#tumblr gods pwease dont fuck up formatting

[katbrando]

🥁 diego brando/afab!reader ✱ 5.8k ✱ NSFW 🔥

(minors dni, you’ll be blocked)

content/summary: band au, drummer diego, vaginal fingering, blowjobs, inappropriate use of drumsticks, PIV sex, you've been following diego's band around for the duration of their tour and he wants to reward you for your commitment :))

preview:

“That’s it,” Diego encourages, sliding the second drumstick inside you to meet the first, “you’re so lucky, do you know that?" It’s a one-sided conversation, you’re too weak and overwhelmed to form words but you continue to keep your eyes on his, all but begging for him to keep talking. He looks unbelievably beautiful like this: your leg slung over his shoulder, the force of his thrusts making his body shake, his face flushed and glistening with sweat, smeared black lip gloss streaked across his mouth and chin. “I’ve never done this before, fucking a fan I mean,” he teases, a sly grin spreading across his face, “but exceptions can be made for my biggest fan. And you are my biggest fan,” he pauses, slowing his actions and lifting an eyebrow, “right?”

[ read on ao3 instead ]

As the sun starts to set and bathes the sky in rich golden hues, you take your place near the front of a line gradually wrapping around a small downtown theater. You’re only beaten by a trio of friends who must’ve been sitting here for hours, but as the evening progresses, more and more people arrive and the excitement in the air is almost palpable. You’ve come alone; you’d invited some friends to accompany you for the duration of the tour, but unfortunately your enthusiasm for the idea wasn’t shared by the rest of them. Regardless,nothing could stop you from seeing your favorite band in the world, there was nothing anyone could say that would turn you away from a continuous roadtrip like this. Even halfway through the tour, you’re still buzzing with anticipation at the start of every show.

You can hear hints of sound testing inside, someone checking the microphone whose voice is far too monotone to be Gyro’s, too unfamiliar to arouse any sort of excitement from within you. Besides, if your ears were going to tune into anything then it’d be the drums you’ve become so familiar with, even just by sound alone. And whoever is testing those right now very clearly doesn’t possess the same distinct energy as Diego Brando.

Is it odd to be so fixated on him? Surely not. The rest of the band have their fair share of persistent and loud fans, and while you do enjoy the group as a whole it’s always Diego that’s captured your attention the most. Even without his trademark liner and glossy black-stained lips you could pick him out of a crowd anywhere. A man like Diego doesn’t need stature when he can compensate with charisma, and there’s something so breathtaking about the way he’s always tucked at the back of the stage, sharp cerulean eyes always almost shining with excitement. He loves the attention, even if he has to fight for it more than the others. 

Amidst your usual fantasizing, it slowly occurs to you that, from several feet behind you, the crowd has started to make noise which only increases in volume as the seconds tick by. Just some pre-show excitement, you’re sure. But when you turn your head to find its catalyst, your eyes blow wide.

There he is; standing at 5’3”, beautifully tousled blonde mane flowing gently in the slight breeze, eyes covered by a pair of aviators, dressed in his typical DIY vest, tattered tank top, and high-waisted plaid pants, boots clunking heavily against the sidewalk as he progressively gets closer. The smirk that tugs at his lips is so in character for him, made extra charming as he lifts his fresh Starbucks coffee and takes a slow sip. All the while he basks in the cheers, getting teasingly close to the roped off line and occasionally stopping for a very brief photo op. 

It’s a bit embarrassing, but your heart is doing cartwheels beneath your chest and you’re instinctively smoothing out the front of your homemade shirt in hopes he’ll see his own photo haphazardly ironed on top. The heat filling your cheeks is only made worse as he gets close enough for you to see his bare features.

He has a very short exchange with a man just a few places behind you, and time seems to stop as soon as Diego’s gaze moves forward to rest on yours. He gives you a once over, and even with the tinted barrier that his eyes sit behind you can tell there’s a glint of amusement in them.

“Didja make that yourself?” He gestures his cup towards your shirt.

“Yeah,” you start quietly, then clear your throat to repeat yourself, “I did, yeah –”

Your mouth goes dry when he leans closer, tugs his glasses down to reveal his eyes, completely devoid of their usual messy eyeliner, and then quickly straightens up again.

“How about an autograph?” It’s less a question and more a demand as he beckons you forward with two fingers.

Hesitation is plastered across your face, so Diego puts matters into his own hands. He lifts the rope and nods toward the venue. 

“C’mon, haven’t got much time.”

Inside? He’s going to give you an autograph inside? Surely it’d be easier to do it out here. While you’re wasting time questioning it, Diego pulls you along with his palm firmly placed at your middle back. There’s a slight uproar amongst the others in line, but Diego pays them no mind. He guides you into the venue and your eyes immediately attempt to adjust to the dim lighting inside.

Huddled on the stage are the rest of Diego’s bandmates, having jovial conversation as they set up their gear. Each of them offer Diego a wave and that’s it, as if him bringing in fans off the street is a common occurrence. But that can’t be true; you’ve been following them around for weeks now, and you’ve never seen them pull a random person out of line like this.

A tight hallway and one right turn lead you to a door that loudly creaks as Diego swings it open. Inside is a typical greenroom: old beat up couches at the center, a busted vanity in the corner of the room, messy baggage full of outfits you know fairly well at this point. As you take all of it in, Diego steps further inside and crouches down to dig through what must be his own suitcase.

As you stand there awkwardly, he grumbles from his spot on the floor until he finally locates a silver sharpie. He requests for you to close the door, and you obey without thinking at all. As it clicks shut he turns around, sticking the pen between his teeth in favor of removing his aviators, folding them, and then hooking them to the collar of his shirt. God, with eyes like that he could tell you to do anything and you’re sure you’d say yes. Diego regards you with a thoughtful stare as his gaze roams your front. He nods once and uncaps the sharpie with a quick tug, leaving the top still settled between his teeth. This close, you can hear his breath filtering through his nostrils all the while he leans down and presses the pen against the space just below your collarbone. You can only bask in the moment of closeness for a couple of seconds before he’s finished and straightened up again, replacing the cap and tossing the pen back into his backpack.

“Thank you,” you manage, realizing with slight panic that you haven’t properly said much of anything since he’s tugged you in here. “I don’t want to take up anymore of your time –”

Two steps towards the door is all he allows before he cuts you off and urges you back towards the couches with a wave of his hand.

“Relax, we’re not on for another hour. It’s filthy out there, anyway.” He pulls a disgusted face. “This heat is atrocious.”

Stunned, you slip back into speechlessness as the man turns on his heel and heads for the vanity. He digs through a makeup bag, eventually finding a half-empty lip gloss in black and applying a thin layer to his pillowy lips. He knows you’re staring – hell, he probably loves the fact that you are, the way he pops his hip out makes it clear. 

“Sit,” he demands, eyes sharply digging into yours even from against the chipped mirror, and you aren’t about to say no.

The couch sinks much lower than expected as soon as you plop down. Once you’ve adapted to the uncomfortable upward press of springs, a question slips from your mouth.

“Why’d you pick me out of the crowd? I’m not VIP, I didn’t think you guys even had VIP tickets.”

“We don’t,” he confirms, popping his lips and then turning around to lean his full weight against the vanity. He smiles, taps the gloss against the side of his head. “I have a pristine memory, darling, you’ve been following us around.”

Darling? your heart does an embarrassing little flip again, then yet another as realization hits you; yes, he’s aware of your existence and he remembers you. So the eye contact you’d managed at every single show hadn’t been just silly little moments of delusion. 

“I’m a big fan.” A pointless elaboration, but Diego smirks with delight at the admission anyway.

“Obviously,” he chuckles, gesturing to you with the container of gloss, silently noting the carefully crafted shirt. “So why wouldn’t I reward a fan?”

Whether he was looking for an answer or not, Diego allows you no time to give one. He turns on his heel again and exchanges the lip gloss for a freshly sharpened eyeliner pencil. Effortlessly, he applies a generous amount to one eye, and you can’t help but be transfixed by how precise he is. Mid-way through his second eye the thought occurs to you that you’ve already gotten your “reward”, so there’s no reason to keep sitting here and bothering him.

And yet again, when you try to stand and open your mouth to announce your departure, Diego’s gaze snaps towards you and he lifts one thick eyebrow. His expression reads almost interrogating and it makes you swallow with something akin to fear, but not quite that severe.

“I assume the others will be here soon?” You quietly suggest. Really, meeting Diego has been more than enough, and you’d like to save some of your enthusiasm for the show itself.

“‘Course not, they’re already dressed,” Diego scoffs, zipping up the cosmetics bag and chucking it into his suitcase. He crosses the room, slowly, sizing you up more obviously now.

“Sit,” he repeats, stare unrelenting as his eyes bore into yours.

Even being as small as he is, Diego’s presence is overwhelmingly dominating. Heart thumping so hard you can feel it in your throat, you opt to obey. Again, the couch greets you with the squeak of springs as you sit down, and he doesn’t miss the discomfort on your face. Diego nods once with satisfaction, smiling before plopping down on the couch across from yours.

“Surely you’d rather sit back here than have to stand in that line. And besides…” Diego leans down to dig through his suitcase again, only sitting back up when he’s located a pair of drumsticks and brandishes them dramatically in the air, “why opt out of spending some time with your favorite rockstar?”

Well, “rockstar” seems a little exaggerated, considering the shows have been taking place in small venues and it’s not like any of their songs have hit the top 100 list. You stifle a little laugh at that, not wanting to hurt his ego. Could his ego even be hurt? Is he capable of that? Unknowingly, a smile has crept up on your face, and the rockstar in question is eating it up as he mindlessly taps the sticks against his thighs.

Diego slowly leans back, gradually parts his legs until he’s practically spread across the entire couch. His shirt is slightly riding up, revealing a sliver of tummy that’s decorated by a patch of light hair just above the closure of his pants. At this point there’s no use attempting to hide the fact that you’re eyeing him with something less innocent in your gaze. In fact, the sight is unfortunately sending a wave of heat cascading through your gut, and the way you squirm slightly is not lost on him.

“Uncomfortable?” Diego inquires, though his expression says he doesn’t need an answer. “You’re welcome to join me over here.”

“I’d hate to crowd you.” Really, you’re more worried about the need filling your gut. You’ve done your best to tamp it down, but, for a while now, you’ve been intrigued by Diego for reasons far surpassing simple admiration. 

Diego has his mind already set on it; he slides to one side of the couch, gently patting what little free space is left with the tip of one drumstick. And without much thought, your body is already standing, slowly making your way towards him and making brief eye contact before sitting down. If there were any possible way to wipe the blush off your face then you’d be desperately doing it. From this close you can smell the cologne radiating off of him, an expensive scent that contrasts his outfit. Musk, vanilla, and a hint of citrus.

“Here,” Diego mumbles, pointing one drumstick at you, clearly offering it. “These are my lucky pair, I trust you’ll be careful with it.”

Careful is an understatement when there’s few things in your life that you’ve held as gingerly as this. The tip is worn with frequent use and a chipped portion sits near the base; there’s something oddly magical about handling it, knowing it’s been wielded by Diego’s skilled hands, graced by his sweaty palms.

“I have some extra in my bag.” He gestures with his other stick towards the object in question. “It’s only fair to offer my biggest fan a signed pair.”

“Oh, Diego, I can’t do that.” Your head whips around to face him just as you note how wonderful it feels to address him in person.

Diego scoffs and rolls his eyes, pointing with more enthusiasm. “It’s a one-time offer, take it or leave it.”

Why on earth would you leave it?

Just as quickly as you’d sat down, you move to crouch next to his bag and hesitantly rummage inside until you find three unopened packages of fresh sticks settled in one pocket. You pull a random one out, lifting it up in the air.

“This one okay?”

“‘Course,” he replies, nodding almost impatiently. “Set them aside for now.”

Doing as instructed, you glance around for a moment to find a suitable spot, but instead just leave them on the floor next to his bag. Diego’s eyes are still watching you expectantly, and before you can sit next to him again he stops you just short by pressing the butt end of one stick against your stomach.

“Hold on,” he mumbles, geturing for you to stand in front of him. As soon as you do, he studies the front of your shirt more closely. Several seconds drag by as he takes it in, admiring it, likely full of pride.

“It’s a shame they haven’t made shirts like this, y’know.” The tip of his drumstick traces along the print of himself and his eyes briefly flick upwards to catch yours, gauging your reaction. When you express zero reservations, he increases the pressure lower and lower until he reaches the waistband of your pants. “Maybe we could hire you on as a printmaker,” he offers, thoughtfully, though somehow you doubt there’s much honesty to it.

Your heart pounds beneath your chest, your disbelief overwhelming and only able to be ignored when Diego reaches out to hook two fingers into one of your belt loops. He tugs, softly laughing as you nearly topple forwards. 

“How often have you thought about this?” His voice is dripping with suggestion, as if he’s always been reading your mind even as you’ve stood at the front barrier of every show. An ache settles in your groin and he immediately senses it, dragging his drumstick lower past the closure of your jeans.

Even if you wanted to answer, the words would be overwhelmed by the heartbeat rising in your throat. It occurs to you that you’ve got your hands awkwardly lifted in the air, but when the tip of the stick drags purposefully just where he knows it’ll have the desired effect, they land desperately on his shoulders.

“That answers that,” Diego purrs, tapping gently in the same spot and quietly laughing at the soft sound you make in response. It seems he’s taken it as a sign to continue; he sets the drumstick between his teeth and with a deft hand he lifts the hem of your shirt just enough to see the closure of your pants. Given all his other actions, it should come as no surprise when he pops the button open and tugs tantalizingly slow at your zipper, but even still shock rushes its way through your body, signaling that it’s time to panic.

“Diego –” you start, but for the moment the words catch in your throat as he glances up at you. He’s stopped moving, pausing with the zipper half undone, the pull clasped tightly between his thumb and middle finger. Quickly enough, you locate the sensibility to finish your thought. “Someone could walk in.”

A devilish grin and a raise of one eyebrow tell you all you need to know; either Diego simply isn’t bothered by that possibility – hell, maybe he wants it to happen – or he’d planned this entire scenario ages ago. Even with the crew and band making up a small amount of people, you’ve been wondering just why nobody else has ventured into the room in the past several minutes.

With a dramatic flourish of his hand, Diego plucks the drumstick from out of his mouth and sets it down next to him, briefly looking at it as if he’s not quite finished with it. “That won’t be a problem,” he assures you, finally fully unzipping your pants and dragging two fingers across the newly revealed fabric of your underwear. “Don’t you worry about that, you’ve got me all to yourself.” Another tug on your belt loop reiterates his promise.

Though you’re sure none of the thoughts in his head right now are innocent, there’s a lilt to his voice that oddly puts you at ease. But, maybe that’s just your desire for him clouding your judgment. Either way, he’s got you like putty in his hands; even the action of him bringing his fingers to his mouth and coating them with spit makes your brain foggy with need. He doesn’t waste any time, and you make no moves to stop him as his fingers dip beneath your underwear and circle the spot you’ve ached to feel his touch for ages now.

“How’s that?” Halfway through the question you’ve already dug your fingers into his sturdy shoulders, giving him all the answer he needs. His hand travels farther down and he gives a satisfied hum at just how wet you already are.

No words could possibly do justice to the thoughts in your head right now, the feelings washing over your body as his fingers play with you. With one knee bumping against your leg, he encourages you to spread further for him and he slips one digit between your folds. Your jaw is clenched as tight as possible but it’s not enough to fight a sputtering moan. It’s a noise that’s like music to Diego’s ears.

“Don’t be shy,” he encourages you, releasing your belt loop to instead reach up and squeeze your jaw in a manner that contrasts the gentle tone of his voice. “Pretty little thing like you should make all the noise you like.”

“Diego, this is –” you mumble, only to be interrupted by him tugging your face closer and breathing hot across your lips.

“Everything you’ve ever wanted,” he finishes for you. While it wasn’t exactly what you’d had in mind, no truer words could be spoken in this moment.

As if that statement was the only thing you needed to fully let all inhibitions go, you’re diving in for a kiss, teeth briefly clicking against his before you both settle into a comfortable angle. His finger prods at your hole just as his tongue shoves its way into your mouth, your legs buckling under the weight of your arousal. It gets progressively more difficult to fight to stand up as his fingers work quicker and harder, pumping in and out in a clear attempt to break you. Before you can fall, Diego is quick to pull you closer until you topple forwards against him and you’re forced to break for breath.

“Off,” he demands, reaching a hand around to give your ass a swift spank and tug firmly at the waistband of your jeans. With a hurried pace encouraged both by anxiety and desire, you awkwardly fumble around until your shoes and jeans are both tossed to the floor.

Diego hungrily watches you, reaching up to swipe at his mouth with his forearm only to leave a black smudge behind. He places one palm on his crotch and cups himself through his pants as your mind races, considering the possibility of seeing him, all of him, wondering if he’s aching as much as you are. It’s that thought alone that brings you to your knees, settling between his legs and eyeing him for approval.

“That’s it,” he groans, placing an encouraging palm on your cheek.

With admittedly shaky hands, you unfasten his pants and pause just short of tugging them down, disbelief surfacing again in your mind. But Diego is way ahead of you, lifting his hips enough to shimmy out from the confines of his pants until the base of his cock slowly presents itself to you amongst a patch of carefully trimmed hair. The second he fully pulls it out and wraps his hand around himself, the pair of you give a simultaneous moan.

You can feel the warmth radiating off of him as you cautiously lean closer, anchoring your palms on his knees. All the nights you’ve spent thinking about this, all the times you’ve shamefully whimpered his name just as you’ve reached a precipice, all the daydreams and the fake scenarios playing out in your mind day after day after day… all of it has improbably led you to this moment, and when he grips your chin and encourages you closer still that’s all it takes to ground you. As soon as your lips brush up against the tip of his cock, you realize there’s no going back.

Diego is transfixed, watching with half-lidded eyes as you eagerly open your mouth. A series of wet slapping sounds fills the air as he taps himself against the surface of your tongue. He does his best to fight back against the noises his body wants to make, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth, but he can’t resist squirming just a bit as you languidly lick at the underside of his cock. 

Willing away all the self-doubt plaguing your thoughts, you let a trail of spit coat the tip of his cock and gradually take him between your lips. He’s eager, you can tell by the way he lifts his hips in an effort to bury himself further in your mouth, and that leads you to believe you’re doing well enough. When he rests a hand on top of your head and shoves himself deeper still, you gag and watch as his eyes go wide at the sound. Tears form at the corners of your eyes and you force yourself back up, gasping for air even as Diego drags his thumb across your bottom lip.

“Blimey,” he whispers around a soft laugh, “you’re a little minx, aren’t you?”

If he keeps teasing you like that, you might not last very long. Fortunately he goes mostly quiet again as soon as you wrap your lips around him again, this time bobbing your head with a more hurried pace and making sure to be as noisy as possible. You can feel him throbbing as you note the way his head slumps back against the couch, but letting him cum like this would be far too quick for your liking.

With a gasp and a pop sound you let him go, watching as a mix of precum and spit trails from your lips to his reddened tip. As you lick up every bit that you can, Diego shakily stands to remove the remainder of his bottoms. As exhausted as you already are, he’s nowhere near finished with you; near breathlessly he demands you move to the couch with a simple but effective “up”.

As soon as your ass hits the worn chenille, Diego’s hands are already spreading your legs apart and the cool air hitting your heat reminds you just how soaked you are. With one drumstick clenched between his teeth again, he leans over you, eyes so sharp they almost appear reptilian for a moment. But really it’s a wonder you can spend any amount of attention on that when his cock is at full mast, pointed directly at you, leaking and glistening.

Without a word, Diego crouches down on one knee, grasping one of your ankles tightly and forcefully slinging it over his shoulder. Mere seconds is all you’re afforded to be able to wonder why he’s got that drumstick in his mouth again as he drags two fingers between your folds, separates them, and then plunges the same digits in without any warning. Your body immediately buzzes with pleasure that’s only made more overwhelming when his thumb circles your clit. Locking eyes with him while he pumps and curls his fingers may very well spell the end for you, but Diego has proven to be an expert at reading signs, so as soon as your expression signals climax, his actions cease.

“Bloody hell,” Diego attempts before tugging the drumstick out from between his teeth. He effortlessly twirls it thoughtfully in his hand, clearly mulling something over. Confused, you impatiently pull him closer with your ankle at the back of his head

“I want nothing more than to fuck you, love,” he croons, brushing the stick’s tip upwards along your inner thigh. “But I was hoping you’d do me a little favor first.”

If not for the sliver of self-restraint still within you, a loud “yes” would be your response. Instead, you let him further tease you, locking eyes with him again as he prods at your hole with the object in his hand. Despite the hint of a scraping sensation on your skin, you eagerly nod.

“Oh wonderful,” Diego purrs, twirling the stick again and pressing the butt end against you with more force. “It’s a shame I can’t have you up on that stage with me during the show,” he plays up his disappointed tone, slowly easing the stick inside you. “But maybe this will do, hm?”

It’s much different than his fingers, but somehow the idea and resulting feeling of having such a precious item of his shoved inside you has every nerve in your body screaming with pleasure. And he can sense every bit of it, so he doesn’t hesitate to continue. His expression is almost scarily proud; it’s the same he wears during the climax of every song where he’s given a solo, it’s the face of a man who knows he’s in charge, he’s the star.

Discomfort fades into rapture as your body adjusts to the stiff, dry wood. Diego works quickly, twisting his wrist as well as he fucks you with his drumstick and mumbles obscenities amidst affirmations of how well you’re taking it, how extra lucky this pair is going to feel thanks to your essence. One particularly well-placed thrust sends your palm clapping over your mouth to avoid screaming with unbridled pleasure.

“Oh, no,” Diego chuckles, instantly reaching up to pull your hand away from your face, “no need for that, you can scream all you’d like.” As if to further encourage it, he makes sure to hit the same spot again.

“Diego–” the end of his name transitions into a powerful moan, one that’s louder than intended but offers you a reward in the form of him plucking the leftover drumstick off the couch.

“That’s it,” he encourages you, sliding the second one inside you and continuing the same ministrations, “you’re so lucky, do you know that?”

You nod once, that’s all you can manage. It’s a one-sided conversation, you’re too weak and overwhelmed to form words but you continue to keep your eyes on his, all but begging for him to keep talking. He looks unbelievably beautiful like this: your leg slung over his shoulder, the force of his thrusts making his body shake, his face flushed and glistening with sweat, smeared lip gloss streaking across his mouth and chin. 

“I’ve never done this before, fucking a fan I mean,” he teases, a sly grin spreading across his face, “but exceptions can be made for my biggest fan. And you are my biggest fan,” he pauses, slowing his actions and lifting an eyebrow, “right?” 

Another nod is not a good enough answer for him. He tuts and comes to a standstill, gripping your chin in his free hand and jutting out his bottom lip. “Use your words, darling.”

“Please,” you surprise yourself with the way you whimper and plead for him, “Diego, keep fucking me, I –”

“So meek,” he observes with disappointment, but still shoves the sticks into you again, following your instructions without any grace. “I know you can be loud.”

In hopes of weakening you further, he thumbs at your clit again and smirks with delight at the way it makes you squeal. You don’t cover your mouth again, knowing full well that would only upset him; instead you let his name spill from your lips, unrelenting, loudly. But still not loud enough by his standards. 

“What if I fuck you myself?” The sticks clatter to the floor as they frustratingly fall from his grasp. Mind clearly already made up, he stands and clasps the underside of both your thighs. When he shimmies closer to press you tight against the back of the couch, his cock slides effortlessly against the wetness of your pussy and you throb with desperation.

“Fuck me,” you beg, breathlessly, the tightness in your core becoming increasingly unbearable, “I’ll do it, I’ll scream for you.”

“Yeah?” Diego huffs a laugh, reaches down to carefully guide himself inside you and gasps at the new sensation. “Alright, let’s hear it then.”

And with that, every bit of himself that was holding back is gone, he offers you no time to adjust. Diego fucks you hard and fast and the obscene smacking sound of your skin making contact combined with the feeling of his cockhead repeatedly plunging inside you makes your eyes roll back and your body tremble. As soon as you attempt to touch yourself he smacks your hand away and scolds you, and you don’t need to ask why.

Weak as it is, you muster up all the voice you possibly can and call out his name, watching with satisfaction as it makes him groan and his hips stutter. 

“Again,” he requests, voice raspy, almost a growl. “Louder.”

With more success, you do it again, already feeling yourself tightening and getting closer and closer to the edge as soon as his name tumbles out from your mouth.

“That’s it,” he praises you, but there’s still something desperate in his eyes, something unsatisfied.

The coiling in your gut snaps as your walls clench around him and hold him tight. This time you scream his name, just as you promised, just as if you’re standing near the front of the stage and watching him play out one of his vigorous solos. Anyone within several feet of this building will have easily been able to hear you, but none of that matters as you watch Diego completely fall apart just moments afterwards, the sound of his own name the exact trigger he needs.

As soon as he slips out from you, you slump against the couch and slide down to the floor, resting on your knees again to drag your lips against his balls as he pumps himself in his hand and chases release. Peppered kisses serve as encouragement as you relish in the whine he utters in response. The only warning you get is his palm pressing to your forehead, effectively dipping you back and making you an easier target. There’s a series of guttural moans, each steadily increasing in volume, before ropes of heat spill across your jaw, your lips, and your nose. 

The sensation makes you flinch, but your response is immediate as you swallow the small amount that lands in your mouth. Warm and bitter, it’s everything you could have imagined, and you have imagined it numerous times before. As you swipe at your face and blindly attempt to gather up as much as you can, your back hits the edge of the couch and you weakly sigh. Part of you wants to let his cum sit there to settle into your skin, like a more indecent autograph, but instead you drag what you’ve managed to accumulate across the surface of your tongue.

“Here.” Diego tosses a towel towards you, one that he’d located somewhere at the bottom of his luggage. Somehow within the time you’d been basking in his taste with closed eyes, he’s managed to tug his pants back on, letting them sit unfastened for now. “You can keep that as well.” He says that last bit as if he's gifting you yet another priceless possession. And honestly, he is.

Thankfully, judging by his smug smile, it seems he’s taking your current state as enough of a ‘thank you’, because you aren’t sure if you’d be able to find the energy or words to offer him one anyway. Diego crosses the room to check himself in the vanity mirror again, tousling his hair and reapplying that signature black lip gloss again. Once you feel you’ve sufficiently wiped yourself clean, realization hits you and you rush to get dressed again.

“Show’s about to start,” Diego informs you and your ears tune into the excited crowd now piling into the venue. His heavy boots clunk closer and closer until he offers you a fresh pair of drumsticks, as promised. Adorning the length of both are two more autographs, flanked by messily scrawled stars. “I’ll have security save a spot for you at the front, but don’t dilly-dally too much.”

Wordlessly, you take the gift and your disbelief surfaces again. If not for the aching in your limbs and his taste still left on your tongue, you’d be inclined to believe this was all a dream.

With his lucky pair in hand again, Diego smirks, slowly dragging the shaft of one stick under his nose and taking a deep breath in.

“I’ll be thinking about you.” He winks. “If you wait around afterwards, maybe an encore could be arranged.”

Diego turns, energetically exiting the room and shutting the door behind him again. As soon as he’s gone you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, eyes scanning the room as if checking to make sure nobody saw what just occurred in these four walls. 

Loud cheering erupts from the next room over, and your body acts on its own. Just like he’d promised, security locates you and quickly rushes you to the front of the crowd. Diego instantly makes eye contact with you and winks again, just before clicking his sticks together to cue the rest of the band in. The energy he exudes for this show is particularly wild, giving you a rush of confidence knowing that maybe, just maybe, you’ve had something to do with it.

You just hope he’ll be saving at least a little bit for whatever might transpire after the show.

#diego brando #diego brando x reader #jjba x reader #my writing #tumblr gods pwease dont fuck up formatting