#dieter bravo x oc
Text
i crawl home to her
rating: 18+ explicit
pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader
word count: 8.2K
summary: you bring dieter home to meet your family over the holidays.
warnings/tags: discussions of food, mentions of weight gain, brief biphobia, bad family dynamics, hiding parts of yourself to make yourself more palatable, dom!Dieter when his type-A girlfriend needs him to, smut in places it shouldn’t be, a family can be two people, bad jokes, mentions of marriage and kids, one light booty smack, peep the super obvious bob's burgers reference, minimal edited, you can pry the image of dieter in ugg's from my cold dead hands
a/n: i've caved and finally added to the evergrowing pile of "Pedro boy fucks you in your childhood home". @sp00kymulderr i told you i'd get it out today -- it might be tomorrow for you, but it's not yet midnight! i present to you part 2 of merry thanksgiving nonsense2023!
🤍Masterlist
You nearly miss the exit off the gray-slushy highway because you’re trying to remember Aunt Gayle’s food allergies.
And Uncle Rick’s preferred way of taking his coffee in the morning.
And the right detergent to use when washing your niece’s clothes, or else your sister will come after you with a hatchet.
“Baby, you’re gnawing your fingernails bloody.”
You blink, surprised to find your hand anywhere near your mouth, the other white-knuckling the steering wheel, and to your enormous embarrassment, he was right – you’d pulled up several hangnails, leaving tiny pink gouges, right under your immaculate holiday nails you got for the express purpose of looking presentable in all the inevitable Insta photos your sister demands every year.
“Fuck,” you mutter and curl your fingers into your fist as if to hide temptation. From the passenger’s seat, Dieter frowns.
“Twizzler to make it better?” He spins the red, bendy candy enticingly. Your mind suddenly flashes back to the time you both got way too high on his new bong and he made the exact same motions with his dick. You had never laughed so hard in your life.
The red candy whipping around in a circle, you groan into the steering wheel.
“I’m turning around. This was a terrible idea.”
“What are you so nervous about?” Dieter half-way laughs. He pulls his Ugg-stuffed feet off the dashboard and sits up. Crumbs from the Starbucks Christmas sugar cookie spill off his “Kris Kingle My Jingle” sweater and onto the seat, but it’s those fucking earnest, curious eyes that always seem to rock your world. You occasionally don’t like to be touched when you’re stressed, so out of the corner of your eye, you see his hand waver before falling back in his lap. “It’s just dinner.”
“Yeah, but it’s holiday dinner with my family. They’re all so judgy and mean and every time I come home for more than twenty-four hours, I’m reminded exactly why I fucked off to California.”
“Maybe they’re jealous you’re a hot shot director,” Dieter suggests. “Or that you have a ruggedly handsome movie star boyfriend.” Eyebrow raised, he twirls the Twizzler again and manages to bite it out of the air. You half-way expected it to smack him in the face. “They know I’m coming, right?”
You bite your lip, the last phone call with your mother still achingly heavy in your chest.
“You know what she asked when I told her I was bringing home the one and only Dieter Bravo as my boyfriend to meet my family?” You don’t need to look at him to see the furrow in his brow, the slight curve in his shoulders. You prop your elbow up against the window, rubbing your forehead with your fingers. “She asked if it was a career move. If I was dating you to get ahead in the industry . . . like I’m trying to sleep my way to the top.”
There’s a fraught silence. You listen to the wheels churn dirty black snow so you don’t have to look at him.
“Then why in the world would you start with my dumb ass?”
Despite yourself and despite what’s coming, you smile. But you fight it, wrapping your lip up between your teeth. So he continues:
“If you really want to make it big, you gotta date someone at least forty years older than you. So, what? We’re talking seventy. But, wow, think of the money. Bet he has his dick dripped in gold just to keep it hard–,”
“Dieter!” You swat at him, smile too big to contain, and he grins, grabbing you by the wrist. “That’s terrible!”
“But I made you laugh, didn’t I?”
You smirk. “Barely. More like ha ha than a big chuckle.”
He nips your palm, the rough hair on his chin scraping the soft skin.
By some minor miracle and a forcible act of God, your mother is allowing you two to share a bedroom. Not out of respect for your relationship, of course, but there is simply not enough room to spare. You watch those perfect lips imprint themselves in the cup of your hand and you’ve never been more thrilled to have to share a double bed. God, you cannot be this wet before you have to look your mother in the eye. You retract your hand with a breathy exhale.
“We don’t have to stay long,” Dieter says, a weight to his gaze that proves he hasn’t completely blown off your concern. He twists his body in the seat and crosses his arms, his shoulder pressed into the seat. He watches you with his head against the headrest. “I hate seeing you like this.”
“I’m already on thin ice because we’re just staying two days.” You shake your head. “My sister and her family have already been there since Monday and plan to stay the rest of the week.” You inhale, hold, and exhale until you can feel your shoulders drop. “It’s just . . . I’ve worked so hard to make something of my life, to be someone I can be proud of, and it just doesn’t matter to them. They want me to marry a banker or something, and quit my job to do cutesy family blogging on Instagram. They’ve never, ever liked the real me.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you see something come over Dieter’s face. Not annoyance, or irritation, but as if someone kick started his brain. But it passes and he brushes the back of your hand resting over the gearshift with his fingers.
“I like the real you,” he says quietly. “In fact, I really, really, really like the real you. I gotta keep you around. Who else is gonna remember the name of the best Chinese food place when I’m high?”
Dieter is sweet, knows the wonders his smile can accomplish, with a twinkle in his eyes. A bit crude, a little distractible, but ultimately, well-meaning. However, he seemed physically incapable of maintaining sincerity. Which in the beginning, was also cute, but now, in a moment of crisis, it was boyish in a way that made you worried. A little scared. Like too much pressure and he’d break.
Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on?
History says no.
So, maybe you’d just carry everything.
You smile at him and return your hand to the steering wheel.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
The car squeals as it stops in the driveway, wheels crunching the cold ice. You look up at your childhood home with the same unease and trepidation that’s been there since childhood.
“Go let ‘em know we’re here,” Dieter says as he unbuckles his belt. There’s still crumbs in the knit of his sweater. At least his sweatpants are clean. But there’s nothing you can do about those Uggs right now–
His hand squeezes yours, centering the universe that’s spinning like the inside of a martini shaker. You can feel the weight of his gaze press into your chest – heavy, warm, forgiving. He smiles, then slides into a smirk.
“Chillax, bro. Your vibes are not gnarly.”
You huff, trying to offer a smile that’s not a grimace. This was such a bad idea. Maybe it’s not too late to go pay for one of those mail-order boyfriends and keep Dieter in his nice California, hippie plastic wrap.
You hear your name being called from the porch and that smile fully plummets into a grimace. Gathering from that reserve of confidence that makes you look at male writers, directors, and (yes) actors and tell them they’re idiots and get the fuck off your set, you open the door and head around the corner to the front of the house.
Yeah, in the face of your mother, that reserve is basically a trickle.
She’s waiting for you on the porch, red dish towel in hand.
“I thought that might be you, darling! I’d recognize that squeak from that rust bucket anywhere.” She smiles, arms wide, as you bend down to give her a hug. You've had to bend down to hug your mother for years now and you still feel about two feet tall. “How are you? You’ve been good? You look pale, but you’ve definitely been eating, haven’t you?”
She pinches your cheek as if to show you all the extra fat you have on your face.
“Where’s Dad?” You try not to look like you’re tearing your face out of her grip and glance into the surprisingly quiet house over her shoulder. “Aren’t Emma and Dan supposed to be here?”
“Your father is out finishing his latest woodworking piece. He’s been at it for days, no matter how much I beg him to help with the food or the house. It’s all on me again to save the holidays.”
As it is every year.
“Your sister and her family went out to get more sweet potatoes. They eat sweet potatoes in California, don’t they?”
Here it comes.
“Yes, Mom, they eat sweet potatoes.”
“Oh good, I thought it’d be considered a carb.” She frowns, hands on her hips as if you’re about to get a proper scolding. “Now you told me you’re going to be bringing your fancy actor boyfriend. Damian Bravado, right? I cooked for exactly seven people, darling, a single empty chair will throw the whole thing off!”
“Yes, Mom, my boyfriend, Dieter Bravo, is here. He’s just in the–,”
Someone, distinctly not your boyfriend, or at least not the boyfriend you left in the car, waltzes up the front steps.
Rings gone.
Earring gone.
Gloves that would make Ryan Gosling seethe with envy covering the tattoo on his hand.
His hair slicked back and curling deliciously around his ears, his dark jeans cover the laces of maroon Timberland boots. His black turtleneck clings to his wide chest, the leather jacket broken in enough to be soft, but not so used there’s tears in the seams. And, to top it all off, his cream-colored scarf curled around his throat looks like it came out of a Hallmark movie.
Maybe you are in a Hallmark movie. Maybe on the way up the porch, you slipped and banged your head and all of this is a bizarre, weirdly-erotic dream. Maybe someone actually did call in a mail-order boyfriend who looks exactly like Dieter and the real one is hog-tied in the trunk of your car. Maybe –
You’d heard of quick costume changes, but this is ridiculous.
“Debbie!” He calls out, like they’ve been best friends for twenty years. He flourishes a wrapped bouquet of flowers, bright red against the white snow, and hands them to her after bouncing up the steps. His cheeks are tinged pink, as if he’d run the block, but without a drip of sweat on him, he’s simply glowing with what could be presumed as the holiday spirit.
To your never-ending and horrific surprise, your mother squeals as she takes the flowers.
“Poinsettias! My –,”
“Favorite, I know.” You stumble out of the way when he leans down and kisses her on her cheek. “And they’re fake, so you can reuse them next year. But you’d never know it at $300 a pop.”
Okay, yes, this is a clone of your boyfriend, a walking holiday Ken doll – Dieter never, ever brags about money.
“I’m not a banker or anything, but I like to spoil my girls.”
The bastard winks at you.
Your mother has turned to gooey, drippy putty in his hands. She’s redder than the hand towel and the poinsettias combined. She flounces, flutters, eyes springing back and forth between the ruby-red flowers in her hands and Dieter’s achingly handsome face – one that hasn’t dimmed that thousand gigawatt smile since he first arrived.
“Oh, oh my goodness – well, this is just lovely – it’s so nice to finally meet you – I can’t believe she’s been hiding you from us all this time – please, please come in, you must be freezing!”
She backs into the house, still staring at the flowers, then as if she hadn’t been living here for the past fifteen years of her life, she bounces towards the dining room, then on a quick turn, heads for the kitchen, then turns again to the hallway closet.
“Oh gracious – where did I put – it must be – come in and shut the door behind you – you know where your room is, darling, I’ll be back in just a second, I just have to – ah, these are spectacular –”
A door down the hallway finally swings shut and muffles your mother’s insane rambling.
So dazed, you don’t see him move until he’s pressed you up against the glass etching of the door, his hand palming your hip and the other diving to cup the back of your neck. He tugs you down into his mouth before you have time to blink.
Jesus Christ, mint? His breath smells like mint??
God, he even fucking kisses like a Hallmark Prince. His mouth pulls you into him and your brain whites out – careless of the little whimper you make, careless of the fact that literally any one of your family members could walk in right now, careless that you’re teetering into him as if on string. Your breath flutters down his throat and he huffs through his nose. The tips of his fingers are chilly enough that you shiver at his touch.
He edges the bottom of your lip with his tongue before pulling back and tightening his grip in your hair.
And there’s that Dieter smirk you are all too intimately familiar with.
“How’m I doing?” He mutters. His gaze flickers between your eyes, your nose, and your kissed-pink lips. “I’d say I got Mama Bear on my side.”
Maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t always like this. Between the fresh breath scent in his mouth, the fragrance of his much-too expensive cologne permeating your senses, and his thick thigh shoved under your groin, you are embarrassingly boneless in his arms. You pluck your fingers over the soft leather collar at the back of his neck, just as much to inspect the jacket, as much as to release more of that delicious smell.
“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” You mutter, smirking, as you wind your fingers into his curls. “Spoil my girls, what the fuck was that?”
“Ah, ha, ha, ha,” he gloats as he lowers his head to your neck. You expect a warm kiss in the length of skin you’ve exposed to him, but instead his teeth lightly tease your throat above your pulse point and you feel your knees buckle as your face warms. “I can be very charming when I want to be.” He squeezes your ass as if to make a point.
You hold back a moan, flattening it to a shudder in your chest. You can feel his grin in your neck and he shifts you, pulls you closer and compresses you deeper into the wooden door. You can feel your conscious thought melting through your fingers so you blink, lick your lips, try to wiggle out from under his teeth.
“This isn’t a Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. This is Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” You gasp his name into the foyer of your childhood home when he licks you from the curve of your shoulder up under the soft place below your ear. Your hips jerk unconsciously, baser instincts seeking out the friction of his jeans, and you push against his biceps. “Dieter, she’ll be back any minute. She can’t – can’t see us like this.”
You’ve never heard him chuckle like the way he does, so darkly pleased with himself.
“Once I’m done schmoozing her, your father, your sister and her – what did you call him – cardboard husband, we’ll fuck in front of them and they won’t say a word.”
“Dieter!” You shove him just as your mother returns from the kitchen.
She frowns and you feel the scolding coming, the scent of Dieter so obviously entangled in you. You might as well be wearing a sign that reads, hi, yes, I’ve been recently groped why do you ask?
“Did you forget where your room is? Honestly, what would you do without me? Now, follow me and I’ll remind you.”
Schmooze he did.
From the same magical bag of weirdly specific and perfect gifts, Dieter presents a bottle of Buffalo Trace bourbon and two very illegal, but very Cuban cigars. Your father forgets to scowl in the face of some of the most expensive bourbon in the world.
For your sister, he somehow senses that material objects won’t go as far, so he endears himself to your niece first. Asking her questions about her doll, about her school, what she likes to play with her friends and how crazy it is that hopscotch is his favorite game too.
In twenty minutes, he’s on his hands and knees, black sleeves pulled up over his immaculate forearms, and etching out a hopscotch board with pink chalk. He nods and interjects while your niece runs around him, demanding a dragon in the corner, or a crown in another, and suddenly your biological clock starts blaring like an air-raid siren.
“He’s so good with kids,” your sister mutters to you from the door to the garage. A single glance tells you she’s under the same effect of watching a hot man play with a child. You’re so aroused and confused you can’t even eye her with jealousy.
“Mhmm hmm.”
“When are you going to have some of your own?”
And you’re back inside before you can see the look on his face as he lifts his head.
It would be insulting to call it eerie.
It’s not like he’s physically incapable of smelling clean, or dressing nice, or even combing his hair. You’ve seen him do it time and time again for galas and interviews. Hell, that time he took you on a date to get sushi in the tallest building in Toronto, he didn’t look that much different from how he does right now . . . and yet . . .
You feel your face scrunch in suspicion when he remembers your aunt’s food allergies, how your Uncle Rick likes his after-dinner coffee.
Dieter might forget to put on pants, but he’s never forgotten the important dates of your relationship. He remembers what you were wearing the first night you kissed, but can’t remember to take out the pizza before it burns in the oven.
This, this Dieter, feels wrong.
You watch him laugh with your father and uncle by the fireplace with brandy in his hands as you work with your mother and sister to unwrap a dozen saran-wrapped pies. He comes by later and takes the stack of plates from your mother’s hands and assures her he’ll do the dishes, as thanks for such a wonderful meal.
This Dieter Bravo needs a smoking jacket and uses words like “wonderful meal”.
Initial surprise at his near magical transformation from the car this morning long gone, you sit with this uncomfortable feeling, as everyone around you eats pie and laughs and looks all the part of a fucking Hallmark card for “joyful festivities”, long enough to finally understand it for what it is:
Anger.
Shame. Guilt.
Hot embarrassment.
You look at the man who’s invaded your boyfriend’s body as he charms the pants off your mother and father, and ugly, heavy embarrassment boils over in your chest. Washing the knife in your throat down with your fourth glass of wine all night, you excuse yourself with the last bit of breath in your lungs before ducking upstairs, then stumbling to your childhood bathroom you once shared, and share again, with your sister.
You lock the door forcefully in lieu of slamming it shut and sit down on the tile, your head against your knees. Rationally, there’s a part of you that knows this shouldn’t affect you like it is. Women would kill for a boyfriend like this – your sister very nearly jumped him in the garage.
But that’s just the thing – this isn’t your boyfriend. This isn’t the man you spend your days and nights with and this isn’t the man you fell in love with. This isn’t the Dieter you want to show the world.
A soft knock comes from the other side of the door and it breaks you out of your self-deprecating spiral.
“Just a second,” you call out as you stand. You flush the empty toilet (this night is filled with ruses after all) and twitch the faucet on for two seconds. But when you open the door, you’re immediately cowed back in.
“Dieter, what are you–,”
“Are you okay?” Beneath the veneer of the Million Dollar Man, his eyes are soft, coaxing the anxiety out of you. “You looked pale when you left.” He tucks an escaped strand of hair over your ear, watching how his fingers brush up against your skin. He gently tangles his fingers in your hair as he pulls back. He smirks. “Mom’s dressing wasn’t that bad.”
White-hot shame blooms again and you turn your head from him, tugging your hair out of his reach. You catch his hurt expression out of the corner of your eye.
“I’m fine. Just needed some air.”
“You’re not a good liar. I’ve told you that.” His voice is clipped. Not irritated, but not interested in lengthy bouts of misdirection either.
“Well, I don’t feel like bearing my problems to Mr. Perfect.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He crosses his arms, shoulders swelling in the space of the tiny bathroom, and he leans on the sink.
“It means you’re a better liar than me so I guess you’ll have to do it for the both of us.”
You know it’s ridiculous to try and move around him – but maybe this Dieter wouldn’t care if you left angry. Even sober, he could manhandle you without a second thought, but between the heat of the drink in your throat and he’s blurred at the edges, you know you’re fighting a losing battle.
“Dieter, please, just –,”
He stands his ground, effectively blocking the door, and you huff, pushing up against his waist with your hands, your teeth bared behind your lips. He steps back, you think you’ve won a mile, but then his hands grasp so firmly around your elbows, your entire consciousness is pulled into where his fingers curl against your skin.
He gently, but seriously, shakes you slightly.
“Stop fighting me. You tell me what I did wrong and we’ll talk about this.”
The past two weeks of dread, and fear, and worry, and shame – shame that this is your family, this is how you go to pieces around them, this is all you can offer him – slam into your chest and your breathing hitches. The fingers at his chest dig into his shirt. The fourth glass of wine makes your eyes hot and tight.
“This isn’t you.”
You grimace in the bright light of the bathroom and your confession. But beyond your closed eyes, his demeanor hasn’t changed.
“What’s not me?”
A tear slips out the moment you open your mouth, your throat closing and gagging on your words. You swallow and try again, eyes peeling open to stare at the curve of his shoulder.
“You’re Dieter Bravo. You dry-clean your favorite pajamas to preserve the material. You do astrology charts of people who piss you off to find out how to best get back at them. You paint until four in the morning and sleep in our bed until I wake you up–,”
Your heart thrusts its way into your airways and cuts off your ability to speak. You know you’re not making a lot of sense, but all you can think of right now is how much you want to peel this fucking black, Steve Jobs-esque, goddamn ugly-ass turtleneck apart with your bare hands. Like freeing a mermaid from a net. He squeezes your waist, his broad palm settled in the curve of your lower back.
“Darling, I don’t see why this has you so sad –,”
“They won’t fall in love with you like I did.” You lift your watery gaze to him, unable to stop the spilling of tears. You always got teary when you drank a bit too much, but fuck, if you didn’t love him so much, you wouldn’t be so mad . . . at yourself. “I hate that you feel like you have to do this to be accepted by my family. I hate that they can’t see what makes you so special to me. I hate . . . I hate that they don’t see the real you.”
And out of nowhere, he smiles.
Never one to shy away from bodily fluids, Dieter kisses your tear-soaked cheeks, his hands rising up your back, taking their time to press into the curve of your hips, the bones of your ribs, the high arch of your spine, before settling on your cheeks. He kisses your wet mouth, thumbs against the corners of your lips like a soft leather bridle. He holds you, just like that, until your heart eases, stops racing in your chest, and you lean more into the kiss, chasing instead of hiding. You wrap your fingers around his wrists as he pulls away.
“With all due respect, this is just another gig for me.” His gentle smile hides no bitterness, no anger. No disgust. “I know what people like this are like, how they think, what they want. What they value.” He smears away the cold tears from your skin with his thumbs. “It’s fun, in a way, to infiltrate their little circles. It’s all fake, it’s all bullshit, and fortunately I’m fantastic at bullshit.”
You let out a watery laugh and he reaches behind you for some toilet paper to dry your tears. He blots your eyes for you before you can even take the tissue.
“You’re not forcing me to do anything, baby,” he murmurs. “My family was exactly the same way, so I know how the game is played.”
“Yeah, and you don’t talk to them anymore. I just wish I had your bravery to cut them out of my life like you did.”
Dieter’s mouth twitches. “Well, that had more to do with the fact that I like to occasionally make out with boys, than dysfunctional family dynamics.”
You squeeze his forearm as he continues to clean your face, trying to catch his eyes but they’d gone hard where a moment ago they were soft. He thinks, using the silence to carefully fix your make up with his thick thumb under your eyelashes to lift off the smeared mascara.
He didn’t talk much about his life before Hollywood, but when he did, you understood why he was so closed off about it.
“Let’s put it this way: they did the cutting off, not me. And even if we have to be completely different people, your family still talks to you. I’m not saying that to guilt you, or compare trauma scars, but . . . most times we can’t pick who we love, but sometimes we have to.”
You nod, a sense of ease washing over you. His small, I don’t know if I should say this but I’m gonna smile widens across his mouth.
“It’s okay if they don’t see the real me, because I know you do.” He finally pulls away the tissue, his mouth pulled up in sweet earnest. “What can I do to make you feel better?”
A physical string connected between your ribs and his could not have tugged you faster. Tripping into his wide, warm chest, you drop your head onto his collarbone as you wrap your arms around his torso tighter than his own rib cage.
“Just . . .”
His bulky arms pull you into his chest, the bristles of his beard scratching at your temple. It’s not until you sink away from your own thoughts, into the silence in the bathroom, that you realize your breathing is synced with his.
That realization hits you particularly hard, that without trying, without meaning to, you become one with him – you turn and bury your face into the pulse of his neck. If you can get to his heartbeat, maybe that’ll calm you too. Dig through the crust of the earth and end up in China. You shift in his arms, and he does too. Dieter cups the back of your head, thumb rubbing the arch of your skull. His entire arm circles your back.
“What do you need, hm, baby? What can I give you, huh?”
You know he doesn’t mean it like that, but the girth, the weight of his voice has your toes curling in your shoes. His rasp is so often used to light that first spark.
“Dieter –,” the moment shifts and so do you. You squirm, itching for his face in your hands, his mouth over yours, but he holds you steady. Holds you firm. So firm, you can feel he’s half-hard in his jeans.
Oh.
Maybe he did mean it like that.
You press your tongue against his pulse point, your fingers splayed across the back of his rib cage, and he shudders. You’re about to bite down, when his hands peel your fingers from his back and pinch your wrists in one single, meaty grip. Heart suddenly thundering in your chest, he steps back to allow for just enough room to turn you – barely any at all – and pushes you face down on the sink counter, your wrists clasped over your ass behind you.
Cold marble pressing up against your tits, your face turned towards the window and the towel bar where you used to hang your Barbie swimsuits when you were seven, you feel his other massive palm dip under your sweater and press flat against the ridges of your spine. He hums when you let out a small whine. Flexes his fingers when you wiggle your ass against him. You seek out the marble with your cheek, heat rising under your skin, arousal suddenly burning hot in your low belly.
“This is what you need, hm, baby? Need me to touch you? To feel you?” He murmurs. Dieter always did like playing with his food. You nod helplessly, cheek sticky against the marble. He shifts his hips into the crack of your ass, with just enough pressure to have you bucking back against him, but not enough to find relief from the stirring between your legs.
He strokes your hair away from your neck, fingers brushing over your collarbone, gaze languid and slow. Like he can see where he needs to pluck to unravel you.
“Why is my baby so tense?” He muses quietly, patronizing. His hand maps your spine in a single palm, edging slowly up your back until, with two fingers, he pinches your bra open. You feel the snap of the release and you rub your nose against the edge of the counter, whimpering. “Don’t I take care of you?”
You gulp. “Y-y-yes, you treat– treat me so good. I want it.”
He has you pressed too tightly against the counter to slip his hand down your front, the edge pinching your hips. So, instead, with your hands still pinned against your tailbone, he palms your ass and rubs a thick finger down between your legs and up over the seam of your jeans. The whine building in your throat breaks into an open moan when he presses your zipper teeth into your clit.
“Want what? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”
“F-fingers – tongue – fuck – y-your cock. Anything inside me.”
The surprised, breathless chuckle that reverberates down to the button of his jeans seared against your ass has you bending, stretching, just for a glimpse of his face in the mirror.
His mouth open, tongue curling back and forth over his bottom lip, he’s hungry. Wants so much. Can’t satiate this need without something between his teeth. Grinning around a mouthful of incisors. Patience has never been Dieter’s strong suit.
With a firm jerk around your wrists, your back arches up off the counter, shoulders pinched, hands caught low near his groin. You know he wants you to watch him touch you in the mirror – he’s stopped before when you close your eyes – but it’s hard to look at the woman reflected back at you, with her bleary eyes, mussed hair, heaving chest, and exposed belly button where his hand hovers between the waistband and a green sweater, and recognize yourself.
“No one can take you from me. Do you understand?” He dips his head, arched nose dragging up the curve of your neck, breathing hot through his teeth against the lines where your hair and your skin meet. You can’t help but arch up into his waiting mouth. “Not your family. Not mine. You’re so greedy for me – who else is gonna make you feel this good?”
“N-no one, Dieter, no one can.”
His hand rising under your sweater, thumb first at your belly button, then up between the spread of your ribs, and finally, it catches under the wire of your bra and he tugs it down. The material rubs against your sensitive nipples – it almost stings, your body pulled taught like a bowstring – the straps falling low off your shoulders, but your sweater keeps it from falling off completely and he goes no further. You whine, eager for something other than the scratch of the bra – something warmer – and push your sensitive tits into his soft hands, but his hand drops, fingering the waistline of your jeans instead. He ignores what you want to show you what you need.
This is a thing he did. He watched you wind yourself up with deadlines and scheduling and meetings and arguments on set and and doubt and worry and fear and then he took it upon himself to tire you out enough that all of it shattered – crashed and consumed under the white noise in your head. Dieter liked to play however you needed it.
You can feel the seam of his jeans hover just beyond your fingertips, as though his hips swing unconsciously forward while he nips and sucks on your neck. God, you’d give anything to have the weight of him between your palms.
When he speaks again, you realize at some point you squeezed your eyes shut, forgoing sight to chase the sensation that sparks across your skin every time he touched a new bare patch of skin on you. He pulls his head up from fixating a tender purple blush just below where your sweater covers your shoulder to catch your gaze in the mirror. Panthers do not watch with such hungry eyes.
“Arms up.” It’s not a command, a request, but the words drip from his mouth, rich and sweet. He lets go of your wrists and your arms flutter above you, his fingers already rolling up the edge of your sweater. He drags it up, snagging your loose bra with it, and peeling them both off you. The immediate heat of his chest on your bare back is so hot, it burns cold.
“Dieter,” you cry, nipples hardening in the cold air, goosebumps spiraling out along your skin. He’s there for you in an instant.
He bites the soft, invisible hairs at your jaw, thick paws coming up to clutch your breasts, the sudden swap in temperature making your head swim. He pulls you against his chest, a new outer skin that breathes and moans and gasps, one that has a steady heartbeat your own has synced to.
With his eyes fixated on you in the mirror, he molds your breast to his palm, rounding your nipples with his thumbs before sliding down between the curves of them. He licks the back of your neck.
“Face down, baby,” he says.
“But it’s cold,” you huff, pouting. You smooth your hands over his, his angular wrists, his broad thick forearms entombed in long back sleeves, then settle with your fingers in his hair. His height over you has your torso stretched, your tits bare and ripe, and he palms your stomach to the top of your ribs in two hands. He grunts when you twist his curls, keeping his head still so every bruise and wet spot on your shoulders and throat are all too visible. “Don’t you want to see all your good work?”
He blinks, slow and purposeful, his eyelids heavy, mouth parting. You can’t be sure of his decision, of what he wants, what he’s going to give, when his hands arch up the cradle of your arms, soft enough to tickle below your elbows, then around your wrists. He’s done this enough for you to know he wants you to let go.
You do.
Fast as venom moves from fangs to flesh, he plants your hands on the counter, forcibly gripping the edge. This is how you hold on.
He steps up against you again, iron-hot cock pressing without hesitancy between your ass cheeks, and unbuckles your pants without preamble.
“I’d rather just show you.”
Broad hand bending your shoulders forward, fingers pressed flat over your shoulder, you gasp when your tits make contact with the cold counter, and an instant later, he’s filling your open mouth with his fingers. He wets them against the slip of your tongue and grabs your jaw.
Your mind fracturing like cracking ice, you don’t hear the zip of his jeans, the groan as he takes himself out – barely feel the rub along your wet slit, the arranging of his fingers around your bare hip, the widening of your stance with his ankle.
But you do feel it when he’s suddenly hilt-deep inside of you.
You lurch forward with the weight of it, whining as though scalded at the sudden blinding pressure of pleasure and pain, and you slap a palm against the mirror to keep yourself from shattering through it. Behind you, Dieter looks like someone dislocated his kneecaps.
“You good, baby?” He pants, drawing his hand out of your mouth, wet spit between his fingers as he cups your hanging breast. The sensation bleeds hot, then cold. Unable to help himself, he nuzzles your shoulder blades.
You nod, eyes shut, the magnetic north sense of you spinning wildly off-kilter as you try to gulp in as much air as you can. You know you’re about to lose it anyway. He stands upright, not so much as inching out of you, when he plants his feet and nestles your ass against his hip bones, hands wiggling you further down his cock.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous.”
It’s said with such wonder, a breathless reverence, that you think he might not have realized he said it out loud. You glance over your shoulder, turning your head instead of finding him in the mirror.
The facade of the Brooklyn banker is gone. Your Dieter stares, awe-struck, at the body he’s got impaled on his cock like it’s the first time he’s seen a naked woman. Soft, pliant, eager to please, your Dieter lets you collar him, peg him, and give it to you exactly as you ask.
“How do you want it?” The phrase is so familiar, so intimate when spoken from his pink lips, you shudder, a Pavlovian response that’s got you drooling somewhere else than your mouth. He lifts his gaze and finds you staring.
There is no one else in that moment. Not a single living soul besides you and him in this white-tiled bathroom. You can almost hear the absence of people ringing in your ears. His open, hot mouth draws your eyes away from his and you want every bit of him as stuffed up inside you as you can handle. Twisted around, you lick his bottom lip over your shoulder before offering your tongue for him to suck.
He groans, and you breathe in intimacy you’ve never experienced before. A flushed ache rises from your chest, a precursor to the aches he’ll leave you with by morning.
You tip your head back and thumb the bristly skin against his chin.
“Hard, baby. Please.”
For all his faults, for all his forgetting, Dieter switches brain waves as fast as you do, tethered together like the gravitational spin of space rocks in the wake of a gleaming comet.
“Okay.”
He distracts you from the pain of that first rough thrust by biting down on your shoulder.
His motions are short, targeted, and right up into the cradle of your cervix, the pace driven, unrelenting and hard. You shake with the force of them, as fragile as silverware on a table near the drop of an atom bomb.
“Oh – fuck, Dieter–,”
He pins your arm that had touched his chin to your chest, then his chest to your back, sealing your damp skin to his shirt. The curl of that wretched black turtleneck scratches deliciously against your low back.
Grunting in low, short bursts, Dieter sabotages his own breathing by crushing you so tight to his chest. He sucks on your neck as if to draw the oxygen straight from your blood. The fingers on your hip steady you, just for his cock wrecks your insides.
“You wan-na – ngh – you wanna know why it doesn’t bother me?”
Each word is spat out from between his teeth. He’s giving you your requested punishment as much as he is sprinting after his own release.
“Tell me. Tell me please.” Your voice is scraped raw, breathless and gooey at the same time.
“Because when you’re my wife, they won’t be able to do a fucking thing about it.”
Around him, your cunt squeezes, his words sending shocks through your nerves. You whine as if he’d smacked your ass.
“I fucking felt that. You like that. You want that. You want my fucking cock every day.”
Again, he plants your hands on the cold counter.
“Push back against me, baby.” You anchor yourself, ass out, elbows and knees locked. “That’s it, that’s my fucking good girl.”
He lifts his body up right, off your sweaty neck and back, and with both hands pinching your waist, he yanks you up and down on his cock in long, rough thrusts, knees bending with enough force to send you onto your toes.
“Gonna have to take it. Just – fucking – take – it –,”
His leaking cock drives up against that spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll back and body tense again and again, but yanks back before that hot feeling swells. It’s so close you’re dizzy from it.
You want to fuck yourself on his cock but you can’t time your aching hips right, so you stop trying and bend forward more, exposing more of your cunt to him.
“Dieter, please –,”
“Baby, you gotta be quiet. I know you feel good, but you can’t let them hear us.”
The words are out of your mouth, breaking through the thick, drowning fog and through the hindbrain barrier.
“Fuck them. Let them hear.”
Dieter’s hips slow, punch not as deeply, as if he’s curious what you’re going to say next.
“Take off your shirt. I wanna feel your skin.”
He listens immediately, a very good boy at heart, and the first press of his soft chest against you nearly has you coming then.
“Harder again, please.”
Again, without a second’s hesitation, he kisses your ear before grappling your shoulder with one hand and your hip with the other and he takes up his position as owner and keeper of your sloppy cunt.
You cry out, high and wrecked, some semblance of sanity knowing you’re being far too loud, and he bucks the words out of you.
“I wanna suck on your earring, Dieter.” He grunts as he doubles over as if trying to yank back an unrestrained and early release. He rubs his damp forehead in the patch of soft skin by your shoulder blade.
“Say it again.”
With every rock of his hips, you swing up higher, and higher, your thighs tensing, nails scraping the counter.
“Wanna put it between my lips and suck until you’re cherry red. I wanna choke on your rings. So far down my throat I gag. Wanna – wanna – lick your tattoos – all of them – ‘til the ink blurs from my spit. I –,”
The noise he makes is pained, weak, a man at the end of his rope.
He pops your ass. “Shut up. You’re gonna come now.”
His sweaty palms slip against the soft skin of your hips, and he keeps slipping with no leverage.
“Stand on your toes.” You do and for an absurd second, you think he’s going to pick you up in a bear hug. He wraps his arms around your rib cage, his face nestled into the hot, sticky curve of your neck, in the flipped image of when he takes you after your legs get sore from riding him. Your tits spilling over his forearms, he keeps the ludicrous bend in your spine as well as the short, rough pace. You reach your fingers around the back of his head and hold on for dear life.
The change in angle has stars blowing across your eyes, has you whimpering strings of pleas, veneration, and curses all threaded together. His own thighs shaking, he rubs the pads of three of his fingers across your clit and you’re over the edge.
“Oh – oh, shit –,”
The electrical storm that’s been building one wiry shock at a time finally bursts and you go rigid from head to toe, turning to marble, to steel, bright and sharp. You can feel your own release dribble down your thigh, Dieter stuttering behind you.
“Wait – fuck,”
He tries to speed up, or press harder, but he’s coming so hard you feel it expand your cunt and ends up just making a leaking mess. The sensation shivers you through another minor wave. The crest goes high, then crashes, and you slump forward, cold nips be damned, and he follows you down a second later.
The heated weight at your back and hard, cool marble squishing your tits is too much for your dazed brain to handle. Any looser and you might slip off the edge of the earth.
Dieter seems to be in a similar state. He not so much pulls out of you as he goes weak-kneed to the floor. A single tug on your hip has you stumbling down with him.
Despite the garland around the stairs, despite the smell of cranberries in the air, despite the veneer of perfect holiday wholesomeness, it’s the slick layer of sweat, grime, and cum over your skin that has you finally smiling.
You recognize you have been gone far too long – there’s not enough spiked hot cider in the world to ignore two missing bodies and a locked door. Dieter puts his barefoot preemptively up against the door frame and you giggle into his shoulder.
“Oh, there’s the sound I’ve been missing!” He nuzzles you, a blissful smile breaking open his face, sunlight over storm clouds. He wiggles beneath you, trying to tug you on top of him, but with your jeans constricting your thighs, and his barely below his hips, all it really accomplishes is the two of you rolling around on the bathroom floor.
In a heap of limbs, slick skin, his knee catching the button of your jeans, you bump your nose against his chin, there’s something bright building in your chest – it’s twisting your mouth, pinching your cheeks – his fingers grab your elbow, his eyes lock into yours –
And you’re laughing.
You’re laughing too loud, all pretense gone. You can’t honestly care what they’re thinking downstairs.
He manages to get you under him, his damp hair clinging to his temples and tangling down in frizzy strands.
“I’m gonna say this and I need you to actually hear me.”
You nod, grinning up at him and lightly tracing his clavicle.
He swats at your hand and holds it to your chest.
“Don’t wait until it’s that bad, okay?” You chuckle and he bites the tip of your nose. “Listen to me, you little goblin, I’m trying to be serious for a second.”
You settle under him, fingers intertwining with his over your chest. Sincere Dieter is a beautiful thing to look at.
“This holiday bullshit can be a lot. Spent a lot of them either in coke up to my eyeballs, or in the bathroom the next day. It fucking sucks that these are the people we can from, but we can’t change that. What’s important is the family we build right now–,”
Your mouth drops open, his words suddenly illuminating a future that had always seemed so blurry and distant.
“Dieter, I –,”
“I’m gonna marry you someday, so let’s start with us.” He kisses the back of your hand. “We carry each other, okay?”
You nod, the white light of that future searing a hole in your chest, exposing your heart to the open air, and bringing tears to your eyes. You nod, more assured, before kissing him on his bottom lip.
“Okay.”
The next few minutes play out just like they would if you were at home: cleaning each other up, trying on clothes only to realize he grabbed your sweater instead, and bumping affectionate kisses wherever they could reach.
At the top of the stairs, you don’t know what awaits you in the living room. What exactly you’ll be returning to. Who will catch you and who won’t.
But it doesn’t matter. His hand is around yours and he’s grinning petulantly against all the world.
Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on?
Your heart says yes.
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Psychomanteum / Chapter 16
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)
Chapter 16: Famous Last Words
Chapter Summary: Revelations.
Word Count: 7.7k+
Content / Warnings: alternating pov, suicidal thoughts and planning, intrusive thoughts, grief, swearing, alcohol use, uncertainty, parker, angst, paranormal/spooky elements, hunger, hangover, driving, psychomanteum, ethan, drug addiction, domestic abuse, journal
Notes: Chapter title from “Famous Last Words" by My Chemical Romance. Babe I told you we'd get one more MCR-titled chapter before this was over. Chapter 17 will be the last chapter, then an epilogue. Huge thanks to @frannyzooey for proofreading and being the best 🖤✨
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The sun feels like a spotlight as you trudge your way from the bedroom to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. Nausea grips your sour, empty stomach. Your head throbs, pulse pounding in your ears.
The past few mornings, you’ve become well-acquainted with the wine hangover. It’s a love-hate relationship, you and wine. It numbs the overwhelming emotional pain, emptying your brain at night so that you can sleep. In return, it makes you so fucking sick the morning after, you think it might be plotting to kill you.
You carefully place a few logs in the fireplace and poke the glowing embers in the hearth back to life, then plop down on the couch, draping a blanket around your shoulders as you curl up with a notebook and pen.
You stare at the blank page, unsure what to tell it.
You could tell it that, same as yesterday and the day before, the aftereffects of drinking yourself to sleep have tainted your morning green. Not a cute green, either, like forest or emerald. Think Dieter’s bathrobe or pea soup. Think seasick.
You could tell it that the hangover causing every subtle noise to strike your temples like a ball-pein hammer only incentivizes you further. Nothing makes you want to die quite like a wine hangover.
You could tell it that, really, it doesn’t fucking matter that you’re hungover. If you weren’t miserable in this way, you’d be miserable in another.
You could ask it if this is what Ethan was feeling one year ago today. Sick and determined to end it all. Did he plan it out like you’ve been doing, or was it spur of the moment? When did he decide he would do it?
When did he decide to take you with him? Was it the ink? Had this been his plan all along?
All the things you never asked him in the psychomanteum seem so important now. Especially one: Why?
Sure, things were bad. Fucking awful, even. But there were still little moments here and there.
Like when the gas bill went neglected and they disconnected service. You couldn’t fall asleep because it was too cold, so he set up the only space heater on your side of the bed. He wrapped his arms around your shivering body and held you to his chest all night, keeping you warm. Or like when he was in the neighborhood of your favorite bakery and he stopped to pick up glazed donuts on his way home.
There were days when you couldn’t fucking stand to look at him. It hurt too much to see the physical toll of his addiction. How emaciated he had become, his boyish face all hollowed out and gaunt, dark bags drooping under his eyes.
But there were also days when he still opened the apartment door, calling out, “Louie, I’m home!” Like Ricky Ricardo in I Love Lucy. It was his favorite bit.
He’d jabber on about the customers, or the traffic, or the news. There were still days when he paid you compliments and kissed you like he meant it. When he brought home things he knew you’d like. Little presents here and there, nothing big, but enough to be reassured he was thinking about you.
A week before he died, he gifted you a journal.
He was supposed to pick up groceries, but got sidetracked in a bookstore and forgot the errand. When he came home holding a brown paper parcel wrapped in twine instead of plastic bags filled with food, you were furious.
“What’s that?” you asked, crossing your arms.
He tossed it on the counter as he shucked off his jacket, “It’s for you.”
“Is it edible?”
“Edible? No,” he scoffed, sliding it closer, “C’mon, open it up.”
You stared at him for a moment, at his Cheshire grin, jaw clenched and grinding. At his eyes all wide with intense excitement, the pupils blown-out and black. He vibrated with energy, his long limbs twitching in constant motion.
So fucking high.
Trying to avoid the violent downswing of his pendulum mood, you sighed and unwrapped the parcel, revealing an orange journal embossed with the phrase A New Chapter. The pages inside were buttery soft but thick, lined with delicate margins.
“A notebook?”
“A journal, yeah,” he sniffed and tugged at the tip of his nose, “I came by this rad looking bookstore and poked around a bit, thought you’d like it.”
You didn’t immediately react, so he kept talking.
“When I was out the other night, I was talking to a friend and she said journaling has helped her work through some of her feelings and all that, and… well, I know you used to journal all the time, I thought maybe it would help since you’ve been a little… out of sorts lately.”
You wanted to ask him who this friend was and why he didn’t call her by name. You wanted to ask him what else he bought with the grocery money. You wanted to ask him why he’d rather you spill your guts to a journal than to him.
Instead, you nodded, put on a smile, and said, “Thank you. It’s very thoughtful. I—I love it.”
The words felt dead in your mouth. Foul and rotten. He returned your fake smile with his own, then excused himself to his office.
You remember thinking the whole thing was a farce. A sham. A two-person act where you both pretended not to smell the decay between you.
The journal he gave you went to your bedside drawer. It remained untouched for months before you rediscovered it while spring cleaning.
At first, you didn’t recognize it. Then a gut-wrenching nostalgia took hold. A New Chapter. It felt more like a relic from a past life than a journal for the future.
Weeks went by before you wrote inside.
It felt blasphemous at first, marking the perfect blank pages with your script. Like you were shattering an artifact. But it helped to offload some of your rumination onto paper. It became a central coping mechanism for you.
There are passages going back at least six months, maybe more. Before you and Dieter ever even spent time alone in a room together. When he was just a goofy, handsome guy who lived on the other side of the country. Your long-distance friend that maybe sometimes gave you butterflies every time you talked to him. Even then, his name made frequent appearances on those pages.
The journal contains all your innermost thoughts, the long-winded rambling narrations of your waxing and waning between cynicism and optimism, the whole disgusting freak show inside your head laid out on the counter for anyone to rifle through.
And I forgot it on his kitchen counter like an idiot.
When you picture Dieter flipping through the journal, reading your school-girl crush ramblings and earnest thoughts about him, your face gets hot with embarrassment.
If you’re being honest with yourself, though, maybe it’s better he has it. Maybe one day he’ll look through it and read your crazy thoughts and know you’ll love him until you’re dust and then even after. In the next life, and the next, until the sea of love runs dry and humanity goes bust. Maybe he’ll read through it and know that you were struggling by no fault of his own.
With a sharp inhale, you put your pencil to paper and write: I miss my journal. I miss my Dee.
Then you toss the notebook aside and go to make some breakfast.
—
The first thing Dieter does when he wakes is grab his phone off the nightstand.
One eye squinting open, he plugs your name into a search engine and scrolls through the results. Nothing new, just tabloids recycling old information and speculating. Fucking vultures.
A boulder settles on his chest, cold and massive, squeezing the air from his lungs.
He should be used to this sort of feeling, considering how often he’s felt it the past few days.
Every lead they had came up a dead end. You put up an impenetrable wall around yourself, so the most he can do is scour the internet for signs of you and live in the disappointment that follows each search.
He drops his phone and looks over at the empty spot beside him.
In an alternate universe, maybe one where your apartment wasn’t raided or you didn’t run away, the two of you are probably right here in bed, all intertwined under the covers, murmuring sweet affirmations to each other. Or maybe you’re seated next to one another in some unsuspecting diner, ordering greasy breakfast foods and sipping watered-down coffee. Or maybe he’s leaning on the kitchen island, watching you throw together some kind of sweet treat that the two of you would share throughout the day.
Or maybe there is no alternate universe. Maybe this was the way this was always going to be.
While you were still here, he made plans for Christmas. They weren’t big plans or anything. Nothing too showy, just some stuff to bring you comfort on the anniversary of your husband’s passing. Figured he could make you breakfast, then the two of you could take a bath. He got you a robe, pajamas, and some slippers so you’d be at the height of comfort for a trashy reality show marathon. Smoking pot, ordering takeout, that kind of thing. Low key.
It would’ve been nice. Definitely would’ve beat his long-standing Christmas tradition of going on a bender.
Dieter sighs, reaching across the bed to pull your pillow into an embrace. He buries his face in it and inhales your lingering scent. His eyes clench shut as he tries to picture what you’re doing, where you are, how you’re feeling, but he gets nothing.
Intuition tells him he’s running out of time.
He knows you’re still out there as sure as he knows there’s a pulse beneath his skin. But if you’ve held out this far, you’ll do it today or tomorrow. You’re a romantic like that.
He prays that’s enough time for a miracle.
—
You crouch down at the river’s edge and dig your fingers into the cold, damp sand, clamping down around a gray speckled rock. It comes loose with a firm tug, leaving an indent behind. Turning it over in your hand, you admire its weight and size.
A keeper.
You toss it in your backpack along with the other rocks and zip the bag shut. Hands numb and filthy, you heave the backpack onto your shoulders and jump up and down a little, nodding in approval at the considerable effort it takes to do so.
That should do just fine.
The backpack stays on the beach while you walk back to the cabin. Once inside, you thaw your hands with hot, soapy water, then eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of the fireplace, staring at the flickering flames as you chew. Your mind is white noise. A static-screened TV. An engine seized.
After cleaning the minimal mess from lunch, you consult your to-do list, cross off Gather the means of your destruction, and move to the next item: Build the psychomanteum.
—
“I printed all the information we’ve found and put it in here,” Darlene flips open the cover of a black binder and leafs through the color-coded, tabbed off sections, “Inside, I have call logs, typed out my notes from all my interviews, made a timeline of her last known movements, and basically everything we know so far. Table of contents at the front.”
She heaves the binder closed and straightens its bottom edge perfectly parallel to the edge of the dining room table, then takes a sideways step to the manila envelope beside it.
“I printed out some pictures and wrote a detailed description of her in the event that you decide to file the missing persons report. All of that information is in the manila envelope here,” she taps the envelope and looks up at Dieter, “Why did you fly to New York the day your girlfriend went missing?”
“To bribe an elected official.”
She blinks, “Try again.”
“I thought she went home.”
“And why did you go to the opera?”
“Parker and I were following up on a lead. Someone texted me and said they thought they saw her—”
“Who texted you?”
“Uhhhh…”
“Do you have a copy of the text message?”
“I, um—”
“Exactly. Too vague, and traceable. Try again.”
“Parker told me to.”
“Bitch, what the fuck?” Parker swats him.
“Ow,” Dieter hisses, rubbing the fresh welt, “No, uhhh… I went to New York to look for her because she lives there. She always told me about wanting to go to the Met to catch a show, so we went to see if we could spot her.”
“She went missing and you wanted to look for her at the Metropolitan Opera House?”
“It was a long shot, yeah,” he sighs and scratches his chin, “Waste of time, we ended up leaving at intermission.”
“That’s… not bad,” Darlene gives him an impressed nod, then looks down at her folder and straightens it in line with the binder, “Probably enough to keep you from getting arrested, at least. What about you, Parker?”
“I helped him look for her in New York, even though I knew it was a dumb idea and told him so to his face.“
“Do you think he was up to anything, covering up his tracks?”
“No,” Parker scoffs, “Poor boy was worried sick the whole time. He wouldn’t stop beating himself up for going on that goddamn wild goose chase.”
“Good,” Darlene smiles, crossing her arms, and tilts her head at Dieter, “Are you sure it’s ok if I go?”
“Oh, yeah, go,” he waves his hand dismissively, “You’ve done more than enough, really. Thank you for everything.”
“Well… don’t thank me yet,” she mutters, taking another side step to the second manila envelope. She picks it up and holds it with both hands, pausing for a moment before passing it across the table to him. ‘
He takes it and frowns at her, “What’s this?”
“It’s her journal.”
His breathing stops. All the moisture in his mouth evaporates, tongue sticking Velcro to the roof when he opens his mouth to ask a thousand questions. Darlene speaks before he can utter a syllable.
“You gave it to me. Unintentionally, I think, but I jotted down some notes from that first morning when I was calling around.”
Dieter opens the envelope and pulls out the orange, spiral-bound notebook. A New Chapter. He traces the phrase.
“I didn’t realize what it was until last night when I was double-checking I copied the notes down right. I flipped to the front, and…”
As if under a spell, he opens the cover, eyes falling on the first line.
I am the haunted house
He closes it and stares at the cover, then across the table at Darlene, “How much did you read?”
“I went through the last few entries,” she tells him, “Skimmed them to see if she mentioned anything helpful. She didn’t, but you might want to take a closer look at them. Maybe something will jump out at you.”
Dieter glances at Parker. They exchange a look that says neither of them will make a fuss about the invasion of your privacy. Given the circumstances, it’s understandable.
“I worked backwards and marked where I left off with a tab. You should read it.”
He nods and clears his throat, then says, “Yeah, I, umm… I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
—
The Friedman family cabin had limited options when it came to putting together the psychomanteum.
It calls for a dark and preferably small enclosed space, a challenge in itself. The common rooms are open concept, with the obvious exception of the bathroom. Both of the bedrooms on the first floor and the loft upstairs have dressers in lieu of closets. Thinking about setting up in the dirt-floor wine cellar, alongside its long-term creepy-crawly residents, made you queasy.
This left you with one practical option: the cedar linen closet.
After transferring the neat stacks of towels, bedding, and pillows from the shelves, you take out the shelves themselves. You find some dark quilts to line the walls with and, through an arduous process of trial and error, accomplish a mirror-angle combination that creates the desired effect.
Throughout this process, you try to concentrate on what you would say to him, telling yourself that this time you wouldn’t spin out and lose your nerve. This time you would ask the questions that haunt your every waking breath.
Your mind keeps wandering to Dieter, though.
You think about his experiences in the psychomanteum.
About James and the river and the scars left on Dieter’s young heart. You think about the ghost that haunts him, his monster, and how it might whisper similarities in his ear. How it might coax him into the darkness forever.
The thought strikes you hard and heavy, square in the chest.
All the air leaves your body and your hands go numb. You crumple up into a ball on the closet floor and weep. Pained, warbled sobs shake your body. The noises that come out of you sound foreign and animalistic.
You cry for him, and for you, and for all the things that could have been. You cry and cry until you can't cry anymore.
It feels cleansing. Therapeutic. Like a purge to overly-ripe, buzzing nerves.
In the messy afterglow of this release, you stare up at the ceiling and wish Dieter would come barging through the door.
If he found you here, all curled up on the closet floor of your in-laws cabin, he would probably let out a big sigh of relief, then lay down beside you. He would pull you into an embrace and squeeze you tight and make you take a blood oath to never leave him again.
For the first time since you set out on this literal suicide mission, you really consider not following through with it.
Something dark flickers out the corner of your eye. When you hear the faint whisper of a noise, your breath halts.
You fine-tune your ears, focusing on each minute sound that crops up. Wind rustling the trees outside. Your heart pumping blood. The deafening silence in between.
Then you hear it.
A coarse, abrasive noise like fingernails on sheetrock. Scratching.
It sneaks.
Your pulse jumps, muscles going tense with fear. You pinch your eyes shut. Try to stay still and quiet, but each shaky breath sounds louder than the last.
Another scratch, slow and dry, from inside the closet this time.
“Leave me alone,” you whisper, “Please.”
—
I am the haunted house
Full of ghosts
Myself and others
Living in the past
I cannot escape
Neither can they
Dieter stares at the page, re-reading that first passage in your journal at least ten times before shaking his head and closing the cover.
This feels fucked up and invasive. It doesn’t sit right in his body, all hard corners stretching out his stomach. He should hurl the journal into the canyon, but something stops him from doing so.
His leg starts bouncing, jaw gnashing back and forth with indecision. He leans forward in the patio chair and flips the journal open a few pages.
I think I like him and I don’t know how to feel about that. I feel like it’s too soon and I’m not ready, but at the same time, I am drawn to him. Almost every time we talk on the phone it turns into a three-hour long conversation and even then I wish I could keep talking to him. He makes me laugh. He’s sweet and odd and insanely fucking hot. He seems to party a lot, which makes me unjustifiably nervous. The other night when I was talking to him, he mentioned another woman and I felt fucking jealous?? I’ve literally met the man twice. What the fuck am I doing. I am actually insane. I think it would be a real problem if we did anything beyond flirting, I would probably need to be committed.
Warmth and affection flood his veins.
You must have written this sometime between the party at Katie’s and the first time he traveled to New York to see you. Probably last spring when the two of you began to contact each other more and more.
He remembers how tedious it was at first.
Getting to know each other was a delicate dance both of you performed without acknowledgment. A text here and there, sporadic communication at best. He didn’t want you to think he was too eager. In fact, he didn’t want to be eager at all.
Past friendships left him jaded and waiting for the other shoe to drop. On top of that, he was going through a divorce and pretty dedicated to a full-time coke habit.
He dreaded the day you would reveal yourself as a snake. But you never did.
As the text messages grew more frequent and reliable, he couldn’t deny the temptation to let his feelings blossom instead of nipping them in the bud. Soon the messages accompanied weekly phone calls and video chats, until it became an almost daily ritual to hear your voice.
He wasn’t sure what to think or feel about you, he just knew that he always found himself wondering about you. What you were doing, who you were with. Like you, he felt a tinge of jealousy on the rare occasion you would drop another man’s name.
It’s comforting to know you felt the same way. Weary, but intrigued. Resistant to the pull of attraction, yet not entirely immune.
The glass patio door slides open, then shut.
Dieter looks over his shoulder and nods in greeting to Parker, who plops down in the patio chair next to him. With him, he carries a navy blue gift bag emblazoned with a shiny gold logo that reads Bizarre Bazaar.
“You boys have fun shopping?”
Parker holds the bag out to Dieter, letting the ribbon handle dangle from his slender fingers, “It’s for you. Merry Christmas.”
“Oh fuck off, really?”
“It was Lincoln’s idea,” he shakes the bag, “Take it!”
Rolling his eyes, Dieter sets your journal aside and takes the gift.
“You really didn’t have to get me anything.”
“I know.”
He pushes aside tissue paper and pulls a black frame from the bag. A shadow box. Suspended inside the glass is a moth with an impressive wingspan. Its creamy white wings have dark stripes that zigzag close together to create an almost disorienting effect, making his vision blur into abstract.
“Thysania Agrippina,” Parker tells him, “The White Witch moth, or ghost moth. They’re the biggest moths, typically found in forests of Central and South America. Back in ye olden days, when explorers encountered them, they would try to shoot them like they did with birds and bats, but the moths would evade the attacks, making the explorers think they were witches. Really, their body is just incredibly small in comparison to their wings.”
Dieter nods, unable to tear his eyes away from the specimen.
“People see moths as a symbol of transformation and rebirth. White witch moths are especially considered good luck.”
“I need all the luck I can get,” he mutters and looks at Parker, “It's beautiful, thank you.”
Parker gives him a half-hearted smile, glancing at your journal, “Did you find anything?”
With a sigh, Dieter carefully slides the taxidermy moth back into the gift bag, then picks up your journal and flips through it.
“Not really. I haven’t gone through much, though. Here are Darlene’s notes,” he opens to a page with her sparse, neat script, and flips backwards through the pages, passing a few blanks before finding your last entry, “This is from the day before. I don’t know.”
Parker frowns, “Can I see it?”
Shrugging, Dieter hands it to him.
He watches as Parker studies the blank pages, tilting and turning the journal against the light of the overhead sun. When Parker jumps to his feet, Dieter’s stomach flips.
“What?”
“I think I see something.”
“Something like what?”
“I need a pencil.”
Dieter leaps into action, leading the way inside to a cup of writing utensils on the kitchen counter. He finds a lead pencil and hands it to Parker, who starts lightly shading over a small section of paper. Contrast carves out negative space from idents in the page.
A phone number.
“Holy shit,” Dieter breathes, stunned for a moment before pulling out his phone and dialing the number.
—
The bottle lets out a glug-glug-glug as you pour plum wine into your glass. You tilt your head, watching with dead eyes as the golden elixir fills your cup to the brim, then you set the empty bottle aside and take a sip.
Not bad. Tart well-balanced with sweet. The taste doesn’t matter as much to you as the alcohol content, but it helps.
Staring at the blank page, you remember what Dieter said when you tried and failed to reach Ethan through the psychomanteum. That you were too closed-off. You click your pen a few times, then bring the tip to paper.
I cried myself to sleep that night.
Ethan locked himself in his room after pouring the ink I gave him on the living room floor. I could hear him in there, pacing back and forth and talking to himself. A squeaky floorboard tracked his movements like a metronome.
Even though he was in his own little world, I muffled my sobs in my pillow so he couldn’t hear me. Before falling asleep, I remember feeling hopeless. I loved and hated him at the same time. It was over, I couldn’t do it anymore. That fact scared the ever-loving shit out of me.
It didn’t seem real when I woke up.
He took me by the hair and pulled me out of bed. My legs didn’t work. I kept collapsing and tripping all over the place, which made him even more angry. Each time I faltered, he yanked me up to my feet by the hair. He called me a bitch. A rat. A spineless fucking worm.
Before taking me out in the hallway, he showed me a pocket knife and told me if I screamed he would slit my throat. I believed him.
You pause here, considering whether or not to drink more wine. For a while, you watch the low flames in the fireplace dance around on ashy, glowing logs. You rise to your feet and approach it, pulling open the hearth to carefully stack more firewood atop the hungry beast. It thanks you with a crackle and a burst of heat and light, the newborn fire blazing your face and hands.
Returning to your seat, you cross your legs under the coffee table and re-read what you’ve written. The memories hold space in your chest.
This deep, dull ache starts at your sternum and spreads across your body. Instinctively, you reach for the wine, but pause before your fingertips touch the glass.
It seems important that you experience the pain, not anesthetize it.
You pick up the pen and keep going.
He led me down to the parking garage and threw me in the passenger seat. When I tried to buckle my seatbelt, he threatened me again, told me to leave it. He took off, driving like a fucking maniac. Swerving around traffic, running red lights, going the wrong way down one way streets. It was snowing and the roads were slick. Every time we lost traction, he howled with laughter as he righted his course.
I remember being fucking terrified and thinking this couldn’t be happening, it wasn’t real, it was a nightmare. I don’t remember everything I said to him. I just remember screaming and crying, begging him to let me out. He ignored me. I tried to snap him out of it by punching him in the face as hard as I could. This got his attention.
The car skidded to a stop. He looked at me. His eyes were black and vacant and unrecognizable. I knew then that Ethan wasn’t coming back. It was me and his monster. I asked him to let me out. He said no. He said we had to do this together. I told him I fucking hated him and reached for the door handle to get out.
He grabbed my throat and hit me hard, his fist landing on my left eye. I saw stars, then everything went black.
When I came to, the engine was roaring. Red traffic lights zoomed by overhead. He was looking through the windshield with a blank, emotionless stare, picking up speed fast. It became very clear what he was going to do. Still dazed, I tried to put on my seatbelt, but before I could click it into place, I heard a horrible metallic crunching noise from everywhere. Everything went black again.
Hot tears burn trails down your cheeks. You drop the pen down and bury your face in your hands, releasing a guttural sob from your chest like some kind of rabid animal. It splits you in two, claws tearing at your rib cage and carving you out.
This is what it feels like to be an aluminum can. Drained of utility, crushed for scrap metal.
This is what it feels like to be a jack-o-lantern. Gutted, empty, rotting.
This is what it feels like to have your heart broken for the first and last time.
Eventually, you manage to catch your breath. Then you rise to your feet and start towards the psychomanteum.
__
Headlights cut through the pitch black night onto the highway ahead.
“In two miles, take Exit 31 to merge onto CA-41 North towards Yosemite.”
Dieter glances at his phone mounted to the dash. It estimates his arrival time as 10:53, putting him 36 minutes and 23 miles out. He punches the gas, watching the speedometer jump from 76-mph to 90.
If he’s gonna shave off more time, it’ll be here, not in the foothills. Pretty soon the roads will get narrow and curvy. Not to mention, they might be slick as it gets colder with elevation, and he’d like to make it to you alive, thankyouverymuch.
His nerves buzz at the thought, tangling in a mess of anticipation and worry and guilt.
He should have figured it out sooner. This should have been a first day call. It would’ve been if he wasn’t so fucking blind. He handed your journal to Darlene, not realizing it had the answer the whole goddamn time.
Nobody answered at first. He held his breath as the line trilled. It rang long enough for him to wonder if he died and went to hell and was doomed to exist in the moment for eternity.
Then the voicemail picked up.
“You’ve reached the voicemail for Sarah Friedman. Sorry I missed you, leave me a message and I’ll call you back.”
BEEP
“Hi, Sarah. My name is Dieter Bravo. I’m calling about my, uhh… Louella Friedman. I found your phone number in her notebook, and she’s been missing for a few days. I’m—I’m worried about her. She left a note, and, umm… yeah. I don’t know. I’m hoping you have information on her whereabouts. Please call me back. Thanks.”
He hung up and looked between Parker and Lincoln, “Sarah Friedman?”
Parker’s eyes went wide, “That’s Ethan’s mom—oh my god—” He gasped, jumping up and down, “Their fucking cabin, Dieter! Fresno—mountains, forest, holy shit—”
“Oh my god!” Dieter started jumping up and down too, only getting two hops in before bolting for the door, “I GO NOW!”
“Wait—shoes! Your wallet! And keys!” Lincoln called to him, making him circle back into the house and grab the items off the sideboard and shove his feet into a pair of crocs.
“And a charger, do you want an overnight bag? What about Lua’s things—her phone—”
His phone buzzed in his hand. Sarah returning his call.
“You have thirty fucking seconds,” he told Lincoln before answering, “This is Dieter.”
“Hi, Dieter. This is Sarah calling you back.”
“Yeah, thank you so much—Is she, Lua, is she ok?”
When she didn’t immediately respond yes, his stomach plummeted.
“I actually, I don’t know,” Sarah sighed, “I’m glad you called, because I wasn’t sure—”
“What do you mean?”
He started snapping his fingers at Lincoln, who was stumbling down the hall towards him, shoving things into a backpack.
“She’s been staying at our cabin and I haven’t been able to reach her.”
“I have her phone, she left it here. At my house.”
“No, on the landline. I’ve talked to her the past few days, but when I tried earlier the call wouldn’t go through.”
“Fuck,” he muttered, grabbing the backpack from Lincoln, “Send me the address, I’m going.”
It took him about two and a half hours to drive the some-odd 200 miles to where he is now. The most excruciating drive of his life, just him and Siri and his anxious thoughts.
“Take the exit.”
He flips on the blinker and glances in the rearview mirror, then over his shoulder before merging.
“Hang on a little bit longer, baby.”
—
Your head swims as you relax into the nest of pillows and blankets on the floor. Behind you, the electric lantern casts a dim glow, reflecting off the frame of the mirror. The mirror shows you a black abyss. You stare into it, letting your vision blur abstract.
Then you wait.
After some time, a strange feeling comes over you. A shifting, surreal sensation like you’re changing gears and reaching a higher plane of existence. Invisible tendrils slither out from beneath your skin and branch out before you, stretching into the abyss. You feel connected to it. Tapped into something larger than yourself.
“Ethan, I need to talk to you.”
Something clicks into place, like a tether coupling you to him. His presence lingers near yours somewhere within the abyss, but you gather the notion that he wants you to come closer, and lean into the strange sensation.
Static energy pulses around you on all sides as you move forward through the darkness. Light years ahead of you, a star twinkles. A single pinprick of brightness in the inky black.
You follow the beacon, gliding through the space with surprising speed.
The light grows from a pinprick to a beam, from a beam to a dinner plate, from a dinner plate to a beach ball, stretching wider and brighter with each passing moment.
You come to a halt when you realize that it’s not just a far-off daydream, but a tangible object.
An orb, roughly the same size as you, glowing with pure white light.
It emits familiar ambient noises, flickering brighter with each sound wave. Muffled car horns. Stomping from the upstairs neighbors. Ethan’s low, quiet humming in the tune of “All I Have to Do Is Dream” by the Everly Brothers.
The orb seems to possess a gravitational pull. You find yourself drifting closer. When you reach out to touch it, your fingertips brush against something warm and inviting.
In the blink of an eye, you appear somewhere else entirely.
It takes a moment to reorient yourself to these new surroundings. Your focus flickers to the steeple of your drawn-back emerald curtains, giving you a peep show of the electric blue sky. Afternoon sun pours in through the window, spilling across the bedspread.
The foreground of your vision clears to a crisp image. Ethan’s bare chest, rising and falling with breath. Beneath your ear, the steady thump-thump of his heart beats true and steady. His fingertips gently rake against your skin in lazy, comforting circles.
You tilt your head to look at him, meeting his gaze. His eyes are clear and present like you haven’t seen in ages. He looks healthy. Full of life. Reaching up to trace the curve of his lips, you whisper, “Is this heaven? Did I die?”
He huffs a little chuckle, “No.”
You grin at the sight of his smile, eyes flicking all over his face, “Then what is it?”
“It’s what you needed,” he shrugs, “What you came here for.” When you arch a suspicious brow, he smirks, “What?”
“I came here to yell at you.”
“Then yell at me.”
He stares at you, his brown eyes both sincere and mischievous. Your teeth catch your bottom lip and you glance out the window.
“C’man, Lou. Look at me.”
You do, and he shifts around a little, rolling on his side to face you, “Hit me with the truth, baby. I can take it.”
“If I ask you something, will you lie?”
“I’ve got nothing to gain from lying to you.”
You search his face for signs of falsehood, but find none.
“Were there other women?”
“Do you really wanna know?”
You nod.
He licks his lips, glancing down, then back to you, “Yeah, there were a few.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
It shocks you a little, his honesty. And soothes you. You forgot it could be like this with him. No games, no bullshit.
“Were they serious? Did you love them?”
“No,” he scoffs, waving his hand dismissively, “They were… distractions.”
You bite down on the inside of your cheek and nod, dropping your gaze.
“If you’re waiting for excuses, I don’t have any. It was wrong and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it. Any of it. The cheating, the lies, the… the way I hurt you—”
“You tried to kill me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You did kill me. Slowly. Inside and out.” Your vision swims with tears, but you look up to meet his eyes anyway, “You broke me. You were supposed to love me and you broke me, Ethan. I don’t know if I can even love right anymore, I’m so fucked up.”
“I’m sorry.”
He looks at you with such naked anguish that you believe he means the apology with his whole heart. It still hurts.
“Please say something else.”
“What do you want me to say, Lou?”
A hard knot of emotion works its way up your throat, making your face crumble and your eyes sting with tears.
“I don’t know,” you whisper. Then, as if it’s an answer, you tell him, “I’m… I’m scared.”
“What’re you so scared of?”
“What if we’re just cursed to keep living this over and over? Loving and losing?”
You picture your dad. Ethan. James. Anika.
You picture Dieter. You picture one hundred ways he could break you beyond recognition. One hundred ways you could do the same to him.
It all seems so fragile.
“Lou, look at me,” he tilts your chin up to meet his eyes, “You will never know what the future holds. That doesn’t mean it can’t be good. That doesn’t mean you should hide from it.”
“Is it worth it?”
“Don’t you think?”
You picture the ghost trail of your ink-stained hand clasping Dieter’s and feeling his soul from the inside out. The phone calls. Hours and hours—weeks, really—listening to his voice over one electronic device or another. Him sitting next to you, eating Chinese food and watching shitty tv. His laugh, those dimples. The night at the Plaza. Big brown tootsie pop eyes. Snow angels. The ocean—the sea of love.
He smirks, flicking his eyes around your face, “You love him, huh?”
“I do,” you nod, a knot of guilt tugging at your stomach, “I love him so much. I just… what if he hurts me like you did? What if I hurt him? I—I don’t think I can be put back together if I break again.”
“Tell me something. And be honest with me, I’ll know if you’re lying, ok? If you could go back and do something different, forever changing the course of your life up to this moment… would you?”
You think about it, long and hard. You consider the different paths your life could have taken.
If your dad never developed cancer, you might’ve felt secure enough to stay in Ohio. Maybe you would have attended culinary classes in a local community college instead of running away to New York. You never would have met Parker. You never would have moved to the city. You never would have had the opportunities to establish your culinary skills the way you did. You never would have met Ethan.
If Ethan would have stayed clean, the two of you might have existed in happily-ever-after until your dying day… but you never would have met Dieter.
Dieter.
Your chest aches with love, tears welling up in your eyes. Loving him feels perfect and magical and right. Otherworldly. It feels like forever.
Every passing moment since you met him has felt like you are exactly where you need to be.
Even the bad times, like the first time you tried the psychomanteum and he lost it. You learned so much about him. He revealed some of the most tender spots in his heart. You started to trust him.
Or when you found out he slept with Katie and it felt like your world came crashing down. You learned that, even when you pushed him away, he would fight tooth and nail for you.
Intrusions from the tabloids and your mother, the interview, dinner with Lilly and Jay. All of these instances forced you both to reconcile with parts of yourselves you thought were thoroughly unloveable and come out the other side somehow more intact than you were before.
You realize that even now, with the threat of prison and the destruction of Dieter’s career lingering in your periphery, with you tucked away in the psychomanteum in the middle of nowhere, hiding from everything… it’s where you need to be. And despite the impossible odds, you believe that your love for each other will come out the other side.
You shake your head.
“No. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Ethan nods, brushing his fingertips along your cheek, “So, you tell me. Is it worth the risk?”
—
When Dieter spots the mailbox labeled FRIEDMAN, his heart jumps up and gets lodged in his throat.
"The destination is on your right. Arrived."
He slows and turns the wheel, steering the car down the gravel driveway. Outside, the night is impossibly black. The only thing he can see in the high beams are tall pine trees on either side of the path and an occasional flicker of reflective eyes in the forest.
“Could it be any fucking creepier out here, Jesus Christ—”
Thunk
One of the tires hits a pothole, making him grimace. The car jostles back and forth in protest, then rights its path.
Goddamnit, not now.
If he breaks down out here he might spontaneously combust. Any other time, just not now, he's so fucking close. Steering around another deep gash in the path, Dieter grits his teeth and squints into the darkness.
A light in the distance makes him sit up straighter and lean forward.
It has to be a porch light, that has to be it.
Anxious energy pounds thick through his veins. He can’t clear his head enough to glean anything about your current state. Horrible images flash through his mind, torturing him.
The trees open up into a clearing.
As soon as his headlights graze the cabin, he throws the car into park and jumps from the vehicle, screaming your name as he runs up the steps onto the patio.
He pounds on the door, peeking in through the window, “Lua, it’s me.”
His voice is garbled and frantic.
Inside, he sees a fireplace glowing with warm light. He twists the doorknob and pushes it open, “LOUELLA?”
Dead silence.
White hot panic spikes his blood.
He runs numb, trembling hands through his hair and calls your name again, starting through the house.
There are signs of life. The crackling fireplace. Towels and blankets stacked on the kitchen counter. Your open suitcase in one of the downstairs bedrooms.
On the coffee table in the living room, he finds a full glass of wine and a notebook. He picks it up and starts reading, throat letting out an involuntary dry whimper as he tries again and again to read the words, but they blur and don’t make sense.
The sound of the front door opening makes him spin around.
—
Your exhale fogs in the cool night air as you pull a rock from the backpack and chuck it towards the sound of flowing water.
Ker-plunk!
Squinting into the darkness, you make out ripples on the river’s surface and smile.
The next one is heavier.
You have to grab it with two hands and heave it over your shoulder to send it launching it into the air, crashing through the water with a loud splash.
Delight shivers up your spine.
You tuck your hands in your jacket pockets and look up at the stars. With the expanse of the universe stretching across the atmosphere, you should feel small and hopeless. But you don’t. Instead, a deep sense of optimism and wonder steals your breath.
Somehow it feels like every other time you’ve crawled out of the shit, but different. Like you’re the same person you were, although not at all. Like the good parts stayed intact, but the fear sloughed off at your feet.
You feel weightless. Hopeful. Infinite.
It doesn’t matter that you don’t have transportation, or food, or anything. It doesn’t matter that your return to society might result in your arrest. All that matters is you find Dieter and face this with him.
For the first time in a long time, you have faith that everything will be ok.
The sound of an approaching car draws your attention. A beam of light scans through the night sky, then you hear a car door.
“LOUELLA!”
You gasp, voice cracking as you whisper, “Dieter?”
Your heart skitters in your chest and your feet spring into action, trudging up the riverbed as fast as they can. Chest heaving, vision blurring, you climb up the hill and make a mad dash towards the cabin.
When you reach the door and twist the doorknob, you can’t feel the cold metal on your hands. You shove it open and step into the house, every cell in your body buzzing with shock and awe and fear and excitement when you lay your eyes upon him.
“Dee?”
[ Next Chapter ]
#psychomanteum#dieter bravo#dieter bravo x you#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo x ofc#dieter bravo x female reader#x reader#dieter bravo x oc#dieter bravo fic#dieter bravo fanfiction#dieter bravo angst#dieter bravo fanfic#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#dieter bravo the bubble#pedro pascal character fanfic#pedro pascal character#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal fic
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Dabble request: F reader with Dieter Bravo. He finally wins a major award and the reader decides to award him with smutty sex
THE AWARD.
I slightly changed it and had them enter a bet… I hope that’s okay and I hope you like it. Also you sent this in April and I missed it, i’m so sorry it took so long.
Summary: you jokingly bet that you’ll fuck your best friend dieter bravo if he wins an oscar.
Warnings: Smut. P in V. Oral. (M&F receiving). Betting. Strong language. Dieter Bravo being… Dieter Bravo.
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F! Reader.
Word Count: 2053
A/N: I tried LOL. Thank you to @littlebirdsbookshelf for reading an unfinished version of this fic and encouraging me to finish it. I didn’t edit it and I’m too scared to read it back… so I don’t know how many mistakes are in it 😭😂 ENJOY!!
You groan as your phone wakes you up from the most comfortable sleep you’ve had in weeks, before reluctantly kicking off your covers and stepping out of bed.
The photo of Dieter Bravo's smug face flashing up on your phone screen makes you roll your eyes and curse his name before you swipe to answer. “It’s 5AM Diet, if someone isn’t dead, you’re able to be,” you growl into the phone.
“Shut up,” he says with an obnoxious chuckle, “I’m cashing in on our bet, pretty girl.”
“What?” You say before stuttering, “No. Not today, I’m not playing any of your annoying games this early.. . I’m hanging up and I'm going back to sleep, asshat.” You say, with a wide smile spreading across your face from the sound of his chuckling.
“I can hear you smiling.” He remarks and you roll your eyes again at how easily he can read you.
“What do you want, Dieter? I’m tired.”
“I already told you, I’m cashing in on our bet. March 21st 2015. You said you’d fuck me when I win an Academy Award.” Dieter recalls, his voice dripping with its usual arrogance.
“Buying a fake one from Etsy doesn’t count,” you sigh, imagining he’s just dragged himself back to his hotel from some club, “Dieter, if you haven’t already, go to bed, get so—.”
“I’m nominated,” he interrupts, ignoring the irritation in your voice, “My agent called me fifteen minutes ago. For Hunger Strike - Best Leading Actor.”
“Dieter, you better not be fucking with me.” You squeal with excitement, almost jumping up and down on the spot.
“Not yet, I’m not, pretty girl.”
“When are you home?” You ask, suddenly forgetting how tired you are.
“Eager are we?” He says, his eyebrows raising and the first real smile forming across his face in weeks despite his nomination.
“Shut up, asshat, you’ve got to fucking win the thing first… and if I recall correctly, which I do, I think I said I’d consider fucking you if you ever win one and I only said it so you’d take that damn role.”
“Mhmm. Nope. I don’t think I’ve ever heard the word ‘consider’ fall from those gorgeous lips before now,” he teases. “But jokes aside… Tell me you’ll come with me, I hate those fucking things, they’re only fun if you’re swooning over how handsome I am in a suit sitting next to me.”
“Shut up, asshat.”
“Come with me, pretty girl, put those shiny statues to shame, show them how you shine brighter.” He says, unaware of just how fucking cheesy he ends up sounding.
“Only if you buy me a burger after.” You say, glad he isn’t there to see the way you’re unable to stop yourself from smiling.
“Deal.”
*
You haven’t left his side for the past few days, he had asked you quietly to stay with him while he went through the required amount of press and you had made sure that your hand was close enough for him to squeeze when he needed it.
And today was no different, the confident Dieter Bravo the whole world thinks that they know, nowhere to be seen and instead the sweet Dieter that a few people have the pleasure of knowing sits beside you, looking at the dress bag containing the tuxedo he’ll be adorning in just a few hours time.
“You okay?” You ask, quietly bumping your shoulder against his.
“Ask me again when this is all over,” he says, before taking a generous sip of his drink. “I fucking hate red carpets.”
You take his hand and squeeze it a few times, before resting your head on those broad shoulders that you love so much.
“Whatever happens tonight, I’m really fucking proud of you.” You murmur into his skin, “Always have been, you’re the best friend i’ve ever had.”
He shushes you before pressing a kiss to the top of your head, grateful that you’re with him. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
“Let’s do this.” You say, with a little scrunch of your nose.
*
“And the Academy Award goes to… Dieter Bravo.” The gorgeous actress announces and you swear you can hear his heart beating.
He stands slowly, fiddling with the front of his jacket before turning to face you, immediately smashing his lips to yours in a fleeting kiss that steals your breath before shaking the hand of his director and making his way to the stage.
His speech is short but insightful. He makes sure to make eye contact with you as he thanks you for encouraging him to take the role and then shuffles off the stage as quickly as he can.
“Will you be mad if I suggest we skip the after party?” He asks after they finish engraving his oscar, the award ceremony now over and more hands shook than he could possibly be bothered to count.
“Not at all,” you say, resting your head against his shoulder, and inspecting his shiny new award.
“Room service burgers and a shitty movie to fall asleep in front of?” He suggests, before wrapping his hand around your waist.
“Sounds like heaven.”
*
“It’s really fucking pretty,” you say, your hands wrapped around the statue.
“Yeah,” he says, from somewhere behind you. Unable to stop his eyes from scanning up and down your body, and unable to ignore the way his heart leaps everytime he looks at you. “Second prettiest thing in this room.”
“I’d call you a charmer, but I'm pretty certain you’re about to announce that you’re in first place,” you say, turning around to face him with a giggle and a signature scrunch of your nose.
“No. It’s you.” He says, “In every room. It’s you.”
“Charmer.”
You both stand in comfortable silence for a few moments, just staring at each other before you take a step towards him. “Academy award winner, Dieter Bravo.”
“The one and only,” he scoffs, with a roll of his eyes. “You look really fucking beautiful by the way.”
“Shut up, asshat.” You mumble, now standing toe to toe. Unable to stop thinking about the bet that you had made a few years earlier, one that neither of you had mentioned since the day he was nominated.
He’s been your best friend for years. You met on the set of his very first movie, while working as a makeup artist and immediately struck up a friendship. And while there has always been an obvious attraction between you both, the fear that making a move and acting on it could potentially ruin your friendship had kept those feelings at bay.
But standing here and seeing the way that he’s looking at you, you can’t hold back, so you don’t. You surge forward and capture his lips, kissing him with the same intensity he had kissed you with earlier this evening, but this time it didn’t have to be fleeting. His mouth swallows your moans and his hands start to roam your body, squeezing and grabbing anywhere they could as he kisses you back.
He carefully pulls down the zipper on the back of your dress, dragging it slowly and savouring every second of this moment, a moment he’s been dreaming of since first laying eyes on you.
“Dieter,” you murmur softly against his jaw, wanting him to increase his painfully slow pace of undressing you. “Please.”
He increases his pace, frantically pulling on the material and letting it pool at your feet, before helping you step out of it and guiding you backwards towards the bedroom. His hands still greedily grabbing at any and every part of you as he lays you down.
He wastes exactly no time, pulling your panties off in one clear sweep and diving his head in between your legs. The noises he makes are loud and desperate as he laps at your clit with a messy intensity. Alternating between licking and sucking your little bud, only satisfied when you’re screaming his name and tugging at his signature messy locks before soaking his face with your arousal.
You whimper his name as he continues to lap at your clit, before gently pushing him away as it gets too much. Giggling slightly at the sight of his soaked face.
“Are you planning on getting undressed?” You ask as he moves up your body.
“Not this round,” he growls, before capturing your lips again. His movements are sloppy as he fumbles with his belt, pulling it through the loops and throwing it across the room, before pulling his pants down enough to expose his cock. You push him back slightly, and lay down in front of him on your tummy, a moan slipping out as you take a good look at his cock. Thick, long and throbbing. The tip flushed red with a bead of pre-cum, you lean forward, push up the bottom of his shirt and pepper light kisses on the swell of his tummy, nipping a few times before taking him in your mouth.
He groans your name as you hollow your cheeks, your jaw immediately aching from the sheer width of him and slowly you start to bob your head. Gagging slightly as he rocks his hips and pushes past your tonsils. The snap of his hips meet the rhythm of your enthusiastic mouth. After a few minutes he groans impatiently at not being able to touch you, before pulling out your mouth leaning over you and slapping your ass and then spreading your cheeks and tasting you this way.
You take him in your hand, stroking and flicking your wrist in perfect strokes, moaning his name in a perfect little chant as he uses his nose to tease your clit. You cum with a yelp of his name, taking you both by surprise as he soothes you through the aftershocks with gentle coos and little flicks of his tongue against your pretty little clit.
“On your back, pretty girl,” he orders, giving himself a few rough strokes as he watches you. “You ready for me, baby?” He says with a waggle of his eyebrows.
“I'm ready,” you confirm with a giggle, yelping with excitement as he pushes into you. Praising your ‘perfect little pussy’ as he fills you to the hilt. His arms swoop beneath your knees, so he can fuck into your deeper. “Move, D,” you beg as he waits, wanting you to adjust to the size of him.
The second you give him permission, he’s rolling his hips back, watching your face intently before snapping them forward. Loving the sound of your pretty moans as he thrusts back into you. He bends over and presses his lips against your face, thrusting himself in and out of you. Finding that spot and dragging his cock against it with ease, loving how reactive and tight your pussy gets around him.
“Oh Dieter,” you whimper, almost delirious with pleasure.
“I know, fuck, I know, baby girl,” he murmurs, “Taking my fat cock so well, baby.” You love how vocal he is, the sound of both of your moans filling the room. “You know how many times I’ve dreamed of this?” He whispers into your ear. “Every fucking day, since I met you.”
“Me too,” you stutter, seconds before your pussy clamps down around him and everything goes black. White hot pleasure erupting behind your eyes and his name becoming the only word you can speak.
It's a pleasure like you’ve never experienced, you feel him everywhere and you still want more and more. He keeps his pace as steady for as long as he can but his hips begin to falter, his pace more stilted as his cock begins to throb and he pulls out.
Stroking his cock hard and fast as he pants your cunt with thick pearly ropes of his cum.
“Holy shit.” You say with a giggle, “Even better than I imagined, D.”
“Me too,” he says as he collapses on top of you, leaning his weight onto his elbows. Kissing you gently, before nuzzling his face into your neck.
“So how was your night?” You ask with a giggle. “End as good as it started.”
“A million times better.” He says quietly.
You giggle loudly, “Better than winning the most coveted award in acting?”
“Not even a competition. You would win every time.”
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#dieter bravo#dieter bravo smut#the bubble#the bubble fanfiction#dieter bravo fanfiction#pedro pascal character fanfic#dieter bravo x female reader#dieter bravo x you#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo x f!reader#dieter bravo x oc#my fanfiction#my fanfic#asks
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Destiny & Deliverance: Chapter 26
Destiny & Deliverance Masterlist ||| Main Masterlist
Dieter Bravo X OFC
New as of 11/13/2023
Series Summary: Natalia Cohen is experiencing major life changes, beginning with leaving an emotionally abusive husband. She is learning how to navigate life on her own while dealing with high functioning anxiety, depression, and mild PTSD. Everything is looking up for her. She is a highly respected consultant for a major LA firm, has her best friend, Lauren, by her side, and is on her path to healing. Everything changes when she meets a handsome and broken stranger on a work trip. He turns out to be a well-known actor, with a heart-breaking past. They quickly develop a connection that will forever alter their lives.
Warnings: Themes dealing with mental health, emotional trauma, alcohol use, and discussions about suicide. There will be fluff, tears, spicy language, and smut. This will be a slow burn type of story. Read at your own risk.
Chapter Quote:
"I don't want to do this."
I lost track of how much time passed as I watched Dieter sleep. My mind was racing through so many thoughts that it overwhelmed me, making it impossible to process anything at all. It was hard to pull myself away from him, but I felt like I needed a few minutes to myself to just…feel. I was relieved when the nurse walked in to check on him, feeling like that was my out. I let her know that we would be in the waiting room if he asked for us. When she turned her attention back to her checklist, I excused myself from the room.
As I walked down the hallway, I took a moment to observe my surroundings. Seeing patients through open doors in various states of critical care was making me feel anxious. The sounds of beeping machines dredging up old memories that I thought I had packed away for good. The pungent smells of antiseptic and fragrances of chemical based cleaners caused my stomach to churn. I hated hospitals and I hated that Dieter was having to go through this experience. I truly hoped that it would at least have a positive outcome so that he could finally get the proper help he needed.
I ducked into a single-user bathroom to have a minute to myself, knowing it would be my only opportunity. After locking the door behind me, I walked over to the sink and gave myself a once over in the mirror. I looked like hell. My air-dried curly hair was now a frizzy mess from my fingers incessantly pulling at it. My eyes were circled in darkness from the lack of sleep, red and swollen from crying. The t-shirt I had quickly thrown on before leaving the house was wrinkled and had a stain on it. No wonder the ER doctor didn’t take my word for it when I said I was fine. I wouldn’t have believed me either.
I tried to smooth my hair down but didn’t get anywhere with it. Luckily, I had a hair tie on my wrist so I could pull it back into a messy bun. I took a minute to splash some warm water over my face. My skin felt sensitive and raw from the salty tears that had fallen, no matter how much I willed them not to. I switched over to cold water for a little shock to my system to try and wake up some. After splashing a few handfuls of the cold water, I stood watching it pool in my cupped hands, allowing it to spill over the sides. I could feel myself disassociating, until the flashes of memories started to break through.
Images of Dieter lying on the floor, his eyes opening briefly as I tried to wake him before they rolled back and closed again. The way he looked lifeless in my lap on the drive to the hospital, with a weakened pulse. The sight of him being pulled from my embrace and loaded onto a gurney surrounded by nurses and doctors as they worked to stabilize him. It was too much, and it was all crashing down on me at once. I had almost lost him because I was too fucking selfish to take the risk and reach out to him when I knew in my gut that something was wrong. I completely ignored it all and focused on being angry at him, just to make myself feel better about the whole situation. Now, I only felt anger toward myself.
I snapped back to the present, letting the water spill from my hands before reaching to turn off the faucet. I placed my wet hands on the back of my neck for a moment, allowing the coldness to soothe the heat radiating through my body. I closed my eyes and took a few measured breaths. Then, I reached for paper towels to dry my hands and face before throwing them in the trash. I placed both palms on the sink, leaning against it with my head down. I closed my eyes again, still taking deep breaths to try and center myself.
When I raised my head and opened my eyes, meeting my reflection in the mirror, I hated the person that I saw. My biggest fear had been losing myself again. I had allowed it to happen without even realizing how the darkness was slowly consuming what little was left of me. The harder I worked to keep it away from me the easier it was for the darkness to stealthily pull me into its numbing embrace. The sad part is, I welcomed it with open arms under the guise that I was doing what I needed to do to move forward and be happy.
For the first time since Dieter ended things, I realized I was slowly turning back into the person I was before him. The person I was when I was with Justin. The scared girl who pretended everything was fine and hid her feelings away out of fear that someone would see how bad things were. I had been conditioned to behave this way to protect Justin and all his wrong doings. I had been conditioned to hide my feelings away so that I wouldn’t realize how unhappy I really was. I could feel the walls starting to crumble down again and I found myself craving a drink but knew I couldn’t go down that road. I knew I needed to get back on track and handle things the correct way, for the sake of myself. I wasn’t going to be able to be there for Dieter unless I finally got my shit together. For real this time. I needed to find better ways to cope and actually process my feelings, rather than lock them away. If I didn’t do this, I knew I would be lost to the darkness forever.
I was drawn away from my thoughts by a knock on the door. I took one last deep breath and moved to leave the bathroom. As I continued my trudge down the hallway, I somehow managed to focus my mind back on the current situation that needed attention, trying to think through the next steps. I wasn’t even sure what those needed to be since I had never dealt with anything like this. This was definitely going to be a team effort.
When I entered the waiting room, I was met with more activity than I expected. Everyone was working to check out various inpatient treatment centers for Dieter. Alex was reaching out to his contacts for feedback while Lauren and Gabby did research on their phones. I immediately joined in. We were determined to find something away from LA that wasn’t one of the upscale places celebrities usually went to that catered to them. He needed to be somewhere that would not treat him any differently than other patients and really focus on helping him get better.
We finally settled on a facility in Tucson, Arizona called Sanctuary Hills that appeared to be promising. It was away from paparazzi central, making it less likely that anything would leak about Dieter being there. It also came highly recommended by Dr. Wilson and several other individuals that Alex spoke with. It would be a long drive, but more than worth it if the place was as good as everyone made it out to be. Once the decision was made, Gabby called to get more information and to get the admission process started.
We did not want to give Dieter the opportunity to change his mind, so Gabby and I planned to drive him directly to the facility once he was discharged from the hospital. Sanctuary Hills was kind enough to send us a list of things that Dieter could and could not bring with him, so I offered to go pack a bag for him on my way home to nap and freshen up. Gabby planned to do the same while Lauren and Alex stayed behind to spend some time with Dieter once he woke up.
When the Uber driver pulled into the driveway of Dieter’s house, I could feel my chest tighten as anxiety set in. Being there after what had happened the previous evening felt odd, almost sort of eerie. It seemed like there was bad energy emitting from the once happy place that I had considered my second home.
As I used Gabby’s key to unlock the front door, I suddenly felt a wave of emotion sweep over me. I could already feel a lump forming in my throat. When I stepped inside and really took in the space for the first time, I realized how much of a mess it was. I had noticed it the night before but didn’t register the severity because I had been focused on helping him. Dieter’s comforter and a pillow, my pillow, were haphazardly laying on the couch. There were old takeout containers randomly sitting around the living room and kitchen, some still containing food that looked like it had hardly been touched. I assumed that was the cause of the questionable smell permeating throughout the house. The TV was laying on its back on the floor with a busted screen. There were empty and broken liquor bottles of all shapes and sizes laying everywhere. Most of the broken bottles were concentrated on the floor under the painting I had left for him, like they had been thrown at the wall. The painting appeared to be untouched, which was oddly comforting to see.
It was difficult to see the physical evidence of how bad he had been hurting. There was no way that I could look at the sight before me and not feel anything. I simply could not pack this away somewhere in my mind and not deal with it. It was too much, but I needed the raw emotional confrontation. This is what finally caused my walls to crumble down, forcing me to feel everything at once. The sadness, betrayal, hurt, pain, anger…all of it. I couldn’t hold back the flood of tears any longer. My vision blurred momentarily before the tears started to fall incessantly. I didn’t even bother to wipe them away as I made my way toward Dieter’s bedroom to start packing a bag for him.
If I thought the living room and kitchen were bad, his bedroom was even worse. The bed was completely torn apart, and the frame broken. The nightstands were turned on their sides and the lamps that once set atop them laid in pieces on the floor. The mirror on the dresser was shattered and the drawers and clothes were thrown across the room. There was a hole in the drywall where the headboard used to be and another beside the bathroom door. It felt like I was having an out of body experience, the scene around me looking like it had been pulled straight from a movie.
I stood there for a time; both of my hands placed over my mouth in shock as I looked around the room. I had a hard time reconciling the thoughts of Dieter causing such destruction. This wasn’t him. He wasn’t a violent person. This was the culmination of his pain finally breaking him. My legs suddenly felt weak at that realization. I sank to the floor, continuing to take it all in as the tears fell freely down my cheeks. It was hard to see a space that held so many wonderful memories of us reduced to a pile of rubble. Maybe it had been even harder for him to be reminded of those memories while it was still intact, a caricature of how things used to be.
I don’t know how much time passed before I finally pulled myself up off the floor. I needed to take a breather. I walked back to the living room, where I noticed Dieter's phone still laying on the floor from where he had dropped it. My car keys were on the floor nearby, where I had apparently dropped them in the midst of my rush to get to him. I leaned down to pick up the keys and phone. I figured Gabby may need some of the contact information from his phone to deal with his work stuff, so I didn’t want to forget it. I walked over and plopped down on the couch before setting the two items down on the coffee table next to one another.
The lock screen of the phone lit up, catching my attention. I picked it up for a closer look, realizing the wallpaper was the infamous picture of us that he had posted on Instagram. Except this was the unedited original. It was in color, uncropped, and not blurred with filters. I had never seen this version of it. It almost broke me to see how happy and content we both looked. Even though Dieter’s head was turned slightly, I could still see the rare spark of happiness in his eyes. The crease that he often had between his brows was smooth. It was hard to remember that for a short time we had been blissfully happy. It seemed so long ago now. I realized that I would give anything to go back to that. We both needed the good times, to experience those rare moments of joy, when things didn’t feel like an uphill battle.
I grabbed the comforter that was halfway hanging onto the floor and wrapped it around me as I laid down onto the couch, phone still clutched in my hand. The scent of Dieter’s cologne surrounded me in a comforting embrace as I continued to examine the picture. A low battery alert appeared on screen. I chuckled to myself, thinking how my battery felt low too. I eventually set his phone back down on the table and drifted off to sleep.
I was jolted awake by my cell phone ringing in my back pocket. When I sat up, I realized it was now dark outside. I had been asleep for longer than I had planned to be. It took me a few seconds to work out where I was as I wiped the sleep from my eyes. I quickly stood and fished the phone out of my pocket to see that it was Gabby calling me. She wanted to check in and see how I was doing and if I needed help with any of Dieter’s things. I didn’t, of course. That was something I wanted to deal with on my own, but I appreciated her offer, nevertheless. It felt good to know that I was not alone in all of this, that this time around there were other people close to Dieter and me who understood what was going on.
Gabby went on to share that Alex had called to say the hospital would be releasing Dieter the following morning. She was planning for us to make the seven-and-a-half-hour drive immediately after picking him up. Then she and I would take a flight back to Los Angeles. It was going to be a long day, but it was worth it if it meant he was going to get the help he needed. We made plans for her to pick me up in a rental car and be ready to go first thing in the morning.
Once Gabby and I hung up, I realized I had a text from Aubrey. I had only just realized that I never called into work that today, so I was surprised I had not heard from her sooner.
Aubrey: Lauren called me last night to let me know what was going on. I hope everything is ok. Please take all the time you need, for the both of you. Keep me updated and let me know if you need anything.
I sighed heavily. I seriously did not deserve her or Lauren. They gave me more grace than I deserved sometimes. I fired off a quick update to Aubrey to let her know that both Dieter and I were doing ok and that I would need a couple of days off. She responded immediately to let me know that would be fine.
Since that was off the “to do” list, I decided to pack Dieter’s bag. I pulled up the list that Gabby had sent to me. He was basically limited to three days’ worth of comfortable clothes and nothing else until they considered him to be fully stable. He couldn’t even have his glasses or contacts, something he was definitely not going to be happy about.
I sent a quick text to Gabby reminding her that Dieter would need a phone list since he couldn’t have his phone. I figured she might have a better idea of who needed to be listed on that and that she would probably have most of their numbers. Then, I made my way to his closet, ignoring the mess in the bedroom as best I could. I found that his closet was completely untouched and still somewhat organized. I noticed that half of it was now empty, which reminded me of the conversation we had about making space to keep some of my things there. He had clearly held up to his word on that and never bothered to change it back. I could feel the lump forming in my throat with that thought. I shook my head, dismissing the memory so I could focus on the task at hand.
I quickly grabbed a pair of his gray workout shorts and two pairs of striped pajama pants (that did not have drawstrings) and three plain t-shirts from the shelves. I found his bright green robe and removed the waist belt before adding it to my stack. I had to dig around to find slip on closed toe shoes that didn’t have any metal or laces on them. At the bottom of his shoe pile, I found a pair of black croc clogs that I had never seen him wear, but it’s what he was getting because it was the only pair I could find that met the requirements. After grabbing some of his boxers and socks, I started looking around for a bag. I eventually came across an extra-large tote bag that could barely hold everything. He wasn’t allowed to bring his own toiletries, so I didn’t have to worry about any of that. I quickly ran through the list again making sure I didn’t miss anything. I made a mental note to double check on the phone list with Gabby and get his medications back from the hospital. Other than that, he couldn’t have anything else.
Before I left Dieter’s house, I collected all the food containers and took out the trash. That was something that needed immediate attention due to the smell alone. The rest would have to wait until I had more time. I wanted to make sure to get everything cleaned up before he came home, whenever that would be. The mess was the last thing he needed to deal with, and he most definitely did not need any reminders of what happened to him.
I collected the tote bag, my phone and Dieter’s, and my car keys before walking out to my car and heading back to my house. After I got home, I gathered a few things I would need for our quick trip, set my alarm, then immediately went to bed. Surprisingly, it didn’t take long for sleep to take me. I was physically and mentally exhausted and I could feel every bit of it.
The morning alarm came quickly. I felt like I had only just dozed off as I sat up in bed, stretching. My head was throbbing, and I could feel that my eyes were still swollen and stinging from all the crying I had done the past two days. I hoped a hot shower would help alleviate the tightness I could feel from the inflammation and ease my aching body. I drug myself up out of bed and took a very long shower. I mostly stood under the hot spray, unmoving, as I stared at the floor. I felt like I needed to mentally prepare myself for whatever the day would bring. I didn’t know what to expect, which left me anticipating all possible outcomes, including the worst-case scenarios. My only hope was that Dieter stayed calm throughout the trip and didn’t change his mind about accepting help before we got him there.
I spent longer than I should have in the shower, causing me to rush around to get ready. Not that I had planned to put a lot of effort into it anyway because it was definitely a messy bun and sunglasses kind of day. I was glad that I had gotten things ready the night before or else I know that I would have ended up forgetting something. Before I knew it, Gabby was pulling into my driveway. When I got into the car, she handed Dieter’s phone list over to me so she would not forget about it. I added it to his bag before I handed over his cell phone to her.
I could tell she was just as anxious as I was from her tight grip on the steering wheel and tense posture. We hardly said a word to each other during the drive to the hospital. Both of us were clearly deep in thought. The way I felt was almost indescribable. I was anxious and my chest felt tight, but in a different way than before. My head was buzzing as the thoughts raced uncontrollably. I felt hopeful, sad, and angry all at the same time. I was having a hard time wrapping my head around how it had actually come to this. It almost didn’t seem real. I was starting to feel disconnected, like I was watching everything from the outside. I knew that probably wasn’t a good thing, but also felt like it might be the only way I could get through today. I would just have to deal with the consequences of it later.
When we arrived at the hospital, we found that Alex was already pushing the discharge process along as best he could. He had spent the night with Dieter so he wouldn’t have to be alone. Alex had to be exhausted since he had been at the hospital the entire time. He had the least amount of sleep out of all of us in the past forty-eight hours, so I knew he was ready to crash. Lauren arrived soon after Gabby and me so that she could take Alex home. She had stopped to get us all coffee and breakfast too, which was very much appreciated by all.
Dr. Wilson briefly met with Gabby and I to give us Dieter’s bag full of medication and to go over paperwork. He gave us copies of everything that Sanctuary Hills would need but indicated they had sent electronic copies as well. He let us know that they gave Dieter a sedative thirty-minutes prior because he was still being uncooperative with staff and exhibiting high levels of anxiety. He noted that it should last about eight hours but included another dose with Dieter’s medication in case it was needed. That was not the news that Gabby and I wanted to hear, but we were appreciative that Dieter was given something to calm him down during the trip. We were hopeful that being with us would help him relax some too.
When we were finally able to make our way to Dieter’s room, we found him sitting on the bed picking at the food Lauren had brought for him. It didn’t look like he had eaten much of it. He seemed a little dazed as he sat in silence staring around the room at nothing. Lauren and Alex gave Gabby and I an apprehensive look as our eyes darted between them and Dieter. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting but I don’t think this was it. I assumed his behavior was like this because the sedative was kicking in, making him feel out of it while dulling the anxiety.
I walked over to stand next to the bed, reaching out to push Dieter’s hair back out of his eyes, which caused him to focus his attention on me for the first time. He knitted his brows together as he stared at me in silence for a moment. Then he reached up to lightly tug on my shirt, pulling me to sit down beside him. I wrapped my right arm around him as I moved to sit closer to him, then reached up to rub the curls at the nap of his neck. He immediately melted into my side and laid his head on my shoulder, his arms tightening around me. I took a stuttered breath as I fought back the tears that were threatening to fall. He was so fucking pitiful, and it was breaking my heart to see him like that.
After several minutes passed and when I eventually felt like I had my emotions under control, I asked Dieter if he wanted to change clothes and get ready to leave. He nodded slowly against my shoulder. Gabby handed him a set of clothes and the crocs I had gotten from his house as he got up to go toward the bathroom. While we waited for him, a nurse came in with the last bit of paperwork for Gabby to sign off on. By the time he came back out, we were ready to go. Gabby went out ahead of us to get the rental SUV and pull it up to the door. The rest of us made our way downstairs, accompanied by two patient care assistants. They kept a close eye on Dieter the whole way, which made me question what he had been doing to the staff that was so “uncooperative”. I felt like they were expecting him to run off or something.
Once Gabby pulled up, we gave Alex and Dieter some space to say their goodbyes. Alex had placed one of his hands around the back of Dieter’s neck, pulling their foreheads close together as he talked quietly to his older brother. Something about the sight caused Gabby, Lauren, and I to immediately tear up. The intense emotional look that passed between the two of them said so much. Dieter tightly nodded along to whatever his brother was saying before they pulled each other into a warm embrace. After a quick hug from Lauren, Dieter crawled into the back seat of the SUV. He stared at me wide-eyed and unblinking with his sad puppy dog eyes, seeming to be asking a question without words. I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile before climbing in to sit next to him as he scooted to the other side.
Dieter sat wringing his hands and staring down at the floor as we waited for Gabby to finish filling Alex in on our plans for the day. I reached over to grab his left hand and he visibly relaxed some. He glanced over at me with a tight smile before turning to stare out the window. He still looked paler than normal. Seeing him in his own clothes made it more apparent that he had lost some weight, which added to his frail appearance. I knew the current sight of him would haunt my dreams for weeks to come.
Soon after we got on the road, I noticed Dieter was having a hard time keeping his eyes open as he leaned his head against the window.
I gave his hand a small squeeze as I eyed him, “You ok?”
“Those fucking drugs they gave me are making it hard to stay awake,” he said flatly without looking my way.
I started rubbing small circles on his hand with my thumb, “Do you wanna lay down?”
His eyes locked with mine in an intense stare, like he was surprised at my words. I moved to grab a small blanket and pillow from behind the seat that Gabby had brought for him. I handed him the blanket and placed the pillow in my lap as he watched me intently. I don’t know why, but I suddenly felt like I was dealing with a scared feral animal from the look he was giving me. I didn’t want to spook him, but I also wanted to make sure I was there for him in the ways he needed. I reached toward him and motioned with my hand for him to lay down. He moved to get comfortable the best he could in the small space, folding his body to fit and putting his head in my lap. He sighed deeply, eyes closing as he tried to make himself comfortable. Once he was situated, I started running my fingers through his hair and lightly scratching at his scalp. It wasn’t long before his breathing changed to deep steady breaths as he fell asleep.
The drive was long and quiet. I could occasionally feel Gabby’s eyes on me in the rearview mirror as I watched Dieter sleep. My thoughts were still quickly cycling through every second of our time together, trying to figure out when things started to get so bad. I had a feeling Gabby could see everything I was feeling written on my face during that drive. She never questioned it though. There were times that I glanced her way and she seemed to be just as deep in thought as I was.
About four hours into the trip, Gabby asked if we should stop for food. Since Dieter was still sleeping, we decided to push through the drive without stopping. I got the feeling that she wanted to get this whole process over with as soon as possible, leaving little room for interruptions or complications. I couldn’t blame her since I was feeling the same way, along with the nagging feeling that the worst part was still to come.
It turns out, I was right. By the time we reached Sanctuary Hills, the sedative was wearing off. Dieter had woken up about twenty minutes before we got to the facility, and I could tell his anxiety was ramping up. It started with his fingers twitching, and the restless moving of his legs, until he eventually sat up in his seat. His eyes began to drift across everything he could see in the car. Eventually the outside caught his attention as he started to fidget more and wring his hands together again. He refused to take the other pill that Dr. Wilson had sent with us because he was tired of sleeping and how the drug was making him feel.
As we pulled into the parking lot, Dieter’s eyes fixated on the building while he roughly scratched at his chin. I grabbed his hand to make him stop in hopes it would calm him down some. Gabby and I exchanged worried glances in the rearview mirror as she unbuckled her seatbelt. Gabby and I got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side. Gabby pulled Dieter’s door open. He sat staring at me, wide-eyed. He looked terrified. I gave him a tight smile as I reached out my hand for his. He finally relented and took it as he got out. He shuffled slowly behind me as we walked toward the entrance. Gabby grabbed his bag out of the back and quickly caught up to us.
Once we entered the facility, Dieter stood closely at my side with a tight grip on my left hand as he chewed on the thumbnail of his free hand. His head was down, but his eyes were scanning over everything in sight. I tried my best to sooth him and keep him calm while Gabby worked to complete the check in process, occasionally asking him questions for the paperwork she was filling out. He answered quietly, in a barely audible voice, never removing his thumb from his mouth to speak.
One of the ladies helping with the check in process started to go through Dieter’s bag to check for “contraband” and ensure all of the items were in compliance with the regulations. As she was checking everything, she asked him if he had any jewelry or a cell phone that he needed to turn over to us before Gabby and I left. I felt Dieter tense beside me as his energy changed, from anxious to almost hostile. When I turned to look at him, I could see the panic and anger flashing in his eyes. The inevitable meltdown was finally happening.
“My phone? You mean I don’t get to keep my fucking phone? No. I didn’t agree to that.”
He started shaking his head frantically from side to side as he backed away from me. I calmly walked over to him and placed both of my hands on his face, softly stroking his patchy beard, in an attempt to calm him as he continued to ramble on.
“How am I supposed to call you without my phone? What if I need you? This place is like a fucking prison. I don’t want to do this.”
“Dieter, listen to me.”
He finally paused his movements as he stared directly into my eyes. What I saw there made me feel like someone was carving my heart out of my chest with a rusted spoon. I have no idea how I managed to hold it together, but I did.
“You can’t have your phone, but you can use theirs. You have a set phone time to call us. They want you to focus on getting better, so you can’t keep it with you.”
“A set phone time? I only have your number memorized. Not the others.”
I was momentarily taken off guard by his admission, feeling more emotional than I already had been if that were possible. He obviously wasn’t thinking rationally right now. This wouldn’t be an issue for most people, but Dieter was used to always having his phone to stay connected with those he cared about. It was understandable the absence of that connection would upset him.
“Gabby made you a list of phone numbers so you can call us. It’s in your bag.”
This answer didn’t seem to dampen his anxiety in the slightest, “But I can only call during certain times? What if you don’t answer and I can’t call back?”
“I’ll answer. I promise… and if you need anything between calls, your case worker can call for you if it isn’t something that can wait.”
I could see the tears brimming in his eyes as he continued to stare at me, a pleading expression on his face - either about the phone, his stay, or something else entirely. I was not sure. I tried to keep my face neutral for his sake, but I knew I was failing. My brows drew down together without my permission as my vision blurred slightly from my own tears. He lowered his head and turned away from me, his shoulders shaking slightly from his shallow breathing. He started to clench and unclench his hands at his sides as he moved further away. I quickly wiped at my eyes and glanced over at Gabby and the ladies behind the front desk. They were all staring at the two of us with worry and concern in their eyes. I took a deep breath before walking over to Dieter, pulling him away from the onlookers and enveloping him into a tight hug. I could feel his fingers knotting in the back of my shirt as he spoke through his tears into my neck.
“I’m so fucking terrified to do this and I don’t want you to leave me.” I could feel his grip tighten further as he quietly added, “We didn’t get any time to fix things.”
I gently ran my fingers through the back of his hair, “Don’t worry about that, I’ll be right here when you’re done. We can talk about it later. I want you to focus on yourself right now. When you’re better, you’re coming home to me, ok? I’m not going anywhere.”
He slowly pulled back to meet my eyes. He seemed determined now as he searched my face.
“I don’t want to spend another night away from you after this.”
I gave him a genuine smile before leaning my forehead against his and closing my eyes to savor the feeling of him, trying to memorize every little bit of him that I could. I felt a tentative hand cupping my cheek as I opened my eyes to look up at him again. I leaned into his gentle touch, for the first time in months. I had missed it so much more than I realized. I couldn’t help myself. I reached up and entwined my fingers with his hand on my cheek before pulling them to rest between us. I used my other hand to pull him toward me and gently placed a kiss on his lips.
The way his face lit up as a few more tears slid down his cheeks made my heart clench. He didn’t hesitate to reach up with both hands and pull me in for a second and third kiss before briefly resting his forehead against mine, the physical intimacy that we had to do without for months seeming to ground him a little. He took a deep steady breath as he backed away.
“Alright, let’s get this shit over with.”
Dieter’s mood shift was surprising and also a relief. He seemed to be having a moment of clarity, which I took full advantage of as I pulled him over toward Gabby so that he could help her finish with his paperwork. Things went much faster after that than I expected. Before we knew it, we were saying our goodbyes. He didn’t let go of my hand until he absolutely had to. He still looked sad, but seemed in better spirits than he was when he arrived. I was thankful for that since it made it more bearable for everyone involved.
Gabby and I had to hurry to catch our flight. We had just enough time to turn in the rental and grab a small snack as we rushed through the airport. We didn’t talk much on our way home. The topic of her brother seemed to be off limits for the both of us, as an unspoken agreement. We were both so drained from the events of the last few days that we needed a break from it. I could tell she was appreciative of having me there though. It was obvious in the small smiles and gentle hand squeeze she would randomly give me during our journey.
By the time I finally made it back to my house, I was running on empty. It was late and all I wanted to do was crawl into bed, but I somehow mustered up the energy to take a quick shower to wash the day of travel away. After that, it didn’t take long before I was out.
In the days that followed, I spent my time cleaning up the disaster that was Dieter’s house. I ended up having his bedroom furniture hauled off since several pieces were broken. It wasn’t worth the effort to try and fix them. Once that project was done, I didn’t have much else to do besides work and I did that from home. I did make an effort to spend time with Gabby and Lauren when I felt up to it. I felt it was important to work on my relationship with them since I had been so absent recently, and I didn’t want to risk isolating myself again as I was trying to cope with things.
After a week had passed, nothing could take my mind off the fact that Dieter hadn’t called me. I was worried that he was starting to realize how badly I had handled this whole situation on my end. He was the one that ended things, but I had made zero effort to fight for us. I had let him go like it was nothing. I would expect him to be hurt by that. Gabby assured me that he hadn’t called because he was having a hard time coming off of his medication and wasn’t feeling up to much phone time. What little he had called to speak with her was to get things sorted out for work and those conversations only lasted a few minutes. She said it was obvious by the way he sounded that he wasn’t feeling well. The case worker told Gabby that he was having some withdrawal symptoms after the first few days of decreasing his medication dosages and he was having a hard time with it. I knew that was most likely the case, but that still didn’t keep the doubts from creeping in, imagining worst case scenarios.
It was nearly two weeks after we had dropped Dieter off at Sanctuary Hills when I got a surprise visit from Alex. He awkwardly greeted me as he walked through the doorway carrying a very large parcel wrapped in brown paper. I eyed it quizzically as he maneuvered it into the living room.
“What is this?”
“Dieter asked me to bring this to you that night I stayed with him at the hospital. I’m sorry, I’m just now getting around to it. He sent a not so polite reminder through Gabby about it yesterday.”
“I take it you haven’t talked to him either then?”
Alex sighed as he shook his head, “No, not yet. Gab said he’s still kind of a mess right now because of the medication changes. She mostly talks to his case worker, I think.”
I nodded in understanding. Knowing that he hadn’t reached out to Alex either did offer some reassurances that it wasn’t just me. It hurt me beyond words to know that he was having such a hard time with the medication changes. I hoped, for his sake, that it did not last much longer.
Alex moved to hand me the large parcel he was holding. I took it as I gave him a questioning look. I noticed his eyes lit up slightly before he gave me a smirk.
“It’s the painting from the art fundraiser.”
I knitted my brows together as I took it from him, ripping the front of the paper to reveal the painting that had turned me into an emotional mess that night. Once I had it completely unwrapped, I set it against the wall and stepped back to look at it. I realized there was something very familiar about the two figures.
More after the image
I turned to Alex, who still had the same smirk on his face, “I don’t understand. How did he know about the painting?”
His smirk slowly turned into a wide smile, “He painted it. He wanted to surprise you with it that night, but obviously that didn’t work out…”
I put my hand to my mouth, gasping audibly. Now I understood the reason I felt drawn to it that night. The two figures were us. I could feel the tears prickling at the corners of my eyes, threatening to make their escape.
“I don’t understand, when did he have time to do this? We were together constantly before he left for Canada.”
Alex moved to stand next to me, “He started it right after he got back from New York. He took a break when he went to film that movie in Mallorca but picked it up again when he got back…before he found you again.”
I chuckled in disbelief, “Well this certainly adds a whole other layer of feelings that I wasn’t expecting.”
“I know he did a lot of it at night, when he couldn’t sleep. He told me he couldn’t get you out of his head. I’m pretty sure he fell in love with you that first night you spilled your drink all over him. He wouldn’t stop talking about you, so I encouraged him to look you up. I don’t think I’ve ever in my life seen him so nervous to do something,” Alex let out a small laugh at the memory.
I didn’t even try to hold the tears back after that. How could I? It said so much about Dieter’s feelings. Alex glanced over at me, realizing my emotional state. He put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me in for a gentle side hug.
“This is the first painting he’s done in years…just so you know. You definitely woke up something inside of him. We could all see it. I really hope you two can make it work once he gets out of that place. I think you’re good for each other.”
I was taken aback by Alex’s candor regarding his brother. His words were so unexpected given how quiet and shy he always was around me. I appreciated the fact that he felt comfortable enough to open up to me some.
“I’m not sure how much I’m supposed to tell you, but fuck it, you should know. The nickname he gave you, and that phrase… la estrella del norte, la luz en la oscuridad…that’s something our mother used to say to our father. So, to me and Gabby, it’s a big deal that he used that. We’ve never heard him say it to anyone before.”
I couldn’t help the way my face scrunched up at his words. I was one hundred percent about to ugly cry. I put my hand over my eyes to hide it as Alex pulled me in for a tight hug.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said into the top of my hair.
“No, I’m not upset. This is a happy cry. It’s just…touching, I guess. I didn’t know that. This is a lot of information to take in and process. Thank you for telling me. I really needed this right now.”
Alex backed away and gave both of my shoulders a gentle squeeze and offered a small smile.
“Well, I won’t keep you any longer. Let Lauren know when you're free and feeling up to it and we can grab some dinner, yeah?”
I nodded and gave him a small smile as I walked him to the door.
After Alex left, I sat down on the floor in front of the painting, taking in every paint stroke. To the casual observer, it was probably just a nice painting of a couple in an embrace under the night sky. I, however, understood the subtle symbolism of the fog and darkness that surrounded the man, but not the woman and the bright star placed just above the woman in the background. The fact that something so simple could say so much was amazing to me. It had me feeling every emotion all at once.
I could not believe the origin of the nickname he had given me, or that he had started working on the painting well before he found me again. I always felt like there was more to the name, but I was not expecting that. He obviously had strong feelings toward me from the start. Looking back, I could no longer justify my reasoning for not being with him from the beginning. I hated that we had missed out on all of that time together.
I had a lot of thoughts swirling through my head that evening. I spent more time than I probably should have staring at that painting, but it was forcing me to process things that I had been avoiding. By the time I finally pulled myself up from the floor, I was mentally and physically exhausted. I went to bed after that and suffered through a night of restless sleep.
Sixty days after Dieter entered Sanctuary Hills, Gabby received a call from him, after mostly only communicating with his case worker over the past two months. He asked her to attend an in-person family counseling session there at the facility. She immediately agreed and got it scheduled. The day it happened; I was an anxious mess while I awaited news about the visit. He still hadn’t called me, or anyone else for that matter. We didn’t really understand why, but his case worker assured us that he was making progress and doing well. He was trying hard to focus on getting better and working through things a little at a time. He was very focused on his healing journey and doing everything that was asked of him. It was hard for me to understand it, being so far away and consumed by worries, but I was proud of him just the same. I was excited to know he was finally requesting to see his family and was hopeful that was a positive sign.
As it got later into the evening, I was beginning to get concerned since I hadn’t heard from Gabby yet. She had promised to call when she left Sanctuary Hills. I sent her a few texts but did not get a response. I was about to try giving her a call when I heard a knock at the door. I was surprised to see that it was Gabby. The look on her face made my stomach drop. The fact that she hadn’t called and was now showing up with this look on her face couldn’t be a good sign.
There was no greeting. She jumped right to the point, “Talia, I’m sorry to just show up, but can we talk? I don’t know who else to talk about this with and I need to talk about it.”
“Yeah, come in.”
We both walked over and sat on the couch. My hands were already fidgeting as the nerves and anticipation quickly built up. Every scenario running through my mind was scary and I wasn’t sure I could handle whatever it was she was about to say. Gabby immediately burst out into sobs. I pulled her into a hug as I tried to suppress my own panic.
“Gabby, I need for you to tell me what’s going on before I have a fucking stroke over here,” I said into her hair. She sighed heavily before pulling away to look at me.
“Dieter told me what happened that night, with mom. I wasn’t prepared for it. I can’t believe he kept that to himself all these years and it fucking kills me that I didn’t do more to support him in dealing with it. I didn’t know he was the one who found her. I always thought it was one of the workers.”
Her sobs continued as I digested her words. I felt instant relief that it wasn’t something worse, something I didn’t know of yet, but at the same time my heart broke for her. I know it had to be hard for her to hear. Hell, it was hard for me to hear.
“I’m sorry, no one else knows about it. I didn’t know who else I could talk to about it. He told me that you knew… I just needed a minute to fall apart and process it before I go home.”
“Hey, take all the time you need. I know it’s a lot to digest,” I said as I rubbed gentle circles on her back.
“I just wished he would have opened up sooner and shared that burden with me. Maybe he wouldn’t have gotten so bad if he had. I should have tried harder to make him talk to me about it.”
“Gabby, I don’t think it would have mattered what you said to him. He wasn’t gonna talk until he was ready.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I just feel terrible that I didn’t know. I don’t think anyone did. I bet dad didn’t even know.”
After a few minutes of silence, she seemed to pull herself together. She reached over to grab my free hand and gave it a gentle squeeze as she smiled up at me.
“He looks so good though…healthy and alert. I really think the treatment is helping. He’s expressing his feelings so well…I - I’m honestly not sure I’ve ever heard him talk that much about how he feels.”
I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face as happy tears slid down my cheeks.
“He said he’s gonna call you soon. He’s nervous to talk to you for some reason and embarrassed about this whole thing. I told him he didn’t need to be, but you know how he is. He misses you though, I could tell. I lost track of how many times he asked about you.”
I reached up with both hands to wipe the tears from my face. It was comforting to know that he was thinking about me. I knew it was selfish of me to think that way because he should be focusing on himself, but I would be lying if I said it didn’t make me feel better about things.
Gabby didn’t share much more of what they had talked about. Some of it was things he wanted to talk to me about himself, so I didn’t want to push for more details. Once she finally felt composed, she left for home. She had had a long day of travel and was exhausted.
She and I had gotten so close in the last two months. We had been spending a lot of our free time together, along with Lauren and Alex. It truly felt like I was part of a family with them. I loved that she was now comfortable enough with me to share her feelings openly. It was something we had all been doing since Dieter had been away. Even Alex had opened up more. Even though what had happened to Dieter was devastating, there was a silver lining in it. It had brought us all closer together. We were stronger for it and ready to welcome him home to all the support he could possibly need.
The next morning, I had just finished making a quick breakfast when my cell phone started ringing. When I glanced over at the illuminated screen, I saw it was a Tucson, Arizona number. I had waited two months to see this number appear on the screen. My breath immediately caught in my throat as my eyes teared up. I briefly hesitated to answer as the nerves took hold. After a deep breath I hit the answer button and raised the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Talia?”
A/N: Y'all still with me? How are you feeling after that one? Progress? Maybe?
As I have said before, digital art is not one of my strengths, but hopefully what I attempted to do gives you an idea of what I see in my head for Dieter's painting. Again, this one looks better in my head too. LOL!
Wasn't that a sweet moment between Talia and Alex though? Also, that moment between Dieter and Alex hit me in the feels too. Then of course, the whole of the Dieter and Talia interactions in this chapter. Poor Gabby... now she knows everything. So many feels in this one! Aaaahhh!😭
Next chapter our dear Dieter and Talia will be reunited in a controlled setting to work through their issues together. It will probably be another rough one. We will get Dieter's official diagnosis and with that you will get a Deconstructing Dieter Bravo post. We will get some details on Talia's past which will also include a Today's Musings post for supplemental reading. So, you will get all sorts of goodies with the next chapter. 😉
In case you missed it, I have included the mood board for this chapter below.
Last but not least, a huge thank you to my wonderful beta, @for-a-longlongtime. Seriously, it wouldn't be as good without her feedback.
As always, please share your thoughts and theories. You know I'm a sucker for them. 💜
Next Chapter
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We Fall Like Snow ║ Part Ⅰ
After the events that took place at the Cliff Beasts set, needless to say as his bodyguard (and friend) you became overprotective of Dieter. You have all your worries under control until you accidentally flip over a young fan by grabbing her wrist, causing the media to stir with speculations as to why. Luckily Dieter's family arrives in the nick of time, scooping you both from New York to their cozy cabin; however, winter wonderland can't last forever and you need to face the consequences of your actions sooner or later.
pairing: Dieter Bravo x bodyguard!ofc; Amina Addams, written in reader format
chapter summary: You and Dieter are late for a Q&A. Again.
word count: 4.5k
chapter warnings: weed use, dieter having a filthy mind (and a wild s.ex life), cursing, so much banter, minors dni
**dividers by the amazing @saradika
The floor might as well be drenched in grease by how slippery it was.
Your poor sneakers glide across the marble tiles, nearly making you trip as you climb two steps at a time. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, heart hammering in your chest, you force your legs to move faster. You can feel each individual muscle throbbing. It was stupid of you to expect Dieter fucking Bravo of all people to show up on time.
You’ve been waiting by the car for nearly half an hour, already late for the signing. His fans are used to it by now, but that doesn’t mean you enjoyed being late to these events, and Shannon –Dieter’s ever passive- aggressive manager– had graciously put you in charge of his time table. You still aren’t sure why. You’re the bodyguard; the person that slaps his hand whenever he puts his grubby little mitts on something containing peanuts. Occasionally you’ll push away a fan or two. Generally speaking, for such a riot of an actor, he has calm admirers. There was one incident that nearly got him harmed.
Finally reaching the door, you aggressively punch it, the sound echoing throughout the entire hotel. When you detect no movement you knock again, this time accompanied by your sheer shout of his name.
“Dieter! Get your butt out of the bed– NOW!”
Just as you’re about to knock again, the door opens wide, leaving your fist awkwardly hanging in the air. In the threshold stands a disheveled, yet happy-, looking woman. She’s probably in her thirties, with long red hair, and her lash line smudged with eyeshadow. Her smile is lazy and kind as she looks at you. Is she high? God if you’re out there, please tell me he’s not high.
“Hi,” she greets you, her voice sultry. “Can we help you?”
You peer above her shoulder and see Dieter full on french kissing a brunette man on top of his luxurious king size bed. The bedding slides down the man’s body, revealing his perfectly sculpted ass. A soft moan reaches your ears, and your face becomes heated.
Ignoring the woman, you step inside, your hand conveniently wrapping around the metal doorknob, the coolness of it gives you some semblance of peace.
“Dieter!” you hiss between clenched teeth. He parts from the man with a smack and meets your gaze. His brows furrow, incohesive sounds leaving his kiss swollen lips. He fucking knows he’s in trouble.
“Shit,” he breathes out. The man turns to face you, his perfect ass matching his perfect face. Dieter turns to grab his phone. “What time is it? Did we fuck until morning?”
The woman giggles; you hadn���t noticed before but the front of her robe is open, her breasts bouncing as she shifts from one leg to the other. “I guess so,” she answers cheekily.
“We’re late for the panel. Get your butt out of bed right now.”
“Yes ma’am,” Dieter says. Before doing what you asked him to, he quickly presses his lips into his lover’s. “See you later Eduardo,”
“Awwww,” he bemoans, chasing the actor’s lips. “Can’t you stay?” his eyes flit to yours. “She can join us if she wants to, the more the merrier,”
Dieter wrestles with his pants, barely able to get one foot in.
“She’s not into that,” he replies slightly breathless, then he stops and looks at you, eyes full of curiosity. “Are you?”
“I swear if you don’t leave this room in ten seconds I’m dragging you out naked, paparazzi be damned,”
“Kinky,” the woman grins.
Your fingers tighten around the doorknob.
“I can’t believe we’re late. Again.”
With one hand, you quickly usher Dieter into the limo, using the other to text Shannon that you’re on your way. The driver starts the car, a low hum filling the inside.
“I’m hungry,” Dieter groans, scratching the back of his head.
You eye the sidewalk, the brown paper bag containing a chocolate muffin and a cup of coffee idly laying sideways next to the back tire. The dampness of the pavement had seeped into the bag, the coffee also spilt, turning it into a mushy, disgusting mess. You let out a sigh, climbing into the car right after Dieter. You originally had placed the bag on top of the trunk lid; it must’ve fallen with the wind or something.
The car starts to move and you internally curse at the driver for not keeping an eye on Dieter’s breakfast.
“We’ll just have to get something there,” you say, fishing out a small kitkat bar from your bag. “This is going to have to suffice,”
He takes it with gratitude and a lazy smile.
“Thanks.” Hhe leans into the soft seats of the limo, fingers playing with the edge of the wrapper. “I am really sorry by the way, time kinda flew by,” clearing his throat, he adds,. “Is Shannon mad?”
“Well, she ain’t happy,”
“I should send her a bouquet,”
“You did that last time,”
“Box of chocolates?”
“Did that the time before,”
“Muffin basket?”
“That’s new.”
The smile he gives you is wide and bright and you can’t help but mimic the expression. His gaze is soft as he looks at you, his fidgeting with the wrapper stopping abruptly.
“Could you tell Kate then? Before I forget.”
Without an answer, you quickly text Kate, his assistant, to send Shannon a nice and elegant muffin basket. While you do so you hear Dieter peeling open the wrapper of his unhealthy breakfast, the voice of his favorite youtuber follows.
For the upcoming months, Dieter’s schedule is packed. He’d been cast in an upcoming dystopian blockbuster hero movie. It sounded interesting enough, but while he explained the plot, you were already thinking about the arrangements that needed to be made. Thanks to this new project, he didn’t have much time to relax, so these short limo rides were his little moments of escape.
Seeing that you got a “thumbs up” emoji from Kate, you push the phone back into your pocket. Now that the two of you are actually on your way, you’re relaxed, a ticklish sensation laving across your skin as you melt into the leather seats, the smooth drive pushes your brain into a nearly sleepy state.
Your gaze follows the shops on the street, now that Halloween and Thanksgiving were things of the past, everyone had busted out their Christmas decorations. You enjoy this time of year, the city becomes colorful and bright, the smell of gingerbread following you no matter where you go.
“They were really nice,” Dieter suddenly states, drawing you out of your Christmas- fueled thoughts. “I wish you could’ve spend more time with them,”
“Who?”
“Eduardo and Isabel,” he scrunches up the wrapper and stuffs it into his pocket, dropping his phone to his lap. “They showed me around,”
“Are they actually friends of yours or two people you met at the after party?” You have no doubt in your mind that it’s the latter;, your lips curl into a mischievous smile. You cock an eyebrow, face contorting with confusion. “I thought you came to New York before, what do you mean they ‘showed you around’?”
“I might’ve said I’m new in town,” he grins, wiggling his eyebrows. “I like the attention,”
“As if you don’t have enough of that already,”
He ignores your playful jab and indulges in his train of thought.
“We should meet them again, the four of us,”
“Is this an attempt to lure me to bed with you?”
“It’ll be fun,”
“I have no doubt about that,” your expression grows smug when you see that he wasn’t expecting that answer. “I’m not saying no because it’ll be boring, I’m saying no because I’m your bodyguard. What if someone bursts into the bedroom with a gun? What am I supposed to do when I’m butt naked?”
You exaggerate your words with your hand movements, “Am I supposed to search the floor for my holster while some maniac holds a gun to your head?”
“You can keep the holsters on,”
You hold your breath as discreetly as you can. Dieter leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. How far he can reach surprises you, the brush of his knuckles against yours prompts you to let out the breath you’ve been holding. His pupils devour the color of his eyes, his gaze burns your skin, a feeling that should hurt but doesn’t. His tongue licks over his bottom lip. Your eyes drop to his neck when he swallows.
As he speaks again his voice comes out low and sultry, like he’s out of breath. “That would be so hot. And, like, imagine you shooting a dude while riding my cock,”
“Dieter–”
“Not killing him, of course, just shooting the gun out of his hand. Like a cowboy,”
You snort at the image, quickly covering your mouth. He pulls back, fingers absentmindedly scratching his chin. The heat from the brief brush of skin lingers. Dieter appears none the wiser.
You bite the tip of your tongue. His innuendos affect you more and more each day;, it’s infuriating, especially when he does it so nonchalantly. His eyes look up to the limo’s ceiling, and your cheeks heat up. Is he still thinking about you in holsters?
You’re just about to tell him to stop when he speaks again.
“Wait, would it be cowgirl instead? What do you call a female cowboy? Or does the word cowboy include everyone?”
The heat disappears as soon as it comes, leaving you feeling icy cold.
“Gendered terminology is a bitch,”
“Cowperson?”
“That sounds like a superhero with cow powers,”
He starts to mumble the spider-man theme song from 1994. Maybe he is high after all.
“…does whatever a cow can. Eats some grass, any kind. Crushes thieves just like…uh,”
“Bugs?” you offer.
“Why would a cow crush a bug?”
“Why is Cowperson eating grass? They’re still human, that’s not really a super power,”
“It’s to make their cow-powers more powerful. You need to read more comic books.”
“Who are they? Popeye?”
“Hey, if Popeye can eat spinach and grow strong I don’t understand why our cow-hero can’t,”
You pinch the bridge of your nose, you feel a headache sneaking its way to your temples.
“Why are we talking about cow themed superheroes?”
“You said you would fuck me with the holsters on,”
“I said no such thing,”
The limo comes to a steady halt, you don’t even need to look outside to know you’re here. The muffled screams that seeps through the gaps of the car is enough to let you know that there’s a crowd outside. Dieter seems unbothered by it, his soft molten gaze still glued to you curiously. Suddenly, it gets harder to breathe; like someone squeezing your throat. Licking your lips, you slide towards the door, mentally preparing yourself for the fans outside.
“We’re on, Mr. Bravo.”
It takes you everything not to think of the last sentence he said to you. “You said you would fuck me with the holsters on,” the words had rolled off his tongue as naturally as falling snow, not thinking at all about the consequences. You should be used to his flirty remarks by now. Of all the years you’ve known him, he’s always been like that. It never means anything, it’s just who he is. And it’s your job not to allow him to get you all riled up.
Letting Dieter take the front, you step to the side and close the door as he waves at his adoring fans. They all scream his name, posters and memorabilia glued to their hands with hopes that the actor might sign them. He’s got a bit of spare time—traffic had been surprisingly kind—so you allow him to mingle. You trail close on his steps just in case anyone decides to get too familiar. Selfies are taken, and tears are shed. Your gaze swiftly flits to your watch, his panel begins in ten minutes, you have to get him inside– Besides he will do more signings after the Q & A anyway.
Ignoring the blood pooling underneath your nails, you press your hand against the small of his back, gently guiding him to the entrance. He already knows. His steps become faster, yet to an outsider he doesn’t look to be in a rush. You can’t help the way your fingers slightly curl against the soft fabric of his suit; he feels your palm, warm and soft on his hip.
Touching Dieter isn’t anything new. However, this time you sense a crackle in the air, something that can only be felt by the two of you. His muscles stiffen as he fights the urge to turn to lay his eyes on you. If he could, a silent question would be asked with those same pair of soft eyes; Did you feel that too?
The invisible moment shared between the two of you is gone when a poster is abruptly shoved into his hand along with a marker, you notice which movie it’s from; The Bubble, though it’s more of a documentary rather than a movie. He quickly signs it without further inspection, the fan quickly screams words of gratitude.
But your eyes linger.
You hate that documentary. It’s the proof of your biggest failure as a bodyguard. You heard it on the news first. The crazy set where Lauren Van Chance got her hand shot clean off and the actors had to flee via a helicopter. It was a closed set so you weren’t allowed to join Dieter, and the thought alone that something, anything, could’ve happened to him during filming made you sweat profusely.
Your throat closes up, lungs emptying with the reminders of the past. Luckily he returned safe and sound, never again would you accept him to be essentially locked in a hotel by himself, the pandemic be damned.
You feel it first. See it later.
Your skin is coated with unwarranted goosebumps, the small hairs dusted across your nape stands with attention. Years of working had made your senses grow sharp, noticing things before it even came to be. With your backs turned to the approaching threat, you forget your surroundings, forget to hold yourself back.
When you notice your fingers wrapping around a slim wrist, it’s too late. You kneel and throw the person coming from behind using the strength from your shoulder. A small funko pop of one of Dieter’s more popular characters flies out of their hand. It’s a young woman, maybe in her early 20’s. She shouts in pain and Dieter jumps back, only now realizing what happened. You’re horrified, bile rising to your throat as your eyes go wide. You don’t hear yourself, but you know you’re shouting an apology, feeling your lips form the words.
Sorry, sorry, sorry. Oh my god I’m so sorry.
You attempt to help the girl up but she yanks her hand back, looking at you with rightful fury. You look up to the crowd and it’s a cacophony of screams, laughter, booing– The sound comes to you muffled, echoed. You see countless smartphones, all of them directed at you, documenting your second-worst mistake of your career.
Turning back you see Dieter kneeling next to the fan. He’s speaking to her, his large hand spread across her back. She smiles, nods, and he helps her up. Two paramedics come, ushering her away from the crowd., Dieter waves her off, saying something to the paramedics. You’re so disoriented that your mind convinces your body that a threat as big as an explosion had happened, your skin crawling with imaginary shrapnel digging in to it.
Dieter’s face comes into view, your stomach churns with the remains of your too-early breakfast.
Every sound, every motion rushes back into you, like your soul being sucked back into your body. It’s an overwhelming feeling, you shake your head once, twice, then ask a question with the sole intention to convince yourself that you’re alright.
“Is she hurt?”
“She’s going to be fine,”
Dieter never touches you when you work, a rule you established well before knowing him –this rule didn’t apply after hours though, you don’t remember how many times he bawled his eyes out and pulled you into a bear hug during one of his many rewatches of Coco– but right now his arm wraps securely around your waist, pulling you with him as cameras flash before your eyes, the sound deafening. Your eyes water at the light;, briefly you wonder how Dieter does it, then you’re reminded of his shitty eyesight and connect the dots.
The inside of the building is spacious and cool, you take a deep, shaky breath and stagger forward, balancing yourself by pressing your palms into your knees. An angry set of heels echoes in the building; you see Shannon’s ankles, noticing a small tattoo of a happy cat with a ball of yarn.
How ironic.
“What the fuck was that?” she asks frantically, a rhetorical question, you assume, since she continues. “Amina, what the hell were you thinking flipping a fan like that? She wasn’t even doing anything! The press is going to gobble this story up, it’s going to be everywhere–” she abruptly stops mid- sentence, your head spins, Dieter’s shoes come into view, Shannon’s heels disappear.
“Is she going to be sick?”
You flinch at the hand on your back, Dieter’s voice echoes. You hear something else as he speaks in hurried breaths. What the hell was that sound? You attempt to swat it away. Then you recognize.
Jingle Bells?
“Amina?”
You black out after that.
Needless to say, Dieter is freaking out.
You flatout fainted in front of them all, then woke up acting as if everything was just peachy-keen. He was glad you didn’t puke, but that didn’t ease his worries. The memory of you tossing that poor girl didn’t leave his head for the rest of the day. He was confused, his mind working hard unlike it ever did in order to unravel the mystery. He knew you had your reasons, maybe the girl was a secret agent out to get him or something. Mostly, he was worried about how the scene had stirred something in him. The way you looked so confused about your own actions, how your eyes seemed glazed as if they couldn’t piece together where they were… He’d never seen you so out of your element before.
The screaming crowd probably didn’t help.
Knowing that the internet would be brutal, he asked for your phone before the panel, and, surprisingly, you obliged. The rest of the day was event- free.
He still feels the phone in his pocket as he unlocks the door of the hotel room.
Upon seeing the mess of his late night endeavors with Eduardo and Isabel, a small groan leaves his throat. Couldn’t they have cleaned before leaving the room?
You don’t seem to care. With quick steps you reach the couch and sit. It’s facing the TV, and your hand reaches for the remote. He parts his lips to say something but your hand stills before he does, fingers slightly shaking as you pull yourself back.
“I’m sorry,” you say, your voice cracks and his heart beats in his throat. “I don’t know what happened,”
“Well…” he trails off, closing the door. “In your defense, Rose wasn’t supposed to be there. Technically, you were doing your job,”
“Rose?”
“The girl you flipped,”
“Oh god,”
He stands before you, facing the full force of your doubtful gaze. You cradle your cheeks with both hands, shaking your head, and let out a groan.
“Even so, she didn’t have a weapon, she wasn’t there to attack you. All I had to do was to usher her away,” you lean back, both hands now covering your face, letting out a deep sigh. “Fuuuuuuuuck,”
“Hey, it’s not that bad. Shannon is just being dramatic,”
“I saw her looking at her phone Dieter, I think she left early to cry in the shower,”
“Being my manager for so long must’ve taken a toll on her, you can’t blame her for that. I promise you, I did way stupider shit,”
“Doing stupid shit and downright assaulting someone are two different things,”
You’re right, and he knows you’re right. That doesn’t mean he’ll accept it though. He stares at you for a while, thinking what to say or to do to make you feel better.
His first instinct is to roll you a joint—weed makes everything better—but when he notices the subtle tick in your jaw, your lips slightly moving without parting, he understands that whatever you’re feeling, runs much deeper. You eye the remote again.
“Maybe I should just see what they’re saying?”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,”
“I’m going to find out about it eventually. I should just rip off the bandaid,”
Offering to roll you a joint doesn’t seem like that bad of an idea anymore.
“How about we smoke weed instead?” He assumes you’re going to say no when you open your mouth. He presses his forefinger against his own lips playfully, meeting your gaze and winking. “We can look at Twitter, check the news, watch youtube breakdown videos or whatever you want to do and see the damage tomorrow morning, sweetheart. Promise,”
“Fine fine, let’s go with what you want,” you give in, clearly exasperated. Dieter grins, but before he leaves you threateningly wave your finger at him. “But this is the only time, Bravo. Got it. No matter what, don’t offer it again,”
“Yes Ma’am,”
Dieter holds the joint between his index and middle fingers, where it looks miniature compared to the rest of his hand. He brings it to his lips, taking a deep inhale before handing it to you.
You move in slow motion— at least, to him it seems like you are. He watches intently at where his lips touched moments ago touching yours. A pleasant tingle blossoms from his tail bone to the small of his back. A delicate puff of smoke dances away from your lips, your head falling back, a long sigh follows your exhale. Dieter’s eyes follow the curve of your neck. You swallow, lips still parted. He mimics the movement, his own adam’s apple bobbing up and down, he thinks of your lips.
“Why did I fucking do that?” you mutter. “That was so stupid of me,”
“Stop thinking about it,” he takes the joint away from you. “I rolled this so you can relax. Don’t waste good weed on tripping,”
“Yeah, you’re right sorry,”
Dieter spreads his legs underneath the fuzzy blanket, and your head lolls towards him, forehead brushing his clothed shoulder. Again, a pleasant tingle spreads, this time warmth added to the feeling. The skin above his lower stomach feels tight. His thoughts the farthest from being pure, he imagines a nipple, your nipple, while sucking the end of the joint. His head fuzzy, a soft moan rattles in his throat. You’re muttering something, and that something comes to him muffled, then you laugh. He laughs too, context be damned. He takes another inhale before passing it back to you.
“It was kinda funny,” he suddenly says, his mouth barely reaching the speed of his thoughts. “The way you just threw her over your shoulder,”
“How is it funny?”
Something in your voice makes Dieter raise his hips, the delicate, barely there pressure of the blanket is equal to torture. He needs his hand, or better yet, your mouth. He bites his bottom lip and chases the feeling, lifting himself once more just to feel that feather-like grind against his cock. You’re unaware. Or maybe you are. Dieter can’t tell. He knows that he should behave, that deep down you’re hurting, but something about your obliviousness did something to him. His teeth sink further into his lip, he wants to draw blood, needs the distraction.
“I’ve never actually seen you get physical before, so the shock factor made me wanna laugh,” his words fade into a surprised grunt when you stuff the joint between his lips.
“I guess you really haven’t seen me like that before,”
You sound genuinely surprised. Dieter shifts to face you better, your face only an inch away from his, he sucks in a deep breath. His eyes dance around your face, taking in every little detail, memorizing it for later. Your eyes seem to have specks of gold in them. Or maybe he’s just imagining it. He hears you swallow, your own gaze dropping to his lips. Dieter shuffles closer. He hears your heavy, but fast, breathing. Your breasts touch his chest, a subtle movement that has him grinding his teeth.
He can taste you in the air, sweet and bitter, you’re so close–
The moment shatters with the sound of a shrill doorbell;, Dieter jumps, an immediate crease forming between his eyebrows.
“What kind of hotel room has a doorbell?”
“The expensive kind I guess,” you giggle.
Dieter smiles sweetly at you, he can’t help it. The doorbell rings again, prompting Dieter to stride to the door with long steps. Gripping the doorknob white-knuckled, he yanks it open.
He forgot.
He can’t believe he fucking forgot.
“Dieter!”
A pair of thick, loving arms, wrap themselves around his neck. An awkward smile tugs at Dieter’s lips as he hugs back, his hands twitching for an imaginary rail to hold on.
“Mom? Dad?”
“You forgot didn’t you,” his dad means for his words to form a question but he’s so sure of himself that it comes out as a statement. “Doesn’t darling Kate remind you of these things?”
“She does,” Dieter answers. His mother squishes his cheeks, making it difficult for him to speak. “I just forgot. Been busy,”
“Such a busy bee our darling boy! I would’ve never guessed,”
“Thanks for the confidence boost mom,”
“I mean I knew you would make it,” his mom defends herself. “I just never thought you would work so hard,”
“Again, thanks,”
“Uh…hello?”
You’re standing right behind him, arms crossed against your chest, you shift from one foot to the other. His mother looks you up and down, a wide smile appears on her face, wrinkles appear at the corner of her eyes, similar to his.
“Well, hello dear. Who might you be?”
Dieter nearly bursts out laughing when you stutter and hurriedly walk up to his parents with your hand stretched out, you nearly topple over. Dieter slightly moves forward, in case you did fall over.
“I’m Amina Addams. Lovely to meet you,”
When you reach out to greet his father, he seems excited, like a fan meeting a celebrity. Dieter raises an eyebrow. His father had the habit of being quite blunt, sometimes steering towards being mean, which made Dieter adapt into having a warning mechanism whenever his dad was about to say something stupid.
Right now the alarms are deafening in his ears, red flashing beneath his eyelids.
You shake his hand, and Dieter’s world falls into slow motion, his father parts his lips.
“You’re that girl who turned over a fan! The crazy bodyguard, right?”
For fucks sake dad.
author's note: I've been sitting on this for SUCH a long time and I'm so excited that it's finally out in the open! I love Christmas, romcoms and Dieter so this is essentially pouring out my adoration to all of those things and I hope you'll all fall in love with Amina & Dieter as hard as I have ❤️ Thank you everyone for reading!
#dieter bravo x oc#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo x fem!reader#dieter bravo x fem!oc#dieter bravo x ofc#the bubble fanfic#the bubble fanfiction#christmas fic#dieter bravo x amina addams
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A Dieter Bravo x f!reader x f!oc series
Summary: After a bad breakup, your best friend Eva offers to take you on vacation in the hopes of cheering you up. The problem? You’ve been in love with Eva since you could remember, and she’s bringing her new husband Dieter Bravo with her.
Chapter 1 - Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl
Chapter 2 - Soda Dreamer (coming soon)
Chapter 3 - Tequila
Chapter 4 - After Midnight
Chapter 5 - Victorious Cupid
Pinterest board
*images in moodboard & Pinterest board represent Dieter and oc Eva
Find my main masterlist here
#series masterlist#series: cherry#wip: cherry#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo x oc#poly relationship#not me actually trying to have a posting schedule
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Working Title | Chapter 18
Pairing: Dieter Bravo/OFC
Series Rating: Mature, 18+
Word Count: 5.6k
Series Masterlist |AO3 Link for Chapter 18
Chapter Summary: Indy and Sam come back from their trip and we see the characters react to the news of Indy’s upcoming audition (and the implication it has for our couple).
Chapter Warnings: This one gets a little angsty. There’s also some smutty smut including some 🍑 related fun that I cannot believe I actually wrote, let alone am posting. I’m also playing a little fast and loose with TV/movie production and auditions. I don't have a beta, so any typos/mistakes are on me.
A/N: Happy New Year! I’m a bit of a broken record at this point, but I’m really sorry for the delay between the last chapter and this one. December was rough. One of my resolutions for the New Year is to post updates more consistently. I have a schedule in mind that I’m aiming to keep up with, but we’ll see how it goes. To everyone who’s been following along this journey - thank you, I’m glad you’re here. If you ever want to say hi, my inbox is open. If you don’t feel comfortable, sending an anonymous message works too 😀
“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, right Rhys?” Liz gave him a tight smile and you’re thankful she is trying to steer the conversation to something else.
“Right. You’re right, Liz. You always taught me not to assume anything’s a done deal til the ink is dry!”
“That’s it,” she winked.
“But, I really do think she has a solid shot at landing the ro- ow!” He reached towards his shin, no doubt where she had just kicked him under the table.
Liz shot you a sympathetic look as her eyes quickly moved over to Dieter, who was staring at the Old Fashioned he slowly swirled in one hand. With his other hand, he twirled the ring on his middle finger with his thumb. “So, Belle, did you have a good weekend?”
“Uh, y-yeah,” you cleared your throat, seeing Dieter’s head slowly lift. “Dee had the whole thing planned yesterday, it was amazing.” You reached out to grab his hand, and he looked down with a smirk. You gushed about how much you loved everything about the date from the helicopter tour to the ATVs to dinner, leaving out how your night ended.
“Good work champ,” she smiled at Dieter, whose eyes softened when he looked at her. You knew they were silently communicating, their decades together no doubt allowing say so much said in just a glance.
Luckily Rhys got distracted by the conversation, namely about everything and anything Jurassic Park-related, and didn’t mention Indy’s audition again. As dinner went on you noticed Dieter getting more and more relaxed. He rested his hand on your thigh under the table as often as he could throughout the remainder of your meal and held your hand as you left the restaurant. It was like touching you, making sure you were there, helped to ground him.
While on your walk through the lobby and back toward the elevators you heard a familiar voice call out your name. Turning around you saw Indy waving as she and Sam walked towards you, arm in arm, and all smiles.
“B!” Indy squealed, dropping Sam’s hand and skipping toward you to give you a big hug.
“Hey Ind, you look like you had a good time,” you pulled back with a smirk, noticing how refreshed she looked.
“Very,” she gave you an up and down and then quickly glanced back over her shoulder to Dieter who greeted Sam with a handshake. “Looks like you did too huh?” She whispered, giggling when you gave her a quick nod.
“Ah, Indy! How was our trip?” Rhys asked as he came up behind you.
“Great, Rhys. You seem in a good mood, what’s up?”
“Ah, actually, can I talk to you? Both of you?” He motioned toward the hallway.
“Uh, you’re being weird but ok,” she shrugged and followed behind him.
Before you joined them, you turned around and gave Dieter a small smile as he waved goodbye with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
“What’s that all about?” Sam asked, taking his baseball cap off and turning it backward.
“Rhys has an audition he wanted to talk to the girls about,” Liz shared, cluing Sam into the proposed adjustment to Indy’s shooting schedule to accommodate the audition.
“Oh, no shit? She’d be perfect for that, she’s totally going to get it,” he smiled. “Wait, and Belle gets to go with her too?” He cocked his head to look at Dieter, who was twisting his lips and looking down, playing with the hem of his shirt.
“Mhmm,” he nodded.
Sam narrowed his eyes, looking at Liz who shrugged her shoulders. He clapped a hand onto Dieter’s shoulder. “Hey man, I know you guys just started, hell we did too, but like, this is so good for her, for both of them. These types of opportunities don’t always come around.”
“I know. She’s so talented,” Dieter mumbled. “I just want the best for her,” his eyes found Liz’s.
Sensing that there was more of a conversation that needed to be had and not wanting to intrude, Sam excused himself on account of wanting to take a shower and rest up for the next day of shooting.
“You ok Dee?” Liz put her arm around his shoulders, walking him towards a seating area in the back corner of the lobby. Dieter nodded, scratching the back of his head, twirling the ends of the curls resting on the nape of his neck with his fingers. The simple gesture made him think of Belle which brought a soft smile to his face. “Listen, don’t do what I think you’re going to do.”
Dieter crinkled his nose and scoffed as he looked at Liz, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean Lizzie?”
“It means you’re doing that self-sabotage shit, I can see it from a mile away. You know, for an actor, you do a real shit job of hiding your own emotions sometimes Dee,” she huffed as Dieter slightly winced at the comment. She took a deep breath before continuing, “Look, I’m sorry. That was harsh. I just … I can tell how special she is to you and the way she looks at you, that girl is in love. I’ve never seen anyone look at you like that before and know that it’s completely genuine and not forced,” she reached out to grab his hand. “This shoot was only going to last a few weeks, you both were eventually going to have to go back to the ‘real world’ you know.” She used air quotes to emphasize the last bit.
“I asked her to move in with me…” Dieter blurted out.
“Wait, what?”
He pressed his lips together, raising his eyebrows while nodding, “Yup. Just kind of … asked her…and we kind of said we loved each other. Ow!!” Dieter rubbed the back of his head where Liz smacked him.
“Dieter Bravo. I am so fucking annoyed with you right now!” Liz raised a palm up, silencing Dieter’s scoff so she could continue. “You are sitting here all mopey looking like someone just kicked your dog, meanwhile you and Belle are official?! And you asked her to move in with you? Why the fuck are you so sad and acting like you guys are about to break up?!”
“I just…I don’t know…I kind of had a plan going and this news of her just up and leaving for Toronto for who knows how long…maybe it’s the universe playing a cruel trick on me,” he shrugged. “The timing…I don’t know, it could be a sign that this isn’t meant to..”
“Stop it. Don’t do that.” She cut him off. “Look…we don’t have anything scheduled for you right now after this shoot, you said you wanted a break remember?” She raised her eyebrows waiting for confirmation. Upon seeing him nod she continued, “And what you are signed up for doesn’t start shooting anytime soon…and we’re out of award season.”
“So?”
“So did you ever think you could, I don’t know, go out and spend time in Toronto with her? You’re Dieter fucking Bravo, you could…I dunno…rent a house or something and live there for a few months, you've done crazier shit.”
Dieter shook his head, wide-eyed and in awe at how Liz could just see the right path so clearly when it was obscured from him. “I… I hadn’t thought about that, Lizzie.”
“Well, start thinking about it. But not too much, we have to see what happens first, right?” She smiled, patting his hand before getting up and walking away.
“Holy shit Rhys, are you serious?!” Indy jumped up and down, giving her agent the biggest hug. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner you ass!” She playfully punched him in the arm.
“Ow!” He rubbed his arm with a nervous laugh. “Well, I wanted to wait until I had everything sorted.”
“What happens with the shoot here? Am I getting written off? Is my character getting killed or something?” She started to spiral before Rhys put his hand up to signal he had more to share.
“You’re not getting written out of anything. We’re adjusting the schedule so you’ll shoot a bunch over the next couple of days and then when you and Belle get back you’ll wrap up your last scenes. This thing hasn’t even been picked up yet so as long as there’s a few solid episodes in the can then we’re in good shape and we can always come back for reshoots,” he smiled. “Besides we were going to wrap this whole thing up in a couple of weeks anyway, now we’re just…speeding things up!” He clasped his hands together, with a hopeful look on his face as his eyes went back and forth between you and Indy.
“You’re being awfully quiet. What do you think?” Indy turned her attention to you, concern etched across her face as you realized you had been chewing on your thumb throughout their entire conversation.
“Hmm? I … um… I think this is great news Indy, you absolutely have to go for it,” you replied with a tight smile, knowing she could see straight through you.
She narrowed her eyes, silently giving you the “we’re going to talk about this later” look before switching her focus back to Rhys, who was oblivious to your silent conversation. “Great, when do we leave?”
When Dieter got back to his room his first order of business was to change into something more comfortable. It was a bit of a ritual for him, whenever he started to feel down and like he was going to a dark place, he’d put on what he deemed his “sad uniform” so he could wallow in comfort.
He threw on a striped pair of well-worn pajama pants and then reached for his tattered gray T-shirt. As he pulled it over his head, he caught Belle’s scent, which made him smile. He finished off with his green bathrobe, which really was more wearable blanket than a bathrobe.
He didn’t want to assume that Belle would spend the night with him, but part of him wished she would.
You should text her, see if she’s planning on coming by. No, that’s so needy. What if she and Indy wanted to talk things through or just … I don’t know, catch up. The world doesn’t revolve around you Bravo.
Frustrated with himself, he went to the kitchen, grabbed a box of cookies, and sat on the couch with his script. But that was a futile attempt, his mind was too wired as it thought about a bunch of different scenarios and possibilities for the future. Twirling his ring, an idea came to him. He got up and grabbed his tablet and sat back down to do some research.
“Ok, now that we’re alone…spill. What do you think?” Indy side-eyed you once the elevator doors closed and the cab began its assent.
You sighed, “Look, I absolutely…with all of my heart…want you to get this role, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit…I don’t know, bummed that it would mean we’d have to leave set early. I…fuck this feels so selfish to say…but I feel like things are picking up with Dieter and it kind of makes me nervous me to leave.”
“Because you think if you leave then it will be the end?” There was your straight shooter of a best friend. It was honestly a little freaky how it felt like she was inside of your brain sometimes.
“Yeah…like…maybe, this is going to sound dumb, but I can’t help but think that if there’s time where I’m not here, that maybe he’ll,” you shook your head, “maybe he’ll come to his senses and realize this is just some on-set fling and that’s it.” You crossed your arms in front of your chest, avoiding her gaze.
The silence was deafening.
“You don’t believe that, do you?” Indy asked in an even tone.
Looking up wide-eyed, you were a bit speechless. Twisting your mouth, you tugged your arms closer to your chest. “I guess not.”
“First of all, your feelings are your feelings. They aren’t dumb or selfish. Your past with fucking pencil dick Ryan sure as hell doesn’t help either,” she rolled her eyes, the mention of him left a bad taste in your mouth. “Look, I know you have feelings for Dieter and it’s so fucking obvious he’s head over heels for you too.”
“I told him I loved him,” you cut her off.
She froze and stared back with wide eyes and her mouth agape.
“And he told me he loved me too. Actually, today he asked me if I wanted to go back to LA with him after this.”
The elevator dinged and the doors opened to your floor.
Indy was still a bit stunned, but as she stepped out of the elevator she turned to you. “Belle, you’re my best friend. I love you more than anything so please believe me when I say I’ve always had a good feeling about Dieter,” she put her hands on your shoulders, rubbing circles with her thumb. “Listen, I can go do the audition on my own. And when I get it, because I’m going to,” she winked with a smirk, “we can figure something out and you can stay here or-”
“No, I can’t do that to you.”
“Listen, let’s not make a decision right now. You should talk to him. See where his head is at. And then, whatever you decide to do, the two of you, know that I will support you no matter what. I love you.”
“I love you too, I don’t deserve you,” you reached out and hugged her tightly.
“Shut up, you deserve everything.” She pulled back with a smile. “Now, go talk to your man … or let your bodies do the talking,” she winked as she slapped your ass and started walking down the hallway.
“Ok, but let me grab something first.”
Dieter heard voices in the hallway, straining to try and make out who they belonged to. Indy’s laugh was undeniable and his stomach did a flip knowing that Belle was just outside. Walking up to his door, he rested his head against it as he heard the door to the girls’ suite close. Looking out the peephole and seeing nothing, he opened the door slightly and peeked his head out, confirming the hallway was vacant.
He shut the door and leaned his head against it with a sigh. He was trying not to spiral but he wondered how the conversation with Rhys and Indy went. And, more importantly, where Belle’s head was about the whole thing. The last thing he wanted to do was be the reason to hold her back from an opportunity. But he couldn’t help but want to be a little selfish, too. He’d been waiting for something like this, someone like her, for so long and he couldn’t bear to let it potentially slip away. Part of him worried if time away from him would make Belle see that he was as much of a fuck up as everyone said he was. Just another reminder of how his past was a permanent shadow on his present and future.
He had a taste for what love felt like, a love that was unconditional and without judgment; he was intoxicated by it in a way that excited him but scared him a little too. Shaking his head, he retreated to lie on the couch in the living room to think. Closing his eyes, he rested his forearm over his face effectively hiding from the world.
You checked your phone, hoping to see a message, but your heart sank a bit when all you saw were a couple of emails. Dieter’s mood had definitely changed with news of the audition and possible move to Toronto assuming everything went to Rhys’ plan. All you wanted to do was see Dieter and lose yourself in him, in his scent, and his touch. You craved him. You wanted the reassurance that everything was going to be ok.
Since Indy needed to take a shower and read through several additional scenes for the next day, you knew she’d be holed up in her room for the rest of the night. You plopped onto your bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about what to do.
With a huff, you pulled yourself up and walked over to your dresser where you spotted Dieter’s duffle on the ground. You grabbed it and started pulling items out of the drawers, hastily stuffing the bag before heading to the bathroom to grab a few things. Taking a deep breath you made your way out of the room and down the hallway to Dieter’s room, bag in hand.
Dieter was groggy, almost falling asleep which is why the knock at the door didn’t quite register at first; he thought he was dreaming. But after a couple of more forceful knocks, he reluctantly got off the couch. He figured Danny must have been stopping by to prep him on his schedule for tomorrow, even though the kid had already sent him about five emails and several text messages to confirm.
“What,” he muttered as he opened the door, not looking at who was on the other side of the door.
“Uh…”
Dieter’s eyes widened seeing Belle standing before him holding his duffle bag. “Shit, s-sorry, I thought you were Danny.”
“Oh ah…sorry, I can go,” Belle looked down awkwardly, twisting her mouth in thought.
“No! I mean…no…sorry, I just…d’you wanna come in?” He opened the door a bit further, motioning for her to come inside.
He looked nervous, scratching the bottom of his chin and shifting a bit from side to side. You just wanted to hug him. So when he opened the door to let you in, you dropped the bag and crashed into his chest. You melted when you felt his arms come around you, gripping you … tight… like he hadn’t seen you in months when in reality it was about an hour.
The two of you stayed like this, as you settled back into the little bubble, your bubble, which always felt so safe.
“I hadn’t heard from you,” Dieter murmured against the top of your head. “Figured you were busy or something.”
“No, I…well, we talked with Rhys and then I went back to my room and packed this,” you pulled back and nudged the duffle with your foot.
Dieter winced a little bit, scratching the back of his head with his eyes fixed on the bag at his feet. “You bringing me back my clothes?” he softly asked, tugging at the belt of his robe.
“What? No. I…I brought mine.” You suddenly felt a bit silly, wishing you had thought this through more, but you had been in such a rush to see Dieter.
“Wait, you…” he bent down, picking up the bag by the handles and unzipping it. “You brought clothes? Like, you want to spend the night?” There he was giving you those puppy dog eyes.
“Yeah I mean … you have a drawer at my place, figured I could get a little space here. I’m … comfortable here. With you.” You gave him a tight smile.
Before you could realize what was happening, Dieter cupped your face with one hand, his lips crashing into yours as he closed the door behind you and started walking you further into the room before pulling back to look at you.
“You don’t know how hearing you say that makes me feel,” this time his smile reached his eyes. He reached down to grab both of your hands in his, bringing your knuckles up to his lips before pulling you in closer into a kiss.
“We have…stuff…we should…probably….talk about,” you managed to say between kisses.
“You’re right,” he sighed. “Here, let’s sit,” he led you towards the couch where he sat, legs spread wide as you faced him, one knee bent on the couch with your leg dangling off the side. “So…uh…how’d the talk go.”
“Good. Indy’s really excited,” you said with a tight smile. You breathed a little easier when you saw his eyes softened.
“She’s going to get that role, you know,” he raised an eyebrow as he leaned forward, resting a hand on your knee.
“I know,” you chuckled. “She has her mind set so she’s definitely getting it.”
“So…ah…what’d you think you’re gonna do then?”
You sighed, trying to form your words. Meanwhile, Dieter was fidgeting with his ring, looking down. You were used to his nervous energy, but now he seemed…scared. And it tugged on your heartstrings. You took his hands in yours and his breath hitched as he looked up at you. “I want to go with her,” you said softly, wincing a little as he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.
“I want you to go with her too.”
“You do?”
He furrowed his brows, “Of course I do. It’s a great opportunity for both of you. When something like this comes along you have to just … go for it,” he smiled.
“I thought we’d have more time,” your words were barely a whisper.
Dieter took his hands from yours and reached up to gently cradle your face so you’d make eye contact with him. “Well, then we’ll have to make time. We’ll figure it out. I…want to figure it out, with you.” He leaned in for a kiss, a bit tentative at first. But his tongue swiped along your lower lip, asking for permission. As your lips parted, you couldn’t help your moan as he kissed you with more fervor. His lips trailed down your neck as you extended your head to the side to give him more real estate to explore.
“We have more to talk about…” you exhaled.
He moved to lightly sucking and nipping along your neck, careful not to leave too permanent of a mark. You giggled as his stubble tickled you in the most delicious way. As he worked his way up toward your ear he stopped, his voice husky, “We do, but I don’t want to do that right now and I don’t think you do either.”
You let out a shaky breath as his hands traced the side of your body. “What do you have in mind then?” You managed to ask, a bit breathless as his hand stopped to cup your breast through the outside of your shirt.
“You.” He stilled, eyes trailing down looking at you through his eyelashes.
Your breath hitched. He tilted his head to the side, his tongue wetting his lower lip, waiting for an answer. “Ah…uh…I take it you have something specific in mind then?” A nervous laugh escaped as he nodded into another kiss.
“I do, but I’m taking requests,” he smiled against your lips, setting off the butterflies in your stomach. Suddenly all of the anxiety and worry was gone and you wanted to stay in this moment for as long as you could.
But, your mind was being, well, your mind, and it wasn’t shutting the fuck up. And it was going into overdrive as you wondered how the night was going to go. The insecurities of how inexperienced you were with sex reared its head at the most inopportune time.
You knew Dieter had to have heard the wheels turning in your head. He pulled back, his forehead creased as his hands traced down your side before resting on your hips. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh ah…n-nothing, I…c’mere,” you grabbed behind his neck, trying to bring his lips to yours but he paused.
“Baby, what’d I do?” His hand cupped your face as his thumb rubbed your cheek. His thumb and forefinger softly forced your chin up to look at him. He closed his eyes and his shoulder dropped as he exhaled before opening them again. “I want you to feel comfortable asking for anything you want from me. Anything. Pretty sure you aren’t going to say anything that’s gonna shock me,” he laughed.
You twisted your lips in thought. “That’s what I’m nervous about,” your voice was small.
“Wait. What? What did I-”
“I know you’re more experienced than me,” you cut him off. “And that’s ok, I’m not judging you for that. But I’d be lying if I said that it didn’t intimidate me. That you’ve fucked a lot of people. I just don’t want you to get bored or frustrated because I haven’t done as much as you.” You aren’t sure where this word vomit is coming from, but you’re annoyed at yourself for ruining the mood.
“Hey,” he ran his hands down your arms. “I’m not going to lie or try to minimize it. Have I had a lot of sex? Yeah. But do you know what was missing all of those years?” He maintained eye contact as you shook your head. “You. This. The way I felt last night, hell the way I felt the first time I ever kissed you. I’ve…never experienced this before. So, in a way, I’m exploring some new territory just like you are,” he gave you a soft smile.
“That’s very sweet Dieter, I just don’t want you to get … I dunno bored.”
“Baby, I don’t think I could ever get tired of you,” he gave you a mischievous smirk as he pulled you into his lap, guiding you to straddle him. He gripped your hips tight as he pressed you closer, you could feel him starting to get hard as he kissed you again. A whimper escapes as you thread your fingers through his messy curls, rocking into him. “Tell me what you want,” he said against your lips.
“I…um,” you bit your lip, while he pressed his forehead to yours. “I…” You trailed off, whimpering as his fingers slid underneath the waistband of your shorts.
“Words, baby, tell me. I’ll give you whatever you want.”
You tugged on his hair to pull his head back so you could look at him. Both of you were breathless, gazes locked in. There was so much you wanted to say but all you wanted right now was to feel him.
“Dieter, c-can you,” you shook your head, a bit embarrassed. “I …. I loved last night. It was honestly the best sex I’d ever had,” you smirked as a smug smile came across his face, “it was soft and romantic. I didn’t think I’d ever … um … experience that. You made me feel so … good … and I want you to feel good too. So, do whatever you want, I trust you.” You twirled the curls at the nape of his neck.
He closed his eyes and a shaky breath escaped. “Seeing you enjoy yourself gets me off more than you know.”
“Well, then show me some new ways to enjoy myself then.” The words escaped before you realized what you were saying. You would have never in a million years thought you'd say something like that but, again, he's awoken something in you.
“Yeah?” He looked to you for confirmation so you nodded. “Tell me if you want to stop or if something hurts, yeah?”
Your mouth went dry and all you could do was nod. He gave you a look and you finally squeaked out an “I promise.”
“I can’t guarantee how long this is going to last,” he laughed, “but I’m going to make you feel good. Here, up,” He tapped your ass for you to get up.
As he led you back toward his bedroom, you swallowed hard, salivating at the thought of him losing himself in you.
“Ok, on your hands and knees,” one of his large hands trailed down your back, sending shivers up your spine. Your eyes quickly ran down his body, noting how his pants tented, a little wet spot starting to grow. He helped you pull your shorts and underwear down and your shirt off and pressed kisses along every inch of you before you turned around and took your place on the bed. You were nervous about how exposed you were, but it was short-lived as you heard Dieter take his clothes.
“You look so pretty.”
You felt his hand wrap around your hip, as the bed dipped. You braced for him to enter you, craving that fullness again. Instead, you were caught a bit off guard when you felt his lips kissing down your spine, his stubble scratching against your skin. You kept expecting him to stop, to grip your hips with both hands, but he still hadn’t.
He kissed further and further down, past your waist now, and was still heading down. He lightly pressed his hand onto your back so your chest met the mattress, your ass sitting higher. “You’re so fucking pretty,” his lips pressed into your skin as he moves down to your ass. One hand kneaded the flesh while he lightly nipped at you, causing you to yelp.
And then you felt it, his tongue licking a slow stripe up your folds, except he kept going. You flinched as his tongue came to circle your tight ring of muscle, a place no one has ever touched you.
He pulled away immediately, waiting a beat to see if you would say something. “Is this ok?” He pressed soft kisses along your waist.
You nodded, turning your head to look back at him. He braced himself up onto both hands tilting his head to gauge your expression. “Y-yeah, sorry I just wasn’t expecting that is all.”
“Has anyone ever done this to you before?”
“No,” your voice shaky.
He bit his lip and then kissed your hip. “Don’t worry, I’m just going to play using my mouth for a bit to see if you like it. That ok?”
“Y-yeah, but I don't know if I'm ready for-”
“Shh. Just relax. This is all I'm planning on doing with your ass for right now. But if you don't like it, I have other things I can move on to,” he smirked.
You managed a shaky “ok” and tried to stave off the insecurities that had only temporarily been stalled. Being face down and ass up was definitely new territory for you and you couldn't help but wonder if maybe you should have taken a showe- oh, oh. This felt … different. But a good different. You actually kinda liked it, and based on the guttural sounds coming from Dieter it appeared he was enjoying himself too.
“This ok?” He was a bit out of breath, panting slightly as he awaited your response.
“Yeah, it's so go- ahh.”
Before you could finish Dieter was back with more enthusiasm. You gripped the sheets, whimpering as he continued to flick his tongue around until he breached you. That's when you really arched your ass into him and let out a loud moan.
“Fuck, Dee, I…”
He slipped his fingers through your folds and into your pussy which was dripping at this point. These sensations were deliciously overwhelming until he abruptly stopped.
“Nah. Flip around, I wanna see your pretty face when I fuck you.”
Before you could turn onto your back, Dieter’s hands came to your hips as he twisted you around. You fell onto the bed in a fit of giggles. Hearing him laugh was music to your ears and seeing him enjoying himself made you feel so warm.
He continued to praise you for how beautiful you looked and how the sounds you made were turning him on. You’d been craving him inside you again and he was not disappointing. He coupled his hips snapping against you with his incessant but insanely dirty talk. You could feel yourself clenching him as he picked up the pace and it wasn’t long before you were letting go, pleasure washing over you in waves. Dieter wasn’t too far behind before he collapsed on top of you, both of you panting.
You threaded your hands through his hair, twisting his curls, feeling his sweaty forehead against your chest as he caught his breath. He went to move off of you, but you gripped his shoulders. “Stay, I just want to feel you here, please.”
He moved his face up to look at you, a smile starting to spread across his face. “Baby, I’m going to crush you.”
“No,” you pouted. “You’re like a warm blanket, stay just a bit longer, please,” you wrapped your legs around his waist crossing your ankles behind the small of his back.
“Well, who am I to deny a beautiful woman’s demands,” he winked before nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.
You both lay there for a few moments, it felt like your breaths had synced up. As much as you wanted to fall asleep with your Dieter blanket, you were actually starting to feel like you couldn’t breathe.
“Ok, I gotta go to the bathroom,” you unlocked your ankles and tapped him on the shoulder. He chuckled as he rolled off of you, laying on his side as he watched you retreat into the bathroom.
When you emerged a few moments later, he was under the covers. He lifted them so you could snuggle in beside him, which you were eager to do. You settled into the crook of his arm, resting your head on his chest.
“You sure that was ok?” He asked as his hand lightly traced up and down your arm.
“More than ok, it was,” you yawned. “Amazing.”
“I agree, you’re amazing.” He looked down and saw your eyes closed as you softly breathed. He smiled to himself, wishing he could live in the moment for the rest of his days.
Previous Chapter / Next Chapter
A/N: Thank you for reading! I’ll see you hopefully in a couple of weeks with a new update. I’m going to try and aim for shorter chapters to see if that helps with my motivation. I think we have about 5-6 chapters left, but don’t hold me to that in case I write more (or less, although let’s be real, by this point you should know I’m longwinded and am not about to wrap this up in four chapters lol). Hoping for a new update on 1/17!
Tag list: @musings-of-a-rose / @legendary-pink-dot / @bitchwitch1981 / @mysterious-moonstruck-musings / @gracie7209 / @amneris21 / @pastelnap / @maryfanson / @sunnywithachanceofjavi / @sin-djarin / @winchestergypsy90 / @for-a-longlongtime /@harriedandharassed / @titlee78 / @midnightraain / @poodlebae / @partyofone3414 / @guelyury / @weho2kcmo / @missladym1981 / @soapjay / @darkheartgatita
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On Dieter, Goya's Black Paintings, and Pedro on Talk Art
Alright y'all, it's Saturday evening, I have nothing better to do (I actually do but I don't feel like it), so welcome to my mini TED Talk about 'how to pay too much fucking attention to the Pedro cinematic universe'. None of this is new, and maybe everybody already knew about this, but I didn't... so here's a nerdy tangent courtesy of googling/wikipedia-ing.
I was reading a Dieter!fic (this one right here by @chaoticgeminate - go read her writing!) earlier today, which refers to the 'Saturn Devouring His Son' painting - that giant mural Dieter is working on in The Bubble:
(his brush isn't even touching the wall tho, ha)
The original 'Saturn' by Goya
The fic mentioned its part of 'The Black Paintings', so I got curious and started googling. I'm no art major or expert, so please allow me to just paraphraze the Wikipedia page. 'Saturn' is part of a group of 14 Goya paintings that are called Pinturas Negras/The Black Paintings. They "portray intense, haunting themes, reflective of both his fear of insanity and his bleak outlook on humanity" --this was late in Goya's life, and was connected to several illnesses he had experienced (and the fear of relapsing) and political turmoil in Spain at the time (post-Napolean war, changing Spanish government, etc.
Trivia fact 1: Goya actually made these paintings right on the walls of the Quinta del Sordo (so-called Deaf Man's villa) where he was staying -- so I love that Apatow had Dieter also paint right on the walls.
Trivia fact 2: while Goya was living in this villa, he actually became gravely ill (again) - not by a pandemic obviously, but it's hard to not link that loosely to the COVID period. He had never intended for these 'Black Paintings' to become public; "these paintings are as close to being hermetically private as any that have ever been produced in the history of Western art" (the murals were eventually transfered to canvas by other folks once he had moved out of the villa). Switching back to The Bubble -- I love how the tragic influence of Goya's illness(es) and art/things 'made at home away from the world, not intended for an audience' (so obviously, in a bubble) has that connection to the COVID experience and how many folks were suddenly homebound, along with the burden of illness in many ways (lord knows this all did a serious number on our mental health). In the movie, Dieter and the others do not want to go into isolation again, but that solitude is what eventually led him to painting on the walls in his room. This is not a 'grand discovery' of any kind, but I got a kick out of the parellels once I read up on it - and honestly makes me appreciate the movie a bit more, haha.
Not happy about another quarantine period.
Alright, more hyperfocusing after the cut:
Some googling led me to a post from last year by @nicolethered (gifs in this post are hers), and she included screencaps of the walls of Dieter's room (during that drug scene), which I hadn't even noticed while watching the movie. Upon taking a closer look, I noticed they're outtakes from other pieces of Goya's Black Paintings! I thought that was really cool, they sure worked on the details with that set (there's one more that's shown in a different shot but I can't exactly figure out which outtake that is):
First one is a mirror image from Two Old Men Eating Soup and the second one is basically Satan aka 'The Great He-Goat' from the Witches' Sabbath painting. Which IMO makes for fucking hilarious perfection a.k.a. trivia fact 3 -- because we all know about Dieter and his little emotional support goat, LOL. Excellent connection.
*insert sound bit from Hot Ones interview* : "Just let me love you!"
Anywaaay there's more. The Bubble was shot during Feb 22, 2021 to April 16, 2021, right? Pedro has spoken about how his input in shaping Dieter was mostly regarding his outfits (the Crocs, the robe, etc). But then I suddenly remember the Talk Art interview he had done in 2018, and how he namechecks 'The Dog' by Goya - and lo, guess which painting is actually part of the 14 Black Paintings? Yeap - the dog! So I checked the podcast and he was asked, 'if you could be any painting, what painting would you be?' by Russell. Here is the painting, and below it is what he said on Talk Art:
'The Drowning Dog' by Goya
"I think… it's a Goya. Yeah, old school. I think it's called 'Dog Buried in Sand' or something like that. It's so… I remember feeling it was such a visual representation of helplessness, in such a… come on, let's all admit that helplessness is a very recurring feeling for many of us, you know what I mean? When it comes to so many things. I guess… I was in Spain, in Madrid, and I was 20. And I went to the Goya museum.
What's interesting about it is that the head of the dog is really quite small and sort of adorable, it looks like a stray mutt, and the painting - if I can remember it correctly - is very rectangular. There's so much above him, like the world just seems so big. It's quite incredible, isn't it? I know it's really sad, and sort of dark, and maybe I really like enjoy perceiving myself like..." (He gets interrupted by Russell, and then continues;) "Yeah, he's certainly not dying, it's sort of - it's a moment", (then interrupts himself with;) "Maybe he's totally dying, there's no way that dog is getting out of that. That dog is SO fucked. Anyway, that's the painting that represents my life". (All three of them burst out into laughing.)
If you're still reading this - I am impressed with your dedication to my silly little post, haha. Anyway, I just thought it was so striking that there basically is a straight line from the painting he mentioned in Talk Art to what Dieter is painting in the Bubble. Makes me wonder if perhaps he - or even Russell/Robert - had any input in that part of Dieter's backstory.
Thank you for attending my TED Talk on artistic analysis of Dieter Bravo during COVID, we now resume your regularly scheduled program for Saturday night. 🤪
(Have I been smoking because a local dispensary actually had 'Mando' bud? I sure as fuck have and I blame that for this post.)
#pedro pascal characters#dieter bravo#dieter bravo x oc#dieter bravo fanfic#dieter bravo x f!reader#dieter bravo fanfiction#pedro pascal character fanfiction#pedro pascal#fic rec#ted talks#saturday night ramblings#ADHD#hyperfocus#the bubble#judd apatow#talk art#russell tovey#robert diament#goya#art#painting#oil painting#art history#my writing
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Plastic Hearts, Chapter Eight: Angels Like You
pairing: dieter bravo x actress!ofc (Violet)
rating: E (18+ only, angst, talks of addiction/recovery, oral (fem rec), unprotected piv, these two are so (maybe unhealthily) lovestruck, more angst but this time parental)
wc: 6.3k
series masterlist
December 22nd — Los Angeles, CA
Though Los Angeles never really got all that chilly in the winter, the city felt colder than it had in years as Violet drove down Sunset Boulevard with the top of her all-black BMW down, the wind whipping through her hair.
Dieter had been in and out of the city for the past month working on the pre-production for his upcoming project, leaving her alone as she began to start her Oscar campaign for her lackluster movie. Even on the rare occasion that he was in town for an entire night, he seemed to be pulling further away from her with every passing day, but she couldn’t blame him, especially after the incident at the club and his discovery that she was using.
Violet spent most of her free nights driving all over the city. This ritual had become sort of holy and precious to her. She needed the roof to be down, the heater and music to be on high, and most important of all, Dieter’s thick, brown coat bundling her up. She couldn’t explain why, but this was the closest she ever came to replicating the feeling of being with Dieter; the thrill of the icy wind hitting her face, the music so loud all of her thoughts were silenced, the warmth of his scent enveloping her making her feel safer than she’d felt in her entire life.
It was nearing two in the morning when Violet’s BMW rolled back into her driveway, the music and the heater going silent in an instant. She sat there in the quiet evening air for a moment, steel-faced as she stared ahead at her shiny new mansion, but internally there was no feeling of success or fulfillment to be found.
After forcing herself inside, Violet kicked off her shoes and slugged into the kitchen to make herself something to eat, a once, or twice if she was in a particularly good mood, a day task lately. She had only just opened the fridge when she was interrupted by an urgent thought—where the fuck is my phone?—the ache in her stomach momentarily dismissed as she patted herself down before running off on a hunt.
Finding it upstairs on her bed, she was shocked to find three missed calls from Dieter, especially since she’d only heard from him once in the last week. She immediately dialed his number, putting the phone on speaker as she headed back downstairs into the kitchen.
“Hey,” Dieter’s voice crackled through her speaker, bringing a smile to her face even with his almost indifferent tone. “Called a few times.”
“I’m sorry, I was driving,” she said, setting the phone down on the island. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just missed you,” he said, sincerity mixing with something unknown turning his tone sadder than she would’ve hoped. “Been so busy, all these meetings and shit. Sorry if it feels like…I don’t know. Like I’m not here.”
“S’alright,” she managed, a lump forming in her throat at the constant tension between them. “We are good though…right?”
“Yeah, I mean—“ he sighed. She could imagine the way his hand anxiously was rubbing at his jaw. “Shit’s…been a little weird lately. But we’re—you and I are still—I still love you.”
“Still?” she repeated, scoffing under her breath. “How fortunate am I that you still love me.”
“Violet,” he sighed. “Do you really want to go there?”
“Honestly, yeah,” she snapped, abandoning all hope for a meal tonight as she walked over to the island and stared at her screen as though she were glaring at him face to face.
“It’s hard for me to be around you when I know that you’re still fucking using. That’s all. Yes, I still love you. I still love you even though it’s fucking hard and dangerous and a slippery fucking slope for me,” he said, a sharpness in his voice that she had yet to hear from him in the six months of knowing him.
“I’m not using,” she countered weakly, not even believing her own lie.
“Vi, pretending like you don’t have a problem doesn’t mean you don’t still have a problem,” he softened his voice. “I just want you to get help, but you’re not. You keep saying you’ll quit cold turkey and it doesn’t fucking work. Trust me.”
“Is that what I have to do to see you?” she asked, her voice breaking a bit as tears flooded over her waterline.
“You can’t make this about me,” he sighed.
“I have to. I don’t want to stop, but you want me to,” she said. “And I want you more than anything. Especially lately.”
The line went silent for a few beats, prompting Violet to carry on with her tearful plea.
“I want to see you, to go to bed with you, to touch you. It’s been a month since I got to spend more than a day with you, do you know that?”
“Trust me, it hasn’t been fucking easy for me either,” he exhaled. “But I need to set boundaries and shit. And a big boundary is that if you’re using or if there’s shit at the house, I can’t be there. I can’t be with you, and I can’t be there.”
“Then I’m done using,” she said decidedly, as if recovery was as simple as making a declaration.
“Baby,” he sighed for the thousandth time in five minutes. “Find a rehab, or some sort of accountability program—“
“Christmas is literally in three days,” she chuckled. “After the holidays, I will.”
“Okay,” he managed after a beat, still not sounding his usual self.
“Okay, so…can I come see you for Christmas?” she said, biting her lip nervously.
“Yeah, you know, as long as you respect this line I’m trying to draw,” he said.
“Of course I will.”
“Just to warn you, my awful parents decided they wanted to have an awful Christmas Eve together at their place, so…keep in mind you’ll have to deal with their passive aggressive bullshit.”
“That’s fine, I can be passive aggressive right back,” she said, smiling down at her screen as if nothing ever happened. Her knack for forgiveness was a trait she both deeply admired and utterly hated about herself. “I can’t wait to see you, D. Really. I’m gonna…gonna get my shit together. I’m just…I’m taking this loss of a movie really hard.”
“I know, baby,” he offered softly. “You’re doing your best to cope, I know that. I just—there’s better ways. I know it doesn’t feel like anything matches that high, but—“
“You do,” she cut in. “Being with you beats it.”
Dieter was quiet for a beat. “Fuck, I’ve really missed you.”
Violet smiled softly and nodded. “I’m gonna find a flight for tomorrow.”
“Alright, baby,” he hummed. “I’m sorry—for the way I’ve gone about all this shit. I should’ve said something instead of just pulling away. Wasn’t cool.”
“S’alright,” she said. “We’re good now.”
“Yeah. We’re good,” he agreed. “Call me before you head out?”
“You gonna pick up?” she teased, earning a chuckle.
“Yes,” he snarked and Violet laughed, the sound fading into a more comfortable silence than she was used to as of late. Dieter must have felt the shift back to normalcy as well, his voice soft as he spoke again. “You know I love you more than anything, Violet.”
“I know,” she hummed, her smile tender as she stared at his contact picture on her screen. “I love you, D,” she mused. “M’gonna go get ready for bed.”
“Okay,” he rasped. “Have a good night, V. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Night night.”
Dieter’s month had been long and grueling, constantly flying back and forth between New York and LA, New York and London, London and Germany, all to meet studio executives without an ounce of creativity in their bones and kiss ass until they were sure his role in the movie could suit their monetary desires. On top of all of this, he felt like he was working a full time job trying to figure out his situation with Violet after the big blowout at the club. Everytime he sought outside advice, he heard the same shit.
It’s not safe for your sobriety to be with someone who’s using, his therapist said. This shit is toxic, Andrea said. If it comes out that Violet’s on coke, they’re all going to blame you, his publicist said.
But of course it was cut and dry for them.
They didn’t love her. They didn’t know her. They weren’t him, didn’t feel the way he did about life, didn’t know what it was like to meet someone who just fucking gets it.
It wasn’t as simple as saying goodbye and moving on, but he couldn’t be with her the way he used to be anymore—as long as she was using, that is.
He needed to put distance between them for a while while he figured out what to do about loving her the way he did and fearing it’s total control over him at the same time.
Tonight, after a particularly difficult day spent at the office punctuated by a once a year call from his mother, he couldn’t keep himself distanced any longer. He needed to hear her voice, and more importantly, he needed to finally lay out his terms for their relationship.
After the call ended, he still only felt partly relieved. There was this selfish child deep within him that was clinging onto the thought of seeing her again that couldn’t be tamed. That desperate, love starved boy had no care in the world about what could happen if she started using around him again—he was just glad she was there. The other, more mature part of him resembled more of the man who he saw in the mirror. This man had been let down by love every time he’s felt it. This man knew that sometimes you just fucking lose in the end. This man had, through multiple relapses and years of falling on and off the wagon, finally gotten sober, finally had his career back to where he wanted it, and this man knew that all it would take is one slip up for it all to go to shit.
He hoped she was being sincere about getting clean, but as the old saying goes, hope is a dangerous thing to have.
It hadn’t snowed the entire month, but as if the city was just waiting for Violet to come home, New York was covered in a soft blanket of white ice as soon as she touched ground. Dieter couldn’t help but smile at the coincidence as he stood in front of a large glass window in the airport, watching as Violet’s plane hit the tarmac.
By the time she came walking towards him with a wide, smitten grin hidden beneath her thick wool scarf, Dieter had managed to forget all about his concerns regarding the state of their relationship.
“Excuse me? Can I get a picture? I’m a big fan,” she teased, sliding her arms around his waist as he pulled her in for the tightest hug of her life, swaying her side to side with his face buried in her scarf.
“Missed you, Apollo,” he mumbled, squeezing her tighter before letting her go just enough to look at her, his hands lifting to frame her face. “A shit ton.”
“I missed you, Bravo,” she said, her eyes tracing the curve of his bottom lip. Dieter took her cue and leaned down, his fingers holding her chin as he kissed her soft and slow until it started to get too heated for Violet’s comfort given their current location. “Maybe we shouldn’t make out in an airport?”
“Bathroom?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Violet laughed and swatted his hip before shaking her head and pulling herself away from him.
“Lame,” he teased, shooting her a smirk as he grabbed her suitcase with one hand and Violet’s hand with the other, lifting it to his lips to kiss it as they headed through the dull terminal.
“Where’ve you been staying?” she asked in the backseat of the towncar Dieter ordered to pick them up.
She could hardly keep herself composed, every atom of her being singing now that she was back where she belonged. She sat in the middle seat, Dieter holding her hand on top of her lap. The proximity of his fingers to where she’d been craving them, where she knew they’d excel at making her feel better than anyone before him ever had, was turning her thoughts feral, and so, she went searching for a distraction.
“I’m renting a place in the West Village,” he said, letting go of her hand to rest his across her thigh, his fingertips nestling between her legs. “It’s nice. Has a studio, so I’ve been painting again.”
“Yeah?” she asked, airy but focused as she watched his hand flex with every stroke of his thumb over her dotted black nylon tights. “Paint anything for me?”
Dieter smiled, his eyes fixed on his hand as well.
“S’probably all for you,” he managed, drawing her eyes to meet his. “Fucking missed you, V.”
“Come here,” she said, her hand fitting to mold against his cheek as she pulled him down to kiss her, neither of them caring about the driver seeing. “Don’t wanna be apart anymore. This sucks.”
“I know,” he sighed, resting his forehead against her shoulder. “It’s not working for me, either.”
“I’ll…” She stopped herself, glancing at the back of the driver’s head. “I’ll do better. About everything. I just want you.”
“I can help,” he offered, keeping his voice hushed as he lifted his head to look at her. “We can figure it out.”
“Yeah?” she smiled, her brows lacing together as if she was about to cry. Dieter poked his bottom lip out at the sight and nodded.
“It’s you and I, kid.”
“God, I missed New York,” Violet mused as she and Dieter walked back to his apartment after having dinner at Dieter’s favorite sushi spot, the city looking extra magical from the snow and festive lights on every building. She was bundled up like a true Californian, Dieter’s arm hugged close to her chest.
“You should move here,” he said, pulling her eyes to the side of his face as he continued looking ahead. “You seem happier here. You have friends. We could…we could move in together. If you did.”
“What about my place in LA?” she asked, letting go of his arm to hold his hand instead as they stopped at a crosswalk to wait for traffic to pass.
“Keep it,” he shrugged, reaching to fix her beanie so that it covered her ears better.
“Really?” she asked, biting her lip. Dieter shook his head at the effect such a small action had on him, his lips lowering to meet hers for a small, necessary-for-his-survival kiss.
“After I finish filming,” he mumbled against her lips. Violet tensed at the mention of his impending absence turning her mood sour.
“Let’s talk about something else,” she said, gently pushing him away as the light for the crosswalk changed, signaling the all-clear.
They walked together in silence for a moment, neither one of them knowing how to continue to avoid the looming fact that their relationship only seemed to fare well when they were together, and soon they wouldn’t be.
“Your parents,” Violet started, breaking the silence. “What’s that gonna be like?”
“Dull as fuck,” Dieter chuckled and shook his head. “My mom is going to pretend to be the most elegant human being you’ve ever met, and my dad’s probably going to use complimenting you as a way to insult me.”
“I don’t think your dad’s going to compliment me after what happened at SNL,” Violet said.
“Forgot about that,” Dieter smirked. “Feels like such a long time ago.”
“We weren’t even together then,” she smiled at him. “Two idiots.”
“I’m still an idiot,” he said, leading them up the steps of his apartment and unlocking the door. “Treated you like shit lately.”
“D,” she frowned as they peeled off their layers in the entryway. “You needed distance, it wasn’t shitty.”
“The way I did it was,” he argued. “And I’m going to disappear again next month for filming—“
“I don’t want to think about that, Dieter,” she sighed, heading down the hall to the living room, finding her place on the sofa while he walked into the adjoining kitchen.
“We should talk about it,” he replied over the hiss of a bottle of sparkling water being opened. “I’m gone three months—“
“Shhh,” she groaned, laying facedown on the couch dramatically.
“Just because you can’t see me doesn’t mean I’m not still here,” Dieter teased, making his way around the island to walk over to her, crawling on top of her.
“You’re heavy,” she croaked from beneath him.
“I have to leave,” he said, kissing her ear. “But I want you to come with me.”
“Okay, get up. I’ll talk,” she sighed, waiting for his weight to leave her before sitting up and facing him. “You want me to come with you to…?”
“Germany for a month, London for the other two,” he said, lifting his water to his lips.
“I have award season,” she said. “I’ll have to fly back and forth from Germany and LA.”
“So do I,” he countered. “To be with you when you win.”
Violet rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Shut up.”
“At least come to Germany,” he begged, using those eyes of his on her.
“I suppose I can do Germany,” she said, smiling at him as she crawled onto his lap, her arms draping over his shoulders. “It’s going to be freezing and miserable, isn’t it?”
“Oh, it’s gonna be shit,” he mumbled, his hands sliding her sweater up and off her frame, leaving her in a lacy black bra, a black skirt, and black tights. His eyes darted rapidly from her thighs to her chest to her face and back down again, unable to choose a favorite sight. “But you’re going to make it bearable.”
“Andrea’s gonna be pissed you’re bringing me,” Violet whispered as Dieter slipped her bra straps off her shoulders, his face burying in her cleavage while his hands kneaded at her ass under her skirt.
“She can fuck off,” he murmured, sliding his hands up her back to unclasp her bra. “Look at you, baby.”
“I’ve been neglected,” she smiled, combing her fingers through his dark curls as he cupped the weight of her breasts with both hands, his lips pressing wet kisses on every inch of skin he could find.
“Yeah? I’m a fucking idiot,” he mumbled, swiping his tongue over one of her stiff peaks, earning a roll of her hips. Dieter moaned at the taste of her, one hand cupping her breast while the other slid down her spine to guide her hips against his cock strained beneath black denim.
“Take this off,” she whispered, tugging at his sweater. Dieter quickly obeyed, shucking the cashmere off his body while Violet lowered herself to the floor, her hands working the button of his jeans open.
“I got this, you work on taking that skirt off,” he ordered, peeling his jeans off.
“And the tights?”
“Leave them on,” he said, licking his lips as he sat back against the couch. His legs were spread, his fist slowly stroking his cock as he watched her slide her black mini-skirt off with lust drunken eyes, leaving her in only a pair of black tights and a black thong underneath. “Fuck me. Look at you.”
Violet smiled adoringly as she walked to stand between his open knees, Dieter’s hands finding her hips. He leaned in, pressing soft kisses to her stomach while his hands slid around to squeeze her ass before ripping her tights right down the middle.
“These are expensive,” she scolded through a giggle, allowing him to spin her around so that her ass was facing him.
“This fucking ass,” he groaned, almost pained by his desire for the woman in front of him. “Wanna take a bite out of it.”
“Yeah?” she taunted, turning to look back at him from over her shoulder, a finger between her teeth. “Go on, then.”
Dieter smiled and shook his head. “Bend over, baby.”
Violet did as he asked, bending over and holding onto the coffee table for stability as she spread her legs a little wider for him, Dieter’s moan confirming that she’d done a good job at following directions.
“Pretty fucking pussy,” he cooed, moving her thong to the side and swiping a thumb through the mess of arousal coating her lower lips. “You want my tongue, baby?”
“Mmhm,” she purred, arching her back for him. Dieter groaned as he palmed the round globes of her ass with both hands, bringing his teeth to the soft flesh to give her a lovebite.
“I could write a sonnet about your ass,” he mumbled, leaving wet kisses on both cheeks as he stripped her thong off and tossed it across the room, leaving her in only a pair of ripped tights. “Shall I compare this ass to a summer’s day?”
“Shut up,” she giggled, standing upright and turning around to face him. Dieter’s hands found her waist, his eyes round as they peered up at her. She carded her fingers through his hair before tugging on it, earning a soft moan. Tracing her finger across his bottom lip, she smirked at the look of sheer obedience coming from this beautiful man she’d somehow stumbled into love with against all reason or odds. “I wanna sit on this pretty face of yours, Bravo.”
“Fuck, okay, baby,” Dieter groaned, wrapping his hand around the base of his cock and squeezing it to fight off the ache of arousal turning him into pudding at her feet. “Can I—can we turn the fireplace on first?”
“Why?” she laughed.
“I don’t know, I’ve always wanted to fuck in front of a fireplace,” he shrugged.
“And you, Dieter Bravo, a retired, semi-professional whore, haven’t done that yet?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him as she leaned down to ghost her lips over his, her hands cupping his cheeks.
“Not…here,” he shrugged. “And certainly not with you.”
“Who was it?” Violet asked with an amused smile. “Someone famous?”
“Probably, hard to remember when I’ve got your tits in my face,” he said, his eyes fixed on her chest before finally making their way back up to meet hers. “Anyways, is that a yes to the fireplace?”
“Sure,” she laughed, stepping aside to let him get up and walk over to the built in hearth. Dieter stood there, butt-naked, his dick half-hard, scratching his chin as he stared at the modern fireplace. “Do you even know how to—“
“Please, I’ve won an Oscar, I think I can figure out how to light a fire,” Dieter snarked, though he remained visibly clueless.
“I think there’s a switch on the side, baby.”
“Right. I knew that,” Dieter pressed the switch and lit the fire, earning a sarcastic round of applause from Violet as she stood watching him.
“You’re very pretty, you know?” she asked, meeting him in front of the fire. She cupped his cheeks again and smiled at him as his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her naked body close to his.
“Did you know who I was before we met?” Dieter asked, sliding his hands lower to rest just above her ass.
“You’ve been an A-list celebrity for the last twenty years,” she smirked. “Of course I knew who you were.”
“Were you into me?” he smiled, leaning in to press featherlight kisses against her collarbone.
“Not really,” she sighed, feeling drunk from his touch. “Thought you were a douche.”
“Good judge of character,” he whispered just below her ear before taking her earlobe between his teeth.
“What about me?” she asked breathlessly, melting into him as he started to lower them down onto the faux fur rug beneath them until she was flat on her back and he was hovering on top of her. “Did you think I was pretty?”
“I thought you were very pretty,” he replied, a soft, lazy grin on his face. “And I thought you looked like a prude.”
“Little did you know, I’m the opposite,” she quipped.
“Mmhm,” he nodded. “A prude wouldn’t climb on top of my face and ride it like you’re about to.”
“Nope,” she grinned, pushing his shoulders to gesture for him to trade positions with her.
Once Dieter was on his back, Violet assumed her position over his face and grinned down at him between her thighs, his eager eyes and plump lips glowing in the orange light of the fire.
“Come on, baby,” he goaded her on, squeezing her thighs to pull her down to his impatient tongue. “Let me taste this pretty pussy.”
“Dirty mouth,” she purred, seating herself on his tongue and rocking her hips, one hand gripping his curls.
At the feeling of his tongue against her, wet and soft and warm, she felt herself crumble just a little bit, softening into the rarest form of herself—a person she saved just for Dieter. “Fuck, D.”
He hummed and gripped her thighs, seemingly unable to get close enough to her. She responded to his neediness with a long, choked whine and her eyes on his, her face wrecked with pleasure that looked more like pain.
“Your mouth is so—“ She shuddered at a spark of pleasure brought on by his lips surrounding her swollen bud, sucking it into his mouth. “Jesus, D. Fuck. Baby, keep doing that.”
One of Dieter’s hands left the top of her thighs to palm a handful of her ass, guiding her as she rolled her hips against his mouth, taking from him in a way that made it feel like she was giving him something instead. It was addicting, the sight of her chasing her pleasure so unabashedly, one hand tangled in his hair and the other kneading the weight of her breast.
“I’m so close,” she gasped, her movements getting sharper and more desperate. “Fuck, I’m—fuck.”
“That’s it,” his praise was a suffocated rasp against her as she came, both of her hands planting onto the floor above his head as she rode out the waves of her climax. Dieter’s hands slid up her spine and back down, over and over again until she relaxed and sat back to look down at him with a satisfied grin. “So fucking hot, baby.”
“Look who’s talking,” she purred, sliding down his body to sit her still sensitive cunt over his cock, her hand lightly gripping his chin as she bent down to give him a deep, greedy kiss. “You should win an award for what this mouth is capable of.”
“Yeah?” he smiled, sliding his hands down her back to rest on her hips, urging her to rock forward against the throbbing underside of his cocl as it laid sandwiched between her cunt and his stomach. “What about my dick?”
“Your mouth gets ‘Best Supporting’,” she said, lifting her hips and reaching back to line him up with her cunt. Dieter’s jaw dropped, his eyes falling between their bodies to watch as she slowly took him down to the base. “But this dick…” She hummed, the satisfying burn of his size bringing a smile to her face. “This dick is the main event.”
“Fuck me,” he groaned, sitting upright and wrapping his arms around her waist, his face buried in her neck. “You make me so fucking hard, V.”
“Yeah?” she moaned into his ear, biting on the lobe just to feel him shiver.
“Fucking own me,” he rasped, biting her shoulder. “My fucking girl.”
It was Violet’s turn to crumble for him, the possessiveness in his voice stoking the flame of arousal that was already burning brightly in her belly.
“Want you to fuck me,” she whined, placing both hands in his face to guide his gaze up to meet hers. “Want you to bend me over.”
“Yeah?” he groaned, squeezing the globes of her ass so hard she hoped it would leave a mark for her to remember this by. “Want it soft, baby?”
Violet shook her head.
“No, you want it rough, don’t you?” he hummed at her choked sob, her walls pulsing at the sound of his voice.
“Please,” she begged, breathless and desperate.
“Okay, baby,” he cooed, stroking over her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Go on, bend over for me.”
Violet’s legs shook as she scrambled off of him and onto her knees, her face buried in the rug, facing the fire as it crackled.
Dieter could’ve cum from the sight before him, Violet’s back arched, the light from the flames casting an orange glow in some places, a dark shadow in others. She was still wearing her tights, sheer black contrasting against her olive toned flesh, the pink of her exposed center. Spitting into his hand and stroking it over the fat tip of his length, he found the strength to stave off his orgasm in favor of giving her another. She deserved it.
She deserved everything in his mind.
“Gonna fuck you full of me,” he rasped as he slid back into her, his eyes glued to the side of her face as she turned her head, her hands clawing at the fur beneath her. “Shit, baby. You look—fuck, it’s unreal.”
“D, please,” she cried, her voice choppy from the harsh snap of his hips into hers, her body absorbing the shock like a pro. “Wanna cum so bad.”
“Need anything, baby?” he asked, his breathing ragged and sharp. “Need me to touch you?”
She nodded her head quickly.
“Where?”
“Everywhere,” she breathed, her eyes flickering shut as he honed in on a devastating spot inside of her.
“Here?” Dieter asked, reaching around her body to rub perfect circles against her clit.
“Fuck,” she cried, long and drawn out.
“What about here?” he growled, licking the pad of his thumb on his free hand before resting it over her ass, pressing into the muscle gently.
“Dieter, shit—“ she gasped, warmth trickling up her spine and down her thighs at the feeling of him all around her, taking all she had to give him greedily. “I’m coming. Fuck, I’m—fuck.”
“Good fucking girl,” he grunted, snapping his hips to punctuate each word. “You want me to fill you up?”
“Please,” she cried. “Want it all.”
“Shit—“ Dieter’s eyes lowered to where they were connected, watching as his cock pulsed with every spurt of his cum painting her walls, his brows furrowed and lips parted in awe. “Fuck, I’m still coming, baby.”
Violet hummed, fucking herself against him just to hear him whimper, his hands landing on her hips.
“Don’t get me going again,” he said. “I’ll pull a muscle.”
Violet laughed, slowly pulling away until he slipped out of her. Dieter hissed at the loss of warmth, instantly moving to lay next to her, the fire making up for the snow outside that chilled his apartment.
“I’m fucking dreading tomorrow,” Dieter sighed, nuzzling his head against Violet’s chest as she scratched at his scalp.
“Your parents?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, kissing over her pounding heartbeat. “I might not be able to take it and just fucking leave.”
“I wouldn’t blame you,” she said, her voice softening with exhaustion. “We can leave whenever. You don’t owe them anything just because they birthed you.”
“They don’t see it that way,” he mumbled.
“Doesn’t matter,” she said, pushing him to lay back so that she could lay on his chest instead.
“I’m glad you came,” he said, almost asleep. “Love you. Shit tons.”
“Mm,” she smiled. “Shit tons.”
“Alright, if they start to act like dicks, we’re leaving,” Dieter said, his finger hovering over the doorbell of his parent’s place in Dumbo, a gray-brick building with a navy blue door.
“Sounds like a plan,” Violet smiled, lifting her hand to his back to rub comforting circles on it. “C’mon, you got this.”
Dieter chuckled and let out a deep sigh before pressing the doorbell, his hands tapping on his legs anxiously.
When his mother, Marianne, opened the door, she almost looked like a normal person to her son and not the villain he was used to facing only in memory. Her once-black hair had turned a sophisticated gray, her old Hollywood waves reminiscent of her glory days in the sixties and seventies—the woman Dieter studied in film since she was never around to study in person.
“Dieter,” Marianne beamed, placing her hand delicately over the pearls on her neck. “Look at you. And your friend! Violet, is it?”
“Yes,” Violet nodded, offering Marianne a more polite smile than Dieter was used to seeing. “We briefly met when Dieter hosted SNL.”
“I don’t remember you hosting,” Marianne chuckled, turning to her son.
“Checks out,” Dieter replied dryly. “Can we come inside?”
“Yes, come in,” Marianne moved aside to let Violet and Dieter inside her very blue home, the walls, ceilings, and floor all a different, complimentary shade. “Your father is in the living room, Dieter.”
“Okay,” Dieter managed.
“Violet, you can come help me set the table,” Marianne said, waving for Violet to follow her as she disappeared down the hall into the dining room. Violet turned to give Dieter a pleading look as she forced herself onward.
“I can help, too,” Dieter said, joining the two of them.
“Oh, please,” Marianne rolled her eyes. “Go say hello to your father.”
“In a minute,” Dieter returned, reaching for the pile of silverware to start sealing it out.
“Dieter. Now.”
Dieter scoffed at her attempt at authority. She never had any reason to perfect it.
“You’re impossible,” she spat.
“Alright, I think we’re gonna go,” Dieter said, dropping the silverware in his hands.
“What?”
“We tried. I tried to tolerate you, but, really, it’s hard,” Dieter said, turning to Violet. “Let’s go?”
“Sure,” Violet said, giving him a soft nod and following him as he led them out of the room and into the hall.
“Dieter, where are you going?” Dieter’s father, Ed, walked into the foyer and narrowed his eyes at his son as Dieter slipped his boots and jacket back on while Violet followed suit. “It’s Christmas Eve. You’re supposed to be with family.”
“I am,” Dieter said, reaching for Violet’s hand to lead her outside into the icy Brooklyn air. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t deal—“
“You don’t have to apologize,” she cooed, wrapping her arm around his waist as they started back in the direction of the subway. Dieter pulled her in close, kissing the top of her head.
“I love you,” he muttered, squeezing her into him. “Thank you for being here.”
“Thank you for letting me,” she smiled, kissing the tiny, heart-shaped bald spot on his jaw. “So…Chinese for dinner?”
“Fuck, yes,” he nearly moaned.
It was relatively busy at the small, family-run Chinese place Dieter chose, his claims of the best soup dumplings in the city sounding too enticing to pass up.
Now, Dieter and Violet sat in a booth in the corner of the restaurant, cuddled up without a care for the table of young tourists who were clearly snapping pictures of the two of them.
“So, Germany,” Dieter started, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “They’ve got me in a hotel, but I was thinking we could maybe rent a place. Have more space and not feel like we’re in a prison the entire time.”
“Where in Germany are you filming?” Violet asked, sipping her diet coke through a straw.
“Munich,” he replied, stealing a dumpling from her plate. “I was there once for a press thing. It’s pretty, I think you’ll like it.”
“Well, if I don’t, Italy’s right there,” she smiled. “I can just run off to Venice whenever you piss me off.”
“Great, then I’ll come chase after you and we’ll add Italy to the list of countries we’ve fucked in,” he smiled back, waving his fork at her until she laughed. Proud of himself, Dieter leaned over and stole a kiss, his thumb stroking the line of her jaw. “Do you want your gift now or later?”
“You weren’t supposed to get me a gift,” she frowned. “I didn’t get you one.”
“I don’t need shit,” he shook his head.
“You could do with a new robe,” she snarked, taking another sip of her drink while Dieter gave her an unimpressed look. “Fine. I’ll take my gift now, please.”
“Okay, so it’s not…it’s not physically with me because it’s back at my place,” Dieter said, reaching for his phone again to search for something on it. “You remember when we went to the museum—a million fucking years ago?”
Violet laughed and nodded. “Well, I remembered you liked Monet a lot, but I couldn’t just fucking buy a Monet, so instead…” Dieter faced his phone screen towards her, showing her a very close attempt at Monet’s Water Lillies.
“D, did you paint this?” she beamed, zooming in on the picture to study the details.
“Yeah,” he bit his lip as he watched her. “It’s not…perfect. But—“
“But it is,” she turned to him with a touched smile. “It’s you.”
Dieter looked shy as Violet turned back to the picture.
“I can’t believe I’m the owner of an original Bravo painting,” Violet grinned, leaning over to rest her head on his shoulder as she passed his phone back to him. “Thank you, D. I love it and I love you.”
Dieter kissed her forehead and smiled. “Love it enough to try the sex-swing that I ordered as a backup gift?”
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal fluff#pedro pascal smut#dieter bravo fluff#dieter bravo smut#dieter bravo fanfiction#dieter bravo fic#dieter bravo#dieter bravo angst#dieter bravo x oc#plastic hearts
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fade into you
rating: Explicit (18+)
pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader
word count: 4K
summary: counting down the days until the new baby arrives, you’re already wound to a breaking point. Fortunately, Dieter is as good a husband as he is a father.
warnings: pregnancy, hormonal behavior due to pregnancy, fluffy cute behavior with kids, oral (m!receiving), Dieter is a sensitive king and loves your tummy, brief body insecurity, pregnancy sex, smut, thigh fucking, daddy/mommy dynamic – mostly tongue in cheek, and finally the return of the greatest tag gone far too long from our lives - daddy!dieter
a/n: congrats @burntheedges you are the first prompt for my 1k follower celebration! This was your prompt for Dieter: "Your shirt is inside out." "Can you help me fix that?" This takes place in the same universe as Little Monsters, but you don’t have to have read that one to understand this one. Thank you SO much for sending this in!
🤍Dieter Bravo Masterlist 🤍Masterlist
I wanna melt in I wanna soak through
I only wanna move when you move
I wanna breathe out when you
breathe in then I wanna fade into you
“C’mon – c’mon, just –,” your outstretched toe barely scrapes the end of the pen. You’re sweating – of course, you’re sweating, you’re always sweating these days. You try inching further down on the bed, as far as your aching back will allow, your leg fully extended, stretched so long you know you’re just flirting with a massive cramp –
You manage to snag the pen between your toes but as you bring it forward, the weight of the top slips back – “fuck, no!” and with a clatter, the pen tips backwards out of your grasp and onto the floor. After spending ten minutes trying to a fucking pen that you accidentally put there only after you managed to roll your way off the bed to go to the bathroom for the third time in forty-five minutes, the weight of it all hits you. The massive weight of you sinks back against the pillows, eyes scrunched shut, begging yourself not to cry.
You had all but demanded some time alone to work on the bills the producer wanted you to sort through. It was the last thing on your to-do list before you mentally allowed yourself to start your maternity leave and at this rate, it would be done by the time the nearly-grown baby in your stomach was a walking, talking ten year old. In that weird sixth sense mothers and their unborn children share, you feel your son turn and gently one foot presses against your forearm draped over your massive belly. In any other context, your heart would have been made ten times stronger, fortified by the love of your son.
Right now, it just makes you burst into tears.
You’re crying so hard you don’t hear the back door open, or the rousing chorus of Baby Shark that echoes through the house. If you were listening, you’d hear the squelch of wet flip flops traipsing through the kitchen floor, the song only occasionally broken by giggles and jokes about towel monsters coming to get little girls who drip water all over the living room, and a loud raspberry on soft skin.
He opens the door before you even have time to try to pull in the loud, wailing sob.
“Baby, look at –,”
“Dieter, don’t –,” you snatch up a pillow and shove your face into it, ashamed, embarrassed, and angry all at once. “Don’t look at me like this.”
When he had left you an hour ago, you had your hot tea by the side of the bed and your game face on – one of your sexier faces, if anyone asked him. You swore up and down this was the last thing and then it was smooth-sailing. You loved overworking yourself even while eight months pregnant, so Dieter and your doctor managed to make an agreement with you: all work must be done in bed.
You had your tea, a snack, even a towel wrapped around the headboard so you could pull yourself upright out of the bed to go to the bathroom unassisted while Dieter and Zelle went down to the pool . You, like you so often do, had a fool-proof plan. And to be quite honest, those were Dieter’s favorite kind of plans.
Listening to his ‘you think I can’t do it? watch me, fuck you’ wife and mother of his child (soon to be another) wail like the house was on fire made something inside of him break on a microscopic level. Like his organs were suddenly perforated with a million tiny cuts.
His bottoms still wet from the pool and Zelle’s wet suit quickly soaking the front of his t-shirt, Dieter approaches, his hand squeezing the arch of your foot to let him know he’s there. That did nothing to deter the anguish sobbing or inch the pillow away from your face.
With Zelle on his hip, he slides closer, touching you the whole time until he’s seated right beside you, his hand on your thigh. Your sobbing might only be second to Zelle’s own yelling cry in successfully destroying him from the inside out.
“Baby . . .”
You don’t flinch but he sees your knuckles go white – you’re nearly at the end, but you can’t seem to stop. As Dieter waffles between drawing you into his chest with his free arm or just being there for you while you let it all out, the weight on his hip shifts and a little pudgy hand brushes the back of your knuckles.
“Mama?”
Your sobbing stutters to a halt with a deep hiccup and all at once you go still. Very slowly, the pillow is lowered and your pink, snotty, dribbly face peers up at him. It’s not funny for you, and he knows this and he knows he won’t laugh but he wants nothing more than to pull you in close and kiss off those tears that have been nearly a constant presence in the last two weeks. Instead, his little girl beats him to it.
Zelle wiggles off his hip towards you and you take her in your arms, letting out one more whine as she wraps her tiny arms around your neck. She rubs her little face in your neck and you huff.
“Now, I feel silly,” you blubber. With a small chuckle, Dieter reaches over and gets a few tissues from the bedside table. He hands them over and you try to juggle Zelle and reaching over your swollen tummy to take them.
“C’mere, baby, let Mama have a second.” Zelle folds into his shoulder, her bright, inquisitive eyes never leaving your face as you wipe yourself dry and blow your nose. He rubs your thigh in circles. “You’re not silly. Whatever ever made you break out into deep sobs on a Thursday afternoon in our secluded bedroom is totally normal.”
You give a watery laugh, sniffing as you try to adjust your pillows, Baby Brave Number Two rolling back into your kidneys. He doesn’t kick, he's as unassuming as possible, but he can’t help how he floats.
“I dropped a pen,” you murmur with a sigh. “I just got comfortable after waddling back in from the bathroom and I dropped my pen.”
“Mama mad?” Zelle hides her little face beneath a curtain of hair. Dieter Bravo’s offspring in every conceivable way, Zelle is rarely this timid – only when there’s even but a hint of an implication that she’s in trouble. You’d see those same puppy dog eyes come out of the man with his hand up against her small back more than a dozen times.
“No, baby, I’m not mad.” You shake your head and those wide eyes get even bigger. “I’m just having a lot of feelings and I’m not doing a good job at managing them.”
“Yeah, like remember how you felt on your first day of preschool?” Dieter slides Zelle across his waist so she sits between you two. She glances back between your faces, anxiety and confusion twisting up her little features. “You were mad and sad and scared all at once so you started crying when we dropped you off?” She nods and he tucks a strand of delicate hair over her ear. “But then we had that talk in the car and you felt better. Mama just needs to do that.”
“Talk? Mama talk?”
He smiles at her and pulls her into his chest, smelling her strawberry L’Oreal shampoo, and a peace he’d never known before sinks into his bones. He feels whole with his little girl in his arms.
“Yes, she just needs to talk. Right, Mama?”
He pulls back and watches you visibly swallow. Not a knot of sadness but something else. It’s gone from your eyes by the time Zelle turns back around.
“I’m just really excited for your little brother to get here,” you say with a soft smile, your hand absentmindedly stroking the swell of your stomach where a little foot had been pressed just a few minutes ago. “Aren’t you?”
Zelle nods, smiling, and puts her ear to your stomach. A minute later, Dieter’s wide palm covers yours. He interlaces his fingers with yours and he smiles. The smile that’s been cultivated and cured over half a dozen years together, and recent late nights as new parents. A smile that has never graced a single magazine cover or Instagram reel. A smile that is forever and always will be yours.
“Come on, love bug, it’s bath time.” Dieter swings Zelle up into his arms and nibbles on her neck making her giggle.
“Then dinner time,” you grunt as you inch towards the edge of the bed. You try and swing your legs off the edge but end up nearly toppling over your lowered center of gravity.
“Baby –,” his firm grip steadies you, stops you from rolling into the bedside table. Those lines at the corners of his eyes sharpen for a second as he looks you over, worry all at once endearing and annoying. You hated being coddled but Dieter loved to coddle.
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you can hear how out of breath you sound and you grimace. Dieter doesn’t let go of your arm until you’re firmly planted on the ground next to him and you squeeze his bicep as reassuringly as you possibly can. He loosens his grip, concern wrinkling his forehead, his hand sliding from your arm, to your elbow then over your belly once again. Baby Bravo jostles you where his father’s hand sits.
“See, we’re all okay.”
Your gazes meet at the same time and something softens in his eyes, soothes him and you down to the very beat of your heart. As if in a daze, Dieter’s eyelids flutter half-shut and his eyes slip to your mouth, he puts his hand on your swollen waist as he kisses you – deeply, with an intensity that makes your knees quiver.
“Ew.”
A puff of breath fans your cheeks as Dieter breaks the kiss with a laugh. On his hip, Zelle chews on her little fist, an all-too-familiar glint in her eye.
“You can’t say ‘ew’. You only exist because of kisses like that –,”
“Dieter!”
He shakes his head before kissing Zelle on her little nose. “Tough crowd tonight. But even little sharks need to get a bath before dinner.”
Zelle scrunches up her nose, baring her crooked little teeth, and raises her fingers like claws. “Rawr.”
You hear Dieter chuckle as he walks her down to the bathroom. “Yes, baby, that’s definitely the sound sharks make.”
The bills aggressively shoved to the floor, you are folding the last bit of laundry over the bed after dinner when Dieter saunters in. Still in his trunks and shirt from earlier in the day, a faint pink blush warms his nose and cheeks – which would be gone in a few days, only to be replaced by a gorgeous dark almond color. Dieter Bravo could naturally tan so perfectly it was honestly heart-breaking.
“She’s out?”
“She’s out.” He nods with a sigh. He scratches the back of his head and snags his phone off the bedside table. When he sits down on the edge of the bed, you see the tag of his shirt over the lip of his collar. You muffle your grin and quietly finish with the towels. “The guy who came up with the lyrics ‘Baby Shark, doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo’ is either a genius or a madman. Two rounds of that and she’s basically comatose.”
“How do you know it was a man?” You arch your eyebrow at him.
Dieter lifts his head from his phone and smirks at you. He reaches for you and you let him tug you between his legs. He kisses your wrist, your hands curled around his broad shoulders. “That was incredibly sexist of me, darling, can you ever forgive me?”
Dropping his head, he presses a soft kiss to the swell of your stomach, his eyes flicking up to you at the last second, the bottom half of his face hidden. The sight, one you haven’t seen in recent months but one you craved like a drizzle of honey over a bowl of fruit, loosens the tension in your back and liquifies your underwear.
“Dieter?”
“Yes, O Love of My Life?”
“Your shirt is inside out.”
The sultry look in his eyes immediately flickers out and he huffs a laugh, shaking his head and pressing his face into your neck.
“What would I do without you? Can you help me fix that?”
“Mhm hm.”
His back arched, you roll the faintly damp shirt up his spine, careful to take in the notches visible through his skin. You watch in delight as more of that broad back is revealed, more golden skin and freckles. The rim of the collar catches the back of his head so when you finally tug it off him, his hair is scattered in a dozen different directions. It takes nearly all of your willpower not to moan at the site.
“Or . . .” you make a deliberate show of dropping the shirt and Dieter goes honey-eyed again.
“Yeah?” He tilts his head up, wraps his massive hands around the back of your thighs, squeezing you above the backs of your knees, then higher up, his fingers pressing into your inner thigh muscles, and finally resting on your ass.
You nod and gently push him back. He goes without being told twice. “I want to thank you for taking Zelle to let me work today.”
His eyes go wide, his elbows locked with his arms set apart behind him, when you go onto your knees in front of him.
“B-baby, your back –,”
“Then give me a pillow, Dieter.”
He nearly launches himself back to snag a pillow by the headboard.
“My back is one thing, but I’m more worried about the knot of your trunks.”
Dieter busies himself with the drawstring of his shorts, his movements frantic, giving you a chance to muffle a grunt as you ease the pillow underneath your knees. He’s right, of course, but fuck if you couldn’t get those goddamn bills done, the least you could blow your husband until he popped off in your mouth.
“Love, you really don’t have to do this.” You glance up at him and despite the evident tent in his swim trunks, his wide eager eyes, he will do everything in his power to make these last few weeks even somewhat bearable.
With a smile, you lean forward and squeeze his knees. “I know. And honestly, I don’t know how long I’ll last, but I wanna try. Is that okay?”
An awe-struck grin splits his lips apart and he laughs, a high-pitched sound and breathless. “How long you’re gonna last? Been half-hard all day since you put on those leggings this morning.”
“Well, you were so good with Zelle today, talking to her about feelings, it made me kinda hot and bothered so I feel especially grateful.”
You lean forward, fingers plucking at the damp strings and out of the corner of your eye you see his knuckles go white against the sheets. You tug and he helps you by lifting his hips.
“S-so that’s what that look w-was.” He swallows roughly as you take him in your hand, stroking him gently at first. He squeezes his eyes shut – god, could you really make him come with just a few touches? “I’m j-just – fuck – doing my part.”
You kiss along his length and his shoulders lock up as his breathing quickens. You suck the spit in your mouth before dropping a string of drool right on the head and Dieter’s groan elongates, the muscles of his neck tense.
“Well, Mommy likes it when Daddy does a good job.”
Tongue out and jaw loose, you swallow him down nearly to the base. Maybe you’re biased because you married the himbo attached to it, but Dieter’s cock is one of the – if not the – very best cocks you’ve ever seen in your life. Thick without being overwhelmingly long and always oozing precum the instant you breathe on it. A slick vein that has him whimpering with a single lick.
“Fuck, Mama, you’re so fucking good at this.” Dieter’s hand floats to the crown of your head, his nails scratching your scalp, the weight of his palm soothing as it follows the motions of your head. With every little sigh he makes, your pussy squeezes with every bob of your head. Dieter’s sensitivity has always been a near drug for you, a chemical reaction that floods your brain, branding those noises on the lining of your skull as he drips down the back of your throat. You meet his hot gaze just as you drag your mouth up and nearly off him, only to kitten-lick the lip of his head and he clamps his eyes shut, shuddering.
When you hear his heel kick the ground beside you, his chest heaving and chin tilted up, you drop your mouth down to his base – years of taking him training you to smother your gag-reflex – and with hollowed cheeks, suck him all the way up to the tip. His wiry curls smell like chlorine and musk.
Dieter jerks, his hand flying to your shoulder as if to pry you off him.
“Mhmm – baby, p-please – shit,” he swallows and you pop off him, his cock red and shiny from your spit. Dieter is panting, soft center fluttering, flush high in his throat. Your underwear sticks to you as you realize he very nearly came in your mouth without warning. Call it being a masochist but you loved making him come before either of you realized what was happening.
“Get off your fucking knees and come here –,” he yanks you into his naked lap and you go, giggling as he palms your ass and kissing you so hard you tilt back. He bites your bottom lip and you keen. “Can’t believe I let my pregnant wife fucking suck me off like that when she knows I worship that little pussy.”
He cups you through your leggings and the dampness soaking through the fabric sends a moan through both of you. Dieter’s jaw goes lax as he rubs his thick fingers across your folds, the material catching and dragging, and you whimper – and not in a way he knows means a good thing. His gaze floods with worry and you shake your head – the instant the doctor gives the go-ahead you’re gonna have him rail you through a bedpost – “It’s okay. I’m just sore, baby. Last night –,”
He tsks, frowning. “I told you I was being too rough.”
“I asked for it. Also, so not the time for an ‘I told you so’. Help me stand up.”
With his hands on your hips, he eases you off of his lap and onto your feet. You lift up your exasperatedly large shirt, the hemline of which has been steadily shrinking as you grow, and clip off your bra. Dieter stares, mouth open, as you slip your leggings and your sticky underwear off your round hips and to the floor. With your second baby, you’d managed to quell the looming anxiety about your body changing but with a boy, you just feel ten times your normal size, bigger than you did with Zelle. Your heart hitches in your chest as Dieter’s eyes roam from your shoulders to your swollen tits, your belly, your thighs, and you’d be happy if he just thought you were –
“Gorgeous, baby, just fucking gorgeous.” He stands and kisses you without another word, his thumbs on your jaw tilting your mouth into his. He palms your breast, hard and weighed with milk. He approaches you with a level of sensuality that makes your eyes roll back in your head and your knees shake. How can he touch you like that when you’re already filled to the brim?
“How do you need it, baby?”
The tension that had been locking down the muscles in your back, your hips, since you woke up this morning, only heightened over those stupid fucking bills and feeling incredibly sorry for yourself, cracks at his words. Without your hands on his chest and his big hands cradling your jaw, you’re sure you would have melted to the floor. You lick your bottom lip, eyes scrunched tightly to clear the sudden tightness behind them.
“On my side, but between my thighs?”
His eyes are all heat, all dark wanting, but he hits you in the knees with one of his crooked grins. “Yeah, you’re gonna let Daddy fuck your thighs?” Total reverence, filth that has your toes curling coming as easy to him as it is to breathe.
“Please.”
He stands back at a distance, watching with half-set eyes as you climb into bed and peel back the covers. As you settle, Dieter flicks off the overhead light, and then the lamp by your bedside. His body lined in dark shadows and the cool touch of the moonlight, you track him as he rounds the bed, sliding in behind you in bed, the covers up to his shoulders. There’s a breath of silence, of anticipation, of a yearning so deep your skin flushes with goosebumps at his proximity. You know he’s there, you watched him dip on the other side of the bed, but a spark of panic tightens your lungs, you want to reach back for him, your baby unmoored as you are, trembling and desperate for the calming touch of the father –
He kisses you over your shoulder, broad, warm hand starting at your hip, then scooping down around your naked bottom to settle on your belly and from where his hand sits, you radiate with heat. Melting and growing sticky like tree sap, you drip for him, slick smearing across your thighs with no material to soak you up. His mouth is warm, the short hairs of his mustache numbing your upper lip, the taste of the red wine from dinner light against the back of his tongue.
When he cups you again, finds the sticky sap gathered in your curls and leaking onto your thighs, he breaks the kiss with a grunt and presses his teeth into your shoulder, his cock fully present against your back. You nip his bottom lip with your thumbnail, pleased beyond words at his reaction.
“I love you.”
That’s not what you thought he was going to say. He lifts his furrowed brow, eyes dark but struck with such earnestness, you feel your heartbeat in your ears. He sucks the mark his teeth made on your shoulder, his hips hitching closer, turning his weight over you, before dropping closer to kiss you again.
“How did I get so fucking lucky with you, hm?” He asks of no one. Delicately, he guides your knee back over his hip, his breath warm across the curve of your shoulder, his other hand pressing gently on the back of your neck. He would never, ever choke you in this state, but fuck you missed it. You missed it when Dieter loses himself entirely in you.
The head of his cock taps the wet triangle of your thighs and you fist the pillow beneath your head. He shuffles closer and you can feel his chest trembling with restraint.
“Tell me if it hurts,” he says in one breath. You know if you look over your shoulder, he’s fixated on watching you take his cock. Oddly enough, his ADHD always seemed to clear out during sex. “Do– do you need my fingers – a-a toy to prep you, ‘cause I can–,”
“Dieter, please.”
He exhales and, with a slow thrust that smears your arousal all over his spit-licked cock, you finally feel relief. The noise that leaves your throat is unrecognizable. That ruddy tip kisses your clit and the moan that tears out of you is nearly a scream.
A wide palm claps over your mouth, a breathy giggle falling down your back.
“Baby,” low, strained, barely audible over the sounds of your slickness sucking your thighs together around Dieter’s cock. “If you wake up that child before I’m balls deep in you, I will never forgive you.”
Using his hand as leverage, he pulls you back against him, pressing himself even further between your soaked lips, prodding your clit so gently it sends sparks up your spine and you come, a small wave, that somehow has you leaking more onto his cock.
“Ah – oh my god – did you just –?”
You whine and wrap your hand up into his hair, and finally he’s skin to skin up your back. His hips jolt you forward, the hard smack loud and sloppy in the mess between your thighs. Dieter leans over you and nips at your earlobe, his thrusts faster now, each one catching your clit with just enough time apart to send you ratcheting higher.
“That’s so good, Dieter, you’re doing so good –,”
A sharp intake of breath, high through a vocal shudder, and he drops down onto his shoulder against the pillow, looping his arm around your chest, a wide palm cupping your sensitive breast. Skin to skin, he is a wall of heat behind you, his hands both steadying you and begging you for more against your hip. It’s moments like these, when he’s swallowing up every sense you’re still in control of, that you really believe your soul lives in two bodies.
He tucks his lips near your ear and your skin tingles. “Can I touch your clit, or does that hurt?”
“Just put your hand –,”
You take him by the wrist from the curve of your waist, where he grips you tight, fingers pocketing your flesh, and slide him down between your legs.
“That’s it, baby, take what you need.”
Between the consistent bouncing of his cock between your pussy lips and the heat of his four fingers, stocky and thick, you have nowhere to go but up, your own hips thrust back aimlessly, bliss hurling towards you, until it breaks – and you whine, squeeze Dieter’s hand so hard, you think you hear a bone pop.
Wetness floods your thighs and, half a dozen strokes later, Dieter spills with a groan, white cream splattering against the low curve of your belly and onto the sheets. Covered in literal spend, exhaustion soaks your bones, gasping for air and never finding enough. You lie together, your bodies buzzing, blood roaring loud beneath your skin, until Dieter tilts his weight off you – you didn’t even realize he had nearly smothered you – and his cock slides out from between your numb legs, his grip loosening from your breast and his hand flopping down into the sheets. His skin is pink from exertion.
You grin and roll over as gracefully as you can, out of breath and the size of a house.
“An unexpected bonus,” you sigh, ringing your belly button with your finger, “I think we rocked him to sleep.”
Dieter huffs a laugh as he pushes a handful of damp curls off his sweaty forehead and his other arm curls around your shoulders. He rests his other palm over your fingers on your belly.
“Glad I could tire all three of us out.” You giggle into his shoulder. Both of you are sticky hot, sweltering in a fog of your own mess, and you can feel sleep tugging at the corners of your eyes. Humming, you curl up closer to him, your knee over his hip, tucking your nose into his neck as his fingers absently play with strands of your hair.
“I meant what I said, you know that right?”
Your body as supple as warm wax, eyes melting shut, you nod vaguely. “Mhmm hmm.”
“I love you, baby. Thank you, for everything.”
You return the sentiment, the words dribbling out of your mouth as sleep overwhelms you.
Later, when you wake up in the early blue hours of the morning, rain pattering against the glass, and you feel something cool and soft against your belly, you stir, reaching for him.
“Hush, baby, stay still for me.” He hums somewhere above you. You nod, on the precipice of sleep again. “You gave me the world, I’m just returning the favor.”
Later still, when you awake to a soggy light, Dieter and Zelle down the hall excitedly picking out which movies to watch on this designated Stay on the Couch day, you roll onto your back and realize he’s painted a globe onto your stomach.
A foot inside you presses up against Chile and you grin into space, content beyond your wildest dreams.
+
#dieter bravo#daddy dieter#gonna make this an official tag if its the last thing i do#dieter bravo x you#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo x f!reader#dieter bravo fic#dieter bravo x female reader#dieter bravo fanfiction#dieter bravo x oc#pedro pascal character#pedro pascal character fanfic#the bubble fanfic#the bubble
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Psychomanteum / Chapter 14
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)
Chapter 14: Wish You Were Here
Chapter Summary: Dieter takes action.
Word Count: 9.9k+
Content / Warnings: dieter pov, implications of suicidal thoughts, swearing, alcohol use, airplane, uncertainty, parker/jackie, infidelity (not our heroes), thoughts of cocaine use/relapse, opera, fame, very vague understanding of the criminal justice system excuse that pls, bribery, lotta fucking dialogue, lotta yearning and self-reflection, angst, our boy is a big sappy mess and we love him for it
Notes: Chapter title from “Wish You Were Here” by Pink Floyd. First and foremost, everything is gonna be ok, ok? I promise. Also, good news for people who like this story—since we’re nearing the end, I’m going to make it my primary writing focus for a while. Will be posting to AO3 later bc I can’t from mobile it’s a nightmare.
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—
Dieter senses your absence before he even opens his eyes.
Oftentimes you wake before him, still weaning off your internal alarm of 5:30AM EST (not-a-fucking-chance o’clock PST). When this happens, you brew some coffee and drink your morning cup in bed, passing the time by reading, or fucking around on your phone, or writing in your journal.
Most of the time he opens his eyes and finds you deeply engrossed in one of these activities. Sometimes you’re cuddled up into his side, silently tracing patterns onto his skin. Even when you’re not in the same room when he wakes, he can still feel you, your life force brushing up against his.
But this morning is different.
Dieter winces at the morning light and sits up, rubbing his face before looking around the room. He clears his throat, then calls out your name.
It echoes back to him.
The silence that follows is eerie and distinct, its vacuousness an exclamation point that hurts his ears.
How can nothing be so loud?
Swinging his feet over the side of the bed, he goes to grab his phone off the nightstand and instead finds a note with his name on it. He sits there staring at it for a minute, rubbing the layered notebook paper between his fingertips.
The gears in his brain start to turn.
He looks at the armchair where your suitcase has been sitting the week and a half. It’s gone.
Understanding twists his guts bowtie.
Denying the cardstock confrontation, Dieter puts on a robe and searches the house.
He finds nothing.
Each empty room accumulates buzzing and hot beneath his skin.
He goes outside.
The patio, the garage, the driveway, the street.
Calling your name like a kid who lost his mom in a department store, panic building with every utterance, a desperate crescendo.
By the time he returns to the origin point, his thoughts are stumbling over one another trying to explain what the fuck could be possibly be happening, because this can’t be real.
It’s a joke, it’s a terrible joke that you’ll laugh about later—or, no, there was an emergency and you had to go—but wouldn’t you wake him? Wouldn’t you tell him? Maybe you went to the store and you’ll be right back. But why would you bring your suitcase?
He snatches the paper off his nightstand and unfolds it.
—
Dee,
I need you to know this isn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. I love you as much as humanly possible, and then some. Please understand that I couldn’t make you choose. That burden shouldn’t rest on you.
I’m sorry for ruining everything. I’m sorry for leaving like this. I’m sorry for not giving you a choice.
I love you with everything I am.
Until the next life,
Lua
PS: I stole some cash from your wallet. I’m sorry for that, too.
—
The words don’t compute at first.
He shakes his head and reads it again.
And again.
And again.
A thousand-pound weight drops his stomach to the floor. Adrenaline pumps through his heart and turns his limbs gelatin. Blood whooshes behind his ears, and—God, he’s going to be fucking sick.
The note wavers in his grip and the text starts to blur.
This isn’t right.
This can’t be happening.
He needs to talk to you right fucking now.
Overcome with this sudden rush of panic, Dieter grabs his phone off the nightstand, ignoring the barrage of notifications littering the screen, and calls you.
The line trills, and further away, he hears “I’ll Be Your Mirror” by The Velvet Underground and Nico play.
He follows the noise into the kitchen, where your phone buzzes on the countertop, displaying your contact photo for him. The one where you’re both mid-laugh with red lipstick and black face paint smudged all around your faces.
Your voicemail picks up.
“Hey, this is Louella, sorry I missed you. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back, thanks.”
A tone signals the start of recording. Dieter clears his throat, then says, “Hey, doll. It’s me. This is probably stupid because your phone is here, but I don’t know,” he pauses to gather himself as everything around him becomes blurred by tears. When he speaks again, his voice is somehow gummy and ragged at the same time, “I don’t know what to do. You’re gone, and there’s this note and… Fuck, whatever it is, we can figure it out. Please, Louella—Lua, baby, I love you. If you hear this somehow, please call me.”
When he hangs up, all he can do is stand there, staring at her phone.
The air particles around him throb with this deep, dense sorrow that cracks him wide open and hollows him out. It’s heavy. Infinite. All-consuming, like loss on loss on loss on loss.
He knows, like he just knows things, that this is what you were feeling before you left. He knows you left your phone so nobody could find you.
Beyond that, though… It's a brick wall. He tries, although he doesn’t really understand what the fuck he’s doing, to send out some kind of a psychic ping. Sometimes he can get a sense of you this way.
This time he gets nothing.
He can’t hone in on anything, can’t even feel the rough edges of your life force. The string that connects your tin cans has been severed.
What the fuck does that mean?
The not-knowing makes him anxious. His imagination starts wander deeper into the dark forest, showing him taxis and mirrors and riverbeds and—
Your phone jumps to life.
It starts ringing to the tune of “Take Your Mama” by Scissor Sisters, lighting up with a photo of you and Parker.
He scrambles to grab it and answers, “Parker—”
“Dieter?”
“Is she with you? Do you know where she is?”
“What do you mean? Isn’t she with you?”
“No, I just woke up and she’s fucking gone and there’s this note,” he sighs and throws his hand out at his side, “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“A note, what does the note say?”
“Hang on, let me,” he tucks the phone between his ear and shoulder, rummaging through the pockets of his robe, “Here we go, ok…”
He reads it to Parker, who remains silent for a long while afterwards.
“Until the next life?”
The tips of his ears heat up, and he runs a hand through his hair, “Yeah.”
“Have you talked to anyone else this morning?”
“No, I just woke up,” he starts pacing the length of his kitchen island, explaining, “Last night we were talking about moving in together, having her come out here, and… I don’t know, did I fucking scare her off or something? She seemed into it, but maybe I’m wrong, maybe I was going too fast—”
“Whoa whoa whoa, ok, slow down, papi,” Parker interjects, “It’s not like that. Her apartment was raided this morning.”
Dieter frowns, “Wait, what?”
“Yeah, some fucking journalist went poking around, talking to her neighbors and shit, digging into stuff about Ethan, their business, all that. He brought it all to the cops and demanded they do something about it, so they got a search warrant.”
Dieter stays quiet as his mind whirrs, trying to comprehend this information.
Parker continues.
“I went over there this morning, just to check in on the place, and it was fucking crawling with cops. I FaceTimed Lou and told her, then she hung up and I haven’t been able to reach her since. Figured she was talking to you, but…”
Poisoned words cycle through his head, begging to be released, but he traps them behind clamped lips.
“I called Reese to see if he knew anything, since he bumps elbows with a lotta those criminal justice guys, you know?”
“Reese?” Dieter furrows his brow, “Married guy? I thought you were done with him.”
“Yeah, well,” a sigh crackles in his ear, then Parker says, “Good thing I’m not. Turns out, he’s friends with the DA. He told Reese about the journalist shit, said they have a warrant out for Lou. Wanted on possession with intent to distribute and drug trafficking for the pot stuff, oh—and possession of cocaine, because apparently they found one of Ethan’s hiding spots.”
“Fuck.”
“I know.”
Hundreds of thoughts ricochet around his head screaming for attention. The whole goddamn dashboard is lit up and blaring WARNING WARNING WARNING—
The nausea returns. Dieter plucks a half-smoked joint from the ashtray on his countertop and lights it, then turns and slides down the cabinet onto the kitchen floor.
He takes a few hits, waiting until the overwhelm dims a bit before whispering, “Fuck, Parker, this is bad.”
“I know, baby, I know.”
The skunky smoke burns his lungs as he inhales again, holding holding holding, then lets it go.
Things start to slow down enough for him to backtrack, “Did you say a journalist?”
“Yeah, Reese couldn’t get a name, but there was this guy outside the building this morning who was—oh, fuck.”
“What oh fuck?” Dieter wrinkles his nose at the roach and takes one more drag before stubbing it out on the shiny hardwood floor.
“It was that point dexter motherfucker that did your interview. That was the guy! And I was on a video call with Lou—”
Parker cuts himself off with a gasp.
I couldn’t make you choose.
“Oh fuck,” Dieter breathes, “I gotta call you back.”
He hangs up and trades your phone for his own, rejecting an incoming call from Darlene.
It takes him three seconds to find it.
Dieter Bravo Girlfriend Wanted On Drug Trafficking Charges, Claims In Email to DIRT: “He Was In The Dark”
The header presented at the top of the article is your mugshot from your previous arrest. Your eyes appear puffy and dull and hopeless. Below it, the article continues:
Dieter Bravo’s newest girlfriend reportedly has a warrant out for her arrest in relation to drug trafficking charges.
Early this morning, the NYPD hit Louella Friedman’s Downtown Brooklyn apartment with a search warrant. Friedman was not present at the time the warrant was executed, so no arrests have been made, but law enforcement sources tell us that she is now wanted by the state of New York on multiple drug charges.
This is not Friedman's first run-in with the law. Just days ago, she appeared alongside Dieter Bravo for an exclusive interview with DIRT, in which she admitted to being convicted of felony drug trafficking in 2018. She stated during this interview that she has “changed a lot since then … we don’t want people to think we’re trying to hide any of this, because we’re not. We’re just trying to move forward together.”
The email we received from Friedman this morning paints a different picture:
“As you probably know, my apartment is being raided. I need one thing to be clear: Dieter is not complicit. He didn’t know about and did not take part in my illegal activity. He was in the dark. My mistakes are my own, and I ask that the blame be placed appropriately.”
It’s assumed that Friedman is still in the LA-area, as she and Bravo have been spotted out and about a few times this week. Before that, the pair were seen in New York, which leads us to wonder how much time the Academy Award winner actually spent in her apartment.
Bravo himself has a notoriously checkered past with drugs, and although his antics have been subdued since the “publicity stunt” for the movie Limbo (premiering next May), it wouldn’t be considered out of character for him to become knowingly involved with a drug dealer.
DIRT will continue reporting as this story unfolds.
—
The first person Dieter calls is Lincoln, who answers on the second ring with a cheerful, “Good morning, Dieter!”
“Lincoln, where the fuck are you?”
“I’m grabbing breakfast from that pla—”
“Change of plans,” Dieter leafs through the clothes hanging in his closet, “Get over here now.”
“What about—”
“Listen, I need you to get me the next flight to New York. And, uhh,” he rips a few shirts off their hangers and tosses them into the open suitcase on the floor, “Clear your schedule for at least two days. I need you to housesit.”
“Is everything alright?”
Dieter ponders the question for just a moment, long enough for a sharp ache to pierce through his chest, then says, “Hurry the fuck up, ok?”
He hangs up.
The second person he calls is his lawyer.
When he tells the guy about your situation, he says, “Well, it sounds like there’s enough room for deniability, I don’t think they’ll bring charges against you—”
“Yeah, no shit,” Dieter scoffs, “What about her, how could she get out of this?”
“With all due respect, Dieter, you’re my client, not her.”
“Come on, man. What if, you know, I was in her situation?”
On the other line, the lawyer sucks his teeth, then says, “Well, theoretically speaking, you would be looking to either turn yourself in or see if you could get the charges dropped.”
“How would one get the charges dropped?”
“The District Attorney would need to drop them.”
“Uh-huh,” Dieter nods and rubs his lips, then queries, “And if—you know, like you said, theoretically—if he were to be convinced to drop the charges—”
“See, that is a tight line to walk, and one must tread very carefully, you understand? Many methods people attempt to use in persuading district attorneys, for example, bribery or blackmail, get sticky quick. They offer the wrong amount of money, or don’t get enough dirt, or what have you, then they’re in a world of hurt.”
“Well, sure. Those people don’t use their head. But if someone wanted to just… sit down and talk to him, would that automatically raise a red flag?”
“Depends. If someone of similar notoriety as you reached out to him to set up a meeting, it might raise a red flag. But if they happened to run into each other… probably not as much.”
“I see.”
The front door swings open and he looks up, expecting to see Lincoln, but instead locks eyes with Darlene. She’s holding a phone to her ear and says, “Yeah, he’s here.”
“I gotta go,” he says, then hangs up the phone and greets Darlene, “Hey.”
Her heels click-clack on the floor as she strides over, taps on the screen of her phone, and says, “Ok, Mark, you’re on speaker. Dieter’s here.”
Darlene sets the phone down on the counter and starts rummaging through the leather bag hanging off her shoulder. The phone speaks:
“Dieter, we need to talk. Is Louella there?”
“No.”
“Is she going back to New York?”
Not sure how to answer the question, Dieter rolls his eyes, “Is that what this is about?”
“Yeah, look, this isn’t good. I’ll cut to the chase. If you endorse her claim and cut ties, we can keep you on, but if you don’t, we gotta let you go, bud.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Darlene answers this time, “We’re serious, Dieter. The optics are terrible—”
“The fucking optics, un-fucking-believable,” he mutters, pushing off the counter to pace the kitchen.
“Is it really unbelievable?” Darlene blinks, her scathing gaze steady on his, “Coke head dating a felon who’s wanted on drug charges? You don’t see how studios will react to that?”
He doesn’t answer. She continues.
“If you release a statement corroborating her story, explaining how you didn’t know, and things are over between you—”
A groan of agony rises in his throat.
“—it will work. She gave you an out, Dieter. Take it.”
His nostrils flare. Heat rises to his face and he hisses, “You never liked her, did you?”
Darlene scoffs, “What?”
“Did you even give her a chance, or did you just write her off the second you met her? That shit weasel from DIRT is the one that set all these fucking dominos up, did you know that?”
“No, of course not—”
“Dieter,” Mark sighs, “This isn’t personal. Look at the facts. You’ve done three stints in rehab just within the past decade. Beasts of the Bubble depicted you as a drug addict—Christ, you overdosed in that hotel. You just got divorced, had a ton of bad press from that. Now you’re in this very new, very serious relationship with a widowed felon. And, what, a week after swearing she’s a law-abiding citizen, cops find enough shit in her apartment to issue a warrant for her arrest? Do you know how that makes you look? Does it sound like you’re a person anyone could trust to sign onto a project?”
Dieter presses his palms against the kitchen counter and leans over the phone, “It sounds like you’ve already made a choice, Mark. You wanna drop me as a client, just fucking do it.”
“If you make a public statement saying you were shocked to find out that she took advantage of your vulnerable state, you’re not using, blah blah blah, this could go away relatively quickly. Most likely she’d be painted as a con woman or gold digger or something along those lines, which makes you the victim. Granted, that makes you look a bit like a sucker, but we can live with that.”
The nausea returns.
“I can’t,” Dieter shakes his head, “I’m sorry, but I can’t live with that. Saying that she tried to steal my money—god, not a fucking chance in hell—”
“Of course, you wouldn’t say that,” Darlene cuts in, “People might infer that, is all Mark means. You know how this works—”
“Yes, I do know how it works. And no, I can’t. I won’t. It’s all fucking bullshit, the whole thing. Darlene, you’re bullshit,” he directs his voice to the phone, “Mark, you’re fucking bullshit. Fucking… optics and public opinion and the two of you trying to stage direct my fucking life—my life. Mine. I am my own person. And I love her. I’m going to find her, and fix this, and spend the rest of my fucking life with her even if it doesn’t make sense to anyone else but us.”
Darlene holds up her hand, “Dieter, you’re making a mistake—”
He laughs.
It booms, dry and humorless, through the house.
She jumps in surprise at the noise, then looks at him like he’s fucking crazy. Which is fair. He sounds fucking crazy.
But for once, he feels completely sane.
His spine straightens flag pole and he shakes his head, “Trust me, Darlene. I’m not.”
They sit there, staring at each other in a silent standoff. Her hazel eyes flick around his face, then drop to the phone.
“Mark, I’ll call you back.”
Darlene ends the call before Mark can respond and stomps around the dining room table to a solid oak credenza, popping the top off one of the decanters of booze.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“I need a drink.”
“It’s 10am.”
Whiskey sloshes into the crystal tumbler. Darlene glances over her shoulder at him, holding up the bottle in question. He sighs, which she interprets correctly as a yes, and pours a second glass.
Dieter murmurs a thanks when she returns and hands it to him. He takes a big swallow of the liquor. Leaning back on the counter beside him, she does the same.
“How’s she doing?”
His stomach twists.
He takes another swig and shrugs, then digs the note from his robe pocket and gives it to her.
She reads it, then passes it back and empties her whiskey down her throat.
“Fuck.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he mutters into the tumbler as he drinks the remaining booze in one large, burning gulp.
“So you don’t know where she is?”
Dieter pinches his eyes closed, tilting his head up at the ceiling, and shakes his head, “She was gone when I woke up. Took her suitcase. Left her phone, funny enough.”
After a brief silence, she tells him, “I didn’t know David was looking into her. Even if I did, I would never try to get her in trouble. You know that, right?”
He shrugs. His shoulders weigh a million pounds.
“Look,” she sighs, “Maybe I don’t see whatever it is you see in her, but I do see that you love each other.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think she’s turning herself in?”
He furrows his brow and looks down at the floor, shaking his head, “No.”
Dieter breathes it in, that palpable emotion still clinging to the air. He sinks into the dense, dark feeling—blackest ink in the world—letting it carry him downstream. There’s a glimmer of something. A spark of you.
He speaks it out loud.
“She’s in the fucking woods now.”
“In the woods? Dieter, what the fuck are you talking about?”
“I don’t know,” he mumbles, scrubbing his face with his hands, “I don’t fucking know. I’m scared, you know, with the note…”
He doesn’t want to say it. If he doesn’t speak it into existence, maybe it won’t be true, that you’re looking for a place to die. Like how dogs do when they’re ready, crawling off into isolation to protect their loved ones.
Darlene stays quiet.
He swallows hard and starts pacing the kitchen floor again, running his fingers through his hair, “If I can get the DA to drop the charges, maybe it won’t be too late. Maybe I can fix this. But I have to find her, too.“ A hot rush of frustration overtakes him. He slams his fist down on the countertop with a thud and barks, “FUCK!”
“Ok,” Darlene turns to face him, placing a hand on his arm, “It’s gonna be ok—”
“But what if it’s not?”
Emotion clouds his vocal cords and vision, warping both into a wet, smeary mess as he says, “What if she fucking—fuck, Darlene, what if she goes through with this? I can’t do this without her. I won’t.”
“We don’t know that this is a suicide note—”
His whole body twists up into a snarl, a guttural moan rising from his throat as the idea shreds him to bits. He shakes his head in protest, because he does, he knows that’s what this is, but he can’t fucking bear to speak its name.
Darlene watches him unravel for a moment before taking the crystal tumblers back to the credenza for a refill. When she returns, she holds one out to him and asks, “We need a plan to track her down. Have any ideas?”
He rolls his head on his shoulders to look at her, glancing down at the cup, “We?”
She nudges him again, so he takes it and sips while she grimaces, “If I didn’t raise hell about the interview and get David in trouble… who knows, maybe we wouldn’t be here. I doubt he was looking to write an exposé on her before that.”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” he shrugs, “Doesn’t matter now.”
“Still, I’m… sorry,” she stares down at her glass and swirls the amber liquid around a bit while telling him, “The contract, too. I’m sorry about that. Like Mark said, it’s not personal. It’s business.”
“I know.”
“You’re sure, though? That you don’t want to corroborate her story?”
“Yes, I’m sure I don’t want to throw the love of my life under the fucking bus, Darlene.”
She holds up a hand in defense, “Ok—”
“Even if that’s what she wanted me to do, no fucking way. She’s a good fucking person and I won’t sit here and agree with people saying she’s some fucking lowlife, because she’s not—”
“Ok ok ok—Dieter, I understand. I was just making sure.”
He huffs and takes a drink.
An uncomfortable silence settles over them. The booze starts to course heat through Dieter’s veins, sedating his agitation, making his head swim.
“If you’re not my publicist anymore, why the fuck are you still here?”
“Because I’m still your friend.”
He looks over at her, meeting her hazel eyes, and senses sincerity.
His jaw works back and forth. He takes another drink, then tells her, “I’m going to New York to meet with the DA. Lincoln should be here any minute, he’ll stay here in case she comes back while I’m gone. I’m gonna have him try to track her whereabouts, see if she left any breadcrumbs—”
“You have a meeting with the DA?”
“Not… necessarily.”
“Then, what—” she pinches the bridge of her nose, “I don’t wanna know, do I?”
“Doubt it.”
“Right,” she sighs, shakes her head, then starts pacing, “Well, if Lincoln is here, he can call around to places, but I’m assuming you don’t want him to leave the house? In case she comes back?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll help follow up. Call around, and if needed, go to the places she might be. See if I can’t track her down.”
Hope swells in his chest. His posture softens, and he nods, “Thank you.”
She waves him off, “You said she left her phone, right?”
“Yeah, uhh,” he pulls it from his robe pocket and stares at the lock screen, “I felt, I dunno, weird… about going through it. So I haven’t yet.”
Darlene holds out her manicured hand, so he gives it to her.
“Zero two one four eight eight.”
She types in the passcode and starts tapping around as she paces, sipping her whiskey every now and then.
Meanwhile, Dieter finishes his drink and stares at the empty glass, wavering back and forth on whether or not to pour another. A hungry buzzing works through the tendons in his neck. There’s an old, familiar voice at the back of his head, urging him for more more more, begging, pleading for sedation, anything to make these big feelings less so.
Booze would be great, but you have the morphine, too, or the coke, fuck—now would be the perfect time for coke. It would straighten out your thoughts. Sharpen you. It could help you, Dieter, really. Help you clear your head and get to the bottom of this fucking mess, it could be the thing that saves her—
“She made an outbound call this morning,” Darlene murmurs as she punches the number into her phone, then raises it to her ear.
Dieter hears the faint voice from the speaker answer, “Hollywood Checker Cabs, how can I help you?”
She snaps her fingers at Dieter and pantomimes writing. He scrambles around the kitchen trying to find paper and a writing utensil while she asks, “Hi, my friend ordered a cab early this morning and I’m trying to track where she might’ve been dropped off, can you help me with that?”
Dieter finds a notebook on the counter. He pulls the pen from its spine and writes down your phone number and full name, then slides it over the island counter to Darlene, who nods and reads your phone number, then says, “Yeah, she called at 5:32, the pickup is—yep, that’s it, that’s her.”
She grabs the pen and starts scribing. Every few seconds she murmurs an uh-huh or ok.
Behind her, the door to the garage swings open and in comes Lincoln, carrying a brown paper bag and a backpack.
Concern creases his forehead as he approaches, and drops the paper bag on the counter, whispering to Dieter, “What’s going on?”
“Shh.”
Darlene glances up at them, then back at the notebook, and nods, “That’s incredibly helpful, thank you. Appreciate it.”
When she hangs up, she says, “The driver dropped her off at Union Station around 6:30 this morning,” then continues typing in her phone, “From there, she could’ve taken another taxi, or a bus, or a train—”
“She took a bus.”
Lincoln asks, “Who took a bus? Lua?”
They both ignore the question. Darlene blinks up at Dieter, and before she can question him, he shrugs, “Gut feeling.”
“Gut feeling,” she snorts, shaking her head, and tosses her phone in her bag with a sigh, “Well, I’ll drive over there and see if she’s still there. When does your flight leave?”
Dieter looks at Lincoln, who perks up and pulls out his phone, “Let’s see… A car will be here in… fifteen.”
“I’ll call you when I know more, ok?” Darlene says as she pulls her purse up onto her shoulder. She regards Dieter for a second or two before patting him on the shoulder, “We’re gonna find her.”
He doesn’t trust himself to verbalize the uncertainty churning in his guts, so he acknowledges the sentiment with a flaccid smile and a nod, thinking, “I fucking hope so.”
—
“Hey, this is Louella, sorry I missed you. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back, thanks.”
“Hey, love. I’m, uhh… leaving you an update, I guess. I’m going to New York to sort this shit out, talk to some people, see what I can do. But if you get this somehow, please, baby… please come home. Ok. I love you, bye.”
—
Suspended miles above the Midwest, with Dieter packed in a tin can alongside all the other mouth-breathing sardines, the in-flight WiFi goes out.
He tries watching a movie, but none of the information computes. His mind keeps wandering to you. What you’re doing, where you are, why you didn’t just fucking wake him up and talk to him.
Seconds twist under his skin.
The minutes lodge inside his throat.
The tiny screen could be showing him fucking anything, and his demeanor wouldn’t change a drop.
Tight-lipped. Hostile. Dead-eyed.
That’s what he gleans, anyway, from the way people react to his presence. The downcast glances and wide berths. How the flight attendant doesn’t even try to protest when he requests four mini-bottles of vodka.
Wincing with every swallow, Dieter drinks them and scrolls through his text history with you. It’s not uncommon for him to do this while idly passing the time alone, within the past few months especially.
Re-reading each conversation, admiring the photos and screenshots, allowing himself to daydream about you… usually, he finds it comforting.
This time it’s different.
It’s steeped in the knowledge that he may never receive another message from you.
Flipping his phone face down on the little shitty tray, he looks up at the Q*bert air vent and releases a big sigh. The thoughts of you creep back into his brain. He doesn’t shoo them away, though. It’s fucking pointless.
Please understand that I couldn’t make you choose. That burden shouldn’t rest on you.
A burden.
What a load of shit.
As if he wouldn’t let hellfire lick his bones to dust for one more earthly second with you. As if you don’t revive him every single time your lips meet his. As if he could breathe without you in the atmosphere.
Of fucking course he would choose you.
Over anything, really. Especially acting. Fuck, maybe that’s exactly what he needs. It’s all just stupid Hollywood bullshit anyway. Being owned by a dozen different people at any point in time. Everyone trying to get their finger in the goddamn pie. He’s tired of being a billboard first and a human second.
The more he thinks about it, the madder he gets. He douses his stomach with vodka, thinking about the fame machine, how it chewed you up and spit you out in no time at all.
He resents the public spotlight. His whole adolescence, he dreamed of having a successful career as an actor. He worked hard and got lucky and his dreams came to life, and now, well… he’s right back where he started.
Watching, helpless and terrified, as the person he loves gets pummeled half to death.
—
Dieter leans on the doorframe and gives apartment 14C three firm knocks.
The blaring music inside cuts. Parker stomps up to the other side of the door, “Who is it?”
“Fucking Santa Claus, who do you think?”
A thunk sounds from the deadbolt, then Parker swings the door open, propping a hand on his hip and shaking his head, “Santa Claus? Really?”
His face is fully dragged up in the style of Jackie Lantern, with blue eyeshadow and hot pink lips and harsh contour, while the rest of him is Regular Parker, with sweatpants and a baggy Bikini Kill t-shirt.
“Ho ho ho,” Dieter enters the cozy, dimly lit apartment and pulls him into a one-armed hug, “Good to see you.”
“Good to see you, too,” Parker mumbles as he wraps his lanky arms around Dieter and squeezes, “Wish it was under better circumstances.”
“Me too, bud,” Dieter takes a step back and ventures into what looks like a new-age opium den.
Incense and pot smoke cloud the air. A loom-woven tapestry, depicting a unicorn standing triumphant in a field of wildflowers, takes up almost the entire wall behind a well-worn sofa. On the opposite wall, at least 50 framed bug specimens hang on display.
Between the deep-seated couch and the TV sits a big octagonal coffee table, its glass top all littered with books and water bottles and cannabis paraphernalia.
Dieter, finding none of this surprising, looks around and nods, “Nice place.“
Parker bolts the door closed and turns to scan Dieter up and down, “Nice suit.”
“I hate this fucking thing,” he mutters, rolling his shoulders in a feeble attempt to make more room inside the jacket, then points to Parker’s sweatpants, “Is that what you’re wearing?”
“Shade,” Parker scoffs and starts off down the short hallway into his bedroom, “I’ll be ready in a minute, help yourself to whatever.”
“Where do you keep your liquor?”
“On top of the fridge.”
Dieter wanders into the kitchen and grabs a bottle of whiskey from its home, then starts flipping through cabinets. When he finds the one with cups, he calls out to Parker, “Want a drink?”
“Lord, please.”
He unscrews the cap and pours two generous servings. Before returning the bottle, he takes a pull off it. The cheap booze burns the whole way down, settling like fire in his belly.
Parker comes stomping back into the room, clawing at the back of his blue sequin gown, “Do me a favor, love, help me zip this?”
Dieter signals for him to spin around, then guides the zipper up his bony back as Parker asks, “Any updates from your neck of the woods?”
He taps on his shoulder, giving him the all clear.
Parker turns and leans back against the galley kitchen’s countertop opposite Dieter, who hands him a drink.
“Yeah,” Dieter nods, takes a sip of the shitty whiskey, then explains, “Darlene was able to convince the security team at Union Station to let her review footage from this morning. At 6:30 this morning, Lua boarded a Greyhound bus that dropped her off in Fresno around 11:00. Darlene couldn’t get much over the phone from them, so she’s driving up there to raise hell, see what she can find out.”
The words come out dull and matter-of-fact. Offline, disconnected from the treasure chest labeled LUA.
Parker studies him, “How’re you holding up, papi, you doing ok?”
“No.”
He stares down into his cup and thinks he should probably say something else, but comes up with nothing. It feels both pointless and too painful.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“No.”
When he glances up at Parker, and their eyes meet, he recognizes the melancholy there. His own, reflected back at him.
He shifts a little and adds, “After we get this part over with, though, maybe we can… I don’t know, get hammered, cry about it. Drown our sorrows or whatever. If you want.”
The corner of Parker’s hot pink lips turns up in a smirk and he chuckles, “Long as we don’t get arrested doing this stupid ass shit, I will take you up on that.”
“We’re not gonna get arrested, I promise. He’ll take the offer.”
“And how do you know that?”
Dieter could make a reference to The Godfather here, or mention the thick wads of cash lining his Armani suit, but thinks better of it. Probably best he doesn’t know.
Instead, he asks, “Do you trust me?”
“You know we wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
“Then trust me, we’re gonna be fine. Just follow the plan.”
Parker snorts and shakes his head, muttering something about ‘you cryptic ass motherfucker’ into his glass as he takes a sip.
Dieter drinks, too, then tells him, “I like your dress.”
“Thanks,” he smiles, eyes flicking to the clock on the stove, “Fuck, I gotta finish getting ready or we’re gonna be late.”
“Can I pick out your hair?”
Parker groans a little, feigning annoyance. He pushes off the counter and starts towards his room, “Fine, but I reserve the right to veto.”
—
“Hey, this is Louella, sorry I missed you. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back, thanks.”
“Hey, doll, it’s me. I’m uhh… in New York, at Parker’s place—”
“Who are you talking to?”
“I’m leaving her a message.”
“Give it, I wanna say something.”
“Just hold on—”
“Hey Miss Lou, I love you, I miss you, and let me tell you, your boy is a goddamn mess. And, um… so am I. I’m worried about you—we’re worried about you. Just… let us know you’re ok, ok?”
“Me again. We’re gonna go fix this. I love you, Louella. Please come home.”
—
Instead of conversing en route to the Metropolitan Opera House, they pass a flask of whiskey back and forth and occasionally sing along to the music on Jackie Lantern’s “PUSSY POWER” playlist.
Although neither of them mention it, Dieter knows they’re essentially doing the same thing. Hyping themselves up. Trying to ban the performance anxiety from their brains as they get into character.
By the time he and Parker arrive at Metropolitan Opera House, the booze has fully assimilated into Dieter’s bloodstream.
Thank fucking god.
It grinds down the coarse edges of reality and allows him to slip effortlessly into a familiar skin.
Dieter Bravo: Washed-up Actor.
Dieter Bravo: Party Monster.
Dieter Bravo: Brazen Jackass.
A carefully curated persona so convincing, it had him fooled for years before you coaxed the real him out of hiding.
That guy, the real him, or whatever the fuck, is not the right man for this job. Too soft. Too emotional. Guy is a pansy, he would fucking cry or make a scene or something.
Seriously.
He has no jurisdiction here.
Here, in this glitzy opera house, among the other black-tie patrons who regard him and Jackie Lantern with a kind of grotesque curiosity that guy couldn’t fucking handle.
But, Dieter Bravo: Attention Whore?
Eating. This. Shit. Up.
“Literal fucking pearl clutching, ho-ly shit,” he murmurs to Jackie’s big, white blonde afro wig as they walk up the red carpeted stairs into the lobby.
It opens up into a huge space that reminds him of a cave.
Brightly-lit, thanks to the starburst chandeliers dripping from the ceiling like stalactites, but a cave all the same. All four stories of shining white marble look to be hollowed out over centuries. Smooth, curved staircases flowing into terraces, filled with hundreds of well-dressed people and the abstract murmur of their conversations.
For the millionth time today, he wishes you were here.
You would be awestruck, gazing around with starry eyes that would make him appreciate its beauty that much more. You would look at him, in that way you do, and everyone else would melt away. You would smile and make those crystal chandeliers look like bare fluorescent bulbs. Put the goddamn place to shame.
“Whaddaya think, sugar? Get a drink?”
He glances up at Jackie over the rim of his sunglasses and tosses his sloshy head back and forth, trying to gauge how drunk he actually is, then shrugs, “Fuck it, why not.”
She leads the way while Dieter follows in her wake, delighting at the number of people who ogle Jackie, with her big hair and her commanding presence and her blue gown, shimmering aqua and cyan and turquoise in the light.
Only a few people seem to notice him trailing behind her. Fewer yet glint any tell-tale signs of recognition. The little upright jolt. The furrowed brow leaping into a surprised expression. The whispered “Is that who I think it is?” to the person beside them. Or, his favorite, the scramble to grab their phone and snap a photo.
They order drinks and find a tall table in the corner to lean against. From this vantage point, they survey the crowd for their subjects.
“How much does your man know?”
“My man,” Jackie mutters to herself with a little scoff, glancing down at her martini, “He’s not my man. I’m just a rental.”
Dieter peels his eyes away from the crowd to look at her, “A rental?”
“Not good enough to invest in long-term.”
His head rocks back in understanding, and he frowns, “How long have you been seeing him?”
“Off and on for two years.”
As she says this, she looks up, flicking her eyes around the room. Then she zeroes in on something. Her posture perks to attention. That little glint of recognition.
Dieter follows her gaze to what can only be described as the most average looking white man in Manhattan. Dusty blonde hair, athletic build, black suit.
He would’ve completely overlooked the guy if not for the precision of Jackie’s stare.
Well, that and the fact that you’ve gone on your fair share of angry rants about the man, which involved you showing Dieter his Instagram. This is how he also recognizes the mousy woman standing at his side.
“He brought his wife?”
“Yeah.”
“Have you two me—”
“Nope.”
The sullen aura radiating off her makes Dieter tick his jaw back and forth. He looks between her and Reese, then asks, “Does he know the plan?”
“Kind of,” she shrugs, “Bare bones, enough to maintain plausible deniability.”
“Uh huh. How did Reese know about Mr. Lindorm’s uhhh…”
He scrunches his face up and turns his wrist around, trying to find the right word.
Jackie raises an eyebrow, “Proclivities?”
“I was gonna say fetish, but sure.”
She lands a playful smack on his arm, then sighs, “Sometimes it’s best I don’t ask.”
“Don’t ask don’t tell, good policy.”
This earns him a side-eye with very little humor attached. Sore spot. Fuck.
“Look,” he leans harder on the table, “All I’m saying is you could do better. No doubt about it. You uhh… I don’t know. You deserve someone who loves you so much, they would pluck the stars from the sky and craft them into a crown for you. Not someone who keeps you a secret.”
“Craft them into a—?” She blinks at him, “Ok, papi, what the fuck’re you talking about?”
He tries to formulate an answer, to figure out where the fuck that came from, but admits, “Fuck if I know.”
“I’m cutting you off.”
“I am not that drunk.”
“Better not be, cuz it’s fuckin’ showtime. Here they come.”
“Sorry to interrupt.”
He looks to the source, flicking his gaze up and down Reese’s neat tuxedo.
Reese extends his hand, “I don’t believe we’ve met, but I’m Senator Reese Bernard—”
“I don’t endorse political campaigns, sorry.”
He starts to turn back to Jackie, who mirrors the action, then Reese, right on cue, says, “Oh, no. Nothing like that, I’m just a big fan. Could I buy you and your um,” his eyes shift to Jackie, “Companion a drink? Maybe pick your brain for a bit?”
Dieter finds himself slightly surprised with Reese’s acting ability. That is, until he remembers the man acts every single day of his life. He raises his eyebrows in question at Jackie, who holds his gaze and shrugs, “Fine by me.”
“Alright, yeah.”
A boyish grin spreads across Reese’s face, then he turns to the little mouse of a woman behind him and murmurs something to her, jerking his head towards the bar.
She nods and walks off as Reese joins their table, glancing between Dieter and Jackie, “Well, this is certainly a way to shake things up at the opera, huh? Kind of exciting,” he settles his gaze on Jackie, giving her a charming smile, “You look gorgeous.”
“Thanks, love,” she tilts her head at him, batting her lashes.
The way they look at each other, all goo-goo eyes, inspires Dieter to finish his drink. When he slams the empty glass down on the table, they both jump, snapping out of their nauseating little bubble.
“When’s our guy supposed to be here?”
“Ahhhh,” Reese frowns at his watch, then starts searching the lobby, “Should already be around somewhere. We always meet him and the missus over here for a drink before the show.”
“You guys do this often?”
He shrugs, “Every couple of weeks or so. Not really my cup of tea, or his even, but the gals love it.”
“Cute,” Dieter mutters.
Jackie shoots him a look, then asks Reese, “Do you really think this is gonna work?”
“Oh, definitely, definitely. The guy is smart when it comes to law, but thinks with his dick when it comes to most everything else,” he smirks at her, “And you’re just his type.”
In response, Dieter grunts and searches the room. His head feels weighted, brain sloshing around in the sea of alcohol he consumed throughout the day.
Maybe he should switch to water for a while, slow down this freight train.
Or maybe we should go in a different direction. Try to get a hold of something that will straighten us out.
This thought overrides his entire body, blaring and hot and uncomfortable in his veins, and he wonders if that’s why it’s called an impulse.
Wouldn’t it make you feel better?
His leg starts to bounce. He grits his teeth and reminds himself that he promised you he wouldn’t use cocaine again. Reminds himself of what you said in return:
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
Your voice in his head makes his heart flutter, while the content of your statement sits heavy in his stomach, warring with that concentrated dose of urgency buzzing through him.
“There he is,” Jackie murmurs into her wine glass, “Over by the stairs.”
Jerking to attention like he fell asleep at the wheel, Dieter follows her laser-focused gaze to a distinguished salt-and-pepper man posing for a photo with a tall blonde woman.
The way they stand next to each other, all rigid and precise, their perfect, practiced smiles spread wide beneath dead eyes… it strikes him as familiar.
Middle-aged Barbie and Ken.
A fair comparison, although she looks closer to 20 than 40. Either that or she has a stellar plastic surgeon.
There’s something else, though.
It’s in the way they take a big step apart when the photographer gets his shot. How they seem to be bickering at each other out the side of their faces between fake smiles.
Anika and Dieter.
He studies them with a morbid kind of curiosity, wondering if that’s what they would have eventually been like if they tried to make it work. If, almost a year ago, he would’ve gone home to her instead of boarding that plane to New York.
They would’ve fought about it. Maybe they would’ve cried and had make-up sex. He probably would’ve gone to rehab, and couples counseling, and, hell, maybe they would’ve had a kid or something. Things would’ve felt real and good with her for a while.
But it would have faded.
After a while, he would have strayed again. He would have started getting high and fucking around all the time. He knows this like he knows you’re alive, like he just knows things, certain and right at the very core of him: He never would have found peace until he found you.
Instinctually, he wants to say you changed him, that you made him want to be a better man. But it dawns on him, with stunning clarity, that you didn’t. You didn’t change him any more than an astronomer changes the universe when they discover a star.
Which is to say, darling, that you just brought him into focus so he could see himself for who he really is.
Anything else would have been a plastic, miserable cohabitation.
As this sinks in, that hungry buzzing in his chest wanes. He understands that he can’t break his promise to you. More aptly, he won’t, because he’s not that man anymore.
—
Sometimes things go sideways.
For instance, sometimes the love of your life thinks that disappearing is the best solution to both save your career and evade a second felony.
Sometimes, though… the universe aligns in your favor, and a plan goes off better than you ever could have imaged.
Sometimes your girlfriend’s best friend’s boyfriend’s wife, who Dieter eventually learns is named Rachel, runs into her friends, Mr. and Mrs. District Attorney, on her way back from the bar and invites them to join your table.
They introduce themselves as John and—no fucking joke—Barbara Lindorm. Just as Reese predicted, John is captivated by Jackie the second he lays eyes on her. He occupies the open space next to her and laughs at her jokes, frequently splitting off into quiet little side conversations, where Dieter hears him ask where she’s from, what she does for a living, and whether she and Dieter are dating—which is great news, because it means he has not placed him as Dieter Bravo: Louella Friedman’s Meddlesome Boyfriend.
If Barbara notices her husband flirting, she doesn’t let it show. Dieter surmises it’s because he’s doing a bit of flirting himself, letting his gaze linger on her longer than appropriate, complimenting her dress, her hair, her nails. Not because he’s interested or anything, but rather to provide a bit of a distraction while Jackie reels in her husband.
It’s a little fucked up, sure, but you’d understand. Think big picture, baby. The greater good or whatever.
At one point, he sees Jackie pull out her phone and tell John, “Oh, I have to show you this picture from my last show, you’ll love this.”
This is the move. The part where she shows him a typed out message telling him to follow her at intermission.
Dieter calls attention to the other side of the table, asking Reese, “So, what, do you guys have regular seats or something? Since you come here so often.”
Reese sees the setup and nods, “Oh, definitely. A box, actually, they’re great seats—“ he cuts himself off with a gasp, slamming his palms down on the table, “Hold on, I’m getting a crazy idea. The other couple we usually come here with dropped out at the last minute. Do you two want their seats?”
Dieter glances over at Barbara, meeting her demure gaze, while he hears John murmur to Jackie, “You’re right, I do love that.”
“Why the hell not,” he licks his lips and shrugs, departing from Barbara’s eyes to meet Reese’s, “Let’s keep this party rolling.”
Reese grins, “Fantastic! Ok, do you guys wanna go now, or…?”
The lights wax and wane in brightness a few times, signaling curtain call, and Dieter smirks, “Lead the way.”
—
While waiting for the gilded curtains to part, Dieter flips through the program for Ariadne auf Naxos, tuning out the meaningless chit chat taking place around him.
He skims the synopsis provided, mostly just trying to look busy. One sentence catches his attention.
Ariadne is alone in front of her cave.
He tilts his head at it, lingering for a moment before resuming the skim. His eyes snag on the words stars vanish, then backtrack to the beginning of the sentence.
Entranced by Ariadne’s beauty, Bacchus tells her that he would sooner see the stars vanish than give her up.
Like he did with the last line, Dieter stares at it, slightly stunned. He shifts in his seat, glancing around before leaning over the program to re-read the opera’s synopsis from the beginning.
The passage briefly recounts the story of Ariadne, who assisted Thesus in escaping a labyrinth because she loved him. They were betrothed, and Ariadne left her family to be with him. On the trip home, Thesus abandoned her on a remote island while she was sleeping.
Ariadne woke and found herself alone on the beach. Heartbroken, she longed to die. When Bacchus arrived on the island, Ariadne first thought he was the messenger of death, then mistook him for Thesus. Bacchus explained that he was neither, he was a god. They fell in love and rose into the heavens.
Dieter sits back in his seat and fidgets, trying to find comfort despite this goddamn suit jacket, all stiff and tight with wads of cash. Despite the painful parallels his mind keeps drawing.
You are fucking everywhere.
The opera. The crystal galaxy chandeliers that hang from what looks like a bright white tunnel into the afterlife. The scalloped ceiling, backlit with a warm, golden light, reminding him of goldfish scales.
Are they signs or is he just losing his fucking mind?
“Probably both,” he mutters to himself.
Jackie looks up from her program at him, raising an eyebrow, “What?”
He shakes his head, nervously tugging at the whiskers that sprout from his jawline.
Before she can prod him further, the chandeliers float up into the white abyss and all of the lights dim, then the curtains part.
—
As soon as intermission starts, Jackie is on her feet.
John waits one cool second before excusing himself and following her into the hall. Reese hears this and turns around in his seat, asking Barbara how she likes the show so far. As she leans forward and begins to answer him, Reese locks eyes with Dieter and gives him a wink of approval.
Dieter nods and rises to his feet, then slips into the hall, weaving his way through the crowd.
See, when Jackie used to work catering gigs here, she got to know a member of the opera house staff who showed her a few private rooms that aren’t necessarily secret, but aren’t exactly advertised, either. They’re reserved for VIPs, when they want them, but mostly remain unoccupied during performances.
He follows the path Jackie mapped out for him earlier today to an unlabeled door on level three. Inside, he hears a familiar giggle and knows it’s the right one.
He pats down his suit jacket with both hands, double checking that he didn’t somehow drop all his money en route, then grabs the doorknob, twists it, and pushes the door open to reveal the smallest Victorian parlor he’s ever seen in his life.
It contains an antique sofa, a coffee table, and an armchair in the corner, and still feels cramped. The back wall is entirely occupied by a mirror. Probably an attempt to make the room look bigger.
On the ornate red sofa, Miss Jackie Lantern and Mister District Attorney are so busy making out, neither of them seem to notice his presence.
Dieter makes a point of closing the door with a loud bang. John jumps up and starts scrambling away from Jackie, his face all covered in hot pink lipstick, stammering out clichés, “I can explain, this isn’t what it looks like—”
“Save it, that’s not what this is,” Dieter waves him off as he approaches the couch, unbuttoning his suit jacket.
“What is this, then?” he looks from Dieter, who shucks off his jacket and sits down beside him, to Jackie, “A three way?”
Jackie sticks out her bottom lip in a sympathetic manner, shaking her head.
“This is an opportunity.”
John turns to him, narrowing his eyes, “Explain.”
“Well, see,” Dieter tosses his jacket on the coffee table, “I’m going to give you a stupid amount of money, I mean—really, truly, a fucking obscene amount of money. In return, you’ll drop the charges against Louella Friedman.”
He studies Dieter carefully.
“You and I both know that warrant was bullshit. Based on witness statements obtained by fucking paps, really?” Dieter clicks his tongue against his teeth and shakes his head, “That man is a gossip monger with a grudge. Zero fucking credibility. It wouldn’t hold up in court. It would be a waste of everyone’s time and money. This is an opportunity to cut through the red tape and get a little something for yourself in return.”
John sits back, crossing his arms. He frowns at the jacket for a while, seemingly running calculations in his head, then asks, “How much?”
“Hundred thousand.”
His eyebrows make a surprised jump. He presses his knuckles to his lips, considering this. His leg starts bouncing. He looks between Dieter and Jackie, these quick, sharp glares, “I don’t appreciate being set up like this.”
Dieter nods in acknowledgment. Jackie just blinks at him.
He releases a big sigh.
Sitting up, he grabs the jacket and digs into one of the pockets, then pulls out a few $10,000 bundles.
As he inspects them, Dieter asks, “Well?”
“You two are good,” John chuckles, then extends his hand to Dieter, “I’ll look into her case for you, see what we can do.”
He takes it, giving him an overly enthusiastic shake, “Good man. Thank you.”
“Louella Friedman?”
“That’s right. I, uhhh—I put her info in the front pocket.”
“Got it.”
Dieter stands and looks at Jackie, nodding to the door.
“Thanks, Johnny,” she winks, then rises to her feet and starts towards the door.
“Thank you, Jackie,” he grins at her for a second before returning to Dieter, “And thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Dieter pulls up the sleeves on his dress shirt, “Don’t spend it all in one place.”
John laughs at this, so Dieter feels compelled to clarify, “No, but really, the IRS might start asking questions if you do. So—don’t, ok?”
“Oh, well, yeah—”
Dieter turns on his heel and follows Jackie out of the room, closing the door behind him.
“Johnny?” he raises an eyebrow at her as they walk away.
“He’s kinda cute. Good kisser.”
“Thinking about adding him to your roster?”
She snorts and gives him a playful shove, “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”
—
Within thirty seconds of entering the apartment, Jackie has locked herself in the bathroom with the shower running.
Dieter collapses on the couch and slowly dismantles the remains of his suit, unknotting the bow-tie, taking off his dress shirt, wriggling out of his pants, until he’s left in boxers and an undershirt.
Exhaustion, emotional and physical, drains any remaining adrenaline from this evening’s success from his limbs.
Figuring it will take a while for the de-Jackiefication to take place in the bathroom, he checks his phone for updates, then decides to call and leave you a message before letting sleep take over.
“Hey, this is Louella, sorry I missed you. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back, thanks.”
“Hey, doll, it’s me. It is… just after midnight here in New York. Just wanted to let you know, I talked to the DA. He’s dropping the charges, because they’re bullshit, and uhhh… yeah. You can come out now, if you want. I… I miss you. All day I missed you. I wish you were here, and—listen, Lua, I get what you’re doing. You think you’re saving me or something by disappearing, but let me tell you, you are fucking not. Ok? I don’t think you understand… you save me every single day. Just by loving me. The acting, publicity, fucking—whatever, none of that fucking matters to me. I swear to god. You are—you are it for me. The end all be all. My sun, my moon, the stars, you are my whole fucking universe. You are… everything to me, Louella. I love you. I hope I see you soon.”
[ Next Chapter ]
#psychomanteum#dieter bravo#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo x you#dieter bravo x oc#dieter bravo x ofc#the bubble#the bubble fanfiction#pedro pascal#pedro pascal character fanfic#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fanfiction
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Chiffon | masterlist
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC (no age gap)
Warnings: 18+ mature content, please heed warnings at the start of each chapter
Summary: Dieter and Bryony's intense relationship ended in conflicting ideals and led to a heart-wrenching separation. As they navigate the intensity of their connection, they discover that love's bittersweet nature can leave behind lasting scars and profound grief, even as they find themselves reconnecting, even if reluctantly.
chiffon vibes | dieter x bryony vibes | mood boards | AO3
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
One Shots.
Closed Sets
Reservation
Executive Producer
Social
Welcome to New York
#dieter bravo#dieter bravo x oc#dieter bravo x ofc (no age gap)#dieter bravo x ofc#dieter bravo fanfiction#pedro pascal character fanfic#pedro pascal character fanfiction#the bubble
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Closed Position Prologue
Closed Position Masterlist ||| Dieter Bravo x OFC
Series Summary: Dieter Bravo, now sober, was looking to change his bad boy image after hitting rock bottom. His team hoped that having him join the nationally televised family friendly dance competition would be a good first step, if they can keep him out of trouble.
Katarina Stamos expected her last season as a professional dancer on Dancing with the Stars to go the same as it had for the past thirteen seasons. That all changed when she was partnered with the infamous Dieter Bravo.
Dieter and Katarina are reluctantly thrown into their partnership and must learn to work together to succeed in the competition. In the process they form a deeper connection beyond the dance floor that neither anticipated.
👉 Warnings: Themes dealing with intimate partner violence, past alcohol abuse, and past drug abuse. There will be fluff, tears, spicy language, and smut. This will be a slow burn. Read at your own risk. Dieter Bravo comes with his own warnings.
Prologue below the cut.
In ballroom dance, the closed position is one of the most common in which partners face each other, typically offset, in an embrace that may vary slightly for each style of dance being performed. This position enables partners to provide the necessary physical contact and support to lead and follow. Increased body contact is encouraged because it allows for a deepened connection and furthers the use of touch to communicate. Another way for partners to establish a deepened connection is eye contact. Eye contact allows each of the dancers to anticipate and synchronize with the other’s movements. The stronger the eye contact and non-verbal communication, the more effortless and intense the performance will appear to be.
Because of the physical closeness and emotionally charged environment, ballroom dance can be an oddly intimate experience that requires a high level of trust between partners. It’s easy to understand why it’s heavily romanticized. For some, it’s not unusual that it may lead to feelings that extend beyond the dance floor.
In my line of work on a nationally televised tv show, I’m placed with a new partner every season. None of which I’ve ever actually achieved a real connection with (on or off the dance floor). It’s always very formal and instructional. Strictly a student learning from their teacher type of experience. The student (or celebrity in this case) is there for the purpose of winning the dance competition and any notoriety that comes with it. I’m there to teach them how to reach their goal and nothing more. I was, after all, in a sometimes-happy long-term relationship that I was not looking to jeopardize.
Everything changed the day Dieter Bravo waltzed into the dance studio. He was looking to repair his image and boost his career after a rumored long stint in rehab while I was simply trying to make it through my last season on the show. We were reluctant partners at first. I was aware of his bad boy reputation and didn’t want my professional image to be tarnished by his antics. He could sense my reluctance, which fueled the initial hostility between us. The hostility soon faded during our sessions as the electricity ignited. The attraction could only be ignored for so long. No one could have predicted the way our stars would eventually collide and be bound to each other’s orbit.
Next: Week 1
I included everyone who interacted with the initial teaser. Please let me know if you would like to be removed going forward.
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Let me know in the comments below if you would like to be added to the tag list.
Credits:
Star divider courtesy of @saradika.
Support divider courtesy of @cafekitsune
#dieter bravo#dieter x ofc#dieter bravo fic#pedro pascal#closed position series#pedro pascal characters#dieter bravo x ofc#pedro pascal character fanfic#pedro pascal fanfiction#Pedro Pascal Fanfic#dieter bravo x oc#dieter bravo fluff#dieter bravo fanfiction#the bubble#the bubble fanfiction
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We Fall Like Snow ║ Part ⅠⅠ
After the events that took place at the Cliff Beasts set, needless to say as his bodyguard (and friend) you became overprotective of Dieter. You have all your worries under control until you accidentally flip over a young fan by grabbing her wrist, causing the media to stir with speculations as to why. Luckily Dieter's family arrives in the nick of time, scooping you both from New York to their cozy cabin; however, winter wonderland can't last forever and you need to face the consequences of your actions sooner or later.
pairing: Dieter Bravo x bodyguard!ofc; Amina Addams, written in reader format
chapter summary: Going on a trip with Dieter and his parents? More likely then you think.
word count: 4.9k
chapter warnings: some family drama, mentions of past bullying, but mostly fluffy moments
**dividers by the amazing @saradika
“I think we all expected some drama to drop when Dieter Bravo was cast as one of the main heroes of the upcoming movie ‘Abyss Burning’ but surprisingly enough this drama isn’t about him but his female bodyguard,” the voice coming out of the phone’s speaker is pleasant, engaging. Your stomach drops at the spoken sentence. “So let’s start at the beginning–”
Dieter comes at you from out of nowhere and yanks his father’s phone out of your trembling hands. Your instincts kicking in (as if those same instincts haven’t caused enough trouble already) you reach out for the device but he’s already across the room, giving the phone back to his dad, a glare directed at the poor unsuspecting man. Mrs. Bravo looks somewhat aware of your distress, her gaze softens with kindness, she smiles when your eyes meet.
Dieter stands like a wall between you and his parents.
“Maybe you two should go out to the balcony, the weather’s nice,” Dieter says, tone full of implication. “I’ll talk to you guys in a sec,”
Mr. Bravo parts his lips, but before words can form, Mrs. Bravo ushers him out to the balcony and closes the door behind them.
You hadn’t realized but you were holding your breath, only now letting go.
“The last thing you should do is watch drama channels,”
The couch dips with Dieter’s added weight, you look down at your hands and witness the constant twitching of your fingers. The ever distressing sound of jingle bells ring loudly in your ears. Despite your focus being elsewhere, you hear him sigh. You feel him curling his fingers around your left hand, pulling it to his lap. You perceive your hand to be detached from the rest of your body, nothing but a lifeless limb between Dieter’s fingers.
“My mom taught me something when I was little, supposedly it helps when you’re feeling nervous,” he says. “Open your palm,”
Life returns to your skin with his touch. His fingers are warm. Heat seeps back into your skin, you can feel again, you move around your fingers before doing as he said. Dieter starts to draw patterns into your palm. It’s ticklish, the sensation forces a smile against your lips.
“She told me that I should write my name letter by letter into my palm and that it would calm me down.”
Dieter is already staring at you when you lift your gaze. His smile is soft, which surprises you. Usually his smiles were wide and broad, full of happiness, be it fake or real. This expression is a gift, a gentle reminder that you’re someone close to him. His forefinger continues to dance along your palm, blood simmers pleasantly underneath your skin. Slowly, you realize that these aren’t random patterns.
A
M
I
N
A
It’s your name. You half had expected him to write out his own name.
He repeats it, the tip of his nail catches along your palm, a shudder spreading throughout your body. Dieter’s gaze drops, his cheeks dusted with a beautiful shade of pink.
“Breathe,” he reminds you. “Just breathe and focus on the letters, I promise you’ll feel better,”
Your eyes flutter shut, vague shapes caused by light moves like shadow-play beneath your eyelids. Your mind slowly comes together, you push away the thoughts of gossip. Instead you focus on yourself, on Dieter. You remind yourself of how close your lips were to his, your breaths mingling, your bodies seeking eachother’s heat.
You bite the inside of your cheek, hard. The sharp pain clears your mind. Dieter’s finger still moves. You feel him drawing another “A”. Deep down you know you can stay like this for hours, for eternity. His finger, despite the lack of sexual connotation, makes heat to pool between your legs. You know that this will be the closest you’ll ever get to feeling him against your skin like this, so you allow yourself to postpone the moment of parting.
Time stretches, you imagine his fingers moving up your wrist, tracing the curve of your muscles until he reaches your shoulder and from there, to your neck.
Your body stiffens, goosebumps settle across your skin. Dieter traces an “I”. How long does he plan on tracing your name like this?
You fear that he can hear your thoughts echoing in the silence. You fear that he can see the pleasure written along your body. It’s a nasty feeling, one that coats your tongue with the taste of bile.
When you open your eyes, his gaze lifts in a way that convinces you that he knew the exact moment it would be too much. As if he knew the moment you would resort to opening your eyes. His smile is still there.
“Feeling better?”
“Yeah. Thank you,” his finger retreats, regrettably so. “I like that little trick. It’s nice,”
“Mrs. Bravo is a wise woman,” Dieter’s smile cracks into a grin. “Speaking of, I should probably check on the happy couple,”
You nod, “Yeah, okay.”
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
You will never be able to forget the look of concern he’s giving you. The crease between his brows is deep, eyes focused like you’ve never seen before. You fight the urge to scoff. You can’t believe it, Dieter Bravo of all people is actually worrying about you. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
You smile and nod, your thumb unconsciously pressing into your palm when he finally turns to leave.
You can see only a small fraction of the balcony. You witness Mrs. Bravo hugging her son, you see Mr. Bravo looking sheepishly at Dieter, his lips mouthing out words you can’t hear. Wanting to give them at least a bit of privacy you look down to your palm.
Your nail had left a crescent shaped mark. You smooth over it, you repeat the motion again and again, with each swipe of your thumb you feel your heart rate escalating. Anger bubbles in your chest. You were fine just a moment ago, this whole thing wasn’t that big of a deal. So what if drama channels were talking about you? So what if everyone was making speculations? You know the truth. You know it was an accident.
When you inhale, the breath you take is shaky and short. You close your eyes, then open them again. There’s an ache in your chest, you breathe and it hurts, you breathe again and again, wanting the pain to disappear.
You mutter out a curse and look back to the balcony, Dieter has his arm around Mrs. Bravo’s waist and Mr. Bravo’s hand is on his son’s shoulder. They must be close. Who would’ve thought? You really should’ve asked for their names before grabbing the offered phone to search what people were saying about the incident. Your gaze drops to your palm, the mark is gone, you remember the trick Dieter recently told you about.
Sighing, you start to drag your thumb in the shape of an “A”. You follow up with the other letters but it doesn’t make you feel better. Maybe I’m doing it wrong? You look back to Dieter and then to your palm again. You write something different for your second try. After each letter you feel your cheeks getting warmer and warmer.
D
I
E
T
E
R
You start to feel better.
The balcony door slides open and Mrs. Bravo is the first to come back inside. You blink dumbly at her, your thumb still moving across your palm. Dieter notices and you stop.
Now that you were aware who this couple was, you take your time observing them. Mrs. Bravo had Dieter’s eyes— though it would probably be more accurate to say that Dieter had his mother’s eyes. Her gaze sparkled more compared to his. Her hair a light shade of brown with soft, honey-like highlights between them. You spot a couple of grays pouring between the honey, making you believe that your initial assumption that her hair was dyed was actually wrong. The soft locks stopped right below her neck, slightly curling at the ends. She has a delicate gold chain around her neck, wrinkles at the corner of her eyes.
“Amina,” she calls out to you, smiling wide. “Why don’t you come with us?”
“Mom…” Dieter cuts in, giving you a chance to understand what Mrs. Bravo was asking of you. Sadly, you still have no clue. “She doesn’t want to come with us. I barely want to go. The only reason I agreed to go is because we’re blood related.”
“Your cousin Everett is also joining us,” Mr. Bravo chimes in. “Didn’t you say that you missed him?”
“Like I said; Blood. Related.”
“Dieter, stop it.” His mom’s voice is sharp and clear. “Of course she would want to come. It would be good for her nerves and you said yourself you missed Everett,”
“Me missing him doesn’t make my point any less valid,”
His father talks over him, both parents ignoring him completely.
“Besides, isn’t she your bodyguard? Doesn’t she have to come along? You two have a contract right?”
“Yes but that’s not how it works–”
When the three begin to chatter among themselves, words getting a bit loud and heated, you raise your hand like a kid trying to get the teacher’s attention. You clear your throat.
“Go where exactly?”
“See, she needs this more than you think!” Mrs. Bravo proclaims triumphantly, her gaze moving from Dieter to you. “We have a cabin up in the mountains. It’s a lovely spot, near a ski resort so there’s people but not enough that you feel suffocated! We go there every year,”
“Except for last year,” Mr. Bravo cuts in, eyeing Dieter.
“It’s not my fault, I was working.”
“We would be happy if you came along,” Mrs. Bravo says with the most mother-like tone she can muster. You’re flustered, skin warm and tingling as she stares at you with hopeful eyes. Normally, you have no problem with telling people no —if you did your job would be a lot harder— but as her gaze zeroes in on you, all the excuses you could come up with die on your tongue. You nod with a shaky smile, telling her that you would love to tag along. “Fantastic! Dieter promised to show us around so you can pack during that time. We’ll come pick you up at about 9 PM. Dieter has your address right?”
“Y-Yeah,”
You’re overwhelmed at how fast she’s talking. Satisfied with your mediocre answer, she turns to Dieter.
“We’ll wait for you downstairs dear. Say goodbye to your friend!”
Both parents shake your hand before leaving, Mr. Bravo winks at you while mouthing a sorry, and follows his wife out the door.
It’s only you and Dieter now. The room is eerily silent.
He groans and falls to the couch, his one hand covers both his eyes, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips. You can’t help but giggle, sitting next to him you touch his shoulder.
“Sorry about that,” he groans out. “I can make up something if you don’t want to go,”
“Nah, your mom’s right, it might be good for me.” Your eyes move towards the door, you can still feel their chaotic energy crackling in the air. “I don’t know what I was expecting your parents to be like, but it definitely wasn’t that,”
Dieter peaks at you from between his fingers, you can see the corners of his smile exceeding the frame of his hand.
“They really are something else. I think they like you,”
“Really?” You sound genuinely surprised.
Dieter’s hand falls to his side as he lets out a hearty laugh, he looks beautiful like this. His head thrown back and a smile as bright as the sun crossing his face. Your heart swells.
“Do you think my mom invites over every woman, or man, she sees next to me?” he shakes his head. “She’s definitely planning something, I’ll tell you that much. I should warn you about my dad though, he doesn’t have much of a filter.”
You hum, “Reminds me of someone I know,”
“Har har, he’s much worse. Believe me.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” you gently hit his shoulder before getting up, Dieter looks at you confused. “You should get going, and I should go and pack,”
“Ah, yeah, I guess you’re right,”
Dieter walks you to the door, muttering about needing to get dressed first. He leans against the door frame, the gap suddenly looks small with him filling it, his broad shoulders filling the empty space in between as he crosses his arms.
“I’ll see you tonight then,”
Just as you proceed to move away, Dieter closes the door but remembering that you had a job to do, you push it back open.
“We’ll be making it back to the premiere, right? You can’t miss it,”
“Of course,” he says calmly. “Shannon would have my head if I missed it.”
The drive starts out full of excitement and laughter. You and Dieter are sitting in the back while Mr. and Mrs. Bravo are sitting up front. It doesn’t take you long to learn that Mrs. Bravo was a fan of Taylor Swift —and pop in general— which you find endearing.
While singing along to the lyrics of Love Story she turns to you, eyes gleaming with mischief. She asks if you know about Dieter’s singing and that he always wanted to be a singer. Then she proceeds to tell you how she caught him in the act of performing a private concert often while he was blow drying his hair.
Honestly you aren’t sure what surprises you more, Dieter singing, or the fact that a man who forgot to feed himself constantly used to blow dry his hair.
Dieter attempts to hush her but it’s too late, you already know his dirty little secret. Grinning, you beg him to sing. He refuses, a warm blush flaring across his cheeks. You don’t mind him denying you, you know that sooner or later you’ll make him sing.
After the first three hours, the inside of the car gradually becomes more and more silent. The music shifts from pop to something more slow and instrumental, Mrs. Bravo’s snores accompany the music. Meanwhile, Mr. Bravo is focused on the road, his body relaxed as he holds the steering wheel with one hand.
You’re looking outside, eyes following the silhouettes of trees. It’s colder now, an uncomfortable chill spreading from your hands and feet. Instead of opening your bag and wearing your sweatshirt you hug yourself. Your eyelids are heavy with sleep, you find it difficult to think properly.
“Hey,” Dieter whispers to you, his breath warming your neck. “Look, it’s snowing.”
He’s right, it was.
As you look up to the night sky, Dieter shimmies closer. Thick white flakes flutter down from the darkness, making you smile. Snow always makes you smile, regardless of the situation. It has you feeling that child-like wonder again. Your heart beats fast, cheeks warm as your hands and feet continue to freeze. Wanting to tell Dieter your enthusiasm for the weather, you turn, only to find his face an inch away from yours. With shock you jump back and hit the back of your head against the hard glass.
“Fuck,” you hiss out in pain. Your hands move up to touch your head but Dieter is faster. His hands cradle your head, pushing you down, he lets out a silent whistle.
“Shit, that sounded like it hurt. Are you alright? You’re not bleeding are you?”
Seeing that you are only mere inches away from his crotch, you slap his arms away and scutter back until you’re flushed against the cold car door. Your chest heaves. He blinks at you with an eyebrow raised. You take this opportunity to rub your head, wincing at the way it stings. Dieter attempts to move closer but you glue him in place with the raise of your hand.
“Stay there,” you grunt, your voice unwillingly thickening with anger. “I’m fine, you don’t need to do anything.”
“I was just trying to help…”
“Well, don’t,”
Dieter, as if lava suddenly formed between you, shuffles back until his cheek is flushed against the glass. His breath spreads and fogs up the window. Nails digging into your palms, your turn to face the dark scenery outside but as you move, your eyes linger on the rearview mirror.
Dieter’s dad is looking directly at you, not much emotion going on in his brown eyes. Great, I managed to piss off his dad. Guilt rising in your chest, you worry your bottom lip between your teeth and turn away, hoping that Mr. Bravo had done the same.
Your head still throbs but you lean down to pull out your phone and sweatshirt from your bag. Soft snores come from your side. Lowering the screenlight, your gaze snaps to Dieter. His cheek is completely smushed against the glass with his lips parted. You envy the way he looks so relaxed, but then again, he’s always been like that. You don’t know how he does it. No matter what happens, he always manages to come out on top relaxed.
It’s kind of annoying now that you think about it.
You scroll through your phone. A terrible idea really, and see that your follower count had shot up while you weren’t looking. You have thousands of comments, mentions, and a couple of hundred messages. You sigh and roll your eyes at the same time. Within the silence the sound comes out louder than it should and with panic your eyes search the reflective surface of the rearview mirror. Luckily you don’t see two very similar looking eyes staring right back at you.
You set your Twitter and Instagram accounts to private.
A lot of people assume Dieter is a bad actor.
Sure, he’s been in a couple of shit movies when he was younger, but honestly, did everyone really think that every production Brad Pitt was in was fucking perfect? Of course not. But god forbid Dieter Bravo does a couple of bad blockbusters. Those are the ones the world decides never to forget. It doesn’t matter really. The world can think what it wants, he knows that he can act. He gets paid extra to do cameos and now he’s actually in a movie with a script he kinda likes.
The world can think that he’s shit, but the proof that he can act is happening right here, in his parents’ car.
You are totally convinced that he’s asleep when in fact he is very much awake.
Dieter didn’t understand your reaction. He just wanted to check and see if you were bleeding or not, the hit had sounded painful. But then your reaction made him feel as if he was doing something downright heinous.
You two are friends right? Isn’t it normal for friends to check up on eachother? Is this one of those social cues that he has trouble understanding?
Maybe you weren’t friends.
No, that can’t be true, she protects me
Under contract
Shut up
Dieter listens to the sounds you make. You shuffle, open up your bag and pull something out. A light burns through the roof before you turn down the screen light. He knows what you’re doing. You’re checking out the gossip. Naughty girl.
He told you not to do that. He knows how easy the masses can get into one’s head.
You sigh, then throw your phone back into your bag. Shuffles and soft grunts echo in the silence. She’s putting her sweatshirt on. Now that he’s thinking about it, it is kind of chilly in the car.
The glass touching his cheek probably isn’t helping.
He continues to realistically snore until all sound slowly fades like the slow finish of an applause. One by one the claps would slow down and stop, the sound taking the shape of a bell. Dieter knows exactly what’s going to happen; first it would be you who falls silent, then his dad would turn off the radio, and lastly Dieter would stop his snoring, burying everyone in silence.
Ever since he was a kid, Dieter had done this—pretend to fall asleep. He’s not sure why he started, or why he does it, but there’s something peaceful he finds in it. He listens to the cars whooshing past them, the sound reverberating the car, light momentarily burning his eyelids…then the silence follows again, until another car passes them by. He hears his dad clearing his throat once in a while, sometimes his bones crack whenever he rolls his shoulders.
Poor old man. I should take him for a massage.
His mom shifts in her seat, and whenever she does, his dad looks over checking to see if she’s alright. Dieter can’t see, but he knows that’s exactly what’s happening. As someone who figured out at a very young age that the best way to correlate with others was to mimic them, Dieter’s observation skills have always been off the charts.
He’s seen the way his dad looks at his mom a million times, full of unadulterated love. It's a look that has always warmed his heart since he was child, then his fondness of the tender moment shifted into something envious, an ugly feeling.
Now, he just tries to ignore it all together.
He’s always been an outsider to people’s emotions, never the cause of them. Except for the moments he got someone in his bed. Dieter enjoys those moments where someone rakes their nails across his back and tells him how good he’s making them feel. When that happens he’s the only reason for whatever they’re feeling, which is pleasure— mostly.
Slowly, he feels the Sandman sprinkling golden sand into his eyes. His eyes water when he yawns. He looks up to the sky one last time before hugging himself.
It’s still snowing.
You wake up to the marvelous scent of coffee.
Looking around the car with narrowed eyes, you see that Dieter is getting back into the car with two coffee cups and a brown paper bag. Last night’s awkwardness completely eludes your mind as you move towards him and take the coffee from his hand. You rub your right eye as you take a sip.
“Morning beautiful,” Dieter says to you stoically, his voice deep with unsatisfied sleep. “We’re almost there.”
“Good morning dear,” his mother chirps at you, she grabs the brown paper bag from Dieter and pulls out a blueberry muffin. “I hope you slept well,”
“I did, thank you Mrs. Bravo.”
She waves her hand in a dismissive manner and shakes her head. “Please call me Adaline. Mrs. Bravo sounds way too formal, isn’t that right love?” He directs the question to her husband.
“I don’t know about that honey. It always gets me excited when people call you that, it’s a nice reminder that you actually took my name,”
Adaline lets out a laughter that you can only describe as being beautiful. Your cheeks feel warm witnessing their love and you take another sip of your coffee. Dieter stuffs a kit kat bar into your hand.
“Darling, it’s been so long. How can you still get excited about that?”
“I wasn’t aware love had an expiration date,” he starts the car and looks at you through the rearview mirror. You suddenly feel very anxious. “By the way, before you start calling me Mr. Bravo, I have a perfectly fine name you can use; Claus.”
“Claus?” you repeat.
Claus raises an eyebrow, his lips curl up with amusement.
“Something funny about it?”
“No no,” you reply with haste. “Just…you know…with Christmas nearing and all–”
The couple bursts out laughing. You’re not sure whether you should be embarrassed or not but you take this time to push the coffee cup between your legs and struggle with the wrapper of your kit-kat bar. Dieter groans, yanks it from your hands, opens it, then gives it back. His eyebrows make a flat line.
For a brief moment you fear that his anger is directed at you but you shrug the feeling away when Dieter addresses his dad.
“Dad don’t–”
“Sorry Amina, dear. We’re not laughing at you. Claus’s name has always been a source for some funny memories. Especially nearing Christmas,” Adaline says, cutting Dieter off. She lets out a sigh that is followed by a giggle. “In fact, when Dieter was a kid–”
“Mom!”
“Don’t interrupt your mother, Dieter.” His dad warns.
You can’t help but chuckle at the way Dieter pouts and leans into the seat with his arms crossed. You only feel slightly bad for him. Adeline continues her story.
“As I was saying, when Dieter was a kid he would tell everyone that his dad was Santa Claus! It was adorable really, he would always be extra nice to his dad during the holidays. ‘I know I’ve been good but just in case’ he would say while baking Claus cookies. I would help, of course, but he would never let me have any,” she smiles fondly at the memory, eyes glossing over.
“But one day he came back home crying, poor thing. Apparently one of the kid’s called him a liar and the rest of the class laughed at him. Honestly, I know you shouldn’t say mean things about kids but that class was full of rotten children. Dieter never could get along with them–”
“Frankly I’m glad he didn’t,” Claus interrupted, eyes fixated on the snowy road. “I would be more worried if he did get along with them.”
You feel Dieter getting smaller and smaller next to you. His mother nods at Claus’s words and takes a bite of her muffin. Your heart feels heavy in your chest, you can imagine it so vividly; A small Dieter , his hair ruffled and face bright with Christmas joy, telling his friends that his father is Santa Claus. Excitedly, telling everyone that his father can bring them all the best presents —because that’s just how Dieter is, he gives and gives and gives until there’s nothing left of him. A shell, until he fills himself with smoke— only to come back home a sobbing mess crying to his parents.
You feel like you’re witnessing a crime at how vividly you can see it all playing out. Him, playing alone at school, his young gaze glancing around to seek anyone that would spend time with him. Him, being bullied for having an overactive imagination and a good heart. Anger pounds in your ears, your fingers twitching uncontrollably around the half empty coffee cup.
“Anyway,” Adaline says between bites. “Furious at this, Claus dressed up as Santa Claus and went to the school. He gave all the children coal! All the parents were furious, so were the teachers, but the principal seemed not to mind as much so nothing happened,”
“You should’ve seen their faces.” Claus grins.
“Yeah dad, thanks, you’re a true hero,” Dieter rolls his eyes. The cold snap of his voice makes every hair on the back of your neck stand up. “After that I became the kid who was crazy enough to think his dad was Santa Claus to the kid who snitched on Santa Claus and made everyone get coal. They definitely cherished me after that.”
His sentence hangs heavy in the air. A cheerful morning ruined by the ghost of Christmas past. The back of your throat feels tight, stretched like a bowstring. You shuffle anxiously in your seat, the silence needles into your skin as you pay special attention not to face anyone. Your turn to the window and glance outside; the sky is a marvelous blue, snow covering every patch of soil. You see small white flowers above the snow, a patch of green within the cold. Words of excitement reach all the way to the tip of your tongue but you bite down before you can say anything.
Jingle bells ring again.
You see the ski resort that Adaline had mentioned before the trip. It seems close enough to walk but far enough so that the constant clatter of people won’t bother the locals. The car comes to a slow stop.
“When’s Everret coming?” Dieter asks.
You assume he does this to relieve the tension in the car, which you’re grateful for.
“He should already be here,” Adaline answers.
Claus doesn’t say a word, he simply stops the car and gets out. A moment later you hear the trunk door opening. Dieter mumbles something but you don’t understand, it sounds foreign. He sighs and all the lines on his face deepen. Much like his father, Dieter also doesn’t say a word when he leaves you and Adaline alone in the car. Worry crosses your face. He didn’t even glance at you before getting out of the car, you only needed a look. A sign from him that everything is alright.
Unrelated to your job, you’re also his friend and it’s been like that for a long while. But his life outside of the stage was a mystery to you. He didn’t enjoy talking about his childhood, and conversations about his family were always a fleeting one. Despite the constant eyes devouring his life to the bone, Dieter only shared what he knew other’s wanted to see; his sex life, his flirts, the insane grandiose parties, his fame and fortune.
With the corner of your eyes you notice both father and son carrying the luggage to the cabin’s door. A tall man with blond hair comes out to greet them.
Your eyes snap to Adaline as she sighs. She doesn’t meet your gaze, but smiles anyway.
“Don’t worry, dear. They’ll be just fine.”
You start to trace letters above your palm.
#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo x oc#dieter bravo x fem!reader#dieter bravo x f!reader#dieter bravo x ofc#dieter bravo x fem!oc#the bubble fanfic#christmas fic#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal character fanfic
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Weddings 101 with Dieter Bravo
Chapter one: Transportation? I'll Cover it
Dieter Bravo x plus size OFC (Maya)
Fanfiction 18+ (not this chapter but later chapters will be)
Main Masterlist / Dieter Bravo Masterlist / Weddings 101 with Dieter
Summary: Maya is just trying to be a good big sister. Yet, even the planes are conspiring against her. She encounters Dieter who who likes that sass and that ass. No candy was harmed in the writing of this chapter.
Warnings: Cursing, angst, self-doubt, bad jokes, Dieter being soft and cute, card games, body insecurities, brief mentions of drug use and alcohol, etc. (none too serious, that’s for later)
Notes: I've wanted to write Dieter for awhile and I'm glad that I was able to get a rough draft together, outline and now part one. I think it will be three or four parts depending on where I can take the story. I swear I did go over it several times while editing, but I was laughing at my own jokes, so there may still be some typos. 🤔
“So, what you're saying is that even though I have paid three months in advance and have my confirmation code right here both in my phone and printed I don't have my seat on my flight?!” A woman stood with both hands on the counter, visibly frustrated but not yelling.
“Yes, yes ma'am that, that is what I'm saying I again I'm so sorry just so sorry.” The young man at the service counter apologized again. It’s all he could do.
“I mean I appreciate that you're sorry but it's not gonna get me on the flight. I need to be on the flight so that I can be at my brother's wedding. Is there another flight going out later today?” The woman asked, wiping her brow. She had worn a sweatshirt and leggings because it was supposed to be cold in the airport and on the plane. The young man tapped a few keys on his computer and looked up, his eyes wide.
“There is ma'am, but the flights aren’t going out until like, 10 tonight.” He broke the news. The woman groaned.
“Sir you you realize it's it's eight in the morning. How… how can there not be any more flights to Hawaii of all places until ten tonight?!” She questioned, that time she did yell. She felt it was ludicrous, the entire situation.
“Well ma'am it's it's based on availability and, and, and consumer interest and it looks like most people were were interested in morning flights. No one was really booking any of the afternoon flights so we cancelled those and just you know some people wanted the red eye flights. I mean we will give you vouchers for the price of your flight and an extra $250 for future flights with our airline. Because I feel like that that's exactly this time…” All she heard was that she wasn’t going to be in Hawaii by later today. Which meant she wouldn’t check in, then have to find another hotel, maybe it would be near the wedding venue if they even had any availability ….all horrible.
Maya rubbed her temples in defeat because she had planned that she was going to fly out in the morning from San Francisco where she was now and then fly the rest of the way to Hawaii. She was now stuck in San Francisco with no way to get to Hawaii on time to participate in her brother's weeklong wedding to albeit his lovely wife but fucking destination weddings man. The woman stepped away from the counter, her gray slip-on sneakers squeaking on the cool tile floor.
“Hey what's cooking good looking, you need a flight out?” A man in a gray robe, sunglasses inside an airport for some reason, a Gray T-shirt, striped Gray and brown pajama pants maybe and grey Crocs. He appeared to be holding a goat. He sauntered up to the service desk alongside Maya and leaned on it casually. The man had been keeping track of the exchange, it was much more entertaining than the random loud kids running around and all the stretched-out pants that said juicy and they were not in fact juicy. Instead, he found the loud woman to be much more succulent.
“I mean I do, but he said there's no more flights out. What? Are you going to give me your seat because I got a wide ass.” Mya put her hands on her large hips, she leaned forward on her right foot and her thigh jiggled. The man in the robe took notice of her hips. They looked like they’d swallow his fingers when he held onto them, he would like to know for sure.
The man laughed and replied, “No. I got a private jet and honestly, I'm tired of looking at just my assistant because he tells me all kinds of stuff I can't do or shouldn't be doing.” He pointed at a nervous young man who held a briefcase and a duffle bag. “You wanna ride with me Miss Toblerone? You seem fun.”
Perplexed, Maya considered both the man's appearance and the offer. He seemed like he had just rolled out of bed, was holding a goat but also had this really fluffy hair. Honestly, it just made her wanna smack his head and like play with his downy mop a little bit. The man had this little mischievous looking grin that was surrounded by a little mustache and facial situation going. It could be that she was tired from getting up at 3:00 in the morning to make sure she was at the airport packing up her crap and making sure that it was indeed the two carry-ons and one personal bag per the airline. It could have also been the horrendous drive over that mostly was sitting in traffic for a ride that maybe should have taken 15 minutes but took an hour and a half. She had to factor the time in and also finding which gate after security, which security was its own monster in and of itself so at this point a pajama clad stranger with fluffy hair sexy grin and a goat was looking real good right now.
“Fuck it let's go, my name's Maya. I not particularly a fan of Toblerone though, they’re decadent. I guess it’s good to have one everyone once in awhile.” She replied to him and reached her hand out, he took one hand off the goat and shook it then held on to it a little too long. The fluffy man kissed it and trailed his lips up her wrist which the woman shivered a bit because it's like who who does that out outside of Bridgeton? Her new traveling partner said his name was Dieter Bravo which sounded familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. Just like she couldn't quite place him, she felt like she would remember if she saw any man looking like this, but she'd worry about that later right? Now she just really needed to get on a flight from San Francisco to Hawaii, so she gathered up her purse, her backpack and suitcase follow Dieter, but he stopped her and told his assistant to take her backpack and bag from her. Bravo then questioned why she had so few bags, Maya told him that she didn't want to pay the carry-on fees because it the price of the flight out here was outrageous already in addition to the hotel. Dieter asked why she was going to all the trouble, she told him it was for her youngest brother’s wedding.
“I think you can be more indulgent then that Toblerone. Especially for a wedding.” The actor took her hand and walked with her while the assistant got another person to help with all the bags, the majority were Dieter’s.
Dieter said once they got to Hawaii, he would look around for some more clothes for her. Maya laughed and said he's probably going to have to look hard for that stuff because she didn’t know if any of those designer stores there would have her size. Likely not, those mannequins are probably one of her thighs. Dieter grinned and told her that it was alright, there’s more to work with and to use. He then cleared his throat and said that he meant as far as fashion choices.
Maya had a feeling she knew what he meant. She had an extra bounce in her step at the thought giggled. She may consider it after they’re off the jet and they can find some privacy. She wasn’t into people watching her have sex.
Once at the jet they were greeted with two stewardesses in suspiciously short skirts, but the woman figured that's probably what Dieter or whoever Dieter’s people were had paid. Honestly this was a completely free flight, so it didn’t matter how she felt about anything. Besides, how much were those stewardesses getting paid? Could it be a part time job maybe, it’s something to look into. The pair were served with sushi which was actually pretty lovely, she hadn't had California rolls in quite some time. Bravo offered her two of his, he enjoyed watching her put them in her mouth. He did offer some wine but she said she's not really into wine.
“We got a bartender over here tell him what you want.”
So Maya told the mixologist to make her some lemon drops which was basically lemon, lime, and vodka with a little bit of sugar added in it. Dieter said that he hadn't had those for quite a while so they toasted and took off toward their destination. It was when they were in midair, when Dieter took out a pack of cards and shuffle them saying that they were going to play poker.
“My dear sweet man, I'mma level with you. I don't know a thing about poker. The only card games I've played are go fish and Uno.” Maya chuckled as she continued to sip, the alcohol was making her slur already and her eyes were a tad glassy.
Dieter’s eyes widened.
“I haven’t played Uno for years! Finally, someone else who wants to play uno!”
He hopped up out of his seat which the captain had not turned off the seat belt sign, so he bobbed and weaved a little bit and went to somewhere in the back of the plane. Maya couldn't quite see where he went, the fluffy man grabbed little Uno box and Maya cautioned him by saying you know we should wait until the seat belt sign goes off because she wasn’t trying to bob and weave as well on the plane. After about thirty minutes, the sign did go off and then they were free to sit across from each other at a little table that was built into the jet. In setting up for the Uno game, the two flight attendants couldn't be bothered because they're just they're here to look hot, not for weird games. The young assistant was just so happy that Dieter had someone else to focus on, he was taking a nap because that man looked stressed, he was probably going to have gray hairs before he turned thirty.
“Toblerone, we got to make this game interesting though.” Dieter stated as he removed his robe and shuffled the card. “I’m gonna take this seriously.” His sunglasses came off next, serious indeed.
Maya scoffed, finishing off her drink and leaned forward. Removing her sweatshirt, she revealed she had on a pale pink t-shirt that read ‘Live loud and love long.’ She rested her elbows on her knees while Bravo delt the cards, she noted his triangle tattoo on his forearm and wondered how long it took to fill that in. She just had scars and stretch marks. Dieter’s eyes floated to her shirt and licked his lips. He found himself curious about the second part of that shirt.
“So, it's not just enough to be playing Uno in a private jet? We have to have stakes too? And my name’s Maya, not Toblerone. Still not a bad nickname though.” The plush woman picked up her cards and scanned them, not a bad hand, but not great either. “How often are you playing games with stakes in the air, lovely man?” She was trying to find a nickname for him as well, none sounded cool though. Dieter could have cared less, he soaked up any name she was willing to call him. Her voice sounded like smooth caramel to him. Wait, he had an idea.
“Yeah, I haven't really done it with anybody else for like a while.” He paused. Was he just talking about the cards? His assistant was normally troubled by Dieter’s lack of routine, but kept his schedule packed, which left little time for extracurriculars he was used to. The pregnant pause caused Maya’s head to tilt with her lips pursed. “No, no, no, no. Scratch that. I do it all the time. Cards all over the place. On the walls, Several packs at a time. All the packs.” The croc clad man stuttered as he attempted to clarify what he meant, which just solidified what he said further. He’d won awards for his acting, yet his was doing a piss poor job right now. “If I win,” Dieter explained as he picked up his cards and looked at them, once of his hands held his chin, presumably deep in thought. He was but he felt like he embarrassed himself. There was no way she was going to agree to meet with him after they left the plane. “I get to keep calling you Kit Kat, Milky Way or Toblerone and you have dinner with me.”
Maya just stared at him smiling. “Dinner? I honestly thought you were going to mention cards on the ceiling and on the beach.” She waved her hand, their banter was one thing, but dinner? This man did not want dinner. He just wanted a fun night because his assistant has been cockblocking him. She wasn’t opposed, but she didn’t want to be a fun fat fuck for him either. It wouldn’t be the sex that would be bad, though it could be, she just didn’t want to wake up with that shame again or alone in bed as she had too often before. Her smile dimmed. “I’ll agree to the nickname game but not dinner. We ate here on the plane.” Her eyes focused on his hands, then lips, Maya couldn’t directly at his face. It was bad enough she was considering it.
Bravo noticed her demeanor change. The card talk had been too much. It’s not like he hadn’t thought of getting her in bed or wherever she would agree since seeing her at the airport. He didn’t want her to feel bad about it nor obligated. Maya had been fun to talk to, he hadn’t felt the need to snort or shoot anything yet. He wanted to know why, he thought dinner might help with that.
“What we ate wasn’t a full meal. I’m still hungry.” He played his first card, “I want dinner with you because I like you, Maya. For more than getting a quick thrill, plus if I don’t see you later, I won’t be able to use any of your nicknames.” Dieter flicked his chin toward her, indicating her move.
Smooth bastard. “Fine but if I win, I get to call you Sugar lips, soufflé or pretty boy.” Maya sucked her teeth and drew a card from the pile, she didn’t have the right color or number. She started to tap her foot nervously, this was dangerous. He was cunning, deceptively so. She hated that she was enjoying their wordplay.
“Wait the first one I get but why the second one? And why pretty boy? You called me man earlier Toblerone?” He was able to put down two more cards. Maya cursed under her breath and was able to be rid of one card on her turn.
“We’ll see how this game goes and that will tell me if I call you a man or a boy Dieter.”
Maya lost uno and Dieter decided he would keep Toblerone and Milky Way. He did tell her that she could call him Sugar Lips. He liked that one. Maya drank a second lemon drop as did Dieter. Now dinner was happening off this plane. He danced with his third drink, snaking his hips in a circle to music only he could hear. After polishing it off, he grabbed Maya’s hands and pulled her up to dance as well.
“What song are thinking of Sugar Lips? I can’t tell by your dancing.” The man’s laugh was infectious, and Maya started cackling as well. They spun around as once of his hands ran down to her side, grabbing a handful of her hip. He guided her from side to side, slowing down. His lips kissed the back of the hand he still held in his.
“No particular song. I just felt like dancing. I get to have dinner with you, my Toblerone. I’m excited.” Dieter answered, he kissed her jaw and met her eyes. His hand on her hip loosened as he started to circle his palm over her hip and part of her ass. “You’re soft Maya. Wanna find out what makes you that way. I feel like I need to, you know?” Her breath hitched with each of his touches, her resistance fading with each movement they took together. Would she make it to dinner?
Next: Chapter 2
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#pedro pascal characters#fanfiction#pedro pascal fanfiction#writing#dieter bravo#dieter bravo fanfic#dieter bravo x female reader#dieter bravo x plus size female reader#dieter bravo x oc#Weddings 101 with Dieter
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Working Title - Chapter 6
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Belle
Rating: Mature, 18+, for the love of all things please don’t engage if you are a minor ok?
Word Count: 6.8k … our longest chapter so far!
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Chapter 6 on AO3
Chapter Summary: It’s time for coffee with Dieter ahead of your last day of prep before shooting begins.
Warnings: This chapter has some swearing. I don’t want to spoil anything, but here’s just a blanket “there could be adult stuff happening” warning.
“Ok, so what are you going to wear?!” Indy asked as she skipped to your room.
You follow her, but your eyes are glued to your phone trying to process the last few minutes.
You can already hear her in your room as you approach. “No, not that … no, not that …” Indy sighed as she grabbed clothes out of your drawer and threw them onto your bed.
“Hey! I’m going to have to refold all of that!”
“Ok, then tell me what you have in mind?”
“Ugh, I don’t know. I can’t wear what I had on this morning. I didn't even have a bra on.”
“Aaaand?”
“Seriously?!” you whined, throwing a pair of shorts her way as she laughed. She grabs a workout set she got for you for Christmas. It was a deep forest green-colored pair of high-waisted workout capris and crop top. You shake your head, “Ugh, I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard. Besides, that’s a lounge-at-home kind of set.”
Rolling her eyes, “I’ve seen you wear this outside of the house. You wore this when we hiked with Rhys.”
“Yea, but that’s Rhys.”
“So? I'm sure Dieter would like it. Come on, your ass looks so good in this!"
“What about this?” you asked showing her a pair of athletic shorts and an oversized tee as another option.
“Keep the tee and wear your spandex shorts instead…you brought them right?”
The two of you grew up playing volleyball and still would play sand volleyball whenever you could – although it was getting harder and harder the older you got. You talked about getting out to the resort’s sand volleyball courts sometime during the shoot to let off some steam, so you brought them.
“Yea...but, ugh I don’t know.”
“Well, you know what I’d choose,” she said pointing to the set. “But do whatever makes you feel comfortable. Honestly, I want you to be able to relax and enjoy yourself. He clearly wants to hang out with you, so what you wear doesn't matter … especially if it's gonna come off anyway,” she teases, arching one of her eyebrows.
“We’re just having coffee, Ind. And talking…that's it.”
You would be lying if you said the thought of doing more with Dieter hadn't crossed your mind, you just didn't think it had crossed his. He could have anyone he wanted to do anything he wanted.
Your mind drifts to try and remember the last time you had an orgasm from something other than your hand or a toy. Ryan never really gave two shits about getting you off. He either came so fast you didn't even realize anything had started or he'd get whisky dick and get frustrated, taking it out on you that you were the reason he couldn't stay hard. Needless to say, you were starved when it came to physical affection from a man, and that made you self-conscious.
“Mmhmm, ok,” she laughed, walking out of your room. Before she crossed the threshold she turned to look over her shoulder, “Normally I’d say don’t do anything I would do, but in this case, fuck that!”
“Haha ok, Ind. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Love ya, if I don’t hear from you by 8, I’m calling because as much as I want you to get some, I don't want you to be late for Meredith … so keep the ringer on.”
“Deal.” I'm going to be back way before 8, we planned to meet at 6 for Christ's sake.
She leaves and you sit at the foot of your bed, clothes strewn all about. You haven’t decided what you want to wear yet, but fold your top contenders and place them on the TV stand before changing into the pajamas you wore last night. You pick up the rest of the clothes Indy threw around as you brush your teeth. Then, you wash your face and take out your contacts before slipping into your bed. Grabbing your phone, you go back to the text thread with Dieter, re-reading it and feeling giddy, but also trying to temper your expectations.
You turn the lights off hoping the jet lag you felt earlier will seep back in and lull you to sleep. Instead, your mind is going a mile a minute.
I texted Dieter Bravo. I texted him because he got me a gift. A sweet, thoughtful gift. Why did he get me that? How’s tomorrow going to go? Well, I guess it's technically today. Fuck I need to get to sleep. How do I play it? I wonder what we’ll talk about. Ugh, I need to go to sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. What time is it? If I go to sleep now, I’ll at least get a few hours.
You repeat this inner monologue a few times, but eventually find your eyes getting heavy. When you eventually open your eyes you reach for your phone to check the time. Ugh. 4:30, seriously?!
You stayed in bed for a little while longer but were getting restless. You decided to turn on your bedroom light, annoyed by the darkness. Then, sitting in your room was starting to drive you nuts. So, you grab the bottle of water you left on the nightstand and head outside to the balcony, sitting on the lounger and listening to the crashing waves. Closing your eyes, you breathe in and out. In … two … three … Out … two … three … four … five.
“I knew I should have suggested we meet earlier,” you hear a raspy voice say from your right.
Startled, you jump a little and look to see Dieter standing on his balcony looking at you with a sheepish grin. He had a white T-shirt on and a blue pair of basketball shorts. His bedhead is so fucking adorable.
“We really have to stop meeting like this,” he winks.
“Ha, s-sorry I … did I wake you?” Realizing that your bedroom light was on.
“Oh, ah,” rubbing the back of his neck, “I was already up. I was a-actually going to text you but it was so early,” he said looking down.
“You can always text me.” Shit that came out a little more desperate than I wanted.
He smiled, “Oh, well, that’s good to know.” He gives you a quick up and down and you cross your arms over your chest. “So, looks like we’re both up.”
“Yea.”
“I believe I promised you a hot cup of coffee,” he teased. “So, wanna have coffee now?”
“Uh yea, let me go grab the cookies,” you said turning around to head back to grab them from the kitchen island.
“Hey, wait!” he called over to you. Looking back over to him he continues, “Uh, you can totally say no, I won’t … ugh … um, do you want to come over here?”
“To your room?” you had to say it out loud to confirm that’s what he was getting at. Holy shit, act cool.
“Uh…” he looks around nervously, hoping he didn’t offend you. “Uh, nevermind mind, we ca-”
“No, it’s ok.”
“What?”
“I can come over. Can you give me a few minutes?”
“Yea,” he exhales, seeming to relax a bit. “Yea, take all the time you need.”
“Ok. Uh, I’ll knock?”
“Yea, sounds good.”
Neither of you moves to leave, staring at each other, searching the others’ expression, trying to read intentions. He gives you a lopsided grin and you smile back, studying his face. You aren’t sure how long you stay like that, it honestly was probably 30 seconds but it felt like 30 minutes.
Finally, you feel yourself snap out of your trance.
“Oh ok, I’ll be over soon.”
“Ok.”
You leave the balcony and close the door and immediately go into a panic. You quickly go to brush your teeth, throwing the options you neatly laid out for yourself back on the bed. You decide to leave your glasses on and your hair down because it looked pretty good still.
Fuck. Which one? You go to grab the shorts and oversized tee. Safe choice. But then, Indy’s voice pipes in. Fuck it. You grab the workout set and throw it on and step into some flip-flops. A swipe of some deodorant and a quick spritz of body spray and you grab your phone and room key before rushing over to the kitchen.
Indy’s tote bag was sitting on the kitchen island, so you decide to grab it and stuff a few different boxes of cookies in it. Good to have some options. You blush a bit as your grab the box of the macadamia nut flavor, thinking about the sounds that accidentally came out of you yesterday when you took a bite.
Heading to the door, you look at yourself in the mirror. Not bad for 5 in the morning. You take a deep breath and walk out the door, being sure to close it softly. Taking the short walk over to your next-door neighbor, you take a few more deep breaths. Before you could knock, the door opens.
“Shit, I’m sorry, I really don’t mean to keep scaring you,” Dieter chuckles. “I was starting to think you may have changed your mind.”
“Oh, sorry! I … uh I couldn’t find my…flip-flops!” you nervously laughed.
“You didn’t have to change for me,” lowering his voice and looking you up and down like before. “But I’m not complaining.”
Your stomach does a flip as he looks at you. Thank you, Indy!
“Come on in,” he opens the door, letting you slip on by him. He smelled like soap and you notice his hair is damp. Did he take a shower?
You pause as you walk through the door into the foyer, politely waiting for him to close the door and usher you the rest of the way.
“Here, let’s get you your coffee” he gestures to the kitchen, lightly putting his hand on your back conveniently finding where there was a sliver of exposed skin between your top and your pants.
You aren’t sure if it’s the proximity or the privacy of it just being the two of you alone, but you instantly feel your panties getting wet as your breath hitches.
As you round the corner to the kitchen, you see he’s laid out several containers next to the coffee pot.
“Uh, I never asked how you took your coffee, so I uh … I got you some options,” bites his lip. “I called down to room service and they sent up half and half, skim milk, oat milk, almond milk,” he tells you pointing to each container. “And then there’s different sweeteners over here too. “Sugar, Stevia, Splenda.” He looks at you like a kid showing their parent their art project from school.
You pause. Between the cookies and this, you are really at a loss. You’ve never had a man be so considerate before, wanting to make sure you had options.
“Uh. Sorry, this was probably too much, I always do too much,” he mumbles to himself, ruffling his hand through his hair.
“Wha-what, no! No, sorry, I just. I’ve never...um, I usually just take it black…most of the time,” you quickly recover, feeling bad that he went to all of this trouble.
He looks down and away from you, realizing that he did in fact go a little overboard. You sense a little wave of sadness come over him and it breaks your heart so you try and make the best of it.
“But, I do have … um …oat milk from time to time in my coffee,” you smiled. It was a total lie, but you felt bad that he went through all of this effort for nothing. “It was this one, right?” you asked pointing to one of the containers.
“Uh-uh yea, that one,” he gave a small smile.
“Ok,” you said, grabbing the container, looking for a coffee cup.
“Oh, here, let me,” he said as he moved around you to go pour you a cup. He hands it back to you, “So you take it black all the time, huh?”
“Yea. Uh-” realizing that he caught you. “Shit. Uh, no I mean -”
“It’s ok,” he laughs.
“You caught me,” you say putting your hands up in surrender. “I just take it black…all the time.”
“I guess you’re sweet enough, huh,” he winks.
You give a nervous laugh, looking down at the floor.
“Ugh sorry that was pretty lame, right?” he smiles.
“No, it was cute.” Shit that just slipped out.
“Aww you think I’m cute?” he teases leaning up against the counter next to you.
You know you have to be blushing at that. Of course, I think you’re cute. I think you’re fucking hot.
“Sorry, I was just messing with you,” he says playfully knocking your shoulder so you’d smile. “So, uh, let’s go outside? I want to try some more of those cookies.”
He collects the tote you placed on the counter, swings it over his shoulder, grabs both of your coffee cups, and leads the way outside. You notice he had left the glass sliding doors to the balcony open.
You take a seat in one of the loungers as he places the coffee cup on a small table next to you, dropping the bag to the floor. He drags the other lounger so he's sitting closer. You couldn't help but take in the way his shirt tightened around his shoulders and arms as he moved the heavy lounger. Shit, even his forearms are sexy.
“So, what did you decide on?” he asked, snapping you out of it.
You fish one of the boxes randomly out of the bag, “I brought the…coffee-flavored one.”
“Good choice, coffee squared,” he laughed as he tipped his coffee cup towards you slightly.
“Ha, Yea, and then there’s…” you reach back in to grab a box, “chocolate chip.”
“Solid.” He looks to see if there’s anything left, his mouth turning up a bit when he sees one box left.
“And last, but not least … macadamia nut,” you said as you dramatically pulled the last box out of your bag.
He smirks, looking at the box and then at your face. “You brought the macadamia nut one? Good girl.”
Those last two words coupled with his low, gravely morning voice cause you to suck in your breath and clench your thighs together to try and give yourself some relief. It is taking everything in you to not just say fuck it and jump him, leaving all caution to the wind. But, you snap out of your little fantasy daydream and realize you are staring at him dumbfounded.
“Ha, I uh, I take direction well, what can I say.” Where the fuck did that come from?
Now it’s his turn to look noticeably nervous. He squirms a bit in his seat, trying to hide that he was adjusting himself.
You decide to cut the tension and open up one of the boxes. You grab a cookie and split it into two.
"We can share, that way we don't get too full?" you asked as you handed him one of the halves, your fingers lightly brushing up against each other.
You were getting in your head about it. The way he was looking at you felt like … like he wanted you. Which scared you because no one has ever looked at you that intensely before.
He clears his throat, “So uh…Indy said you’ve known each other since you were little?”
He takes a bite of his cookie as he waits for your reply.
“Uh yea. I guess I can’t remember a time when I’ve ever not known Indy,” you smile, relaxing a bit. “Our moms worked together and were pregnant at the same time. They even had a joint baby shower at work because once their boss found out they were both having girls he figured he could save money by just having one party with one cake,” you laugh and take a bite.
He smiles. “So then, which one of you is older?”
“Technically me. Indy gives off that big sister energy but she's two months younger.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
“No, just Indy. And her brother Ben. They’re like family.”
“That’s nice.”
“D-do you have any siblings?” you offered even though you knew the answer.
“Uh yea, I have a brother. He’s younger, like five years younger than me,” he laughs. “He’s married with kids.”
“Oh, I bet you are a fun uncle!”
“Ha, I didn’t always use to be,” he says rubbing the back of his neck. “I was a pretty shitty uncle for a while there, but these last few years have been awesome. They’re such cool fucking kids,” he smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
“Well, that’s awesome you can have that time with them now,” you offered, knowing how much progress he had made over the years.
“Yea, it really is.”
Just then you hear his phone buzzing. He grimaces and looks down, frustrated that your time has been interrupted.
“Ugh, sorry I- I have to get this, it’s Liz,” he frowned. “If I don’t answer she’ll freak out and keep calling til I pick up…old habits,” he murmurs.
“No, I get it. Need me to go?” you gesture to the living room.
He mouths no and motions for you to stay seated as he answers his phone.
“Hey Lizzie…yea … uh huh … No,” he says looking at you apologetically.
It’s ok you mouth to him.
“Ok, sounds good … uh huh … I will … ok Liz, byeee!” he clicks his phone off. “Sorry about that,” he chuckles.
“All good, Liz is your…agent, right?”
“Yea…” he says, a bit unsure as to where you were going with that.
“Oh, it’s just that I think she knows Indy’s agent Rhys.”
“Yea! Rhys! Rhys used to work for Lizzie. I’ve known him since he started.”
“Oh, cool! So, you’ve been with Liz for a long time, then?”
“Yea, since I was 20. She’s the only agent I’ve ever had, she’s been there through a lot.”
Without him needing to explain, you already know what he means. Dieter has been in the business for more than 25 years, starting as the hot “it” actor when he was younger. He went through a moody period thanks to a string of box office bombs. He then became a bit of a recluse, opting for small indie roles. That was when the drugs started. Then his bad-boy partying really took off. Throughout it all the gossip blogs and blind items detailed every triumph, like his Oscar win, and stumble, like his very public relapses and multiple trips to treatment facilities.
You see him rub both of his hands along his thighs, clearly uncomfortable with reminiscing about the past.
“Well, she must mean a lot to you after all of these years,” you gave a small smile.
He looks at you with big puppy dog eyes. Oh my gosh, his eyes. Those are gonna be dangerous. “Yea, she’s never given up on me,” he confesses.
It feels like such an intimate, private moment between the two of you that you forget where you are. You want to comfort him, hold him, and bring him back to the present. Instead, you lean over and reach for his hand giving it a little squeeze.
“It’s great you have someone like that.”
Realizing what you just did, you bring your hand back to rest in your lap. You take a sip of coffee and he grabs another box and splits a cookie like you did, giving you half.
“Enough about me,” he chuckles, shifting so he’s angled his body more towards you. “I want to know more about you.”
“Me? Oh, I’m not that exciting.”
“Oh, I don’t believe that.”
You spend the next couple of hours talking about everything from your favorite movies and TV shows to debating whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza, to what you wanted to be as kids. He was easy to talk to, witty, and gave you his full attention the whole time.
You didn’t even notice you had run out of coffee until Dieter pointed to your cup, “Do you want some more?”
“Uh yea, maybe a little bit more before I head out,” looking at your phone to see the time. You still had time before Indy would start looking for you.
He looked a little sad that you already want to leave.
“I uh … since tomorrow is officially our first day, I want to make sure I have time to get everything done,” you say feeling like you needed to explain needing to head out. “Plus, we have to prep for a meeting with you and the rest of the cast.”
“No, I get it, here let’s go,” he gets up to lead you to the kitchen, grabbing your cup and bag.
Back in the kitchen, he fills your cup about halfway and hands it back to you. Smiling you grab it, breathing in the delicious smell.
“I, I really liked this.”
“The coffee? Yea, it's pretty good. Dan says it's local too,” he chuckled
“No, I mea- … it’s nice to talk to someone…and have them listen,” you smiled, surprised at yourself for your sudden candor.
“Oh. Yeah, it is. W-would you want to do this again?”
“Have coffee? Yea!”
“I meant talk,” he says softly.
“Oh. Oh yea, I’d love to,” you say as you see his eyes instantly light up.
“What about tonight? You’re probably busy. But if you’re not, and you’re looking for something to do, I think … uh … I’d like to see you again.” He’s so cute when he starts to ramble.
“I’m not busy tonight,” you cut him off. “Text me and we’ll figure something out.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, “Yea, ok sounds good. No pressure though, I don’t want you getting sick of me.”
Aww is he blushing?
Closing the distance between the two of you, you put your hand on his forearm. “I very much doubt that.”
Indy would be so proud of me but again, where the duck did that come from?
Now it was his turn to suck in his breath. You smile and put your cup down, grabbing your bag to leave.
"Wait,” he says as you turn back towards him. “We never tried the macadamia one," he smirks, looking from your eyes to your mouth and back.
Biting your lip, you feel your core tightening. Again, you aren't sure what comes over you but before you can truly think it through you say, "I don't think you're ready for that again," slowly turning away and looking over your shoulder.
He looks like he's stuck in place. Shit, that probably sounded so stupid, I need to leave now.
As you move toward the door he reaches for your arm and you turn to look at him. You so badly wanted to just reach up, grab his face, and kiss him. But is he? He looks at your eyes, glancing down to your lips and back. Does he? Is he going to? No way.
“C-can I give you a hug?” he says with big puppy dog eyes. Ugh, I’m going to melt right here and now.
“Yea, I’d like that.”
He smiles and covers the space between the two of you. You reach up on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck and he reaches around your waist, resting his head in the crook of your neck, his mouth hovering where your neck meets your shoulder. You feel him take a deep breath. All you wanted to do was run your fingers through his hair and lightly scratch his scalp, but refrain because you are mostly still in shock this is even happening.
You also breathe him in, turning your face so your lips barely touch his neck. You feel his breath hitch. It feels like your heart is pounding in your eardrums, and you know he has to feel your quickened pulse given how close he was to your neck.
You don’t know how long you stay in this embrace. It felt so comforting, safe, and like…home? It just felt right, which freaked you out.
As he starts to pull away you feel his mouth move towards your ear as he whispers, "For the record, I am very much ready for the macadamia ones again."
The fact that you didn't buckle then and there was a triumph. He pulled back all the way, rubbing his hands down your arms.
“I hope you have a great day, don’t work too hard,” he winks at you.
“You too,” you say as you start to turn and walk out.
“I’ll text you later?” he says as you turn around. Nodding he lets out an exhale. “Ok, sounds good.”
You start walking down the hall, but the moment you hear his door close you stop and lean back on the wall, breathing in and trying to center yourself. OH. MY. GOSH! The little voice in your head was doing a happy dance – no she was doing a full-blown Super Bowl halftime show in there.
Smiling to yourself, you walk back into your suite. You’re in your own little world and don’t even notice Indy, who is eagerly sitting on the couch looking like a parent waiting for their kid to sneak back in from a night out.
“Oooo look who decided to show up!” she whistles.
“I made it back before your curfew,” you chuckle.
“Ok, so how did it go?” she waggles her eyebrows, looking you up and down. “Your hair still looks intact. I’m glad you wore that set, did he check your ass out? He would have been an idiot not to. You look a little flushed, everything ok down there? Need me to give you a minute? I had Ari pick up batteries.”
“Ohhh ok, how many cups of coffee did you have?” you ask as you take the cup out of her hand, walking to the kitchen to put some distance between the two of you.
“Come on, this is so exciting! I’ve been up for a while waiting for you.”
“Well, it was nice. We … talked.”
Looking a bit disappointed, “That’s it?”
“Yes, Indy. That’s it,” you say with a sly smile. “But I’m going to see him tonight. You don’t have something planned for us, right?
“Well, even if we did, we would reschedule!” She jumped up from the couch bounding into the kitchen and leaning with her back against the kitchen island. “What are you guys going to do?”
“I don’t know, we said we would text about it. You guys have the read-through today, right?"
"Yea, it's at 10. Then we break for lunch and I think I have a couple of meetings this afternoon. It should actually be a pretty early day for me…and presumably Dieter too," she teases. "Actually, wait," she said opening up her phone to find the schedule Ari texted her. "We all have a final fitting and oh looks like we have a meeting with Meredith and your department. You’ll be there, right?"
"Oh, probably. I'll see if she says anything about it," you say looking at the time.
"You still have time if you wanna … you know," Indy suggests as she hands you the package of batteries. "Lord knows you need to, you're going to be wound so fucking tight if you don’t."
Rolling your eyes, "I can handle it."
She eyes you skeptically before heading back toward her room. "Ok, I'll give you some privacy."
You eye the package of batteries. Goddammit Ari did you go to fucking Costco for this? You let out a frustrated sigh, grab them and head for your room.
As much as it annoyed you that she was right, Indy had a point. Being so close to Dieter this morning, feeling his arms around you, his breath on your ear was making it hard to concentrate. You push your thighs together knowing the inevitable.
Fuck, where is it?
You need to take the edge off. Especially if you're going to see him today. Finding your vibrator you quickly slide in the new batteries, testing to make sure it works before tossing it onto your bed. You are so keyed up that it wouldn't have mattered if the thing died on you, you were determined to feel a release. Closing your bedroom door, you head over to your bed and slip your pants off.
In recent years, pleasuring yourself was not something you did often. You found that you weren't ever in the mood and when you did try it took forever. But, you had a feeling this time was going to be different. You test the waters a bit with your hand to see and you let out a gasp when you realize how wet you are. Fuck, can't remember the last time that happened.
You slip your panties all the way off, turning on your vibrator. Placing it at your entrance, you take a deep breath before pushing it in, surprised at how easy it goes. Moving it in and out a few times, you bring it up to your clit for a bit, starting to whimper as you reach into your shirt, wishing it was one of Dieter's hands instead of yours. Fuck he has big hands.
You move the toy back down inside your heat and move the other hand to rub slow, lazy circles around your clit. Indy can be discreet, but you just know she has to hear you as you start to moan but you don't even care.
Thinking of Dieter's mouth near your neck, replaying his whisper in your ear gets you over the edge and you feel yourself coming undone, his name just at the tip of your tongue as you hold yourself back from full-on moaning his name. You get yourself through the after-shocks, turning your toy off and just laying there for a second.
"Fuuuuuck," you gasp, trying to catch your breath.
You check your phone and realize that while you aren't running late, you have to get going. You clean everything up, changing into a fresh pair of underwear before picking out a bralette from the drawer. You decide on jeans and a purple V-neck shirt. Heading for the bathroom, you quickly put your hair up in a clip and then run through your quick, basic skincare and makeup routine.
Grabbing your bag and kit you start to head out before realizing you left the door to the balcony in your room open. You close it and rush out of the suite down the hallway, blushing a bit when you pass Dieter's door, thinking of what tonight may hold. You make it to the hair and makeup trailer with about 10 minutes to spare.
The morning goes by rather quickly. You all finish getting everything set up and then Meredith sits everyone down for a quick meeting before lunch to prep for the afternoon session with the cast. Meredith runs through the different looks for the cast and you try hard to not blush when she gets to Dieter.
“So for Dieter’s character. He’s the head of the department, so we’re going to keep him very styled for the office scenes, especially since he’ll be in a suit,” she commented and continued to run down the other actors.
Fuuuck a suit. Men in suits were one of your weaknesses, so you suddenly are very excited that one of tomorrow’s scenes will have Dieter in a suit and tie.
At the end of the meeting, Meredith calls on you and asks if you could take the lead today when it was hair and makeup's turn to present. Caught off guard, you say yes but afterward you pull her aside.
"Isn't that something you would do?"
"Yea, but I've done it a million times, it's a good learning opportunity for you. And don't be nervous, you'll be great. I wouldn't have suggested it if I thought you were going to be a trainwreck," she laughed.
"W-well, thanks. I appreciate it," you smile.
"C'mon let's get lunch."
During lunch, you decide to check in on Indy to see how her day is doing.
BELLE: How's the read through going? Guess who's leading the talk on hair and makeup with you guys 🤦♀️😬
INDY: it's ok, kinda had a little freak out earlier but it's all good
INDY: and ooo is that you?! Meredith is letting you do it!?
BELLE: It was her idea!
BELLE: Wait why did you freak out?
INDY: just nerves of it all…Dieter was actually really sweet and calmed me down
INDY: He asked about you….😍
BELLE: Asked about what?
INDY: I'm not gonna tell 🤭🤫 See you soon!
Hmm…what is she up to?
“Hey, want to talk through some last-minute stuff before we head over to meet with the cast?” Meredith interrupts your thought.
“Wha- oh yea, that would be awesome.”
She spends the next 15 minutes giving you a crash course on what to expect and some sage advice.
“I don’t really see any divas on this cast so far, everyone seems pretty cool, so this should be pretty easy,” she reassured you. “Besides, you have a friend in the crowd, right?”
“Yea, although she makes me nervous sometimes,” you laugh.
Grabbing your things, you both chit-chat as you make your way over to the ballroom where the cast is set up for the day. Different departments were rolling in throughout the afternoon, introducing key people and answering questions.
The room was configured with several long tables forming a U-shape, with the presenter taking the space in the middle.
Meredith opens the door slowly, peaking in to see if it was time. She was waved in by the assistant director so you followed behind her, making sure to softly close the door. The wardrobe was just wrapping up.
When you walk in, the first person you see is Indy and she gives you a little wave. Dieter was to her left and Sam to her right. After you gave Indy a small smile you look over to Dieter, who was leaning back in his chair. Seeing you, he straightens up and then leans forward, resting both of his forearms on the table. Giving you a quick wink, he moves to rub his chin with his shoulder, trying to nonchalantly play off his sudden change in interest.
Ugh, he looks so good. His neck loo- ok reel it back in. Be professional.
He had his glasses on with a light blue henley-style short-sleeve shirt and black jeans. His hair was rumpled like you remember seeing it earlier this morning.
You try and steady your breathing. For as nervous and shy as you could be with situations in your personal life when it came to your professional life you were a “fucking boss” as Indy put it. You knew you were talented and more than competent to lead this talk.
When it’s your turn, the assistant director introduces Meredith and you. She gives a quick intro, tossing it over to you to talk to the cast about how things were going to be set up in the hair and makeup trailer. You also briefly ran down the general aesthetic you all were going for. The cast seemed receptive and you got some good questions asking about character-specific choices, Sam being especially curious about your plan for his hair.
You answer a few more basic questions, getting peppered unexpectedly by the assistant director on some logistics. But you handled them and appeared unruffled on the outside even though you were freaking out on the inside hoping you were answering how Meredith would.
Thanking everyone for their time you turn to leave and give one last smile to Indy. You flit your eyes over to Dieter trying to remain neutral and professional. He's rubbing his hand down his face, slowing down a bit as he drags his fingers down his mouth still looking at you.
Turn around, turn around. You could feel yourself blushing.
Once you make it outside of the ballroom, Meredith squeezes your arm and tells you what a great job you did.
“I mean it! You are a natural. Now, take the rest of the day off, relax a bit because I am going to be keeping you busy” she chuckles.
“Ha seriously. Well, thanks again for the opportunity, Meredith. I’m really excited.”
“Same, now go, have fun. But please, don’t show up hungover tomorrow. I already know the interns are going to be a disaster and we need to be on our A-game.”
Laughing, you both wave goodbye and head your separate ways. You knew there weren't too many departments left to go, maybe 20 or 30 minutes tops, so you decide to wander around the resort for a bit to meet up with Indy when she finished.
There were some shops on the first floor and window shopping sounded kind of fun. Stepping into the first store, you check the time on your phone and see you have a text.
DIETER: You did great! Very professional – you meant business!
DIETER: Sam seemed pleased with what you have in mind.
You smile, preening at the fact that Dieter thought you did well.
BELLE: Thanks! I hope it wasn’t too boring
BELLE: Wait, aren't you all still there? Shouldn't you be paying attention?
DIETER: No! Not boring at all.
DIETER: And yea, still here. It's just the lawyers telling us what we should and shouldn't do … now THAT is boring haha
DIETER: So, are you done for the day?
Walking out of the store you stop and respond before heading into the art gallery next door.
BELLE: Yea, Meredith gave me the rest of the day off
DIETER: Nice. DIETER: Would you want to hang out when I get out of here? Thinking we could get away from the resort for a bit.
That sends you into a bit of a tailspin. Without the safety net of Indy looking over your responses with you, you simply fire off: I’d love to. What do you have in mind?
DIETER: I have a couple of ideas
Your eyes widen at this. Dammit I fucking hate texting. Did he mean that in a flirty way or just that he literally has a couple of ideas of what to do. Your mind quiets as you see him starting and stopping a text a few times.
DIETER: You looked nice by the way.
What?! Dammit Indy why aren’t you answering your texts. You did text her but realized she was sitting right next to him and probably knew he was texting you. She’s probably loving this.
BELLE: Thanks 🙂
That's neutral enough right?
DIETER: I need to grab keys from Danny before we leave. You good to head out once I'm done?
BELLE: Yea, I'm good. Where should I meet you?
DIETER: The ballroom works.
You continue looking around the gallery. It had paintings from local artists along with photography and small handcrafted items. The woman working gave you a quick rundown of who some of the artists were. You could tell she was bored and wanted someone to talk to, but you found it all interesting. About 10 minutes later your phone dings and your heart races.
INDY: Holy shit you kicked ass! Wanna get a drink to celebrate?
BELLE: Thanks boo 😘
BELLE: Actually, I have plans…
INDY: He was texting you wasn't he? Ugh I was trying so hard to see out of the corner of my eye.
BELLE: Bahaha nosy!
Realizing that they're all done, you start to head over to the ballroom.
INDY: so what's the plan?
BELLE: I don't know…he told me to meet him there and we would head out
INDY: Kk, I'll wait for you 😜
As you make it to the ballroom, you see members of the cast and crew milling about. Indy and Sam are chatting with someone you recognize as one of the writers. Dieter is talking with the director, his face lighting up when he catches sight of you over the man's shoulder. You can tell he's trying to leave the conversation and head your way, but Indy beats him over.
"Are you excited?" She whispers to you as she hugs you.
"Fuck yes, but I'm also super nervous. Do you have any idea what he's up to?"
"No, I actually don't. I swear!"
"But you said he asked about me, asked about what?" You eye her trying to see if she's holding something back.
Laughing, she grabs you by the shoulders. "Relax. He ju-"
Before she could finish her thought, Dieter was next to you both.
"Hi," he smiles.
"Hey." That was all you could muster.
"So, where you kids going?" Indy butts in.
Dieter laughs, seeming to have forgotten Indy was there.
"Uh, it's a surprise," he winks at her.
She smirks and pats him on the shoulder as she heads back over to Sam.
Now being alone, you sense some nerves from Dieter as he rubs the back of his neck. "R-ready?"
Previous Chapter / Next Chapter
Curious about things from Dieter's perspective? I made a little companion piece to this chapter.
A/N: I originally planned to have this whole day be its own chapter, but alas here we are. I had a couple of Pedro gifs in mind when writing some of this, can you spot them?
Anyway, thanks for reading. Let's see what Dieter has planned. There is some angsty stuff coming up, but nothing too bad.
Tag list: @musings-of-a-rose / @legendary-pink-dot / @bitchwitch1981 / @mysterious-moonstruck-musings / @gracie7209 / @amneris21 / @pastelnap / @maryfanson
#dieter bravo fanfiction#dieter bravo#working title fic#dieter bravo fanfic#dieter bravo x oc#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal fandom
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