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psychedelic-ink · 5 months

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We Fall Like Snow ║ Part Ⅰ

After the events that took place at the Cliff Beasts set, needless to say as his bodyguard (and friend) you became overprotective of Dieter. You have all your worries under control until you accidentally flip over a young fan by grabbing her wrist, causing the media to stir with speculations as to why. Luckily Dieter's family arrives in the nick of time, scooping you both from New York to their cozy cabin; however, winter wonderland can't last forever and you need to face the consequences of your actions sooner or later.

pairing: Dieter Bravo x bodyguard!ofc; Amina Addams, written in reader format

chapter summary: You and Dieter are late for a Q&A. Again.

word count: 4.5k

chapter warnings: weed use, dieter having a filthy mind (and a wild s.ex life), cursing, so much banter, minors dni

**dividers by the amazing @saradika

The floor might as well be drenched in grease by how slippery it was.

Your poor sneakers glide across the marble tiles, nearly making you trip as you climb two steps at a time. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, heart hammering in your chest, you force your legs to move faster. You can feel each individual muscle throbbing. It was stupid of you to expect Dieter fucking Bravo of all people to show up on time.

You’ve been waiting by the car for nearly half an hour, already late for the signing. His fans are used to it by now, but that doesn’t mean you enjoyed being late to these events, and Shannon –Dieter’s ever passive- aggressive manager– had graciously put you in charge of his time table. You still aren’t sure why. You’re the bodyguard; the person that slaps his hand whenever he puts his grubby little mitts on something containing peanuts. Occasionally you’ll push away a fan or two. Generally speaking, for such a riot of an actor, he has calm admirers. There was one incident that nearly got him harmed.

Finally reaching the door, you aggressively punch it, the sound echoing throughout the entire hotel. When you detect no movement you knock again, this time accompanied by your sheer shout of his name.

“Dieter! Get your butt out of the bed– NOW!”

Just as you’re about to knock again, the door opens wide, leaving your fist awkwardly hanging in the air. In the threshold stands a disheveled, yet happy-, looking woman. She’s probably in her thirties, with long red hair, and her lash line smudged with eyeshadow. Her smile is lazy and kind as she looks at you. Is she high? God if you’re out there, please tell me he’s not high.

“Hi,” she greets you, her voice sultry. “Can we help you?”

You peer above her shoulder and see Dieter full on french kissing a brunette man on top of his luxurious king size bed. The bedding slides down the man’s body, revealing his perfectly sculpted ass. A soft moan reaches your ears, and your face becomes heated.

Ignoring the woman, you step inside, your hand conveniently wrapping around the metal doorknob, the coolness of it gives you some semblance of peace.

“Dieter!” you hiss between clenched teeth. He parts from the man with a smack and meets your gaze. His brows furrow, incohesive sounds leaving his kiss swollen lips. He fucking knows he’s in trouble.

“Shit,” he breathes out. The man turns to face you, his perfect ass matching his perfect face. Dieter turns to grab his phone. “What time is it? Did we fuck until morning?”

The woman giggles; you hadn’t noticed before but the front of her robe is open, her breasts bouncing as she shifts from one leg to the other. “I guess so,” she answers cheekily.

“We’re late for the panel. Get your butt out of bed right now.”

“Yes ma’am,” Dieter says. Before doing what you asked him to, he quickly presses his lips into his lover’s. “See you later Eduardo,”

“Awwww,” he bemoans, chasing the actor’s lips. “Can’t you stay?” his eyes flit to yours. “She can join us if she wants to, the more the merrier,”

Dieter wrestles with his pants, barely able to get one foot in.

“She’s not into that,” he replies slightly breathless, then he stops and looks at you, eyes full of curiosity. “Are you?”

“I swear if you don’t leave this room in ten seconds I’m dragging you out naked, paparazzi be damned,”

“Kinky,” the woman grins.

Your fingers tighten around the doorknob.

“I can’t believe we’re late. Again.”

With one hand, you quickly usher Dieter into the limo, using the other to text Shannon that you’re on your way. The driver starts the car, a low hum filling the inside.

“I’m hungry,” Dieter groans, scratching the back of his head.

You eye the sidewalk, the brown paper bag containing a chocolate muffin and a cup of coffee idly laying sideways next to the back tire. The dampness of the pavement had seeped into the bag, the coffee also spilt, turning it into a mushy, disgusting mess. You let out a sigh, climbing into the car right after Dieter. You originally had placed the bag on top of the trunk lid; it must’ve fallen with the wind or something.

The car starts to move and you internally curse at the driver for not keeping an eye on Dieter’s breakfast.

“We’ll just have to get something there,” you say, fishing out a small kitkat bar from your bag. “This is going to have to suffice,”

He takes it with gratitude and a lazy smile.

“Thanks.” Hhe leans into the soft seats of the limo, fingers playing with the edge of the wrapper. “I am really sorry by the way, time kinda flew by,” clearing his throat, he adds,. “Is Shannon mad?”

“Well, she ain’t happy,”

“I should send her a bouquet,”

“You did that last time,”

“Box of chocolates?”

“Did that the time before,”

“Muffin basket?”

“That’s new.”

The smile he gives you is wide and bright and you can’t help but mimic the expression. His gaze is soft as he looks at you, his fidgeting with the wrapper stopping abruptly.

“Could you tell Kate then? Before I forget.”

Without an answer, you quickly text Kate, his assistant, to send Shannon a nice and elegant muffin basket. While you do so you hear Dieter peeling open the wrapper of his unhealthy breakfast, the voice of his favorite youtuber follows.

For the upcoming months, Dieter’s schedule is packed. He’d been cast in an upcoming dystopian blockbuster hero movie. It sounded interesting enough, but while he explained the plot, you were already thinking about the arrangements that needed to be made. Thanks to this new project, he didn’t have much time to relax, so these short limo rides were his little moments of escape.

Seeing that you got a “thumbs up” emoji from Kate, you push the phone back into your pocket. Now that the two of you are actually on your way, you’re relaxed, a ticklish sensation laving across your skin as you melt into the leather seats, the smooth drive pushes your brain into a nearly sleepy state.

Your gaze follows the shops on the street, now that Halloween and Thanksgiving were things of the past, everyone had busted out their Christmas decorations. You enjoy this time of year, the city becomes colorful and bright, the smell of gingerbread following you no matter where you go.

“They were really nice,” Dieter suddenly states, drawing you out of your Christmas- fueled thoughts. “I wish you could’ve spend more time with them,”

“Who?”

“Eduardo and Isabel,” he scrunches up the wrapper and stuffs it into his pocket, dropping his phone to his lap. “They showed me around,”

“Are they actually friends of yours or two people you met at the after party?” You have no doubt in your mind that it’s the latter;, your lips curl into a mischievous smile. You cock an eyebrow, face contorting with confusion. “I thought you came to New York before, what do you mean they ‘showed you around’?”

“I might’ve said I’m new in town,” he grins, wiggling his eyebrows. “I like the attention,”

“As if you don’t have enough of that already,”

He ignores your playful jab and indulges in his train of thought.

“We should meet them again, the four of us,”

“Is this an attempt to lure me to bed with you?”

“It’ll be fun,”

“I have no doubt about that,” your expression grows smug when you see that he wasn’t expecting that answer. “I’m not saying no because it’ll be boring, I’m saying no because I’m your bodyguard. What if someone bursts into the bedroom with a gun? What am I supposed to do when I’m butt naked?”

You exaggerate your words with your hand movements, “Am I supposed to search the floor for my holster while some maniac holds a gun to your head?”

“You can keep the holsters on,”

You hold your breath as discreetly as you can. Dieter leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. How far he can reach surprises you, the brush of his knuckles against yours prompts you to let out the breath you’ve been holding. His pupils devour the color of his eyes, his gaze burns your skin, a feeling that should hurt but doesn’t. His tongue licks over his bottom lip. Your eyes drop to his neck when he swallows.

As he speaks again his voice comes out low and sultry, like he’s out of breath. “That would be so hot. And, like, imagine you shooting a dude while riding my cock,”

“Dieter–”

“Not killing him, of course, just shooting the gun out of his hand. Like a cowboy,”

You snort at the image, quickly covering your mouth. He pulls back, fingers absentmindedly scratching his chin. The heat from the brief brush of skin lingers. Dieter appears none the wiser.

You bite the tip of your tongue. His innuendos affect you more and more each day;, it’s infuriating, especially when he does it so nonchalantly. His eyes look up to the limo’s ceiling, and your cheeks heat up. Is he still thinking about you in holsters?

You’re just about to tell him to stop when he speaks again.

“Wait, would it be cowgirl instead? What do you call a female cowboy? Or does the word cowboy include everyone?”

The heat disappears as soon as it comes, leaving you feeling icy cold.

“Gendered terminology is a bitch,”

“Cowperson?”

“That sounds like a superhero with cow powers,”

He starts to mumble the spider-man theme song from 1994. Maybe he is high after all.

“…does whatever a cow can. Eats some grass, any kind. Crushes thieves just like…uh,”

“Bugs?” you offer.

“Why would a cow crush a bug?”

“Why is Cowperson eating grass? They’re still human, that’s not really a super power,”

“It’s to make their cow-powers more powerful. You need to read more comic books.”

“Who are they? Popeye?”

“Hey, if Popeye can eat spinach and grow strong I don’t understand why our cow-hero can’t,”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, you feel a headache sneaking its way to your temples.

“Why are we talking about cow themed superheroes?”

“You said you would fuck me with the holsters on,”

“I said no such thing,”

The limo comes to a steady halt, you don’t even need to look outside to know you’re here. The muffled screams that seeps through the gaps of the car is enough to let you know that there’s a crowd outside. Dieter seems unbothered by it, his soft molten gaze still glued to you curiously. Suddenly, it gets harder to breathe; like someone squeezing your throat. Licking your lips, you slide towards the door, mentally preparing yourself for the fans outside.

“We’re on, Mr. Bravo.”

It takes you everything not to think of the last sentence he said to you. “You said you would fuck me with the holsters on,” the words had rolled off his tongue as naturally as falling snow, not thinking at all about the consequences. You should be used to his flirty remarks by now. Of all the years you’ve known him, he’s always been like that. It never means anything, it’s just who he is. And it’s your job not to allow him to get you all riled up.

Letting Dieter take the front, you step to the side and close the door as he waves at his adoring fans. They all scream his name, posters and memorabilia glued to their hands with hopes that the actor might sign them. He’s got a bit of spare time—traffic had been surprisingly kind—so you allow him to mingle. You trail close on his steps just in case anyone decides to get too familiar. Selfies are taken, and tears are shed. Your gaze swiftly flits to your watch, his panel begins in ten minutes, you have to get him inside– Besides he will do more signings after the Q & A anyway.

Ignoring the blood pooling underneath your nails, you press your hand against the small of his back, gently guiding him to the entrance. He already knows. His steps become faster, yet to an outsider he doesn’t look to be in a rush. You can’t help the way your fingers slightly curl against the soft fabric of his suit; he feels your palm, warm and soft on his hip.

Touching Dieter isn’t anything new. However, this time you sense a crackle in the air, something that can only be felt by the two of you. His muscles stiffen as he fights the urge to turn to lay his eyes on you. If he could, a silent question would be asked with those same pair of soft eyes; Did you feel that too?

The invisible moment shared between the two of you is gone when a poster is abruptly shoved into his hand along with a marker, you notice which movie it’s from; The Bubble, though it’s more of a documentary rather than a movie. He quickly signs it without further inspection, the fan quickly screams words of gratitude.

But your eyes linger.

You hate that documentary. It’s the proof of your biggest failure as a bodyguard. You heard it on the news first. The crazy set where Lauren Van Chance got her hand shot clean off and the actors had to flee via a helicopter. It was a closed set so you weren’t allowed to join Dieter, and the thought alone that something, anything, could’ve happened to him during filming made you sweat profusely.

Your throat closes up, lungs emptying with the reminders of the past. Luckily he returned safe and sound, never again would you accept him to be essentially locked in a hotel by himself, the pandemic be damned.

You feel it first. See it later.

Your skin is coated with unwarranted goosebumps, the small hairs dusted across your nape stands with attention. Years of working had made your senses grow sharp, noticing things before it even came to be. With your backs turned to the approaching threat, you forget your surroundings, forget to hold yourself back.

When you notice your fingers wrapping around a slim wrist, it’s too late. You kneel and throw the person coming from behind using the strength from your shoulder. A small funko pop of one of Dieter’s more popular characters flies out of their hand. It’s a young woman, maybe in her early 20’s. She shouts in pain and Dieter jumps back, only now realizing what happened. You’re horrified, bile rising to your throat as your eyes go wide. You don’t hear yourself, but you know you’re shouting an apology, feeling your lips form the words.

Sorry, sorry, sorry. Oh my god I’m so sorry.

You attempt to help the girl up but she yanks her hand back, looking at you with rightful fury. You look up to the crowd and it’s a cacophony of screams, laughter, booing– The sound comes to you muffled, echoed. You see countless smartphones, all of them directed at you, documenting your second-worst mistake of your career.

Turning back you see Dieter kneeling next to the fan. He’s speaking to her, his large hand spread across her back. She smiles, nods, and he helps her up. Two paramedics come, ushering her away from the crowd., Dieter waves her off, saying something to the paramedics. You’re so disoriented that your mind convinces your body that a threat as big as an explosion had happened, your skin crawling with imaginary shrapnel digging in to it.

Dieter’s face comes into view, your stomach churns with the remains of your too-early breakfast.

Every sound, every motion rushes back into you, like your soul being sucked back into your body. It’s an overwhelming feeling, you shake your head once, twice, then ask a question with the sole intention to convince yourself that you’re alright.

“Is she hurt?”

“She’s going to be fine,”

Dieter never touches you when you work, a rule you established well before knowing him –this rule didn’t apply after hours though, you don’t remember how many times he bawled his eyes out and pulled you into a bear hug during one of his many rewatches of Coco– but right now his arm wraps securely around your waist, pulling you with him as cameras flash before your eyes, the sound deafening. Your eyes water at the light;, briefly you wonder how Dieter does it, then you’re reminded of his shitty eyesight and connect the dots.

The inside of the building is spacious and cool, you take a deep, shaky breath and stagger forward, balancing yourself by pressing your palms into your knees. An angry set of heels echoes in the building; you see Shannon’s ankles, noticing a small tattoo of a happy cat with a ball of yarn.

How ironic.

“What the fuck was that?” she asks frantically, a rhetorical question, you assume, since she continues. “Amina, what the hell were you thinking flipping a fan like that? She wasn’t even doing anything! The press is going to gobble this story up, it’s going to be everywhere–” she abruptly stops mid- sentence, your head spins, Dieter’s shoes come into view, Shannon’s heels disappear.

“Is she going to be sick?”

You flinch at the hand on your back, Dieter’s voice echoes. You hear something else as he speaks in hurried breaths. What the hell was that sound? You attempt to swat it away. Then you recognize.

Jingle Bells?

“Amina?”

You black out after that.

Needless to say, Dieter is freaking out.

You flatout fainted in front of them all, then woke up acting as if everything was just peachy-keen. He was glad you didn’t puke, but that didn’t ease his worries. The memory of you tossing that poor girl didn’t leave his head for the rest of the day. He was confused, his mind working hard unlike it ever did in order to unravel the mystery. He knew you had your reasons, maybe the girl was a secret agent out to get him or something. Mostly, he was worried about how the scene had stirred something in him. The way you looked so confused about your own actions, how your eyes seemed glazed as if they couldn’t piece together where they were… He’d never seen you so out of your element before.

The screaming crowd probably didn’t help.

Knowing that the internet would be brutal, he asked for your phone before the panel, and, surprisingly, you obliged. The rest of the day was event- free.

He still feels the phone in his pocket as he unlocks the door of the hotel room.

Upon seeing the mess of his late night endeavors with Eduardo and Isabel, a small groan leaves his throat. Couldn’t they have cleaned before leaving the room?

You don’t seem to care. With quick steps you reach the couch and sit. It’s facing the TV, and your hand reaches for the remote. He parts his lips to say something but your hand stills before he does, fingers slightly shaking as you pull yourself back.

“I’m sorry,” you say, your voice cracks and his heart beats in his throat. “I don’t know what happened,”

“Well…” he trails off, closing the door. “In your defense, Rose wasn’t supposed to be there. Technically, you were doing your job,”

“Rose?”

“The girl you flipped,”

“Oh god,”

He stands before you, facing the full force of your doubtful gaze. You cradle your cheeks with both hands, shaking your head, and let out a groan.

“Even so, she didn’t have a weapon, she wasn’t there to attack you. All I had to do was to usher her away,” you lean back, both hands now covering your face, letting out a deep sigh. “Fuuuuuuuuck,”

“Hey, it’s not that bad. Shannon is just being dramatic,”

“I saw her looking at her phone Dieter, I think she left early to cry in the shower,”

“Being my manager for so long must’ve taken a toll on her, you can’t blame her for that. I promise you, I did way stupider shit,”

“Doing stupid shit and downright assaulting someone are two different things,”

You’re right, and he knows you’re right. That doesn’t mean he’ll accept it though. He stares at you for a while, thinking what to say or to do to make you feel better.

His first instinct is to roll you a joint—weed makes everything better—but when he notices the subtle tick in your jaw, your lips slightly moving without parting, he understands that whatever you’re feeling, runs much deeper. You eye the remote again.

“Maybe I should just see what they’re saying?”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,”

“I’m going to find out about it eventually. I should just rip off the bandaid,”

Offering to roll you a joint doesn’t seem like that bad of an idea anymore.

“How about we smoke weed instead?” He assumes you’re going to say no when you open your mouth. He presses his forefinger against his own lips playfully, meeting your gaze and winking. “We can look at Twitter, check the news, watch youtube breakdown videos or whatever you want to do and see the damage tomorrow morning, sweetheart. Promise,”

“Fine fine, let’s go with what you want,” you give in, clearly exasperated. Dieter grins, but before he leaves you threateningly wave your finger at him. “But this is the only time, Bravo. Got it. No matter what, don’t offer it again,”

“Yes Ma’am,”

Dieter holds the joint between his index and middle fingers, where it looks miniature compared to the rest of his hand. He brings it to his lips, taking a deep inhale before handing it to you.

You move in slow motion— at least, to him it seems like you are. He watches intently at where his lips touched moments ago touching yours. A pleasant tingle blossoms from his tail bone to the small of his back. A delicate puff of smoke dances away from your lips, your head falling back, a long sigh follows your exhale. Dieter’s eyes follow the curve of your neck. You swallow, lips still parted. He mimics the movement, his own adam’s apple bobbing up and down, he thinks of your lips.

“Why did I fucking do that?” you mutter. “That was so stupid of me,”

“Stop thinking about it,” he takes the joint away from you. “I rolled this so you can relax. Don’t waste good weed on tripping,”

“Yeah, you’re right sorry,”

Dieter spreads his legs underneath the fuzzy blanket, and your head lolls towards him, forehead brushing his clothed shoulder. Again, a pleasant tingle spreads, this time warmth added to the feeling. The skin above his lower stomach feels tight. His thoughts the farthest from being pure, he imagines a nipple, your nipple, while sucking the end of the joint. His head fuzzy, a soft moan rattles in his throat. You’re muttering something, and that something comes to him muffled, then you laugh. He laughs too, context be damned. He takes another inhale before passing it back to you.

“It was kinda funny,” he suddenly says, his mouth barely reaching the speed of his thoughts. “The way you just threw her over your shoulder,”

“How is it funny?”

Something in your voice makes Dieter raise his hips, the delicate, barely there pressure of the blanket is equal to torture. He needs his hand, or better yet, your mouth. He bites his bottom lip and chases the feeling, lifting himself once more just to feel that feather-like grind against his cock. You’re unaware. Or maybe you are. Dieter can’t tell. He knows that he should behave, that deep down you’re hurting, but something about your obliviousness did something to him. His teeth sink further into his lip, he wants to draw blood, needs the distraction.

“I’ve never actually seen you get physical before, so the shock factor made me wanna laugh,” his words fade into a surprised grunt when you stuff the joint between his lips.

“I guess you really haven’t seen me like that before,”

You sound genuinely surprised. Dieter shifts to face you better, your face only an inch away from his, he sucks in a deep breath. His eyes dance around your face, taking in every little detail, memorizing it for later. Your eyes seem to have specks of gold in them. Or maybe he’s just imagining it. He hears you swallow, your own gaze dropping to his lips. Dieter shuffles closer. He hears your heavy, but fast, breathing. Your breasts touch his chest, a subtle movement that has him grinding his teeth.

He can taste you in the air, sweet and bitter, you’re so close–

The moment shatters with the sound of a shrill doorbell;, Dieter jumps, an immediate crease forming between his eyebrows.

“What kind of hotel room has a doorbell?”

“The expensive kind I guess,” you giggle.

Dieter smiles sweetly at you, he can’t help it. The doorbell rings again, prompting Dieter to stride to the door with long steps. Gripping the doorknob white-knuckled, he yanks it open.

He forgot.

He can’t believe he fucking forgot.

“Dieter!”

A pair of thick, loving arms, wrap themselves around his neck. An awkward smile tugs at Dieter’s lips as he hugs back, his hands twitching for an imaginary rail to hold on.

“Mom? Dad?”

“You forgot didn’t you,” his dad means for his words to form a question but he’s so sure of himself that it comes out as a statement. “Doesn’t darling Kate remind you of these things?”

“She does,” Dieter answers. His mother squishes his cheeks, making it difficult for him to speak. “I just forgot. Been busy,”

“Such a busy bee our darling boy! I would’ve never guessed,”

“Thanks for the confidence boost mom,”

“I mean I knew you would make it,” his mom defends herself. “I just never thought you would work so hard,”

“Again, thanks,”

“Uh…hello?”

You’re standing right behind him, arms crossed against your chest, you shift from one foot to the other. His mother looks you up and down, a wide smile appears on her face, wrinkles appear at the corner of her eyes, similar to his.

“Well, hello dear. Who might you be?”

Dieter nearly bursts out laughing when you stutter and hurriedly walk up to his parents with your hand stretched out, you nearly topple over. Dieter slightly moves forward, in case you did fall over.

“I’m Amina Addams. Lovely to meet you,”

When you reach out to greet his father, he seems excited, like a fan meeting a celebrity. Dieter raises an eyebrow. His father had the habit of being quite blunt, sometimes steering towards being mean, which made Dieter adapt into having a warning mechanism whenever his dad was about to say something stupid.

Right now the alarms are deafening in his ears, red flashing beneath his eyelids.

You shake his hand, and Dieter’s world falls into slow motion, his father parts his lips.

“You’re that girl who turned over a fan! The crazy bodyguard, right?”

For fucks sake dad.

author's note: I've been sitting on this for SUCH a long time and I'm so excited that it's finally out in the open! I love Christmas, romcoms and Dieter so this is essentially pouring out my adoration to all of those things and I hope you'll all fall in love with Amina & Dieter as hard as I have ❤️ Thank you everyone for reading!

#dieter bravo x oc #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x fem!oc #dieter bravo x ofc #the bubble fanfic #the bubble fanfiction #christmas fic #dieter bravo x amina addams

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