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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 11 months

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Who Taught You How to Love Like That? - Chapter Three

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x female character (third person) Warnings: Sugar daddy/sugar baby dynamics. Smut. Oral (f receiving). Mild angst. Word count: ~3.1k Series masterlist

Chapter summary: The dinner date happens, and much more besides that.

Author's note: No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

She hasn’t been able to shake the memory of Aemond’s lips since they kissed on Wednesday evening. He’d dropped her home shortly afterwards, letting her know he’d pick her up at 7pm on Friday. Since then her tummy has fluttered every time he crosses her mind. If she closes her eyes she can almost taste the red wine and cigarettes on the plushness of his lips as they’d pressed eagerly against her own.

She knows it is foolish to wish for something more, to expect their arrangement to be something other than transactional, but that kiss had felt like he meant it, so she allows herself a tiny slither of hope to believe there is the possibility for a genuine connection to blossom between them.

Relieved when her last minute annual leave request for Friday is approved, she gets to work on making sure she looks her best. She intends to spend the day face masking, exfoliating and shaving until she is the very picture of perfection for her dinner date.

She’s startled by the buzzer to the flat, rushing to the door to answer the intercom. She lets the delivery driver up, assuming it’s something Mysaria has ordered, but balks when three parcels are handed to her, each of them with her name on.

She opens the first, it contains a black floor length Ralph Lauren off the shoulder gown with a thigh high slit. She holds it against herself in front of the mirror, she knows Aemond is generous to her, but she is still awestruck by the sheer extent of how much he is prepared to spoil her.

The second package is a pair of Jimmy Choo black suede open toe platform sandals with a stiletto heel and delicate ankle strap. She turns the shoes over in her hand, marveling at them, but also wondering how on earth she’ll ever manage to walk in them.

Her phone vibrates and she’s unable to keep the Cheshire cat-like grin from her face as she sees it’s from Aemond.

I saw the tracking information for my gifts update to state they had been delivered. Do you like them?

She fires off a quick response.

I love them :) Thank you xoxo

It’s only after she’s set her phone back down that she remembers there’s a third package, hidden among the wrappings of the first two she’d opened. Her eyes widen as she unwraps it. Agent Provocateur. Aemond has sent her lingerie.

Her palms grow sweaty as her heart races and her thoughts travel faster than her mind has the capacity to keep up with. This clearly meant he anticipated something happening between them this evening. What man sends a woman underwear if he doesn’t expect to see her in it? She isn’t experienced at all. What if he’s disappointed? What if he asked for a refund? Fuck, can sugar daddies even ask that of their sugar babies?

She is broken out of her mild panic when Mysaria comes home. “You in?” She calls out as she closes the front door behind her.

“In here.” She shouts back from her room.

She hears her flatmate toe off her shoes and then pad towards her. She leans against the doorframe, eyeing the packaging and clothes that lay scattered on the carpet and lets out a low whistle.

“Daddy been spoiling you? Lucky girl!” Mysaria says with a grin, which disappears when she sees her worried expression. “What’s the matter?”

She holds up the Agent Provocateur lingerie box by means of response and Mysaria nods in understanding.

“Nothing needs to happen until you feel ready. Why not just try it on and see how you feel?”

She sucks in a steadying breath, attempting to calm herself. There was no harm in trying it on.

It turns out to be a playsuit of sorts. An underwired, padded quarter cup bra with a basque constructed using satin covered black boning and satin straps to create a cage-like effect, complete with suspender straps with gold-toned sliders, with subtle, matching black satin bows. Inside the box is also a flimsy black lace thong and black silk stockings.

“The man’s definitely got taste.” Mysaria says, helping her into it.

They’ve had to boot up her laptop and look up the lingerie on the Agent Provocateur website in order to figure out the intricate series of straps and clasps, and she can’t help but notice the eye watering price that’s listed alongside it online. Fuck. There was no way Aemond wasn’t expecting to sleep with her.

She stands in front of her full-length mirror and runs her hands over her body, looking at the way her breasts sit within the cups of the bra and how the straps of the basque dip and flare with the natural curve of her waist and hips.

“It looks different on the model on the website.” She says nervously, chewing her lip. “What if Aemond doesn’t like it?”

Mysaria snorts derisively. “Girl, please, that model has been airbrushed to shit. You are real and you look hot as fuck. Daddy’s gonna lose his mind when he sees you in that.”

“You really think so?” She asks, turning slightly, still studying herself in the mirror.

Mysaria gives her a playful swat on the backside. “Oh, I know so. Now let’s finish getting you ready.”

Two hours later, her hair and make-up have been perfected by her flatmate, and she stands wearing the dress and shoes that Aemond had gifted her - she has done several practice laps of the living room in the heels, to ensure she doesn’t fall over - the lingerie is snug to her body underneath.

Her nerves disappear the moment Aemond steps out of the car to greet her. His long silver-blonde hair is loose. She has never seen it all down at once, it falls thick and lustrous, well past his shoulders. Yet another well-tailored black suit hugs the broadness of his shoulders and the length of his long legs.

Any uncertainty as to how she ought to say hello dissipates as he cups her jaw and presses a soft kiss to her lips.

“Hi.” He murmurs, keeping her close. “You look beautiful.”

“Hi yourself.” She whispers back. “You don’t look so bad either.”

He helps her into the passenger seat and the drive is spent in comfortable silence, though this time his hand lays a possessive hold on her knee whenever he’s not shifting gears. It leaves tingles across her skin in its wake and the gesture makes her feel lightheaded.

They pull up outside a restaurant called SOLA and Aemond takes her hand as he opens the car door for her.

“I took the liberty of choosing this place because it has a Michelin star. Never actually tried it myself.” He tells her as they walk in.

The dining room is small and intimate, elegantly decorated with an abundance of leafy green plants and sculptural lighting, but she is struck by the distinct lack of other diners.

“Why is no one else here?” She whispers to him as they’re ushered towards their table.

He smirks, watching her take in her surroundings with wide eyes once they are seated, his one seeing eye studies her closely. “I hired the place just for us for tonight. Wanted you all to myself.”

She giggles at that. Such a show off. She expects the food to be equally as flashy, a display of wealth for the sake of it. However, Aemond has ordered ahead of time for the both of them, with choices that suggest a more refined palate that goes beyond merely wanting to splash his cash.

They dine on Kindai bluefin tuna and oysters, paired with crisp white wine and the conversation flows as effortlessly as the wine.

She finds out that there isn’t much in the country from a business standpoint that the Targaryens and Hightowers don’t have a hand in. His father had worked to build an empire alongside his partners Otto and Daemon, prior to his death, and much of it has been left for his children to take care of now that he’s passed. Aemond oversees most of the legal aspects of the business, which is unsurprising to her considering how sharp his mind is.

He listens intently as she tells him more about her history degree and love of fine art. It saddens her when he tells her that originally he’d wanted to study history and philosophy, but had had to give that up to pursue a career in law when his family’s expectations were laid out to him.

It’s obvious there is an abundance of complexities and drama surrounding his family, but she knows better than to attempt to unpick all of that now, especially when the evening is going so well.

Her skin feels heated every time he reaches across the table to gently stroke the back of her hand with his thumb. His eye contact is intense and with every moment that passes she finds any apprehension she had about sleeping with him simply fading away. She wants him.

“Dessert?” He asks, as the meal draws to a close.

She shakes her head with a slight smile. “Couldn’t eat another bite.”

“A pity.” He says, taking her hand and tugging her from her seat towards him. “I’m still absolutely ravenous.”

“For what- oh!” She gasps as he sits her on the edge of the table in front of him, lifting the skirt of her dress to the side by its thigh slit.

He hums in approval as his eye roves over the bottom half of her lingerie. She feels like there isn’t enough air in the room, her heart hammers wildly against her ribcage as his hands run up and down her legs. His thumbs stroke the creases where her thighs meet her pelvis as he drinks her in.

“W-what if one of the waiters sees?” She asks nervously, squirming against the heat that pools between her legs.

“Well, I suppose we’d better put on a good show for them.” He tells her with a raise of his eyebrow.

He hooks two fingers into the lace of her thong, pulling it to one side before he leans forward, groaning appreciatively as the flat of his tongue strokes gently through her folds.

A soft moan escapes her. No one has ever taken the time or care to do this to her before, she is unsure of what she’s supposed to do in this situation, but the thought leaves her mind entirely as Aemond begins to flick his tongue against her bud before suckling it harshly. She leans back on her elbows as he devours her with his lips and tongue, doing her best to stifle her noises by biting her lip, her chest heaving with the effort to stay quiet.

Her hands fly to his head, burying themselves in his hair as she bucks against his face when he speeds up his movements. Sounds of enjoyment rumble in his chest, sending shockwaves all the way through her body, causing a telltale tightness to rapidly build within her lower belly.

She finally falls apart, shuddering atop the table with a strangled cry when uses the tip of his tongue to draw tight circles against the most sensitive part of her. He pulls away, his face shining with her slick as he lifts her underwear back into place. He grins, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“You okay?” He asks.

She nods, feeling dazed. “Yeah…just…I need a minute.”

Aemond chuckles, smoothing her dress back into place. “Understandable.”

“That was…wow.” Is all she’s able to say once she feels lucid enough.

Aemond stands, helping her from the table. “The bill was taken care of in advance. Let’s head back to my place. I want to be somewhere where you don’t have to stifle those pretty noises you make.”

His hand sits higher on her thigh on the drive back. A mixture of nervousness and excitement has her pulse thrumming from thoughts of what he’ll do to her, of what he’s just done to her. Nobody had ever gone down on her before, but now Aemond has, and on top of a fucking restaurant table of all places.

Aemond lives in the penthouse of a modernised high rise. It’s minimalist. All of the fittings and furnishings are a combination of matte black and shiny silver chrome. It’s clean almost to the point of feeling sterile. It’s obvious he doesn’t spend a lot of time here.

She grins when she sees the elderly doberman raise her head from her bed as they walk through to the living room.

“You must be Vhagar.” She coos softly, kneeling and offering a hand for her to sniff. She scratches gently around the dog’s ears, giggling at the way she narrows her eyes in satisfaction, lifting her salt and pepper snout towards the ceiling.

“She’s not normally fond of strangers.” Aemond muses, as he kneels beside her, ruffling Vhagar’s head.

“The trick is to approach from their level and offer your hand before you try to touch.” She tells him. “Most animals that don’t like people just haven’t been approached by the right ones.”

He stares at her for a few moments, a small smile upon his lips, before he finally breaks the silence.

“Can I get you anything?” He asks, standing and walking towards the kitchen.

“I’m good, thanks.” She follows him and they hover by the kitchen island, simply looking at each other before he surges forward to kiss her.

The force of it feels like it knocks all the air from her lungs, it’s hungry and possessive and she returns it with equal enthusiasm, whimpering as her tongue meets his. He dominates the movement, his hand cupping the back of her head as he backs her into the bedroom.

She topples back onto the bed at his soft but insistent shove. Black sheets of a no doubt ridiculously high thread count feel like buttery silk around her as Aemond kneels before her to tug off her dress.

“Fuck.” He mutters as she lays before him in the lingerie he’d bought for her. “Yeah, we’ll be leaving this on. And these.” He grips the heel of her shoe, as he places a kiss to the inside of her ankle, before letting it drop again.

She watches, transfixed as he sheds his own clothing. Aemond is a work of art. His chest and abs subtly toned, he is all lithe, corded muscle, and she clenches at the sight of him. He is already hard when he strips all the way off, and nerves nibble away at her as she looks at the sheer size of him. Long and thick, lightly veined with a blush pink tip, her mouth waters slightly at the sight, yet there is a part of her that worries it might hurt. She had only ever slept with her ex before, and despite her inexperience she knew enough to know he wasn’t well endowed, nothing compared to this.

Aemond crawls over the top of her, trailing hot, open mouthed kisses to her neck and collarbones that make her writhe beneath him, each one sending warm ripples of arousal through her.

His fingers dip between her legs, pushing past her thong to stroke at her. “Shit,” He hisses. “Still so wet for me, I don’t even have to prepare you.”

He takes a condom from the nightstand, tearing it open and rolling it over the length of him before repositioning himself between her legs.

They both suck in a sharp breath as he begins to push inside, the stretch of him against her sensitive walls is both too much and not enough all at the same time.

“So fucking tight.” He grits outs, his grip on her hips vice like as he bottoms out.

He lays like that, forehead rested against hers as they both adjust, only daring to move his hips once she relaxes.

His strokes are smooth, even and precise, tapping a spot inside of her with every thrust that has her clutching his shoulders and moaning his name.

“Feels so good.” She mewls desperately as his hips piston against her own.

“Oh she likes that.” He hisses, almost mockingly, placing one of her legs over his shoulder and pounding harder into her.

Her eyes roll back at the sensation, her hands grip frantically at Aemond’s biceps and then the bedsheets beside her as he rubs at her clit with his thumb in tandem with each of his thrusts.

“You gonna cum again for me, pretty girl?” He asks huskily. “I can feel you squeezing me.”

“Fuck!” Is all she’s able to cry out in response as she feels herself tighten and spasm around him, her back arching off of the bed with the force of the pleasure that washes over her.

Her own release triggers Aemond’s and he snarls, holding her tight against his chest as he stills and spills into the condom.

He pulls out, depositing it into the wastebin and pulls her into his arms.

She feels utterly spent, boneless and dazed in the wake of what she’s just experienced, but Aemond isn’t prepared to let her doze off just yet.

He moves down the bed, unbuckling each of her shoes and removes them. He ushers her to the bathroom with a firm tap to her thigh. Once she’s finished and settled back into bed with a glass of water, he begins to slowly unclasp each of the straps of her body suit, softly rubbing and kissing each of the indentations made by the bones of it as it falls away from her body.

“You’re gorgeous.” He whispers to her, stroking her hair as she drifts off to sleep.

She awakens the next morning, surprised at how refreshed she feels considering the events of the previous evening. She smiles to herself as she snuggles into the luxurious feeling plushness of the bed, thoughts of how good Aemond had made her feel playing on a loop in her mind. She is startled slightly when she rolls over to find his spot empty.

A note has been left on the bedside table.

Sorry, had to run. Have transferred you money for cab fare - A.

She sighs. She hadn’t expected breakfast in bed, but she can’t deny the sinking feeling in her stomach at the fact he hadn’t bothered to stick around. Rummaging through her things that lay scattered on the floor, she retrieves her phone to look at the time when she sees the banking app notification.

£5,000 from A. Targaryen. Her heart twists painfully in her chest. That wasn’t cab fare, it was payment for last night.

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hmcb96 · 1 year

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6 Bottomless Shoes for TF

Surprise! A gift from me, for all the teen top-only dresses floating about! I’m not sure if these have been converted for TF before, but oh well. Here they are!

You can choose whether to download them all at once, or pick what you like with the individual downloads. Details and download links under the cut:

[DOWNLOAD ALL] ____________________

Adidas - [DOWNLOAD] by @darte77, converted by @imaginaryboutique Colours: 6 Polycount: 8250 Fat morph included!

Gloria Wedges - [DOWNLOAD] by @dallasgirl79, converted by @imaginaryboutique Colours: 10 Polycount: 8902 Fat morph included!

dOrsay Pumps - [DOWNLOAD] by @dallasgirl79, converted by @imaginaryboutique Colours: 16 Polycount: 6401 Fat morph included!

Low Boots - [DOWNLOAD] by @nativesims4, converted by @nikaonishko Colours: 6 Polycount: 15,810 (HIGH POLY) Fat morph included!

Orsay Flats - [DOWNLOAD] Not sure on the exact credits for these. Colours: 15 Polycount: 7221 Fat morph included! T-Strap Sandals - [DOWNLOAD] by @elliesimple, converted by @applewatersugar Colours: 6 Polycount: 8312 Fat morph included!

#sims 2 #sims 2 custom content #sims 2 cc #sims 2 download #sims 2 shoes #sims 2 clothes #tf clothes #ts2 #ts2cc

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bebemoon · 1 day

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which shoes do you think the sailor scouts would wear if they actually existed?

sailor moon | pretty sure she'd wear any/all of the sneakers from the vans x sandy liang collaboration, cutesy ballet flats in general, and also these mikiosakabe x pink house "jewelry" mohair trainers

{ also including the magical girl footwear, the gcds "bunny" boots }

{ bonus: neo-queen serenity would wear the melissa x y/project "court" point mules in white }

sailor mercury | unif "seph" black satin mary janes

sailor venus | versace "gianni ribbon" low satin mules in pink

sailor jupiter | prada wave leather heel sandals from the "fairy collection" (s/s 2oo8), fendi tan suede floral embroidered boots (c. 199o's)

sailor mars | prada "cloudburst thunder" low trainers in red and trippen "turbo f" asymmetrical sandals in black

sailor neptune | prada black leather mary janes (c. 199o's), christian lacroix heeled point mules in blue and gold (c. 2ooo's)

sailor uranus | either a nice pair of lemon pepper steppers or some kind of slick suede bootie. prada embellished leather lace-up derby loafer, marsell "gessetto" ankle-high suede boots in black

sailor saturn | maison martin margiela tall tabi boots w/ round heel (a/w 2oo3), (and the more tame option) unif 90's inspired "penny" platform oxford shoe in black

sailor pluto | masha popova wheelspin boots (a/w 2o23), giuseppe zanotti metal printed t-strap sandal

chibiusa | loveshackfancy x shelby mid ankle boot and city boot "cheek & bone" heart boot in pink

tuxedo mask | loewe black leather rose heel sandal

#sailor moon #sm #footwear #ask #queue

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lokisgoodgirl · 1 year

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Holy Orders [Avenger!Loki x Fem.Reader]

Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection A Link to my (new) Masterlist is HERE Summary: (17) Loki is working undercover as a priest in Rome. Ecumenical eroticism ensues. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Heresy. Smuttish. Latin. Priest!Loki. Language. (w/c 3.6k)

The door of your holiday apartment slammed behind you, cursing as you stumbled down a tiny step directly onto the cobbled street. It had been three weeks since the travesty of the Renaissance Faire.

After three days, you had accepted that Loki’s attention denial was not a phase. After five, the absence of his irritating teasing had you feeling an unusually bitter disappointment.

After seven, when he had left for Rome without even a courtesy farewell, you had woken in the night wondering the unthinkable. What if Thor was right?

And after twelve, you had begrudgingly accepted that you loved him.

There was a morning buzz in the air, jostling bicycles ringing lightly as the slap of your sandals sounded lightly on the aged stone beneath your feet. You hurried across the street, trying not to be run over by a moped speeding past, blowing up the back of your sundress. Jesus Christ, you thought; heart pounding before your lips curled in a secret smile. Father Laufeyson wouldn’t like that kind of talk, you laughed to yourself as you rounded the corner and Piazza Navona came into view.

For two weeks, Loki had been working undercover in a small church tucked out of the main bustle of Rome. His home had been the same ancient streets you now walked. And you wondered as you passed the marbled carvings of roman gods hanging against the circular fountains, if he had ever thought about you.

Of course not, he’s been busy, you chided yourself, hoisting the bag strap on your shoulder. When Rogers had assigned him this mission, apparently the laughs of the team could be heard two floors below. But as it turned out, Loki could be as convincing as a priest as he could be as a heartless arsehole. Now that his information gathering was complete, you had been sent to collect the evidence. You volunteered, idiot. A seamless pass-over. In and out, Rogers had said. Fuck, should someone have told him it was me that was coming? What if he’s mad?

You turned another corner, skilfully avoiding a group of tourists buried in a map. And what if he’s not? you thought; a thrill of wild anticipation blossoming in your belly.

“The Church of Santa Maria dell'Anima…” you murmured absent-mindedly, looking up at the flat exterior of the sandy coloured stone building.

As far as Roman churches went, it wasn’t a big draw - favoured more by the faithful local residents than photo-happy tourists. Perfect for a Hydra Vatican infiltration ring, you thought, pursing your lips as the eager congregation filed past you up the short flight of steps to the entrance. Swirling a white shawl around your shoulders, you took a deep breath of heavy, heated air.

Morning mass was about to begin.

You slipped inside the ancient wooden doors, a waft of stale coolness tingling over your skin. The breath seemed to evaporate from your lungs as your gaze drew up, eyes scanning over the high marble pillars and bright frescos painted floor to ceiling. Warm orange and gold infused the air, the sting of spiced incense filling your nostrils. The low hum of foreign conversation echoed around the church from people filing between the wooden pews, facing the altar. And there he was.

Loki Laufeyson stood with a long wooden taper clasped gently between his fingers, re-lighting candles by the far side of the carved stone nave. Strands of waxy hair fell around his cheekbones, illuminated by a hundred flickering flames resting in the metal display.

A thick green vestment embroidered with gold hung over his body down to his calves, making him look even taller than he usually did. Pure white shirt sleeves billowed around his arms, swaying gently as he continued his intricate work unphased.

He looked deep in thought, a calm serenity bathing his sharp profile as he blew out the taper and watched the smoke waft aimlessly through speckles of swirling dust. Loki clasped his hands in front of him, flattening the luxurious fabric of his vestment against the washboard stomach you knew lay beneath.

He turned, bowing lightly towards the crucifix hanging above the altar before ascending the several low steps.

Fuuuuck, you thought; pussy suddenly throbbing. Your hand fumbled to the strap of your bag, lowering it and sliding subtly into the back row. A cold shock of wood pressed against the back of your bare knees, making you wince. When did I get so wet, you frowned; knowing exactly when, as Loki turned towards the congregation.

A bell chimed, summoning another priest from the side of the church. You drew the shawl tighter around your chest, feeling your heart thunder against the clench of your fist. A woman slid in beside you, tucking her hair nervously behind her ears before making a sign of the cross.

“Nel nome del Padre, del Figlio e dello Spirito Santo, Amen.” she murmured, running her wide eyes up and down the ridiculously handsome figure opening the large bible, poised behind the altar. You suddenly wondered if morning mass had always been this popular.

The low tinkle of bells echoed again as the service began. The crowd rose, fifty or so of the faithful bowing their heads as the undercover Avenger took centre stage.

He is loving this, you thought incredulously, seeing his arms rise at his sides. The drape of green and gold vestments shimmered in the light, a warm glow radiating upwards to his pale face bathed in morning bronze from the stained glass. The crowd before you sat down obediently on the lowering of his palms. You fumbled backwards, catching yourself on the edge of the long bench.

Loki’s stare ran over the congregation, covertly scanning every face like only his keen gaze could. It stopped on you, making your breath hitch. You thought you saw the tug of a smirk at the side of his lips, a glint in his eye. Or maybe it was the light.

The next twenty minutes passed in a religiously erotic blur, swathes of ceremonial chants in Italian at Loki’s command making your thighs squeeze together. Heresy, you thought; a shudder rolling down your spine as the god leant forward to kiss the gospel. I’d be burnt in the old days.

The second priest had blessedly taken over to give the sermon, the broken words you could understand not even registering as you watched Loki listen rapturously to the side in feigned interest. He knows I’m watching him, you scowled; realising that every casual smooth of his stomach, every clench of his perfect jaw was for you.

How you wanted to storm up the marbled aisle, grab his stupid fancy poncho in a fist and kiss him violently against the golden tabernacle. Might blow his cover, though; you thought, immediately thinking of what else you could blow as he gripped onto the tall candlesticks by the altar.

The vivid fantasy was broken as the congregation shuffled to a stand. The woman beside you adjusted her cleavage, shaking her hair back. Loki raised his hand. “Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum.” he said, the practised words of prayer a chant - that velvet voice sinking through the heavy air like double cream. Even speaking in Latin, it was irresistible.

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be your name

Your hips shuddered back against the wooden pew, bare skin of your thighs dragging against the grain. You recognised the tempo. How could you not.

“Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra.” Loki spoke slowly, eye-fucking you menacingly from the top of the raised steps behind the lecturn. His lips hovered on ‘tuum’, a fizz of unstoppable need rising in your belly as you recalled its place in the prayer.

Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on Earth, as it is in heaven.

Dozens of voices chimed around you, their Italian lilt making the dead language sing. But it was only his earthen tones you heard. Only him.

It had always, only been him.

“Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut, et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris” he rumbled in baritone, tilting his head.

Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, As we forgive those who trespass against us

You raised your gaze to meet his, knowing it would be waiting as he stood with his large hands encasing the sides of the lectern by the altar. His eyes narrowed briefly, the subtle slant of his brows betraying his utter bemusement at your presence.

“Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo.” he growled, the timbre of his voice making the woman beside you straighten. You could see her fingertips digging into the soft flesh between her knuckles, hands clasped in prayer.

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

How appropriate, you mused. You watched as Loki slid the bible from its place, holding it briefly aloft and placing a kiss against the leather before lowering it to his crotch in a gentle hold.

“Amen.” he murmured, solemnly; lowering his chin.

“Amen.” came the ringing response. “Amen.” you echoed slowly, squinting thoughtfully as Loki turned and sat with a smirk.

You sat back down, questioning everything. Did you think that when he saw you it would have been any different from how it ever was? That he would somehow wordlessly communicate that he was pleased to see you? That he had missed you? That he loves me too, you scoffed painfully; flinching as the organ sprang to life.

The communion procession began with those at the front of the church, each person pausing in front of the priest to receive god’s bounty. Loki and his counterpart held the small, circular host aloft, their lips moving before placing it on the recipients tongue. Kinky, you thought; before realising the woman to your right had risen and joined the slow moving queue. Fuck.

You shuffled behind her, rolling your eyes as she fiddled nervously with her hair, smoothing and re-smoothing the same strands. Your gaze wandered to the ornate figure of Christ hanging on the cross above the altar, his limp form getting closer and closer. Don’t look at me like that, you huffed to the disappointed looking Jesus; immediately switching focus to the floor beneath your feet.

“Corpo di Cristo…” a dark voice murmured. It was tinged with weighty intentions, thick memories of feral moans of unrestrained passion in your ear flooding your mind as you fluttered your lashes upwards. Loki’s eyes betrayed none of your history, his stare glazed; the twitch of one dark eyebrow the only indicator that he ever knew you at all.

“Amen.” you whispered hoarsely, parting your lips.

He placed the host gently on your outstretched tongue. Against your better judgement, you felt your lids flicker shut, the soft graze of his fingertip smoothing against wet muscle that longed for his touch.

It lingered, the melt of the wafer beginning to slide down your throat. His wide fingertip pulled imperceptibly at your bottom lip on its withdrawal, making your eyes shoot open. Loki’s brows raised, a light furrow reminding you that there was an entire congregation at your back. You gave a small nod towards him, scurrying around the front pews and back to your seat.

You could feel the burning heat in your cheeks for the rest of the mass, ten minutes feeling like an endless vat of time. The final blessing was, in reality, swift. A few chimes, swings of incense and murmurs of reverent praise and it was done.

Loki disappeared in procession with the other priest behind a door at the back of the church in a sway of luxurious, billowing green. The stillness of the holy space washed over you as attendees left in their own time. You checked your watch. Forty-five minutes. Had that been all?

The clap of your sandals against the marble floor echoed as you walked slowly around the walls, drawn to the beauty of the figures drawn by those long dead. You traced your fingers over cracks in the face of a rather grim looking Virgin Mary. “I know how you feel…” you whispered to no-one, feeling the plaster catch beneath delicate skin.

“I very much do not think you know how she feels.”

Your hand paused on the fresco, falling to your side as you turned. Loki stood resplendent before you, the folds of his holy garment making him look more achingly irresistible than he ever had before. You felt a frown crease your forehead, pursing your lips to stop a moan. It was worse up close.

Loki leant forward, casting a conspiratorial glance towards a small group of locals loitering by the door. “-due to the fact that for one thing, she is a virgin, while you...Agent...” he smirked. Your frown deepened.

“Keep your voice down.” you hushed, glancing over your shoulder. Satisfied, you looked back to Loki, his obsidian hair curled behind delicate ears revealing the white flash of his clerical collar. The bone structure you knew so well against the curves of your body sang in the mid-morning light through the windows, every iridescent inch of his skin glowing with tantalising radiance.

“I see you still managed to wear green.” you scoffed under your breath, making the priest chuckle lightly. “It’s Ordinary Time in the church calendar, Agent. Did you not read the briefing documents? It is the standard colour for the season” he drawled quietly, giving a reverent nod to his fellow priest heading for the door and the beckon of Rome beyond.

“They really think you’re one of them?” you said, turning towards a row of candles flickering to the side. Each one represented someone loved and lost, a prayer. A hope.

“Of course." he scoffed. "Father John Lockhart on pilgrimage from England. Why would they suspect?”

You ran your eyes down the silk embroidered vestment which hid his intensely muscular body. Just. The bulge of his biceps shifted beneath the billowing sleeves making your gaze hover. “Priests aren’t usually so…”

“Yes?” he goaded, raising an eyebrow in amusement. You dropped a coin in the basket, taking a candle and fingering the wick. “You don’t seem like the type, that’s all. I’m surprised you didn’t shapeshift.”

Loki chuckled. “My dear, you clearly don’t know Catholicism. A web of mysteries and contradictions which go far beyond their lore-bound texts...” he said, shifting so you stood with biceps pressing against each other.

“Are you considering a change of vocation then?” you quipped, playing with the wick between your fingers. He faced the wall of candles, but you could feel the stare of his eyes roaming the sliver of skin beneath the parted shawl. “Not quite.” he muttered absent-mindedly. “The reverence and theatrics are appealing I grant you, but there is far too much celibacy for my liking.”

The ghost of his breath skated across your collarbone, the unbearably small distance between you making every nerve in your body vibrate with desire.

“What are you praying for, mio figlio?” he murmured innocently under his breath as the wick of your candle caught flame from another. My child, you thought with a grimace, recognising the taboo of unmistakeable arousal deep in your pussy.

You watched the tear-dropped fire settle from its first rage, flickering gently as it came to terms with its place in the world. Setting it down amongst the others, you turned your chin to look up at him. The blues of Loki’s irises swam with green in the shadowed alcove, the dance of the candlelight illuminating him like a bygone Saint.

“Salvation.” you whispered quietly, voice catching.

Without knowing why, you bowed your head. The god’s fingers flew gently beneath your chin, tilting it upwards once more. His eyes were wide, lips parted as he inhaled softly. “Darling, I-”

“Padre?” a voice muttered tentatively behind you.

You and Loki both turned, seeing the fidgeting figure of the woman who had been your unknowing lust-buddy all through the service.

“Sì, figlia mia?” Loki replied gently, his hands disappearing back into the draped sleeves of his robes as he clasped them together. You rolled your eyes, pivoting back towards the wall of tealit flames. The thunder of your heart was a solid beat in your ears, pounding. His smooth voice rumbled in Italian, the sweet ministrations of his undercover persona clearly honed over the past two weeks. “Grazie Padre…” you heard the woman say, a tremble in her voice; before quick footsteps echoed away from you.

Loki chuckled, resuming his position by your side. “Impure thoughts about an inappropriate figure, apparently.” he whispered, barely contained glee bursting from the confines of propriety. “Wishes to make a confession to me personally at the next session. Imagine that. I wonder who it could be.”

“You are impossible." you sighed, a wave of jealousy roaring in your belly. "I bet you’ve been very popular here in that regard.” you said through gritted teeth, trying to focus on the wavering light of your candle. Salvation.

“Always so quick to judge.” he chuckled, drawing himself stoically upwards. “My dear, I am a priest.” he said, turning to face you. His nose was inches from your forehead, the empty church feeling stifling as the air settled around you both. “I have been a beacon of chastity...and contrary to popular belief, I do take my assignments seriously.”

Slowly, you met his gaze – the sincerity in his face, unmistakeable. “I didn’t think you took anything seriously, Father.” you said, mockingly; unable to stop yourself as you watched his eyes narrow at the words.

“Don’t you mean Daddy, Agent?” he smouldered, “Or am I nothing but a memory to you now with my brief absence?”

In two quick steps from his impossibly long legs, your back was flush against the nearest wall. The curve of the low archway hung dangerously close to Loki’s full height as he loomed above you. His forearm pressed to the marble cornicing above your head, trapping you like a lamb for slaughter.

A long sleeve of forest green shielded you from the gaze of a dozen judgemental statues, the collar around his neck straining against the weight of a hard vein that bulged ominously. “Why must you always think the worst of me?” he growled, the primal sound rumbling deep in his throat hoarse and wild. Familiar burning lust bubbled uncontrollably to the surface in those beautifully dangerous eyes as his chest heaved, daring you to respond.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you said, flustered as the shawl fell around your shoulders to the floor. Loki stepped closer, fingertips of the hand not affixed above your head squeezing into the flesh of your bare bicep.

“I think you know very well.” he spat, all traces of serenity gone as he blazed beneath a façade of restraint. “Why are you here? To taunt me? To parade yourself in front of me while you tease me with your endless games? Anyone else could have taken your place. Anyone.”

Your frown deepened, a deep ache blossoming in your belly as you tasted the rage on his every word. You shouldn’t have come.

“-Or am I wrong? Have you come to confess to me, darling?” he hummed goadingly, the feeling of his tips running down your aching skin making your shiver.

Sarcasm bit through his words, slicing through the intimacy of the moment. “And what better place? What better persona? Are you ready to admit your undying love for me and put this charade to an end? Or have your attentions wandered...”

A staggered breath surged in your throat as his hand traced down your cleavage, feeling your resistance falter. You could feel the swell of his hard erection through the drape of holy garb, the violence of his lust boiling beneath the shroud of theatrical consecration. The words were on the tip of your tongue- But then the game will be over for him. He will have won, you thought with a chill; And what then?

Loki’s brow furrowed, a jolt of his jaw taking you by surprise – like shaking off a fly. Whatever was in your head, he clearly didn’t want to hear it.

“And what about you…?” you managed to quiver through shaky breaths, your hands sliding tentatively over his shoulders. Loki tilted his head, confusion etched across his brow. In a brief second, you saw his bravado falter, features softening as he processed the possible meanings of your request. His tongue darted out, licking quickly over his cupid’s bow before biting his lip.

He shook his head, a solitary gasp of forced laughter gusting against your parted lips.

“I have just recalled I seem to owe you a certain...something, do I not?” he said casually, skating over his previous barbs as he tried to change the subject. You shuffled against the wall, attempting to pull him closer to you and failing. “More than one, actually.” you muttered, feeling the wet slick between your thighs grow hot. It was embarrassing how much you needed him. Above everything else, it was him.

“More than one?” Loki purred disapprovingly, tsk’ing as he raised an eyebrow. His hips dragged up your pelvis, every forbidden inch of his solid cock making you mad with need. You began to pant, as he thrust once against your torso. Creases had formed at the corner of his eyes; his outburst it seemed...forgotten.

He released the forearm from the wall above your head, a theatrical flourish of his arm making the heavy metal bolt across the doors of the church slam shut with an almighty clang.

“Here?” you gasped, feeling the embroidery of his sacred vestment scratch against your cleavage as he pressed his muscular torso against you. “But what about...you know.” You tilted your chin upwards towards the crucifix in explanation, the majesty of the surroundings somehow making you forget to whom you were pinned against.

“Don’t worry about Him, Agent…” Loki whispered, before his lips wrapped around your earlobe, sucking gently. “Mine are the only Holy Orders you shall be following today. Mine, the only sacrament your body desperately needs.” His dirty whispers hummed against your skin, falling deeper into waves of sin with each dark syllable. "Mine." he rasped quietly, the word melting against your breathy moans unheard, before fastening his lips to yours in a desperate kiss.

Continued in Holy Orders: Mercy Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection

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marryrd · 6 months

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mavshack1205 · 9 months

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jius-sims · 1 year

Photo

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wannab-urs · 5 months

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Title: Scotty Doesn't Know

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Summary: Scotty doesn't know you're hooking up with Dieter

Tags: songfic, smut, infidelity, dieter is a loser, scotty doesn't really deserve this he's just annoying, crack taken seriously, porn with the barest of plots, barely edited. WC: 2.8k

A/N: the song came on and I thought it would make a funny dieter fic? I'm shadowbanned and marked explicit rn, so lemme earn it with this gratuitous smut fic.

Dieter Bravo Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

Scotty doesn't know that [Reader] and me

Do it in my van every Sunday

She tells him she's in church but she doesn't go

Still she's on her knees and Scotty doesn't know

–

The parkin' lot, why not?

It's so cool when you're on top

Dieter: Here 8=D

You slip out of the church, the preacher just getting started, and head to the back of the parking lot. Dieter’s beat up old VW bus, affectionately called “The Van,” is nestled between two big pickup trucks. Even if Scotty drives by the church, there’s no way he’ll see that Dee is here.

You pull open the side door, cringing at the loud rattle. Dieter is completely naked, laid out in a suggestive pose and smirking at you.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Dieter.”

“But I’m cute. Get in here!”

You clamber into the van and roll the door shut behind you before sitting on the old beat up mattress beside Dee. He plucks at the thin straps of your sundress.

“I like this, baby. It’s pretty. Take it off.”

You roll your eyes at him but strip your dress off anyway. You ditch your panties while you’re at it and kick both your sandals into the very back of the van, before sitting back down on your knees beside Dieter. He pulls you in for a sloppy kiss with way too much tongue, and you shriek and slap his chest.

“Quiet! You wouldn’t want Scotty to find out…” he waggles his eyebrows at you.

You push him so that he falls flat on his back and straddle him. He slips his hand between your legs, dragging his thick fingers through your slick and then pushing one inside to the knuckle. The chunky ring on his middle finger digs into your labia.

“Ow Dieter, your fu- fucking ring is stabbing me.”

“I’m not taking it off.” Dieter pumps his finger into you just to emphasize his point and you whimper.

“I actually can’t stand you. It’s gonna bruise,” you whine.

“Not like Scotty goes down on you enough to ever see it.”

You roll your eyes at him, but he has a point. You’re the only one who will know, and you’re not necessarily opposed to having Dieter’s mark on you as long as Scotty won’t find out. Instead of answering him, you lean forward and kiss him. Dieter adds his middle finger, curling his fingertips against your walls and fuck it feels good.

You suck Dieter’s bottom lip into your mouth and pull back, nipping his lip before you separate from him completely. “Lemme ride you.”

“Fuck yeah!” Dieter pulls his fingers out of you and slips them into his mouth as you line up with his cock. You sink down on him slowly, pressing your hands into his chest. Dieter’s head drops back onto the mattress when you bottom out. “It’s so cool when you’re on top,” he breathes, palming both of your tits.

“It’s so cool when you shut up,” you retort, but some of the bite is lost in how breathless you sound. You lift up on your knees, letting him slide almost completely out of you before you drop back down. Dieter grabs your hips and forces you to roll them forward, dragging your clit along the coarse hair at his base. You let your head fall back between your shoulder blades. Let Dieter drag you back and forth on his cock until you can’t hold in your whimpers anymore. He’s so deep inside you, grinding into your g-spot, it’s not long before you feel your cunt flutter around him, feel yourself soak him with your slick.

“That’s right baby, come on my cock,” he smirks at you.

“You know, you don’t have to speak,” you say, pulling yourself off him.

“Wait! I didn’t get to come yet,” Dieter pouts at you. And god help you, it’s too adorable to resist. His plush bottom lip sticking out and his big brown eyes welling with undoubtedly fake tears.

You get situated between his thighs and take his dick in your hand. He looks extremely relieved, as if not coming would have been the end of the world. You lick a stripe from his balls to his tip, eyes never leaving his, and he whimpers, still pouting a little. You roll your eyes at him and suck him down to the root. He tries to buck into your mouth, but you pin his hips down and set your own pace.

You cup his balls in your hand, rolling them gently as you suck him off. He rests his hands on the back of your head, not pushing or pulling you, just wanting to touch you.

You really need to get back inside before the preacher wraps up his sermon, so you slip one finger behind his sack and press it into his perineum. Even indirect stimulation to his little bundle of nerves drives him insane, and his grip on the back of your head tightens as he comes down your throat with a strangled cry.

“Fuck! Fucking fuck fuck fuck.”

You pull off him with a pop, swiping your thumb across your bottom lip to make sure nothing spilled out. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dieter sighs.

[Reader] says she's out shopping

But she's under me

And I'm not stopping

“I’m at the mall. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Sure thing, babe. Love you!” Scotty hangs up before you even have to answer him. You shove your phone in your pocket and knock on Dieter’s apartment door.

You hear a weird amount of shuffling and banging around before the door opens. Dieter’s hair is a complete wreck, his ratty green robe is hanging open to reveal nothing underneath, and eyes are still bleary with sleep.

“It’s 3 in the afternoon. Did you just wake up?”

“Yes. Now get in here,” Dieter grabs your hand and pulls you into his apartment. He slams the door shut and continues dragging you by the wrist until you’re in his room. His bed, or rather his mattress on the floor, is unmade… but at least it has sheets on it.

Dieter doesn’t waste time stripping your clothes off of you, tossing his own robe into the pile on the floor. “So where are you today?” He asks as he kisses your neck, walking back toward the bed.

“The mall,” you tell him as you sink down (way down) onto the bed and pull him on top of you.

“Won’t you need shopping bags for that lie?” Dieter asks, dragging his aquiline nose down your throat, between the valley of your breasts, and kissing your belly.

“He won’t notice,” you sigh, putting your hands in his messy hair and pushing his head down between your legs. You’re already wet, just from seeing him naked at the door, as much as you hate to admit it.

You’re really not sure what it is about this loser that turns you on so much. It’s probably his massive dick and pretty face – two things Scotty is not in possession of.

Dieter licks a stripe through your folds and moans at the taste. You love how much he loves to eat you out. Dieter pulls your legs over his shoulders and buries his face between your legs, stuffing his tongue in your cunt and grinding his nose into your clit. You tug on his hair and he whines into your skin.

He pulls back and nips your thigh. “Dieter! Don’t–” He plunges two fingers into your cunt, cutting off the reprimand. His ring nestles right up to the bruise he left the other day and it hurts, but you like it.

“Don’t make a mark,” Dieter mocks. “I know, baby.” He places his lips over your clit and sucks on it in time to the thrust of his fingers. You fucking love his mouth, tell him as much with a long groan of his name. He curls his fingers into your walls, nibbles lightly on your clit. You arch your back and pull his face into you by his hair as you come, cunt clamping down on his fingers. He works you through it, gently massaging your g-spot until your body relaxes.

“Fuck, Dieter.”

“That’s the idea, babe.” Dieter pushes your legs off his shoulders and climbs on top of you. He rests his weight on one arm by your head and hitches your thigh over his hip with the other. His hard cock runs through your soaking pussy a few times before his head catches on your entrance and he slides in to the hilt.

His head drops to your shoulder and he shudders out a breath. “Always feel so good, baby.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding him tight to you as he starts rolling his hips. One of your hands slides up into that tousled mess of hair on his head and the other clings tightly to his shoulder.

You tilt your head back, giving him space to kiss your neck as he ruts into you. Filthy, drawn out moans spill from your lips every time he bottoms out. His only sounds are little grunts of exertion, muffled by your skin.

He drops your thigh and sits up on his knees, pulling you into his lap. He wraps his hands around the underside of your thighs and pushes your knees up toward your chest. “Gonna fuck you for real now, baby. Gonna make you scream my name.”

You’d roll your eyes at him, but you know he’s right. He pushes back inside you, giving you a second to adjust to the new angle, and then he starts slamming his hips down into you. He’s hitting something so deep, you know you’ll be feeling it tomorrow.

Maybe that’s his goal.

You dig your nails into his shoulders, dragging them down his back as he absolutely rails you. (He doesn’t have a girlfriend to hide the marks from). “Oh GOD, Dieter. FUCK.” You curse as he bottoms out again and again.

His curls are sweaty with exertion and hanging over his forehead, bouncing with every thrust of his hips. You focus your eyes there as you feel your entire body tense up. He drops one of your legs and leans forward, crashing his mouth into yours just as you come on his cock. The tight squeeze of your cunt around him sends him over the edge and you feel his hips stutter as he comes inside you with a groan.

He collapses onto the bed beside you and drags you into his arms, not even bothering to clean you up. You curl up on his sweaty chest and he nuzzles his face into your hair.

“So what time do you have to be done ‘shopping?’”

“Too soon.”

I can't believe he's so trusting

While I'm right behind you thrusting

[Reader]'s got him on the phone

And she's trying not to moan

It's a three-way call and he knows nothing, nothing

Your phone rings not even a full minute after Dieter makes you come all over his face. You flail your arm out to the side until your hand hits the bedside table, fumbling around for the device.

It’s Scotty.

“Hey baby!” you answer in a probably-too-chipper tone.

“Hi, babe. What are you up to?” Scotty asks. Dieter signals for you to put the phone on speaker, which you don’t do.

“Oh just reading. How was your day?” Dieter grabs your hips and flips you over on the bed, so that you’re lying on your stomach. You suppress the yelp that almost falls from your lips.

“Put it on speaker,” Dieter growls in your ear. “Or I’ll make this even harder for you.” You feel yourself get even wetter despite your annoyance.

You put the phone on speaker and listen to Scotty continue to ramble on about his day. Dieter pulls your hips backwards until you’re on your knees. He drags his fingers through your very wet core and strokes his dick a couple times.

“Oh, I’m sorry Scotty that su-ucks,” you stutter as Dieter sheathes himself inside you.

“You good babe?” Scotty’s tinny voice filters out of your flip phone.

“Yeah! Just choked on my own spit…”

Dieter snorts and you shoot a glare over your shoulder at him. He smirks at you, drawing his hips back and sliding back in slowly. He’s not dumb enough to cause your skin to slap together, but he is a fucking idiot for doing this in the first place.

Scotty keeps rambling on about some asshole customer at the Dairy Queen he works at, and you bite back a moan as Dieter grinds his hips against your ass, pressing his cock in deep.

He grabs your hair in his fist and pulls so that your head is tipped back and starts fucking into you at a steady pace, stopping just short of bottoming out so that the only noise is the wet drag of him through your core.

“What’s that weird sound in the background?”

“Huh?” Your body tenses with anxiety, but it just causes you to tighten around Dieter and fuck if it doesn’t feel good.

“There’s like, a weird noise I don’t know.”

“Probably just my cat, babe.” Dieter snorts again, but you can’t really do anything about it in your current position. You decide to stop worrying so much and enjoy yourself.

You drop down to your elbows and push your ass higher in the air. The change in angle has his cock brushing your g-spot on every thrust and you bite your pillow to muffle any noises you don’t manage to hold back.

Dieter fucks you as hard as he can without making too much noise – he doesn’t really want you to get caught, after all. Half the fun is cucking Scotty.

“Okay babe, I gotta get back to work. See you later?” Scotty drones.

“Later!” You manage to choke out before scrambling to flip your phone shut. The second it’s closed, you toss it on the floor and let out a loud moan. Dieter finally starts fucking you like he wanted to in the first place, and the loud slapping of his hips against your ass fills the room.

You come with a scream, burying your face in your pillow and thrusting your hips back to meet Dieter’s. He fucks you through it and doesn’t stop. He keeps thrusting deep inside you, hitting something that has you screaming into your pillow. He doesn’t stop fucking you until you come again, and only then does he follow you over the edge.

He pulls out and spreads your ass cheeks, watching his cum drip from your hole, then he drapes himself over your body and whispers in your ear. “Was that your first three way?”

You’re so fucked out you can’t be mad at him, which was probably his goal. You giggle deliriously. “Mmhmm.” You drop all the way down to the bed, sprawling out. Dieter wiggles in close to you and wraps his arms around you.

His front lawn in the snow

Life is so hard 'cause Scotty doesn't know

Scotty doesn't know

I did her on his birthday

It’s Scotty’s birthday. So really, you should be by his side. Instead, he’s inside getting wasted with his friends, and you’re in his side yard… getting railed by Dieter.

Dieter has you against the house, your long skirt pinned above your hips, and one leg hitched around his waist. His lips are attached to your neck and you should really tell him to stop before he leaves a mark, but you don’t want him to.

He snaps his hips into you rapidly and you brace yourself on his shoulders and rock your hips to meet his thrusts, panting into the frozen air.

“It’s cold as fuck, Dieter, hurry.”

“You fucking hurry.” He slips his hand between your bodies and starts rubbing your clit.

“Oh fuck, just like that,” you whine. You’re so fucking close to coming – just a couple more minutes like this and you’d be clenching on his cock. But life doesn’t always work out that way.

The sound of the back door slamming causes both of you to jump and your foot slips out from under you. Both of you go crashing to the icy ground, Dieter landing on top of you.

“What the fuck is going on out here?” Scotty asks, clearly pissed.

“Oh SHIT!” Dieter starts to try to come up with some bullshit excuse, but you just scramble to your feet and take off running to the front yard. Dieter follows close behind you, dragging his pants up as he runs.

You throw the side door of his van open and jump in as Dieter hops in the front seat. Scotty makes it to the curb right as Dieter peels away. You slam the door shut and fall back on the mattress. Dieter glances back over his shoulder, a big goofy grin on his face.

“So I guess Scotty knows.”

I hope you enjoyed this truly ridiculous fic <3

#Dieter Bravo #Dieter Bravo fics #Dieter Bravo fan fiction #Dieter Bravo x reader #Dieter Bravo x you #The Bubble #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro fics #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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