#FitBit Fridays | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 11 days

Text

Endurance 1

Warnings: this fic will include obsessive behaviour, possible non/ducbon, bullying, and other elements which may not be specifically triggered. Please be cautious in continuing on to the story.

Character: Walter Marshall

Summary: A fellow gym go makes your workouts even more taxing.

Please reblog and leave some feedback, preferably in a reblog but you can always drop by my asks. I always love working in y'alls ideas with these AUs so I am so excited to hear from you.

As always, take care of yourself <3 be kind and be patient. Love you.

No tag lists. Please review my pinned and bio for guidelines.

You come out of the changing room and peek at the wall mirror as you pass. You admire your new bubblegum pink leggings and polka dot top. It’s a bit out there but you’ve seen neons in this place that make your retinas burn. Besides, you’ve never been shy when it comes to fashion. It’s not just your passion, it’s your job.

It’s late enough that the bodies there are far and few between. You prefer the nights when the gym feels like a ghost town. The air is quiet but not stagnant.

Your water bottle swings on its handle from your hand as your bouncy steps keep in time with the boppy music thrumming in your earbuds. Your workout mix is a nice blend of retro and contemporary bass hits. You catch yourself humming and stamp it down. Sometimes, you forget other people can perceive you, not that there’s many around to so.

You find an empty mat. They all are. You put your bottle down and start your stretches. Your late night sessions help clear your mind though it never really stops. In your mind, you’re seeing pleats, seams, and ruffles.

Your body moves without thinking. It’s all muscle memory. You’re no gym rat, you don’t go that hard, just enough to loosen up your muscles. Your note overly swoll as the young ones call it. You’re fit enough for a light jog and the stairs don’t leave you winded like they used to.

After your stretches, you slurp loudly from the straw of your water bottle, walking with it still between your lips as you head for an elliptical. You can just let the repetitive motion take over. You pop your lips off the tub and slip the bottle into the little plastic holder on the side of the machine.

As you climb up, you see another figure across the floor. The man sits on the end of a weight bench. For a moment, it looks, even feels, like he’s watching you. From there, you can’t see very well. You don’t wear your glasses in the gym since you lost a pair to a hungry leg press.

You can make out dark hair and his burly form. Hazy but wide enough to clock. Most people around here are stacked. You’re too casual for all that. And you like a piece of tiramisu with your Friday lattes.

You pick your speed and start to climb. You cling to the machine and rock your head to the music. Once more, your throat vibrates and you have to remind yourself to stop. You can’t help it, you love Destiny’s child. Does that date you? For someone working in fashion, you can’t ever risk that.

You zone out, vision blurring as you let your body do the work. The sweat speckles and slicks across your skin. Damn, you might just be bootylicious after this work out.

Your fitbit rumbles and you look down. You’re in the zone. You keep going until you hit thirty minutes and slow down. You cool off for ten minutes and swipe up your bottle, sucking on it greedily as you head back to the mats.

You swing out your arms and stretch your legs in slowly lunges. You bend forward, touching each toe with opposite hand, lingering with your ass up as you brace your hips. A sudden clang has you standing straight so fast you nearly topple onto your butt.

You throw out your arms to catch your balance as you let out a pathetic, ‘woah-oh-oh'. You look over at the man as begins reps with the heavy dumbbells. You’ve never gotten above the tens. His blue eyes flash in your direction and you give a sheepish smile.

You don’t want to seem weird so you return to your stretches. Arms up, lean to one side, then the other. You hear a strange rumble, like thunder, and look over at the man as he continues to work his traps, staring at you. You could even call it a glare.

You tap your ear bud as you face him, “sorry?”

“Do you have to make that noise?” He snarls.

Your brows pop up. We’re you humming again? Oops.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise I was,” you smile and before you can tap play, he scoffs.

“Typical,” he grumbles as alternates to biceps.

He’s built. He’s arms are bigger than your head. Probably. You don’t think he’d let you compare for scale. You drop your hand without tapping.

You get down and extend your legs in front of you. His breaths underline your movement as you bend one leg over the other and push your straight arm against it as you twist. As you do the other side, facing him, his gaze flicks over again.

“You put more time into choosing that outfit than you do working out,” he shakes his head.

You blanch. Oh wow. You must have been really out of tune if he’s that grumpy. You give a tight-lipped smile and keep going. He’s not the first grouch you’ve dealt with. Your editor is a chronic miser.

You straight arms and legs and bend to touch your toes. You then pull your arms back and plant your hands. You lift your pelvis and torso and lean your head back, raising yourself in a straight line as you hang your head back.

“Form is off,” he mutters.

You lower back down and look at him again.

“Oh, uh, do you have any tips?” You ask curiously. He grimaces. You push your shoulders up and tilt your head, “well, if you think of any, I'd be happy to work on it. I’d hate to hurt myself.”

You get to your knees and groan as you push yourself to your feet. He tuts as gets down to plank, still gripping the weights. He lifts the left and puts it back down, then the right. You watch him for a minute, impressed by his strength. Your wary of lifting too much, you don’t trust yourself.

“You think your cute,” he sneers under his breath.

“Um, sometimes,” you hover across from him, “I just thought you might know more than me--”

“Of course I do,” he puffs between lifts.

“Mm, okay, well, I’d love to learn--”

“They got trainers for that,” he snips as he finishes his reps and puts his knees down.

“Right, um, sorry to bother then. I was only... asking,” you turn and grab your bottle.

You flip the top up again and slurp. You get to the bottom, sucking air loudly up before giving up. He huffs and stands with the weights, slamming them back on the rack.

“Do you have to make so much goddamn noise?” He stands straight and turns to you, crossing his thick arms. You stop short and part your lips.

“It’s empty, I didn’t--”

“It’s not the only thing’s that empty,” he taps his skull, “go back to the mall, girl.”

You scrunch your nose, “you don’t have to be rude, mister.”

“Honesty is a gift,” he snorts.

You pull your chin back. You didn’t mean to annoy him and you apologised already. You’re a nice person but you don’t appreciate his tone.

“Well, if I’m being honest,” you put your hands on your hips, “you’re not very nice.”

He chortles as a crease forms in his forehead, “and you’re not as cute as you think.”

“What does it matter what I think I am?” You challenge, “I didn’t ask you.”

“No, you just float around like some airhead and disturb everyone else,” he accuses.

You peer around, “there’s no one here.”

He drops his arms and lifts his chin. He steps forward and you waver, just a bit, put off by his size.

“I’m here,” he says.

You blink. What does that mean?

He takes another step and you stare at him, necks and cheek burning. His words strike an epiphany. It’s just you and him. He’s a lot stronger than you.

Another step and you put your hands up, “mister, you better not come any closer.”

He scoffs again, “or what? Are you going to cry?”

You pout and shake your head, “no, but I... I could scream. Or bite.”

He shakes his head, “what do you think I’m gonna do, girl? That’s what you do, isn’t it? Make yourself the victim. You need the attention to make you feel special.”

He’s getting closer.

“I said stay away,” you project your voice as best you can, “I’m not afraid of you, mister.”

He chuckles and tilts his head. He stops, just a step away from you, “aren’t you?’

Your eyes meet his and you stand trapped in the snare of his glower. His blue eyes are deep and fiery, his chiseled face is framed by dark curls and a thick beard, and his chin is cleft handsomely. He’s fearsome, a bear in man’s flesh. You’re no more than helpless hare.

You back away and his mouth slants in triumph. He’s won. You turn and gulp, gripping tight your bottle as your sneaker squeaks loudly. You scurry away, buzzing with adrenaline.

“That’s right, you run away, girl, run as fast as you can,” he calls after you, “not very, I’m sure.”

You keep a brisk walk as you hurry towards the locker room and push inside. Your heart is hammering and your breathless as you reach your locker. You put the bottle on the bench and clutch the sides of your head. You’re dizzy as you try to get a rein on your frazzled nerves.

You thought you left the bullies behind in high school, over a decade ago. In that second, you’re right back in your teenage years. Your eyes sting with tears and your stomach churns with humiliation. That glimmer of insecurity creeps back into you.

No, no. You’re an adult. You’re a grown woman. You have a job and a life you love. You’re nothing they said you were. You proved them all wrong and you will prove that butthead wrong too.

#walter marshall #dark walter marshall #dark!walter marshall #walter marshall x reader #drabble #series #gym au #au #night hunter #endurance

151 notes · View notes

all-the-things-2020 · 1 month

Text

Late Night Talking - Chapter Eleven

Summary: Dieter gets busier after the movie premiere and he and Emily go to NYC for The Tonight Show

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: ~6900

Tag list: @rhoorl @avastrasposts @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @gwendibleywrites @weho2kcmo

Things got very busy for Dieter after that weekend. Meetings and auditions and interviews filled his schedule. Every day I got multiple texts and voicemails from him. I called him back when I got home, but he was a little frustrated.

”If you’d gotten back to me in time, I could have gotten you invited, too,” he said the day he’d left three voicemails about a party at a Warner Brothers executive’s Malibu beach house.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I keep my phone locked in my desk while I’m at work. I don’t really have time to check it except on my lunch break.”

”Yeah, I know,” he said. “I just … all this great stuff is happening and I want to share it with you.”

”I’m happy for you, Deet. You deserve all of it. And I don’t need to go everywhere with you.”

“You kind of do,” he said slowly. “Carmen says that now that we’re red carpet official, we need to be seen together. It’s good for my image. The new Dieter Bravo is sober and in a stable relationship. Someone the studios can rely on, someone the general public can relate to.”

“I get it,” I said. “But what about privacy? A lot of celebrities keep their romantic partners out of the spotlight.”

”We’ll get there,” he promised. “But right now, while I’m still working on my comeback … I need your help, Em.”

A thought crossed my mind and I didn’t like it. “You … you didn’t ask me out because you thought I’d be good for your image, did you?”

”Hell, no! This is all shit Carmen spun. I mean, she’s good at taking what really happens and spinning it. She never told me to get a girlfriend, and she actually tried to talk me out of taking you to the premiere. She thought it was too early, that I needed some time in the spotlight alone to re-establish my image with the focus just on me, but I wanted you there.”

”Calm down, Deet. I believe you.” And I did. There was just a tiny little fraction of a percentage of my brain that didn’t.

**************************************************

Dieter showed up at my place that Friday evening with a smile on his face and a box in his hand. “For you,” he said.

I saw the Apple logo but I already had a phone and it was too small for an iPad or MacBook. “What is it?”

”Open it up,” he said. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet like a little kid. “It’s an Apple Watch,” he said before I’d even gotten the lid all the way off. “It syncs with your phone, so you can get texts and phone calls and stuff even if your phone is in your desk drawer. This way I can always get a hold of you.”

He pulled another package out of his pocket. “I even bought an upgraded band for you. Leather.” He snatched the box out of my hands. “Get your phone and let’s set it up.”

I picked my phone up off the coffee table. I wasn’t entirely sure I liked the idea of being at Dieter’s beck and call every moment of the day, but he was so excited, I couldn't tell him I wasn’t thrilled with the gift. For one thing, it was expensive. Even the most basic version was far beyond my price range. I wasn’t comfortable accepting gifts, anyway. I always made sure to pay my friends and co-workers back if they paid for lunch, or at least, made sure I treated them the next time. I didn’t like being beholden to anyone.

Dieter got the watch set up and helped me adjust the band to fit snugly but comfortably. “It‘ll count your steps, check your heart rate, all of that,” he said. “Like a Fitbit but you get texts and stuff as well. Real Dick Tracy shit.”

He pulled out his phone and sent me a text. The watch vibrated gently against my skin and a notification popped up. “See, you can read the text right on the watch,” Dieter said eagerly. “You can even send a suggested reply. And you can answer calls.” He tapped his phone again and this time the watch buzzed rhythmically as my phone rang. “Answer it!”

I tapped the green button and said, “Hello?”

Dieter’s voice came out of my wrist. “You ready for dinner?” I couldn’t help but smile. It really was Dick Tracy level shit.

“Yes,” I replied.

****************************************************

My watch buzzed on my wrist. I twisted my arm to wake it up and saw a text message from Dieter.

DIETER: U need to take next Thurs & Fri off. No questions

ME: What? Why?

DIETER: Hey no questions! Call me when u can xoxo

“I’m going to take a quick break,” I told Elaine, who as always was watching me from her office. . It was a quiet time of the day, so I grabbed my phone from the back office, stepped outside where the cell signal was stronger and called Dieter.

“That was fast,” he said. I usually wasn’t able to call him during the day.

“I can’t just take time off without knowing why,” I said. “What’s going on?”

“Remember on our first date, I told you I’d show you New York sometime?,” he said. “Well, I just got booked on The Tonight Show for next Thursday, and you’re coming with me.”

“Wait, what?”

“My agent booked me on The Tonight Show,” he repeated. “It’s filmed in New York. I want you to come with me. We leave that morning, we’ll come back on Saturday. I already booked the flight.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll put in for the time off,” I said. I knew we didn’t have much on the agenda the following week and I had plenty of vacation time banked since I tended to save it up for the end of the school year when I was tired. “I’ll call you again when I get home.”

“Great,” he said. “Talk to you then, babe.”

I hung up and went back inside. Elaine immediately asked if anything was wrong. The woman had an instinct for finding out bad news and spreading it around the entire campus.

“No, no, everything’s fine. But I’ll be taking a couple of days off next week,” I said. “Excuse me, but I need to put that in the system before I forget.” I knew she was dying to ask why I was taking time off, but it was none of her business and I liked to stymie her efforts at being nosy. I hurried off to the back office to use the computer, leaving her standing indignantly at the counter.

************************************

I had my luggage in the trunk of my car, so at the end of the day on Wednesday, I drove straight from work to Dieter’s house. It felt weird to be driving in during the middle of the week again. I’d done it quite a bit during the summer, when we’d first started dating, but now that I’d been back at work for a few months, I was used to fighting Friday evening traffic. Not that Wednesday evening traffic was exactly light, but it was better than usual and I got to his house a good twenty minutes faster than I’d expected.

“Hey, baby,” Dieter said when he answered the door. “You got here fast.” He pulled me inside, wrapping his arms around me and giving me an exuberant kiss. “I ordered dinner but it won’t be delivered for about an hour.” He raised an eyebrow. “What should we do until then?”

“Gee, I don’t know,” I said, playing along. We both knew full well we were going to end up making out on the couch. It was our typical routine on Friday nights. He’d order food to be delivered about a half hour after I got there and we’d occupy ourselves by making up for not having seen each other for almost a week. The doorbell always seemed to ring far too soon, but this time we had an extra half hour to indulge ourselves.

I was on Dieter’s lap, my skirt hiked up above my waist and my hand down his pants when the doorbell rang. We both groaned, frustrated at being interrupted. I climbed off him, pulled my skirt back down and went to the door, since it was going to be a minute or two before he was able to walk properly.

“Dinner first or do you want to pick up where we left off?” I asked when I came back with the food. It was Thai food, and smelled absolutely amazing, but I was willing to wait for it if that’s what he wanted.

He fastened the button on his pants. “Let’s eat,” he said. “Don’t want the food to get cold, and I think we’ll heat back up better than it will.” I rolled my eyes and took the food into the kitchen, where I started to unpack it onto the island. Dieter got out the plates and flatware, took a couple of beers out of the fridge, and soon we were perched on barstools, shoveling Thai food into our faces.

“What time is our flight in the morning?” I asked him in between mouthfuls.

“Six,” he said with a groan. “We get into New York at two, so they’ll probably take us straight to 30 Rock from the airport so I can do makeup and shit before the taping.”

“Flight leaves at six, so we need to get there at what … four?” I was feeling tired already.

“Yeah, I think the Uber is supposed to get here at 3:15 or something like that,” he said. “It’s all on my phone.” He took a swig of his beer. “I hate early flights, but NBC wouldn’t spring for an extra night at the hotel. It was hard enough to get them to include Friday night.”

“They’re paying?” I asked. “I thought you said you booked the flight.”

“Oh, yeah, they pay for your hotel, transportation, all that shit when you do a talk show. They don’t pay you, because technically it’s free publicity for you. I’m paying for your plane ticket, but that’s it.”

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” I said, playing with the label on my bottle of beer. I still felt weird having Dieter pay for things, even though he insisted it was no big deal. I knew he could afford it more than I could, but it still felt awkward.

“I wanted to show you New York, and this was a perfect opportunity to do it,” he said. “I know how you feel about me paying for stuff, so I thought doing it on someone else’s dime might make you less likely to turn me down.” He made a pensive face.

I sat my fork down and laid my hand on top of his. “Hey,” I said. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate everything, sweetheart. I do. I’m just not used to anyone spending money on me.”

He flipped his hand over and entwined his fingers with mine. “I know,” he said, rubbing his thumb against my palm. “I’m trying to not go overboard.” He smiled. “It’s just hard not to spoil you, babe.”

I rolled my eyes. No one had ever wanted to spoil me before and I certainly wasn’t expecting it from him. We finished our dinner in silence, playing with each other’s fingers. This was one of the things I liked best about our relationship. We didn’t always need to say anything to communicate with each other.

I washed the dishes while Dieter dumped the leftovers in the trash (no point in keeping them if we weren’t going to be back for several days) and took the trash and recycling out to the bins. When he came back inside, he had that look on his face.

“So,” he said, taking the dish towel out of my hand and tossing it on the counter. “Shall we pick up where we left off?” He spun me around so I was facing him, backed me against the counter and gave me a deep, passionate kiss. He tasted like Thai food and beer.

“We should probably go to bed early,” I said when he came up for air. “Early flight and all.”

He hummed in agreement, already busy nibbling on my neck. I pushed him away and steered him backward toward the bedroom. He bumped into the wall a couple of times, but we made it eventually.

*****************************

The next morning was all a blur. We got up at 2:30, stumbled our way to the Uber, yawned through the security lines at LAX and slumped into our seats on the plane. Dieter fell asleep almost immediately, but I can’t sleep in that sort of situation, so I only managed a fitful doze. When we landed, we were met by a team of bright young interns from NBC who grabbed our luggage and whisked it off of the hotel in one car while we were bundled into another one for the drive to Rockefeller Center.

Dieter and I were crammed in the back seat of a town car with an intern who was consulting two different phones at once. She rattled off the schedule for the evening before making a call and carrying on a conversation while texting several people on the other phone.

“Is it always like this?” I whispered. Dieter just shrugged and put his arm around my shoulder. I stared out the window at the city passing by as we drove along the expressway. He played with my hair as the intern tapped away at her phone, oblivious to us both.

The car pulled up in front of 30 Rock, the famous building that housed NBC Studios, the Rainbow Room, and other landmarks. I couldn’t help but stare up at the towering building as the intern ushered us inside. I was used to seeing skyscrapers now and then in L.A. but nothing this huge and imposing.

Suddenly, there was yet another intern at my elbow. “Hi, I’m Stephanie,” she said brightly. “Are you Mr. Bravo’s assistant?”

“She’s my girlfriend, Emily,” Dieter said. “Take care of her, okay?”

“Got it, Mr. Bravo,” she said. The other intern was already steering him away, chattering something about getting to makeup before she got killed.

“See you later, babe,” Dieter said, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek before he disappeared.

I must have looked a bit shell-shocked, because Stephanie patted my arm. “Karen’s a force of nature,” she said. “That girl thinks the world will stop turning if she lets off the gas even a smidge. Which is why she’ll probably be running the place in fifteen years.” She shrugged and consulted her clipboard. “Well, while they’re prepping your boyfriend for camera, would you like a quick tour of the studio? The show starts shooting at five, but they start letting the audience in at four, so we have a little time before then. I can show you the set and everything, let you pick out where you want to sit during the show. Unless you’d rather hang out in the Green Room with Mr. Bravo?”

“Oh, no, I’ve never been to a taping before, I’d like to be in the audience,” I told her. She looked me quickly up and down.

“Let’s swing by wardrobe, get you a scarf or something to brighten up your outfit,” she said. “The director likes to have some color in the audience.” I was wearing my favorite jumpsuit, which was not only cute but extremely comfortable, which was important during the flight. It was also black with thin white pin stripes, not exactly something that would pop on camera.

Stephanie led me into the depths of the studio, pointing out things right and left as we wended our way through the labyrinth. We stopped in the wardrobe department, where she talked someone into loaning me an adorable electric blue blazer that set off my jumpsuit perfectly. Then she walked me into the studio where The Tonight Show was shot.

Crew were bustling around, setting up cameras and lights and prepping the set, but Stephanie took me right up onto the stage. “So here’s where Jimmy sits,” she said, pointing out a chair behind the desk. “And the chairs where the guests sit.” She plopped down in one and patted the cushion beside her. “Come on, have a seat. This is the view Mr. Bravo will have when he’s on stage. So, where do you want to sit?” She pointed at an area of the audience. “You‘ll be in his line of sight if you sit in that section.”

“Oh, um, wherever you think would be good,” I said, a bit overwhelmed as I realized that in a short time Dieter was going to be sitting right here in this chair, being interviewed by Jimmy Fallon and looking into the audience to see me sitting among the hundreds of others, watching him. How did he do this all the time? Get up in front of strangers and risk looking like a fool? I got nervous just speaking in front of five or six coworkers that I’d known for years.

“Hey, Stephanie, you warming up the chairs?,” a stagehand said as he walked past. He had a headset on and a phone in his hand. How did these people keep track of all these conversations?

“Just showing Emily around,” she said. “Her boyfriend’s a guest; wanted to show her what his view will be.”

“Well, we need to do some lighting checks so you need to clear the set,” he said.

“Sure,” Stephanie said, jumping up. She gestured for me to follow her. “Have you had lunch yet?”

“Um, no,” I said. We’d had some pretzels on the plane but hadn’t had time to stop for anything after leaving the airport.

She walked me up into the seating area, stopping to slap a sticky note on an aisle seat two rows up from the front. “We’ll hit craft services so you can eat,” she said, “but this will save your seat for you.” We continued up to the top of the auditorium and out into a waiting area where a bunch of people were milling around. “These are the audience members,” she said off-handedly, steering me to the left. “They’ll let them in after they finish all the checks but we can take our time.”

We went through a door that Stephanie had to unlock with a key card and through two more doors and down a hallway to a long room lined on one side by tables covered with sandwiches, fruit, cookies, and other assorted food. “Take whatever you want,” she said, grabbing a bottle of water out of a bucket of ice at the end of the table.

I was surveying the spread, trying to decide what to choose, when I heard Stephanie say, “Hey, Jimmy.” I looked up and saw Jimmy Fallon grabbing a coffee and bagel off the table.

“Hey, Steph,” he said. “Who’s your friend?”

“Oh, this is Emily. She’s here with Dieter Bravo. Thought she should have something to eat before the show starts.”

Jimmy nodded and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Emily,” he said, shaking my hand. “Dieter’s still in makeup but he’ll be out in a minute. He said you came straight from the airport so I’m sure you’re starving.” He waved his hand at the food. “Take whatever you want, it comes out of Seth Meyers’ budget.”

Stephanie laughed, and so did I, even though I was searching my mind to remember who Seth Meyers was. I didn’t watch much late night television, since I had to get up so damn early for work.

“Hey,” Jimmy said, leaning toward me. “Got any embarrassing stories I can ask Dieter about? They gave me the standard, boring questions but it’s more fun if I can put a guest on the spot.”

I grabbed some strawberries off the table and popped one in my mouth to give me a chance to think. “Um, you could ask him about the scar on his butt,” I said. “Even if he won’t tell the story, it’ll get him flustered.”

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “Oho, that sounds promising,” he said. He grabbed a napkin off the table and pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket, scribbled a note and shoved both back into this pocket just as Dieter came into the room.

“Oh, yeah, food,” he said as he came toward us. He did pause to give me a quick kiss but most of his focus was on the food. I followed him down the line of tables as we each filled a plate and then found seats on the other side of the room. People were running around, some eating, some carrying clipboards, others just running for no apparent reason. It was organized chaos.

“You coming backstage?” Dieter asked in between bites.

“No, Stephanie saved a seat for me in the audience,” I told him. “I’ve never seen a show taping, so I thought it would be interesting.”

He nodded. “I’ll look for you,” he said, winking at me. He popped the last bite of his food in his mouth. “They’re going to call for places soon,” he said. “I’ll see you after the show. Have fun.” He leaned over and kissed me before taking my empty plate and stacking it on top of his. He tossed them both in the trash as he headed back the way he’d come.

Stephanie reappeared at my side. “Let me get you settled in the audience,” she said. “We’re about twenty minutes from the monologue.” I was surprised at how quickly time had gone by. No wonder everyone was in such a hurry.

She led me back through several doors and back into the studio. The seats were all full except for a few that had large bright yellow “RESERVED” signs on them, including mine. Stephanie ripped the sign off my seat and waited until I was settled. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll meet you in the lobby after the show. Enjoy!”

Stephanie disappeared and I settled into my seat. I had an excellent view of the stage and she was right: I was going to be right in Dieter’s line of sight. An older couple was sitting in front of me and next to me on the right was a young woman who was practically bouncing in her seat. She was on her phone and I couldn’t help overhearing her side of the conversation.

“No, somebody took it,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “No, nobody important that I can tell. Some middle aged soccer mom type. Probably somebody’s mom or aunt or something. Yeah, I was hoping for the aisle seat, but I got as close as I could. I’m going to have such a great view! God, I hope he can see the audience from the stage. I wore purple because it’s his favorite color, he’d definitely see me if I was in that aisle seat.”

It wasn’t hard to figure out who she was talking about. She was in her twenties, wearing a low cut purple blouse and tight jeans. Her phone case had a picture of Dieter on it and her purse sported a Cliff Beasts themed tag.

“I am so glad you told me he was going to be on tonight,” she went on. “I had to spend seventy-five bucks to get a ticket off someone in line, but it will be so worth it! I mean, I’m about ready to hyperventilate already just knowing I’m in the same building he is!”

Just then my own phone dinged and I pulled it out of my purse.

DIETER: U should have come backstage they have skittles!!

Next came a photo of a giant bowl of Skittles. I stifled a laugh as I texted back.

ME: Don’t eat them all u will be bouncing off the walls all nite

DIETER: Too late The text was followed by a GIF of Tigger bouncing on his tail.

ME: U r crazy

DIETER: Yup. Gotta go I’m on deck, i go right after the monologue

ME: Break a leg

I slipped the phone back into my purse. If the girl next to me only knew who I was texting … The awkward high school girl in me wanted so badly to rub it in her face, especially after the “soccer mom” crack, but I knew it was petty and childish. So I kept my mouth shut.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please silence or turn off your phones and other electronic devices,” an announcer said. “Remember, photography and recording during the taping are strictly prohibited.” I dutifully powered off my phone, but the girl next to me simply tucked hers into her purse, keeping one hand inside the handbag. I had the feeling she was going to live Tweet the entire thing.

A few minutes later, the lights over the audience dimmed and a young man came out to warm up the audience. “Folks, Jimmy will be out in a few minutes to do his monologue, but first let’s get to know each other a bit better.” He started into a spiel, asking those who were from out of town to raise their hands, then those who were in New York for the first time. He walked up and down the aisles, asking questions here and there, making stupid jokes that made everyone groan.

Then, he bounded back down to the stage, consulted with someone who I assumed was the director (she had a huge headset on, three clipboards and an iPad). He nodded, the director lifted on hand, did a countdown, then pointed at The Roots who began to play the theme song. The announcer came back on. “Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon!”

The “Applause” sign came on and then Jimmy was walking on stage. He looked taller than he had backstage, but maybe that was because instead of scrounging for a bagel, now he was standing in a spotlight, delivering a witty monologue. When the monologue was over, he said, “We’re going to take a quick break, but when we come back, help me welcome our first guest, Oscar winner Dieter Bravo!”

The girl next to me practically screamed right in my ear and I winced. The director made a signal with her hand and the spotlight went out, Jimmy seemed to shrink back to normal size and the red lights on the cameras went off. “We’re out,” the director said. “Two minutes.”

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” the girl next to me was muttering. Her leg was bouncing so hard I was afraid she was going to work her seat loose from the bolts holding it to the floor.

“Back in thirty,” said a stage manager. The girl started wringing her hands and she was breathing so erratically I was afraid she was going to pass out.

“Ten.” Were those actual tears in her eyes?

“Five, four, three, two, one ….” The director pointed at Jimmy, who was now seated behind his desk, the lights went back up and the camera lights glowed red.

“Welcome back!,” Jimmy said. “And now, let’s welcome our first guest. He won a Best Supporting Actor Oscar for Illusions and is currently co-starring in the hit film Time for a Change … give it up for Dieter Bravo!”

The curtains parted and Dieter walked out, waving to the audience, a huge smile on his face. The girl beside me was screaming, “I love you, Dieter!,” and it made my ears ring. I clapped politely.

He scanned the crowd as he walked toward Jimmy’s desk and I knew the moment he spotted me; his eyes lit up and he gave me a quick wink. “Oh my God,” the girl beside me said to no one. “He winked at me!”

I rolled my eyes but held my tongue. Dieter shook hands with Jimmy, turned to face the audience again, waved one last time, then sat down. As the applause died down, Jimmy tapped his stack of cue cards against the top of the desk.

“So, Dieter, it’s great to see you again,” he said. “I think the last time was, what, when you were in ‘Cliff Beasts 6’?”

“Yes, that seems like a lifetime ago,” Dieter said with a laugh. “Kind of was, actually.”

“Things really have changed a lot for you the last couple of years,” Jimmy said. “But this isn’t an Oprah interview, so don’t worry, I won’t ask any hard questions. Maybe.” There was laughter from the audience. The girl next to me was perched on the edge of her seat, hands clasped in front of her so tightly her knuckles were turning white.

Jimmy and Dieter chatted a bit about the film. It was standard stuff, nothing he hadn’t already said ten times before, but somehow Dieter made the same old anecdotes and platitudes sound fresh.

Then Jimmy flicked his eyes up into the audience and I swear he looked right at me before smiling quietly. “And acting’s dangerous, too,” he said. “You don’t do a lot of action films but there are sometimes stunts involved. I think you got a scar on your elbow from a scene in Nightshade?”

”Yeah,” Dieter said. “The set had some exposed screws and nails on this one part and I accidentally fell against it. Cut me pretty bad. I had to get stitches.” He grimaced.

“But that’s not your only scar,” Jimmy said. “I heard you got another scar, more recently? In a more intimate location? Can you tell us about that?”

Dieter closed his eyes and I knew he was cursing me inwardly. He opened his eyes, gave me an “I’m going to kill you later” look and turned to Jimmy. “Yes, I do have another scar, but there’s two ways I can tell the story. One way embarrasses me, and the other embarrasses someone else, who I suspect is the person who told you to ask me about it. So … do I throw her under the bus, or do I throw myself under the bus?” He grinned wickedly and glanced up at me. I just smiled at him. It was up to him how he wanted to tell the story and whichever way he chose, I was fine with it.

“Oh, I don’t think you can throw her under the bus,” Jimmy said. “Believe me, never embarrass your significant other in public, or you’ll pay for it for years. My wife still brings up the time on our third date when I … well, I’d better not say anything else or she’ll lock me out of the house. Again.” Everyone laughed.

Dieter sighed and sat forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him. “Okay,” he said. “Here’s the story. The one that makes me look like an idiot. So … I was at my girlfriend’s house. It’s the middle of the night, we’re sound asleep, and the smoke alarm started peeping. Not going off like there’s a fire, just that annoying little ‘peep’ that means the battery’s low. And we wake up and I’m like, ‘What’s going on?,’ and she says, ‘It’s the smoke alarm, it needs a new battery.’”

“It always happens in the middle of the night, doesn’t it?” Jimmy asked. “What’s up with that?”

“Right?” Dieter said. “So, she says ‘I’ve got to get the step stool so we can reach it,’ and I, trying to impress her with my handyman skills and supreme manliness, reason , ‘Oh, no, I can just stand on the bed and reach it.’ So I get a battery out of the drawer and I stand up on the bed and unscrew the cover … feeling pretty proud of myself. And then I stepped back just a bit, my foot slipped off the edge of the mattress and I fell off the bed.” Everyone gasped. “Knocked over the night stand, which broke the lamp … and then I landed on the lamp. The broken lamp.”

Jimmy grimaced. “Oh, man.”

“Yeah,” Dieter said. “Landed on my ass right on top of a huge shard of glass from the lamp. Naked. Bleeding all over the floor. She’s freaking out, I’m freaking out —- because it hurt like hell — we rush to the emergency room at like one o’clock in the morning and I end up getting nine stitches.”

Jimmy was dying laughing by this point, laying across his desk. “Oh, man,” he said again. “That … that is … I mean, I know it isn’t funny, you got hurt, but …” He dissolved into laughter again.

Dieter laughed ruefully. “Yeah, at the time we were pretty traumatized, but now it’s pretty funny. I mean, no one wants to show up in the ER and have to tell the doctor that they’ve been stabbed in the ass … by a lamp.”

Everyone was laughing by this time, including me, and Jimmy had tears running down his face. “Oh, oh,” he gasped. “You have got to thank your girlfriend for telling me to ask you about this. This is hilarious.”

“Oh, I will,” Dieter said. “Trust me, we’ll be talking about this tonight.”

Jimmy recovered his composure long enough to say, “We need to take another break, but just you wait … next up, Broadway’s newest Aaron Burr …” I was distracted by the girl next to me frantically tapping away on her phone, which was hidden in her lap under her purse. She was typing so hard she bumped me with her elbow.

“Oh, sorry,” she whispered. When I glanced over I saw part of her text: OMG that image him naked on the floor, so hawt, I’m gonna die

I shook my head. “And we’re out,” the director said. “Two minutes, folks.” I looked back up and Jimmy and Dieter were chatting about something, leaning across the desk to hear each other over the murmur of the audience. Then they both looked up at the same time, caught my eye and busted up laughing. I pointed at them and shook my head.

“Thirty seconds,” the call came and I realized the girl next to me had seen me pointing at the stage.

“You know Jimmy Fallon?,” she asked, her eyes narrowing. I could see the wheels turning in her head. Just how much had I heard of her description of me, and if I knew Jimmy, could I introduce her to Dieter?

“Not really,” I said. “Just met him today.”

“Then you know …?,” the light was dawning in her eyes.

“Ten seconds!”

“Shh, we’re almost back,” I said, turning my attention back to the stage.

“Five, four, three, two, one ….”

The lights went back up, Jimmy snapped back into host mode and was introducing the next guest, an up and coming young man who had recently taken over the role of Aaron Burr in ‘Hamilton’. He walked out, shook hands with Jimmy, and then with Dieter, who moved over one seat.

I did my best to pay attention to the interview (which was extremely interesting), ignoring the girl next to me who was alternately staring at me, typing furiously on her phone and watching Dieter. Every time he flicked his eyes in my direction, she tensed up. It was extremely petty of me to enjoy it so much, but I didn’t care.

At the next break, she turned to me, all bright eyed and smiling. “So, how do you know Dieter?”

As if you haven’t already figured it out, I thought. “He fell off my bed,” I said simply, then turned my attention back to the stage. She didn’t try to talk to me again until the show was over.

******************************

The girl followed me into the lobby. I tried my best to ignore her and was relieved to see Stephanie waiting for me. “Come on, Emily,” she said.

“Oh, do you work here?,” the girl said, butting in. Stephanie gave her an irritated look and nodded. “Will there be a meet and greet with the guests? A stage door or something?”

“No,” Stephanie said. “I’m afraid not.” She turned away and ushered me toward the locked door we’d passed through before. “Let me guess, fan girl?,” she said as soon as we were far enough away for the girl not to overhear.

“Yes,” I said. “I thought she was going to have an aneurysm when he walked on stage.”

Stephanie snorted. “You should have been here when we had the Backstreet Boys a couple of months ago,” she said, unlocking the door. “A bunch of middle aged fan girls acting like teenagers … it was insane.” We wended our way through the backstage area again, this time going past the room where the craft services tables were laid out and through another door. “Welcome to the Green Room,” Stephanie said.

It was not green, instead a hodgepodge of browns and tans, with a scattering of comfortable chairs and couches. The table in the middle of the room held a tray of fruit and that giant bowl of Skittles that Dieter had sent me a picture of. “You can hang out here and Mr. Bravo will be out in a few minutes,” Stephanie said. “I’ll take your blazer back to wardrobe.” I handed it to her and she disappeared through another door. I sat down on the couch, grabbing a handful of Skittles.

“Ha, I knew you couldn’t resist them.” Dieter came into the room. He’d undone another button on his shirt and already mussed up his hair. He grabbed a handful himself and plopped down next to me.

“Sorry for telling Jimmy about the scar,” I said, bumping my shoulder against his.

He shrugged. “It made for a good interview,” he said. “Better than the boring questions his staff gave him, that’s for sure.” He chuckled. “QuestLove said when I write my memoirs the title should be ‘Stabbed in the Ass By A Lamp: The Dieter Bravo Story.’”

Karen popped through yet another door. “Your car is ready, Mr. Bravo,” she said abruptly. We knew it was best not to keep her waiting.

As we settled into the back of the town car (alone this time, thank goodness), Dieter let out a huge sigh. “I don’t know about you, but I’m beat,” he said. He glanced at his watch. It was almost seven. “Let’s just eat at the hotel and make it an early night, what do you say?”

“Sounds fine by me,” I said. We’d been up since 2:30 and even though we’d gained three hours and my biological clock thought it was only going on four, I was still running on fumes.

The Benjamin wasn’t far from Rockefeller Center. Our car pulled up in front of the entrance, which was presided over by a magnificent carved owl. Everything was done in tasteful, calming browns and cream. We stopped by the desk to pick up our keys (the interns who had taken charge of our luggage had already checked us in) and rode the elevator up to our room. It wasn’t large but Dieter had warned me that rooms in New York were never big. “Real estate is precious in the city, especially in Manhattan,” he’d told me.

We ordered room service, deciding to split the Steak Frites and a Caesar salad. While we waited for the food, I unpacked our bags and explored the amenities in the bathroom, which included the fluffiest bathrobes I’d ever seen in my life. We ate dinner, then took turns in the shower. By eight thirty, we were both wrapped in our bathrobes, lounging on the queen sized bed, flipping through the channels on the television.

“Want to stay up and watch the show?” Dieter asked as he settled on a channel that was showing Raiders of the Lost Ark. We’d both seen the movie a million times but it was a classic and we didn’t have to pay close attention to it, so it was perfect for a lazy night.

“Sure,” I said. “Not like we’re going to do anything more exciting tonight.” I had rummaged in the minibar and was laying out a bounty of macadamia nuts, Toblerone bars, and tiny bottles of Chardonnay.

“Hey,” he said.

I laughed. “I mean, we aren’t going out or anything. Although I have the feeling we’ll be lucky to stay awake long enough,” I said, stifling a yawn. It really had been a long day.

We snuggled up on the bed, munching on our impromptu dessert and watching Indy’s exploits. During the commercials, I told him about the fan girl who’d been sitting beside me and I thought he was going to fall off the bed laughing when I told him my answer to her question of how I knew him.

“Oh, sweetheart” he said. “You are so snarky sometimes.” He kissed my forehead. “I love it.”

When the movie was over, we watched a PBS travel program about trains in Scandinavia before switching over to the news at eleven. I could barely keep my eyes open by the time The Tonight Show came on, and after Dieter’s segment, I gave up completely. I took off my glasses, laid them on the nightstand and slipped out of my robe and under the covers. A few minutes later, Dieter followed suit, clicking the television off and then the lamp. “Good night, baby,” he mumbled as he slid his arms around me.

“Good night,” I said, nuzzling against his chest. I always fell asleep quickly when I was in his arms. That night was no exception.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo fanfiction #the bubble fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #late night talking

16 notes · View notes