this is what it looks like, right before you fall
â Dieter Bravo x nonbinary!reader-insert!oc - series masterlist
â 5.3k words
â CHAPTER ONE // You meet the cast and vow yourself to professionalism as filming starts, but one particular costar tests your willpower.
â Chapter rated PG-13 for age gap (reader is 21, dieter is 45), kind of pervy!dieter but not in a malicious way/reader reciprocates, some impure thoughts on readerâs part, written with basically no knowledge of how the film industry actually works. [please let me know if i missed any warnings that should be included :)]
â this reader insert character is: unnamed, afab and nonbinary (has female anatomy and uses they/them pronouns), neurodivergent, latinx, 21 years old, an actor playing a female character. Iâm trying to keep them a physically blank slate but it is mentioned that they have longer hair (past shoulder-length) for the role and they wear a bikini for the role at one point as well. They are mentioned to be shorter than Dieter.
Everyone in this room is a seasoned professional. They move with poise and calculation, like chess pieces assessing their next best move. Itâs reminiscent of a muster of peacocksâplumage spread as they strut around and size each other up, each wondering who will win the desperate yet subtle battle for dominance. They mingle amongst themselves and make small talk; all of it is utterly meaningless.
This is your first professional cocktail party, and if this is how theyâre all going to be you definitely wonât be attending any more.
But then again, maybe it isnât always like this. Maybe this is just the mania of the world being deemed âpost-pandemicâ despite the very real crisis still lurking in the shadows. You canât blame people for how they cope with isolation and despair, even if it seems a little over-dramatic to you personally.
Thereâs maybe one other person in this room who seems to realize how ridiculous this whole game is, but youâre too nervous to go over and talk to him.
He looks comfortable amongst the chaos. He doesnât strut around seeking conversation like the othersâhe lets them come to him. And they do; despite how formidable he appears to you, theyâre all drawn to him like magnets. His presence has its own center of gravity, and everyone around is merely a lost orbiter. He reels them in one by one, chats with themâmaybe even insults them a littleâand then spits them back out into the stratosphere of the room. And they keep coming back for more, because heâs intoxicating.
Dieter Bravo is fucking terrifying for a man whoâs shirt buttons arenât aligned to the proper holes.Â
âHi.â
You hadnât even noticed him approaching, as focused as you were on looking anywhere except him. His raspy voice makes you jumpâmakes your stomach lurch like a phantom step on the stairs. His dark eyes are penetrating in the way they stare at you over the rim of his sepia-tinted sunglasses. Heâs looking through you, not at you. Thereâs something so thoroughly appraising about his gaze, as if heâs sizing you up.
âHi,â you whisper back. You wonder if heâs like a bear, if you need to make yourself look bigger and scarier in order to appease him. But instead, you shrinkâhe makes you feel so small. Like youâre nothing but a speck of dust on the underside of one of his well-worn crocs; and maybe you are. Maybe youâre in way over your head here.
âI dunno if this is gonna work,â he hums, eyes lecherous and languid in the way they drag over your body. âYouâre too hot to be my daughter.â
You choke on your drink, legitimately splutter and cough; of all the millions of things you imagined him saying in your mind, that wasnât even in the realm of possibility. But he seems completely unfazed by your outburst, waiting patiently for you to regain the ability to breathe like a normal human being.
What can you even say to that? The hottest man in the roomâalbeit a man whoâs more than twice your ageâis passively hitting on you. And if he were anyone else, you would be outraged by how casually he does it. But heâs Dieter fucking Bravo, and you think youâd let him get away with just about anything; which says way more about you than it does about him.
Thankfully, he saves you from your swirling mindâredirects as if it was the most casual of passing comments. âIs this your first meet and greet?â
âNo, Iâve left my house a couple times before.â Itâs an unintentionally snarky comment, the kind that would normally get you in trouble. But Dieter actually laughsâwell, itâs more of a snort than a laugh, but its purpose is clearâand you wonder if maybe this whole situation isnât as bad as it seemed a few short minutes ago.
âFirst time in front of a camera?â He asks, absentmindedly swirling the neon green liquidâabsynthe? antifreeze?âthat resides in the crystal glass his right hand cradles. âI tried to find you on IMDb but nothing came up.â
âIâve done some commercial work,â you admit, feeling a little sheepish; and a little caught off guard, flattered even, that heâs been researching you. âNothing like this, though.â
âHowâd you get the role?â The question sounds deeper than it really isâdistrustful, in a way.
You simply shrug. âI guess my audition was good.â
âI guess it was.â You donât know exactly what heâs insinuating, but you feel like you should be offended. Thereâs no malice or aggression left in his dark eyes, thoughâwhatever youâve shown him, heâs liked it. âWeâre going to have fun.â
âWe are?â
âMhm.â He takes a sip of his drink, and you can tell heâs trying not to make a face as the radioactive-looking liquid meets his tongue. âWe should rehearse lines. In your room. Build our chemistry.â
There isnât a singular cell in your brain that believes thereâs no underlying motive to the invitation. And even yet, you accept. You kind of get the sense that he wouldnât accept no as an answer, anyway.
He nods his acknowledgement, and then just as quickly as he had appeared, heâs melting seamlessly back into the buzz of your fellow costars.
You donât realize how hard your heart is beating until heâs not standing over you anymore. With a sip of your drink, you do everything you can to will your breathing back to normal. Thereâs no reason a simple man should have such an effect on you.
But thereâs really nothing simple about Dieter Bravo. Heâs imposing. Heâs been in this industry for as long as youâve been alive and it shows in the way he carries himself. Thereâs confidence in his strut, an undeniable carefreeness to his appearance. Heâs a professional; heâs everything you hope to someday be.
You promised yourself that you wouldnât act up over the star-strewn cast, and youâve held true to that promise as of yet. But Dieter Bravo poses a challenge. Especially with the shameless flirting and the way his eyes linger on your body, you feel yourself becoming more and more starstruck with each passing moment youâre in his presence.
Youâre suddenly desperate for this thing to be over with so you can go back to your room and unwind. Your nerves are taught like an over-tuned guitar and liable to snap at any moment.
Dinner goes as smoothly as it can, albeit slowly. Youâre stuck at the end of the table, sandwiched between two other actors who are around your age and clearly know each other from the way they keep talking to each other through you; and Dieter is at the opposite end, which is both a blessing and a curse. At least youâre not close enough to smell the warm, woodsy spice of his cologneâit lingered in your nostrils for a solid five minutes even after he walked away from you earlierâbut youâre far enough away that he has a good angle to stare at you.
And stare he does. You can feel his eyes tracking every move you make. He doesnât even look away when your eyes catch him; the cocky bastard smirks. He looks you right in the eyes over the rims of his sunglasses while the corner of his mouth tilts up and he has to know that it goes straight to your core.
The minutes pass like molasses with his attention on you, and it feels like a weightâs been lifted off your shoulders when itâs finally time to turn in for the night.
You didnât get a chance to introduce yourself to half of the cast because you were so busy being an unimposing wallflower, but youâll worry about that tomorrow. For now, youâre walking to your room as fast as your legs can possibly carry you.
Shooting starts in the morning, and you really need a good nightâs rest. You want to start strong and prove yourself. But you stay up into the wee hours of the morning anyway, laying in your oversized hotel bed and staring at the ceiling, wondering if Dieterâs going to come knock on your door to ârehearse linesâ like he suggested.
He doesnât, and you donât know why you feel so disappointed about it.
You wake up from your four hours of sleep with a little bit clearer of a mind, surprisingly. Dieterâs hot and heâd be a once-in-a-lifetime lay, but youâre playing his daughter in this show. How seriously do you want to be taken in this industry? Because banging the actor who plays your father in your first serious project is decidedly not the route to being taken seriously as a movie star; in fact, itâs the kind of scandal that could end your career before it even starts.
You shower, do your basic morning skincare routine, get dressed, and head to set. All the while, you chant your new mantra: Dieter Bravo is off limits no matter how badly you want to play right into his hands. His big hands. His big meaty hands that you want all over yourâ
âWell hello!â
The woman who greets you as you walk into the hair and makeup tent is way too chipper for 7AM.
âHi,â you say, a little shyer than you mean to sound; at least you can blame it on the early hour and the fact you havenât had any coffee yet.
âIâm Cynthia, I use she/her pronouns. Itâs nice to meet you.â Cynthia is blonde and tall, almost imposingly so. Sheâs sturdily built and gracefulâthereâs an almost feline quality to her movements. Sheâs gorgeous, and not just because of her perfectly styled hair and makeup.
You take a deep breath before giving her your introduction. This is something youâve contemplated a lot prior to arriving, and even more so in the long, isolated hours of quarantine in your room. She/her doesnât do the job, and youâve known it for a while; but you let people use them anyway, because itâs easier to appease them than to constantly be correcting everyone. After intensive consideration, though, you want to go into this new chapter of your life as your true self.
You take another deep breath and then you give her your name, followed by âthey/them.â
She smiles so warmly, but she doesnât comment on it. No, âoh!â or âthatâs so brave!â or any of the other thousand responses youâve gotten to providing the pronouns youâre most comfortable with.
She guides you to her chair and she starts chatting away about anything and everything but your gender identity; that simple, wordless acceptance is such a refreshing change of pace from what youâre used to that you choke up a little bit.
You manage to swallow it down without her noticing, thankfully. Youâre going to be dealing with Cynthia every day for the foreseeable future and you really donât want her thinking youâre a loser.
You look like a completely different person when sheâs done with you. Your entire face is coated with a thin layer of makeup that evens your skin tone and shrinks your pores. Thereâs thin, symmetrical wings of eyeliner on your eyelids, and your hair is curled in perfect blow-out waves. The outfit pulls the whole thing together: a Guns & Roses t-shirt underneath an unbuttoned long-sleeved flannel and jean shorts that hug your waist tightly but taper off around your thighs.
Cynthiaâs a miracle worker, truly. You look exactly like the freshly-graduated, soul-searching, 1970âs time capsule misfit teen youâre supposed to be playing for eight episodes worth of HBO drama. Itâs like meeting Charlotte âCharlieâ Herrera for the first time, except you are her.
Itâs a lot easier to get into character when you look the part; although becoming someone else has never been something youâve necessarily struggled with. You take a deep, steadying breath; and then suddenly, youâre a different person. Itâs that simple.
Youâve had some minor success with acting prior to landing this role. You always landed leads in school plays, and you shone in the silly little YouTube videos your high school friends liked to make. Acting comes naturally to you, and when people ask how you do it, whatâs your method, you donât really know how to answer. You just do it.
Youâre not humble enough to try to deny the fact that youâre talented. The executive producer called you within half an hour of you submitting your audition tape for this role, and he didnât stop complimenting you for another half an hour. Thereâs just some kind of special compartmentalization your brain accomplishes when you have a character to play; you flick off your âyouâ switch, and flick on your âcharacterâ switch.
Youâre sure your therapist would say that itâs easy for you because of your natural proclivity for escapism. Your parents would probably just say youâre a psychopath. Whatever it is, you have a knack for acting, and it shows. Itâs as easy and natural as breathing.
Thereâs a flurry of activity around you as you settle on your mark: an unevenly-stuffed floral print couch in the living room of your characterâs shoebox home. Itâs small, but it feels lived in. Thereâs photos in mismatched frames of you and Dieter on the walls and it puts a weird sensation in the pit of your stomach; it takes you aback how realistic and natural the photoshop is for set pieces that probably wonât even be in most frames of the show. Thereâs eclectic trinkets and pieces of period-accurate paraphernalia on shelves and side tables. You could almost believe youâve been transported back in time if you ignore the huge cameras and empty windows.
Your costar walks in and suddenly the nerves hit you in full force.
This is it; this is your big moment. This needs to be flawless because first impressions stick. Especially to someone like Dalton Amari, whoâs been acting since he was in diapers. Even though heâs barely a year older than you, heâs a bonafide star. Heâs got an IMDb filmography thatâs a mile long and heâs won countless awards. You need to be on your game because youâll be damned if youâre going to disappoint someone like him.
Heâs handsome and imposingly tall as he towers over you, dark-haired and dark-eyed with blindingly white teeth that contrast the light brown tone of his skin. You have friends who swoon every time he posts on Instagram; itâs surreal, being in the same room as him like this, with him smiling at you like youâre important.
âHi again,â he greets as he sits next to you, body moving closer to you at the instruction of the director.
You feel a little more at ease like this, despite how formidable a scene partner he is career-wise; heâs the kindest of all the costars you met last night. He was one of the few people who actually made an effort to approach you, after allâintroduced himself with that charming smile and everything.
âHi.â
âYou look great,â he says with a noticeable scan of your figure. âJust like my grandma used to.â
Itâs the exact kind of icebreaker you need to completely melt the tension; you laugh, and he laughs with you.
The directorâa man named Jeff with a graying beard thick enough to clothe a family of fourâwalks over with a smile on his face. âThis is the exact kind of chemistry I want onscreen, okay? Nice and light, make it look effortless.â
âSure thing, boss man.â Daltonâs long, blown-out hair flops into his face when he nods, and you can tell it irritates him. âGod, how do people put up with this shit? Remind me to never grow my hair out again.â
âYouâre telling me,â you respond with a laughâyour hair is even longer than his.
This first scene is surprisingly easy. Heâs so talented that it rubs off on you and builds up your confidence until youâre commanding the scene effortlessly. You lounge on the couch with him and lament over approaching adulthood, recounting the glory days of your charactersâ shared high school experiences now that theyâre over for good. You feel like youâre really there, in that time capsule moment of late May 1976, shooting the shit with your high school sweetheart boyfriend. Itâs easy to forget that you know what happens between Charlie and Trevor, Daltonâs character; that the story has already been told all the way through. Right now, in this moment with his arm around your shoulders and your hand on his thigh, itâs just beginning. Youâre three years younger than you really are, and youâre in love with this boy whoâs looking at you like you hung the very stars from the sky.
âCut!â Jeff calls, and you pull away from Daltonâs loose grip. âThat was perfect you two, keep it up!â
Just like that youâre you againânot Charlie, not Trevorâs girlfriend, not anyone else. The transition is that simple and seamless.
You catch a glimpse of your smiling face next to Dieterâs in a brass-framed photo, and you feel that weird, twisting sense of complication again. For a blissful moment in time, as Charlie, life was without uncertainty. When youâre her, thereâs a script and a set destiny that you know will play out exactly how itâs supposed to. When youâre you, you donât know whatâs going to come next. Maybe thatâs why acting has always been easy or you. You crave the predictability and certainty that comes with a scripted ending. You know how the final page plays out, and you know exactly what happens along the way.
Life, unfortunately, isnât that simple.
âHey,â Dalton says, voice a little softer than the voice he uses when heâs Trevor. âYou did great. Donât be nervous.â
You donât know how he knows youâre so lost in thoughtâprobably the incessant bouncing of your left knee.
âThanks,â you murmur in return, but you canât meet his eyes. Youâve never been particularly good at taking compliments, even if theyâre deserved.
âAlright, itâs class time!â Jeff interrupts with a clap of his hands. Heâs notorious for his strict scheduling. âWardrobe!â
You have two more scenes today and they somehow, miraculously, go just as well as the first. Thereâs no sign of Dieter, but you knew before you even got out of bed that he wasnât on the call sheet for today. Tomorrow, however, is a different story. There are four scenes on the schedule, and the last one of the day is just you and him.
Youâre glad you have some time to prepare for it, because you know that no matter how hard you try, youâre going to be self-conscious around him. Heâs not just attractive or charismatic or any of the other things youâve come to view him as; heâs something of a role model. You want to impress him, but you also want to learn from him; and you really, really donât want to make a fool of yourself anywhere in his general vicinity. It might be easier said than done with those big brown chocolate-chunk eyes of his following your every move.
You adjourn to your hotel room and order room service, âuntitled episode oneâ script in your lap. Youâve read it through about a million times, but tonight you pay special attention to your first scene with Dieter. You need it to be as flawless as todayâs scenes went. You need him to be as impressed as Dalton was, because his opinion means more to you than anyoneâs.
You also pay special attention to that particular scene because itâs going to be a real test of your abilities; looking up into that handsome face and remembering your lines the way youâre supposed to is going to be your crucible.
You check the time around midnight and decide itâs late enough; pushing yourself any further could just serve to undo the effort youâve put in. A certain Instagram notification on the screen catches your eye: â@bravo69 started following youâ. Itâs Dieterâs verified Instagram account, and the notification is from two minutes ago.
You stay up for longer than you care to admit ruminating on the fact that Dieter Bravo is scrolling through your Instagram at midnight. Maybe, just maybe, youâve gotten under his skin the way heâs gotten under yours.
Youâre trying so desperately not to get your hopes up, but itâs hard not to.
Cynthia in hair and makeup can tell youâre not sleeping well, even without the way you keep drifting off and jolting awake in her chair. She slathers caffeine under your eyes and does her best to reverse the zombie state youâre starting to transform into.
She gives you a look a lot like a reproachful mother might. âAre you really losing sleep over this? You were fantastic yesterday!â
Thereâs just something about her that makes you so comfortableâlike sheâs been a friend youâve known for years rather than a coworker you only just met yesterday.
âYeah, but what if it was a fluke and I do horrible today?â
She actually scoffs, like itâs the most impossible thing sheâs ever heard, and her smile is so wonderfully disarming. âIf you always think like that, youâre never gonna get a damned wink in your life.â
âIâve never been very good at sleeping anyway,â you admit with a scornful little huff.
âWell, youâd better try your best. Thereâs only so much I can do for you.â She gives you a cartoon-worthy wink as she looks at you in the mirror, and it makes you loosen up considerably.
Sheâs right. Youâre here, and confidence is key at this stage. If you act like the crew is taking some big chance on you because youâre a new talent, theyâre going to see it that way too. If you act like you belong here, itâll make the whole thing that much easier.
Fake it âtil you make it, they say. You suppose whoever âtheyâ are, theyâre actually right in this situation.
Todayâs scenes are a little more important to the plot of the show. Yesterday you worked on character establishment and setting the environment; today is all about the inciting incident. It all starts with pool party part two.
Wardrobe stuffs you in a period-typical orange patterned bikini, carefully selected to not be too revealing while still giving the audience something to appreciate; itâs eye roll worthy, but underneath the corniness of it thereâs something kind of exciting about potentially being a sex symbol.
Itâs the beginning of summer in the Midwestâat least on screen. In reality itâs late July, and itâs sweltering outside at the little time capsule brick house production rented for this scene. There are teen-aged extras all over the place pretending to be celebrating the end of another school year, all perfectly styled to 1976 as they splash about in the pool or grab vintage-looking Coke bottles from a cooler next to the propertyâs backyard shed.
Dalton is here, bare-chested and abs gleaming, draped over a poolside lounger. Youâre directed into his arms, and the press of his skin is a little uncomfortable. Youâve never particularly liked being this close to strangers, especially when wearing so little, but thereâs no backing out now. Every scantily-clad inch of your skin is pressed against his, his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you close.Â
Charlieâs best friend, Amaraâplayed by none other than Kelsie Burton, an actress whoâs been in just about every coming-of-age flick in the past five yearsâsits on the lounger next to yours. Sheâs drop dead gorgeous, with freckled pale skin and long, shiny black hair. Sheâs the archetype, and you feel like a complete foil in every way. You have to take a deep breath and remember that itâs not a competitionâand even if it was, youâre technically winning.
The dialogue is a little awkward in this scene, but itâs on purpose. The three characters have been close friends since middle school, but things have shifted ever since Charlie and Trevor started dating. Amara feels like a third wheel, and itâs not exactly unreasonable.
This is the beginning, the first push of the boulder down the steep hill of plot. The three of you sit together pondering what life will be like now that high school is over and discussing ways to make the summer the most memorable it can be. A challenge is made, an oath taken. This summer is going to be the most unforgettable one of all.
You shoot a few takes of the inciting conversation, and then itâs on to the fun partâshooting some filler scenes of pool party revelry.
Itâs easy to forget youâre not a fresh-faced teenager anymore like this. The three of you splash around in the water with your âclassmatesâ and laugh and play games and have fun. It doesnât feel like thereâs cameras or crewmembers or anyone else around but you and your friends. And thatâs really what they feel likeâfriends. Maybe theyâre both just good actors, but a hopeful little part of you wonders if you might actually be able to build meaningful relationships with them.
The fun canât last forever though, and the scene wrap comes before youâre ready for itâpartially because youâre enjoying yourself and donât want it to end, but partially because you know what comes next. Dieter.
Youâre shuttled back to set wrapped in a towel, still soaking wet but smiling despite the nerves twisting in your gut. Even if this last scene for the day goes to shit, at least you had an incredible morning.
Youâre turning a corner on your way to wardrobe when you run smack into someone tall and sturdy. Thereâs a force to the sudden collision that makes you grunt and lose your balance (and towel), but big, strong hands quickly come to steady you.
You look up, ready to fumble out an apology, when you find a set of deep brown eyes and a handsome, smirking face.
Whatever you were going to say dies at the base of your throat when you notice the way Dieterâs eyes drag over your soaking wet, bikini-clad form. You canât help but let yourself do the same; this is the first time youâve seen him in character, after all.
He seems even broader and bigger than the first time you met him, decked out in this khaki-colored sheriffâs uniform. It hugs his soft yet sturdy frame perfectly, only complemented by the heavy duty belt and the star-shaped badge pinned to his chest. His shaggy hair has been trimmed down to a respectable length, and his signature patchy-stubbly beard has been reduced to a simple, handsome mustache. Heâs a time capsule of a man, and he looks so fucking good.
âIs that what theyâve got you wearing for our scene?â He asks, interrupting your moment of observation. His hands are still firmly on your waist despite the fact that your balance has long since been regained.
âN-no,â you stumble over your own tongue. âIâm on my way to change right now.â
âDamn,â he mumblesâhe actually sounds disappointed.
Itâs been long enough, and his hands are still on your waist. Theyâre so warm, so big. You hate having your bare skin touched like this, butâŚÂ itâs nice. His hands are firm and strong and capable and youâre not thinking of him in a very fatherly capacity at all right now. Heâs so close you can feel the heat radiating off of him, so close that you could justâ
You donât even realize youâve stopped breathing until he finally takes his hands off you and you have to practically gasp for breath. Even as he backs out of your personal space, he knows the effect heâs had on youâif the smirk that takes over his face is any indication, at least.
âOrange is a good color on you,â he murmurs as his dark eyes give you one last once-over.
âR-really?â Itâs never been a color youâve particularly favored, but flattery goes far with you.
He hums in response, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Have you really made this much of an impression on him, or is he just really desperate? Surely he canât be that deprivedâhe could have anyone he wanted at the blink of an eye.
âIâll see you on set,â he vows. And then, just as quickly as he appeared, heâs gone.
Itâs so fucking difficult to get a read on him that you feel like youâre in a tailspin. Nevertheless, you try not to let it bother you too much as you get to wardrobe and finally change into some real clothes. Dieter Bravo is off limits, you remind yourself; but it doesnât sound nearly as convincing this time.
âWhere have you been all night?â His voice is stern, commanding despite the softness to his tone. He sounds almost dangerousâexactly like a cop and a protective father should.
âAt that end of the year pool party over at the Clevelandsâ, the one I told you about,â you answer easily, gently. Youâre on thin ice, and youâre stepping lightly. âWith Amara.â
âAnd Trevor.â Thereâs accusation in his voiceâCharlie hasnât told him about her relationship, but fathers always know.Â
âHe was there, yeah.â
âHow many times have I told you I donât want you around him?â Dieter looks up at you from where heâs spread lazily in his cozy living room armchair, eyes even darker than usual in the low night-coded lighting of the living room set. His suspicion of Trevor isnât unwarrantedâyouâve read the script in its entirety, you know every little facet of every single character. But Charlie doesnât know what you know, so you have to take Dieterâs caution as nothing more than the helicopter parenting typical of a teenage girlâs single father.
âIâm an adult, dad,â you remind him. âI can make my own decisions, choose my own friends.â
âYouâre still a little girl,â he murmurs. The fightâs gone from himâhe looks now as if a long day of law enforcement has caught up to him all at once. âYou always will be.â
It sparks the exact kind of anger within you that the script calls for, and most of it isnât even fabricated. You donât want himâDieter, not Sheriff Herreraâto see you like that. What if thatâs all this is now? What if he canât see you as anything else but a child to him? Not that it matters. Heâs off limits, youâve reminded yourself of that a million times. What he thinks of you shouldnât matter.
âYou have to let me grow up eventually,â you growl before storming down the hall to your final mark.
Jeff calls the scene, and you reemerge a little flushed and feeling silly for how real your emotions were in that moment.
âThat was perfect!â He tells you with a beaming smile on his face. âKeep that up and weâre gonna get ahead of schedule. Dieter, you were great too.â
âNot as great as them,â the older actor says with a nod of his head in your direction. âYouâre a generous scene partner.â
âHow so?â Youâre still a little flushed, but youâre praying he canât tell.
âYou give off a lot of emotion,â he explains. âGives me a lot to work with.â
âOh.â Youâve really got to get better at taking compliments. Was that even a compliment?
Youâre so far in your head that you donât notice the awkward pause until he takes it upon himself to start leaving the soundstage. Desperate for any way to salvage the moment, you address his broad, retreating back and say, âthanks, Dieter.â
He turns his head, looks at you over his shoulder, and fucking winks. âAnytime, honey.â
And then he leaves, like he didnât just put a fucking puddle in your underwear.
Dieter Bravo is off limits. Dieter Bravo is off limits. Dieter Bravo is off limits. You chant it to yourself the entire way back to your hotel room, but it gets less and less convincing with each repetition.
Would it really be so bad if he wasnât off limits?
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