#dieter bravo x ofc

[chiriwritesstuff]

The New Girl in Tinseltown; Chapter 3 - Fake Smile

A Dieter Bravo x Actress! Reader PR Marriage AU

Previous Chapter │ Series Masterlist

Chapter Rating: E (18+, MDNI)

Chapter Summary: It's the weekend after, and it's back to reality for Doll and Dieter. Of course, the public is loving their sudden nuptials, but what about the important people in Doll's inner circle? Will they believe her through her lies? Meanwhile, Dieter will stop at nothing to prove that what they have between the two of them is real...

Chapter Warnings and Tags: (Not So) meet cute, PR Relationships, what happens in Vegas ends up in the headlines, Dieter just does not give a FUCK, Smut lite, a look at the inner workings of Tinseltown and the sleaziness it comes with, Dieter and his fucking paintbrush, A hell of a lot of dirty banter, is that yearning?, mentions of devious deeds by sleazy people in show business, we introduce a few more characters, SLOW BURN WE DONT KNOW IT, this is unhinged, no use of y/n, Someone gets a name reveal, No beta we die like men!

Word Count: 7.3K (it seems like I can just go on and on and on...)

Song Inspo: ‘Fake Smile’ - Ariana Grande

The first time you found yourself in hot water with the media, it was all because of a little misunderstanding.

A stupid one, yes, but in Hollywood, things like simple misunderstandings were paydirt in the world of the paparazzi. What was even more fucked up was the more stupid the situation, the more they ate it up, and the more money they could make from you making a complete ass of yourself. 

TMZ News Flash: Up and-coming starlet arrested for assault of a homeless woman, maintains that it was a misunderstanding-

It was a few months into your career, and you found yourself recovering from a harsh casting call that left you feeling defeated. With your cap pulled low and sunglasses shielding your eyes, you dodged the paparazzi lurking outside the building where the audition was being held. Being labeled Hollywood's newest darling had thrust you into the spotlight faster than you could prepare for, and it felt like everyone was just waiting for you to slip up. It was only a matter of time...

“Look, Alex,” you whisper into your phone, pulling your sweater tight around you, and looking at your surroundings nervously. “I’m not going to land every role I audition for, it was just a bad case of nerves… anyway, give Mum and Dad my love, I’m about to head into the next audition-“ you tell your sister, checking your watch as you hurriedly make your way towards your destination a few buildings down. “… I love you, too. Speak soon, alright? Tell Zoe I love her.” 

Lost in your thoughts and the frustration of the day, you hurried along the sidewalk, oblivious to the world around you, when, suddenly, you are accosted by a homeless woman, her cup outstretched, her plea for spare change hanging in the air.

"Some change?" she asks, her cup dangerously close to your face. "I'm cold and hungry-"

You reach into your purse, fumbling for some coins. "Here you go," you offer, dropping them into her cup without a second thought.  

Instead of the dull thud of the change hitting the bottom of the cup, you're met with the tell-tell sound of a tiny splash, the homeless woman's eyes widening in shock and tiny horror.

"What the fuck, lady?" she screams, looking at her ruined cup of coffee. "Just because I'm out here begging for money doesn't mean you can be an asshole about it!"

"Oh shit, I am so sorry... wait, let me just run to Starbucks and get you a new one-" you stammer, your eyes scanning for the nearest coffee shop. You pull your sunglasses down slightly, squinting as you spot a café on the corner.

The woman tsks at you, her expression shifting as she suddenly recognizes you. "Hey, aren't you that actress from that movie-"

Your heart sinks as you freeze, the knot in your throat tightening. "Uh, yeah, that's me," you admit, feeling the weight of the situation bearing down on you. "I really didn't mean to, I thought the cup was empty-"

"No way!" she exclaims, her voice drawing attention as she gestures wildly. "You're one of those celebs with the paparazzi on your tail, aren't you? Hey, you there!" She points to a man hiding nearby with a camera, catching his attention. "She just dumped her change in my coffee cup!"

"No, please," you whisper urgently to the woman, ducking as the man approaches, camera poised. "I just lost them, please, I can't deal with-"

"Doll! Doll!" he shouts, snapping pictures rapidly as you try to shield yourself. "How'd the audition go? What movie was it for?"

"No comment," you respond curtly, raising your arms to block the shots, the homeless woman's protests growing louder in the background.

"She just tossed her coins in my cup, what a clueless bimbo!" she shouts, gripping your hand and pulling you closer. "Hey, where do you think you're going? You still owe me a coffee!"

"Please, I don't want to make a scene-" You struggle to break free, but in the chaos, your purse swings out, accidentally smacking the woman across the face as you tumble to the ground.

"You bitch!" she screams, clutching her cheek. "Did you see that? She attacked me-"

"No, it was an accident, I swear!" you plead, but your voice is drowned out by the relentless clicks of the cameras.

Later, at the police station on La Cienega.  

"Doll," your publicist murmurs as he guides you out the back entrance of the police station, shielding your face from the frenzy of paparazzi. With a protective arm around you, he ushers you into the waiting car, pushing aside the relentless onslaught of cameras.

Once safely inside the Lincoln Continental, you both exhale in relief as Nathan orders the driver to go, the sound of the engine drowning out the chaos outside.

"I warned you about this," Nathan sighs, glancing at his buzzing phone. "I told you things would get crazy after 'Little Star' hit theaters. You can't afford to be careless now. What were you thinking, getting yourself into a situation like that?"

"I don't know, Nate," you sigh, "... maybe I wasn't thinking," you admit, frustration evident in your voice. "How was I supposed to know that trying to do a good deed was going to backfire like this? It's not like I approached her, she took me by surprise!"

"But did you need to assault the poor woman?" he exclaims, his brow raised in disbelief.  

You give him a look, crossing your arms across your chest as you gaze outside the car window. 'I apologized, alright? It's not like she's the one suffering from all of this, I missed the audition, only because I thought I was doing her a favor! Fuck!"

Nathan shakes his head, his expression a mixture of concern and exasperation. "Look. I get it, but you're not just anyone anymore, Doll. Every move you make is under a microscope. We need damage control, fast... and maybe some media training while we're at it. It's like trying to tame a fucking feral cat or something-"

You nod, feeling the weight of his words. "Yeah, I know. We'll figure it out. But for now, let's just get out of here."

As the car pulls away from the chaos outside, you sink back into your seat, feeling the exhaustion seeping into your bones. This was just the beginning of a long battle against public scrutiny, and you knew it was going to be a tough fight.

The next time you found yourself in the headlines for a scandal, it was when the tiny part of your mind decided that it was a good idea to get eloped with a man you barely even know.

Present Day. 8a - Meeting with your Publicist (Nathan 'The Shark' Smith)

WhatsApp Message from Dieter:  Are you there yet? Doll: Just parked. Sitting in my car outside of the studio. What are you doing up so early? I swear, you sleep like the dead. Dieter: Woke up to a cold bed. Maybe fuck the meeting with the Shark and come home. My cock misses you. I miss you.  Dieter: (Sends a picture of said cock, fully erect and the mushroom tip bright red and angry, with Dieter's face in a frown). Doll: I can't keep avoiding him, D. Plus, I have my screen test today. Your cock is just going to have to wait, sorry baby. Dieter: Could you just send me a photo of your tits at least?  

"What the fuck were you thinking, Doll?"

You roll your eyes as you flop onto your publicist's couch, crossing your arms around your chest. "Spare me the theatrics, Nathan. What's done is done, there's no point in dwelling in the past-"

"Do you have any idea just how much your little stunt is going to cost you? We were so close to landing Disney, and now I don't know how I'm going to convince them that you haven't lost your goddamn mind!" Nathan's voice reverberates through the room as he rips his glasses off his face.

"You pay me to protect you, to guide you down the right path, and you go and hook up with the first guy who winks at you? At a goddamn In-N-Out?! And let's not even talk about this sham of a marriage-"

"I was drunk, Nathan! I did what a normal person would have done if they drank as much as I did! And marrying Dieter isn't the end of the world! Maybe you need to loosen up a bit!"

"You don't even know him, Doll! This is as close to career suicide as it gets, and I'm not sure I want to try to salvage this mess!"

"Well, I don't know what to tell you. The damage is done! we just have to deal with it," you say defiantly, pulling out your phone.

"Maybe he roofied you or something," he mutters to himself, pacing back and forth. "If you want, we could take a drug test, maybe prove that somehow... he manipulated you into marrying him. Maybe, we could get the police involved, and you won't have to go through with this shit show! "

"There was no manipulation!" you retort, "these things happen all the damn time! how do you think these 24-hour drive-thru wedding chapels survive? I don't see the problem of two consenting adults agreeing to marry each other!"

"Have you seen what the news outlets have been saying about you? Half of them are already calling it a sham, while the other half thinks that you're knocked up!" he throws a stack of newspaper off his desk, the pages fluttering in the air as they land near where you sit. 

You reach for the top gossip magazine in the towering stack, and your heart sinks as you're greeted by a blown-up photo of you and Dieter in Marcus's convertible. Both of you have flushed faces, yet there's an undeniable spark of happiness in your eyes.  

Hollywood Sweetheart marries Hollywood Lothario Dieter Bravo at a Las Vegas Wedding Chapel after being caught having public sex at popular fast food spot In N Out...

You shake your head at that, tossing it back onto the table, not wanting to think of the implications and emotions behind the photo.  

"I don't give a damn about the news outlets!" you snap back, frustration bubbling to the surface. "Let them speculate all they want. I'm not going to let some gossip rags dictate my life."

Nathan sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Doll, you're playing with fire here. You're on the verge of ruining your career, and for what? A drunken mistake?"

"It's not just about that," you argue, feeling the weight of the situation bearing down on you. "There's more to it than you realize."

"Then enlighten me," Nathan challenges, his tone softer now, a hint of concern seeping through his frustration. "Help me understand why you're willing to risk everything for someone you barely know."

"It's like he sees through all the bullshit," you murmur to Nathan, a pang of melancholy coloring your words. "While everyone else is busy painting me as this flawless figure, Dieter's the one who looks beyond the facade. He's not afraid to acknowledge the messy, imperfect parts of me, the ones I try to keep hidden."

With a sigh, you retrieve a cigarette from your purse and light it, the smoke swirling around you in the dimly lit room. "He's seen and experienced things most people shy away from, yet he's still unapologetically himself. There's a raw honesty to him that I find... refreshing."

 He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "Maybe it's best to give it a few months, let people think it wasn't a mistake, and just..." His voice trails off, the unspoken suggestion hanging in the air.

"Why do you think I'm in this industry? I am good at what I do, and besides... I don't think it would be that hard, pretending to be with him. He's... different, like a completely different person when he's with me. He has this way of making me feel-"

"Objectified? Like a good little slut for daddy?"

"Understood, Nathan," you reply sharply, stubbing the cigarette in the ashtray. "He makes me feel seen," you add with a sigh, a hint of vulnerability seeping into your tone. "Do you think we could wrap this up? I've got a screen test to prepare for."

"You sound like you're smitten with something," he snarks, typing away at his computer. "I don't know what to tell you, Doll," Nathan says, his tone laden with concern. "I just can't see this ending well. Dieter's like a disease, spreading toxicity wherever he goes. It's only a matter of time before he poisons you too."

9a. Trailer. 

"Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in, Mrs. Dieter Bravo, in the flesh!"

You put on the best fake smile you could muster, pulling your shades off as you enter your trailer, your 'glam squad' already waiting to help you prep for your screen test. "Good morning to you too, ladies," you reply, taking a sip of your coffee. "Shall we get started?"

"That's it, Doll? you're not gonna give us the scoop?" Your hairstylist teases, "You're just going to pretend like you didn't do something so fucking insane like getting hitched in Vegas? To Dieter Bravo of all people? Are we nothing to you?!" she exclaims, taking you by the shoulders as she playfully shoves you onto her chair.  

"I don't know what else I could tell you besides that yes, I got married over the weekend, I mean, it was all over TMZ for everyone to see-"

"I have to ask," Sofia chimes in, giving you a sly smile as she looks at you through the mirror, combing your hair back into a low ponytail. "Is he as big as they say he is?"

"You know, a normal person would say congratulations to someone who just got married."

"I mean, why waste time with congratulations when we can get down to the nitty-gritty? The people don't give a shit about the pleasantries, we wanna know about the good stuff. So, Spill: is he packing or not?"

"Sorry, Sof, a lady doesn't fuck and tell," you say with a saccharine smile, rolling your eyes.

"I'm shocked, honestly," your PA slash childhood best friend Daisy muses, typing away on her phone as she settles on the chair next to yours. "I had no idea you were seeing Dieter before this past weekend," she says with a hint of what someone could perceive as suspicion. "I'm glued to your side 24-7. Surely, I would have noticed that you were fucking him. Dieter Bravo isn't known for being subtle."

"Just because I live under a microscope doesn't mean I don't know how to keep things on the down low, Daisy. I can have a relationship and keep it secret from the world, celebrities do it all the time."

"What I don't understand is if you were so hell-bent on keeping your relationship with Dieter under wraps in the first place, why have such a shitshow of a wedding?" Daisy challenges, throwing her phone on the workspace in front of you as she turns to look at you, an unimpressed look on her face. "Something doesn't add up."

"What are you trying to say, Dais?" 

"I'm saying, you were seen sucking face with Adam Patterson at Sundance not even two weeks ago, so I think I'm trying to say that you're full of shit," she retorts, her eyes narrowed as she stares you down.

"Excuse me?"

"Don't play dumb, Doll. I know everything about your life, I'm your best friend, for fucks sake! If you were with Dieter Bravo, I would've known. I live right next door to you!"

"Well, maybe I just wanted something that was mine, Daisy. Don't I deserve that?"

She scoffs incredulously. "Does Alex know?"

"Of course Alex knows, she's my sister!" you counter, hoping she doesn't catch the slight waver in your voice, your tell when you're not telling the whole truth.

"BUT I'M YOUR BEST FRIEND! I COME FIRST!"

You're taken aback by Daisy's sudden outburst, Sofia and Poppy exchanging uncomfortable glances as the tension escalates. 

"So that's what this is about, then? You're just pissed because you found out like everyone else on TMZ? I'm entitled to privacy, Daisy! I have secrets. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but a relationship involves two people, and we both agreed to keep it quiet-"

"Oh spare me with that self-righteous bullshit, Doll!" she spits, rising from her seat. "This isn't you! It's like I'm talking to a fucking stranger right now!" She pushes past you as she makes her way out of the trailer. "You can have your secrets, but just remember, I know the ones that COUNT, remember that."

"Dais, come on, I said I'm sorry!" you call out after her, feeling a pang of guilt as she flicks you off and slams the trailer door shut.

"That went well," Sofia observes dryly as she starts working on your hair again. You wince a little as she smooths out the strands, already dreading what might come next.

"Hey Sof, instead of the braid, do you think we could leave my hair down? Maybe add some curls and give it that messy-but-sexy vibe?" you suggest, hoping for a change from the usual routine.

"I mean, yeah, that could look really hot, but Nate told me we were going for a more virginal look-" Sofia begins, her hesitation evident.

"Seriously? My character's supposed to be around my age, not some naive teenager," you argue, feeling exasperated. "Surely she wouldn't still be a virgin."

"You know what? You're right," Sofia concedes, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Sometimes us girlies just have a tough time finding love, right? That doesn't mean we can't look hot in the process! Wow Doll, look at you, spicing it up a bit! Finally! Should I send my gratitude to your new beau?"

You recall the way Dieter looked at you during the gala, his fingers gently brushing your hair back as he smiled warmly. "I love it when you wear your hair like this," he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. "It's so sexy, it's more you, you know?"

"Yeah, maybe," you breathe, smiling. "He likes it when my hair is down, but I think I like it, too." 

Sofia nods in agreement, smiling at you through the mirror. "I think I like it, too. Look at you," she teases. "Little miss sweetheart, growing up."

Later, after the screen test.

"Are you out of your mind?" Nathan's screams reverberate through the confines of your car, causing you to wince as you pull out of the parking lot. "I specifically told you we were going for a girl-next-door vibe, and you show up looking like a slut?! I swear, the next time I see Dieter Bravo, I'm wringing his neck!"

"I don't see how this is his fault, though. I told Sofie and Poppy about the edits, and they seemed to be on board," you retort defensively. "I have a mind of my own, Nate, no one is influencing me in my decisions, how many times do I have to tell you that?! I'm not some fucking doll you can play with!"

"Well, the Doll I knew before wouldn't be acting like this! It's like you were body snatched or something!"

"I'll have you know, Favreau loved the change, and thought it made sense for the character!"

"I don't give a damn what Favreau thinks!" Nathan snaps, his voice rising in frustration. "You're letting Dieter run your life, and it's ruining your career, Doll. I won't stand by and watch you throw everything away for some fling!"

"I'm hanging up now, Nathan," you declare firmly, your grip tightening on the steering wheel. "I don't need this right now."

Without waiting for a response, you end the call and toss your phone onto the passenger seat. The weight of Nathan's words lingers, but you push them aside, focusing on the road ahead as you navigate through the winding streets back to Dieter's house.

As you navigate the winding roads back to the Hollywood Hills, the argument with Nathan still ringing in your ears, you can feel your frustration mounting. The car ride is tense, the silence heavy with unspoken words.

Nathan's accusations replay in your mind, his anger leaving you feeling both defensive and conflicted. You glance at your reflection in the rearview mirror, taking in your appearance. Your outfit, chosen in haste, suddenly feels like a glaring mistake.

The sight of Dieter's house coming into view offers a small sense of relief. You pull into the driveway, noticing the moving boxes scattered across the lawn. The realization hits you that this is now your home, too.

Stepping out of the car, you're greeted by the chaos of movers bustling about, carrying boxes and furniture into the house. Dieter appears in the doorway, concern etched on his face as he approaches you.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asks, reaching out to touch your arm gently. "You look upset."

"Nathan," you sigh, shaking your head. "He's convinced that everything is your fault."

Dieter's expression darkens, his jaw tightening. "I'll have a word with him," he mutters, his tone laced with frustration.

You offer him a weak smile, appreciating his support. As you follow him into the house, the weight of the day's events begins to lift. You walk into the massive living room, a far cry from your own modest LA flat in Silver Lake. Your eyes widen as you take in your knickknacks amongst Dieter’s gothic decor, your collection of Sonny Angels and their smiling faces alongside Dieter’s collection of what you think are first editions of every Edgar Allen Poe book imaginable, in pristine condition, you might add. You chuckle at the juxtaposition, two very different personalities coming together that shouldn’t work in theory, but look harmonious together anyway. You can't help but smile at the sight, touched by Dieter's thoughtful gesture. Taking a deep breath to compose yourself, you turn to him, feeling a rush of gratitude and emotion that you can't quite place. "Dieter..."

"Do you like it?" He asks eagerly, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. You find yourself sinking into the embrace, comforted by his warmth as he pulls you onto the sofa beside him. "I thought you might need a little sanctuary after your meeting with The Shark," he continues, shooting you a playful look. "Marcus did most of the unpacking, but I pitched in! It's like you've always been here, doesn't it feel like home?" His words touch you deeply, and you can't help but wonder if maybe there's some truth to the idea that you belong here with him, despite the unconventional circumstances of your marriage.

You sink into his embrace, feeling a sense of peace wash over you. "I love it," you confess softly, snuggling closer to him as he strokes your hair. "It's cozy, it's... us." You pause, a hint of uncertainty creeping into your voice. "But what if someone sees through our little charade? What if they start asking questions again?"

"I'm glad you love it," he murmurs, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back. "And trust me, with this setup, no one will doubt us for a second. It's like our little secret hideaway," he adds with a chuckle. "But hey, if anyone tries to interrogate you again, just send them my way. I'll handle them." He flashes you a reassuring smile, his eyes full of warmth.

"Hopefully it doesn't get to that point, but Nate surely thinks I'm close to killing my career," you say, a touch of worry creeping into your voice.

"So I'm guessing your meeting with Nathan didn't go too well then?"

"Oh, he accused you of drugging me at the gala and threatened to go to the police-" you tease, a small smile playing on your lips. "I'm pretty sure he thinks that I've been body snatched or lobotomized-"

"No, you've made a pact with the devil, and now... it seems he's come to collect," he breathes into your ear, his fingers tracing a tantalizing path down to the waistband of your jeans, sending shivers down your spine as they caress your skin. You gasp as he unbuckles your jeans, sliding your zipper down slowly as his hands make their way to your center.

He hums in appreciation as his fingers graze the edge of your panties, a smirk playing on his lips as he feels how wet you are. "What do you say, Mrs. Bravo? Are you gonna let your husband take care of you?"

"... and just how are you planning to take care of me, D?" you moan as his fingers push your panties aside, squirming as they slowly start to part your folds.

"I can think of a few ways, but there's something specific I had in mind," Dieter says with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"What's that?" you ask, intrigued by his sudden excitement.

"I want to show you something," he announces, springing off the couch and grabbing your hand, pulling you to your feet.

Dieter leads you through the spacious home, his steps purposeful and eager. As you approach what seems to be a nondescript door, he turns to you with a smile that hints at anticipation. With a theatrical flourish, he swings the door open, revealing a room bathed in natural light, filled with the scent of paint and creativity.

"This is my sanctuary," he says softly, his eyes gleaming with pride as he gestures for you to enter.

Your heart flutters with excitement and curiosity as you step into the room. Your eyes widen at the sight before you—a massive canvas dominating one wall, covered in vibrant colors and intricate brushstrokes.

"It's breathtaking," you murmur, unable to tear your gaze away from the masterpiece before you.

Dieter steps beside you, his presence comforting yet electrifying. "I painted it for you," he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper.

You're speechless, your heart pounding with a mixture of awe and gratitude. As you take in the details of the painting—a stunning array of orchids in hues of crimson, violet, and gold—you feel a warmth spreading through you.

"It's... it's incredible," you finally manage to say, your voice filled with emotion.

Dieter's eyes meet yours, his gaze intense yet tender. "I wanted to capture the essence of your beauty, the depth of your spirit," he explains softly. "Every stroke, every color—it's all for you."

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as you reach out to touch the canvas, feeling the texture of the paint beneath your fingertips. In that moment, surrounded by the beauty of his creation, you realize just how deeply he sees you, how much he understands.

"I don't know what to say," you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

"You don't have to say anything," Dieter replies, his hand finding yours and intertwining your fingers. "Just know that this painting is a reflection of my budding love for you, a testament to the beauty I see in you every day."

"When did you have the time to even paint this? This must have taken months-"

Dieter chuckles softly, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he watches your reaction to the painting.

"I've poured my heart and soul into this piece," he admits, his voice tinged with pride. "But it's not quite finished yet."

"What more could you possibly add? It looks perfect to me," you reply, admiring the intricate details of the painting.

"Have you heard of the artist Georgia O'Keeffe?" Dieter asks, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "She had a way of painting flowers up close and personal, in a style that some found suggestive."

"You mean the whole 'vagina flower' controversy?" you chuckle, recalling the scandal. "People always read too much into things. Sometimes a flower is just a flower."

"Yes, but you're more than just a beautiful flower to me," Dieter murmurs as he approaches you from behind, his fingers deftly unbuttoning your shirt one by one.

His touch sends a shiver down your spine as you feel the warmth of his breath against your neck. You lean back into him, feeling his presence enveloping you like a comforting embrace. As your shirt falls to the ground, forgotten, you turn to face him, the intensity of his gaze drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

"Beautiful," he rasps, his hand blindly grabbing a clean paintbrush from his workstation. "What a fucking masterpiece you are, my darling girl."

He rests the paintbrush at the hollow of your neck, his gaze tracing a path down your body as he delicately sweeps it along your clavicle, then down to your sternum. The pressure is just right, sending a shiver down your spine and raising goosebumps across your skin.  

"I've painted many things in my life, but never on a canvas as perfect as you," he murmurs, a small smirk playing on his lips as he trails the brush along the curve of your breasts, flicking it teasingly against your nipple.

You let out a soft moan, your head tilting back as his mouth hovers over the sensitive tip. "Dieter," you plead, your eyes locking with his in desperation. "Please, paint me with your tongue."

Meanwhile, at the LAX baggage claim...

"Eddie! Focus!" Alex screams into her phone as she grabs her luggage at the carousel at LAX. "Do you think she would still be at her flat?"

"I would assume that since she's married the bloke, she would be living with him, surely, as her sister you would know this?" he croons, groaning.  

"Well, I thought she told me everything, but my obvious shock of her being bloody married should tell you why I'm even in LA in the first place! What if she's gotten into those drugs that this Bravo character is into? Did you hear about that rumor with the ferret?"

"Okay, point taken," Eddie replies, clearing his throat. "Tell me why you felt like it was necessary to book the first flight out of Heathrow for this again? Doesn't Daisy live next door to her flat? Why are you asking me when you could just ask her?"

"Ugh, don't even get me started on that twat," Alex moans, rolling her luggage, walking in circles anxiously. "I seriously think she's a lost cause, just mooching off of my poor sister who is too sweet to know better. Do you know that she pays for her flat? Doll already pays her a good salary, I don't see how she has to also pay for her rent-"

Eddie chuckles. "Is that bitterness I sense, my pearl? She is her best friend, it's not completely out of the ordinary. Besides, it's not like your sister didn't set us up with these sweet digs in the city, London isn't exactly cheap, baby. Don't be an ungrateful cunt, honey. Your ugliness is show-"

"Eddie! For fucks sake, focus!" Your sister cuts her boyfriend off, almost bumping into a family as she tries to navigate her way out of the LAX terminal. She winces as a group of tired eyes glare back at her, shrugging her shoulders and mouthing an apology as she walks past. "How in the hell am I going to find out where this Dieter lives? It's not like I could ask the first person I see if they know where Oscar Winner Dieter Bravo lives-"

"Actually," Eddie chuckles through the phone, "That's not a bad idea, Alex. Maybe you should head downtown and grab one of those 'Maps of the Stars' things and catch a ride on a tour bus. Don't they use those double-decker buses? It'll be like you're back in merry ol' London!"

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Do you have any better ideas?" he deadpans, the sounds of the latest football match blaring on the TV. "You could always give Daisy a ring, I'm sure she would love to chauffeur the princess' sister around Los Angeles like the entitled queen she thinks she is-"

"Oh, Piss off Eddie. I'll talk to you later. Say goodnight to Zoe for me, alright? and don't forget to take the trash out in the morning!" 

"I'm not going to tell your fucking dog goodnight, Alex. Just go find your stupid sister, give her a piece of your mind, have her give you some "sorry" money, and then come back home, you know how cranky I get when the laundry piles up-"

"GoodBYE, Eddie." Alex rolls her eyes as she hangs up on her boyfriend of seven years, muttering fucking asshole under her breath as she rifles through her purse for her ciggies. She takes a long drag as she looks out into the sunny sky of Los Angeles, a welcome change to the dreariness of London. She checks her phone once more, a photo of two smiling teenage girls smiling back at her.  

She smiles at the memory of the day when the photo was taken, the day of your adoption into her family after what happened before your abrupt removal from your family home.  "We're officially sisters, Baby Doll! You're finally free!" Alex exclaims, her arms around your shoulders as you laugh in glee "I'm so grateful for everything, Alex! For you and your family… taking me in after what happened at the chur-" She shakes out of the memory, checking the time. Taking another drag, she presses on your contact and takes a deep breath, the line trilling in her ear.  

The person you're trying to reach is unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone-

"Fucking hell, Doll," she groans, shoving her sunglasses onto her face as she turns to the man that is looking at his phone next to her. 

"Excuse me, Sir-"

"Those things will kill you, you know," the man replies, not bothering to look up from his screen. 

"Haha, yeah, listen- would it be easier to catch a cab, or is there some sort of rail system I could take into the city from here?" she asks, adjusting her tote bag on her shoulder.

"I could tell you, but I honestly don't care to," the man retorts, finally raising his eyes to meet hers. He pockets his phone into his pocket and walks away, shaking his head in annoyance. "Fucking tourists-"

"Oi! Go fuck yourself!" Alex screams back at the man, giving him the bird as he jumps into an Uber. Her eyes widen at the sight of a cherry red double-decker bus, 'Tour of the Stars!' emblazoned off the side of it.  

"Holy fuck, Eddie- you're a fucking genius!" she exclaims to herself, hurriedly pulling her luggage to the back of the line of excited tourists. "Who would have thought that bastard could think of something so brilliant?!"

"Do you think we'll get a glimpse of Doll now that she married Dieter Bravo?" a man asks his friend as they wait in line. "Did you see that video of the two of them at the In n Out? her tits looked so massive in his hands!"

"What a lucky bastard, right? I bet she's such a dirty girl under that sweet fucking exterior of hers, what I would do to be able to tap that!" his friend replies, chuckling at himself, smiling like he's said something so fucking profound. "Bravo must live in that sweet pussy of hers, she must taste so fucking sweet, maybe we should go up to his front door and ask to see if he was interested in a gang bang, it's not like he hasn't been caught in one before-"

"Oi!" Alex exclaims, her face red with frustration as she points at the group of men. "Watch your fucking mouth! That's my fucking sister you're talking about!"

"Yeah, and I'm the President of the United States," the man replies, sneering at her. "Doesn't your mommy teach you it's rude to eavesdrop on other people's conversations?" he scoffs, high-fiving his friend. "If she was your sister, why are you in line for 'Tour of the Stars'? I know girls can be crazy, but you're living in la-la-land, lady!"

"Yeah? Well, I wanted to surprise her," Alex retorts, her demeanor growing flustered under the scrutiny of the group of men.

"Well, hate to break it to you, but I don't quite see the resemblance, sweetheart. Maybe if you got some plastic surgery, and I squint my eyes just right, maybe it could happen for you."

As they board the bus, Marty, the tour guide, announces enthusiastically, "Alright folks, buckle up! We're about to embark on a star-studded adventure, touring the homes of Hollywood's elite!"

The men who had been teasing Alex hoot and holler in excitement, egging Marty on with raucous cheers.

"We'll be swinging by Dieter Bravo's estate up in the Hills," Marty continues, adjusting his microphone. "It's one of the hottest properties in town, folks! Who knows, maybe we'll catch a glimpse of the man himself or even his famous wife! They just got married in Las Vegas over the weekend, how exciting, right?"

Alex rolls her eyes at the mention of Doll, already dreading the attention her sister's marriage attracts. But she stays silent, focusing on keeping her composure amid the rowdy crowd.

As the bus winds its way through the glamorous streets of Hollywood, Marty regales the passengers with tales of celebrity scandals and triumphs. An hour into the tour, they finally stop in front of a lavish mansion nestled among the hills.

"This is it, folks! The home of the one and only Dieter Bravo!" Marty announces, his voice filled with excitement.

Alex's heart skips a beat as she recognizes your BMW X4 behind the gates and manicured hedges. With a surge of adrenaline, she jumps to her feet, shouting over the din of the other passengers, "Stop the bus!"

"No can do, lady. Don't want to risk another lawsuit," Marty replies with a chuckle.

"But she's my sister! Please, just for a moment, I need to see her."

But Marty remains firm, his tone unwavering. "I'm sorry, ma'am, I can't make any exceptions. And even if she were your sister, why would you be on this tour bus?"

He glances at Alex skeptically, a furrow forming on his brow. "Seems like we're attracting all sorts of characters today," he muttered under his breath. "Crazier by the minute."

Feeling frustrated and desperate, Alex makes a split-second decision. "Oh, fuck this-" She lunges for the door handle and, without hesitation, jumps out of the bus.

"Hey!" Marty screams, the bus grinding to a halt. "Get back in here!" he yells as she slams onto the hot asphalt.  

"No, can't, shant!" she screams back at the bus, "I won't tell it was you if you just drive away, no harm no foul?"

"... good enough for me!" Marty yells back, motioning to the tour bus driver. "onto the next one!" 

The group of men who had teased her earlier chuckled. "Good luck finding your 'sister,'" one of them jeered sarcastically as the bus pulled away.

"Fuck, why do I keep putting myself through this?" Alex groans, wincing as she tries to steady herself, her scraped knees and wrists a testament to her rough landing. With determination in her stride, she approaches the gates, her heart pounding in her chest. Surprisingly, she finds them slightly ajar, allowing her to slip through the heavy iron. Wheeling her luggage along, she heads toward what she hopes is the front door and tentatively knocks. "Hello?"

Growing impatient, Alex begins to pound on the door. "Hey, I know you're in there! Open the damn door!" she screams, frustration evident in her voice. As the door suddenly swings open, she's met with the sight of a handsome man, his annoyance matching her own.

Marcus narrowed his eyes at her, his arms crossed over his chest. "Can I help you?"

"Oh—" Alex gasped, clearly flustered and embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Sir," She glanced back at the map, her eyes darting around her surroundings. "I thought this was the residence of Dieter Bravo. I must be mistaken—"

"Listen, lady, are you in need of medical assistance? Do you need me to call the rehab center that you clearly looked like you escaped from?"

"I beg your pardon?" Alex snaps, her frustration evident in her clenched fists as she strides back up to the man in front of her, her patience wearing thin. She takes a deep breath, mentally preparing herself to deal with this arrogant jerk. It's such a shame such a beautiful man like him is such a tool, she thinks to herself through her annoyance.

"Look, I've just had a grueling flight from Heathrow after a massive row with my boyfriend. He can't fathom why I needed to fly thousands of miles to LA to see my sister, who's apparently decided to get married by some Elvis impersonator on a whim. Clearly, she's lost her mind, and I've come all the way here to figure out just what the hell has gotten into her! So, if you're not Doll—"

"You're Doll's sister?" Marcus asks incredulously, his eyes narrowing.

"Yes, I'm Doll's sister. What does it look like?"

Marcus scoffs, his eyes disbelieving as they roam over her figure, his smirk growing wider. "Sure, if you're her sister, then I'm the queen of England."

"What is that supposed to mean, you prick?"

"Listen, don't get me wrong, you are a gorgeous woman, but I don't see the family resemblance."

"She's my adoptive sister, you moron!"

"That's what they all say, sweetheart."

"OH!" Your voice pierces the silence of the mansion, both Alex and Marcus startled by the sudden outburst. "Fuck Dieter, just like THAT!"

"Oh bugger this!" Alex exclaims, pushing Marcus aside as she storms through the mansion. "For fucks sake! Christabella!" she shouts, opening up every door she comes across. "BELLA! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!" She shouts, making her way towards Dieter's studio. "BELLA! I KNOW YOU'RE IN HERE!"

"Hey!" Marcus shouts back at Alex, his composure barely hanging on by a thread. "You can't just enter someone's private property, I could have you arrested!"

"Yeah, well just call my lawyer, then. He is on my sister's payroll, after all!" she sing-songs, making her way up to the door leading to Dieter's studio. "BELLA!" she shouts as she opens the door, gasping at the sudden sight of the both of you stark naked on the floor, with Dieter railing you from behind. You scream at the sudden intrusion, scrambling to cover yourself.

"Dieter," Marcus huffs, "I am so sorry, she just came storming in, saying that shes-"

"Alex!" you squeak, "What are you doing here?"

Dieter looks back at the angry face of your sister, his own expression shifting to confusion. "Who the hell are you?"

"Christa-fuck-abella Martin," Alex seethes, "What on earth has gotten into you?"

"... and who the hell is Christabella?" Dieter asks out loud, rolling himself on the floor in exhaustion.

You grimace as your sister rolls her eyes, throwing Dieter's discarded robe at the both of you. "Please don't tell me you married my sister in that hell hole and you don't even know her real name, mate."

Taglist:@yxtkiwiyxt @skysmiller @picketniffler @readingiskeepingmegoing @islacharlotte

@drewharrisonwriter@missladym1981@amyispxnk@thespookywookies@stevie75

@mysterious-moonstruck-musings@daydream-believer19@survivingandenduring@darkheartgatita @gobaaby-blog-blog

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

The Knight & His Queen Masterlist

Dieter Bravo x OFC (Complete) ||| Main Masterlist

Rating: Explicit 18+ MDNI

Summary: While looking for the perfect Christmas gift for his niece, Dieter Bravo finds himself in a small mystic shop, owned by the sweet and eccentric Amina. After an impromptu tarot reading with unexpected and surprising results, the two quickly find themselves entranced by each other.

Warnings: Spicy language, alcohol consumption, smut, & mentions of drug use. Mystical topics such as tarot readings, spirit guides, chakras, etc. Dieter Bravo comes with his own warnings.

The Knight & his Queen was written for the @pedrostories 2023 Secret Santa Event. A big Merry Christmas to my giftee, @booburry! I hope you like it! This fic started as a one shot, but kind of just kept going. What I ended up with was a four-part series that I am now posting in full. Happy holidays everyone! Enjoy! 💜

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Taglist: @rhoorl @chaoticfestninja @survivingandenduring @partyofone3413 @wannab-urs @cakipy-blog @titlee78 @poodlebae @guelyury @missladym1981 @maried01 @alokaerza @samiamproductions @misstokyo7love @themonadiaries-blog @madnessofadaydreamer @darkheartgatita @avastrasposts @weho2kcmo @harriedandharassed @tkchaos @girlofchaos @yghuibt @musings-of-a-rose @secretelephanttattoo @maggiemayhemnj @legendary-pink-dot @linzels-blog @morallyinept @undercoverpena @sin-djarin @trulybetty @jazzloveslatte @timpletance @myloveistoolittle @annieispunk @bitchwitch1981 @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @for-a-longlongtime @hisandsnakes @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @copperhalfcent

[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 16

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)

Chapter 16: Famous Last Words

Chapter Summary: Revelations.

Word Count: 7.7k+

Content / Warnings: alternating pov, suicidal thoughts and planning, intrusive thoughts, grief, swearing, alcohol use, uncertainty, parker, angst, paranormal/spooky elements, hunger, hangover, driving, psychomanteum, ethan, drug addiction, domestic abuse, journal

Notes: Chapter title from “Famous Last Words" by My Chemical Romance. Babe I told you we'd get one more MCR-titled chapter before this was over. Chapter 17 will be the last chapter, then an epilogue. Huge thanks to @frannyzooey for proofreading and being the best 🖤✨

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The sun feels like a spotlight as you trudge your way from the bedroom to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. Nausea grips your sour, empty stomach. Your head throbs, pulse pounding in your ears. 

The past few mornings, you’ve become well-acquainted with the wine hangover. It’s a love-hate relationship, you and wine. It numbs the overwhelming emotional pain, emptying your brain at night so that you can sleep. In return, it makes you so fucking sick the morning after, you think it might be plotting to kill you. 

You carefully place a few logs in the fireplace and poke the glowing embers in the hearth back to life, then plop down on the couch, draping a blanket around your shoulders as you curl up with a notebook and pen. 

You stare at the blank page, unsure what to tell it. 

You could tell it that, same as yesterday and the day before, the aftereffects of drinking yourself to sleep have tainted your morning green. Not a cute green, either, like forest or emerald. Think Dieter’s bathrobe or pea soup. Think seasick. 

You could tell it that the hangover causing every subtle noise to strike your temples like a ball-pein hammer only incentivizes you further. Nothing makes you want to die quite like a wine hangover. 

You could tell it that, really, it doesn’t fucking matter that you’re hungover. If you weren’t miserable in this way, you’d be miserable in another. 

You could ask it if this is what Ethan was feeling one year ago today. Sick and determined to end it all. Did he plan it out like you’ve been doing, or was it spur of the moment? When did he decide he would do it? 

When did he decide to take you with him? Was it the ink? Had this been his plan all along? 

All the things you never asked him in the psychomanteum seem so important now. Especially one: Why? 

Sure, things were bad. Fucking awful, even. But there were still little moments here and there. 

Like when the gas bill went neglected and they disconnected service. You couldn’t fall asleep because it was too cold, so he set up the only space heater on your side of the bed. He wrapped his arms around your shivering body and held you to his chest all night, keeping you warm. Or like when he was in the neighborhood of your favorite bakery and he stopped to pick up glazed donuts on his way home. 

There were days when you couldn’t fucking stand to look at him. It hurt too much to see the physical toll of his addiction. How emaciated he had become, his boyish face all hollowed out and gaunt, dark bags drooping under his eyes. 

But there were also days when he still opened the apartment door, calling out, “Louie, I’m home!” Like Ricky Ricardo in I Love Lucy. It was his favorite bit. 

He’d jabber on about the customers, or the traffic, or the news. There were still days when he paid you compliments and kissed you like he meant it. When he brought home things he knew you’d like. Little presents here and there, nothing big, but enough to be reassured he was thinking about you. 

A week before he died, he gifted you a journal. 

He was supposed to pick up groceries, but got sidetracked in a bookstore and forgot the errand. When he came home holding a brown paper parcel wrapped in twine instead of plastic bags filled with food, you were furious. 

“What’s that?” you asked, crossing your arms. 

He tossed it on the counter as he shucked off his jacket, “It’s for you.” 

“Is it edible?”

“Edible? No,” he scoffed, sliding it closer, “C’mon, open it up.”

You stared at him for a moment, at his Cheshire grin, jaw clenched and grinding. At his eyes all wide with intense excitement, the pupils blown-out and black. He vibrated with energy, his long limbs twitching in constant motion. 

So fucking high. 

Trying to avoid the violent downswing of his pendulum mood, you sighed and unwrapped the parcel, revealing an orange journal embossed with the phrase A New Chapter. The pages inside were buttery soft but thick, lined with delicate margins. 

“A notebook?” 

“A journal, yeah,” he sniffed and tugged at the tip of his nose, “I came by this rad looking bookstore and poked around a bit, thought you’d like it.”

You didn’t immediately react, so he kept talking. 

“When I was out the other night, I was talking to a friend and she said journaling has helped her work through some of her feelings and all that, and… well, I know you used to journal all the time, I thought maybe it would help since you’ve been a little… out of sorts lately.” 

You wanted to ask him who this friend was and why he didn’t call her by name. You wanted to ask him what else he bought with the grocery money. You wanted to ask him why he’d rather you spill your guts to a journal than to him. 

Instead, you nodded, put on a smile, and said, “Thank you. It’s very thoughtful. I—I love it.”

The words felt dead in your mouth. Foul and rotten. He returned your fake smile with his own, then excused himself to his office.

You remember thinking the whole thing was a farce. A sham. A two-person act where you both pretended not to smell the decay between you. 

The journal he gave you went to your bedside drawer. It remained untouched for months before you rediscovered it while spring cleaning. 

At first, you didn’t recognize it. Then a gut-wrenching nostalgia took hold. A New Chapter. It felt more like a relic from a past life than a journal for the future. 

Weeks went by before you wrote inside. 

It felt blasphemous at first, marking the perfect blank pages with your script. Like you were shattering an artifact. But it helped to offload some of your rumination onto paper. It became a central coping mechanism for you.

There are passages going back at least six months, maybe more. Before you and Dieter ever even spent time alone in a room together. When he was just a goofy, handsome guy who lived on the other side of the country. Your long-distance friend that maybe sometimes gave you butterflies every time you talked to him. Even then, his name made frequent appearances on those pages. 

The journal contains all your innermost thoughts, the long-winded rambling narrations of your waxing and waning between cynicism and optimism, the whole disgusting freak show inside your head laid out on the counter for anyone to rifle through. 

And I forgot it on his kitchen counter like an idiot. 

When you picture Dieter flipping through the journal, reading your school-girl crush ramblings and earnest thoughts about him, your face gets hot with embarrassment. 

If you’re being honest with yourself, though, maybe it’s better he has it. Maybe one day he’ll look through it and read your crazy thoughts and know you’ll love him until you’re dust and then even after. In the next life, and the next, until the sea of love runs dry and humanity goes bust. Maybe he’ll read through it and know that you were struggling by no fault of his own. 

With a sharp inhale, you put your pencil to paper and write: I miss my journal. I miss my Dee. 

Then you toss the notebook aside and go to make some breakfast. 

—

The first thing Dieter does when he wakes is grab his phone off the nightstand.

One eye squinting open, he plugs your name into a search engine and scrolls through the results. Nothing new, just tabloids recycling old information and speculating. Fucking vultures. 

A boulder settles on his chest, cold and massive, squeezing the air from his lungs. 

He should be used to this sort of feeling, considering how often he’s felt it the past few days.

Every lead they had came up a dead end. You put up an impenetrable wall around yourself, so the most he can do is scour the internet for signs of you and live in the disappointment that follows each search. 

He drops his phone and looks over at the empty spot beside him. 

In an alternate universe, maybe one where your apartment wasn’t raided or you didn’t run away, the two of you are probably right here in bed, all intertwined under the covers, murmuring sweet affirmations to each other. Or maybe you’re seated next to one another in some unsuspecting diner, ordering greasy breakfast foods and sipping watered-down coffee. Or maybe he’s leaning on the kitchen island, watching you throw together some kind of sweet treat that the two of you would share throughout the day. 

Or maybe there is no alternate universe. Maybe this was the way this was always going to be. 

While you were still here, he made plans for Christmas. They weren’t big plans or anything. Nothing too showy, just some stuff to bring you comfort on the anniversary of your husband’s passing. Figured he could make you breakfast, then the two of you could take a bath. He got you a robe, pajamas, and some slippers so you’d be at the height of comfort for a trashy reality show marathon. Smoking pot, ordering takeout, that kind of thing. Low key. 

It would’ve been nice. Definitely would’ve beat his long-standing Christmas tradition of going on a bender. 

Dieter sighs, reaching across the bed to pull your pillow into an embrace. He buries his face in it and inhales your lingering scent. His eyes clench shut as he tries to picture what you’re doing, where you are, how you’re feeling, but he gets nothing. 

Intuition tells him he’s running out of time. 

He knows you’re still out there as sure as he knows there’s a pulse beneath his skin. But if you’ve held out this far, you’ll do it today or tomorrow. You’re a romantic like that. 

He prays that’s enough time for a miracle. 

—

You crouch down at the river’s edge and dig your fingers into the cold, damp sand, clamping down around a gray speckled rock. It comes loose with a firm tug, leaving an indent behind. Turning it over in your hand, you admire its weight and size. 

A keeper. 

You toss it in your backpack along with the other rocks and zip the bag shut. Hands numb and filthy, you heave the backpack onto your shoulders and jump up and down a little, nodding in approval at the considerable effort it takes to do so. 

That should do just fine. 

The backpack stays on the beach while you walk back to the cabin. Once inside, you thaw your hands with hot, soapy water, then eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of the fireplace, staring at the flickering flames as you chew. Your mind is white noise. A static-screened TV. An engine seized.

After cleaning the minimal mess from lunch, you consult your to-do list, cross off Gather the means of your destruction, and move to the next item: Build the psychomanteum.

—

“I printed all the information we’ve found and put it in here,” Darlene flips open the cover of a black binder and leafs through the color-coded, tabbed off sections, “Inside, I have call logs, typed out my notes from all my interviews, made a timeline of her last known movements, and basically everything we know so far. Table of contents at the front.” 

She heaves the binder closed and straightens its bottom edge perfectly parallel to the edge of the dining room table, then takes a sideways step to the manila envelope beside it. 

“I printed out some pictures and wrote a detailed description of her in the event that you decide to file the missing persons report. All of that information is in the manila envelope here,” she taps the envelope and looks up at Dieter, “Why did you fly to New York the day your girlfriend went missing?”

“To bribe an elected official.” 

She blinks, “Try again.” 

“I thought she went home.” 

“And why did you go to the opera?” 

“Parker and I were following up on a lead. Someone texted me and said they thought they saw her—” 

“Who texted you?”

“Uhhhh…”

“Do you have a copy of the text message?” 

“I, um—”

“Exactly. Too vague, and traceable. Try again.” 

“Parker told me to.” 

“Bitch, what the fuck?” Parker swats him. 

“Ow,” Dieter hisses, rubbing the fresh welt, “No, uhhh… I went to New York to look for her because she lives there. She always told me about wanting to go to the Met to catch a show, so we went to see if we could spot her.” 

“She went missing and you wanted to look for her at the Metropolitan Opera House?”

“It was a long shot, yeah,” he sighs and scratches his chin, “Waste of time, we ended up leaving at intermission.” 

“That’s… not bad,” Darlene gives him an impressed nod, then looks down at her folder and straightens it in line with the binder, “Probably enough to keep you from getting arrested, at least. What about you, Parker?” 

“I helped him look for her in New York, even though I knew it was a dumb idea and told him so to his face.“ 

“Do you think he was up to anything, covering up his tracks?”

“No,” Parker scoffs, “Poor boy was worried sick the whole time. He wouldn’t stop beating himself up for going on that goddamn wild goose chase.” 

“Good,” Darlene smiles, crossing her arms, and tilts her head at Dieter, “Are you sure it’s ok if I go?” 

“Oh, yeah, go,” he waves his hand dismissively, “You’ve done more than enough, really. Thank you for everything.” 

“Well… don’t thank me yet,” she mutters, taking another side step to the second manila envelope. She picks it up and holds it with both hands, pausing for a moment before passing it across the table to him. ‘

He takes it and frowns at her, “What’s this?” 

“It’s her journal.” 

His breathing stops. All the moisture in his mouth evaporates, tongue sticking Velcro to the roof when he opens his mouth to ask a thousand questions. Darlene speaks before he can utter a syllable. 

“You gave it to me. Unintentionally, I think, but I jotted down some notes from that first morning when I was calling around.”

Dieter opens the envelope and pulls out the orange, spiral-bound notebook. A New Chapter. He traces the phrase. 

“I didn’t realize what it was until last night when I was double-checking I copied the notes down right. I flipped to the front, and…”

As if under a spell, he opens the cover, eyes falling on the first line.

I am the haunted house 

He closes it and stares at the cover, then across the table at Darlene, “How much did you read?” 

“I went through the last few entries,” she tells him, “Skimmed them to see if she mentioned anything helpful. She didn’t, but you might want to take a closer look at them. Maybe something will jump out at you.” 

Dieter glances at Parker. They exchange a look that says neither of them will make a fuss about the invasion of your privacy. Given the circumstances, it’s understandable. 

“I worked backwards and marked where I left off with a tab. You should read it.” 

He nods and clears his throat, then says, “Yeah, I, umm… I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

—

The Friedman family cabin had limited options when it came to putting together the psychomanteum. 

It calls for a dark and preferably small enclosed space, a challenge in itself. The common rooms are open concept, with the obvious exception of the bathroom. Both of the bedrooms on the first floor and the loft upstairs have dressers in lieu of closets. Thinking about setting up in the dirt-floor wine cellar, alongside its long-term creepy-crawly residents, made you queasy. 

This left you with one practical option: the cedar linen closet. 

After transferring the neat stacks of towels, bedding, and pillows from the shelves, you take out the shelves themselves. You find some dark quilts to line the walls with and, through an arduous process of trial and error, accomplish a mirror-angle combination that creates the desired effect. 

Throughout this process, you try to concentrate on what you would say to him, telling yourself that this time you wouldn’t spin out and lose your nerve. This time you would ask the questions that haunt your every waking breath. 

Your mind keeps wandering to Dieter, though. 

You think about his experiences in the psychomanteum. 

About James and the river and the scars left on Dieter’s young heart. You think about the ghost that haunts him, his monster, and how it might whisper similarities in his ear. How it might coax him into the darkness forever. 

The thought strikes you hard and heavy, square in the chest.

All the air leaves your body and your hands go numb. You crumple up into a ball on the closet floor and weep. Pained, warbled sobs shake your body. The noises that come out of you sound foreign and animalistic. 

You cry for him, and for you, and for all the things that could have been. You cry and cry until you can't cry anymore. 

It feels cleansing. Therapeutic. Like a purge to overly-ripe, buzzing nerves.

In the messy afterglow of this release, you stare up at the ceiling and wish Dieter would come barging through the door. 

If he found you here, all curled up on the closet floor of your in-laws cabin, he would probably let out a big sigh of relief, then lay down beside you. He would pull you into an embrace and squeeze you tight and make you take a blood oath to never leave him again. 

For the first time since you set out on this literal suicide mission, you really consider not following through with it. 

Something dark flickers out the corner of your eye. When you hear the faint whisper of a noise, your breath halts. 

You fine-tune your ears, focusing on each minute sound that crops up. Wind rustling the trees outside. Your heart pumping blood. The deafening silence in between. 

Then you hear it. 

A coarse, abrasive noise like fingernails on sheetrock. Scratching. 

It sneaks. 

Your pulse jumps, muscles going tense with fear. You pinch your eyes shut. Try to stay still and quiet, but each shaky breath sounds louder than the last. 

Another scratch, slow and dry, from inside the closet this time. 

“Leave me alone,” you whisper, “Please.” 

—

I am the haunted house  Full of ghosts  Myself and others 

Living in the past  I cannot escape Neither can they 

Dieter stares at the page, re-reading that first passage in your journal at least ten times before shaking his head and closing the cover. 

This feels fucked up and invasive. It doesn’t sit right in his body, all hard corners stretching out his stomach. He should hurl the journal into the canyon, but something stops him from doing so. 

His leg starts bouncing, jaw gnashing back and forth with indecision. He leans forward in the patio chair and flips the journal open a few pages. 

I think I like him and I don’t know how to feel about that. I feel like it’s too soon and I’m not ready, but at the same time, I am drawn to him. Almost every time we talk on the phone it turns into a three-hour long conversation and even then I wish I could keep talking to him. He makes me laugh. He’s sweet and odd and insanely fucking hot. He seems to party a lot, which makes me unjustifiably nervous. The other night when I was talking to him, he mentioned another woman and I felt fucking jealous?? I’ve literally met the man twice. What the fuck am I doing. I am actually insane. I think it would be a real problem if we did anything beyond flirting, I would probably need to be committed. 

Warmth and affection flood his veins. 

You must have written this sometime between the party at Katie’s and the first time he traveled to New York to see you. Probably last spring when the two of you began to contact each other more and more.

He remembers how tedious it was at first. 

Getting to know each other was a delicate dance both of you performed without acknowledgment. A text here and there, sporadic communication at best. He didn’t want you to think he was too eager. In fact, he didn’t want to be eager at all.

Past friendships left him jaded and waiting for the other shoe to drop. On top of that, he was going through a divorce and pretty dedicated to a full-time coke habit.

He dreaded the day you would reveal yourself as a snake. But you never did. 

As the text messages grew more frequent and reliable, he couldn’t deny the temptation to let his feelings blossom instead of nipping them in the bud. Soon the messages accompanied weekly phone calls and video chats, until it became an almost daily ritual to hear your voice. 

He wasn’t sure what to think or feel about you, he just knew that he always found himself wondering about you. What you were doing, who you were with. Like you, he felt a tinge of jealousy on the rare occasion you would drop another man’s name. 

It’s comforting to know you felt the same way. Weary, but intrigued. Resistant to the pull of attraction, yet not entirely immune. 

The glass patio door slides open, then shut. 

Dieter looks over his shoulder and nods in greeting to Parker, who plops down in the patio chair next to him. With him, he carries a navy blue gift bag emblazoned with a shiny gold logo that reads Bizarre Bazaar. 

“You boys have fun shopping?”

Parker holds the bag out to Dieter, letting the ribbon handle dangle from his slender fingers, “It’s for you. Merry Christmas.” 

“Oh fuck off, really?” 

“It was Lincoln’s idea,” he shakes the bag, “Take it!” 

Rolling his eyes, Dieter sets your journal aside and takes the gift. 

“You really didn’t have to get me anything.” 

“I know.” 

He pushes aside tissue paper and pulls a black frame from the bag. A shadow box. Suspended inside the glass is a moth with an impressive wingspan. Its creamy white wings have dark stripes that zigzag close together to create an almost disorienting effect, making his vision blur into abstract. 

“Thysania Agrippina,” Parker tells him, “The White Witch moth, or ghost moth. They’re the biggest moths, typically found in forests of Central and South America. Back in ye olden days, when explorers encountered them, they would try to shoot them like they did with birds and bats, but the moths would evade the attacks, making the explorers think they were witches. Really, their body is just incredibly small in comparison to their wings.” 

Dieter nods, unable to tear his eyes away from the specimen.

“People see moths as a symbol of transformation and rebirth. White witch moths are especially considered good luck.” 

“I need all the luck I can get,” he mutters and looks at Parker, “It's beautiful, thank you.”

Parker gives him a half-hearted smile, glancing at your journal, “Did you find anything?” 

With a sigh, Dieter carefully slides the taxidermy moth back into the gift bag, then picks up your journal and flips through it. 

“Not really. I haven’t gone through much, though. Here are Darlene’s notes,” he opens to a page with her sparse, neat script, and flips backwards through the pages, passing a few blanks before finding your last entry, “This is from the day before. I don’t know.” 

Parker frowns, “Can I see it?” 

Shrugging, Dieter hands it to him. 

He watches as Parker studies the blank pages, tilting and turning the journal against the light of the overhead sun. When Parker jumps to his feet, Dieter’s stomach flips. 

“What?”

“I think I see something.”

“Something like what?”

“I need a pencil.”

Dieter leaps into action, leading the way inside to a cup of writing utensils on the kitchen counter. He finds a lead pencil and hands it to Parker, who starts lightly shading over a small section of paper. Contrast carves out negative space from idents in the page. 

A phone number. 

“Holy shit,” Dieter breathes, stunned for a moment before pulling out his phone and dialing the number. 

—

The bottle lets out a glug-glug-glug as you pour plum wine into your glass. You tilt your head, watching with dead eyes as the golden elixir fills your cup to the brim, then you set the empty bottle aside and take a sip. 

Not bad. Tart well-balanced with sweet. The taste doesn’t matter as much to you as the alcohol content, but it helps. 

Staring at the blank page, you remember what Dieter said when you tried and failed to reach Ethan through the psychomanteum. That you were too closed-off. You click your pen a few times, then bring the tip to paper. 

I cried myself to sleep that night. 

Ethan locked himself in his room after pouring the ink I gave him on the living room floor. I could hear him in there, pacing back and forth and talking to himself. A squeaky floorboard tracked his movements like a metronome. 

Even though he was in his own little world, I muffled my sobs in my pillow so he couldn’t hear me. Before falling asleep, I remember feeling hopeless. I loved and hated him at the same time. It was over, I couldn’t do it anymore. That fact scared the ever-loving shit out of me. 

It didn’t seem real when I woke up. 

He took me by the hair and pulled me out of bed. My legs didn’t work. I kept collapsing and tripping all over the place, which made him even more angry. Each time I faltered, he yanked me up to my feet by the hair. He called me a bitch. A rat. A spineless fucking worm. 

Before taking me out in the hallway, he showed me a pocket knife and told me if I screamed he would slit my throat. I believed him.

You pause here, considering whether or not to drink more wine. For a while, you watch the low flames in the fireplace dance around on ashy, glowing logs. You rise to your feet and approach it, pulling open the hearth to carefully stack more firewood atop the hungry beast. It thanks you with a crackle and a burst of heat and light, the newborn fire blazing your face and hands. 

Returning to your seat, you cross your legs under the coffee table and re-read what you’ve written. The memories hold space in your chest. 

This deep, dull ache starts at your sternum and spreads across your body. Instinctively, you reach for the wine, but pause before your fingertips touch the glass. 

It seems important that you experience the pain, not anesthetize it. 

You pick up the pen and keep going. 

He led me down to the parking garage and threw me in the passenger seat. When I tried to buckle my seatbelt, he threatened me again, told me to leave it. He took off, driving like a fucking maniac. Swerving around traffic, running red lights, going the wrong way down one way streets. It was snowing and the roads were slick. Every time we lost traction, he howled with laughter as he righted his course. 

I remember being fucking terrified and thinking this couldn’t be happening, it wasn’t real, it was a nightmare. I don’t remember everything I said to him. I just remember screaming and crying, begging him to let me out. He ignored me. I tried to snap him out of it by punching him in the face as hard as I could. This got his attention. 

The car skidded to a stop. He looked at me. His eyes were black and vacant and unrecognizable. I knew then that Ethan wasn’t coming back. It was me and his monster. I asked him to let me out. He said no. He said we had to do this together. I told him I fucking hated him and reached for the door handle to get out. 

He grabbed my throat and hit me hard, his fist landing on my left eye. I saw stars, then everything went black. 

When I came to, the engine was roaring. Red traffic lights zoomed by overhead. He was looking through the windshield with a blank, emotionless stare, picking up speed fast. It became very clear what he was going to do. Still dazed, I tried to put on my seatbelt, but before I could click it into place, I heard a horrible metallic crunching noise from everywhere. Everything went black again. 

Hot tears burn trails down your cheeks. You drop the pen down and bury your face in your hands, releasing a guttural sob from your chest like some kind of rabid animal. It splits you in two, claws tearing at your rib cage and carving you out. 

This is what it feels like to be an aluminum can. Drained of utility, crushed for scrap metal. 

This is what it feels like to be a jack-o-lantern. Gutted, empty, rotting. 

This is what it feels like to have your heart broken for the first and last time. 

Eventually, you manage to catch your breath. Then you rise to your feet and start towards the psychomanteum. 

__

Headlights cut through the pitch black night onto the highway ahead. 

“In two miles, take Exit 31 to merge onto CA-41 North towards Yosemite.” 

Dieter glances at his phone mounted to the dash. It estimates his arrival time as 10:53, putting him 36 minutes and 23 miles out. He punches the gas, watching the speedometer jump from 76-mph to 90. 

If he’s gonna shave off more time, it’ll be here, not in the foothills. Pretty soon the roads will get narrow and curvy. Not to mention, they might be slick as it gets colder with elevation, and he’d like to make it to you alive, thankyouverymuch. 

His nerves buzz at the thought, tangling in a mess of anticipation and worry and guilt. 

He should have figured it out sooner. This should have been a first day call. It would’ve been if he wasn’t so fucking blind. He handed your journal to Darlene, not realizing it had the answer the whole goddamn time. 

Nobody answered at first. He held his breath as the line trilled. It rang long enough for him to wonder if he died and went to hell and was doomed to exist in the moment for eternity. 

Then the voicemail picked up.

“You’ve reached the voicemail for Sarah Friedman. Sorry I missed you, leave me a message and I’ll call you back.” 

BEEP

“Hi, Sarah. My name is Dieter Bravo. I’m calling about my, uhh… Louella Friedman. I found your phone number in her notebook, and she’s been missing for a few days. I’m—I’m worried about her. She left a note, and, umm… yeah. I don’t know. I’m hoping you have information on her whereabouts. Please call me back. Thanks.” 

He hung up and looked between Parker and Lincoln, “Sarah Friedman?”

Parker’s eyes went wide, “That’s Ethan’s mom—oh my god—” He gasped, jumping up and down, “Their fucking cabin, Dieter! Fresno—mountains, forest, holy shit—”

“Oh my god!” Dieter started jumping up and down too, only getting two hops in before bolting for the door, “I GO NOW!”

“Wait—shoes! Your wallet! And keys!” Lincoln called to him, making him circle back into the house and grab the items off the sideboard and shove his feet into a pair of crocs. 

“And a charger, do you want an overnight bag? What about Lua’s things—her phone—”

His phone buzzed in his hand. Sarah returning his call. 

“You have thirty fucking seconds,” he told Lincoln before answering, “This is Dieter.” 

“Hi, Dieter. This is Sarah calling you back.” 

“Yeah, thank you so much—Is she, Lua, is she ok?” 

When she didn’t immediately respond yes, his stomach plummeted. 

“I actually, I don’t know,” Sarah sighed, “I’m glad you called, because I wasn’t sure—”

“What do you mean?”

He started snapping his fingers at Lincoln, who was stumbling down the hall towards him, shoving things into a backpack. 

“She’s been staying at our cabin and I haven’t been able to reach her.” 

“I have her phone, she left it here. At my house.” 

“No, on the landline. I’ve talked to her the past few days, but when I tried earlier the call wouldn’t go through.”

“Fuck,” he muttered, grabbing the backpack from Lincoln, “Send me the address, I’m going.”

It took him about two and a half hours to drive the some-odd 200 miles to where he is now. The most excruciating drive of his life, just him and Siri and his anxious thoughts. 

“Take the exit.”

He flips on the blinker and glances in the rearview mirror, then over his shoulder before merging. 

“Hang on a little bit longer, baby.” 

—

Your head swims as you relax into the nest of pillows and blankets on the floor. Behind you, the electric lantern casts a dim glow, reflecting off the frame of the mirror. The mirror shows you a black abyss. You stare into it, letting your vision blur abstract. 

Then you wait. 

After some time, a strange feeling comes over you. A shifting, surreal sensation like you’re changing gears and reaching a higher plane of existence. Invisible tendrils slither out from beneath your skin and branch out before you, stretching into the abyss. You feel connected to it. Tapped into something larger than yourself. 

“Ethan, I need to talk to you.” 

Something clicks into place, like a tether coupling you to him. His presence lingers near yours somewhere within the abyss, but you gather the notion that he wants you to come closer, and lean into the strange sensation. 

Static energy pulses around you on all sides as you move forward through the darkness. Light years ahead of you, a star twinkles. A single pinprick of brightness in the inky black.

You follow the beacon, gliding through the space with surprising speed. 

The light grows from a pinprick to a beam, from a beam to a dinner plate, from a dinner plate to a beach ball, stretching wider and brighter with each passing moment. 

You come to a halt when you realize that it’s not just a far-off daydream, but a tangible object. 

An orb, roughly the same size as you, glowing with pure white light. 

It emits familiar ambient noises, flickering brighter with each sound wave. Muffled car horns. Stomping from the upstairs neighbors. Ethan’s low, quiet humming in the tune of “All I Have to Do Is Dream” by the Everly Brothers. 

The orb seems to possess a gravitational pull. You find yourself drifting closer. When you reach out to touch it, your fingertips brush against something warm and inviting.

In the blink of an eye, you appear somewhere else entirely. 

It takes a moment to reorient yourself to these new surroundings. Your focus flickers to the steeple of your drawn-back emerald curtains, giving you a peep show of the electric blue sky. Afternoon sun pours in through the window, spilling across the bedspread. 

The foreground of your vision clears to a crisp image. Ethan’s bare chest, rising and falling with breath. Beneath your ear, the steady thump-thump of his heart beats true and steady. His fingertips gently rake against your skin in lazy, comforting circles. 

You tilt your head to look at him, meeting his gaze. His eyes are clear and present like you haven’t seen in ages. He looks healthy. Full of life. Reaching up to trace the curve of his lips, you whisper, “Is this heaven? Did I die?”

He huffs a little chuckle, “No.” 

You grin at the sight of his smile, eyes flicking all over his face, “Then what is it?” 

“It’s what you needed,” he shrugs, “What you came here for.” When you arch a suspicious brow, he smirks, “What?” 

“I came here to yell at you.” 

“Then yell at me.” 

He stares at you, his brown eyes both sincere and mischievous. Your teeth catch your bottom lip and you glance out the window. 

“C’man, Lou. Look at me.”

You do, and he shifts around a little, rolling on his side to face you, “Hit me with the truth, baby. I can take it.” 

“If I ask you something, will you lie?”

“I’ve got nothing to gain from lying to you.”

You search his face for signs of falsehood, but find none. 

“Were there other women?”

“Do you really wanna know?” 

You nod. 

He licks his lips, glancing down, then back to you, “Yeah, there were a few.” 

“How many?”

“Three.”

It shocks you a little, his honesty. And soothes you. You forgot it could be like this with him. No games, no bullshit. 

“Were they serious? Did you love them?”

“No,” he scoffs, waving his hand dismissively, “They were… distractions.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek and nod, dropping your gaze. 

“If you’re waiting for excuses, I don’t have any. It was wrong and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it. Any of it. The cheating, the lies, the… the way I hurt you—”

“You tried to kill me.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“You did kill me. Slowly. Inside and out.” Your vision swims with tears, but you look up to meet his eyes anyway, “You broke me. You were supposed to love me and you broke me, Ethan. I don’t know if I can even love right anymore, I’m so fucked up.” 

“I’m sorry.”

He looks at you with such naked anguish that you believe he means the apology with his whole heart. It still hurts. 

“Please say something else.” 

“What do you want me to say, Lou?”

A hard knot of emotion works its way up your throat, making your face crumble and your eyes sting with tears. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper. Then, as if it’s an answer, you tell him, “I’m… I’m scared.” 

“What’re you so scared of?” 

“What if we’re just cursed to keep living this over and over? Loving and losing?” 

You picture your dad. Ethan. James. Anika. 

You picture Dieter. You picture one hundred ways he could break you beyond recognition. One hundred ways you could do the same to him. 

It all seems so fragile.

“Lou, look at me,” he tilts your chin up to meet his eyes, “You will never know what the future holds. That doesn’t mean it can’t be good. That doesn’t mean you should hide from it.”

“Is it worth it?” 

“Don’t you think?”

You picture the ghost trail of your ink-stained hand clasping Dieter’s and feeling his soul from the inside out. The phone calls. Hours and hours—weeks, really—listening to his voice over one electronic device or another. Him sitting next to you, eating Chinese food and watching shitty tv. His laugh, those dimples. The night at the Plaza. Big brown tootsie pop eyes. Snow angels. The ocean—the sea of love. 

He smirks, flicking his eyes around your face, “You love him, huh?”

“I do,” you nod, a knot of guilt tugging at your stomach, “I love him so much. I just… what if he hurts me like you did? What if I hurt him? I—I don’t think I can be put back together if I break again.” 

“Tell me something. And be honest with me, I’ll know if you’re lying, ok? If you could go back and do something different, forever changing the course of your life up to this moment… would you?” 

You think about it, long and hard. You consider the different paths your life could have taken. 

If your dad never developed cancer, you might’ve felt secure enough to stay in Ohio. Maybe you would have attended culinary classes in a local community college instead of running away to New York. You never would have met Parker. You never would have moved to the city. You never would have had the opportunities to establish your culinary skills the way you did. You never would have met Ethan. 

If Ethan would have stayed clean, the two of you might have existed in happily-ever-after until your dying day… but you never would have met Dieter. 

Dieter. 

Your chest aches with love, tears welling up in your eyes. Loving him feels perfect and magical and right. Otherworldly. It feels like forever. 

Every passing moment since you met him has felt like you are exactly where you need to be.

Even the bad times, like the first time you tried the psychomanteum and he lost it. You learned so much about him. He revealed some of the most tender spots in his heart. You started to trust him. 

Or when you found out he slept with Katie and it felt like your world came crashing down. You learned that, even when you pushed him away, he would fight tooth and nail for you. 

Intrusions from the tabloids and your mother, the interview, dinner with Lilly and Jay. All of these instances forced you both to reconcile with parts of yourselves you thought were thoroughly unloveable and come out the other side somehow more intact than you were before. 

You realize that even now, with the threat of prison and the destruction of Dieter’s career lingering in your periphery, with you tucked away in the psychomanteum in the middle of nowhere, hiding from everything… it’s where you need to be. And despite the impossible odds, you believe that your love for each other will come out the other side. 

You shake your head.

“No. I wouldn’t change a thing.” 

Ethan nods, brushing his fingertips along your cheek, “So, you tell me. Is it worth the risk?”

—

When Dieter spots the mailbox labeled FRIEDMAN, his heart jumps up and gets lodged in his throat. 

"The destination is on your right. Arrived." 

He slows and turns the wheel, steering the car down the gravel driveway. Outside, the night is impossibly black. The only thing he can see in the high beams are tall pine trees on either side of the path and an occasional flicker of reflective eyes in the forest. 

“Could it be any fucking creepier out here, Jesus Christ—”

Thunk 

One of the tires hits a pothole, making him grimace. The car jostles back and forth in protest, then rights its path. 

Goddamnit, not now. 

If he breaks down out here he might spontaneously combust. Any other time, just not now, he's so fucking close. Steering around another deep gash in the path, Dieter grits his teeth and squints into the darkness. 

A light in the distance makes him sit up straighter and lean forward. 

It has to be a porch light, that has to be it. 

Anxious energy pounds thick through his veins. He can’t clear his head enough to glean anything about your current state. Horrible images flash through his mind, torturing him. 

The trees open up into a clearing.

As soon as his headlights graze the cabin, he throws the car into park and jumps from the vehicle, screaming your name as he runs up the steps onto the patio. 

He pounds on the door, peeking in through the window, “Lua, it’s me.”

His voice is garbled and frantic. 

Inside, he sees a fireplace glowing with warm light. He twists the doorknob and pushes it open, “LOUELLA?”

Dead silence. 

White hot panic spikes his blood. 

He runs numb, trembling hands through his hair and calls your name again, starting through the house. 

There are signs of life. The crackling fireplace. Towels and blankets stacked on the kitchen counter. Your open suitcase in one of the downstairs bedrooms. 

On the coffee table in the living room, he finds a full glass of wine and a notebook. He picks it up and starts reading, throat letting out an involuntary dry whimper as he tries again and again to read the words, but they blur and don’t make sense. 

The sound of the front door opening makes him spin around. 

—

Your exhale fogs in the cool night air as you pull a rock from the backpack and chuck it towards the sound of flowing water. 

Ker-plunk!

Squinting into the darkness, you make out ripples on the river’s surface and smile. 

The next one is heavier. 

You have to grab it with two hands and heave it over your shoulder to send it launching it into the air, crashing through the water with a loud splash. 

Delight shivers up your spine. 

You tuck your hands in your jacket pockets and look up at the stars. With the expanse of the universe stretching across the atmosphere, you should feel small and hopeless. But you don’t. Instead, a deep sense of optimism and wonder steals your breath. 

Somehow it feels like every other time you’ve crawled out of the shit, but different. Like you’re the same person you were, although not at all. Like the good parts stayed intact, but the fear sloughed off at your feet. 

You feel weightless. Hopeful. Infinite. 

It doesn’t matter that you don’t have transportation, or food, or anything. It doesn’t matter that your return to society might result in your arrest. All that matters is you find Dieter and face this with him. 

For the first time in a long time, you have faith that everything will be ok. 

The sound of an approaching car draws your attention. A beam of light scans through the night sky, then you hear a car door. 

“LOUELLA!” 

You gasp, voice cracking as you whisper, “Dieter?”

Your heart skitters in your chest and your feet spring into action, trudging up the riverbed as fast as they can. Chest heaving, vision blurring, you climb up the hill and make a mad dash towards the cabin. 

When you reach the door and twist the doorknob, you can’t feel the cold metal on your hands. You shove it open and step into the house, every cell in your body buzzing with shock and awe and fear and excitement when you lay your eyes upon him. 

“Dee?”

[ Next Chapter ]

[sp00kymulderr]

Cherry

Chapter one - Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl

Series masterlist

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x ofc, bi!f!reader x ofc (eventual dieter bravo x reader x ofc)

Warnings: Nothing major for this part. Breakup angst, alcohol, jealousy, pining, cursing, not enough Dieter in this part sorrrry.

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: After a bad breakup, a phone call with your newly married best friend leaves you with an interesting opportunity.

A/N: This one goes out to all my bi babes. There's a lot of set up here, but stick with me and I promise this story gets interesting real quick.

The third glass of the bottom shelf wine you’d picked up a few hours ago goes down a lot smoother than the first two. A bloom of flavour in your throat that warms what otherwise feels numb.

Your fingers twitch as you glance down at your phone, aching to look at Charlie’s Instagram one more time - just to make sure she’s okay, you rationalise. Make sure she’s not fallen into a well, or been abducted by aliens or something. 

You kind of hope she has been.

Stevie Nicks sings Landslide through the tinny Bluetooth speaker on your coffee table, and you hum to the song that makes tears well in your eyes. Charlie hates this song, but since Charlie is now your ex and all her belongings had vanished from your home this morning it doesn’t really matter. She’d hate the wine too. You have to remember it doesn’t matter.

An errant tear slips from your eye - definitely because of Stevie and not Charlie - and as if on cue your phone buzzes loudly making you jump. A splash of wine lands on your couch. This week really isn’t working out for you.

A look at the phone screen makes you roll your eyes. The photo that comes up with the call is of you and Eva, your best friend for longer than you can even recall. You’re both wrapped in each other's arms and smiling wide, stupid toothy grins as you pose outside the modelling agency in LA that had signed her on for her first big break.

Eva was destined to be a model, really. She’d always been ‘pretty’; all curves, warm beige skin that practically glowed, entrancing chestnut eyes and long dark hair that fell in natural waves. But in high school she’d transformed from pretty to gorgeous seemingly overnight. 

From that moment on no one ever forgot Eva.

She was more to you, though. To you she’d always been beautiful. Always. For a long time you’d passed the twist in your stomach when you looked at her for too long off as jealousy, but how could you ignore the stutter of your heart when she smiled at you a certain way? The more you two grew together, the more perfect she seemed to become. The more you wanted to look at her, spend time with her, be in her radiant presence. 

Not that her looks mattered. Eva was kind, fun and a little goofy. She liked stupid slapstick comedies and she crocheted silly little animals in her spare time. You had a frog on your dresser she’d made for you years ago. She cared deeply about so much, and she always fought for what she believed in and what she wanted. It wasn’t a surprise to anyone when she’d jetted off to LA several years ago to live her dreams out, then.

Of course no one is truly perfect, which is why you’re currently staring at your phone as it rings again and again, debating whether to pick up. Eva had always been drastically spontaneous and had a history of bad decisions. Usually harmless to anyone but her (the name of a one night stand permanently etched on her hip comes to mind), but two weeks ago she’d made what you could only see as the worst decision of her life.

You sigh, place down your wine glass and finally answer the phone.

“Hi Eva” you grumble down the line, turning the music off so you can hear her.

“You didn’t call me back last week” She offers instead of a greeting. You can hear something in the background that makes your eye twitch, a man’s voice and the clink of a glass.

You'd found out about this particularly bad decision not from your best friend, but from the noisy article on some dumb celebrity gossip website that had somehow made its way onto your timeline.

And you'd scoffed when you looked at the caption because of course Dieter Bravo had gotten married on a whim in some corny Vegas chapel, but then you had to do a double take upon seeing the picture of his bride; dolled up in a simple white dress that made her skin glow, platform white heels, dark hair in a bun atop her head and the same bright smile that had made your heart flip so many times in your life.

It was Eva.

Your Eva.

Eva the model who was leaving the chapel leading on to the Vegas strip with a wedding ring on her finger and Dieter fucking Bravo by her side. And they were smiling, laughing. Paparazzi shots of the two of them kissing in the street after the ceremony flitted behind your lids every time you closed your eyes for the last two weeks. 

You could only assume it was a drunken whim that had turned your best friend from your Eva to Mrs Dieter Bravo.

So you were mad at her right now. Mad that she’d married some trainwreck celebrity she barely knew. But the real gut wrenching pain you felt was that she hadn't even told you; you'd had to find out after the fact through stupid papped photographs that made you want to claw your eyes out. You weren’t jealous, absolutely not.. You just wanted Eva to be happy. How could she be happy with a guy like that? You had heard plenty about Dieter Bravo; he seemed to have often been the subject of some ridiculous Hollywood gossip in the past, and then there had been that god awful Cliff Beasts documentary you'd watched for a laugh that certainly didn’t paint him in a great light. Sure he was an Oscar and Emmy winning actor now but jeez, from what you’d seen he wasn't exactly what you'd call marriage material.

Yeah, you were hurt. 

"What? Say what you want to say” Eva sighs when you remain solidy quiet for a long minute.

"I don't have anything to say"

Her breath huffs down the line and you can practically hear her roll her eyes.

"You got married, Eva” You finally speak again, voice coming out quiet and more bitter than you’d wanted it to.

“I did, cherry” She responds. 

The nickname she’d given you in grade school was never going away.

“You got married! To fucking…to Dieter Bravo!” It makes you laugh a little to say it out loud, and Eva can’t hold back her own small giggle at that.

“Yep”

You can tell she’s smiling, there’s that cadence in her voice that lifts when she’s really happy. Usually it’s your favourite thing in the world but right now it makes you fucking ache. Reaching for your glass of wine you take a big gulp before speaking again.

“I just…you didn’t even tell me. I’d like to know if my oldest friend is getting hitched, you know?"

“I do know, I do…I-” She stops and there’s a rustle of noise on the line as she shifts, “I wasn’t trying to hide it from you, it just happened so suddenly…we didn’t exactly plan it. He made a joke about it and the next thing I knew we were on a flight to Vegas”  

So it really was a spontaneous decision. You couldn’t even pretend to be surprised.

"I could've....Eva, I wanted to be your maid of honour if you ever got married, isn't that what we always said?"

"You can be my maid of honour for the next one" Eva offers.

Ok, she got you there, you can’t stop the laugh that comes. At least until you hear a man's gruff laugh in the background. For a moment it makes you see red at the thought that he's involving himself in your conversation even in the smallest way.

"Ev. This isn't a joke. You get why I'm mad right? And to Dieter Bravo of all people - look, is this a PR stunt?" You mutter a little meanly, taking another sip.

“Wow, screw you” She retorts, but it’s playful. “He’s nice...really nice. He’s fun. You told me to have all the fun I could have in LA, remember?”

“You weren't supposed to marry the fun, Eva!” You protest, but her happiness in the face of the ridiculous situation makes it so difficult to stay mad at her.

"Wait til you meet him, cherry pie. Just wait, you’ll get it. And…I am sorry, okay?�� The line is quiet for a moment and you hear her moving presumably to a different room “I really am. But I didn't call to tell you about my married bliss. I heard about Charlie"

God, your stomach twists in knots at the mention. Being mad at Eva had been a good distraction from the breakup even if only for a moment.

"Oh, right”

“You wanna talk about it?” Her voice is gentle now, sympathetic. You wish she could hug you like she used to when you were sad.

“I’m fine” You lie, “I mean I thought she'd be my... doesn't matter. I’m okay" Massive lie.

Eva says some comforting words that you barely register. 

You feel like you’re constantly standing at the edge of what your world could be. Maybe it’s why the marriage riled you up so much. You can’t pretend she doesn’t sound happy. And here you are broken up with again, alone again. Before she’d left to live her dreams, you’d had visions that maybe it’d be Eva you’d end up with. Maybe if you could just let yourself be fully real for once…Maybe she’d realise, and you could have been something bright and glowing and joyful too. 

A whole lot of maybes that meant nothing in the end. 

It’s just you now.

You zone back in to the call at the words ‘Bora Bora’ and ‘Don’t worry about the cost, cherry’

“Wait, what?” You stutter, trying to understand if you’re hearing her correctly

“Take a few weeks off, come with us. The hotel is paid for, we have one of those fancy bungalows. We’ll sort the flights. You need this and I miss you”

"I..." you hesitate nervously, biting your lip “I miss you too. But…”

Eva tsks at you, familiar with that tone even down a phone line.

"What are you going to do instead? Sit on your couch for three weeks and scroll her instagram for hours on end? I'm not letting you do that. Come on, cherry pie, we'll have so much fun. It'll be like old times" Eva gives as much enthusiasm as she can, but that hint of concern has notched in her throat. She knows you too well and she’s right.

"Like old times?" you huff  "Except it'll be me, you, and your husband"

"You'll like him, I promise"

The call ends with your promise to think about it.

And think about it you do. All night, all of the next day. It’s a stupid fucking offer for them to make. It’ll be so awkward. What if he’s a nightmare? What if she’s not the same with you now she’s got a ring on her finger? You should say no.

You should really say no.

Two weeks later, after a day of sitting too long with not enough leg room, the little Air Tahiti plane lands in Bora Bora.

Your legs shake as you step off the plane. It’s possible you’re still in shock that you even agreed to this. Your stomach knots with nerves, as your bags are unloaded and you head over to the arrival area to find-

There she is. Your breath hitches in your throat. Your heart beats faster. God, you really had missed her. It’s been months, and she’s still so her it makes everything suddenly feel okay.

“Cherry!” Eva squeals gleefully, dark glossy hair bouncing as she runs up to crush you into an insistent hug. You laugh, you can’t stop laughing as you hold on to her. 

Your Eva.

“Oh my god, I missed you” You feel like you might cry as she utters similar sentiments into your ear.

When she finally lets go and steps back you finally notice the man behind her. Not that Dieter Bravo would ever be easy to ignore. 

He's what you'd expected; The mess of brown hair sticking this way and that, the too casual clothes, scruffy facial hair. But he’s also…well he’s gorgeous, not Hollywood good-looking like the waxwork movie stars in all those big action films. You’ve seen his face before on screens and in pictures and yet you’ve never fully understood that this man is pretty, he’s different. He’s enthralling, even just at first glance. 

Dieter tilts his head so you can catch his big brown eyes beneath the sunglasses he’s wearing and you have to stop yourself staring too hard. He’s what you expect, but he takes you by surprise too. He raises his left hand to scratch at his chin, a glint of the rings on his fingers catching your eye as you observe him before stepping forward with a friendly smile which he returns with a wry one of his own.

“You must be-” You start before he cuts you off.

“The fun, yeah” Dieter pushes his sunglasses down his nose and gives you a wink, followed by a grin before he turns towards Eva.

Your stomach flips, a twinge of jealousy as he takes hold of her hand and they share a glance at each other. You’re still processing the interaction with him but it’s impossible to ignore the way Dieter's face lights up when he looks to her - a brilliantly bright but bashful smile like he can't believe she's there, his eyes snapping up to meet hers like it's the first time seeing her.

Like he's desperately in love with her.

At least the two of you have something in common.

Tagging those who asked and those I think might be interested (pls tell me to remove if you want!):

@morallyinept @tightjeansjavi @covetyou @i-own-loki @bastardmandennis @tinytinymenace @chronically-ghosted @party-hearses @perotovar @schnarfer @5oh5

[rhoorl]

Working Title | Chapter 21: The End

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Belle

Series Rating: Mature, 18+

Word Count: 4.3k

Series Masterlist | AO3 Chapter 21

Chapter Summary: We conclude our story.

Chapter Warnings: Angst and fluff. This one is pretty tame.

A/N: And just like that, we've reached the final chapter of this story. I'll share more at the end but I just have to say thank you. Thank you for being here and reading along. Dieter and Belle have been with me for the last seven months. When I started, I didn't think I'd write a 21-chapter fic topping nearly 120k words as my first foray into fanfic writing but here we are. I always had a version of this ending planned but actually getting to this point was harder than I thought.

Because of the secrecy surrounding the movie and its casting, you had to surrender your phones at the front desk when you arrived. That was almost three hours ago, three hours where you’ve been effectively off the grid, ushered around to meet with various departments in person and via Zoom.

Meet and greet after meet and greet, trying to retain the names of people who probably quickly forgot yours. Despite feeling like all eyes were scrutinizing your every move, it felt like things were going well. Talking about your craft was where you shined and it was a very welcome distraction. Everyone seemed impressed with your portfolio, several acknowledging the fact that Meredith had nothing but glowing things to say about you and your work. 

You hadn’t seen or heard from Indy since she got whisked away for her rounds of screen tests and meetings. Rhys popped into the waiting room to tell you Indy was moving over to costuming for a fitting, which you took as a very positive sign that things were going well for her. Unfortunately, you were still unable to get your phone back. You sat with your fingernails digging into the meat of your thigh to try and stop your leg from bouncing while your mind drifted to Dieter. By this point in the day, he had probably woken up with Liz filling him in on the welcome you received at the airport and the subsequent online chatter. 

“Oh hey,” you heard a familiar voice, but couldn’t place it. When you looked up you saw Rob, the photographer from Dieter’s photoshoot who gave you the ick.

“Oh hey,” you responded with a tight smile, reaching for the nearest magazine. 

“You’re making quite the splash online,” he waggled his eyebrows, sitting down with his arm resting behind you on the couch.

“Can’t see. Don’t have my phone.” Your lips twitched as you shifted to move away from him.

“Ah…right. Made you lock it up?” He cocked his head to the side as you nodded. “Well, nothing bad. I mean…people are kinda being assholes but you know…it’s the internet.”

“Ha yeah.” You swallowed hard, trying to figure out an excuse to get up and leave.

“Talked with Dee? He must be a mess.”

You furrowed your brows, “why’d you say that?”

“Dee gets really protective about people he ah…cares for…” he gave you a quick up and down. “Must be tearing him up to see people talking shit about you. He doesn’t really do well with that kinda stuff.”

“What do you mean?” You tried to steady your breathing as your heart pounded.

“Well, it’s the reason he doesn’t really “do” relationships…things always end up getting messy with someone like Dee.”

This smarmy asshole was really starting to test your nerves, especially since he was supposed to be a “friend” of Dieter's. Fed up with his innuendos you looked him squarely in the eyes. “If you have something to say, say it.”

He chuckled a bit, seemingly amused by your sudden protective streak. “Look you seem like a nice girl…but Dieter’s past…it may be too mu-”

“Hey!” Rhys stepped in, cutting Rob off and regarding him with a disgusted look. “B, Indy’s all done you can come with me.”

Rhys hadn’t even gotten it all out before you bolted up from the couch, grabbed your bag, and scurried over to him. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, leading you out while looking back at Rob.

“Sorry about that…that guy’s a real piece of work.” He squeezed your shoulder. “You doin’ ok hon?”

You took a deep breath and wrapped your arm around his waist as you both walked. “I’m ok, this has all been a lot,” you laughed nervously.

“I know. You’re handling it great, sweetheart, he’ll be so proud of you.” He looked down and smiled as he led you into another room.

“You heard from Belle?” Meredith asked as she touched up Dieter’s spiky but soft curls between takes. “Dee?”

Dieter was spaced out, the lack of sleep catching up to him. “Hmm? Oh, ah no. Not yet. But they should be wrapping up, their flight leaves soon,” he checked his phone.

“Well, I’m sure things are going well. If you haven’t heard from them it means they’re still in meetings and didn’t get turned away huh?” She squeezed his shoulder which brought the smallest glimmer of a smile to his tired face. “I like seeing you smile Dee, it’s a good look on you. And you’ve been doing it a lot more on this shoot,” she smoothed the sleeve of his white dress shirt. “You two are just what the other needs.”

Dieter gave a lopsided grin, taking a deep breath to center himself for the next take.

Indy practically tackled you when you walked into her holding room, throwing her arms around you and squeezing you tight. “We got it, B! We did it!”

To say you felt proud would be severely underselling it. All of those nights Indy cried on your shoulder when she didn’t get a part or wasn’t able to cover rent, it all brought you both to this moment. It hadn't quite hit you that you were also getting a tremendous opportunity as well.

“I’m so proud of my girls,” Rhys came over, enveloping you both in a bear hug. Even he was getting misty-eyed seeing your reactions. “Look all of this took a bit longer than planned…which is a good thing, don’t get me wrong! So, we’re gonna have to rush to get back to the airport ok? On the way, though I need you both to focus, we have to make some arrangements to get things in motion before we get on the plane.”

“I cannot wait to tell everyone!” Indy squeaked. 

“Ah...look, you can’t say anything yet, ok? The studio is going to announce it in a few hours, so by the time we land you can go crazy and tell everyone but for right now, please don’t say anything?” He looked between you both as you reluctantly nodded in agreement. 

“Can we get our phones back?” You asked as Indy rushed to collect her things.

“Yup…yeah, they have them, we’ll grab them. C’mon, we have to go! We’re going to be cutting it close.” Rhys ushered you both quickly out of the room and down the hall.

“Ok and cut! We’ll wrap for lunch. Good work everybody.” 

The director barely had the words out before Dieter made a beeline to his trailer, frustrated by his performance. Being in front of the camera, getting to portray a different person, was normally so freeing for him; it gave him a chance to escape his world and tuck into an alternate reality. But this morning, he didn’t want to be another person. He wanted another person. And not hearing from Belle was starting to take its toll on his nerves and it was spilling over into his work. He'd forgotten lines and just couldn't convey his character like he wanted…too much of Dieter was bleeding through the performance.

“Hey Dee, wait up man!” Sam jogged after him, unbuckling the tac vest he donned in the last scene. 

Dieter slowed down slightly, looking over his shoulder as Sam caught up to him. “You haven’t heard anything have you?” He motioned down to Sam’s phone with his chin.

“Nah, nothing. But…that’s a good sign though right? I mean…that they’re still in meetings or whatever?”

“Yeah,” the corner of Dieter’s mouth curled up as he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, but his face dropped when he saw it was Liz. “Hey, Lizzie.”

“Dee, hey. Rhys just texted and said they’re headed back to the airport. Are you around anyone right now?”

“Uh um...” he cleared his throat, “yeah.”

“Ok, well don’t react, but…between us, they got it.”

Dieter stopped in his tracks, feeling his chest contract. “Oh…ah…ok,” he swallowed despite feeling like his throat was suddenly full of cotton balls. “I mean. Good, that’s good. I should probably try and call …um…her…then,” he tried to avoid Sam’s hopeful eyes.

“She probably won’t answer. They’re all on a conference call in the car sorting things out with people there and in Toronto. I know you’ll hear from her though. Give her a moment to process. It’s a big deal for both of them.”

“Yeah ok. I’ll um… I’ll talk to you later Liz. Thanks for the call.” He hung up and walked to his trailer, not bothering to look back at Sam. 

Sam hesitated for a moment but decided to jog after Dieter, stopping him just as he got to his trailer. “Is everything ok? Did they not get it?” Sam’s piercing blue eyes searched Dieter’s face. 

“You know I can’t tell you,” he shook his head. “We'll find out soon though.” And with that, he walked up the steps and slammed his trailer door shut.

In the confines of his trailer, Dieter let out a shaky breath. Things were starting to get more real now and the girls’ departure was imminent. He knew there were still a ton of details to sort out, especially on a production on the scale of the one they booked. It was a task to try and silence his thoughts and not get ahead of things, but a little voice poked through questioning the radio silence from Belle. He figured she’d at least send him some type of text, even if it was cryptic. 

Walking over to the sink, his mind raced through a bunch of scenarios for why she did or didn’t reach out to him yet. He splashed some water on his face, the droplets falling into the sink as he braced himself with both hands and looked at himself in the tiny mirror.

We doing this Bravo?

What lay ahead was not going to be easy — long distance and time zones until he was able to get out to Toronto. And then what? Was renting a house too much? Too bold? Too clingy? He’d always been told he did too much, loved too hard, and it never worked out for him in the end. That little voice was telling him to stop while he was ahead, avoid the inevitable heartbreak. He always did this, retreating or finding a way to silence his feelings.

But in this case, a life where he goes back to LA alone felt empty, unfulfilled. This decision was solidified weeks ago and he didn’t even realize it. He was fully onboard and it wasn’t until she was gone that he realized how much of an impact she’d made. Waking up without her, smelling her shampoo on the pillow, seeing her empty station as Meredith got him ready – she was always there and would continue to be.

He heard his phone buzzing, sighing when he saw Liz’s name on the screen instead of the one he yearned for.

“What?”

“Hello sunshine,” she responded flatly. “Listen, that house you sent over. They want an offer today otherwise it’s going back on the market. What do you want to do?”

Dieter took a deep breath and looked at himself in the mirror.

The drive to the airport was full of phone calls as Rhys sorted out the logistics for getting Indy wrapped up on the show and off to Toronto. You called Meredith and confidentially filled her in on the news so you two could start to plan the transition. Before you knew it, the SUV pulled up to departures. 

Once through security, you had to make a mad dash to the plane, still talking to Meredith and now Brianna. During the call, you glanced at your phone to see if you’d gotten a text or call from Dieter. The longer you’d gone without hearing from him the more the anxiety churned in your stomach wondering if he’d heard the news and how he had taken it. 

As you boarded the plane, you hung up with Meredith and tried unsuccessfully to call Dieter. It went to voicemail twice. Sighing you sat in your seat, head in your hands as you took a deep breath.

“Hey,” Indy put her arm around your shoulder. “Wanna talk about it?”

You shook your head, composing yourself before peeking over to her, “I haven’t heard from Dieter.”

Indy’s mouth twitched and she looked down, a telltale sign that she had something to say but was trying to figure out how best to address it.

“What is it? Spit it out.” Your voice barely a whisper.

“It’s just…Sam said that when they wrapped for lunch Dieter got a call and then stormed off to his trailer. No one has been able to talk to him since,” she looked across the row at Rhys who was juggling his phone, laptop, and tablet. “Hey, you know anything about Dieter? I'm assuming Liz is in the loop?”

“Hmm?” Rhys tucked the laptop into the seat back in front of him. “Oh ah…yeah Liz knows, I told her because she’s been lighting my ass up about an update. She said Dieter was losing his mind wanting to know. Apparently, he's been a pretty grumpy asshole on set today.” 

You weren’t quite sure how to read Rhys’ tone and you feared the worst. 

“Try him again,” Indy nudged your shoulder. “Quick before they yell at us to put our phones away.”

The flight attendants made an announcement but you tried again, getting his voicemail one more time. Frustrated, you decided to fire off a text before turning your phone to airplane mode. You leaned your head against Indy’s shoulder as you both sat quietly for a moment. She eventually reached for her backpack, pulling out her wireless earbuds and handing you one. 

You laughed and she furrowed her eyebrows. “Sorry, it’s just that Dee hates these wireless ones. Ugh…” you shook your head. “He’s everywhere. What if we get there and he decides this isn’t worth it anymore? Like let's stop before this gets more serious.” The tears that had been teetering on the brink finally started falling down your cheeks as the stress of the day manifested itself.

“I still have a good feeling…you’ll see,” she hugged you as you softly cried into her shoulder. “Shh… it’s ok. Hey. Wanna watch a movie? I have Jurassic Park on my iPad.” She waggled her eyebrows.

That mention drove you to even more tears, remembering the perfect date Dieter organized for you. It made you miss him even more, craving for another moment to comb your fingers through his curls, to scratch the stubble on his cheeks, to feel his lips on your neck, and his weight on top of you. It was going to be a long flight, but you tried to stay positive.

“Psst, hey, time to wake up,” Indy cooed, rubbing your arm.

Your eyes fluttered open as you tried to place where you were. “How long was I asleep?” 

“You zonked out after the chaos theory speech,” she smirked. 

“Damn,” you sat up and stretched. 

“We should be landing soon, I filled out your ag declaration form by the way.”

“Thanks. Did you sleep?”

“A little, I’m honestly on a bit of a high, it’s been hard to calm down,” she softly chuckled. 

“I’m so fucking excited for you. You’re going to kick ass.”

“You know what the best part is? You’re going with me…we get to do this together,” she patted your knee as a flight attendant made one last pass through the cabin. 

“Well, he’s out cold isn’t he,” you nodded towards Rhys who was fast asleep with his mouth open.

Indy giggled, “You should have heard him snoring.”

On the descent, you chatted about random things, clear that Indy was trying to keep your spirits up. You reached down to your bag and grabbed your phone, itching for the moment you could turn it back on, hoping you had enough battery left. 

“You think we’re going to have people waiting for us at the airport?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Nah, people here are so chill,” Indy chuckled. “Nice thing about the small airport, we’ll be out and to the car in like five minutes…I cannot wait to sleep in my comfy bed tonight. These airplane seats are the worst.”

“Tell me about it,” you rubbed your neck. “You ah…going to be sleeping alone tonight,” you smirked.

“Not if I can help it,” she winked as you both burst into quiet giggles.

You glanced down at your phone, curious what would be waiting for you when you turned it on. 

“Hey, it’s going to be ok,” she smiled.

Within a few moments, you saw the island quickly come into view, with the wheels touching down shortly after. You switched on your phone, tapping your fingertips along your thigh as you waited for it to connect to the network. 

Notifications started coming through and you held your breath. Texts from Meredith, Brianna, Ari…even Sam came in as the news about Indy’s casting finally hit. 

Sam: Hey Doll. Heard the news, congratulations! I’m so happy for you

You smiled at his text, looking over at Indy who was grinning ear to ear with her face buried in her phone. 

Once the flurry of notifications calmed down, you sifted through things, clearing out the unimportant stuff. There was one name you hadn’t seen yet. You swallowed hard, trying to nudge that lump in your throat further down to no avail. The little voice you’d pushed into the recesses of your mind was bolder now, telling you that Dieter decided this was all too much. It was inevitable, all too good to be true.

A smaller airport meant less time taxing to your gate and before long you were walking off the plane, carry-on in hand and a phone buzzing with notifications you didn’t want to see. You couldn’t bring yourself to open up your text thread with him, afraid that seeing your message marked as read with no response would push you to your breaking point. 

As you walked out of the sliding doors to arrivals you heard Indy gasp. You looked up and stopped in your tracks with a stunned silence. Dieter was standing tall among the crowd, eyes searching wildly at everyone passing by. He didn’t see you which gave you a second to take him in. A slate gray T-shirt stretched taut across his broad shoulders. His eyes looked tired behind his black-rimmed glasses as he ran a hand through his wild curls before rubbing the back of his neck.

A break in the crowd revealed the rest of him – a smart pair of white shorts with striped crew socks paired with sneakers completed his outfit. But what made the air leave your lungs was the beautiful bouquet he nervously passed between his hands. You’d recognize this arrangement from anywhere - it was the same assortment he had delivered to the makeup trailer when production first started: Birds of Paradise, anthurium, hibiscus, and gardenias. 

The butterflies in your stomach felt like they were going to explode out of your body. Suddenly, the stress and anxiety of the last day were gone. Time stopped, everything was still and you couldn’t hear or see anything else but Dieter. Finally, he noticed you, his eyes crinkling as he sported the biggest smile. You could practically see the stress and worry melt away from him.

You didn’t run to him like the long-lost lovers do in the movies, but you certainly walked briskly. He did the same, dodging the wayward oblivious tourists in his path. Soon you felt his strong arms wrap you in a warm embrace and you finally exhaled, like really exhaled, relaxing as you nuzzled into him. Ear pressed to his chest you could feel his heart racing so you squeezed him tight, letting him know it was ok.

You pulled back and looked at his puppy dog eyes, which looked equal parts nervous, scared, and relieved. “Hey.”

“Hey, I…I…these are for you,” he offered the flowers. 

“They’re beautiful Dieter. Thank you,” you closed your eyes, savoring the delicious floral aroma of the arrangement. 

Your eyes fluttered open to see Dieter studying your face like he was trying to commit you to memory, which made your stomach drop a bit.

“I hadn’t heard from you…I…did you hear the news?” Your voice was shaky, nervous that it had all come to this. He nodded, rubbing up and down your arm. “All of it?”

He smiled, “Yeah, all of it. I…I hadn’t heard from you, and I…” he rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head. “Fuck, I…can I kiss you?”

Rather than respond with words, you pushed up onto the balls of your feet, cupping the back of his head and pressing your lips to his. He brought a hand to your waist and gripped you tightly, pulling you flush against his body. A slight moan escaped as he deepened the kiss.

You pulled away to catch your breath, feeling him smile against your forehead. “When you didn't respond to my text, I…”

“Wait, what?” He scrunched his face. “You didn’t text me. I…I just have the missed calls, which I’m sorry I missed I…” he looked down as you grabbed your phone from your back pocket and unlocked it. “What?”

“It…it never sent, look,” you turned the screen around to show an undelivered message in your text thread, something you would have seen had you looked.

He shook his head, chuckling. “I thought you …”

“Shh…hey,” you smiled, feeling the scratch of his stubble against the pad of your thumb. “You're here now, that's all that matters.”

“I could say the same thing,” he brought you in for another hug. “This last day has sucked without you,” he murmured against your hairline.

“It really has…I missed you.”

“You don’t even know the half of it, baby.” His large hands cupped your face, his thumbs moving back and forth on your cheeks. “I um…I got you something,” he reached into his pocket and your breath caught in your throat as he gave you a little black box.

“W-what? I…” you swallowed hard, confused at the item in his hand. 

“If I had more time, I was planning on doing this differently but uh,” he motioned down to the box in your shaky palm. “Open it.”

You swallowed, your heart pounding so hard in your ears you could barely think. As you flipped the lid open you let out a laugh. “What is this?” You pulled out a small piece of paper. As you unfolded it you saw it was a drawing of a key.

“I’m renting a house in Toronto for the next few months and…I ah, I wondered if you may want to stay with me? I just signed the papers a couple of hours ago so I obviously don’t have a key to give you, hell I don’t have a key for myself yet,” he chuckled. “So I…um…I drew this, figured if I couldn’t give you the real thing yet this may be a good substitute,” his face scrunched as he wiped a tear from your cheek. “Are you ok?”

You nodded, placing your hand on top of his and kissing his palm. “Yeah...I never thought I’d cry at a drawing of a key but here we are.”

He swallowed hard, bringing his forehead to yours, rubbing the back of your neck. “Is…is that a yes?”

You nodded, pushing yourself back so you could look him in the eyes. “It’s a fuck yes,” you smirked. Giddy, he wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you so tight. “Wait…how’d you just rent a house with like hours' notice?”

His demeanor shifted a bit, the swagger of the Dieter Bravo shining through as he looked at you, still caressing your cheek. “Well, I’ve been kinda looking around at places, and then today when Liz told me the news. I knew I needed to make a decision. And that decision is you. Us. I can’t be away from you….I don’t want to be away from you and I don’t have to be.”

“I … I can’t believe you did that,” you kissed him, parting your lips and feeling his tongue against yours. It was intoxicating. 

“Believe it,” he smiled against your lips. “I’d do anything…everything for you. Always.”

“Ooookay love birds. TSA is gonna kick us out here soon. We’re starting to draw a crowd,” Indy whispered.

You buried your head in Dieter’s chest as you all laughed. 

“So, I’ll leave you two then, see you back at the resort,” Indy started to back away with a smirk. 

“Actually wait,” Dieter stopped her. “Um…can I ride back with you guys? I…uh…kinda don’t have a ride,” he ruffled his hair.

“How’d you get here?”

“I had Danny drop me off. Can’t draw and drive at the same time…”

You cut him off and kissed him again as Indy giggled at the sight of you two so in love. Eventually, you pulled back and looked at Dieter with a twinkle in your eyes. “C’mon let’s go. We have a movie to watch.” 

With a lopsided grin, he grabbed your carry-on and threaded his fingers through your hand as you followed Indy and Rhys to the waiting SUV. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and before you reached the car he leaned down and whispered in your ear, “Just so you know, I want to do a lot more than just watch a movie.”

The End.

A/N: Hi, me again. I have a lot of emotions as I post this final chapter. Whether you've been here since the beginning (and dealt with my inconsistent posting in real-time, sorry about that!) or you just found this story and made it through, thank you. Every comment, reblog, like, ask, or DM has truly meant more than you know. I have learned so much over the last seven months writing this and I met so many amazing people I've grown to call friends. 💕

This ending is intentionally left a bit open and it isn't the last you'll see of these two. I'm not exactly sure yet how they'll come back (whether it's through one shots, drabbles, or a *much shorter* series), but this isn't a goodbye forever. I'm planning on doing a behind-the-scenes type post soon to talk through some of the references in the story, show off some of my own Hawaii photos, and talk through plot points from my original outline that never made it in. But until then, thanks for being here and helping me send these two off into the Hawaiian sunset.

Tag list: @musings-of-a-rose / @legendary-pink-dot / @bitchwitch1981 / @mysterious-moonstruck-musings / @gracie7209 / @amneris21 / @pastelnap / @maryfanson / @sunnywithachanceofjavi / @sin-djarin / @winchestergypsy90 / @for-a-longlongtime /@harriedandharassed / @titlee78 / @midnightraain / @poodlebae / @partyofone3413 / @guelyury / @weho2kcmo / @missladym1981 / @soapjay / @darkheartgatita

[psychedelic-ink]

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!

[trulybetty]

18 x heart candies | dieter x ofc

prompt: rainbow pairing: dieter x bryony (ofc) word count: 508 warnings: fluff, dad!dieter, underage gambling 😉 summary: this is the definition of write for yourself first 🦛

x. masterlist

Dieter finished separating the chalky candies apart from one another, each into their corresponding colour-matched piles.

He sat cross-legged, his focus entirely on the tiny opponent across from him. Baby Fi, with her tousled dark hair and wide smile, was the spitting image of Dieter, her eyes just as bright and mischievous.

“Alright Fi,” Dieter said, watching as his daughter mirrored his concentration as she picked up one of the candy hearts, squinting at the faded words before placing it in front of her. “I’ll raise you three pink hearts.” he picked three pink hearts from his stash as he instructed the toddler with the seriousness of a high-stakes gambler.

Fi looked at her pile of candy, “Four, tree, one!” She exclaimed as she picked each candy heart and placed them in the centre of the table with Dieter’s.

He laughed, “That's... not quite how it works, but we’ll work on it.”

Dieter was about to remind Fi to show her cards when Bryony emerged from her office, flipping through paperwork as she made her way across the living room. She stopped in her tracks upon the sight of the makeshift poker set up on the little table intended for toddlers.

Dieter glanced up, catching Bryony's eye and with a conspiratorial grin, he whispered to Fi, “Alright, mon petit con artist, time for our secret weapon.”

Fi's face lit up as she stood, wobbly on her little legs her ever-present stuffed hippo in her hands, and toddled over to Bryony. 

“Happy Vawentines!” she exclaimed, her words were jumbled but clear enough in their intent as she threw herself at Bryony, wrapping her arms around her legs.

Bryony shot Dieter a look as she scooped up her daughter into her arms, “Cariad, that’s very sweet of you, happy valentines to you too.” she pressed a kiss to the toddler's forehead, “Daddy seems to be teaching you some interesting maths?”

Dieter rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish look on his face, “Well, you know, just trying to make learning fun.”

Bryony rolled her eyes, “My little heart-stealer. You've got your daddy's charm, that's for sure.”

Dieter feigned innocence, “I have no idea what you mean my love,” but the smirk on his lips told a different story.

Bryony scoffed with a laugh, “She's a mini-you, and not just in looks. Using her cuteness as a distraction—now where could she possibly have learned that?”

With a mock gasp, Dieter placed a hand over his heart. “Are you suggesting I would stoop to such underhanded tactics my love?”

“Stoop? You practically invented them,” Bryony teased.

Dieter rose to his feet, sweeping Fi into his arms from Bryony, “Guilty as charged. But can you blame me? Look at this face,” he said, gesturing to Fi's grinning face, a mirror image of his own.

Bryony laughed, shaking her head. “No, I can't blame you. But let's put a pause on the candy poker for now? At least until she’s old enough to legally bet and you’ve finally bankrupted us on the farm.”

[gnpwdrnwhiskey]

something in the orange - one

a Dieter Bravo x ofc!Ava in another life au

pairing - Dieter & Ava, my disaster babies

word count - 1050-ish

warnings - brief mentions of drugs, tobacco and alcohol. brief mention of overdose as a hypothetical not an occurrence in the story. Dieter is his own warning.

authors note - look, I know I should be working on Conversations, I just don't want to right now. but I missed these two so I stuck them in a different situation. an au of my au if you will lol! Big thanks as always to @wildemaven for dealing with me and my weird ass brain 😆

Ava watches the party bus pull in and the driver maneuver to a pump and start the process of fueling up before she turns her attention to the parade of partiers beginning to tromp through the store.

They're all loud and colorful, the beautiful people, up close and personal. None of them seem aware of the fact that the New Year has already come and gone hours ago. Fifteen years and another life ago, she was one of them. Happily sailing through life high out of her mind, every day another party.

It's a solid 20 minutes or so of noise - the women's heels clicking on the dingy tile floor, the men's loud echoing laughter and all their mindless chatter. Ringing up snacks, beer, wine, cigarettes, energy drinks, and condoms before they all stagger back to the bus and it pulls out of the parking lot and turns towards the highway, presumably headed back to Miami where she imagines the party will continue until the blow runs out. Or someone overdoses and the cops show up. Whichever comes first.

And then blessed silence, just her and the buzz of the fluorescent lighting, the piped-in pop station her boss prefers and the flipping of the pages of her ratty Dean Koontz paperback.

Until a door slams and he stumbles out from the back of the store where the restrooms are - hair disheveled, sheer white dress shirt half unbuttoned and half untucked, bow tie hanging untied around his neck, a pair of black tuxedo pants and sparkly silver Crocs.

He looks out at the empty parking lot and runs his hands through his hair, pulling at the ends before looking over at her, bloodshot brown eyes peering over a pair of Ray Bans.

And then he grins and she can see traces of the boy she's known since she was 10 years old.

“Hey, babycakes.”

Ava sighs and closes her book. He always did know how to make an entrance.

“Hey, movie star. Looks like you missed your bus.”

“Yeah, about that,” he laughs, patting his pockets repeatedly. “Can I borrow your phone?”

“There's a pay phone out front,” she says, popping the register and fishing out a couple dollars in quarters.

“Why can't I just use your phone?” He asks after patting his pockets again in what she assumes is a fruitless search for his wallet this time.

“You've already lost yours, why would I give you mine?”

“Okay, valid but can't you just like put it on speaker and dial a number for me?”

“Just take the quarters and go make your call. You can pay me back one day, I'm sure you're good for it.”

“How do you know that? You may never see this money again,” he says as he accepts the coins from her outstretched hand.

“I'll add it to everything else you owe me.”

“Ava…."

“Nope. Just go,” she waves him off with a flip of her hand. “Outside. Make your calls.”

“Okay, okay. One favor though? Can you write down Drew's number for me?”

He shuffles back inside the store thirty minutes later and leans against the counter looking at her with big puppy dog eyes.

She wants to ignore him. She really, really does and she would if she could but never once in all the years she's known him has she been able to wait him out. When he wants something his attention span is much longer than people generally give him credit for. And apparently what he wants now is to fuck up her peaceful day.

“No luck?”

“Kinda. They’re sending a car for me. The production company. From Miami. But in the meantime, I'm stuck here,” he pouts. “Your brother says hi.”

“So?” Ava asks, ignoring the bit about Drew. “That's only a few hours, go grab some lunch, walk around the island a bit.”

“They're sending it tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Goddamnit, there goes her next 24 hours. “Well, I still don't really see the problem here. How much of the island did you really see from the bus? Go explore.”

“By myself?”

“I know it's a foreign concept for you, but you are actually a grown up, you can do things by yourself. And I even have some good news. I found your wallet. Don't worry, I've already taken what you owe me for the phone call.”

“That is excellent news,” he says as he accepts his wallet and looks through it, noticing all his cash is gone. “Two dollars plus interest, I see.”

“Of course. Knew you were good for it,” Ava shrugs. “Also, I found your phone.”

“Also excellent,” he smiles.

“In the urinal.” She says holding it out to him in a ziplock bag.

“That is not so excellent.”

“Do I even want to know what you were doing in the bathroom?”

“Umm, probably not?”

“Didn't think so.”

“So this is what you're doing now? Working in a convenience store? I know you don't need the money.”

“It's not about the money and we're not doing this. You have your wallet now, how about I call you an Uber and you can go to the airport and I can go back to my regularly scheduled life. Boom, both of our problems are solved.”

“No, no. I think you were right earlier. I should stick around. Explore. Like you said. And you can play tour guide,” he grins.

“You couldn't have come here like a normal human being and just said ‘hey, bestie, can we hang out for the day?’”

“Where would the fun be in that?” He asks and has the nerve to genuinely look confused and she can't help but laugh at him.

“Okay. Tell me why I should? One honest reason, Dee, none of your BS.”

“You're my best friend, Ava. And despite, ya know, everything, I miss you. Don't you ever miss me?”

Ava wants to beat her head on the counter. He's got her there and he knows it. She does miss him- the real him, the brilliant man behind the Hollywood facade. She's just not sure that man actually exists anymore.

“Fine,” she sighs. “On one condition.”

“Name it, anything.”

“You have to behave for the next two hours until my replacement shows up. Do you think you can handle that?”

[all-the-things-2020]

Late Night Talking

A Dieter Bravo x OFC fic

Notes: Title comes from the Harry Styles song. I heard it on the radio one day and the line “Now you’re in my life, I can’t get you off my mind” just screamed Dieter to me.

My Dieter is (mostly) sober and trying to put his life and career back together after hitting the bottom during the filming of Cliff Beasts 6. He is still a menace but he’s working on it. There will be comedy, angst, fluff and possibly some smut (not sure how explicit my narrator will get).

Narrator is an original female character loosely based on myself. She is around Dieter’s age, not thin, and introverted. He turns her life upside down and she’s not quite prepared for it.

Tagging @rhoorl because her Dieter in “Working Title” inspired me to start this fic!

Chapter One below the cut

I met him in a bookshop, of all places. Not exactly the environment you’d expect, but sometimes fate works in mysterious ways. Bookshops are one of the few places I frequented where it’s even remotely possible to meet a man. I’ve never liked bars or clubs; too noisy, too many creeps trying to be charming and getting too hands. As an introvert, I prefer quieter surroundings, like bookshops, museums, and botanical gardens. Not exactly hot spots for single guys, but I wasn’t trying to meet anyone. I was always open to whatever might happen, though.

I was in The Last Bookstore in downtown L.A. It was the first day of my summer break and I’d challenged myself to get out of my box a little and do things I’d never done before. I’d taken the train into the city, which I’d never done by myself. Of course, once I got into L.A., I ended up in my preferred habitat, surrounded by books.

I had spotted a book on my to-be-read list on the top shelf. Being petite (the polite way of saying I was short), I couldn’t quite reach it. I was debating whether the shelves were structurally sound enough for me to try standing on the bottom shelf to reach it when I heard a low, warm voice behind me say, “Let me.”

An arm reached up, easily plucking the book off the shelf and handing it to me. “Good choice,” the voice said. “That’s one of my favorites.”

I knew that voice. Turning to see the man who stood next to me, my suspicions were confirmed. It was Dieter Bravo. He was wearing a baggy gray t-shirt, a well-worn pair of jeans and some god-awful Crocs that had seen better days. His hair looked like he’d forgotten to comb it that morning and his scruffy beard and mustache could use a trim. But he was wearing glasses and his deep brown eyes were looking directly into mine, so that was all I saw.

“Thanks,” I managed to say, hoping I wasn’t blushing or anything ridiculous like that.

“No worries,” he said with a smile. He indicated the small stack of books in my hands with his chin. “You’ve got good taste.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks,” I said. Real smooth, doofus, I told myself. I tried to start over. “I read a ton of YA for work, so I’m trying to read more ‘grown-up’ stuff during the summer.”

He leaned against the bookshelf, his broad shoulders blocking the aisle. “YA?,” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Young Adult,” I explained. “I work in a high school library. A lot of it is really good, but after nine or ten months of dystopian love triangles and hot werewolves and teenagers with weird diseases falling in love, I find myself craving something more substantial.”

He smiled again. “I can imagine,” he said. “So, a librarian, huh? Oh, I’m Dieter, by the way.” He held out his hand and I shook it. It was huge and warm and made my knees melt.

“Um, yeah, I know,” I stammered. “I recognized you. I’m, ha, a big fan of your work.” I felt like a complete idiot as I stumbled over my words. “I’m Emily.”

“Well, Emily, this might be a dumb question, considering your line of work, but do you come here often?” He chuckled as he seemed to realize how cliched his questions was.

“Actually, this is my first time here,” I said. “I’ve always wanted to visit this shop, I never got around to it. I live out in the boondocks, so I don’t get into L.A. very often.”

“It’s great,” he said. “I don’t get here very often, though. Always too busy, it seems.”

We chatted for a bit, about the books we were buying, and favorites we’d both read (and made a few recommendations to each other when we mentioned titles the other hadn’t read). Then the conversation turned back to bookshops.

“I usually end up at Barnes & Noble,” I admitted. “There’s a good indie bookseller in Riverside, but it’s kind of small. My absolute favorite bookshop is Vroman’s in Pasadena. I don’t get there as often as I’d like, though.”

“Vroman’s,” he said, wrinkling his forehead. “I think I’ve heard of it but I’ve never been there.”

“Oh, you should go!” I said. I loved talking about my favorite bookshop and started rattling on. “They have all kinds of great stuff besides books. Plus a wine bar.”

“Whoa, books and booze? Sign me up.” He smiled that radiant smile I’d seen in a million photos, the one that always made me feel funny inside.

“Then you should definitely go.”

“Is that an invitation?”

I was stunned, but managed to speak without stumbling too much over the words. “Sure, why not?” Holy crap, he’s flirting with me!

Dieter pulled out his phone. “Let’s see,” he said, scrolling through the phone. “Um, I’m free Friday evening. I have a meeting at two, but I should be out of there by four at the latest. It’s in Burbank, I can probably make it to Pasadena by five, if that works for you?”

My tongue felt like it was swollen to twice its normal size. Was he actually asking me out? Or had I accidentally asked him? “Um, yeah,” I stammered. “Friday’s good, yeah.”

“Okay, then.” He tapped away at his phone and then slipped it back into his pocket. “It’s a date. Friday, five o’clock, Vroman’s.” He winked and now I knew I was blushing like a fool. He glanced at his wristwatch. “I have a meeting with my agent in an hour, so I’d better go pay for these and get going.” He pulled his phone back out and opened up the Contacts app. “Here,” he said, handing the phone to me. “Put in your number.”

I did and handed the phone back to him. He put it back in his pocket (oh, how I tried not to look too closely at that pocket, afraid he’d think I was checking out his crotch), then held out his hand again, wiggling his fingers. “Your phone?”

“Oh, yeah.” I pulled my own phone out of my purse and handed it to him. He opened my Contacts app and typed in his name and number. As he handed it back to me, our fingers brushed against each other and he smiled.

“See you Friday.” He turned and walked away, heading for the cash registers on the ground floor. I stood in the aisle for several minutes, staring at my phone. I had a date with Dieter fucking Bravo, and he’d given me his phone number.

I waited until he’d left the store, then went to the register myself. “Hey, you just missed Dieter Bravo,” the clerk said. “I got his autograph.”

I got his phone number, I wanted to say, but I didn’t. The kid behind the counter was thrilled to have had an encounter with a celebrity; he didn’t need me rubbing his nose in my good fortune. That didn’t keep me from texting my best friend Sam once I was back on the train headed for the IE. We’d been friends in elementary school before her family moved back East the summer before junior high. We’d kept in touch over the years, first by letters and now by text and Facebook.

<Went to downtown L.A. today. You’ll never guess who I ran into>

&lt;somebody I know?>

<Dieter Bravo>

&lt;Get out! Where were you?>

<The Last Bookstore, really cool shop.>

&lt;Were you cool about it? Please tell me you were cool about it>

<As cool as I could be, lol. Must have done okay. We have a date Friday night>

Sam replied with a string of emojis and punctuation marks. &lt;Don’t fuck with me, Em. It’s not funny>

<Totally serious. I have his phone number and everything.>

I clicked over to my Contacts and stared at the screen. The name “DB❤️” stared back at me. It was real.

<I want details!>

I sketched out the encounter for her.

&lt;You’re living in a rom com, I swear. But be careful. Heard he’s a bit of a wild child. Make him wear a condom. You don’t know where he’s been>

<Shut up. I’m not going to sleep with him on the first date. Eww.>

&lt;I know, you’re Miss Sensible Shoes. LOL>

It was joke between us that Sam had grown up to love wearing stiletto heels and clubbing while I preferred flats and quiet evenings. We always said it was a good thing we lived so far apart or we’d never have remained friends. And yet Sam was the one who was married with three kids and a job in finance, while I was still unattached and basically living paycheck to paycheck.

<I’ll tell you all about the date, I promise. Luv u>

I put away my phone and stared out the window, watching the backyards and alleys of Southern California flash by. What a world, where I woke up in my tiny condo thinking the highlight of my day would be a new book and lunch at Olvera Strett, and now I had a date with a famous actor. Only in L.A. I mused. It really is La La Land.

[rayslittlekitten]

Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls

A/N: This is finally done! I swear I started this like two years ago inspired by a Writer Wednesday prompt and I kinda got stuck trying to paint the exact picture I had in my mind and I think I finally succeeded. Okay maybe a little less detailed, but it's got the point I wanted to make across. This is kinda like a villain origin story. I chose to pair him with an OC (who also has physical descriptions) instead of reader character because this is really all about Dieter and I don’t think the reader would want to be the OC anyways. Also thanks to the lovely @lovebarefootblonde for beta reading!

Rating: T/M

Word Count: ~4.5k

Pairing: Young!Dieter Bravo (18+) x Named OFC

Plot: Dieter stumbles into his own Hollywood movie, but it's not the ending he expected.

Contains: mentions of sex, recreational drug use, angst

The sun is starting to set and palm tree silhouettes sway in front of the pink and orange skyline. The Golden Hour. The light casts long shadows as the glowing star descends. Dieter quickly pedals, cutting through alleyways and side streets to avoid the rush hour traffic and tourists.

Finally, he bursts through the front door of his apartment holding a take out bag and sweating like he just ran a marathon. He pants and tries to catch his breath as he quickly makes his way to the kitchen and shoves the bag into the nearly empty refrigerator. After slamming the door shut, he jogs over to the bathroom where he passes his roommate on the couch.

"I brought home some leftovers if you want it," Dieter quickly mentions.

"Is it a cheeseburger?" his roommate asks, his eyes never leaving the television screen.

"No! It's spaghetti and meatballs!" Dieter shouts from the bathroom where he starts getting rid of his sweaty and smelly clothes from waiting tables all day after turning on the shower.

"There's a party happening downtown tonight. Are you going?"

"No, I got this gig last minute. I gotta leave in like 10 minutes," he replies before shoving his toothbrush into his mouth.

"Come on, there's gonna be so many women there!" his roommate comments.

Dieter rushes through cleaning his teeth and spits into the sink.

"I'm working the Titanic premiere at the Chinese theater," he shouts before jumping into the shower, not even waiting for the water to warm up. He shrieks at the shock of the cold temperature.

After Dieter's record quick shower, he throws on some decently clean clothes after giving them a sniff and then shoves his feet into his shoes.

"The Titanic premiere? Get out! Who the hell did you have to blow to get that gig?" his roommate asks skeptically.

"No one. One of my coworkers also works catering and someone dropped out," Dieter shrugs. "I'm getting paid to serve stars. I'm not passing up on that."

"Well, look at you, climbing the Hollywood social ladder. Next, you're gonna tell me you're the new Leonardo DiCaprio."

"You could be the next Leonardo DiCaprio if you actually went to auditions instead of waiting for someone to notice you," Dieter shoots back.

"You do you man. I have my own methods," he replies smugly.

"I gotta go. See you later. Please do the dishes before you go to this party," Dieter adds before grabbing an apple out of a fruit bowl sitting on the kitchen counter and taking off.

***

As Dieter races to the theater on his bike, riding as quick as he possibly could while weaving through traffic, he slows down for a moment when he sees the large crowd lined up by the red carpet outside of the beautiful iconic theater. His breath is taken away as he admires the glitz and glamor in front of him.

The Grauman’s Chinese Theatre is a place he’s gotten well acquainted with since moving to Los Angeles. It’s one of his favorite places to go in his free time, watching all the new film releases. Sometimes multiple times if he enjoys them that much. However, he’s never actually attended a movie premiere and the elegant transformation has him in a chokehold.

As he approaches the theater, he hops off mid-roll as he slows down and hears a loud roar coming from the fans barricaded off to the side. He can't see who it is, but a limo just pulled up to the front of the theater and the screams get louder as someone steps out of the car and walks down the red carpet. He knows one day, it'll be him walking down that plush red carpet and loved by fans.

He moves quickly to behind the theater where his coworker told him to meet her. He sprints when he finds his coworker right outside the back door appearing to finish putting on her uniform.

"Oh, thank goodness you made it!" She says as she buttons up her uniform vest.

"I got here as quickly as I could." He drops his bike and with his hands on his knees, Dieter pauses to catch his breath.

"We don't have time!" She tosses him his uniform vest.

Dieter instantly throws the vest on.

"Come on! We gotta run," she tells him as she takes off inside.

"What about my bike?" he asks as he throws his bag over his shoulder.

"Bring it in!" she shouts from the long hallway.

Dieter takes his bike with him and rushes inside, letting the door close behind him. He leaves the bike and bag somewhere and she gestures to him to hurry. As he follows her, he buttons up and stuffs his shirt into his pants. By the time they enter the kitchen, he's mostly put together as he smooths out his hair, slicking it back.

He doesn't even get a moment to catch his breath when a tray of hors d'oeuvres get shoved into his hands.

"Go, go, go!" the man in apron shouts as he nudges Dieter towards the swinging doors.

Dieter rushes out while trying not to tip over the tray. He gathers his composure and walks around offering hors d'oeuvres while taking in the celebrities and VIPs. He was so in awe of everything and everyone around him, being in the midst of one of the most important parties celebrating what he believes will be one of the biggest movies of the year. It’s James freakin’ Cameron!

Throughout the night, he continues to walk around with trays of food and beverages while taking everything in. He’s taking notice of what people are wearing, saying, who’s talking to who. Even though he’s not able to mingle with the stars, he’s just as happy that he gets to still, in a way, be in the middle of it all. He was even able to sneak into the theater a few times to watch the movie.

As he makes his way back to the kitchen with an empty tray, suddenly he’s blindsided by a swinging door.

“Oops! I’m so, so sorry! I didn’t know you were behind the door,” the person apologizes.

“You went out the wrong door,” he exclaims while picking up his tray off the floor.

“Are you okay?”

When Dieter looks up at the offending person, his face softens. She looks like a Golden Aged Hollywood star. Her long wavy hair cascades down her exposed back. Her floor-length shiny dress is slinky against her smooth skin, hugging her every curve and dip, and flaring out at her ankles. Her long fanned out lashes and cat eyeliner frame her piercing eyes.

“I… yeah I’m… I’m good,” he stammers, swallowing the saliva pooling in his mouth. “Um, can I help you? Are, are you lost?” He vaguely points to the kitchen doors.

“Say, you happen to know where I can powder my nose?” She asks curiously while tapping the tip of her nose with he satin-covered fingertip.

“Uhhh, the ladies’ room is that way,” he points to a general direction.

“You’re adorable,” she compliments with a giggle after a silent moment studying him. “This is your first time working one of these big Hollywood parties, isn’t it?”

“Uhhh… no?”

Something out of his eyesight catches her attention and she loops her arm through his before quickly swooping him away into a different direction.

“So, uh, what did you say your name was again?” She asks as she briskly moves them farther away from where they were, occasionally glancing back.

“I, I didn’t,” he stutters. “Where are we going?”

“You know where we can just get away from the crowd and maybe get some air?” She asks while scanning the place.

“Yes, I actually do. Follow me!”

Dieter stealthily navigates them both to a section for employees only and out through a back alleyway. She looks behind them and when she sees that nobody has followed them, she lets out a sigh of relief.

“Phew! Thank you so much,” she says to him.

“No problem. So who or what were we running away from back there?” Dieter asks her.

“What are you talking about?” She asks calmly.

“You wanted to get the hell out of there and you kept looking back like you’re checking to see if anyone was following us.”

She ignores his observation, walking off a few feet away to put some distance between them as she takes out a cigarette from her clutch.

“Are you in danger?” Dieter asks.

She scoffs and lets out a chuckle.

“No, nothing dramatic like that,” she responds right before she lights her cigarette and takes a drag.

He notices she doesn’t have a wristband or any visible credentials.

“Are you even supposed to be at this party?” He asks her with narrow eyes.

Suddenly the door swings open, knocking into Dieter and preventing it from opening further. He moves aside and pokes his head around the door.

“Hey, sorry, buddy. Did you happen to see a woman with long dark hair about this tall come out this way? She has on like a long shiny dress?”

“Uhhh…” Dieter glances around the alleyway on both sides and briefly notices the woman hiding behind the door with her back against the brick wall, trying to make herself as invisible as possible.

“I mean, that could be anyone here,” Dieter responds to the man with a small smirk. “But no, I didn��t.” He shakes his head to underline his confirmation.

“What are you doing out here?” He asks with slight suspicion, noticing his uniform. “Shouldn’t you be inside working?”

“I’m just taking a break,” he shrugs.

The woman quietly offers Dieter her lit cigarette behind the door and he takes it from her without raising any alarms.

“A smoke break.” He shows the man the cigarette in his hand before taking a puff himself.

“Well, make it quick. if you see anyone matching that description, please let me know.”

And with that, he hands Dieter his business card.

“Will do, sir!” Dieter nods to him as he takes the card.

Dieter watches the man walk back into the building, and when he is completely out of sight, he looks over to where she is and notices she has started to tiptoe away.

“He’s gone,” Dieter tells her.

She stops in her tracks and turns around.

“Thank you for that. I really appreciate it.” She claps her hands together.

“You owe him some money or something?” Dieter asks, slowly walking towards her while taking another pull of her cigarette.

“Mm, I guess it depends on who you ask,” she replies coyly.

“What does that mean?” He tilts his head curiously.

After what he did for her, she feels she owes him at least an explanation.

“We had just met a few hours ago and I charmed him enough to sneak into this party but I got bored halfway in. I thought I’d be able to rub elbows with some important people, but turns out he doesn’t really know those important people here and if you don’t know anyone, you’d be lucky to even get to say just hi to the people everyone wants to talk to, so I dressed my best for nothing,” she replies.

Dieter checks the business card that was handed to him and it reads:

“Lights, Camera, Catering

Abner Bailey Jones

CEO”

“Shit, I think that was my boss,” Dieter laughs. “But that still doesn’t explain why he’s looking for you and why you’re avoiding him.”

“My guess is he’s expecting something in return for him getting me into the party,” she shrugs.

“Oooh,” he simply replies. “Wait a minute. So you got all glammed up and came here not knowing if you were going to get into the premiere?” He asks.

“You gotta fake it ‘til you make it, right?” She shrugs again as she struts back to him and takes her cigarette back. “So you ever gonna tell me your name? You can call me Beatrice.”

She takes a long drag while waiting for his answer.

“Dieter. My stage name," he explains. "It's a nickname my family gave me when I was a kid because I couldn't pronounce theater correctly which I loved going to all the time and it came out sounding like Dieter and it just stuck. The movie theater is where my passion for acting started."

“Of course you’re an actor. What’s your real name?" 

Dieter doesn't answer, but simply flashes a cheeky smirk at her, his dimple creasing deeper into his face.

"Hmm, suddenly so mysterious. Nice to meet you, Dieter.” Beatrice extends her gloved hand out and Dieter shakes it.

“You’re new in town, aren't you?" she asks curiously then drops the cigarette butt on the asphalt.

"Not really. I moved here about six months ago."

"Six months only? Oh, you are new in town," she comments. "Practically a tourist."

"Really?" he asks with a tilt to his head. “What makes you say that?"

"Your eagerness. You still got that sparkle in your eyes. You haven’t been jaded by Hollywood yet.”

“And you have, I suppose?”

Beatrice shrugs and flashes an award-winning smile, her turn to be a little mysterious. Her blood red lips make her perfect teeth even brighter.

“Hey, you wanna get out of here? Got a place we can go to just like, hang out?” she asks.

Dieter looks around to make sure she was talking to him and then stares back at her like a deer in headlights.

“M-me? You wanna hang out with me?” He points to his own chest, shocked.

“Yeah, why does that surprise you?”

“I mean you… you look like that,” he points to her dress. “And well…” He then gestures his hands to himself.

“You look like a star. I just didn’t think women who look like you would want anything to do with people who look like me,” he replies.

“It’s that kinda thinking that makes me want to hang out with you even more. You’re not full of yourself. You seem like a cool guy, Dieter.”

Dieter’s face flushes. “Thank you. You seem super cool too. Like way cooler than me. Oh! My shift ends in…” he glances at his watch. “Maybe another hour.”

“Oh, come on, Dieter!”

Dieter sighs, stuck between staying for the party or going with this beautiful woman in front of him.

“You’re not gonna leave a damsel all in distress, are you?” Beatrice fakes an exaggerated pout while batting her hazel eyes.

“You have a habit of following around strangers?” He teases.

“Strangers? You and me? No. You lied for me and basically saved my life. You’re practically my savior,” she corrects him.

“Saved your life? I thought you weren’t in any danger. ‘Nothing dramatic like that’, I believe you said,” he jabs back.

“You saved me from dying of boredom,” she smirks and it draws a small laugh out of Dieter. “So what do you say, hero?”

Dieter chews on his lower lip as he weighs his options.

“Come on, you really wanna work this boring party? I’m pretty sure half the cast left already,” she gripes. “Oh, I also got…”

Beatrice fishes inside her clutch and pulls out a small baggie.

“Weed! I don’t know if you indulge, but I’m willing to share,” she tempts him as she dangles the baggie. “We can chill out and talk about the movie or whatever.”

After a few more moments, he finally makes a decision.

“Wait right here. I’ll be right back,” Dieter tells her right before he rushes back inside.

“Yes!” Beatrice exclaims enthusiastically.

A few minutes later, Dieter returns with his bag and bike.

“My coworker’s gonna cover for me. She owes me a favor,” Dieter says.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think that’s gonna fit the both of us, especially not while wearing this.” She points out her delicate gown. “Let’s hail a cab!”

***

After grabbing some tacos off a street cart, they end up back at his place.

"I don't think my roommate is home. He went to some party downtown,” Dieter says while giving her a quick tour of his apartment.

When they finally reach his messy bedroom, she notices the canvases sprawled throughout.

"You're an artist?” Beatrice asks while admiring the art.

"I dabble in paint whenever I have the time,” he shrugs. “Which sometimes is a lot,” he laughs.

"Your style is interesting. What do you have going on here?" She asks, pointing to a canvas with splotches of color on it.

"I don't know yet. I just paint whatever comes to my mind." He stuffs his hands into his pockets and shrugs as he walks over to the painting.

"Whenever I get inspired, I just..." He vaguely gestures his hand to the half empty white surface. "I have to admit, many of them have been under the influence," he laughs.

"Oh, yeah? What's your poison of choice?" she asks, suddenly very interested.

“Well, usually just some marijuana. That one was actually a result of the first time I tried mushrooms.” Dieter points to a different painting.

“Have you ever tried cocaine?”

“That’s a rich man’s candy,” Dieter replies, shaking his head.

“I can get some for us,” she offers. “I know someone.”

“You have that kind of money?” He asks curiously with a raised brow, inching closer to her.

“Money isn’t the only currency there is, especially out here in Hollywood."

Dieter studies her for a few moments trying to understand what she could mean.

“A-are you… do you…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the question without possibly offending her.

“No, I’m not a prostitute if that’s what you’re going to ask,” she chuckles. "But you wouldn't be the first person to think that."

"I'm not judging." He puts his hands up in defense. "Everyone's gotta do whatever they can to survive."

"Especially out here in the wild, wild West. People are nice to each other, but in the end it's everyone for themselves." She tips her head to him.

"I wish you success but also hope I get the role instead of you, ha ha ha,” she mocks with an obvious fake laugh and then rolls her eyes. "So much ego."

“Ouch. Sounds like you've been burned before.” Dieter walks over to her.

"Yeah, but I have thick skin. You've gotta have that to be in this game. You've gotta grow one after the umpteenth rejection. Or even worse, having to suck it up and reject a role because you refuse to suck a dick for it— a background role at that. You mind?" She pulls out a joint and the corner of his lips turn up.

“Not if you share," he replies.

She lights it up and after taking a pull, she hands it to him.

"Can't say I've had the opportunity to suck a dick for a role yet," he chuckles before taking a hit.

"Oh, trust me, you will. There is no discrimination. Women might get it more often, but there are definitely men who have fucked to get a role as well."

“I should be, but why am I not surprised?” he chimes in.

“Enough of all this talk. It’s bringing the mood down. Oh, I’ve got an idea!” she says, taking a drag of the joint as she lays down on his bed. “Draw me like one of your French girls.”

"Are you for real?" he asks.

"Yes, I am." She takes another drag and passes the joint back to him before starting to strip down.

Dieter is shocked and speechless. He is in awe as he watches her remove her clothes until she's down to her lacy underwear. Her braless breasts hang freely as she lays down on her side, just like Rose did.

“Are you just gonna stare at me all night or do you need more drugs?” she asks him after a few moments.

“I’m just admiring the art that’s already in front of me,” he replies before taking another toke of the joint.  “Not sure if any amount of drugs will do it any justice.”

“You’re sweet,” she comments as warmth rises to her face. “But I wanna see what you see. As they say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

Dieter continues to study her for a few more seconds before finally nodding.

“Alright. I think I got something.”

He passes the joint back to her and with that, Dieter starts squeezing some paint onto his palette, mixing colors and spreading them on the canvas. His dark round eyes dart around her face and body, taking in the image in front of him and then finally scraping some paint onto the canvas to spit out what his mind is processing.

She can’t see what he’s doing but notices he’s using a lot of different colors and broad strokes. After about ten minutes of this, a wide smirk plays on his face.

“What? Do I look silly like a Picasso or something?” She asks.

“No,” he shakes his head. “I just can’t believe the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met is naked on my bed, asking me to paint her.”

“You don’t get a lot of women getting naked in your bed for a portrait?” She teases before taking another drag and passing it on to Dieter.

“No,” he laughs, taking a pull of his own.

“Although, I’m not quite naked yet.” Beatrice slides off the bed and struts towards him. “Let me see what you’ve got so far.”

“No, no, it’s not quite finished—“

She takes a peek despite his protests and the breath is knocked out of her.

“Dieter, this is…” She’s at a loss for words.

“Yeah, I know, it’s… it’s really rough and—”

“This is beautiful!” She turns to him.

It’s a somewhat abstract piece with globs of paint spackled onto the canvas. He highlighted the soft features of her face and how her tendrils of long curls hung off her head. Her bright red lips pop out against the browns, beiges and yellows behind it. A splash of blue and green in the background pulls her away from the canvas. While her body isn’t complete yet, the simple and rough outline he laid out seemed intentional. If he hadn’t said anything, she would have thought he was finished.

“Thank you, you’re kind.” His face heats up as he rubs the back of his neck.

“I mean it, Dieter. Seriously! You have a gift.”

Dieter is now the one speechless. His face starts to get warm and pink.

“But maybe you need a closer look to finish this painting. Catch the details you might have missed.”

Beatrice proceeds to push her panties down until they hit the floor, which made his jaw do that as well. She then takes the joint from him, takes a big hit and straddles his lap. Leaning in, her lips graze his as she opens her mouth. He opens up his own and sucks in the smoke into his lungs. After a moment, their lips meet and they begin to make out, working up to fog his windows.

***

When Dieter wasn't at an audition or waiting on people, he spent most of his time with Beatrice. They'd sneak into movie theaters to catch a flick, especially when they were playing classics, which they both appreciated, but many times they ended up making out instead. Sometimes they'd take long strolls along the Santa Monica pier while smoking weed. At some point, she introduced him to cocaine and whatever drugs she was able to get her hands on, and in turn he would churn out pieces of art while admiring her, his muse.

They did almost everything together. They laughed, cried, loved, and tripped together. They even went on auditions together and supported each other in preparing for them. He had such a strong connection with her, sharing the same passions and navigating life together in this crazy movie town. He thought he found his soulmate.

It was the best time of his life. He was living his own Hollywood movie and he felt like he was at the top of the world, just like Jack Dawson, but he then learned he’s no Leonardo DiCaprio. As quickly as he got high on all this, the crash came down just as fast.

"I don't understand," Dieter says, confused.

"You don't make friends in this business, Dieter. You make transactions and deals."

"Wow," he could only muster up with wide eyes. "What about relationships? Friendships? Do you have any connection - a genuine connection - with anyone?"

"The only connections I need are transactional. I give something in exchange for something else, whether it be for survival, pleasure or power."

He scrubs a hand over his face and studies her for a few moments.

"So what was I? What did you get in exchange for... for whatever this is?" Dieter asks, waving his hand between them.

"You had a good time, right?" she shrugs as she throws a small smile.

"This was more than just a good time for me," Dieter shoots back with air quotes. "I-I thought we had something special. We talked about making it in Hollywood together!”

"Oh, honey..." she frowns and reaches for his face, but he flinches, pulling away from her and walking off.

"How do you-- how can you--" Dieter takes a deep breath to compose himself.

"Hollywood is going to eat you alive, sweetheart. You're not cut out for this place," Beatrice shakes her head.

"No," Dieter shakes his head. "You get one fucking role and then you think you're too good for me?"

"It's nothing personal," she explains. "I'm just playing by the rules. I didn't create them. And once I'm in, like in in, I can help maybe you get your foot in too."

Dieter is speechless. He just stares at her with misty eyes and brows turned down, shaking his head in disappointment.

“I don’t need your charity or… or your fucking connections! Did you have to suck a dick for that role?”

She looks back at him in disgust and scoffs.

“No need to be rude. I earned that role,” she replies with her arms crossed.

“That’s not a no,” he retorts.

“Whatever. I don’t need to explain myself,” she huffs. “Look, I just came to tell you I can’t see you anymore and to pick up my things and say goodbye.”

Dieter just stares at her again, trying to process what is unfolding as the reality sinks in.

“Just go. Take your shit and go,” he simply says.

After she gathers her things, she takes one more glance at him.

“Goodbye, Dieter.”

When he doesn’t respond, she finally walks out the door, leaving Dieter to cry alone and pick up the broken pieces of his heart.

[ladamedusoif]

Baking (Dieter Bravo x OFC! Andie Wallace-Bravo)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 2

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Holiday Fic Calendar (click for masterlist)

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC!Andie Wallace-Bravo

Rating: Teen/Mature

Word count: ~1500 words

Warnings: Mild drug references, alcohol references, strong language, implied smut

Summary: Although he’d once been more known for getting baked, these days Dieter is more interested in baking of a different kind. 

Author's note: This entry in A Merry Fic-Mas is inspired by the very wonderful Curls series by @farawayfromwanting/@agentjackdaniels and @julesonrecord. It's an honour to have the chance to add my own tiny little scene to the Bravo-Wallace family story, and I hope their wonderful creator likes this humble little tale of Holiday Dandie.

Dieter Bravo was not what anyone would call a wholly domesticated man. Marriage and kids had encouraged him to embrace the joys of basic family cooking, but he still struggled with anything beyond the simplest of recipes. 

“I’m an actor, Mamá,” he’d protested as his mother tried to teach him a few of her staples. “It’s basically a given that we’re gonna live on takeout and on-set catering.”

But Dieter had a culinary secret. Baking. In the literal, not metaphorical, sense. Though that was a specialism, too. Less so, these days. 

Even at his hedonistic peak, he’d somehow still retained the ability to produce the best cookies - weed optional, though usually a given - anyone had ever tasted. He didn’t have an exact recipe, just went on vibes. It was soothing, all that gentle mixing and rolling and cutting and baking. He’d made full use of the in-house kitchen in rehab, churning out variations on his failsafe cookie recipe as a kind of therapeutic exercise.

Now, Dieter is swiping through holiday baking ideas on Pinterest while the kids dance energetically to the Bluey opening credits. He’s been the stay-at-home parent for the last couple of months, the strike and production delays for season two of When You’re Lost in the Darkness offering him a welcome chance to stay put and just be a dad. 

Andie walks into the family room dressed in her favourite smart casual outfit of stylish grey coat, white blouse and jeans, makeup subtle and dark curls arranged over one shoulder, her purse slung across her body. She’s in demand, these days, and with Christmas fast approaching Dieter wanted to give her a proper day to herself: get her nails done, have a facial, whatever she wanted. 

“You sure you don’t want me to stay? I feel bad heading out and not staying with you guys on my day off.”

Dieter looks up from his iPad and smiles at his wife. “When was the last time you had a day just for you, angel? We’re fine. Go! Relax! Shop! Do whatever!” He stands up from the couch and shoos her affectionately towards the door, barely letting her pause to kiss the kids goodbye.

Charlie and Ezra do not take their eyes off Bluey for a moment.

Dieter sits beside the kids on the big rug in front of the TV. “So…how’d you guys like to make a surprise for mama?”

Charlie shoots him a look so uncannily similar to her mother’s that Dieter has to pause for a moment. “We’re watching Bluey.”

Ezra nods, bright blond hair gleaming. “Boo-ee.”

“Okay, how about this: we make some cookies for mama, we have lots of fun, and then you can watch more Bluey. Hmmm?”

The children turn to each other as if conferring over their father’s offer. Charlie, as the eldest, assumes the role of spokesperson.

“Okay. But we get to eat cookies and watch Bluey.”

The Pinterest post Dieter had selected as inspiration showed a perfect, well-scrubbed family enjoying a platter of gorgeous, golden holiday cookies frosted and decorated with surgical precision. 

His kitchen, however, had disintegrated into a case of Pinterest versus reality, soundtracked by Dieter’s personal holiday playlist.

Ezra’s wails drown out the sound of Run DMC while Charlie protests that she wasn’t trying to eat Ez’s bowl of frosting. Her dark curls, meanwhile, are streaked with flour, dough, and sugary globs of red and white fondant icing.

They seem to have somehow used every single bowl in the Bravo-Wallace household, the kitchen countertops crowded with mixing bowls of various sizes and coated in flour and sugar. As Dieter turns to comfort Ezra he skids on what he rapidly realises is an errant egg white.

“Motherfuck- sorry, Charlie. And Ezra. Sorry, Charlie and Ezra!”

No sooner has he picked up his son than the oven timer pings, and Charlie is off her stool and opening the oven door - bare-handed - like a shot. Dieter throws himself across the kitchen as best he can, half-diving to get Charlie away from the hot surfaces while somehow still maintaining his balance with little Ezra in his other arm.

Now Charlie starts wailing. “I wanna take the cookies out for Mamaaaaaaaaa!”

Ezra joins in. 

José Feliciano entreats the Bravo-Wallaces to a feliz Navidad. 

Dieter takes a deep breath and tries to summon up what's left of his holiday spirit.

Andie Wallace-Bravo has had a manicure, a pedicure, a facial, and feels like a new woman. She even managed to get in some Christmas shopping at The Grove, stopping at the Farmers Market for a coffee before heading home. 

The house seems eerily quiet, though, as Andie opens the front door and steps inside. No TV. Just the faint sound of holiday music coming from the direction of the kitchen. She drops her purse on the hall table and goes in search of her little clan.

“Dieter? Kids?”

“Mamaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! I made you cookies! Seeeeeee!” 

Charlie collides with her mother and Andie becomes conscious of something sticking to her favourite grey coat: a freshly-baked sugar cookie, shaped like what she suspects is meant to be a Chrismas tree, and dripping in frosting and sprinkles. 

“Oh! Yes, I can see - hey, where’s your brother?”

Right on cue, Ezra toddles around the corner. He is, from head to toe, almost entirely green. 

He extends his chubby arms towards Andie, who shucks off her coat and picks him up. So much for this blouse, she muses. 

“Dieter, why is our son green?”

Dieter is leaning against the kitchen island, sweatpants covered in what looks like flour and tiny white handprints all over his dark grey t-shirt. He turns to look at his wife and reveals a face covered in splodges of red and green frosting, and hair rendered white with powdered sugar and flour. 

“Hiiiii, angel. We, uh… we wanted to surprise you. With cookies.”

Andie’s heart swells so much that she’s able, somehow, to ignore the apocalyptic scene in every corner of her kitchen. “You made cookies, for me?”

Ezra claps his little hands together. “COOKEEE MAMA! COOKEEEEE MAMAAAAA!” 

Charlie joins in with the chant, beating a loud tattoo on an upturned mixing bowl, oblivious to the dough plopping onto the floor. 

“Dee, my love? How much frosting did they eat, exactly?”

Dieter had protested when Andie insisted on helping with cleanup. She silenced him with a kiss to his sugar-coated lips, tugging on a pair of rubber gloves to protect her sparkling festive manicure.

“We’re a team, baby. Anyway, if we didn’t tackle this together I think we’d still be cleaning it by New Year’s.”

With the last of the bowls finally washed and put away, Andie reaches into one of the high cupboards and retrieves a bottle of Irish cream liqueur. 

“It’s Christmas, after all, and I have been looking forward to this all day. Come join me on the couch? There should be some cocoa in the cupboard if you want.”

Dieter smiles and nods. “I’ll be there in a couple of minutes, angel. Just want to check on one final batch of dough.”

When Dieter finally emerges, still in his deconstructed cookie-coated clothes, he’s holding a plate of plain cookies and carrying a mug of hot cocoa for himself. 

“The final batch of cookies.” He places them on the coffee table and sinks into the couch beside his wife, resting his head on Andie’s shoulder. “These ones are, uh, a little different. Special.”

Andie looks at him dubiously. “Special?”

He exhales and stretches out, picking up a cookie and nibbling at it. “Weed cookies. For some much-needed relaxation.”

“Oh. Ohhhhh.” Andie giggles and puts down her glass, picking up a cookie. “Well. Holiday cheer, indeed. Thank you, baby.” She takes a bite, chews, and turns to Dieter in astonishment. 

“Holy fucking shit, Dee? These are insane?!” 

He quirks a floured eyebrow and grins. “Still got it. Still making the best cookies in Hollywood.”

Andie is two cookies in when she starts to get giggly, tucking her feet under her and whispering sweet nothings at Dieter as he munches on another of his creations. 

“Merry Christmas, Mr Bravo. You’re the best, you know?”

Dieter hums happily to himself, a soft, blissed-out smile spreading across his face. “Mmmm. No. You are. You’re the best. The best best.”

She giggles again and rests her head on his shoulder. “We’re so fucking lucky. Aren’t we?”

He grunts in assent. 

Andie kisses Dieter’s broad shoulder through his t-shirt. “Hey, Dee. Hey. Wanna make out on the couch?”

No answer. 

“Dee?”

A soft snore. Andie melts a little at the sight: her beloved, still the handsomest thing she’s ever seen even if he’s covered in half the contents of their cupboards. She studies his face, reaching out to gently trace her fingers over his gorgeous features, and leans in to kiss his forehead. 

He tastes of sugar.

Another kiss. More sweetness. Andie giggles, and proceeds to kiss and lick the rest of the frosting off her husband’s face.

Dieter opens one eye, half-awake. “Angel, are you…licking me clean?”

She giggles before standing up and helping Dieter to his feet. 

“Sure am. So let’s go to bed where I can finish the job.” She reaches down to pat her husband’s ass, flour rising in a cloud of dust as she does so. 

“Always said you tasted sweet, baby.”

Dividers by @estrelinha-s

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

Destiny & Deliverance: Chapter 27

Destiny & Deliverance Masterlist ||| Main Masterlist Dieter Bravo X OFC

Series Summary: Natalia Cohen is experiencing major life changes, beginning with leaving an emotionally abusive husband. She is learning how to navigate life on her own while dealing with high functioning anxiety, depression, and mild PTSD. Everything is looking up for her. She is a highly respected consultant for a major LA firm, has her best friend, Lauren, by her side, and is on her path to healing. Everything changes when she meets a handsome and broken stranger on a work trip. He turns out to be a well-known actor, with a heart-breaking past. They quickly develop a connection that will forever alter their lives. 

Warnings: Themes dealing with mental health, emotional trauma, alcohol use, and discussions about suicide. There will be fluff, tears, spicy language, and smut. This will be a slow burn type of story. Read at your own risk.

Chapter Warnings: Discussions about intimate partner violence, suicidal ideation, mental health struggles, drug abuse, and alcohol abuse.

Chapter Quote: "I got to snuggle some baby goats."

It took everything in me to hold back the sob that threatened to escape the instant I heard Dieter’s voice. I momentarily placed my hand over my mouth to hold it in and compose myself. I let out a shaky breath as I tried to find my voice. 

“Dieter?” 

I could hear his stuttered breathing on the other end of the line. He sounded like he was battling with his emotions too. 

He cleared his throat, “Yeah… it’s me.”

I sighed loudly into the phone as the tears started to slide down my face. I felt like my brain had completely shut down on me, unsure of what to say but also feeling the urge to say everything all at once. It was so overwhelming but also awkward since we had not talked in so long. There were still so many things up in the air between us. 

“How’ve you been?” He asked, sounding unsure of himself. I felt like he didn’t know what to say either. 

I sniffed loudly as I wiped at my face, “Umm, I’ve been ok. How are you feeling?” 

“I’m feeling good. Normal, I think…then again…I’m not sure I really know what normal is,” we both laughed nervously.

“I’m feeling better than I have in a long time. I can confidently say that at least,” he added. 

I smiled. It was nice to know that he was feeling better. It helped dampen some of the worry I had been feeling. 

“How are things going, otherwise?”

“Well, I got to snuggle some baby goats during group therapy this morning. I kinda want one now.”  He sounded unabashed about this revelation. 

“Of course you do,” I said in response, shaking my head and chuckling at the thought. 

“I gotta new roommate two weeks ago…Gordon is his name. He’s an interesting guy…he uhhh…” he stifled a laugh before continuing. “He said he came here because the wall outlets were talking to him. Like, full conversations. They finally stopped after he got his meds sorted out. Made me feel a little better about my issues.”

I was a little dumbfounded, “Ummm, I’m not sure if I should laugh about that or not…” Dieter snickered, “He jokes about it now, so I think it’s ok.” 

It felt good to hear him laughing again. I had missed that sound more than I realized. I really missed his voice in general. He sounded different. Better, lighter almost. It was a sound I wanted to commit to memory. 

“Umm…so Gabby said you didn’t take that job offer?” His nervousness had returned with that question. 

“No, I turned it down.” I started rubbing at my shoulder with my free hand as I moved to sit down at the kitchen table. 

“Why? It sounded like an amazing opportunity”

I sighed, now rubbing at the crease between my brows, “It was, but it’s not where I wanted to be or what I wanted to do. I would’ve had to give up too much and I don’t feel like I’m in the right headspace to do that.”

“I hope it wasn’t because of me…”

“No. I mean, I guess I can’t say no. You’re part of it…but my life is here. I can’t leave Lauren or even Gabby and Alex at this point. We’ve all gotten so close. And like I said, I’m not in the right headspace for that. I would’ve been spending a lotta time alone and I don’t wanna do that right now. It just wasn’t where I felt like I should be. I didn’t feel any kind of excitement over it at all, so I turned it down”

I suddenly felt vulnerable revealing that to him, questioning if I should have. I didn’t want him to worry about me when he needed to be focusing on himself. 

“Are you sure you’re doing ok?” He asked quietly. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me, I promise. I’m just…I-” I huffed, shaking my head. I wasn’t sure if it was ok to finish that thought. I didn’t want to make any assumptions about how he was feeling or make an ass of myself. 

I heard him chuckle quietly over my flustered response, “I miss you too.” 

I was instantly calmed by his words, my anxiety about where we stood easing some. I let out a shy laugh at his declaration, tears still running down my face as I sniffled out, “You do?”

“Of course, I do, so fucking much… I - I’m sorry I haven't called you. I wanted to make sure I had a clear head when I did, and then I didn’t really know what to say after everything that happened.”

I heard him inhale sharply before he spoke up again, there was a tapping noise, like he was drumming his fingers against something.

“Listen, I’ve only got a few minutes left before they cut me off for today, but the reason I called…” 

He paused, clearing his throat nervously, “Umm, so I wanted to see if you would be willing to come here and do a session with my psychiatrist and me…”

“Of course, when?”

“Whenever you can. Just uhh, call my case worker and she’ll get it scheduled.” 

I could hear him shuffle around before he started cursing under his breath. 

“Well, I was gonna give you the number but now I can’t find it...Gabby should have it.” 

I couldn’t help but to snigger at him. He was still a little bit of a hot mess, which I loved about him. 

He followed up with an exasperated “sorry” about not being able to find the number before he let out a quiet laugh at himself. It felt like part of it was his nervousness too. 

“I’ll text her to get it as soon as we hang up and I’ll call immediately.” 

I could hear him sigh in relief before a beeping noise broke into our conversation with an automated message giving a one minute warning. 

“I’ll be there tomorrow if they’ll let me…or at least as soon as they’ll let me,” I said in a rush. Suddenly feeling the pressure of our limited time. I still felt like I had so many things to say to him. 

“I would like that. I…I really can’t wait to see you…” 

His words trailed off, shaking slightly as he was hit with another wave of emotions. 

“I can’t wait to see you either,” I replied with a quivering voice. 

After a moment of silence, there was a clicking sound as the line disconnected. I held the phone against my forehead, trying to get my breathing back to normal. Once I was able to focus my thoughts, I sent a quick text to Gabby to let her know that Dieter had called and that I needed the number for his case worker. I half expected her to call me, but thankfully she didn’t. She replied back quickly with the number and that she was happy he finally reached out. She followed that message up with another asking me if I was ok and if I needed to talk about it. I appreciated her offer, but I was good for now and let her know as much. Once I finished texting with Gabby, I dialed the number for the case worker, suddenly feeling nervousness forming in the pit of my stomach. 

“Sanctuary Hills, this is Sharon,” the polite, yet comforting voice answered.

“Hi Sharon, this is Natalia Cohen…” She cut in before I could continue. 

“Oh, Talia, hi. I’ve been expecting your call. Dieter told me he was going to be calling you.” 

I let out a nervous laugh, slightly taken aback by the familiarity in which she said my name. It made me wonder how much he had talked about me. 

“I assume you’re calling about an appointment for a family session?” 

I didn’t know why, but it stirred something in me when she called it a family session. Technically, I wasn’t his family, but they were treating me as if I were. I could feel the tears prickling at my eyes again as I exhaled out a breathy “yes” in response.

“That’s wonderful news, I know he’ll be overjoyed to see you.” I could hear the smile in her voice

“I can’t wait to see him either,” I replied, still trying to keep the emotions out of my words.

“Alright, let me have a look at the schedule. Dr. Rosenberg did ask that you be prepared to be available for at least a week for additional sessions, if possible.” 

“Additional sessions?” I was confused. I couldn’t recall if the same thing had been asked of Gabby, which caused my anxiety to flare.  

“Don’t worry, it’s perfectly normal for that to happen. It’s mostly educational sessions for family members if they’re willing to participate.”

“Oh, ok. That doesn’t sound so bad.” I laughed nervously. 

“When would you like to come in?” she asked with a calming tone.

“As soon as you can get me in is preferable.” I started tapping on the table as I waited for options, listening to the clicking of a keyboard on her end. 

“How about 10 AM the day after tomorrow?” 

“I’ll take it,” I said a little too eagerly. The anticipation of seeing Dieter again was starting to get to me. 

“I have it scheduled. In case you do end up staying for additional sessions, we have apartments on site for patient families. So, you won’t have to worry about lodging. We don’t want you stressing about that while you’re here.”

“Oh, that’s…nice. Thanks for letting me know.”

“When you arrive for your session, come in the north entrance with the blue awning and they'll get you checked in. It’s a different entrance than where you would have come in before.”  

I thanked her and our conversation ended soon after that. Afterwards, I sat staring out the kitchen window, feeling the anxiousness settle into my gut. Not knowing what to expect was always the worst for me. It was like that call had started a countdown, to what, I wasn’t sure. I could only hope the end result would be something positive. 

The morning of our session, I had a ridiculously early flight so that I could be there in time. I decided to keep things simple with minimal makeup, a messy bun, sunglasses, sneakers, skinny jeans, and one of Dieter’s button up dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up. I had raided his closet while I was at his house cleaning up. It was something small, but being wrapped in his scent or wearing something that belonged to him brought me some comfort during my time without him. His clothing quickly became a staple in my casual attire. 

I was so anxious about seeing Dieter again that the flight didn’t faze me like it normally would have. Though it was an hour and a half, it seemed much quicker as the minutes continued to count down and the distance between us shortened. I could feel myself getting more worked up the closer I got. By the time I acquired the rental car and was on the road to the facility, my chest was heavy. Breathing was getting harder with each mile that passed. 

When I pulled into the parking lot, I could feel my heart pounding in my ears. I sat gripping the steering wheel tightly in both hands and taking deep breaths. I wasn’t even sure why I was so nervous, it’s not like I knew what Dieter was planning to talk to me about. However, deep down I had a fear, though most likely irrational, that he was going to realize he didn’t really want to be with me after this. I wasn’t sure if I could handle that a second time if it were to happen. Without permission, the tears started to streak down my cheeks, and I felt like I was going to be sick. 

After a few more deep breaths, I slammed my fist down on the stop of the steering wheel out of frustration, “Fucking hell, get it together Talia.”  

My head dropped back onto the headrest as I squeezed my eyes shut, still taking deep controlled breaths. After several minutes passed, I let out a slow exhale before opening my eyes. Feeling more relaxed, I did a quick check in the mirror to make sure I didn’t look like a complete mess before exiting the vehicle to go inside. 

I was starting to have an out of body feeling as I went through the check in process. I couldn’t really remember walking to the building or anything the lady behind the desk had just said to me as I sat down in the lobby to wait. After a few minutes, one of the receptionists called my name and led me through a secure door down a long hallway. We passed several offices that had glass inserts in the doors with shades. Most of the shades were pulled closed, however, I noticed one was open. As I approached, I glanced inside and was met with a familiar figure sitting in a high backed desk chair in the middle of the room with his head leaned back and eyes closed as he spun back and forth, his legs bouncing ever so often. He was sitting on the opposite side of a desk from a woman who was possibly in her fifties, with graying hair and a kind face. Though, she did have a slightly overwhelmed look about her as her eyes met mine through the glass. 

I stopped briefly, watching him wave his hands animatedly as he talked incessantly, never raising his head or opening his eyes. I felt a small smirk sneak across my face. He was nervous too. I could tell. My eyes flicked back to the woman, who was watching me watch him with a soft smile on her face. 

My attention was pulled away by the receptionist, who was now at my side waiting for me to continue following her. 

“He’s been driving us all crazy this morning. I think poor Sharon is getting the worst of it. He’s beyond excited that you’re here today.” 

I chuckled at the thought before continuing down the hallway. I was led into a spacious office. It was modern and white with floor to ceiling windows on one side with nothing in sight but nature. All the furnishings were earth tones of brown and deep reds and oranges. I noticed there were a lot of plants filling the space, which added a homey feeling, in a strange sort of way. It also struck me how there were different seating areas on either side of the room. One had a small couch and cushy chair positioned in front of it, while the other had four cushy chairs sitting closely together in a circle. Each of the seats were adorned with soft looking pillows in various shades matching the space. There was a traditional desk setup in the center of the room with two chairs placed in front of it. Each area felt carefully designed to meet specific needs.   

Moments after entering the room, I was greeted by Dr. Rosenberg who first shook my hand, then pulled me in for a loose hug. 

“Talia, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you the last couple of months.” 

It took me by surprise, though I felt like it shouldn’t have. There was a certain familiarity and kindness that everyone seemed to have toward me. Everyone had been very warm and welcoming thus far. It was comforting to know this was the type of environment that Dieter had been in. 

I gave her a tight lipped smile as she led me over to sit in one of the four chairs in a circle. To my surprise, the chair spun slightly as I sat in it. Dr. Rosenberg turned hers to face me directly, so I did the same with mine. I had managed to stay composed thus far, but my nervousness was starting to show as I reached up and rubbed at my shoulder. The psychiatrist was silent for a moment as she watched my movements. I stopped, sat up straight and placed both hands on top of my crossed legs to keep from fidgeting. 

I’m not sure why, but I felt the need to appear like I had my shit together. I took a minute to study her as she gave me a soft smile while she continued to get settled, grabbing a notepad, file folder, pen, and glasses from the small table next to her seat. She was probably in her early fifties, maybe late forties. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and she was dressed in business casual attire. I could tell she wanted to appear professional, but not uninviting. She was also definitely looking at my body language very closely, which was making me feel antsy. My therapist used to do that, and I hated it. I mentally smacked myself over my thoughts. I was already putting up walls and we hadn’t even started talking yet. 

“Well, it’s been an exciting morning around here. Dieter is definitely happy you’re here. He was asked to leave his group session this morning because he couldn't focus. He’s been bugging poor Sharon ever since.” She laughed and smiled affectionately at her words.

She was trying to get me to relax. I knew that I looked too tense. I let out a breathy laugh as I sat back further in the seat, trying to appear less uptight, but I didn't think it was working. She gave me a sympathetic look suddenly, “You’re nervous to see him.” 

It wasn’t a question. Looking down at my hands, I chuckled to myself briefly before clearing my throat to speak, “Yeah, I guess I am. I just…don’t know what to expect.”

“That’s a perfectly normal feeling. It’s not unusual for family members to worry if their loved one is going to be different after treatment. Is that some of what you’re feeling?”

Her question took me by surprise, “Ummm, maybe. Sort of...maybe not so much about him being different…more about him feeling differently.” 

She nodded, “I understand. I can’t say that he won’t be different. His personality may present differently, more calm, less emotional or moody. He will feel differently in that he won’t be cycling from one extreme to the other, emotionally. As far as how he feels ABOUT things, that isn’t going to change just because he’s stabilized. Does that make sense?” 

I gave a tight nod, “Yeah, it does.” It didn’t do anything to ease my anxiety though because I still didn’t know how he really felt about us. She eyed me for a second before continuing.

“So, I’ll fill you in on my plan for today. First, you and I are going to chat about Dieter’s diagnosis. Once we’re done, I’m going to bring him in for the session. After that, you and I will have a follow-up meeting to discuss the path forward. Does that sound ok to you?”   

“Yeah, that’s fine.” I started to chew on my bottom lip while she flipped through the file in her hand.

“Great. Just so you’re aware, Dieter signed release forms for you to have access to his medical and treatment information. Nothing is off the table, so if you have questions, ask. He made it clear to me that he wants you to know everything and wants you involved as much as you want to be.”

I paused briefly, shocked by that information. I exhaled the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, “Ok...I wasn’t expecting that.” 

She smiled before continuing, “Alright, let’s get to it then?” She raised her brows at me, asking permission to proceed. I motioned with my hand to continue.  

“So, he’s been formally diagnosed with mixed episode Bipolar I Disorder (BD). In simple terms, bipolar disorder is when someone experiences extreme behavioral or mood changes. The extreme highs are called manic episodes, and lows are episodes of depression. Most people with BD go through highs and lows over an extended period of time. Someone with mixed episodes, like Dieter has, tend to experience both highs and lows simultaneously or in a rapid sequence with no recovery time.”

She paused, giving me a minute to digest her words. I couldn’t say I was surprised by the diagnosis, it actually made a lot of his behavior make sense. When I didn’t speak up, she continued. 

“I think what happened with Dieter…he was put on a lot of medication. Antidepressants in particular can be very tricky for someone with BD. It can cause an increased risk of mood destabilization when the antidepressants are not taken with a mood stabilizer. He was on pretty much everything but a mood stabilizer. You add that in with not sleeping, not eating, drinking, anxiety, and episode triggers…it’s a recipe for disaster. Sometimes being improperly medicated like that can trigger suicidal ideation and even psychosis. Honestly, he was fighting a losing battle.”

I leaned forward in my seat, placing my elbows on my knees while I rubbed at my face. I felt anger bubbling in my chest. 

“Why didn’t his therapists or doctors catch what was happening?”

“One reason…lack of experience. BD is also incredibly hard to diagnose because it shares symptoms with so many other more common disorders like anxiety, depression, PTSD, and ADHD, which is what he was being treated for. That’s not to say he doesn’t have those things as well, but if he does, we need to take a different treatment approach.” 

I sighed, shaking my head in disbelief. “Wow, that actually kind of blows my mind.” 

“I know… and I’m surprised that no one thought to look into it, given his family history. It can be hereditary, and BD does have a high suicide rate. Given what happened with his mother, it should’ve been considered. Also, the fact that he experienced trauma in dealing with that incident...trauma often causes the onset of symptoms.” 

I sighed heavily as the tears started to pool in my eyes, “This actually…kind of pisses me off that he had to go through all of this needlessly. He fucking hated taking that stuff because of the way it made him feel.”  

“That brings me to my next topic...It's been hard to get a baseline with him. I feel like a lot of the things he was experiencing were side effects from all the medications he was on. I can’t really rely on his history before he started the medication because he was using recreational and prescription drugs and drinking heavily to self medicate, which could have been making things worse for him during that time as well.” She paused briefly to gauge my reaction, “I assume you knew about his past substance abuse issues?”

“Yeah, he’s mentioned it…What does all that mean?”

“Well, it’s hard to know exactly what his actual symptoms are right now. So, to start, I’m doing the bare minimum. I’ve started him out on a low dose mood stabilizer called divalproex sodium. It’s actually…an anticonvulsant that’s normally used to treat seizures rather than a typical mood stabilizer like lithium.”

I drew my brows down together in confusion, “Why a seizure medication?” 

“That medication increases the amount of a chemical called gamma-aminobutyric acid in the brain. It works to block certain transmissions across the nerves in the brain and creates sort of an overall calming effect. That particular medication often works best for patients that have mixed or rapid cycling episodes. Lithium typically doesn’t get the job done in those instances. He seems to be doing well on it so far. We’ll give it a few more months to make sure everything else is out of his system and reevaluate.”    

“So, he went from taking half the pharmacy…to one thing?” 

“He did. He seems pretty set on limiting the medications as much as possible. He’s been spending a lot of his time doing cognitive behavioral therapy, interpersonal and social rhythm therapy, and psychoeducation to help him manage his symptoms and learn about triggers and that sort of thing. He’s been very invested in it, and it seems to be helping.”

I sighed, starting to feel overwhelmed, “I don’t know what all of that is. I mean, I know cognitive behavioral therapy but…” I shook my head in confusion. 

“No worries, if you decide to continue with the family education sessions you’ll learn about that stuff. I know it’s a lot to take in...”

“Yeah, it is, but I’m happy that he’s hopefully on the right track now.” I took a couple of deep breaths to try and relax some as I continued to process things. 

“One last thing before I bring Dieter in...I know you two were no longer together before his hospitalization and you haven’t really had a chance to work things out. His preference is to stay with you when he leaves treatment. I do want to be able to manage his expectations if that isn’t going to be the case. I don’t want you to feel like you have to allow that if you aren’t ready to take all this on. I want you to know that you can say no.”

I was taken aback at her directness, but also appreciated it. I actually felt like I was warming up to her some and feeling more comfortable with opening up to her. I didn’t hesitate with my response, if anything, I said it with conviction, looking directly into her eyes as I spoke. 

“There’s no question in my mind about him coming home with me so long as he wants to. I’ve known from the start that he was struggling with his mental health, and I promised to support him through it. A new diagnosis doesn’t change anything for me. I’m all in for this.”

Dr. Rosenberg gave me a warm smile, clearly satisfied with my response. “Now I see why he says you can be a force to be reckoned with.”

My eyebrows shot up at her words as she again took me by surprise, “Dieter said that?” I chuckled at the thought as I leaned back in my seat, surprised that was the wording he chose. 

“He’s said a lot of things about you, all positive, of course.” She laughed quietly to herself as she set her glasses on the table. As she stood, she announced she was going to go get him for our joint sessions. 

After Dr. Rosenberg disappeared out the door, I could feel my anxiety returning. My chest was starting to tighten again as my heart beat a mile a minute. Instinctively, my right hand moved to rub at my shoulder. Was he going to be upset about how easily I gave up on us? I didn’t know how he couldn’t be. It didn’t sound like he was planning to end things for good even though that thought kept crossing my mind. It was clearly my pessimism and self-doubt seeping in. The thought of being completely open and vulnerable in this setting was making things worse too. I wasn’t a fan of having an audience, but I needed to get over that and not build up my walls right now. I propped my arm on the rest of the chair and started to rub at my forehead as my leg began to bounce. I couldn’t make myself stop the fidgeting no matter how hard I tried. 

After several minutes passed, Dr. Rosenberg returned with Dieter following behind her. His head was down, clenching and unclenching his hands as he walked. As he approached me, he finally looked my way through his lashes. He gave me a small smile that widened as his eyes dropped down to my shirt, obviously noticing I was wearing one of his. I gave him a shy smile in return. He sat down in the chair directly in front of me as Dr. Rosenberg returned to her earlier spot. 

It was clear he was nervous by the way he couldn’t keep his hands still and how the heel of his croc kept bouncing off the tiled floor. He would only occasionally glance in my direction as we waited for Dr. Rosenberg to get settled again. I took the opportunity to study his appearance. He looked so much better compared to the last time I had seen him. His light gray t-shirt was no longer loose looking around his fit torso. His pale skin had been replaced with a golden tan. His hair was longer and as wild as ever, framing his scruffy and patchy beard. His chocolate brown eyes looked clearer than I had ever seen them and were filled with nervousness and anticipation. 

Once Dr. Rosenberg was ready to start, she filled Dieter in on what she had discussed with me about his diagnosis. She then encouraged him to take the lead going forward and discuss the things he wanted to speak with me about. He rubbed his hands together nervously, briefly chewing on his bottom lip before he met my gaze to speak. 

“So, you’re…ok with that diagnosis?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. I wasn’t sure what he meant and gave him a confused look. “Like, it doesn’t freak you out or anything? I know it’s a lot to deal with.” 

“Dieter, the diagnosis doesn’t change anything. You’re still you. Why would it bother me?”

“I dunno, I’m just afraid that at some point you’re gonna realize how big of a mess I am and run away from it all,” he said sheepishly. 

I chuckled, leaning forward in the seat with a teasing smile, “I realized how big of a mess you were a long time ago.”  He scratched at his chin as a smirk formed on his lips.

“Besides, I’m pretty sure I’ve already seen the worst of it and I’m still here. My feelings for you haven’t changed. You don’t have to worry about that from me.”

His eyes turned glassy at my words as he pinched his brows together, looking downward at his hands in his lap. 

“I don’t deserve you, not after the way I treated you…the things I said. I was such an asshole to you.”

I bit at my bottom lip, shaking my head before speaking, “None of that matters to me. I know you weren’t completely yourself when you said those things.”

“No, I wasn’t but I still knew what I was doing and saying. I apparently tend to self-sabotage things. Some of the things I said, using your past against you, I knew it would hurt you. I wanted the words to hurt so you would let me go. I knew you wouldn’t otherwise.”

“Why though? I don’t understand why you felt the need to end things to begin with. Why was I a burden to you?”

His eyes widened at my question, brows shooting upward as he shook his head from side to side, “No, no you weren’t the burden…I was. I’m sorry I made you think that. I know the night I called, I wasn’t making a lot of sense. I…I hadn’t slept in days, and I was such a fucking mess.”

He licked his bottom lip and chewed at it for a second before continuing, “I could see how you were having to completely change everything about your life to accommodate me and my work just for us to be together. I knew it was eventually gonna be a problem and cause you stress because it was affecting your job. I didn’t wanna ruin your life that way. You shouldn’t have to cater your life to mine, it’s not fair. I love you too much to do that to you.”    

“Dieter, it wasn’t always gonna be like that. It just happened to be shitty circumstances caused by the remote location. If we hadn't been in the middle of nowhere, I could’ve worked without issue. We just weren’t prepared for the challenges that came up. This is a learning experience for both of us. We’ll know better for next time so I can plan accordingly…and it wasn’t like you weren’t making changes to meet me halfway.” 

He couldn’t argue with that. He sighed as he leaned back in his seat, nodding in agreement. 

“I know that now, I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly…obviously. It all made sense at the time.” He rolled his eyes, frustrated with his behavior. He took a deep breath before continuing.

“It was more than that though, I knew I was spiraling out of control. I could fucking feel it happening and didn’t know how to make it stop. I didn’t wanna tell you what was going on because I didn’t want you to worry. I knew you would drop everything and fly back to Canada to be with me.”

“You’re damn right I would’ve… and I should’ve done that anyway.” I could feel my emotions catching up to me, my eyes filling with tears as I looked down away from him. 

“I fucking knew it…in my gut that something was wrong, and I did nothing. If I had just done it…came up there anyway, this probably would’ve gone differently. I could’ve helped you through it, but no…I was a fucking coward. I gave up because I was selfish and wanted to protect myself. I didn’t even try because I was too afraid that I would end up in a dark place again if you didn’t want me to be there with you.”

The tears were streaking down my cheeks by this point. I couldn’t hold them back anymore. I had so much anger for myself that it was making me feel sick. Dieter stood from his seat, closing the few feet between us, then got down on his knees on the floor in front of me. He moved to grab my hands in my lap, but hesitated. I reached up and grabbed his in response.

“I’m sorry I put you in the position to even have to think that. It should’ve never happened. I should’ve been communicating everything with you instead of pushing you away. This whole fucking mess is my fault…I wanted to reach out so many times after that… to try and fix it, but you seemed like you were doing ok so I didn’t want to upset you again.”

The tears were streaming down his face now as he took a minute to try and compose himself. 

“I thought I could move on and just deal with things the way I used to…by numbing the pain. That’s when I started drinking heavily again. Then I saw you at the restaurant, and you looked so fucking amazing…and I was such a dick. I was so angry with myself for that. I couldn’t stop thinking about how I had everything and fucked it up. My behavior after that night was reckless. There are days I can’t even remember because I was drinking so much. I just wanted to not think about it anymore.”

He pulled his hands away, looking down at the floor before wiping at his face. When he raised his head again, the pain in his eyes nearly made my heart stop. I reached out to cup his cheek, but he leaned away, seeming to need space.  

“The night that video of you was posted online…several people sent it to me. I didn’t watch it at first because I didn’t think it would mean anything…but when I finally did…”

He put his hand over his mouth, letting out a quiet sob, before continuing. 

“I could see how bad you were hurting…how bad I hurt you. What I did to you…I hated myself for it because you didn’t deserve that. It also reminded me of what I was missing out on because of how beautiful you sounded and looked…and that fucking song.” 

He paused for a minute, shaking his head. He sniffled and wiped at his face again before continuing.  

“I stayed up all night, watching it on a loop on the tv. I almost called you then, but stopped myself. I drank until I had nothing left instead. Then, when I ran into you the next morning, I could see how fucking broken you were. The way you looked at me…it fucking crushed me. I bought more alcohol and went back to the house. I don’t really remember much after that.”

He shook his head for a moment, pausing to take a few deep breaths, wiping at his face again. 

“I don’t even remember calling you…and…even after everything I did, you still came to me. You could’ve easily told me to fuck off and I would’ve deserved it, but you didn’t. I know I wouldn’t be here right now if you hadn’t. You saved my life…I feel like you’ve been doing that ever since New York. When I say you’re my light in the darkness, I fucking mean it.”

I started sobbing into my hands. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I felt his fingers wrap around my wrist, pulling my hands around his neck as he moved to hug me. We sat there in an embrace for some time before I started mumbling into his shoulder. 

“I was so afraid you were gonna hate me for giving up on you so easily. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder. Just know that it had nothing to do with you…I clearly still need to work on my own shit.”

He hugged me a little tighter as he buried his fingers in the back of my hair, “That thought never crossed my mind. Don’t even worry about it anymore.”  

He finally pulled back, wiping the tears away from my cheeks with his thumbs as he did so. We gave each other tight smiles as we locked eyes. He turned away, toward Dr. Rosenberg, who I had completely forgotten was in the room, and asked for some tissues. She picked up the box from her small table and handed it to him as he stood. He handed me several and took some for himself before handing the box back to her. She motioned for him to have a seat. As she turned to set the box back on the table, I noticed she was looking a little glassy eyed too. 

We all sat in silence as her eyes shifted between us. Dieter and I glanced at each other, confusion on our faces as we looked back toward her. She chuckled before she spoke.

“I’m not even sure why I’m here. This is literally the first family session ever where I didn’t have to intervene or lead a conversation. You two don’t seem to have any problems communicating, so I’m not sure how you ended up where you were.” 

We both smiled widely at her, surprised and appreciative of her honesty. Dieter spoke up with a chuckle.  

“I think between my fucked up brain and the distance…it didn’t do us any favors. We’re always at our best when we’re physically together, I think. Everything goes to hell when we aren’t. Clearly that is something I need to work on.”

Dr. Rosenberg nodded in agreement, “Well, I hate to separate you two again, but we are running short on time, and I want to have a chat with Talia about the plans going forward. Dieter, I’m pretty sure you have another group session coming up so you better head that way. You think you can focus enough for this one?” 

She raised an eyebrow in his direction as he laughed and nodded. He stood, quickly shuffling over to lean down and give me a hug before exiting the room.  

Dr. Rosenberg wasted no time getting back to business, “Talia, part of his treatment is making sure he has the support he needs when he gets home. That’s why we offer support to caretakers as well, because technically, you will be his caretaker as the only other person in the household with him.”

I knitted my brows together, confused about where this conversation was going. 

“I’m not going to pretend that I don’t know you have a traumatic history because Dieter has mentioned a few things. I don’t know the details, and I get the sense he doesn’t know it all either. I feel like whatever happened with your ex-husband is still affecting you. Is the dark place you mentioned something that you would be willing to talk to me about? Anything you tell me about yourself is confidential, just so you know.”

I sighed heavily as I ran both hands over my face, “So you picked up on that, huh?” I laughed nervously under her gaze. 

“You’re right, I haven’t told him everything. I keep telling myself I’ve moved past it, but after the last few months, I’ve realized that I just locked it away and pretended it didn’t exist. I tend to do that with a lot of things.” She gave me an encouraging smile, clearly picking up on my hesitation as I paused to gather my thoughts. 

“So, the last few years of my marriage, I started drinking heavily after finding no way out of the hell I was living in. The constant mental and psychological abuse was wearing me down, especially after I realized what was happening. When I tried to talk to Justin about a divorce, he would just tell me there was no way out because he wasn’t ready to give me up.” I paused briefly… focusing on something outside through the window. “I uhh, came home early from work one day and found him with another woman that he worked with. He of course said it was my fault, because I wasn’t giving him what he needed in the marriage. I knew what he was doing…and I was determined not to let it go because I felt I had a legitimate reason to end things at that point. I TOLD him I was leaving. I was done asking. When I started packing a bag, he hit me. The first time ever. I mean, he had shoved me around some, but never hit me across the face like that. He told me there was no leaving… that he would just find me and bring me home. Said no one would believe me or help because all of OUR friends knew how I was.”

“Talia, what did saying that out loud just now make you feel?”  

My eyes drifted over to meet hers, “I don’t really feel anything.” 

She arched a brow, “That’s because you're dissociating. I want you to focus on me as you speak and feel what you’re saying.”  

Fuck. She wasn’t going to let me cheat my way through this like my therapist did. I pinched my brows together as my eyes teared up again. I had to face this. I closed my eyes briefly, exhaling slowly. When I opened them and met her gaze, she nodded for me to continue. 

“He wasn’t wrong. I didn’t really have anyone to turn to. He made sure of that. He left after our argument, said he was going out with the guys. I doubt that’s where he went though. As soon as he left, I started drinking. I remember…feeling lost and pretty fucking hopeless after that. I couldn’t believe he hit me, and I was scared it would happen again. I never saw myself as someone who lets their husband abuse them…I felt disgusted over it. I must have drank a lot…because I can’t remember the rest of that night. I - I woke up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. I guess when he came home, he found me passed out in my own vomit.”

I started tapping on the arm of the chair as the tightness in my chest returned. The tears trickled out again. 

“When Justin finally came to see me, I told him that I was done. If he didn’t let me go, I was gonna find a way out…one way or another and I would make sure everyone knew it was his fault. Given that I had just put myself in the hospital, he took me at my word and agreed on a divorce. I guess he was afraid of what I would do.”

“What did you mean by that?”

I gave a half smile, “I honestly don’t know. I wonder that myself…what I was capable of. If I could’ve done anything.”

“What happened after you both agreed to the divorce?”

“Well, when I was still in the hospital, I reached out to one of my best friends that I grew up with, Lauren. We had kept in touch, even though I actively worked to put up a wall between us so she wouldn’t know what was really going on in my life because I was so embarrassed over it. She didn’t hesitate…she was at the hospital within the hour, and I told her everything. I stayed with her for a few weeks until I got my life sorted out. I don’t think I would have been able to do it without her. Of course, Justin continued to torment me by dragging out the divorce for over a year. It got pretty nasty.”

“What effects do you feel like that experience had on you?” She asked quietly. 

“Experience.” I chuckled. “I didn’t realize twelve years of hell could be considered an experience.” 

She gave me a sympathetic look before I continued, “I mean, I lost myself. I didn’t know who I was. I was who he wanted me to be. After I left him, he was still in my head with everything I did. What I was wearing, how I fixed my hair and makeup, things I said. I couldn’t do some of the simplest things without hearing his voice telling me I was doing something wrong and having a fucking panic attack over it. I couldn’t make decisions…and yes, I would still drink to numb my feelings and calm myself down. Only this time, I knew exactly how much I could drink without taking it too far.”

“Are those things still an issue for you now?”    

I shook my head, “No, I mean, I did all the cognitive behavioral therapy and the sessions. I eventually got to a point where the negative thoughts stopped. I think Dieter had a lot to do with that…he kind of helped me see myself in a different light…but I do still have anxiety sometimes and I think I’ve reverted back to ignoring my feelings… compartmentalizing everything and pretending it’s not there. Throwing myself into work and staying busy to keep my mind occupied. I’ve been doing that instead of drinking the feelings away.” 

Dr. Rosenberg leaned forward, placing her elbow on her knee with a pensive look on her face.   

“Talia…would you be willing to stay for the next three weeks to work through some of this with me? It would be outpatient treatment…a couple hours a day. You can stay in one of our apartments.” 

I sucked in a quick breath. I certainly wasn’t expecting this, but at the same time, I almost felt relieved. My gut told me I needed it and I knew I couldn’t go on the way I had been because I was eventually going to self-destruct if I didn’t take better care of myself. I knew I couldn’t fully be there for Dieter if I was still battling with myself. I sat staring at my hands as I thought through the offer. I could still work remotely, so that wouldn’t be an issue. I raised my head to meet her eyes, “Will Dieter know what I’m doing?”   

“Only if you want him to.”

“I don’t want to saddle him with my shit right now…I don’t wanna mess him up.” 

“Honestly, I think he’s stable at this point. I think he could handle whatever you wanted to share with him. If you wanted, we could even do some more joint sessions, or he can just be there for support if you want him to be. It’s all up to you really.”

“What would you do?” I asked, letting out a stuttered breath with my question. She took a minute to consider her response, biting on the inside of her cheek as she did so.   

“I don’t think it would be bad if you shared everything with him. The more open you are with one another, the better. Communication is going to be a huge factor in keeping your relationship healthy and happy. At least if he knows what’s going on he can support you, just like you support him. Also, if he needs help processing through things, we can help him with that while he’s here…but again, it’s your decision.” 

“Yeah, I mean he knows most of it anyway…Alright, I’ll do it. I’ll stay and I want him involved.”

She gave me a bright smile, “I’m actually really happy to hear that. I think this will allow you to build a solid foundation going forward. I’m excited for your future together. I can tell that you both care deeply for each other and I really want your time here to be successful.” 

I gave her thanks for the opportunity she was giving me. I’ve known for a while that I had things that I needed to work on but didn't really know where to start. The fact that Dieter seemed so at ease with her and was doing so well gave me some comfort and the courage to jump in head first. 

The next three weeks were a whirlwind of educational sessions to help me learn about bipolar disorder; the triggers, coping strategies, and lifestyle changes to minimize stress. I even had an opportunity to learn more about Dieter’s medication and possible interactions and side effects so I would be able to spot them. He had asked that I be involved with his Interpersonal and Social Rhythm therapy, which was designed to help him build a daily routine of healthy habits to manage his moods. Given his job, sometimes a routine was almost impossible for him to keep, but we learned strategies to deal with that when confronted with it. It was all very helpful for the both of us.

I had my sessions too of course. He sometimes set in on them if we were doing something particularly hard that day. His presence helped keep me grounded and got me through a lot. He was taking time to learn about ways to help me cope better and we worked together on effective communication skills. 

Dr. Rosenberg recommended that I start keeping a journal to help me work through my emotions. I was iffy about it at first, but Dieter was also doing it and he loved it. He was very encouraging about it. It was something that I had come to enjoy doing after a few days. We had even taken to having a shared journal between us to better communicate our feelings, which Dr. Rosenberg loved the idea of and encouraged. 

Even though Dieter and I weren’t able to spend a whole lot of time together during those three weeks, I could always feel his presence and support. It’s what kept me going through it all. I don’t think I would have had the strength to do it without him. By the time my last day of treatment came around, he was given the all clear for discharge. It was both nerve wracking and exciting to know that we would be going home…together.

A/N: How excited are we that these two are finally back together? How badly did this chapter hit the feels? Did you cry? If you did, hopefully this will be the last time...unless you are a happy crier. There may be happy tears later. 😉 How are we feeling about Dieter's diagnosis? Does it change how you view some of his past behavior? What about that revelation from Talia? I mean, are we really surprised though; the girl has had a complicated relationship with alcohol throughout the whole story. How do you think things are going to go when they get back home? Do you think they will pick up where they left off or have some growing pains? We will find out in the next chapter. 😁 I am 100% failing at life and did not get the Deconstructing Dieter Bravo post done. I need to do a little fact checking and didn't have the brain power for it. However, once I get that ready, it will be posted HERE. The topic for Deconstructing Dieter Bravo Part 3 will be his diagnosis. I will tag all the usuals in the posts once it is ready. Hopefully you will find it to be educational. 💜 👉 I do want to share some details on upcoming projects that will be released for the holidays. I am participating in the @pedrostories Secret Santa event. I have received my gift prompt, and you may be excited to know that you will be getting a Dieter Bravo one shot from me by Christmas. I already have some ideas swirling around for it and it's not related to any current fics. It should be fun. Be sure to follow the #pedrostoriesgift23 hashtag to check out all the awesome work that will be included for the event. 👉 I will also be participating in the Pickled Peña event for the new year. I am going to try my hand at writing a little Javi P. for you. Follow @pickled-pena for updates and the hashtag #pickledpeña to see all madness (and I'm sure debauchery) that comes from this fun challenge. I also invite you all to join us! There is still time! It's going to be a blast! If you would like to be tagged on either of these one shots, let me know in the comments. 💜 As usual, I have included the chapter mood board below in case you missed it.😘

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Tag List: @rhoorl @bitchwitch1981 @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @for-a-longlongtime @hisandsnakes @chaoticfestninja @survivingandenduring @partyofone3413 @wannab-urs @cakipy-blog @titlee78 @poodlebae @guelyury @missladym1981 @maried01 @alokaerza @samiamproductions @misstokyo7love @themonadiaries-blog @madnessofadaydreamer @darkheartgatita @avastrasposts @weho2kcmo @harriedandharassed @tkchaos @girlofchaos @yghuibt @musings-of-a-rose @annieispunk @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @pedrostories

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[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 17

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)

Chapter 17: I'll Be Your Mirror

Chapter Summary: Fin.

Word Count: 6.0k+

Content / Warnings: listen if you made it this far you know what it is

Notes: Chapter title from “I'll Be Your Mirror" by Nico and The Velvet Underground. Ok I know I said there would be an Epilogue, but I decided... I really love it as is. This story is my baby and the feeling of finishing it is so bittersweet. Thank you to everyone who has ever given me the encouragement to feel this story is special. There are so many of you, I don't even know where to start. You know who you are.

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“Dee?”

He looks up from the notebook in his hand and goes still. 

To say that your heart skips a beat when he meets your gaze is an understatement. 

It freezes, along with everything else in the universe. You can’t move. You can’t breathe. You’re almost certain the Earth stops turning. 

Is he angry? Relieved? Shocked? 

You can’t tell. 

But then his tensed muscles go slack. His hunched shoulders drop from his ears. Glossy, pained eyes melting wide into wonderment. 

“Lua?” 

Hearing your name on his lips makes your stomach flip into free fall. Your pulse jumps. A sound escapes your chest that’s halfway between a sob and a laugh.

He drops the notebook and strides towards you.

You can only take one step forward before he’s pushing your back to the door, lips pressed against yours. His hands slip around your waist and pull your body flush to his while you comb your fingers through his hair. He groans into your mouth, tongue rolling soft on yours as you whine at how fucking perfect it feels. 

Unzipping your jacket, Dieter pulls back and rasps hot against your cheek, “I’m so glad you’re ok, I thought I fucking lost you.” 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, pressing your foreheads together as he strips off your jacket, “It was stupid, I shouldn’t have left like that—”

“Later,” he murmurs, shrugging off his fuzzy coat, then brings his mouth to your pulse and sucks the thin skin so hard you gasp, gripping his broad shoulders to bring him closer. 

His hands slip under your shirt—his shirt, actually, you stole it from a laundry basket before leaving his house—and he slides his heated palms against your bare skin. With a chuckle, he looks down at the garment and says, “You little thief.” 

You bite your lip and shrug, flicking your eyes around his face. 

“God, I missed you,” he grins, dimples and all.

“I missed you, too.”

Both your faces fade from amusement to something heavier as you study each other. Heat flickers at the middle of you when he brushes the back of his hand against your cheek. Your gaze dips to his mouth when he murmurs, “Don’t you dare leave me again.”

“I won’t—”

“Please.”

“I promise I won’t.” 

You meet his eyes so he can see how much you mean it, stroking the soft whiskers on his jawline with your thumb, “I love you, Dieter. I love you so fucking much.” 

His warm gaze flicks all over your face, “I love you, too.” 

Your throat thickens. You try to swallow down the discomfort before asking, “Are you mad?” 

“Mad?” 

You nod.

“No,” he scoffs, gently taking your hand to kiss each of your fingertips. 

It’s reverent, the way he does this. Worshipful. Like he’s thanking every piece of you for existing. 

He clears his throat. Pain creases his forehead, making his dark eyes go all gooey soft when he whispers, “I was so scared. I didn’t know if I’d find you dead or alive.”

It hits you hard. Right in the heart. 

You let out a guilty squeak. Your face crumbles. Tears cloud your vision, distorting him. You draw a shattered breath before responding. 

“I was going to do it. I was going to, umm,” you avert your eyes and shake your head, “I was gonna drown myself, Dee. I had everything ready, but… I couldn’t.”

A sob bursts from your belly. 

His body tenses and he pulls back ever so slightly, as if he were seconds away from calling off the conversation. But you stay firmly planted. You link your hands behind his neck and meet his tear-brimmed eyes with your own. When you speak, your voice trembles with honesty. 

“I thought that I was supposed to die. That my being here was a mistake, or like I was cursed or something. Destined to destroy your life if I stayed in it. I didn’t want to do that to you. But also,” you swallow hard and search his face, “I didn’t know if I could trust you not to break me like he did. I didn’t know if I could trust myself not to break you, either. I was so afraid… of everything. Of all the possibilities. Of not knowing what would happen.” 

The way he looks at you—shoulders slumped, jaw set, eyes all dewy with sorrow—it’s fucking torture. But you continue. 

“I was so afraid of everything… except dying. Dying felt like the best option.” 

Dieter sobs. It crushes your ribcage to dust. You have to keep going, though. You need him to understand that you mean this. 

“But I realized—just now, before you got here, like,” you laugh with bemusement and shake your head, “Immediately before you got here, your timing is truly blowing my fucking mind right now—”

He chuckles and wipes at his damp face. You smile, tilting your head at him. 

“I realized that… I was being a fucking coward. You’re not Ethan and I’m not Anika, and you and I… we’re something different. Dee, our love feels big the way the universe feels big. It’s never-ending and always growing and it is fucking forever. To turn my back on something like that would be… well, it would be fucking blasphemy.”

He smiles back at you, grip digging into your waist to bring you closer. 

You cup his cheeks and tell him, “There will be good days and bad, but I know that I will never regret choosing to stay.”

He stares at you with so much love and awe your chest aches. You can’t stop yourself from beaming at him. 

“No matter what the future has in store for us, I know that it will be worth spending every second I can with you in this beautiful, painful, amazing life.” 

His smile widens and he shakes his head, choking out, “Fuck, how do I follow that up?” 

You laugh, this soggy, wet laugh and bury your face in his shirt, then mumble against his chest, “You don’t have to, love, I just needed to tell you.” 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you. 

“For what?”

“For staying. For sharing with me, trusting in me—trusting in us. Without you… I don’t know. Everything is fucking stupid and meaningless. You make me a better me. And I need you. So. Thank you.” 

Your heart swells. 

“You make me a better me, too.” 

He pulls back to look at you, the warmth of his gaze sticking all over your face. Heat glints behind his eyes when they drop to your mouth. 

Something profound throbs between you. Newborn with shaky legs, taking its first breath. Intentional, fearless certainty. 

You kiss him, hard and purposeful, and he responds with fervor, the tips of his fingers digging into the tender skin of your waist. His tongue slides soft and wet and hot against yours, a slick writhing that hypnotizes you. Between the gentle crush of lips and nips from teeth and quiet whimpers that echo back and forth, you get lost in him. 

Time and space slip away and this kiss becomes the only thing you long to feel.

Dieter pushes your back flush to the cool door, warm hands exploring the tender skin beneath your shirt. His shirt. His skin. 

His his his—

He cups your breasts, the pads of his thumbs brushing over your nipples. The tedious touch sends a rush of need through your body. Whining into his mouth, you slide your nails down the expanse of his back, beckoning him closer, wordlessly begging for more. 

Of course, he gives it to you. 

Of course he pinches your nipples so hard you gasp, then tugs even harder. 

Of course he activates something primal deep within your brain, making you hiss, “Fuck yes.” 

“Does that feel good, baby? Hmm?”

“Yes—”

“Good,” he husks.

One hand unclamps. It slips under the waistband of your pants and slides down between your thighs, down to the hot, slick middle of you, where it rubs all those attention-starved nerves and makes them fucking purr. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. 

“Mmmm, how about that?” 

“So fucking good, Dee,” you moan, nodding your head in vehement approval as you arch your hips towards him, “Oh my god, yes.” 

Pulsing heat creeps up your spine, making your mouth go slack and lids drift closed. 

“Look at me.” 

Your eyes snap open to meet his. He searches your face with intensity, watching you twist up with pleasure, and drops his gaze to your lips when your panting becomes tainted with whimpers. 

“You’re so fucking hot I can’t stand it,” he mutters, shaking his head, “God, I wanna fuck you.” 

“Oh my god, please—”

“You want me to fuck you?” He releases his tight grip on your tit to stroke your cheek, his low voice almost a growl, “Hmm? Want me to fill your tight pussy?” 

“Yes—”

“Yeah?”

“Yes yes yes please, I wanna feel your cock inside me, Dieter I fucking need it please—”

“I want you to come for me first,” he works you faster, pressing his forehead against yours as he coos, “Can you do that for me, baby? Come all over my fucking hand?”

His request gushes hot down your spine. You gasp and nod frantically, then choke out a throaty moan as heat starts to branch out inside you. Your heart pounds hard and fast in your chest, white-hot need overflowing your veins and pooling thick between your legs, pulsing and growing, stronger, wider, pushing you up up up up—

It overtakes you. Rips you into a million pieces and puts you back together again. 

Your legs clamp shut. You twitch and whimper and gasp as his touch softens and slows. 

It doesn’t stop entirely, though. 

Just a gentle, languid back and forth that persists through ebbing aftershocks, assuring you he’s not done with you yet. 

Dieter rests his forehead against yours, breath warm on your parted lips when he says, “You’re fucking amazing, you know that?”

You let out a dreamy chuckle, hooking your hands behind his neck.

And, fuck, his fingers feel so good. Sliding up and down, spreading your slick in a gentle manner, teasing but patient. So fucking patient. 

“I mean it. You are… amazing. I love every single thing about you.” 

He dips a thick fingertip in your entrance, sending a heady rush of need through your body, then drags it out to draw slow circles around your clit. His touch prods the glowing embers in your belly. They smolder beneath your skin and make your heart race. 

“Oh my god, Dee—”

“Even the parts you don’t think I want. I want it all, Lua. Forever. I never want to wake up without you by my side again.”

“I’m yours,” you breathe, “Forever and ever until I’m nothing, Dee, I’m fucking yours—”

His lips crush into yours. You moan into his mouth, accepting the warm caress of his tongue, urgent against yours. Between your thighs, he rocks his hand against you hard, then slips a digit inside you. 

Head rolling back onto your shoulders, you gasp, “Jesus fuck.”

“So fucking ready for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he laughs, delirious and breathy, then takes a step back, removing himself from your body completely. 

The loss sends you reeling. Like a puppy, you glob onto him, not wanting to part from him for a second. 

Regarding your desperation with a smirk, he takes your hand, “Come on.” 

You follow along behind him, grinning at the way he carries himself with authority, striding through the cabin like this has been his residence for the past few days, not yours. 

When you cross the threshold into a bedroom, he turns to ask, “This one ok?”

Nodding, you push him back towards the bed and tug at his clothes, a silent plea he quickly grants. You mirror his actions, stripping down to nothing as he sits down on the edge of the bed and stares up at you, all fuck-me-eyes and parted lips. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” you coo, slotting yourself between his knees, combing your nails through his hair, “Looking up at me with those puppy dog eyes. I love it.” 

His eyelids flutter and his cock twitches. A little bead of pre-cum sprouts up at the tip. 

You lick your lips and smirk, wrapping your hand around his girth, gasping when you smear the swollen droplet with the pad of your thumb. 

Dieter groans, grabbing your waist. He twitches again. 

You pull back his foreskin, forming an ‘o’ with your mouth when more of the viscous liquid slips against your thumb. 

You think about how it might taste, salty and hot on your tongue. You think about his hard, smooth length stretching out your lips, soaking wet with drool as he fucks your face. 

“If you keep looking at it like that I’m gonna blow my fucking load,” he mutters, burying his face between your breasts. 

When you respond by churning your grip, a moan vibrates against your sternum. As if he can’t help himself, Dieter slides his hands up your body and grabs your tits. 

He takes one in his mouth, then the other, sucking and licking and biting your swollen nipples while you work him, slow and meticulous. His muffled whines stoke your desire, flames hot and tingling up your spine. 

Looking up at you with big doe eyes, he flattens his tongue against your nipple, then moves his head from side-to-side. 

“That feels fucking amazing, Dee, oh my god,” you pant, drawing your brows together as you nod in approval at the heated sensation that clings to your bones. 

Arousal urges you to pump him faster, and when you do, he husks, “Fuck, Lua—”

“Hmm?”

“Please.”

The tips of his fingers dig into your waist and he scoots further back onto the bed, ushering you onto his lap, “Wanna feel that sweet pussy wrapped around me, please, baby, please.”

Your knees settle on either side of his hips and you fold forward, smoothing your hands up his broad chest, to his neck, then you cup his cheeks. He searches your face, wild-eyed and desperate. 

“I love seeing you like this,” you purr, brushing your thumb against his bottom lip, “So fucking needy.”

He groans and his hips jerk, the tip of him nudging up against your entrance. You tease him with it, letting him feel how hot and wet you are without allowing access. 

“Do you want my pussy, baby? Or do you need it?”

“I need it,” he rasps, the tendons in his neck going taut he grips your hips with bruising strength, “I’ll fucking die if I don’t feel it, I swear to god, please—”

You lower yourself down slowly, whimpering at the exquisite stretch that reverberates through you. 

His back arches off the mattress and he groans, “Fffffuck yes. Holy fucking shit, Lua—”

“So fucking good, oh my god,” you croak, rolling your hips.  

You take him slow at first, savoring the way he fills you so perfectly, how he rubs along every tingling nerve inside you. Beneath you, Dieter pants and writhes, devout hands roaming your humid skin, worshiping you.

“Jesus fucking Christ, I love you,” he pants, thrusting up into you so hard and deep you moan. He lets out a gasping chuckle, then drives his hips up again, and again, and again.

You nod in approval. Thick static bubbles at your center. You press your forehead against his, pushing back against his thrusts as they establish a steady rhythm. 

“Wanna spend the rest of my life with you.” 

“Wanna spend—fuck,” you whimper, nodding again, “Wanna the rest of my life with you.” 

“Wanna marry you, make you my wife—”

Still nodding, you choke out, “Yes, oh my fucking god yes—”

“Would you like that? Hmm? Get you a pretty dress and a ring? Show the whole world that I’m yours and you’re mine?”

“I want it, Dee, I do. I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours—“

He captures your lips and pounds into you, hard and fast, exchanging moans with you like vows, vibrating on your tongue as the tingling heat in your belly stretches wider, climbing up your body, swelling and swelling, pulling your muscles tight, until you find yourself suspended in a moment you both never want to end and don’t think you can stand any longer. 

Then, it bursts. 

You sob when the wave of pleasure washes over and under you, making this sick wet sucking noise as your whole body convulses around him. 

Dieter whines against your mouth, fucking up into your fluttering cunt with crazed, frantic thrusts. He goes rigid and silent for a second, then releases a guttural noise from his chest. 

When his breath returns to him and his muscles start to slacken, you meet his eyes with a grin that spreads to his lips. 

You kiss him, slow and deep, then go limp on his chest, “I love you.” 

“I love you.”

The two of you stay here for a while, content and rubber-limbed. His fingertips trace the scar tissue on your shoulder and arm while sand gathers heavy on your eyelids. 

“I haven’t been able to sleep,” you mumble into the damp crook of his neck, “Not sober, at least. Now you’re here and we have so much to talk about.” You yawn, “And I’m so tired.”  

He kisses the crown of your head, then gently persuades you to roll off him onto the mattress. Like a sleepy child, helplessly lethargic and too engrossed in comfort to do it yourself, you let him pull the bedspread out from beneath you and tuck you between the sheets. 

The warmth of his skin presses up against yours as he drapes an arm over your belly and tugs you close. When he speaks, his breath is warm on your cheek, voice low and quiet. 

“Get some rest, love. We can talk more tomorrow.” 

His offer is tempting, but one question nags at the back of your brain and gives you a small burst of energy. 

You roll onto towards him, blinking your weighted eyes open to meet his, all gooey and soft as they search your face. 

“Did you mean it?” 

A mischievous smirk plays on his lips, “What, that I wanna marry you?” 

You nod. 

“Yeah,” he grins and grabs your hand to kiss your palm, then holds it to his cheek, “What about you? Did you mean it? Do you wanna marry me?”

For some reason, your cheeks get hot and you laugh. The noise is water-logged, struggling against the tears that burn up your throat and blur your vision.

“Yeah, I really fucking do.” 

These aren’t the kinds of tears you’re used to crying. They’re celebratory. Joyous. You find yourself unable to stop smiling through them. 

“This is crazy,” you tell him, shaking your head, “I love you so much it’s fucking crazy.” 

“I love you,” he smiles and brings your hand to his chest, pressing your palm against the thump-thump of life and light and love, “Do you feel that?”

“Your heart?”

He nods, “That’s yours. ‘Til my last breath, then after. It’s yours.” 

—

Dieter listens to the peaceful dozing huffs that blow hot across his chest, cherishing each and every one. 

He savors the heat of your body on his, the blood pumping through your veins, and the flutter of REM behind your closed eyelids. Proof that you are here, alive and safe in his arms. An answer to his desperate prayers. 

Something like relief but bigger engulfs him. 

Warmth tingles through his limbs and tears sting behind his eyes. His throat gets all thick with emotion as he pulls your pliant body closer, pressing a kiss against your forehead. 

Careful not to be too loud, he whispers, “Thank you.” 

He’s not sure who he’s thanking. You or fate or whatever omnipresent puppeteer pulls the strings behind the scenes. He just knows he means it with his whole heart. 

Dieter lays here for some time, live-wired with optimism, thinking up a million ways to convey the intensity of his gratitude. His mind wanders into tomorrow and buzzes with anticipation. He gets to tell you about his impromptu trip to New York, and that your charges are dropped. 

Goosebumps prick his skin as a realization dawns on him. 

You don’t even know. 

When deciding to stay, you factored in the consequences of these charges. Your devotion to him was not because of this resolution, but in spite of it. 

You had every single reason to doubt this would work. Probable prison time. Shrapnel from the fame machine. Ongoing recovery. The ugly demise of his marriage. The tragic end to yours.

Fuck, it’s a shit show. 

And yet, here you are. 

He gazes down at you, far away in dreamland, cheek pressed against the rise and fall of his chest. All angel-faced, but with a little drool at the corner of your mouth. Fucking beautiful. 

On one hand, he could stay here watching you sleep like a fucking stalker for hours. On the other, his stomach growls for attention. 

When he contemplates whether or not to untangle himself from you and tend to this need, you let out a little grumble, then start wiggling around, rolling away from him. He misses the heat of your body as soon as it’s gone, but lets you go anyway. 

He carefully gets out of bed and wanders through the dark cabin into the kitchen. 

The cupboards are essentially barren, which is both disappointing and unsurprising, but he finds some bread and drops a couple slices into the toaster. While guzzling down a tall glass of iron-flavored water, he notices piles of towels and blankets stacked on the kitchen counter. This piques his curiosity. 

To put it lightly, you are an incredibly neat and tidy person. Normally you wouldn’t allow this kind of disorder in your living space, however temporary. He should know. Last week you pulled the clothes out of his dresser and gave him a tutorial on how to fold “the right way” before organizing the acrylic paints in his studio by hue. 

Your need for order only increases when you’re distressed, which you definitely were, so… what the fuck is up with this? 

When he rounds the countertop peninsula to investigate, something catches his eye. Big slabs of wood propped up next to a door in the hallway. The door sits ajar, the crack emitting a warm golden glow. 

His footsteps creak across the wooden floor as he approaches it. Somehow he knows what he’ll find when he opens the door, and releases an amused chuckle when his suspicions are confirmed. 

Dark fabric draping the walls. A dimmed-down lantern propped up behind a makeshift seat. The seat, a makeshift nest of pillows and blankets, faces a mirror. 

You built a psychomanteum. 

Something tugs at his memory, causing him to turn on his heel and walk towards the couch. He picks up the notebook he discarded when you walked through the door and revealed yourself. 

He studies the page in abstract, catching little glimpses here and there. Words like unrecognizable and hopeless and monster. Fragments like swerving around traffic, and crying, begging.

Some sentences stand out so much, he can’t help but snag on them. 

It was over, I couldn’t do it anymore.

He called me a bitch. A rat.

It didn’t seem real.

He said we had to do this together.

Far away, the toaster pops. He’s not even hungry anymore. In fact, quite the opposite. He feels fucking sick. 

A smattering of circles distort in the paper, black ink bleeding out from your script as if diffused by tiny droplets of moisture. Probably tears. 

Grotesque curiosity churns beneath his skin. 

He swallows around his thick throat and looks up at the closet. The psychomanteum. 

The first time he tried to read the passage, before he knew you were ok, he was in such a state of panic that he didn’t fully understand what it was. But he understands now. He sees the pieces and how they fit together. 

His stomach twists when he recognizes the pattern laid out before him. His ribcage shrinks two sizes, pushing his pulse to his ears. He runs a hand through his hair and wrings his tight neck as he realizes with horror that he has been a similar kind of monster. 

He knows he had a problem. And it wasn’t as much the drugs or infidelity as it was the emptiness. An infection that set in early and rotted out a cavity in his chest. In his heart. 

He knows it made him change in unspeakable ways, altering the very nature of his character. It made him angry and reckless and fucking ravenous. Starving for anything that would fill him up, however fleeting. 

He was a fucking beast. 

He also knows you love him. Flaws and all, you love him. You had the grace to forgive every unforgivable mistake he made. 

Could Dieter do the same? 

He tosses the notebook down on the coffee table and walks to the closet, opening the door. As he steps inside, he takes the lantern from behind the seat and turns to face him in the mirror. 

He studies the face, recognizing the distinct nose and dark eyes. Mop of messy brown curls atop his head. He looks tired, but hopeful. 

Staring at his reflection, Dieter tells himself, “I forgive you.” 

—

The first thing you notice when you rouse from sleep is the warmth that surrounds you. 

You feel Dieter’s chest flush to your back, arms wrapped around your middle, face buried in the crook of your neck. Your combined body heat under the covers makes your skin stick together. The steady rhythm of his breathing moves in time with yours. 

Before you even open your eyes, you smile. 

Your fingertips twitch against his arm and you try to wiggle even closer, intertwining your legs with his. 

Behind you, Dieter stirs a little, then mumbles into your neck, “G’morning, doll.” 

“Good morning, love.” 

He takes a deep breath in, squeezing you tight, and exhales a groan, “You smell so fucking good what the fuck.”

“I haven’t bathed in days,” you giggle, reaching back to run your fingers through his hair, “I’m stinky.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“You’re bullshit.” 

He laughs this big, boisterous laugh as he rolls onto his back, separating from you save for the arm pinned under your side. 

You miss his heat immediately and turn over to face him, scooting close enough to feel it. His gaze holds pure adoration. Your fingertips meet his and play this sort of dance before he laces your hands together. 

He asks, “Wanna take a bath then go get some grub?” 

—

Dieter lathers up a washcloth, watching the muscles shift beneath your skin as you rinse the remaining conditioner from your hair with a shower head attachment.

When you turn it off, you glance over your shoulder at him and announce, “I’m probably going to prison.” 

He sits up and presses the steaming washcloth to your back, working suds up the curve of your spine. 

“You’re not going to prison.” 

You relax into his touch and snort, “Oh yeah? How’s that?”

“I took care of it.”

“Wha—wait,” you sit up, then turn around to face him, water sloshing around with you. You furrow your brow and stare at him, “What does that mean?”

“It means the DA dropped the charges against you.” 

Your eyes narrow as you search his face, “Are you fucking with me?”

“I’m dead serious.” 

“How?” 

His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth as he averts his gaze, shrugging, “Let’s just say that, for plausible deniability reasons, it’s best you don’t know anything else.” 

“You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not!” he laughs, tugging at your waist. You jokingly wrinkle your nose at his affection, but let him pull you into his lap. 

“C’man, sweetheart. Look at me.” He waits until your eyes meet his, then tells you, “I swear to god I’m not fucking with you. You’re clear. A free woman.” 

Your shoulders fall away from your ears. You clamp down on your huge smile, then it breaks free, “Really?”

The way you light up at this news… It is breathtaking. Jesus fucking Christ. Worth every second of misery. 

“Really,” he smiles, cupping your cheek. 

You try to blink away tears with a relieved burst of laughter. You stare at him, glossy eyes all ripe with admiration as they flick around his face, “Thank you.”

“Don’t sweat it,” he murmurs, holding your gaze, “I’d do anything for you, Louella. You know that?”

Your smile gets bigger somehow. You nod, “I do.”

His stomach flips when he imagines you saying those words in front of that ordained minister he saw in his near-death vision. Little details come into focus. He can taste the salt of the ocean and feel heat from the overhead sun. Light filters through a canopy of sheer white fabric. 

The crowd of onlookers is small. Of course, he sees Parker and Darlene and Lincoln. He sees Glenn, looking like a fucking dick as usual, but grinning nonetheless. He sees his brother’s family, the small children all wriggling around in their chairs. He sees a couple, a man and woman around retirement age, that he doesn’t quite recognize, but he understands that they’re Ethan’s parents. He sees his mother dab her eyes with a tissue while his father curls an arm around her shoulders, letting the faintest smile creep across his lips as he watches you slide a wedding band on Dieter’s ring finger. 

Atop your head sits a band of stars, forged from gold and adorned with dazzling crystals that glimmer in the sunlight. Corona Borealis for his Princess of Crete. Your dress is cream-colored chiffon and lace and fucking perfect. You have on that smile, the one that takes up your whole face. The one you’re wearing now. 

You take the washcloth from him and dunk it under the hot, sudsy water, then bring it to his chest. The smile on your lips lingers as you wash, lathering up his skin with tiny iridescent bubbles. 

“What does Darlene think of all this?” you ask, glancing up at him. 

Smoothing his hands around to the small of your back, he shrugs and pulls your slick body closer, “In a personal sense, supportive. She helped a lot actually. Held down the fort while I was in New York.” 

“While you were—” you scoff, shaking your head with an amused grin, “Dieter, what the fuck have you been up to?” 

“Long story, I’ll tell you on the drive home,” he grins. 

“Fine,” you snort and roll your eyes, but fold forward against his chest. His eyes drift closed as he relaxes into the heat of your body pressed to his. Fingertips sliding against his collarbone, you ask, “So the blowback to your career has been minimal?” 

He gulps when he contemplates how to answer, not wanting to scare you into a spiral that sends you running again. But it is what it is. You’ll find out sooner or later anyway. 

“Not… necessarily. It’s been pretty brutal, actually. Mark and Darlene wanted me to throw you under the bus and move on without you, but I refused. So they dropped me.” 

You prop yourself up and frown at him, “I thought you said Darlene—”

“She was helping me find you, Lua. She’s supportive of our relationship as my friend, but…”

Your eyebrow quirks, “The optics are shit?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, searching your surprisingly serene face, “It’s ok, though, you know. You were right, I don’t enjoy it anymore. Acting, I mean. I think I’ve been too scared to try anything else, but… I don’t know. I think I’m ready now. I’m ready for the next chapter of my life.” 

“You could try writing,” you offer as you trace his jawline, “I could find a job at a bakery or something. It’ll be ok. We’ll figure it out, I know we will.” 

He nods, “We will.”

“I love you, Dee,” you say, holding his gaze, “We can do fucking anything together.”

Your certainty hits him square in the chest. 

For him, love always cast a dark shadow of fear that warned him to be distant. Not too eager or enthusiastic. Careful not to be fumbled by the wrong hands and wind up broken. 

It doesn’t feel like that anymore, he thinks. 

Your presence in his life has always been big and blinding. The warmth of your love has blistered his skin more times than he can count. He has dedicated hours upon hours of his life this past year trying to understand your magnitude and longevity, trying to measure the shadow that the fear of losing you cast. The dimensions fluctuated in a non-linear sort of way, waxing and waning with the circumstances surrounding your relationship. 

But now? 

You are the sun at high noon. No fucking shadow in sight. 

—

“All set?”

“I think so,” you zip up your suitcase and look up at Dieter as he leans against the doorframe. Your stomach growls and you groan, “If we don’t get food soon—” 

“I found a Denny’s about 30 miles away. Open on Christmas.” 

“Thank fucking god.” 

Dieter chuckles and buries his hands in his coat pockets, “Oh, by the way…”

He pulls out a small, familiar sketchpad and hands it to you. Nostalgia spreads warm across your chest as you open the cover and flip through Ethan’s artwork. Each page depicts dark and painful images that tug at your heart, reminding you of how much he was suffering. 

“How did you—?”

“Part of the long story. Tell you on the way home. But, umm… I figured you should have it.” 

You nod, pausing to study a high-contrast illustration that feels different from the previous pages. At first, it just looks like a collection of bold black triangles. The edges and points are crisp. Precise. But as you stare at it, your perspective shifts. The white paper beneath the black ink starts to stand out bright, then rises above the dark hollows. 

When it comes into focus, you gasp. 

It’s a face. 

It’s your face, carved out from negative space. 

“That one’s my favorite,” Dieter tells you, “He, umm… he was really talented.” 

Through your burgeoning tears, you smile, “Yeah. He was great.” 

You tear the portrait from the sketchbook and hand it to Dieter, who asks, “What about the rest?” 

Instead of answering, you step past him and take the sketchbook to the living room, where you lower yourself down in front of the fireplace and open the grate. Dieter follows, sitting down beside you as you tear out the first page and feed it to glowing embers in the hearth. 

Flames crackle to life, burning the paper to ash. 

You give it another. 

And another. 

And another. 

When the sketchbook is just an empty shell, you toss it in. Then Dieter hands you something. You glance it over for a moment, recognizing the painful passage you wrote the night before. You give that to the fire, too. 

He takes your hand and sits there with you while the flames die and return to smolders. 

“How’d that feel?” he asks eventually. 

“Fucking perfect.” 

You turn to him, searching his face, “Thank you.” 

The corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk and he squeezes your hand, “Anytime, doll.” 

When you lean in to kiss him, his lips are soft and warm against yours. A sensation swells in your chest, this glowing kaleidoscope of patterns that shifts and twists into a million brilliant images. It feels like forever in the best way. It feels like heaven. 

He pulls back, those big ganache eyes meeting yours, “You ready?” 

“Yeah,” you nod and smile at him, “I’m ready. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Groaning, Dieter climbs to his feet and holds out his hand to you. You accept it, letting him help you up. Your hands stay firmly locked together as he grabs your ratty old suitcase and leads you to the door, out of the dark room and into the bright midday sun.

[nerdieforpedro]

Weddings 101 with Dieter

Chapter Four: You're worth the hassle and the dresses

Dieter Bravo x Maya (plus size OFC)

Fanfiction 18+ MDNI

Masterlist / Dieter Bravo Masterlist / Weddings 101 with Dieter Series

Word Count: approx. 4.8k

Summary: Oscar plots. Dieter continues a conversation with Maya's Mom. The bridal party comes to an agreement. Maya and Dieter finally spend some more time together and FEELINGS. Dinner is going well until it doesn't.

Warnings: brief mention of an injury, weird family dynamics, fluff, Dieter being a horrible wedding guest in the past, more fluff

Notes: This series is quite tame compared to what I normally write. I'm enjoying it! Dieter and Maya are so cute. Her family is indeed crazy and Mom is...well she's mom. I did put in the top poll answer of why Dieter isn't invited to weddings. I'm not sure how many chapters we're going to have, do I want to end their wacky adventures? I mean the wedding has to happen at some point right? I experimented with a moodboard. Let me know if ya'll like it. 😘 Special thanks to @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for being so supportive and helping me to make sure the phrases I was using in Spanish made sense.

Oscar was in the Medical tent laying on his stomach with an ice pack on his ass cheek. He needed a way to get back at Dieter Bravo for this and his stupid goat because on top of being painful, it was humiliating. He asked his assistant to see if they could find where Bravo was staying and what he was up to while he was in Hawaii. He was gonna make sure at least to show up somewhere to freak him the fuck out and maybe find some sort of animal to bite him too. He knew it wouldn’t be a hippo or maybe he could just hit him with his guitar. Oscar wasn’t quite sure at this point, he just knew he was angry as hell and his ass hurt. 

“Fucking Dieter Bravo messing up my money maker like that. This is bullshit. I’m going after that mop on his head.”

Meanwhile, Dieter and Miss Yvette, were on the way up to where the bridesmaid fittings were taking place. The elevator ride to the eighth floor was peppered with small talk, exchanges of compliments on clothing and the venue itself mainly from Dieter. Miss Yvette when they reached the target floor exited the elevator decided to ask,

“Are you the one who gave my daughter the mark on her chest that I used some concealer on?” 

To which Dieter stopped walking and just blinked. Miss Yvette never lost her smile and even started laughing, “Dear you should see the look on your face. I’m not mad, just curious. It’s unlike her, she’s usually more reserved so it’s good to see her loosen up a bit. Just aim for a less public spot next time, have her wear a different dress that covers it or make sure she uses concealer before she leaves your…villa was it?”

Her hand patted his shoulder and he relaxed a little. Bravo was not embarrassed easily, so this was quite a feat. Normally he didn’t meet the mothers of people he was seeing, except a few times years ago and they were all in a club so it wasn’t weird. I mean maybe to people who weren’t there. You had to be there.  He nodded wordlessly and took a deep breath, exhaling. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll be a bit more careful about that.” He got the impression that like her daughter, Miss Yvette was not one to be trifled with. She kept the smile on her face and kept walking down the hallway toward the dressing room.

It started with the maid of honor, throwing off her orange sherbet bridesmaid dress standing in the middle of the room in her underwear yelling at the bride to which she responded, “well, that’s why I’m changing the color cause I know no one likes it.” 

The Maid of honor countered with, “well had you taken any of our suggestions, we wouldn’t be having this issue and we wouldn’t have to keep doing these stupid ass fittings, and we wouldn’t have had to buy these ugly ass dresses!” The two longtime friends were arguing in front of the bridesmaids. 

 Maya and the other ladies hung back in their nearly neon bright, sherbet dresses, watching things unfold as the two women inched closer with increasing volume. The maid of honor and the bride continued to get louder with each other until they suddenly stopped and looked at the bridesmaids. 

“What do you all think? The orange brings out the flowers I wanted to put around the venue but if it’s really that big of a deal you don’t have to wear the dresses I guess.” The bride led with which as the maid of home crossed her arms, still in her underwear. Maya wondered if she was cold or not. A fellow bridesmaid tapped her on the shoulder and asked her to come and discuss if they should really tell her that they don’t want to wear these dresses. One of the other ladies asked if everyone had brought a back up dress in case they couldn’t stand the orange. Maya was relieved to hear that all of them had the same idea. The bride interjected that any dress worn should be a warm color that’s light or pastel to still go with her light and airy color scheme. The collective groan was loud and a few women stomped but they all agreed to the pastels.

After some of this commotion was settling down, though there were still some words exchanged from across the room between the maid of honor, and the bridesmaid or the bride a knock came to the door. 

Miss Yvette knocked because she was aware they would likely be in a state of undress. The bridesmaid nearest to the door asked who it was. She announced herself and everybody said they needed a couple minutes to get dressed. Everybody put back on whatever they wore up here initially and just tossed the sherbet dresses in the corner of the room. They’re trash at this point. The bridal party was surprised that Miss Yvette even came up here because she was not interested at all in the dresses. The extra surprise was that she brought a gentleman with her that is not her husband and it’s not one of her three sons. Everyone’s face questioned who this man was, he wasn’t anyone’s husband that had already been identified. All the single ladies had made sure to do that at the meet and greet and zone in on available men. 

Maya had put back on her dress from earlier, it had a deep V in front, the base was white and it had lines of gold, green, brown ovals and various splashes of orange. She was adjusting it to pull it frome where it bunched under her breasts as her mother and Dieter walked in. His eyes fixed on Maya, slowing his pace. Miss Yvette tapped him on his arm to take him out of his momentary daze. Most of the bridesmaids could tell that Maya was pleasantly surprised to see the mystery man because she walked over to him and wrapped her arms around him, he did the same to her. 

The bridesmaids collectively asked “Who is this man? How do you know him? How long have you known him? Why don’t we know anything about him? He looks familiar?” Maya introduced Dieter to the bridesmaids, all of them recognized the name, some couldn’t place it while the others wondered how Maya could have met an A-list star outside of one of the conventions she goes to.

“How does Maya know him?” 

“How did that happen?”

“We feel like there’s a story here.”

Maya turned to face the bridesmaids and bride beaming, “I don’t have to tell ya’ll anything. Have a good rest of your evening,” she looked up at him while she still had an arm around him standing side by side, “Dieter, let’s blow this popsicle stand!” And started toward the door, guiding him along. On their way out, Miss Yvette gave her daughter a kiss and whispered to her,

“Stay safe and use protection. Don’t be out here like your two older brothers in their heyday.” Maya stopped and turned to her mother in surprise as did Dieter. Turns out Miss Yvette didn’t whisper all that much. “He seems nice so it’s fine. It’s always better with someone nice depending on the mood and what you’re going for,” She waved them off, “Anyway, have fun and see you next time.” Dieter and Maya swiftly made their exit into the hallway and toward the elevator.

“Is that something mothers normally say to their children? Even when they’re grown or maybe especially where they’re grown?” Dieter asked, again Maya’s mother had surprised him and left him in awe. Kit Kat shook her head and placed a hand on his chest.

“Don’t think about it. Mom’s…just kick it out of your mind. I will, there’s been enough trouble today.” Maya sighed.

“I can see that. Why was there one woman in her bra and underwear? There were also dresses on the floor, what happened? I thought it was a rehearsal or something.” He questioned, Maya shook her head.

“The simple answer is that my family is crazy and I don’t have to wear the orange monstrosity. I can wear one of my other dresses I brought with me.” The elevator came to the first floor and the pair made their way to the hotel lobby.

“About that Maya, I think since you’re free to pick your dress, you should get a few of them just for fun and do some outfit changes.” Dieter suggested, opening the door for her as they walked down the stairs to their ride. He also opened the car door for her too and scooped up her dress before getting in himself.

“That sounds great, but then I have to figure out where I would even shop. Sounds like too much of a hassle.” Daisy hopped up in Maya's lap and snuggled against her. Dieter resisted the urge to side eye Daisy as that’s where he planned to lay his head. Laying his head on her shoulder, he exhaled and reached for her hand holding it gently. A smile graced both of their faces as the car pulled away from the hotel.

“You’re worth the hassle Maya, you know that right?” He rubbed his cheek on her shoulder and lifted her hand, kissing it. She giggled and squeezed, raising her shoulder to nudge his head. Dieter raised his head, kissing her cheek. “We’re going to work up an appetite before dinner and a new nickname for you, Almond Joy.”

Maya chuckled, pressing her forehead to Dieter’s temple, “you’re such a tease you fluffy boy.” The smile on her face is something that Dieter wanted to bottle and keep with him. “Why Almond Joy? I thought I was Kit Kat?”

“Says the woman who said she was going to move up the timetable and hasn’t yet. You’re the tease. We’re making a stop before dinner. Just to look and if you really don’t want to get anything, then you don’t have to.” Letting go of Maya’s hand, Dieter picked up Daisy and put her on his stomach as he laid his head in Kit Kat’s lap. “Before you tell me to move, you promised I could.” He grinned as he looked up at her.

“What do you mean we’re going to make a stop? To where? Dieter you’re dead set on buying dresses. I swear you just want to dress me up.” Her hands immediately went to his soft curls. Despite her words, she wasn’t fussing at him. “Were you really able to find a place where I can be fitted? That seems like a tall ask.” One of her hands ran down and covered Dieter’s eyes, Maya was tearing up a little bit. Stupidly sweet man. Daisy hopped off of his stomach to try and lick her tears on her face.

That was when Dieter saw something he knew he wouldn’t want to see again. 

Her tears,

“Shit, Maya what’s wrong? I mean if you don’t want the dresses I’m not going to force you I just-” Bravo shot up and pulled her onto his lap which surprised her so much she stopped crying for a moment. Her eyes fell on Dieter’s and she saw that he looked worried, concerned even. It was a bit much for a few days to be feeling things like this, overwhelming. She couldn’t lie to herself though and cupped his face.

“Just shut up Dieter.” Maya commanded as her lips softly touched his. It started gently, but when she felt his hands squeeze her hips, she released a groan, parting his lips and letting him in. He didn’t hesitate to use his tongue to explore her mouth as his hands kneaded her flesh. For a few minutes, they forgot they were in the back of a car where there was a driver present and pressed their bodies together until they stopped moving and took a breath. 

The driver announced that they had arrived at their destination and got out but Dieter shot him a look. “Don’t move yet. Are you alright?” His thumb ran across her bottom lip, stealing what was left of her lipstick, he was wearing the rest. “We don’t have to go in if you’re not comfortable.”

“No, I want to. I…Dieter, thank you. I’m not sure if I ever said that to you. I’m more than okay. The tears were happy ones Dee. I’m actually excited about buying a dress which is rare.” Maya laughed as she ruffled his hair.”Let’s go.” She went to move off his lap, but he didn’t let go of her hips yet.

“Almond Joy, you worried me there. I like you in this position though.”

“Dieter, we need to get-”

“Just give me a few minutes, you got little Dee excited.” 

Maya rolled her eyes hard and wiggled her hips on purpose, making Dieter grunt. “Is that right? I’m not sorry about that.” She placed her hands on his chest, “you sure you should be calling him ‘little Dee’? Doesn’t feel small to me.”

“Dammit Kit Kat, I’m tempted to skip the dresses and dinner.” Dieter laid his head back against the seat, loosening his grip on her hips. She was able to climb off and get out of the car. Daisy followed. 

“Nope. You promised and you already had your head in my lap earlier.” Picking up Daisy, she turned to look at a gold and white boutique that had purple flowers around the frame of their window. It looked like there were a few people inside but they had nametags, employees? Maybe it was the end of the day. “Are they closing? People are kinda just standing there. It’s odd.”

After readjusting himself a few times, Dieter finally got out of the car and tipped the driver, telling him he'd text when they were ready for pick up. He placed his arm around Maya’s waist and guided her to the double doors as the staff opened it for them. 

“Welcome Ms. Maya and Mr. Bravo! We’re excited to have you with us today.” The employees had formed a line and were all smiles. The woman speaking was tall, statuesque with a beaming face. Dieter walked Maya into the middle of the room where there was a small stage in the shape of a circle. 

“I’m not going up there. What is it even for?” She questions as she stood in front of it and Dieter chuckled, hopped up on the stage and did a twirl. 

“It’s for this when you find your perfect dresses!” He shimmied his shoulders making her laugh as she set Daisy on the couch. 

“Sure, sure. If I happen to find one I like. But Dieter how-” Before she could finish, he stepped down and kissed her softly, placing a hand on her hip. The employees scattered to start selecting dresses as one woman in a hot pink blazer stepped forward and waited until Dieter took a step back. He turned to the woman in the blazer and looked at her name tag quickly.

“Susan. This is Maya. She’s looking for some dresses to wear to her younger brother’s wedding. At least two bridesmaid dresses and one evening gown. She’ll argue and tell you she doesn’t need them. But pick ugly ones so she’ll be forced to actually pick because I know she’ll feel bad for making me buy her any ugly dresses.” Kit Kat didn’t think that his smile could get any more smug with the way he ended his request. She sighed and cut her eyes at Dieter before following Susan and a few other staff to look at dresses and then the fitting room. 

It felt like she had tried on twenty dresses. Thankfully, most of them were actually her size. Susan had said that they specialize in different body types in this boutique and that’s why she enjoyed working here. One of the assistants commented that she had broad shoulders and that she had been surprised to find shirts that didn’t feel so tight on her shoulders but were baggy everywhere else. It was nice, more than that, it was an actual positive shopping experience. Another moment Dieter had given her, well he’s given her quite a few of them in the few days they’d been together. 

“It’s like I’m in a weird, really pleasant dream. Am I sure I’m not still asleep from that orange juice I drank?” Pinching her arm, she surmised that not, she is very much in the present. Her final dress was the evening gown. Well, a dress and not a gown. It was a bright champagne dress that had different layered pleats. It had small thin straps so the staff fit her for a few strapless bras and threw in some matching panties ‘for the occasion’ as they put it. They also fit her with gold strappy kitten heels. She was a bit nervous to walk out onto the same stage that Dieter had been prancing on, but Susan walked with her and held her hand as she climbed the few stairs that lead up to the stage. 

Dieter was sitting on the couch with Daisy and a staff member came out before the pair and told them that he needed to keep his eyes closed for the surprise. So far, Maya had picked out a satin light pink dress (matching with the bride’s theme) and a red sweetheart dress that had blue flowers on it. She had looked beautiful on both of those so he was curious what the evening gown would be. The staff member told him he could look at the stage now. Dieter stood with wide eyes and an open mouth.

“Well, how is it? I’m not really into gowns so I went with a dress. I like my legs out. Yes I heard how that sounds.” Maya rattled off holding her hands in front of her. Dieter just kept staring and didn’t say anything. “Does it look weird? Maybe it was a bit much, it seemed fun though.”

“You’re not taking it off.”

“What? What are you talking about Dee?”

“If you love it, then you’re not taking it off. ¡Cariño, mirate! Mi reina está preciosa.…” (Dear look at you! My queen looks gorgeous.) Dieter hopped up on the stage, but his foot caught and he nearly fell, but Maya pulled him up. He held her hands, then ran them up her bare arms as he brought her to his chest. “You’re not taking this dress off until I take it off of you. You’re walking out of here with it on with those luscious legs of yours on display. Maya you’re a damn dream.” His hands ran along her back as hers cuddled his soft middle. 

“You’re way too much Dieter…” She closed her eyes again and held in a sniffle as he stepped back to give her a kiss on her forehead. 

“I am, but you enjoy that about me. Don’t pretend you don’t. You want to hear something funny on the way over to dinner?” He went to talk her off the stage but stopped. “Ah! You didn’t twirl.”

“Bravo…fine. I know you’re not going to let it go.” At this point, she knew better than to argue and took hold of two of the lower pleats and twirled, making herself laugh as Dieter watched. In this moment he wondered what he was going to do when this wedding was over, this is the most fun he had in a long time. It had been even longer since he’d connected with another person, actually wanted to do things for them and cared what they thought about what he did. Her smile is something he wanted to see, her touch is something he wanted to feel, her voice and its various forms is what he wanted to hear and he could stay curled up in bed with her on her soft body. 

“Well, damn…” Dieter Bravo muttered to himself, she appeared to spin in slow motion.

“Are you sure you’re ready to go? Don’t you have to change too?” Maya asked when she stopped twirling and placed a hand on Dieter’s chest to steady herself, she’d gotten a little dizzy.

“Yeah I do, but it’s just a black suit. I’ve already been the center of attention today. It’s your turn.” He took her hand once again and led her back down the stairs to the couch. The staff brought over an eggshell shawl to go over her shoulders as Dieter changed into his all black suit. He wore a plain white button down shirt with a bow tie. It was a classic look which fit Dieter perfectly, his messy curls accented it that much further. The dresses (including the one she wrote in) were packed up by the staff and put in the back of the car as they drove off to dinner. 

On the way, Dieter explained to Almond Joy why he isn’t invited to weddings anymore. It started with his cousin’s wedding where he wore a white suit, not horrible, but not welcome either. It wasn’t really that bad of a thing. His former best friend’s wedding, was delayed because they couldn’t find the groom.

“What do you mean they couldn’t find the groom Dieter?” 

“See I took him for his bachelor party, the poor sucker hadn’t been past the Mississippi River as far as travel in the States in his life so I took him to Thailand.”

“Did you tell his fiance or family? I don’t see this going well.” Her hands found their way to his head again. Dieter let out a soft purr.

“Nah, what had happened was, it was supposed to be a long weekend, but ended up being a week and a half.” He dropped his head back into her lap. 

“Dieter, you had that man miss his own wedding?!” Maya pinched his cheeks as he laughed. “And get up, you’re going to mess up your suit you goof.”

“Not moving. Best spot in the car.” 

“How did it end up taking a week and a half?”

“We explored what the country had to offer. Local cuisine, got to know some of the people, maybe dabbled in some local practices.”

“Ya’ll got high as balls didn’t you? Was he ever the same when he got back to the states?” Her eyes rolled as she shook her head.

“I mean yeah, but not as high as I’ve ever been. It was fair. My friend did get a neck tattoo that said, ‘Me love you long time baby.’ I tried to tell him you shouldn’t play dominos with an old man with one eye because what does he have to lose?”

“I….you know. I would have banned you too. Good Lord.”

“There’s one more incident with another friend.”

“What could be worse than that?”

“Not worse. In fact, they’re the ones that don’t have taste. They said they couldn’t go to Eurovision 2021. So I brought it to them.”

“…I shudder to think what that means Dee.”

“It meant, I had a tear-away suit on as well as the four other guys I was dancing with. We wore maroon thongs that went with the bride’s color scheme and tasteful white nipple pasties.” The car pulled up in front of the restaurant and Maya couldn’t get out of the car, she was holding on to the seat in front of her laughing so hard that her eyes were tearing. 

“Dieter no! Please tell me you’re joking.” She mumbled in between roars. Dieter got out and walked around to her door to open it. 

“I would never joke about that, it also may have been around the same time I was very into drug cocktails. So that’s the part I remember. I was on a table at some point and grinded on someone’s aunt. After that, things got murky and then I woke up in my hotel room naked with Daisy, my previous assistant and a guy in a corner with a blindfold. Don’t know who that guy was. He played the harmonica though.”

Maya turned to Dieter and slid out of the car, grabbing his shoulders as he forehead hit his chest. “S-Sorry, Dieter…I’m sorry you can’t go to your friend’s weddings anymore. From their perspective I get why, but they should also know you mean well. I think. That tattoo incident though was way too much.” She was still giggling as her arm wrapped around his waist and his around her shoulders. “You should do birthday parties though.” He closed the door and they walked up the stairs into the restaurant. It was crowded but they walked through the restaurant to an area upstairs to a terrace where there were white and red roses around a table. Maya gave Dieter a kiss on the cheek from the beautiful set up before they sat down and ordered water and drinks. "Everything is perfect Dee. This evening's been wonderful. I'm not going to Thailand with you though."

“So if I were to ask you, would you get a tattoo with me?” Dieter asked, waving his right arm with his black triangle on it. Maya sipped her water and smirked. "And don't rule out Thailand yet."

“Maybe not the triangle since you’ve already got one, but maybe another one. I don’t have any tattoos currently. I’ve thought about getting one, but I’m undecided on a few designs.”

“Is that right? Well, I promise it won't be a neck tattoo if that will help.” He chuckled as they chatted and ordered appetizers. “ I will say my Toblerone, we’re finally at dinner and now we’re talking about tattoos. Did you think we’d be here from the airport? You gave me such a hard time Maya.” Dieter tucked his chin and gave a fake sullen look. 

Leaving back in her chair and smiling wide at his teasing, “No. I thought I was insane for agreeing to go with you. I’m glad you offered and I agreed. It’s been nothing like I expected, but everything I didn’t know I needed. I didn’t think I was so tightly wound. Thanks Dieter and…” She paused and finished her drink, trying to find the right words. His hand reached across to hers and took it from her glass, his thumb caressed the back of her hand. Bravo’s eyes softened from their playful glare.

“I know. To be honest, my intentions weren’t exactly above board at first, but then we laughed, drank and played uno and I didn’t want you to go. Still don’t want you to go, I told you you're worth the hassle.”

“A frustratingly sweet fluffy man…” Maya’s voice trailed off as they exchanged soft glances. The appetizers were set at the table and something was amiss. There were two long island iced teas that came with them. Dieter pointed out to the waiter that they hadn’t ordered them. 

Three chords were strummed and the steadily grew closer. Dieter didn’t turn around as he took deep breaths. ‘No. That rat bastard should be crying in his room somewhere. Not here. Not at my damn dinner interrupting my Maya. I only have but so long.’

“Buenas noches a la feliz pareja (Good evening to the happy couple). I hope you enjoy the drinks and the small sample of music.” A man with splashes of gray in his dark curls and beard appeared from behind Dieter and stood at the side of the table. He patted his guitar and took Maya’s free hand, bringing it to his lips as Bravo shot up from the table after letting go of her hand. 

“Your lips touch her hand and I will end you. Shouldn’t you still be having your ass tended to?” Dieter spat, Oscar set her hand down and smirked. 

“My ass was a quick fix thanks for asking. Unlike you, I don’t hold a grudge. I was extending an olive branch.” He looked down at Maya who was perplexed about the situation. “You may want to rethink getting involved with him. He has quite the temper and reputation. A nasty little goat too.” 

“Leave. Now. I’m not going to say it again, Oscar.” Dieter came to stand toe to toe with Isaac, only the guitar between them. Maya stood up and called for the staff to come over, she asked for Oscar to be removed. He held his hands up and left with two other waiters. 

“If you manage to piss off a goat, it just shows how shitty of a person you are half-ass.” Maya yelled out and Dieter snickered, kissing her cheek, then gave her neck a swift peck.

“That’s my Almond Joy for you.” Maya stood with a hand on her hip and felt her face grow warm. This damn lovable man, now she’s involved in whatever beef he has with Poe Dameron of all people. Who knew he was a douche?

Previous: Chapter Three

Next: Chapter Five

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[rhoorl]

Working Title | Chapter 20

Pairing: Dieter Bravo/OFC Series Rating: Mature, 18+ Word Count: 5.4k Series Masterlist | AO3 Chapter 20 Chapter Summary: The girls head to LA for the audition. Chapter Warnings: Brief alcohol mention. Swearing. Alternating POVs. Some angst, Body image issues. People being mean online. Allusions to Dieter's past. A/N: I can’t believe we’ve made it to the penultimate chapter of this series. This has been my first foray into fanfic writing and these two mean so much to me. I hope you enjoy this chapter and thank you for reading and spending some time in this little world!

“Cheers,” Sam smiled clinking the neck of his beer with Dieter’s glass. 

The two made some small talk, mostly about the show and whether or not they thought it was actually going to be picked up or not.

“Do you have anything lined up after this is done?” He studied Dieter, who sat absentmindedly swirling his Old Fashioned in one hand.

“Nah, I haven’t come across anything that interests me. Might take some time off.”

“Must be nice,” Sam scoffed, wincing as he ran his hand through his hair. He hated it when his mouth worked faster than his brain. “Sorry, that probably sounded worse than I meant it. I just…I’m not in a position to take a lot of time off you know?”

Although he had been working for a while, Sam still hadn’t gotten his “big break” so every project felt really important to him.

“No man, it’s all good. I get it, I’ve been there. Hell…five years ago no one wanted to hire me. I’m just now starting to get people to somewhat take me seriously, again,” he chuckled to himself as his mind wandered to a dark place before quickly returning to the present. 

“Well, they can’t take your Oscar away huh?” Sam offered a small smile and cleared his throat to change the subject. “You thinking of going out to see the girls sometime in Toronto? I’m trying to plan a trip.”

“Yeah, I was …ah…actually thinking of maybe renting a house out there. You know, since I’ll have the time,” Dieter scratched the back of his head.

“No way! That’s an awesome idea! Belle must be so excited about it…” he scrunched his face and Dieter took a sip of his drink. “She knows right?”

“I haven’t told her yet, I kinda wanted it to be a surprise,” Dieter smiled softly.

“Oh well, I’m sure she’ll feel a whole lot better taking the job knowing you’ll be there,” Sam offered, taking a swig of his beer.

“She say anything to you?” 

“Not in so many words. But based on what Indy and I were talking about…you know…with she and I…I can only imagine the same applies to the two of you,” he set his beer down and looked Dieter in the eyes. “She’s fallen really hard, you know that right?”

Dieter chuckled, “Well however hard she’s fallen I’m like 10 times worse.”

Both of their phones buzzed at the same time as they both quickly lunged for their respective devices.

“Ah, well looks like they made it on the plane,” Sam smiled, tapping away.

Belle: Made it on the plane!

Dieter: I hope you have a safe flight. Try and sleep. You’ll be there when you wake up.

Belle: I wish I could sleep on planes. I’m checking what movies they have

Dieter: Do they have any of my stuff? That will make you fall asleep. 😜

Belle: No silly watching it would make me miss you too much.

Dieter: 💗

Belle: gotta go - they’re telling us to turn off the phones. I love you 😘

Dieter: Wait! Since I can’t hear you say goodnight, can I get a picture?

Belle smirked, feeling the warmth in her cheeks as she snapped a quick selfie.

Dieter: Good night beautiful. Tell me when you land. xo

Indy sported the biggest smile as she switched her phone to airplane mode. Glancing over she caught you staring at your lock screen — a selfie of you and Dieter from your hike around Waimea Canyon.

“Thanks for coming with me B,” she nudged your arm with her elbow, pulling you out of your daydream. 

“Of course, this is exciting. Are you getting nervous?”

“Nah, I got this,” she winked. 

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah babe, of course,” she turned her body towards you. “What’s up?”

“Have you and Sam talked about things? Like what’s going to happen next?”

Indy looked down, playing with the hem of her shirt with a small smile. “Yeah…we’ve talked about it. Truthfully it makes me a little scared. I really like him B and I…I don’t know what’s next for us. Sure he can come out and visit, but he needs to work too.”

“For what it’s worth, he really likes you too,” you covered her hand with yours, rubbing circles with your thumb. “And I think he’s a great guy so I’m rooting for you.”

She rested her head on your shoulder, “Thanks B. At first I thought this was going to be just some on-set fling or whatever but I can see this going somewhere,” she smirked as you looked at her with a silent squeal. 

“I knew it,” you winked.

“Try and get some sleep, ok? I know how you get,” she smirked as she rummaged through her bag to find the novelty sleeping mask you got her years ago. The “Sleeping Beauty” stitching, a nod to her Disney Princess past, was starting to fade. She put on her noise-canceling headphones and was asleep before the wheels left the tarmac, leaving you to sort out how to entertain yourself for the next five and a half hours. 

You aimlessly scrolled through the various television shows and documentaries given as in-flight entertainment options, unable to find something that grabbed your interest. Once the flight attendant delivered your ginger ale and pretzels, you decided to get serious about finding a movie. Doing some quick math, you figured you could probably watch at least two.

When you reached the “C’s” in the menu, your stomach did a little flip seeing the thumbnail for Cliff Beasts 6. You remember when the movie came out and how you had to drag Indy to go see it, tolerating all of the teasing because you just had to see the latest Dieter flick. You’ve endured so many different films and TV shows just to get a chance to watch him; Cliff Beasts 6 was no exception. His over-the-top, cartoonish accent made you laugh despite the absolute trainwreck of a plot. 

Seeing Dieter on the little screen mounted in the seatback in front of you gave you butterflies. The last couple of weeks were such a whirlwind. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d ever meet him in person let alone everything else that’s transpired. You felt like you were living in an alternate reality. 

With a smile now permanently affixed to your face, you watched and focused less on the movie and more on how quickly you’ve grown to love this man. His nervous energy, his smile, his laugh, his hair, of course. The way he knew how to strike that balance of gentle and comforting with a little edge that made you want to give him anything and everything. By this point, you were about halfway through the movie and your eyelids were starting to feel heavy.

The guys decided to call it a night after a couple of drinks due to Sam’s early call time (and the fact that he hadn’t read through his scenes yet). Dieter’s call time got pushed back, but he was desperate to return to his room to wallow and track Belle’s flight. 

Once in his suite, he made a beeline for the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water along with a box of cookies, and went to his room. Instead of sitting on his side, he settled into Belle’s side of the bed, traces of her perfume and shampoo still on the pillow. He searched for her flight on his phone and studied the route while eating a cookie, the crumbs falling on his shirt and onto the bed. 

The girls had a few couple hours until they were to land in Los Angeles and his mind was abuzz, flipping through various thoughts like a Rolodex. He hoped it was a smooth flight and wondered what Belle was doing, wishing she was able to get some sleep. He was curious about how the audition would go for Indy. He knew she was a lock for the role so he needed to stop thinking of “ifs” and start thinking of “whens.” 

Sleep was a lost cause so he grabbed the remote. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep until he knew she was safe on the ground. Flipping through the channels, he came across Alien and decided to stop and keep it on as background noise as he continued to do some research on his tablet. He found a couple of places in Toronto and fired off emails to Liz so she could investigate further. 

Time crawled by. Something else was on TV but Dieter didn’t pay it any mind. He was scrolling through photos on his phone, landing on a candid he took of Belle one morning. She looked so peaceful, a hint of a smile on her face as she lay on her side facing him, the sheet just barely covering her. 

He closed his eyes wishing she was next to him. He ran his hand over his face, his breath hitched just a bit smelling the smallest trace of her musk still on his fingers. It sent an electric pulse down his body, remembering how just a few hours ago her mouth was where his hand had drifted to. His slow strokes picked up as he replayed some of their more intimate moments in his head. It didn’t take long before he found his release, left panting as he reached for his phone. 

One more hour.

He cleaned himself up and stepped outside smiling as he looked across at the adjacent balcony, remembering that morning. He stared out into the darkness, hearing the rhythmic sounds of the waves crashing onto the beach below. It was lulling him to sleep, but before he closed his eyes he set an alarm on his phone.

You were woken up when the flight attendants made one last pass through the cabin before taking their seats for the approach to LAX. “Psst,” you gently shook Indy. 

She groaned, pulling off her sleeping mask with a pout. “I need the largest, most obnoxious coffee concoction when we land.”

“You got it,” you giggled. 

You reached for your phone, itching to be able to turn it off airplane mode so you could text Dieter. The moment the tires made contact with the tarmac, both you and Indy were furiously tapping away at your phones. You felt butterflies when a message came through before you could send one. 

Dieter: My bed felt empty 😞 Hope you were able to get some sleep. I miss you.

You grinned like an absolute idiot at your phone at the selfie he sent complete with his signature arched eyebrow and pursed lips. He was in bed underneath the covers. His broad shoulders took up the whole frame and his hair was as unruly as ever, but what stood out to you most was his sweet smile and gentle, but tired, eyes. 

Belle: Just landed 🙂 You’re still up?!

Dieter: I took a little power nap 😉 

Dieter: I wanted to make sure you got there ok. 

Beside you, Indy whispered into her phone to Sam using a baby voice. Normally this would have made you cringe, but seeing her this happy was actually really sweet. 

Belle: All good. Safe and sound 🙂 You should get some rest.

Dieter: For later tonight? 😏

Belle: lol whatever gets you to sleep a little

Dieter: Yes ma’am

Dieter: Keep me updated. Even if I fall back asleep it will be nice to wake up to your name on my phone. 

Belle: 😘

Belle: I’ll try not to bother you too much

Dieter: You’re never a bother sweetheart

Dieter breathed a sigh of relief knowing the girls made it safely. The anxiety of the last several hours coupled with the lack of sleep finally caught up to him and before he knew it, his eyes fluttered closed as his phone slipped from his hand and onto the carpet.

Getting off the plane through the airport and to the car service was a bit of a blur thanks to the small gaggle of paparazzi armed with cameras, cellphones, and ring lights. Seeing the paps at a place like LAX was pretty standard given all of the celebrities, but what was uncommon was for you and Indy to be the targets of their attention. Once they spotted you, they descended, shouting both of your names as Rhys tried his best to shield you while ushering you to the waiting car. They yelled all at once and you could only make out a phrase or two from each.

“Are you dating Dieter Bravo?”

“Did you and Dieter break up?”

“Belle, can you give us a smile?”

“What the fuck?” Indy huffed as she scooted into the back of the SUV behind you. 

“How’d they know my name?” Your face scrunched up as you looked out the back window.

“Someone must have tipped them off, I swear I didn’t set that up!” Rhys looked back from the front seat before turning around to furiously type on his phone. 

You and Indy exchanged a confused look. “I can see them knowing you Ind, but me?”

“Well, you are dating Dieter fucking Bravo…” she smirked, before switching to a more serious tone. “I’m sorry B, it sucks. It’s one thing if he were here with you; I know how unnerving this whole thing can be. But you rocked it! Your first paparazzi swarm!” She gave an encouraging smile, trying to make you laugh to get your mind off the path it would inevitably go down.

You sat a bit dumbfounded, trying to process. You are dating Dieter fucking Bravo. You are in love with him and he’s in love with you. But all of this kind of attention wasn't something you wanted. Your mind started to spiral thinking about what life would be like with Dieter outside of your little bubble. Whether going out on a date or taking a trip to the grocery store, he was recognizable and your life would always be on display for others to judge and scrutinize.

Deep in thought, you didn’t even register the SUV pulling up to Indy’s apartment. She quickly unlocked the door and ushered you all in, knowing there was limited time for her to take a quick shower and freshen up. Rhys stepped out to make a couple of phone calls while you laid out your kit on the vanity in her bedroom. Once you were all set up, you plopped on the bed and pulled out your phone. Even though you figured (and hoped) he was asleep, you decided to fire off a message to Dieter.

Belle: Sorry it’s been a bit chaotic but we’re at Indy’s now. Audition is at 9 so I’ll be kinda MIA - Rhys says I have some meetings today too. Hope you're getting some sleep 💕

A notification for Instagram popped up which you ignored, opting instead to clear out some emails. But then another notification came through, followed by another and another, and soon your phone started buzzing with texts and other alerts. As you opened Instagram Rhys sprinted into the room.

“Have you seen them?” He asked in a huff, rushing over to you.

“What? What happened? Is everything ok?”

“Y-yeah, it’s just….the photos of you and Indy are starting to circulate.” He looked a bit worried and you weren’t quite sure why.

“Circulate?” You scoffed, trying to put on a calm exterior despite the anxiety brewing in your chest. You fidgeted with the sleeve of Dieter's sweatshirt you were still wearing.

“Just the typical accounts but some…others picked it up too,” his mouth twitched as he averted his eyes.

You furrowed your brows and Rhys opened his mouth to say more as the en suite bathroom door opened.

“I’m ready!” A bathrobe-clad Indy announced before her face dropped seeing Rhys stressed and you confused. “Wait. What happened? Is everything ok?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, walking over to put his hands on Indy’s arms. “It’s just that the photos from the airport are starting to make their rounds.”

You can’t see the look on Rhys’ face but something in his voice tells you he’s trying to tell Indy something without tipping you off. 

“Have you seen anything?” Indy looked past Rhys, her eyes boring into you.

You shook your head, “No, what the fuck guys?! I literally just sat down. Is there something I should know?”

Rhys and Indy exchanged a look before she walked past him, coming to sit next to you on the bed. “Here let me take a look.” She unlocked her phone and started going through her tagged posts.

Indy had the best poker face but you knew her tells. To the untrained eye, they wouldn’t know the difference but decades of friendship made you all too aware of her microexpressions. The slight purse of her lips, an eyebrow twitch, or a shift in her posture – she was uneasy about something.

“You’re making me nervous, Ind.” Your mind started to race through all of the possibilities but had a sneaking suspicion that the reason both she and Rhys were acting weird was because your appearance was being scrutinized. And if that was the case it was honestly so unfair. You had just come off a red-eye and weren’t expecting to have a bunch of cameras shoved in your face. You tugged awkwardly at the hem of Dieter's sweatshirt as Indy kept scrolling.

Indy let out a frustrated sigh as she put down the phone. “I seriously don’t know what gets into people. They act like they know us, know our lives, and they don’t…” She rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes.

“What’re they saying Ind?” You say with a bit more bite than you intended. You appreciated her trying to shield and protect you from the online fodder but it was completely unrealistic to think you wouldn’t read stuff.

“Look for yourself,” she turned her body toward you, her eyes watching as you unlocked your phone and started scrolling. There was one thread of comments and replies that grabbed your attention.

>>Omg they look like a hot mess

>>They look pissed off

>>It’s early in the morning they’re probably not awake. Jeez give them a break. 

>>How do you look in the morning?

>>They look kinda sad

>>Oh that’s the girl Dieter is dating huh?

>>Do you think Dieter broke up with her? Is that why they’re back in LA?

>>They haven’t posted anything together ever at least Indy and Sam kinda soft launched

>>It’s probably not serious then. Remember his last chick? Dude wouldn’t shut up about her

>>He’s definitely still shooting. I saw a photo of him at a bar in Hawaii last night

>>The guy was probably hammered huh?

>>Oh no that was probably bad news

>>Wait is THAT who Dieter is dating now? Woof

>>Guy must be desperate

>>How do you go from a Victoria’s Secret model to that?

You skimmed through the rest of it as you felt your blood pressure spiking. People were throwing out wild, unfounded speculation and there was a small contingent doing a deep dive about you and your family and friends. Your mind goes into a tailspin as you read through more. You couldn’t make out the words, but you heard Indy next to you on the phone trying to get in touch with Sam, frustrated when she got his PA instead. 

Meanwhile, you felt that all-too-familiar pang in your gut. You experienced a taste of this when you and Dieter were first spotted in public, knowing that it wasn’t going to be the first or last time people would make comments about you. But something about this felt so unsettling and so invasive. You were a normal person trying to support her friend on what was essentially a job interview. It also made you uncomfortable that the focus was on you and not Indy – she’s the star of the show here not you. Why aren’t people coming up with theories about why she’s in LA when she should be on set in Hawaii too?

The conversations around Dieter were also surprising and a bit confusing. You were on what you thought was a Dieter fan account yet people were speculating about everything from the two of you breaking up to him cheating on you to you both getting secretly married. It hurt to see so many quick to paint him in a bad light – assuming that he had done something wrong.

Indy hung up the phone and you could feel her eyeballs on you but you just kept scrolling.

“What are you thinking B?” 

You shook your head, “This is all so confusing. How does us at the airport turn into all of this,” you waved your phone around.

“It, unfortunately, comes with the territor-”

“Can it Rhys!” Indy snapped. “That’s not helpful right now. Look, apparently Sam and Dee went to the hotel bar after we left, had a couple of drinks, and then went back to their rooms.”

“Wait, you don’t think he actually….”

“No, no not at all,” she squeezed your leg. “No. And it’s ridiculous the way these people spiral off the smallest thing…have you tried calling him?”

You shook your head, “I’m pretty sure he’s asleep. He had a later call time than Sam and sounded like he was up most of the night.” Your mind drifted to a negative place briefly before shutting down that train of thought.

“Well, just try, I’m sure Liz is lighting up his phone too.”

“She is. We’ve been texting,” Rhys chimed in.

You called Dieter a couple of times and it went to voicemail. After the third failed attempt to reach him, you took a deep breath, took off the sweatshirt, and looked at Indy, resolved to not let this derail an important day for her. “We need to get you ready.”

“O-ok, yeah, c’mon let’s go.”

Since it was part audition/part screen test, you were thankful to just have to do minimal makeup and a simple blowout, allowing you to go on autopilot and think. You suddenly felt like you were back in your apartment after you found out Ryan left. The thoughts of unworthiness were quick to make themselves known after they’d been dormant for weeks – the weeks you’ve known Dieter. You were happier, and stronger with him, and being apart only made you see how weak and fragile you were. 

You were annoyed at yourself that comments from people you didn’t know could affect you so much. But words hurt. And it doesn’t help that so many of them keyed in on parts of your body you were self-conscious about. But then there was another voice trying to push through to remind you that all of those things they called out were the things Dieter loved. He celebrated your body, eager to show you his appreciation as you became more comfortable with him.

Thoughts then traveled to Dieter, wondering what his state of mind would be like when he finally woke up and Liz brought him up to speed. You smiled a bit to yourself knowing that his first thoughts would probably be about you and wanting to check if you were ok. But you knew his next instinct would be to turn inward. He hadn’t shared everything, but there were demons from his past he still had to contend with every day. And you couldn’t help but think that seeing people attack you because of your relationship with him was going to send him down a self-loathing spiral. 

For a brief moment, your mind wandered to a territory that scared you – whether all of this was worth it. You continued to work in silence, catching Indy’s eyes in the mirror every so often. She acted like she was rereading her lines but you knew she was trying to gauge your feelings and meet you where you were.

“Ok, ready.” You set down the can of finishing spray and fluffed up her hair in the mirror. 

“Wanna talk about it?” She grabbed your hand, stopping you from quickly packing everything up.

“There’s nothing to talk about. C’mon, we’re going to be late.”

“Of course there’s stuff to talk about.”

“I’m. Fine.” You snapped, instantly regretting losing your temper. “Sorry Indy, I…it’s just the same old shit when it comes to,” you motioned up and down your body. “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s not a productive conversation.” 

She didn’t push it and just hugged you, figuring an embrace would tell you more than she could with words. Rhys interrupted your quiet moment urging you both to get a move on so you weren't late. Indy did one last sweep of her apartment, hoping it would be a long while before she saw it again.

Dieter tossed and turned all morning, his hands seeking Belle only to find an empty, cold space next to him in the bed. He was about to close his eyes again and will himself to sleep when the hotel phone came to life with a shrill ring. Covering his face with a pillow he reached for the phone and brought the receiver to his ear.

“Yeah?”

“Well thank fuck you’re alive. Goddamit I’ve been calling you and texting you all morning. I was about to go get them to open the door if you didn’t pick up. Where have you been? Are you ok?”

This wasn’t the first time Liz had woken Dieter up and berated him, but something about her tone this time caught his attention. 

“Lizzie,” he cleared his throat, starting to sit up. “What’s wrong?”

“Were you asleep? You know you’re due on set in like half an hour, right?”

“I forgot to set an alarm…didn’t get much sleep last night. I wanted to make sure the girls got there ok. Are they ok? Did something happen?”

“Where’s your phone?” A slight hesitation in her voice.

“Uh, I thought it was right here…” Dieter felt around the bed before peeking over and seeing the phone face down on the floor. “Ah there it is, must have fallen….holy shit, what the hell happened?”

Dieter turned over his phone and was pretty sure he had a notification from every app. He saw a bunch of missed phone calls from Liz and Belle, hell even Sam and Meredith had rung him. His list of missed texts was from the same bunch with the addition of Danny, Indy, and even Rhys. 

“Goddamit Liz. Gimme the rundown. Are they ok?” Dieter swung his legs around, feeling dizzy as the adrenaline coursed through his veins.

“She’s fine Dee, they’re ok. The damn paps swarmed the girls as soon as they left the airport. Couple of the blogs caught it and it’s what you expect – people talking about her, how she looks, and trying to find out more about her and Indy. Luckily she’s a smart girl and has a lot of her shit locked down so there’s not a ton for people to find. But it’s only a matter of time before someone comes out of the woodwork wanting their 15 minutes.”

Dieter scoffed, knowing that all too well. When he was at rock bottom it felt like every person he’d ever met was willing to go to a gossip rag to talk about him. It was the usual suspects - jilted lovers, disgruntled past co-stars or assistants, all the way to his old dog’s vet. Anyone and everyone who wanted to give their two cents about Dieter found a way to get their story out. 

His annoyance turned into a feeling of helplessness. He knew how these comments would hurt Belle and with her so far away he couldn’t be there to comfort her. Hell, she wasn’t even gone for 12 hours. It was unfair that he couldn’t protect her from a life he’d unfortunately grown accustomed to. He worked a lot on himself to build back a fraction of the confidence he used to have. It still stung to see things written about him, so he could only imagine the negative headspace she was in because of this all.

“I need to call her.”

“That’s not it Dee,” Liz cut him off before taking a deep inhale. “They’re also talking about you. People have no idea that she’s there for Indy’s audition. They’re assuming both girls left set early due to an incident.”

“What incident?”

“Well, no theory has stuck yet, but it’s the greatest hits.”

Liz didn’t have to spell it out for Dieter to know that once again his past was coming around. He ran his free hand through his hair and then down his face as he tried to quell the frustration. It felt like no matter how much progress he made, people only thought of him as that womanizing, drug-fueled party animal from years ago.

“I need to call Belle.”

“They’re in meetings right now. I’ve kept in close contact with Rhys. He was there when they saw the photos and started reading through the comments.”

“How’d she take it?” 

“As best as you can imagine. Rhys said she kind of shut down on the drive over but turned it on once they got there and started meeting with everyone.”

Dieter’s heart sank, imagining the spiral she must be on as she tried to keep it together for Indy. All the studio execs probably had Google Alerts set for both of the girls as a precaution and as a means to suss out any potential liabilities and issues, so they no doubt knew about Belle and Dieter’s rumored, but very real, relationship. It pained him that he couldn’t be there to comfort her; maybe if he was with her the focus could have been on him instead. 

The smallest hint of a smile came across his face. He felt a combination of pride and awe in her strength – that she could compartmentalize all of these feelings and seemingly put on a brave face for Indy’s audition. She was stronger than she gave herself credit for.

“I need to talk to her….do you know how much longer they’ll be?” Dieter tried to sound even keel but he knew Liz could see right through it.

“I mean, they should probably be done soon. They have to get back to the airport, their flight leaves in a couple of hours.”

Dieter took a deep breath, trying to quell his anxiety. “Well, I’ll have my phone on me. Maybe if I can get downstairs Mere can get me ready and I can - ”

“Dee,” Liz cut him off. “Listen, I know your first instinct is to try and fix this, but she’s a big girl. Being with you isn’t going to be a cakewalk, you can’t shield her from this kind of stuff forever.” He stayed quiet for a moment, rubbing his temples. “What’s bothering you champ?”

“I…I just don’t want all of this to scare her off…like it’s going to be too much. That I'm too much. She didn’t ask for any of this, you know? What if she ends up deciding she’d rather not deal with it?”

“Dieter,” Liz paused, knowing she needed to be a bit more delicate than her normal tough love. “You love her right? And she loves you? Shit is going to be hard. I know it’s scary, but you have to just trust in each other. What do you want from her?”

“I don’t want anything from her. I…I just want everything with her.”

“Well, she’ll be back in…” Liz checked her watch, “eight hours. You can profess your ever-dying love then.”

He rolled his eyes and laughed. “Thanks. Hey, did you see those emails I sent you?”

“Yup, we’re checking them out – I’ll make sure we check out potential security issues to see if anything is an immediate no.”

“Thanks, Lizzie. I should probably get downstairs. Hey, I’ll have my phone on me. Anything else happens…anything…you call me. I don’t give a shit if we’re filming, you call me.”

“You got it champ….it’s all going to be ok, Dee.”

Previous chapter / Final chapter

A/N: So I know I haven’t always been the best with updating, but the last chapter is written and it will come out on Feb. 26!

Tag list: @musings-of-a-rose / @legendary-pink-dot / @bitchwitch1981 / @mysterious-moonstruck-musings / @gracie7209 / @amneris21 / @pastelnap / @maryfanson / @sunnywithachanceofjavi / @sin-djarin / @winchestergypsy90 / @for-a-longlongtime /@harriedandharassed / @titlee78 / @midnightraain / @poodlebae / @partyofone3413 / @guelyury / @weho2kcmo / @missladym1981 / @soapjay / @darkheartgatita

[psychedelic-ink]

We Fall Like Snow ║ Part ⅠⅠ

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

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

chapter summary: Going on a trip with Dieter and his parents? More likely then you think.

word count: 4.9k

chapter warnings: some family drama, mentions of past bullying, but mostly fluffy moments

**dividers by the amazing @saradika

“I think we all expected some drama to drop when Dieter Bravo was cast as one of the main heroes of the upcoming movie ‘Abyss Burning’ but surprisingly enough this drama isn’t about him but his female bodyguard,” the voice coming out of the phone’s speaker is pleasant, engaging. Your stomach drops at the spoken sentence. “So let’s start at the beginning–” 

Dieter comes at you from out of nowhere and yanks his father’s phone out of your trembling hands. Your instincts kicking in (as if those same instincts haven’t caused enough trouble already) you reach out for the device but he’s already across the room, giving the phone back to his dad, a glare directed at the poor unsuspecting man. Mrs. Bravo looks somewhat aware of your distress, her gaze softens with kindness, she smiles when your eyes meet. 

Dieter stands like a wall between you and his parents.

“Maybe you two should go out to the balcony, the weather’s nice,” Dieter says, tone full of implication. “I’ll talk to you guys in a sec,” 

Mr. Bravo parts his lips, but before words can form, Mrs. Bravo ushers him out to the balcony and closes the door behind them. 

You hadn’t realized but you were holding your breath, only now letting go. 

“The last thing you should do is watch drama channels,”

The couch dips with Dieter’s added weight, you look down at your hands and witness the constant twitching of your fingers. The ever distressing sound of jingle bells ring loudly in your ears. Despite your focus being elsewhere, you hear him sigh. You feel him curling his fingers around your left hand, pulling it to his lap. You perceive your hand to be detached from the rest of your body, nothing but a lifeless limb between Dieter’s fingers.

“My mom taught me something when I was little, supposedly it helps when you’re feeling nervous,” he says. “Open your palm,” 

Life returns to your skin with his touch. His fingers are warm. Heat seeps back into your skin, you can feel again, you move around your fingers before doing as he said. Dieter starts to draw patterns into your palm. It’s ticklish, the sensation forces a smile against your lips. 

“She told me that I should write my name letter by letter into my palm and that it would calm me down.” 

Dieter is already staring at you when you lift your gaze. His smile is soft, which surprises you. Usually his smiles were wide and broad, full of happiness, be it fake or real. This expression is a gift, a gentle reminder that you’re someone close to him. His forefinger continues to dance along your palm, blood simmers pleasantly underneath your skin. Slowly, you realize that these aren’t random patterns. 

A

M

I

N

A 

It’s your name. You half had expected him to write out his own name. 

He repeats it, the tip of his nail catches along your palm, a shudder spreading throughout your body. Dieter’s gaze drops, his cheeks dusted with a beautiful shade of pink. 

“Breathe,” he reminds you. “Just breathe and focus on the letters, I promise you’ll feel better,” 

Your eyes flutter shut, vague shapes caused by light moves like shadow-play beneath your eyelids. Your mind slowly comes together, you push away the thoughts of gossip. Instead you focus on yourself, on Dieter. You remind yourself of how close your lips were to his, your breaths mingling, your bodies seeking eachother’s heat. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, hard. The sharp pain clears your mind. Dieter’s finger still moves. You feel him drawing another “A”. Deep down you know you can stay like this for hours, for eternity. His finger, despite the lack of sexual connotation, makes heat to pool between your legs. You know that this will be the closest you’ll ever get to feeling him against your skin like this, so you allow yourself to postpone the moment of parting. 

Time stretches, you imagine his fingers moving up your wrist, tracing the curve of your muscles until he reaches your shoulder and from there, to your neck.

Your body stiffens, goosebumps settle across your skin. Dieter traces an “I”. How long does he plan on tracing your name like this? 

You fear that he can hear your thoughts echoing in the silence. You fear that he can see the pleasure written along your body. It’s a nasty feeling, one that coats your tongue with the taste of bile. 

When you open your eyes, his gaze lifts in a way that convinces you that he knew the exact moment it would be too much. As if he knew the moment you would resort to opening your eyes. His smile is still there. 

“Feeling better?” 

“Yeah. Thank you,” his finger retreats, regrettably so. “I like that little trick. It’s nice,” 

“Mrs. Bravo is a wise woman,” Dieter’s smile cracks into a grin. “Speaking of, I should probably check on the happy couple,” 

You nod, “Yeah, okay.” 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” 

You will never be able to forget the look of concern he’s giving you. The crease between his brows is deep, eyes focused like you’ve never seen before. You fight the urge to scoff. You can’t believe it, Dieter Bravo of all people is actually worrying about you. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. 

You smile and nod, your thumb unconsciously pressing into your palm when he finally turns to leave. 

You can see only a small fraction of the balcony. You witness Mrs. Bravo hugging her son, you see Mr. Bravo looking sheepishly at Dieter, his lips mouthing out words you can’t hear. Wanting to give them at least a bit of privacy you look down to your palm. 

Your nail had left a crescent shaped mark. You smooth over it, you repeat the motion again and again, with each swipe of your thumb you feel your heart rate escalating. Anger bubbles in your chest. You were fine just a moment ago, this whole thing wasn’t that big of a deal. So what if drama channels were talking about you? So what if everyone was making speculations? You know the truth. You know it was an accident. 

When you inhale, the breath you take is shaky and short. You close your eyes, then open them again. There’s an ache in your chest, you breathe and it hurts, you breathe again and again, wanting the pain to disappear. 

You mutter out a curse and look back to the balcony, Dieter has his arm around Mrs. Bravo’s waist and Mr. Bravo’s hand is on his son’s shoulder. They must be close. Who would’ve thought? You really should’ve asked for their names before grabbing the offered phone to search what people were saying about the incident. Your gaze drops to your palm, the mark is gone, you remember the trick Dieter recently told you about. 

Sighing, you start to drag your thumb in the shape of an “A”. You follow up with the other letters but it doesn’t make you feel better. Maybe I’m doing it wrong? You look back to Dieter and then to your palm again. You write something different for your second try. After each letter you feel your cheeks getting warmer and warmer. 

D

I

E

T

E

R

You start to feel better.

The balcony door slides open and Mrs. Bravo is the first to come back inside. You blink dumbly at her, your thumb still moving across your palm. Dieter notices and you stop. 

Now that you were aware who this couple was, you take your time observing them. Mrs. Bravo had Dieter’s eyes— though it would probably be more accurate to say that Dieter had his mother’s eyes. Her gaze sparkled more compared to his. Her hair a light shade of brown with soft, honey-like highlights between them. You spot a couple of grays pouring between the honey, making you believe that your initial assumption that her hair was dyed was actually wrong. The soft locks stopped right below her neck, slightly curling at the ends. She has a delicate gold chain around her neck, wrinkles at the corner of her eyes.

“Amina,” she calls out to you, smiling wide. “Why don’t you come with us?” 

“Mom…” Dieter cuts in, giving you a chance to understand what Mrs. Bravo was asking of you. Sadly, you still have no clue. “She doesn’t want to come with us. I barely want to go. The only reason I agreed to go is because we’re blood related.” 

“Your cousin Everett is also joining us,” Mr. Bravo chimes in. “Didn’t you say that you missed him?” 

“Like I said; Blood. Related.” 

“Dieter, stop it.” His mom’s voice is sharp and clear. “Of course she would want to come. It would be good for her nerves and you said yourself you missed Everett,” 

“Me missing him doesn’t make my point any less valid,” 

His father talks over him, both parents ignoring him completely. 

“Besides, isn’t she your bodyguard? Doesn’t she have to come along? You two have a contract right?” 

“Yes but that’s not how it works–” 

When the three begin to chatter among themselves, words getting a bit loud and heated, you raise your hand like a kid trying to get the teacher’s attention. You clear your throat. 

“Go where exactly?” 

“See, she needs this more than you think!” Mrs. Bravo proclaims triumphantly, her gaze moving from Dieter to you. “We have a cabin up in the mountains. It’s a lovely spot, near a ski resort so there’s people but not enough that you feel suffocated! We go there every year,” 

“Except for last year,” Mr. Bravo cuts in, eyeing Dieter. 

“It’s not my fault, I was working.” 

“We would be happy if you came along,” Mrs. Bravo says with the most mother-like tone she can muster. You’re flustered, skin warm and tingling as she stares at you with hopeful eyes. Normally, you have no problem with telling people no —if you did your job would be a lot harder— but as her gaze zeroes in on you, all the excuses you could come up with die on your tongue. You nod with a shaky smile, telling her that you would love to tag along. “Fantastic! Dieter promised to show us around so you can pack during that time. We’ll come pick you up at about 9 PM. Dieter has your address right?” 

“Y-Yeah,” 

You’re overwhelmed at how fast she’s talking. Satisfied with your mediocre answer, she turns to Dieter. 

“We’ll wait for you downstairs dear. Say goodbye to your friend!” 

Both parents shake your hand before leaving, Mr. Bravo winks at you while mouthing a sorry, and follows his wife out the door. 

It’s only you and Dieter now. The room is eerily silent. 

He groans and falls to the couch, his one hand covers both his eyes, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips. You can’t help but giggle, sitting next to him you touch his shoulder. 

“Sorry about that,” he groans out. “I can make up something if you don’t want to go,” 

“Nah, your mom’s right, it might be good for me.” Your eyes move towards the door, you can still feel their chaotic energy crackling in the air. “I don’t know what I was expecting your parents to be like, but it definitely wasn’t that,” 

Dieter peaks at you from between his fingers, you can see the corners of his smile exceeding the frame of his hand. 

“They really are something else. I think they like you,” 

“Really?” You sound genuinely surprised. 

Dieter’s hand falls to his side as he lets out a hearty laugh, he looks beautiful like this. His head thrown back and a smile as bright as the sun crossing his face. Your heart swells. 

“Do you think my mom invites over every woman, or man, she sees next to me?” he shakes his head. “She’s definitely planning something, I’ll tell you that much. I should warn you about my dad though, he doesn’t have much of a filter.” 

You hum, “Reminds me of someone I know,” 

“Har har, he’s much worse. Believe me.” 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” you gently hit his shoulder before getting up, Dieter looks at you confused. “You should get going, and I should go and pack,” 

“Ah, yeah, I guess you’re right,” 

Dieter walks you to the door, muttering about needing to get dressed first. He leans against the door frame, the gap suddenly looks small with him filling it, his broad shoulders filling the empty space in between as he crosses his arms. 

“I’ll see you tonight then,” 

Just as you proceed to move away, Dieter closes the door but remembering that you had a job to do,  you push it back open. 

“We’ll be making it back to the premiere, right? You can’t miss it,” 

“Of course,” he says calmly. “Shannon would have my head if I missed it.” 

The drive starts out full of excitement and laughter. You and Dieter are sitting in the back while Mr. and Mrs. Bravo are sitting up front. It doesn’t take you long to learn that Mrs. Bravo was a fan of Taylor Swift —and pop in general— which you find endearing. 

While singing along to the lyrics of Love Story she turns to you, eyes gleaming with mischief. She asks if you know about Dieter’s singing and that he always wanted to be a singer. Then she proceeds to tell you how she caught him in the act of performing a private concert often while he was blow drying his hair. 

Honestly you aren’t sure what surprises you more, Dieter singing, or the fact that a man who forgot to feed himself constantly used to blow dry his hair. 

Dieter attempts to hush her but it’s too late, you already know his dirty little secret. Grinning, you beg him to sing. He refuses, a warm blush flaring across his cheeks. You don’t mind him denying you, you know that sooner or later you’ll make him sing. 

After the first three hours, the inside of the car gradually becomes more and more silent. The music shifts from pop to something more slow and instrumental, Mrs. Bravo’s snores accompany the music. Meanwhile, Mr. Bravo is focused on the road, his body relaxed as he holds the steering wheel with one hand. 

You’re looking outside, eyes following the silhouettes of trees. It’s colder now, an uncomfortable chill spreading from your hands and feet. Instead of opening your bag and wearing your sweatshirt you hug yourself. Your eyelids are heavy with sleep, you find it difficult to think properly. 

“Hey,” Dieter whispers to you, his breath warming your neck. “Look, it’s snowing.” 

He’s right, it was.  

As you look up to the night sky, Dieter shimmies closer. Thick white flakes flutter down from the darkness, making you smile. Snow always makes you smile, regardless of the situation. It has you feeling that child-like wonder again. Your heart beats fast, cheeks warm as your hands and feet continue to freeze. Wanting to tell Dieter your enthusiasm for the weather, you turn, only to find his face an inch away from yours. With shock you jump back and hit the back of your head against the hard glass. 

“Fuck,” you hiss out in pain. Your hands move up to touch your head but Dieter is faster. His hands cradle your head, pushing you down, he lets out a silent whistle.  

“Shit, that sounded like it hurt. Are you alright? You’re not bleeding are you?” 

Seeing that you are only mere inches away from his crotch, you slap his arms away and scutter back until you’re flushed against the cold car door. Your chest heaves.  He blinks at you with an eyebrow raised. You take this opportunity to rub your head, wincing at the way it stings. Dieter attempts to move closer but you glue him in place with the raise of your hand. 

“Stay there,” you grunt, your voice unwillingly thickening with anger. “I’m fine, you don’t need to do anything.” 

“I was just trying to help…” 

“Well, don’t,” 

Dieter, as if lava suddenly formed between you, shuffles back until his cheek is flushed against the glass. His breath spreads and fogs up the window. Nails digging into your palms, your turn to face the dark scenery outside but as you move, your eyes linger on the rearview mirror. 

Dieter’s dad is looking directly at you, not much emotion going on in his brown eyes. Great, I managed to piss off his dad. Guilt rising in your chest, you worry your bottom lip between your teeth and turn away, hoping that Mr. Bravo had done the same. 

Your head still throbs but you lean down to pull out your phone and sweatshirt from your bag. Soft snores come from your side. Lowering the screenlight, your gaze snaps to Dieter. His cheek is completely smushed against the glass with his lips parted. You envy the way he looks so relaxed, but then again, he’s always been like that. You don’t know how he does it. No matter what happens, he always manages to come out on top relaxed.  

It’s kind of annoying now that you think about it. 

You scroll through your phone. A terrible idea really, and see that your follower count had shot up while you weren’t looking. You have thousands of comments, mentions, and a couple of hundred messages. You sigh and roll your eyes at the same time. Within the silence the sound comes out louder than it should and with panic your eyes search the reflective surface of the rearview mirror. Luckily you don’t see two very similar looking eyes staring right back at you. 

You set your Twitter and Instagram accounts to private.

A lot of people assume Dieter is a bad actor. 

Sure, he’s been in a couple of shit movies when he was younger, but honestly, did everyone really think that every production Brad Pitt was in was fucking perfect? Of course not. But god forbid Dieter Bravo does a couple of bad blockbusters. Those are the ones the world decides never to forget. It doesn’t matter really. The world can think what it wants, he knows that he can act. He gets paid extra to do cameos and now he’s actually in a movie with a script he kinda likes.

The world can think that he’s shit, but the proof that he can act is happening right here, in his parents’ car. 

You are totally convinced that he’s asleep when in fact he is very much awake. 

Dieter didn’t understand your reaction. He just wanted to check and see if you were bleeding or not, the hit had sounded painful. But then your reaction made him feel as if he was doing something downright heinous. 

You two are friends right? Isn’t it normal for friends to check up on eachother? Is this one of those social cues that he has trouble understanding? 

Maybe you weren’t friends. 

No, that can’t be true, she protects me 

Under contract 

Shut up 

Dieter listens to the sounds you make. You shuffle, open up your bag and pull something out. A light burns through the roof before you turn down the screen light. He knows what you’re doing. You’re checking out the gossip. Naughty girl. 

He told you not to do that. He knows how easy the masses can get into one’s head. 

You sigh, then throw your phone back into your bag. Shuffles and soft grunts echo in the silence. She’s putting her sweatshirt on. Now that he’s thinking about it, it is kind of chilly in the car. 

The glass touching his cheek probably isn’t helping. 

He continues to realistically snore until all sound slowly fades like the slow finish of an applause. One by one the claps would slow down and stop, the sound taking the shape of a bell. Dieter knows exactly what’s going to happen; first it would be you who falls silent, then his dad would turn off the radio, and lastly Dieter would stop his snoring, burying everyone in silence. 

Ever since he was a kid, Dieter had done this—pretend to fall asleep. He’s not sure why he started, or why he does it, but there’s something peaceful he finds in it. He listens to the cars whooshing past them, the sound reverberating the car, light momentarily burning his eyelids…then the silence follows again, until another car passes them by. He hears his dad clearing his throat once in a while, sometimes his bones crack whenever he rolls his shoulders.

Poor old man. I should take him for a massage. 

His mom shifts in her seat, and whenever she does, his dad looks over checking to see if she’s alright. Dieter can’t see, but he knows that’s exactly what’s happening. As someone who figured out at a very young age that the best way to correlate with others was to mimic them, Dieter’s observation skills have always been off the charts. 

He’s seen the way his dad looks at his mom a million times, full of unadulterated love. It's a look that has always warmed his heart since he was child, then his fondness of the tender moment shifted into something envious, an ugly feeling. 

Now, he just tries to ignore it all together. 

He’s always been an outsider to people’s emotions, never the cause of them. Except for the moments he got someone in his bed. Dieter enjoys those moments where someone rakes their nails across his back and tells him how good he’s making them feel. When that happens he’s the only reason for whatever they’re feeling, which is pleasure— mostly. 

Slowly, he feels the Sandman sprinkling golden sand into his eyes. His eyes water when he yawns. He looks up to the sky one last time before hugging himself. 

It’s still snowing. 

You wake up to the marvelous scent of coffee. 

Looking around the car with narrowed eyes, you see that Dieter is getting back into the car with two coffee cups and a brown paper bag. Last night’s awkwardness completely eludes your mind as you move towards him and take the coffee from his hand. You rub your right eye as you take a sip. 

“Morning beautiful,” Dieter says to you stoically, his voice deep with unsatisfied sleep. “We’re almost there.” 

“Good morning dear,” his mother chirps at you, she grabs the brown paper bag from Dieter and pulls out a blueberry muffin. “I hope you slept well,” 

“I did, thank you Mrs. Bravo.” 

She waves her hand in a dismissive manner and shakes her head. “Please call me Adaline. Mrs. Bravo sounds way too formal, isn’t that right love?” He directs the question to her husband. 

“I don’t know about that honey. It always gets me excited when people call you that, it’s a nice reminder that you actually took my name,” 

Adaline lets out a laughter that you can only describe as being beautiful. Your cheeks feel warm witnessing their love and you take another sip of your coffee. Dieter stuffs a kit kat bar into your hand. 

“Darling, it’s been so long. How can you still get excited about that?” 

“I wasn’t aware love had an expiration date,” he starts the car and looks at you through the rearview mirror. You suddenly feel very anxious. “By the way, before you start calling me Mr. Bravo, I have a perfectly fine name you can use; Claus.” 

“Claus?” you repeat. 

Claus raises an eyebrow, his lips curl up with amusement. 

“Something funny about it?” 

“No no,” you reply with haste. “Just…you know…with Christmas nearing and all–” 

The couple bursts out laughing. You’re not sure whether you should be embarrassed or not but you take this time to push the coffee cup between your legs and struggle with the wrapper of your kit-kat bar. Dieter groans, yanks it from your hands, opens it, then gives it back. His eyebrows make a flat line.

For a brief moment you fear that his anger is directed at you but you shrug the feeling away when Dieter addresses his dad.

“Dad don’t–” 

“Sorry Amina, dear. We’re not laughing at you. Claus’s name has always been a source for some funny memories. Especially nearing Christmas,” Adaline says, cutting Dieter off. She lets out a sigh that is followed by a giggle. “In fact, when Dieter was a kid–” 

“Mom!” 

“Don’t interrupt your mother, Dieter.” His dad warns. 

You can’t help but chuckle at the way Dieter pouts and leans into the seat with his arms crossed. You only feel slightly bad for him. Adeline continues her story. 

“As I was saying, when Dieter was a kid he would tell everyone that his dad was Santa Claus! It was adorable really, he would always be extra nice to his dad during the holidays. ‘I know I’ve been good but just in case’ he would say while baking Claus cookies. I would help, of course, but he would never let me have any,” she smiles fondly at the memory, eyes glossing over.  

“But one day he came back home crying, poor thing. Apparently one of the kid’s called him a liar and the rest of the class laughed at him. Honestly, I know you shouldn’t say mean things about kids but that class was full of rotten children. Dieter never could get along with them–” 

“Frankly I’m glad he didn’t,” Claus interrupted, eyes fixated on the snowy road. “I would be more worried if he did get along with them.” 

You feel Dieter getting smaller and smaller next to you. His mother nods at Claus’s words and takes a bite of her muffin. Your heart feels heavy in your chest, you can imagine it so vividly; A small Dieter , his hair ruffled and face bright with Christmas joy, telling his friends that his father is Santa Claus. Excitedly, telling everyone that his father can bring them all the best presents —because that’s just how Dieter is, he gives and gives and gives until there’s nothing left of him. A shell, until he fills himself with smoke— only to come back home a sobbing mess crying to his parents. 

You feel like you’re witnessing a crime at how vividly you can see it all playing out. Him, playing alone at school, his young gaze glancing around to seek anyone that would spend time with him. Him, being bullied for having an overactive imagination and a good heart. Anger pounds in your ears, your fingers twitching uncontrollably around the half empty coffee cup. 

“Anyway,” Adaline says between bites. “Furious at this, Claus dressed up as Santa Claus and went to the school. He gave all the children coal! All the parents were furious, so were the teachers, but the principal seemed not to mind as much so nothing happened,” 

“You should’ve seen their faces.” Claus grins.

“Yeah dad, thanks, you’re a true hero,” Dieter rolls his eyes. The cold snap of his voice makes every hair on the back of your neck stand up. “After that I became the kid who was crazy enough to think his dad was Santa Claus to the kid who snitched on Santa Claus and made everyone get coal. They definitely cherished me after that.” 

His sentence hangs heavy in the air. A cheerful morning ruined by the ghost of Christmas past. The back of your throat feels tight, stretched like a bowstring. You shuffle anxiously in your seat, the silence needles into your skin as you pay special attention not to face anyone. Your turn to the window and glance outside; the sky is a marvelous blue, snow covering every patch of soil. You see small white flowers above the snow, a patch of green within the cold. Words of excitement reach all the way to the tip of your tongue but you bite down before you can say anything. 

Jingle bells ring again. 

You see the ski resort that Adaline had mentioned before the trip. It seems close enough to walk but far enough so that the constant clatter of people won’t bother the locals. The car comes to a slow stop. 

“When’s Everret coming?” Dieter asks. 

You assume he does this to relieve the tension in the car, which you’re grateful for. 

“He should already be here,” Adaline answers. 

Claus doesn’t say a word, he simply stops the car and gets out. A moment later you hear the trunk door opening. Dieter mumbles something but you don’t understand, it sounds foreign. He sighs and all the lines on his face deepen. Much like his father, Dieter also doesn’t say a word when he leaves you and Adaline alone in the car. Worry crosses your face. He didn’t even glance at you before getting out of the car, you only needed a look. A sign from him that everything is alright. 

Unrelated to your job, you’re also his friend and it’s been like that for a long while. But his life outside of the stage was a mystery to you. He didn’t enjoy talking about his childhood, and conversations about his family were always a fleeting one. Despite the constant eyes devouring his life to the bone, Dieter only shared what he knew other’s wanted to see; his sex life, his flirts, the insane grandiose parties, his fame and fortune.  

With the corner of your eyes you notice both father and son carrying the luggage to the cabin’s door. A tall man with blond hair comes out to greet them. 

Your eyes snap to Adaline as she sighs. She doesn’t meet your gaze, but smiles anyway. 

“Don’t worry, dear. They’ll be just fine.”  

You start to trace letters above your palm.