Brainrotclubserverchallenge - Tumblr Posts

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