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THIS IS EXACTLY WHY I SENT YOU THIS: I KNEW YOU WOULD DELIVER IT AND IT WOULD BE PERFECT! 😭 This is so dreamy and so bittersweet 😭

Howdy! I'm rewatching Notting Hill and couldn't stop but think about your writing and the little brit bits on it. Maybe a genderbend Notting Hill inspired with Dieter? Idk, just some food for thought! Love ya!

Firstly, thank you so so much for the sweet ask and secondly, my apologies for how long this has taken me!Here’s a little Notting hill x Dieter Bravo Drabble very much inspired by the new Vanity Fair pic…

Notting Hill AU Dieter Bravo x reader (638 words)

My take on the famous ‘I’m just a girl’ scene

The first time you’d seen him, Dieter fucking Bravo, he’d been sat in the corner of the musty old man pub you worked in. The Hollyood A-lister, unfathomably drinking a pint of real ale in your pub. You kept getting flashes of his ridiculously white, even teeth, as he took great big gulps of the golden brown liquid and shooting hungry glances in your direction. Just thinking about it now makes your tummy flip.

You hadn’t known it then, but you would spend the next few months falling in and out of each other’s wildly different lives. A continual whirlwind of not quite enough, never quite the right moment, yet somehow, finding yourself tangled up with him again. The dizzying magical spell of Dieter, a strange inevitability that you were certain couldn’t last, that was destined to end.

It’s difficult to look at him now, at that beautiful open face, those puppy dog eyes of his on you at full blast. He should look like a caricature, oversized jumper reaching just to above the bottom of his boxers and black socks pulled up high on his bare calves, but instead he looks devastatingly handsome. It aches in your chest, like you’re not meant for this, like you should’t be allowed to see Dieter fucking Bravo looking so fucking perfect. Surely he should be out basking in the glory of his hard-won fame with an outrageously attractive starlet on his arm, not hidden away in your tiny East London flat, your messy floor bed beneath his toes. He could be at the Mandarin Oriental, wrapped in silk sheets being fed grapes by a quartet of adoring fans, not stood on H&M linen and finding a fridge with nothing in it but a half drunk bottle of rose and some posh Waitrose hummus.

Yet here he stands. He reaches his arms out to you, those big paws beckoning you back to the bed. You shake your head slowly. Resist the urge to fall back to him, to run your mouth along the divine soft hair that dapples his inner thighs, to breathe him in, all his vulnerability, all of the softness hidden behind the carefully curated layer of chaos.

You swallow thickly. Drag your eyes away from his thighs, run your tongue along your teeth as if to sate their need to bite down on his flesh. Feel him between your lips.

Stop.

You dare to look him in the eyes, which somehow always look both mischievous and heartbreaking all at once. You try to be brave, stop the trembling of your hands, say the words you need to set him free, “I live in Spitalfields, you live in the Hollywood Hills. Everyone in the world knows who you are. My mother has trouble remembering my name.”

He doesn’t look away. The liquid brown of his irises seem to darken, although the lopsided smile you love so much remains, “Fine.” Dieter takes a deep breath, a glossy sheen on his eyes now, “Fine. Good decision. Good decision.”

He nods with each word, as though letting them settle into his mind, as if he’s trying not to fight. A little something sneaks out, it feels like a gasp for air, although his voice remains quiet, gentle, just a tiny edge of sadness. He says softly, “The fame thing isn’t really real, you know?”

He looks down at his hands then, twists his nail hard against the skin between his thumb and forefinger. Takes another deep breath before his eyes travel up to meet yours. Slow, deliberate. An almost imperceptible crack in his voice that runs down your spine, makes your bite at your lip so hard you taste the tang of metal as you break the skin.

“And don’t forget. I’m also just a boy. Standing in front of a girl, asking her to love him.”

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

More of my dieter writing here

Tagging in some pals & dieter peeps: @secretelephanttattoo @whocaresstillthelouvre @mothandpidgeon @toomanytookas @pascalssbabyy

@sawymredfox @milla-frenchy @aurorawritestoescape @sin-djarin @oliveksmoked

@guiltyasdave @burntheedges @katareyoudrilling @sp00kymulderr @wannab-urs

@ghotifishreads @jessthebaker @magpiepills @devineconjuring @mysterious-moonstruck-musings

@readingiskeepingmegoing @maggiemayhemnj @yopossum @almostfoxglove @beefrobeefcal

[the-orange-tabby-cat]

Dare to say, this is the sexiest he has ever been

tuyo

[the-orange-tabby-cat]

PEDRO PASCAL Vanity Fair | July - August 2025

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Pedro Pascal the man you are.

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YES, THIS IS 100% DIETER!!!!

Excuse me hello this is actually Dieter

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Pedro's Vanity Fair cover shoot is giving Dieter Bravo. I won't further elaborate.

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#I need to stop relating to a 50 years old man

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PEDRO PASCAL chilling on the set of 'The Last Of Us' Season 2

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Last night I dreamt that I was working on a Pedro Pascal's set, he was teaching me how to use a fake gun until Sarah Paulson showed up and he asked me to help him serve the party kit. For a reference, he was talking about this:

A FUCKING BRAZILIAN BIRTHDAY PARTY KIT. He had made by himself the brigadeiros, they were so ugly but tasted good. We sang happy birthday to her, ate cake and the pastries as if it was so normal lmao and he thank me with a hug in the end.

I need to stop with the allergic medicine before bed lmao

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The amount of people that sent me videos about the Pedro Pascal lookalike contest... Today is the day every fangirl in this fandom knows how much people associate them with Pedro lmao

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PEDRO PASCAL

Sundance Film Festival 2024 // "Freaky Tales" premiere in Oakland, California, 2025

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Reedro, my beloved!

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I might just not get up, I might stay down bad

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POV: FaceTime with PEDRO PASCAL

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Reporter: Why do you think so many countries’ governments around the world are just ignoring what’s happening in Gaza?

Greta Thunberg: Because of racism, that’s the simple answer, I would say. Racism, and basically desperately trying to defend a deadly, destructive system that systematically maximizes short term economic profit and geopolitical power over the well being of humans and the planet. Right now, it is morally difficult to defend that – it is impossible— but they’re desperately trying which is …. absurd is not the word, but there are no words to describe it.

- Greta Thunberg in Paris, after returning from Israel’s illegal abduction of her aboard the Madleen (10 Jun 25)

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'#Materialists Girl' 👀❤️🗽

PEDRO PASCAL's latest photo dump for Materialists

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Started on a little challenge with myself in trying to read more in Spanish because even if I'm fluent in it, it's still not my first language and it shows. I'm reading El amor en tiempos del cólera and a huge thank you to everyone that taught me Spanish by immersion, IT IS SUCH A GOOD BOOK!!!!!!!

The best quote so far:

"She had discovered little by little the uncertainty of her husband's steps, his mood disorders, his memory fissures, his recent habit of hiccupping while sleeping, but hadn't identified them as unmistakable signs of the final oxide, instead as a happy return to childhood. That's why she wouldn't treat him as a difficult old man, instead as a senile boy, and that mistake was providential for both because it let them be safe from compassion.

Another well distinguished thing would be life for both, to know well on time that it is easier to draw big matrimonial catastrophes than the small miseries of everyday life. But if they had learnt something together, is that wisdom comes to us when it is no longer useful for anything."

Simply gorgeous. Gracias a dios nací en Latinoamérica, csm.