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dbbczine · 1 month ago

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wc: 6k | rating: 18+ for eventual smut | Dieter Bravo x You | O/B/E Universe

summary: working for alpha Dieter Bravo is like surviving a never-ending ego parade, he's loud, arrogant, and always wearing sunglasses for some reason. I’m his assistant, not his fan club. But everything implodes the day I get tested and find out I’m an omega… and worse, that Dieter is my soulmate. Now I’m stuck between wanting to strangle him and wanting to climb him, neither of which I’m proud of

while the story is first person narrative, the OC female character is YOU. she is not named and barely described aside from being able bodied, late twenties and having hair long enough to grab.

tags/warnings: o/b/e universe, alpha/omega, boss/employee dynamic, mentions of mental illness, smut, sexual tension, knotting, enemies to lovers, mentions of blood/needles, mentions of drugs and alcohol. i will add more tags as they become relevant.

MARKED FOR THE ROLE | PART ONE | OPENING ACT

"Are you taking your medication?"

I roll my eyes; the phone nestled between my shoulder and ear as my mom nags me. She's been nagging me about the same thing every day since I moved out six weeks ago.

"Yes Mom," I say with a sigh. "I'm taking my medication."

"Every day?"

"Yes. Every day."

I don't know what the big deal is. Most of my friends moved out on their own right after college. I'm almost thirty and my parents still treat me like I'm a kid.

I can hear my dad in the background with his grumpy voice.

"Tell her to come for dinner."

"Your father wants you to come to dinner tonight."

"I can't," you say trying not to sound relieved. "Work."

Silence. My parents hate my job. They think it's embarrassing and frivolous and they don't understand why I love it so much.

But why would they? Their boring accountants. I have the coolest job and they just don't get it.

I've been working for Dieter Bravo for almost six months.

Yep, the Dieter Bravo! The Oscar winning actor! I'm one of his personal assistants.

It's the first real, long term job I've ever had. I get paid well, I get to attend fancy events sometimes and the biggest plus is that I saved enough to live on my own.

Dieter is actually the one that encouraged me to move out.

Well, not directly.

Dieter doesn't really talk to me much outside of requests.

But I did overhear him talking to a friend on the phone who was struggling in their career. Dieter was sympathetic, citing that he'd only landed his first big role after being kicked out by his parents.

"Forced independence made me work harder. The birdie kicked from the nest. Sometimes you need that extra push, man."

Dieter isn't the sort of man I would normally seek advice from, between his stints in rehab and copious partners. But on this point I could see where he was coming from.

I end the call with my mom and pull on my backpack, grabbing my keys and heading to work.

The bike ride to Dieter's takes about forty minutes, but in the gorgeous California weather I don't ever care. I listen to music and smile at everyone I pass.

I always have to stop at the coffee shop on my way to get a coffee for Dieter and a muffin for myself.

Some people tell me not to be friendly and that LA is just filled with assholes. I say you get what you give and most people are the kindest I've ever met.

Oh and I've got the most gorgeous cherry red bike you've ever seen, a gift from my parents when they found out I was taking the bus at all hours of the night.

It's electric so when I'm tired of pedalling I just zip down the streets feeling like a badass.

Dieter's house is at the end of a celebrity-filled neighbourhood that I can't disclose. Let's just say he has a few famous neighbours.

I walk inside, waving hello to his PR guy, Thomas who is speaking animatedly into his phone. He doesn't wave back.

"Mister Bravo wasn't even at that Ghalta Club event, he was in New Mexico with his parents. If you publish that article I'll sue you for libel."

I move into the kitchen to see Dieter's senior PA, Mel sitting at the table. She waves at me while I put Dieter's coffee in the fridge.

"Hey gorgeous," she says with a wink shot my way. Mel is a terrible flirt but she'd never do anything because her girlfriend is an absolute darling.

"Hey," I say with a smile, dropping into the seat next to her and pulling up the designated iPad.

It's my work one covered in stickers of flowers which is ironic since I'm allergic to, like, all of them.

"Did you hear about the club debacle?"

"Yeah, Thomas was ranting at some guy about libel." I turn to Mel in curiosity. "Was Dieter actually at the club?"

"Of course he was," Mel scoffs, laughing. "He did so much coke he punched a hole in one of the windows trying to prove a point about set glass."

I giggle to myself. That sounds like Dieter.

He's just like what you've read about in the papers. He's as wild as his hair, as outrageous as he seems on the red carpet and he's just as eccentric as his objects l interviews would suggest.

I think that's why I love working for him. I never know what to expect with him.

I start scanning through his schedule. He's got a tux fitting, brand deal meeting, a massage,

dinner with a director.

"His day is pretty busy," I observe with a whistle.

"Tell me about it."

I look up and see Dieter shuffling into the room in his threadbare robe and fuzzy slippers. He looks like he barely got any sleep.

I try to interact with Dieter as little as possible because I find him intimidating, unlike Mel who loves to joke with him.

"How was the club?" Mel asks with a smirk from behind her thick black frames. "Heard it was a real rager."

Dieter shoots him a look but it's undercut by his smirk. "Thomas taking care of it?"

"Of course."

He shuffles to the fridge and grabs his coffee. I watch him casually, trying not to notice the width of his shoulders or the way his dark hair curls under his ears.

I never really enjoyed his movies all that much before I met him. I thought he was handsome in a way all Hollywood people are.

But when I met him in real life and shook his hand for the interview? Zing. I felt that schoolgirl flutter of my heart. And when he smiled at me and murmured my name I felt every part of my body go up in flames.

I admit it. I have a little bit of a crush on him. But who wouldn't? He's Dieter Bravo!

It's normal. Mel told me that every PA he's ever had (aside from her) has had a crush on him. He's charismatic when he wants to be, but distant a lot of the time. I never really know where I stand with him.

He comes to the table and smells like his patchouli cologne and cigarette smoke, clearly he's already had a stressful start to his day. His large fingers are wrapped around the coffee cup, making it look small.

"Thanks for the coffee," he says in that rumbled morning voice he has. I lift one shoulder, smiling politely.

"It's my job."

He stares at me for a moment before taking a sip of his coffee and closing his eyes, savouring it.

"Got your contract for the watch brand here," Mel says officiously passing the papers to Dieter. "Just need you to sign and I'll mail it off."

"There's no Bluetooth in the watches right?"

"No."

"Good."

Dieter takes a long sip of his coffee, nodding as he sits, scrawling his signature at the bottom without reading it.

Dieter hates a lot of technology I think because he grew up with so little of it.

Mel files through the rest of his mail before stopping at one that arrived in a deep crimson envelope with Dieter's name in gold script on the front.

"And this came today," Mel says in curiosity. "I didn't open it like the other stuff. Seemed private."

Dieter plucks it swiftly from Mel's manicured fingers, before tearing it open and pulling out a cream coloured page.

He takes a seat next to me at the table, his wide shoulder bumping into mine. I go stiff, trying to stop the badum badum of my heartbeat.

He smells so good. I normally hate the scent of cigarettes but on him it mixes with something else that has my entire body tingling.

Dieter sips his coffee as he reads the page for a long while, making amused little noises before scoffing loudly.

"Junk mail."

I watch as he tosses the letter onto the table before he announces he's going to have a shower before the brand meeting.

I wait until he's around the corner before I reach out and grab the letter It's just sitting there begging to be read! Mel offers no argument because she's just as curious as I am, grabbing the seat Dieter just vacated.

We sit there reading, our eyes growing rounder the longer we read.

Dear Dieter, In a world where scent, presence, and lineage carry weight, we know that for someone like you, connection is not a casual pursuit. It's elemental. At Bondline, we specialize in forging the kinds of bonds that go beyond chemistry and camera flashes. We’ve built an elite, invitation-only service for Alphas, Betas, and Omegas whose lives exist in the public eye, but whose hearts long for something deeply private and profoundly real. You’ve captured audiences through your performances, your charisma, and your unmistakable energy. But what we see behind that is even rarer: someone who would understand the value of a true, instinct-led bond. We’d like to extend a personal invitation for you to join The Inner Circle, the most exclusive tier within Bondline. This division is reserved for a select few: those whose dynamics, visibility, finances and personal legacies require absolute discretion and unmatched compatibility. Your inclusion would be handled with the utmost privacy. Every match is personally curated by our senior bond advisors and scent-aligned through advanced instinctive matching, emotional resonance, biological affinity, and long-term potential. We would be honored to connect with you to discuss how Bondline could support your journey toward a bond worthy of your instinct and depth. We don’t just promise a match, we promise the one your instincts have been waiting for. Because even in a world that always sees you, Dieter, you deserve to be truly known. Warmly and confidentially, Natalie Crest Founder & Lead Bond Strategist Bondline: The Fated Circle

Mel and the rest of the staff are betas like me. But Dieter? He's an alpha. After working for Dieter so long it's strange to think of him as an alpha. I'd learned in school about our differences but it never really interested me. I was "normal". My family was normal. They raised me to be proud of who I was.

Alpha's are known to be short tempered, dominant, natural leaders.

Dieter isn't any of those things, at least not to my knowledge. Except I will concede that he does have a bad temper when he's pushed. My second week here I watched him fire one of his PR guys, yelling at him until the vein in the side of his neck popped out.

"Holy shit. This is major," Mel whispers. "I've heard of these guys. They're the real deal in high social circles."

"Wow, really?"

"Yeah. They pretty much guarantee to find your true match. Like soulmate match. That's like, insane."

I sit back and digest this information for a moment. What an opportunity and Dieter is just throwing it away? How bizarre.

"He's so lucky to be able to do this and he's not even going to try?" I can't help but feel bitter as I think about my long dry spell.

"Guess not."

"Well that's just stupid," I mutter to myself but Mel heard.

"Tell me how you really feel," she jests.

"I just think that celebrities don't appreciate anything. He's being offered the chance of a lifetime and he's just going to squander it?" I shake my head. "What a waste."

"Ooooo claws come out," Mel says giggling. "I don't think I've ever heard you say something negative about anyone ever."

I duck my head, embarrassed. "Never mind. It doesn't matter."

Mel slants her smirk my way but she lets it go, leaving me with my shame and the lingering scent of cigarette smoke hanging in the air.

"Why are you still here?"

I look up from the iPad several hours later, making another note in Dieter's schedule. Mel is standing by the door pulling on her purse.

"It's four o clock. Quitting time."

I check my watch and then shrug. "There's a few things I still want to get done today. I'll head out soon."

"You sure? I can give you a ride?"

"I'm sure, I brought my bike. I'll see you tomorrow."

Mel leaves with a wave and I get back to marking things off the to do list. Normally I would just leave these until tomorrow mornings shift, but I don't want to go home.

After all, I told my parents I couldn't come to dinner because I was working.

By seven o'clock I've finished the emails and clothing orders. I've restocked his fridge thanks to a delivery service and I've set out his clothes for tomorrow's interview.

The company sent over several rings for Dieter to choose from. He's always been something of a fashion anomaly, his clothes mismatched his long fingers decked out in a variety of rings, colours, shapes, metals.

I open the case with the jewellery logo on the front, marvelling at the beautiful rings, several encrusted with stones. I take out the gold and ruby one, mesmerized. It's the most beautiful ring I've ever seen, thick platinum with rubies adorning it.

The box came with a polishing cloth and I sit there humming to myself as I rub them until they gleam. The emerald sparkles, the onyx glistens but I linger on the ruby one, holding it to the light.

"You're here late."

I whip around to see Dieter frowning at me from the hall. He's got the tux on from his earlier fitting and just the sight makes my mouth go dry.

In his right hand he holds a cigarette, in his left a tumbler of whiskey. He surveys me curiously.

For a second I just stare at him, terrified I'll say something dumb. But finally I find my voice.

"I just thought I'd get a head start on these," I croak, pointing to the ring collection he'll be trying on tomorrow. "Trying to decide which one would look best."

He walks towards me and I feel the crackle of my attraction for him. I take a step back, lowering my eyes. It's intimidating to stare into his for too long.

"It's late."

"Only seven."

"You were off three hours ago."

"My parents wanted to have me over for dinner tonight. I told them I was working late so I wouldn't have to go."

I hear a snicker and look up to see Dieter looking amused at me.

"Why not just tell them you're working but stay home and relax?"

"Because then I'd be lying."

I don't lie. I've never seen the benefit in keeping confidences. Aside from the NDA I signed when I was hired to work with Dieter of course.

"Such a good girl," he says taking a drag from his cigarette and shaking his head. "Tell me, Good Girl, would you really do this Bondline thing?"

"Um..." I fumble with the ring I still hold.

"I know things like that are wasted on us celebrities," he says with a dimpled smirk. "But humor me."

Shit, he heard me and Mel earlier.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he replies, popping the cigarette between his plump lips and loosening the bow tie with his empty hand. "You've seen what they write about me in the papers. I've heard worse."

Yeah, Dieter is usually splashed inside some magazine caught drinking or partying. The photos are always unflattering and the comments are worse.

"Dieter Bravo’s idea of a balanced diet? Vodka in one hand, a mystery pill in the other. Hollywood's golden boy is looking more tarnished by the day! Maybe fame isn’t the only thing he’s addicted to."

"Dieter Bravo was spotted in a backroom VIP lounge getting *very hands-on* with heartthrob Jaxon Ryder. Witnesses say shirts were off, tongues were out, and Bravo didn’t seem too concerned about who was watching. One partygoer spilled, ‘It was like watching a deleted scene from a very adult movie.’ Looks like Dieter’s keeping it fluid and filthy."

"Looks like Dieter Bravo’s latest role is ‘Hot Mess in Public.’ Sources say he’s less ‘leading man’ and more ‘leaving his dignity in a nightclub bathroom"

"From red carpets to rehab? Dieter Bravo parties like he’s auditioning for a mugshot. The only thing more out of control than his fan base is his bloodstream."

"Dieter Bravo was literally caught with his pants down in the guest bathroom of a Malibu mansion and guess who walked out after him, lipstick smeared and heels in hand? None other than social media queen Lacey Luxe. One party guest said, ‘It sounded like a TikTok thirst trap come to life.’ Bravo’s team says they’re ‘just friends,’ but friends usually don’t fog up mirrors."

"Someone get this man a script that doesn’t end in an intervention.”

"Dieter Bravo, 44, caught getting way too close with co-star Jaxon Ryder. It looks like Hollywood’s favorite bad boy isn’t just experimenting with substances. Insiders say the pair were ‘all over each other’ at a private after party."

One of his ex boyfriends did an entire spread in People magazine where he told the interviewer that Dieter was a chronic alcoholic who could never have a truly functional relationship.

When that one hit the stands Dieter went to Malta for a month. He still doesn't talk about it.

"Yeah but that's trash," I say. I hope he knows I'm being sincere.

"Yeah but there's some truth to it," he chuckles. He takes a sip of his drink. "So tell me, did you mean what you said?

He doesn't look angry so maybe he'll be okay with my opinion.

"I mean, what Alpha wouldn't want to know their Omega? What's the harm?"

Dieter pins me in place with his eyes. I can see that he's sober and when he's sober he's much more intense.

"Because finding my mate means an end to a lot of stuff."

"Like what?"

"Parties, jet setting."

"Why?"

He blinks at me. "Because my mate won't want that."

"Why not?"

"He or she is going to want a family man. Someone dependable and around all the time. They'd probably want me to quit smoking too."

I think about this, pressing my lips together. "I don't think that's true. I think if they are your match they'll see you through that. Maybe they'll even like those parts of you. Parties are fun and lots of people love travelling." I grin shyly. "But I do agree with your future soulmate about the smoking."

Dieter smiles weakly, his eyes troubled. He throws back the remainder of his drink before resting the glass on the coffee table.

"What if they want kids?"

"Do you want kids?"

"I don't know." Dieter looks stressed, taking a long drag off his cigarette. "Fuck. This is why I didn't want to do it."

"Sorry."

"Why? I'm the one that brought it up."

Oh. Right.

"I just think it's an opportunity a lot of people would kill for," I explain with a shrug. "I know I would love it if I weren't a beta."

Dieter steps a little closer to me. "Really?"

"Knowing my perfect match? My fated mate? My soulmate? How wonderful would that be? No more shitty dates, no more wondering if I'm going to die alone," I catch myself from continuing because I know my face is flooding with blood. "Anyway, I just think it's really cool."

He stands there across from me for a long moment in total silence.

"Really cool," he finally echoes in amusement, eyes drifting downward. "I'll go with the emerald."

"Huh?"

"The emerald ring," he says motioning to the box behind me. I grip the ruby one a little tighter.

"I thought you would have gone ruby."

"Why's that?"

"Red is usually associated with power and vitality," I say swallowing when he doesn't look away from me. "Figured as an Alpha..."

Nothing else needs to be said. He scans my eyes a moment longer before nodding, taking a deep drag off his cigarette. I watch his mouth curve to the side, smoke billowing away from me. He nods towards the front door.

"You ride that bike out front?"

I blink confused by this. "Yes."

He nods again and then he's gone from the room, cigarette smoke wafting over him. Struck by such an abrupt end to our conversation I place the ring back into the box and grab my backpack, heading for the front of the house.

Mohan, Dieter's driver, is at the front door when I arrive, looking at me with a severe look. I try to step around him to exit but he holds up his hand.

"You are to be taken home using the town car."

"What?"

He tilts his head and I follow like a confused puppy out towards the garage. "Mohan I have a bike--"

"Dieter insisted you be driven home," Mohan snaps. "He says it's too dark for you to be riding your bike home."

"My bike--"

"Already attached to the vehicle," Mohan says and now I understand his irritation. He had to attach my bike to his beautifully shiny car. His pride and joy as Dieter's personal chauffeur.

"Thank you, Mohan."

The old man doesn't doesn't spare me a reaction but he does hold the car door open for me, slamming it shut behind me.

Dieter doesn't really talk with me much after that evening and I'm not surprised. I'm shocked he talked to me as long as he did. And I'm not fired which means that he didn't take much offence to what I said about him and Bondline.

It's not until about six weeks later that I open the magazine his interview was in, reading it with interest. It's the usual fluff, stuff about Dieter's estranged family, his role as a bisexual icon, his upcoming films and of course it's accompanied by a photo-shoot.

I can't help but feel a little zip when I see his fingers heavy with rings, the ruby one front and centre, the emerald nowhere to be seen.

I go to dinner with my parents that evening, taking the medication from them with thanks. They've always handled that stuff for me and I appreciate it. I know medication can be expensive.

I have a lot of anxiety and depressive moods. I've had them since I was a kid and the medication helps with that. They have a real good medical plan so they get them for me and drop them off like clockwork.

I know why they worry and I don't blame them. The last time I went off my medication I was seventeen and in a rebellious phase. I pretended to take those tiny pink pills every morning but would spit them into my hand the second my mom's back was turned.

I remember loving how I felt the first few days. The world brighter, more fragrant, more beautiful. I felt serene and calm and I wanted to feel like this all the time.

But then came this weird sensation that I was being watched. Then it was anxiety attacks. I started to tuck into myself, avoided leaving my bedroom unless I had to.

The kids at school treated my different too, especially the boys. I couldn't understand it. Maybe they'd always looked at me with carnivorous eyes and I'd just been so medicated I never knew.

The final straw came in the form of my mom coming home to find me in the bathroom covered in sweat having what looked like a seizure. I barely remember it happening. Only that I was so hot and my body felt like it was being electrocuted.

I told her everything and she explained this is why I needed to take my medication regularly. Ever since that horrible experience I have been, never missing a dose.

Until one weekend in June.

It isn't easy being Dieter's PA sometimes. He often has ridiculous requests when hes on a bender.

My first week here I had to organize plane tickets for he and six of his new friends to go to Vegas for the weekend.

I had to source weed, acid and mushrooms from a dealer Mel told me about and then I had to drive it and his suitcase all down to the set he was working on.

I was a mess when I arrived at his trailer, my mascara smudged under my eyes, my shirt soaked with sweat.

All of this only for Dieter to give me a once over and announce that the trip was cancelled because "the vibes are off".

He took the bag of drugs though. For that I was thanked. And I almost quit that day until Mel told me about Christmas Bonuses.

But today things are going smoothly. Mel is off sick so it's just me today. I'm thankful for the slower pace.

Dieter finished his online meeting with his financial officer and has been reading scripts all afternoon. The house is quiet and peaceful.

Of course the doorbell chimes and a woman arrives at the front door with long legs, a briefcase and a Botox-ed smile. Henry from security stands behind her looking serious.

"Hello, my name is Natalie Crest and I'm here for Dieter Bravo."

Nothing is on the calendar so I glance behind her at Henry who nods.

"She has clearance."

I step back greeting her warmly.

"Please come in."

I feel her eyes lingering on me a moment too long and then she's clicking her expensive heels after me as I lead her to the office.

To my surprise Dieter is already there, waiting with a tumbler of scotch. He stands, greeting the woman with a handshake.

"You must be Natalie."

"Yes, thank you for taking this meeting, Mr Bravo," the woman says baring her teeth once more.

"Dieter, please. And thanks for coming here. The paps have been extra intense lately thanks to that-"

"Role you landed, yes, I read all about it," Natalie nods. "Discretion is the cornerstone of Bondline."

Oh shit. He's actually meeting with her? Does that mean he's actually interested? Did he do this because of what I said?

My eyes flit to his profile, seeing the way he slants his gaze my way. My throat tightens.

Natalie's voice breaks the spell when she looks at me, smiling.

"Any chance you want to be a customer as well?"

I laugh, shaking my head. "I could never afford it."

"It's a good investment," she says wisely. "Your partner will decide much of your future happiness. You want to make sure he's the right one."

"I'm sure that's true," I nod. "But it's out of my price range and besides, I'm a beta."

"I see," Natalie nods. "Well we offer beta matches as well. Much cheaper due to matching system."

"I'll think about it," I say smiling, knowing full well I'll never do it. I cannot afford the fee, not on my salary.

I go to take Dieter's now empty tumbler and leave the room, wanting to give he and Natalie some privacy. Dieter's arm brushes mine and I fight the urge to sigh.

"We got your background paperwork already," Natalie says as she takes a seat on the couch. "Which is great. All I need from you today is a few samples."

"Samples?"

"Blood draw, spit, that sort of thing," Natalie mutters as she opens her briefcase and begins to take out syringes, alcohol swabs, and sealed test tubes.

Dieter's eyes widen slightly and I go to walk past him but he catches my elbow, tugging me slightly towards him. I stumble into him, overwhelmed with his cologne and minty gum.

"Stay," he whispers roughly, hand curved around my arm. "Please."

I'm about to question this when I recall my intake with Mel months ago. Back when she was training me.

"Dee hates needles. I think the only reason he's not a full blown junkie is because he's scared of them."

Dieter has eyes like dark moons wide and emotional and maybe it's acting, but the desperation in them sure seems authentic.

I could leave because this is not in my job description but I can't do that to him. Instead I nod and be urges me to take a seat next to him on the couch. His leg presses heavily against mine.

"My PA changed her mind," he explains to Natalie as she rolls up one of his sweater cuffs. "She's going to sign up as well If that's okay."

"Of course," Natalie says smiling warmly at me. "I'll collect your family background information after."

I jerk my head Dieter's way, brow furrowed. Is he insane? I can't spend that kind of money. As if reading my mind he gives me a charming grin and lowers his mouth to my ear.

"My treat."

The feeling of his warm breath huffing on my lobe makes it so that I have to dig my front teeth into my lower lip.

I relax a bit back into the couch, allowing Natalie to wrap the elastic around my bicep, wincing as it pinches.

"As you know our success rate is ninety nine percent matches," Natalie says, always professional. "We have had the pleasure of matching some very illustrious figures."

"Anyone I'd know?" Dieter asks as she wraps the elastic band around his bicep as well. She flashes him a toothy grin.

"As I said Dieter, discretion is the cornerstone of our business."

Natalie continues to chat casually, tapping the syringe as she perches in front of Dieter. I can see the panic there, the way his eyes go big and owl like.

"I'll go first," I say loudly, drawing both gazes. Natalie nods and I stick my arm out her way. I want him to see that it'll be okay.

I feel Dieter's eyes on me as she pokes the needle into my skin, eyes wincing as he imagines I must be in pain. I smile his way, trying to calm his nerves. See, it doesn't even hurt.

"Perfect," Natalie says shaking the bottle back and forth before writing my name on the tube. "Okay Dieter, your turn."

I can feel the anxiety coming off Dieter in waves. When I glance at his profile I can see the way his pulse tics in his neck. He's so close I could kiss that constellation of freckles that disappear under his shirt neckline.

Instead I reach out slowly and I touch his wrist, hoping to ground him. I'm here. I hold my breath, letting my fingers just rest there on his warm skin. He flinches, startled before flashing a look my way.

Thank you the look says thank you for understanding.

His big palm twists upwards and I'm surprised when he captures my hand in his, lacing his fingers with mine and holding it on his knee.

Blood is roaring in my ears at his touch. I feel dizzy and not from the blood loss. I glance down and stare at how his big hand swallows mine.

I sit completely still as his blood is drawn, trying not to squeak when he squeezes my hand tightly in his.

As she finishes up and removes the elastic from around his bicep his fingers loosen and I take my hand back into my lap, a bit dejected at the moment being over.

After she labels our samples she gives us information on an app we need to get.

"Your results will take about four to six weeks to load," she explains as we download the app to our phones. "After that, you can expect your perfect match and their information to be delivered."

I stare at my phone, still reeling as I realize what's just happened. I'm going to find my soulmate, or as close to a soulmate as betas get. Why am I so nervous?

Natalie leaves with the approaching Henry and I prepare to finish my tasks for the day when Dieter turns to face me.

"Thanks for your help," he says with a husky murmur that hits me directly between the legs.

"Of course," I reply instinctively before pausing. "You don't have to go through with the whole thing though. You can call her and tell her I changed my mind. I don't want you to be out all that money for no reason."

"Wasn't that much," he shrugs as if the $25k payment I saw on my own contract wasn't a large sum.

"Still..."

"Think of it as an early Christmas bonus," he says with a chuckle. "Besides without your push I never would've done it."

"I hope you don't regret it," I say feeling a little nervous.

What if things fall apart? What if he hates his omega? What if he hates giving up his freedom?

He looks about to say something else but his phone beeps and he pulls it out, scanning the name. His smile brightens as he lifts it to his ear.

"Hey baby, you got the table?... Excellent. Yeah."

I try not to be jealous, I really do. But it's hard when you have a crush on someone like Dieter who makes you feel like the centre of the universe every time they talk to you.

"Make sure you wear that red thing." His voice dips as he turns from me. "And nothing underneath."

He ends his call and turns back to me looking sheepish.

"Figure if I'm going to meet my soulmate soon I better sow these wild oats while I can." He clears his throat and I see the blush up the back of his neck. "Thanks again, GG. Head out early, I'm grabbing an early dinner."

"GG?"

His smile deepens, head tilting until his mouth is at my temple.

"Good Girl."

Holy shit.

With that he gives me a wink and heads to the garage with me staring after him like a statue.

This crush is going to be the end of me.

i would appreciate comments and reblogs.

graphic by @saradika-graphics

#dbbc zine #dbbc zine summer 2025

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dbbczine · 1 month ago

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⠀ ⠀ STARSTRUCK ⠀ ⠀ DIETER BRAVO / BIPOC ! F ! READER⠀⠀

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summary · dieter eats his co-star in a field . tags · spit / drooling / all of the above / oral ( f receiving ) swearing / dieter is an eater / lil bit of manhandling / 3rd person POV ; no use of Y/N / size diff / public sex ( oral ) / set during the bubble / reader is bipoc - curly hair , brown eyes , no other descriptors aside from that / if i missed anything mb / if there r spelling errors , no there arent i tried to proofread word count · 923 notes · practicing my smut n im getting MUCH better if i do say so myself . this is my submission for the #WIRED4YOU challenge by @chaotic-mystery . i made the deadline by a day , this is a huge win in my adhd book . thank u for having me n i hope u enjoy !! <3

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It begins as visits stemming from the excuse of boredom. He perches himself at the foot of her bed as she adorns herself. Powders, creams, glosses — glitter behind curly lashes, above brown eyes, pink dabbed atop the glowing apples of her cheeks. Dieter watches in awe. An expressive man, he doesn’t care that she sees his eyes widen or his jaw drop. The eager tilt of his head brings the corners of her lips to curl. He couldn’t ask for more.

There is nothing out of place about him in that frilly, satin space. Bathrobe atop ill-fitted, baggy clothing, unruly curls brushed through with gel slick fingers – a mad scientist sort of creature in appearance, sans the science. All madness. To everyone else on set. He’s sweet, she says, harmless, enthused about his KitKat mystery, wide-mouth crying over baby goats, victim to a lack of rhythm, in dancing and in life. How else would he have been allowed past her door?

His pale jade corduroy robe is now a picnic blanket, keeping the grass from dirtying her pristine flesh as Dieter spreads her legs, bends her knees to her chest. Her dress is bundled around her waist. Her panties, lace, baby blue, lay somewhere nearby.

“Keep them here,” he whispers, distracted. She listens, whispers his name. The breeze carries it away. His focus is occupied by what awaits him at the center. He would call it porn perfect, but that would be an injustice, an offense to the smaller, seraphic girl under him. Porn is fake. What he has in front of him couldn’t be more real. Her pussy is heavenly. Sticky. Soft. Squeezing, pulsing, drooling for him. His hands press to her rear thighs, his thumbs stretch out. One pinches her flesh, spreads her delectable cunt to one side. Her toes curl, her frame tenses in anticipation. His other thumb dips in, the pad slips from her entrance to her clit, tracing around it, over it. Eased by the wave of warmth, an ariose, filthy noise comes up from her throat. Dieter is goaded on.

He repeats the motion. Her hips lurch, her thighs jiggle. She huffs. Pretty, pretty, pretty.

“If you’re not gonna eat me—”

Her impatience cannot be denied. Not when it manifests as a pout, a glimmer of disappointment in her eyes that simply cannot mark the conclusion of this intensely coveted moment. This lucky strike. Dieter shakes his head frantically, delicately kisses her inner thighs in wordless apology, carving a path to her neediest spot. No hesitation, no pause to fill his lungs with air, he licks a long, slow strip over her slit — from her entrance, over her folds, to her clit, and then down again. She trembles, moans, no longer gripping her legs to her chest. Ample thighs drop to his shoulders. He circles his arms under them, folds his hands at her belly and lifts her into his mouth. Needy, desperate. Working her body effortlessly.

His level of skill should be startling.

It isn’t.

Dieter groans, the sound sends shivers through her, her spine arches. He has lowered himself from his knees to his stomach, his front stained grassy green, covered in dirt. It could not matter less, for her fingers have sunken into his hair, acrylic nails scraping his scalp, little hands grasping, tugging, struggling for something — anything to hold her from her undoing. He slobbers, drags his tongue flat over her folds, moaning nearly as loud as her. His plush lips close down on her clit amidst a sloppy kiss, and suck. Heat surges through her. She cries out, yanks at his hair.

“Dieter — fuck — almost…”

He comes up for air. She whines, as though he had betrayed her. He gasps his breaths, smirks, trails his lips along her thighs, messy, trailing saliva. A heartbeat goes by, and he is on her once more. His tongue slips inside, as deep as humanly possible. His nose molds to her clit. Where any other man would move his head, Dieter moves her, rocking her hips against his mouth. Each subtle tug to her body is marked by a sap-like mewl. Lustful, and beautifully so. The rhythm itself is steady. He is anything but. His eyes are all that is visible of him. Dark, drunk, set directly on her angelic countenance, witnessing it morph into depravity.

When she cums, he groans, laps harder and harder. She quivers on his tongue. Her body melts within his hold, he lowers it down, back upon the velvety material of his robe. His beard drips with spit and spend alike. His lips do not leave her, lavish kisses to her thighs, her belly, the spill of her breasts above her neckline, her throat, her jaw, her chin. Her lush lower lip is caught in her teeth. He wants it between his own, so he takes it, sucks it into his mouth and bites, tugging away. A squeak is all he receives. Her fingers tumble from his hair, arms circling his neck. The action is gentle, he noses at her jaw in response, tucks loose curls behind her ears.

“That was… good,” she coos. He grins, bright. His eyes are sparkling, he hovers over her, waiting for her attention. She cups his chin with one pretty hand, and mirrors his expression. A simper. A kiss. “Something on your mind?”

He inhales to speak — in true Dieter fashion, his words could never be predicted, “Before we leave the hotel tomorrow, can I have your autograph?” He stops, glances down at the painful bulge in his pants. “And can I be inside you? Please?”

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taglist · @babynueva / @luvrsluxe / @hopelessromantic727 / @zelena89 / @ithinkimokeei / @choania / @qtmoonies / @illyrianbrat / @lovetoloveyoubaby / @dontlookatme121 / @gothcsz / @mandaloriankait / @almostempty / @lilacspider / @akotafi / @itwasntimethatdidit40 / @newsfl6sh / @letsgobarbs / @salingers / @ananonymousaffair / @probablyreadinsmut / @thesoftdumbass / @deviscave / @peacefangirl / @seraphibunni / @stellamarielu if u would like 2 be added 2 my tag list 4 my fics , pls click this link && fill out the form !! u will be added immediately && get a notif for my next fic !!

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#dbbc zine #dbbc zine summer 2025

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dbbczine · 1 month ago

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D x C

Pairing: Bodyguard Clint Flood x Dieter Bravo x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Clint walks in on you and Dieter in a particular situation and decides to join in. Warnings: ALL PORN NO PLOT. SMUT, MMF threesome, boot riding, man on man action, handjob, fingering, anal fingering, unprotected p in v, unprotected anal sex, two dudes eating one pussy, ass licking, dick sucking, spit as lube, panty sniffing, face sitting, facial, cum eating after anal, cream pie, light choking, ass slapping, a singular slap against reader’s cheek, being called a cum slut, weed, whiskey, not beta read, writer mainly wrote this while ⬆️ and horned up. Words: 6969 <-nice

A/N: My first submission for mine, @schnarfer, and @mothandpidgeon's Magic Number Challenge. This is absolutely not beta read and is very much just self indulgent smut. I saw Freaky Tales on Sunday and uhhhh, I finished this REAL quick. Guys, what an amazing movie. I'm so happy @forspringcleaning and I can shout BIG MAN at each other again.

Masterlist

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Dizzying white smoke twists around Dieter’s face, spiraling in the air as he takes a slow hit from his joint. “That’s a good girl, look at you, pretty mouth full of my cock,” he grits, large hand resting on the back of your head. You stare up at him under heavy eyelids, knees pressing into the cool marble tile floor of the fancy, rented mansion. You haven’t even made it farther than the small entry way, both of you too drunk, happy, and horny for each other to do the proper thing and make it into the bedroom.

Dieter's cock drags in and out of your mouth, his hips bucking as he gently fucks your mouth, fingers intertwining with your hair, clutching slightly to guide your mouth.

His other hand fumbles in his pocket, taking out the delicate lace of your thong—the pair he just peeled off of you in the back of the limo, when his fingers slipped beneath your dress, exploring between your thighs, while his bodyguard drove up front, feigning ignorance to your muffled moans against Dieter’s neck.

He brings your panties to his face, pressing it against his nose and inhaling the scent of you in, his eyes rolling back when he breathes in your essence. “Fuck,” he whispers, voice strained. "They're still so soaked."

Your fingers dig into the soft muscle of his thighs stabilizing yourself so you can slowly let the warm, heavy weight of him fill your mouth. He stretches your mouth, your throat relaxing to let him push himself deeper. He groans out a long "fuuuuuck" that makes your pussy clench as the pad of his thumb presses against the divot of your cheek as you hollow them, sucking and slurping, staring into his eyes as the joint hangs from his lips.

The straps of your dress slip down as you reach back, struggling to unzip the back of it as your mouth stays on Dieter’s cock.

A sudden woosh of chilled night air hits your heated skin when the heavy, wooden front door swings open. Your eyes widen in shock as the tall, broad-shouldered sillhouette of a man fills the doorframe.

Clint. Dieter’s ever-present shadow, his personal bodyguard, the opposite of your boyfriend. Intimidating, gruff, and serious, now stands frozen in the doorway. His face shifts from neutral professional to something darker and primal as he takes in the scene before him.

You, on your knees, Dieter’s cock in your mouth, your dress hiked up your back exposing your bare ass, while Dieter stands unabashedly naked. You immediately try to pull away, cheeks burning with embarrassment, but Dieter’s hand plants against your skull firmly.

“It’s okay baby, Clint wants to see you like this. Don’t you Clint?” he asks, looking over towards the menacing force of a man. Dieter doesn’t seem to mind, a lazy smile spreads across his face as he takes another hit from the joint.

Clint steps inside, out of the shadows, closing the door behind him. “Sir,” he says gruffly, now standing so close to you, you can feel his domineering presence, smell the scent of his leather jacket mixed with heady scent of Dieter’s smoke. He doesn’t move, he just stands there, his hands planted against his belt buckle, his dark eyes focused on you.

Your pulse quickens at both men’s attention. Dieter’s grip on your hair loosens slightly, allowing you to pull away, but there’s something in the way Clint’s watching you, that holds you in place.

"See how beautiful she looks?" Dieter asks, running his thumb across your bottom lip, slick with saliva. "I've never seen anyone take me so well."

Clint takes a single step forward, then another. The heavy thud of Clint’s boots matches the heavy thud of your heart against your chest. His shadow overtakes you, you forget how to breathe around Dieter’s cock as you feel Clint’s hand grab a strand of your hair and pet it.

“She’s perfect,” Clint says, his voice deeper than you’ve ever heard it.

Dieter chuckles, a puff of smoke escaping his lips. "You've been watching her for months, haven't you? I've seen how you look at her when you think I don't notice."

“Mm,” Clint lowly hums an affirmative noise.

“You like watching how she sucks my cock?”

Dieter gently taps against your head reminding you to move, you obey immediately, bobbing your head and swirling your tongue.

Clint’s rough fingers thread into the hair against your scalp, joining Dieter’s, as if he can’t deny himself.

“Go ahead baby, show Clint how good you are. Show him what the pretty mouth can do.”

Both of their hands guide you along Dieter’s length. Pushing you all the way down to the base of him dark with curls, saliva pooling in your mouth as you slightly gag, your wide eyes staring up at Dieter unblinking with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as he watches you deep throat his cock. Clint’s grip is firmer than Dieter’s, less forgiving, as he pushes you forward.

The marble floor is hard against your knees, but you welcome the discomfort as your thighs clench together, slick with arousal for the two men. You’re writhing, as both men pull against your hair in tandem, making you suck and slobber all over Dieter’s cock. You accept their power, moaning around Dieter's cock, the vibration making him hiss through his teeth.

“I think you like watching her,” Dieter says with a arrogant smirk. “I think she likes you watching. Don’t you baby? You like having an audience?”

You manage a small nod against their hands, writhing on your knees, hands clamped around Dieter’s thighs, trying to balance yourself as you pray for a taste of friction against your cunt.

You can feel the tension in Clint’s body without even looking at him, much different than Dieter’s unworried stature.

“Looks like you’re suffering down there, aren’t you babygirl?” Clint grits, you can feel his labored breathing behind you.

You whimper along Dieter’s cock before he pulls himself out of yout mouth. “Answer him,” Dieter commands.

“I am,” you respond breathless.

“Good girl,” Dieter praises. “Clint, you think you can take care of my girl?”

“I think I can Mr. Bravo.”

"Please,” you plead.

You feel Clint's heavy boot sliding forward between your knees, pushing them apart. The toe of it nudging at your inner thighs.

“Spread wider for me,” he commands. The gravel of his voice causes a new gush of want to spill out of your pussy.

You obey instantly, your legs trembling as you let your knees slide against the floor, widening to let Clint position his boot directly beneath you.

Hard leather presses against your cunt, a gasp leaving your lips as Clint applies just enough pressure. You feel exposed, vulnerable, caught between the man you love and his powerful bodyguard.

Clint begins to rock his foot slightly, your wetness covering the leather. You moan, grinding your cunt down, relishing in the friction from the leather.

“That's it, babygirl," Dieter encourages, his hand guiding your mouth back to his cock. "Show Clint how good you can be for both of us."

You’re dizzy between eagerly taking Dieter back between your lips as the tip of Clint’s boot rubs against your swollen pussy.

Clint’s hand tightens in your hair, his breathing growing more ragged behind you. “Look at her, she's soaking my fuckin’ boot.”

“She’s a greedy girl,” Dieter chuckles, tapping your cheek affectionately as you hollow them around him. "Aren't you, baby?”

You nod eagerly around Dieter’s cock as you look up at him with veneration. Your movie star boyfriend, too cool and calm to care that another man’s boot against your pussy is making you squirm.

“Tell her what you want to do to her,” Dieter regards to Clint, low and commanding. “She likes it when you talk.”

Clint's hand slides from your hair down to your neck, his calloused palm wrapping around your throat from behind. Not squeezing, just holding you there, reminding you of his strength as his boot continues to press against your aching center.

"I want to watch her cum on my boot first. Then I want to taste her ‘n clean her little cunt off.”

Your entire body shudders at his filthy words. A moan vibrates around Dieter’s length as Clint’s grip on your throat tightens just enough to make your pulse beat harder.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Dieter asks, his thumb tracing your stretched lips. “Another man’s mouth all over your pretty pussy.”

You nod desperately, grinding harder against Clint's boot. Your thighs tremble, dress bunched around your waist as you rock shamelessly against the leather.

"Look at her," Clint grunts. "Fucking desperate for it."

Frantically nodding, your hips swirling down, working in earnest against Clint’s boot as your mouth worships Dieter’s cock. Clint’s hand around your throat sends currents through your body, making you feel owned and possessed by both men.

“She’s close,” Dieter groans. "I can tell by the way she's sucking me. Gets sloppy when she's about to cum."

Clint increases the pressure of his boot, angling it so the hard edge presses directly against your clit. "Cum for us," he orders. "Show us what a good girl you are."

Your body responds instantly to his command, crying out around Dieter’s cock as your orgasm given to you by both men crashes into you. Your pussy gushes out against Clint’s boot as he continues to rub it against you. Your eyes rolling back as your release washes over you in overwhelming waves.

"That's it," Clint grits, his grip on your throat tightening slightly as you ride out your orgasm. "Give it to me."

Dieter pulls out of your mouth, letting you gasp and cry out properly as your body convulses. "Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he admires, stroking your hair tenderly as you collapse forward, catching yourself on your hands.

Clint moves his boot from between your legs, before he kneels behind you, gripping your hips. "Sir?" he asks, looking to Dieter for permission.

"She's all yours," Dieter says as he lazily strokes his cock, still wet with your spit. "Show her what you've been thinking about all these months."

Clint wastes no time, flipping you onto your back against the cold marble floor. He looms over you, a fire in his eyes. His usuaully stoic face is transformed with hunger, jaw clenched tight as he stares down at your disheveled form.

"Been watching you parade around in those little dresses," he says, resting his large hands on your knees. "Listening to you moan through the walls when he fucks you."

You’re heaving for air as you watch him take you in, slowly spreading your knees apart exposing your glistening pussy. Your dress is bunched around your waist, straps hanging off your shoulders, your tits spilling from the top of your low neckline.

“Look how pretty my girl is,” Dieter muses, sitting cross legged on the floor next to you, his joint still burning between his fingers as he watches. “All swollen and ready for your tongue Clint.”

Clint doesn't respond with words. Instead, he lowers himself to his knees, his broad shoulders forcing your legs wider as his rough hands slide under your ass, lifting you slightly off the cold marble.

“Let me taste what’s yours, sir,” Clint growls, his possessive, hot breath searing against your pussy.

“Oh god,” you whimper as Clint lowers his face between your thighs. The first dash of his tongue makes you arch your back.

While Dieter's tongue is playful and teasing, Clint's is methodical and precise, flat and firm as he licks a long stripe from your entrance to your clit.

“Jesus,” you gasp, one hand grasping Clint’s slicked back hair while the other finds Dieter’s soft thigh beside you.

Dieter strokes your hair as he watches Clint devour you. “Let him hear how good he makes you feel. Say his fucking name for me.”

“Clint,” you moan.

Clint groans against your flesh, vibrating against your cunt. His mouth works against you with precision making your thighs quiver around his head.

“Give her more,” Dieter directs. Clint immediately obeys, sucking your clit between his lips, his large hands gripping your thighs, spreading you wider as his tongue delves deeper. He's relentless and focused, his dark eyes occasionally flicking up to watch your face contort in pleasure.

"Look at her," Dieter says lazily, taking another hit from his joint as he strokes your hair. "So fucking beautiful when she's getting her pussy eaten. In fact...” Dieter says, climbing across the floor and laying down next to Clint. “Move over, share my girl with me.” Dieter grins lazily, nudging his shoulder.

It’s almost comical watching two broad shouldered men try to fit in between your thighs, your muscles burning as both men stretch each leg open with a gripping hand.

A twitch of frustration passes through Clint’s usually stoic features before it turns into lust as two tongues work against each other lapping and sliding across your pussy.

“Oh my god,” you cry, clutching Clint’s hair with one hand as the other grips Dieter’s.

It’s obscene, the wetness between your legs being shared by them both as they devour you.

“I— I can’t—“ you stammer, struggling to breathe through it. Your body twitches, trying to pull away but Clint’s firm hands hold you in place.

"Yes, you can," Dieter says, his voice commanding even though he sounds just as wrecked as you. “And you fucking will.”

The two men create a rhythm against your swollen flesh that has you writhing between them, your body suspended in their grip.

Their tongues dance around each other, sometimes meeting in the middle against your flesh. Clint’s strong hand grips your thigh with bruising intensity while Dieter’s hand softly holds your thigh, trailing his hand teasingly along your inner thigh.

You’ve never made these noises before, crying, keening and wallowing both men’s names.

"Watch," Dieter commands, and you force your heavy eyelids open to see him slide two fingers inside you while Clint focuses on your clit. The visual alone—Dieter’s soft waves of chaos mixed with Clint’s perfectly swept back hair working together between your thighs—nearly makes you cum.

"I can feel her tightening," Dieter growls. “She’s close.”

Clint responds with a deep groan that reverberates through you. His dark eyes locking with yours as his tongue works faster.

"That's it," Dieter encourages, his fingers fucking you faster. "Give it to us, baby. Let us feel you”

The pressure inside you builds. You’re caught between the two men—Dieter’s fingers stretching you open, Clint’s steady tongue, two pairs of dark brown eyes watching you, the cool marble against your hot skin. It’s all too much.

“I’m—I’m…” you moan, unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone words, as your orgasm builds within you.

"Say our names," Dieter commands.

"Dieter," you gasp, your voice breaking. "Clint—oh god, Clint!"

The dam walls shatter. Your orgasm crashes through you with devastating force, your body arching off the floor as you’re pulled under by both men.

Dieter slides his fingers out of your quivering cunt with deliberate slowness, the wet sound echoes in the marble entryway. Your release coats his fingers, glistening in the dim light as he holds them up between himself and Clint.

"Look what she gave us," Dieter purrs as he presents his fingers to Clint. Your slick drips down toward his wrist.

Clint's usually impassive face transforms, his dark eyes fixating on Dieter's hand with an almost religious intensity. He leans forward slowly, his broad shoulders shifting between your spread legs.

"Go ahead," Dieter encourages, a lazy smile playing across his lips. "Taste what's ours."

Clint's large hand wraps around Dieter's wrist, steadying it as he leans in. His lips part, revealing the pink of his tongue before he takes Dieter's fingers into the heat of his mouth. Your breath catches at the sight—Dieter's fingers disappearing between Clint's full lips.

Clint's eyes lock with Dieter's as he sucks, hollowing his cheeks around Dieter’s fingers, just as he watched you do earlier.

Dieter groans as Clint’s tongue works between his fingers, cleaning every drop of you from his skin. You watch, enamored by the scene—big, strong and intimdating Clint sucking your boyfriend’s fingers before he releases them with a wet pop.

“She's delicious isn't she?” Dieter asks with a cocky smile.

“Better than I imagined,” he rumbles.

You’re still sprawled on the marble floor, dress in disarray, body shivering with aftershocks from your orgasm. They both watch you, your chest heaving, eyes wide, and mouth agape.

"Look at her," your boyfriend admires. "Fucking wrecked and we've barely started."

His bodyguard growls low in his throat as he rises, standing over you, his prescence large and controlling as he begins unbuckling his belt.

Dieter crawls across the floor, gathering you in his arms, holding you against his chest as he sits cross-legged on the marble with you perched atop his lap. He grabs the hem of your dress lifting it over your head.

“You want to suck him, babygirl?” Dieter asks against your ear, his hands roaming your naked body. “You want to feel Clint’s cock inside your pretty mouth?”

You moan out a long yes, as Dieter’s hands cup your tits.

Clint’s eyes don’t leave yours as his hands work at his zipper, lowering his fly.

“She’s eager Clint, look how she’s watching you.”

You’re squirming on Dieter’s lap, his cock pressing hard against your lower back as he licks a line across your neck.

You feel each heavy step in your body as Clint slowly prowls over, the top of his jeans opened, the metal of his belt clinking with each step.

He stops in front of you, staring down at you. “Open,” he commands.

You instantly obey, parting your lips as he frees himself from his boxer briefs.

Fuck, he’s just like Dieter, but a little thicker and longer, with a prominent vein running along the shaft. A bead of precum glistens just for you as your tongue darts out to taste him.

Clint hisses through his teeth as you tongue at his tip, his hand immediately coming up to tangle into your hair.

"Such a good girl," Clint praises.

“She is, isn’t she?” Dieter asks, his hand sliding up to cradle your jaw, tilting your face upward. “You like how my girl’s mouth feels?”

Clint hums an affirmative as you part your lips wider, letting him feed his cock into your mouth inch by inch. He’s heavier, more insistent than Dieter as your jaw stretches to accommodate him.

“Fuck,” Clint snarls. His stoic composure cracking as your warm mouth envelops him.

Dieter chuckles against your ear, his hands sliding down your body to grip your hips. "She's good at taking cock, isn't she? Should see how she takes it in her tight little pussy."

Clint’s hips jerk forward when he feels the vibration of you moaning at Dieter’s filthy words.

He glides his cock deeper into your mouth as Dieter’s fingers trail along your body, pinching and pulling at the stiff peaks of your nipples.

You’re pinned between them again—Clint’s cock heavy on your tongue, Dieter’s cock jutting into your back.

Clint’s head tilts back, a long, low groan slipping out as he begins to fuck slowly into your mouth. “Feels so fuckin’ good,” he growls, eyes half-closed in pleasure you’re providing him. “Better than I thought it would.”

Clint’s fingers splay across the back of your head, guiding you, controlling the movement as he thrusts. He handles you with the same commanding intensity you see him excude everyday.

Each time he eases his length from your mouth, you gasp a quick breath before he fills it again.

“You like that? My pretty girl likes getting used by us?” Dieter nips at the shell of your ear.

Clint's hips rock faster, his grip on your hair tightening as he fucks into your mouth.

Dieter's hand slides down to the apex of your thighs. “Spread for me, baby,” he whispers against your ear.

You stretch out as much as you can on top of his lap. Dieter hums his approval as his fingers trail between your folds.

"Mmm, sucking Clint's cock is getting you all worked up again, isn't it?" he muses, slowly circling your clit with the pads of his fingers.

You whimper a yes around Clint’s cock, he groans above you as he looks down, watching Dieter stick a finger into your entrance. "Fuck, look at her, taking it so well at both ends."

Dieter chuckles. “The more she gets, the more she wants,” punctuating each word as he slides in and out of your tight cunt.

Muffled moans spills from your lips, vibrating against Clint’s cock as your hips jerk in Dieter’s lap.

Clint snarls, fucking into your mouth more erratic, his breathing huffing in deep breaths. The wet, obscene sounds of him fucking your mouth echo off the tile as drool drips down your chin.

Dieter trails his other hand down, drawing deep, long circles against your clit as he fucks you open with three fingers. You’re insatiable, whimpering around Clint’s cock as you writhe all over Dieter’s lap. "Cum," he demands in your ear. "Now."

You instantly cum at Dieter’s rumbling command. Your cunt clenching around his thick fingers as you orgasm. You’re pulsing electricity as both men use your body.

Your screams should be echoing across the room, but all you can do is suck and slurp against Clint’s cock as Dieter’s fingers continue pumping your overworked pussy as you shudder and shake atop his lap.

Clint pulls out of your mouth, allowing you to gasp for air. A string of saliva connects your lips to his cock, and he uses his thumb to wipe it away before pushing his thumb past your lips.

"Suck," he instructs.

You’re gasping, overwhelmed with the sensation of filling your lungs with air. Clint's thumb traces along your swollen bottom lip as you try to catch your breath, your chest heaving. His dark eyes boring into yours.

"I said suck," he repeats.

Youre too dazed to immediately comply. Clint lightly slaps your cheek, catching your attention. Not enough to hurt, but with just enough of a sting to make you gasp. Your chin is grasped firmly, your face tilted to meet his eyes.

"When I tell you to do something, you do it. Understand?"

You give him a shaky a nod, your pulse quickening at the sharpness in his tone. Dieter lowly chuckles behind you, amused by Clint taking charge.

"Answer him properly, baby," Dieter instructs.

“Yes,” you breathe out. “I understand.”

You open your mouth, he slides his thumb back between your lips and you suck obediently, swirling your tongue around the pad of his thumb.

“That’s a good girl,” Clint rumbles. He withdraws it, rubbing the pad of his thumb around the tip of his cock.

"What do you say, Clint?" Dieter asks. "Want to try out her sweet little pussy for yourself?"

Clint swallows hard, his intense gaze roaming over your face. "Yes, sir. I'd like that very much."

"Good man," Dieter chuckles, helping you stand on shaky legs. Clint reaches out to hold your hips, steadying you as you slightly sway.

“Why don't you sit on that chair in the living room?” Dieter instructs tilting his head over the the leather chair in front of the large window overlooking the city.

“Baby, why don’t you come help me pour us some drinks." He leaves a sweet smack against your ass when you head towards the bar.

Clint sinks down into the leather chair, watching as you grab two tumblers for Dieter to fill with whiskey.

“You good baby?” Dieter asks lowly.

“Yes,” you shakily breathe out. “More than good.”

Dieter smiles and winks, handing you one of the glasses before taking a sip from his own. “You’re so fucking hot, go ahead, give Clint a drink.”

Clint sits up straighter as you approach, his eyes raking over your body, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He’s still perfectly clad in his zipped-up leather jacket and dark shirt, while his jeans hang open, his half hard cock lying in his lap.

You climb onto his lap, straddling his muscular thighs as his hands rest on your hips, thumbs rubbing soft, tiny circles against your hipbones.

You haven’t kissed another man in years, not ever since the night you met Dieter. Until now, when you lean in and press your lips to Clint's. His mouth moves against yours, tracing the seam of your lips before you part them, allowing him to devour you.

You unzip his leather jacket without breaking the kiss, dragging it down his arms before Clint shrugs out of it and throws it to the side. You unbutton his shirt, letting it fall down his arms.

His tongue dances against yours, as his cock hardens beneath you, leaving you feeling wanted and desired by the statue of a man. Your hips rolls, grinding down and earning a low groan from deep in his throat.

"Getting him nice and hard for you aren't you?" Dieter asks from behind. "Go ahead ‘n fuck him for me.”

Climbing off his lap, you help Clint quickly tug off his jeans and boxer briefs. His cock stand tall and thick for you. You turn around, backing up slowly to position yourself over his lap, reaching between your legs to grasp his cock. Clint hisses through his teeth, hips twitching up.

You keep your eyes locked on Dieter’s as you slowly sink down onto Clint. His thick length stretches you in a way unlike Dieter, your head falls back aginast Clint’s shoulder as he fills your cunt completely.

Dieter leans forward, elbows braced on his knees as he watches you take another man’s cock.

“Amazing,” Dieter whispers incredulously as you begin to move, rising up until just the tip of Clint’s inside you before sinking back down. Clint groans, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you back to him, his plush lips licking and kissing against your neck as he fucks up into you, thrusting into your cunt with more force than Dieter, his hands more calloused and steady. You're bouncing on his lap, head thrown back against his shoulder, a litany of moans spilling from your lips.

Dieter rises from the couch, prowling towards you with dark eyes. He kneels in front of you, hands skating up your thighs. "Look at you, taking his cock so well. Such a good girl for us."

He leans in and captures your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, reminding you that you’re his even as Clint’s cock splits you open.

He pulls back, lips wet and shiny as he looks over your shoulder at Clint. "How does her pussy feel?" he asks.

"Like heaven, sir," he replies, gritting out each word with a hard thrust. "So fucking tight and wet."

Dieter laughs darkly, happy with the way Clint praises you. He tilts his head, moving his face closer to Clint’s. You watch, transfixed, your breath catching in your throat as Dieter closes the gap and press his lips to Clint’s.

It's filthy and hot, watching your boyfriend kiss his bodyguard whose cock is driving into you. Their tongues slide and tangle against each other, both men grunting while you moan watching them.

Dieter pulls away, his gaze turning back to you. “Like seeing me kiss another man while he fucks this perfect pussy?"

"Yes," you gasp, grinding yourself down harder onto Clint's cock. "God, yes."

Dieter reaches over, picking up Clint’s whiskey tumbler and takes a slow slip.

“Open,” Dieter commands to Clint. He obediently parts his lips as Dieter tilts the glass towards him. Clint doesn’t swallow immediately, instead he lets the liquid pool in his mouth.

“Let me taste,” Dieter lowly says.

Clint’s arm wraps around your waist, pulling you firmly against his chest as he tilts his head forward. He slowly opens his mouth, the whiskey flows from it in a small stream, cascading down your collarbone and breasts. Glistening trails are left across your heated skin as it trickles down your body across the plane of your stomach.

Dieter’s tongue follows the path of whiskey down your body before he lowers himself to the floor, his face hovering in front of your pussy. A shock of pleasure is lit through your body when you feel a sweet lick against your clit. His tongue trails down your pussy as Clint’s cock pumps in and out of you. Clint groans beneath you, his hips stuttering when Dieter’s tongue grazes against his shaft.

A path is licked down to Clint’s balls and up to your clit, following the trail back and forth. Dieter hums against you when he tastes both of you together.

It feels so filthy and intimate, just as you’d expect from Dieter fucking Bravo. His dark hair bobbing between your thighs, his pink tongue darting out to taste another man’s cock as it fucks you.

Clint makes a choked noise as Dieter laps at his shaft.

Dieter pulls back slightly, his face shining with your’s and Clint’s arousal.

"You like watching me lick his cock, baby?”

“Yes. Fuck, Dieter, it’s so hot.”

He smirks. "You know Clint, I bet she'd love to watch me suck your cock, hm? Take you deep in my throat while she rides your face."

Clint makes a strangled sound at the suggestion, his cock twitching inside you. "Jesus Christ.”

“Let’s move this to bedroom then,” Dieter suggests, rising and reaching his hand out to you. You take it, Clint’s hold on you loosening as you slowly lift yourself off his thick cock. A small grunt from him mixes with your soft whimper at the loss of each other. Dieter leads you by the hand toward the bedroom. Clint follows closely behind, his breathing heavy, his cock still soaked in your wet.

You’re thankful this huge mansion has a massive bedroom with a California king bed that can fit both men currently flanking you. You feel so small sandwiched between Dieter’s broad body and Clint’s even larger and intimidating form.

“On the bed," Dieter tells you with a gentle slap against your ass. You climb onto the mattress, kneeling at the foot of it waiting for more instruction. “You too,” Dieter instructs, lightly swatting at Clint’s ass. “Lie back.”

Clint’s body easily takes up half of the mattress as he lays down on the bed. He’s so broad and strong, his dark eyes watching you as his cock stands hard and soaked between his thighs.

“Good. Now, baby,” Dieter turns to you, “why don’t you climb on his face?”

You nod, crawling across the mattress, positioning yourself above Clint, your knees planting on the bed bracketing his face.

He grips your thighs, pulling you down until your swollen pussy hovers just above his mouth. His hot breath fans against your sensitive cunt, dripping with need and ready to feel Clint’s mouth on you again.

“Ride his face baby,” Dieter encourages.

You’re pulled down against Clint’s mouth, his deep groan vibrating against your cunt as he tongues at your swollen clit. A tight gasp and long moan leave your lips as he devours you—methodical, thorough and relentless. Your hands grasp against the firm muscles of Clint’s thighs to brace yourself, Clint’s hands plant against your ass, spreading you wide for him.

Dieter’s eyes darken with each step he takes as he watches you moan and writhe atop Clint’s face. He crawls between Clint’s spread legs, his hands sliding up Clint’s thighs until they meet yours.

“Watch me,” Dieter orders, staring in your eyes as he lowers his head.

You couldn’t look away even if you wanted to try. The sight of Dieter—your Dieter—wrapping his fingers around Clint’s thick cock almost makes you dizzy. Clint’s hips jerk up at the contact, a gasp puffing against your pussy.

Dieter holds Clint's cock in his fist, giving it a few lazy strokes before lowering his head. His eyes never leave yours as his pink tongue darts out to lick a slow, deliberate stripe from base to tip. Clint's entire body shudders beneath you, his groan vibrating against your cunt.

"Holy shit," you breathe, amazed by the sight before you.

Dieter smirks, his lips hovering just above Clint's glistening tip. "I told you to watch," he reminds you before taking just the head into his mouth.

Clint's fingers dig deeper into your ass, pulling you harder against his mouth anchoring himself to you.

Your hand reaches out to thread through Dieter's soft waves, tightening your hold to guide him further down Clint’s shaft.

Dieter's eyes light with mischief as you push him further onto Clint's cock. Clint's body tenses beneath you, his hips bucking upward as Dieter deep throats his cock.

It’s beautiful, your boyfriend's lips stretched around another man's cock as that same man devours your pussy.

Dieter pulls off Clint's cock with a wet pop, his lips shiny with saliva. His hand continues to stroke Clint's length as he locks eyes with you.

"Spread his legs wider," Dieter commands, his voice dropping an octave.

You push at Clint’s inner thighs, spreading him open for Dieter, who hums appreciatively, lowering his head to lick a long stripe from Clint's heavy balls up his shaft.

Clint groans against your pussy, his tongue circling your entrance before dipping lower, circling your asshole with light, experimental licks.

"He's licking my ass," you gasp, eyes wide as you look at Dieter.

Dieter's grin turns predatory. "Is he now? You like that, baby?"

You nod frantically, unable to form words as Clint's tongue presses more insistently against your tight ring, his hands spreading your cheeks wider.

“You know baby, I think Clint would like the same treatment,” Dieter says lowly as he moves lower between Clint’s spread thighs. Dieter’s hands push Clint’s thighs up and back, exposing him completely.

His tongue trails from Clint’s balls to the sensitive skin below. You watch, enamored by Dieter’s tongue circling Clint’s tight hole.

“Fuuuuuck,” Clint whispers against you.

Dieter pulls back with a devilish smile before he spits across Clint’s asshole. You moan when you watch Dieter press his thumb against Clint’s entrance, circling it slowly.

"Jesus Christ," Clint hisses against your ass, his tongue stilling.

Dieter’s thumb slowly pushes in Clint’s tight ring of muscle. Clint's entire body tenses before he forces himself to relax, his shoulders sinking deeper into the mattress beneath you.

You can feel Clint’s reaction through his entire body as Dieter's thumb sinks deeper and deeper—the way his stomach muscles clench, the slight arch of his back, the firmness of his grip against your skin, the desperate “fuck” that vibrates against your ass.

Clint grips your hips, moving you up and down against his mouth, licking long lines from your asshole to your clit and back.

"Look at him," Dieter purrs. "Big, tough bodyguard taking my thumb in his ass while he eats my girl's pussy. You like that, don't you, Clint?"

Clint groans against you, a shiver running across his body.

"I think he likes it," you gasp, grinding down harder on Clint's face.

Dieter laughs darkly, leaning down, taking Clint's cock back into his mouth while working his thumb deeper.

You’re all connected, Clint's mouth on your cunt, Dieter's mouth on Clint's cock, Dieter's thumb working Clint's ass, Dieter’s eyes on you.

A long moan leaves your lips when Clint sucks hard on your clit, your back arching as his hips rock upward into Dieter’s mouth.

"Oh fuck," you gasp, clenching your thighs around Clint's head as he continues to feast on your drenched pussy. "I'm… gonna…"

Dieter looks up at you through heavy-lidded eyes. "Cum for me baby. Cum all over Clint's face."

That's all it takes to send you over the edge. Your entire body trembles and convulses under the power of your orgasm, grinding down on Clint’s face as he eats you through it. Your arms go weak, and you slump forward against his body, breathing hard. Running your cheek along the soft nest of coarse curls above his cock. Dieter grips your chin, guiding you to turn your head, taking Clint’s cock out of his mouth, guiding it into your mouth. You’re still humming and moaning from your release, your mouth working over Clint’s shaft as he groans against your overworked clit.

“I think you got her nice and worked up for me Clint,” Dieter says. “It’s time for me to fill my girl’s pussy.”

Dieter grabs your limp, overwhelmed body, laying you down on the bed next to Clint, your back nestling against the soft sheets.

Clint’s dark brown eyes watch as Dieter lines up, his tip dipping between your folds and rubbing against your clit before thrusting into you, burying himself in your cunt. Your body jerks forward with the force of him, a loud scream bursting from your lungs. Clint groans, as he watches Dieter’s hips slap against yours, ruthlessly pounding into you, owning your pussy after Clint’s had his way with it.

Clint can’t take his eyes off of you, staring into your eyes, watching as your face contorts in pleasure as Dieter fucks you harder and deeper. Your back arches off the bed, hands grasping the sheets tightly as you take Dieter’s cock.

"Fuck yes," he grunts. "Get behind me Clint. Finger my asshole while I fuck her.”

Clint moves behind Dieter, his large hands running over Dieter's ass before spreading him wide. Dieter groans when Clint's finger circles his tight ring of muscle, teasing him.

Dieter growls, slamming into you harder, staring into your eyes as Clint pushes his slick thumb past the ring of muscle, pressing deep into Dieter's ass. “Holy shit,” Dieter gasps, a wide smile lighting his face before he leans forward and kisses you, his hips jerking against yours as Clint works him open.

Dieter’s head tips back, groaning loudly as he drives into you even harder, pushed to the edge by Clint’s finger stretching him open.

“Fuck my ass,” Dieter orders, pressing you farther down into the mattress under his weight.

“Yes sir,” Clint growls, spitting in his hand and slicking up his cock before he slowly notches himself against Dieter’s asshole.

Dieter’s hips stutter as he pauses, breathing hard as Clint stretches him open with his wide cock.

“Fuuuuuck,” Dieter hitches. “You’re so fucking big.”

You watch Dieter’s face, a blissed-out smile lifting his lips, his eyes fluttering shut before he opens them, staring down at you as Clint starts to fuck him in long, slow strokes.

You clutch on Dieter’s strong arms, gripping his golden skin tight as he moves with Clint, the slow drag of his cock pulling out of your cunt before thrusting back in steers you closer to another orgasm.

You’re tangled in each other, Clint’s large body laying over Dieter’s, Dieter’s lips biting and licking at yours, your moans and groans echoing off the walls of the expansive room.

Dieter’s head drops to the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as Clint surges in and out of him.

“Gonna cum,” Dieter whines against you. “Gonna fuckin’ fill you up while he fucks me.”

The three of you move as one, your pussy clenching around Dieter’s cock, Dieter’s asshole taking Clint’s cock. “Cum for me baby,” you urge. “Give me your cum.”

Clint’s pace turns brutal, pounding into Dieter deeper and harder. Both men’s weight bears down on you—pinning and claiming you as the center of their desire.

“Fuck,” Dieter lifts his head, staring into your eyes as he begins to cum, a deep, guttural groan escaping his throat as he empties himself inside you. His handsome face contorts with pleasure, teeth gritting, eyes locked on yours as he shoots his big load inside you.

“That’s it,” Clint growls behind him, fucking into him as Dieter’s body tightens around him. “Give her every drop, sir.”

Dieter’s cock pulses inside you, filling you with his heated release that triggers your own orgasm, your walls clenching him hard, milking every last sweet drop of cum from his cock.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Clint groans, pulling out of Dieter. "I’m close.”

“Cum on my girl’s face,” Dieter orders, rolling off of you and pulling you into his arms.

Clint stalks forward, his knees dipping into the bed as he kneels in front of you, stroking his cock, his bottom lip captured between his teeth.

You reach a hand up, massaging his balls, firmly pressing against them, giving him the perfect amount of pressure.

“Gonna cum," he grunts through gritted teeth. "Fuck, I'm gonna..."

Dieter's hands slide up to cup your breasts, squeezing roughly. "Do it," he encourages. "Give her what she wants. Paint that pretty face."

With a strained groan his cock pulses in his hand as he strokes himself, aiming the tip at your waiting face.

"Open," he commands again. You obey, sticking out your tongue in offering.

Thick ropes of cum spurt from Clint's cock, striping across your cheeks, your chin, your outstretched tongue. You moan as he marks you, claiming you as his own.

"So gorgeous covered in another man's cum. My perfect little cum slut,” Dieter admires.

You whimper as Clint milks the last drops onto your waiting tongue before he looks down, admiring his work, your face glistening with his release.

"That's my good girl," Dieter praises, his fingers tracing through Clint's cum on your cheek before pushing it between your parted lips. You suck his fingers clean, moaning at the taste as both men watch you with hungry eyes.

Clint collapses onto the bed beside you, his chest heaving.

“Well done Mr. Flood,” Dieter chuckles, running his hand through Clint’s hair. “I think we’ll keep you.”

—-

Proof it's 6969. lol

Also, please know I referenced this GIF by @perotovar A LOT while writing this.

—-

Tagging some moots and people who were interested: @sawymredfox, @sp00kymulderr, @almostfoxglove, @evolnoomym, @ace-turned-confused

@bitchesuntitled, @beefrobeefcal, @magpiepills, @joelmillerisapunk, @arcanefox207

@quinnnfabrgay, @bergamote-catsandbooks, @milla-frenchy, @jokesonthem

#dbbc zine #dbbc zine summer 2025

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dbbczine · 1 month ago

Text

Star-Crossed

Dieter Bravo x gn!reader | WC: 2K

Summary: On a shoot in Italy, Dieter has one of the worst weeks of his life. Perhaps one unselfish act can turn all that around..

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Language. Alcohol drinking. Mentions of drugs. Allusions to smut/possible mmf threesome. Accidental flashing. Duo the Owl is its own warning. Dieter goes commando because I say so. Burglary. Dumpster-diving. More stealing. Dieter's having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Mention of a fire. Salmonella is yet another warning on its own. Sickness (obviously). Reader is gender neutral and not described apart from having an accent. No use of y/n. Not beta'd so don't come for me. A very special thanks to V in the notes ❤️

A/n: this is my submission for the Italian music challenge hosted by my dear friend @itwasntimethatdidit40. Big thanks to her for assisting with some Italian phrasing 🙌🏼 This was such a lovely and interesting challenge and thank you so much for being patient with me.

I chose to write for Dieter because I've never written him before, and I was given the song "Giudizi Universali" by Samuele Bersani:

dividers by @strangergraphics 👑

FULL MASTERLIST

The paparazzi now has photos of Dieter's cock, and it's all the song's fault.

The last thing he remembers are the purple lights, neon and sharp overhead as sweat runs down his neck. They blink in a crazy rhythm, every other second bathing the room in a dim violet glow before going out quickly to black, and back again.

He's dancing at full speed, doing everything at full speed the way Dieter Bravo just does. The beautiful young woman dancing with him swivels her body so lusciously that it almost tempts him away from the beautiful young man she's with. She shouts something over the music, leaning in closer when he can't hear her the first time. Her lips graze the shell of his ear.

"Balli come una scimmia!" she says laughingly.

Dieter forces his own laugh, his gaze flicking to her partner. "Uh, what did she say?"

"She says you dance like a monkey!" The young man shouts back, still dancing, his neck and chest giving off a sheen of sweat.

"Well that's not very nice, is it?" He starts to doubt himself and his dancing ability. No one has ever said anything about his ungainly dancing. The innocuous comment starts to sour his night, so he orders another round of drinks.

The vodka flows freely that night, and Dieter remembers being grateful that some words, especially alcohol-related ones, are universal.

He remembers nothing more, waking up just past noon, in between the young woman and her boyfriend, wearing nothing below the waist. His mouth is dry and he wants a cigarette. Even better, some ketamine. Like he always does, he procured a dealer just as quickly as he was on the ground at Leonardo da Vinci International Airport.

With a grunt he pushes himself out of bed, nearly toppling over the young man, his weight falling on his supine body. Unfortunately Dieter's cock is more awake than his brain, and responds eagerly to the stimuli of being between the young man's legs.

"Give me a break, we don't have time for that now," he mutters, getting off the bed and taking a moment to stretch. He goes to the window and, shielding his eyes, tries to get an idea of where exactly he is in this city.

He can see his hotel sign on the other side of town, and he groans. The thought of having to hoof it is not one he wants to entertain. His host and hostess were the ones to kindly walk him to their place tonight, chattering away in the musical Italian tongue he'd bothered to learn just a little of while here on the shoot.

A historical soap opera set in the 1880s, Dieter plays an evil count, hellbent on taking over his estranged brother's wealth. The role is basically a softball for him. His agent wants him to acclimatize himself to foreign fans. And so far he's done just that. If you consider fucking them to be acclimatization.

He's here for the next few months and he plans to take advantage of all that. But first he needs to get hold of some Special K.

He grabs his phone from the back pocket of his pants, hung haphazardly over the vanity mirror, and he thinks about taking a selfie. Not to post, of course. But his Face ID isn't working, and his passcode seems to be incorrect.

Too late he hears a crowd gathering below, and still in his sluggish state, he frowns, peering down out the window to see a group of people, some holding cameras, most holding smartphones. And they're all taking pictures of him. He smiles good-naturedly and waves, knowing his hair is a mess, his beard is scruffy. He can still taste the Grey Goose at the back of his throat.

And he realizes why they're photographing him. Not just because he's Dieter fucking Bravo.

He's not wearing any pants. Or underwear for that matter.

"Shit! Shit!" He closes the window and hides, still hearing the chatter below. Fuck! He promised his agent he'd be on his best behavior while in Rome. All he did was dance and drink at a club, go home with a hot couple, and accidentally show his dick to a bunch of innocent bystanders.

But he should know better. Likely the paprazzi have been following him, waiting to get a juicy photo op like the one he just gave them. He can see the evening edition already: Academy Award Winner Caught with Cock Out After Night of Debauchery.

Eyes squeezed shut as he feels a migraine coming on, he holds his head in his hands as he tries to figure out What the Hell to Do.

Taking a look at the phone in his hand he realizes it's not even his. It has a glittery purple cover with hearts. Though it'll fit his own phone. He removes the cover and puts it in his pants pocket where he thought his own phone was. He can't even use this phone to call it.

Suddenly it chirps to life, playing an upbeat pop song, the lyrics melodic and expressive and going completely over his head because as usual he hasn't bothered to do his Duolingo lessons. That owl is going to be pissed at him.

He answers the phone, pressing the green Answer button, but the voice on the other side is unknown to him. It sounds like an angry boss or even an angry lover. One of his party pals from last night is in trouble. He hangs up on the caller and shoves himself in his pants, the phone going into his pocket. He doesn't even bother looking for his underwear; he doubts he was even wearing any last night.

But the crowd outside hasn't dispersed. He hides in the bathroom until he can think straight.

Splashing some cold water on his face, he tries to calm his breathing, mentally cursing himself for getting in this situation. Why does he never learn?

He stares at the phone, pressing instructions on the screen until he gets to the number keypad. Of course he doesn't know any phone numbers by heart. Who does in this day and age?

When he finally gains the courage to leave, the couple are gone. And so is his wallet, which he'd left on the nightstand. He curses his shitty luck. He doesn't even remember their names, so there's not even a chance of tracking them down.

A migraine starts, making him wince. He needs something for the pain and his nerves now. With no other viable options, he takes a deep breath and leaves, finding a back exit leading to an alley filled with dumpsters. Upon hearing chatter and the clicking of cameras, Dieter heaves himself into one of the dumpsters, right into a pile of day-old organic waste.

Great.

He eventually makes it back to his hotel, stealing a pair of sunglasses and a hat from a nearby street vendor to disguise himself, running at the fullest speed possible for him (he's been told he needs to trim down but the food here is too delicious to have just one serving at each meal), shouting out promises to return when he has some cash.

He probably won't.

His agent catches wind of the photos, and promises to do something, even if he has to sue the bastards for invasion of privacy. He assures Dieter that he'll put a stop to those scandalous photos being reprinted or distributed in any way. Dieter puts every ounce of trust in his agent to do just that, even though he sees his costars and even some of the crew giggling behind his back.

Go ahead and let them laugh. He's grower, not a show-er. He'll show anyone just to prove it.

At least he has a working phone now, courtesy of the studio.

He hears the song again when he's in the makeup chair, tissues tucked into the high collar of his historical costume as a gorgeous man whose name he's forgotten touches up Dieter's makeup, adding a touch of bronzer at his hairline. The makeup artist is listening to a playlist of Italian 90s songs, and this one begins. The MUA sees Dieter's frown and says something in his melodic accent, pointing to his phone where the music is emanating from, smiling and giving a hopeful thumbs up. Dieter nods, giving a thumbs up as well. But it's too early for a smile, so he attempts a half-assed smirk.

"Turn it off." he says loudly, hoping he'll be understood. "Silenzio.. per favore?" {Silence... please?} But there's some malfunction with the phone or the app or whatever because the song doesn't stop. In fact it skips, the song sounding more threatening until the MUA forces it to turn off. The silence thereafter is a relief to Dieter, though his frustration is mounting.

Perhaps his mood has set the tone for the day, because Murphy's Law attaches itself to the set like a leech. The lead actress keeps forgetting her lines and has to have them fed to her, taking up more of his time than he'd like. Then there's an electrical fire during one of his most important scenes. The entire cast has to be evacuated off the set, but luckily it's close to break time and craft services is ready to feed everyone while they're displaced for the time being.

Unfortunately there's an outbreak of salmonella in the seafood bisque everyone's been eating. Fortunately he only had a couple spoonfuls of it, but production on the show has halted for the time being, and the remaining cast and crew are sent home. Unfortunately, he's still confined to the restroom for the remainder of the night, swearing off craft services for the rest of his life.

He should have recognized that as the second sign.

Most of the cast and crew are still being treated by the time he's feeling better days later. Even so, he dares a little night walk even though it's only been a week since he flashed the photographers. There hasn't been anything in the press lately, but he knows there are probably some greedy little cunts who refused to turn over the film, probably keeping it for a blackmail-kind-of-day.

Living in the spotlight, there's always a chance for someone to spring out of the shadows with an unexpected reprisal. A scorned lover, a repudiated friend, even a teacher from his past who would sell an embarrassing story about how he failed ninth grade world history before dropping out completely.

What the hell, let them come for him. He's older now, and tired despite the fast lifestyle he'd adopted decades ago. He's slowing down by the minute, the drugs and alcohol wearing him down, smoothing him out like a used tire.

And so what if the paps come for him? So what if his dick shows up on TMZ, pixelated beyond recognition? He's been Hollywood fodder for much worse. He can just stay here in Rome, an ancient has-been in an ancient city. Maybe he'll be considered a landmark himself, given enough time.

He wanders in the gold and magenta evening light, his stolen purchases on him: black baseball cap and dark sunglasses. He has the cash to pay for them in his pocket.

At the vendor stand he finds you, and for a brief moment he feels his luck has turned around. Your smile is beatific as you look up at him, and he doesn't know if it's because you recognize him or because you're just an angel on earth. You ask him in accented English if he sees anything he likes, and while you're talking about the keychains and magnets, he sees you and boy does he like you.

And later, when you're walking in the Piazza Navona, licking at the cold sweet gelato you're carrying, you laugh as he explains what he's gone through, the trials and tribulations that he's endured just by being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Just as he's finished his story, that song starts blasting from a nearby bar. Dieter winces as if expecting a blow: some mischance to befall him. Maybe he'll trip on his own two feet and fall headfirst into the fountain.

But all that happens is that you squeeze his hand and press your lips to his cheek. They're delightfully cool on his heated skin.

tagging those interested in my wip: @thedilfdiaries @everybodylovedcontractors @inept-the-magnificent @sawymredfox

#dbbc zine #dbbc zine summer 2025

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dbbczine · 1 month ago

Text

Birthday Carol

Pairings: Din Djarin x OFC!reader

Rating: Ansty, Mature

Word count: 6.2k

Warnings: mentions of alcohol and substance abuse, potential cheating, abusive childhood

Summary: sitting alone in his apartment in the early hours of his 50th birthday, Dieter Bravo, Oscar winning actor, gets a chance to examine his life once over.

Welcome to Dieter's Birthday Carol. Written for a challenge that won't happen, but shared as part of this special anthology.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Anthology Masterlist | Masterlist

The penthouse is expensive but empty. A place designed to be shown off, not lived in. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the Los Angeles skyline, the city sprawling beneath him like a neon mirage. The lights pulse and flicker, alive in a way he no longer feels.

Dieter Bravo sits on his oversized couch, sunk deep into the cushions, one bare foot propped on the sleek glass coffee table. He wears sweatpants and a Balenciaga hoodie that cost more than some people’s rent, but the fabric hangs looser on him these days—like he’s shrunk, or like the hoodie was made for someone younger.

He swirls his drink—vodka and cranberry, though mostly vodka—and watches the ice melt, slow and inevitable.

The TV flickers in the background, a late-night talk show filling the silence. The host grins, the audience laughs on cue. A rising starlet sits in the guest chair. She's young, radiant, brimming with promise. She tells a story, the crowd eats it up.

Dieter watches, expression blank.

He’s been in that chair before. On that couch. Under those studio lights, feeding the machine. He’s told his own stories, earned his own applause. Gotten the standing ovation, the magazine covers. The Oscar.

Now? He doesn’t even get a guest spot.

His phone buzzes beside him. He grabs it, pulse ticking up. Maybe someone remembers. Maybe an old friend, an ex, an invite to some exclusive party where the right people might see him, remind themselves he still exists.

He squints at the screen. It’s getting harder to read his phone these days, but vanity keeps him from wearing glasses.

EMAIL: "Dieter! Special Birthday Offer – 20% Off Hair Restoration!"

His face stays neutral. Then.

A laugh. Short, bitter. It escapes before he can stop it. He shakes his head, tosses the phone onto the couch, lets it land face down like a dead thing.

Silence swallows the room again.

Dieter leans forward, rubbing his face. His Oscars sit on a shelf nearby, untouched, gathering dust. A stack of unread scripts clutters the table. People still send them, hoping for a comeback. He hasn’t read a single one.

Because what’s the point?

His gaze drifts to the nearly empty bottle of Tito’s. A quiet calculation runs through his head. Should he have one more drink? Maybe two? Should he switch to whiskey?

He exhales, lifts his glass in a half-hearted toast.

“Fifty,” he mutters to himself. “Jesus.”

He downs it. Feels the burn. But it’s not strong enough to drown the feeling in his chest, the one that’s been creeping in for years.

Then—

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Dieter pauses mid-drink.

His head turns toward the door, frowning.

No one knocks on his door anymore. Not without texting first.

He glances at the time. 2:37 AM.

A beat. His first thought—paparazzi? A drunk ex? One of his old party friends looking to score? Or maybe more?

A second knock. Louder.

Dieter sighs, drags himself off the couch. His legs feel heavy, like gravity itself is pulling him down. He stumbles slightly, catching himself on the table before moving toward the door, rubbing a hand down his face.

He hesitates. Peeks through the peephole.

There's no one there.

His frown deepens. He unlocks the door. Opens it.

And there he is.

HIMSELF.

A younger Dieter Bravo. Mid-20s. Lean, sharp-jawed, with that cocky smirk that once owned every room he walked into. He’s wearing a faded leather jacket and ripped jeans, hands tucked into his pockets like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

Dieter stares. Blinks. Closes one eye, like that might fix it.

The younger version tilts his head, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Happy birthday, asshole.”

Dieter exhales through his nose. Shuts the door.

Stands there. Blinks again.

Then, slowly, he reopens it.

Young Dieter is still there. Smiling wider now.

Dieter stares, deadpan. “Yeah. That tracks.”

He steps back, leaving the door open, motioning vaguely inside. “Come on in, hallucination. Make yourself at home. See how far I’ve come.”

The Ghost of Fame Past whistles as he steps inside like he owns the place. His eyes sweep over the penthouse, unimpressed. “Damn. This place is nice. Soulless. But nice. A bit like its owner.”

“Hey!” Dieter gasps, feeling judged.

He watches as Young Dieter runs a hand along the cold marble counter, eyes the nearly empty vodka bottle, then stops and stares at him. Really studies hard. Takes him in.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “You look like shit.”

Old Dieter grunts, heading back to the couch. “Yeah, well. Life happens.”

“Yeah, but this?” Young Dieter gestures vaguely around. “This is bleak, man.”

Dieter refills his drink, takes a slow sip. “You here to lecture me, or just rub it in?”

His younger self flops onto the couch across from him, studying him like a science experiment. “Nah. I’m here to show you something.”

Dieter eyes him warily. Then realization dawns. His lips part slightly.

“Oh. This is one of those nights.”

Young Dieter grins. “Yep. Three ghosts, yada yada. You know how it goes.”

Dieter sighs, rubbing a hand down his stubbly face. “God, I need a stronger drink.”

“Oh, buddy.” Young Dieter leans in, voice low, electric. “You have no idea.”

A gust of cold wind blows through the penthouse. The TV flickers. The lights dim.

The air shifts. Heavy. Electric. Wrong.

Dieter grips his glass a little tighter.

A fleeting shape materializes, hovering just beyond the edge of his vision.

His pulse kicks up.

He swallows hard, then forces out a flat, “So, what? You gonna take me flying over L.A.? Show me how bright the lights used to be?”

Young Dieter places his hands on his knees, shakes his head slowly. “Nah. You already know all that.”

Dieter frowns. “Then where—”

The room tilts.

The penthouse bends, stretching like a warped funhouse mirror. The walls ripple, distorting. The light twists into something unnatural, flickering in and out of existence.

Then—

BLACKNESS.

DIETER’S CHILDHOOD HOME – NIGHT (1980s)

There's a blinding light before the scene warps and morphs into a cramped, dimly lit house in suburban New Jersey. The furniture is old, sagging with time, the air thick with the acrid scent of smoke and spilled liquor. A television hums in the corner, its glow casting long, eerie shadows across the peeling wallpaper.

On the floor, a six-year-old Dieter sits with his knees pulled to his chest, small fingers curled into the fabric of his worn-out T-shirt. He’s transfixed by the flickering screen, his lips moving in silent rhythm with the actor delivering a dramatic monologue in crisp black-and-white. The voices from the TV are muffled beneath the chaotic symphony of real life unraveling around him.

A toddler screams in the background.

“You think I’m made of money, huh?!” Dieter’s stepfather bellows, his voice cutting through the thin walls, loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

His mother flinches. She is thirty-something, but exhaustion makes her look older. Her shoulders are hunched, her hands twisting together like she might wring the fight out of them.

“I just—just wanted to make him a cake—”

“He doesn’t need a goddamn cake!”

Crash.

The sharp sound of glass shattering. A baby wails in the background, the cry piercing through the tension like a siren.

Little Dieter doesn’t turn. He’s seen this before. Too many times.

He stares at the TV, mouthing along with the actor’s lines. Escaping.

The Ghost of Fame Past steps into the room, unseen by the others. He watches as little Dieter clings to the TV like a life raft.

“Jesus,” young Dieter mutters, surveying the scene with a hollow expression. “I forgot how bad this was.”

Older Dieter stands beside him, arms crossed, his face unreadable. He doesn’t take his eyes off the boy on the floor.

“No, you didn’t,” he says quietly. “You just chose not to think about it.”

The Ghost gestures toward the TV, toward the boy, lips moving soundlessly with the actors.

Young Dieter exhales sharply, understanding now. “This is why we got into acting, huh?”

Dieter shrugs. “It was a way out.”

A door slams in the kitchen. A neighbor pounds on the wall, their muffled voice yelling through the plaster. The fight is over. For now.

The tension lingers in the air like smoke.

His mother steps into the living room. Her smile is weak, stretched too thin over too many worries.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

She kneels beside him, tucking his hair behind his ear, her touch gentle. He hadn’t even realized he was crying.

She presses a Twinkie into his hands. A single candle, bent slightly at the base, sticks out from the top.

“Make a wish,” she whispers, urgent.

His mom peeks into the living room.

She has a weak smile plastered on her face, “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

She kneels beside him, gently wipes his cheek—he hadn’t even realized he was crying.

She presses a Twinkie with a single candle into his hands.”Make a wish,” she half-whispers, almost urging him to hurry up before his stepdad changes his mind.

Little Dieter nods, closes his eyes, and blows it out.

And then—

HIGH SCHOOL AUDITORIUM – NIGHT (1990s)

Lights.

Applause.

Seventeen-year-old Dieter stands center stage, breathless, bathed in the golden glow of the spotlight. The thunder of clapping hands fills the auditorium, washing over him like a tide. He soaks it in, chest rising and falling with exhilaration.

He’s a star here. The school’s golden boy.

In the front row, Sylvie, watches with admiration. She’s smart, grounded, the only person who sees through his bravado, knows the boy riddled with anxiety and pre-show nerves.

After the show, in the empty backstage hallway, Dieter paces, still buzzing with adrenaline. Sylvie leans against the lockers, smirking. “You’re unbearable when you get applause.”

Dieter turns to her with a knowing look, “Oh, come on. That was good. Admit it.”

She rolls her eyes.“It was. But you already know that.”

He grins. She shakes her head, amused. Then—her expression softens.

“You ever think about what happens next? After high school?”

Dieter exhales, running a hand through his hair. The smile falters just slightly.

“I have to get out of here. I mean, look around. This place is a graveyard. My stepdad’s gonna drink himself to death, my mom’s gonna pretend it’s fine, and I—

I can’t stay.”

Sylvie studies him, eyes searching. She knows him too well.

“So, you’re running?”

Dieter’s jaw tightens. “I’m going.” He meets her gaze. “There’s a difference.”

Sylvie nods slowly, then nudges him with her shoulder. Her expression is now serious. “Well, if you’re going, I’m going too.”

Dieter turns to her, his face etched with surprise. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

For a moment, he just looks at her. Then, slowly, a grin spreads across his face.

“Then we’re gonna take over Hollywood.”

Their hands tighten.

And then—

BLACKNESS

DIETER’S APARTMENT – NIGHT (Present)

The space warps around him and Dieter finds himself back in his apartment. The grip tightens around his glass, knuckles white.

“Great. Love the trip down trauma lane. Now what?”

The Ghost of Fame Past watches him, head tilted.

“You ready to see how you burned it all down?” asks Young Dieter.

Dieter exhales through his nose. He doesn’t answer. He's not sure he wants to relive this.

The penthouse tilts again—the walls stretch, lights flicker.

And suddenly—

SYLVIE AND DIETER’S APARTMENT – LOS ANGELES (Early 2000s)

Dieter blinks.

When his eyes open, he’s standing in a tiny, run-down studio apartment. The kind with peeling paint, secondhand furniture, and the faint scent of old takeout lingering in the air.

Through a small, grimy window, the Los Angeles skyline stretches in the distance. He recognizes this place immediately. It’s burned into his memory, into his bones.

On a rickety kitchen table sits an old TV, a stack of scripts, and an unopened pile of unpaid bills.

Across the room, a younger Dieter, mid-20s, paces back and forth, script in hand. He’s restless, hungry, still dreaming. His movements are sharp, his energy relentless. His entire being is fueled by the desperate need to become someone.

From the kitchen, Sylvie hums softly as she washes dishes. She looks exactly as he remembers. She's effortlessly beautiful, but unpolished. Worn tee, faded jeans, hair tied back. Comfortable. Unconcerned with impressing anyone.

Dieter watches as his younger self stops pacing, lifts the script, and delivers a line,

"No, you listen to me… this isn’t over."

A beat.

He groans, frustrated. “Damn it—that sounded like a soap opera.”

From the kitchen, Sylvie smirks. “Maybe because it is a soap opera.”

Dieter groans again, flopping onto the faded couch with a sigh. “Yeah, well… gotta start somewhere.”

Sylvie leans against the counter, drying a plate and glances over at him, teasing but affectionate.

“Soap opera today, Oscar tomorrow. Isn’t that what you always say?”

He smirks back. “I’m gonna steal that for my acceptance speech.”

She chuckles, but then her expression shifts—hesitant. She crosses the room, picks up one of the unpaid bills, turning it over in her hands.

“I, uh… picked up a double shift tomorrow at the diner. Should cover rent.”

Dieter frowns. “Sylvie—”

She cuts him off before he can argue, brushing away his concern with a small smile. “It’s fine.”

She steps closer, fingers brushing through his hair, comforting him, when it should be the other way around.

“I believe in you, Dieter. One of us has to keep the lights on until you make it big.”

Dieter studies her. She's the the girl who followed him across the country, who works late nights so he can chase a dream. He takes her hand, pressing a gentle kiss to her fingers.

“We’re gonna make it. Together.”

She smiles, eyes full of certainty. “I know.”

Their fingers intertwine.

For a moment, they’re just two kids in love, standing at the edge of something bigger than both of them.

And then—

The scene shifts.

The apartment flickers like an old film reel, colors bleeding, distorting.

And suddenly—

UPSCALE HOLLYWOOD NIGHTCLUB (Mid-2000s)

The lights pulse. Strobing across the club, reflecting off every surface, creating the illusion of time slowing down. The bass pounds, deep and relentless, thrumming through the heaving mass of bodies. The air is thick with sweat, smoke, and excess.

Dieter Bravo, now in his mid-30s, stands in the VIP section, at the peak of his fame. His suit jacket is unbuttoned, his pupils blown wide. A glass of whiskey dangles from one hand, a cigarette smolders in the other.

He’s untouchable here. The world adores him. The room orbits around him.

A studio executive leans in, murmuring something about a franchise deal. Dieter laughs, nods, barely listening. Across the booth, a supermodel drapes herself against him, long nails tracing his collarbone. He doesn’t move her hand.

Somewhere nearby, a bottle of champagne pops, foam spraying into the air. Cheers erupt.

And in the background, there's Sylvie.

She sits at the edge of the booth, watching it all play out. Out of place now. The only one here not trying to impress anyone.

She leans in, her voice quiet but firm. “Dieter, maybe we should go.”

Dieter waves her off, dismissive. “It’s fine. It’s a celebration.”

“You’re slurring your words.”

“I’m relaxing, baby.” His tone is sharper than it should be.

Sylvie studies him. Watches carefully. He’s sweating. His hands are shaking slightly.

The Dieter she fell in love with is slipping away.

His phone buzzes. He glances at the screen—

A tabloid headline:

“DIETER BRAVO: TOO DRUNK TO WORK? RUMORS SWIRL ON SET OF NEW FILM.”

Sylvie reads it over his shoulder, her stomach knotting. His jaw clenches.

Without hesitation, he downs his whiskey in one gulp and reaches for a fresh drink.

Sylvie grabs his wrist. “You need to stop.”

Dieter yanks away, much too hard.

For the first time, there’s something ugly in his eyes.

“I need to stop?” He scoffs, voice laced with venom. “You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me.”

A sharp silence.

Sylvie blinks. The words hit her like a slap.

Slowly, she stands, grabbing her bag. “Call me when you’re sober.”

With that, she turns and walks away.

Dieter watches her go.

But he doesn’t stop her.

Because he still believes she’ll always come back.

DIETER & SYLVIE’S HOLLYWOOD HILLS HOME (Later that same night)

The front door slams open. Dieter staggers inside, clearly wasted, high on something stronger than booze.

A trail of laughter follows him.

Two women—a rising starlet and a model—giggle as they stumble in behind him. Drunk. High. Reckless.

Dieter kicks off his shoes, already unbuttoning his shirt.

The starlet kisses his neck. The model tugs him toward the bedroom.

And then—

Blinding light.

Dieter freezes.

Sylvie stands in the hallway.

She was waiting for him.

Her expression is calm. Too calm.

The starlet and model see her and giggle, stumbling out.

Sylvie doesn’t look at them. She doesn’t look at Dieter either.

She just exhales. Quiet. Final.

Dieter sways slightly, still drunk, still high—

“Syl—”

“No,” she replies. The way she says it is soft but firm and cuts through him harder than yelling ever could.

A long silence.

Then she steps past him, heading for the door.

Dieter catches her wrist. “I can fix this.

Sylvie shakes her head. “You don’t even know what "this" is anymore.” She gently pulls free from his grasp.

Then she’s gone.

The door clicks shut.

And for the first time in years—

Dieter is completely alone.

DIETER’S APARTMENT – NIGHT (Present)

Dieter stumbles back, gripping his chest like he’s been physically hit.

The Ghost of Fame Past watches him.

“Still think you were the victim?” asks young Dieter.

Dieter shakes his head, eyes glassy. He can’t even lie to himself anymore.

Then—

“Welp. Time to see what’s left of you,” says young Dieter.

The room flickers, the air turns cold—

And suddenly, young Dieter is gone.

Dieter lands hard on his expensive leather couch, gasping. His drink spills onto the marble floor.

His penthouse snaps back into focus, but something’s… off.

The air crackles with white noise. The city lights outside seem glitchy, flickering like a dying screen.

And then, a phone dings.

Another. And another.

Suddenly, thousands of notification sounds explode around him, an avalanche of pings, dings, and chimes. The air floods with floating screens—tweets, Instagram posts, gossip blogs. They're all swirling around him.

From the shadows, a new ghost emerges.

He’s slick, manic, dressed like an influencer at Paris Fashion Week. The Ghost of Fame Present.

“What’s up, legend?”

Dieter flinches, rubbing his temples. He stares at the apparition in front of him. “Jesus. Who are you?”

The Ghost grins malevolently, swiping through thin air. The floating screens multiply, tweets and comments glowing like neon signs. “I’m right now. This very second. You ever Google yourself at 3AM with a drink in your hand? That’s me, baby.”

He snaps his fingers—and suddenly, one of the floating screens zooms in, flashing

#DieterBravoIsOverParty

Dieter groans loudly, frustration rising. “Oh, great. This shit again.”

The Ghost scrolls through the chaos, reading aloud in a dramatic voice:

“Washed-up Oscar winner Dieter Bravo spotted drunk at Chateau Marmont AGAIN. What does he even DO anymore?”

He swipes. A meme appears. It's a bloated, disheveled Dieter, slumped at a bar, captioned:

“Remember when this guy was hot? Time is cruel.”

Dieter’s jaw tightens.

“Oof. Brutal,” sniffs the Ghost.

Dieter waves a hand through the screens, trying to swat them away. “Who gives a shit? Twitter isn’t real life.”

The Ghost cackles loudly. “Buddy, Twitter IS your life. You just don’t control it anymore.”

Another screen zooms in to show a TikTok video of a Gen Z influencer, perfectly filtered, doing a smug little monologue:

"So like, my mom said Dieter Bravo used to be a thing? But I looked him up and… babes, I don’t get it. Mid at best. Next!"

The comments section explodes:

"LMAO, who?"

"Not Dieter Bravo being a millennial relic."

"Wait, I think he got MeToo’d??"

"No, that was someone else."

"Same vibe tho."

Dieter bolts up, furiously, ”I was never MeToo’d!”

The Ghost shrugs, “Eh. Doesn’t matter. Internet doesn’t fact-check.”

Dieter pales as the screens shift again, revealing a new tweet from a Hollywood gossip account:

@CelebTea

Hearing rumors Dieter Bravo might be joining the new season of Dancing with the Stars. Yikes.

Below it:

“Damn. The fall-off is crazy.”

“From Oscar winner to reality TV? LMAO.”

“Honestly… he should just go away.”

Dieter staggers back, like the words physically hit him. “That’s not… that’s not real,” he gasps. “I still get offers.”

The Ghost snaps his fingers again and a holographic voicemail from Dieter’s agent plays in the air. The voice is detached, rehearsed.

“Hey, Dieter. So, uh… they went another way on that indie film. And the Netflix thing? Yeah… they’re going younger. Listen, man, maybe it’s time to think legacy projects, you know? Reality TV, tell-all memoir, brand deal with a whiskey company? Call me.”

The voicemail fades and Dieter just stares. He’s finally seeing it.

He’s not feared anymore. He’s not admired.

He’s irrelevant.

The Ghost grins, clapping his hands together. “So! What’s the move, champ? Time for a comeback tour? Maybe a fake redemption arc? Apologize on a podcast? Do a sponsored sobriety journey?”

Dieter says nothing. He just sinks onto the couch, staring at the glowing screens.

His entire life—his career, his reputation, his worth—has been reduced to clicks, comments, and memes.

He was king.

Now he’s a punchline.

A long, suffocating silence.

Then the Ghost leans in close, voice suddenly soft. “You feel that? That quiet?”

Dieter blinks up at him, lost for words.

“That’s the world moving on.”

The Ghost snaps his fingers—

And the room collapses into darkness.

KINDERGARTEN CLASSROOM (Present day)

The room sharpens into focus, and suddenly, Dieter finds himself standing in a classroom. A busy classroom.

Startled, he takes a step back.

"Where are—"

Before the Ghost can answer, Dieter’s eyes land on the teacher.

He stiffens.

She’s familiar. Recognizable.

Older. Softer. But still radiating that same warmth and that same love.

"Sylvie," he whispers, though no one is listening.

The Ghost watches him. "She can't hear you or see you, you know."

Sylvie kneels on the floor, surrounded by a small group of five-year-olds.

She wears a soft cardigan, her hair pulled back into a simple ponytail. A gentle smile graces her face.

The room is bright, filled with colorful drawings, toy blocks, and the soft, tender chaos of children.

She holds up a paintbrush, guiding the kids through a lesson on colors. "Okay," she encourages, "who can show me what happens when we mix blue and yellow?"

A tiny hand shoots up. Max, a little boy with messy hair and eager eyes is eager.

Sylvie nods at him, her gaze warm. She used to look at Dieter like that.

"That’s right, Max! What color do we get when we mix them?"

Max grins wide and exclaims, "Green!"

Sylvie laughs, her voice soft and melodic. Just as Dieter remembers it.

"Perfect! That’s right. Green! Now, who can make the color purple?"

The kids dive into the task, chattering excitedly, their small hands swirling paint across paper.

Sylvie moves through the room, offering quiet encouragement, guiding little fingers with patient hands.

She kneels beside Lucy, a shy girl struggling to paint a perfect blue circle.

Sylvie smiles, steadying the child's grip on the brush before stepping back to admire her work.

"Look at that beautiful circle!" she praises, her eyes shining.

Then, she stands and surveys the classroom.

Her gaze lingers on a small bulletin board decorated with photographs. It's filled with smiling faces of past students, carefully crafted artwork, tiny handprints in bright paint.

She’s become a part of their world. An anchor. A safe place.

Sylvie hums quietly to herself, exhaling contentedly.

"This is good."

And then—

The room swims out of focus.

DIETER’S APARTMENT – NIGHT (Present Day)

Dieter is back in his apartment, shaken from his encounter with the Ghost of Fame Present. The room is eerily silent now. The screens are gone. The only sound is his shallow breathing.

Then, a chill creeps in.

The room darkens. Shadows stretch unnaturally across the walls. The air feels thicker, like the room itself is suffocating.

A deep, slow knock echoes from the front door.

Dieter whispers in a low voice, “No. No, I don’t want this.”

The door blasts open, and standing there is the Ghost of Fame Future.

Unlike the others, this ghost doesn’t speak. It is tall, faceless, draped in a sleek, black cloak. Where its face should be, there is only a distorted reflection, like a cracked mirror, reflecting Dieter’s own terrified expression back at him.

It raises a hand and gestures.

Come.

Dieter shakes his head, stepping backward, but suddenly, the ground shifts beneath him, and the apartment dissolves into darkness.

A CHEAP HOTEL ROOM (Future)

Dieter stumbles forward, landing hard on the floor. His surroundings come into view. He's standing in a grimy, dimly lit motel room. The walls are stained. A buzzing neon sign flickers outside the window.

A man groans in the corner. Dieter turns and to his horror, he sees himself.

He's older. Bloated, sickly, unshaven. His hair is thinning, his skin sallow. A half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey sits on the nightstand next to a crumpled stack of lottery tickets and old, unpaid bills.

The future Dieter coughs violently, clutching his chest. His breathing is wheezing, labored. His hand trembles as he reaches for the bottle, knocking it over instead.

Dieter staggers backwards in horror, revulsion, and denial. “No. No, this—this isn’t real,” he wails.

The Ghost of Fame Future tilts its head, unmoving.

The television flickers on. It’s an entertainment news broadcast. A young, polished host smirks at the camera.

TV HOST

Remember Dieter Bravo? The ‘90s heartthrob who had it all? Yeah, well, if you’ve been wondering where he is now… you’re not alone.

The screen cuts to an unflattering mugshot of future Dieter, his face puffy, lifeless.

TV HOST (CONT’D)

Looks like he’s hit rock bottom… again. Arrested last night outside a casino in Vegas, ranting about a “Hollywood comeback.”

A clip plays of Future Dieter, stumbling outside a seedy casino, yelling at security guards.

Future Dieter cries out to the TV, “You don’t know who I am! I used to be DIETER BRAVO!”

The clip cuts to the TV host, who’s laughing now.

TV HOST

Yikes. That is brutal. Sad to see another washed-up actor crash and burn, huh? Anyway, moving on to actual news…

The broadcast fades out.

Dieter turns to the Ghost, rage and horror twisting his face.

“That’s not me! That’s NOT ME!” he protests.

The Ghost simply turns away. The room shifts again.

HOLLYWOOD WALK OF FAME – NIGHT (Future)

Dieter stumbles onto the Hollywood Walk of Fame. The once-bright boulevard is now a hollow, empty place. Tourists step around him without recognition.

His star, the one he once thought was immortal, is cracked, covered in chewing gum and dirt. A street performer in a superhero costume stands on it, using it as a platform for tips.

Dieter drops to his knees, running his fingers over the letters and whispers, “This isn’t how it’s supposed to end.”

He looks up and across the street, at a movie theater marquee. It’s promoting the next big Oscar-winning film, starring a young, fresh-faced actor who’s being hailed as the next Dieter Bravo.

His replacement.

Dieter stares, swallowed by the reality—he is no longer relevant. No one remembers. No one cares.

A group of young actors walk past, laughing. One of them gestures toward Dieter.

“Is that—wait. Is that Dieter Bravo?:

The other members of the group squint, frowning.

“Dieter Bravo? Who’s that?” One of the actors asks. They shrug and keep walking.

Dieter’s heart shatters.

The Ghost steps forward one last time, towering over him.

It doesn’t speak. It doesn’t need to.

Dieter knows.

This is his fate. Irrelevance. Obscurity. A cautionary tale people barely remember.

DIETER’S APARTMENT – NIGHT (Present Day)

With a violent gasp, Dieter wakes up, drenched in sweat. His apartment is back to normal. The Ghost is gone.

But its message lingers.

His hands tremble as he looks around, taking in his empty, silent life. He reaches for the vodka bottle. But stops.

His breath is shaky. His mind races.

Sylvie.

She was right to leave.

His fame isn’t immortal. He isn’t untouchable. He’s running out of time.

Dieter swallows hard, staring at his reflection in the dark window.

And for the first time in years, he asks himself:

Can I change? Or am I already too late?

Dieter sits on his couch, staring at the vodka bottle on the table. His fingers twitch toward it, but he doesn’t pick it up. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on his knees, face in his hands.

The apartment is silent, the air thick with the weight of the visions he’s just endured.

He takes a deep breath.

Then, he stands.

He grabs the vodka bottle, walks to the kitchen sink, and without hesitating pours it down the drain. The glug-glug-glug of the liquid feels symbolic, like something heavy is draining out of him.

He grips the counter, staring into the empty sink. His hands tremble, but he doesn’t let go.

He needs to do more.

HOLLYWOOD BOULEVARD (Early hours of Dieter’s 50th Birthday morning)

Dieter walks the streets of Los Angeles, hoodie up, sunglasses on. He doesn’t want to be recognized, not yet. Not like this.

He passes posters for movies he should’ve been in. Billboards of younger actors replacing him.

People walk by, ignoring him completely.

And then, his eyes land on something unexpected—a soup kitchen. People are lined up outside, some homeless, some just struggling. Volunteers hand out food.

Dieter hesitates, then steps closer.

A woman, a volunteer in her 60s, notices him.

“You here to eat or to help?” she asks roughly as she eyes him up and down.

Dieter swallows. No one recognizes him. He’s just another man in need of purpose.

Pausing for a moment, he thinks.“…Help,” he settles on. “I want to help.”

She studies him for a moment, then nods.

“Good. We always need hands. Wash up, grab an apron.”

Dieter does. And for the first time in a long time, he works. It's not for cameras, not for fans. Just to do something good.

SCHOOL PARKING LOT (several months later)

Dieter sits in his once-fancy car, parked outside the school. His hands grip the steering wheel, knuckles white. The engine is off, the silence around him deafening.

He watches the school doors, nervous, unsure if he even belongs here.

Through the windshield, he sees Sylvie step outside, laughing with another teacher. She’s radiant, her presence warm and effortless. A few kids run up to hug her goodbye.

She looks so different from his world.

Dieter swallows, his throat dry. He has no script for this. No camera to make it feel grand. Just a deep, gnawing need to say something real.

But his body refuses to move.

His fingers drum against the steering wheel. He checks his phone—no notifications. No one cares where he is. No one expects him anywhere.

The thought stings.

He looks back up. Sylvie is walking toward her car now. This is his chance.

Dieter takes a deep breath, forces his hand to the door handle—

And freezes.

What if she tells me to leave? What if she doesn’t care? What if I already ruined every chance I had?

His pulse thunders.

Sylvie reaches her car, unlocking the door. She hasn’t seen him. He could just drive away. Forget this moment ever happened.

But then, she pauses. Her eyes flick toward his car, squinting slightly.

Dieter holds his breath.

And then, finally, their eyes meet.

A long, heavy silence stretches between them, separated by glass, by years, by every mistake he’s made.

Sylvie tilts her head, wary. Not angry. Not happy. Just… uncertain.

Dieter nods once, almost a silent. “Can we talk?”

She exhales, her fingers tightening on her car keys. For a moment, he thinks she might just get in her car and drive away.

But instead—she walks toward him.

Dieter swallows hard. This is it. No script. No rehearsed lines. Just the truth.

COFFEE SHOP (Early Evening)

A small, quiet café on a side street, not the kind of place Dieter Bravo used to frequent. No paparazzi, no influencers, just the hum of conversation and the smell of freshly brewed coffee.

Dieter sits at a corner table, stirring his black coffee. He hasn’t touched it. Across from him, Sylvie sits with a chai latte, watching him.

The silence between them is thick. Not hostile, but heavy with things unsaid.

Sylvie clears her throat and starts first, “So. You found me.”

Dieter lets out a breathy chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Took some effort. You’re not exactly in the tabloids these days.”

Sylvie gives him a stern look as though he was one of her children. “That’s the point.”

Dieter nods, looking down at his coffee. He gets it.

A moment of silence passes between them. Sylvie takes a sip of her latte. She studies him, really looking at him for the first time in years. He’s different. Thinner, rougher, like the years have worn him down.

“Why are you here, Dieter?”

Dieter scoffs, shaking his head. “Would you believe me if I said… ghosts sent me?”

Sylvie raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, “Try again.”

Dieter exhales, drumming his fingers against the table. He hesitates, then finally forces himself to say it:

“I… I saw what my life looks like if I don’t change. It’s not pretty.”

Sylvie leans back in her chair, crossing her arms. “And you think finding me fixes that?”

“No,” begins Deiter. he pauses for a moment to recompose himself, “but I think losing you is where it started.

Sylvie looks away, staring at the rain-streaked window. The streetlights are flickering on, casting a glow on the pavement.

Dieter watches her, his chest tightening as he continues on talking. “I was an idiot. Back then. I thought I had it all figured out. Thought I deserved everything just because I was the guy on the poster.”

Sylvie stays quiet. She doesn’t disagree.

“You were the only person who knew me before all that. Before the movies, the money, the fake friends.”

There's a long pause.

Sylvie finally turns back to him, her eyes softer now, but still guarded. “I didn’t leave because you got famous, Dieter.” He nods, already knowing what’s coming. “I left because you let it turn you into someone else.”

Dieter winces. He looks down, running a hand over his face. He hates who he was.

“I know. And I’m trying.” He's being honest- more honest than he has for a long time.

Sylvie studies him for a long moment. He doesn’t look like the guy she left. But that doesn’t mean he won’t turn back into him.

“Trying isn’t the same as changing.”

Dieter nods slowly, absorbing that.

A silence lingers between them, but this time, it’s not as heavy. For the first time in a long time, Dieter isn’t trying to impress anyone.

Sylvie exhales, staring into her latte. Then, almost against her better judgment, she smiles a little. “You still take your coffee black, huh?”

Dieter looks at the cup in his hands, surprised by the small, familiar detail she remembers. He smirks, shrugging, “Guess some things don’t change.”

Sylvie tilts her head, studying him, “We’ll see about that.”

A DOWNTOWN COMMUNITY THEATER (Two Years Later)

The stage lights flicker on, illuminating the small community theater. The scent of sawdust and old velvet curtains lingers in the air.

Dieter stands at the edge of the stage, hands in his pockets, watching as a group of teenagers rehearses a scene.

"Okay, stop!" he calls, stepping forward. The kids freeze mid-line.

He gestures to a boy at center stage, who looks nervous, fidgeting with his sleeves. "Toby, you’re thinking too much. Don’t say the words—feel them. What’s your character actually fighting for?"

Toby swallows, nodding. "I think he just… he just wants to be understood."

Dieter smiles. "Exactly. Try it again, but this time—mean it."

The boy inhales, steadies himself, and begins again, stronger, more alive.

Sylvie arrives through the doors, carrying two cups of coffee, and a soft smile plays on her lips. She’s seen Dieter on the grandest stages, under the brightest lights, but somehow, she thinks this is the best version of him she’s ever seen.

He catches her looking and winks. She shakes her head, amused.

After rehearsal, the kids filter out, laughing, energized. Dieter stretches, rolling his shoulders.

"You’re good with them," Sylvie says as she approaches, handing over his usual black coffee.

Dieter shrugs. "They remind me of us."

She hums in agreement, then nudges him. "You’re also late for your meeting."

He groans. "Right. The producer. Remind me, do I want this job?"

Sylvie smirks. "It’s a great script. And you said you were ready to get back out there."

Dieter studies her for a moment before exhaling. "Yeah. I think I am."

She reaches for his free hand, fingers interlocking like they always have. "Then go get your second chance, Bravo."

Dieter squeezes her hand, then leans in and kisses her, slow and certain.

As he pulls away, he grins. "You’re coming with me, right?"

Sylvie chuckles. "Obviously."

They step out into the night, side by side, ready to begin again and have a life well lived.

#dbbc zine #dbbc zine summer 2025

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dbbczine · 1 month ago

Text

late night.

pairing: dieter bravo x actressf!reader word count: 6,337 warnings: dieter bravo, alcohol, reader has a glass of wine, p in v, practice safe sex, don't take sex ed from fanfics, barely beta'd, mistakes are my own estimated reading time: 31 minutes summary: much to your annoyance, an unexpected guest arrives at the late-night talk show you've been booked on. written for @burntheedges Roll-A-Trope Challenge. ao3: linked

x. masterlist

A/N: I'm terribly late to completing this, not even fashionably late, I dare not look when the deadline was. Without being all vaugebook status - I lost my love for writing, found it and life said lmao, no. But I'm slowly getting back and working through my wip's.

Late Night.

The city lights of London had glowed well into the late night. Casting a hazy glow over the bustling streets when you’d arrived at the TV studios just over an hour earlier. It was Thursday, and the city carried the anticipation of the weekend ahead. You were in town for the recording of a British late-night TV show that would air the following night. The studio was abuzz with energy and excitement as entourages arrived and technicians prepared for the recording.

You were sat backstage, sat in a makeshift hair and makeup set-up for last-minute touch-ups. The hustle of it all, the sound of chatter and laughter fought to distract you. You shifted to get comfortable in the chair you’d been planted in moments ago. Stifling a yawn, you wrinkled your nose as the lingering scent of hairspray hit your nose. Even though you’d been in the city for three days already, this interview—a cap on a whirlwind press tour—the jetlag was still hard to contend with having hit the ground running since you’d touched down in Heathrow.

Adjusting the delicate layered necklace that rested against the crisp white blouse you wore, you watched as the fluorescent lights above caught on the linked chains. Both were items your stylist had picked out for you. A little rich for your own taste, but you were at the mercy of the machine that was the studio bankrolling this press tour.

Your manager, Olivia, stood beside you and flipped through cue cards with the pre-selected questions for your segment. Her stacked bracelets jingled as she shuffled through them again. “Remember, keep it light and engaging, babe,” she reminded you, ignoring the exasperated sighs of the makeup artist as they tried to work around her. They love a good anecdote on this show.”

You brushed down the front of your pants, picking at an imaginary piece of lint. “Got it?” you nodded, despite the fact that your mind was elsewhere.

Something felt off. There was a tension in the air that set your nerves on edge. You couldn’t put your finger on it—call it intuition, call it a severe lack of sleep, whatever it was—it felt like something was going to tip the balance of that evening.

And then you heard it.

That laugh, that unmistakable laugh followed by a voice you’d hoped you’d never have to hear again, at least not in person. Your heart sank as recognition settled in.

“Is that…?” you began, your eyes widening as you whipped your head around to face Olivia, your make-up artist cursing under their breath.

Before Olivia could respond, the unmistakable presence that was Dieter fucking Bravo sauntered into view. His trademark entourage of hangers-on and ego strokers and a gaggle of studio staff hanging onto his every word. His tousled hair and effortless grin only fueled your irritation further.

“Liv, what’s he doing here?!” you hissed.

She looked genuinely perplexed. “I had no idea he was booked for tonight,” she said, rechecking her phone and the hardcopy of the night's rundown. He is not on the schedule. " You shot her a disbelieving look. “Honestly, babe, I had no clue!”

Dieter’s gaze swept the room before landing on you. His eyes lit up, and a slow mischievous grin spread across his face. He smoothly excused himself from his group, reciting that he’d miss them all equally, if not more, in that Hollywood-cliched faux sincerity before he strode toward you, with that infuriating swagger that was all him.

“Well, well, well, look who it is,” he drawled, stopping just within the boundaries of your personal space, “My favourite almost was co-star, fancy meeting you here,” he shot Olivia a look, throwing her a charming wink that she responded to with a roll of her eyes.

You straightened in your seat before clearing your throat, “Dieter,” you replied cooly, fighting the urge to roll your own eyes.

“Dieter,” Olivia said, turning to address him in the hope of running interference, “always a pleasure,” the tight smile she gave him at a contrast to her greeting.

He ignored her, his focus solely on you, “Funny, they didn’t mention you’d be on the show tonight.”

“Funny,” you echoed, meeting his eye in the reflection of the mirror, “they didn’t mention you’d be here either.”

He let out an obnoxious laugh, the sound grating on your nerves, “Must be our lucky day then,” he said, propping his hip against the vanity table—much to the annoyance of the makeup artist who had now given up trying to complete their job and had moved on to organizing their brushes.

“Or just poor scheduling,” you muttered, wishing for someone or something to give you an excuse to leave.

His eyes finally leaving you his gaze fell on the untouched glass of champagne in front of you, “May I?” he asked rhetorically, the flute already at his lips.

“Help yourself,” you said dryly with a wave of your hand, anything to get him moving on.

He took a sip, “Mmm… a 2000 vintage would you say?” he gave you a smirk and you bristled, “A memorable year wouldn’t you say?” his eyes met yours through the mirror over the rim of the champagne flute, a challenge in his eyes.

You were a damn good actress, but it was a fight to keep your face neutral. You weren’t going to give him this, not the satisfaction of pressing on the still tender bruise of the year everything had gone sideways. The year your promising big break had imploded before it’d even had a chance to begin. All in thanks to the erratic behaviour of the man beside you.

Your jaw tightened, “Is there a reason you’re here Dieter? Or are you simply here to raid the refreshments?”

He downed the remainder of the alcohol, making no attempt to hide his grin, “Can’t a guy catch up with old friends?”

The grin on his face only grew wider when the emphasis on the word friend garnered a visible flinch from you. It might have been a loose truth once upon a time, but you two were the furthest thing from it now.

You arched your eyebrow at him, finally turning in your seat to look up at him, “That’s a generous definition of the word, isn’t it?”

Sensing that Dieter was doing a good job of getting under your skin, Olivia cleared her throat, “We should really get back to prepping here, so if you would excuse us, Dieter.”

Dieter made no move to leave, “Oh, don't let me interrupt,” instead, he plucked the cue cards from Olivia's hand shuffling through them. “Let's see—keep it light and engaging,” he read aloud. “Sounds like riveting stuff, maybe you should tell them about the time at Cannes, you know—with the yacht and that producer you accused of stealing your script idea?” You glared at him, your nails digging into the arms of the chair, “You were…loud. And also right, I think,” he gave an exaggerated frown, “Too bad you puked overboard before you could make your point though.”

You glared at him, “It was food poisoning,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

“Sure,” he nodded, his face giving no indication he believed you.

Before anything else could be said a production assistant appeared, “Mr. Bravo, you’re required over in wardrobe to change.”

Dieter casually handed his glass over to an unimpressed Olivia, who took it with a scowl and held it delicately with two fingers as if it might contaminate her, “Well ladies, always a pleasure running into you both.” Then, turning to you directly, he added, “I heard they’re putting you on before me… break a leg,” he winked with a parting smirk.

“This is un-fucking believable,” you cursed, your eyes reluctantly following Dieter’s retreating figure.

Olivia sucked in a breath, “Don’t let him get under your skin,” she cautioned as she deposited Dieter’s glass on the vanity, wiping her hand on the arm of her jacket, “he’s not worth it.”

“Too late for that,” you muttered under your breath as the makeup artist was finally free to return to touch up the rest of your makeup.

The stage lights bathed you in a warm glow as you settled into the plush chair across from the show’s host. The audience had erupted into applause at your arrival, the lights blocking them from view. You flashed a confident smile, the kind that had won over countless fans.

“Welcome back! Always a pleasure to have you on the show,” the show’s host beamed as he shuffled his cue cards.

“Thank you, it's wonderful to be here,” you replied smoothly, well rehearsed in the etiquette of late-night talk shows. The cameras panned out and for a brief moment, you caught a brief glimpse of the studio audience, rows of bright eyes and bright smiles. You spotted Olivia in the wings, she gave you a reassuring thumbs up.

The interview progressed smoothly, the host effortlessly guiding the conversation through your most recent project, those upcoming, and even touching on your personal life. You played along, deflecting the more personal questions with ease and a light-hearted laugh, well-versed in the art of maintaining your privacy all the while still appearing open and relatable.

“So now,” the host spoke to the audience, your interview at a close, “we have a wee bit of a cheeky surprise waiting for us backstage,” he turned to you with a conspiratorial smile, “and I understand you and our next guest share a connection?”

Your smile tightened as you feigned your best impression of surprise, “Oh gosh, really? I’m intrigued. I do love surprises!”

“Well, you’re in for a good one! Ladies and gentlemen, the one and only Dieter Bravo!”

The audience erupted into a thunderous applause of standing ovations. It was a fight not to roll your eyes, how someone as messy and equally irksome as Dieter Bravo could still command such adoration from the public, you'd never understand.

Dieter strolled onto the stage, dressed in a flashy silk shirt, its buttons undone halfway to reveal the glow of tanned skin and a glint of a chain from which his signature Ray-Bans hung. He waved flamboyantly at the cheering audience, blowing exaggerated kisses that only spurred more applause. You had just stood from your seat to shift over for him—hoping to avoid more contact with him than necessary—when his hands settled firmly on your shoulders and pulled you into a theatrical embrace.

With the lights beaming down on you and the cameras rolling, the heat of his body pressed against yours you forced a grin for the watching crowd. You felt the heat of his breath at your ear, just before he spoke in a whisper only you could hear, “Miss me, gorgeous?”

Despite your best intentions, the words sent a shiver down your spine—whether it was annoyance or something else entirely, you weren’t exactly sure, but it wasn’t time to explore those feelings. The audience oblivious to the crackling tension between you two, ate it up as you went through the motions of allowing him to air kiss you dramatically on each cheek.

He released you just as theatrically, gesturing to the audience to keep cheering and you took the opportunity to slide into your seat, determined to continue your air of unbothered confidence in his presence. Meanwhile, Dieter dropped himself into his seat with the kind of shit-eating grin that said he knew exactly how well he was getting under your skin.

The host, picking up on the dynamics between the two of you, beamed, “Well, well, it looks like our stage just got a little more star-studded. How exciting is this?”

As the audience responded with raucous applause, you exchanged a fleeting glance with Dieter. His eyes glimmered mischievously as he raised a knowing eyebrow at you before launching into a charisma-filled anecdote that had everyone eating out of the palm of his hand. It only did well to remind you of the many times he’d used showmanship to deflect attention.

The host leaned forward eagerly. “It's not often we get two dynamic talents such as you two on one stage! You two worked together a few years back, no?”

“That's right,” Dieter interjected, turning to give you a wide grin before you could open your mouth to respond. “It was a really unforgettable experience.”

You shot him a warning look as you shifted in your seat. “Unforgettable, indeed.”

The host leaned in, clearly enjoying the underlying tension. “Do share!” he encouraged as he looked to the audience’s agreement. “Any memorable moments?”

Dieter leaned back casually, his eyes never leaving your face. “Well, there was that time someone decided to rewrite half the day’s script without telling anyone.”

You felt a spike of irritation as you bristled, “Better than not showing up to set at all, don’t you think?” you countered, forcing a tight smile.

The audience chuckled nervously, sensing the undercurrents between you.

“Ah, creative differences!” the host exclaimed, trying to lighten the mood.

“Something like that,” you said, keeping your tone even.

Dieter leaned back in his chair, eyes never leaving your face. “You know, it's all water under the bridge now. Besides, some of us have moved on to bigger and better things.”

“Yes, professionalism can take one far,” you replied sharply.

He smirked. “And a good sense of humour.”

You clenched your jaw, determined not to let him rattle you further.

The host cleared his throat, “So, any chance of a reunion on screen?”

“Unlikely,” you both said in unison.

The audience laughed, and despite yourself, a small smile tugged at your lips. For a fleeting moment, your eyes met his, and something indefinable passed between you.

“Well, one can always hope,” the host said with a wink. “Now, moving on…”

The remainder of the interview continued with practiced ease, though Dieter never missed an opportunity to test your composure. Each surreptitious remark was a calculated attempt to unsettle you, but you held your ground. But by the time the cameras stopped rolling, your patience however had been worn thin.

As you walked backstage, the loud chatter and bustling activity faded into a distant hum. Your pace quickened as you made your way straight to your dressing room, Olivia hot on your heels. Finally reaching your destination, you swung open the door to your dressing room.

“Are you okay?” she asked, concern etched on her face.

“I'm fine,” you replied curtly, though your hands were shaking with frustration. Because despite your best efforts, the memory of Dieter’s smug grin during the interview kept infiltrating your thoughts, a consistent reminder that he had succeeded in getting under your skin.

“At least you won't have to deal with him anymore tonight,” Olivia reassured you.

“Small mercies,” you muttered. Yet even as you said it, you could still feel the unsettled anger burning in your chest that showed no sign of cooling any time soon.

After what felt like an eternity, the commotion of packing up your dressing room finally settled. You breathed a sigh of relief as you opened the door, eager to escape to the comfort of your hotel room. However, before you could take a step forward, a familiar voice rang out from down the hallway, “Leaving already?”

You turned to see Dieter leaning casually against the wall, his gaze unapologetically fixed on you. He looked maddeningly at ease, still dressed in the clothes he’d worn on stage, as though your tense exchanged barbs hadn’t ruffled him in the slightest.

“What do you want?” you snapped, turning to face him against your better judgment.

He shrugged, “Just thought we could catch up,” he said innocently.

“I have nothing to say to you,” you retorted, adjusting the strap of your handbag. “Pulling that shit out there, what the fuck were you thinking?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Still holding a grudge, I see.”

You felt heat rise up your neck. “A grudge? You nearly derailed my career.”

He sighed dramatically. “Must we rehash ancient history? It’s such a bore.”

You felt a surge of anger. “Ancient history? You sabotaged our film and nearly destroyed my career.”

He shrugged, “Depends on how you look at it. I like to think I added a bit of je ne sais quois.”

“You're unbelievable,” you fumed, turning on your heel and striding to the exit. He didn’t even bother calling after you; his amused silence was just another demonstration of his nonchalance to his actions and their consequences—and it only proved to stoke your anger further.

Finally back at your hotel, in the quiet peace of your suite, you relished in the calm after the storm. You’d slipped off your shoes, enjoying the feel of the plush carpet between your toes, before you collapsed onto the sofa. The London city lights twinkled outside your window. Tiny dots across the horizon, highlighting a busy city still moving despite the late hour. Opening a bottle of iced water you’d retrieved from the fridge you tried to unwind. But the night’s surprise encounter with Dieter replayed incessantly and uninvited in your mind.

Before you could reach for your phone, looking for a distraction in the form of some retail therapy, there was a sharp knock at your door.

Frowning, you glanced at the clock. It was well past midnight and you’d already debriefed with Olivia, she’d wished you a good night. Shuffling across the room, pulling on a cardigan as you went, there came a muffled voice from the other side of the door, “Room service.”

Confusion knitted your brow. “I didn't order anything,” you muttered, approaching the door with caution.

On the balls of your feet, you looked up through the spy hole, and groaned when you saw who it was, “You've got to be fucking kidding me,” you said under your breath exasperated. “Go the fuck away, Dieter.”

“Just give me a minute,” he insisted as you watched him scratch at his beard.

You contemplated ignoring him and returning to your bed, but the thought of him loitering outside your door was enough to convince you against your better judgment. The last thing you needed was someone getting wind of Dieter Bravo making a fuss outside your hotel room in the middle of the night. With a sigh, you unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door just enough so that the chain bar was still in place.

“What could you possibly have to say that hasn't already been said?” you demanded.

Dieter held up a hand, a gesture of peace, “Please.”

You hesitated and argued with yourself, “This is highly inappropriate.”

He met your gaze, his expression surprisingly earnest. “I wanted to apologize.”

You shooed him off as you tried to close the door, “Fine. Apology accepted. Goodnight.”

He shoved his foot between the door and its frame, preventing you from closing it. “Can I come in, please?”

You stared at him incredulously, “Why would I ever let you do that?”

“Because I do owe you an apology,” he said, his tone surprisingly earnest, “and you do love to be proven right,” he smirked, knowing you’d let your guard down when he played to your ego. “Come on, it’ll just be a moment.”

You studied him for a moment, he looked too relaxed for what it was he was asking. The dishevelled hair, the t-shirt that looked like it’d never seen an iron, your exasperation wavered for a moment. “You have some nerve showing up after that shit you pulled on national TV.”

He only smiled wider, and it made you want to slap it off of his face. But there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something that suggested that he was possibly genuine in his ask.

“I know,” his voice was devoid of sarcasm, “which is why I couldn’t leave things as they were.”

You pursed your lips together and gave him one last look of lingering frustration before moving back just enough to open the door, begrudgingly allowing him in against your better judgment.

“You have a knack for poor fucking timing Bravo.”

He offered a half-smile. “Better late than never, am I right?”

You regarded him coolly, “You know you really can't just show up at my hotel room,” you told him. “One minute, that’s all you’ve got.”

The smirk on Dieter’s face telling you he believed he’d already won. He produced a bottle of wine from behind his back,

“Technically, I did announce myself as room service,” he pointed out, holding up the bottle of wine, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he ignored the time limit you’d given him.

“Did you steal that from the green room?”

He didn't answer, but his grin told you everything you needed to know.

“You're unbelievable,” you sighed.

You watched as he took in the expanse of your hotel suite. “Nice place,” he remarked.

“Your time is running out,” you reminded him as you checked your watch.

He turned to face you, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry for tonight. For everything, really.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That's quite the blanket apology.”

He shrugged innocently. “Fancy a nightcap?”

You let out a dry laugh. “ You think a bottle of stolen wine and a poor attempt at an apology will fix everything?”

He shrugged, a playful glint in his eye as he spied the wine glasses on the table. “It is a very good wine.”

Despite yourself, you felt a smile tug at the corners of your mouth. “You're absurd.”

“So I've been told,” he said, handing you a generously filled glass.

You clinked yours against his reluctantly. “To better judgment,” you countered dryly.

Dropping onto the sofa, you both sipped in silence for a moment. The wine was rich and full-bodied, warming you from the inside out.

“So, was antagonizing me on live television part of your grand plan?” you finally asked, breaking the silence.

He sighed, swirling the wine in his glass. “Believe it or not, I didn't know you'd be there tonight.”

“I find that hard to believe,” you replied skeptically.

He met your gaze. “It's true. I really was a last-minute addition. Didn’t know I’d be on until half an hour before.”

Silence enveloped the room again, but this time it felt more contemplative than awkward.

“Why are you here, Dieter?” you asked quietly.

He took a deep breath. “I really do want to apologize.”

“She’s in town isn’t she?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You rolled your eyes as the realization settled in, you pointed a finger around your wine glass at him, “She turned you down so you’re on my doorstep.” Dieter didn’t say anything, but instead inspected the contents of his wine glass, “Hah, I knew it.”

Dieter’s tumultuous relationships were nothing short of front-page news and he was never short on supplying exploits for further column inches on the topic. However, his hang-up on this particular ex seemed to haunt him more than any of the others. You’d even worked with her once or twice before. A script for a project she was working on was on your desk back home in preparation for auditions the following month. You had no clue how someone so together had ever been with someone like Dieter if you were entirely honest.

You watched him now, with amusement, noting the way his jaw tensed at your accusation.

He narrowed his eyes at you, “She’s got nothing to do with this and I was actually sorry, though very much reconsidering it now,” he grumbled.

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. “You're unbelievable, you know that? Classic Dieter Bravo—gets rejected and runs to stir up chaos wherever he can.”

“It's not like that,” he said defensively, though his tone lacked any serious conviction.

You laughed, “Oh please, Dieter. Unfortunately I know you too well. This isn’t about me, it’s about your bruised ego,” you challenged, crossing your arms as you leaned back into the sofa.

He leaned back himself, eyeing you with a mixture of amusement and irritation. “And here I thought we were having a moment.”

“A moment?” you scoffed, “is that what you call this?”

He smirked, “Would you prefer I call it foreplay?”

You nearly choked on your wine, “You’re unrepentant. I can see why she turned you down.”

“Part of my charm,” he winked, though the smile he plastered on his face didn’t meet his eyes.

You took another drink from your glass, it was truly frustrating how this man could occupy so much space in a room, and in your thoughts, without even trying.

“You should go,” you said, dropping your glass to the coffee table with a bit more force than you intended. “I don’t have time for your games tonight Dieter, I have an early flight.”

He reached for his wine glass, draining it, “In that case, I’ll take my leave.”

You raised an eyebrow, this you hadn’t expected, the Dieter you knew would be begging or leaning into some cocky, insufferable line that would make you want to slap him—or kiss him—depending on the day. You watched him gather himself, however he made no move to leave.

A silent impasse passed between the two of you, you bit your lip—you were the first to break, “There’s nothing between us except years of bad history and a mutual inability to get along.”

He tilted his head, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. “Sure about that?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “Positive,” you replied, with more conviction than you actually felt.

But he sat there, his presence electric, and it was pissing you off how much you didn’t want him to leave.

Dieter turned towards you, his voice low and coaxing. “You could kick me out,” he said, closing the distance between you both on the sofa, “but you know I’ll always come back.”

“Ever think I don’t want you to?” you shot back, ignoring the waver in your voice.

He leaned in, and you swallowed hard, “Then why am I still here?”

You weighed up your options. There was going to be nothing between the two of you, aside from this bitter back and forth—which if you were honest, was getting rather tiresome as the man was never going to admit true fault. However, you would be a liar if you denied he was handsome, and the idea of getting some satisfaction out of this situation would be appreciated given it had been a while since the last time you’d had sex, let alone sex that was worth remembering. And there he was, sitting on your couch like he owned the place, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a hint of his chest.

The wine had warmed you and softened the edges of your irritation and as much as you hated to admit it (and you’d never speak it out loud, his ego was big enough as it was), there was something about Dieter Bravo that made it hard to look away.

“Fuck it,” you muttered under your breath and before you could allow any reason to enter your mind you pulled him by the shirt, your lips crashing with his, his just as hungry as yours. The kiss was urgent, messy and a collision of years of pent-up frustration.

His wine glass slipped from his hand, forgotten, as he leaned into you, his hands finding your waist, “Finally,” he murmured against your mouth, smugness dripping from him.

“Don’t ruin it,” you warned, nipping at his bottom lip to shut him up.

Dieter groaned into your mouth as your fingers dove into his hair, his curls twisting around your fingers and you couldn’t help but tug at them, tilting his head to give you better access. He obliged, pulling you closer until you were practically in his lap.

“Dieter,” you murmured, the name tasting strange on your lips.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice rough, laced with amusement.

You didn’t have time to argue with him—not when his hands were tugging at the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head in one swift motion. You didn’t protest when he discarded it onto the floor, his eyes raking over you with an intensity that made you shiver.

“I still fucking hate you,” you hissed, your lips felt bruised and yet you wanted more of it.

He smiled, “I know, sweetheart. That's what I love about you."

You shook your head, a wry smile breaking through against your better judgment. “You're insufferable.”

“So I’ve been told,” he replied, his eyes never leaving yours.

“One night,” you said firmly. “This doesn't change anything.”

He nodded. “Understood.”

You took his hand, pulling him in the direction of the bedroom. “Come on, before I change my mind.”

The bed creaked under your weight as you fell onto it, his body pressing against yours. His mouth trailed kisses along your collarbone before finding its way back to yours. You gasped as he nibbled on your bottom lip; a mixture of pleasure and frustration surged through you. He tasted like wine and the stubble from his unshaven beard felt deliciously rough against your skin.

Your hands fought with his to unbutton his pants and pull them down, him pulling away momentarily to strip himself of the remainder of his clothes. He crawled back up the bed, his hair an unruly mess—more so than usual—and his smirk firmly in place, as if he had all the time in the world and you weren’t lying there, aflamed and impatient. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at him, instead grabbing him by the wrist and yanking him closer.

“Stop dragging this out,” you snapped, your voice low and breathless.

“Impatient now?” he teased, he leaned down, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Say please.”

You glared at him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you pulled him even closer. “If you don’t shut up and do something useful—”

His mouth silenced you, crashing into yours with a ferocity that made your head spin. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve and dip and you couldn’t deny how good it felt—how he seemed to know exactly where to touch to make your breath hitch or your back arch.

“You’re so bossy,” he murmured against your skin as he kissed down the column of your neck, his stubble leaving a trail of delicious friction in its wake. “Kinda sexy.”

“Dieter,” you warned as you lifted your hips for him to rid you of the rest of your clothes.

He hummed, a low gravelly sound as he obliged you, his fingers surprisingly deft as they worked on the clasp of your bra. It too joined the growing pile of discarded clothes on the floor. His hands cupped your breasts, he groaned in delight, his thumbs brushing over your nipples and you had to bite back a moan, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

But when his mouth soon followed, you couldn’t help the sound that escaped your lips. His tongue circled the peak of your nipple, his lips closing around it—with just the right amount of pressure. You fisted his hair, pulling him closer, arching your hips up off of the bed and he chuckled, the vibrations sending a shiver through you.

“Still hate me?” he asked, lifting his head to meet your gaze, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“More than ever,” you lied.

In no time, his clothes were added to the heap on the floor. You pulled him in as he knelt on the bed above you, your legs spread, and ankles hooked around the back of his knees.

He smirked, his hands sliding down to your hips, his fingers digging into you as he pulled you closer, “Sure about that?”

Before you could answer, he was there, pressing against you, the heat of him searing and teasing. You gasped, aching to take him, and he groaned, the sound raw and unfiltered. He nudged his hips, teasing your entrance and it sent a spark of heat up your spine that had you throwing your head back in frustration.

“Dieter,” you breathed out as you looked up at him, a smug smile plastered across his face, you reached up and grabbed the mess of curls at the nap of his neck, “how about instead of running your mouth,” you pulled him down, “you put that mouth to better use?”

The glint in Dieter’s eyes at not only the challenge issued, but the act of you taking charge of the moment from him lit up his face. Needing no direction, he took his tongue and trailed a blazing hot path from your breasts to your navel. His hands were everywhere, just as chaotic as him, mapping your body in a way that made you wonder if he’d been planning this for years. You hated how good it felt, how your body betrayed you by responding so quickly to his touch, so eager. But you couldn’t deny it—Dieter Bravo knew exactly what he was doing.

His mouth reached the apex of your thighs, and you tensed, your breath catching in your throat. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, a smirk playing on his lips as he lowered his head. The first touch of his tongue sent a jolt through you, and you bit back a moan, your hands fisting the sheets as if anchoring yourself to reality. He hummed, a low, approving sound, and the vibration sent a ripple of pleasure through you. You hated that he was good at this, hated that you couldn’t pretend it wasn’t affecting you.

“Stop being stubborn and let go,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. “I can feel how much you want this.”

“You’re impossible,” you ground out, your hips shifting involuntarily against his mouth, your body already deciding whose side it was on.

He laughed, a rough, delicious sound, and continued his relentless assault on your senses. Your resolve crumbled piece by piece, each touch, each kiss, each expert flick of his tongue pulling you under. Your breath came quick and shallow as heat coiled inside you, tighter and tighter.

“Dieter—” This time it was a plea.

“There she is,” he said, a dark chuckle rolling off his lips as he went back to work with renewed vigour.

You gasped as his fingers slid inside you, working in tandem with his tongue, stroking that sensitive spot inside you that made your toes curl. When you finally came, it was with a cry that surprised even you, your body arching off the bed as pleasure coursed through you like a storm.

Dieter crawled back up, his face gleaming with satisfaction, and you pulled him into a kiss that was as much about reclaiming control as it was about desire. He obliged, his lips meeting yours with a hunger that matched your own. You could taste yourself on him, a dizzying reminder of what he’d just done, and yet it only made you want more.

“Say it,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “Say you want me.”

“You’re insufferable,” you hissed, your nails digging into his back.

He laughed, low and rough. With one thrust, he filled you completely. You cried out, the sound muffled by his shoulder as he stilled, letting you adjust to the sudden fullness.

“Not so bad, is it?” he murmured, his voice laced with smugness.

You glared at him, but before you could respond, he moved, pulling back—so far back he teased you with the tip and between clouded thoughts of pleasure you were impressed with his ability to hold himself there. He hovered, teasing your entrance, taunting you with the promise of more. But then he thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth stroke.

“You're so tight,” he breathed, his voice low and rough with restraint. “I could stay right here forever.”

However it was short-lived, he soon picked up the pace, the headboard knocking rhythmically against the wall as he drove into you with increased urgency with a rhythm that left you breathless. His hands were everywhere, his mouth everywhere, and you couldn’t keep up with the sensations. The room was filled with your mingled moans and gasps echoing off the walls.

You hated him. You hated how he made you feel, how he could reduce you to this—this messy, desperate, undeniable need. But more than that, you hated how good it felt, how right it felt, how it seemed like he was made to fit you.

“Dieter,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice rough, his pace faltering for just a moment.

“Don’t stop.”

He laughed again, the sound wild and raw, and obliged, driving into you with a rhythm that left you clawing at the sheets, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper.

You were a mess of contradictions—hate and desire, frustration and pleasure, all tangled together in a knot you couldn’t untangle. But at that moment, you didn’t care. All you cared about was the release building inside you, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it snapped, sending you soaring.

He followed you over the edge, his body tensing as he buried his face in your neck, his groan muffled against your skin. You both lay there, Dieter’s weight settled on top of you, his face still buried in the crook of your neck. You could feel the hammering of his heartbeat gradually slowing against your chest.

Finally, he pushed himself up, his eyes locking with yours. “Still hate me?” he asked, his voice rough and laced with amusement.

You glared at him, your chest still heaving. “More than ever.”

He smirked, rolling off you and onto his back. “Good. I’d be worried if you didn’t.”

#dbbc zine #dbbc zine summer 2025

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dbbczine · 1 month ago

Text

Set In Motion

A Dieter Bravo Fan Fic

We’ve all seen the keep fit Sled picture & gone DAMN OUR MAN GOT IT GOING ON (I know some tummy lovers are gutted I’m sorry) but it helped to form an idea. Suddenly I had a small little idea for a fic in my mind…

It’s not longer small. I also hate self praise as a Brit, but I think this is the best writing I have ever done. I’ve sent snippets to people to read in advance without spoiling it for them & everyone single one of them has gone yep that Dieter.

Synopsis:- You have a new Celebrity client to take on at the Gym, it’s the over the top Drama queen, Dieter Bravo.

Word count:-(sorry I couldn’t stop writing) 9100

Warnings:- DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18! unprotected PIV sex, client & customer, no strong enemy’s to lovers but it will make sense why I’ve put that, swearing, innuendos, fantasy’s, controlling, being sick, angst, teasing, riding, tasting, Dieter is a bit of a sex pest that covers most aspects doesn’t it? Pain from gym.

Seriously thank you for reading. It means the world & I love doing it. Cheers peoples.

When they said that you had been requested to train a Hollywood “A Lister” you were excited. Your reputation proceeded you, & you had turned the rich & the poor for lazy lumps to fitness gods. Even if they didn’t want to be sculptured to perfection you helped everyone feel comfortable in the gym. You are the go to woman & you can’t wait to see who is going to walk through the door. You’ve been told they can be difficult & demanding, but that’s also a bit like you on your worst day. How bad can they be?

The day has come. They have requested their own room for the training, already wanting exclusivity, very demanding. You sigh as you get a few smaller pieces of equipment in there, as well as a weighted sled, incase they are someone from abroad who actually knows what they are doing. But you treat every person you train on their first day as a novice to it all the equipment, best to work out together what they wish to achieve.

10am they were meant to be here. They aren’t. You slowly do some small 2kg weights while on an exercise bike in the corner of the room. At 10:47 the doors fly open. There in a big coat with shades on & messy hair is Dieter Bravo. The pre-Madonna, the sulky demanding diva, he might be an Oscar winner but his reputation isn’t the best.

“I have no idea why I’m here” he states firmly throwing his scarf off his neck. “My agent says “Dieter hit the gym it will do you good” ha” you slowly look at him trying not to stare. He is a legend despite his attitude & he smell incredible even from a short distance away. “I have the metabolism of a jungle cat, I don’t need to be here” he scoffs & drops his bag & sit on a bench in the corner. “Just call my agent later, tell them that we did okay while I have a nap” you shake your head. He’s gonna be one of those ones.

“Mr Bravo” you say & get off the exercise bike. “This is a place of work & fun, you can either be your inner jungle cat & get on with this or I can ask security to help you leave” you stand a few meters in front of him arms crossed. If he’s gonna whine, you’re going to be stubborn as well.

“Are you challenging me?” He asks boldly. He behind his mirrored sun glasses looks your body up & down “& aren’t you a little to curved to be a personal trainer?” He thinks he’s being funny. If only he knew your story. You’re the reason people come to this gym. You were extremely large, & to now be the size you are with a few muscles is extraordinary. If he’s gonna make comments like that, you can play that game too. He might be a sexy actor but manners cost nothing.

“Well…” you glaze over his comment about your size “… if you’d have arrived on time we’d have gone through some of the smaller items in this room, but as your here extremely late, I want to see if those broad shoulders have got the power in them” you then step aside to reveal the sled. “Push it” you’re not asking.

“That?” He scoffs & finally takes his glasses & coat off. He’s got a grey tshirt on & some overly big hanging shorts. For him to look so casual probably cost more than you make a month. “That thing, surely is from the Middle Ages, it’s for cows to push, wha..”

“Then it should be fine for a springy jungle cat” you wink & then give him a brief demonstration as to what to do. You haven’t stacked it properly with weights it’s about half of what you can push. “So mr Bravo…”

“Dieter or diets…”he interrupted.

“Dieter, I need this down to that wall & back & I need you do to that 5 times.” He has a little grumble & gets up off the bench. Clearly he thought his work out was gonna be with an influence to softly train with, who would also be who he got to fuck for the next few weeks until they both got bored. You’re clearly not his usual type.

“This is barbaric” & that was a before he had even started. Grumbles left his mouth as he started his first of 5 rounds. His face already a beetroot, the sweat poring down his back.

“Keep going Dieter” you say deadpan as he heads off on his second push back down the room.

“Fuck” he moans. He gets back up to your part of the room & dramatically collapses on the floor fanning himself. The drama queen has arrived. “I need water. I need electrolytes. I need a moment to reflect on the fragility of existence.” He groans holding his ribs. That makes you laugh, but you do go get him a bottle of water. “Think that’s funny do you?” You nod, his charm starting to rub off on you a little. He then takes the lid off the bottle of water & pours it over his head. That tshirt now sticking to his front as well. “Well let’s just say I ain’t coming back to do anymore work outs in this trauma chamber you call a gym.”

You thought that would be it. You’d never see Dieter again, his sessions would be cancelled & that would be that. One nice pay day which would pay off the rest of your sofa. So you were shocked to see it still in the calendar & for him to turn back up 3 days later. You sat on the exercise bike once again patiently waiting for him. In he walked, only 39mins late this time. No big coat but a bag with some bits in it, the sun glasses were also removed straight away. Those handsome eyes radiating charisma.

“I owe you an apology, & you owe me one for putting me through that oxen cow sled thing, but my agent says I have to persevere, so can we start again” he says extending his hand. A peace offering. You look him up & down, still in celebrity gym gear not what he actually needs. You shake his hand.

“If we’re doing this Dieter we’re gonna do that “oxen cow thing “” you use quote marks he chuckles “… every session until you can push it up & down this room 5 times”

“& when I do that, I can leave?”

“You can leave or stop this whenever you want Dieter, your the one paying me”

“True” he says as he gets out a water bottle. Branded obviously with his face on it. “then let’s say how many days…” you laugh “…weeks…” you still smirk “… months? you think it’s gonna take me months to push that up & down this room 5 times?” He looks at you in disbelief.

“Yes Dieter I do & today we’re gonna work out how much weight actually needs to go on it”

“Are you like this to all your Hollywood clients?” He asks sipping some of his water & setting his phone up so he can get some good shots of him working out. You tut. You for a brief millisecond, forgot he was a celebrity, & thought it was just good banta.

“I’m like this to everyone Dieter, don’t think you’re special” he fakes looking offended, it’s far too over the top.

“Oooh but I am special, just you wait & see” you let out an exasperated sigh & begin to do your tests on Dieter. The session much like last time ends with the sled, & Dieter dramatically lying on the floor after just half a turn. The work out had done its job.

Dieter tested your patience for the first few sessions. Hollywood does go to peoples heads. He chucked a weight on the floor in a strop that was made of fibre glass & it smashed. He clicked his fingers for you to clean it up & you berated him, as this meant this room couldnt be used by anyone for the next 3 hours. His next session he came in with a cheque for $1000 to compensate the gym. His face genuinely apologetic, or was he just good at acting sorry. It’s hard to tell with those eyes.

When he was working out, he was still dramatic too, as well as late to every session, usually between 15 to 35mins late. You’d actually told him that for every 5mins he’s late youd add another weight to the sled.

You often had to stand there & watch as he made content for Instagram. Often his outfits would not be gym ready so the top could be torn off or so he could look sweaty in a v neck. It did get hard for you at times. The man was handsome & had charisma boiling over. You grew found of Dieter & his showing off for the camera & the man that you were slowly getting to know underneath the layer of fame.

“So you guys know I’m loving this fitness routine” you sit on the exercise bike peddling as he does this little video, you let him do one at the start & then if the vibes right at another point. “But today I’ve got this amazing protein shake before we start” you roll your eyes as Dieter explains to his viewers what’s in the green gunky drink & how it’s good for him & helping him. You know where this is going.

“Let’s chug!” He says excitedly & then takes some large gulps out of the drink. You can see him shudder. He puts his thumbs up to the camera & say quickly “yummy” before then turning it off quickly & then running to a Bucket & spewing it all out. You sit in the bike laughing as he gags. You do then remember he’s human, get off the bike & go to his bag & get his water bottle. He’s your client after all, he might get a poser but you’re learning he is genuine.

“You okay Dieter?”

“Of course I’m not” he splutters before swilling some water around & cleaning his mouth. “How the fuck do you guys a drink that��

“I don’t” he lifts his head from the bucket “some people do but it’s not my thing, also all those ingredients you said well…” you pull a face.

“Well what!”

“They don’t go together, I’m guessing you literally walk into a shop & asked for everything healthy in one drink?” He turns red & then starts to cough “yea next time go for some carrot or spinach juice or maybe a light fruit smoothie, I like strawberry & mango”

“Ewww” he pulls a face like a toddler who doesn’t like the broccoli you are giving it.

“Trust me start small not big”

There’s a nod of neutral respect between you as he sits in the floor, moving the bucket away. He flashes that wide grin at you, his eyes bigger & more brown today. It’s easy to fall for him, even without his charisma. You shake your head denying your own crush for him.

“Just tell me when your ready Dieter & we can get to todays work out.”Dieter sighed & got up ready for instructions.

A while later hes struggling through a bench press, muttering something about “the crushing weight of expectations,” & when he finally pushed the bar up, he looked at you, flushed, sweaty, panting just a little & smirked. His guard down as you set up the sled for the end of the session.

“I think I only keep coming back here because of you.”

You freeze, your brain just short-circuited. Dieter, of course, had no idea what he’d just done. He just sat up, shaking out his arms, oblivious to the fact that you were now actively fighting for your life, trying not to turn bright red. You forced a fake laugh.

“Right. Because you love working out so much.”

“Oh, I hate it,” he said cheerfully, swiping a towel over his face. “But you make it… tolerable. Pleasant, even.”

Pleasant. Pleasant! Bloody pleasant! You want to crawl into the changing room & hide but you also wished for more.

You had hoped Dieter hadn’t noticed your embarrassment, but he had. He was now going to have fun. your problem was that now you noticed everything about him. Like how he’d bite his lip when concentrating. How his t-shirts clung a little too well when they got damp. How he’d stare at you whenever you demonstrated an exercise, not in a “taking notes” way, but in a “please repeat that so I can keep watching” way.

Worst of all? The post-workout stretches.

One day, he sighed mid-stretch & said,

“You should stretch me out sometime.” You choked on your water. He blinked at you, all with innocent curiosity. “What?” Mischief spawns across his face.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, pretending to be very focused on adjusting a kettlebell. He tilted his head. In the adorable way he always does.

“You okay? You seem flustered.”

“I am not flustered.” You were extremely flustered & tried to get back on topic, but tension hung in the air, unspoken & ready to pop.

After that session with the sled he did 4 lengths, he wasn’t as dramatic in his collapse. Dieter was leaning against the wall, sweaty & smug. “You know, I think I’m finally starting to enjoy this,” he said, looking you up and down. “Or maybe I just enjoy you bossing me around.” You were dangerously close to losing it.

Then he smiled, lazy, teasing, too damn pretty & you snapped.

“Okay, that’s it for today, Shower. Now.”

He blinked. You hadn’t talked to him like that in weeks being snappy.

“Are you…”

“NOT WITH ME,” you shouted. “Just…go. Before I do something wildly unprofessional.” Dieter stared at you for a moment. Then, very slowly, his smirk returned.

“Oh,” he murmured, eyes flickering with dangerous amusement. “Interesting.”

You turned on your heel & left before you did something stupid. Like kiss him. Or murder him. Or both. Behind you, you heard him laugh. Low, delighted, victorious. You were so, so screwed.

This now made this hard for you but fun & games for Dieter who was loving every second.

You barely survived the rest of the weeks sessions. Because now, Dieter knew. He didn’t know exactly what he knew, but he knew something & that was very, very bad.

Every gym session after that was a nightmare of subtle provocations.

From asking if his hips were in the right position, to is this enough thrust to put into it, how low can he squat. But the worst day was the long v neck tshirt day, his nipples escaping constantly .You nearly threw a kettlebell at his head.

“Hey” he moaned when you said it was inappropriate to wear.

“You want to get burns on you nipples from the fabric be my guest” this just made Dieter do the session topless instead, you weren’t sure If this was better for the sake of his nipples or worse for your imagination.

The next session was an evening one, he’d been at a big celebrity event the day before, but still wanted to show he was committed to this. For a man who protested & hated this, he never missed a session, this time turning up 8mins late, his best time yet.

Dieter was finishing his cooldown stretches (which were still offensively sensual, by the way), & you were trying, to focus on literally anything other than the way he was sprawled on the mat, looking up at you with that goddamn smirk.

“You’ve been acting weird,” he said suddenly. You froze. Trying not to look panicked

“I have not been acting weird.” Dieter tilted his head the way you like.

“No? Because I swear you used to be a lot meaner to me.” You scoffed.

“You’re still infuriating.” He grinned.

“See, there’s the fire. I missed that.”

“Just finish stretching.”

You ignored the way your stomach did a stupid little flip. But Dieter didn’t move. He just watched you.

Then, too casually, he said, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were into me.”

Heat shot up your spine, panic flashing across your face for exactly half a second before you caught yourself.

“I…” Dieter’s smirk widened.

“Oh my god.”

“No.”

“Oh. My. God.”

“Dieter…” He sat up way too fast, eyes alight with mischief.

“You have a crush on me.” You wanted to die. You wanted to evaporate. You wanted to rewind time & punch Past You in the face for ever taking this job. But it was too late. Dieter Bravo was already basking in this newfound discovery, absolutely delighted.

“Wait, wait, this is incredible,” he continued, pressing a hand to his chest like this was the most exciting plot twist of his life. After all acting is his job, he’s got an Oscar for being a drama queen. “I mean, it makes sense. I’m devastatingly attractive. But you, you’ve been holding out on me! Teasing me!”

“You’re insufferable.” You are trying so hard not to smile. He gasped.

“& your moody & mean! God, no wonder I like you so much.”

Wait….

Wait, wait, wait.

“You…”You narrowed your eyes. Unsure if this is a game of his or not”….You like me?”

Dieter blinked. Then shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yeah. Duh.”

Dieter liked you?! Since when!? Since always? Since yesterday? Since he figured out you were suffering through a months of long crush while he pranced around half-naked, dripping in sweat & sin?

Because what the hell were you supposed to do with that information?

Meanwhile, Dieter was just grinning at you, clearly enjoying whatever internal crisis was flashing across your face.

“Oh, wow,” he mused. “You’re, like, really freaking out right now.”

“I am not freaking out.” He hummed. & then giggled.

“No, you totally are.”You groaned, pressing your palms to your temples.

“Can you just shut up for, like, ten seconds?”

Dieter considered it. Then, in true Dieter fashion, said:

“Nope.” He shrugs”I’m never speechless”.

You exhaled through your nose. This man was going to kill you.”So what now?” he asked, leaning forward, eyes way too bright with excitement. You huffed.

“What do you mean, ‘what now’?”

“I mean, what happens next? Do we pretend this didn’t happen? Do we have an extremely unprofessional makeout session in the locker room? Do I make you fall even harder for me through my sheer charm and magnetism?”

You gaped at him.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I know, right?”

“I need to go.”

Dieter grinned. “Aw, you’re running away?”

“Yes.”

“Fair.” You turned on your heel & left him on the stretches Mat in the gym. Behind you, Dieter’s laughter followed you out the door.

You didn’t get much sleep that night, thinking about what happened & when you did fall asleep, he was in your dreams cradling your neck, his lips feeling soft, the moans he makes in exhaustion now in pleasure. You woke up sticky, sweaty & feral.

The next day, you found a smoothie waiting for you at the gym. On the lid, in messy handwriting:

“For my favorite coach. (Yes, I’m your favourite client. Don’t even try to lie.) - D”

You stared at it. It was not a Dieter day today, but he had sent you a strawberry & mango smoothie, your favourite. He’d remembered that comment a few weeks ago. There was even a little heart drawn on the note. You were so, so done for.

What started with the smoothie, Then became a coffee, then became proper gym clothes, less Instagram videos & Then shock horror, he started showing up early. The 10am start, he was arriving at 9:58. Which, for Dieter Bravo, was wildly out of character. This shook you to your core, he was a changed man from the dramatic drama queen jungle cat who came in a couple of months ago as a poser.

“You’re in a good mood,” you observed one morning as he strutted into the gym, suspiciously chipper.

“I have news.” He said in a cocky voice, but when isn’t he a little big arrogant.

“That can’t be good.” He ignored your little joke & continued, used to your wit by now.

“Guess who just got their own fitness show?”

You blinked shocked

“What?”

“It’s called Dieter Does It,” he said proudly, throwing his arms out like it was already an Emmy winning masterpiece. “A journey of strength, perseverance, & my absolutely flawless physique.” You stared at him. Dumbfounded but also proud.

“A fitness show. You?”

He placed a hand on his chest.

“I know, it’s inspiring.”You were at a loss for words.

“Dieter,” you finally managed, “you hate working out.”

“Wrong,” he said, pointing at you. “I hate suffering. But I love attention. & people love watching hot, sweaty celebrities struggle. It’s a goldmine.”

“Oh my god.” you say sarcastically & roll your eyes, he laughs but continues to tell you his plan.”well congratulations”.

“Thanks” his hands are moving excitedly as he explains how live tv works, “I’ll be doing some light stuff each episode but then have different fitness masters from all over the world come in, trying different extreme workouts. Testing the limits of my body & soul.” He’s ever the charmer & professional rattling this off like he’s in an advert or a talk show promoting it. You dont need to be sold this, you’ve already brought into it.

“Do you even have limits?”

“Only one way to find out.” he raises an eyebrow.

“Please tell me you at least hired a real trainer for this. So that they can do the actual fitness & not some Hollywood wannabe”

He beamed.

“About that…” You immediately knew where this was going.

“No.”

“Yes.?”

“Nope.”

“Yes.!?”

“Dieter, absolutely not.”

“Come on, Coach. I need you.” He did the biggest pout & puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen from him. You opened your mouth, to tell him exactly where he could shove that idea, but then you registered his words.

I need you.

Not I need a trainer or coach. Not I need someone to keep me from breaking every bone in my body while trying to get ratings & an Emmy.

No.

He needed you. & just like that, your entire brain malfunctioned. Dieter noticed. Of course he noticed. He noticed everything about you, from how moody you get when you should have your period, to the way you often stand by the window when it rains, enjoying its calmness. He notices everything about you. He’s been falling for you from the moment you called him a jungle cat back on that first day.

Now his smirk shifted. It wasn’t just teasing anymore, it was knowing.

He took a slow step forward, eyes darkening. “What’s wrong, Coach? Jungle Cat got your tongue?”

You hated him.You hated the way he invaded your space, the way he smelled too good, the way he was so damn smug about making you squirm. You should’ve walked away. Should’ve told him to get over himself. Should’ve done literally anything other than stand there, frozen, watching his mouth get closer.

Time then froze as you sighed your eye contact intense.

He kissed you. Hard. Messy. Desperate. It wasn’t smooth, wasn’t practiced, just pure, unfiltered want. Like he’d been waiting forever for this, like he couldn’t stand another second of teasing & near-misses & tension so thick it was suffocating. Almost as thick as that protein shake he despises.

You should’ve pushed him away. Instead, you fisted your hands onto his shirt & kissed him back. Your own wants & needs taking over. The pleasure of his mouth intoxicating.

Dieter groaned, pressing you against the nearest wall, one hand slipping to your waist, the other tangling in your hair like he was trying to memorize you. It was unfair how good he was at this. Hot & cocky & utterly unhinged. This wasn’t a kiss an actor gives, this was a Dieter Bravo kiss.

He pulled back just enough to murmur, “Told you, you liked me.” You yanked him back in. Not caring about your own rules for just a few seconds more. Another taste was needed. You both know you’ll never be satisfied again.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, wrecked, still gripping each other like gravity didn’t exist. Dieter laughed Softly. Neither of you on guard, both vulnerable wondering if there should be another kiss. Soft. Disbelieving. So, so satisfied.

Then, still grinning, he pressed one last, lazy kiss to your lips and said,

“So… I’ll see you on set?”

He then left having not done work out today, maybe the kiss was enough. You also hadn’t given him an answer. Your mind spiralling out of control. Dieter was offering you more than just a tv role or was he?

You spent the next three days losing your mind. Three days replaying the kiss in your head. Three days avoiding thinking about Dieter Bravo like your life depended on it & It wasn’t easy. Not when he kept texting you.

“Morning, Coach. Dream of me?”

“Can we make out again or do I have to earn it?”

“Actually, don’t answer that. I love a challenge.”

These were just some of the messages you received.

You almost caved. Almost let yourself be swept up in the chaos that was Dieter Bravo with a crush. But you knew better. You were a professional. You knew you had to have this out with him face to face.

Wednesday arrived. You got to the gym room & set it up, putting the weights on the sled, your heart & would feeling heavier then them. Dieter arrived at 9:59, in the correct gym gear, no flashy dramatics, simply the man ready for a work out. A far cry from the jungle cat who came bouncing into your life. He was completely unaware that his world was about to collapse.

He was sprawled on a bench, pretending to do some stretches but mostly just watching you approach with that lazy, lovesick grin.

“You look stressed,” he mused. “Need me to kiss it better?” You ignored the full-body shiver that caused & inhaled sharply. The words you had practiced fall from your mouth bluntly.

“I’m quitting.”

Silence.

For the first time ever Dieter didn’t have a quip to respond back to you with.

“Wait, what?” He looked up & did a double take in disbelief. You squared your shoulders.

“I’m leaving the gym. I can’t train you anymore. I…”You swallowed. “I crossed a line with a client.” Dieter’s face dropped.

“Are you…” He actually sat up, alarmed. “Are you serious?” You nodded, hating every second of this.

“I can’t do this,” you said softly. “It’s unprofessional. Because if…if I stay…”

You didn’t finish. Because if you stayed, you knew exactly what would happen. Dieter would keep pulling you in, keep teasing, keep making you melt with those damn soft, needy looks, before long, you’d be just another person who lost themselves in the madness of Dieter Bravo. You also knew Dieter now. You couldn’t let that happen. He’s not a relationship man, he’d get what he wanted & then no longer be interested in you. You’ve met these kind of guys before.

Dieter stared at you for a long moment. His expression was unreadable, no cocky smirk, no mischief, just… something raw. Then, in a completely normal & rational response, he said:

“Marry me.”

You nearly choked on air. Tension filled the gym.

“…What?” Dieter shrugged, like this wasn’t the single most deranged thing he’d ever said.

“Marry me. Then I won’t be your client anymore.”

You stared at him, fully convinced you were hallucinating.

“Dieter…” your speechless.

“I’m serious.” He stood, way too close, voice way too honest vulnerable & soft. “You think you need to leave because we crossed a line. So let’s make a new one. One where it’s not a problem.”

“Dieter, that’s not how this works…”

Your brain scrambling for a logical answer, while your heart was pumping going this is so romantic & your labido was going, everyone’s seen the sex tape he’s got a massive penis. You shake your head as your body tells you lots of yes’ & nos to this predicament. None of your 12 practiced conversation last night with the mirror that you constructed, had seen anything as wild as this coming. But that’s Dieter for you.

“Why not?” He was so goddamn serious. “You like me.”

You exhaled sharply. “That’s not the point…”

“You like me,” he repeated, almost smug.

You groaned. “Jesus Christ.”

“& I like you,” he went on, tilting his head, you wish he wouldn’t because it arouses you that cute little look. “A lot, actually. More than I’ve liked someone in a long time. Which is so annoying, by the way.” You refused to react to that. You’re still processing.

“Dieter…” you sigh but he interrupts again.

“I don’t want you to go.” His voice dipped, genuine now. “So don’t.”You shook your head, trying so hard not to let him get to you.

“This is insane,” you whispered.

Dieter just grinned. “That’s why it’s perfect.”

You groaned. You needed to leave, To stop you both from Doing something you would regret. Dieter could sense this might be his last chance,he grabbed your wrist.

“Coach.”the charming voice was softer now.

When you glanced back, his expression wasn’t teasing anymore. Wasn’t cocky or smug or anything remotely expected. It was real.” Stay,” he murmured. “Please.” He really was pleading. When he does this it’s so hard to say no to him, even if you didn’t have feelings for him.

You stared at him. At his stupid, earnest, handsome, carved by the gods face. At the impossible words hanging in the air between you.

“Marry me?”he asked once more. This wasn’t a game he wanted to play, this was real. But being a realist you know life isn’t that simple. your entire world has just tilted on its axis.

You took a deep breath.

“Dieter…I”

“No,” he cut in, eyes locked onto yours. “Don’t ‘Dieter’ me. Just say yes.”

Your heart ached, because god, you wanted to.But this was Dieter Bravo. The human embodiment of chaos. He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be. However this moment you are pretty sure is the most serious he’s ever been in his life & yet it’s still been spontaneous. So you forced yourself to shake your head, step back, build the wall back up.

“I can’t.”

His face fell. for a split second, you saw it, the flash of real hurt before he masked it with a forced smirk.

“Right. Okay.” His face dropped. He’s taking some deep breaths, he’s trying to contemplate everything that’s happened in the last 5minutes.

You hesitated. You Hated every second of this.

“Dieter, I…”

“Go,” he said bluntly clearly done with you.

You hesitated a second longer, waiting but for what, you didn’t know. But Dieter didn’t stop you. So you turned, heart shattering, & walked away. Leaving Dieter alone in his gym room. You went to your boss & told them the situation. They didn’t fire you or accept your resignation. But you asked to go on extended leave which they granted. As you got to your car you got a message from another trainer.

“I don’t know where your at or what happened, but Dieter Bravo is pushing your sled up & down the room like it’s not heavy, he’s done it 5 times” you sit in the drivers seat & cry. Your Dieter, even when you’re not there & you know you won’t be seeing him again, & who you will no longer be instructing, did it. The jungle cat completed his mission. He proved he could do it. You wait to stop crying before you put the car into drive & head back home, despite every part of your screaming at you saying “text him because your proud of him” but you ignore all the signs.

Dieter Bravo did not get rejected. He was hot, rich, & famous. That’s what he kept telling himself as he pushed that sled up & down. When he did his fifth rotation he was over the moon, but there was no you to be there to hug him. To say it all paid off, to be proud of him. He took the selfie but the smile was fake. He hoped you would see it on Instagram at some point but you never liked or commented on the photo even though he tagged you & the gym in it.

Dieter was down in the dumps & couldn’t get his head straight. Which is why, two weeks later, when his pilot taping started, he was in the worst mood of his entire life. He shouldn’t care that you left. Shouldn’t care that the gym felt empty without you, that his workouts sucked now, that he kept checking his phone for texts that weren’t coming.

He was fine. Completely fine.(He was not fine.) & now he had to do this stupid show, in front of a live audience, try to pretend he wasn’t a little bit heartbroken. Put that Dieter Bravo charm on that the word adored. The charm that you found tedious, that then got another rise out of him. No matter who his agent had brought in to be the profession, it wasn’t going to be you.

You couldn’t avoid it. Billboards were all over town with Dieter in an over the top gym outfit advertising his show. They wanted people in the audience for the pilot. Professional from the world of fitness to see how it was going, were asked to come. You weren’t supposed to be here. You’d walked away. Made a clean break.But you also wanted to make sure he was okay, you wanted to be proud of him.

So you went to the pilot. But then you saw him. Saw him failing spectacularly on stage. It was a disaster. The cameras were rolling, the audience was watching, Dieter, Hollywood’s most shameless, over-the-top narcissist, your jungle cat was crashing & burning. He was rambling. Stalling. Making jokes that weren’t landing. & then he just… stopped. For one awful second, he stood there, completely lost. Thats when you knew. You knew that, for all his bravado, he needed you. He needed the spark, & the fire be it from genuine banta or punishment for being a drama queen. He was a man broken.

You Slipped past security, ducked backstage, & found him pacing like a man on the verge of losing it. This jungle cat was no longer pouncing & was wounded.

“Dieter.”

He whirled around in a heavy daze. when he saw you, when he realized you were actually there, his whole body froze.

“You came,” he breathed. “you actually came” his lip trembles. He’s trying to be calm but he just wants to embrace you.

You swallowed. “You looked like you needed help.” Time to admit that you were wrong. He let out a weak laugh, rubbing his face.

“That bad, huh?”You hesitated. Then, because you were already screwed, you stepped closer & murmured,

“Do you want me to stay?” Dieter lifted his head, eyes locking onto yours. The smirk & the dazel oozed back into him slowly, he grinned, stepped right into your space, & whispered,

“Only if you marry me.”

You groaned. You rolled your eyes & then pulled him in for a kiss. His breath was warm against your skin as he went to kiss your neck. He dragged you to his changing room. you should have stopped this But you instigated this. This was your choice to give into the sexiest man in Hollywood. You’d opened the door for pleasure to him & he then made sure his changing room door was locked.

Dieter groaned, like he’d been waiting forever for this, like he hadn’t spent the last couple of weeks spiralling over you. His hands were everywhere, gripping your waist, sliding up your back, holding you so close it hurt. The kiss was desperate, all tongue, all teeth, all frustration & relief & pent-up insanity. You were hungry as well for this. Your feelings & emotions all now on show & when you bit his lip, Dieter purred & swore.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he rasped, dragging his mouth down your jaw, nipping, sucking, ruining you.You gasped, tilting your head back, letting him. Letting him take. Letting him have you.

“Say it,” he murmured, hands slipping under your shirt, skimming hot over bare skin. “Say you missed me.”You refused. So Dieter pinned you against the wall. Pressed a thigh between your legs. Made you feel him. How’s that even gonna fit you think as you moan, feeling his erection push against you.You whined & He grinned. he kissed you harder, deeper, filthier, like he wanted to ruin you for anyone else. Like he already knew he had. You were going to let him.

Dieter felt everything. Your body pressed against his. The way your nails dug into his shoulders. The way you gasped into his mouth when he rolled his hips just right. He was already addicted.

“You wanna keep pretending?” he rasped, dragging his lips down your throat. “Wanna act like you don’t want this?” You whimpered. Dieter, smug bastard that he was, grinned against your skin. “i could ruin you,” he murmured, hands wandering lower. “Right here. Right now.”Your breath hitched, & just to destroy what little resolve you had left, Dieter sucked a bruise onto the sensitive spot beneath your ear. You melted. No longer even pretending to be off with him.

“Fuck,” you whispered. His fingers dug into your hips.

“Yeah?” he taunted. “You like that, coach ?” You didn’t answer. Didn’t have the oxygen to. Because he did it again. Harder. Hungrier. Dieter was losing it.

Before you knew it Your breathless, pressing into him like you were about to make the biggest mistake of your life & frankly, he was willing to let you.

“But first, clothes.” He chuckles

Or rather, the removal of them. You mind thinks.

His hands slipped under your dress, skimming hot over your stomach before gripping the hem & peeling it off. His hands almost claws thrashing at it.

The sound you made? The little moan you do… it Ruined him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, staring. “You’re gonna kill me.” & then he was back on you. Mouth trailing lower. Hands gripping your waist. Thumbs teasing just beneath the waistband of your leggings. He could feel you trembling.

“You’re shaking,” he teased, voice dark, teasing. “You nervous, sweetheart?”

You exhaled sharply.

“Shut up Dieter” it’s breathy.He grinned & then he took his time.Hooked his fingers into the waistband of your leggings & dragged them down, slowly & delicately with his large hands.Savouring . Exploring.

By the time they hit the floor, you were wrecked. Dieter was looking at you like he was about to skip the warm-up & go straight to the main event.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Look at you.”

Your hands shot out, desperate now, reaching for the hem of his fitted gym shirt.

“Off,” you muttered. “Now.”Dieter laughed, letting you pull it over his head. fuck he was looking fine, he was well built now youd had your sessions with him .So solid beneath your palms.You ran your hands down his chest, across his stomach, feeling every inch of him.

You gulped & then. finally, your fingers dipped to the waistband of his joggers.Dieter’s breath hitched.He smirked. He knew what was coming. He knew you’d be begging for it his eyes as frenzy as he tussled his hair

“You watching?” He asked seductively.

you nodded, silent, transfixed, dying for it…He slid the joggers down…

Nice & slow…

Letting you see everything.

He’s commando & semi hard, you lick your lips & your delicate hand goes straight for his long shaft. Ecstasy leaves his mouth. Just your touch on his chest had sent his mind into a whirlwind. But now your stroking his penis so leisurely, like it was meant to happen, had him experience a release that had been building for months.

“Fuck coach” he groans “you give all your clients hand jobs?” You tut.

“Shut it Dieter or I won’t let you fuck me” his eyes snap open wide.

“Naughty girl with a dirty mouth” the way he licks his lips as he says this, his hips already wanting to buckle.

“Bet you’d like that” you reply before kissing the crook of his neck. He judders. So alive, so for-filled. But then he snaps out of it & takes your hand.

“We’re a team coach” he whines. His large hands Then attend to removing your bra. Undoing the clip in one go, you let it fall from you. Your nipples erect in the cold changing room instantly.”oooh baby come to papi” he says before his lips locks around your left nipple. His hand inside your panties. You whine feeling his pleasure. You knew those fingers would be trained well as they assault your clit. Of course he knew how to pleasure. He’s the man everyone dreams of enjoying, especially after that sex tape.

“Fuck Dieter” you can’t control your moans. It’s a passion filled assault & you want more. You push Dieter back & his legs hit against a bench. One similar to the one in your work out room where you have been training him. He smirks.

“The number of times I’ve gone home after each session of our banta & teasing & imagined you sitting in my lap bouncing on my penis & not one of those aerobic balls, let’s just say I’ve cracked a few out”

“Dieter!” You pretend to sound shocked but this is Dieter his reputation proceeds him. Now your looking at him naked & aroused you can imagine him, crying your name as he jerks off in the shower, soapy water & cum dripping down the drain.He probably would also think that about his Mail man. You put your hands on his shoulders pushing him so he sits on the bench.

“Tell me Dieter in your fantasy, am I wearing panties, or are we both natural?”

“NAKED!” He screeches. You then stand in front of him & slowly roll your black lace panties all the way down, “slower baby I want to see every single inch.” He’s being demanding but you don’t think you can go slower. Eventually you stand in front of him exposed. “This is my fantasy right?”

“I think you’ve earnt it” you say & part your legs. The feel of his index finger collecting your arousal, makes you grab onto his shoulder. A simple brush across your sex have your quaking & almost begging. “Oooh fuck”

“Fucking delicious”he then slowly sucks off your slick from his index finger & then he lies on the bench. Those large hands you’ve been dreaming of touching you for a while no matter how much you denied your crush on him, now look small as they attend to his erection.

“Standard or reverse?”

“Standard coach, I want to see the look in your eyes as you cum cos you’ve never been as satisfied as this” you straddle over him, your hand joining his stroking it. It’s sticky from Precum. You slowly guide the tip in & gasp.

“Ooh fuck”

“Okay darling?” It’s genuine concern, you’ve not had sex in a while & never anyone this girthy. Your trying not to moan to much already you like being vocal when you have sex. The pinch is going to be worth it.

“Give me a minute Diets” you’ve never called him Diets his eyes light up.

“I gotcha baby, let me coach you through it” you raise an eye brow at him before sinking lower. Each centimetre feeling exquisite, you slowly take him all in. You bottom out.

“Oooh fuck, oooh my fucking god” he looks at you proudly, he can feel you squeezing him already.

“Oooh fuck, what a tight little cunt” HE snarls & then his hips buckle his first strong thrust. Your toes curl.

“Fuck”

“Ooh fuck baby, why didn’t you tell me you had the tightest cunt, you need better sex” another thrust. Your eyes close. “I’m gonna give it to you for as long as you can take it”Your hips start to gyrate & soon your grinding around him slow but then hard once your rhythms match. Fuck seems to be the only word in your vocabulary other than moans. Sweat is the only thing you tastes as you bounce, each time taking him all the way. Each time your on edge. Your hand strumming as he holds you in place. Dieter is a sex pest as perceived by the rest of the world, & he is getting pleasure from this no doubt about it, but this is all about you. Watching your face as it makes the most adorable scrunches, seeing your eyes ignite each time he edges you close. Arching your whole body dripping with sweat covering him, your hair sticking to you. But he is most impressed with your sex. He’s always liked to look intently but there’s something so hypnotic about the way you’re rolling your self & grinding around him, how he can feel like he can thrust any further inside you.

“Look at you coach” he moans his fingers white digging into your flesh trying to delay his orgasm do you cum first. “All our hard work & tension has built up to this”

“Yesss oooh fuck Yesss” your on edge it’s about to happen.

“Come on baby” he thrusts & rolls harder, almost at a lightning speed he know this should set you off. “I know you want to baby, give in let go, live your dream”

“Fuck Dieter….!!!!!!!!! YESSSSSS!!!!” You didn’t need a motivational pep talk to make you cum, it was gonna happen but as you screamed his name you experienced the most intense orgasm of your life. It felt like your body was contracting all into one little box & then exploding across the room like confetti at a gender reveal for one of those tiktok couples. You didn’t care as you moaned all the way through it. “Fuck yes yes yes yes yes oooh fuck” Dieter joined you moments later, after he put his last few frantic thrusts in. You’d not used a condom. He filled you up, good & proper, as you slumped over him as he panted. Those large hands rubbing your back soothingly. The room fell silent, probably the longest you’ve kept Dieter quiet since you met him. Just hot sticky sex & breath filled the air. Both spent, both throughly worked out. Your naked body melting into one

“Next time” he eventually breaks the silence “we do that & not the sled”

“Dieter” you sit up & playfully hit him.

“What” he says looking smug, the smug grin you’ve grown to worship. “We burnt more calories there then pushing that bastard thing up & down” he then sits up & removes a stray hair from your face. You blush, this will never just be you as a coach & Dieter as a trainee again.

“So now what?” You ask. He gently put his thumb on your chin & looks you deeply in the eye. Those brown eyes still as handsome as ever.

“Well you never answered my question”

“Ask me tomorrow?”…

2 & a half years later

The gym looked exactly the same. Same equipment. Same smell of sweat & same bench. You’re still the personal trainer desperately trying to keep your biggest headache from breaking himself. Still being a drama queen from time to time, still occasionally turning up late, still being a menace & far too flirty for his own good.

The only difference? You were sitting on the floor with your daughter. Your tiny, curly-haired, dimpled, annoyingly perfect daughter, who was currently watching her father push a sled across the gym like it owed him money.

Dieter was grunting, cursing under his breath, sweating through his stupid expensive workout gear. You laugh each time he swore so she couldn’t hear it. But traditions stated that if he came to work out with you even after all this time that he still pushed the sled.

& yet despite the pain in his now older body, when he looked over & saw you both watching, he smiled. His little world all together cheering him on.

“You impressed, sweetheart?” he panted, shoving the sled forward again. You rolled your eyes. It’s corney but it’s typically Dieter.

“Not even a little.”

But your daughter? She clapped her tiny hands.

“Yay, Daddy!” Dieter’s entire face lit up. It did this every time she was happy.

“Oh, hell yeah,” he gasped, pushing harder now, fueled entirely by his toddlers encouragement. Up & down he went,Five times. when he “finally finished the torturous monstrosity” as he still called it, sweaty, winded, hands on his knees, pretending he wasn’t seconds from collapsing, like he used to back in the day, He did a little dance. Those hips still have what it takes as he rolled them suggestively. You covered Your daughter eyes but didn’t stop her as she giggled & clapped again. He can use that move on you tonight, you like it when his hips grind against you. You like it even more when he hits the spot every time. since you’ve been a couple the only days you’ve not had sex were at the end of your pregnancy & beginning of motherhood. Turns out you are both addicted to each others bodies, intoxicated by desire & a lust that couldn’t be quenched.

“Daddy so strong!” She said. Dieter grinned, coming over to you both & scooping her up despite being an exhausted mess. Winking at you in the process. You blushed, almost as red in the face as he was from his work out.

“Damn right I am,” he panted, pressing loud, smacking kisses all over her chubby cheeks. She squealed, giggling uncontrollably.You watched them. Dieter is the best dad in the world, he will do anything for her & for you. You sit there proudly as he spins around with here & she laughs. that’s when Dieter’s eyes flickered to your hand.

To the ring on your finger. The one you still hadn’t let him upgrade to a wedding band. His smirk returned.

“You gonna marry me yet?” he asked, cheek pressed against your daughter’s curls.

You exhaled.

“Ask me tomorrow.” Dieter groaned but he was used to that response now . Your daughter, meanwhile, clapped again, no clue what was going on, just enjoying the chaos. Clearly a Bravo. He kissed her cheek again, grinning.

“She’s gonna say yes eventually, kid,” he muttered. “She’s just making me suffer first.”

You snorted. Dieter winked. Somethings between you will never change. & when your daughter clapped for him one more time, Dieter melted completely.Yeah. He could suffer a little longer.

This happened each time Dieter came to the gym, it was your new normal & you wouldn’t have it any other way.

One afternoon a few weeks later after an Intense session (& leaving your girl with someone else so you could both get intimate in the showers, as you were both really in the mood plus your were ovulating after telling Dieter you wanted another baby) your family leaves the gym, clean showered & refreshed. Your daughter was half-asleep in his arms, cheek smushed against his shoulder, her tiny fists still curled around the collar of his shirt.

You were about to do something insane. Something you had wanted to do & say for a long time.

Dieter hadn’t asked again. Hadn’t pushed for an answer again.Not since the last time you said ask me tomorrow. He liked the game & deep down he knew he didn’t need you to be his wife to be the love of his life. But as you watched him, this ridiculous, chaotic, impossible man, the father of your child, the absolute love of your life,You knew. You just knew. He had always been the one no matter how mellow dramatic, non serious, bat shit insane he was. He was your person.

So, before you could overthink it, you stopped walking. Took a breath & then, you dropped to one knee.

Dieter froze.

“…Babe?” He said shocked. You looked up at him, heart pounding, racing, threatening to explode. & then, voice stronger than you expected, you said,

“Are you free right now?”

Dieter’s mouth parted. His eyes widened. For the first time in his entire life, Dieter Bravo was speechless.

“You… you’re serious?” he choked out. You nodded.

“I know I’ve made you wait,” you murmured, swallowing hard. “& I know you would’ve waited forever if I asked you to.” Dieter’s throat bobbed.”But I don’t want to wait anymore,” you whispered. “I know you’re the one. & I want to marry you… right now.”

Dieter let out a breathless laugh.Then without a second of hesitation, He crouched down. Still holding your Daughter. His large magnificent Hand cradling your face. he then kissed you. Deep. Messy. Full of every ounce of love he had for you. When he pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, he whispered,

“Sweetheart, I’ve been free since the day I met you.”

Your heart fucking cracked. You both felt this bolt of love blossom between you like it had always been there, you were laughing, crying, kissing him again.

Somewhere between all of it, your daughter stirred, blinking sleepily.

“Mummy Daddy?” she mumbled. “What happenin’?” Dieter grinned, scooping her up between you both.

“Mommy just decided to finally marry Daddy,” he whispered dramatically. Your daughter gasped. Then she clapped. Dieter & you couldn’t hold it in & laughed. “See? Even she knows I deserve this.”

You rolled your eyes. Typical Dieter always getting the last word. But when Dieter kissed you again, soft, sweet, so ridiculously in love, You knew you’d never regret this. Because, finally, finally, you were right where you were meant to be.

With him.

& her.

Your family

Forever.

#dbbc zine #dbbc zine summer 2025

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dbbczine · 1 month ago

Text

More Than Anything

a/n: Hey babygirls. This is literally the most random thing ever, but the scenario forced its way into my head and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It’s kind of shit, but this is more self indulgent than anything else. There’s complete potential for a part two (with smut) but I don’t know if y’all would want that lol. I adore hearing y’all’s feedback and hope you’ve been enjoying my content 😘 Also I know the gif is Joel, no Dieter, but I respectfully don't care cause it fit so well

pairing: bestfriend!Dieter Bravo x fem!reader

CW +18: swearing, hard drug abuse (please stay safe babies omg), mentions of suicide (seriously, stay safe), Dieter is sweet and also hypocritical but he gets a pass, this one is really sad sorry y’all (it’s called depression), mostly fluff in the sense of Dieter comforting the reader, FRIENDS TO LOVERS???

word count: 1.8k

In all your life, you had never been so profoundly fucked up.

He had told you to wait for him, had warned you of the dangers of doing it alone. But had you listened? Not a chance.

It had been a rough day. Rougher than usual, that is. You knew that Javi was coming over after filming, you had even set up his lines for him. And you really had meant to wait, truly. But it was the way those white grains jeered up at you, they way they so nicely contrasted with the dark granite of your bathroom counter.

They were so tempting.

You could bitch-slap yourself for being so weak, and would probably do well to commission someone to knock some sense into you. It didn’t matter anymore, though.

There you were, tank top and sleep shorts askew as you lay sprawled out on the bathroom tile. Your eyes were glassy with the fading high, your lips slightly parted as you intently inspected the generic ceiling texture from below.

A shame they put so much effort into the ceiling, you mused, when almost no one takes the time to look. It was a silly thought, a high thought. You sniffed absently, shivering as a stray grain flit its way into your nostril. You hadn’t even bothered to wipe off the residue; you hadn’t even intended to be done. Finality was rather forced upon you when you had felt yourself go limp, your vision turn hazy.

You jolted suddenly, snapping your eyes open when you realized you had begun to doze off. Even in your current state, you gathered that slipping out of consciousness probably wouldn’t be ideal.

The toxin-induced muffled state of your hearing prevented you from registering the opening of your front door, the greeting of Dieter as he comfortably strolled into your tidy apartment. You didn’t even realize he had called your name, now upwards of three times for being unable to find you.

He was concerned; you always waited for him in the living room.

Always.

You momentarily snapped out of your haze upon Dieter entering the bathroom in a panic, muttering a string of curses under his breath. You being nearly passed out on the floor was not what he had expected to walk into tonight. He knelt beside you, his hands gently grasping your shoulders to sit you up against the wall. With the new angle your hearing slowly improved, his voice echoing in and out.

“Sweetheart? Need you to sit up for me.” He didn’t trust your relatively limp spine to support you, even against the wall, and instead kept his hands firmly wrapped around your upper arms. You caught sight of your appearance in a mirror that had fallen on the floor, and it was fucking ghastly.

That must’ve been the good shit, you thought.

Eyes bloodshot to hell, snowy white powder rimming your right nostril, mascara stains painting your pallored cheeks. You looked like a shell of yourself from only a couple hours ago; that person had at least looked alive.

Your eyes made a delayed snap to him when his calloused hand cupped your cheek, the look of pure concern on his face clear even in your state. You struggled to focus your eyes on any one thing, allowing your eyelids to flutter closed. Dieter muttered another curse under his breath, confirming how disadvantageous it would be for you to pass out.

He shook you lightly, calling your name in an attempt to ‘wake you up.’ Your head lolled back, making a light thud as it hit the wall he had propped you up against. Dieter stood up suddenly, snatching a rag from underneath your sink and running it under warm water. He gingerly patted the rag over your face, first wiping off the residue from your nose. He didn’t need you ingesting any more of that shit.

The warmth from the rag slowly brought you back to reality, the glossiness of your eyes retreating only to leave behind crimson veining. You inhaled deeply, scrunching your face at the residual burning in your nose. You were an idiot, and you could already recognize that. He called your name again, and this time your head turned to him in response.

“Hey, Dieter.” Your voice was hoarse, tired. You were confused at the huff he let out, not sure why a sardonic chuckle was the correct response at the moment.

“I find you half-dead on your bathroom floor and all you have to say is ‘hey?’” He almost sounded offended; it puzzled you, but you were in no state to decipher his intentions.

“I was hardly half-dead; high as a kite, maybe. It’s not like you haven’t been there, done that, Di.” He ignored the flutter in his stomach that always came with that nickname, bristling at your words that were disappointingly true.

“That’s not the po-” “Isn’t it?” You interrupted, stumbling as you tried to stand. Even through his frustration with you, he plopped you down on the closed toilet so that you wouldn’t hurt yourself. You rolled your eyes at his bossiness, wincing at the shooting pain behind your eyes.

“You would fly off the hinges if anyone confronted you about all the shit you take, Di.” It was true, and he knew. But that wasn’t the point.

“I told you to wait for me. You know how serious I was about that.” Yes, of course you knew. He made it quite clear, and you couldn’t remember exactly why, but you clearly recall not giving a damn about whatever he had said when you started laying out those lines.

“You don’t own me, I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

“Not if it threatens your life!” You jumped at the sudden change in volume, your hands moving to grip the underside of the toilet for support. He sighed deeply upon realizing how he had snapped, running a hand over his face in exasperation.

“Look,” He began, kneeling in front of you and taking your hands in his. “I told you to wait for me for this very reason, just in case you took too much.” You didn’t make eye contact when he said that, memories flooding back to you, emotions accompanying them. You knew exactly what happened.

“I took exactly as much as I meant to.” He shook his head, rubbing circles into the backs of your hands with his thumbs.

“That’s the problem, you don’t know how mu-”

“I took exactly as much as I meant to.” You repeated slower, wanting him to understand your meaning without having to spell it out for him. You hated spelling it out for people. When realization dawned on his face, you could almost see his heart drop through the floor. He had been using for much longer than you, and you knew he understood exactly what you were referring to.

You wanted to take too much.

He saw the tears bloom in your eyes, the movement of your jaw when you bit your cheek to hold them back. You despised crying in front of people, but you had a feeling you wouldn’t be able to stop it this time.

He pulled you off of the scuffed porcelain lid, tugging your trembling frame into his lap as he scooted against the wall. You curled into him, your body immediately wracked with sobs as you melted into his arms. He had had no inkling that you had been feeling this way, and the realization of that was killing him. He was your best friend, he was supposed to know. He should’ve known.

But he didn’t.

And maybe it was because he had felt the same thing; maybe he hadn’t wanted to believe that your mind had wandered there too. He could kick himself for being so blind; there must have been signs, he just missed them.

“I’m so sorry.” He muttered into your neck as your sobs died down, rubbing soothing circles onto your back and pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I’m so fucking sorry.” You shook your head, sniffing as you wiped your cheeks with the back of your hand.

“It’s o-” He shushed you, not willing to take that as an answer.

“It is not okay. It’s never okay, sweetheart. I should’ve been there for you, and instead I encouraged you.” You sighed.

“It’s just drugs, Di. I won’t do as many lines next time.” He looked absolutely shell-shocked.

“Next time? Are you fucking serious?” You furrowed your brow, pulling back to look at him. You were forced to squint through your hazy vision.

“Yes?” He scoffed, letting out a dry chuckle.

“You almost died, and you want to do it again? Not a fucking chance in hell.” It was your turn to be shocked. He was telling you what to do? Dieter Bravo? The man wrote the fucking book on addiction, and he was telling you that you had a problem.

“Do you hear yourself right now?” You replied incredulously, sliding off of his lap onto the fraying rug in front of your sink. He sighed, running a hand through his curls. He knew he was being hypocritical, but he was more concerned about you remaining alive.

“I know I’m not one to be talking, but it just kills me to see you like this because I love you so much and-” He stopped dead in his tracks.

What did he say?

“You…what?” You almost whispered the last word, suspended in total disbelief. He looked almost as astonished as you, his cheeks flaming red as his expression turned sheepish.

“I said…” He began, inhaling deeply, only to let out a shaky breath, “I love you.”

You must be hallucinating, you thought, your high still lingering. This was your best friend, he didn’t love you. He couldn’t.

His lips displayed an ironic smile; he could clearly see the wheels turning in your head, trying to talk yourself out of the truth.

“Sweetheart.” He whispered, moving a little closer to you. He leaned forward so that his lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, his breath drawing a shiver out of you. The words he whispered nearly drew your heart out of you, crushing your soul and making you feel alive all at once.

“More than anything.”

#dbbc zine #dbbc zine summer 2025

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dbbczine · 1 month ago

Note

How dare you leave this in your tags

...but also which babe says this to reader? 👀

Cia, why do you insist on calling me out on my own tags. (ilu so much, please never stop holding me accountable for my horniness)

OK, you get 2 babes, because I was stuck on a delayed train and in a horny frenzy typed the first babe's mini tale and then like a bolt out of the blue had a second mini tale.

Two ‘x reader’ blurbs beneath the cut: Babe 1: 514 words //Babe 2: 954 words (wtf)

Unbeta’d, unedited, no warnings used, visit under the cut at your own risk. It's sexy times.

Babe number one.....

Dieter.

All hurried, a reunion after weeks of him filming have kept you apart. You come from the airport straight to his trailer. He all but shovels you into the trailer, covering you with kisses, pushing up your dress, dropping to his knees, begging to taste you.

You're all but spent, Dieter devoured you, you've come twice. And you're over sensitive but not ready to stop, but aware that apart from those first hungry, eager kisses, and your hands clutching desperately at his shoulders, arms, and hands and sinking into his hair (which make a him groan deliciously against your cunt) you haven't properly touched Dieter.

So when he talks you through your 2nd orgasm you mutter a sincere but blissed out "what about you" and "don't wanna neglect you" somehow making its way past your lips beyond the veil of your post-orgasmic haze

Dieter's been kneeling at the foot of the tiny trailer bed, eager shuffling feet not keeping clear of the plywood hallway gangway as he works his mouth and plays his fingers on your clit and pussy.

He shuffles you back on the bed, so you aren't half hanging off anyway more, places your head at the pillow

Gives you a quick and dirty kiss, facial hair cover in your slick. "Lemme show you"

And he pivots his broad ambling body alongside yours, you assume he's going to let you suck his cock while he goes down on you, and you salivate, lick your lips in anticipation.

But Dieter keeps his body parallel alongside yours, tantalisingly out of reach of your wet lips. You want his salty wet occupying your mouth the way his kiss has given you your own taste back.

"Soon. I just wanna...I missed you so bad"

"Baby," you breathe out, brimming with desire and nearly sad with how much you'd missed him, with how much you love him.

Your fingers yearn to touch Dieter and you reach for his hips, to urge him on top of you. The imprint of his straining cock stretches his soft linen trousers and your mouth waters.

"Dieter," you whine.

"Wait, not done eating yet," he doesn't move his hips to your clutches, but instead grabs your wrist, presses your seeking hand to cup his cock.

He grins at you upside down, and you're changing the phrase in your personal lexicon to "pussy-eating grin" because that's how Dieter smiles at you, biting his lip, pressing his hips into your hand, urging "'Here. Feel what you do to me," before he closes his fucking eyes and delves back into your cunt with his tongue and suckling mouth.

Sure enough, as Dieter french kisses your pussy from this revised angle, his cock throbs in your hand.

Your other hand grips Dieter’s hair, holds him to his current task, while you squeeze his rigid, twitching cock.

Your fingertips delve past the elastic band of his pants. He might be able to stop your mouth, but he can’t stop your hand.

And from the sounds he make as his lapping becomes more eager, you doubt Dieter wants to.

~end~

++++

BABE NO 2 (but equally number one in my heart):

Maybe there's handyman Joel, who comes around making little improvements to the beautiful top floor Victorian apartment you rent from your downstairs neighbour, an 80-something woman named Marisol who carved up her family home into two parts with the help of Miller Contracting.

Joel's taciturn but friendly enough. Things you certainly do NOT notice about your handsome handyman:

-the way his broad shoulders fill your pantry as he replaces the ceiling light

-that his energy and efficiency and competence makes you feel at the ease, and how you can have comfortable silences together

-the depth of his voice and the way he uses it to speak so lovingly and bursting with pride about his beloved daughter Sarah at college and her accomplishments when you finally crack small talk with him

-the grey peppering the hair at his temples and how when passes close in the kitchen you want to rake your fingers through it and make his deep voice grumble and purr

-that in your alone time, your mind easily conjures Joel's handy hands showing deftness and skill in touching you, his broadness over you.

That's not a complete list.

Now you sit in the detritus of a storm that blew a tree branch through your window. Despite it being the middle of the night, you’d called Joel directly, not knowing what else to do as the wind howled outside and you fought trash bags and duct tape to temporarily battle what nature sought as fit to impinge.

He’d helped you secure the window for the night, checked on Marisol.

After the franticness of the wind and rain in the house, Joel’s calm and capable hands and mind had been what you needed.

Now, you both sit on the couch, quietly nursing beers.

“Holiday weekend, gonna be a struggle to get that replacement,” Joel breaks the silence to say, nodding to the cardboard-and-trash bag window.

“Oh?” You’re still too stunned and tired to muster actual thoughts. The ordeal, yes, but Joel’s proximity and the fact that he’s sitting on your couch in his pyjamas - a soft t-shirt with a hole in the collar, and rain-damp flannel pj bottoms.

Him warm and woodsy and soft against the

“Might know a guy, see if he can get one put in on the holiday.”

“That’s great, but don’t go to trouble.”

“You gonna be here, just a cardboard window, unsecured and alone all weekend?” a small frown crosses Joel’s face.

“I’m not alone. Marisol’s downstairs.”

“She’s tough but don’t think she could fend off intruders,” Joel says. You smile, matching the little sideways grin Joel has gotten, presumably thinking of the 80-year-old karate chopping a burglar.

“Ain’t right, you just exposed like that,” Joel continues. “Not safe.”

“You’re sweet to worry, but i can take care of myself, Joel.” You lean forward, drop your spent beer bottle on the coffee table in front of you, but in reaching the coaster you’re right in Joel’s space.

“Know you can. Should let other people sometimes though?”

His hand lands gently on your outstretched arm. You think you stop breathing. His warm brown eyes are all molten this close up, and he breath is sweet and warm with his interrupted sleep and the beer you’ve given.

You’re leaning awkwardly and too close but it would take another branch through the window to move you away. “Joel-” but you kiss him before you can finish your own question.

Falling into Joel is so easy, you melt into the kiss, his warm mouth welcomes the press of your tongue as you hunt his taste, and his body presses into yours.

You’re still side-by-side on the sofa when you part for air, but Joel’s forehead pressed against yours.

“Sorry, Joel. I shouldn’t have.”

“You sorry?” His eyes snap open.

“Not really, actually,” you say.

“Good,” his voice goes honeyed again. You kiss him again, sling a leg over his hips and settle in hislap.

“Why apologize then?” Joel asks against your lips, and you feel the smile

“I feel like I lured you here with a fake emergency and then plied you with booze and attacked you on my couch.”

“You didn’t fake that tree branch or throw it through the window your self, did you?”

His hands squeeze your hips, and you squirm, seeking friction.

“No,” you scoff a laugh, realize your own ridiculousness.

“And ‘plied me with booze,’ you gave me half a beer.” His hand drifts up to cup the back of your neck, “I look intoxicated to you.”

You shake your head.

“Then ‘s OK then. I’m perfectly happy to be seduced.”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“Well, If you’re not, mind telling me what you’re doing up there?” Joel raises his heels, jostles you on his thighs to indicate his lap.

“I can get off, if you’re not happy?” you make as if to climb down, but Joel’s hand clutches your hips to his lap.

“Not a chance,” he says, kissing you again. After a few moments of making out—you’re adding ‘extremely excellent kisser’ to the list of things Joel is annoying skilled at–Joel breaks the kiss again.

“Making me crazy, seeing you in your little sleep shorts,” Joel’s fingers drift under their hem to illustrate his point.

“‘S that so?”

“Crazy,” he reaffirms, and takes your hand from where it rests on his shoulder and guides your wrist down till you cup the full curve of his cock where it strains the flannel.

His warm work calloused hand reaches your ass underneath your shorts to squeeze the plump flesh he finds there, and his cock jumps a beat behind the squeeze of his large hand. “Feel what you do ta me?”

You do, and so you kiss him again.

~end~

Thank you, Cia!

#dbbc zine #dbbc zine summer 2025

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dbbczine · 1 month ago

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Unknown Masterlist

Series Summary: When a 12 year old girl (Ally) shows up on Dieter's doorstep claiming to be his daughter his world is changed forever.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC!Hazel Collins

Series Rating: 18+

Warnings: Some comedy aspects, family/romantic drama, angst, medical issues later on, mentions of past illegal drug usage (cocaine), mentions of past overdose (as seen in The Bubble), addiction, marijuana usage, drinking, smut, dubious consent (both Dieter and Hazel are drunk when they have their one night stand), age gap (Hazel is around 11 or so years younger than Dieter), fowl language, fluff, slow burn

Author's Note: This story has been hanging out on the "to write" list for over half a year. It wasn't until recently I figured out the full plot. From the beginning this was inspired by the movie "The Game Plan". Mainly just the premise. This is far from a Disney movie. After all, this is Dieter we're talking about.

xxx

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6 - Coming Soon

xxx

Main Masterlist

xxx

#dbbc zine #dbbc zine summer 2025

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dbbczine · 1 month ago

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sixteen shades of blue

prologue - a barely blue

professor!Dieter x reader

words: 800~

warnings/tags: no major warnings for this part. Reader is not a student. University admin stuff lol, write what you know and all that. Fantasizing about the hot professor who can't deal with basic admin tasks. drug use mention (Dieter, duh). Feelings. Hands. Unedited, unbeta'd, written on my phone I'm sorry for mistakes!

a/n: Happy birthday to my brainrot bestie @chronically-ghosted!!! this is a short little thing which hopefully will lead into a bigger thing one day but I know you have been waiting for him for so long so I'm introducing art history professor!Dieter today especially for you.

"Can you go check 16a?" Your boss calls over to you at your desk, "Looks like the register didn't go through"

You sigh to yourself but respond with a 'sure'.

16a is one of the smaller lecture halls on this side of campus; a quick job but not one you should be involved in, not that you'd ever complain about that - a people pleaser to your core, saying no to a work task felt like you might just die.

You stop short of the hall when you hear his voice, confident and excited, your heart skips a beat when you realise just who is teaching in 16a today.

Dieter had walked into your life when he joined the academic staff of the university a year ago. He was like a whirlwind and a calming breeze all at once, nothing like the stuffy, stuck up professors you usually worked with (worked for, in their minds). Dieter was everything they weren't.

You slip in quietly, and don't make yourself known straight away. He's talking about Cezanne - a particular passion of his - and you enjoy the way his hands move as he speaks, bringing the words to life, giving them a flow and a flourish. One of the rings on his fingers glints in a ray of light, drawing more attention to his hands.

You've thought about those hands a lot. His use of them to express himself. How he moves them in a pattern on any available surface when he's lost in thought. The smooth strokes they help him make on a canvas. He'd set up in one of the campus studios outside of hours to work on his own paintings, and you'd stumbled in following the smell of weed when working late one day. You promised to keep his secret safe if he'd let you watch him paint. It was mesmerising to see him work, to see his talent. He's a wonderful, albiet unconventiional professor, but it's clear his real love lies in making art himself.

You'd thought about his hands in other ways too, ways that made things inside you flutter and heat up. How his touch would feel, fingers dancing on your skin, tracing art on you, making you his masterpiece.

You have to shake the thoughts from your head. It's not appropriate, you're at work. Finally you clear your throat and he turns, a smile immediately lighting up his face, brown eyes deep and excited as he looks you up and down without much subtlty.

"Give me a moment" He says to the class, holding up a finger and barely turning his gaze from you, "Examine that reduction of natural form, and then we'll discuss it"

"Hey" You say quietly, stepping forward. He leans into you, a gesture that feels exceedingly intimate despite the students sat behind you.

"I was thinking about you this morning" Dieter says with what feels like a shyness, an admission, "My muse" he adds, and your heart does a little flutter. He'd been calling you that since you inadvertently helped inspire him on a new work one evening.

"But I'm guessing you're here because i've messed something up, right? Is it the stupid registers again" He sighs dramatically and you can't help but giggle.

"I'm afraid so" You nod and step towards his laptop.

"I hate these fucking things" He groans as he watches you access the system and press a few buttons, he's technology averse and you do feel for him in that sense, but you appreciate that he doesn't complain about your systems and processes that make your job easier.

"Remind me to show you how to use this when you're not teaching, okay?" You mutter, entering some final data and stepping back to the door.

"Thanks. I don't know how this place would even function without you..."

You look away, embarrased at the compliment. He's always telling you how much you help him, how good you are at your job, but it never gets easier hearing praise like that. Especially when you'd like to hear different praise coming out of that mouth, plush lips whispering against your ear while he...

You cut the thought off quick and scurry to open the door, but before you can leave he turns back to you and grabs your hand with a gentle hold. Not entirely appropriate infront of a class full of students but you can't pretend it doesn't thrill you. His large hand is warm, the slight press of his rings is definitely not unpleasant. You’re about to get lost in your horny imagination before he speaks again.

"I'll be in the studio later, come by and see the new piece?" He draws right in, so close you feel his breath, speaking in a near whisper. His eyes are almost pleading, wide and waiting and you could dive into their depths.

You squeeze his hand a little and let an easy smile play on your lips. Youd' hoped he'd ask, it had been a while since you'd seen his work, had him all to yourself... it sounds like the perfect evening to you.

"Nowhere I'd rather be"

#dbbc zine #dbbc zine summer 2025

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dbbczine · 1 month ago

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How you doin' daddy?

Dieter Bravo x Personal Assistant F!Reader

Summary: In this Reader is Dieter Bravos PA, you've been working for him for around 4 years, cleaning up his messes, making appointments for him, going on coffee runs etc. Dieter is Dieter, we know him, we love him, reader mostly tolerates his bullshit. He's not a bad guy, he just has his demons. Alot of them.

But when he's forced to deal with the repercussions of his past, reader is dragged along for the ride.

///

Warnings for this chapter: 18+ MDNI. Swearing, Angst, KISSING AND FONDLING HEHEHE, brief discussion of drug and sex addiction, they're both nervous and cute, poop mentioned but it's nothing gross lol, domestic adjacent fluff, no smut this chapter (sorry reader is going to have blue bean for a little while longer lmao), family planning discussions. No physical descriptions of reader (No height, weight, skin colour, eye colour, hair colour, length or type mentioned). Reader is able bodied and her nickname is Star.

A/N: I wrote some of this last week and some more today, I really needed something light and fluffy to write about and this is about as light and fluffy as it gets, these two idiots are finally getting somewhere!

Word Count: 4.6k

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter || Series Masterlist

///

Chapter 6 - Big Spoon Or Little Spoon?

Buzz Buzz

Dieter's eyes had barely been closed for 5 minutes before the buzzing of his phone on the side table stirred him from the early stages of sleep. Isabel had been playing hard ball tonight at bedtime, going through a very tedious stage of sleep regression.

With a grumble, he rolls over in bed, wincing as the too-bright screen temporarily blinds him. Once Dieters eyes start to work correctly however, his heart all but skips a beat when he sees your name on his screen. Why are you texting him at this time? He'd been thinking about you all night long while trying to settle his grizzly little girl, if you hadn't been out with Javi, he would have been tempted to call you and ask you to come over and help him, sometimes she only settles for you. It both melts him and torments him to see how attached to you she is.

But you were out with Javi.

Javi was your boyfriend.

Though he did overhear you venting to Gretchen about how the two of you hadn't had sex yet, a twisted jealous part of him was happy about that.

But here you are, texting him right now, saying you need to talk. Talk about what?

Dieters mind races, his thumbs just hover over the keyboard for the longest time before he finally types out; Come over?

///

Your heart is in your throat now, you wanted to tell the cab driver to turn around and take you home instead, but you didn't.

Security guard Andy on the main gate had been surprised to see you at this time, all dressed up nonetheless, but he let you on through and now you're here, standing at the top step and those dark oak doors have never been more intimidating.

You're about to send Dieter a text to let him know you're outside when the door creaks open and there he is, a lot of things may have changed about Dieter since he got clean, but his sense of style wasn't one of them and you had to admit, that was one of your favourite things about him. His bathrobe hangs open with the tie lazily knotted around his waist, revealing a golden patch of skin, coupled with grey sweatpants, he's never looked sexier to you.

Until you look at his feet and see he's got his purple house crocs on. Can't win 'em all you suppose.

You shift awkwardly on the spot, rubbing a hand up and down your forearm. “Hey, sorry I know its late...”

Dieter has never seen you so dressed up, Javi's a lucky bastard. Did he buy that dress for you?

That doesn't matter right now Dieter, focus.

“I uh... no don't apologise, it's fine.” He doesn't know how to make things less awkward between the two of you, this is the same man who would brazenly ask people if they wanted to have sex with him only a few years ago, but around you its like that confident and perhaps arrogant at times part of his brain ceases to exist any more. “Izzy's asleep, come in you must be freezing.”

You were, the dress was strappy and thin. While Javi's town car had been heated and the dress had been a ploy to seduce him tonight – a ploy that had been working until your verbal faux pas – the cabbie had his AC all the way up and there was a chill in the air.

As you step inside and brush past Dieter, you swear you feel the warmth hit you in an instant. Not the kind that brings you comfort on a cold night, but the kind that's like coming home, being somewhere you belong. Even with the tacky portrait of him being the first thing that greets you, you're actually glad to see it tonight.

When the door latches shut and you turn to face him, that's when you both go to speak and end up talking over each other.

“Do you want a drink or–”

“Javi and I broke up”

There's a beat of silence, so deafening you swear you can hear your own pulse, you see the way his throat bobs and his expression shifts to surprise, or maybe there was a hint of a smile? You don't know, he's too good of an actor, he's already schooled his expression into an irritating nonchalance within seconds. “Oh, sorry to hear that.”

It pisses you off how unbothered he sounds right now, Javi was a great guy, but you screwed it all up over a stupid crush on a man who's unavailable, both emotionally and in the definitive sense.

A derisive scoff leaves you, you already feel like this was a complete mistake, coming here at this time, what did you expect? “You're sorry? Do you have any idea why we broke up? Do you even care?”

Dieter feels bad now, of course he cares, he's an Oscar winner but that performance that he just put on may have been one of the most difficult to date. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back the grin, he had to force himself not to jump for joy then and there.

He wanted you to be happy, yes, but selfishly and most importantly, he wanted to be the one making you happy.

“I do care, Star. Don't look at me like that, like I'm some kind of vapid Hollywood asshole who only gives a shit about himself!”

“Coulda fooled me!”

How has this turned into an argument?

It's clear that the two of you would never work anyway, he's too carefree and you're too high strung. It's just a crush... a crush that doesn't seem to be going away.

One of you has to be the bigger person right now, he's changed a lot, but he's clearly still a man child in a lot of ways.

“You know what? Never mind. Never should have come here tonight, what was I thinking?” Dieter has no choice but to step out of the way as you barge past him, muttering under your breath and he really is about to let you leave, that is until he hears it. “Said your name instead of his, god damn idiot.”

It's like a set of tyres screeching in his mind at that moment, your hand is on the door knob but he's quicker, slapping his palm against the door to keep it closed, the noise echoing throughout the foyer.

“What was that?”

You half turn slowly, you hadn't intended for him to hear you, but he did and now you have to face up to it. Or you could just gaslight and deny? Yeah, let's go with that.

“Nothing, you're hearing things. I'm leav–“

“Oh no you don't. You said and I quote 'Said your name instead of his'. Wanna explain what the fuck you mean by that exactly?”

“Not really no.”

You know you're being childish right now, but you didn't even prepare yourself on the way over here, you didn't have a game plan for this conversation. He does this to you, he makes you dumber.

Your perfume floods dieters senses being this close to you, it's closer than he's ventured to get in the past month or so, everything about you is driving him crazy right now. That irritated crease between your brows and the stubborn pout of your lips. He wants to kiss that pout away right here.

“The two of you finally fuck?” Dieter has no filter, he never had one, sober or not he always said what was on his mind and it often got him in trouble, this was no exception.

Your eyes narrow “Did the two of us fina… Oh my god how did you know about that!?”

“Heard you talking about your little dry spell with Gretchen.” He says it so casually, broad shoulders lifting in a shallow shrug like it's nothing.

“You eavesdropped on me!?” Yep, he should have expected that reaction.

“It was hardly eavesdropping, you and Gretchen sound like a couple of coyotes when you get together, can hear you on the other side of the house.” He retorts with an annoyingly charming smirk, his handsome face has never looked so punchable.

“What the fuck Dieter? What else have you heard us talk about?”

Everything and nothing. The same day he heard you tell Gretchen you thought he looked a little bit like Burt Reynolds he called up one of his oldest and dearest artist buddies to have that stupid portrait commissioned, you don't remember it, but he most certainly does.

“Doesn't matter right now, just talk to me, tell me what happened. I do want to know, Star. Please.”

His voice is softer and you can see the shift in his eyes, the way they morph into big cow eyes in seconds. It frightens you how much of a hold those eyes have over you.

A heavy sigh leaves you and you lean back against the door, arms crossed over your chest. “We didn't have sex. Didn't quite get that far.”

Even if he's not showing it on the outside, Dieter is positively giddy inside right now. “Oh? What happened?” Dieter Bravo, you are the poster boy for casual right now.

Just say it, get it out in the open, rip the band aid off. “He fingered me and I called out your name” you murmur too fast to actually sound like real words. That's not ripping the band aid off.

“Huh?” Even his dumb confused face is adorable.

“For fuck sake Dieter, he fingered me and I called out your name!” You could happily crawl into a hole and die right now, he definitely heard you that time, loud and clear.

With all the will in the world, Dieter is trying his hardest to stay composed, but he can't stop the grin. It rivals the Cheshire cat, ear to ear, perfect straight teeth on show. “Oh you did, did you?”

Why is he so happy about this? He should be horrified, he should be firing your ass right now.

“Why are you smiling? I just told you I called out your name instead of my boyfriends when I was about to fucking come, its not funny, we literally broke up over it! He was a really sweet guy!”

The whine in your voice isn't helping right now, he purses his lips together to stave off the laughter, it's not funny, but he can't help it. You said his name. It's just too much.

Compose yourself Bravo.

“That's um... that's too bad Star, I'm really sorry to hear that.” He can't even say it with a straight face.

Your eyes narrow at him, feeling yourself getting annoyed again now. “Yeah? I'd have an easier time believing you if you weren't smiling right now! I fucked things up all because of a stupid crush...” You realise you said it out loud just a second too late, you can't take it back now. Again, you're expecting the worst, expecting to be let down gently or told that it can never happen between the two of you, but that never comes.

“Are you sure it's just a crush Star?” He whispers with a gravelly tension in his voice.

There's a moment when his grin fades and his eyes dart between yours, searching for what you don't know and all at once you're hit with the feeling of being exposed. The moment stretches into a lifetime, just waiting, holding his gaze and then it all changes. “Fuck it.” He utters before placing his big hands either side of your face and capturing your lips with his.

Fireworks. It’s like fireworks are exploding inside you right now, he’s all you’ve thought about for months and now he’s kissing you. His beard scruff tickles against your skin and his lips are so much softer than you thought they’d be.

Your arms are hanging dumbly at your sides for a beat before your hands find their way into his hair, it’s just as fluffy as it looks. An experimental tug from you earns a low moan in Dieters throat, the noise itself sends a ripple of pleasure to your core, a pulsing and heat inside you that had earlier been reserved for someone else, all the while this man had been on your mind.

In a few short guided steps backwards, Dieter has you pressed against the door and his hands have left your face to explore your body like he’s mapping it out. The heat radiating from his touch alone leaves a lasting impression in your memory and a contrast to the chill from the tingle you feel running down your spine.

His touch is gentle and insistent all at once, like he’s holding himself back or he’s scared to take this too far. God, you do want him to take it further.

When his big palm kneads at your breast, you arch and pant into his mouth and he moans again. That noise is deadly, addicting and it's threatening to be your personal undoing right now.

It’s when your hands leave his hair and you tug on the tie of his robe wanting to get the damn thing open, that’s when Dieter's restraint kicks in and he pulls away from the kiss, revelling in the cute disappointed whine that leaves you.

“Wha– why did you stop? I want this, D.. please just…” You go to tug on the tie again and he catches your wrists gently, encircling his fingers around them.

“Star I… Jesus fucking christ..” He sighs and looks at you with a boyish lopsided grin, his hair sticking up in all kinds of directions after being attacked by your fingers. “Trust me baby, its not that I don’t want this, because I really fucking do but, I… you know my history? I haven’t had the best track record when it comes to sex or the repercussions from it.” He shifts his eyes to the staircase where the consequences of his less than thought out actions sleeps soundly upstairs. “I… I don’t want to rush this, there’s more to this here than just physical attraction, right?”

Your eyes meet again and it's all you can do to stop yourself from melting then and there. He’s right, you know he is, even if the horny part of you that hasn’t gotten laid wants to jump his bones here and now. Dieter had worked hard to curb his sex addiction as well as the substance abuse issues, sure he had a slip up here and there (and a bastard child), but if it was important to him, it was important to you and really, the two of you had things you needed to discuss first.

“I… you’re right…”

“I know I am, I fucking hate that.” You both share a small chuckle, neither of you are keen on the idea of taking things slow but there’s the bigger picture to think about and it’s probably the most sensible thing DIeter has ever done in his life.

His hands slide from your wrists to link his fingers with your own and you’re the one leaning in for a kiss this time, it's more tender and patient this time, lingering as you savour the feel of his lips on yours. He feels like home.

Your foreheads touch when you break away from the kiss as he runs his thumb across your knuckle idly “Stay tonight? No funny business, it’s late and I don’t want you to have to get another cab home. I can set up one of the guest bedrooms or–” He hesitates, not wanting to overstep, but the idea of you curled up in his arms is one that makes his heart leap behind his ribcage. “It’s… it’s been a while since I shared a bed with anyone just to sleep in, not since Anika, but if… if its too soon–”

You were fully prepared to let him fuck you against the front door and here he is, all concerned that sleeping in the same bed might be too much. It’s adorable to you, honestly.

“It’s not too soon” You cut him off with a soft smile “I might need to borrow some clothes though… and maybe a toothbrush.”

///

Why is he so nervous? You went into that bathroom 8 minutes and 34 seconds ago and this whole time all Dieter has done is fidget and bite at his thumbnail, his eyes haven’t even left the door, not once. He can hear you shuffling around in there, he heard you brushing your teeth and he could have sworn he heard you talking to yourself at one point but now it’s gone quiet again and while the physical silence is deafening, the narrator in his head is loud.

Maybe she’s having second thoughts? Don’t be a dumbass, maybe she’s just taking a dump.

What the fuck dude? What? She’s a human being too! I bet she’s perfect even when she’s pooping!

There is something very wrong with you, my guy. I KNOW!

With a heavy groan he buries his face in his hands, staying there for a long moment while he has an internal argument with that ridiculous voice in his brain, that guy sucks.

When the latch slides open and light floods into the dark bedroom, Dieter raises his head from his hands and he feels his breath get caught in his throat. There you are, illuminated by the light behind you, wearing his clothes. You’re a vision right now, even in sweatpants and his lakers shirt, you still manage to make his jaw drop.

You’re frozen in the doorway, watching him in bed as he watches you, it feels so domestic, it feels so normal. The nerves are still there swirling in your gut, but the prospect of falling asleep beside him and waking up to his handsome face is thrilling in a different way. The baby monitor sits beside him on the side table with a black and white video feed showing Isabel slumbering peacefully in her crib. It would be so easy to imagine this being your reality every night.

Wordlessly, you shut the light off in the bathroom and pad over to the bed, crawling under the sheets beside him.

There’s a second where you don’t know where to put your hands or whether to ease your head onto the pillow and even in the dark you can feel Dieter's eyes on you, you can hear his soft breaths that seem to be just a little irregular right now. He’s nervous too.

“You um… big spoon or little spoon?” He asks in the pitch black of the room with only a slight glow from the little green LED on the baby monitor, no sooner than the words had left his lips though, he felt like he wanted to punch himself in the face. Girls like being the little spoon, idiot!

He’s about to rescind his offer altogether, reassure you that it’s fine if you’d rather not cuddle at all when he feels your hand on his shoulder, gently nudging him onto his side. “Big spoon.” Dieter can hear the smirk in your voice and honestly it’s what he needed right now. He shifts onto his side and your arms wrap around his middle, he shuffles back as you shuffle forward and your legs entangle with his.

His arms fold over yours and he can feel your breath on his bare back, being held like this is comforting and something he hasn’t had from anyone in a long time. “This is nice.” His voice is as warm as a sunny day right now, happy and content to be like this with you.

“Yeah it is.” You whisper, planting a gentle kiss on his right shoulder blade.

“Apologies in advance if Izzy wakes you up, she’s getting really good at sleeping through the night, but tonight was a doozy. I’ll get her though, you don’t have to do a thing.”

“That’s fine D, I’m used to it… well not used to it, its been a while since i’ve had to do the whole night feed thing.”

His fingers stroke the inside of your forearm “Oh yeah of course, your brother's kid. I remember you telling me, little guys what, 8 now?”

The fact that he remembers all this surprises you and it gives you a warm fuzzy feeling in your chest to know that all the times you thought he wasn’t listening or you thought he didn’t notice these small details about you, he did.

“Yeah he is. He’s a little firecracker, my brother and his wife have their hands full.” Your soft chuckle vibrates against his back, it’s oddly soothing.

“So he takes after his aunt then.” Dieter shoots back teasingly.

“Very funny.” You huff in amusement and playfully nip at the tip of his shoulder, making him snicker.

The room goes quiet again after the laughter has died down and it stays that way for a long minute before DIeter breaks the silence, no longer able to contain the jumble of his inner thoughts that are fighting to get out. “You ever thought about it?”

You know what he’s asking, but the fear of being on different pages makes you play dumb. “Thought about what?”

“Having kids of your own someday.” He says with a gentle brush of his fingers against yours and you tighten your arms around his waist ever so slightly.

“I um… I don’t know, maybe? ‘M not sure i’d be good at it.”

“You kidding me? You’d make a great mom, if that’s something you wanted of course. You’re amazing with Isabel, she…” He pauses, realising if he says what he truly wants to say, it might scare you off. If he admits that you’re the closest thing to a mom that his little girl has “... She loves you to death and you took care of her when I couldn’t, I'll never forget that and I know when she’s old enough, I'm going to tell her just that.”

You want to admit everything to him then and there, that it’s only recently that you’ve started thinking about all of this because of him and Izzy, because of how much they mean to you, that the two of them softened something inside you and opened up a door that you won’t be able to close again. “I guess it’s something to think about.”

“Yeah… I guess it is. I um… for what it's worth, I did the responsible thing after I got out of rehab and had a vasectomy.”

“Huh? What? Hold on a sec, when? I plan all your appointments, I think I’d remember that one?”

“I am capable of being independent sometimes, you know?” He teases. “Besides it was an in and out procedure, yeah it fucking hurt like shit for a couple of days after, but if I’m gonna have any more kids, it’s going to be on my terms and vasectomy’s are reversible so…”

As if he couldn’t get any more attractive to you, something as simple as being responsible shouldn’t turn you on, but it does. If you had a dick it would be poking him in the ass right now. You also don’t miss the way his words hang in the air with an unspoken meaning behind them, he’s not necessarily saying ‘with you’, but he's not not saying that either.

“Is that something you’d want?” You ask after a pregnant pause.

There’s another beat before he finally speaks again.

“With the right person, yeah.”

///

Daylight floods in through the cracks in Dieter’s floor to ceiling curtains, he shifts lazily in the bed, expecting to roll over and fling his arm around you. When his arm only finds the empty side of the bed, his eyes start to flutter open, he thinks he can hear you, but you’re not there. Maybe he’s dreaming? He had slept better than he had in months after all, Isabel hadn’t even woken up in the night either, this all seemed too perfect to not be a dream.

No he definitely does hear you and the playful coos of a baby who’s woken up in a good mood today. The bedroom door is wide open and he can hear your voice down the hall in Isabel's nursery, he looks over to see the monitor had been switched off, you’d gotten up with her.

Half asleep, he gets up and makes his way out of the bedroom towards the nursery. The little shrieks of laughter only get louder the closer he gets and he can hear you singing some song you made up to her about farm animals.

It’s a sight he’ll never forget when he finally stops in the doorway and see’s the two of you sitting on the rug in the middle of the nursery, both of you bathed in the golden glow of the early morning sunlight. It’s beautiful, the one time he doesn’t have his phone on him. Maybe he’ll try and paint this from memory? He hasn’t picked up a paint brush since Anika left him, but he’s starting to feel inspired to once more.

You’re so engrossed in what you’re doing with Isabel, staring down at her in your lap as you guide her little chubby hands to clap along to the song, you don’t notice him standing there in the doorway watching you. Not until she spots him, making little babbles that almost, but not quite, sound like ‘dadda’.

When you look up and see him standing there, shirtless with his arms crossed over his chest with an unruly and obscene mass of bed hair, your grin stretches to match his, you can’t help it.

“Morning.” You’re smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

He pushes off the door frame and comes to sit down on the rug beside the two of you, groaning when his knees protest. “Good morning to my two favourite girls. Hey baby girl, c’mere.” Isabels reaching out for him and who is he to deny his little princess of a morning snuggle, cradling the back of her head as she nuzzles against his chest.

“Sleep well?” You ask to distract yourself from the way your heart melts.

“Better than I have in a long time, you?” Izzy lifts her head and gently grabs at his bottom lip, giggling when he pretends to eat her hand.

“Me too. I hope you don’t mind me getting up with her, I heard her stirring over the monitor and you were snoring in my ear so…”

Dieter lets out a mock gasp and Izzy gums at his jaw. “Dieter Bravo does not snore!”

A gleeful laugh leaves you. “Oh he most certainly does! You know what else he does in his sleep? He kicks, I swear I've got bruises on my shins now!”

“Movie star or not, no one's perfect.” He smirks, even if his brain is saying ‘but she is damn near perfect’ “And hey, you just said you slept well, can’t have been all bad huh?”

“No I guess not.” You chuckle lightly, watching as the wriggling little girl in his arms now tugs on the end of his hair and he barely flinches. He’s so gone for his daughter, when you met him, you never could have imagined DIeter Bravo as a father, but now you can’t imagine him without her.

“Star I um… I know there’s a lot to all of this, whatever this is…” He gestures between the two of you with his free hand. “But, I’d really like to see where this goes if you want that too. We can work out all the logistics later, right now I just have one question to ask you.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and nervously fidget with the hem of the purple lakers shirt. “O-okay what is it?”

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

Without missing a beat, you answer without even needing to think about it. "Yes!"

///

Tags: @peepawispunk @kirsteng42 @behomewhenthestreetlightscomeon @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @harriedandharassed @wowitsafemale @gossipgirl-03 @suzysface @lilybeeee @drewharrisonwriter @readingiskeepingmegoing @sunnytuliptime @noisynightmarepoetry @letsgobarbs @joelmillerisapunk @itwasntimethatdidit40

#dbbc zine #dbbc zine summer 2025

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dbbczine · 1 month ago

Text

what it means to burn

This is my (incredibly and abhorrently late) entry for the Summer Lovin Challenge! My prompt was heat wave along with this AMAZING mood board! Thank you so, so much for putting this on @pedgito (and for being so incredibly patient)

pairing: dieter bravo x actress!reader

summary: There are many different ways to burn. People warn against getting sunburned amidst the suns cruel rays. Others are told it's in the afterlife where they'll feel hells wrath and burning flames. But burning desire that fills your body, floods your system, clouds your mind... what on earth are you supposed to do with that?

wc: 4.8k

tags/warnings: not much, some good ol' pining-esque angst (and some tooth-rotting fluff for funsies), Dieter is an idiot - but that's why we love him, i know nothing of film sets so there's that too

reader description: reader is described as having breasts and there is gendered language, otherwise nothing else about reader is described, no use of y/n

a/n: yeah, so this is almost exactly 6 months late, i am SO so sorry. i feel like i've been so stuck creatively this year. BUT here it is. at first I had no idea where I wanted to go with this, but then my wife and I binged all of Bridgerton in two weeks and I have that to blame for how some of this turned out. i also tried to really lean into the heatwave aspect of it 🫣 MAJOR shoutout to @bitchesuntitled for reading this over when i was losing my mind, i am so incredibly grateful

divider credit: @saradika-graphics

Your toes dig into the sand beneath your feet, each grain tickling your nerves - a much needed distraction you welcome. A bead of sweat trickles down your forehead, your body's desperate attempt at keeping you cool as you approach your third hour in this dreadful, sweltering heat. Your fingers twitch, fighting the automatic urge to wipe it away - the last thing you need is to give the director, Jared, another reason to call “cut” for the umpteenth time.

What was supposed to be a “quick and easy” take of the scene in which Dieter’s character has a heat-induced fever dream of your character scantily clad in an oasis, has now become a whole cluster fuck.

Dieter was almost an hour late to set - his reasons being missed alarms, traffic, every excuse under the sun really, but that was the least of your frustrations. Once everyone was finally in place and ready to start shooting, wardrobe mishaps galore.

They originally wanted to have you in a gauzy, deep cut dress, golden ropes tied around your waist to complement your figure. But between the combination of the heat and your sweat, the dress tape meant to keep the cloth adhered to your breasts kept slipping off your skin multiple times, resulting in multiple nip slips that had the wardrobe department ushering you back into the trailers for an emergency costume change.

But perhaps the most annoying circumstance of all has to be the sheer amount of times Jared has had the two of you film and re-film the part in the scene in which Dieter’s character finally confesses his feelings for your character- or the mirage of your character to be exact.

Picture it: Dieter’s character is lost in the desert, he’s been walking for days and nights looking for reprieve when he stumbles upon a beautiful oasis that’s too good to be true. Because it is. It’s simply a mirage used as a catalyst for Dieter’s character to come to terms with his romantic feelings. He’s supposed to come upon the oasis to find you lounging by the pool of a waterfall, dipping your toes in the water before approaching him, lavishing him with attention. Light sultry touches from you, flirty quips back and forth before devolving into a confession of love from him, all culminating into an almost kiss. Dieter is meant to lean in, your lips almost touching before his character wakes from his fever dream with a new determination to get back home and confess his feelings to the real life version of your character.

Which wouldn’t be an issue if it weren’t for the director finding a new problem almost every take.

The first few takes were issues with your wardrobe. The next few, he wanted to try different starting positions: you by the pool of the waterfall, then you lounging on a moss covered rock, finally he settled on you wading out of the pool of the waterfall, the water making your skin sparkle and glisten under the cruel sun.

A change you gladly welcomed the first one or two times you had filmed trying the new starting point, the water helping cool you down as the heat of the sun kept beating down on everyone. But soon enough even the water wasn’t enough of a reprieve, because then Jared had an issue with yours and Dieters chemistry.

Or lack thereof.

He couldn’t really blame the two of you though. At this point you were tired, sweltering, hungry, and so so cranky. Dieter wasn’t faring any better, you could tell he was two takes away from throwing a temper tantrum like a petulant child, and to be honest you weren’t too far behind him. The last thing on your mind was trying to convince the cameras of any romantic inclinations.

Although, if you were being honest with yourself, it really shouldn’t be that hard, it’s not like you would be acting at all. This isn’t the first movie or project where you’ve led opposite Dieter Bravo, and even though you’ve tried your damnedest to do the complete opposite, you have found yourself falling more and more for the handsome goofball with each passing day.

He was one of the first of the bigger names to show you kindness in your earlier roles; even took you under his wing as it were to warn you about the creeps to stay away from, to tell you the little tips and tricks of the trade, he even offered to run lines with you for auditions from time to time.

His party-going ways and eccentricities were enough to keep your feelings at bay for a while, but as the two of you grew closer, and you got to see more of the real Dieter, it became more and more difficult to deny that you had indeed fallen for the one and only Dieter Bravo. And you had fallen hard.

And if that doesn’t just piss you off.

“Oh for the love of Christ- cut cut cut!”

You and Dieter both huff and groan, you drop your head into your hands as Dieter slumps his shoulders in frustration. You feel like you could scream, your anger and frustration building to the point of tears gathering in your eyes.

“What is the matter with you two?!” Jared's voice becomes louder as his steps grow closer to the two of you.

You're just about to let him have it (deservedly so), but luckily Dieter pipes up before you can say something that might deem you “difficult to work with.”

“I don't know Jared, it could be a number of things. This goddamn heat being at the top of the shit list.”

You bite the corner of your lip to keep yourself from laughing, reigning your expression into a slight amused smirk instead as you watch Dieter and Jared go back and forth, mentally checking yourself out of the conversation until you hear Jared let out a dramatic sigh, running his hands through his hair before closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose in thought.

“Okay, I get it. I really do. I know I've been impatient myself, this heat really is getting the best of all of us I suspect.” He drops his hand, opens his eyes, and glances back and forth between you and Dieter as he pleads his case.

“Just one more take, please? Just the speech Dieter gives, that's all we need. You two are almost there, it just doesn't feel… right yet. There's an underlying sense of animosity that I can't pinpoint, but that's what is holding you two up. Just take a couple of deep breaths and let go. Give us everything you got, okay? Really, you two are ridiculously talented, I specifically requested you two for a reason. If there's any hesitation, just let it go. And let everything else be fuel for the fire. Use your frustrations and channel them into your character's desire for each other, okay?”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes. You know his speech was pointed towards you, there's no way it wasn't, but he was good about making it seem like it was a pep talk for the both of you.

You nod your head, blinking quickly to clear the moisture in your eyes before any tear drops could fall.

“Y-yeah, thanks Jared.” You reach your hand out to squeeze one of his forearms, a quiet show of appreciation.

Dieter rubs the back of his neck as he nods once in agreement, his lips pursed in thought.

Jared gives you two an unreadable look before speaking again. “From the top then, yeah? Just one more time.” He claps his hands, swiftly turning around and back to his chair as he orders everyone else back into their places.

Dieter lets out a long, drawn out sigh before turning towards you, an eyebrow quirked and a half smile sweet enough to wash away your irritation.

He briefly looks back over to Jared before shouting “can we have a moment?”

Jared simply slumps in his chair, waving his hand exasperated in a manner signaling “go on.”

Your brows furrow; what could he possibly need to talk about that can't wait until you've at least been able to scarf down the snacks in the shared trailer, enjoying its glorious AC?

He swiftly turns towards you, stepping forward and closing the small gap between you two until you are practically toe to toe with one another.

You draw in a quick, sharp breath as he reaches both of his hands out grabbing your own. Such a simple touch, yet paired with the sheer closeness he's created, it's enough to set your skin on fire where the two of you are connected. Or maybe it's just the heat finally pulling you into an exhausted haze and warming your skin to the touch. That had to be it, there's no way this means anything.

“Mírame, por favor.”

Dieter’s voice raspy from the dry heat, yet it's still smooth as silk to your ears. You acquiesce, slowly raising your eyes to meet his gaze.

The look on his face could easily bring anyone to their knees. The molten pools of his dark brown eyes draw you in, begging you to dip your toe in. A false sense of security washes over you as you believe that little voice in the back of your head saying “it's safe, the water's fine,” as if the tide of his gaze won't pull you under at the first chance you'd let it.

You could dive in head first into the deep inky waves, letting them pull you further and further down - not once feeling panicked or afraid even as the darkness spreads around the corners of your vision, finally feeling at peace. Finally giving up your resistance, letting him finally drown and consume you…

You're shaken from this image, your mind coming back into reality, dropping back into your body when Dieter squeezes your hands in his. The deep baritone of his voice floating through your ears like a choir of angels when he utters “estrella.”

“Y-yes?”

“I- um, I just–” Dieter cuts himself off with a huff, casting his eyes down and you're pretty sure you hear him mutter fuck under his breath. He slowly shakes his head, a self deprecating tone weaved into his voice. “I'm terrible at this.”

“Dieter, what're you ta–”

His head swings back up quickly. “I'm sorry.”

You jerk your head back slightly, completely caught off guard. He looks so determined, his eyes flickering back and forth between your own. He squeezes your hands again, takes a deep breath, and continues.

“I'm- I'm sorry. For today, for the million takes, for being late. All of it.”

He pauses long enough, you go to tell him it's fine, but he shakes his head, beating you to it. “No, I'm– fuck. Look, I know why Jared feels like there's some underlying animosity.”

You shuffle slightly, dropping your gaze to his feet, suddenly uncomfortable with the turn this conversation has taken.

“But what I'm trying to say is, I get it. You have every right to want to rip my head off right now. I know me being late really screwed up the schedule, and- and, I don't know. I just wanted you to know that I get it, and I really, truly am sorry. It was incredibly unprofessional.”

You brave looking back up at him. A pang runs through your heart at how genuine he looks. You have to bite the corner of your lip to distract yourself from the tears that want to well up, hoping you can keep them at bay.

“Thank you, Dieter. I really appreciate it.” A small, soft smile stretches your lips, meaning every word.

A small smile spreads across Dieter’s lips, mirroring your own.

“I- um, I just couldn't sleep.”

“...huh?”

“Why I was late. I really did miss all of my alarms this morning. I was up most of the night, too nervous to sleep.”

Your brows and lips wrench up in confusion. “Nervous?”

“Yeah, I know it sounds ridiculous. I mean this isn't the first romantic drama we've shot together or anything. I just really want to nail this scene. I want to be the scene partner you deserve. I really believe this could be the project that gets you nominated.”

“Oh, Dieter, th-thats's… that's getting a little ahead–”

“No, I'm serious. You deserve this. How can you become an EGOT winner without the Oscar? Huh?” He's full on grinning at you, those brown eyes sparkling with mischief.

You huff a chuckle out, shaking your head. “Dee, please. That was just a silly childhood dream.”

“No, it’s not, and you know it.”

He dips his head slightly, trying to get you to meet his eyes. Once you do, his face softens. A small, adoring smile graces his features.

“You deserve it more than anyone I know.” He drops one of your hands to softly cup your chin, his thumb brushing across your skin. “Mi estrella brillante.”

Your stomach drops as you try to remind yourself it’s nothing more than a friendly gesture. But Dieter apparently wasn't finished tormenting your lovesick soul. Before you have time to comprehend what's happening, he leans forward and drops his lips to your forehead, your chin still in his hand.

It had to have been only a brief few seconds, but to you that moment was frozen in time.

His devastatingly soft and pouty lips have your skin tingling, goosebumps forming along your arms, and all he has done is kiss you on the forehead, possibly one of the most innocent kisses two people could share, and yet your knees threaten to buckle as if he was worshiping your body underneath his tongue.

God, you needed to get out of this heat.

Dieter pulls back and must notice something's amiss. His face falls slightly, his eyes searching your own as he says your name.

“Hey, is everything alright?”

Your eyes flutter as you shake your head to try and rid yourself of this spell he's put you under.

“H-huh? Oh y-yeah. I think the heat is finally getting to me.”

“Alright you two,” Jared's voice further coaxing you out of your stupor, “let's wrap this up so we can all go home, yeah?”

If logic was accessible in this moment, you could easily remind yourself that this isn't him talking to you like this. It's all for the movie, nothing more.

Unfortunately, that's not the case, all logic flew out the window the moment his lips touched your skin. You have no doubt in your mind that you're looking at Dieter like he hung the moon– which works for the scene, but were you really acting?

It's hard to think of anything else beyond the feeling of his soft lips on your forehead, the reverent way he looked at you while cradling your chin in the palm of his hand, softly muttering, “mi estrella brillante.”

Mi estrella brillante.

You slowly flick your eyes back and forth between his, wondering if anyone has ever told him he has the most painfully beautiful eyes. So expressive, so captivating.

Many a time you have gotten lost in studying his micro expressions - one of the many reasons you fell for him honestly. The amount of emotion this man can portray in one glance, a simple lift of his brow, a slight tilt of his head or subtle frown - it was mesmerizing. He's mesmerizing.

His hand finds your cheek, the wide breadth of his palm practically encompassing the side of your face in its entirety.

In an instant it all becomes too much - the pounding in your ears, the shallow breaths you're struggling to take in, the haze forming around the edges of your vision. Your gaze drops to his lips. His irresistibly tempting lips, still moving, still reciting his lines, but the words remain a mystery to your overheated state of being.

The way the velvet plush of them unwittingly beckons you closer and closer. And suddenly it all becomes so clear to you.

This fiery all consuming heat, this overwhelming longing that has been ignited and seized your entire being, has nothing to do with the hours spent in the burning sun.

This aching, this burning, it's all coming from within you.

A burning desire all for one Dieter Bravo.

In hindsight, you were probably also dehydrated, but in this moment the only thing you want to drink in, the only thing you crave, is the taste of Dieter's tongue sliding against your own, to feel his lips mold perfectly around yours. The very thought of him pulling your body against his, close enough where you wouldn't know for certain where your breath began and his ended.

It's this thought alone that has you acting like you've finally snapped and lost your damn mind, maybe you have.

Dieter’s still in the middle of his monologue when you suddenly clutch the front of his billowy shirt in your fists, a soft breathy whine slipping past your lips, your gaze locked onto your plump pillowy prize. You see his lips frown slightly, pursed as he starts forming a question, but you can't wait one second more. You shake your head, silently asking him to not speak, to not disturb whatever stars or planets that had aligned to make this moment possible.

You gently pull on his shirt, bringing his body closer to yours as you angle your chin up, brushing your lips against his. Your eyelids flutter closed before you quietly whisper your simple request, “Stop talking and kiss me.”

Every worry, each little annoyance you encountered throughout the day all fades away to nothing the moment Dieter tenderly presses his lips to yours. His palm moves from your face, gently sweeping down the skin of your arm, goosebumps forming under his touch; an unexpected shiver shocking your system amidst the unrelenting heat.

He continues his path until his hand finds the small of your back, the pads of his fingertips stroking the skin bared from the exposed back of your costume. He gently pulls your body flush against his as he wraps his other hand around the nape of your neck, further enveloping you in his embrace.

The warmth of his body against your own should be the very last thing you crave in this unforgiving and blistering heat, your dress starting to soak through with your sweat, yet somehow his touch is exactly what you need. His touch like a balm to your nerves; his caress the only source of reprieve you desire.

You let go of the white knuckle grip you have on his shirt, immediately tracing the edges and curves of his body as your palms chart a path towards his hair. Your fingers twisting into his curls greedily, not even caring to pay any mind to the slick of the sweat drenching his tresses.

Your heart clenches when you swipe your tongue past your lips to find his tongue peeking out as well, the both of you in sync as you deepen the kiss. You can't control the small whimper you make at the sound of Dieter softly groaning as your tongue slides against his for the first time.

His iron grip around your body tightens even further; you swear your body could melt against his from the sheer heat shared between the two of you.

The heat so all consuming it's flooded your senses, spread through your veins, and now sets your skin alight. Dieter is flint and wood, and you are the spark that sets the whole thing ablaze.

Every pass of his tongue, every tug of his hair, each shared breath between you two only serves to feed and fan the flames; the heat of them licking at your skin, growing ever higher and higher until you and Dieter are one giant shimmering inferno.

But even roaring fires turn to ash eventually.

“And cut!”

Jared’s voice cuts through your trance, jolting you out of Dieter’s embrace. You immediately take a step back, giving yourself space to fully assess and absorb what you’ve just done.

Dieter’s hands hang aimlessly by his side now that you’re no longer wrapped around him, his chest heaving as he catches his breath, his lips swollen and slick from your kiss, his eyes wide and wild, glowing like the last few golden embers that refuse to be smothered into smoke.

You find the will to tear your eyes away from him and brave a glance at the crew around you. Some looks of shock come into view, some of annoyance, but nothing is as unnerving as the stoic look upon Jared’s face.

Your nerves quickly take hold, a chill running down your spine and spreading through your limbs as you slowly back further away from Dieter.

“I-I’m so sorry. I don’t- I…”

You quickly turn, gathering the skirt of your dress in your hands and move swiftly to the trailers, head hung in embarrassment.

What have you done?

A rush of frigid air greets you as you fling open the nearest trailer door, too wrapped up in your distress to pay any mind to where it is you’re actually going.

It’s only when the door slams shut behind you that you finally take notice of your surroundings - a table littered with script pages, all strewn about with red and blue ink scrawled in the margins; a green robe haphazardly draped across the back of a chair; various bottles of water scattered across all in varying degrees of fullness, not one of them fully empty.

Dieter’s trailer. Of fucking course.

Even in a moment where you need some space to distance yourself from this school girl crush, you still can’t escape him. Whether you like it or not, you’re inherently drawn to him - even just a space that he’s inhabited has enough magnetic pull to draw you in.

And it’s so fucking frustrating.

You’re just about to let out a much needed scream when you hear the door whip open behind you, the sound of it clicking shut only seconds later after the unwelcome guest makes their way inside.

Well, technically you’re the unwelcome guest.

You bury your face in your hands, not ready to face what’s coming next. You don’t even second guess who it was that followed you in, it was inevitable that he would come running after you - always looking after you, never once giving you a moment to breathe. The sun itself no longer the source of heat that threatens to smother you. Even the chilling AC isn’t enough to temper the rising fury of your admittedly misplaced anger. If only he would give you just one minute to wrap your head around the situation you have placed yourself in.

The heat of Dieter’s body radiates off him in waves as you hear him shuffle closer to you, the exposed skin of your back already starting to dampen with newly formed beads of sweat. The feel of his hand coming to rest on your hip burns as if he is made of fire himself, a quiet “Estrella,” mumbled close to your ear. You drop your hands from your face in defeat, closing your eyes to muster whatever strength you have left, and push his hand off of your body.

“Dieter, please, don’t.”

He lets his hand fall away from you, but you still feel his presence as he stays put behind you.

“I don’t understand, did I- did I do something wrong?”

You slowly shake your head, still not ready to turn around, still not ready to confront this head on.

“It's just… it's jus-”

Fuck, it really is now or never, isn’t it?

You can tell Dieter is starting to get just as frustrated as you have been all day, a childish exasperated huff tickles your skin before the cracks in his composure start to show. In any other moment, you might have the patience and wherewithal to sympathize and agree that his day has been just as shitty as yours, but at your wits end? Well that’s no place for compassion or sensitivity, now is it.

“It's just what? Spit it out alre-”

You whip around facing him, feeling like the embodiment of a steaming kettle finally blowing its top, ready to let its contents boil and bubble over.

“You frustrate the living daylights out of me, Dieter!”

He takes a step back, shock written all over his face, obviously not expecting this outburst of anger from you. His eyes narrow as he crosses his arms in a show of defense.

“Yeah, and? I piss a lot of people off. Where is this even coming from, I thought we were coo-”

“Oh please, we are well past you merely pissing me off. You have completely turned my world on its axis! You have single handedly complicated and confused everything I thought I knew about myself! You're so infuriating - with your stupid reservations over anything bluetooth-”

“Not stupid, the EMF waves mess with your brain-”

“-your complete and utter inability to care for or respect anyone's time but your own. Your obsession with alien probing?! What is that? If aliens are real, you really think out of everyone on this planet, that they would choose you to beam up into their ship just to what? Study you?”

“It's not an obsession! It's a reasonable and completely rational fear and respect for aliens. And no, not study me… I'm afraid they'll impregnate me, okay?”

You stare at him blankly, silence filling the air. Dieter’s face is so… genuine. His eyebrows downturned in distress, those deep brown eyes of his widened slightly in legitimate fear. If it weren’t for the circumstances or the subject matter of your current conversation, you would almost feel bad for him, almost wanting to close the distance and caress his face, easing his worries.

But his worries were… ridiculous.

It starts out small; a quirk in your brow, the corners of your mouth twitching as you let out an amused huff in disbelief. It tickles your insides, the sheer absurdness the turn this conversation has taken.

It quickly takes over, growing into giggles you try to contain behind your hands, but then Dieter’s face cracks - his own expression twisting in mirth as the two of you erupt into fits of laughter.

A few seconds pass as you both fight to reign it in until silence takes hold again. But this time, it's not as suffocating, it's… nice.

You softly smile at him as he returns the gesture, cautiously taking a step forward into your space, Dieter’s hands finding their home cupping your face, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. You can see the internal battle waging behind his eyes, no doubt trying to figure out what to say in an attempt to not set you off again.

You give him some much deserved grace, bringing your own hands up to wrap around his wrists, feeling his pulse beating rapidly below your fingertips. You take a shallow breath before attempting to apologize, but yet again Dieter beats you to the punch.

“I won't pretend to know what's running through that brilliant mind of yours, but if I've done anything to upset you…” his gaze quickly drops to your lips before flicking back up to meet your eyes, “... I'm sorry.”

“No, no you really don't meed to apologize Dieter, I… fuck.”

You snap your eyes shut, afraid to see the inevitable look of pity. You can't look him in the eyes when you say it. Brilliant my ass, more like a fucking coward.

“I'm just so embarrassed, that was so unprofessional and I know everybody is pissed that I messed up yet another take and I just… I couldn't deny it any longer. And I'm so sorry I took you by surprise like that, it was completely uncalled for and mmfph-”

Dieters lips come crashing down on your own, silencing your babbling. Your hold on his wrists tighten as you immediately match his fervor, not caring that you're already struggling to take a breath, his is the only oxygen you need at this moment. Before you can get too lost in the kiss, he breaks it off, resting his forehead against yours while you both try to regain your breath.

He nuzzles your nose before smirking, “there, now we're even.”

A surprised and delighted giggle escapes your lips, holding onto his wrists even tighter, filing away every second of this that you can before the moment is over. But Dieter was always full of surprises.

“And if you'll let me, I'd very much like to do that again. Maybe later, after dinner?”

You can’t stop the goofy grin spreading across your face as you respond.

“I think we could work something out.”

Thank you to anyone who reads this, comments and reblogs are never expected, but always appreciated. I'm just happy there's someone out there who might enjoy the things I have to say ❤️

tagging some Dieter moots (no pressure to read or reblog obvi): @sp00kymulderr @perotovar @covetyou @chronically-ghosted @yopossum @whatsnewalycat @kedsandtubesocks @whocaresstillthelouvre @pedrostories @beefrobeefcal @seventeenpins @ozarkthedog @pedrit0-pascalit0

#dbbc zine #dbbc zine summer 2025

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dbbczine · 1 month ago

Text

With Sticks and String: Part 2

a/n: This fic started as the response to the #writingthroughtheseasons challenge by the wonderful @guiltyasdave and @sizzlingcloudmentality. It developed a life of its own and, uh, grew beyond the original prompt. There will be two definite chapters, and possibly a third?

I did as much research as I could to be mindful of the details of NA, substance addiction, and milestone ceremonies but there will be errors. Please be kind.

Many thanks to @saradika-graphics for her wonderful dividers. @bitchwitch1981 for helping me get started, @missredherring @march-flowerr @hypnotisedfireflies @ameerawrites for their invaluable help unmixing my metaphors. Huge shoutout to @goodwithcheese for her fic Staystitch, the fic that lodged itself in my brain and started this all. Go read it, it's amazing.

Challenge prompt: Dieter in Autumn. “Are we a moment, or a lifetime?”

Dieter Bravo x gn!reader. Reader has no distinguishing characteristics, other than being actively sober and an avid yarn crafter. It's you, love.

Word count: 2.6k

Chapter note: it’s coming into autumn now in my part of the world, my favourite time of year for cosy evenings on the couch with my love, wrapped in warm woolly goodness to keep the chill off of us. Please enjoy Dieter and his love, being crafty and cosy and woolly together.

It’s a cool evening and the home you share with Dieter is chilly. You’ve only just lit the fireplace for the night, and it hasn’t had time to fully warm the room yet. Dieter sets the vintage record player to start playing while you get the hot chocolates ready. Soon the soft croons of Billie Holiday’s voice fill the room as you carefully carry your mugs over to the couch and divide them between his end table and yours. Extra marshmallows for Dieter’s, like always, and extra cocoa powder for yours.

Dieter is already settled on his end of the couch, digging around in his basket of wips for something to work on tonight. You let a deep sigh escape your lungs as you sink into your end of the couch. It’s been a long week and you’re ready to relax and lose yourself in the quiet of your evening with Dieter.

Dieter emerges triumphantly from his cavernous project basket with something in hand – a beanie, you guess, from the look of it. His hair is more disheveled than usual and his oversized cardigan (your favourite) is askew as a result of him hanging practically upside down in the basket to find what he was looking for. You giggle at his rumpled appearance. “Come on,” he juts his chin up at you, “what have you got tonight? Whatcha gonna work on?”

You think for a moment. You have a few items in progress stuffed into your basket: a crocheted blanket, a few pairs of fingerless mitts that you knit on here and there for the local winter donation drive. A cabled beanie, a ribbed scarf. “I don’t know. My brain is tired tonight. Maybe the blanket? It’s nice and mindless.”

“That could work. You only have a few more rows of that stripe before the next one starts, right?”

“Yeah, I’m nearly to the end of the blue so I might just finish that off and then put it away again for a little bit.”

You pull out the blanket that’s been slowly growing over the last year and a half and sit with your back to the arm of the couch. You scooch to get the blanket situated over your lap and legs until you’re comfortable with it. Dieter stretches out so his feet are touching your crossed legs, and you’re both covered by the blanket. You feel his toes stretching and flexing as he idly fidgets them against your knees.

The room quietens as you and Dieter settle into your projects. The sound of his needles clacking and the log on the fire popping are the only sounds for a time, apart from the quiet music and the occasional hiss of liquid and a swallow as one of you slurps your drink.

The quiet is broken every now and then with a sound effect. Periodically you hear a puzzled grunt from Dee, then an “ah” of realisation as he figures out the issue.

A thought idly rolls around in your mind, and you give it voice. “Your five years is coming up this year. Did you have anything special you want to do for it?”

Dieter is coming up to 5 years sober this year. Over that time, you have worked through your addiction recovery together, both through the support system of Narcotics Anonymous and your respective sponsors. Your connection has grown from platonic friendship to a true relationship. Dieter is a romantic at heart. You adore the way he has thrown himself into building your life together, the same way he throws himself into every other project: wholeheartedly and with nothing held back. For your part, you were smitten that first day when he finally gathered the courage to ask you about your crocheting.

You’ve developed a tradition of gifting each other something handmade for your respective milestones every year. His five years is a big deal for him, as you well know.

Dieter hums as he ponders the question, his hands pausing briefly as he considers. “Can you knit me a sweater? You haven’t done that yet.”

This is the first time you’ve ever hesitated to answer, and he clocks you straight away.

“What is it? What did I say?”

“No, it – it’s nothing, really, I just -” You try to laugh it off. But he knows you better than that. He pushes, gently.

You take a breath. This isn’t a conversation you had really expected to have tonight, but of course you should have. Sweaters feel like the natural progression of his crafting journey, of course he would be interested in that next.

“Dee, this is going to sound crazy-”

“Sweetheart, have you met me? Just spit it out, I won’t laugh.”

“Have you ever heard of the sweater curse?”

A brief silence. His eyes flicker with interest, and he leans forward across the couch, elbows resting on his thighs as he takes your hands in his. “Okay, now that you’ve said it, you HAVE to tell me more. What is the sweater curse?”

You huff a breath, blow a lock of your hair out of your face, shuffle your knees a little. “Okay, it sounds stupid. But. There’s a superstition for knitters and crocheters that says if you make a sweater for the person you’re dating, the relationship is doomed to break up. Sometimes before you even finish making the sweater. I know we’ve been together for a while, Dee, I don’t- I can’t- I don’t want-”

He surprises you by swooping you up into an embrace, stopping your words with his mouth on yours. You melt into his broad body and let him kiss your fear into submission.

When he lets you down to breathe, he twinkles his eyes at you and grins so widely his dimple pops.

“You won’t get rid of me that easily. I’m not going anywhere, honey.” His coffee-smooth baritone is a soothing rumble in your ears.

His expression turns serious then. “Look, I know we’ve talked about it a little bit, neither of us want to be married or anything, and we’re both fine with that. I want to be with you for my entire life anyway. I want us to be for a lifetime, not just this moment. So. How do we get around this curse? Can we break it? Is there an anti-curse we can do? Anti-hex thing? Double-block-fuck-the-sweater jinx?”

You give a shaky laugh and settle yourself in closer to him. You lean into his shoulder and he obliges by putting an arm around you and pulling you in tight. (You might also use his lapel to surreptitiously wipe a couple of tears away, but he doesn't need to know that.)

“Um, okay, okay. I mean, um, yes. I want that too. I love you too. I want to be with you for my lifetime too. I haven’t thought much but I’m sure there’s witchy stuff online about breaking curses. Why don’t we look it up somewhere?”

Dee carefully sets his knitting aside and pulls his laptop out from its spot under his end table. After a minute to let it wake up, he types “how to break the sweater curse” into the search bar. You lean in to look at the screen with him. You peruse the titles and URLs of the search results together, skipping over the ones that just show images of sweaters and magic wands, until you see one that looks suitable. “Hey, click on that one.”

HOW TO BREAK A MAGIC CURSE

Breaking a curse requires the intention and focus of the curse-breaker. Sometimes a ritual is also required. There are multiple ways to lift a curse, but it depends on the nature of the curse and the person who cast it. Whether you’re dealing with a long-term hex or a recently cast spell, the following rituals can help cleanse away the unwanted energy and restore your peace of mind.

Dieter reads down the Buzzfeed-like-list. “Blah blah blah...mirror reversal...cleansing bath...protective crystal grid…ooh,” He bookmarks the whole page so he can come back to this later. He likes his crystals.

“Oh, here we go, knot magic! That looks relevant. Here, read it -”

You read together:

Knot magic is a form of folk magic that uses the symbolic binding and unbinding of knots to control energy. This method involves tying and then untying knots to release the curse and its hold on you.+

“Knots sound like yarn, this could work, maybe that’s it?”

You shrug, you know as much as he does in this area. “Let’s keep looking – keep this tab open and see what else came up in the search.”

You find an unlikely help in the comments of an old Reddit thread:

Knot magic is about setting an intention and then using a knot to 'seal it' or put it out in the world. …But knot magic doesn't have to be knots. It could be something as simple as a braid. ….Also, knot magic can be knitting and crocheting. I have knitted a divination mat for myself. While I was knitting it, I thought about the new forms of divination I wanted to try and how I wanted them to impact my practice.^

Dee sits back and gestures at the laptop screen with a gesture of well, see?

“Well, there you go, we can do that. It’s all about the intention. I intend to stay with you. I intend to stay in love with you. This curse isn’t gonna be the thing that pulls us apart.”

“I feel the same way, Dee...I only want to be with you. I don’t want anyone else.” You have an idea. “Hey, Dee, why don’t we both do it? Why don’t we knit each other a sweater and seal our intentions into them?”

His face lights up and you could swear his dimple has never been deeper, with the way he’s smiling at you. “Amazing! Let’s do it. Right now.”

And so you do. You and Dieter spend the rest of the evening looking up sweater patterns online to figure out what each of you likes, as well as what the other will enjoy knitting. You both agree that cables are a must, based on the information you’ve learned online. After some rummaging, you find your old copy of Barbara Walker’s Treasury of Knitting Patterns in Dieter’s side of the bookshelf – he all but stole it last year when he was on a lace kick – and look up her cable patterns for ideas.

Dieter thinks that the braid cables will work best because the Reddit commenter wrote that they put a braid in their hair to set a protection spell.

You like the idea of multiple braids interwoven because they remind you of actual knots. Always intertwining and crossing together, never separated or broken.

The next day you hit your local indie yarn store to find yarn that feels right. Because these are going to be special sweaters, none of the every-day workhorse yarn you normally use will do.

Dieter’s yarn finds him in the form of a gorgeous deep emerald green wool, and you spot a mohair-silk laceweight yarn that complements the green perfectly. He is enthralled at the fuzzy, goat-y nature of the mohair and he insists on getting an extra hank or three, “just in case”.

Your yarn calls to you from a basket of limited edition super soft wool in your favourite colour. You also insist on getting an extra hank or two...“just in case”.

With your purchases in hand, you start back for home. Well...first there’s a quick detour to the grocery store for a chocolate run...but THEN you head back home.

Dieter has never worked with yarn this nice before, so you teach him how to wash the hanks and let it dry in front of the fireplace, before winding it into usable balls. That evening, he happily sits at your feet with a dry hank of yarn around his outstretched hands while you wind it into a tidy ball. He can’t resist wiggling his fingers and grabbing at you. He flashes a cheeky grin as you yelp and reflexively kick at his belly before scrambling your legs back out of his reach. Now that he’s gotten that out of his system, this slow-and-steady method of yarn winding together becomes your favourite evening activity for the next week.

At last the night comes when the last hank is wound. You and Dieter find yourselves sitting amongst a dozen balls of yarn all spread out along your coffee table and couch. It’s time to knit. You look around yourselves, and look back at each other. There’s an odd tension in the air, a thrum of anticipation that you didn’t expect.

Dieter speaks first. “You ready?”

You take a breath and release it slowly. “Yes. Let’s do it.”

He gathers his yarn to his basket on his side of the couch while you gather yours to your own side. You both shift and wiggle until you’re comfortably settled into your “yarning poses”, as Dieter calls it. You both pick up your needles. Consult your patterns. Give each other a decisive nod. And start casting on your sweaters.

The room is quiet now as you both lose yourselves in your knitting. You work to keep your mind focused on your intention, as the website said. It’s surprisingly not that hard; your brain soothes into the rhythm of knit, purl, Dee, knit, purl, Dee… as you work across the rows.

Dieter sits across from you, with his eyes down on his work. Every so often, he looks up to gaze at you thoughtfully. You feel his eyes on you and glance up, and he winks and looks back down again.

Autumn deepens into winter as you knit your sweaters side by side. You pass your evenings together on the couch in comfortable silence, sometimes with music, sometimes with just the crackling of the fireplace. Every so often you each hold up your progress for the other’s inspection, and you admire your work. Dieter makes you take periodic breaks for hot chocolate, and you make him take breaks for hand stretches.

After a couple of months of knitting together, your sweater for Dieter is making good progress. You think you might have it finished for him to wear by the time his 5 year date comes up. Dieter, on the other hand, is not as fast a knitter as you are. His sweater for you probably won’t be ready until next autumn, and that’s fine with you.

The sweater itself isn’t the goal. The goal is to work through the process together and purposefully knit your commitments into the sweaters. You’re confident now that your relationship with Dieter can stand the test of time after going on this whole curse-breaking journey with him.

Over the last five years, the sticks and string of your lives have knitted your relationship into an elegant, enduring fabric. You know that no matter what mistakes you and Dieter make, it won’t be the end of the world. You can pick up those dropped stitches together and knit them back into your fabric. The string that binds you together is strong enough to withstand being frogged, re-wound, and re-knit. You’re looking forward to creating with Dieter together for the rest of your lives.

+https://witcheslore.com/bookofshadows/rituals-spell-casting/how-to-break-a-magic-curse/

^https://www.reddit.com/r/witchcraft/comments/soum44/can_anyone_explain_witch_ladders/ this is a real thread, sincere thanks to user u/poetic_faery for their informative comments. And to @bitchwitch1981 for her help in getting started.

Taglist: (Please let me know if you want to be added, or removed. no pressure.)

@almostfoxglove @avastrasposts @schnarfer @galway-girlatwork @grogusmum

@jolapeno @bitchwitch1981 @sunnytuliptime @copperhalfcent @peaches1958 @ghotifishreads

@toomanytookas @covetyou

#dbbc zine #dbbc zine summer 2025

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