as well. After the musical guest, the last guest is introduced with a scene from an upcoming kids’ movie, and you smile as Dirk begins a rambunctious interview with an actor you think you know, but can’t quite place from where. The show ends with another little dance party, after which Dirk promises to meet all the kids and answer questions after a quick break.

Sean nearly knocks you off your feet when he runs to you, and you lift him up into your arms as you watch Dirk walk backstage over his shoulder. The moms who were talking shit earlier greet their kids - a blond little girl with a very cute bow and seemingly endless pout, and a dark-haired boy who looks like he fell out of a bland ‘aesthetic’ home magazine photo. The poor kid looks uncomfortable in his khakis and polo shirt - Sean would scream if you tried to put him in an outfit like that. The judgemental stares don’t bother you too much now that you’ve got Sean to distract you. So long as he doesn’t notice, you couldn’t care less what they think of you. You pause to chat with a couple while Sean shows their daughter his robot book (which he refuses to leave home without), then spend the last couple minutes of the break fending off a (hopefully?) single dad who doesn’t seem to understand that you’re not interested. Finally, Dirk emerges from the back area looking refreshed, and an assistant corrals the kids and their parents into a line for the meet and greet. You end up at the back of the line due to Sean having one of his shoes untied which you make him fix, but you remind the pouting kiddo that Dirk promised he would meet every kid, so it doesn’t matter where in the line he is.

Sean has never been quite good at being patient, but he dutifully tries his best, clinging to your hand while you wait. You smile as one of the dads seems to flirt with Dirk, indiscreetly giving him his phone number, his daughter oblivious as she clings to her father’s pant leg. Dirk handles it pretty smoothly, waiting until the man is out of view before giving the phone number to a PA to get rid of it. Another PA leads those who’ve finished their meet-and-greet towards the door to leave, and you watch absently as the room slowly empties as you get closer to the end of the line.

Sean rocks on his heels as you get closer to the end of the line, and you feel a little bad for Dirk as one of the moms from earlier tries to flirt with him while he does his best to distance himself while still being kind about it. It reminds you of all the men who flirt with you at the gallery, as if your job requiring you to be nice to them means that you’ll somehow be more inclined to let them take you out. You wonder for a moment how often this happens to him, and if he ever takes anyone up on it. He’s a handsome man - you don’t blame anyone for being interested in him. Even his obnoxious moustache doesn’t take away from his gorgeous face. He’s probably nearly double your age, but you wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers, as they say. Not that you needed the complication of a relationship on top of your seemingly endless pile of responsibilities.

Dirk’s in it for the kids, you realise as you watch him interact with them. He’s polite enough to the adults, but he lights up when he speaks with the children, genuinely interested in what they have to say. It isn’t in a creepy way either - it reminds you more of that feeling of meeting someone who you instantly connect and have something in common with. You wonder if perhaps the honesty of children resonates with him like it does for you. They hold nothing back, and when you treat them with respect and listen to what they have to say, they really blossom into something special. You can’t believe the amount of personality Sean has, and he’s only seven.

The line dwindles, and you begin to worry as you notice how long it’s taking. Perhaps, by the time it gets to Sean, Dirk might be tired of meet-and-greets and might rush things. Maybe you should’ve let him tie his shoes in line? You end up panicking for nothing - as the family before you departs, Dirk offers Sean a wide smile that makes his eyes crinkle charmingly.

“Hey! Nice to meet you. What’s your name?” Dirk asks, and Sean introduces himself eagerly.

“I’m Sean, and this is my mom- uh, sister. You can call her Mom - I do.” He informs Dirk with a blinding grin. Your cheeks get hot, and you pet Sean’s hair back out of his face.

“Hi, nice to meet you.” You murmur, giving him your name and letting him know that he very much does not need to call you Mom. You direct it at Sean just as much as Dirk, and the older man grins, taking your offered hand to kiss your knuckles instead of shake it. You swear his gaze runs quickly up and down your body, but the second you notice it, he looks away. He immediately directs his attention back to Sean, and you listen happily as your brother yaks the poor man’s ear off, telling him all about his robot book, how he picked his outfit especially to look like Dirk, and how he watched the show every day with you. The talk show host compliments his outfit and light-up sneakers, flipping through his book and commenting on a couple things, and you can see the way Sean thrives under the attention of the older man. Part of you laments the fact that you can’t give that same energy to him that he clearly craves.

Dirk offers to sign autographs and take photos, and you take several pictures of the two together before Dirk asks his PA to take a photo of the three of you. “Since you’re a fan too.” he claims, winking at you over Sean’s head as you approach. Your cheeks burn as he slides an arm around your waist even though it remains entirely appropriate. As you step away from him, you can still feel his heat against your side, and you wonder how he isn’t sweating his ass off in that leather jacket. Sean hands over his photo and shirt for Dirk to sign, which he does with a wide smile, his signature big and dramatic for the kids, and in a cherry red marker. You’re impressed with how quick he is while still keeping it legible.

“Vic, can you take Sean here to the prize room? Let him pick something special out, since he’s my last kiddo of the day.” Dirk instructs his PA, who seems surprised but happy enough to comply. Sean practically bounces out of his shoes as he grabs the young PA’s hand and follows her out of the room.

“Thank you for that. He… he really looks up to you.” You say as you’re left alone with the talk show host since security waits outside the room for the kids’ comfort. You don’t feel nervous being alone with him, even though normally you don’t particularly enjoy being alone with men.

“He looked like he needed it. So do you.” Dirk replies simply, shrugging and offering you a wry smile, “He’s a good kid.”

“He is. I never expected him, but he’s my entire world.”

“Unplanned pregnancy?” Dirk asks, but you can see from the look on his face that he’s only asking to coax the truth out of you - he doesn’t think Sean is yours. He didn’t miss the slip in your introduction. From the expression on his face, he’s not even trying to be subtle about it really.

“No, no, he’s my little half-brother. Our mom and his dad passed away in an accident when he was four. I was just out of uni, so I got custody of him. He doesn’t really remember them, so he calls me mom.” You reply, giving him the truth since he obviously wanted it, and not feeling guilty for putting that stricken look of sympathy on his face.

“I’m sorry.” Dirk murmurs earnestly, and you shrug your shoulders, managing a gentle smile.

“It’s okay. We’re doing okay. But this - today - really helps. He adores you. You give him a lot of confidence in his self-expression, and… I mean, I’m not naive, I know people talk about us. I know he knows, and I know he hears it sometimes. But you give him the confidence to brush it off most of the time, you know? I can’t thank you enough for that.”

Dirk takes a breath, shocked and touched, and you nearly jump out of your skin as he puts a hand on your arm.

“I think you’re discounting your own role in that.” He says gently, “it must be hard, becoming a mom right out of university. You’re only, what, 25 or 26?”

“Twenty-five.” You agree, and he nods. You watch his gaze trail over you again quickly, and you raise an eyebrow. He doesn’t seem as uncomfortable as he did with the other parents, though you’ve no idea why. You have no idea why he’s still talking to you. You expected him to maybe say hi and then go off to his dressing room or trailer. He was here for the kids, not the parents. He wasn’t here for you.

“Hey, gimme your phone for a sec.” Dirk instructs without room for negotiation, and you do it without thinking. He holds it up to you for Face ID to unlock it, then taps away while you try to scoot closer and peer at it.

“What are you doing?”

“Sending myself the photos we took today.” Dirk replies airily, smiling in a way that almost looks like he’s posing, then going back to typing.

“Oh… I can delete your number afterwards, don’t worry.” You reassure him.

“I’m not worried. Text me. I’d like to see you again.”

That makes you freeze, and you tilt your head, surprised.

“Sean, you mean?”

“No, you. It’s unfortunate that you’ve got the kid right now. I would’ve loved to make you my weekend plans.” Dirk muses with a hint of a pout, shameless as can be, while you stare at him in shock. He raises an eyebrow at your expression, a smug smile spreading across his lips as you do your best to catch up. Do you want to sleep with Dirk Brûlée? That’s what he’s asking for, right? He wants to fuck you, and he gave you his number (and took yours in return) to get a chance at something in the future. Are you really going to sleep with a talk show host who is likely nearly double your age and has a reputation as a diva? Then again, he doesn’t have a reputation for fucking around - not since he went to rehab some five or so years ago after a string of ill-advised flings and bad publicity.

“Sean is getting picked up from the studio to go to his friend’s house for their birthday sleepover.” You reply in a rush of breath, then blink in astonishment as if you hadn’t realised what you were saying. Dirk steps closer to you, skimming his hand up over your arm, his eyes darkening as he cups your cheek with his other hand.

“Come over to my place tonight. Stay the night. I’ll make you breakfast.” he demands, tipping your head back a little, his thumb stroking over your lips and down your throat. You choke on your own spit, eyes wide with shock at the way he’s touching you.

“I don’t have any clothes with me except what I’m wearing.”

“I’ll loan you something, pretty girl. How long has it been since you’ve had a break?” Dirk asks, and that makes you pause. He’s a high profile - it’s not like he’s going to kill you, probably. People saw you here, and you’ve got your location shared with Nadia at all times just in case. And honestly, you’ve got pretty good danger sense by now and you don’t get any bad vibes from the talk show host currently rubbing your hands in a tease of a massage, his thumbs skillfully digging into the meat of your palm in a way that makes you shiver. There’s a sincerity in his eyes. A desire that makes you think he might need this nearly as badly as you do.

“I drove here.” You inform him, and he hums, unworried.

“I assumed. Drive to my place. There’s plenty of room to park, and you’ll have the freedom to leave whenever you want. Have you eaten anything today? I can make dinner.” Dirk ends his stream of consciousness with an almost shy smile, and you feel your cheeks get hot at the intensity of his stare.

“Okay.” You finally reply, hesitantly lifting your hands to cup his cheeks, a twinge of heat licking up your spine when he leans into it, “Kiss me first.”

Surprisingly strong hands pull you in close, and you let yourself be drawn in, sliding your hands back in his hair and down over his shoulders as he leans in to press his lips against yours. He does not lure you into it - he doesn’t start sweet and gentle, or chaste and dry. Instead, he devours you, biting your lip and using your gasp to lick his way into your mouth. You thought his moustache would be ticklish, or at least feel unpleasant, but it doesn’t. He clearly grooms it well, and it isn’t scratchy against your skin. He moans into the kiss, adjusting to nip at you gently, sucking your lower lip into his mouth to scrape his teeth across it before kissing you properly again.

You hear footsteps approaching, gentle clicks of heels that make you gasp and pull away from Dirk with wide eyes. He grins as you hurry to wipe away the remnants of your lipstick from his face, then fix his hair to look less like you’ve been combing your fingers through it while he kisses you good enough to forget your own name. He rubs away a spot of smeared lipstick from your chin, then steps away a comfortable distance to flick through his phone as the PA from earlier, Vic, opens the door with Sean at her side blabbering away. He beams at the sight of you, holding a poster and a copy of the children’s book that Dirk wrote earlier this year. The man in question dutifully signs both for Sean, ruffling his hair while you try to collect yourself and thank Vic for taking care of your little monster.

Your phone buzzes, and you let out a soft sigh of relief, “Garrett and Kimmie are here, buddy, c’mon.”

Sean cheers, then shyly asks Dirk for a hug before he goes. You can’t help but melt a little as Dirk gives Sean a squeeze, then tells him to be good at the party. He catches your eyes, winking, then pats Sean on the shoulder as he says goodbye and departs for his dressing room. Vic leads you both out of the building, and you ask Sean if he wants to keep his merch to show his friend, or for you to take it home. The mental debate takes a while, but eventually, he gives it all to you to put in your car, just in case.

“You promised to frame stuff.” He reminds you, and you laugh.

“I did. I’ll get it done soon, I promise.”

Garrett and Kimmie meet you out front, and you help Sean into the car, putting his backpack at his feet so you can give him a couple of kisses and hugs. CJ, the birthday boy, complains until you walk around the car precariously close to the busy street to give him a hug as well, and then they’re off, leaving you alone. Once upon a time, you were very used to being alone, but now? Now, it felt empty. Maybe it was a good thing you’ve been picked up by the wild tv show host. You’re sure you’d go mad on your own all weekend.

You head to your car in the small parking area for audience members, putting Sean’s things into the back seat. As you settle into the driver’s seat and examine yourself in the mirror, you realise that your lipstick is basically gone, and you hope Sean was too excited about the day to notice. Your phone buzzes, and you find Dirk’s face looking back at you in his contact photo.

Address attached. Txt me when u get here n I’ll open the gate.

A pause, and then another message comes through.

The pool n hot tub r nice today. I’ll give u sumthin to swim in. If u want? Can u swim? R u allergic 2 anything? Do u like Thai food?

Well, he texts pretty much exactly how you figured he would. Somehow, it isn’t the turn off you thought it might be.

I can swim. It might be nice since it’s hot out today. Maybe I should go home first and get clothes? Are you even going to be there if I leave right away? I don’t have any allergies, and I like pretty much everything.

Already omw home. Driver. Up to u but I wanna see u in my clothes.

Okay, see you soon.

The drive to Dirk’s house isn’t too terrible, even with a bit of traffic. You start to get excited on the drive, as nervous as you are, to finally relax a little and do something for yourself. It’s been a long time since you’ve had the chance to let loose. You haven’t been on a date since your parents passed away, and you’ve only had a single one night stand since then. The most romantic relationship you’ve had has been with your vibrator. Based on the kisses he gave you earlier, you’re fairly sure Dirk will be able to give you a good night. If he doesn’t, at least you’ll get to lounge in his hot tub, sleep in what you imagine is a lavish bed, and maybe he’ll even feed you. Worst case scenario, you’re plenty good at getting yourself off.

Dirk Brûlée’s house is stunning. You’re not necessarily surprised - his vibrant aesthetic wasn’t necessarily what was popular these days, but it was something you saw often in the art community, and it worked for him. The house is an off-white brick with flowers and vines painted across it. The door is a large, old wooden thing that reminds you of a castle, as do the stained glass windows. The path up to the door is made of painted stones, and vibrant flowers line the flowerbeds along the sides of the path and the side of the house. You can’t wait to see the inside.

Your house is beautiful. I’m outside.

You pop a stick of gum into your mouth just to make sure your breath is fresh despite the fact that you’ve already made out with Dirk less than an hour ago. You grin when the gate begins to open, and you pull into the driveway to park. Your phone buzzes, and you glance at it as you turn your car off, your cheeks getting hot as you see the message.

Can’t wait 2 c u. I wanna take care of u n make u feel good, mon chou.

As you’re getting out of the car, you hear the front door open and nearly trip over your own feet when you see Dirk. He’s changed since he got home. He’s replaced his vibrant outfit with a pair of jeans that look painted on and a colourful apron with ‘Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo Mike Echo’ on the front. You snicker despite how cheesy it is, though you’re distracted when you realise he isn’t wearing a shirt underneath. As soon as you’re close enough, he pulls you into a kiss that has you clinging to the straps of his apron and trying to tuck your gum into your cheek. He leads you inside despite your distracted state, relieving you of your purse and setting it on the table in the front entrance. Your arms slip around his neck, trusting him to hold your weight while you carefully toe off your heels and tuck them out of the way. You only break the kiss when you smell what he’s cooking, and he mouths along your jaw and neck as you breathe in.

“God, what is that?”

“Mm, I’m making Thai lettuce wraps and fish tacos. Shouldn’t be long before it’s done.” He replies against your throat, the depth of his voice vibrating through you.

“God, that sounds delicious.” You murmur, tangling your fingers in his hair and hissing as Dirk sinks his teeth into the meat of your breast, “Ow! If you’re that hungry, I have something else you can eat, baby.”

Dirk laughs at your cheesy come-on and playfully sultry tone, nipping your chin, then kissing you properly while he backs you through the house towards the kitchen. You’d love to get a good view of Dirk's gorgeous home, but you’re far too distracted by the way this stupidly hot older man is licking his way into your pliant mouth while his hands smooth down your back to grab handfuls of your ass. When you part for breath, Dirk grins as he starts to chew, and that's when you realise that he stole your gum. With any other guy, it would probably be not just weird, but gross. You know it’s gross. And yet, something about it makes your cunt throb, and you tug on his hair as punishment for his thievery.

“Sugar, if you wanted gum, you could’ve asked.” You croon at him, and he laughs then blows a bubble. You bite it to pop it, taking the gum from him and dropping it in the garbage can at the end of the island in Dirk’s stupidly pretty kitchen. You finally get a good look at the interior of the house, and you’re not surprised to find it colourful, but you’re impressed by how cohesive it is. The blend of complementary colours in the open concept kitchen, dining room and living room make each room’s most impressive features pop. In the kitchen, vintage appliances in mint green and hand-painted tiles. In the living room, a mismatch of comfortable furniture including a royal purple chaise lounge and a phthalo green cabriole sofa. Last but certainly not least, in the dining room, a china cabinet full of what looks like uranium glass pieces that you definitely want to get a closer look at.

“Ma déesse.” Dirk murmurs against your ear, and you hum inquisitively, not understanding him but recognizing at least that ‘ma’ is a possessive and that means he’s probably talking to or about you. He nibbles at your ear, then finally breaks away from you, “Je dois finir de cuisiner.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying, honey, but you can keep talking all you like.” You reply simply, drawing another chuckle from Dirk as he finally gets back to cooking. You leave him to it, venturing into the dining room to peer at his uranium glass collection. It’s all well-maintained and unscratched, so you think it’s probably safe to be around, especially behind the thick glass of the china cabinet. It truly doesn’t take much longer for dinner to be ready, and you hum with excitement when Dirk calls for you, practically prancing up behind him and putting your arms around his waist. He sighs blissfully as you nuzzle your cheek against his back, stopping in place to enjoy the feeling, and you feel a twinge in your heart as you realise that despite being a tv show host and a relatively high profile person, he doesn’t have a lot of contact that he wants. You think back to today when that one mom kept touching his arm, and how you’d sympathised with him due to your own experiences with being harassed by overeager buyers at the gallery. Breathing in the scent of his cologne, you nip at the bare curve of his shoulder blade, sliding your hands under the apron to stroke his stomach.

“Mmm, thanks for cooking, handsome. How can I possibly repay you?” You coo teasingly, playing with his treasure trail, and he practically purrs as he leans into your touch.

“Plus-tard, tu peux sucer ma bite. Nous devons d'abord manger.” He murmurs, twisting in your arms and gripping the back of your neck, tilting your head back for a proper kiss.

“Mmm, uh huh, whatever you say.” You reply against his lips between kisses, draping your arms around his neck and laughing as he blows a raspberry against your mouth. You slap at his chest in an attempt at getting away from the strong grasp he has on you. He turns you around and slaps you on the ass, then turns back to keep plating your meal.

“Go sit down. Island or dining room, whatever tickles your fancy. What do you want to drink? I have pomegranate juice, orange juice, Sprite, Dr. Pepper and… I think I have Coke? Somewhere?” Dirk bends to peer into his fridge, and you watch with a raised eyebrow and a sly smile, examining the plentiful curve of his ass.

“Oh, you should definitely keep looking for that Coke.” You reply playfully, and Dirk snorts, glancing back at you over his shoulder.

“Should I? Is that what you want to drink?”

“Mhmm, yeah, haven’t had a Coke in like six years but it is DEFINITELY what I want to drink today if it keeps you bent over.”

That earns you a genuine laugh, the pleasantly baffled sort that says he’s not quite sure how he got you to himself. You giggle as he bends over a little further, back arched dramatically just for the laughs it earns him. He gives a loud ‘Aha!’ as he straightens up with a bottle of Coke in hand, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“Now you’ve gotta drink it.”

“Ohh, woe is me.”

“Find a seat, ma chérie, or you’ll never get what you’re so clearly gagging for.” Dirk retorts, and you feel your cheeks get hot even as you pull one of the low-backed stools at the island out. He sets a plate in front of you, followed by the bottle of Coke, then pecks your cheek as he rounds the island to take his own seat.

“God, this looks so good. If you want me to make you breakfast in return, I definitely can.” You offer, but Dirk shrugs, reaching across to squeeze your thigh under the skirt of your dress. You moan around a bite of a Thai lettuce wrap, eyes rolling back in your head at the savoury bite of the peanut sauce.

“I like taking care of you.” He replies simply, then folds the little soft shell tortilla of his fish taco and takes a massive bite. You snicker, reaching across to wipe sauce off of the corner of his mouth and laughing as he licks it off your fingertips. Dinner is a relaxing affair, with you both mostly just devouring your food and occasionally feeding each other. Which generally ends in giggling and having to clean each other up when you accidentally smush sauce on each other’s faces, but you don’t mind. The food is delicious, and you’re fairly sure that even if he sucks in bed, you’d probably stick around for a round 2 just to get more food and the chance to keep giggling with him. You haven’t had this good of a time in years.

Once you’re done with eating, you collect your plates and bring them over to put them in the dishwasher as instructed. You yelp as Dirk steps up behind you, slipping his arms around you to cup just under your breasts, lifting them so he can cup them in his palms. He bites gently along the curve of your neck, pressing his hips into your butt so you can feel his growing erection. A grin stretches across your lips, and you bend at the waist so you can put the dishes into the dishwasher, laughing at the soft groan Dirk lets out as he strokes his hands up and down the curve of your back.

“You’re so fucking hot.” Dirk mutters, and you give a little wiggle of your hips, then straighten up and lean back into his chest.

“You’re so fucking easy.” You retort, and he snorts, sliding his hands around to squeeze your tits again.

“For you? Hell yeah, baby.” He retorts, kissing along your shoulder as he gently squeezes and massages your chest. A breathy moan escapes your lips, and you lean back into his chest firmly, letting him hold your weight as he rolls his thumbs over your nipples through the fabric of your dress and bra. Dirk whispers in french against your ear, but you can barely pick up the words, far too keyed up to focus on anything but the feeling of his big hands squeezing your chest. You reach behind you to clutch at his hair and Dirk groans softly against your ear, peppering kisses across your cheek. He spins you in his arms, laughing as you instantly pull the neck of the apron over his head, tossing it to the side so you can get your hands on his bare skin.

"Have you stretched today?" Dirk asks while stroking your sides, grabbing handfuls of your hips and squeezing. You moan quietly, running your open hands over his chest so you can feel the tickle of his chest hair against your palms.

"Uh..." Your cheeks grow hot, and you feel stupid, but can't help yourself but ask, "Do you mean my-"

Dirk interrupts you with a laugh, kissing you softly as he nuzzles his nose against yours in a surprisingly affectionate manner, "No, mon trésor, your pretty body. These incredible legs."

You gasp as he pulls one of your legs up to his hip, squeezing your thigh hard enough to almost hurt in a delicious way that sends sparks up your spine. You're already wet and he's barely even touched you.

"Uhm, I did yoga during my lunch break." You mumble, "for like, fifteen minutes."

Another laugh, and Dirk kisses you again, hooking his hands under your thighs and lifting you up onto his hips. You cling to his back as he carries you further into his house. You pass a simple bathroom that seems to have mosaics in tile across the floors and walls in the brief glance you get, then a series of photographs and accolades in the stairwell up to the second floor. Dirk pauses by a dark room that seems to be relatively empty, before humming to himself in a way that you read as ‘maybe later’ before he continues on past another bathroom and what looks like two guest bedrooms. An office is next, and then he’s kicking open the door to the master bedroom. This room seems to be the most normal in the house, though it is no less artistic. There’s a huge stained glass window and door that leads to a balcony with gold leafing on the metal. The California king-sized bed is pushed into an arch-shaped alcove in the wall, piled high with blankets, and resting on a plush carpet that you’re sure would feel like silk under your toes. The walls are aegean blue and covered with large, extremely intricate gold mandalas that you can’t help but stare at even as Dirk works a lovebite into the delicate skin of your throat.

“Your bedroom is beautiful.” You mumble, and he hums what may have been a thank you as you stroke his hair. There’s a large walnut vanity against the opposite wall of the bed, though the spot across from the end of the bed is taken up by what absolutely must be a custom mirror considering the size of it and the intricacy of the gold-leafed frame. There’s a door next to the vanity that leads to what looks like a massive bathroom, and the closet has double doors, so you assume it’s a walk-in. Dirk carries you over to the bed and lays you back on his navy sheets, crawling over you as he kisses down the centre of your chest.

“Can I take your dress off?” He asks, and you groan softly, trying to remember what underwear you wore today. A lick to the top of your breast wipes that thought from your mind, and you nod quickly, breath stuttering in your throat. Dirk loosens the corset bodice with clever fingers, nuzzling his nose and tickly moustache against the skin between your breasts. You lift your hips as he pulls the dress up to your waist, then let him support the arch of your back as he tugs it over your head, and your cheeks get hot as you realise what you’re wearing underneath. Dirk freezes, licking his lips, and you groan softly with embarrassment.

Large hands skillfully unclip your cow-print bra, and you let out a ragged gasp as Dirk bites the curve of your breast as he removes it. You almost think he’s going to let you get away with it until he rolls his tongue over your nipple, gives it a quick suck, then pouts up at you as he rests his chin against your chest.

“Aww, I thought I’d get a little milk for my efforts.” he teases, and you bat at him.

“It’s my laundry day! You try having a fucking seven year old!” You complain, cheeks on fire.

“Non, non, ne vous méprenez pas. J'aime votre lingerie.” Dirk insists, and you scowl at him until he realises his use of his native tongue, “Don’t misunderstand me. I love your underwear, my sweet girl. Especially these.”

You gasp as he tugs on the front of the novelty thong you’re wearing, a white strip of a thing with ‘I love cock sauce’ written on the front. His grin makes you want to slap him, but you refrain, just barely. You’re tempted to make excuses and tell him that it was novelty underwear that came in a box of extra hot hot sauce, but you decide against it.

“And here I thought you’d be more interested in what’s beneath it.” You purr, pushing him back a little so he can watch as you pull your thong aside, rub your fingers through the wet mess of your cunt, then slide one finger inside of yourself. Dirk groans lowly, stroking your thighs as he watches, his pupils blown with desire. You smirk at him as you add a second finger on your next thrust, and finally, Dirk snaps out of his awed surveillance. He leans down to kiss along your stomach, using his knees to spread your legs wider while slapping your hand away, then cupping your cunt in his palm.

“How much do you care for that thong?” Dirk asks quietly, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“I don’t.”

“Fantastique.” He replies, gripping the fabric in one hand and ripping it off of you, “I’ll give you some of mine instead.”

You stare at him with an open mouth, not your most attractive look, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He cups you again, leaning down to trail his lips across your chest, swirling his tongue around your nipples as he sucks first one, and then the other into his mouth.

“Your moustache tickles.” You mumble and he laughs quietly against your skin, “S’kinda nice.”

“I’m glad you like it, chérie. Let me know how it feels on your pretty cunt, oui?” He coos playfully, kissing his way down your stomach. He leans up for a moment to say ‘Alexa, play red playlist’ before dipping back down to swirl his tongue in your belly button in a way that makes you yelp and laugh. Music fills the room at just the right volume, and you run your fingers through Dirk’s caramel hair as the low instrumentals fill the room. You’re surprised to find the vibes just right - not too serious, not the bassy kind of shit that acts more as a pace-guide than anything else, and nothing loud enough to take you out of the moment. It takes Dirk a second to get settled between your legs, and you feel your cunt throb as you just barely hear him mumbling to himself over the music.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m introducing myself to your pretty little pussy, ma déesse. Telling her how pretty she is. How much I’m going to love on her.” Dirk replies, “I’ll make you feel so good, princesse. Tu me rends fou - fuck, so fucking stunning.”

You cover your face, whining softly as he finally leans in to kiss your clit, gentle as can be. His moustache tickles, and you start to close your legs, but he gives your thigh a sharp slap.

“Open, baby. Let me lick your pretty little pussy. She’s so lonely.” Dirk coos, pouting sympathetically up at you, then running the flat of his tongue across the length of your cunt. You arch off the bed, and he puts an arm over your stomach to hold you still as he laps up the honey dripping from you.

“God, Dirk, Jesus!” You gasp, and he snickers.

“Calling out to all of your deities, princesse?” he teases, closing his lips around your labia and sucking gently to love on all of you. He’s sloppy at first, intentionally so, warming you up with wide laps of the flat of his tongue, then fucking his tongue into your clenching heat while you gasp and yank on his hair. He doesn’t seem bothered at all by how rough you are with him, humming happily as he closes his lips around your clit and you nearly yank his hair out at the roots.

“Fuck, fuck, why’re you so good?” You moan, and Dirk practically purrs, delving in a little more eagerly. He rolls his tongue over your clit, trapping the sensitive bud in his mouth while he presses two thick fingers into your cunt. You nearly kick him in the ribs, gasping for breath at the sudden fullness, since his digits are far thicker than yours and it’s been a while since you’ve had a play time with your vibrator.

“Relax, mon trésor, I’ll take care of you. Je vais te faire sentir si bien. Vous ne voudrez jamais partir.” He coos, and noticing the way you yank on his hair, he glances up to meet your eyes and translate for you, “I’m going to make you feel so good, baby. You’re never going to want to leave.”

Your moans are probably deafening - you can’t tell if you’re being too loud, you’re too lost in sensation as Dirk’s fingers press into the spot inside of you that makes you clench around him tight enough that he chuckles. He strokes that spot as he rolls your clit in his mouth, and you feel your spine stiffen as you get closer to the edge.

“You’re going to strangle my cock.” He teases, and you groan in response, pushing his face back down against your cunt needily.

“Keep your mouth busy, m’so close.”

“Demanding.” he coos, and it sounds like praise as he gets back to work on your dripping pussy.

“Shut the fuck up, oh my god, please, make me cum.” You beg, and Dirk laughs against you, thrusting his fingers faster into you as he sucks your clit with a bit more determination, finally taking your pleasure a little bit more seriously. He moans around you, spreading his fingers a little to stretch you open a bit more. The pressure builds and builds, and you yank on his hair as a hard suck to your clit sends you reeling over the edge of the cliff into oblivion. Your vision goes white, your legs shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, and Dirk strokes them soothingly as he laps up the evidence of your release. He pulls away just as you start to get overly sensitive, and he kisses a trail up your belly as he settles between your legs.

“Fuck.” You pant, staring up at the ceiling as your vision is returned to you, and you blink a couple of times.

“Such a foul mouth.” Dirk teases playfully, kissing you so softly you barely even feel it. His moustache is wet with your essence as he drops his lips to kiss along your neck, letting you catch your breath. He seems so unhurried, but you can feel the throb of his cock through his too-tight jeans. When you look down, you find them undone, likely to give himself some breathing room, and you smile at the sight of the pink head of his cock sticking out from the waistband of his boxers.

“Take those stupid jeans off. You’re gonna cut circulation off to your balls with pants that tight.” You mutter, and he laughs but obediently shuffles out of his trousers, shedding his boxers along with them.

“You okay for more, or do you need a break?” Dirk asks, and you roll your eyes at him.

“I’m fine. Don’t get cocky.” You retort, and he shows you his teeth with how wide he grins.

“Okay, Miss ‘Why are you so good?’. I’m just being polite.”

Your cheeks are on fire as you spit in your hand and wrap it around him, stroking him from base to tip. You’re just a little bit mean with the way you squeeze the head, then reach down to cup and roll his balls in your palm. He chokes, then laughs breathily as he arches into your hand, a rumbly groan rising in his chest.

“Okay, okay, point taken. C’mon, chérie, hands and knees.” Dirk ‘helps’ you roll over onto your belly, though it’s more of a hindrance than anything since he keeps grabbing and squeezing your ass. You situate yourself, getting as comfortable as you can, knowing this is going to be a lot but unwilling to stop. Dirk strokes your lower back, adjusting the angle as he rubs the head of his cock against you. You try to relax, but you’re admittedly nervous - he’s the biggest you’ve ever taken, and you know his girth is going to be a bit overwhelming at first.

“Deep breath, baby. Biiiig stretch.” Dirk coos, and you would kick him if he wasn’t pressing the thick head of his cock into you, wiping every thought you’ve ever had from your mind. You grip his sheets tightly, going from your hands to bracing on your forearms with one single thrust. You feel uprooted. Unmoored and awash in riptide by the stretch of too much too fast. It feels like it goes on forever, but eventually, Dirk’s pelvis presses up against your ass, and he pets your lower back adoringly. You can feel his groan vibrating through you despite the fact that he isn’t leaning over your body yet, and you’re surprised to find it as loud as your own cry of his name. He stays still for the moment, letting you catch your breath while you deal with the fact that you can feel him in your lungs - can barely breathe for how deep he is.

“Not compensating.” You mumble under your breath, dizzy with fullness, and Dirk hums inquisitively, but you shake your head.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and you reach back one arm to smack him as if he’s doing something wrong by checking in. Luckily, he seems to find it amusing, as he chuckles at you and catches your hand. You shiver as he slides his hand up your forearm.

“Wait, Dirk-” You protest, but you’re not quick enough. He pulls you up by your arm, grabbing the other with his free hand, and you cry out at the change in angle. The pressure inside of you eases as he slowly pulls out, but the relief is short-lived, and you whine as he thrusts back in rather sharply. He sets a measured pace, not too slow, but not quick enough that you don’t take every single inch of him with every rock of his hips. Strong hands hold you by the arms, keeping you somewhat upright as he makes a solid effort at breaking you. Your breasts bounce every time he ruts into you, and if you were capable of conscious thought at the moment, you’d realise how sore you’re going to be later from this position. Eventually, Dirk seems to have pity, releasing his grip on your arms and pushing you down into the mattress instead, panting fervent French as he rocks your world.

You’re drooling. You can feel it under your face, and you’re fairly sure you’re cross-eyed, lost in the pleasure he’s giving you. You can feel yourself rocking back into his thrusts, taking as eagerly as he gives it to you, forcing him to be just a little rougher. If you’re going to ache later, you want it to be a bone-deep ache that’s worth the monumental effort. His hand slides up your spine to cup the back of your neck, both of you slick with sweat, and you have no idea how long it is before his other hand slips between your legs and starts to play with your aching clit.

“Come for me, love, come on. Fuck, you’re so fucking gorgeous, how the fuck did I get you to come home with me? C’mon baby, lemme make you feel good. Let go for me.” Dirk groans behind you, and you feel dizzy and cockdumb as he finds the right angle to send you screaming over the edge again. A ragged groan rips from your lover’s lips as you clench around him, and his hips stutter, the pace of his thrusts ruined. You cling to the sheets as you feel heat flood your cunt, the last couple of pumps of Dirk’s hips fucking it deeper into you. He doesn’t collapse atop you, instead carefully manuevering the both of you until you’re laying against his bare chest, face nuzzled into his fuzzy pec.

“You okay?” Dirk asks after a few minutes of panting for breath and snuggling. You groan against his skin.

“I think you broke my hips.” You retort, and he laughs, giving you a gentle squeeze on the butt.

“I promise I didn’t, chérie. Relax a little longer, then I’ll clean us up. Do you want to watch a movie or something?” Dirk asks, and you melt at his gentle tone, pouting a little as you consider your options.

“Maybe. Is more off the table?”

“Never, ma déesse.” Dirk replies, and you hum, leaning up to kiss him softly. He pets your hair back out of your face, lips pressing to your eyelids, and then your nose before returning to your wanting mouth.

“Don’t commit to something you can’t keep up with. I know you’re older than me.” You remind him, and he gives a diva-like gasp, though he’s still grinning.

“I’m only forty.” He protests, “Still plenty young enough to rock your world. Clearly.”

You giggle, using every ounce of willpower you have to pull yourself up from your position snuggled up against his side, throwing a leg over his hips so you can sit on top of him.

“So, you’re ready to fuck me again?” You ask, brow raised skeptically. He snorts, holding your hips to keep you steady and pushing his thumbs into the softer skin in the curve of your pelvis.

“Find me a guy older than 20 who can manage that, ma petite femme. But, I can take care of your pretty little cunt until I’m ready.” Dirk promises, sweeping his hands up over your sides, “Wanna meet Crème Brûlée?”

You can’t help but laugh, leaning down to kiss him again, “Didn’t I already?”

He laughs, rolling you both over so he can get up, then helping you to your feet. Your legs are a little unsteady, so he pointedly raises an eyebrow at you, but helps you from the room.

“I am not juvenile enough to have named my dick.” he insists, and you snort, following him towards the dark room he’d mused over earlier that night.

“Liar. I don’t believe that for a second!”

“Well, I’m certainly not telling you when you’re just going to make fun of me. Calling me old and cocky. Very rude.” He teases as he opens the door fully and flicks on the light. The room is a deep, royal purple, with one wall entirely taken up by mirrors. There’s a large vanity by the window, and racks of outfits that look like they each might’ve cost a thousand dollars minimum. There’s also a massage table tucked into a corner, likely only pulled out when it’s to be used.

“This is where I keep my nicer stuff. Including Crème Brûlée.” Dirk gestures to the centre of the room, where a dark waterproof mat is set out, and upon which rests what you vaguely recognise as a sybian from a little too much time on the Hub. Your eyes go wide as saucers, and Dirk strokes your lower back soothingly, nipping the tip of your ear.

“Is that…?”

“Mhm. No pressure, baby. If you aren’t into it-”

“I am very into it. Very. Gimme a second to take this in.” You cut him off, and he laughs quietly as he slips up behind you instead. His lips trail a path across your shoulder, hands stroking over your bare stomach before one slips between your legs to collect the cum leaking from you and push it back inside, “These are like, several grand.”

Dirk hums his agreement, stroking wet fingers over your clit, “With the attachments? Certainly. Do you wanna try him out?”

You whimper, grabbing and squeezing his forearm gently as you consider it.

“Yeah. But I don’t want you to stop touching me.” You admit, and he sighs dreamily, rewarding you with slow strokes to your clit.

“I won’t. I can sit behind you, play with your pretty body while you ride it. Once I’m ready, I can even fuck you on it. We can see how many times I can make you come before me.” Dirk’s offer is salacious, and you wet your lips, excitement sending heat burning up your spine.

“Yeah… yeah, ruin me.” You request, and you feel Dirk’s groan as much as you hear it. He guides you over to the toy, wiping it down with a body-safe sex toy cleaner just to be extra safe before he guides you to sit atop the grinder pad. He lets you get settled, fetching a bottle of lube that he sets on the corner of the mat within reach, then sits behind you on the machine. You sigh as he warms up some lube in his hand before he generously rubs it into your cunt, coating you in it to protect you from any possible irritation since the grinder pad is big enough to cover most of you. Once you’re settled and comfortable, he rubs the excess over his cock and balls just in case, then reaches for the remote.

“Ready, baby?”

“Ready. I want you to fuck me again as soon as you’re ready. Need to feel you stretch me open again.” You murmur, breathless with excitement, and it’s the last coherent thought you have for quite some time. The vibration starts relatively gentle, but still overwhelming in your post-orgasmic state. You tremble, attempting to lift your hips, but Dirk grabs you and holds you down.

“Ah, ah, ah. Be a good girl.” Dirk commands, and your spine turns to jelly. It’s too easy to make you come this quickly after the last one. As soon as Dirk turns the sybian up a notch, and then two, you’re crying out for mercy as you lean back into his sturdy chest, your hands reaching back to blindly tangle in his hair. One orgasm turns into two as he turns it up even higher, and you can hear yourself sobbing, distantly, almost like it’s someone else. Dirk gently pushes you to lean forwards, and you gasp for air as the blunt head of his cock presses into you mercilessly. He pulls you back to sit on him, positioning you so that your clit is still rubbing against the grinder pad, and you see stars. Lightning flashes behind your eyes as two turns to three.

“Gripping me like a vice.” Dirk growls against your shoulder, and you sob his name, clinging to him like he’ll save you from the torment he’s putting you through, “I’m not going to last if you keep this up.”

Like it’s your fault.

You scream as your fourth orgasm on the sybian rips through you like a bullet, and you’re shaking as Dirk finally pulls you up off of the machine, laying you down beside it with a fresh load of his cum stuffed deep inside you. He turns off the machine, collapsing beside you on the mat and pulling you into his arms, panting for breath. You blink to try and clear the fog from your brain, glancing at his watch to find you’ve been on the sybian for quite a while, even if it’s felt like both five seconds and five hours.

“You okay?” Dirk asks again, and this time, you curl into his arms and nod sleepily.

“So, so beyond okay.”

~

You wake in the morning curled up in Dirk’s lavish bed, naked but clean, your face buried in his chest. His arm is looped around your shoulders, your legs tangled together, and the sound of his heartbeat is so soothing you almost go back to sleep. Instead, you sit up, straddling Dirk’s leg simply because of the position you’d been in when you awoke. He blinks blearily up at you, rubbing one large hand over his face, then yawning.

“Bonjour.” He mumbles, and you smile, leaning down to kiss him closed-mouth to avoid morning breath. He smiles up at you in that dreamy way that makes you melt like warm butter, “There’s an extra toothbrush in the bathroom. I’ll use the other one. Steal whatever you need, and I’ll get some clothes for you.”

You thank him, slipping out of bed and stretching, bare as the day you were born. It takes you a second to walk properly, but you manage, heading into the bathroom to wash up. By the time you leave, the bedroom is empty save for a shirt and a pair of boxers on the vanity. The shirt is a Dirk Brûlée shirt which makes you snicker, while the boxers have little Sriracha bottles on them and ‘Flaming Hot’ on the ass.

When you enter the kitchen, you find Dirk cooking breakfast in a pair of obnoxious silk boxers while listening to 80s pop music. He smiles at you as you come into view and sit at the island, a hint of something in his eyes that makes your tummy do somersaults. You grab a knife from the block, and an apple from the fruit bowl on his counter, cutting it into slices while you watch him shimmy around the kitchen cooking what looks like far too much food for two. You’re far too fond of him to protest. Instead, you pop a slice of apple into your mouth and stare at the little dimples in his lower back.

“How do you want your eggs, ma petite femme?” Dirk asks, and you gaze dreamily at his stupidly pretty face, chin propped up on your fist.

“Fertilised.” You reply mindlessly, then slip another slice of apple into your mouth. Dirk’s laugh is loud and disbelievingly happy, and he leans across the island to kiss you.

“I can make that happen.”

“Should I throw out my birth control?” You ask playfully, and he snickers.

“Who says I haven’t already?” 

“Usually you don’t tell someone when you’re gonna baby trap them, honey.”

“Is it a trap if you know about it?” Dirk queries, flipping a pancake and grinning at you. You can’t help yourself. You get up from your stool, circling the island to wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face in his back.

“You can baby trap me any day, sugar.”

~

The weekend passes in a whirlwind of laughter and fun and ridiculously good sex. You try out Dirk’s hot tub, then laze around catching sun in his pool. Overheated, you both lay on the couch to watch a movie with cold juice, cuddling even though you’re both too hot for it to be totally comfortable. Dirk translates his pet names for you, though he refuses to translate ‘ma petite femme’ even though that one seems the most obvious to you. He tells you his future plans for the show, and listens while you tell him all about your job at the gallery.

You both take a good hundred pictures throughout the weekend, though neither of you post any of them. You make lunch, and Dirk orders out for dinner as a little treat. He doesn’t like going out too often since most restaurants have the allure of alcohol, and he’s still recovering. He shows you his five year coin, which he keeps on him at all times. He tells you about his parents, and you tell him about yours, and Sean, and he strokes your hair as you vent a little bit about how hard it’s been raising him on your own.

By Sunday afternoon, you dread the thought of leaving. You’ve always been quite independent, but you don’t want to be away from Dirk. He promises to call you, offers several times to let you stay over with Sean, though you both agree that might be a little weird for the poor kid and decide against it. He kisses you about a thousand times before letting you leave, and you see him watching you from the window as you drive off.

Your home feels cold and lifeless when you get home, and you lament the lack of colour. You’ve never been bold enough to go wild with decorating your condo, knowing you’ll have to pay an arm and a leg to repaint it should you ever want to sell. You’ve been home for twenty minutes and you’re already sick of it. As you sit at your computer, still wearing Dirk’s shirt, boxers and a pair of gym shorts, you google ‘ma petite femme’ on a whim.

The direct translation is ‘my little woman’, but you note that it is used instead to mean ‘my little wife’ in practice.

You change into your own clothes, then head out to get groceries for the week. As you’re on your way home, you stop in at a nearby store where you pretend you’ve never been before as a very upstanding single mother. You walk out with a discreet bag, and head home to put away your groceries. Finally, once you’re done and you’ve sufficiently adulted for the day, you unwrap your purchase. Three hours after you left Dirk’s house, he receives a photo of a vibrant pink cock ring in a ring box, and a simple text message.

You need to rename your sybian. I wanna be Crèmed Brûlée.

#Dirk Brûlée x reader #everything at once #Dirk Brûlée #what the hell is this #i do not apologize #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl

[pannypunkpanda]

I did another art stream today over on the youtubes. So have a set of Brühlies XD

In order from left to right. Dirk Brûlée, Niki, Zemo, Schmidt, Alex Kerner, Weltz, Tony, Sebastian, and Laszlo( who really didn’t want to be there)

#panny art #art #digital art #procreate #chibistyle #tiny zemo #tiny niki #tiny dirk brûlée #tiny kerner #Tiny Weltz #tiny Tony #tiny schmidt #tiny Zöllner #tiny laszlo #dirk brûlée #baron helmut zemo #baron zemo #tiny baron zemo #brühlies #daniel brühl #tony balerdi #alex kerner #sebastian zöllner

[zemovids]

my favorite Christmas tree man

#Dirk brûlée #daniel brühl

[mypoisonedvine]

𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗸 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝗵𝗼𝘀𝘁 || dirk brûlée x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: in front of the cameras, he’s the charismatic host of variety talk show Everything At Once.  but when the cameras aren’t rolling and the stage lights go dark, he’s the biggest diva on daytime TV and you’re the poor unfortunate soul who has to direct him.  but maybe there’s more to Dirk, hiding behind the glitz and glam and questionable facial hair.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: a bit under 9k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: smut (semi-public bathroom sex, oral f receiving, kinda overstimulation?, touch of praise kink), enemies to (almost) friends to lovers, references to alcoholism and addiction, hurt/comfort kinda?, a decent dose of angst, negative self-talk/anxiety, brief reference to potential self-injury, unnecessary hatred of the cw (just kidding it’s very necessary), sports references almost no one will get, fluffy ending because I couldn’t help myself

a/n: before you say to yourself “who the fuck is this character, I haven’t seen this movie” it’s actually not from a movie, it’s from this very chaotic music video by the band travis!  I just kinda ran with it and made my own characterisation and random ideas about this person and his show and made a fic that literally nobody wanted or asked for, so... enjoy!

                      You had to give him credit: when he came out at the beginning of his show, even you almost believed in the persona he put on.  

Energetic, bubbly, friendly— when the announcer/emcee introduced him, he ran out through the crowd of children and brought more zeal to the stage than all of them combined.  Him and those outrageously tight pants.

But you remembered what he was like only a few minutes ago, just backstage right before another taping began.

“Seriously, I asked for this at least an hour ago!” Dirk snapped at the PA who handed him the whiskey glass of club soda, a straw cut to be exactly five inches poking out of it and rolling around the rim as the host moved his arms while he spoke dramatically.  When he finally took a sip after the cowering assistant had run off with his tail between his legs, Dirk grimaced under that god-awful moustache of his.  "And it's flat!  There’s hardly any bubbles!  It's not even club soda anymore, it's just… club!"

By now, after seven months on Dirk's show, you were used to his antics, though; which is why you approached him casually while others were turning and running to get the hell out of his way.

"It's gonna be camera 4 on you when you come out so give it a little point,” you reminded him, watching him nod as he sipped his ‘club’, “and then we switch to camera 1 for the intro, 2 and 3 for the interviews.  First guest is that Lithuanian hip-hop group I told you about—”

“Mhm,” he hummed.

“Second guest is a drag queen named Lady Problems,” you continued, ignoring a stylist who quickly dashed up to Dirk and applied powder to his face for a moment before leaving as suddenly as she came.  “And, your third guest is a man dressed as a giant soft serve ice cream cone, with a toy gun that, when fired, reveals a little flag that says ‘BANG!’,” you repeated, doing your best not to sound exasperated.

Dirk stopped drinking to give you a thoughtful look.  “Could we get the gun to shoot confetti as well?”

You couldn’t help but sigh.  “Um, I’ll talk to props.”

You heard the music outside get louder, the hype guy audible from onstage as he got the kids excited and energized for the taping.  “The show’s just about to start, are you ready?” you heard his voice boom, followed by a wave of cheers.

“You’re good to go?” you asked Dirk, who gave you a little nod as if to say ‘of course I am.’

He handed you his empty glass and straw, even though it was definitely not your responsibility to take care of that, as he closed his eyes and hung his head down, taking a deep breath.

You were one of only a few people who ever saw him in this state; in his little ritual.  After the deep breath he took another one through his teeth, and then a few quick ones, in and out rapidly.  He shook out his arms and jumped on the balls of his feet slightly, shaking his head around as if his hair hadn’t just been meticulously styled.

“Top of the ninth, bases loaded,” he mumbled to himself, “they’re all waiting.  They love you, and you’re gonna show them why…”

You quietly slipped back into the dark to toss his glass away and take your place at the control panel, turning on your headset and hearing the rest of his psych-up speech through your feed to his mic.

“You’re a winner.  Huh?  You’re a winner.”

Whatever his little mantra was all about, you couldn’t deny that it worked— because when you watched the lights come up on the monitor, when you watched him run through the sparkly plastic streamers and into the aisle of the child-filled audience, he was like an entirely different person.  Dancing, high-fiving, smiling and laughing and encouraging the applause that nearly overwhelmed the studio mics.

It was only your first year as the director of Everything At Once.  The director of seasons one through four had recently departed due to “creative differences” (read: got tired of Dirk’s shit) and you were brought on as a last-minute sub-in for season five.  It was a rocky start; you hadn’t been given much time to prepare since tapings were set to begin only a few weeks after the previous director walked off, so you’d had to binge all four seasons over a few nights and tried to figure out how to stay true to form while also, hopefully, making a show you didn’t hate.

You’d never seen the show before then because you weren’t a child, or a stay-at-home parent taking care of one… and it seemed like those demographics made up the show’s entire audience.  You didn’t really ‘get’ it when you first watched it; maybe you still didn’t, even after your first year running the place.

Most daytime talk shows didn’t even have directors.  But Everything At Once was a very unique combination of reality and scripted, something between variety and interview and full-blown acid trip.  Some of the interviews were entirely staged, and not in a ‘hey, it’s Hollywood, everything’s staged’ sort of way but specifically for intentional comedic effect… like the time one of the show’s writers did an interview in character as the man depicted in The Scream by Edvard Munch, who had recently come to life from his painting and was promoting his book on anxiety.  Dirk seemed to have a real taste for satire, which you thought might be lost on the primarily-elementary-aged audience.

Dirk also seemed to have a real taste for throwing fits just to get attention; it was always something with him, like his club soda.  Or his outfits.  Or a perceived slight by some random staff member who suddenly needed to be fired at once.  In your admittedly-limited experience in television, he was the biggest diva you ever worked with.

The crew didn’t secretly call him Dirk the Jerk for nothing.  Or Dirk the Douchebag.  Or Dirk the Insufferable Self-Possessed Tyrant Who Could Go Jump Up His Own Ass and Die For All I Care, which didn’t quite roll off the tongue but was still just as popular.

For example, the way he acted when the taping stopped for a break and you had him look over the playback for the first segment with you.

“So, do you think we should edit out the question about—?” you started to ask, but he cut you off as he leaned in close to the screen.

“Oh god, my hair looks awful!” he yelped.  “Why is it... green?  Doesn’t it look a bit green to you?  It’s not going to look like that on air, right?  Is that how it really looks?”

“Dirk, slow down,” you frowned.  “We’re going to color-correct everything, I’m just asking about the actual content of the interview.”

He looked at you like you were talking in an alien language.  Even worse, you were talking in ‘things Dirk doesn’t care about’ which meant it went in one ear and out the other, if that.

“But yes, it does look awful in real life,” you answered coldly.

He scowled at you but began looking around for a mirror— and when he couldn’t find one, he grabbed a shiny platter from the craft services table and dumped all the food off of it to hold it up and examine his hair in the warped reflection.  “Oh god,” he groaned as he turned his head back and forth, lifting strands of caramel-blonde hair to look at closer, ignoring the protests of irritated caterers nearby as you shrugged at them, “I need to see my hair colourist before tomorrow’s taping.”

“No, you can’t, you promised you would help me fill out the For Your Consideration paperwork,” you reminded him.

“The what?” he mumbled, clearly not paying attention.

“The Daytime Emmys!  We have to submit the show for consideration!”

He rolled his eyes.  “Can’t you do that yourself?”

“You’re an Executive Producer,” you reminded him with crossed arms; it was pretty much an open secret that he only carried that title because of his financing of the show, rather than any creative input or responsibilities.  He seemed to only want to produce the show during those times that he randomly decided to make some insane demand and shout ‘you have to do it, I’m an executive producer!’

But before that could be resolved, he had to go back out to keep taping and continue onto the next interview.  Since the first segment had gone smoothly with no major spanners in the works, you let yourself actually watch the show a bit now instead of just waiting to bark orders in case of a disaster.  You hadn’t been focusing on the first part of the conversation, so you didn’t know how they’d gotten on the topic, but apparently it was something about bad habits and guilty pleasures.

“I think I have somewhat of an addictive personality,” Lady Problems explained to Dirk as you watched on the camera 2 monitor.  You moved your gaze to the camera 3 monitor to see his reaction.

“And what does that mean for you?” Dirk asked, narrowing his eyes and resting his chin on his fist.  

"I… well, I’ll admit it: I like to eat paper,” she answered, and the audience laughed, but Dirk just seemed intrigued. 

"Ooh… what kind of paper?"

"I think my favorite is college-ruled.  I like the taste of the little blue lines.  I can put down a spiral-bound notebook in an afternoon if nobody's watching," she giggled, and the child audience seemed to get a real kick out of that even though all the adult crew seemed beyond confused.

“Everyone has their vice, right?” the sound mixer shrugged as he glanced to his partner at the lighting controls.

“What do you think Dirk’s is?” the lighting guy returned playfully.  “Other than his goddamn club sodas.  It’s probably hooking up with all those single moms who tag him in thirsty tweets, right?”

“Whatever it is now, I know what it used to be,” the first mumbled, wiping under his nose suggestively.  You frowned to see them discussing something so private about Dirk like it was a joke.  They were far from the first to spread rumors about his history with drugs— the public certainly like to speculate about it, considering his show was so surreal and sometimes felt it could only come from the mind of someone under the influence— but Dirk’s sobriety was not something you wanted people to feel comfortable joking about.  You didn’t have time to admonish them now, though. 

When the taping wrapped, you found Dirk backstage tapping his foot impatiently.

“Your club soda, sir,” a meek assistant offered him a glass— and immediately you sighed because you saw there wasn’t a straw in it.

“Where’s the straw?” Dirk protested immediately, making the assistant stammer nervously.

“Wh-what?”

“I need a straw to drink this!” he explained, shoving the drink back into the assistant’s chest.  “Well?  What are you waiting for?  Go back and get me a new one with a straw!”

As they dashed away, he saw you and seemed almost irritated to see you already.  

"What's up with the PAs lately, are they all brand new or something?" Dirk frowned.

No, they're just logical people who think you're a grown man fully capable of drinking directly out of glasses.  "No," you spoke plainly.

"Whatever, at least the taping went decently well…" he shrugged.

"Yeah, I thought it was pretty good stuff; you and Lady Problems had good chemistry," you remembered, and Dirk chuckled a little.

"Yeah, she seemed to agree, considering she flagged me down in the hallway and offered to take me out for drinks,” Dirk explained.  “Decided just to tell her I’m straight and not that I’m an alcoholic.”

Well, you couldn’t blame a girl for trying.  Or a guy dressed as a girl.  Dirk was certainly… flamboyant; and there were plenty of rumors about that, too.  Sometimes your friends would ask what Dirk Brûlée was ‘actually like’, which you never answered honestly.  And they’d ask about his sexuality, and you’d be honest about that by saying you really had no idea.  You’d never seen him with a girlfriend or a boyfriend or anything in between.  At best, he was too focused on the show to worry about romance; at worst, he was too focused on himself.  And since it was his show, and he was the host, those two things sort of blended together.

But then again, it was always the best and the worst with Dirk.

“We need to get better guests,” he grumbled, “they can’t all be experimental— when are we gonna get somebody that will actually attract new viewers?”

“When we get enough new viewers to get new sponsors to get a new budget to get new guests,” you answered sardonically.

“Fair enough, but I’m going to call in some favors and see if I can get Christina Aguilera,” he decided.

“Wh— can you get her?!” you choked.

“Maybe, if I threaten to start telling everyone that she’s actually a massive bit—”

“Dirk Brûlée!” a kid from the audience of today’s taping called out from across the hall, barreling towards him so fast that his light-up sneakers looked like one erratic blur.

“Hi!” Dirk turned and greeted, instantly switching back into his TV persona, kneeling down and chuckling in surprise when the kid gave him a sudden hug.  “I like your sneakers, do those come in adult sizes?” he asked the kid, who just laughed in response even though you were sure the question was completely serious.

“I watch your show every day, I run home from school to get to the TV in time,” the child explained as Dirk listened thoughtfully.  “I only don’t watch it on the days that my brother gets there first and watches his show instead,” he continued with a frown.

“Yes, brothers can be annoying like that sometimes,” Dirk agreed.  “But thank you for watching when you can, I’m glad you could be here today.”

“Me too, I thought maybe you could sign my lunchbox,” the kid requested, suddenly getting a bit shy as they presented an aluminum box by the handle, the side decorated with the show’s boisterous logo and an image of Dirk dancing in perhaps his signature look, the red leather jacket.  ‘Red’ alone didn’t quite do the color justice: you liked to call it ‘radioactive cherry.’

“Yeah, of course,” Dirk agreed as he took the box with one hand and pulled a gold metallic Sharpie from his back pocket with the other.  Dirk was strongly morally opposed to black Sharpies for autographs.

“I wanna be on TV when I grow up,” the kid added while Dirk uncapped his marker.

“Yeah?  What’s your name?” Dirk asked.

“Archer.”

“Archer, that’s a good TV name,” Dirk nodded, “but an even better name for an archer, don’t you think?”

The kid laughed and watched Dirk write a little message on the lunchbox, thanking him sheepishly when Dirk handed it back and ruffled the child’s hair quickly before waving goodbye.  You only caught a glimpse of what Dirk had written, but it made you snort out a small laugh.

Archer—

Don’t go into TV.  

Dirk

His signature was pretty different from the scribbles of most celebrities: instead he wrote his name in massive bubble letters, and you were impressed with how good he was at cranking out these detailed signatures in just a few seconds.

The PA took the kid’s hand and escorted them away back to the stage exit as Dirk stood up and checked to make sure he hadn’t creased his trainers from kneeling like that.

“That’s sweet of you, to keep faking it for the kids,” you noted sarcastically.  “Wouldn’t want them to see the real Dirk, huh?”

He scoffed, and for one moment you thought you caught a fleeting glimpse of a real vulnerability.  It made you regret the dig for a second.  But then he was back to his critical self: “You’d know all about faking it, wouldn’t you?  How’s your boyfriend by the way?”

You just rolled your eyes, but the truth was he’d dumped you a couple weeks ago for the star of the show he was directing; of course, that was a primetime drama, so he thought he was ‘above’ you and your daytime reality now.  But does it even count as primetime if it’s The CW?  

As Dirk was escorted away to the wardrobe area to get changed out of his fantastical get-up, and you returned to your office for a quick moment of quiet before you were due in the editing bay to get some basic notes on today’s taping.

When you stopped by Dirk’s trailer later that evening, you noticed he had redecorated since the last time you had been in here: the massive, bedazzled flamingo painting was gone and replaced by a portrait of a beautiful, crying woman with clown paint on her face.  His big leather chair was on the other side of the room and there was a new ornate rug on the floor.

Everything had been rearranged specifically to accommodate an area in one corner where he was currently stretching on a yoga mat, still wearing some sort of moisturizing face mask that left everything but his eyes and lips covered with matcha-green fabric.

“Take that off, Dirk, you look insane,” you frowned as you shut the door behind yourself.

“Alright, I’ll take it off, but it’s not going to help,” he winked as he finished his downward dog and got up off the mat, walking to his vanity where he peeled off the mask and rubbed the remaining serum into his skin.  “What did you need?”

“For Your Consideration,” you reminded him.

“What?” he mumbled, staring in the mirror still and barely seeming to notice you standing off to his side.

“The Emmys, Dirk, Jesus!” 

“Is that an explanation and exclamation, or are you just listing your deities?” he smirked.

“I just need you to help me write a summary of the show’s thesis, essentially— like a mission statement, what we’re all about,” you continued.  “I mean, I know I have my own ideas, but I’d feel weird submitting it before you gave it a quick review just to tell me if it’s what you’re going for.  So, will you please think about how to explain this show in 200 words or less?”

He narrowed his eyes as if he were thinking, staring forward into the mirror, and you waited for his response semi-patiently.  You couldn’t blame him for taking a while to ponder it, Everything At Once was not a concept that lent itself to concise summary.

“Do you think I should pierce my ears?” he finally spoke, turning his head back and forth to look at each ear as you groaned and rubbed your temples.  “I think it would make me seem a bit more alternative— but that might mess with my family-friendly image, or whatever I have left of it after Twitter found out I’d checked into rehab.”

“God, Dirk, you’re so obsessed with this fake persona,” you groaned as you lifted your head from your hands.  “Can’t you just get out of your own head and help me with this stupid paperwork?  There’s stuff I need to fill out that I don’t know cause it’s my first year—”

“It’s not fake, okay?” he snapped, finally looking at you instead of the mirror.  “It’s not fake, for the kids at least.  I like the kids.  It’s the adults I can’t stand.”

And so you understood that both versions of Dirk were the ‘real Dirk’, but in very different ways.  It made you look at him differently when he arrived on-set the next morning ready for another taping.  He was wearing a purple paisley button-up and matching purple trainers, with white jeans and a glittery gold belt.  When he ran his hands over his face and smacked his cheeks a bit— a way to calm his nerves, maybe— you noticed that his nails were painted gold as well.  It made you smile a bit to yourself.  Is that all he really wanted?  To make people smile?

You watched him wait for his name to be announced again, you saw him breathe— deep, then through his teeth, then fast.

“Top of the ninth, bases loaded…”

//

Maybe to some, a Daytime Emmy nomination isn’t a very big deal at all.  And it wasn’t like you thought this was more important than anything else, in fact you were more than ready to lose to a more traditional program, but it was an acknowledgement of all your hard work as well as so much more than you expected from your first year in a new show.  

You remembered the speech you gave to the crew your first day, about how this was going to be a transition and that even at their best, transitions are difficult.  “This is the ‘99 Bulls, we’re in a rebuild right now,” you explained allegorically.

“That’s bullshit!” someone had called out from the back, making you terrified at first.  “We were never the ‘98 Bulls!”

Some laughs and murmurs moved through the crew and you just did your best to take it in stride.

But look at you now… maybe this was your ‘92 Bulls moment, maybe you were about to win this and start getting recognition every year.  Or maybe you were just a silly TV show that got an unexpected nomination and this would end up only being an excuse to dress up and go to a fancy dinner and maybe bump into a few people much more important than yourself.

Regardless, you still screamed when you opened the letter from the National Academy of Television Arts and Sciences and saw that Everything At Once had been nominated for ‘Outstanding Talk Show— Entertainment.’  

Dirk was not nominated for 'Outstanding Talk Show Host’, specifically, and you honestly thought it was a pretty major snub.  He made the show, even if he also made you a little insane in the process.  Thankfully he didn’t throw a tantrum about it, he actually just focused on being proud of the crew and even paid you back for the massive cake you ordered for everybody to celebrate.

But he also left the party early.  Can’t win ‘em all; it’s still Dirk, and god knows he had a thousand hair and facial appointments between now and the awards telecast.

You, admittedly, did have a few of your own as well.  You weren’t the face of the show so it didn’t matter nearly as much, but a stylist friend of yours offered to get you something amazing to wear and you couldn’t say no to that.  

Dressed to the nines, decked out in jewelry you had to remember to return at the end of the night, and wearing false lashes for the first time in years, you stepped out of your car and into the check-in, hoping to suppress your nerves as you merged into the crowded lobby and caught a glimpse of the red carpet just outside.  It was populated mostly with soap opera stars and talk show hosts, so you didn’t really recognize most of them… until you saw Dirk there, apparently just having finished a quick walk as he stepped away from the cameras and caught sight of you inside the main area.

Of course he couldn’t just wear a black tux like everybody else, which is why his jacket was coated in some sort of extra-sparkly black glitter, and his bowtie had little bits of mirror on it like a disco ball.  Incredibly audacious for most, but still a bit muted for him since it wasn’t bursting with neon colors.

But then you caught a glimpse of his shoes— velvet slippers embroidered over every inch with technicolor, psychedelic patterns— and you smiled a bit to yourself.

You felt oddly nervous when you caught him appraising you with a lingering stare; it almost looked like he was checking you out, but you couldn’t even be mad about it since you’d spent so much money and time to look this good.

“Weird to see me without a headset on?” you prompted when he stepped up to you but just kept staring at you in silence.

“Yeah, you look… nice,” Dirk decided.

“Oh, thanks,” you nodded.

“Well, you look beautiful, actually,” he changed his mind, and you chewed on the inside of your cheek for a second. 

“O-oh… thanks,” you repeated awkwardly.  “You look good, too.  I kinda miss the tight jeans, though.”

He chuckled.  “I don’t.”

Fair enough.

“Hey, I thought you would bring your boyfriend,” Dirk noticed.

“We, um, broke up, actually…”

“Oh, sorry,” he winced.  “When?”

“Before we got nominated.”

Dirk seemed embarrassed when he noticed how long ago that must’ve been.  “Shit.  I don’t ask you about yourself very often, do I?”

“No, you usually just ask me questions about yourself,” you chuckled.

“Right, yeah, that sounds like me,” he agreed.  “I never did like that boyfriend, by the way.”

Not that Dirk was exactly known for liking many people or anything.

“Seemed like a douche,” he continued with a shrug.  “Takes one to know one.”

“Yeah, definitely,” you hummed.  “His show wasn’t nominated for a primetime award, though.  Because it’s The C-fucking-W.”

Dirk snorted out a little laugh, running one of his hands through his hair which made you notice the gold rings he had on a few fingers.  “He didn’t get nominated because he’s not as good at his job as you are,” Dirk corrected.

You wanted to protest but decided to just accept the compliment with a little nod, just in time for the rest of the major executive crew to show up and greet you both as you all made your way to your table in the auditorium.

To be honest, the telecast for the Daytime Emmys wasn’t even that exciting; so you can imagine how boring it was to actually be there in person for every commercial break and awkward silence and out-of-context clip from a soap.  Occasionally a presenter or a nominee would be someone you recognised and it was sort of eerie to see a celebrity you were aware of live, in the flesh.  But then Aisha Tyler came out to present the category you’d been nominated for, and you were too nervous to even worry about being starstruck.

You were also too nervous to pick up on any of her opening remarks about the category and nominees until you realized she was about to announce a winner.  

It won’t be us, obviously, you thought to yourself, smiling nervously when a fellow production team member squeezed you on the arm excitedly.  You glanced across the table and caught Dirk compulsively chugging his entire club soda (through a straw, of course).

“And the Daytime Emmy Award for Outstanding Talk Show— Entertainment goes to…” Aisha smiled as she opened the envelope, though she smiled wider when she saw the name inside: “Everything At Once!”

The whole table jumped up, hugging each other; except you and Dirk, who gave each other an awkward glance and seemed to each independently decide that it was best not to hug each other.  

You motioned for him to lead the way to the stage, and he nodded as he passed you and did just that, yourself and the rest of the crew running up behind him as he took the statuette from Aisha and gave her a cordial kiss on the cheek.

He took his place at the microphone as you and everyone else waited behind her, still hugging and mumbling your congratulations and disbelief to each other.  

“I just want to thank the, uh, the Emmy voters,” Dirk began, and it didn’t feel nearly as rehearsed as you expected, “and our amazing crew, and our amazing viewers, and of course our fearless director—” he motioned to you, standing beside and behind him, which surprised you.  “We just want to make a show that everyone can enjoy, that’s fun and light and maybe makes people feel a bit better or less alone, and I hope this award—” he lifted the Emmy briefly— “means that we’ve done that, thank you.”

The audience clapped as Dirk left the microphone and the crew followed him offstage in a celebratory parade.

The rest of the night was a blur, in fact basically the whole night was a blur, and soon enough you found yourself in a hotel suite with a glass of champagne in your hand, almost everyone from the show crammed together, clinking glasses, hugging each other.

A few headlines had already come out, shown on phone screens that were passed around the afterparty.

Surrealist Children’s Program ‘Everything At Once’ Takes Home Daytime Emmy Just One Season After Replacing Director

Dirk Brûlée Accepts ‘Best Talk Show, Entertainment’ Award

In Massive Victory for Dadaism, ‘Everything At Once’ Just Won An Emmy

And, in a slightly less journalistic take from Buzzfeed,

Emmy Winner Dirk Brûlée is Criminally Slept On, Here Are 27 Pictures to Make You Stan Him

You did feel a little rush of adrenaline each time you saw yourself in pictures of Dirk giving his speech: there was even one of the moment that he motioned to you and gave you props, and you stared at your own image wondering if you’d ever smiled that hard before.

You watched everyone else down their champagne and cocktails, laughing with each other with lots of hugs and pats on shoulders and backs, before your eyes settled on Dirk: alone in the corner, nursing his club soda through his exactly-five-inch straw.

This must be weird for him, you thought to yourself, setting your own glass down to go talk to him— but a hand on your shoulder stopped you.

“Congrats!” Joan, one of the camera operators, beamed as she got your attention.

“Oh, thanks,” you nodded, “you too.”

“No, don’t congratulate me, this is your award!” she assured.  “You direct all the episodes!”

“Yeah, but Dirk’s the host, and the EP,” you recalled.

“But everybody knows you earned this,” Joan explained, leaning in to speak a bit more inconspicuously.  “Honestly, it was a crime that he gave the acceptance speech and didn’t even give you time at the mic.  He doesn’t even do any work.”

Your mouth opened to defend him: you wanted to tell her that he did do a lot of work for the show, he was the entire creative mind behind it originally, and that he might not be the most active Executive Producer but even so he kept the show alive in more ways than one.  You wanted to tell her that you wouldn’t have known what to say if he gave you time to speak, and that you thought the speech he gave was actually pretty much perfect.  

But before you could do any of that, you caught a black, glittery blur dash through the room and out the door in the corner of your eye.  You whipped your head around and started to push Joan away.  “Sorry, we’ll talk later, okay?” you mumbled to her as you walked to the door, opening it and peering out into the hall; you just saw the back of him as he turned the corner, running his fingers through his hair as he kept walking speedily.  “Dirk!” you called out, but he either didn’t hear you or didn’t care.

It was a struggle to keep up with him in your heels, which is why you actually didn’t, but you did manage to trail him at a decent distance as he rushed through the plushy carpeted hallways of the hotel, down some marble stairs, and into a men’s bathroom.  

You considered stopping your chase— maybe he just needs to use the bathroom, right?— but decided to trust your gut that something was wrong.  So, you carefully tip-toed up to the door and leaned your ear against it.

“You’re just a fucking imposter,” you heard his voice through the door, though it was muffled and echoing slightly over the tile in the bathroom.  “You’re a fucking loser.  Everyone hates you, can’t you see that?  But nobody could hate you as much as yourself.”

Eyes wide and wet, you burst through the bathroom door and saw Dirk spin to face you from where he was bent slightly in front of the mirror, his hands gripping the marble counter so hard that his knuckles had gone white.  He spoke your name in surprise as he saw you, standing up straighter to run his fingers through his hair exasperatedly.

“Dirk, hey,” you greeted nervously; Fuck, I didn’t actually figure out what to say when I got in here…

“You can go, I’ll be fine,” he dismissed flatly, “I’m not gonna go on a bender or— or hurt myself or anything.  You’re not gonna lose your host.”

“Nobody hates you, Dirk,” you tried to soothe him, stepping just a bit closer, and he winced at the proof that you’d heard his meltdown.

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter,” he scoffed.

“You’re not a bullshitter, you’re real, Dirk.  You’re exactly who you are.  And yeah… some people think you’re an asshole, and sometimes you are an asshole, but they don’t get you.  They don’t get your show.  But I get it.”

He seemed to perk up a little at that, looking at you with bloodshot brown eyes.  

“I think people see your show and assume it’s not meant to be taken seriously.  But it is, isn’t it?  You play this character, but you talk about things that really matter in ways that people can understand.  You teach them things, sometimes without them ever realising it.  It’s about fear, isn’t it?  That’s where the name comes from, Everything At Once.  Because you’re afraid of everything?”

He just stared back at you, mouth agape and eyes blinking rapidly.  Had nobody really ever put that together?  You thought it was sort of obvious.

When those eyes glanced down to your lips and back again, and again, and one more time, the concept of him kissing you was so foreign, so far from your mind, that you didn’t even think to consider that that’s what he might do.  But it’s what he did, grabbing your face and kissing you suddenly— not quite rough, but definitely intense.

Your eyes shot wide open, staring forward at his face closer than you’d ever seen it, eyes shut tight and brow furrowed like he was focusing intently on something, on you.  You could feel his moustache as his lips started to move against you, and for some reason that was what made you push him back gently with a little gasp.  “Dirk, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you offered awkwardly.

“You just won an Emmy,” he reminded you, “live on national television.  Your family’s seen it.  Your old coworkers have seen it.  Everyone who knew you in high school either saw it today or they’ll see it on Facebook tomorrow, and they’re gonna know that you’re successful now, and hot, and living your dream.  They’re all gonna wish they were you.”

His words stirred something selfish and hungry and needy inside your chest, and you felt like you were running on pure instinct as you reached up and grabbed his glittery lapel; “Fuck it,” you snarled as you pulled him into another kiss, this one much less one-sided than the last as he grabbed your waist and hoisted you up onto the marble counter.

You were about to hook up with Dirk fucking Brûlée— your coworker, the host of the show you directed, the thorn in your side and the closest thing you’d ever had to a mortal enemy— in the men’s bathroom of the Pasadena Omni.  And neither of you could blame it on alcohol, either.

You pushed his jacket off his shoulders and pulled open his bowtie while he felt you up through your dress, eventually reaching down to start pulling the long skirt up your legs.

If you were taking the time to judge yourself for any of this, you would’ve been embarrassed by the way you moaned into the kiss at the feeling of his hands on your thighs, moving higher until they gripped your hips under the heavy dress and started to tug your panties down.  It sort of felt like a wake-up call that this was really happening, except that it just made you want this even more.

The kiss was more just the two of you breathing with each other now, your eyes opening to watch him look down while he slowly slid the black lace down your legs.  

He purred a little as he maneuvered the panties around your heeled feet and tossed them aside, instantly kneeling down on the tile floor to kiss your legs eagerly.  “You’re so fucking sexy,” he mumbled, and you laughed— actually laughed— because that was your first instinct.  “Did nobody think to tell you before?” he noticed with a grin.

“I… yeah, I guess it never came up,” you agreed sheepishly, biting your lip as he kissed his way up higher and higher.

He roughly pulled your hips closer to the edge of the counter and to his face, grinning for a second and looking up at you as he dived in.  His tongue pushed inside you right away, and felt your face heat up at the sensation of his moustache against your sensitive skin— one clear way to make sure you couldn't forget who this was between your legs.

“Oh god, fuck,” you moaned, reaching down to tangle your fingers into his hair.  It was soft, which you’d hope since he spent so much time and money on it, but even still it surprised you as you tightened your hand into a fist and tugged on him accidentally.  But it certainly didn’t slow him down, he just kept lapping and sucking like it was his life’s purpose.

Little groans from him were muffled inside you, his tongue sliding over places you hadn’t even realised were so sensitive; maybe they weren’t, before now.

And the gasp you let out when he sucked hard on your clit… it was a little embarrassing, though not nearly as much as you throwing your head back so hard that it slammed into the mirror behind you with a dull thud.

“Are you okay?” Dirk asked with a smile, pulling back to look up at you.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, just— keep going, please,” you breathed, and he returned to the pattern he’d found that made your legs quiver around his head.

“You taste fucking delicious, by the way,” he informed you in a deeper voice when he stopped for a brief moment.

“Oh, thanks,” you mumbled nervously.

“You’re not good at taking compliments,” he noticed with a grin.

“Well, I’m not used to them,” you defended, “especially in… times like this.  And I’m sort of distracted, currently.”

“Get used to it,” he instructed.  “I like the taste of your cunt.”

“I like the way you taste my cunt,” you blurted out in reply, seeming to surprise and amuse him for a moment before he got back to just that, closing his eyes and wrinkling his brow as he ate you fiercely.  His fingers dug into your thighs and you secretly hoped from bruises in the shape of his hands, to remind you how lovely they are.

But then those fingers moved, at least the ones on his left hand, which rubbed your leg for a moment before reaching up to prod two fingers at your entrance and carefully slide them in alongside where he was suckling on your clit.

“God,” you choked, whimpering when he curled the fingers right against your spot, your hips starting to rock against his movements as he smiled slightly against you.

For as long as you could keep your eyes open, you looked down at him and watched the way his face reacted to every pulse of your walls, the way he seemed just as lost in pleasure as you were even though you had it on good authority you were getting more out of this than he was.  You couldn’t keep your eyes open much longer, though, as they fluttered shut and your head fell back when you felt a deep pressure forming inside you.

“Dirk, I— fuck, don’t stop, I’m gonna come,” you sighed.

But this was still Dirk, and he always had to do the opposite of whatever you said, which is why he stopped instantly and stood up, starting to open his belt and trousers.  “Not yet,” he corrected, “you’re not gonna come until I’m inside you.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that— it caught you off-guard in the best way— so you just nodded in agreement, finding your legs spreading even wider without you intending for it to happen.

“I think it’s gonna be a while before I get the smell of you out of my moustache,” he admitted with a chuckle as he got his belt open and started to unbutton his fly.

“Good reason to shave the damn thing off,” you smirked.

“No, I don’t think I could part with it,” he answered.  “The scent or the ‘stache, I mean.”

He quickly pulled his cock out and stepped closer to you; kinda made sense that he was big, considering his attitude.  And the way he looked in those tight jeans.  But it still made you gasp slightly and bite your lip, which made him smile in turn.

When he kissed you again, the taste of yourself coating his tongue and now yours, you felt him press his cock against you and tease you for a moment, rubbing on your clit for a while instead of just pushing inside.  “Please,” you whined against his lip, “god, I just need you to fuck me.”

Not one to say no to that, he snapped his hips forward and groaned deeply as he filled you, letting his head fall onto your shoulder and breathing heavily against your neck while you arched your back.  

He started moving right away even though you were still processing how it felt to be full to the brim like this, not nearly as rushed and desperate as he could’ve been considering the circumstances.  No, it wasn’t quite slow, either, but it was deliberate, and measured, like he was trying to savor it.  

With what little control you felt you had over your body, you fumbled with the buttons of his shirt until you had enough of an opening to rub his chest under it.  He smelled really good this up-close, even if his cologne was a bit on the aggressive side, and his skin was so hot to the touch that you wondered how he wasn’t dripping with sweat.

You could see a few freckles on his neck and shoulder, along with the chest chair starting to peek out from behind the buttons.  Now was not the time for it, but you really wanted to see more of this man if you got the chance.

“Did you ever think about this, before?” he asked you under his breath, right against your ear.  “Did you ever think about how I’d fuck you?”

“Honestly?” you hummed.  “No… I didn’t.  But now all I’m ever gonna think about is the way you fuck me.”

He grinned and moved a bit faster, biting playfully at your neck.  “I thought about it,” he admitted.  “Just a few times.  I figured it would be nice to see you finally relax and… enjoy yourself.  Thought I wouldn’t mind being the one to make you do it.”

‘Enjoying yourself’ was a bit of an understatement considering you were so delirious already that you could barely keep track of this conversation.  He’d gotten you so fucking close before and his cock was thrusting right into every spot his fingers and tongue had just awakened.

“You’re close again already, aren’t you?” he noticed with a smirk, and you nodded breathlessly.  

“Your cock,” you groaned.  You’d meant to finish that with ‘feels so good’ or something like that, but it didn’t end up coming out since you lost your train of thought and just ended up moaning loudly instead.

“Yeah?” he prompted playfully.  “What about it?”

“S’big,” you slurred, and he laughed again before leaning in to kiss you, not quite as hurried as before though still quite hungry, especially when he put his hand on the back of your neck and held you close.  “Fuck,” you hissed into it, muffled by his lips, and he nodded encouragingly as it became obvious that you were falling past the point of no return, and rather suddenly at that.

He sped up in perfect time with the pressure building in your core, your legs shaking a little where they had wrapped around his waist.

"Ohh, fuck, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna— fuck," you shivered and gasped into his kiss, feeling him pull you in closer and hug you tighter as it started to wash over you.  "Oh god, Dirk, yes!"

Your eyes shut so tight that you saw blurry purple spots amongst the black, little shocks running up your back until you had to bite down on your lip or you thought you might say something you’d regret later.

He fucked you through it until the last wave subsided.  You relaxed and sighed and melted into his arms, at which point he made a noise almost like a laugh, but it wasn't mocking; more like awe, really.  "You sound so perfect when you come," he informed you through a beaming smile.  "Let's hear it again, shall we?"

It took everything in you to bite back a scream when he reached down and rubbed his thumb over your clit quickly.  You writhed and bit down on your lip until it was sore, overwhelmed by the feeling of him fucking into you while the slightly-rough pad of his thumb stroked in rapid circles.

You found your hands reaching all over the place, trying to find purchase with anything to grab onto— you settled with your left on the counter beneath you and the right digging into his shoulder through the shirt, your eyes meeting his as he gave you a prideful, heavy-lidded stare.

“You can give me one more, right?  You’re squeezing me so tight, I know you’re gonna come again, just relax and let it happen.”

But how could you relax when your entire body was alight with energy, until your toes and fingertips were tingling with an addictive numbness?  It was anything but relaxing when the second orgasm hit you like a goddamn freight train.  Your moans were loud enough to echo around the bathroom, silenced only by a bruising kiss from Dirk who swallowed every noise you made like nothing was more precious.  He mumbled little praises into it, things you were too far gone to really comprehend at the time.

Suddenly, he pulled out and pulled you off the counter, flipping you to bend over it instead and pulling your head back by your hair as he slipped back in quickly.  

“Look in the mirror,” he instructed lowly as he turned your head to your own reflection.  “Look how fucking gorgeous you look taking my dick.”

You weren’t sure about gorgeous, but definitely dishevelled.  But you could see what he might appreciate about it, since you caught yourself biting your lip at the way he looked with his hair falling into his face, with a thin layer of sweat on his forehead as well as the part of his chest exposed by the unbuttoned shirt and dangling bowtie.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he breathed, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.  But you did, and it made your knees a little weak… though you could just blame it on balancing on the heels.  He kissed your neck with an open mouth and desperation all but dripping off of him, grazing his teeth over your pulse occasionally.  

The brief break as he had switched your position hadn’t done that much to give your body time to recover from every stimulation he was assaulting you with; it meant you had to focus with all your might on not being too loud, because even then you could still hear your own moans ringing in your ears.

Something about this angle made him go even deeper inside you until you couldn’t believe the incoherent babbling that was coming out of your mouth.  

“It’s so good, fuck, baby, it’s so good,” you sobbed, feeling your knees almost buckle against before he thankfully held your hips up at the last moment.  Of everything you’d said, and done, and experienced tonight, something about calling Dirk ‘baby’ was the most jarring.  It was something you never, ever thought you’d do; and up until now, you had assumed that you thought all of this was something you’d never ever do, but apparently you had your suspicions from the beginning.

But he seemed to enjoy it, since he stood up straight to start fucking into you with a bit more force and a lot more deep moans coming out of his mouth.  "Where should I come?" he asked roughly.  A fairly simple question, but one that somehow turned you on even more.

"Inside me," you moaned, "fuck, I want you to come inside me."

"God, yes," he groaned through clenched teeth.  "Gonna make you so fuckin' full, gonna put my come so deep in you…"

Even now, his thrusts weren't as fast as you would've expected knowing he was close— faster than before but still shockingly patient, with moments in between where he just stayed buried inside you as deep as he could.  "I want it, oh god, I want your come— please," you whimpered.

He chuckled when you started to rock back against him, meeting his thrusts and panting loudly.  “Damn, you want it that bad?”

“Yes, fuck,” you hissed, too far gone to question your own desperation, “fucking come in me, please, please—”

“I will, fuck, I’m close, oh fuck—!” he hissed, holding your hips and speeding up until he choked on a groan and tossed his head back, a warmth starting to fill you as you sighed and relaxed against the counter beneath you.

He gave a few more weak thrusts as the last few pumps of his seed spilled inside you, your own walls flexing a few times even though you were clearly exhausted.  When he started to move to pull out, you lifted one of your legs between his to press your heel into his butt and keep him from stepping away.

“You want to keep me warm a bit longer?” he noticed with a breathy chuckle.

“Yeah,” you hummed, “if you don’t mind.”

“No, definitely not,” he smiled, “but, you know, it slightly increases our odds of getting caught in here…”

“Oh, right,” you remembered, a little dose of reality that made you blink the fog away.  “Yeah, that would be a less flattering headline to see tomorrow…”

You lowered your leg and he slowly pulled out: “Stay there,” he instructed softly as he found your discarded panties and helped you step back into them, dragging them back up your legs which made you shiver slightly until you stood up and put them back on the rest of the way yourself.  He, meanwhile, shoved his cock back into his trousers and zipped them back off before grabbing his jacket from the floor as well and dusting it off quickly before slipping it back on.

“How do I look?” you asked as you let your skirt roll back down to the floor and checked your makeup and hair in the mirror, seeing him standing behind you and buttoning his shirt up again.

“Well, I think you look even better than before, but I might be a bit biased cause I’m thinking about my come dripping down your legs all night,” he winked.

You glanced down nervously and noticed that his tie was still a little crooked, so you reached up to adjust it for him.  “There,” you mumbled quietly as you let go of it, resting your hands on his chest for a moment.   He looked down at you, you looked up at him, and you could hardly believe that this had all happened— but even more than that, you couldn’t believe how good it felt, how you didn’t find guilt and regret in your stomach but a warm, pleasant feeling like having a new crush.  

“We should do this again sometime,” he offered after a brief silence, making you laugh.

“Maybe if we get nominated again next year,” you winked.

And you did get nominated again next year, although you and Dirk did ‘that’ again a lot more before then.  In fact, when you returned to the Daytime Emmy Awards, you arrived not only as a nominee for Everything At Once but also as Dirk Brûlée’s date.  And you arrived on stage later in the ceremony as a two-time Emmy winner… but you left the stage after his speech as Dirk Brûlée’s fiancée.

#me @ myself: hey um wtf is this #daniel bruhl x reader #daniel brühl x reader #im not gonna fucking tag it as dirk brulee i swear to god #...ah fuck it #dirk brulee x reader #dirk brûlée x reader

[twwcs]

Missing Dirk Brûlée hour

#dirk brûlée #daniel brühl