#the bubble fic

[tightjeansjavi]

‘Cause After Midnight…

A/N: this idea came to be randomly yesterday morning and thus the brain rot began! Idk about y’all, but I would do ANYTHING for slumber party!Dieter 🤭 big thank you to @chronically-ghosted for sharing the brain rot cell with me this week! 🫡

~word count: 8.5k~ yeaaaah idk what happened!

Summary: a slumber party with your bestie Dieter Bravo, after midnight! What could possibly happen between the two of you?

Pairing | slumber party!dieter x best friend female!reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, a little sprinkle of angst, DUBIOUS CONSENT, mentions of alcohol and ouid smoking, infidelity (not by dieter) toxic relationship (Dieter’s ex) denial of feelings, secret pining, best friends to lovers?, pussy pronouns, domestic intimacy, mutual masturbation, masturbation with a shower head (iykyk), sexual tension, language, dirty talk, unprotected piv, aftercare, reader has no physical descriptions, readers nickname is bug, +18 minors dni!

Being Dieter Bravo’s best friend since…well, forever, came with a long list of perks. Your favorite perk of all, you may ask? Getting to spend time with your best friend. Whether that was at his home, lounging side by side next to his inground pool, stumbling out of a DTLA nightclub, clammy hands entwined together as you head to the nearest street food cart ASAP (Dieter demands steak tacos when he’s wasted) or when you were his glittering gem on the red carpet, dodging the incessant questions from the red carpet wasps—I mean, interviewers asking you and Dieter if you were dating.

It was like clockwork, you and Dieter would look at one another, laugh and shake your heads in sync, “us, dating? No, you have it all wrong! We’re simply just two besties that do everything together, don’t get it twisted!” (So what if you and Dieter would sometimes get equally wasted in the club and drunkenly makeout…and sometimes, while making out, he would grope your ass beneath your dress—you were just friends! Best friends kiss like all the time…right?)

Of course, Hollywood didn’t buy it despite yours and Dieter’s repetitive denial, and the fact that Dieter was currently smitten with his girlfriend—well, ex-girlfriend now. The tabloids spewed their cheap gossip, but your friendship with Dieter never soured.

You frequently slept over on the weekends he was home. It was your shared routine from Friday-Sunday (sometimes even Mondays), you and Dieter would get higher than two kites, cross off a few movies on your watch lists, paint together, and order takeout for every meal. Truthfully, it was fucking bliss.

This weekend, in particular, Dieter decided he wanted to have a whole ass slumber party. (Not nearly as extravagant as the princess diaries slumber party, or the Barbie movie) but Dieter knew how to throw a killer intimate slumber party. He invited all of his close, niche friends including you. He already had a whole array of different foods to munch on throughout the night so that no one would go hungry.

As always, Dieter was nearly glued to your side and if it were anyone else, or any other man for that matter, you would be annoyed, but when it came to Dieter, you shared your small bubble of space happily with him.

Everything was going swimmingly, until Dieter’s ex showed up uninvited. Dieter was in the whirlpool, wearing the tiniest swim trunks known to man. He had a beer in one hand while his other arm was resting along the outside of the hot tub. He was mid conversation, laughing about something one of his friends said before his eyes met yours when you appeared from the kitchen, a nervous look plastered on your face as you approached the hot tub.

“Hey, Dee?..” you crouched down along the edge of the hot tub.

“Yeah, bug?” He took a sip of his beer, brow cocking in curiosity. “What’s up? Why do ya look so worried?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, Dee. Just uh—well, your ex just sorta showed up uninvited. She’s in the kitchen—”

“What the fuck do you mean she just sorta showed up?! What the fuck.” He groaned, dragging his wet hand across his face, squeezing his eyes shut. “I reckon she just invited herself in, too?”

Your nod confirmed his suspicions. “Unfortunately she did. I told her she wasn’t welcome, but she essentially told me to fuck off.” You stifled a laugh.

“Yeah, well, she’s never exactly been the type to respect boundaries.” He sighed and handed you his beer so that he could pull himself out of the hot tub. The swim trunks he was wearing quite literally left little to the imagination, and you swore that you caught a glimpse of his infamous package when he bent down and grabbed his towel to quickly dry off.

His hand gently brushed yours as he reached for his beer. “I’ll deal with her. Not gonna let it spoil my night.” He gruffed out and draped the towel around his shoulders. “Be back in a jiffy, bug.” He winked and headed towards the sliding doors leading to the kitchen.

When he didn’t return to the backyard in over 20 minutes, that’s when you made the executive decision to see if he was okay. When you neared the front door, you could hear the distinct tone of Dieter’s voice through the thin glass and you caught a glimpse of him throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“You can’t just fucking show up here uninvited! You’re not only trespassing, but you’re crossing a boundary! This is exactly why we broke up in the first place because you’re just so fucking clingy!” He yelled.

“Oh, I’M THE CLINGY ONE?!” She laughed, jabbing her perfectly manicured finger directly into his bare chest. “So, it has nothing to do with the fact that you spent more time with your best friend than with your girlfriend?! Don’t you think thats a bit fucking weird, Dieter?!”

“Oh, for fucks sakes! Here we go again! Don’t you dare go bring her into this when she’s done nothing wrong! So sorry that you felt like the attention I was giving you was inadequate! Guess that gave you just the right amount of ammo to cheat on me with MY fucking pilates instructor?! Dude, I can’t even look the guy in the face anymore without wanting to rip his dick off, balls and all!”

“YES, because you left me with no other choice, Dieter! He gave me more attention than you ever have!”

“Right, sure! So instead of oh—I don’t know, acting like a fucking normal person, you let your jealousy take front and center and cheat on me?! Why the fuck couldn’t you just be like hey, Dieter! I’m feeling under-appreciated in our relationship and I’d like to talk about it in a healthy, productive way because I love and respect you as a person! I would have never fucking cheated on you, don’t you get that?!”

“Okay—you’re right! I’m sorry that I wasn’t mature, and I’m sorry I cheated on you, Dieter. I’m so sorry! Can we please just—”

He laughed, throwing his head back with his hands carding through his damp curls in disbelief. “You have got to be shitting me! You just expect me to what—take you back after all of that?! Fuck you. I may be a stupid fucking actor, but I’m not that stupid. Please, can you just—leave? I don’t want to call the cops, but I will if I have to.”

“Dieter, come on! Baby, please. Let’s just talk—”

“I’m not your baby.” He muttered and turned on his heel and walked back towards the front door. He really just wanted to bury his face in his hands and scream, but he was determined to not let her ruin his night. So, when he opened the door, and found you on the other side, he let out a visible sigh of relief. “Well, that was a crapshoot. Did ya hear any of it, bug?” He closed the door softly and made sure to lock it for good measure.

“You okay, Dee? I heard the last bit of it…I’m sorry that you had to deal with that.”

“S’okay. It’s done now and I’m gonna try and not let it ruin the rest of the night. Thank you for checking in on me, bug. I appreciate it.”

“Of course, Dee. Everyone is still in the backyard. Wanna join them? Otherwise I was thinking maybe you and I can get high?”

He grinned at your suggestion, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorjamb, “say less.”

That’s how you found yourself in Dieter’s bedroom, sitting on the floor with his rolling tray in your lap while he was changing out of his too-tight swim trunks and into a pair of boxers that were…equally as tight. You loved the way that his little bit of tummy pudge hung over the side of the boxer's waistband. What you wouldn’t give to worship that tummy while he shoves his—You kept your eyes focused on plucking a few bud clusters and placing them in the grinder. His phone was charging next to yours on the nightstand. You had Spotify open on shuffle playing yours and Dieter’s favorite playlist. The song that was currently playing was After Midnight by Chappell Roan.

He plopped down beside you, gently grabbing the tray and placed it in his lap so that he could roll the actual joint. He used the front of his bed as a backrest as he opened up the grinder and carefully distributed the ground up herb into one of the papers.

“I seriously don’t know how your dick can breathe in those tight fucking shorts, Dee.” you said with a playful edge to your tone as you let your head rest in the crook of his neck. He leaned into you too, naturally.

“They are not that tight!” He scoffed and looked over at you with a playful grin on his lips. “My dick can breathe in these perfectly fine, bug.” he retorted.

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say.”

Comfortable silence washed over the two of you while he finished rolling up the joint, looking over at you expectantly as he sparked the end of it, inhaling with his cheeks slightly hollowed, “should we have a full slumber party moment and paint our nails and do each other's makeup?” He asked softly, blowing the smoke upwards towards the ceiling and held the joint out to you between his pointer and middle finger.

“Shut up. I can’t believe you just brought that up because I was thinking the same exact thing!” You looked over at him In disbelief, reaching for the joint as your fingers briefly brushed against one another during the exchange. “I must have manifested this or something because I made sure to bring my nail polish this time!”

“Just start calling me Dieter the all knowing!” He chuckled, feeling the inhaled drug slowly send him into a relaxed state. He let his head comfortably rest against the back of the bed. “and I have my makeup that we can use! Think you can show me how to perfect the winged liner look? I’m shit at doing it on myself.” He huffed.

“I am not gonna start calling you Dieter that all knowing! There’s no way in hell I’m going to grant you all that power!” You nudged his shoulder gently with your own before you took a long drag from the joint, holding the smoke in your lungs before slowly exhaling it. “Of course I can help you with your eyeliner, Dee! Only if you let me pick out your nail color this time.”

“Okay, deal!” He was quick to respond with zero hesitation in his chipper tone.

So, after you each took a few more drags from the joint and your minds began to go hazy, Dieter lazily got up and walked into the en-suite to grab his bag of makeup from the bathroom cabinet. When he returned, you had grabbed your overnight bag and already had all of your nail products laid out.

“Damn, did ya bring your entire collection from home with ya?” He teased as he plopped down next to you. His movements were uncoordinated due to the drug coursing through his veins. He nearly fell into your lap, giggling and quietly apologizing as he sat back up. This was a normal occurrence for you and Dieter. Whenever the two of you would get high together, (which was frequent), you both became naturally affectionate and extremely touchy with one another. It was second nature, and something that neither you or Dieter ever thought about as being ‘weird’ and not the norm for most platonic friendships.

“Go big or go home, right Dee?” You had already picked out a pretty sparkly blue polish for his nails and set it off to the side.

“Absolutely, bug. Hey, can you do my makeup first, please?” He had his hands clasped in his lap, nervously twiddling his thumbs as if he was a child waiting to be reprimanded by his parents.

“Of course I can.” You said softly, and grabbed the makeup bag from his lap. “Hey, are you okay?…”

He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily and shook his head. “No, not really. I’m fucking pissed off about what happened down there with my ex.”

You nodded in understanding and stood up to grab one of his many pillows so that he would have something comfortable to lay against while you would do his makeup. “I gathered that.”

“That’s because you’re always reading the room, bug.” He chuckled, grabbing the pillow from you so that he could place it under his back. Once he was situated, he patted his thighs, beckoning you to come sit in his lap. (Doesn’t everyone straddle their best friend and do their makeup?)

“Am I?” You mused and wasted no time to straddle his hips, making yourself comfortable above him. He was looking up at you with that sparkle in his irises that only appeared around you. It was as if you were the reason why the sun shined, and the stars twinkled in the sky. You were too busy going through his bag of makeup to catch the look, and when your eyes did land upon his face, he looked like he was going through constricting emotions.

“Yeah, you’re really good at doing that, y’know?” He sighed, feeling his shoulders deflate and sink against the pillow.

“Do you want to talk about what happened, Dee?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, letting his hands gently rest around your hips, thumbs stroking the sliver of skin visible under your shorts in a soothing figure eight motion. “I mean, who the fuck just shows up to someone’s slumber party uninvited?”

“Well, she’s never really respected your boundaries, has she? Remember when you forgot to leave your phone in your dressing room at the Oscars, and when you were reading out the nominees and she called you, despite knowing that you were at the Oscars?” You grabbed his little bottle of toner and a couple cotton rounds, softly telling him to close his eyes.

He closed his eyes, flinching slightly when the cool mist of the toner kissed his skin. He relaxed further into the pillows when you gently patted the toner into his skin with the cotton round. “Yeah, that was a fucking disaster! I just remember going all red in the face and fearing that my career with the rest of the Hollywood assholes was over at that point.”

“I’m pretty sure she made that move out of spite, Dee. Y’know, because you didn’t ask her to be your plus one?”

He peeked one eye open to look up at you, “that’s because you’ve attended every single red carpet event with me, bug. It’s…tradition.” (Yeah, sure it is, Dieter. Just tradition.)

“I’m not justifying her behavior by any means, but I can understand why she was upset that you invited your best friend over your girlfriend to the Oscars.” You set the bottle of toner down and grabbed his usual moisturizer and squirted a few pumps onto your fingers and rubbed it into his skin.

“Yeah, I guess when you put it that way it does sound pretty fucked up huh? But I don’t think I deserved to be cheated on.” His lips curved into a downwards pout, brows furrowed intently.

“Oh, of course not, hun. Cheating is never justifiable.” You reassured him, reaching into the makeup bag and pulled out his primer, foundation and concealer. “Do you wanna do a full look or something on the more no makeup/makeup side?”

“So then why did she try to justify her reason for cheating on me? Not only that, she tried to sweet talk her way back in towards the end of the conversation. Oh, Dieter, I’m so sorry!” He scoffed, “she even pulled the baby card on me! I know I’m not the most emotionally intelligent individual 99% of the time, and I’ve struggled my whole life taking much of anything serious, but I still have a fucking heart despite what the tabloids gossip about.” He paused mid-venting, remembering what you had asked him, “surprise me, bug.”

“She pulled the baby card on you? What a fucking cunt move, honestly.” you shook your head. “Dieter, you have one of the biggest hearts in all of Hollywood, hun. You just don’t share it with everyone and that’s okay. Those tabloids are a load of crap. I told you before that you have to stop feeding into their agenda. It’s not worth it, Dieter.”

“Exactly! It was a cunt move. And if I didn’t realize my worth sooner, I probably would have fallen right back into a relationship with her again! You know what I’m starting to believe? Maybe…I just have to accept the fact that no one is ever gonna love me.”

You let out a sigh, reaching back into the makeup bag and pulled out one of his glitter shadows to apply on his eyelids. He let out a content hum when your fingers began to gently card through his damp curls while your other fingers began to gently pat the shimmery shadow onto his closed eyelids. “Dieter, don’t you fucking start that shit and claiming that no one is ever going to love you.”

“Well, it’s true! I can’t fucking hold a healthy relationship down to save my life! I’m the laughing stock of Hollywood, days away from fucking relapsing, and no one is gonna give a shit!”

“Dude, what are you talking about?” You fought the urge to laugh, not at him, of course, but at the situation at hand. “I love you, idiot. You are not the laughing stock of Hollywood, and you will not fucking relapse under my watch, Dieter.”

“Bug, I know you love me, and I love you too! But…that’s different. What I’m talking about is real, true love—ow!” He whimpered when you had accidentally poked his eye with your nail.

You weren’t even paying attention when he started rambling about true love and that the way he loved you was completely different…it stung and sent your heart straight through a shredder, and he had no idea!

“Shit, Dee! I’m so sorry—are you okay? My finger slipped.” Your palm came to rest around his scruffy jawline, leaning in close to make sure that you hadn’t accidentally poked his eye out with your fingernail. Your warm breath gently fanned his face as he blinked a few times to surpass the dull sting he felt on his cornea.

“I’m okay, bug. But damn, girl! Are you trying to poke my eye out or something?” He joked, trying to relieve the palpable tension growing between the two of you.

You were quick to change the subject, feeling slightly embarrassed that you allowed his words to affect you that much. You reached for the joint that was resting along the rolling tray and picked it up between your two fingers along with the lighter. “I’m going to take a couple more hits…you want any?” You asked while sparking the joint up, taking a deeper inhale this time to try and soothe your already scrambled brain.

He nodded, reaching his hand up to pluck the joint from between your lips after you were finished and placed it between his own and took a similarly deep drag. He looked so fucking pretty, laying there, joint hanging low between his lips, shimmering eyeshadow making his rich brown eyes stand out even more.

“Y’know…” he started, “if ya take a picture, it’ll last longer!” He mused, taking another long drag, blowing the smoke off to the side. When you didn’t immediately laugh at his weak attempt to ease the tension further, he frowned. “Hey, you okay? You’re never this quiet, bug. Even when you’re high.”

“I’m fine, Dieter.” You sighed, and went to slide off his lap, forgetting about doing his eyeliner when his hand resting around your hip tightened and you freezed under his touch.

“Hey, please don’t lie to me. Did I say something to upset you? I’m sorry if I did.” He was always so genuine in his apologies to you. He could claim to not know how to read the room, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Dee, I’m fine.” You reassured him. “I was just having a moment.”

“Well…stop that! It’s not allowed when we’re having a sleepover.” He really just couldn’t stand to see you upset. It tore him up inside and made him feel like he was always the root cause for your mood change.

“Fuck you.” You laughed, giving his cheek a light pat while your other hand ruffled through his hair. “Do you still want me to do your eyeliner?”

“Yes please.” He grinned. “Just promise to not poke my eye out again?”

“I promise, Dee.”

While you carefully began to apply the eyeliner to his eyelids with careful precision, he continued to ramble on underneath you, careful to not move too much because he really didn’t want to accidentally get poked in the eye. Once you were finished, you expected him to immediately want to check how he looked in the mirror, but instead, he switched positions with you, straddling your hips now so that he could do your makeup.

You didn’t protest, of course. You’d take any excuse to admire his handsome features up close while he was zoned in on his work, his muse being you. Whenever he was painting, his focus was intense and it was as if he had tuned out everything else around him. He acted all the same while he was gently applying a shimmer shadow to your eyelids.

The intimacy simmering between the two of you was becoming too much for you to handle. You could feel him through his too-tight boxers, the weight of his cock pressing right against your clothed center. Despite knowing Dieter for as long as you have, you never had seen his cock, only just the outline of it. However, you heard the stories from his past partners, flings, and even some colleagues. They were all shocked to hear that you yourself had not seen Dieter Bravo’s package.

The walls in his spacious bedroom felt like they were closing in on you from how flustered you were feeling. Surely there was sweat beginning to bead and perspire along the column of your throat and behind your neck. Perhaps there was even an evident sign of your arousal between your thighs. You hoped to god that he hadn’t caught on. But when his hips shifted forward, his tongue poking out between his lips while he carefully applied a swipe of eyeliner across your right eyelid, it was too much.

“Hey—Dee? I’m not feeling too hot. Think the weed is messing with me. I—I think I’m gonna shower and go to bed.” You stuttered out, trying to focus on the words coming out of your mouth and not the images of his thick cock—

He frowned, looking deflated when you said that you wanted to go to bed. “Oh—okay, bug. I understand. Do you wanna watch a movie or something? I’ll get you some food and water, okay? Maybe you’re just having a bad trip?” He was genuinely concerned, feeling slightly nervous that his trusted dealer had laced his stash with something, but he didn’t want to go down that rabbit hole just yet.

“No—I just…I want to shower and go to bed, Dieter. I’ll be fine. It probably is just a bad trip.” You reassured him and subtly tried to create any form of distance between the two of you to relieve the tension you were feeling.

The weed is only enhancing what I’m feeling right now. If he could see the thoughts going through my head right now—

“If you are having a bad trip, then I should stay with you, bug. I don’t want anything to happen to you—”

“Dieter.” You were on the edge of snapping and saying something you would inevitably regret, “I don’t want you to stay with me, okay? I just want to fucking shower and go to bed.”

Ouch.

He visibly recoiled, feeling like you had just stabbed him right in the gut and twisted the knife for good measure. Maybe I am the clingy one…

“Okay, okay. I understand. I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want.” He wanted to snap right back at you, but he didn’t have the heart in him to do so.

“Thank you.” You breathed out, and when he didn’t immediately uncage your thighs from under his hips, you took matters into your own hands and placed your palm flat against his chest, gently pushing him off of you so you could quickly stand up.

He felt his heart twist even further when you disappeared into the en-suite, slamming the door behind you. He wasn’t sure if it was done maliciously or on accident, it still fucking hurt.

Seconds later he hears the sink turn on and the sound of water splashing against your face. It felt wrong to leave you in this state, so even after he heard the shower turn on while he was cleaning up the strewn about makeup on the floor, he sat down against the door, his back leaning against it as he waited. For what? He really didn’t know the answer to that.

You knew that Dieter was concerned about your well being, and if he could have it his own way, he would be in the bathroom with you right now, sitting with his back facing you so that you would feel comfortable to shower. You also were aware that he was sitting against the bathroom door and your heart lurched at the thought. You felt the guilt swim and swirl around you. Snapping at your best friend was not on your bingo card for the night, but maybe this was a sign that you and Dieter needed to set some serious boundaries between one another. Maybe you were beginning to realize that the two of you were…too close.

“Can you just…let me know you’re okay in there?” You heard him ask through the door as the scalding hot water streamed down over your bare body.

“Dieter, I’m fine.” Your voice was muffled under the stream.

“Yeah, sure you are, but I’d be a terrible fucking friend if I just left you to deal with this bad trip on your own, bug.”

God dammit, Dieter. Why can’t you just be an asshole like a normal person?! Is what you really wanted to say.

“Okay…” you trailed off, “I’m going to be in here for a while.”

“That’s okay. You can use up all of my hot water. I don’t care.” He reassured you.

When you didn’t immediately respond he let out a sigh, resting his head back against the door, closing his eyes. He remembered that your phone was still playing music from where it sat on his nightstand next to his own, and the familiar tune of Pink Pony Club started playing. It was yours and Dieter’s favorite song off of Chappell’s album.

“I know you wanted me to stay, but I can't ignore the crazy visions of me in LA. And I heard that there's a special place, where boys and girls can all be queens every single day.”

Dieter Bravo could not fucking sing, but everytime that he did for you, it was the most endearing gesture ever.

“You fucking asshole.” You muttered under your breath, “I'm having wicked dreams of leaving Tennessee. Oh, Santa Monica, I swear it's calling me. Won't make my mama proud, It's gonna cause a scene. She sees her baby girl, I know she's gonna scream…”

“God, what have you done! You're a pink pony girl, and you dance at the club! Oh mama, I'm just having fun! On the stage in my heels, it’s where I belong down at the Pink Pony Club!” You and Dieter sung the chorus in unison, completely out of tune, but neither of you could give a fuck about that.

You could practically picture his dopey, weed-stained grin plastered on his handsome, scruffy face behind the door when you sang the chorus together. The mental image sent your heart surging out of your chest, and your pussy pulsing in tandem.

Fuck me.

You truly had just planned to take a hot, relaxing, mind clearing shower and then go straight to bed, but you were feeling bothered by the weed, and your blatantly obvious attraction towards your best friend. Not to mention, the little rasp in Dieter’s voice was not helping you out in this predicament, either. That’s when you noticed his attached shower head and the lightbulb went off in your weed-induced brain.

You reached for the attached shower head, gently removing it from where it was mounted against the shower wall. Before turning it on, however, you quickly got familiar with the numerous spray settings and chose the medium spray before slowly dragging the shower head between your legs and—oh, fucck.

The pressure was just right and was directly spraying a stream of water onto your exposed clit. You held back a moan, bringing the back of your hand to your mouth and bit down as you slowly sank to your ass along the shower wall, your thighs spread fully, eyes rolling back into your skull from the intense feeling. That’s when a moan slipped past and Dieter initially thought he was just hearing things, but then he heard it again…and his cock twitched to life beneath the tight confinements.

“There’s no way. I’m just high as shit right now and hearing things. Yeah, that’s the logical explanation!” He muttered to himself, scrubbing one hand down his face. But then he heard you distinctively moan, and his face suddenly felt hot to the touch. He pressed his ear against the door, raising his fist and gently knocked on the wood, “you uh—you okay in there?”

You were so close to hitting that big ‘o’ that you didn’t even hear Dieter’s low rasp through the door.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” You whimpered. “So fucking close, just a little more. Just a little more. C’mon, baby.”

Now that he could hear you more clearly, he knew exactly what was producing those little desperate sounds to slip past your pretty lips: his fucking shower head.

“Excuse me?? Are you getting yourself off with MY shower head, without me in there?!” It was a thought that he had meant to keep in his head, but now that it was out there, there was truly no going back.

You froze like a deer caught in headlights, immediately dropping the shower head from your loose grasp and it clattered to the shower floor just as the bathroom door burst open.

“Dieter—WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!” You screeched, hair drenched, thighs spread and trembling.

He shut the door behind him, muttering under his breath as he approached, looking you right in the eyes, “more importantly, what are you doing?” He placed his hands on his hips. “Your little moans and whimpers made me rock fucking hard!” He gestured to the obvious tent in his boxers, his cock straining against the tight material. “Had I known it was gonna be that kind of sleepover, I would have joined you a heck of a lot sooner!”

Oh. My. God. This isn’t happening, is it?!

“Dieter, you can’t just fucking come in here when I’m masturbating! Dude—what the fuck!”

“Oh, heavens! Are we going back to the 1800’s or something? Just call it for what it is! You playing with your pussy, and using my shower head to get yourself off! By all means, please continue, but next time? I want a personal invite!”

You were appalled…and a little turned on? Okay, a lot turned on! In fact, your pussy was pulsing between your thighs, the edge of your interrupted orgasm was still simmering, waiting to fully bloom. To make matters worse, Dieter had crouched down outside of the shower, his brows furrowed when he noticed the setting you had set the shower head to. He tsked under his breath, shaking his head as he reached into the shower and picked up the shower head from where it had been dropped between your spread thighs.

“Dieter, what are you—”

“Hush and listen to the teacher, okay? For starters, you’re using it all wrong. You gotta build yourself up first, and then go full blast. Otherwise you’re just gonna overstimulate your poor little clit, and that just takes away from the experience.” He said in the most casual fashion, as if this wasn’t crossing a million different invisible boundaries all at once.

“Dieter, I don’t need your assistance on getting myself off, okay? Please just—”

“Bug, don’t make this weird, okay? We’re friends, and there’s nothing in the friends handbook that says that we can’t help one another get off! It’s totally not forbidden.” He retorted.

“I think you just made the whole friends handbook thing up. It totally doesn’t exist and we absolutely should not be doing this, Dieter! It’s wrong for a multitude of reasons!”

“The friends handbook totally exists! I’ll get you a copy, okay? I’m not going to touch you, unless you want me to. I’m just gonna use the shower head to show you the right way to get yourself off with it, and afterwards you will be thanking me!”

“I can’t believe I’m about to agree to this. I cannot fucking—”

“Best start believing it, baby! Now, spread your thighs for me a little more, okay?”

“Okay, I’m giving you my full consent, but if I start feeling weird, we’re stopping this whole thing, okay?” You looked him directly in the eyes as you spread your thighs further so he had a better view.

“Bug, if at any point you feel weird, uncomfortable, or want to stop, just tell me, okay? I’m not gonna pressure you to continue doing this if you don’t want to. I’m leaving the ball completely in your court, and my feelings won’t be hurt if you change your mind, okay? I promise.” His words were sincere, and it was hard to look away when he was staring at you with those big, brown, puppy dog eyes.

“Okay.” You nodded.

He leaned forward then, briefly getting caught under the stream when his lips brushed across your forehead, leaving you both feeling slightly stunned. He softly asked you if it was okay if he did touch you, to which you obliged, lower lip taken between your teeth when his hand that wasn’t holding the shower head slowly dipped between your thighs and his fingers spread your slick folds apart so he would have better access to your clit.

“I always knew that your pussy would be pretty, baby, but goddamn—she really is so fucking pretty.” He took a sharp inhale of breath, his cock twitching painfully in his boxers.

“Dieter Bravo, you’re going to be the death of me.” You breathed out, heat rising to your cheeks from the way he was gazing at the spot between your thighs, eyes glazed over the same way a dog looks at a delicious bone, or a plate of juicy, rare, steak.

“You’re already the death of me, bug.” He whispered, unable to help himself when his thumb gently brushed across your clit. He swallowed hard, trying to focus on the task at hand but between you prettily spread out beneath him, and the weed still flowing through his system, he was fucked.

He changed the setting on the shower head without even having to look down at it. He was too focused on your face, particularly your eyes and how you both seemed to be drinking one another in, an invisible string tied between the two of you, reeling him in closer, and closer. You observe his face, and the way his eyeliner has now started to run and bleed under his eyes and down his cheeks from the water and steam. Your pussy clenches from the sight just as his thumb lightly presses against your clit, making slow, languid, figure eight motions.

He thinks he wants to kiss you—no, scratch that. He wants to kiss you, and you can tell by the way his eyes flicker from your face and down to your lips, and then back up again.

“Dieter…” you whisper, bringing your hand up to gently cradle his face in your palm, curling your pointer finger under his chin. “Do you want to kiss me?” Your warm breath fans his face as he slowly nods.

“Yeah, I do.” He rasped, slowly leaning in.

“So kiss me, you fool.”

And so he did, but instead of hesitating, and holding back, he dove right in, noses pressing into one another as he licked greedily into your mouth, tangling his tongue with yours while his hand holding the shower head angled it right against your exposed pussy and between his fingers where he was keeping you spread open.

“Oh fuck!” You whimpered into the kiss, keeping your one hand anchored around his jaw while the other came to rest at the back of his head, your fingers tangled through his drenched locks, tugging on them gently.

“Yeah, feels good, doesn’t it, baby? Told ya so.” He snickered into your lips, kissing you deeper. “Lower water pressure builds you up slower, drawing your orgasm out to last longer, and it’ll feel 10x more intense.”

“Mhm.” You mumbled into his lips, scooting your hips closer to the stream of water, and to him.

“Greedy little pussy, huh? Can’t get enough, can ya?” He teased.

“Dieter…” you warned him, playfully biting down on his lower lip and tugging it out gently before releasing it.

“I know, I know.” He chuckled and reluctantly detached himself from the kiss, pecking your lips once before he sat back on his thighs to give himself any form of relief. “You wanna give yourself a whirl while I go take care of this er—in privacy?”

Your cheeks were puffed out, lips swollen with his kisses as you stared up at him dumbfounded. “Are you insane? Just get in here with me, Dieter. Right now.”

He blushed, turning bright red all the way to the tips of his ears. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly turning all bashful as if he wasn’t just talking about your greedy little pussy seconds ago. “Are you…sure? I really don’t mind! I can just go jerk off in my bed like a normal person—”

“Dieter.” Your tone sounded strained, “get in the fucking shower now. Take those ridiculously tight boxers off and get in here.”

Well, you certainly didn’t need to ask Dieter Bravo twice as he scrambled to peel his boxers down over his hips and thighs, tossing the damp fabric outside of the shower. His cock bobbed between his thighs, hard, heavy and the tip was swollen a painful red color. Poor guy.

He climbed over you, situating himself and his cute little tush right next to you with his shoulders gently brushing yours. He spit a glob of saliva into his palm and wrapped his fist around the veiny girth of his cock. “I’ll come fast, I promise. You won’t even have to do anything, okay? Just pretend I’m not here!” His tone was rushed as he squeezed the base of his cock, lolling his head to the side so he could look over at you. His eyeliner was completely smudged now and his lips were swollen with your kisses.

All you could do was nod dumbly, your eyes transfixed by his fist wrapped around his cock. It was as if you were seeing a unicorn for the first time! The unicorn being er—Dieter’s cock.

He looked at your face, and then down at his cock, and then back up at your face. “Hello?” He waved with his freehand, “why are you looking at my cock like that, huh? Are you the only person in the whole state of California who hasn’t seen my cock before?” He was in disbelief, his mouth falling open when he realized that you never had seen his cock.

"I totally thought you'd seen his dick. Practically everyone else has." You remember his ex cruelly teasing you about it one day.

You shook your head, eyes glazed over as you watched his fist slowly twist and pump around his length. “Nope. First time, and it’s like I’m looking at a unicorn!” You exclaimed playfully.

Dieter snorted at your enthusiasm, feeling his heart lurch from his chest, “well, it is sorta like seeing a unicorn for the first time…I suppose?” He chuckled, squeezing the base of his cock for some form of relief. He felt like now was the best time to address the obvious elephant in the room, silly Dieter. “So uh—well, this doesn’t mean anything, right? Because we’re just friends and good friends masturbate together. It's cool, this is super casual!”

Sure, bud. You keep telling yourself that.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes and clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, spreading your thighs further so you could continue your ministrations with the shower head. “Sure, Dieter. This means absolutely nothing. Just two besties jerking it off, side by side. Totally casual!”

He let out a huff as he pumped his fist faster, “Well, we wouldn’t be in this predicament if those noises you were making didn’t make my cock as hard as a slab of concrete!”

“Dieter, shut up, and get yourself off! Or so help me—”

“Yes ma'am!” He squeaked out.

In tandem you placed the shower head close to your clit once more while he fisted his cock, and when your moans started to intermingle and become one, that’s when your glazed over eyes met once more. He had his lip harshly taken between his teeth, his cock was twisting and pulsing beneath his fist. He leaned in close, lips just barely brushing your bare shoulder where he had dipped his head down to nuzzle you. His eyes flickered upwards towards your face, pupils darkening by the second, “I really want to fuck you right now, baby.” He rasped.

You met his gaze, thighs trembling and your eyes rolling slightly as your orgasm rippled through you, “yeah, you wanna fuck me, Dieter? How badly do you want to fuck me?”

“So fucking bad, baby. You’ve got no idea.” He mewled, “there’s that convenient bench right over there.” He gestured to the shower bench with a coy tilt of his chin, “you can sit right on my cock, if you’d like that…”

“Did you have that bench installed for convenience purposes or for your old man bad back?” You asked teasingly.

He narrowed his eyes at you, glaring playfully before he chuckled, “a bit of both. More-so on the convenience side of things. And, it’s newly installed so you and I would be the first to use it.” He winked coyly.

“Really? Well, your offer is most tempting, Bravo. I’d like to take you up on it and sit on your big fucking cock.”

“Now we’re talking.” He grinned, loosening his fist around his cock so he could offer you a hand and helped you up. Now you were both directly under the stream of water, hands roaming everywhere they could reach. You kissed deeply, giggling in unison when you grabbed his ass and he grabbed yours. He could happily live in this moment forever with you, even if it meant that his skin would inevitably prune and probably fall off.

You backed him up against the shower bench, climbing into his lap as he slowly lowered himself into a sitting position along the marble bench that could easily fit both of you.

You wrapped your own palm around the base of his cock for the first time as you slowly sank down around his girth till he was fully pressed inside of you, bottoming out with a low grunt against your lips. He let his arms loop firmly around your waist, pulling you in as close as he physically could so that your chests were pressed flushed together. He swore he saw heaven behind fluttered lashes when you started to slowly roll your hips into his, bouncing and grinding along his length.

If it wasn’t for his steadfast orgasm, he probably would have lasted longer before he was shooting thick ropes of his cum deep inside of you, but he was a man, after all. And while his cum leaked and dripped from your weeping little hole that was still stuffed full of his cock, he made sure that you got to come again, too. He pistoned his hips upwards at an unruly pace, loving the way that your nails clawed at his back and shoulders, leaving little red crescents in their wake. Maybe I’ll get those tattooed on me later. He briefly thought as you came undone around him, crying out his name.

You stayed seated on his cock for what felt like hours before he gently eased you off him, his cock now soft between his thighs and glistening in a thick, pearlescent ring of your combined releases.

You washed one another’s bodies under the lukewarm stream and he was the first to step out of the shower, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist and when you emerged, he had a towel waiting for you. You kissed a few more times, gentle pecks of intimacy as you stood side by side in front of the mirror, brushing your teeth and doing your skincare.

“Soo, where are you sleeping tonight?” He suddenly asked with a mouthful of toothpaste. His deep pools of brown boring into yours.

You hadn’t really thought that far if you were being honest…and now with that fresh ‘I just got fucked good’ glow illuminating your features, and the remainder of your high still sizzling, you suddenly feeling nervous all over again.

“Um, well, where do you want me to sleep?”

“I asked you first.” He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for your response.

“Okay, fair, how about on the count of three we say it together?”

“Deal.” He nods.

“Okay—one, two, three—” you counted off in unison.

“Your bed—my bed.”

You both looked relieved at your answers, letting out breaths you didn’t realize you were holding. “Thank fucking god.” You both laughed.

He kissed you then, mouthful of toothpaste and all. You made a funny squeaking sound when he had unexpectedly kissed you, and the corners of his mouth curved up into a knowing grin. “I’ll get you one of my shirts to wear.” He mumbled into the kiss, pulling back slowly.

When you left the en-suite, you found Dieter already in bed, sitting up with the rolling tray resting in his lap. He had a fresh pair of boxers on, this pair was made of cotton and was far less constricting. He was rolling another joint to smoke before bed when he looked up, smiling softly at your lingering presence in the doorway, wearing nothing but his shirt.

“Well, don’t be shy, bug. Ain’t the first time you’ve slept in my bed.” He winked, patting the empty spot beside him on his massive king sized bed.

You took a deep breath, remembering that this was Dieter Bravo, your best friend and partner in crime. He would always be your best friend.

You made your way over to the empty side of the bed and pulled the covers back so you could climb underneath them.

He finished rolling the joint, grabbing his lighter from the nightstand to spark it up before he paused, looking over his shoulder at you. “Hey, we don’t have to like—do anything, okay?” He reassured you.

“But Dieter, I wanna do stuff with you. It’s just—in your bed it feels…” you trailed off, scratching at the outside of your arm absentmindedly.

He tucked the joint behind his ear and rolled over into his side so he was facing you, using his elbow to prop himself up, “I understand, baby. This is…new for me as well. We can smoke this joint and then make out a little? See where it goes?…”

You nodded, lips curving up into a soft smile that sent his heartbeat racing, “yeah, I’d like that.”

“Me too.” He grinned.

He sparked the joint up between you, taking a few hits before he passed it off to you. This went on a few more times before your bodies just naturally gravitated towards one another, and when the joint died out, he set it down on the tray on his nightstand before his lips found yours.

You kissed like this for hours, simply just enjoying one another’s company and soft touch when the sun began to rise over the Los Angeles landscape. Dieter was uncharacteristically quiet, even for being stoned.

Your fingers were gently dragging through the patches in his beard, playing with his scruff in between kisses. “I can hear you overthinking, Dee.”

“Are you a wizard?” He chuckled, “you can hear my thoughts? That’s crazy!”

“Shh.” You giggled. “I’m right here, baby. You don’t have to yell.”

“Sorry.” He whispered, scooting his body closer to yours. He would absolutely crawl inside of your skin and never leave, but well—-he might go to prison if he did that.

“I’m gonna say something that might sound stupid, but I gotta get it off my chest, okay?” He started, his glazed over eyes met yours as he pressed a few kisses to the underside of your fingertips.

“I’m listening.”

“Okay, so—well, this is just different for me because I don’t normally fuck my friends.”

You gave him a funny look at his admittance, unable to help yourself.

“I’m serious! I don’t fuck my friends—and well, I care about you a ton.Maybe even more than I care about myself? Anyway, I don’t want things to get weird between us tomorrow. Like if you wake up and regret everything that happened, I just want you to tell me, okay? My hopes is that maybe you felt the little spark that I did and if you did we can—”

“Dieter, I promise you I’m not going to wake up tomorrow and regret everything that happened tonight. No matter where this takes us, I’m always going to love you, and you’re always going to be my best friend.” Your words were sincere and directly from your heart and he knew you weren’t just saying shit just to say it.

“I think I just shat my heart out, that was so sweet.” He giggles, nuzzling his nose against yours. “In all seriousness, thank you. I was just afraid that this would ruin our friendship, and I would lose you forever.”

“Never, Dieter. You could never lose me.” You reassured him.

“Good, cause in the morning? I’m making waffles!”

Helen Mirren: Narrator for the Barbie Movie:

Dieter did not in fact make waffles the next morning. Instead, Dieter had his breakfast between your thighs, and then let you order whatever brunch you wanted on his black card

"You can be my sugar baby! I get to eat you out and you can order whatever you want on my card." He murmured between your thighs, mouthful of your pussy.

"That's not how that sort of thing really works, Dieter. But, yeah, okay."

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[psychedelic-ink]

𝑯𝑰𝑮𝑯 𝑬𝑵𝑶𝑼𝑮𝑯

pairing: dieter bravo x actress!reader x bodyguard!joel miller

genre: super duper explicit smut, actress & bodyguard au, minors dni

word count: 4.5k

summary: an afterparty, weed, drinks, a grumpy bodyguard, and an eccentric actor. What can go wrong?

warnings: mlm dynamics, threesome, blossoming feelings, messy two-person blowjob, piv, polyamorous, dieter has a praise kink, hair pulling, bdsm dynamics, high sex, getting high, this is an au where sarah was never conceived sorry, petnames all around (good boy/girl, sweetheart, darlin, honey), guidance kink, handjob, implied age gap reader being the youngest and joel being the oldest

a/n: you voted and here it is! This can be considered as a continuation of the drabble I wrote but you don't need to read that in order to read this. It just takes place in the same universe. enjoy! If you want to see more adventures of bodyguard!joel and actress!reader feel free to send requests xx

Joel is a grump. 

He knows this. Everyone does. He’s been called many things before in this industry: unkind, an asshole, a fucker, a bummer, a grumpy old man. But despite all the negative feedback, he’s never been out of a job. When it comes to feeling safe and secure, everyone realizes that pleasantries aren't really a priority. After a while, he learned to let those remarks bounce off of him. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy having fun; it’s the fact that this industry is riddled with slimy, untrustworthy characters. You could be happily sharing a drink one moment, and the next you could find your drunken words being sold off to the highest bidder. He has a lot of stories, some of which he wishes he could forget about.

However, he's not a kid. Far from it, actually. So he also knows that not everyone fits the bill of assholery. He's met some nice people, worked for them, and thanks to those nice people, he met you— one of the biggest rising stars of your generation. You're actually quite kind— albeit a bit of a brat, but he's starting to realize that side of you might be reserved only for him. Most impressively, you've managed to knit yourself a loving, supportive circle. He met your family once and has a sneaking suspicion they had something to do with your good manners.

Family. He misses his. Tommy still lived in Austin, running a not-so-shabby bar. 

Joel used to pride himself on not getting involved in his clients' affairs, but with you, that proved difficult.

A sea of people crashes into him, pushing him in the opposite direction of where he's trying to go. These Hollywood parties, they're always the same - loud music, annoying lights, and foaming glitter always coming from somewhere. He catches a whiff of champagne and strawberries. Rolling his eyes, he helps a director he barely knows who stumbles and nearly collapses on the shiny marble floors. With one swift motion, he grips her torso and lifts her back up. She slurs a drunken thank you and moseys off.

He hates it when you drag him to parties, and he hates it even more when you disappear. By some miracle, he spots you sitting down within the awfully lit room. You're wearing a mermaid-style dress (at least, that's what you told him prior to the event), which hugs your curves in all the right places. The fabric is covered in pearls, giving it a shimmering, iridescent quality that catches the light and reflects it into his eyes - thank fucking god, or else he suspects he'd never find you in this crowd.

His relief in finding you is short-lived when he sees who you’re sitting with. 

Fucking Dieter Bravo. 

You know he doesn’t like the man. Of course, you would sit with him just to spite Joel. That’s what he hopes this is anyway, he’s praying to every god he can think of (which isn’t many) that this isn’t a blooming friendship, or something else. He doesn’t think he can handle seeing that man more than he has to. 

Ironically, Joel actually used to work with Dieter. It only lasted for about a week as Dieter was just too unpredictable and chaotic for him. A complete hedonist who was used to getting what he wants. Before Joel could resign, Dieter had fired him. Which was good, because Joel wasn’t sure if he would’ve actually gone and done it. 

Joel feels a mixture of excitement and anxiety as your entire face lights up upon seeing him. With an open smile, you wave frantically and point to the couch across from the two of you. It's a tight fit, and his knees brush against both yours and Dieter's as he sits. The actor is holding a joint loosely between his fingers, looking up to Joel and nodding in a way that resembles an informal greeting. Joel notices the vibrant pattern of his button-up, the chain around his neck, and the rings on his fingers. Dieter takes a drag then offers it to you. Your gaze briefly meets Joel's before you take it from him. However, you don't immediately bring it to your lips.

“Where were you?” Joel asks loudly, trying to get his words over the sound of the music. “You can’t bring me to these things and then just disappear on me.” 

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” you answer with an apologetic smile. Joel narrows his eyes and you bring the neatly rolled joint to your glossy lips. You take a deep, long inhale. He watches the way your body seems to melt unconsciously. You close your eyes. “I just saw Dee and you know his habit of disappearing as soon as you blink. Had to pounce him before that happened.” 

Joel’s eyes drop to where Dieter slides an arm around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. He rests his chin on your shoulder, his eyes fixed on Joel. Your eyes flutter open and much to Joel’s surprise, you extend the joint to him. 

“Don’t bother, sweetheart,” Dieter says, his lips too close to your cheek. Joel bristles unknowingly. “He has a stick up his ass.” 

“Dieter!” you hiss, glaring daggers. “Behave.” 

“I don’t smoke on the job.” Joel says, a bit smugly and enjoying the other man’s prominent pout. “Unlike some, I’m a professional.” 

Dieter scoffs. The joint still lingers between your fingers, your gaze snapping to Joel. You accusatorily point at him, your brows drawn together. “And you—” you warn. “Don’t act so high and mighty. You’re off the clock remember? I invited you here so you would loosen up a little.” 

What? 

“What?” he blinks rapidly. “Why on earth would I need loosenin’ up? And why would I want to loosen up with you lot? This ain’t exactly my scene honey.” 

“Because we’re friends, smartass.” you chide. The burnt tip of the cigarette is now closer to your fingers. With a sigh, Joel finally takes it, which provokes a burst of laughter from Dieter. 

“She has you on a leash!” Dieter points out, fingers digging into your hip and moving over the pearls. “That’s fucking adorable.” 

Joel grunts, “Shut up.” he takes the joint clumsily, holding it up to his lips. It’s been a while since he’s done this. When he does he usually prefers the privacy of his own home. Joel ignores the way your eyes are fixed on him, two wide eager eyes eating him up from head to toe. 

He takes a deep inhale, his lungs expanding with smoke. Joel can taste the champagne you left behind. Goosebumps rise over his skin, a tingle, and a buzz making him groan. He allows the smoke to linger inside him, then, without parting from the joint much, he exhales. It’s very subtle, but he notices both you and Dieter taking deep breaths, filling yourselves with his breath. He’s amused. His lips twitch as he takes another drag. Then he extends it back to Dieter. The actor doesn’t waste much time and wraps his lips around the butt of the joint deliberately slow. Joel fights the urge to roll his eyes. Dieter takes a deep breath, exhaling cannabis in a way that the smoke doesn’t move forward, it pours from between his lips, like a dragon’s mouth. 

Joel doesn’t think much of it, now feeling more relaxed than ever, he says, “You look surprisingly cleaned up. They groomed you well.” 

“Does it look like I care what you think?” Dieter snaps back, and Joel frowns. 

“I think the word you’re looking for is thank you,” you say, words directed at Dieter. Your eyes flit between the two tense men. “Also I'm starting to think you two have some history together.” 

“Didn’t your knight in shining armor tell you?” Dieter grins, rather smug. “He used to work for me.” 

You turn to Joel, brows pinched together with confusion. “You did?” 

Joel rolls his eyes, ignoring the way his cheeks heat up under your gaze. “It was a long time ago.” 

“I fired him.” 

“How come?” 

“Too distracting.” 

Joel breathes a little too fast, the air catching in his throat. He clears his throat, his veins alive with tension. It almost feels like it’s the only three of them now. The rest of the room fading and turning black. Joel leans forward, the already tight space becoming even tighter. 

“Excuse me?” Joel asks, his speech slurred. “What do you mean “too distractin’”?” 

Neither of them answers you. Actors, he thinking begrudgingly, a puff of air parting his lips. Dieter brings the joint to your lips and without taking it from him, you look at Joel. He watches as your lips brush against the length of Dieter’s fingers. Annoyance brews in his stomach. 

“Is he like this with you too? Oblivious?” Dieter asks you. You grin, teeth shining under the dim lights and you nod. The actor’s tongue pokes out from between his lips and swipes over his bottom lip. “Poor baby.” 

“You two are startin’ to get on my nerves,” Joel grumbles, crossing his arms across his broad chest. 

You stick your tongue out and Joel has half the urge to grab it between his fingers and teach you a lesson. He hadn’t noticed, but the joint had made its way back to him. Slightly confused and disoriented, he finishes it off. The last bit of it burning his throat and lungs. He’s incredibly flustered, heat crawling up from his chest to his cheeks. He doesn’t miss the way you and Dieter steal glances at each other, smiling giddily. 

Finally, you find Joel’s gaze, a Cheshire-cat like grin plastered on your face—he’s slightly creeped out by it actually. 

“How about we show you what we mean?” 

Joel should’ve said no. This is the last time he’s ever coming to one of these damn parties. 

Joel wasn’t thinking much when Dieter led all of you to one of the many bedrooms in the residence. Your hand was clutched tightly around his, and per instinct, he had held on to you just as tight. And as soon as the three of them entered the stupidly large bedroom with an equally stupidly large bed, he found himself sitting on the edge with his pants down. The two actors knelt between his legs, eyes hungry and mouths flooded. 

He has to admit, it’s a rather enticing view. 

Dieter wraps his fingers around the base while you kiss the inside of Joel’s thigh. Heat settles at the base of his spine, his cock twitching and growing thanks to Dieter’s slow strokes. You drag your lips up, kissing his shaft before swirling your tongue around the head. A strangled moan leaves him. Joel’s gaze drops, only to see Dieter staring back at him. He holds his breath as the other grins from one ear to the other. 

“You like that?” he coos, darting his tongue out. He licks a clean stripe up, the curve of his nose brushing against yours. “God, the number of times I came in my pants thinking about this. . .” 

Joel’s quick to follow up, “You thought about this?” 

Your sudden bubble of laughter makes him frown. His lips become a tight line, his teeth clenched as he grinds the molars together. He watches as you ignore him and pull away. You cradle Dieter’s cheek, and as if he read your mind, the actor leans in, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. Joel tenses. His skin taut over muscle. His cock stands with attention, beads of precum rolling down his length. The thought of his taste lingering on your tongue, being passed to Dieter—his chest heaves, maybe he is too old for this. 

He sees Dieter shoving his tongue between your lips and you moan into his mouth, Dieter swallows the noises you make eagerly. Joel is surprised he’s not feeling any jealousy or protectiveness. Usually, when the actor attempts to make passes at you he puffs up like a rooster. But not his time. Dieter cups your face with two hands, tilting your head so he can kiss you deeper. Only then it dawns on Joel that the reason he was bothered before wasn’t that he hated the actor—though he still found him annoying—but because he wanted to be included. He almost laughs. Loneliness truly is a bitch. His fingers twitch and he makes a move to cup himself, he pouts when his hand is batted away by no one other than you. 

“No,” you say wetly with swollen lips. “We’re going to take care of you. Isn’t that right, Dee?” the second half of the sentence is directed at the actor who looks just as debauched. But he manages to nod anyway. Then your gaze moves back up to Joel. “Okay?” 

He’s lost for words for a brief moment, mouth opening and closing before he can find his speech again. “Okay.” 

It’s messy. Debauched. Downright sinful. And Joel is ninety percent sure this is all a dream and his alarm is about to burst through the speaker of his phone. Dieter purses his lips and spits into his palm, coating Joel’s shaft with a generous amount. You kiss the head and swallow him halfway, your nostrils flaring as you try to take more of him. Joel’s hand lifts to comfort you but Dieter beats him to it. The actor leans into your ear, smiling slyly. He pulls down the straps of your dress and exposes your breasts. Joel’s mouth feels dry all of a sudden. 

“That’s it, sweetheart. You’re doing so well,” Dieter purrs, Joel can barely hear him. “Just breathe through your nose, don’t rush it. He’s a big boy, isn’t he? Flatten your tongue and swallow. That’s it. . .” Joel’s arms buckle as you do what you’re told, his eyes rolling back. Dieter kisses your cheek and kneads your breasts, thumbs wiping over the pebbled nipples. “You’re making him so happy right now. Such a talented girl.” 

“Oh, fuck,” Joel groans, slightly thrusting into your mouth. Dieter meets his gaze and winks, a wide grin spread across his handsome face. 

Handsome. Joel finds Dieter handsome, always has. Though he always assumed he found him handsome in a more general way, the same way he found Oscar Isaac handsome. Some people just are. But he’s starting to think he might like the infuriating actor a bit more than he thought. Or maybe it’s just from the heat of the moment and the weed still buzzing in his veins. Regardless, he’s enjoying the view very much. God, what has he gotten himself into? 

You swirl your tongue and hollow your cheeks. More praise drips from Dieter’s lips. Without thinking much of it, Joel reaches out and touches the side of Dieter’s face. The actor stills for a moment, brows furrowing, a delicious shade of red coloring his cheeks. Joel drags the pad of his thumb down Dieter’s cheek and then cups him tenderly. 

“Good boy,” Joel says before his filter kicks in. “You’re doin’ so well too.” 

Dieter’s face is priceless. He’s stunned into silence, eyes wide and round, lips parted. A low chuckle trembles within Joel’s chest, he continues to trace his thumb up and down the contours of his cheek. Dieter leans into the touch ever so slightly, eyelids fluttering. You must notice the change in the air because you pull away and drag a pointed tongue down Joel’s length. Then you grip Dieter’s chin and guide him down. 

“Have a taste, Dee.”

Joel watches with bated breath as you guide Dieter down towards his aching member. The actor's lips part and his breath hitches as he takes in the sight before him. He looks up at Joel, his eyes dark, before finally taking him in his mouth, tongue swirling and lips tight. The actor's eyes never leave Joel's as he bobs his head, taking more and more of him into his mouth. Joel’s legs shake, his lungs expand, it feels too much, everything tumbling onto him like an avalanche. 

Joel's head falls back, his eyes closing as he feels the warmth of Dieter's mouth. He can hear the wet sounds of his mouth moving over him, the way his lips slide up and down his length, and he can't help but let out a low moan.

You reach out and grab Joel's hand, entwining your fingers. Your touch electric. Leaning over you capture Joel's lips with your own. He moans into your mouth, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

Dieter pulls back, a thin line of saliva connecting his lips to Joel's length. He looks up at Joel with a wicked grin, before taking him back into his mouth. Parting away from you, Joel groans, hips bucking up involuntarily. But when he sees Dieter grinding into his palm, his cock hard and aching under his pants, Joel tugs on his hair, fucking his mouth with shallow strokes. 

Joel’s eyes go wide when the other man chokes, the sound of it equivalent to someone raking their nails over his body. His stomach flips. Something raw and visceral awakening inside him. He thrusts deeper, the head going down the other’s throat. Dieter chokes again and Joel moans, loudly. His heart beating too fast. 

With the corner of his eyes, Joel watches your movements with a parted mouth. You dip lower and drag your lips up his shaft, your mouth meeting Dieter’s. You both mouth at him simultaneously, your tongues dancing. Joel fists the sheets. His eyes fixed where his cock disappears and reappears between their lips. The two moan at the same time, the reverberations seeping into the sensitive skin of his cock and making him shudder. His muscles grow taut. Precum heavily coating both of their lips. Dieter dips his tongue into the slit groaning at the taste, and you unbutton the actor’s pants, sliding your hand under his boxer briefs. 

“Oh god,” Joel swallows thickly, his voice hoarse. “I’m gonna come—” he can feel his body tensing, his breaths coming in short gasps as he gets closer and closer.

You pull away and Dieter follows. Instinctively, Joel pulls at Dieter’s hair, willing the other back to his cock. His cock twitches when Dieter’s eyes roll back at the blossoming pain. You climb up the bed, cradling Joel’s face before slipping his tongue into his mouth. It’s a quick one but leaves him breathless nonetheless. 

“I want you to fuck me,” you mutter, lips moving over his beard. “Will you, please?” 

Joel helps you up to your feet, his hands still shaking slightly as he pushes down your dress, finishing what Dieter had started. He dips down, sucking a nipple into his mouth. His cock drips at the way you moan for him. Dieter stands behind him, his fingers trailing down the center of Joel's back as he helps him out of his shirt. 

You reach for Dieter's pants, feeling the heat rising in your chest as you gaze into his eyes. He watches you intently, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. You slide the zipper down slowly, your fingers brushing against the growing bulge in his boxer briefs. 

Joel steps back, allowing you to guide Dieter towards the bed. He climbs up first, propping himself up against the headboard, his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding in front of him. You kneel on the bed beside Dieter, your fingers reaching for the waistband of his underwear. You tug them down slowly, revealing his cock, already hard and throbbing. 

Joel's breath catches in his throat as he watches you take Dieter's cock into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the head before sliding down the shaft. Then you pull away from him with a pop and lay down next to him, your head resting on his hip. Dieter’s hands smooth down your body, spreading your thighs. He holds Joel’s gaze as the older man’s mouth suddenly feels dry at the sight of you. 

Joel moves between your legs, his fingers tracing over your slick folds, making you moan softly. He positions himself at your entrance, his eyes locked onto yours as he slowly pushes inside you. He can feel you getting wetter with every inch. You claw at Dieter’s bicep and he shushes you, one hand moving to the swell of your breasts and holding it gingerly. The small hairs across Joel’s body stand up when you let out a sharp whimper. 

“Dieter,” you whine, eyes glossy. “H-He feels so good.” 

God, you’re shaking around him, your pretty pussy squeezing him. Joel grunts. 

“I bet he does,” Dieter murmurs, eyes looking at where you and Joel connect. He’s only halfway in. “Want me to play with your pretty clit, baby? You’re taking him so well.” 

You nod quickly and Dieter doesn’t make you repeat yourself. Joel swallows. Dieter begins to draw quick, tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. You gasp, your lips barely touching Dieter’s shaft. Joel feels you clenching around him, walls fluttering thanks to the actor. Dieter makes a point of brushing the tips of his fingers while attending to your need, and every time Joel feels it, his cock throbs. He buries himself deep inside you, forcing the air from your lungs. Your back arches beautifully, your nails leaving crescent moon-shaped marks into Dieter’s skin. 

Joel's breathing is ragged, his eyes locked onto yours as he pumps into you harder and harder. Your eyes flutter closed. His fingers dig into your hips, anchoring you to the bed as he pounds into you. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room. 

“Hold me,” you cry out, head turning to Dieter. Joel’s thrusts become harder, faster. “Shit—He’s in so deep.” 

Dieter obliges, wrapping his arms around your trembling frame as your body sways back and forth with the strength of Joel’s thrusts. 

“You’re taking him so well, sweetheart,” Dieter groans, his own cock heavy and dark between his legs. “You look so beautiful with him buried between his legs.” suddenly his eyes snap to Joel’s, and the older man falters a bit, his pacing becoming uneven. “Doesn’t she?” he asks him. 

“She does,” Joel grunts out a response. 

You let out a whimper, Joel can feel you convulsing. Your body growing taut and tense, you’re close. Joel’s not that far from it himself, dangling over the edge.  

“She’s such a good girl,” Dieter continues, eyes never leaving Joel’s. “Isn’t she?” 

“Jesus, she is. So fuckin’ good to me. Always.” 

And with that, Joel witnesses your fall from heaven.

He watches with awe as you writhe and convulse around him, your head thrown back in ecstasy. Your body trembles with every pulse of pleasure that courses through you, and your breaths come in short gasps. You arch your back, a low moan escapes your lips, and your body tenses up around Joel's length. Your fingers dig into Dieter’s forearms s as you ride out the waves of ecstasy that ripple through your body. Joel can feel your inner walls squeezing him tightly, and he groans.

Joel can feel your wetness coating his cock, and the slickness only intensifies the pleasure he feels. He continues to thrust into you, his pace quickening as he chases his own release. Somewhere in the distance, he can hear Dieter praising you both, though mostly you, and he shudders. 

Your orgasm starting to subside, he feels your body relaxing against him. He slows his pace, savoring the feeling of your hot, slick walls wrapped tightly around him. He wants to make this last as long as possible, to make you feel every inch of him. However, Joel knows nothing lasts forever. 

He’s right at the edge when he pulls out, spilling over your stomach. His hot breath slides over your skin, his head buried between your breasts. Unthinking, he presses heavy, wet kisses. The tremors of his orgasm slowly fades and Joel realizes that among the three of them, there’s still one person left unsatisfied. 

Joel looks up to Dieter. Despite his cock still being hard, the head an angry shade of red, he looks content with just peppering the top of your head with kisses. But he must’ve sensed the bodyguard staring because Dieter’s eyes meet his. 

“You didn’t come,” Joel states. 

Dieter rolls his eyes, “No shit,” he follows it up with a shrug. “But it’s okay. Seeing you two going at it was satisfying enough.” 

Joel moves his jaw, thinking, contemplating on what to do. Your lids are heavy as your eyes move back and forth. Watching. The older man comes to a decision and peels himself away from you. 

“Can I?” he asks, pointing at Dieter’s dick. The actor flushes. 

“Can you what?” he answers, voice squeaky. 

“Um. . .Jerk you off. It’s only fair.” 

Joel reaches out a hand and tentatively wraps it around Dieter's shaft, giving it a gentle squeeze. Dieter lets out a small moan. His fingers start moving up and down, slowly at first, getting a feel for Dieter's size and shape. Joel has done this with another once or twice before and he can sense his confidence that was already hanging by a thread slowly dissolving. He looks up at Dieter who is already staring at him with half hooded eyes.   

“Is this good?” Joel asks, licking his lips. 

“Fuck yes. I’ll take whatever you give me.” 

Joel’s eyes widen at the admission. He tightens his grip and strokes him faster. Your hand comes up to Dieter’s chest, caressing flushed skin with a smile. You lean closer and kiss his neck, which Dieter hums gratefully. Joel feels the heat emanating from Dieter's body, and the slight tremble in his legs as Joel picks up the pace. 

"Good boy," Joel murmurs, watching as Dieter's eyes close and his mouth falls open. "So well behaved than from what I give him credit for."

Dieter lets out a soft whimper, his hips bucking up into Joel's hand. Joel adjusts his grip, tightening his fingers around Dieter's cock as he works him harder. Dieter drips all over his fingers and he uses it to lubricate his movements.

"You're so hard," Joel whispers, his mouth suddenly feeling incredibly dry. His gaze falls on you with slight envy, a tingle spreading throughout his lips. A desire to lay his lips on the other man and feel his frantic pulse for himself is a strong one, but he swallows it down. "You want to come, don't you?"

Dieter nods frantically, his breathing ragged. Joel can feel his own cock twitching. 

"That's it, let go," Joel encourages, stroking him faster and swiping his palm over the head. "Come for us."

With a loud groan, Dieter's body tenses, and Joel can feel the hot spurt of cum as it lands on his hand and on Dieter's stomach. Joel keeps jerking him through his orgasm, murmuring words of encouragement as Dieter's body shakes with pleasure.

Finally, as Dieter's breathing evens out, Joel releases him, wiping his hand on the bedsheet. Dieter looks up at him with a dazed expression, a small smile on his lips.

"Thanks," he says, his voice hoarse.

Joel exhales a stuttered breath, not really knowing what else to say. "Anytime."

“Awwww,” you chime in giddily which gets on Joel’s nerves. “Look at my two boys getting along.” 

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x you #bodyguard!joel miller #actress!reader #joel miller x reader x dieter bravo #the bubble fic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters

[chronically-ghosted]

stay gold, baby boy

rating: 18+ (expliiiiicit)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: almost 6K

summary: six months into your friends-with-benefits situation, you institute a new game. A gold star on the board every time Dieter is a good boy. Today, he gets bingo . . . for wearing real pants. 

warnings: friends with benefits (with more feelings), oral (m receiving), dom/sub dynamics (guess who subs today!), talks of edging, hair pulling, creampie, piv sex, praise kink, my mother raised me to have better taste in men but fuck it

a/n: remember when i posted this picture? And then this one? Remember how you could hear me yelling from space? Well, @sp00kymulderr has added fuel to the fire – Dieter and stickers. I can’t explain myself except that I was horny and I wanted to take his pants off with my teeth. So I did. 

✨gif credit goes to the ever incredible, talented, and enabler of my dieter fantasies @perotovar! she saw me floundering with the header and immediately was like 'hold please i can make his baby cow eyes even better'✨

🤍Masterlist

With your foot on the low table, your ass firmly planted on the middle poofy cushion of the dumpster bin couch at the back of the trailer, thumbnail nibbled between your teeth, you have to admit it’s starting to get a little embarrassing. It’s honestly such a bad look.

Not that he would ever shame you for it. In fact, he’d probably like it. 

And it’s not like you waited for him here all day. You had things to do as one of the co-screenwriters on this film. You had things to do and people to see and stuff to organize – all of which had nothing to do with Dieter fucking Bravo.

Okay, so a lot of it actually had to do with him. Lots of scene rewrites, lots of notes from the studio, lots of instances where the two of you had to put your heads together and come up with a solution that made the studio happy and didn’t make you want to claw your eyes out artistically speaking. 

Which had led to this. 

And the past six months of whatever this is. Working together led to seeing each other (outside of work), to eating with each other, to fucking each other – with the line firmly drawn there. 

Whatever you may say about Dieter, the man could compartmentalize in a way that would make Marie Kondo weep with joy. By the way he treated you on set, no one in their right mind would ever have guessed he knew what you looked like naked. Or that he knew your left nostril twitched just before you came.

The same could be said for you too. Out of boredom one morning in the grocery store, you bought a trashy magazine with his face emblazoned across the top – Dieter Bravo and His Lonely Hearts Club. You weren’t one for the gossip rags, but flipping through it, not a single one of his “club members” mentioned his raging praise kink. You bought the damn thing on the spot, giving them all a consolation prize of some sort. Sorry, ladies, guess I win. Ha. Ha.

But, at the edge of the cushion, eyes occasionally flicking between the door and the failing darkness outside, you didn’t feel much like you’d won anything. 

In fact, you’d lost. Big time. When all of this had been your stupid idea in the first place. 

It had been your idea (and your initiative) to buy a packet of gold star stickers. Like the kind teachers use with their first graders. Actually, exactly like the ones teachers use for their first graders. You couldn’t form words when the woman at the education supply store ringing you up asked, “oh, what grade do you teach?”. You just tossed a twenty at her and booked it, your face painfully hot for a fairly innocuous purchase. 

But all of that was his fault for dropping a praise kink and a teacher kink on you all at once the night after you jokingly spanked him with a ruler in front of the director, in-front of his co-star, because he wouldn’t agree to a line change, and he had to excuse himself from the room. 

A month later and he forgoes touching himself for a gold star. He agrees to your line changes without argument for a gold star. He picks you up in the morning and drives you home at night for a gold star (you could drive yourself, but there’s always that last minute thing you need to talk to him about so you do it just because it’s easier, really).

He lets you come, over and over again, and keeps nothing for himself – all for a gold star. 

Someone is bound to figure it out. They have to. Six months in and you’re getting sloppy. Obvious. What the fuck would you be doing in his trailer at seven o’clock at night after a full day of shooting unless you’re fucking him? 

But you, worryingly, can’t find it in you to care. 

You had lost your mind, that’s what you lost. Because tonight is the night Dieter gets his final gold star. It’s his reward but you’re about to vibrate out of your skin with want. 

(It didn’t matter that you hadn’t seen each other in two weeks and by the third day, an ache had settled in behind your breastbone, one that clutched your phone in your hand, and forced your eyes to the screen every minute, checking for a new text message. 

He called on day five, by the way.)

Your neck snaps up when you hear voices outside of the trailer. Laughter, his. 

You suddenly feel the need to flatline against the floor in case anyone might see you.

Fuck, and how are you supposed to explain yourself if the someone he is with follows him into the trailer? Too many frightfully bad scenarios and you’re rooted to the floor, unable to make a single decision. 

The metal latch clinks and his trailer door swings wide open.

“Yeah, man, I’ll catch you tomorrow.” 

You can hear a deep, “see ya” from the other side (maybe Daryl from craft services?) and the scrap-metal trailer squeaks, as the lock clicks shut. 

Dieter scratches his cheek, surveying the trailer as if some part of him knows something is different, but his conscious mind can’t figure it out. 

Until he turns. And nearly leaps out of his skin.

“Fuckin’ – what are you doing in here? Wait – I thought you left town to scope out the new location in San Diego.”

You want to answer him. You know how – open your mouth and tell him the trip’s been delayed for a few days, nothing serious, timeline bullshit – but you can’t. 

It’s officially embarrassing.

It’s embarrassing how turned on by Dieter Bravo you are.  

Hair in all kinds of directions, skinny cloth bracelet loose around his wrist, he had pushed up the sleeves of his henley shirt, exposing the thickly drawn triangle over his forearm and the clear one near his wrist. His hand with the rings hangs by his side and something inside of you silently whines. 

But what really sets you off, what really makes this embarrassing and terrible because there’s no bluffing here, no hiding your cards and folding – nothing you can do to keep spit from flooding your mouth the longer you look –

He’s wearing pants. 

Black with loose belt loops. Zipper and all. A silver button sitting between his hips. Fuck. Just like you told him to. Fuck fuckfuck.

You’re briefly aware when he says your name and you have to make a physical effort to tear your eyes away from that glinting silver eye winking up at you.

Dieter’s frowning, knowing silence isn’t really your thing. 

“Are you okay? Why are you –,”

As though it had called his name, his gaze drifts from your face to the table between you and him. Where his scorecard rests with four stars in the Good column, and shockingly, none in the Bad.   

His mouth parts, eyes going dark, as the realization hits him like a mack truck.

“Delays,” you say suddenly, preemptively, knowing that normal people usually have some sort of preamble before tearing each other’s clothes off. You stand up a bit straighter, tilt your jaw away from him, gaze leveling him from the end of your nose. You have got to get this thing under control. “Frank ran into some scheduling issues with the boat for the lake scene so, until further notice, the trip to San Diego has been delayed.” 

He blinks slowly as if he’d been struck over the back of the heat, mouth parted. He has such fucking gorgeous, fucking perfect lips –

“So you’re here?” he asks, his voice low, disbelieving. 

You scoop up the scorecard and step over the table, your shoes long since gone. It’s like his vision narrows the closer you come; he is transfixed, gaze on you as if molded at the seams, as you step up to him. You tap him on the chest once with the corner of the scorecard, excitement and nerves and that ache making you tremble despite your confident appearance. 

“So I’m here.” 

“On the last day of the week.” Words thick, as if all the moisture had been sucked out of his mouth.

“On the last day of the week.”

“When I,” he swallows thickly, “when I should get my reward.” 

God, this kind of power trip should not be making you this wet. 

You lift your gaze from his chest, taking in his beautifully dumb-struck face. 

“You will.” You nod. “And do you know why?”

His breath quickens, lip between his teeth, when you scratch off the final star from the package and stick it to the Good column. 

“Because I was a good boy?” 

You toss the scorecard behind you, it clatters onto the table, and you cup the back of his hot neck.

“Because you were a very good boy.” 

He stumbles back, knees unsteady, when you kiss him. You see his eyes a split second before you close yours and hot electricity swoops down to the pit of your stomach. It would be mortifying if you just fucked him right here and now – he does deserve something extra special – but fuck – you want his whole hand inside of you.

His warm palm slides across your jaw, pulling you into him, and Dieter breathes, deep and long, inhaling as much as he can. You don’t think he realizes that he’s picked you up off the ground with his arm around your back until he opens his eyes, vision hazy and off-center. 

“Go lock the door, baby.” 

He nods and puts you back down. You slip off your jacket as he bolts the trailer door shut.

Dieter’s mouth drops open when he turns around and sees you on your knees.

Shit, you should have stolen some knee pads from the costume department. 

“Really?” 

You smile at him because he asks like a kid that just got offered a puppy for Christmas. You reach towards him and he takes your hand, unsteady on weak knees

“For as long and as much as you want.”  

You palm him and Dieter groans, mouth-closed at the sensation, the hard ridge of the metal zipper not one he is entirely familiar with. At least, not like this. Beneath the warm press of your palm, you feel him thicken, harden, and you press more, digging your fingers into his thighs. The muscles in his legs tense, his mouth falls open, as his hips cant forward, desperate for the new weight of the zipper. 

“And I won’t make you wait, Dieter,” you say, eyes tripping up from where your hand sits, up to the flash of exposed tummy where his pants have ridden down and his shirt slid up, into his almost surprised gaze. “You’ve been very good, wearing this for me, but I want you to learn why it’s important to wear pants with buttons.” 

“I-I t-t-thought,” he tries, voice abruptly cutting off when you nuzzle the constrained bulge in his pants. He tries again, eyes slamming shut as if to stifle the sensation of your warm breath so near to where he needs you the most. “I thought i-it was so I d-din’t – didn’t look bad.” 

Your face still pressed into his crotch, you briefly massage his calves, then the backs of his thighs. You cup the curve of his ass through the starchy back pockets, which is remarkably prominent now that he’s in something else than baggy sweatpants.

You shake your head, nose dragging along his hot length, against the space between his hip bone and his cock, smiling. 

“Baby, you know I like how you look. I always want you to be comfortable.” You look up and meet his eyes. The remaining brown not yet wholly consumed by a blurry, heated darkness softens. Somewhere beneath the hazy, disarming feelings of lust currently filling his head like a bike tire, he’s still your Dieter. Or – well, wait – at least the Dieter you know. The Dieter you have impossibly fun times with. The Dieter who makes you laugh like no one else. The Dieter that can make you fall apart until you’re a gooey, dripping mess and he still manages to stitch you back together. The Dieter that keeps you up at night thinking he might possibly want something more. “But this is so much more fun.”

Grounding your chest against his thighs, holding yourself against him as leverage, you sink your teeth into the corner of the fabric fastening his pants together. Eyes up at him again, you tug and his cock is pushed up against your tits from the force of the pull. He rocks forward, an airy gasp escaping his mouth, and the button gives, the lip of the fabric sliding back as the silver disk slips through the hole. Now your touch is unimpeded by rough fabric when you lean forward and kiss him just below the waistband of his black boxers. 

It takes you a second to realize that Dieter Bravo is wearing underwear at all and you smirk up at him.

Something about your gaze makes the tips of his ears go red, as if he had been caught being very naughty. His big hand cups from your jaw to your ear, as if trying to placate you, beg you not to be mad this close to his cock. 

“You said I had to dress u-up,” he says, eyes wide and round. God, he’s trying to be so good. One week of the rating system and Dieter Bravo is a trembling mess. Despite your wildly beating heart, you smirk, your thighs shaking briefly at the sudden rush of tenderness you feel for the man in front of you. You hide your own blush by mouthing that open spot just below his tummy and above his cock, wetting the black material with your tongue. Before he can whine about it, you pull back just barely, enough to curl your fingers around both his black underwear and the pants he wore for you. Just as you begin to pull down, you nip the zipper between your teeth and slowly, slowly, rubbing your nose against him, tug the metal teeth apart. His pants open and Dieter groans loudly. He’s already so sensitive. 

For a mouthy, ego-driven bastard, he really did have a magnificent cock. Flushed at the base, thickest you’d ever had inside you, and he’s leaking silvery threads from the head. The vein thickly pulsating on the side makes you wonder how he hasn’t passed out from all the blood rushing to his cock. 

You lick that vein, that beating pulse, and his knees buckle. His massive hand grips your shoulder and Dieter shakes his head, his mouth wrenching open.

“Please, please — mhmm — don’t tease. I-I can’t – you haven’t – please.” 

As if you would be cruel to him. You feel rather dizzy, elated on the idea that you wield this much power over him. That he trusts you with all of him. There it comes again, that arching ache in your chest. 

“I’m just trying to get myself ready for you,” you confess quietly. “I’m not trying to hurt you.” 

Dieter swallows something large in his throat, panic receding from his eyes. His smile is small and his touch on your cheek is light.

“I know.”

And you weren’t lying. You’d never forget the sound of your jaw popping and cracking the morning after you sucked him off three times before you let him come. Dieter is shockingly big, annoyingly only when he uses it against you or makes you tell him over and over just how big he is before giving it to you. For now, you just want to remind him how very appreciative you are that he gives it to you at all. 

Eyes decidedly looking away from the warmth on his face, you squeeze the backs of his thighs as you relax your jaw as much as you can. Above you hear him huff with his mouth shut as you start to take him in, your tongue wetting that soft skin on the underside of his cock. One move forward and you’ve wet him halfway, tongue massaging that vein. Another drop of your head and you’ve taken him completely.

“Fuck,” Dieter murmurs, the hand on your shoulder tightening. Your heart pounds in your chest all the harder when he takes his other hand and knots your hair with his fingers. By the twitching of his thighs beneath your palms, you know it’s taking every ounce of his restraint to not buck his hips forward. “That’s it that’s my girl you take me so fucking good you feel so fucking good.”

The thing about your mouth that is markedly different from your pussy: you can’t release your gag reflex to take more of him. But fuck, you want him to fuck the back of your throat – you just might drown before it happens. 

He smells surprisingly clean as your nose inches closer and closer to his skin. With each pull, you slide your tongue down the other side, until it pokes through and licks where you haven’t reached with your mouth yet, inches from his pelvis. He shudders when you use the tip of your tongue. 

“Oh my god, your mouth, baby, your mouth.” The words dribble out of his slack mouth, fingers flexing in your hair as if he can mimic pushing your head down further. You pull all the way off him, tongue catching the rim of his cock and he drops his head back against his shoulders and moans. The sound of it makes your pussy throb and you breathe out your nose to stifle your own noises. This is about him. He did good. He was a good boy the whole week. 

You replace your mouth with your hand. Sufficiently wet from the way you slobbered all over his cock, you use a fist around his flushed head to smear pre-cum all the way down to the base of him. You brush his balls with your knuckles, just as you fit the tip between your lips, sucking – and Dieter bucks, hard. 

“Ngh – shit! S-sorry!” His nails dig into his thighs, eyes squeezing shut as silvery threads spurt out from his cock. 

Maybe you’d gone too far with the whole sticker thing and he really thought this was another test. His cheeks are burnt pink, his chest heaving and it’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. 

“Dieter,” you cry softly, gently, comfortingly. He still doesn’t open his eyes, not even when you resume stroking him. You lick the soft skin of his balls and his gasp punches the air out of his lungs, his eyes splitting open. He looks down at you, thighs trembling and you squeeze him gently. Not to edge him or punish him, but to make this last a bit longer for him. “Dieter, take your shirt off and sit down.” 

He can’t move fast enough. He yanks the henley over his shoulders, the collar scraping his hair up in wild directions. He goes to sit but his thighs are shaking too much and he just sort of tumbles onto his ass. Smiling, you take your own shirt off, hoping to save this particular bra reveal for another time, but fuck, this time is as good as any. Despite his panting and squirming, his gaze rolls from your face to your tits. Emerald green with black lace, this is far too nice for a work bra and it properly communicates to him that you were going to fuck him whether or not he was going to get that final gold star. The realization is visible as it crosses his mind, bleeding hungry black in his eyes. 

You take off his pants all the way, before sliding your own jeans down and to the floor. His roving gaze catches the matching panties and the noise in his throat is deep, like a smothered grunt. 

“Now, I’m going to suck you off no matter what,” you say as you crawl in between his legs, before leaning back and sitting on your heels. You smooth your hands down his thighs, near his red, stark cock, but not touching. Dieter’s breathing hitches in anticipation, not sure where to put his hands or his gaze. “But I want you to answer one question for me first.” 

He nods rapidly, spreading his knees further for you as if to remind you there’s other places he could be fucked. 

“Why did you think I was going to punish you today?”

You’ve asked this question paraphrased a dozen times, usually when you both know the answer: he came without asking, or he came by himself, or any of the dozen reasons Dieter liked to push your buttons, only for you to break him as far as he can go. But today, there’s no sultry edge, no double meaning. Your question is sincere and it takes him a moment to understand. He swallows as his eyebrows tug down on his forehead, something vulnerable flashing in his eyes before a look of uncertainty crosses his face.

“We’ve never had sex just to have sex.” He says it like a question. He settles into the floor one hand going behind his head, the linear tattoo on his forearm dark like a third eye. “Not that I’m complaining but it’s always a competition, or because we’re bored, or you wanna work out some personal shit because of the costume department. I know this is my reward, but I figured there had to be some kinda catch to it.” 

You frown deeper than him. “There’s no way we haven’t had normal sex.”

Something like a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Define normal sex.”

Now it’s your turn to go warm across the cheeks. “I mean, like . . . outside of . . . our roles. Where there aren’t roles at all. It’s just . . .”

You break off for the third time, the look in his eyes forcing you to snap your mouth shut before you say something incriminating like, just us. 

Dieter shakes his head. “No, we haven’t.” 

“You’re telling me in six months, that’s never happened once?” You adjust on your heels and cross your arms. “It’s not like you can remember every time we’ve had sex.”

“I do.” This, coming from him, is not a question. It’s an irrefutable statement that you don’t seem able to refute with a no you don’t. There is no room for arguing. 

Driving right on through the heat of your cheeks, that ache returning, you shake your head. “Then doesn’t that get old? Having to play games every single time?” 

Dieter pouts as he thinks, eyes on the roof of the trailer. “Sometimes, but I don’t mind. Not enough to want to stop fucking you.” 

“So, after a week of nothing, you were totally willing to let me edge you within an inch of your life? Let me treat you badly?”

Dieter smirks and it suddenly feels like you’re the one under him. “Sure, but you like me too much to keep it going for too long. And you like watching me come.” 

Your teeth grind together at this very bold accusation, your entire face blazing. Weren’t you supposed to be domming him today??

His feet slide out beside you and Dieter is the very picture of arrogance, his arm still tucked behind his head. He drums his fingers on his stomach.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he says, the smirk around his mouth soft, “I like you too.” 

It doesn’t. Not really. Not when his words spear through you hot and hard, landing in your chest like a landmine. Fuck. 

Fuck.

“Oh, so this is all for me, then?” You ignore the fact that you’ve slipped back into your role in active defiance of talking about this anymore, and crawl forward until your forearms frame his head. That teasing contentment fades from his face as he watches you, eyes following a line that only he can see from your nose, lips, chin, throat and tits. Your hair slips off your shoulder, darkening the light on his face when you straddle his waist. “But what about you? Don’t you want to come?”

He nods, slower than before, but only to keep from breaking eye contact with you. Light as feathers, Dieter trails his fingers up the backs of your thighs, over the curve of your ass, to settle into your hips. His mouth parts in anticipation, pink tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. 

“I do,” he says, rolling his neck as if he can see more of you this way. “I really fuckin’ do.”

“What a coincidence.” You shift down, dragging the wet patch on the emerald green underwear beneath your drooling cunt, shift until it slides across his half-hard cock and Dieter’s hands dig into your hips, a groan breaking off in the back of his throat. His eyes slip half-closed, a thick, smoky black enveloping that beautiful brown. “So do I.” 

Grinding down over so slightly, you roll your hips once more – Dieter tenses, his hands easing to the tops of your thighs – before sitting back on his knees. 

“Now relax, baby, you’ve earned it.” 

You drop forward over his hips, open your mouth, and slurp him up between your lips. 

The noise that comes out of his chest is broken, knocked loose, split down the middle. You take him all in one, down until your nose is tickled by his coarse hairs, and you swallow. He is immediately, instantly, rock hard and dribbling. You swallow again and his hands dive into your hair, knotting the strands around his fingers, the way a rider draws up the reins of his horse. He goads you down with just gentle pressure, needy and demanding all at once, and you take him, and you take him, and you take him until the blunt head prods the back of your throat and you gag, throat constricting, and Dieter’s eyes roll back in his head. 

“Shit, that’s too fucking good.”

You breathe out your nose, pulling up just enough to keep him off your reflex, but instead you hollow out your cheeks and suck, tongue pressing up against him and around that hammering vein. 

And here, here comes the sound you’ve wanted from him all night –

Dieter whines, high and keening, his neck straining, your skull pinching from where he pulls. Between your thighs, the emerald green is completely ruined, buffed out dark in the wet. 

The vein throbs again and you nearly drop onto your elbows, not caring if you choke or drown or sputter, you want him in your mouth, you want that salty, gooey taste of him that you find you can’t seem to lick up enough. You want him inside you –

With a grunt that morphs into a groan as it rises up his chest, he tugs hard enough on your hair that the pain splits your mouth open, head tugged back enough that he slips out of you, a thread of pre-cum from your puffy lips to the tip of his blunt head. 

You lied. This wasn’t entirely for him. 

You can feel your lips twist into a snarl. “Dieter, what are you –,”

He kisses you with such a force, that noise in his chest is transferred to yours, a collision that sparks a causal nexus and his own desperation bleeds with your own. The kiss is messy, dizzying, spit and pre-cum smearing across swollen lips and wet tongues. He twists his fingers deeper into your hair, as if he can consume you through the bowl of your skull. 

Your name is something that tumbles, falls, drips from him, his mouth tilted a fraction of an inch away from yours. Eyes dark, full, a beast that howls for the moon in your eyes. 

He’s going to fuck your brains out on the floor of this rickety-ass trailer. 

Dieter tugs you forward, drags you onto your knees over him as he settles beneath you. Your fingers knock with his in a fight to reach your panties first, to shove them down your hips and thighs, get them to the floor. 

Dieter’s flushed, pupils dark, big hands grappling against the weight of you as he pulls you onto him. You are so aroused, so sunken into the smoke of lust, you go as you are moved, his cock smearing apart your wet pussy. Dieter sits up, eyes locking onto where you’ve nearly become a single creature, and then he hesitates. 

Sanity seems to ring his bell, for just a moment. Without waiting, he sucks two fingers into his mouth, coating them with his spit, and you can see what he’s about to do just before he moves. You shake your head, knees aching from carrying your weight against the flat trailer floor, and sit up off him, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Don’t need it,” you mutter before licking into his mouth. He drops his head back to let you sink your tongue between his lips. Both hands wrapped around his jaw, you thumb his earring and he grunts out the side of his mouth. “I want –,”

His big hands settle and it’s like he dropped a thousand pound weight between your ribs. You drop, right onto him, his cock forcibly shoving you apart in a single thrust. Dieter barks out a moan, his hands clutching your spine, teeth going for your shoulder to muffle anything else that threatens to escape him. 

You swear your nerves are on fire.

He always takes his time with you, for your benefit, and his. He can be maddening and incessant and demanding, right up until this part, the part where he could actually hurt you. Right then, he waits. Lets you come to him. Let you take as much as you want and he holds you tight.

But this, this is you taking all you want and then some. 

In the split second you allow for your bodies to recognize the give and the take, the swell and the invasion, you meet his gaze. 

No roles. No games. No landmines. 

Exposure. 

Blistering and brittle.

Safety. 

You curl your toes underneath you, grip his shoulders, and slide up on an inhale. On an exhale, you thrust down and you don’t know who cries out louder. 

Dieter pulls you to him, arm banded around your back, the other to balance as he leans back to meet your downward strokes with his upward thrusts. His fingers pinch the clasp of your bra and the straps slide off your shoulders, your frantic bouncing knocking those emerald cups loose. 

“Oh, yeah, oh fuck yeah.” He mouths at your collarbone, tonguing the sweat that blooms across your skin. Your short huffs have your chest trembling, a shudder disrupting your breath when he uses the blunt edge of his teeth against the soft curve of your breast. His nose against your skin, he turns his head and licks your nipple into his mouth. He sucks, licks, your rapid rise and fall catching your sensitive peak against the tops and bottoms of his teeth. He uses the barest hint of pressure and your back arches. He sucks your other nipple into his mouth, repeating that same pattern with his tongue, while his fingers flick your hardened bud. 

You think you’re going to melt, fracture and ooze into this hot pool of pleasure that hums between your legs. 

“Fuck, Dieter,” your own voice is unrecognizable, breathy and high, cut short every time his hips meet yours in a harsh slap, “I can’t –,” 

He rubs up against something truly devastating inside of you and immediately your legs give out. You topple into him, arms around his neck, nose pressed up against his jaw. You feel his overheated skin, a balm, a solidifying force, against your cheek. The whirling inferno in your head soothes. A drop of sweat from his hairline trails down by your eye and you lick it. 

“Make me come, Dieter,” you whisper for him, of him, beg in a way that only he can hear. You nuzzle his earring and he keens. “Please – I need it – n-n-need you.”

Open-mouthed, breath hot, flush down to his chest, he slithers the hand against your back between your warm bodies and finds your clit. Drags his thumb across it as his hips pound up into you – you can’t hear what he says in your ear, the edge you’re dangling over loud and pulsing – and then there’s a softness against your throat.

The white spark between your thighs erupts and you come so hard you scream. A release. Controlled and contained brightness now spilling out everywhere, you can feel it as you soak his lap. It drips and winds down, and it drunkenly slides off you. Finally, you curl into him, a muddled tingle radiating out across your nerves. 

You sink into your skin again and hear him, still whispering, still talking.

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you come it’s okay baby I’ve got you I’ve got you I’m here – I’m gonna – g-gonna –  oh, shit,”

His hips thrust up one more time before a full body shudder yanks his words and the air right out of his mouth. You melt as his cum floods your insides, the warm pulses intoxicating in the place he so forcefully claimed for his own. His shoulders curved towards you, his hand pinches the knot of your spine as if to steady himself, palm scalding against your skin. In your exhaustion, your sweaty forehead falls against his. 

He doesn’t seem to mind.

Seconds mold into minutes, minutes into maybe hours then days. 

Dieter’s trembling elbow finally weakens and with his arm around your back, he tips you both backwards. 

His cock rubs up inside of you in a new way and your cunt clenches involuntarily. You both groan when his cum leaks out of you, squeezed out by the contraction. You shift your hips to lay fully on him, and his cock slides out, but his arm around you remains.

It remains long after your breathing settles, long after the sweat dries and your exposed skin grows cold. The longer you lay together, the more you feel he’s going to start stroking you, touching you in a way that a fuck buddy shouldn’t. But he doesn’t. He keeps you close but doesn’t move. 

The feeling, the ache in your chest. It’s soothed and hastened by the beating of his heart beneath yours, your ear lying flat against his chest. It beats so loudly for you.

For some unfathomable reason, you glance up at the window. It’s dark out, the sun set and gone. For all you know, you two might be the only two people on the entire lot.

“Dieter.” His name sticks in your mouth. “Dieter, I –,”

“Five stars?” 

You blink, lifting your head for the first time in ages, sweat on his skin almost suctioning your ear to his chest. He’s grinning, curls matted and damp against his forehead.

He reaches up to the table behind him and snags that stupid bingo card, along with that packet of shiny gold star stickers.

This feeling, you can contain it. 

For now. 

Smirking down at him, you peel off one of the bigger stars and with your thumb, you press it into the center of his forehead. 

“Five stars, Dieter. Five star dick.” 

His smile widens. 

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #the bubble fanfic #the bubble 2016 #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfiction #pedro pascal #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x oc #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #the bubble

[freelancearsonist]

a dieter bravo x nonbinary!reader-insert!oc series

This is it: your big break. Your first real role as a serious actor. It's a huge deal, a limited drama series produced by a major television and streaming network; it's slated to shoot you directly to stardom. All you have to do is not mess this up. Enter Dieter Bravo: your character's father, but your celebrity crush. Not messing this up just got considerably harder.

this reader insert character is: unnamed, afab and nonbinary (has female anatomy and uses they/them pronouns), neurodivergent, latinx, 21 years old, an actor playing a female character. I’m trying to keep them a physically blank slate but it is mentioned that they have longer hair (past shoulder-length) for the role and they wear a bikini for the role at one point as well. They are mentioned to be shorter than Dieter.

each chapter has its own rating and warnings. overall series rating is MA for eventual explicit content.

chapter one: this is what it looks like, right before you fall

You meet the cast and vow yourself to professionalism as filming starts, but one particular costar tests your willpower.

chapter two: haven’t seen the sun in a while but i heard that the sky's still blue

It's almost midnight, and there's bumping and groaning sounds coming from the hallway. You should probably investigate, right?

chapter three: why i gotta build something beautiful, just to go set it on fire?

Emotions have been running high lately, and it all comes to a head on set during a particularly tense scene.

chapter four: and that’s the problem with a closed door

No one really knows how to handle what happened on set last week, least of all you and Dieter. You each go about it in your own separate ways.

chapter five: if life is but a dream, then so are we

The end of shooting is quickly approaching, and you have a lot to sort out before picture wrap.

chapter six: i always shine, even when the light dim

Press interviews and red carpet events have your entire life turned upside down--but in a good way.

header and title: @beskarandblasters ; dividers: @saradika-graphics follow @freelancearsonist-updates and turn on post notifications to be notified when new chapters are posted!

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo smut #the bubble #the bubble fanfiction #dieter bravo fic #the bubble fic #dieter bravo fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #reader insert oc #nonbinary reader #series: free falling love addict

[thosewickedlovelies]

Conversation Pit | Dieter Bravo x afab!Reader

Rating: E for Explicit

Summary: You’re viewing a mansion with Dieter, and it has a conversation pit. Does he have the discipline to keep his hands to himself?

Tags: friends with benefits, SMUT: Dieter’s favorite dom appears 👀 could it be someone we know?; mmf threesome, piv sex, semipublic sex but don’t worry, edging (m receiving), references to sex work

Word count: 4,112

Note: Listen. This fic was supposed to be conversation pit fucking and then it evolved into something else. I did not do her justice. I’ll come back to you baby.

This is the same universe as Coping Mechanisms. There's no plot connecting the two fics, but I recommend reading it if you want more sexy Dieter smut 😏😌

Masterlist

“It feels like a little much,” you say. Your neck aches from craning to look up at the many elevated features of this house. Or rather, this mansion. The sprawling, avant-garde chandelier in the foyer. The ocean-themed mosaics undulating across the domed ceiling of a bathroom. An enormous space lined with hanging walkways and tunnels and little nesting spots, for who knows how many cats.

This latest hallway is nice, though. Rustic wood beams pass overhead at a more average height, providing a sort of cozy, normal feeling for the first time since you entered. Here’s hoping they lead to a similar design style in the next room.

“I dunno, I kinda like it.” Dieter slings an arm around your shoulders. “Lots of walls to paint, you know? I could make it my own.”

“True,” you concede. “There are way more rooms than I was expecting, though. Like maybe more than even you could paint on your own.”

“You’re right about the rooms, actually.” The realtor gives you an sheepish smile over his shoulder. “The owner’s kind of a character- it took some real convincing to get them to send us any pictures at all, so they missed a few things. But they left the house in great shape, right?” He beams winningly.

This realtor has shown you and Dieter a few houses by now. He’s pretty okay for a chummy salesman type. His methods at least included giving you space to think and discuss, which you appreciate.

Not that discussion between you and Dieter was really necessary. He was the one buying a mansion, not you. He just wanted you here for impulse control, and a second opinion. “I trust your judgment,” he’d insisted. 

A lopsided smirk overtook his face. “Even with your choice of fuckbuddy.”

You’d rolled your eyes. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Dieter had shrugged. “Fuckbuddies, friends with benefits, booty calls. We know what we are.”

“Coping mechanisms?” you added drily. 

He’d given you a wounded look- always so effective with those big brown eyes of his. “We can be friends and coping mechanisms.”

You’d laughed at that, and now here you were, touring the quirkiest LA mansion you’d yet seen together this week. Or maybe offbeat was a better word. You didn’t really have any idea how to describe these places. Homes, but also playgrounds of the rich and famous. They’d do the place up how they wanted (or how some expensive designer wanted) and then left the next person to clean up the mess- to paper over whatever was now deemed- *shudder*- out of fashion.

Or to paint over, you muse, thinking of Dieter’s impromptu artistic urges.

“Now, you may think you’ve seen the showstoppers of this house, but this next room might just make you reconsider.” Standing before a door at the end of the hall, the realtor pushes it open and stands aside with a flourish.

Your mouth drops open. 

It didn’t just open up, as the rest of the house seemed to. This room also opens down. The beautiful wood beams do continue overhead, and the entire back wall is windowed, making the space feel both grand and homey at once. Bright sunshine streams in. The glass wall looks out over the backyard, which is less of a backyard than an entire valley, wild and forested, without a trace of the other mansions you’ve been informed are tucked into the hill. On the left wall of the room rises a stone brick fireplace; on the right wall, tall bookshelves. The sandy carpet underfoot looks thick and cozy.

And in the dead center of the room: a conversation pit.

Your mouth falls open again.

Is that even what it’s called? The word has a strange texture in your mind. Yes, a conversation pit; that architectural relic of the 70s. A great round depression, a huge circular couch set right into the floor.

It’s hideous.

Dieter hurtles through the door, down the short staircase, and bounds right into the pit. “Hey, check this out! A conversation pit, sweets! Have you ever been in a house with one of these?”

The realtor is prattling on about the other features of the room, something about adjustable lighting and special outlets. 

“I haven’t.” You approach more slowly. The staircase below the door hugs the wall, presumably so that anyone who falls down it doesn’t carom straight into the pit. The carpeting is so luxurious that you almost feel bad about walking on it with shoes. 

You carefully descend the two additional steps down to Dieter’s level. “This feels like a safety hazard.”

“Whaat? No way, it’s so cool! Like we’re in some classy old 70s porno.” In an instant Dieter has whirled to face you, grinning, a wily gleam in his eye. 

Your eyes widen with what you hope is a forbidding look. “No, Dieter. Absolutely not.”

The realtor’s cell phone trills, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Excuse me, let me just check this.” He fishes it out and answers, and his eyes light up. 

“You guys think about the house, okay? I’ll just be a minute.” The realtor heads back up the stairs. “Heya, Brad. No, no, I’m not busy…” He shuts the door behind him.

Dieter pounces.

“Dieter Bravo, you stay right there-”

The pupil in the eye of the pit is a cushy ottoman, which Dieter leaps over with unexpected grace. Your brain and your feet have different ideas on where to go; instead of fleeing, you stumble backward and fall to your ass on the sofa.

“Tell me you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”

“Dieter-”

“This room would be perfect for sex parties.” He’s practically glowing with excitement. He leers down at you, his shapely mouth turning up suggestively.

“D, that happened one time! And it wasn’t even planned, it was only because everyone drank too much of that Romanian liquor that Alexandra’s mom made her.” 

The taste of cherries had haunted you for a month afterward. It was nothing like the syrupy-sweet maraschino flavor that smacked of childhood sundaes and red dye 40. This stuff was as black as the fruit itself and tasted of summer at its height, thick and ripe and heady.

Normally you’re not so keen to head off Dieter’s sex-related whims, but something about this moment, this room, feels different. Like your body can sense how little convincing it would take for you to give in.

Like Dieter can sense it.

“But it could happen again.”

Dieter crouches and pulls on something near the floor, and suddenly your feet are propped several inches higher off the ground. You blink, and in a fluid movement Dieter is kneeling between your legs, at the perfect height to put his mouth to your ear.

“Just imagine. You’re sitting here, just like this. I’m sitting here. Just like this.” His hand trails up your thigh. You swallow.

“The lights are low, low enough to see the stars in the sky outside. Maybe we have some music playing. Lying right there are John and Diana.” Dieter nods to the plush carpet inches from your face. “I know you liked watching them last time.”

As if in a dream, your head turns to look where he indicated. Your face heats furiously at the memory of your two attractive friends, and the heavy glances all four of you had shared that night.

“He’s fucking her, slow and easy. She’s watching us while he does. Maybe she’s telling you to join in- to let me make you feel good, like she’s feeling.”

Dieter’s low, husky voice is a potent aphrodisiac, and so is the picture it paints. The taste of cherries seems to coat your tongue. You fight down a little noise of want in the base of your throat, your body tightening and squirming. Your fingers dig into the couch cushions.

“We can invite Samya and Vish again. And maybe Dani and Riley. They’re so hot.” Dieter sighs, briefly indulging in his own fantasy. 

Dieter’s hand has settled into a familiar shape- his thumb resting on your clit, but his fingers curled so the knuckles rest where they would normally slip inside you. Where they’d definitely be able to slide in right now. You can’t decide if you should thank or curse your past self for not wearing a skirt this morning.

“Remember how we could hear everyone? No one was hiding or acting shy, just enjoying themselves. Laughing and moaning…” Dieter’s voice drops to a whisper. “Diana was so wet you could hear it every time John thrust into her.” 

His lips brush your ear. “And so were you.”

His teeth graze your neck and you can’t stop your moan. He sucks on the sensitive skin just the way you like, his thumb bearing down, and your head drops back.

The bright blue sky brings you back to your senses. 

“Dieter!” You squirm away, gasping for air. 

He immediately retreats. He remains kneeling on the foot rest as you pull your legs up and together, attempting to regain some composure. 

“I think that courtesan part you played went to your head,” you say shakily. 

Dieter’s last role had been a four-episode appearance in a new fantasy period show. He’d played a queen’s favorite courtesan in her harem; but upon hearing inklings of a coup, she’d sent him away, leaving the audience with tantalizing hints that he wasn’t just a mere prostitute. The show’s first season had been a huge success, and though it had been renewed for more, the reappearance of Dieter’s character was still only rumor. 

Clearly he had picked up a few things from his character. You send him a half admonishing, half grudgingly impressed look.

Seeing that you’re not truly upset, he relaxes. “You like? There’s more where that came from.” Dieter walks his fingers up your calf. He smiles temptingly, his eyes still blown dark and beguiling. 

Huffing incredulously, but unable to resist smiling in turn, you shake your head.

“Ookay. I’m just saying, it sounded like our guy was gonna be a while. Especially if Brad is whose PA I think he is.” Dieter shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. “Wouldn’t hurt to do a little test run.”

“Dieter Bravo, I am not having sex with you in a house we’re viewing.” You laugh, a bit high despite yourself off the endorphins from Dieter’s fantasy. 

You turn and rise, making to clamber right over the back of the couch.

Dieter gasps. “Wait!” All trace of seduction is gone from his voice. You only make it halfway out of the pit, your knees where you’d just been sitting and your hands on the floor beyond the back of the couch. 

“Babe, this is the position we’ve been trying to find! Look-” He’s hushed but excited. Dieter scrambles up behind you, his hands appearing on either side of your own, his chest flush with your back. One of his knees further compresses the cushion beneath you. When you twist your head to look, you see that his other foot is leveraged on the footrest. 

Dieter groans your name, low and pleading. “Tell me you wore these pants for a reason.”

You gasp as his fingers dip beneath the waistband of your pants. LA weather means loose fitting bottoms, and high waistlines mean cinched elastic instead of button clasps. Dieter has no trouble sliding his hand into your pants and cupping your sex in a way that makes your elbows buckle.

“Dieter, we can’t.”

“Please, sweets, I’ll make you feel good- I won’t even come, this one will just be for you,” he promises. “You know I can be quick.” His voice goes velvety and dark with promise- with reminder.

Damn, but you did know. Dieter was a dedicated study; it didn’t take long before he could make you come faster and in more ways than any partner you ever had. The speed came in handy more often than you’d think. The man was insatiable, and his appetite could flare at any random moment- no matter how inopportune.

His persuasions are working. Your cunt throbs to have his hand so close and yet so far away through the barrier of your panties. You’re already wet from his earlier efforts, and the heavy drape of his body over yours brings your desire howling to life again.

“Hmmm?” Dieter traces a light circle around your clit.

You grit your teeth. The realtor could be back at any second. 

Dieter flattens his hand over your cunt, rubbing just so.

Your resolves breaks. “Fuck, fine- but quick,” you implore.

--

“Oh, this is going to take so long,” you assure him. Dieter moans, helpless to your designs, the binds on his wrists holding fast. “What’s wrong, D? You didn’t seem to care about coming earlier.”

“Please, please let me come. I’ve been so good, your pussy feels so fucking good…” Dieter rambles, sobbing, his eyes rolling back in his head as you sink down on him again, achingly slowly, taking him as deep as you can. Dieter tries to help, his hips surging upward like he can’t get far enough inside you. That could well be the case, given that his ankles are tied together as well.

He moans again.

“Mmn, you’re so pretty like this,” you sigh. Dieter’s chestnut locks are tufted from your grasp and dark with sweat at his temples. Red blooms in his cheeks. His lips are kiss-swollen, teeth-bitten from trying and failing to hold back his cries. His body is thick and strong beneath you, and you attempt to spread your thigh still wider, take that little bit more of him inside you.

Dieter makes a choked sound. He turns his head to the side, desperation all over his face.

It’s been hours since Dieter seduced you into coming around his cock in the conversation pit of the house you were viewing. As promised, he’d been quick- you hardly had time to break a sweat before he brought you that familiar hot rush of release. You needn’t have bothered worrying, though. The realtor took so long on his phone call that your panties had nearly dried out again by the time he returned.

But true to his word, Dieter didn’t come, and you’re pretty sure his hard-on hasn’t flagged once since then. Some part of him had been touching you through the entire rest of the house tour that neither of you had realized was still ahead. He was so worked up he’d canceled lunch at his favorite diner, and then looked agonized when he remembered that you hadn’t taken the car with the privacy screen. 

You follow his gaze. “What do you say, Ezra? Should we let him come?” 

Dieter’s favorite dom is sitting in an armchair off to the side, observing, loosely guiding, your activities and stroking himself with leisurely enjoyment.

Abandoning his own biology temporarily, Ezra approaches the bed. “A hard decision indeed, gem. But in my professional opinion, I believe that you should come once more before we allow dear Dieter the privilege.” Dieter’s eyes are glazed, bleary with desperation. You’d had one orgasm since the start of this session, but another sounded fine to you. 

“Should it be on his cock this time?”

“Hmmm. How would you feel about takin’ your pleasure on my cock first? Darlin’ Dieter got to experience it earlier; this time he can only watch, as a consequence of rushing his partner to the end so crudely.”

Surely that’s a little harsh. “Aww, I wouldn’t say it was crude. I did enjoy it,” you coo at Dieter, stroking his face reassuringly. Relief shines in his face, your words like a sunbeam breaking through the gathering clouds of his sudden anxiety.

“Oh, of course. My apologies; it was not my intention to imply otherwise. Nevertheless…” Ezra reaches over your thighs to give Dieter an apologetic stroke; then he runs his broad palms slowly up your body, Dieter’s eyes following like a starving man before a feast. Maybe like one of those ancient myths he's always drawing inspiration from- who was that one guy? Tantalus. Ezra tweaks your nipples and you shiver atop Dieter’s cock.

It had been your idea to text Ezra. On the car ride home, you’d suggesting upping the stakes, since Dieter had been so naughty in the house. He’d essentially already been edging himself since the conversation pit- why not make it a real challenge? (And maybe a little bit of a punishment, for being so cheeky.) Dieter had looked so torn, you might have asked him to choose between microwave chicken nuggets and taquitos for the rest of his life. But in the end Ezra was free, so you invited him over at three o’clock sharp.

Dieter sounds so anguished as you lift yourself off his cock that you think he might actually cry. You click your tongue. “You heard him, D. Consequences.” You lean down to kiss him, giving Ezra space to climb onto Dieter’s legs behind you.

“Stay there a moment, sweet,” Ezra requests.

Your breasts brush Dieter’s chest, and he automatically tries to lift his torso to meet you, forgetting that your hands are holding down his shoulders. He whines.

“Naughty Dieter, always pushing the rules. Trying to fuck me where other people might see.” You nibble at his neck and ear between murmurs. “Now you’re the one who has to watch.”

Your breath hitches as you feel Ezra’s cock notch at your entrance. “There we are, sweets. Sit back for me now, nice and easy.” His hands guide your hips, and you ease backward onto Ezra’s cock. A breathless moan falls free as you sit up, his length thick and full inside you. So joined, you shuffle forward just a bit- until Dieter’s cock rests against your sex. Dieter’s mouth falls open, mesmerized by the sight. He twitches, the movement brushing your clit, and you whimper. 

“Mm, I thought you might like this, gem. If it sounds amenable to you, we’re goin’ to use darlin’ Dieter’s cock to make you come like this, slow enough for you to enjoy every second of it, and then, and only then, are we going to let Dieter come.”

It’s delightfully ​​jarring to feel a cock inside you as well as outside against your clit; despite the pleasure winding heavy along your limbs, you manage to answer. “Perfectly amenable.”

Ezra cups his hand over Dieter’s cock and nestles it between your labia, coating it in your arousal and Dieter’s. The velvety ridges of him rub snugly against your clit- especially as Ezra begins to move. He starts gradually, thrusting into you with just enough force that you rock against Dieter’s dick at the same time. 

Oh, fuck. This is more stimulation than you usually get via both methods at once- it won’t take long for you to come like this. You moan in approval.

“Does that feel good, gem?” Ezra asks.

His thrusts aren’t forceful. Rather, they’re constant, unceasing strokes along something inside you that makes your vision blur; and all the while he holds Dieter’s cock against your clit like the perfect toy.

“F-f-ffucking incredible,” you stutter. “Keep going, like that.”

Ezra rumbles in approval. Dieter’s eyes are as round as saucers as he watches his dom pleasure you with both their cocks, and he spills out a steady babble of praise. “Oh fuck, you’re so hot, sweets. Look so good like this. Can use my dick whenever you want…” Every muscle in his body jerks and strains, but whether trying to come or in effort to stop himself coming you can’t tell, and you stop trying as Ezra’s movements pour brain-numbing pleasure directly into your skull and down your spine.

You squirm and sob at the onslaught of stimulation. There’s no escape- not that you really want it. You can feel your peak approaching, a tingling creeping up every limb like vines about to fruit.

“Dieter- Ezra-”

“Ah, the end is nigh, is it, sweet? Go on then, let it come- give us everything you got.”

Ezra’s poetry is obliterated by the roaring in your ears. Something breaks open inside you, spilling bliss through every crack and crevice of your body. You quake and keen in Ezra’s arms. For long, long minutes, it feels like it physically rocks you, pleasure pulsing in an endless flood. Distantly you recognize that it’s Ezra’s movement creating the rocking sensation, prolonging your pleasure for as long as he knows you can last. You finally go still only when he does, the rushing pleasure slowing to a trickle.

Sagging into Ezra’s arms, you shudder as the bliss tapers off. As your breathing slows, other sensations come back to you, including that of something clinging to- or maybe dripping from- your thighs. Dieter.

Your paramour is gazing at you, awestruck, a familiar dopey, dazed grin pulling at one corner of his mouth. You make a questioning sound.

“You comin’ set him off, sweet. That was some mighty, powerful pleasure, if I do say so myself.” Ezra’s rasp in your ear sounds thoroughly satisfied. “It seemed unduly cruel to deny dear Dieter any longer after such good behavior, so I took the liberty of takin’ care of him.”

Indeed, Ezra’s hand is wrapped more fully around Dieter’s cock, though both are now somewhat obscenely mashed against your sex and covered in his spend. “Oh, good,” you sigh.

Ezra chuckles. “I’ll give us a wipedown, gem. Then you can untie his hands, if you wouldn’t mind, and I’ll get his feet.” 

You blink yourself slightly more alert. Dieter didn’t like being tied up for very long after the fun stuff was over. “Mhm. Okay.” 

You help Ezra wipe the various fluids from all three of you. Your brow knits at the sensation of him pulling out of you, but Ezra appears unperturbed, humming an idle tune as he rotates to unbind Dieter’s feet. You turn your focus to doing the same to his hands.

A serene, almost cherubic, expression lay over Dieter’s face; with his eyes closed and his breathing deep and steady, he looks halfway to sleep. When you lean back from untying him, his eyes are open. You start.

Then you chuckle. “Hey, D. Feeling okay?”

Dieter lengthens his already long limbs and then contracts them in a wiggly stretch. He rolls over toward you, resting his head on your thigh. “Mmhmmm.” 

He looks for all the world like he intends to fall asleep right there. Honestly, the man resembles a giant cat sometimes. Or maybe some other, more exotic animal. Actorus libidinous.

A ferocious rumbles issues from what you can only assume is Dieter's stomach. His eyes fly open. "I'm so fucking hungry."

He appears astounded by this fact. Or maybe by the fact that he forgot his hunger in the first place- it’s truly a testament to how worked up he was that all other needs fled his mind so completely. (You made him eat a granola bar before Ezra arrived, but still.)

Ezra returns from the ensuite, and your eyes widen. Your hunch earlier was right- he didn’t come. Ezra’s still-hard cock bobs as moves around, flushed a deep red and still smudged with your arousal in places.

Dieter spots it as Ezra begins getting dressed, and his eyes go round. “Whoa, Ez, did you not come? Why didn’t you tell us?”

Ezra’s mouth quirks. Sifting through the scattered clothes on the floor, he extracts a pair of pants and begins turning them rightside-out. He gives an arch shrug. “What can I say, starlet? Your perseverance inspired me. I enjoy a good edging session myself; I thought I might wait until I arrived home to take care of it.” Ezra pulls his jeans on without anything beneath and fastens them snugly over his erection.

Ezra was an old hat at this profession. He didn’t entertain feelings of awkwardness or shame. If he wanted something, he asked for it. 

“In that case, send us pictures,” Dieter says. His eyes wander Ezra’s sturdy, shirtless body with wanton admiration.

“That costs extra.” Ezra sends them a saucy wink. He reaches for his shirt without a hint of discomfort.

“Worth it.” Dieter rolls onto his back with a great sigh. His mostly-softened cock flops over with the movement, dribbling a bit more fluid as it does.

Now dressed, Ezra comes over to say his goodbyes. First he hands Dieter a tissue, nodding toward his dick. Then he gives you both a kiss on the forehead.

“Perhaps this time I might allow the debt to be paid with some of the takeout you’re about to order.”

Thanks for reading! 💕💕💕

You grin. "We'll schedule your delivery for an hour from now."

The Romanian liquor is real and exactly as delicious as it sounds- it's called 'visinata', which means '[thing] made from cherries'. I highly recommend making a Romanian friend and having them bring you a bottle of their mom's homemade stuff, although I cannot promise that it will lead to sex parties. That was just wishful thinking on my part 😬🤷🏻‍♀️

Dividers by strangergraphics

#dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #the bubble fic #the bubble #dieter bravo/reader #dieter bravo/you #dieter bravo fic

[morallyinept]

Bad Acting - A Dieter Bravo GIFLET

Uh, Jett, what the heck is a GIFLET?

Just a short 500 words or less drabble, based on inspiration that I got from a GIF. Simples.

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

Word Count: 500

Scoville Smut Rating: None, it's fluff. You're safe.

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here

GIFLET MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

This GIFLET was inspired by the below GIF 👇🏻

He feels like he might throw up.

And not from the binge last night at the hotel bar in an attempt to push it all down, although he can still taste that around his teeth as it all, inevitably, came back up.

No, it’s something else that’s unsettling his stomach today.

But he’s only prolonging the agony.

Something that he's tried to avoid, something he’s tried to put off.

Tried swaying the director to re-shoot another scene, tinker with it some more, even though it’s perfect.

He can’t do this scene; he can’t kiss you, because then you’ll know.

You’ll know exactly how much of a shitty actor he really is.

Everyone says it, so it must be true.

And Dieter can’t hide this. Act his way out of it. He’s never met anyone like you before.

Never met someone whose eyes sparkle genuinely at him as if he’s the only person in the room. When he opens his mouth to speak, you hang on every word, even the dumb ones that come out and make him sound more neurotic than he really is.

You agree with him about not wearing wireless earbuds, that’s gotta mean, something, right?

It keeps him up at night mulling it over, his cock painfully hard with lewd thoughts of you, but he can't do anything about it because it seems… disrespectful somehow.

And that's how he knows it means something more.

And he wants it to be you, wants you to be the one to reap the reward of his pleasure, even if he won't last that long.

He’s never met anyone who’s so acutely aware of him and his nuances, his ticks.

His stomach feels like it might fall out of his ass as you both hover on set waiting for your cue.

When he has to kiss you - and then, you’ll know.

You’ll know he’s a faker and a talentless idiot, and you’ll know he’s absolute putty in your hands.

The director calls action, and Dieter's teeth clash against yours. You both bonk heads clumsily.

“Sorry, sorry,” Dieter says, as the director cuts.

You can see the tremble in his fingers, he won’t look at you today and is unusually quiet.

“Dieter?” You murmur, and he still won’t look at you.

So you take his chin, turn it to you until his eyes find yours.

You lean in, pressing your lips gently to his, and you feel him sag, moaning into your mouth with want.

“Now you know.” He says as he pulls back, his breath staining your lips. “Fuck.”

“I think I’ve always known.” You say softly, and the arch of a relieved smile threatens to bend at the corner of his lips.

“You really are a shit actor,” you conclude with a grin.

Dieter spits out a chuckle before leaning in to kiss you again.

You can both hear the director asking if they’re rolling, but it fades away as you listen to Dieter whimper with need inside your mouth.

#pedro pascal x reader #dieter bravo x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x gn!reader #the bubble fic #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo fanfic #jett's writing #dieter bravo giflet

[softstarlite]

Here are some fics that I really love!! <3

(I add more when I remember others or read new ones)

I also invite you to check my masterlist and read my stuff <3

Divider by @saradika-graphics and banner by me

Narcos

Javier Peña

Learning to live by @wheresarizona (series)

Javier Peña x f!reader

The crush by @the-ginger-hedge-witch (series)

Javier Peña x OFC!Isabel

Deja vú by @ilovepedro (series)

Javier Peña x f!reader

Old habits die hard by @liltangerineart (series)

Javier Peña x latina f!reader

Take the weight off his shoulders by @thetriumphantpanda (series)

dbf!Javier Peña x f!reader

Late night texts by @undercoverpena (series)

Javier Peña x f!reader

Jealous of your love by @chloeangelic (one-shot)

Javier Peña x f!reader

Anytime by @undercoverpena (one-shot)

Javier Peña x f!reader

The Bubble

Dieter Bravo

Sweet Creature by @wildemaven (series)

Dieter Bravo x f!reader

I'll never fall in love again by @oonajaeadira (series)

Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Cherry by @sp00kymulderr (series)

Dieter Bravo x f!reader x f!OC

Triple Frontier

Benny Miller

Wild Love by @wildemaven (series)

Benny Miller x single mom!reader

Frankie Morales

Learning curves by @ezrasbirdie (series)

Frankie Morales x plus size f!reader

Hate me by @theewokingdead (one shot)

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Breaking free by @theewokingdead (one-shot)

Frankie Morales x plus size f!reader

Hungry by @criticallyacclaimedstranger (one-shot)

Frankie Morales x reader

Catalyst by @ezrasbirdie (series)

Frankie Morales x f!reader x Joel Miller

The book of love by @undercoverpena

Frankie Morales x f!reader (Bookshop AU)

Santiago Garcia

If you wanna be wild by @romanarose (series)

Santi Garcia x f!reader x Javier Peña

All triple frontier boys

Awakening by @romanarose (series) triple

Frontier boys x f!reader

The Last of Us

Joel Miller

To the rescue by @romanarose (one-shot)

Pre-Outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Love me back by @chloeangelic (series)

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rendezvous by @chloeangelic (series)

dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Belong to me by @chloeangelic (series)

Line cook!Joel Miller x waitress reader

Reflection of the moon by @chloeangelic (series)

Joel Miller x f!reader

(I just really love how Chloe writes Joel)

I know it when I see it by @bageldaddy (series)

pornstar!joel miller x f!reader

Lacy by @toxic-seduction (one-shot)

Joel Miller x f!reader

I wanna show you off by @joelscurls (one-shot)

Joel Miller x f!reader

Breakout by @the-ginger-hedge-witch (series)

Boxer!Joel Miller x f!reader

Strawberry wine by @pedrito-friskito (series)

Joel Miller x f!OC

Your summer dream by @swiftispunk (series)

dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Dog Days by @pimosworld

Tommy Miller

Joel Miller x f!reader

Sweet Child O'Mine by @bageldaddy (series)

Joel Miller x f!reader

Wrong place, right time by @proxima-writes (one-shot)

Tommy Miller x waitressf!reader

#fic rec #fic recommendation #fanfic recommendation #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #javier peña #joel miller #dieter bravo #frankie morales #santiago garcia #benny miller #triple frontier #narcos #the bubble #the last of us #narcos fic #triple frontier fic #the bubble fic #the last of us fic #javier peña fic #joel miller fic #benny miller fic #santiago garcia fic #frankie morales fic #dieter bravo fic

[chronic-ghost]

Recovery Road

~(inspired by Daisy Jones and the Six)~

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

summary: (AU) Dieter Bravo is on his last chance. Six months out of a two year stint in rehab, his marriage on the rocks, and his starlight fading, he reunites with an old director friend on a project that might save his career and his personal life in a single go. Enter Natalie Lorraine, his new enigmatic co-star. Together, they go on to lead a film that comes to define a generation – and are both mysteriously absent the night the film receives an Oscar for Best Picture. Their reasons for missing such a landmark event are their own.

Amidst affairs and acrimony, the temptation of relapse, and the intoxicating allure of wanting what you can’t have, Dieter and Natalie have become a ticking time bomb, primed to explode.

warnings for the whole series: depictions of drugs/drug use, alcohol/smoking, cheating/infidelity, discussions of addiction and withdrawal, age gap (Dieter is 35 and reader is 22), smut, some rather toxic behavior from all parties involved, bad relationships, masturbation, pining, angst, depictions of anxiety/anxiety attacks/bad mental health/mental illness, truly terrible coping mechanisms, no use of y/n, named reader but no physical descriptions other than hairstyle, language, everything and I mean everything about the entertainment industry/filmmaking is made-up bullshit, several new OCs for the purposes of storytelling, Bisexual!Dieter, makes no reference to the plot of the movie, it ends well – I promise!

a/n: *wheezes* I can’t believe I’m writing fanfiction about a character from a Judd Apatow movie. Thank you to @spookyxsam for all of her support and input!

extras

▲ Recovery Road inspo tag

▲ Official movie poster for Recovery Road

▲ AO3 Link

Let me know if you’d like to be part of the taglist!

part i: a cute megalomaniac part ii. what we owe other people part iii. this is the night i go ballistic part iv. the infinity of pocket universes and human stupidity part v. breeding ground part vi. laissez le bon temps rouler part vii. familiar bodies part viii. (i'm sorry) i fall in love like a viper part ix. gold dust woman part x. the promises i made to you

THE END 🤍

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #the bubble fanfic #the bubble 2016 #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfiction

[prolix-yuy]

In honor of your Bangathon, I spun the wheel 🤣

So we have froggy style with *drum roll* none other than our warm, feral racoon man Dieter Bravo. And we just need that sultry foul mouth.

I'm so excited for all the drabble that are going to come of this.

Lovely Britt! It is the penultimate day of the Bangathon and I've thrown all my rules out the window. Dieter double feature, absolutely obliterating my word count, and I'm having way too much fun with it. Let's get froggy with our raccoon boy!

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Position: Froggy Style

Word Count: 2656 (it's 12:45am, there are no gods, no one can save me)

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, fingering (f receiving), PiV sex, exhibitionism, dirty talk, public sex, sex parties, mentions of fetish play.

Notes: This idea came to me in a dream and I had to write it, word count be damned! Technically I'm spoiling the ending with just the pairing, but I'm sure you would have guessed it instantly either way. Let's go!

“This is a little too Eyes Wide Shut for me,” you tell your friend Ana as she urges you through the front door of a Hollywood mansion. Your voice is muffled by the mask you wear, black lace molded to look like a cat. Only your eyes are visible, held on with a thick ribbon tied behind your head. Ana is sporting a rabbit mask, maybe a little on the nose for the occasion but you could appreciate the honesty. 

“Then why did you accept my invitation?” she asks, all smug grace and poise in the skimpy red dress she matched to her disguise. You’re more akin to a kitten, steps uncertain and timid as you take in the room and all its inhabitants. 

It had been too tempting, one of Ana’s fellow actors inviting her out to a “masquerade.” When she saw your eyes widen, heat rising in your cheeks, she made a phone call and extended your own invitation. It would have been rude to deny. But now, co-mingling with people who would never know you in the outside world, it all feels like a bad idea.  

Men and women alike are masked, some more on display than others. One fox woman is in barely-there lingerie, a falcon man in low-slung gray sweatpants and nothing else. Your skin tingles in anticipation, the long black dress hugging your form a comfort against the tickle of eyes. 

“If you get cold feet, just leave before the selection,” Ana says, stepping away from you to grab a couple glasses of champagne. You’re about to question how you’ll drink it when you see golden straws circling the lip.

“They thought of everything,” you murmur, eliciting a chuckle from her. 

“Anything catch your eye?” she says salaciously, and you bat her away before surveying the room. Many wolves and lions, a few birds of prey, some dog masks that look suspiciously close to fetish gear. Bodies of all types, but nothing that stood out enough to make you salivate.

“We’ll see,” you say as a chime sounds and the crowd moves deeper into the house. Ana walks next to you, head turning to take in the potentials. You keep yours tilted up, admiring the fresco on the ceiling and trying to ground yourself.

“It’s a pretty good replica, but the real thing is better,” says a deep male voice next to your shoulder. 

“The blue is really vibrant,” you reply, “Looks like they followed traditional techniques.” 

“Only the best for our esteemed hosts,” he muses, making a smile come to your hidden lips.

“Not a fan?” you tease, an entryway coming into view.

“I would never say an unkind word about those that invite me in their home,” the man says with faux adoration, “but yes, they're extremely tacky and most of their art is fake.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you laugh, turning to see who’s speaking but no one is directly behind you anymore. He must have melted into the crowd. You’re about to ask Ana if she saw him when you come to a bottleneck, two darkly dressed attendants speaking to each guest.

“Are you open to being chosen tonight?” the bright-eyed woman to your right says, holding out a red string bracelet. You swallow hard.

“Yes.”

She affixes the string around your wrist, letting you enter the open courtyard. Silver stars twinkle in the indigo sky, braziers lit around the room offering warmth and golden light. A group of guests, mostly male-presenting, gather in the middle of the courtyard. Around the peripheries, mixed company lounge on crisp white couches in various poses of seduction. You settle on one, letting Ana wander away. 

Once guests stopped filing in, another chime sounds and the group begins thinning out. Some remain, nodding to companions or conversing. The majority wander the perimeter, extending hands or sitting beside their choices. 

Anxiety wells in your throat. What was someone supposed to choose you for? You’re among the Hollywood twelves, smuggled in by your connections. What would they want with your cheap dress and cheaper tastes? What could they judge from a glance?

Suddenly, there’s a hand extended before you. 

“Would you care to be chosen, gatita?”

The voice is familiar, the same man from before. Putting visuals to him is more powerful than you thought. He’s in silk pajamas, white and tan with beautiful renditions of bare-branched trees poking up from red and green brush. You even spy some hunting dogs pointing at invisible prey. Covering his face is a brass-colored raccoon mask, tied with red ribbon. His eyes are dark pools behind it, a halo of wild chocolate curls framing the edges. As much as you want to laugh at the raccoon mask, something about it on this man curls excitement in your stomach. It reminds you less of cute animal videos you send to your friends, more of glittering eyes in the dead of night, and the fear of a vicious bite. 

You extend your hand, and his palm is soft and large under yours. “Can it be…private?” you ask, already glimpsing the bold undressing of some guests, others watching on. 

“As the lady wishes,” he concedes, leading you away from the crowd. As you ascend a set of stairs, you converse again.

“Why do the hosts have so much fake artwork?” 

He snorts, keeping your hand in his.

“Because it’s expected. Big house has to be full of priceless art. But you can’t have priceless art in every house, so you compromise. Say it’s on loan, from a museum, from a friend. A grand lie they all pretend to believe.”

“And what’s in your house?” you ask, reaching the top of the stairs. He pauses, eyes roaming you appreciatively. 

“Knew I picked a clever one,” he says, raising the hairs on the back of your neck. “Only originals. My own.” He leads you around a catwalk and down a hall with several doors.

“So you’re an artist?” you ask, stroking your thumb along his. It makes him squeeze your hand back. 

“Among other things,” he murmurs before stopping in front of a door with a tag hanging off the handle. Pocketing it, he enters the bedroom, locking the door behind you. 

It’s too lavish, an abundance of velvet and ruffles that makes you smirk at the raccoon’s earlier comments. He steps in and stands at the foot of the bed, waiting for you to follow. The bravery you’d mustered earlier evaporates when the door shuts, and now you hover by the edge of the bed.

“Gatita, if this isn’t what you want, I’ll leave. It’s only fun if we’re both having it.” You take in a deep breath and shake your head, stepping closer. His hands come up to smooth over your arms, moving to cup the back of your neck. Tugging you into his broad chest, his fingers find your zip and pull it ever so slightly.

“Would you like to know what I want to do to you?” he breathes in your ear, and you manage a weak yes before he starts unzipping your dress tooth by tooth.

“I’m going to remove this dress, and tease your nipples through your bra before taking it off - one handed, of course. Then I’ll lay you back and pleasure your pretty pussy with my fingers until you’re begging for my cock. Once you’re ready to explode I’ll join you in the bed and put you on all fours so I can hit deep and hard inside you. Make you cum on my dick once, then do it again. Maybe even get you to squirt if you’ve never done that. After all that, if you’re very good for me, I’ll keep making you cum all night. How does that sound?”

Could you actually orgasm from his voice alone? You sincerely worry you will as your dress slips to the floor, leaving you in your prettiest lingerie pressed against his intoxicating silks. 

“What about the masks?” you manage to get out, the stiff covering starting to itch against your overheated face.

“Let’s leave them on for now. The mystery is half the fun,” he says, hands sliding up to cup your breasts and thumb lightly at your peaked nipples. You gasp, letting your head roll back. 

“Oh, gatita, I’ll make you feel so good tonight.”

True to his word, the raccoon touches and teases you within an inch of your sanity, talented fingers caressing every erogenous zone until you’re aching and shaking with need. You swear if he even circles your clit once you’ll cum so hard you’ll need an ambulance. Want and desire burns hot in your veins, hands searching for his skin and only getting small touches. The caress of your fingers along the open expanse of his chest. Fingers entwining as he presses you down into the mattress. The skin across his lower back. He keeps just far enough away to tease, but always close enough to work you to dizzying heights. 

“Please,” you whimper after the umpteenth time he’s worked you up and stopped before you could crest. Tilting his head, he leaves another featherlight touch over your clit.

“Ask me for it,” he gruffs out, voice even deeper with desire. “Ask me to fuck you. Ask me to be inside you.” 

The words tumble out of your lips. “Please fuck me, please, any way you want. I need to feel you inside me, need to cum around you. You’ll feel so good, I’ll make you feel so good…” You could beg for hours more but he’s turning you over and moving you up the bed, settling on his knees behind you. Tugging your hips, he lifts you to crouch, hands on the bed and feet planted under bent knees. The position is new to you, but the control you feel like this, hearing the condom wrapper rip and the pops of the last few buttons on his shirt, is thick in your veins.

“Tilt your hips,” he orders, and you arch your back to offer your needy cunt to him. He stretched you well on his fingers, but just the snug fit of his head pressing inside you widens your eyes.

“Fuck, you’re big,” you gasp, earning a soothing stroke over your hips.

“Sure know how to make my cock even harder, gatita. Say it again.”

You whine through your teeth as he sinks further in, stroking two fingers over your clit.

‘“Fuck, you’re so big, my pussy’s full of you, I don’t know how it’s gonna fit inside me but fuck, I want it.” The end rushes out as he shallowly fucks into you, letting you adjust to his girth.

“Oh gatita, don’t worry, I’ll make it fit,” he promises, rolling his hips even deeper. Your arms shake with the effort of holding yourself up, mask hot and sticky with sweat as you pant into the fabric. You want nothing more than to rip it off and let him devour you, whoever he may be. 

Finally, he’s fully seated and you’re delirious with how stuffed you are. One slow stroke out makes you grip the sheets, waiting for him to fill you again.

He's not making you wait any longer. The pace is firm, steady to start, working you around his cock and soaking him with your arousal. Your calves begin to burn but you pay no mind, instead using the leverage to push back against him. He groans at this, helping guide your hips with his hot touch.

“Fuck, your pussy is goddamn divine, squeezing me so tight. I’m gonna make you cum around me and then I’ll give you what you deserve.” Your head spins as he speeds up, every thrust angled right into your g-spot with mind-blowing accuracy. Gathering slick from your dripping cunt, he circles your clit steadily as you clamp down on him, the precipice of your orgasm right at your fingertips.

“Oh fuck I’m cumming,” you squeak before your knees give out, arms buckling as you tumble into the pillows with every nerve ending singing his praises. He’s firm behind you, murmuring how good of a girl you are, how good you’re cumming on him, how hard he has to try not to cum yet. The praise melts you down into barely perceiving a world outside the pleasures of your body.

Once the aftershocks subside, your cunt even tighter around his throbbing cock, the man speaks.

“That was so good, gatita. Now hold on.” At that he begins well and truly fucking you, deep and fast with snarls dripped onto your skin. You half expect to feel a bite, but only his fingers dig in to your thighs to keep you pressed tight against him. You let him use your pussy, content just to feel him pulse inside, when his fingers return to your clit.

“Did you think I was done with this?” he pants, teasing the sensitive bud from overstimulation back to drenching pleasure as he coaxes another orgasm to the surface. “Together this time, on five, four, three…”

You can’t believe this man is going to orchestrate your orgasm, but just as he’s nearing one you feel the telltale tingle erupt into molten fire filling your lungs with a wild shout. He’s shouting too, buried in your cunt and shuddering. It takes long minutes for you both to catch your breaths, white spots dancing around the edge of your vision. Finally he eases out, tugging your knees back to lay you down. You welcome the change, body relaxing as you hear him throw out the condom and return with tissues.

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had,” you say, still a little loopy from all the endorphins flooding your brain. The raccoon man chuckles as you turn and sit up, admiring him standing in those designer pajamas, bottoms pulled up but top still open. Your mind wanders to kissing every inch of his chest, sucking a hickey into his collarbone. A small fear in your chest, unknown even to you, falls away.

“I’d like to take the mask off,” you say, looking up at the raccoon man. His hands falter, coming to his waist and tapping nervously. 

“Are you sure?” he asks, trepidation in his voice. You nod.

“It’s okay, I’m a nobody,” you say, hands on the ribbon behind your head.

“I’m not,” he says quietly, stilling your motions. He’s turning away from you, tense and anxious. You know the feeling.

“You don’t have to. I won’t ask you to. But I'm okay with you knowing me.” You tug at the ribbons and let the cat mask fall away. You skin can finally breathe, making you sigh in relief. The raccoon’s eyes snap to you, and all the hard lines of his body soften.

“You’re...more beautiful than I hoped,” he says, awe in his voice. It makes your skin heat up again, a shy smile fighting on your face. It was kind of sweet, the idea that this stranger would know you for only this night, and that it could be your secret. Even your face would be his and his alone. 

Then his hands lift to the back of his head, and the racoon mask comes away in his palms. 

A blink. Then two. Then shock paints your face. 

Did Dieter fucking Bravo just ruin your pussy?

But he’s kneeling on the bed and kissing you breathless, tearing the rest of his clothes off, and you remember the night’s still very young. 

Maybe you could share a few more secrets.

END

LJ’s Bangathon 2023

#dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x female reader #the bubble fanfiction #the bubble fic #prolix fics

[tightjeansjavi]

chamomile

A/N: I was making myself a cup of tea earlier this evening and the idea blossomed from there 🥺

for @morallyinept Valentine’s Day masterlist 💗

~word count: 1.3k~

Summary: it’s Valentine’s Day and Dieter Bravo is alone and missing you

Pairing | Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Warnings: mature, fluff, angst, language,implicit smut, one mention of dieter giving himself a handjob, mentions of alcohol and ouid, fwb’s, pining, assumed one-sided feelings, two idiots in love without realizing it, typical dieter behavior, reader has no physical descriptions, readers nickname is petal, +18 minors dni!

On the long, lonely nights where Dieter Bravo is away from you, his solace, his person, he always finds himself struggling to sleep. An hour here, and an hour there, but it can never compare to the deep, dreamy, snooze he gets when you’re laying next to him, tangled up in his legs, under his sheets.

He knows deep down he’s got it bad for you. So bad, he can hardly think straight on most days. Dieter, you missed your cue, again.

He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose and shakes his shoulders to relieve any pent up stress he’s feeling and to get back on track.

Did you even read the fucking script, Bravo?

He scoffs, jaw ticking under the harsh studio lights that buzz in his ear like a swarm of angry bees. Course I did. He lies through his teeth.

How could he even think about reading his lines when he spent hours of his night staring down his phone as he deeply contemplated the pros and cons of calling you up.

If I tell her how I feel, it makes everything fucking weird.

Or you get to live out your very own rom-com!

Or she never wants to speak to me again

Or she also confesses her deep, profound love for you.

Or..she doesn’t feel the same way and breaks my fucking heart into a million tiny pieces!

Or your dreams come true, Dieter.

-

You met Dieter Bravo through a friend of a friend at one of the movie star’s infamous parties. Dieter was drunk, a bit of a stumbling mess, but when his warm, and slightly clammy palm wrapped around your own, you knew you were donefore. And how was it possible for a scruffy man such as himself to have the kindest, softest, warmest brown eyes you ever had the pleasure of gazing into?

No, you were not in love with Dieter Bravo. He was just your friend..with the occasional benefits. Nothing more, nothing less.

When Dieter finds himself alone in his too big of a house for another night, he packs a bowl, and then another, and another. He takes a relaxing bath, alone with nothing but the comfort of his own fist wrapped around his cock. His lashes flutter shut, plush lips parting as he sinks further into the chamomile scented bubbles.

You told him once that chamomile should help him sleep better. He sent his assistant out the next day to buy chamomile tea, and literally any and all the chamomile scented products that she could find.

You took a bath together once, and he vividly remembers dragging his nose across the base of your neck, inhaling the sweet aroma while you nearly dozed off in his saccharine grip. Muscles relaxed, limbs pliant under the soapy water.

But you weren’t here. You were thousands of miles away on a girls trip with some of your single friends. It was the trip that finally made it out of the group chat, and it happened to fall on the week of Valentine’s Day.

Wait, that’s today, right? Shit. How pathetic. He thinks to himself, stroking his cock faster, creating ripples in the sudsy water.

Yeah, so fucking pathetic. Alone on fucking Valentine’s Day, and higher than a goddamn kite.

He doesn’t come, and while that in itself should be frustrating, he accepts his fate of misery while the temperature of the water becomes too cold to bear and he’s forced to retreat.

He packs another bowl, yanks his leftover Taco Bell from the fridge and eats it cold, like the feeling of his heart.

His king sized bed feels even larger than usual, and he chuffs a laugh, taking another bite of his half eaten crunch wrap supreme.

That’s because I’m fucking alone on Valentine’s Day.

He knows he’s not really alone. But on a day that is all about love, he sure as hell doesn’t feel the love.

He misses the way you would roll over mid sleep and drape your arm across his bare stomach. Your fingers would play with the dark, soft hair that led down to his happy trail while you drooled into the crook of his neck, soft snores escaping past your parted lips. He found it endearing. You were like a koala, and he was the tree branch of your choosing.

He so badly wanted to be your tree branch right now.

Was that lame? Probably. But Dieter could give less of a shit about any of that. He missed you, and the feeling ate away at him, carving a hole in his chest and yanking his heart right out.

He didn’t mind that you would accidentally kick him off the side of the bed, or steal all the covers. He loved it when you would talk in your sleep, babbling about pure nonsense that somehow to his ears made perfect sense.

Okay, so he missed you…a lot. He wasn’t the only person to miss someone this much. Hell, maybe even his neighbor was going through the same feelings and emotions as he was.

Love. Yeah, that’s what he was feeling. He was in love with you, and you had no fucking idea how he truly felt.

He tossed and turned, fluffed down his pillows, scrolled on his phone, watching his favorite saved tik toks, and he even tried listening to the soothing sounds of a thunderstorm through a podcast on Spotify. None of it was working. He couldn’t sleep, and you were to blame.

That’s how Dieter Bravo found himself in his kitchen, fully exposed sans some fluffy slippers on his feet that had seen better days. He dug through his pantry till he found the familiar box of chamomile tea. He let out a sigh of relief and tore open the silver foil with his teeth.

His phone screen read 2:30a.m as the kettle on the stove whistled loudly in his eardrums.

The familiar scent of chamomile coated his senses in a warmth that could only be described as you as he let the tea bag steep in his favorite chipped mug.

His knuckles drummed along the countertop nervously as he stared down his phone once more. He let out a huff, bringing one hand to scratch at the patches in his scraggly beard.

As steam billowed from the mug next to him, he finally picked up his phone and dialed your number.

He chewed on the tip of his thumbnail, eyes dancing nervously as the dial tone rang, and rang. He was ready to hang up and toss his phone in the garbage disposal when you finally answered.

His heart skipped a beat and his weed-hazed mind couldn’t keep up with the rate that words were flowing past his lips.

“Petal? Hey, happy Valentine’s Day. Well—er, happy belated Valentine’s Day? ‘Suppose it’s already over. Uh—hope I’m not bothering you, I just couldn’t sleep, so I’m in my kitchen having a cup of chamomile tea, like you suggested. Fuck, I’m rambling, aren’t I? I smoked a few too many bowls so my brain is a bit scrambled. Anyway, I miss you, baby. I’m so lonely, and I wish you were here.”

His stoned rambling continued on as you listened silently, holding your phone close to your ear and swatting at your friend's arm when they asked who was on the phone. The club music was booming at the same rate that your heart was pounding in your chest.

“Hi, Dee. I miss you too. I've been thinking...when I get back, can we grab dinner sometime?" You warmly suggest.

His pupils are blown wide like two shiny marbles illuminated under the soft glow of the moonlight trickling in through his tall kitchen windows.

“Fuck yes. I’d fucking love to grab dinner with you sometime, Petal.” He rasps softly through the receiver.

banners made by the lovely @saradika 💗

I no longer have a taglist so please follow @tightjeansjaviupdates for fic notifications and updates!

#fic: chamomile #dieter bravo #dieter x reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo fluff #dieter bravo angst #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo imagine #pedro pascal characters #the bubble #the bubble fanfiction #the bubble fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #valentine’s day fic #pedro pascal

[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐑

ㅤㅤjavi gutierrez x f!reader x dieter bravo

genre: smut, minors dni, romance

word count: 0.7k

summary: javi and dieter spoil you with everything they have.

warnings: established relationship, threesome, poly relationship, nipple play, vaginal fingering, oral (reader receiving)

a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY LOVE @pedrorascal!!!! I know you're probably sleeping right now (damn you timezones)but hopefully this will be a lovely morning surprise! I'm so happy that I've met you through this hellsite---everything you create is art and you bring so much joy to this fandom. You're one of a kind and I just adore and love you so so much 💗💗💗💗

It’s still hard to believe it sometimes— The two men that spontaneously came into your life, the way they made you feel that you belonged in a chaotic, dark world. First came Javi, then came Dieter. Two loveable idiots, and you, the biggest idiot in love. 

Looking down, your heart swells, and your pussy throbs. It’s a sight to behold. Both of their mouths latched on to each hardened nipple, sucking with earnest while you sit on the bed, your back pressed again the bedpost. Their eyes are closed, lashes fanning their cheeks. You slightly shift, your arousal getting the better of you as you search for any kind of friction. 

“Don’t be impatient,” Dieter murmurs with his mouth full. “Let us make you feel good. It’s been a while.” 

A shiver runs through your body at his words, memories of the last time the three of you were together flooding your mind. It had been pure bliss, the way their bodies moved against yours, the way their lips and hands explored every inch of you. And now, as they continue to suck and nibble on your nipples, it feels like coming home. 

Javi moves his mouth to your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses and love bites along your skin. Dieter's hands move down to your thighs, spreading them wider as he dips his fingers between your legs. Your breath hitches as they both apply their attention to different parts of your body, driving you closer and closer to the edge. 

Their touch is familiar yet electric, and you can't help but moan when Dieter's fingers slip inside of you, finding your sweet spot and rubbing it with just the right amount of pressure. Javi moves his mouth down to your stomach, kissing and licking his way toward your core as Dieter starts to thrust two thick fingers in and out.

Your body is on fire as they continue to devour you, your senses heightened and your mind consumed with pure pleasure. You arch your back, pushing your breasts closer to Dieter’s eager mouth, encouraging them to take more of you in. Dieter's fingers continue to move inside of you, hitting all the right spots as he curls them and adds in a second and then a third. The sensation is overwhelming, and you can feel your muscles clenching and your release approaching. 

Javi's hot breath fans against your core as he blows on your heated skin before finally attaching his lips to your clit. You throw your head back, letting out a long moan as his expert tongue works its magic, swirling and flicking at just the right pace. Your body is trembling now, the sensations too much to handle as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. 

Your eyes drop to where Javi crowns between your legs, his mouth briefly pulling back as Dieter stuffs his fingers between the other man’s lips. He sucks on them, loudly moaning while Dieter shallowly thrusts them in and out. 

“Good boy,” he raps, pulling them out and sliding them into you once more. “Now make out pretty girl come with those full lips of yours.” 

You can hear Javi and Dieter's moans mixing with yours, their own arousal evident. You feel them move closer to you, their bodies pressing against yours as they continue to suck, lick, and stroke you into oblivion. Your body is on the verge of ecstasy, and you know that you're only a few seconds away from losing yourself completely. 

And then it happens, the pleasure overtakes you, and you're screaming their names as you come undone in their arms. Javi and Dieter both hold you close, their touches still gentle as you ride out your orgasm. Their kisses now sweet and tender instead of passionate and relentless. 

“That’s it,” Dieter whispers. “That’s our girl.” 

Javi blinks up at you, his eyes dazed and lips slick, “That was amazing, mi amor. Want you to make a mess again, want to taste it on my tongue until the day I die.” 

“What about you guys?” 

Dieter chuckles, breath fanning your neck, “Don’t worry, I already have plans of fucking that dork over there until he faints as you watch.” 

“Good,” you say with a wide grin. “I can’t wait to see it.” 

As your breathing returns to normal, you find yourself sandwiched between them, their arms wrapped around you in a protective embrace. You feel so loved, so cherished in this moment, and you know that with them by your side, anything is possible. Your heart is full, and you know that you belong with these two loveable idiots, who have captured your heart and your body with their undeniable charm and affection.

#javi gutierrez x reader #dieter bravo x reader #javi g x reader #javi gutierrez x fem!reader #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #the bubble fic #dieter bravo smut #javi gutierrez smut #dieter bravo x reader x javi gutierrez #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters fanfic

[chronically-ghosted]

i'm swingin' blind and you're stunning me without any gloves

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

word count: 9K

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

summary: the night continues while the two of you dance around the inevitable. dieter's restraint is foiled by dreams of a water bed.

warnings/tags: depictions of drugs, age gap, cum eating, piv sex, not actually incest but close, concerns about getting old, reader is at least 18 (by how much is up to you), no use of y/n, oral (f receiving), hand jobs (m & f receiving), unprotected piv, squirting, the barest hint of overstimulation, oh and SMUT.

🤍AO3 Link

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🤍Masterlist

“Do all movie stars have six empty bedrooms they don’t use?” 

“They’re not always empty . . . I mean, it’s good for parties. Gives people space to get out of the chaos if they want, or if they need a place to crash. Keeps the energy, uh, flowing. Keeps the vibes good.” 

He uses the joint to take the place of having to explain that the room you just passed was in fact used as a revolving door for anyone who wanted a bump only two weeks ago. The second floor stretches out into the darkness, the nasty weather outside beating against the windows. He keeps a slow steady pace, the high making his insides comfortably warm as you wander in and out of rooms, like a less frantic, totally-fuckable version of that Scooby Doo gag. He’s quite sure he’ll never be able to watch Saturday morning cartoons the same way.

So far, you’ve been content with asking rather inane questions, filler questions that he suspects you’re hoping reveal more than he’s giving. The response to the question being more important than the answer itself. 

So no one lives in these rooms? No.

Do you ever use these as anything else other than bedrooms? No.

What’s outside by the pool? A gym.

A gym with full length mirrors that he used to adore snapping selfies in, in his younger cop show days, and without much prompting, would admit to masterbating to on occasion. 

You’ll always be your own greatest critic so fuck ‘em.

You come out of the last bedroom, smirking faintly as though someone had told you a particularly naughty secret, humming faintly to yourself. He never much cared for giving tours but given that you walked ahead of him and gave him adequate time to ogle the backs of your thighs, he could think of worse ways to spend time with you. 

“Mhm hmm,” you mutter to no one in particular. The carpet is plush, but that is the only thing you could say you really enjoyed about the style of the house. Everything else, especially the almost clinically clean air to it, makes it feel like a hotel, as if Dieter is mold growing in someone else’s house. Again, these are filed as things that helped fill out the picture of the man your uncle had become, if not the man he wanted to portray.

“So where do you sleep?” 

He had been lulled into such a stupor of quiet fantasy fueled by his warm high that he didn’t even think twice when he pointed down the hall. 

“God, it just keeps going, doesn’t it?” 

Turns out the path to moral degradation isn’t a straight line, but a curved slope. One he finds himself on, going down round and round and round, the longer he watches your legs, the curve of your ass, the bright smile as you quite obviously tried to get a glimpse of the old Dee. But that's the thing about drugs that he finds he so actively craved – of course there is the euphoria, the chemical sensations, the wires of your brain plugged into different outlets and restarting the whole system. But he's found that’s when people tended to be their most honest, most unpolished and they weren’t afraid to be like that. 

There was a lot of talk around the ego and the ID in his early acting classes. Who was your character when their ego had been pulled back like strips of skin? 

But as he got older, the question he became more obsessed with was, who were the people around him when they weren’t being paid to like him?

You, of course, are different from all that. You hadn’t built up an ego quite yet. You hadn’t built up the mechanisms required to survive the world because you hadn’t needed to. Sure, you could deflect and get what you wanted by batting your eyelashes, but there are times he felt ugly in the skin he had built. Like somewhere along the way, he had tried on all these hats and now they had all attached themselves to his head and he couldn’t tear them off if he tried. His costume didn’t fit– his face wasn’t even visible any more. 

And who exactly had spent the last fifteen minutes trailing after his beautiful, carefree niece, a single breath away from getting so hard it hurt, in this massively empty mansion? What version of himself wants to snake a hand into those shorts and effectively ruin you for anyone else – wanted to grip you so hard there’d be bruises and tears in your eyes when you came? 

Which one of them is he willing to show you?

All of them. None of him. The ID.

You glance over your shoulder, curious that he hadn’t answered you. 

“Yeah,” he sighs, smoking between his two fingers again. “Could get lost in a place like this.”

You pause in your inspection, eyes soft because of the drugs or the low lighting or something else, and take his hand. “Lucky I’ve got you then.” 

His mouth is instantly dry in a way that has nothing to do with the weed. He offers you the joint and you smoke too, eyelids drooping, allowing him another second of looking. 

And then another smile breaks across your face.

“Fuck,” your laugh turns into a cough. “Did you ever get that stupid fucking waterbed you wouldn’t shut up about? I remember you swearing the first thing you’d buy when you were rich and famous was a waterbed – which I thought was so fucking cool because I’d never heard of a waterbed before because I was seven and it sounded like something totally made up — so of course, someone rich and famous could have one.”

You’re still holding hands, your palm dry and warm, when he laughs too. He takes the joint back from you, eyes narrowing as he looks at you out of the corner of his eyes.

Turns out moral degradation is a fucking cannon ball. 

“Why don’t you go see for yourself?” 

You squeeze his hand, eyes bright, before almost sprinting down the hall to the room on the right. He follows you, struck by the notion this is the first and last time you’ll ever enter his bedroom. This has to be the end of something.

He hears a grunt and a groan and he can’t help but smile. He saunters into the room, leaning up against the door frame with his hands in the pockets of his robe. You are face down on the mattress, hands under your chest. 

“This is not a water bed,” you grumble, the sound muffled. 

Once again, Maria deserved a raise just for making his bed. 

“No, it’s not,” he says slowly, as he edges a teasing tone into his next words. “Look, I did get a fucking water bed, alright? Just about a century ago when they were still a thing.”

You ease up onto your elbows and glare at him. “Can’t believe you got rid of it. What a waste.” 

And then you’re sliding back onto your knees, hands planted on the covers, and for just a second, he swears he can see the outline of your cunt through the material that could hardly be called shorts. 

His knees actually buckle for a second before he stands up right and physically has to close his eyes. Looking away wouldn’t have been enough. 

But you don’t see all of this. You’re frowning down, as if glaring hard enough will bypass physics and liquidate the mattress. 

“What happened to it? The water bed, I mean.” 

Just as he’s gotten his heart rate back under control, your question throws everything into a spiral again. 

Do not fucking tell her about the hookers and the brass pasties. Or the cock ring. Definitely do not mention the cock ring. 

“It, uh, popped.” 

You smirk over your shoulder. “It was a sex thing, wasn’t it?” 

The question lingers, Dieter unable to make a coherent word that didn’t sound like take your pants off right fucking now, so he swallows and shakes his head. By some minor miracle, you shrug and don’t push it, sliding off the bed and completing your assessment of his life by regarding the book collection against the opposite wall. 

It’s bigger than you expect someone like Dieter to have, but its placement in the house – almost hidden in his private bedroom – suggests that its volume is not there to impress. It’s his personal collection and, judging by the bent spines, books he’s actually read, perhaps several times. There’s a small desk next to it, crouching in the corner and littered with sheets of paper that look like they were torn from a sketchbook. 

He couldn’t decide which version of himself he wanted you to see less: Dieter, full of vices, or Dieter, bratty actor who only acted in the first place because he couldn’t cut it as a real artist. 

Your hands run over the sketches, eyes annoyingly unreadable, and just as he’s about to leap forward and scoop all of the sketches into the trash, you move on. Your interest is caught by some of the books. You make noises that are both outside of the realm of approval or disgust and he finds himself nervous. Book reading is about the last thing on anyone’s mind once they’ve reached the final destination of The Bedroom, so he’s never worried about what someone might think. But this isn’t just someone, it’s you. 

His mouth opens to make some quippy remark, when you gasp and lunge forward, grabbing something at the back of the shelf.

“Holy shit, that’s you!” 

You hold up a picture of his high school’s production of Othello and there he is fifteen and smack dab in the middle of the cast. 

“Oh fuck, I forgot that was there,” he groans, dropping the nearly gone joint into an ashtray by the side of the bed. You’re practically glowing with excitement and he rolls his eyes as he takes it from you.

“Jesus Christ, look at that kid. Has no idea what kind of dumbass he’s going to grow up to be.” 

Three years after that photo was taken, he had left in the middle of the night for Hollywood. Of course, just as he had finished packing up his piece-of-shit Chevy, Enrico caught him. Exploded in his face and scolded him in his old man ways for leaving without saying nothing. 

He kept this photo because it was the last thing that reminded him of home and yet so distant it didn’t hurt as bad any more. 

“I think he did spectacular for himself,” you grin at him. “Who knew The Dieter Bravo was such a softie for the old days?” 

He smirks at you, finally sick of you kicking his ass all night. There is a line between fucking you and out sassing you, one he could live with. You aren't fucking ready for that Dieter. 

“No way,” he rubs the bottom of his lip with his thumb, artfully contemplative, and purposefully distractingly hot. “Just keep it around for the spank bank. Ms. Lemons was a babe.”

You narrow your eyes at him as he leans across you to put the photo back.  “Oh yeah? I gave my first blow job in that blackbox.”

“No, you fucking didn’t.”

“Yes I did!” 

“What was his name?”

“Jeremy.”

“Jeremy what?” 

“Jeremy . . . Barnes.”

“Pssh, fake name, fake boyfriend, fake story.” 

“He was real! I just . . . can’t remember his last name right now.” 

“Blurs together with all the other guys you’ve blown, right?” 

You bite the corner of your mouth, your smirk so tight he can almost picture your toes curling. Not that he’d dare break eye contact with you now. Now that he’s got you practically pinned to the bookshelf, photo forgotten and something that’s been slinking around for the past three hours finally rolling on its back and exposing its belly. 

He knows The Look, he practically invented it, and he can’t quite remember why it’s not okay to get that from your niece and someone twenty years younger than him. Right now, the portion of his brain that can sort that’s fucked up and it’s not that hard to refrain from being a fucking creep is filled with smoke, a sort of hissing sound there that is not unlike a shaken soda begging for release. 

And dear God does he want release. But he’s willing to edge it just a bit longer, scrape that muscle as gingerly as he can before touching it where it needs to be touched.

“I have no idea what you mean,” you say softly, meekly being cowed for the first time all night. Fuck, do you have to make it so easy?

“That’s right. You don’t. Because if it were any good, you’d remember it.” 

He puts a hand above your shoulder to stop himself from sinking into you. Weed made the world feel plushy, moldable – and he just wants to lounge in the dip of your bottom lip. You look so different from the girl who showed up soaking wet at his front door. 

Your breathing hitches the closer he comes, your eyes fluttering as you watch his fingers dig into the spines of the books. 

“What’s his first name again, darling? Do you still remember that?” 

You gasp, loudly, as if his itching fingers had finally sunk in between your legs, but you’re sliding away from him and pulling out something from the shelf. Something white and something he should have fucking hidden better. 

“Oh my God, is this my senior yearbook?” 

You’re wandering over to his bed, leaving Dieter reeling, his own spell so alarmingly effective he is caught beneath it too. It takes him a moment to blink as he realizes maybe this is where you reneg and decide you don’t want to fuck him after all. 

“It’s not as weird as it sounds –,” he begins, heart in his throat, and hands safely in his pockets as he joins you near the bed. You still haven’t looked up as you flip through the glossy pages.

“Sure, sure.” 

“Look, your dad sent it to me and I didn’t even open it,” he says honestly. The package was delivered on the Tuesday afternoon when he woke up so hungover he actually thought he might die, and couldn’t bear the thought of not recognizing you in the class photo. 

Funny how that all fucking worked out. 

You hadn’t leapt off the bed, called him a dirty old man, and ran away to call the police. Which are probably good signs. So, slowly, he sits down next to you, halfway on the bed and halfway off. 

“He sent it just a few weeks ago. I didn’t really think much of it at the time,” he says quietly. So you had been on the high school’s newspaper staff, as well as being the captain of the journalism club and ran the book club. You were on the volleyball team and co-Secretary of the student body government. Here, he spent all night trying to find out what kind of person you are when half your life is waiting for him upstairs. “But maybe he sent it as, like, some sort of . . . fond reminder.”

You snort, your thumb tucked under your chin as your hand touches the memories on the page.

“No, it fucking wasn’t. He was guilt-tripping you.” 

So your dad definitely still remembered the fight all those years ago. Dieter grimaces. His gaze slides from the stock pages, to your knee, down the crease of your thigh. 

“You know, he would have made me your godfather if–,” 

“If you weren’t such a fuck up. Yeah, he told me that too.” 

You finally look at him and find him nearly out of breath, eyes wide as though he had been struck by a sledgehammer right to the chest. 

“Actually, he told me if I came around more.” 

Your face crumples, the flippancy gone.

“Fuck, Dee, I’m sorry.” You cup the back of his neck with your palm in a soothing gesture and it stirs something within him. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It is what it is.” Deflection, distraction, escape.

You smile gently, thumbing his curls as your eyes roam his face, seeing right through his bullshit.

“You know, you kinda became the cautionary tale around us growing up,” you murmur, gaze searching his face. “Not sure why, though. Since you’re, like, a gazillionaire.”

Not worth it. None of it’s worth it.

“I get that. I get why he didn’t want me around. Probably best that I fucked off and never looked back.” 

The corners of your eyes crinkle, as though he had said something that didn’t make sense. You stop combing his hair and run your thumb over his ear. 

“But I don’t think you are,” you say slowly, as though you didn’t need to explain. “A cautionary tale, I mean. I think you’re . . . an inspiration. No one in our town ever fucking leaves, but you did. You got the fuck out and lived your dreams. And that’s pretty cool.” 

There’s not any hope for me, not if you knew all the fucked up shit I want to do to you. 

Don’t look at me like that. 

When he looks around for some self control, something to pull himself out of the pit he’s dragging you both in, there’s nothing. All eroded. 

Moral degradation is a smooth fucking shot. 

The yearbook drops from your lap, clatters to the ground as he takes your face with both his hands, his rings pressing into your cheeks, and kisses you so hard his lips knock against your teeth. The force of it rocks you flat against the mattress, your fingers wrapping around his wrists, grounding you to him – don’t take this back, don’t let go – and his tongue runs against your bottom lip once before your mouth opens without hesitation. He can feel that, that desperation, that eagerness to let him in, and he groans into the hollow of your mouth and you take it, you match it, just like everything else he'd given you this night. 

Your tongue rises to catch him, to guide him, to show him the places you need to be touched. He’ll get there, you little thing, so he nips your upper lip and you gasp, your body tightening beneath him. He grins – there’s so much you have to learn. 

His palm drifts away from your jaw, thumb gentle as it coaxes your cheek to the side, before he latches his lips to your neck, sucking and then a quick bite– all eased by his tongue. Your fingers dig up into his hair, clutching him to your chest as there is anything, anywhere else he’d rather be in the world. As if anyone could pry him off you. 

He dives back into your mouth, air rushing out of your nose in a silent moan, and your knee hooks out around his hips, pulling him into the cradle of your lap. You jerk back –

“Dee, you’re – holy shit –,” 

Your hips brush up as if you had somehow gotten it all wrong the first time. As if he isn’t rock hard above you. Your eyes widen as he smirks down at you.

“Yeah, baby, that’s all you. All you do to me.” 

He chuckles, dropping his head to your chest, breathing deeply, head spinning from kissing you so thoroughly. He inhales, nose rubbing against the soft material of your shirt, ideas of peeling it off you with his teeth. Your scent, it’s all at once intoxicating, mesmerizing, and . . . familiar. 

He groans, almost nuzzling your chest.

“Fuck, this smells like that nasty deodorant from 711 I used to buy ‘cause I couldn’t afford anything else.” 

You slowly open your eyes up at him, a distantly embarrassed smile curling up the corners of your mouth. You look hazy, blurred, lips flushed and pink from getting them sucked and bitten. Had he not just licked your entire mouth clean from spit, you might have blushed.

Your fingers curl gingerly around the back of his neck. “Well, you never forget your first.”

His mouth falls open. You had successfully knocked him back on his ass for a second time that night. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he husks, a grin breaking across his lips as the hand at your shoulder pulls gently at the sleeve. “This is my shirt? This has got to be older than you are.”

A small part of his brain, the part that definitely would object to fucking his pseudo-niece, goes warm at the thought that some part of him still lived in that neighborhood, was still there for all the important moments of your life. 

That is until the very active part of his brain lumbers in, quashes all gentle feelings and promptly wrestles for control of his mouth to ask you flat out if you ever touched yourself while wearing it. Not that he didn’t want to know, but if you said yes, he would have come right there on the spot, perhaps so hard his dick popped off. So he did not ask you that, but he did satisfy that part of his brain by molding his hand around your hip, so he could feel the cool fabric on the back of his hand, and your warm, plush skin against his palm. 

You like her being drenched in you, don’t you? 

You swat at his chest, rolling your eyes, oblivious to his rapidly darkening thoughts. “It is not older than me, but if it was . . . would that be a problem?”

You pick at imaginary lint on his shoulder, hips rolling just enough to indicate it better not be a fucking problem, and a smirk on your face that reads innocent and filthy all at once. 

Dieter shakes his head, grinning as he inches his wide palm up your hip, across the thin flesh of your ribs and – 

Does not find a bra. 

You had not been wearing a bra the entire night.

Your smirk deepens, your back arching into his palm, as his thumb brushes the underside of your breast, then over your tightening nipple. You moan softly, eyes fluttering, when he pinches it deftly. His jaw ticks, teeth grinding from the pleasure of watching your mouth arch open. 

It’s like you had been given a list of all the things that turned him on and you are crossing them off one by one. Like you had skinned him and read all his little nasty thoughts written on his ribs and made them your own.

Like you were made for him. 

He leans forward, the bristles of his beard and mustache rough like matches against the shell of your ear, his voice so weighty it could have been another physical thing he intended to drive into you, intended to rub against you to make you keen with pleasure. 

“It’s not a fucking problem, you little brat. Only problem is gonna be if it keeps me from watching those pretty tits bounce while I fuck you.”   

There it is. Out in the open. As if all his flirting and touching and tongue between his teeth hinted at something else besides you spread out under him. Half delirious from being so hard, he grins as he bites the bottom of the shirt – his shirt, Jesus Christ – and pulls it up and he ducks his head under the material and presses a sucking kiss into the valley of your tits. 

He likes giving head from underneath the sheets because, yes, it was hard to breathe. It was hot and stifling and everything smelled of sweat and sex and eventually his brain was forced to make a decision about what motor functions to hold onto and he made it focus on sensations until he was sure he’d be swallowed up by the cunt under his mouth or impaled by the cock in the back of his throat and if that’s how they found him dead, he’d be absolutely fine with all of it. 

Dieter Bravo – died doing what he loved. Giving immaculate, delicious head. 

The heat under the shirt is nowhere near as intense but it’s enough to make him flush with want. He licks the sweat gathering underneath your right tit, holds it on his tongue before he lathers both his spit and your sweat over your clearly-painfully tight nipple. Every touch of his makes you stutter and he can feel you unconsciously rubbing your hips up against him. 

“This isn’t going to end up on Youtube or some shit, right?” You ask above him, your voice rough as though your throat is dry. “You don’t have cameras filming this, right, Dee?” 

He chuckles with his nose rimming your left nipple. Do you have a voyeur kink? He muses vaguely. 

Fuck, I knew I shouldn’t have gotten rid of that mirror. 

“No, baby, it’s not going on Youtube.” He runs his warm palms up the curves of your side as he tugs his head out from underneath the shirt. “All the videos go directly to a password-protected server in the Cloud.”

“Dee–,” you groan as he lunges forward and kisses you hopefully so hard it knocks those silly thoughts from your brain before pulling back to grin helplessly at you. 

You cannot physically describe how impishly adorable he looks with his hair mussed, his lips pink and twisted in a smirk – you cannot really do anything at all, really – but your hand slides up from his shoulder, across his warm neck and settles into his cheek. The last bit of brown is swallowed by a swelling blackness as you rub your thumb across the bottom of his lip. This thing that has been eating at you the longer you’re around him edges you on, daring you to push him just a bit further because it knows you’d just love what he’ll do. It knows more than you, but it’s not exactly smarter than you. It’s just simply fascinated by Dieter Bravo. 

Your own mouth parts, your eyelids growing heavy, as you swipe across his lips one more time before sliding your thumb into the warmth of his mouth. Eyes never leaving yours, his tongue greets your thumb, massaging the pad before licking around it like he’d swirl off the top of an ice cream cone. He sucks gently and you can’t fight the noise that comes out of you. Almost shocked, surprised that you can feel this aroused with all your clothes on and just his tongue. He drags his tongue across the back of your knuckle and the groan is louder now – you want to bite into him – and he pushes his hips into the mattress. 

“C’mere, baby girl–,” 

Dropping your thumb, he dives in again for your mouth, this time the back of his hand grasping your neck. He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you as if forgetting there was another way to relieve the tension in his gut, the spark that's fanning smoke like a brushfire into every place your skin, your spit, touches his. 

“Take– this– off–,” He pants between the hot presses of his mouth to your jaw, your neck, the spot beneath your ear that makes you keen in a new way. His hands are scrambling over yours to get the shirt up and over your head, desire almost making him panic that everything is going too fast but not fast enough – he wants to be inside of you in every way that matter – he wants you to smell like him – to breath his same air – 

He’s not so much kissing as opening his mouth over your skin, his teeth and tongue and lips fighting over themselves to get to you first. He wants to linger, wants to take his time but the pressure – he deliriously thinks he can smell you – and only when his fingers clamp down on the waistband of your shorts – he has half a mind to punish you for walking around in these things, making his sanity unwind in the hallways of this fucking place, until the only truly sane thing to do is fuck you and fuck you good – the thought is so strong, almost violent he pauses. 

He looks up to the devastation he’s left in his wake – bright, purple spots on the inside of your breasts, under your ribs, the small swell of your stomach, your chest heaving – and he watches your face. You realize he’s stopped moving, slowed in his volcanic thunderous roll down to the clutch of your cunt, and you meet his gaze. You swallow, mouth too dry to form words, so you splat a hand on his shoulder. 

"No robe. I’m not – not going to let you f-fuck me in a bathrobe.” 

He grins. Of course, you would sass him after a make out session so intense he doesn’t even care if he comes in his pants. But he obliges, pretty much willing to cut off a finger if you continue to purr at him like you are. 

“Excuse you, this is lounge wear.” He leans back onto his knees and shrugs himself out of the green robe. Your eyes flash to the triangle on his forearm and he’d be fucked to admit he didn’t get it entirely for the look in your eyes right now. Chicks always dug the tattoos. Your tits bounce as your breathing hitches. 

Not Daddy’s girl, his smoke-heavy, lust-soaked brain chants at him, not Daddy’s girl. 

God, he’s so hard it hurts. 

He goes back down, dropping himself between your legs, arms tucked up under the backs of your thighs. He mouths the inside of your thigh – a distraction as his hand, like some sort of fucked up, horny magician performs a slight-of-hand, “iiiis this your clit?” – rubs you over your shorts. You are soaking wet and he’s fighting the urge to just dig in there, suckle you through the wet spot. He hadn’t actually made someone come that way before, but now seemed like an excellent opportunity to try. 

“You know, for someone who has to couch-surf, you talk a lot.” 

He noses the rim of the bottom of your shorts, allowing a full gaze down to your ass. 

“Sorry if I’m sick of fucking boys who look like their mom dressed them.” You are breathless, shaky, unwinding at the seams and you know exactly what to say to dig right into him. 

He bites the soft place at the back of your thigh and you groan. 

“I thought you couldn’t remember any of them before me,” he purrs, watching that damp spot grow darker the longer he talks, the longer he holds off on touching you where you and him and the entire fucking world knows you need to be touched. 

Maybe you ran your mouth too, when you were nervous, overwhelmed. Maybe you laughed too loud when you didn’t know what else to do, and maybe you gave him shit because the second words stopped coming out of your mouth, you’d have to sink into whatever he was giving you. You’d have to kneel to the white lighting between your legs. Maybe you were afraid there wouldn’t be white lightning at all. 

Families share similar insecurities, after all. 

He waits until you open your mouth again before hooking his fingers under the band of your shorts. 

“Hmm, there’s actually a fairly long list of guys before you. Guys who–,” 

He sucks the skin just an inch to the right of your hip bone, just before the patch of curly hair, he sucks it into his mouth and bites so gently he knows that your brain nearly splits in half from the hairline fracture between pleasure and pain. 

You gasp and you’re already arching off the bed. He breathes across those coarse, damp curls and inhales. 

Girlsex. 

Girlsweat. 

It’s like there’s acid corroding his brain, eating away at the clamps holding his sanity together and he’s gonna go fucking ballistic if the acid doesn’t get to him first. But he wants the burn. He wants the chemical smell. 

He wants . . . to put his dick into something. 

But first – 

You’re pliable. Easy to move as he scoops your shorts off your ass – Oh, fucking Christ, there’s her entire backside, isn’t there? – over your thighs and he hurls the shorts over his shoulder. He inhales–

God, this pussy is going to kill me, he thinks or maybe says out loud before he tips forward into that black, fluttering hole. When he licks you, you both moan. 

He remembers specifically doing planks for as long as he could to build up the upper body strength to languish here for hours.

Well, at the time, here wasn’t here here, but if everything before this was practice, then he was ready for the Olympics, dick as hard as a goddamn gold medal. 

He swipes up with his tongue, licking and sucking and swirling like frosting was going out of style. Frosting, that’s it. That’s what you reminded him of. Fat, sweating, sweet frosting. And there was the cherry on top. 

He guides your clit into his mouth, his fingers digging into the tops of your thighs as if to pull himself deeper into the wettest goddamn pool at the fucking YMCA. He sucks once and your hands fly into his hair. You’re making sounds that somewhat resemble his name, but they’re too high, too pitchy, too airless to be anything coherent. 

He wants to tease you about all the boys you mentioned. Wants you to go back on your word, beg for him to believe that there was no one else before him. If there was, it didn’t matter because this is it. This is the best you’d ever have. 

Even when you left him, you’d never forget – 

Disgustingly, he slurps up one lip of yours into his mouth and you cry out, fingernails digging into his scalp so hard that it hurts and sends another rush of blood into his weeping cock. He mouths up before teasing your clit again – around it but never on it – before diving back down and lapping up your other lip. 

“Dieter–,” you garble as if you know it’s filthy. He can hear your breathing tighten in your chest, feel your thighs clench around his ears, and he swears if he gets out of this with hair in tact, that’s the most he’s going to ask for –

And he french-kisses your clit.

You come, gasping, writhing, back arching off the mattress and he bares his forearm across your stomach, reaching up to pinch your nipple. 

Settle down. We’re only just getting started. 

He’s got to control himself but staring up at you, your face flushed with pleasure, he can’t quite remember what he’s supposed to do next. 

You are naked underneath him. Naked and heaving and he licks the dampness staining his mattress just to have your taste in his mouth again. This is going to be a problem, if he can’t think straight without his mouth on you. 

Oh my God, duh, fingers. 

He pulls himself up the length of your body, and his hands sink into your hair. His fingers curl around your ear as he makes you look at him.

“How are you feeling?” It’s an echo of what he asked earlier. You’re still warm but your breathing has slowed. Your eyes are open, even if they’re fighting to stay open as if you are concussed. 

“Good. Great.” You mutter, hand falling to his chest and tangling with his shirt. 

“You wanna keep going?”

Your eyes open wider as if someone rang a dinner bell and you’d been walking on hands and knees, starving for weeks. You swallow thickly, nodding frantically, and the hand leaves his chest, winding down between you and, before he can stop you, slides under the material of his sweats and strokes him. 

Your hands are like velvet.

Fuck, then what’s your cunt gonna feel like– 

Do not fucking come right now. 

“Oh, I see,” you huff, a smirk curling your mouth up, as if you had won some unnamed battle. You roll your shoulder to go aaall the way down his cock and stroke him. You think about licking your hand, but the precum leaking out of the tip of his head at a truly flattering rate is enough lubricant to keep your hand from sticking. “I can’t walk around without a bra on, but you can walk around in these thin fucking sweatpants and no underwear.”

He grits his teeth, dropping his head to his chest, trying to breath through the freightcar rattling down his spine.

“It’s my house, you little cocktease,” he pants, gasping as you run your thumb against the vein underneath his shaft. You pump him again and again and he groans low, with his eyes shut to keep them from rolling back in his head. “I can– yeah, right there – do whatever I want. Move your hand. I want to stick my fingers in you.” 

His words aren’t so crass they make your ears red, but it’s the unrestrained need in his voice. You slowly withdraw your hands and you go wipe the threads of him on the mattress as he sits up to take his shirt off. 

“Don’t. Just– gimme a second.” 

He yanks the tank shirt over his head, setting down in between your legs again and blinking like he’d forgotten where he was. He takes your hand, licks your palm as clean as something as dirty as this could ever get, and then penetrates your hole with his middle finger. His tongue slides in the crevice between your ring finger and your pinkie and when he adds a second finger below, you both can feel the moment your brain is wiped blank and your body twitches along with it. 

“Mhmm, good.” He pulls you down closer to him, fingers plucking your strings like the finest guitar. Your knees are spread wider than when he had half his body down there. He’s watching you practically drown his hand in the wetness seeping out, his other hand holding or balancing your knee. 

He hovers above you, watching you roll and writhe and beg. His forearm is strained, his hand must be soaking, and he thinks your face contorted in pleasure might be permanently burned into his brain. There is still some part of him that knows that’s wrong. He shouldn’t have the faintest idea of what you looked like, high and blissed out of your mind, while his fingers stroke and dig and pluck and rub to drag you higher and higher – 

The pad of his middle finger brushes something spongy and you nearly slam your legs shut over his arm, if it weren’t for his free hand pinning you open. 

“Dee,” you croak, head shaking, “that was – you can’t–,”

His eyes flutter at the sound of your voice so wrecked. He needs to memorize that exact spot, save it for when you don’t have enough sanity left to push back. It’s scary, he knows, but you must be out of your goddamn mind if you thought he was going to let anything bad happen to you. 

“Look at my thumb. Baby, look down.” 

You wrench your eyes open, past your quivering chest, down his long forearm, down to where the black bullseye on the meat of the space between his thumb and palm is winking at you. 

He’s stroking you with his thumb on your clit and the bullseye winking up at you. It’s eye-fucking you and that’s enough to break you. He wants to drink whatever drips out of you as your body locks up, head thrown back, and you come. You break through and his hand curls around your knee, gently, as he watches your body crescendo for the second time that night. He sucks his fingers, almost pensively, as if he is going to carve something out of you. Remake you. Split apart your atoms and rebuild you whole. Sex as an act of re-creation. 

He kneels his way out of his pants, cock pounding red, leaking, the hot center of where his want for you is infecting him like a sickness. 

Slowly, he drags one of your knees over his shoulder, half of your body hovering just above the mattress. 

He wants to ask if you need it rough or slow. He can’t be gentle right now but he does have enough awareness to keep from hurting you. But maybe you, like him, like a little bit of pain. 

He wants you on top, wants to see you sing for him, but he knows your legs are jelly. He knows there’s a white static hum in your brain and he’s so grateful for the pleasure of it. 

He rubs the top of your thigh and noses the back of your ankle up by his ear. 

“Do you want me to put a condom on?” he asks quietly, before kissing that spot below your ankle.

“Are you clean?” He’s so fucking broad and his rings pinch your skin when he pushes too hard and he’s asking for your comfort. You also want to feel every inch of his cock and you beg him to say yes. 

He nods, suddenly irrationally thankful of Paul’s monthly mandated screenings. You get the clap once, and your fucking manager never lets you forget it. 

You huff, realizing you’re so close your cunt can almost taste it. “I-I’m on the pill. A-a-and I’m clean too.” 

As if he had ever denied you anything, as if his willpower hadn’t barely lasted four hours, you tense at the anticipation of his cock. 

He’s just as warm, just as ready, so he grabs your other ankle and draws it next to your other one against the back of his neck. He sinks back just a bit on his ankles, fingers spreading you and grabbing himself and then–

It’s like getting the wind knocked out of you and getting sprayed with a hose of fire all at once. 

“JesusfuckingChrist, you’re tight.” 

He edges deeper as he sits up right, going slow not because he hadn’t unwound you properly but because if he went any faster, he’d obsess over the idea of getting rug burns on his dick. 

“Dieter, oh God–,”

Hands leaving your ankles to wrap around your thighs, he rocks his hips back and drags out his cock just as much as the both of you can handle before thrusting forward. Again.

Again. He can’t seem to fill you enough. He wants to be bigger, thicker, girthier, if only to plug you up more. 

But, fuck, your cunt is better than your hands but only because it’s so warm and wet and throbbing and he swears his heartbeat is in his ears. 

He thrusts almost lazily, dipping his head to kiss your shin before dropping it back, your toes brushing his hair. His hands greedily squeeze your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles. 

It’s like he has to recover from the shock and sensation of fucking you. It’s too good. It’s too much. 

He’s inside of you.

If there’s a relief fund for grilled cheese, he’s going to have to donate every red cent he’s ever owned. 

Your hands clench the sheets, mouth open and, yes, beautiful tits bouncing with every thrust. It’s not them hovering above him, begging to be bitten, but it’s close and he smooths his hand down from your thigh over his chest, down your hip and he kneads your breast. 

“Oh, fuck, Dee, fuck . . . you feel so fucking good.” 

I want to die in this cunt. 

“So good, baby.” 

It’s back, that pressure that connects the backs of his eyes, to the back of his gut, all the way to his pussy-soaked cock. This time he lets it build, lets it dangle out of reach, and his thrusts become faster, hurried. You jerk beneath him and let out a full whine as if he had spanked you. 

He fucks you some more this way, just to feel that tightening in his gut, before he pulls your legs off his shoulders and you whine again, this time out of annoyance. 

He has the where-with-all to smirk.

“What, baby doesn’t like it when I take away her toys?” He pants, almost feeling light-headed. You scowl at him but don’t push back in the least as he turns you onto your hands and knees. 

“It was just starting to feel good, you a-ahh–ss–,”

He jerks his hips into you without warning, fully seating you on his cock and your head drops between your shoulders. 

“If you weren’t such a brat, you’d be kind of cute,” he murmurs as he rubs his thumb over the knots in your spine, the sensation of your cunt sucking him in almost detaching him from this plane of existence. He knows you like to be teased, with his words, with his fingers, his mouth. He wants to give you everything – anything – he’s so pussy-obsessed he can feel it like ozone in his mouth.

He never wants to stop fucking you. He’s being unstable about it. 

“You like that I’m a brat,” you say and push back with your hips. The sensation does make him stutter and you take it as a win. His rings sting as they squeeze your hips. 

He’s sliding down that pressure, winding himself up so tightly in it he wants to stop breathing – 

He starts pumping faster. The sounds that echo in that room are like music to his ears.

The sheets ruffling as your hands clench around them. The jolt of the bed as it lurches back and forth.

Your moans as he fucks every thought out of your head. “Fuck, you’re so big. It’s not fair.” 

The wet slap of his thighs meeting yours. 

And it all narrows down, the universe closing to a single focal point–  all of it runs right to his cock rubbing up inside your cunt like it owns the place.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you groan, head down. “Please – please fuck me harder, Uncle Dieter.” 

With a growl that surprised even him, he drops forward, one hand anchoring himself to your hip and the other coming up around your throat. You gasp as his fingers dig painfully into your skin. He pulls you both up right, nose in your ear and teeth tight in his jaw. 

He punctuates every word with a particularly brutal thrust that gnaws at something truly devastating inside you. 

“Don’t – fucking – call me that – while – I’m inside – you–,”

You turn your head, flush with his and the hand that’s on your throat slides up to your cheek and he holds you there, pins you there as his cock pounds the daylights out of you. 

“Say my name.” He husks. There’s something cataclysmic happening inside your cunt and he has the launch codes. 

You can’t remember feeling so full before. So up your eyes and your mouth and your ears and your heart – God, maybe there really hadn’t been anyone before him. 

“Oh, fuck, Dieter,”

“No, honey, my real name.” 

Your eyes flicker open and something in his chest roars. He’ll kiss you after this. He’ll kiss you so hard you end up on another fucking planet. 

“David.” 

The sweat on his temples mixes with yours and he wants to smear himself in your fluids. This close, his beard and mustache rub roughly against your skin and you wonder how long the burn will last after all this. You’re clenching his arm, clenching his lower back to you, you think you’ll make him bleed in half-moon cuts of blood. 

“All of it. All of it, baby girl,” he whispers to your cheek, your jaw. “Say it. I need to hear it. I need to hear it from you.” 

Your fucked-out mind spins, clutching at the memories of the past, to a name you hadn’t heard in a decade, while the man you’ve known all your life threatens to undo your sanity. You lock eyes with him, the precipice of something so large and looming, you can’t wait to be crushed by it.

“Davíd Moralés.” 

And that bastard’s cock intentionally pushes against that spongy spot and you shriek. Honest to God, yell, as you come, with Dieter wrapped up against your back, sweat streaking both of you.

“Get down,” he hisses suddenly and almost throws you off him. You land on your back, your entire body pulsing as one single organism, and he grabs his cock in time to aim it at your chest. 

He comes, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, as he sprays you with white ropes. It’s warm on your tits and you shudder through your aftershocks. You feel like you’re sinking into warmth as he keeps coming, your inner thighs drenched and dripping, and finally, he leans away and collapses on the bed next to you.

There’s ringing in your ears. 

You feel swollen all over, your nerve centers humming and firing and crackling as though someone whapped you over the head with a 500 volt electric baton. You want to keep sinking, keep drifting, keep existing in this warm, non-corporeal form. Everything feels so good here.

You had no idea you, or anyone else for that matter, could come that hard. 

“Holy shit.” 

You can’t help but grin through the short huffs of breath you swallow down in gasps. 

You want to sass him but it feels a bit like spitting in the face of God. “Yeah. Holy shit.” 

He sits up on his elbows, glancing over his side at you, the begrudgingly fantastic cock between his legs as deflated as you are. 

“Are you okay? Fuck, sorry, I got a little crazy there at the end.” 

You shake your fist loosely, with your thumb and pinky finger extended. “I don’t hear customer service calling. In fact, I think the line has been permanently disconnected.” 

You both laugh softly and his eyes roam over your face. This is why he only saw vampy women. It was easier to wake up to something almost over-the-top hot, than this. Than you, with your beautifully flushed cheeks, plump lips, and eyes that searched only for him. 

His gut twisted painfully. Okay, you nutted so hard you’re pretty sure your dick isn’t going to work for a week, now wake up. Wake up and smell the fucking arrest warrant. 

Uncle Dieter. You're his niece. 

What the fuck were you thinking? Where could this possibly go?

Instead of inspecting the small-starting-to-grow painful throbbing in his chest, he sits up and pleasantly inspects the mess you both made all over you. You follow his gaze, smirking as he intentionally smears his cum over your skin with his thumb.

“Oh, and that thing you did at the end, where you made me–,”

“Yeah?” He grinned wickedly, almost begging you to use your words, but you had been so good for him. He’d save that for later. “You liked that?”

“At the risk of sounding desperate, yes. A thousand times yes. But totally unfair and totally cheating.”

He snickers and leans down to your thighs. “Yeah, okay, Ms. I’m Not Wearing a Bra.” 

The smell of you is intoxicating and it’s drenching your thighs, the sheets below you. Maybe he could strip the bed before Maria came – oh, fuck, what if it’s in the mattress?

He hauls those thoughts out of his mind, his dick twitching uncomfortably, as he bends forward and licks the inside of your thigh.

“Oh my God, Dee, you can’t possibly be –,”

“Relax. I’m not. Just wanted to clean you up.”

He licks the drying liquid from your skin – you hiss, so very overstimulated – dragging his tongue up, never breaking eye contact with you as he slinks up your body, shoulders rolling – “Dee, wait, you’re gonna–,” and licks the cum off your chest. His own cum. 

“Oh, fuck, that’s nasty,” you murmur, eyes transfixed on his mouth as he swallows. He chuckles, finally deciding you’ve had enough for one night, and he leans forward and presses his lips on your temple. 

“I’m not ready, but it sounds like you might be.” 

He reaches back to the floor where his shirt was so casually discarded. He gingerly wipes your thighs, your hips, your stomach and chest. There’d be time for a proper wash later, but right now he thinks he’s going to pitch forward into unconsciousness in less than thirty seconds. His limbs are heavy, his eyelids are heavy but he can’t stop smiling.

You grin at him as he tosses the very used shirt back onto the ground and gets up from the bed to disappear into the bathroom. You roll onto your side, after unpeeling the bedsheets like you had done it a thousand times. When he comes back, you rub your face against his pillows and he realizes if he’s going to hoard the sheets, then he’s going to have to do the same to the pillowcase. 

“I’m not gonna wake up and find you mouthing that shirt, am I?” You ask, a smirk already cradling your lips. He huffs at you as he hands you a glass of water. You take it, gratefully, only vaguely aware that he probably did that kind of thing all the time with his other conquests. 

That thought threatens to sour your good mood so you put the glass back onto the bedside table and curl deeper into the sheets. 

He climbs in behind you, and rubs his nose over your shoulder and up into your ear, his hand spread across your hip. 

“Only if I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t mouth your tits.” 

He’s purposefully being sexy, being teasing, but there’s a question there. A request. A quiet ask that for all his thick dick swinging, doesn’t have the cojones to verbalize. 

 You smirk at him and roll back slightly to catch his mouth. You thread your fingers through his hair and squeeze once. 

“Baby, I couldn’t stand up right if I fucking tried.”

He grins, eyes warm. “Wow. Even if you fucking tried?”

God, this is such a bad idea.

“Even if I fuck-in’ tried.” 

But despite all his not-at-all begging, he wakes up alone. 

He wakes up in broad daylight – the storm had passed. Too bright light streams in from between the gray curtains, illuminating the one thing he never wanted to see: your side of the bed empty. 

His heart clenches so fast he thinks he might be sick. There’s real nausea as he stumbles to his feet and pulls his pants on from last night. He’s about to rush down the stairs, frantically flipping over everything in hopes of finding a note, even if it told him to fuck off. 

You’re twenty years older than me, you fucking creep.

Just wait until my dad hears about this. 

I never want to see you again. 

Just as his mouth dries up till his lips crack, he sees something on the other side of the bed that makes him freeze in his tracks. It’s your phone, plugged into the wall. He goes over and taps the screen. The battery has only 15%. 

And then a post-storm breeze rattles the patio door handle and it opens slightly. He sees your barefoot through the cut in the door frame. 

Holy fuck, you’re still here, just outside. 

Heart now jettisoning into his throat, he opens the door to a truly spectacular morning. His patio looks down to the freshly-washed Los Angeles, the sky a cobalt blue, the air cool and faintly smelling of rain. People run and lead their dogs through the streets and for a minute he thinks he can hear the ocean. 

But what makes it truly spectacular is you. Curled up at the small table in one of his white shirts and those sanctimonious shorts. You’ve got a cup of coffee in your hand and you’ve got his favorite book, Eco’s The Name of the Rose, lying flat beneath your fingertips. But you aren’t reading. You’re looking at him.

“Well, hi there. Did you dream you missed a flight?”

He blinks. “What?” 

“You just, sort of, rushed out here, looking like you forgot something.” You frown. “Is everything okay?”

He swallows and it’s all he can do to keep from dropping to his knees and pressing his face into your lap. 

“Yeah, fine, fine. All good. Fine.” 

You turn back to the book, staring at it as if it was giving you a pep talk. Then you shut it and turn back to him.

“So, um, last night . . .” 

Here it comes. I regret it, all of it. You drugged me and took advantage of me. I can’t believe that you would–

“Was great.” 

He swears he hears his blood rushing in his ears. You smile at him, but clearly uneasy. As if you are the one second-guessing it all. 

Fuck, Bravo, put on your big boy pants.

He pulls out the other patio chair and sits down next to you. He clasps his hands, leaning forward on his elbows. His rings clink together. He nods, trying to catch your eyes.

“Yeah. It was fucking fantastic. I mean it. One for the books.”

He waits for you to say but. 

You wait for him to say but.

Neither of you do. You grin and put your coffee on the table. 

“So, in the events of last night . . . surprisingly, I forgot to charge my phone.”

He doesn’t want to touch you because he thinks it might spook you so he runs his gaze over your lovely knuckles, your wrist. 

“Sounds like, then, you might need to stay awhile.” 

You swallow, unable to contain the growing smile on your face. You duck your head and he follows you and your breath fans his face. 

“Guess so.” 

If he tells it, he says he kissed you.

If you tell it, you say you kissed him. 

Doesn’t matter though. Doesn’t matter that the coffee grows cold and he ignites something in you that you didn’t know existed.

When he finally pulls away, he’s still smiling. 

“This might be a bit weird, but . . . wanna see my other kitchen?”

The End

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #f!reader #the bubble fanfiction #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo fanfic #pedro pascal fanfic #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfic

[thetriumphantpanda]

congratulations on your amazing milestone my love 💜

this was nearly impossible to choose buuuut what if it was mirror sex and breath play with Dieter? what if that please?

WHAT IF I WROTE IT HAN?! WHAT THEN?! Heh. My first ever bit of Dieter writing so please be gentle with me, but I hope you enjoy regardless!

Thank you so much Han, I really appreciate the love! I think it was your reblog of my first Javi P mirror sex 👀 that made my followers explode a little, so thank you for always supporting me. 🧡

Pairing | Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Word Count | 1.4k

Warnings | Explicit, 18+ Minors DNI. Mentions of smoking weed, MIRROR SEX, breath play and unprotected PiV sex.

Part of my 1k Smut Sensation Celebration - if you want in, check here for details - I’m accepting requests through July 15th.

He’s bored. You both are. Dieter’s break from work seemed like a really good idea at the time. A chance for him to recoup after back-to-back projects and a chance for what was a new relationship between the two of you to have time to actually blossom. Neither of you had really thought about Dieter’s need to be constantly entertained, his fingers itching to do something. Anything. All the time. 

He'd woken up from his second weed-induced nap of the day about twenty minutes ago and was already up and pacing the room, taking books from your shelf to flick through hoping something would catch his eye, or channel surfing the TV to try and find something to capture his attention. On the forty-fifth click of the television remote, because you were keeping count, you lost it. 

Pushing yourself up from the couch, you grab hold of his wrist, “I can’t fucking take it anymore.” You mumble, pulling him up and dragging him down the hallway of your apartment. 

You didn’t really have a plan on what to do once you got here, but you push him by his shoulders into your room, pushing him back until the backs of his knees hit the bed and he tumbles backwards. He grabs hold of you at the last second, causing you to tumble down with him, ending up straddled above his hips. 

You bend forward and start trailing soft kisses across his jaw, feeling his hands come to your ass where they squeeze, enough to have you whining for more. You push back slightly and feel Dieter’s already half-hard cock through his plaid pyjama pants. You loved this, the way he was always so receptive to you. You shimmy down his body a little, letting your own clothed core grind down into him. 

“Fuck, baby,” He spits out, hands flying to your hips to help guide your movements, dragging you slowly to grind against his growing erection, “Can’t believe I get to fuck you as much as I want now.” 

“I think you’ll find this was my idea,” You grin, moving to rip your tank top over your head, nipples pebbling almost immediately in the cool air of your room, “And I’ve got an idea.” 

Dieter sits himself up, wrapping his arms around your back to bring his mouth to your tits. He’s running the flat of his tongue over a nipple, using his teeth to make tiny bruises on the delicate skin around them, before he switches to the other side. It drives you wild, how this man has absolutely zero patience in any other part of his life apart from this, where he will happily spread you out and tease you for hours before giving you want you really want. One of your hands is running through the messy curls on the top of his head, the other draped across his shoulders as you continue to grind yourself down on him. You can already feel your pussy soaking through the material of your pyjamas. 

“Well, go on then,” He insists, finally pulling away from your chest, “What’s your big idea, baby?” 

You extract yourself from your place on his lap, standing at the foot of the bed, shedding the last item of clothing you were wearing, “First of all, stand up and take your clothes of.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He shoots at you, before scrambling from the bed, t-shirt dragging over his head to join your pile of clothes on the floor. 

You know Dieter enjoys it when you boss him around like this. He likes being told what to do, how to please you best, what you like so he can do more of it and what you don’t like so he knows what to stop. He likes it when you ride him, using him to get yourself off being finally telling him he can come too. 

Watching closely as he pulls the plaid down his legs, a smirk on your lips when he grips his cock in his fist and starts pumping himself, the idea forming in your head is becoming more enticing by the second. You wordlessly walk over to the full-length mirror in the corner of your room, placing flat palms on the glass. You look over at Dieter, who is watching with glazed eyes and an open mouth as you push your ass out and spread your legs, “Well, come on, big boy,” You coax, “Come fuck me where I can watch.” 

He's behind you in minutes, spitting into the palm of his hand to coat his cock before he’s lining up with your entrance, slick from the work of his mouth on your tits, and pushing into you, slowly letting you take each and every inch of his cock until he’s buried inside you to the hilt. 

You’re making direct eye contact with yourself in the mirror, the sight of your mouth dropping open turning you on even more than you already were. Dieter lifts his head once he’s found his rhythm of slow, languid thrusts, smirking at the way you’re watching yourself. 

“Don’t I always tell you you’re the most beautiful when you’re getting fucked?” He groans into your ear, one of his hands coming to grip your chin to hold your stare steady in the reflection, “Believe me now, baby?” 

He’s picking up the pace now, you can hear the slap of skin as his hips meet the skin of your ass, and when he finally hits that sweet spot inside you, you practically sing for him, letting your eyes trail down the mirror to watch as your tits bounce with every thrust. It’s delectable, really, but it’s still not enough. 

You move one of your hands from the mirror to drag his from holding your chin, to holding your throat. You’re looking at his eyes in the mirror as the widen, his hips are getting sloppy but still manage to drive you insane. 

“Go on,” You encourage, “You can squeeze a little.” 

His wide palm is covering most of your neck, a thrill travels all the way down your spine as he does squeeze. It’s light and gentle, barely enough that you can feel it, but it’s enough to have your pussy clenching around him. 

“Harder,” You beg, and he pulls his cock almost all the way out before slamming back into, “No, Dieter, my neck, squeeze it harder.” 

He does another tentative squeeze, tightening the way his fingers are gripping the skin to the side of your neck, which moves the pressure of his palm. You can still breathe, but it’s enough for you now, a devilish giggle falling from your lip, “You like that?” He asks, having not let up with the bruising pace of his hips, “Like when I choke you?” 

He lets up the pressure so you can talk, “Love it,” You moan, and then he’s squeezing with a similar pressure again, “I fucking love it.” 

“Look at yourself,” He’s back at your ear, “Stuffed full of my cock and begging me to choke you,” He nips at your earlobe, “Put your fingers on your pussy and come for me, baby.” 

You don’t need to be told twice. You lock eyes with him in the mirror, sticking two of your fingers into your mouth, swirling your tongue over them, much like you’d done on his cock the night before, before they’re between your legs and rubbing hard and fast circles over your clit. 

Dieter applies pressure to your throat again, his grip a little tighter than the last time, and you’re done. The pressure at your neck means you can do nothing by let a whine drop from your lips as pleasure bursts through your body to settle on every nerve ending you’ve got. Your legs feel like jelly, if it wasn’t for Dieter finally pulling his palm from your neck to hold your hips as he brought himself to the edge, you’d have fallen. 

He’s pulling himself out of you, fisting his cock a few times before you can feel the warm ropes of cum spilling over your lower back and your ass. You feel him run one of his fingers through the mess he’s made, before he’s bringing his fingers to your face and watching in the mirror as you suck the finger into your mouth, tasting him. 

“So fucking hot, baby,” He’s smirking, reaching down for the t-shirt he was wearing yesterday, thrown to the floor without a second thought, before he’s using it to wipe the rest of his cum from your skin, “You wanna get high and order noodles?” 

You turn around, letting your back hit the cool glass of the mirror as he kisses you, “Hell yeah, I wanna get high and order noodles,” You grin against his lips, “You’re rolling though.” 

#Dieter Bravo #dieter bravo fic #Dieter Bravo fanfic #dieter bravo fanfiction #Dieter Bravo smut #Pedro Pascal #the bubble #Dieter Bravo x you #Dieter Bravo x reader #Dieter Bravo x female reader #Dieter Bravo x f!reader #the bubble fic #PSSC

[whatsnewalycat]

acting lesson

pairing: dieter bravo x ofc louella

Summary: Dieter convinces you to roleplay with him.

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Content Tags/Warnings: LDR, roleplay, bar, drinking alcohol (casual), dirty talk, swearing, public bathroom sex, D/s elements, fluff, impact play, pet names, hair pulling, blow job, unprotected piv sex, graffiti, football mention

Word Count: 4.3k+

Notes: In the Psychomanteum universe between Ch 12 & 13. Could be read as a one-shot. Based on this ask from @frannyzooey:

Dieter and Lou — roleplay He’s an actor, she’s….not 👀👀 How does he indulge her? ❤️

The idea first came up during one of your many phone calls with Dieter.

It was the kind of call that works as a surrogate for sitting in the room together, despite the some-odd 2,600 miles keeping you apart. Comfortable silences between organic conversation, running parallel to your evening routines. In LA, Dieter hummed to himself while rifling through his kitchen cabinets for snacks. In New York, you stared at up the marigold painting hung above your bed, and you asked him, “How do you act?”

“When I’m with you, like a fool.”

His voice purred through your phone speaker, low and warm. Heat bloomed in your chest and crept up your neck.

You giggled, “I mean, like, for your job. How do you do that?”

“I don’t know. I guess I try to channel the character and pretend to be them. You ever do plays in school or anything like that?”

“In fourth grade I got to play a munchkin in The Wizard of Oz. I had one line and I completely butchered it.”

He laughed, “Seems about right.”

“What is that supposed to mean?!”

“You’re just… very good at being yourself,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his words, “It’s not a bad thing, doll. I like that about you.”

A smile spread across your face. You hummed in acknowledgement.

“If you want, I can show you how I do it. Give you an acting lesson. You could be my scene partner,” he lowered his voice an octave, “We could make it fun.”

Something about this pricked your skin with excitement. You twisted a strand of hair around your finger and smirked, “How’s that?”

“Have you ever done roleplay?”

“Oh no,” you laughed, shaking your head, “I would be terrible at that—”

“Wait wait wait, hear me out,” he protested, “What if you got to play yourself?”

You quietly pondered this, then asked, “Who would you be?”

“I would be… a stranger at a bar. You’d just have to play along,” he rumbled, “Treat me like one of your hookups.”

Warmth trickled down your spine and pooled between your legs. You licked your lips and traced your collarbone over your shirt, “You’ve thought about this before.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m not opposed to the idea. It could be… hot.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe next time I see you,” you conceded.

And so, this morning, while sipping coffee together out on his patio, he brought it up again.

“Do you remember when we talked about… an acting lesson?”

Your eyebrow quirked and you glanced over at him, “You mean roleplay?”

He shrugged, draping an arm around your shoulders, working his thumb against the starfruit tattoo on your arm, “How do you feel about it?”

“I wondered what it would have been like to meet you like that.”

“Me too,” he said, then scooted closer and murmured, “You know, I’ve always thought that was something so fucking sexy about you. The way you chew men up and spit them out.”

“Really?” you studied him.

The corner of his mouth tucked up in a smirk. His gaze bore into yours, “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

“Not you, though,” you brought your hand to his cheek and smoothed your palm along his cheek, “I like you.”

“No, not me,” he agreed, nuzzling into your touch, “But we can pretend. It’ll be an acting lesson, remember?”

“An acting lesson, yeah, that’s why you wanna do this. Not because you wanna fuck me in a bathroom stall, right?”

“It can be both,” he said, a devilish grin playing on his lips.

You couldn’t help but smile as you stared at him. His dark eyes flicked around your face, searching for an answer. When you released a reluctant sigh and frowned down into your coffee cup, he continued.

“I’ll give you some pointers beforehand, love. It’ll be fun. You just be you and pretend you don’t know me,” he purred, his voice growing lower and more persuasive, “I wanna see what it’s like to be used by you, Lua. Please. Let me be your piece of meat. Chew me up and spit me out.”

How could you say no?

When you step inside the door, it slams behind you. Outside, the sun still douses Los Angeles in daylight, but the underground bar shows no signs of it. Your eyes sting as they adjust to the darkness, and you find yourself momentarily blinded.

Slowly, things start to come into focus.

Neon beer signs and pucks of dim, golden light studding the low ceiling make their surroundings glow, reflecting off the dark wooden bar and high-top tables. A few clusters of people are scattered around at the tables, and one androgynous person sits at the bar, scrolling on their phone while taking occasional sips from a tall glass of beer. Over the speakers, “You Make Loving Fun” by Fleetwood Mac plays just a decibel too loud, but you have a feeling this is the standard music volume here.

It’s one of those places that seems unchanging. Static. You bet that if you walked in here at any moment, on any day, it would look and feel mostly the same.

You approach the bar and take a seat in one of the tattered barstools. Its red pleather sticks to your legs and back. One of the advantages and disadvantages of wearing your most fuckable dress: it’s really goddamn short.

“What’ll you be having tonight, miss?”

You look to the portly bartender and smile, “Vodka cranberry, please.”

He walks away, returning a minute later with your drink. You slide a twenty across the counter and thank him.

When the bartender brings you your change, he nods at the man pulling out the barstool next to you, who says, “Old fashioned.”

The bartender makes his drink and brings back your change. You leave a few bills on the rail as a tip, then lean back in your chair and look up at the TV. Two college football teams slam into each other on the screen.

The man sitting next to you is not discreet about his ogling. His eyes burn your skin, but you pay him no mind. You lift the drink to your lips and take a few quick gulps to hush the excitement bubbling up your neck.

He does the same, then you feel him lean towards you and ask, “Why do bars always play the most boring shit on TV?”

You look over at him, looking up and down his very expensive looking, and thusly very out-of-place, navy suit, obviously tailored just for him. The top three buttons are undone, revealing his smooth chest that gleams gold in the dim lighting. A lusty ache twists at your center.

You smirk and meet his deep brown eyes, “What, you don’t find the underlying threat of concussion-induced brain injuries to be exhilarating?”

The handsome “stranger” laughs, exposing this big, contagious smile, dimples tugging at his cheeks and everything, “I guess I never thought about it that way.”

You grin, staring down at your drink for a moment, then say, “I’ve found that if I go into it pretending it’s the first half of a horror story I’ll never know the ending to, it’s not as, umm,” a giggle escapes your throat, “fucking boring, y’know?”

“Wow,” he chuckles and shakes his head, “I’m not sure if I want to run for the hills or ask for your hand in marriage.”

“The first option is probably safer,” you wink, then take a sip of your drink.

His gaze lingers on you for a beat before he stammers, “I’m Diego, by the way.”

“Louella,” you take his outstretched hand and shake it.

He holds it there, grazing his thumb along your knuckles before pulling back, “What brings you out tonight? Meeting friends or something?”

You tilt your head at him, dragging your eyes across the broad expanse of his body, “Just, you know… seeing what’s out there.”

His throat rumbles and he drops his gaze to your lips, “Find anything?”

“Maybe,” you grin and take a sip of your drink, “What about you, Diego?”

“What about me?”

“You’re here, having a drink, talking to me. Is your evening going as you’d hoped?”

“Much better, actually,” he murmurs, leaning close, “Didn’t think I’d come across someone as gorgeous as you.”

You smile, and find yourself restraining laughter. Not because he’s doing bad or anything, but because he’s doing so good.

“Quite the smooth-talker, aren’t you?”

He grins, bobbing his shoulders in a shrug, “Is it working?”

At this, you do laugh. You tuck your hair behind your ear and depart from his lustful gaze, glancing down at your drink. A wide palm slides onto your back, warming the skin between your shoulder blades. The magnetic force of his body drawing close makes your breathing stutter.

“Listen,” his voice seems to melt, low and heated, into your ear, the baritone dripping down your spine, pooling between your legs, “If this is too forward, feel free to tell me to fuck off, but… do you want to have sex with me?”

You turn to find him just inches away, hooded eyes dark and heavy with want, flitting around your face like he’s brainstorming ways to make it contort with pleasure. You love seeing him like this. Needy. Aching. Putty in your hands.

“Tell me what you want to do to me, Diego,” you tell him in a throaty whisper, “And I’ll consider it.”

A flash of his pink tongue breaches his lips. He glances around as he scoots his barstool closer, knee brushing against yours, and murmurs in your ear, “As far as the venue goes, we have a couple options. Bathroom, out back, in my car—”

“Romantic,” you tease.

He raises an eyebrow at you, dragging his gaze from your face, down your neck, following the curve of your body, “But you don’t want romance, do you, Louella? That’s not why you’re here.”

“Oh yeah?” you tilt your head and bat your lashes at him, “Then why am I here?”

His throat rumbles. He leans so close, his breath scatters across your cheek when he says, “You’re here because you want to get fucked. Hard, preferably. You want me to bring you into that disgusting bathroom and stretch your sweet little cunt out with my fat cock, isn’t that right? You want me to squeeze your tits and use my teeth. You want it to hurt, not a lot, not enough to draw blood, but enough to make you feel something. Enough to make you feel… real,” he pauses here, smirking at you, licking his lips as he drops his gaze to your mouth, “Hmm? Isn’t that right, Louella?”

You swallow hard and nod, and realize you’re holding your breath. When you draw air in, it’s shaky and subdued.

“Will you let me do that for you?”

His touch trails up your bare leg and makes you shiver.

“Yes.”

He stands from the barstool and takes a cursory glance around, then nods at you, “Lead the way.”

Miraculously, the bathroom at this shitty dive bar is one of those no-stall, single-toilet situations with a deadbolt to keep the outside world at bay.

Dieter guides you through the threshold with his hand at the small of your back. You peer around the small, dim room, studying the graffitied black tile walls. Colorful tags, crudely drawn dicks, and witty remarks surround you on all sides. The scent of bleach burns your nostrils, which is a little disorientating, but you suppose it’s better than the alternative.

The lock clicks in place behind you.

When you turn to look at him, he’s already burying his fist in your hair and pushing your cheek against the cool tile wall. You gasp with surprise at the force he uses, exhaling a giddy laugh, and he murmurs in your ear, “What’s your safe word, baby?”

Your eyes dart around for inspiration, and you focus in on a cartoon giraffe wearing sunglasses, a cigarette dangling from his lips, next to a word bubble that reads: Giraffiti is cool!

“Giraffe.”

“Giraffe,” he repeats, and you nod as much as his grasp on your hair will allow.

He slides your skin-tight dress up to your waist and yanks your underwear down to your ankles, rumbling, “Fuck, look at this ass.”

His palm slides warm and gentle across one cheek, then he digs his fingers into the soft flesh and groans when you whimper. He lets go, and the deep, bruising grip is quickly replaced with a sharp, hard slap.

A gasp expands your lungs as heat tingles across the site.

“How’s that?”

“Fucking perfect,” you breathe, eyes drifting closed, mouth falling open. He does it again, same spot. Smack. This time you moan.

When he releases your hair, you stay where you are, with your hands and face all smushed up against the tile. He smooths gentle circles into your unmarred ass cheek. When it draws away, you flinch in anticipation, and he chuckles, “Too hard?”

“No.”

It’s followed by another smack, by pain and heat, and you hiss, “Fuck yes.”

His throat makes this noise that’s somewhere between a growl and a moan. He slides his hand around your front, between your legs, and he purrs, “You fucking love this, don’t you, Louella?”

“I do,” you whimper at his soft, exploratory touch, at the gentle way he spreads your arousal up and down your wet, hot middle. Fingertips dig into the curve of your ass and hold there. The contrast between his two hands is excruciating.

“What’s my name?”

Not thinking, you exhale, “Dieter.”

His gentle hand freezes against you. The other lays down a sharp smack that burns your skin and makes you whimper. He grinds out, “That’s not my fucking name. What’s my name?”

“Diego.”

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he coos, putting the hand against your pussy in motion, tracing around your clit, not touching it directly, flooding your body with a tingling, frustrated kind of excitement that makes your heart race and your breathing quicken.

You reach down and grab his wrist, pressing his hand into you harder, rolling your hips against it, and moan at the pressure it relieves.

He yanks his hand away from your grasp and buries it in your hair, pulling the strands taught, smacking your ass again, “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Please,” you pout, arching your hips back towards him, “Please fuck me, Diego.”

All the air leaves his lungs and scatters across your back.

“Louella,” he rumbles, and all your insides clench at his low, patient cadence, at the way your name vibrates off his lips onto your shoulder, then he says, “You are fucking demanding, aren’t you?”

“No—”

Smack

A hot, searing pain from your battered ass cheek makes you gasp, then whimper. Arousal shoots up your spine. Your cunt aches with need.

“I’ll be patient—I’ll do whatever the fuck you want, Diego, please—”

“That’s it,” he coos, “You’re gonna be my little slut, hmm? Let me fuck you the way I want?”

“Yes.”

The word comes out with a throaty, needy force, almost a fucking sob. You want him so bad it hurts. He chuckles at this, at how fucking desperate you are right now.

“Get on your knees, baby.”

He releases you and steps back. You turn to face him, holding his lust-blown gaze as you drop to your knees like he asked.

“Show me how bad you want it.”

You nod in understanding, your shaky hands clambering at his belt buckle, unzipping his slacks, the mechanism all strained with the force of his bulge. You pull his pants and briefs down with a frantic kind of energy that makes him hum with amusement as he watches you.

His cock bobs out as his pants fall to his feet. You admire it for a moment. How it’s so thick and swollen and twitchy with need, delicate skin pulled taught, a sticky little bead of arousal sprouting up at the tip. You test its weight in your palm, grinning when you look up and see Dieter’s lips part and his eyelids flutter.

“That’s it, baby, show me how bad you want me to fuck that pretty little pussy.”

You open your mouth, batting your eyelashes up at him as you drag your tongue up his length. Again and again, painting his cock with your saliva, using flat, firm strokes, until it’s shiny and soaked with spit.

He moans when you stretch your lips out around him, rolling your tongue against the tip, the salty, heady dribble of pre-cum smearing into your tastebuds. You slide your lips further down his shaft and start to suck him off at a steady rhythm, bobbing your head along his length.

“Oh my fucking god,” he gasps, eyebrows threading together, nodding down at you, “You’re so fucking good at that. Do you like sucking cock, baby, hmm?”

You look up to meet his eyes, mouth all full and stretched out from him, and answer anyway, “Mhmm.”

“Fuck yes you do—you fucking love it, don’t you?”

You pull off of him, replacing your mouth with your hand, jerking him off as you whine, “Yes I do, I fucking love it—”

He grabs your hair and forces his cock back in your mouth, gritting out, “Did I fucking tell you to stop?”

A moan surfaces from your guts. His head rolls back and he twitches against your tongue. You take the length of his cock faster now, the stretched-out band of your lips slick and tingling. He pets your hair and holds your gaze, watching you with awe as you work, quiet groans falling from his parted lips.

The doorknob jiggles, then there’s a knock.

“Occu—”

You sit up higher to plunge your mouth down on him, jamming his cock down your throat. His mouth falls open and he moans while you move in short, quick strokes. A wet gurgling noise echoes off the tiles back into your ears.

There’s another jiggle. Another knock. A faint, feminine, “Hello?”

You pull off of him, gasping for air while you wrap your hand around his cock and stroke him as he hollers, “Occupied!”

A beat goes by while he stares at the door before he brings his focus back to you, shaking his head, kicking his pants off over his shoes, “Get up.”

Your underwear tangle around your heels and trip you up. By the time you yank them off and toss them aside, Dieter has grown impatient. He rips you off the floor by your armpits, pushing your back against the cool tile wall.

Beneath you, your shaky legs buckle, but he slips an arm around your waist to prevent you falling.

As if second nature, he looks you over and draws his body close, cupping your cheek with his palm.

And… fuck, the way he stares at you, with this warm, attentive gaze… you know he wants to kiss you. You know he wants to hold you close and whisper sweet somethings in your ear. He wants to tell you he loves you and that he’ll never stop loving you, forever and ever until he’s dust, and maybe even then, if dust has feelings.

It’s all Dieter, not Diego.

You grin and search his face, then whisper, “You broke character.”

He narrows his eyes for just a moment, as if trying to process what you said. When he realizes you’re right, this big amused smile spreads across his face and he chuckles, “You hush.”

You link your hands at the back of his neck, “We can rewind.”

His throat rumbles as he considers this, brushing his knuckles along the side of your face, glancing down at your lips. The grip around your waist tightens and his hips sway a little.

“You just wanna kiss me and make sweet, sweet love to me, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” he grins, pressing his forehead against yours.

You giggle and comb your fingertips through his mess of curls, “You big softie.”

His smile falters a little and he shrugs, “Sorry.”

Your stomach twists.

“Hey, no,” you pull back enough to meet his eyes and shake your head, “It’s one of my very favorite things about you.”

He furrows his brow and blinks, “Really?”

“Yes,” you giggle, rubbing your palm against his cheek. He nuzzles into your touch and you tell him, “Diego is hot, but Dieter? My Dee? I fucking love him. And he’s hot.”

A bright, bashful smile spreads across his face. He meets your gaze with those loving, loving eyes and asks, “Can I fucking kiss you now?”

“Oh my god, plea—”

His lips cut you off, pressing into yours with passionate force. From its place pinned between your bodies, his cock twitches. He brings a hand to the back of your head and renews the kiss, pulling you closer, slotting his mouth against yours.

You whimper at the velvet of his tongue. The tug of his fingers clamping down in your hair. The persistent, pulsing current where your bodies meet.

The two of you seem to lose yourself here, in the heated kissing and touching and writhing, forgetting your presence in the restroom has a time limit.

Another knock on the door. Harder. Impatient.

Dieter parts from your swollen lips, his mouth a mess of your red lipstick, and hollers at the door, “Give me a minute!”

Then he turns back to you, his gaze all obsidian want, and mutters, “We better hurry before they ram the goddamn door down.”

“How do you want me?” you ask, batting your lashes at him, trailing a fingernail along his jawline.

“Just like this.”

Sometimes you forget how strong he is.

When he lifts your hips you let out a little yelp of surprise and hook your arms around his shoulders.

“Legs around my back, love, I got you,” he breathes. The wall bears some of your weight as you lean against it and wrap your legs around him. He settles in closer, shifting his hips under yours. The tip of his cock nudges your entrance.

“Are you ready?” he asks, caressing your cheek with the slope of his nose.

Normally, he has to work himself in slow. Let your body adjust to the stretch of him in increments. So you know what he means when he asks this.

But when you nod, and he loosens his grip to let gravity take you down, it still shocks you. The pain is immediate. And exquisite. You bury a deep, guttural moan into his shoulder and dig your nails into his skin. Your eyes flutter shut and you inhale a few sharp breaths.

“Fffffuck,” he hisses when you can go no further, “So fucking tight, holy fuck.”

All you can respond with is a whimper. He holds you here, impaled, not moving, as you start to relax around him and the pain condenses into a gooey ember right at the center of you.

“That’s it, love.”

His hips start to roll slow, dragging his cock along your walls, sending sparks up your spine.

“Fuck, Dee,” you gasp.

He snatches a kiss from your trembling lips and asks, “Too much?”

Your mouth gapes open with a ragged moan and you press your sweaty forehead into his, “Issss perfect—So fuuucking good—“

He lets out a raspy chuckle, “Listen to you, Lua, all fucking cock drunk, fuck—”

The laugh you release is delirious, and quickly devolves into moaning as he starts to fuck you faster. He’s not wrong. You feel disoriented and tingly, like you’ve been launched into space and you’re no longer on Earth, but on Planet Dieter.

You can tell he’s starting to unravel when he pants all kinds of filthy things against your frantic breathes, fueling the fire licking your insides, pulling you closer and closer to your ascent.

“You fucking love when I stretch your cunt out, don’t you doll? Hmm?”

You whimper and nod.

“Say it.”

“I—I fucking love w-when you stretch my cunt out.”

“Who’s my little slut?”

“I’m your little slut, Dee—oh, fuck—”

“That’s fucking right, baby,” he grunts, fucking you harder, faster. You clamber up his body, tugging on his hair, pulling him closer, gasping at the brilliant heat expanding at the base of your spine.

“Don’t fucking stop, don’t fucking stop, fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck,” you sob, drawing one more sharp inhale before you fall off the edge, ecstasy shattering you into a thousand pieces, then bringing you back together whole.

“Fuck yes, baby, there we go—oh my fucking god—”

Dieter’s hips drive up into you with a handful of rough, deep thrusts, while your whole body shudders and you release a choked moan. His echoes alongside yours, harmonizing in this unrestrained, unmistakably feral noise.

Every ounce of pressure held under your sweat-drenched, tingling skin deflates.

“Holy fucking shit, Dee,” you pant, ripping your sticky legs away from his, trying to find solid ground.

He lowers you to your feet, and you both stumble back a little, chests heaving, grinning at each other like mad.

“God, I love you,” he says, shaking his head as he doubles over to catch his breath, then he glances around and mutters, “I need to lay down.”

Three hard bangs against the door make you both jump.

“Are you done fucking yet?”

Your wide eyes meet his for a terrified moment, then you both burst with laughter.

“Yeah, give us a second,” Dieter calls back, then scoops his pants off the ground. After adjusting your dress and collecting your underwear, you walk to the sink to wash your hands and notice something resting between the faucet and wall: a metallic silver sharpie.

A smile spreads across your face. You grab it and hold it up to Dieter, who’s buckling his pants, “Do you want to do the honors, or should I?”

He raises his eyebrows when he glances up at you, and when he realizes what you’re implying, grins like a madman, “May I?”

You hand him the sharpie and he finds an unmarred section of black tile on which to write the message, framing the words with a frilly Valentine’s Day heart: DEE + LUA 4EVA!

#psychomanteum #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc #the bubble fanfiction #the bubble fic #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction

[morallyinept]

A list of all my favourite DIETER BRAVO Fic Recs, with the writers tagged. Includes fics I am currently reading/want to read.

Please show some love to the writers by re-blogging and commenting on their work. 🖤

PART 3

⚠️ Please ensure you check the triggers/warnings etc... on the stories themselves as some of them may not be suitable to your own particular tastes.

Give To Me - @sp00kymulderr

Baking - @ladamedusoif

Jester Little Bit More - @covetyou

A Baker's Dozen - Dieter - @avastrasposts

Thought I Was Dreaming - @haylzcyon

Sweet, Sweet Icing - @palioom

The Devil In Me Series & Apology - @aurorawritestoescape Devil!Dieter

Baby, It's Cold Outside - @theywhowriteandknowthings

Pretend Alleyways Series - @radiowallet Featuring Marcus Moreno

Jingle My Bells - @joels-shitty-puns

I Crawl Home To Her - @chronically-ghosted

We Fall Like Snow Series - @psychedelic-ink

Weddings 101 With Dieter - @nerdieforpedro

Fluffer - @proxima-writes PornStar!Dieter

Stay Gold, Baby Boy - @chronically-ghosted

Who's Line Is It Anyway - @sweetenerobert M!Reader

White Christmas - @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

That's Not Your Name Series - @blueeyesatnight

I Put Down My Book To Be Here - @frenchiereading

Wildest Dreams Series - @itsbrandy OFC

One Man Show - @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

The Hollywood Hedonist Method & Only Backwards - @pennyserenade

Jet Set Christmas - @morallyinept

Hold Me, Love Me, Touch Me, Honey - @psychedelic-ink

Love Machine - @scarerjh GN!Reader

Push & Pull - @bbypedrito

Love To Hate You & Accidentally Mrs Bravo - @absurdthirst

Working Overtime - @palioom

The Award - @pedropascalsx

Red Herring - @nothoughtsjustmeds

Once In A Blue Moon - @whatsnewalycat

Tear You Apart - @psychedelic-ink 70's Rockstar!Dieter!

Run Over By A Reindeer - @blueeyesatnight

Gift Wrapped & Unwrapped - @sp00kymulderr

The Knight & His Queen Series - @mysterious-moonstruck-musings OFC

A Thing For Angels - @miraclesabound

In Reality - @sin-djarin GN!Reader

O' Christmas Tree - @covetyou

Good Boy - @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin Featuring Javier Pena

Cookie Kisses - @toomanystoriessolittletime

Best In Show - @covetyou

Misfire - @qveerthe0ry

Who's Line Is It Anyway? - @sweetenerobert M!Reader

#dieter bravo x reader #pedro pascal x reader #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo the bubble #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo fluff #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x m!reader #the bubble fic #fic recs #jett's fic recs

[radiowallet]

I Can

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Marcus Moreno Summary: Dieter and Marcus meet a second time. WC: 4K Warnings: 18+ MDNI Explicit sexual content. Exclusive M/M dynamics. Written in third-person POV, male protagonists, handjob, dry humping, dirty talk, praise kink, a smidge of edging. Mentions of food and drug use. Small angsty moments. AU Marcus Moreno (no wife, no Missy).

A/N: A Saturday night fic drop? Why not? I'm literally just a chaos demon at this point. Big thanks to @writer-wednesday for this prompt and for inspiring me to revisit my boys (and basically create a whole entire universe for them). This is a follow-up to my random little drabble You Can. I have wanted to revisit these boys for so long and when the inspiration struck, I couldn't help but run with it. Thank you to my beloved @jazzelsaur and @magpie-to-the-morning for listening and encouraging every unhinged thought inside my head. The very best of enablers.

Pretend Alleyways Masterlist II Main Masterlist

For any new writing follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications.

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Dieter refuses to spend another meal in some stuffy, overpriced hoity-toity bullshit restaurant. Ever since his plane touched down at JFK he’s been dragged from meeting to table read to some supposed ‘life-changing’ meal and back again. Which, okay, there are worse things in life than a $100 dollar plate of food, but the pretentiousness of it all was starting to eat away at him. 

And the problem with the meals in particular is that even if they were somehow able to change the trajectory of his life, there were only so many tiny portions of shaved truffle caviar foie bullshit he could eat. 

No. Tonight he needs something else. Cheese, and bread, and beef. Something warm and comforting and covered in just a touch too much grease. Something he can purchase with a 20-dollar bill and bring back to his hotel room to eat while he watches something trashy on television, before downing an edible or two, and jerking himself off until he passed out. 

Marissa, thankfully, was a manager who knew when he had hit his limit. She waved him away with only two reminders of his call time for tomorrow and a promise to send a car. Dieter half mumbled his acknowledgment before slipping out of the lobby that housed one of the many studios he had met with that day, turning left and disappearing into the crowded streets of downtown Manhattan. 

This was Dieter’s favorite part of the city. Sure, it was too loud. Too busy. Too bright. But hiding in plain sight? That became easy. Even in his most outlandish of outfits he blended in, able to make the walk to his hotel in relative peace. 

He passes a myriad of carts on his way, each one smelling better than the last. He’s not sure what he’s craving, but Dieter is positive he’ll know it when he sees it. The sun has completely set by the time he turns the corner, the city lights guiding him towards the Park Hyatt just up ahead. And there, across the street, was a cart, neon signs for gyros and knish calling to him. 

The line was only one man deep by the time he jaywalked his way over, the street light shining down like a spotlight, catching the actor’s attention almost immediately. Dieter stops short at the sight of him, the breadth of his shoulders and cut of his jaw enough to drag up a memory that has his toes curling and his belly swooping low. The memory of a frustrated frown shifting into a soft smile, brown eyes wide beneath thick glasses, a kiss that should have lasted a lot longer than it did. 

He’s traded the tux from that night in for a black leather jacket and a pair of dark wash jeans, his head bent low, glasses slipping down the slope of his nose. Dieter smiles, stepping in line with a little more bounce in his step, his lips caught between his teeth, his appetite suddenly shifting. It seems he’s finally figured out exactly what it is that he’s been craving. 

— — —

Marcus doesn’t really know how he feels about New York. He thinks maybe in another life he would hate it; one where he had a family at home waiting for him, someone to share the day-to-day mundane things with after all the superhero crap was put to bed. He probably would have pulled every string in the book to bring along this hypothetical family, and that thought alone takes his mood from sour to rancid. As it was, home, New York, Paris. It hardly mattered. He just wanted to wrap up the last of this press tour shit and get back to the real work. 

There was only one more round of interviews tomorrow, most of them with the entire team. God willing, he could get away with a few quick answers and then nod along as the rest of the Heroics did the heavy lifting. 

He was supposed to be out with the team right now. Drinks and dinner that he had (sort of) politely begged off, content with something hot and cheap to eat in the solitude of his hotel room. The smells from the Greek-themed cart had been calling to him since he first walked out of the Hyatt earlier that day and he was intent on stuffing his face full before passing out to the sound of some trashy reality show playing in the background. 

He’s just starting to rationalize ordering one of everything, the Heroics Amex card already in the palm of his hand when the flick of a lighter and the smell of a cigarette catch his attention from behind. He wants to frown as the smoke invades his senses, the nasty habit once something that turned his stomach. But now all it does is drudge up a memory, almost 6 months old, but still there at the back of his mind; a dimpled grin and a searing kiss that left him aching. 

He breathes in deep, letting the smell fill his lungs, humming at the bitter taste that coats his tongue. If he closes his eyes, he swears can almost feel the warmth of a breath on his neck, a man much too free for Marcus to keep, but who he wanted to anyway. 

A loud cough yanks him back to reality, a gentle nudge urging him forward. 

“Your turn, Heroic.”

Normally the call out would make his skin crawl, a signal to the beginning of either a very uncomfortable fan encounter or a 20-minute lecture on the interference of government sanctioned vigilantes. But the tone of the man is neither fawning nor judgmental, instead a teasing warmth that almost feels familiar. Marcus turns, an apology on the tip of his tongue and….

“It’s you.”

Dieter Bravo smiles around the cigarette dangling from his lips, all teeth and dimples and Hollywood charm, just as Marcus remembers. 

“And it’s you.” 

— — —

They end up ordering enough for two small armies, both men overtipping the patient cart owner enough that he promptly starts closing up shop the second they step away with their food. Marcus shrugs, the bag held tight to his chest, compelled to offer an explanation that Dieter didn’t ask for. 

“Superhero metabolism.”  

“I get it,” Dieter hums, wanting to put the other man at ease. It’s clear he’s wound just a bit too tight, the pressure of whatever responsibilities he carries with him not so much weighing him down as they do hold him up. Dieter thinks, assumes, the joy of being a hero left Marcus Moreno far too long ago, and he wonders if he could help him save just a tiny piece of it. Or at the very least get the man to smile once before they part ways again.

“I’m up for this gladiator thing. I have a feeling once I get back to L.A. it’s going to be all protein shakes and boiled chicken and green-colored juice. Probably best to indulge while I have the chance.”

Marcus frowns, shaking his head. “That’s not right. Starving yourself to hit some sort of stupid unattainable body image that was set by others.”

“Yeah,” Dieter hums, poking Marcus in one of his firm shoulders. “Can’t imagine what that’s like.”

The other man blushes and shakes his head. “Mine’s mostly genetics. Which…hearing out loud just makes me sound like an ass.”

“Mmm, I actually think your ass could use a bit of work,” Dieter clicks his tongue, eyes drifting around to Marcus’s backside. 

His blush only darkens, and Dieter can’t help but delight in the reaction. “I’ll be okay, Heroic. All par for the course! Besides, it’s a 6-month shoot in Morocco. It’s been ages since I’ve been back there.” 

“Oh, well…if you need help…I mean before you leave. Shit. I’m pretty handy in the gym, I mean,” he stammers out, hands clinging tighter to the greasy brown bag in his hands.

“Do superheroes make house calls?”

Marcus grinds his jaw to the left, his eyes shifting as far from Dieter’s as they can, but the blush remains.  “If it’s something important.”

— — —

They’re staying in the same hotel. It shouldn’t surprise Marcus. Honestly, nothing should at this point, serendipitous coincidence managing to bring the two men together again despite all odds. They cross the street side by side, the doorman quick to open the door with a nod and a wave. Their steps echo through a seemingly empty lobby, most of the hotel guests having stepped out, their nights just getting started. 

Dieter moves easily, the hand holding his food swinging back and forth in time with his steps. His jaws works effortlessly at the piece of gum he traded with the cigarette he had been puffing at, the tip of it crushed into the side of the hotel perfectly in time with their entrance. Marcus watches from the corner of his eye, admiring the way the other man moves, as if he’s dancing, each movement as fluid as the last. 

The actor chatters beside him, an endless barrage of words that would be easy to write off as nonsense but despite that, Marcus finds himself listening with rapt attention. The actor talks about his meetings tomorrow, a chemistry read he hasn’t quite prepared for, an interview with Variety magazine scheduled directly after. Then he talks about the painting he had started before he left L.A. How he hopes the inspiration is still with him when he gets home. 

By the time they get on the elevator, their shoulders brushing in the tight space, Marcus knows the type of bike Dieter owns (a 10-speed he likes to ride down to the pier), how he likes his toast (just shy of burnt, butter and jelly), and his plans for the night (food, edible, jerking off). 

Marcus had even been caught up in the moment briefly, his own surprise at seeing the other man loosening his tongue just as it had all those months ago. He had stammered and stuttered in a way that he hadn’t since high school. He can’t seem to decide if he should be embarrassed or not, so he settles for quiet instead, only muttering his floor number once the elevator doors slide shut. 

Dieter eyes him over his shoulder, the flecks of grey in the scruff of his jaw illuminated in the low light and mirrored walls. He leans closer, just enough to nudge Marcus’s shoulder, his smile slipping into something more tentative, mint and menthol and something sweet hypnotizing the heroic. He can’t help but match the other man’s movement, leaning in and licking his lips, trying to capture the taste on his tongue. Dieter doesn’t miss it, brown eyes flickering to Marcus’s lips and back again. 

“Would you like some company?” 

— — —

They ultimately decide to go to Dieter’s room, a joke about seeing the Penthouse tilting the actor’s grin to just this side of wolfish. Marcus is instantly drawn to windows, stretching from floor to ceiling, the whole city lit up, a glaring shine just beyond the glass. 

“It seems brighter from up here.” 

“The lights are so bright but they blind me,” Dieter sings beneath his breath, spreading out the food with careful dedication. 

Marcus smiles at the sound of his voice, marveling at the sudden domestic turn his night has taken before placing his attention back on the skyline. Dieter moves around the couch to join him, carrying that same intoxicating smell with him. 

“Haven’t you seen it from rooftops?”

Marcus shakes his head, eyes still glued to the sparkling spectacle in front of him. “The world looks too dark from that angle.” 

Dark. Or Ugly. Honest. Yeah, Marcus can see everything from the rooftops, but none of it glittered. Not like this. Not like Dieter Bravo. 

The tip of a finger, softer than he expected, touches his chin, the pressure light but insistent, impossible to ignore. He turns to find Dieter watching him, brown eyes reflecting the city stars back at Marcus, and he fights the urge to blink and miss what comes next. They move in together, almost close enough but not, and Dieter laughs, a soft chuckle that rumbles in his chest. 

It reminds Marcus of that first kiss, so very long ago, down a dark alleyway, both of them pretending, for just a moment. He takes in a breath, a quick pull of air that steadies his nerves, before finally, finally, closing the last of the distance between them. 

The kiss is soft at first, a brush of lips and a scrape of stubble. It’s faint, the sweetest shade of something new between the press of their lips, the taste of mint and menthol permeating his senses. Marcus can’t help but take one more, letting his lips linger on Dieter’s, his hands fitting perfectly along the dip of the other man’s hips. 

It’s Dieter who deepens it, one palm sliding along the curve of Marcus’s cheek, the other grabbing where his leather jacket hangs open, fingers clenched into the fabric and yanking him closer. It’s the slip of a tongue between his lips that breaks him, a moan parting Marcus’s lips, the sound only encouraging Dieter to continue. 

The hand on his hips pushes him back gently, one, two, three steps before they stop. Marcus pulls away to catch his breath but Dieter keeps him close, soothing the pad of his thumb across the flush of his skin. 

“I missed you, baby.”

He wants to laugh, to point out it was just one kiss, and how? How could he miss him when he barely even knows him? But the endearment has him dizzy, the roof of his mouth tacky with desire, and all he can do is nod because yes. Of course, Marcus missed him too. What else was there to do but miss him? 

He swoops in for another kiss, this time meeting Dieter’s tongue with his own, tasting him full on and groaning into the feeling. The noise seems to startle something awake in the other man, the grip on his cheek growing tight, his own strangled whine rising up the column of his throat. 

When the kiss breaks, Dieter leans in, the scratch of his mustache rough where he hums his request in Marcus’s ear. “Can I take you to bed?”

“It’s been a while,” he can’t help but blurt out, pulling back to watch Dieter’s face carefully, preparing himself for the laughter and the teasing. “Almost 2 years.”

Still, Dieter doesn’t say anything, and Marcus can’t help but explain himself just a little bit more. “Most people can’t handle it.” 

Marcus hates to say it. Hates the way it sounds and feels and tastes, the words bitter and biting on his own ears. The harsh, unrelenting truth that what he is will always be overwhelming for those that dare to love him. That the painful responsibilities that were forced upon by the realities of his genetics will always be the barrier around his heart. Most days it was easy enough to ignore, and in the time since had last felt another’s touch, Marcus had found a way to cope, where loneliness was just another weight he would bear in order to do what was right.  

Dieter nods, eyes wide and frown small, an equal mix of understanding and pity marked across his features, as if to say ‘yeah, people can be assholes.’ 

And then he actually says it. “Assholes.” 

There’s another kiss and then another, their bodies moving slowly back towards the couch. Dieter's fingers are skilled, pushing and pulling, Marcus’s leather coat hitting the ground seconds before his own. Those same fingers find their way beneath his shirt, mapping the planes of his stomach, the quiver of muscle chasing Dieter’s touch. 

Marcus can only cling to the other man, refusing to part from their kiss for more than a second, breath traded back and forth, the only oxygen he ever needed between Dieter’s lips. His touch is insistent, smoothing at his heated skin, fingers digging into the flesh, the almost bite of his nails leaving Marcus gasping high and bright into their kiss. His glasses are pulled off somewhere in the fray, finding a home on the floor behind them. 

“The …t-the bed?”

“Figured I’d take it easy on you,” Dieter grins in time with Marcus’s knees bending around the couch cushions.

They fall down together, Dieter immediately crowding into Marcus, his large hand palming where he strains beneath his jeans while he takes care to kiss each and every freckle scattered across Marcus’s. His hips buck immediately, even the gentle touch enough to send him lurching. Dieter is quick to soothe him, teeth nipping at his ear as he coos sweetly, the press of his hand only growing more insistent.

“Patience, baby. We have time.”

There it is again. That little endearment. Sweet and small, and so so much that Marcus can only moan, head falling into the crook of Dieter’s neck. Somewhere above him there is a chuckle, the sound vibrating from one man to the other, and Marcus can only hold on tighter as Dieter tugs at the zipper of his jeans. His breath hitches as the sound of it echoes inside his head, and he feels Dieter pause, only the brush of his thumb on the head of his leaking cock ground them to this moment. 

Later, Dieter will confess, sweat cooling on Marcus’s temple, the actor's lips kissing the slick of it away, that he was watching him carefully at that moment. Desperate to see him fall apart, anxious to know if he needed to pull back. It’s then that they promise to say it. Always say it. Exactly what they need and what they want. 

Secrets have never done either man any good. 

Marcus leans into the light touch, awkward and needy, lips fusing to the curve of Dieter’s neck. There’s the musk of his cologne, something earthy and real clinging to his senses, mixing with the smell of smoke that always seems to burn around the other man’s edges. Marcus is ravenous for him, marking him with a bruising kiss, the steady chant of mine, mine, I wish he was mine thumping inside his chest. 

Dieter doesn’t falter, pulling Marcus’s aching length from the confines of his jeans, a loose grip around the base as he continues to stroke the tip softly, gathering the bead of precum with the pad of his thumb. It’s more intimate than he expected, reputations always proceeding those in the limelight. Marcus should have known better, the camera always giving away more falsehoods than beautiful truths. 

“Eager, aren’t we?” Dieter teases, not an ounce of cruelty in the words. Another kiss is gifted to Marcus’s neck, the drag of Dieter’s tongue follows, his own groan pouring out of him. “I’m gonna make you feel so good. I promise.”

The effect of his words is maddening, and Marcus takes care to muffle his whine into Dieter’s neck, teeth and tongue still working along the salt of his skin. The actor is only encouraged by this, continuing to purr little drops of filthy encouragement into his ear as he starts to stroke Marcus from base to tip. 

“Been too long since someone made you feel this good,” he hums, twisting his wrist lightly each time he strokes up the length of Marcus’s cock, the velvet heat of his skin catching on the other man’s palm. The friction is almost too much, a staggering sort of gasp breaking past his lips as Dieter’s voice continues to coach him through each and every stroke of his hand. 

“You look so good like this, baby. So good. You can fuck my hand if you want. Go on, use your hips.” 

The prompt is all Marcus needs, his hips canting up to meet Dieter’s touch. His fingers dig in hard, one hand finding purchase on Dieter’s forearm, the other wrapped around the curve of his shoulder. He anchors himself to the other man, fucking up into his fist faster and faster and faster still. 

“Feel good? Hmm?” Dieter asks, the hook of his nose pressed into Marcus’s temple, lips teasing the swell of his cheek. “Fucking someone else’s hand instead of your own?” 

Marcus stutters out a ‘yes’ the word lost between his cries of pleasure. Dieter continues to indulge in the noises, each one helping to shift the weight of his touch, the grip around Marcus’s cock soft then hard, the pressure building faster than he can take in breaths. He tilts his head, eyes searching frantically, a desperate plea tumbling from his lips and hanging thick in the air between them.

“Kiss me.”

And Dieter does, lips molding to Marcus’s, the tip of his tongue tracing the seam until finally, he parts beneath, another moan for him to swallow. All the while, his pace is consistent, up and down, faster then slower then faster again. It’s indulgent, the way Dieter touches him, relishing in each pulse, every sound, and Marcus loses track of how long it’s really been. The pleasure is blinding, keeping him tethered to the edge of the cliff, release blissfully out of reach.

“Bet you look so pretty, all cock dumb, hmm? I’d love to see that,” Dieter teases and Marcus agrees, can only agree, something ragged taking over his sensibilities. 

He continues to move with the other man, rising up into the open air, hips awkwardly meeting each and every caress of his hand. Dieter moves with the same freedom he had in the hotel lobby, his own hips grinding up and down, the length of his cock hard and pulsating where it presses into Marcus’s side. Their kisses only grow more wild, just a sloppy press of lips, off-centered and well-intentioned, as they both work closer and closer to the crest of arousal. 

Dieter remains focused, his own pleasure secondary to that of the Heroic’s. The kiss breaks just in time for something white hot to settle at the base of Marcus’s spine, everything grows tight and bright and so so sweet. Teeth scrape along his jaw, the tip of a tongue soothing the same path, Dieter’s words coaxing him up to the top of the hill. 

“You’re close, baby. So close. Go on, you can let go. I’m right here.”

It’s all Marcus needs, the last of his strength giving out as everything burns, thick ropes of white cum spilling out of him. Dieter hums, using his seed to smooth out his strokes, and continues to whisper little bits of praise into Marcus’s ear.

“I know. I know, baby. You’re doing so good. Tell me if it’s too much.”

It is. It is too much, the way Dieter keeps stroking his cock, half hard and still dribbling drops of cum around the curl of his fist. But Marcus refuses to stop him, leaning into the painful overstimulation until the tips of his fingers go numb, his moans breaking out into sobs, tears tracking down his cheeks to mix with his sweat. Dieter decides for them both then, his hand finally slowing, giving Marcus a chance to adjust to the light touch before pulling away for good, the palm of his hand sliding a sticky trail up his cheek.

It should feel filthy, Marcus’s own cum pressed into his skin while Dieter grinds his cum soaked pants into the dip of his hips. But even now, Marcus can feel his cock twitch in interest, the moment so very decadent and dirty and leaving him hungry for more. Dieter grins, licking his lips, clearly agreeing with whatever look that is crossing Marcus’s features, swooping in for one more kiss, this one there and gone, a fleeting breath of him that leaves him whining. 

But Dieter doesn’t go far, his hand smoothing up to push back an errant curl, brown eyes impossibly deep, and he takes his time to kiss away each and every tear. When he pulls away, it’s only to whisper a quiet promise. “I can.”

Marcus tilts his head, his confusion unspoken, the haze of his orgasm still gripping tight to his senses. Dieter takes it in stride, his smile growing, confident and cocky with how dumb he’s rendered the heroic. 

“I can handle it,” he clarifies, dragging his hand down to rest his thumb where Marcus’s lips part, the faintest taste of himself waiting there. “Can you?”

And all Marcus can do is nod. Because. Yes. Of course. Of course, he can. What other answer is there? 

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Pretend Alleyways Masterlist II Main Masterlist

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Dedications:

To my dearest, my wonderful enablers @jazzelsaur and @magpie-to-the-morning who have listened to me talk about these boys ALL. WEEK. Literally, every random thought I had about Dieter and Marcus, together or separate, was blasted into their DM's. I have become a woman possessed. The best friends a girl could ask for in these trying fandom times. Thank you both, for loving me and my boys.

#Dieter Bravo #Marcus Moreno #Dieter Bravo x Marcus Moreno #male on male #the bubble fic #we can be heroes fic #pedro pascal characters #Pretend Alleyways