Paper Rings

Paper Rings

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader

Warnings: MDNI blog in general is 18+ go on now, get. Fluff, innuendos, panicked Marcus, cussing, think that's it?

Summary: Marcus wants to ask you an important question.

Mood board made by the amazing @jay-zzle, divider made by @saradika-graphics

Prompt by: @swiftispunk, let me know what ya think!

thank you @notjustjavierpena for taking a look at this and helping me with it! ❤️

Masterlist||AO3 Link

Tonight’s the night, Marcus thinks on his drive home. He’s going to ask her to marry him. After their first date, he knew deep down she was the one. Three years later and the feeling hasn’t changed. He’s asked her dad’s permission, the ring has been sitting in his dresser for months now, the reservations have been made at Mastro’s Steakhouse. He clicks the remote for the garage as he pulls into the driveway, taking a deep breath in and out before getting out of the car and going into the house.

You hear the door open downstairs; Marcus must be home. Just in time too; he had told you earlier this morning about making reservations somewhere and to dress pretty like you always do. Working on the finishing touches of your makeup, you see his reflection in the bathroom mirror smiling at you, leaning against the doorway.

“Hey babe,” you greet him with a warm smile, “I am almost done. Is there anything you need to do to get ready?”

“Not much,” Marcus responds, walking away from the doorway to the dresser, glancing over his shoulder to make sure you’re still in the bathroom, and slowly opening the drawer he knows the ring is in, “Need to use the bathroom before we go and might change my suit jacket.” His hand creeps to the very back of the dresser, feeling for that velvet box he knows all too well is there. His fingers touch it, grasping it in his hand, quickly pulling it out, and shoving it into his jacket pocket just as you’re leaving the bathroom. He shuts the drawer quickly and turns to look at you.

“What are you doing?” You ask, giving him a suspicious look.

“Nothing,” he replies, raising his eyebrows, noticing the lone pair of socks on the floor that escaped the drawer as he was pulling the ring out, “Was going to change my socks. My feet feel gross.”

“Okay?” You giggle, shaking your head, getting your shoes on, “Weirdo.”

“Shush, you love me and wouldn’t have it any other way.” He grins at you, picking up the socks and going to sit on the bed.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” You grin, “Will you help me with the back of my dress?”

He helps zip your dress up, giving the back of your neck a light kiss, shucking off his suit jacket, and laying it on the bed on his way to the bathroom.

“I’ll meet you downstairs.”

__

“Where are we going?” You ask, looking over at Marcus, waiting for the red light to change.

“Now what’s the fun in telling you when it is supposed to be a surprise?” He says, squeezing your thigh, “Patience.”

You roll your eyes and scoff. The car starts moving again when the light turns green. Marcus is so meticulous in everything he does. Always has a plan, a certain way of doing things, likes to be spontaneous to an extent but usually always a set schedule. You love those things about him, he’s the comfort in the chaos that life can sometimes be. He pulls  into one of the fanciest restaurants in Washington D.C.

“Oh my god, Marcus,” you whisper, “How on earth did you get a reservation?”

“I was able to make some calls,” he says, stepping out of the vehicle, making his way to your door. “Had some people who owed me some favors.” He explains, opening your door for you and offering his hand. You take his hand and let him lead you. Handing off his keys to the valet. Walking into the restaurant you are greeted by the hostess.

“Good evening, sir,” she says with a bright smile, “Name?”

“Should be under Pike.”

“Ah yes, right this way.” She says, marking in the book and grabbing a couple menus before leading the way.

You cannot believe your eyes looking around at this place. There is a bar, a live jazz band playing, and plenty of couples sitting at the other tables.

“Is this table okay, Mr. Pike?” The hostess asks when she stops at an empty table.

“It’s perfect, thank you.” Marcus smiles, stepping over to the chair closest to you and sliding it out for you.

“Your waiter will be right with you.” She says, giving a small nod setting the menus down on the table.

You sit in the chair, grabbing the menu, watching Marcus move to the other side of the table to sit down across from you.

“So, Mr. Pike,” you smirk, “What on earth is the special occasion?”

“Just wanted to take you somewhere nice,” he replies, cocking an eyebrow, “Is that not allowed?”

“You’re up to something.”

“I am not,” Marcus grins, opening his menu, “What do you think you’ll have?”

“I’m thinking the salmon, although those crab cakes would be a good start, don’t you think?”

“Whatever you want, baby.”

“Good evening and welcome to Mastro’s Steakhouse, I’m Jared and I’ll be your waiter this evening.” A young man who approaches the table says, “Can I get you two something to drink?”

“I want whatever wine pairs the best with the New York strip, sweetheart?”

“You know, I’ll think I’ll do the same thing he’s doing, Mr. Wine Connoisseur over there,” you laugh, “Whatever pairs well with the salmon dish.”

“Alright, I will ask the chef what he thinks would be the best.”

“Oh!” You say as Jared starts to leave the table, “Crab cakes! We want the crab cakes as our appetizer.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

—

It’s now or never, Marcus thinks. The evening went exactly how he wanted it to, the meal was fantastic, the wine amazing, the dessert ordered to go will be arriving soon. This is the perfect moment to ask her.

“You know,” Marcus says, grabbing your hands, rubbing them softly, “You were right, I do have something special planned for us.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Marcus takes a deep breath in and lets it out, “Babe, I knew from the moment that I met you I wanted to be with you.”

He pulls your hands to his lips and gives them a soft kiss.

“After our first date, I knew you were the one I wanted to be with for the rest of my life.”

He stands up and gets down on one knee. You can hear people begin to whisper around you, watching the scene before you unfold.

“Oh my god” You say holding his hand tighter, “Marcus?”

“Baby, I love you so very much and I—” he says, patting the pocket of his suit jacket. “Fuck.”

“Babe?”

“No, no, no,” Marcus says, frantically searching his suit jacket and pants. “This isn’t how it was supposed to go.”

“Marcus,” you say, holding his face, “Look at me.”

He looks up at you with those big brown eyes you love. “I swear there’s a ring. I changed my jacket not even think—"

“Babe, I don’t care.” You smile, interrupting his panicked ramblings, “Ask me.”

“But the ring?”

“Don’t care, ask me.”

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” You say, wrapping your arms around his neck slotting your mouth against his. You can hear several of the other patrons clapping.

“Congratulations!” Jared says, returning to your table with your dessert.

“Thank you!” You say, beaming with joy.

—

On the drive home you can’t stop smiling like an idiot while holding Marcus’ hand. This is everything you dreamed about as a little girl; finding the perfect person to spend your life with and that is Marcus through and through.

“I still can’t believe I forgot the fucking ring!” Marcus says, shaking his head.

“Babe, you could’ve asked me with a ring made of paper and I would’ve said yes,” you laugh, “That’s the last thing I care about.”

“Well, a paper ring would be better than nothing!”

Approaching a gas station on the side of the road, an idea popped into your head.

“Stop!” You yelp, “Stop at that gas station!”

Marcus gives you a sideways look but pulls in regardless. Never one to refuse your requests.

“Cash?” You ask with your sweetest smile.

“Why’d we stop here?” He asks, rolling his eyes while getting his wallet out and handing you a twenty. You just give him a mischievous grin while getting out of the car. The door dings when you step into the gas station, making a beeline to the candy aisle and finding exactly what you were looking for: A bag of ring pops. Unable to contain your excitement, you let out a little squeal while grabbing them and head to the front.

“That’ll be $4.98.” The cashier says after ringing up your candy. You slap the twenty down on the counter and grab the bag running out.

“Thank you! Keep the change!” You shout behind you.

Getting back to the car, you see Marcus shaking his head trying to hold in his laughter. You make quick work of opening the bag, getting one singular ring pop out, and opening that as well, tapping on his window quickly, telling him to get out of the car.

“What on earth are you doing, honey?” Marcus laughs, opening the car door.

“You said something would be better than nothing,” you laugh, “Here’s something!”

You hand him the ring pop. He shakes his head looking at it.

“Baby,” Marcus starts looking up at you. “A ring pop? Really?”

“Marcus!” You huff, crossing your arms, “Are you gonna ask me?”

“Here?!” Marcus looks at you with surprise, looking at the ground, “Babe, this is a gas station parking lot!”

“And?”

“Babe, my pants—“

“Marcus Vincent Pike,” You scold, giving him a look that he knows means business.

“Okay, okay,” He says laughing, grabbing your hand, sliding out of the seat of the car with one knee on the ground, “Baby, will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?”

“Duh!” You say, jumping up and down as he slides the ring pop onto your finger. “It’s beautiful!”

Marcus bursts into laughter as you shove the ring pop into your mouth. “Tasty too!” You say after popping it out of your mouth.

Marcus grabs your hand, lifting it to his mouth, pushing the ring pop in, hollowing his cheeks a little, letting out a soft sigh. You can feel your mouth getting dry while you watch him suck on the ring pop. The makeshift engagement ring makes a soft pop as he lets it leave his mouth.

“I can think of something that’s sweeter,” he says with a sly smile and wink, letting go of your hand.

AHHH!!!!! Just AHH!!! This was amazing! I absolutely loved every part of it! 😍🫠

Purple Haze: Dieter Bravo One Shot

1960's photographer Dieter Bravo x f!model reader

Part of the Dieter Brainrot Club Server Challenge

Rating: Explicit 18+ minors dni

Word count: 5,000

Summary: That boy put a spell on you

Content: 1960’s London Dieter Bravo AU, heavy on the British slang, explicit alcohol and drug references, reader is a model but no physical descriptions, outfit descriptions, swearing, sort of enemies to lovers if you squint, smut; protected PIV, light bondage, reader is in control and Dieter is a subby puddle, pet names (angel, doll, darling), light dirty talk, playful slaps. Just a note we’re always very Fleabag coded here. Let me know if I missed anything.  

A/N: I did not expect the Dieter Brainrot Club challenge prompts to whisk me away to 1960’s London, but here we are! I’ve combined the two tropes Only One Bed with Forced Proximity, and look out for the ‘Oh I’ve always liked the idea of you in handcuffs’ prompt. I took lots of inspiration from our chats in the Brainrot but I feel I should shoutout @freelancearsonist & @fhatbhabie for some specific *thoughts*.

Big love to the Brainrot team; clever, talented, brilliant and always hilarious Dieter Bravo (and Rahul Kohli) lovers. Special shout out to @sp00kymulderr & @chronically-ghosted for bringing us all together.

Please Join us in the Dieter Bravo Brainrot club

Kisses to my darlings @pascalssbabyy @luxurychristmaspudding & @toomanytookas for their wonderful support and encouragement, so much love to you. Dividers by the talented @saradika / @saradika-graphics All images for Pinterest and do not feature reader, just vibes.

PURPLE HAZE

London, 1967

You don’t say no to Vogue. Even when the photographer is famously difficult to work with. And has shagged three of your flatmates. They had all fallen equally, wildly, in love with him and were consequently left emotionally devastated as he continued to work his way, seemingly fairly indiscriminately, through London’s fashion set.

Dieter Bravo. The American actor, slash photographer, slash artist, made his name in the UK taking photos of his famous pals in the early sixties and now he was a firm favourite with the Vogue team. You couldn’t hazard a guess as to why. Definitely wasn’t the big brown eyes, golden skin and penchant for afternoon cocktails with the fashion director.

You’d never actually modelled for him before, but having mopped up the tears of Caroline, Olivia and Peter in your flat, you didn’t much care for him. His reputation, one of hedonism and shoots lasting until midnight because he was high as a kite and decided they HAD to be done only under moonlight and with everyone naked, very much preceded him.

Such a shame he was so good at taking photos. Infuriating of him.

You arrive straight from your appointment with the hairdresser Daniel Galvin, rocking a fresh cut and colour as prescribed by the Vogue beauty director, and pull up at the location in your beloved little Mini Cooper. You find Lucia, the Vogue fashion editor, with her long suffering assistant Patricia, standing outside the decrepit East London warehouse. They are both dressed head to toe in Mary Quant, with matching Paige boy haircuts. Achingly trendy. The lads strolling past give Lucia an appreciative whistle, but she studiously ignores them.

“Doll, I am so sorry but Cecil’s shooting our new gal Twiggy for the first time and it’s all turning into something of a do, so I thought it would be ok if Patricia and I dash over to Kensington for a bit. I’ll aim to get back here for the end of the day.” These are very much statements, not questions.

You can’t help the scowl that has taken over your face, Lucia is supposed to be your friend and she is very aware that you’re not Bravo’s biggest fan. This is absolutely Lucia to a T, brazen as anything and with skin as thick as a rhinoceros hide. Well, you had to be to survive at Vogue you suppose. She doesn’t flinch at your scrunched up brows.

“Super, super, knew I could rely on you and Dieter. You’re both such pros darling! I’ve hung up the outfits on the rail in order, accessories labelled next to the mirror and Dieter’s got the plan of which area to shoot each outfit in.” She lights a thin Parliament cigarette, looks you directly in the eyes and deadpans, “I trust you both implicitly….”

A nod of her head, almost a challenge, “Have fun.”

For fuck’s sake.

You shout out to them as Lucia snips away at Patricia to ‘get them a bloody cab’.

“Stylist? Make-up artist?”

“Oh no darling, you don’t need them, this is all about natural, natural, natural, we want bare skin! Just whack on the false lashes I’ve left you and you’ll be good to go. Top and bottom darling, top and bottom!”

You watch them disappear into a black cab, take a deep, steadying breath and walk into the warehouse. It’s huge, obviously used as some kind of furniture storage place, filled with random handsome, antique pieces.

Fuck, it’s actually really cool. Light streams in from the huge windows in the flat roof, catching the specks of dust that fill the air. You spend a few minutes wondering around, pondering if you could strap a bit of that Georgian looking dresser to the roof of your Mini… or if that delightful ancient trunk would be noticed if it went walkies. There’s even a giant Victorian taxidermy polar bear.

“Pretty groovy, huh?”

You almost jump out of your skin, Dieter Bravo has draped himself around the Polar bear’s neck and is giving you a very studied gaze, Ray Ban Wayfarers perched on the end of his nose as he peers over them.

Your mouth falls open in shock and he pushes the sunglasses to the top of his head, taking the opportunity to snap a picture of you quickly with the camera hanging around his neck.

“Jesus Christ! You scared the life out of me.”

“Sorry about that, I was enjoying watching you creeping about the place like a cat burglar in your sexy black mini dress. You’ve got great face doll; I’m looking forward to working with you today.”

Oh no, he’s going to be appallingly charming, isn’t he?

Dieter’s every inch the louche Vogue photographer, dressed in merino wool black polo with black velvet dinner jacket and navy tailored pinstripe trousers, then pointed, patent leather boots. He has a purple, psychedelic Pucci print women’s silk scarf threaded through his belt loops in place of the usual leather belt.

His rich brown hair is longish and thick, fluffy almost curls adding an air of chaos, complimenting the patchy beard that’s just the right side of scruffy. It’s unusual, most of the fashion boys you know are still rocking a clean-shaven, mod look, but it suits his defined features, softens him. You try not to be too admiring of him, firstly in case he can tell and secondly, because you’re well aware he’s the kind of man that needs to be kept at arm’s length or you might just accidentally trip and fall into those heavenly eyes, like so many before you.

Dieter Bravo is a walking cautionary tale.

“Thanks…. Can you point me to where Lucia set up the clothes rack?”

Dieter chats away as you look through the clothes. You get the impression he’s not a man comfortable with silence, so you let him fill it. He talks about the bands he’s worked with, the designers who send him clothes and you can tell he’s watching your reactions, waiting for a flicker of excitement so he can be reassured just how tremendously cool he is. For that very reason you give him absolutely nothing.

You’re a model, you can make your expression go completely neutral if needs be. You let your eyes sort of deaden, mouth set in a firm, but not harsh, line. Feeding this man’s already giant ego is not on your agenda for today. If you can get through it without smacking him around the head for being so sure of himself, it will be one of your greatest achievements.

He watches you intently as you expertly apply the false lashes, two sets for the top row and another for the bottom. Natural my arse. Does look cool though, you’ll give Lucia that. You find yourself giving a little pout into the mirror and Dieter snaps another picture quickly.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist. You know how to work your angles baby.”

You gift him a half smile and still it’s more than he deserves. You whip back straight into business mode.

“I’m going to use that poor excuse for a bathroom as a makeshift changing room. Where shall we do the first shots?”

“Our benign dictator wants the first outfit to be down by the chintzy 50’s sofas on the left hand side. See you down there? Unless…” He tilts his head, gives you a Cheshire Cat grin, “You wanted some help?”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

“Man, I love the way you English girls swear. Drives me wild.” The grin is still there, never faltering; he lets his eyes flick up and down you, as if that was going to the magic key that unlocks your knickers.

“Off you fuck then.”

He sighs. “I’m gonna see if there’s anything to drink in here.”

You’re artfully positioned across one of the sofas; you’ve both decided this tiny pink flower print one clashes with the Biba mini dress perfectly, so you get to work showing the way the dress falls just above what would be deemed appropriate. Your favourite type of fashion.

Dieter has found a bottle of gin in a section up the precarious stairs which is currently being used as a rough and ready artist’s studio. He’s inexplicably pulled out two bottles of ginger ale from his kit bag, so he’s made you a gin & ginger ale. It’s actually quite yummy

“So… Are you going to cheer up any time soon? I heard you were fun?” He’s jumping deftly from ancient chair to broken sideboard, trying to get the best shot.

“I heard you like to collect models and assistants like they’re going out of fashion?”

“Oh shit, I haven’t shagged you already have I?” There is genuine panic in his eyes, and you can’t help but let out a musical laugh.

“Trust me Dieter,” you stare directly into the lens of the camera, “You wouldn’t have forgotten.”

He likes that, gives you a wolfish chuckle.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about angel. Give me more of that energy please! Fuck me, that was a good shot.”

You tip your head back and laugh, you don’t want to, but his enthusiasm is infectious, and the gin is helping to improve the mood considerably.

“I’ve got an idea.” He steps onto the sofa, takes your hand, so much more gently that you would have guessed, leads you over a ratty looking pouf to the bare, unmade, iron framed bed next to the sofa

“Dieter!” You let go of his hand immediately. You hate to admit it, but something in the warmth of his fingers against yours, the softness with which he held onto you, it has already sent a heat to your cheeks and a feeling in your belly you don’t care to acknowledge.

“Not yet baby…” He smirks at you, the light in those mischievous eyes shining bright. “I was thinking you could jump for me first. Show me those pins in action.”

You purse your lips, give him a hard stare.

“Fine…. But I promise you that will be the most action this bed will see today.”

You can tell Dieter’s happy with the shots, he keeps raining praises on you as you bounce on the bed and you find your smiles aren’t fake model smiles any longer.

Bollocks, you’re actually enjoying his company.

“Oh, these are going to be far out angel. You wanna get into the next fit, we’re up in the studio bit for this one and I’ll make us another gin.”

You’re in the most fabulous Thea Porter deep green, velvet military style jacket (and very little else), when Dieter appears in the studio with another round of g&g. You’ve got bare thighs, with tiny satin shorts hidden by the length of the jacket and then knee-high socks pulled up tight. It’s no exaggeration to say the man almost trips over his feet.

“Shit, you look divine angel. Velvet is your thing.”

“Oh it’s all Thea, she’s a genius. I tried to steal one of Jimi’s jackets of hers, but he wouldn’t let me.”

“Jimi….”

“Oh, you know, the big one. Hendrix. We were seeing each other for a little bit.” You shrug your shoulders, well aware of the effect this little nugget often has on men.

It’s not the usual jealously that pours out of Dieter, it’s pure adulation, he’s almost blushing, a roundness to his cheeks that’s particularly endearing.

“He’s one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen in real life. That voice, oh, when he talks! I just melted. I could barely string a sentence together when I met him. All too brief, unfortunately.” Dieter’s genuine smile is causing an exquisite single dimple to appear and it’s making you come over all unnecessary. You look away.

“Yes, I was a bit the same, but he’s a pussycat really, such a sweetie. I could listen to him play guitar forever.” You smile at Dieter and you know it has real softness behind it, he returns it in kind, angelic crinkles appearing around those teasing, dark brown eyes. You decide to bend, just a little, “I’ll introduce you properly if I ever get the chance.”

“Well, now I’m in love with you.”

You cackle, a proper guttural laugh, and Dieter clicks away on the shutter, delighted to catch your genuine mirth on film and at the way he can see just a sliver of your boob and hint of a nipple exposed as the velvet jacket hangs open. Tantalisingly close. You gaze up at him through all those lashes, let you mouth fall open so there’s a hint a teeth and tongue. A smidge of excitement spiralling up your spine.

“Fucking magnificent angel.”

You hear an unreasonably loud clanking noise coming from the front of the warehouse and you both frown. Dieter doesn’t miss snapping a picture of your confused face, before going to investigate.

When he doesn’t reappear five minutes later, you reverentially remove the Thea Porter Jacket, pop it on a hanger and pull on the long, crocheted jumper dress that is supposed to be for the next shot. The big gaps in the material don’t do much to protect your modesty to be honest.

You call down to Dieter as you descend the rickety stairs and into the vast space of the warehouse below.

“Dieter, is everything ok?”

He actually looks a bit sweaty, pushing at the imposing metal door and meeting with absolute resistance. There’s a clanking sound that you can’t help for think sounds like a padlock.

“Erm… I don’t want to alarm you… but we appear to be locked in? Someone’s slid that giant bolt over the front of the door.”

“Fuck.”

“Indeed.”

Lucia, as you suspected, does not make it back from Kensington.  

There’s no phone in the building, it’s getting increasingly dark and you are growing impatient. You’ve worked your way through most of the outfits, but it doesn’t feel quite so fun any longer. You’ve consumed all of the gin, so you’re both a bit squiffy, but it’s made you somewhat taciturn and Dieter a bit grumpy.

Luckily Dieter packed some sausage rolls in his seemingly bottomless kit bag, so you both sit and eat them in silence.

Dieter lets out a long sigh, “Fuck it, I’ve got some hash with me, if that would help pass the time?”

“Oh, thank god!” You huff out dramatically.

He fishes out a little tin from the charmed kit bag and joins you again on the slightly wonky chaise lounge you’re sat on. You watch as he expertly skins up, warming the hash with a lighter and crumbling it in with the tobacco.

“A mate of Keith’s brought this back from Morocco for me, it’s super mellow, slightly trippy.” He gives you a big grin, “Bit like me.”

You roll your eyes. The drink has loosened your tongue.

“Dieter I don’t think I’d describe you as mellow? Chaotic maybe? A fucking nightmare perhaps?”

He looks so utterly devastated, like a kicked puppy, that you just have to soothe him. You can feel the shift in your behaviour and you’re not sure there’s anything you can do to stop it. Boy certainly has a bit of magic about him.  

“But that’s what makes you so astonishing, isn’t it darling? Why everyone adores your photos so much? Your flamboyance and energy are always there but you also allow your subjects to shine. You can always feel the emotion in them darling.”

“You really think so?”

Is he, is he actually desperate for your praise?

Is the Dieter Bravo, literally infamous for his bravado and untouchable ego, in need of you effectively telling him he’s pretty and stroking his hair? Those eyes, they’re so beseeching, so soft and looking at you so eagerly, it’s making you feel uniquely powerful. You could make this man putty in your hands if you wish. And maybe you do.

“Of course, darling.” He keens at the praise and you marvel at what you now hold in the palm of your hands.

You watch him as he lights the spliff, there’s something magnetic about the way this man smokes, cheekbones more prominent as he inhales, strong profile just fucking delicious, soft brown eyes dipped down as he gazes at the brief flames that ignite the tip before turning to ash. You find you’ve let your finger trace along the contour of his jaw and his eyes meet yours, as he exhales a thick plume of smoke with those pouty lips.

“I’m sorry angel, I think this is all my fault.” His hand reaches out to hold into your face as well, you mirror each other, leaning into the other’s warmth and delicate touch. You both let your fingertips rest against the other’s chin, thumbs rubbing tiny circles.

“Dieter as much as I’d like to blame you, I don’t see how someone locking us in here is your fault?”

His thumb grazes your bottom lip, and you dart your tongue out to lick at it, slowly, feeling the wetness seep into Dieter’s skin and watching the way it makes a lopsided smile curl up onto his face.

He passes you the joint and you try with all your might to ignore the jolt of electricity as your fingers graze, as if you’re not already almost sucking at his skin. His hand falls from your face and you turn away from him, letting your own hand drop down to your shoulder, running your fingers against the silken material there instead.

“The thing is… I’ve fancied you rotten since I saw you in that Harper’s editorial. The one on the beach with the shells… I’ve got it up in my studio. I specifically requested you when Lucia suggested this shoot. So, it’s entirely my fault you’re stuck here with me.” He has the grace to look a little bit sheepish.

“I’d love to take that as a compliment, but it appears to me that you fancy everyone rotten?”

He laughs, but immediately looks sincere again, “Well, yes that’s true, I love all beautiful things; man, woman, inanimate object… but you really got under my skin angel. I’ve been trying to wangle a shoot with you for months. Couldn’t believe my luck when this was finally confirmed.”

It’s fun to toy with him. You take a long drag of the joint, beckon him forward and tap on his lips so he opens them, shotgunning the smoke into his mouth. You pull back, satisfied with the look of intense pleasure on his face, as he tries not to choke. Dieter seems to like it when you’re in control.

“I’m not here to be part of your collection of beautiful things Dieter.” You rest backwards on your outstretched arms, let the hash seep into you and soften out your edges.

“You’d be my most prized piece angel, my Mona Lisa.

You snort a laugh, take another long drag of the joint before you pass it back to him. You disappear into a plume of thick smoke as you exhale and Dieter stands quickly, joint hanging out of his mouth, so he can capture the moment on film.

“Shit angel, that was hot.” You don’t miss his not so subtle rearranging of his trousers, the thick outline straining against the tightness of the material, showing you just how hot he found it.

You smoke together until you reach the roach, slowly sinking into each other’s laps as you become more stoned. Bliss.

Dieter suddenly sits up straight and blurts out, “Angel, I’m getting some divine inspiration! I’ve got an idea for the last shot… The dress, it kind of looks like a painter’s smock? Let’s go get you messy.”

He takes your hands once again and pulls you gently up, you’re both a bit fluffy round the corners, a giggle on the tip of your tongue as you take the lead and slip your fingers through his. He slides the smock off the rail as you trail past with light feet and a dreamlike, hash haze clouding both your vision in the best way.

There’s an area with paint splattered dust sheets that Dieter had set up with lights and you place yourself in the middle of it, letting your focus fall entirely on Dieter as he fiddles with the switches and gets it exactly how he wants.

You fear he’s simply not paying you enough attention.

So, you whistle at him, his reaction slightly slowed by the dope, but he pings back into life instantly as you pull off the dress you’re wearing, wiggle out of your knickers and jut your chin in the air.

“Do you need any more inspiration?”

You think you might have broken him. He’s shaking his head slowly, walking towards you and clicking away on his camera as he does, barely breathing as he edges closer.

“Baby I am going to have quite the private collection after tonight.” He drops to his knees, presses his nose against your belly and kisses at the flesh there, as if he simply must have you in his mouth right now.

Your card your hands through that luscious hair, but pull him back, so those puppy dog eyes are staring reverently up at you.

“Hold tight darling, let’s get this final shot done.”

He sighs, reaches into his back pocket, pulls out a wrap and taps a little coke onto the bullseye tattoo between his thumb and forefinger, before holding it up to your nose.

“Just a little something to keep us awake for our final flourish angel.”

He knocks a little onto the softness of your breast and as he inhales, his teeth purposefully scrape your nipple, sending a current of energy running through you, as both the coke and Dieter invade your system. You fleck your fingers against him to try and ground yourself.

You’re enjoying being naked and the effect it’s having on Dieter, so it’s with reluctance that you pull on the smock and Dieter sets to work covering you both in great daubs of paint, kissing at your exposed skin before painting it with his fingers. Fuck, it feels heavenly, a shiver of desire at each touch, making you feel fizzy.  

You’re a beautiful mess by the time he takes the final shots.

You’re back at the one bed in the whole warehouse, Dieter has laid down a pretty paisley print Victorian eiderdown on the mattress. A tangle of limbs as you kiss furiously, hands in each other’s hair and hot, naked, paint flecked bodies pressed together.

“Do you need me to…”

“No, no, I’m on the pill darling. It’s very liberating.”

So as to demonstrate what a modern, liberated woman you are, you push Dieter back down against the eiderdown, hooking your thigh over his deliciously soft belly that’s dappled with hair and climbing on top of him. Nestling his hard cock against your sex, moving in such tiny increments that it’s almost nothing, but sends a tingle of anticipation and want through you both.

“You’re just a bit of a messy slut, aren’t you Dieter?”

The groan he lets out is obscene, you tilt your head and find a smirk has settled on your lips. You bite down against your pout, let your thumb and forefinger give his nipple a rough pinch, before leaning your whole body against his and whispering softly into the shell of his ear, “But you’re going to be a good boy for me, aren’t you darling?”

“Yes, yes, please… please…” He whimpers and it is doing something unholy to you, there’s a fire raging in your core and you have to fight with every ounce of your willpower to not lift your hips and fuck him to oblivion, right this second.

“Please, what?”

“Please do whatever you want with me baby.”

“Good boy. Let me use you, I want to come against your cock.”

You reward him by holding his cock against your soaking folds, coating him in your slick, pressing him just the right side of firm so you can move up and down and enjoy the friction. He’s so hard, it feels divine, a pulsingpleasure warming your skin as you slowly move against him. It’s too much for poor Dieter, his hands are clutching at you, hips beginning to buck as he chases more.

You stop immediately, “No, no, Dieter, I didn’t tell you that you could move, did I?” You give him a short ‘tsk’, a light tap on his balls that makes him whine, as you lean back and unthread the silk scarf from the trousers in a heap by his ankles. “I’m going to need to help you be good, aren’t I darling?”

“Fuck yes, yes please.” You watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he practically begs you. Fucking enchanting.

Your thighs are tight around him still as you lean up over him, breasts rubbing against his open mouth, knotting his hands to the iron frame of the bed.

“Not an inch unless I tell you to Dieter.” You slide back down, hold your pussy just a little above his groin, take his cock back in your hand and rub his now throbbing head against yourself.

“Making me feel so fucking good darling, such a good boy. You know you need to make me come before I fuck you, you’re just too big otherwise aren’t you?”

It’s a whelp that leaves his lips, “Fuck! Careful angel, I’ll come if you keep talking like that and… shit… I need you to fuck me, please?”

You let him ramble, he’s becoming incoherent but as you slide his cock against your clit, your slick slippery and hot, you tip closer to oblivion and you watch him powerless beneath you, biting at his lips, twisting at your silken shackles. The velvet of his cock perfect as you pump him against you, no better feeling. Except maybe, maybe, how hard you can feel him trying not to rip him arms free and slam you onto the bed.

“Wish I could take a picture of your face right now angel, never going to forget how pretty you look using me.”

You look into his eyes as you feel your orgasm rising in your belly, warmth flooding you and making your fingers tingle. Your mouth goes slack and you call out his name like a prayer, your cunt gushing over his cock. He moans in absolute ecstasy.

Still pulsing, you lower yourself slowly onto him and he hisses with the sensation. You still, your face now just a breath away from his, “Would you like me to fuck your pretty cock Dieter?”

“Yes, yes, fuck it feels so good. So tight angel, I don’t know how I can last.”

“There’s a word missing darling?”

You give him a warning with a clench of your pussy, the feeling of him so hard and desperate inside you making you feel wildly powerful.

“Please, angel, please.”

You nip at his bottom lip, palms flat against his hard chest and continue to roll your hips at a pace that makes him groan with delight.

As you feel your orgasm begin to build once more, you take pity on Dieter, pull him into a deep kiss.

Just a gentle tug at the scarf and it comes undone; “You can touch me now.”

He’s all over you all at once, hands at your face, slapping at your arse, fingers at your clit, seemingly at the same time. A wave of Dieter that’s crashing against you with teeth, lips and want. You fuck him harder, squeezing his cock and rocking your hips feverishly, your legs are trembling; your release almost drowns you,

“Come with me Dieter darling.”

At your command, he spills into you with a groan, gripping onto your hips and pulling you hard against him, fucking up into you one last time. You let him stay there for a few moments, before you collapse down next to him, both panting but outrageously happy.

Dieter rolls over, kisses you again and again, now free to do what he wants, he needs to devour you whole.

“Fuck me angel, that was good… I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid I’m now dreadfully in love with you.”

You fall asleep together, naked, entwined, wrapped in the eiderdown.

You are absolutely fucking ravenous when you wake up in the morning. Dieter pulls out a couple of Kit Kats from his bag, which you guzzle with tepid water from the dripping tap in the bathroom as a chaser.

The front door is still padlocked shut.

“I have an idea.”

You groan, you’re now fully versed in how Dieter’s plans go and quite frankly, you’re a little bit sore after last night’s exploits.

“Not that kind of plan. Well, actually, yes, I do have some thoughts along those lines, but this is more immediate, not die of starvation in an East London warehouse type of plan.”

“Fine. Hit me.”

“There’s a skylight in the studio which I think we’ll be able to reach, the roof is flat… maybe we can shimmy along and drop down onto the next building. I think I remember seeing it’s lower and there was some kind of fire escape.”

“So… we’re going to climb over the roof, dressed almost entirely in black and covered in paint?”

He nods at you eagerly, “Fuck’s sake Dieter, you’re going to get us arrested.”

“Oh, I’ve always like the idea of you in handcuffs.”

“You know that’s not how we work darling.”

So, that’s how you and Dieter end up clambering up onto the roof and haphazardly climbing down onto the next building. He has a messenger bag slung over his shoulders, full of his most prized possession; rolls and rolls of film - all of you. The majority of which Vogue is never going to see.

The expletives flowing out of both of you is bordering on the indecent, and more often than not, it’s Dieter grabbing at your hand in a squeaking panic as you teeter dangerously near the edge. Finally, after what feels like an hour, you lower yourself onto the fire escape next door and can see your route back down to earth.

With your feet back on solid ground, Dieter envelopes you in a survivors hug.

You know you really, really fucking shouldn’t, but you risk a kiss on the lips of the deviant who told you he loved you.

Tagging in some Dieter fans: @katareyoudrilling @magpiepillsjunior @morallyinept @mothandpidgeon @gwendibleywrites @survivingandenduring @ghotifishreads @rulexofxnines @readingiskeepingmegoing @amyispxnk @theywhowriteandknowthings @rosellarecommends @lowlights

I’m glad you liked it! ❤️

Paint with Me

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Summary: You have a crush on the dad of your daughter’s best friend.

Warnings: Sexual innuendos and cursing

A/N: @beefrobeefcal issued a prompt and I jumped at the chance. She also helped beta this along with @strang3lov3. As always, I gotta tag @jay-zzle, who once again was kind enough to make a moodboard for this little story of mine, is my main cheerleader and listens to me rant all the time about stories I’ve read and my own 🥰

“Hello and welcome to those who are new to the class! Go ahead and find a spare seat” The woman at the front, Miss Janice said, “This is a very basic painting class and please parents. Let your kids get messy! Art isn’t clean!”

All the kids cheered and you sighed thinking about the stains you will now have to be washing out from Nora’s clothes. Your ex had decided the white sundress was the perfect outfit for her today. Dropping her off here with no time to go home you just had to cross your fingers hoping that Miss Janice had a spare smock for her.

“Mommy!” Nora said, grabbing your hand and tugging you along to a table, “I see Missy!”

Nora dragged you along to the table where Missy and her father sat. This had become a weekly thing, coming to the paint with me class and sitting with Missy and Frankie.

“Hi Nora!” Missy squealed, “Daddy was starting to worry you guys weren’t coming.”

“Missy,” Frankie hissed, looking at her while you could see his cheeks starting to gain a warmer shade.

“No, Mommy was mad at my dad because of my dress.”

“Nora!” You said, looking at her wide eyed.

“Your dress is very pretty, Nora.” Frankie said, letting out a low chuckle.

“Thank you! Mommy always wants to look pretty for these classes so I wanted to try too!”

You could feel your face getting warm. It wasn’t like you intentionally did it or anything but you couldn’t deny having formed a crush on Frankie within the past few weeks of attending this class. If you wanted to spruce up your looks a little, so what? You just didn’t think your kid would take notice of it. Oh god, has it been obvious? Has Frankie noticed?

“Nora, do you need a smock?” Miss Janice asked, interrupting your thoughts.

“No, I—“

“Yes, she does!” You say, giving Miss Janice a pleading look. Miss Janice smiled and handed one to you to help Nora put it on.

“No one will be able to see my dress!” Nora said, furrowing her brows and crossing her arms across her chest.

“Aw, come on now,” Frankie said, “You don’t want to ruin your pretty dress!”

“Fine,” Nora said, rolling her eyes.

You smiled at him and mouthed a thank you while putting the smock on her. He winked at you with a slight nod of his head. Miss Janice began to show everyone how to paint a rose. Frankie had his brows furrowed, focusing on his paper instead of watching the board like everyone else.

“Daddy!” Missy scolded, “You’re supposed to be painting a rose!”

“Don’t feel like painting a rose.” Frankie stated lowering his voice, “Flowers are boring.”

“Then what are you painting instead?” Nora asked curiously, leaning over to look at his paper.

“It’s a surprise!” Frankie said, hovering his hands over his paper to keep anyone from trying to peek. “Can you hand me that yellowy color?” He asked, nodding his head towards the tube in front of you. Careful of your rose painting you reached for the tube and handed it over.

“Ever heard of goldenrod?” Frankie asked, reading the tube and looking at Missy.

“Been years since I had one of those,” You think out loud. Frankie whipped his head to look at you. “Oh my god!” You say slapping your hand over your mouth.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

Frankie eyes you suspiciously while continuing to talk to Missy and Nora. You and your big fucking mouth. Sure, it’s been a while since you got laid but you are in a painting class with your kid, her friend, and her friend’s incredibly attractive dad. Kids being the main focal point. Thankfully they were too into their paintings to hear what you said. You zero in on your own painting of a rose. Gliding the paint brush over and over until you feel like the petal is to your liking.

—

“Alright everyone, time is up for the day!” Miss Janice announces, “We need to start cleaning up. Parents please grab the paint brushes and water cups, kiddos grab the paintings and clip them to the board so we can all see them!”

Nora starts cackling along with Missy looking at Frankie’s painting. Frankie furrows his brows while you both begin gathering up the paint brushes plopping them into the water cup.

“What the heck is that?!” Nora asked, holding her stomach from laughing so hard. You decide to take a look at what was so funny. You’re not sure what it’s supposed to be. It just looks like a yellow peanut with what you think might be wings and some McDonald’s Golden Arches in the background.

“It’s a bird,” Frankie says, scratching the back of his neck.

“Oh,” You say, nodding your head subtly, “That’s what it’s supposed to be?”

“It looks like a peanut!” Missy said

“It does!” Nora shouted, beginning to laugh even more.

“Yeah, yeah. Go hang the paintings up you goofs” Frankie said, shooing them away.

“Least you tried,” You smile, with a small shrug.

“I guess. Missy’s right though, it does look like a peanut,” He grinned, walking with you over to the now free sink to help clean brushes.

“Hey, you said it— not me,” You laughed.

You dumped the water into the sink, while Frankie grabbed the soap, squirting some in his and your hands. Making small conversation about Nora and Missy, your weeks ahead of you, what you plan to do for the rest of your weekend.

“So,” Frankie started, leaning over to whisper in your ear, “Haven’t had a golden rod in a long time?”

“Oh my god,” You groaned, “Listen, I’m so sorry about that. I swear, I didn't even mean to say it out loud.”

“Nah, it’s all good. I could probably help with–” Frankie said, then began to panic, “I mean, like, if you wanted to go do something sometime, or not that’s cool too, not like I’m saying we should have sex or something cause that’s not cool. I’m sorry it was just a stup–”

“Frankie,” You giggle, grabbing his hand to make him stop. He looked up at you bashfully.

“It’s been a while since I’ve tried asking someone out,” He admitted. “My friends keep giving me shit because I keep talking about you and they said I should try asking you out, but I’ve been too nervous to and wow, I just won’t shut the fuck up. What is wrong with me?!”

“I’d love to,” You say before he can start speaking again.

“Really?” He asked, raising his eyebrows, “Go out? With me? Like a date?”

“Duh,” You said, squeezing his hand and winking, “Is there a golden rod included?”

“Haven’t had any complaints before,” Frankie said with a shrug, blushing.

Goodness! I absolutely love this, knowing you shouldn’t but being pulled back like a magnet. 😩🫠 Know the feeling all too well

two-pack habit & a motel tan

pairing: lucien flores x f!reader word count: 1,712 warnings: M | spoilers? cigarettes, alcohol, angsty in parts, aside from being noted as having breasts no other descriptions of reader estimated reading time: 7 minutes summary: no matter how hard you try, you find yourself coming back every time ao3: linked

A/N: Honestly, not sure what I'm doing as I know nothing about this movie and character other than those tiny clips from yesterday. I tagged it spoilers, but really this is a stab in the dark, because while writing this, this could have easily been Dieter, so who knows? Hopefully you enjoy this!

two-pack habit & a motel tan.

The room was dark, the only light that came was from the street lights outside. The cheap gaudy curtains disturbed by the forced air from the air conditioner unit swung lazily casting shadows across the green shag carpet. On the small round table beneath the window sat two empty bottles of beer and an overflowing ashtray, a cigarette hung on its lip, its embers still glowing despite being disregarded. The television flickered on a muted late-night talk show, its dull illumination serving only to highlight the lingering haze of smoke in the air. 

Lucien was sprawled out on the creaky bed, barefoot with his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. His dark brown curls were tousled, his dark eyes staring into nothingness as he took another drag from his cigarette. 

The click of the bathroom door opening drew his attention as you walked out, damp hair and wearing an oversized t-shirt that had seen better days, one that you had stuffed in your bag earlier that afternoon on your way out. Lucien’s eyes followed the trail of water droplets that traced your collarbone and disappeared beneath the threadbare and distressed collar of the shirt.

He sat up, patting the space next to him, inviting you to join him on the bed. You hesitated for a moment before relenting, moving across the room and climbing onto the bed knee first.

“Feel better?” He inhaled deeply before turning his head to exhale the smoke from his cigarette, all the while his gaze had followed the line of your bare legs.

You nodded, settling in next to him. He took one more drag of his cigarette before he stubbed it out. Turning back to you, his hand, warm and calloused settled on your thigh just below the hem of your shirt. 

“Don’t know why you bothered to get dressed doll,” his smokey voice intoned as he moved his hand an inch higher, this thumb tracing patterns on your skin as his other hand played with the chain around his neck, running the St. Anthony charm between his fingers out of habit. 

His dark eyes met yours, a playful challenge in their depths. You looked away, your heart pounding in your ears, trying to remember the reasons why you’d said this wasn’t going to originally happen in the first place.

“Luce,” you started, but he cut you off with a laugh that was laced with a tinge of bitterness.

“You’re going to tell me this is a bad idea again, right?” he said cynically as his fingers continued to draw meaningless shapes on your skin. 

He leaned back against the worn headboard, pulling you with him and over to straddle his waist.

“You know it is,” you murmured but made no move to escape his grip, your hands instinctively settling on his chest. His heart beating rapidly beneath your touch, echoing the beat of your own. 

He raised his eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, “Yeah, but we’re not exactly known for making good decisions now are we?” His fingers slipped beneath the hem of the oversized shirt, making your breath hitch in your chest. His fingers not finding the material of your panties at your hips he gave you an almost smug impressed look, “Well, this is certainly a surprise.”

You couldn’t help the smirk on your lips as you leant down, yours meeting his. The lack of underwear had been a conscious one despite your reservations about even being in that motel room, to begin with. He let out a low groan into your mouth, as his fingers traced a path up your side. His thumb brushed the underside of your breast, causing you to gasp. He laughed, a deep warm sound that vibrated against your lips.

You tanged your fingers in his already tousled curls as his traced their way back down your sides, his hands cupping your bare hips. The feel of the denim of his jeans licked at your core and you couldn’t ignore the surge of desire that pooled in your belly. The scent of his cigarettes on the air, intertwined with the taste on his lips, unspoken promises hung heavy between the two of you, your hips buckled in an all too familiar motion seeking release.

His lips moved from yours, tracing a fiery path over your jaw and down your neck. You tilted your head back, allowing him better access as he trailed hot open-mouthed kisses over your skin.

“Jesus, you are so—” he sucked in a breath as your fingers with reluctance left his hair and slid underneath the barely buttoned-up silk shirt, your nails dragging up his torso to his chest, “maddening,” he murmured when he found his voice.

“I could say the same about you,” you retorted as you pulled his shirt up and over his head.

When you got his text that afternoon you knew where it would lead, it was an all too familiar path you couldn’t help but revisit again and again. For all his flaws, Lucien was a magnet that drew you in, each time harder than before.

His chest bared, the dim light from the nightstand lamp cast a soft glow between the two of you. Your fingers traced the fine outline of the chains around his neck until they reached the pendant that lay below the hollow of his throat. As you looked at St. Anthony, the irony was not lost on you. He was the patron saint of those who were lost, and here he was standing between you and the man who you continuously found yourself drawn back to, despite your many attempts to distance yourself from him altogether.

His lips found yours again, his teeth nipped at your bottom lip, teasing as you tried to go in for another kiss. His hand snaked up your back, coming to rest at your neck, his thumb massaging your nape. His thumb pressed in just the right spot that managed to undo you and have you mewing in response. He grinned with the knowledge that he knew your body better than anyone else ever could, better perhaps even than you knew yourself.

“Tell me,” he whispered, his voice husky as he toyed with the hem of the shirt you were wearing. “Tell me you want this,” he lifted your shirt, pushing it up to your chest before you took over and pulled it over your head. His brown eyes appeared even darker with his pupils blown wide with anticipation.

“I want this,” you said meeting his gaze, your voice barely above a whisper before in one swift movement he rolled you onto your back. 

His hands roamed your body freely now, tracing all too familiar patterns they knew so well; the curve of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the softness of your thighs.

As his lips met yours once more, your fingers traced the waistband of his jeans making short work of the button and fly. He groaned when you freed him from the confines of the denim, taking your time to run your hand appreciatively up and down his length, a low, throaty sound that made your heart skip a beat.

You knew that this should be the last time, but you weren’t trying to fool yourself. You knew there’d be another. It was a constant push and pull between the two of you that was years in at this point. There’d be no way the two of you could make a relationship out of what fractured pieces this already was, but you knew the minute he’d call, you’d come running. You knew it and he knew it, and as his warmth enveloped you, you couldn’t find it in your heart to care.

This was such a good read! That ending 😭😭😭

Precious || Sugar daddy ! Lucien Flores x reader

Summary: You meet with your sugar daddy at his California residence. (2k words)

CW: sex in exchange of money and luxuries, feelings, slight angst, infidelity (Lucien is married), jealousy, daddy kink, English and Spanish pet names, f masturbation, fingering, blowjob, praise kink, dom!lucien, unprotected p in v, emotions, sad-ish ending (sorry i'm feeling emo), minimal editing. Also, I haven't seen the movie, so this might be OOC,

A/N: We all saw that video right? Thank you twitter for this. Also, thanks to @ozarkthedog who inspired some of this.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

When you made an arrangement with an older man for money, you hadn't expected that he would be... hot. You also didn't expect to fall for him.

But standing in front of you, Lucien Flores was something else. A colorful, silk-like shirt let you see glimpses of golden skin. Expensive jewelry on his throat. A wedding band on his finger as he brought the cigarette to his lips. From a wife he did not care about. A wife he left at his main residency.

But here, in California, everything was a dream. He treated you like a princess, all you had to do was to be pretty and let him fuck you, which wasn't hard when he was so handsome, and when you were madly in love with him.

"Was your trip okay?"

"Yes, everything was perfect. Thank you for the first-class trip, daddy."

He smirked and let the cigarette fall to the ground, before crushing it with his shoe. He sat on one of the lounge chairs on the patio and patted his lap to encourage you to sit on it. You climbed up and wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him down to you. His strong cologne tickled your nose.

"I missed you." He whispered, and you wished you could believe him. You wished he had missed your personality, your humor, and not only the way you sucked his cock.

"I missed you too." You responded truthfully.

“Sweet girl. What am I gonna do with you?”

“I don’t know, what will you do?” You responded mischievously.

“Did you bring the bikini I got you? Will you go lay prettily in the pool while I get some work done, hm?”

You nodded enthusiastically, and got off his lap to strip off your tight dress to reveal the red bikini that covered barely anything. The top was just enough to cover your nipples, and the bottom was more of a g-string than anything else. Lucien’s gaze devoured you, making you feel vulnerable, but hot.

You did as he said, laying in the pool on top of an oversized donut as he took work calls on the patio, attentive dark eyes looking at you from time to time.

After an hour under the sun, waiting for him, you got bored, and you wanted to play. Lucien was still on a call with a client, and you vaguely heard him speak Spanish, words about house prices and vague promises. You waited until he looked at you, then, your hand sneaked under your bikini bottoms that left little to the imagination. Like an automatism, your fingers recolted some of your wetness before circling your clit. The point wasn't as much to pleasure yourself than to provoke Lucien.

His eyes darkened, his attention fully on you as he kept speaking. He simply curved his fingers in your direction, beckoning you to come closer.

So, you did. You ungracefully got out of the pool and walked towards him like an obedient puppy.

"What are you doing?" He mouthed to you, while his client talked on the other end.

"I'm waiting for you." You responded innocently.

Lucien didn't seem satisfied with your answer. He got closer to you, until you were stuck to the patio door, your ass leaving a mark on the clean glass. He kept talking on the phone, as if nothing peculiar was happening, and he pulled your bikini to the side, so he could access your seam. His fingers went through your slit, sensing how wet you were. He looked at you with a disapproving look, and you gasped as he started circling your clit.

"... yes sir, with your budget, I certainly can find you the house of your dreams... I'll see you on Friday."

He hung up and put his phone in his back pocket.

"You want my attention so bad? You have it now." He groaned. His free hand held your waist tightly, and you wished he kissed you in that moment.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and bucked your hips against his fingers, gasping when he put two of them in your wet hole. He started pumping them in and out unceremoniously, filling the air with your obscene wet sounds. You cried softly, your back arching against the door.

"Lucien... please...I'm sorry..."

You felt him hitting that spongey spot inside of you again and again, as his palm rubbed against your clit. Your legs started to shake, and he held you up as you almost fell under the intensity of your orgasm.

"There you go baby..." He pressed his nose against your hair as he guided you through your ecstasy, inhaling your sweet, intoxicating scent. When your eyes met his, you stopped fearing he would push you away and you pulled him into a kiss. He crowded you against the house, holding you tight as he responded back with his whole body.

Only to be interrupted by another phone call. He groaned and let go of you. Still, his hand held your shoulder and he slowly pushed you to the ground.

"You will suck me off while I take this call, yeah?"

He took the call before you could say anything, but he knew you would obey. You unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants and boxers until his dick sprung free. Thick, uncut, and perfect. You salivated just looking at it. You started by licking the tip almost timidly, looking up at him through your lashes as he talked about serious work-related stuff. He looked so in control. You took him in the warmth of your mouth slowly, his hand cradling your head indicating that you were doing a good job. You were so horny for him, you could barely hear him talk, only hearing the soft vibrations of his deep voice. You bobbed your head up and down slowly, how he liked, sometimes adding a bit of teeth, just grazing the sensitive skin.

"Good girl." He mouthed to you, and you warmed up at the praise.

You accelerated eventually, hollowing your cheeks to make him feel everything. His hips bucked lightly into your mouth, encouraging you to keep your pace. His breath was getting heavier, and you could tell his concentration was failing him slowly.

"Can I call you back? I have another line I have to take. Yeah, okay."

Lucien hung up and dropped his phone to the floor.

"God... this mouth of yours, baby."

One of your hands played with his heavy sack as you kept sucking him, his body responding to you with thrusts.

"Let me come on those pretty tits." He breathed.

You hurriedly untied your top and just as you let his cock fall out of your mouth, he guided his cock with his hand as his come started spurting out. He painted your chest, and you let him make a canvas out of you.

Lucien helped you up and pecked your lips.

"Go wash up, make yourself pretty for your daddy while I finish a few calls. I left a few things for you in my room. We'll have dinner and I'll spend the night focusing on you, okay?"

"Okay, daddy." You looked at him one last time, and you disappeared in his house.

Lucien treated you like a princess, and you indulged in a delicious meal in his presence. You tasted the best wine the restaurant had to offer.  You enjoyed his company and you talked about everything. The only cloud to your evening was a call from his wife, and you tried to burry your jealousy. Your job was to be the young and pretty mistress to the rich man, not his wife.

But you knew Lucien read you like an open book. When he brought you home, to his large bedroom, he crowded you against the wall, one of his large hands beside your head, the other one low on your back.

“What was that about, baby?”

You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear his big, sad brown eyes that would unravel the truth so easily. The hand beside your head cradled your jaw, and you had no choice but to look at him.

“Nothing.”

He tsked. “Don’t lie.”

“I don’t like when you talk to your wife when I’m here. It feels… wrong.” You sighed.

“Mi corazón… ” He cooed. “I have to play the part of the loving husband. Doesn’t mean you’re any less precious.”

You bit your bottom lip, swallowed your tears.

“Prove it.”  

Lucien leaned in, and his lips grazed yours, his big nose bumped against the tip of yours. “You’re my precious little thing. Can’t live without you.”

Your body responded to his, molding against his chest as you arched your back. He kissed you, fiercely. The hand against your face almost bruising. Your whimper of his name died against his lips, swallowed by his tongue. When you came back out for air, his lips traced your jaw, your neck, your cleavage. Expert hands unzipped the dress he bought for you, and it pooled at your ankles. You kicked it away, and in a hurry, you undid his soft shirt. You leaned down to kiss his chest as he smelled your hair, holding you close.

“I want you.” He whispered painfully. The older man guided you and discarded your body on fire on his comfortable bed. Lucien got rid of his pants as he took the time to look at you, sprawled on his bed, dressed in precious lace. “My pretty girl…”

You felt heat rush to your face, and you realized how much you wanted to be his.

 You both peeled off the last layers separating you, and he laid between your spread legs, his body warm against yours. You were always so ready for him. It took him mere seconds for to make you come, only so he could slide into your wetness easily and selfishly. He didn’t deserve you. You wrapped your legs around his hips as he stilled. Your cheeks were wet with tears, that he kissed away.

“Look at me.”

You did with a weak smile.

“There you are, my pretty girl.” He cooed.

“Yours, yours yours” You chanted back as he started moving slowly, but with strength that took the breath out of your lungs and made you close your eyes.

“You’re always taking me so well.” He praised. “Keep your eyes on me. Keep your mouth occupied, mi corazón.”

You sucked on the chain dangling from his neck, the metallic taste keeping you grounded as you watched him with adoration. You muffled your cries and kept your eyes on him as he started thrusting his hips faster, making your eyes want to roll in the back of your head. But you kept your focus on him, on the slight crows feet around his eyes, on his smile lines, on his beautiful, adoring eyes.

“You will come on my cock, baby.” His hand reached to where the two of you were joined, and his thumb pressed on your swollen clit, circling it at the same messy rhythm as his hips, letting you tighten and convulse around him. “Good girl.”

His words, his fingers, and the tip of his cock that kept hitting your G-spot made you see stars. You kept your eyes strained on him as you choked his dick and came around him with a muffled moan. He guided you through it, before grabbing your hips and fucking you deep and fast. His chain left your lips, and you replaced it with his mouth, kissing him slow and deep.

“W-Where do you want me?” He groaned inside your mouth.

“Inside.”

Lucien cursed as he spilled inside of you, before laying against your body, his head on your shoulder as he caught his breath. You caressed his curly hair and held him close, scared of loosing him.

“I love you.” You said in the smallest voice possible.

He looked up at you with sad eyes, and he kissed you long and slow. He would break your heart and you both knew it.

Ohhh! This is so good! 😍

the howler monkey

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo & gn!reader rating: Mature (18+ only!) warnings: no smut but some nudity, implied drug use/addiction, little bit silly, mildly angsty, performance anxiety, screaming, Dieter Bravo's soft cock. basically mild hurt/comfort/fluff with my usual bit of silliness. word count: 2.8k summary: You got him here, he was safely tucked away upstairs and everything was going, mostly, according to plan. So, who the fuck is screaming?

A/N: For the Dieter Bravo Brain Rot Club March Server Challenge - you're unhinged and I love you all. Dieter would be so, so proud of us. Circus mention in honour of Clown!Dieter.

TROPE: Only one bed and forced proximity PROMPT: "You're going to get us arrested." "Oh, I've always liked the idea of you in handcuffs."

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On days like this, getting Dieter Bravo out of the house was more like wrangling an overtired toddler than it was dealing with a full grown man. At least, you assumed it was. You didn't have a toddler for reference, but you did have a Dieter and, sometimes, that felt worse. He stalled and delayed for so long that by the time you finally - finally - got him out of the door, it was quite literally a race to get the the airport.

The flight hadn't been much different, having to practically drag him through the terminal with head down and sunglasses on to cram him into his window seat. Truth be told, you didn't know why you were flying with him anyway, only to fly back later tonight. Still, as long as it wasn't your money on the line, what Dieter wanted, Dieter got.

But now it was done. You got him here relatively unscathed, all things considered, and Dieter had been deposited in his room, ready to get a full nights beauty sleep before the press descended and the festival opened. All that was left to do was check in with his publicist and you'd be on your way back home, where you couldn't wait to crawl into bed and have a few blissful days to yourself.

So, as is the natural way with these things, it's when you're just finishing up with his publicist in the back of the bar that it all starts. It's nothing but a few strained looks from the hotel staff to begin with.

Then the phones start ringing. Every single one.

And when the phones can't be answered quick enough, hotel guests start crowding around the lobby, whispering amongst themselves about the screaming.

The screaming.

And your blood turns cold. Because it's not. It couldn't be. He wouldn't.

The publicist pays no attention, continuing swiping through his phone and yammering away. Not your circus, not your monkeys, you try to think to yourself as the lobby just gets busier and busier.

But then the hotel manager rushes in, sickly sweet smile plastered on his face, Dieter's publicist blissfully unaware as he stares down at his phone, looking at schedules and interview times and literally anything but the chaos evolving around you.

"Excuse me? Excuse me," he's saying, wringing his hands together as he approaches the table. "You're with Mr. Bravo?"

His publicist doesn't even bother looking up, simply nodding as you stare, open mouthed, into the lobby.

"It seems we have... a bit of a problem," he whispers with wide eyes. "Mr. Bravo is uh... well, screaming. It's disturbing the other guests. I'm afraid if he doesn't stop we're going to have to ask him to leave or call the police."

Well, shit. This is your circus, and that is your monkey in particular.

You're swiping the extra key card out of his hand and making your way out of the bar and into the packed lobby as quick as you can while his publicist sits there, arguing that Dieter would never (he would), that he was quiet (he wasn't), and so it couldn't possibly be him (it absolutely could).

The elevator feels so slow, the whirl of gears and an unseen mechanism pulling you up and up, as you ascend the many floors of the hotel. Then, in a blink and with another creak the doors are about to pull themselves open, and you swear you can hear it already.

The fucking screaming.

You're running now, the elevator doors barely open before you're squeezing through them, not caring for the noise you make as you thud heavily down the hallway. What would a little extra noise matter when there's someone screaming blue murder inside one of the hotel rooms.

Tapping the card, the lock on room 819 illuminates green and you're throwing open the door, the screams having subsided for a moment, and shutting yourself inside and trying to catch your breath.

Aside from the silence, it's dark. That's the first thing you notice. The second thing you notice is Dieter Bravo is nowhere to be seen, even in the dim light creeping around the window.

"Dee... Dieter?" you whisper into the darkness, hoping beyond hope that he's not here and he hasn't been screaming for the past fifteen minutes.

A small, hoarse voice floats toward you from much further away than you'd expect him to be able to be given the size of the room, "Who is it?"

"Dieter? It's me. What the fuck is going on? Where are you?" you loud whisper into the hotel room, running your fingertips across the wall as you creep forward. From what you can tell it looks the same as when you left him here. Nothing is wrecked or overturned, and he hasn't had another sudden burst of artistic inspiration - the walls look the same as they did when you shut the door to Dieter looking forlornly out of the window to the city below.

"What do you mean?" comes the muffled voice. It's closer now, but you still can't see him. There's no lump on the bed, no one sat in the chair, and he's not lying spread eagle on the floor.

"Dieter, where the fuck are you?!"

He sighs, and you hear a slap, like the sound of a hand hitting a flat, solid surface. "Under here, numbnuts."

You take another step forward, peaking under the desk, seeing no sign of Dieter. Turning toward the bed, you try to find somewhere else to look under to find wherever Dieter has stashed himself when you see it.

Two bare legs sticking out from under the bed, the end of his soft green robe just poking out from beneath the frame.

"Dee... what is going on, why are you under there? There was screaming, they think it's coming from in here."

Dieter's silence is all you need to confirm it was indeed coming from in here, from him. Pinching your nose, you ready yourself for whatever he's going to throw at you this time.

"Why are you screaming?"

"Come under here."

"Dieter, no, it's disgusting under there, they don't clean these -"

"I'll tell you if you come under here."

"No, I know this is a nice hotel, but the floors are still filth-"

Dieter cuts you off, a loud scream ripping out of his chest and rattling around your head at a frequency that makes you feel like your skull is about to burst. It must hurt, is all you can think, his throat must be raw and his mouth dry. Panic sets in - hearing a scream like that will do that to a person, you suppose. You panic not just because it must hurt, but because if there was one thing you knew, despite Dieter Bravo's flair for dramatics, he wasn't a man to scream for no reason. And, as much as you hate to admit it, you can't help but think down to Dieter's publicist likely still sat in the bar - Dieter will be impossible to interview tomorrow if you don't stop him soon, and that's if he's even allowed to stay in the hotel much longer.

So, you do the only thing you know how to do when a metaphorical fire in the shape of Dieter Bravo threatens to burn everything down. You throw yourself over it and hope for the best.

"DEE! DIETER! OKAY, OKAY!" you shout, trying not to grimace as you get on your hands and knees to crawl under the cramped space under the bed, ignoring the grit and dust already on your palms.

"Fuck. Shit, Dieter. Ow." You're wedged under there with him now, ass sticking up in the air as you cram your upper body under the bed frame. You can see the vague shape of him under here, a Dieter shaped profile visible in front of you as he stares blankly up at the underside of the bed.

"What's wrong with you?" you ask, somewhat breathlessly, only to watch Dieter tense up at your words. Shit. You didn't mean it like that, and you certainly didn't say it like that either, but before you can take it back and apologize, he beats you to it.

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong with me," he says in a voice so much smaller and quieter now that your head is right beside his.

"Sorry. Look, I didn't - I meant, why are you screaming, Dee. They said they'd have to kick you out or call the cops. You're going to get us arrested."

"Arrested, huh?" he says thoughtfully, turning to look over at you. "I've always liked the idea of you in handcuffs."

"No, Dieter," you say, and even though you know he can't see you, you roll your eyes in the dark anyway.

Dieter's sigh is so big it picks up errant dust swirls it around under the bed. The urge to swipe at your nose is strong but you resist, knowing from the state of things and the chalky feeling of your palms that it'll only make things worse.

"I'm nervous," he finally says, and that's all you needed to hear.

His face is turned toward the underside of the bed when you crawl backwards. It takes a moment for him to notice, but as soon as he does he's whimpering and taking in a breath big enough that you know he's going to scream again. But you're not leaving, and instead you roll onto your back with an oof and slide yourself under the bed to look up into the nothing with Dieter.

You think back to other times he'd been like this. Too scared to perform, anxiety taking root, frightening him off into some dark quiet corner of a set or his house. You'd found him in his closet once, the only thing apparently capable of coaxing him out was watching you unbutton your shirt a little more because you'd gotten so hot sitting in the stifling little room with him. When he'd finally made his way out, it had been with his eyes glued to the extra patch of skin you'd uncovered and the trickle of sweat dripping down your chest.

Dark as it was, visual distractions wouldn't work this time.

"How many times do you have exactly the same thoughts, and how many times does everything turn out okay anyway? You're good at this, Dieter. You're going to be amazing tomorrow, just like you always are, and I'm not saying that to pressure you to perform, but just because you are. You're amazing."

"Yeah, right," he scoffs, slapping a hand dramatically down on the floor again with a grunt.

"I'm serious. You have a lot to be proud of."

"A lot to not be proud of too."

"Well, you know what to do about that."

"I'm not going to rehab."

"I've never told you to."

Dieter sighs again, because you were right. You had never told him to go to rehab. You never would. It didn't feel like your place to - you were only his assistant. He knows this and you think - know - that sometimes he'd like for you to just tell him to get it together and go, but you don't. "I know."

You don't know how long you both lie there in silence and darkness after that, softly exchanging breaths under the bed. You do know it's long enough for your mind to wander back down to the bar and all the people now going about their evenings. It's not lost on you that no one came in to check on him before you. That now that he'd been silent for several minutes, no one had bothered to knock on the door to see if he was okay. None of them cared, not really. You knew that and, worse of all, Dieter knew that. The people here didn't care about him unless he was being a shiny, glitzy movie star who could say and do the right things in front of the cameras.

Scuffling feet alert you to his movement as Dieter move shuffles toward you, his head colliding gently with the side of yours. You make no effort to move and neither does he, choosing instead to lean his head against yours and rest it there.

The signs are obvious then. The small weave of his head as his eyes track invisible shapes in the dark. The twitch in his fingers, the bounce of his foot. He'd been a mess all day, you can see that now, and whatever he had taken since getting here was somehow making it better and worse all at once.

"How much have you taken this time?"

His breath catches, caught doing something he said he wouldn't do, not here, not this time. But he doesn't lie, not to you. He'd stopped doing that a long time ago, and that was as much progress as you could ever hope for.

"Too much. Not enough. I don't know."

"Okay," you say, even though it isn't, not really. He should stop. You wish you could do more to stop him.

"Will you stay?" he murmurs, even though he knows you have a flight to catch. He'd paid for it when he demanded you come with him, promising you a few days off while he was stuck at the festival answering the same questions over and over again.

"You know I can't, my flight is in a couple of hours, I need to get through the traffic -"

"Please stay."

"There is nowhere for me to stay, Dieter. You don't need me here and I couldn't get a room if I tried. Everywhere nearby is booked." Assistants don't sleep with their employers, assistants don't sleep with their employers...

"I do. I do need you. I'm not asking you to stay anywhere else, I'm asking you to stay here. Stay with me," he mumbles. "I can sleep under here if I have to. Just stay." Assistants don't sleep with their fucking employers...

"You're not sleeping on the floor. And I- I can't." By this point you don't know why you can't, because maybe assistants don't sleep with their employers, but you and Dieter were always a little bit, well... y'know.

"Please."

And your resolve never was that strong where Dieter was concerned. Not really. "Fine. I'll stay. I need a shower and I need to go -"

"You can borrow some of my clothes," he says quickly. "We can shower - separately, I mean - get room service - fuck I'm starving - and then when we sleep, we can cuddle?"

You can't help but laugh, smiling up at the bed at how quickly his mood could turn around, particularly where cuddling and a good meal were concerned. Sometimes, when he was really tired, or high, or sad, or a combination of all three, he'd ask you to cuddle. You'd always settle on stroking his hair instead, watching his face as his jaw relaxed and sleep finally pulled at his features before sneaking away. Today, you had nowhere else to be so, you think, you may as well stay to cuddle.

"Yeah, Dee. We can cuddle."

You talk over room service - fancy toasted sandwiches and warm chocolate chip cookies that weren't on the menu, but Dieter had the audacity to ask for anyway. When you shower, he waits outside the door for you, restlessly stepping from foot to foot. You wait for him too, convincing him to leave the door open a little just in case, and he does so without question. A few minutes later he comes out, flushed red from the heat of the water and totally naked. You don't bat an eye.

Your skin still feels damp when you're climbing into bed, grateful to be on top of it and grit free now rather than under it. Dieter soon follows, crawling naked on all fours before tucking his legs under the sheets beside you.

You talk for a little longer, listening as Dieter sounds more and more slurred with sleep, before flicking the light off. He fidgets, shuffling closer to you until his arm wraps around your chest, resting his hand softly on your shoulder, his nose nuzzling into your neck on the pillow you now share. It's not comfortable, not for you, but the contented sounds coming from Dieter and the way his face twitches against your bare skin tells you he's holding back tears, that he needs this. You can be uncomfortable for one night, you think, just before he hooks his leg over yours, well and truly pinning you to the bed.

"Dee?"

"Yeah?"

"Your cock is on my leg."

"I know."

"Okay, well... G'night Dee."

"Night," he says straight into your ear, smacking his lips as he snuggles into your side, soft cock squished against your leg. And when, somehow, sleep ignores your discomfort and pulls you under barely a few minutes later, you swear you can feel Dieter press his lips to the bare skin of your neck.