#dieter bravo
fuckyeahdindjarin · a day ago
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Dieter Bravo x f!reader
 { << Part 6: Confute | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }
Rating: E (18+ only)
Summary: You broke the cardinal rule, and Dieter knows it. There’s only one thing to do.
Warnings: ANGST, JEALOUSY, fighting, drinking, swearing, dirty talk, oral sex (m receiving), safe unprotected sex (be smart kids!), bath tub sex, size kink, light cum play, yearning, mentions of food, no use of Y/N
Word count: 8.9k… I tried to write less, believe me 😒
Note: I lied... this is not the end. But I swear this is the penultimate chapter of Consent. Buckle up - it’s a bumpy one 🫢
Originally, there wasn't going to be any smut in this part, but then I read @ezrasbirdie's amazing Dentist!Ezra series, specifically Slick 🥵 and I couldn't stop thinking about a *certain position*, and... this happened. Thank you for letting me use the idea for Dieter, Birdie!
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Week 13
As it turns out, deep within the well of infinite chaos that is Dieter Bravo, there is wisdom. 
‘Fake Date Gate’, as it has been dubbed by someone in the sound department and quickly adopted by everyone else, does blow over with little pomp and circumstance. A Dieter Bravo newsflash with no full frontal nudity, sex or drugs? Hardly sells any papers.
But on set, it’s a different story.
You bustle into the studio side by side with Dieter on Monday, two days after the story dropped and abruptly fizzled out. Your nose is in the script while you rattle off last-minute changes in the scene at him, your mind having completely moved on from the paparazzi fiasco.
An intense heat floods you as you’re blinded by an unexpected spotlight pointed at you both. Before you can bite out what the fuck, you’re stopped in your tracks by raucous cheers and applause, and you feel embarrassment blooming on your hot cheeks as your pre-coffee brain finally catches on.
Dieter graciously bows at the cheering crew and tries to deflect the attention, but when the noise does not abate, he grins and pulls you close by your waist. He murmurs under his breath, ‘Let’s put on a show, sweetheart.’
Mercifully, he only presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, which is enough to assuage your colleagues, but it still makes you flush to the tips of your ears.
And so it goes for the next couple of days. 
When people you hardly recognise wolf whistle at you two walking down the corridor, Dieter indulges them by intertwining his fingers with yours, and bringing your hand up to press a kiss on the back of it. He doesn’t let go even when you turn the corner and out of their sight. 
When you’re waiting for the coffee to brew in the break room with Dieter and someone hollers playfully, he comes up behind you to wrap his thick arms around your waist, chin on the top of your head, while the machine whirrs, long after the instigators leave the room.
He doesn’t need to tell you that he enjoys hamming it up for these little skits, knowing full well that everyone else thinks that he’s acting - but you.
It’s Wednesday, and it's time to face the reckoning - Ruth is working at the canteen while you’re on your lunch break. 
You steel yourself, pasting on your sweetest smile and walk confidently up to her. ‘Hi Ruth, how are you doing? The new hair colour looks great on you.’
In lieu of a response, Ruth doesn’t break eye contact while she scoops wet, broken layers of lasagne onto your plate, which land with an unappetising splat. The smile on your face wilts.
You’re staring at your lunch in despair when a voice pipes up behind you. ‘Ruth, my sweetling, how are you today?’
She gives Dieter a pout. ‘I’ve been better, not going to lie.’
You glare at him when he gets handed a huge, perfectly sliced piece of lasagne. Dieter goes on to console her. ‘Baby, you know you’re my favourite, right? This one?’ He jerks a dismissive thumb in your direction, before pushing you away and making a blugh face. ‘Just some PR stunt.’
Your eyebrows reach for your hairline, but before you get any words out, Dieter is steamrolling you towards the cutlery station.
‘What the fuck was that?’ you splutter.
He reaches over you to grab forks and knives. ‘Saving your life, duh. Do you want her to poison your food? Because she would've. You’re welcome, sweetheart.’
You slide your tray down and pluck an iced coffee from the fridge. You grumble to yourself, ‘PR stunt? With an intimacy coordinator? That doesn’t even make any sense.’
He follows hot on your heels after he nabs a green juice. ‘C’mon sweetheart, you’re not mad at me for being sweet on Ruth, are you?’
Tobias waves as you power walk past his table. ‘Bravo, you with us or the missus?’
He winks at the director. ‘Sorry man, gotta sit with my girl.’
You roll your eyes as he follows you to your table where your friends are seated. ‘Excuse me. I didn’t say you could sit with me. And don’t call me that.’
He ignores you, fistbumping Pete and high-fiving Ana, making himself comfortable next to you.
Pete sighs, wriggling his fork at you. ‘My favourite lovebirds. I call best man.’
‘You can’t just call best man,’ Ana chides, chewing on her salad, but decides she doesn’t want to miss out. ‘I call maid of honour.’
You cradle your head in one hand, while shoving at the limp excuse of a lasagne with your fork. ‘Oh god, when will all this be over?’
Dieter slurps on his juice, and taps on the table emphatically with his index finger. ‘Listen, sweetheart. The more you resist, the longer it drags on for. The more you lean in, the quicker people get bored.’
Pete holds his face between his palms, beaming from ear to ear as he declares, ‘Not me, I’ll never get bored of the two of you.’
You narrow your eyes at him. ‘Pete?’
‘Yeah, babe?’
‘Fuck off.’
He blows a kiss at you. ‘Never.’
Dieter points a finger at Pete and warns him, slightly garbled, through a mouthful of lasagne. ‘Hey, lay off my woman, punk.’ 
‘Don’t talk while you eat, Bravo,’ you admonish, wrinkling your nose at him.
His grin drips with lasciviousness and you quickly regret your words. Heat flares beneath your skin when his tongue darts out to lick at a smudge of tomato sauce on the corner of his plush lips. He practically purrs at you, ‘That’s not what you said last night, sweetheart.’
A half-chewed romaine leaf flies out of Ana’s mouth and lands in Pete’s pea soup, but fortunately for him, he’s too busy choking on his coffee to notice, thumping his chest with a clenched fist as the liquid goes down the wrong way. 
Over the commotion, Dieter shoots you a cheeky smile, and you have to chew the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from grinning back. 
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It’s the toughest job you’ve ever been in the running for. You’ve had four rounds of interviews so far, each with a different panel, all scheduled before 7am or after 10pm, which are the only time slots the various directors of casting, photography or producers have been available. If you do get the job, you know you have long days to look forward to. 
Dieter helps you prep for your interviews and orders Deliveroo when you’re on your Zoom calls so you don’t starve. He gives you a good luck kiss before and holds you in your self-doubt after. 
It’s a nerve-wracking wait for the final decision. You don’t have a Plan B. If you don’t get it, you might be out for months before something else comes along, burning your savings in the meantime.
It’s Thursday and you’re about to head to the break room for a much-needed coffee when your phone screen flashes. It’s a Canadian number.
You press the green button with trembling fingers, and you can’t help the quiver in your voice. ‘Hello?’
At that very moment, Dieter’s eyes meet yours across the set, where Ana is dusting setting powder over his forehead. The hand over your mouth can’t hide the grin of disbelief that’s broken across your face.
One look at your smile and he comes running.
That particular part seems most baffling to the crew, none of whom has seen Dieter at any pace beyond a leisurely swagger.
He all but knocks you off your feet, and you cling to his shoulders, balancing precariously on your tippy toes and his hands on the small of your back.
‘I’m so proud of you, sweetheart,’ he whispers, knowing full well the microphones are feeding his words to everyone wired to the audio. 
The I’ll show you how much later, in his eyes - that’s just for you.
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The next day, Dieter signs the Linklater contract. Rebecca insists on taking you and Dieter out to dinner with her husband at a rowdy Italian trattoria where the food keeps coming. It’s so loud that you have to shout to hear each other over the racket.
Hank is a Hollywood divorce attorney, and the three of them are obviously very close. You listen to them talk about their daughter, and how the last time they had Uncle D over was for Christmas and that he should come around for dinner before he flies to Italy.
Rebecca covers your hand with hers, glass of wine in the other. ‘You must come along, darling. The last time I let Dieter bring a girl over, Coco was still missing her front teeth.’
‘I would love to, but I think I might be in Canada by then,’ you reply noncommittally, and the conversation meanders in another direction.
Dieter’s hand on your knee wanders higher as the wine goes down. You’re buzzed enough on drink that you don’t protest when he snakes his arm around your waist halfway through the pasta course, his palm resting possessively on the swell of your hip and it stays there all night. You let him feed you tangles of spaghetti bolognese and eggplant parmigiana, giggling when he makes a mess and wipes you off clumsily with his napkin.
You spotted far more famous faces on the way in so you know you could get away with it.
Hank pours you both some more wine, and asks conversationally, ‘So how long have you guys been together for?’
Rebecca elbows him so hard he spills about half a glass onto the table. He splutters, ‘Honey, what was that for?’
The question hits unexpectedly hard, and you try to cover up your discomfort by bringing up your glass of wine to your lips for a long sip. The thought comes to you, uncalled for - in a week, it wouldn’t matter. 
Clearing your throat, you excuse yourself to go to the washroom. Gripping the cool porcelain of the sink, you study yourself in the mirror. The elation of these two days is slowly wearing off…
And you have no idea where you stand.
You know what you agreed to. In a week, your job is over. This is over.
Unless - no. In a month, you will be an Atlantic away from each other. There’s no way. No point thinking about that.
You’re shaken out of your thoughts when an out-of-tune birthday serenade floats through the door. You give yourself one last check in the mirror, smooth out your skirt, and head for the exit.
When you sidle out of the bathroom, you’re promptly cornered by Dieter, who backs you up against the wall and kisses you fully on the mouth. His tongue is bitter with the red wine he’s been drinking all night, sliding wetly along your lower lip, hands impatiently squeezing your ass over your skirt. The buzz of the restaurant is right behind him.
You try to squirm out of his grip. ‘Dieter, anyone can walk in on us.’
‘Don’t give a fuck, sweetheart. I want everyone to know you’re mine.’
It hurts, because you can’t be. But he’s too far gone to notice. So you close your eyes and you let him steal your breath away with a kiss so deep that you have to physically steady yourself when he pulls away.
You put on a brave face. ‘Let’s go home.’
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The next morning dawns wet and cold. You wake up far too early considering the amount of alcohol you still have sloshing around in your bloodstream.
So you draw a bath - extra bubbles, extra hot. You set your half-empty mug of tea on the floor next to the tub and step in, sighing deeply as you sink into the water, letting the bath draw out your hangover like poison from a wound.
You only realise you’ve drifted off when the burn of moustache dragging on your cheek wakes you up. The water is still quite warm, so you can’t have been out for long.
‘Why aren’t you in bed with me?’ Dieter whinges into the side of your neck, his tongue on your sensitive skin, large hands wrapping around the edge of the bath on either side of you. He’s always extra needy when he’s hungover.
You tilt your head back at him and shrug. ‘Felt like taking a bath.’
He leans over and kisses you upside down - Spiderman style, you think to yourself with a silent giggle - your fingers grasping onto the lapels of his ratty green robe. He growls into your ear, ‘But I feel like fucking.’
You roll your eyes. ‘I’m not the one who started snoring the second we hit the bed last night.’
With a wolvish grin, he grabs your hand and guides it over his erection under the robe. ‘I’m ready now, sweetheart, and that’s what counts.’
You stay put, holding his gaze while you pull on the tie of his robe. His uncovered cock rises over you as you reach up and close your palm around it, and he moans at the contact, brow creasing. Over the floral scent of your bath you smell him - salty and musky.
Shifting so you sit up higher in the tub, you run your tongue over the base of his cock and over his balls, making him shudder and his voice catch. ‘Sweetheart.’
‘What do you want, Dieter?’ you tease, rubbing your cheek against his velvety length.
He pins you with his dark eyes. ‘Please suck my cock. Please.’
An idea comes to you. You relax your shoulders and let your head hang back over the porcelain edge as far as possible, your elbows resting on the side of the tub to hold yourself in position. Your tits hover just above the water line, and you feel your nipples pebble in the cold morning air. You arch an eyebrow at Dieter as he gapes at the picture you make. ‘Well? What are you waiting for?’
‘Fuck,’ he swears and runs a thick finger along the bow of your upper lip, before pushing two inside, stroking himself with his free hand. ‘Gotta open up that mouth for me, baby.’
You suck on his digits, swirling your tongue around the tips, which makes him shiver. Pulling back, you give him the most debauched smile you can manage. ‘Put your cock in my mouth, Bravo.’
Eyes wild, he steps forward and traces the weeping head of his length over both your lips, before dipping carefully inside. You can’t help groaning at the pressure on your tongue, and he chuckles, but the tight pinch of his fingers on your jaw betrays his tension. ‘I’m barely in, baby. Wider.’
You oblige, unlocking your jaw, and he pushes in with sudden ease, sliding in so deep you nearly choke. Dieter exhales heavily through his nostrils. ‘Yes. Shit, that’s so good, sweetheart.’
Your throat feels taut in this angle, and he feels so big as he begins to slides in and out. You have to focus on breathing through your nose as he fucks your mouth.
You feel his fingers weave into your hair, gripping tightly as an anchor. ‘Such a pretty mouth,’ he praises you. ‘Such a good girl, letting me fuck you like this first thing in the morning.’
You shudder, as you feel a gush of want seep from your pussy, your back arching at his words.
‘You like me talking to you like this, hmm?’ he asks, his voice deep and rough. ‘When you can’t talk back, with my cock in your mouth?’
You hum around him, which makes his entire frame shake. He moans, ‘Wanna fuck your pussy, baby. Do you want me to? Can I?’ 
You nod as best as you could - not easy with his cock pinning you to the bath - and when he pulls out hastily, you gasp in a deep breath and sit up too quickly, which makes your head spin. You hardly recognise your own voice as you beg, ‘Yes, want you inside me - please Dieter.’
Robe falling heavily onto the heated floor, he climbs into the bath behind you, and you twist around so that you can kiss him, fingers tangling in his unruly hair. Dieter stretches out his legs and positions you above him, your knees on either side of him. He slides two fingers between your thighs under the soapy water and rubs your clit studiously, while he mouths at your breasts, heavy with arousal and covered in suds.
Grasping his length, you hurriedly position yourself over him and notch him at your entrance, hands on his shoulders.
‘Whoa, whoa, sweetheart,’ he asks you to slow down, the span of his palms on your hips steadying you. ‘I haven’t even opened you up with my fingers yet.’
‘I can take it,’ you assure him, and with a roll of your hips, you start your slow descent.
He’s only just breached you before he groans shakily, nails digging into the meat of your hips. ‘Fuck - sweetheart - you sure? Haven’t even touched you yet… you’re really tight -’
The stretch is almost painful, and your noses knock together as you sink lower onto him. ‘You’re so big, Dieter,’ you whine, relishing the snug fit.
‘I know baby, you’re making me so hard for you,’ he croons into your ear, before sucking on the lobe. He lets go of your left hip so he can draw lazy circles on your clit, slicking up your pussy. ‘But you’re doing so well, sweetheart. I’m almost there.’
With his encouragement and one more shift of your hips, you are fully seated, the sheer size of him sheathed so tightly inside you making your tremble. 
Dieter chuckles in almost delirium, leaning forward to place a messy kiss on your swollen lips. ‘There she is. You feel fucking amazing, sweetheart.’
‘Wait till I start riding you,’ you shoot back cockily, high on his praise.
‘You’re mouthy this morning,’ he grins at you, which falters when you start a slow slide upwards, the tips of your nipples dragging against his chest. ‘Oh, fuck -’
Water swishes around you as you move on him, your cunt sliding with more ease now, getting wetter as your clit drags against his pelvic bone each time you rock against him. He’s sprawled back against the tub, the tip of his tongue peeking through his slightly open mouth, breathing hard. ‘Wish I could watch my cock go in and out of you, sweetheart. Bet it's a pretty sight.’
You grin and hold onto the edge of the tub behind him, kicking up the pace. ‘I’m not fucking you hard enough if you’re still talking in complete sentences, Bravo.’
He laughs and snaps his hips up into you, hitting somewhere deep inside which makes your breath stutter. ‘Ditto, sweetheart.’
There isn’t much talking after that, definitely not when he flips you around so that you’re on your knees, hands on the edge of the tub, ass hovering above the bubbles. Dieter delivers a sharp slap to your plump cheek, which echoes wetly in the bathroom and you cry out needily. He traces his tip along your folds, watching himself dip shallowly inside you, keen ears picking up the wet squelch as he does. ‘Told you I want to watch this pussy while I fuck it.’
You cry aloud when he thrusts into you, hitting you so deep you feel it in your toes.
‘Dieter,’ you sob breathlessly. ‘That feels so fucking good.’
He sets a merciless rhythm, two fingers on your clit now, rubbing insistently while your knuckles turn white as you claw at the edge of the tub. ‘You’re getting so wet on my dick, sweetheart. Gonna make you come so hard.’
‘Yes, please,’ you beg. ‘Harder, please. Give it to me -’ you’re cut off when a particularly hard thrust knocks the breath out of you.
‘Careful what you wish for now, baby,’ comes Dieter’s smug remark.
You clench your pussy around him hard enough that his footing in the tub slips, splashing water everywhere. You throw him a toothy grin over your shoulder. ‘Speak for yourself.’
Your triumph quickly melts into desperation when Dieter growls and pounds into you even harder. Water sloshes and the wet slap of skin on skin fills your ears. He’s panting loudly, and you know he’s almost there. ‘I’m so close, Dieter. Come with me,’ you plead.
‘Ok baby,’ he groans and rubs your clit just a bit faster. ‘You ready for me?’
You nod frantically, winding tighter and tighter until the ground gives from under you and your voice breaks. ‘I’m coming, oh my god, I’m coming -’
At the first throttle of your cunt, Dieter lets go, his hips driving brokenly and sloppily into you, fighting to stay inside your pulsing walls - impossibly tight, how could you have gotten any tighter after he's fucked you so hard - until he spills deep inside you in long thrusts of hot and thick release.
‘Baby,’ he gasps into your ear as his knees buckle, but manages to catch the side of the tub with one hand before he collapses on you. The sudden movement pushes the now lukewarm water aggressively against the side and spills over the edge. ‘Fuck, you almost killed me.’
You grin. ‘Still complaining about me not staying in bed with you?’
He grabs your chin and twists your face around to kiss you, then retorts, thumb dipping into your swollen lower lip. ‘Still so mouthy? Guess I didn't fuck it hard enough.'
You shiver when he pulls out of you in one slow motion, and he watches in rapture as his spend leaks from your puffy lips, fingers swiping gently over the mess he made. He groans, ‘I’ll never get tired of seeing your pussy dripping with my cum.’
You shudder from both his words and the water that’s quickly getting cold. ‘Keep saying things like that and we’ll be here forever,’ you quip.
You nearly wince. Forever is a poor choice of words.
Dieter seems oblivious to your over-analysis, turning you around to pull you tight against his chest. ‘Sounds good to me, sweetheart.’
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The afterglow doesn’t last as long as you hoped it would. The quiet dread that has wormed into your consciousness since Friday night dinner is clinging to you and you can’t shake it. You managed to palm off your quietness for the rest of Saturday as tiredness from the antics in the bath, which prompted a self-satisfied smirk from Dieter and no more questions.
Your saving grace comes in the unexpected shape of big manila folders delivered to the both of you early on Sunday morning, packed full of scripts, schedules and other paperwork for your next respective projects. You desperately need the distraction and you dive in gratefully as the rain continues to come down outside.
You watch him from the opposite end of the couch. You’re wrapped up in his favourite green robe, the same one he was wearing in the bathroom yesterday. It’s ridiculously soft and it swallows you whole. Your fingers barely poke out from under the long sleeves, which flutter busily over miscellaneous papers that you’re going through methodically.
On his end, Dieter has his papers spread about haphazardly, which is nothing new. He’s leafing through the final script, which is much thicker than the abridged one that you read with him a few weeks ago. A pen dangles from his mouth, which he plucks out of his teeth to annotate the pages every now and then. 
You let another hour of diligent silence drift by before you work up the nerve to say, ‘You know, I was thinking - I’ll leave this coming Saturday morning, after the wrap party on Friday. My contract ends the same day.’
It takes him a beat to look up at you through his reading glasses, lips pursed. ‘Ok. Where are you going?’
‘Where’s home?’
‘Two and a half hours drive north.’
‘Ok,’ he shrugs, then goes back to his script.
You blink. Did he just give you a… shrug?
You clear your throat, shifting in your seat. You try again. ‘So - when do you fly to Italy?’
He rustles through a stack of papers till he finds what he’s looking for. Tilting his head to the left instead of turning the page right way round, he reads from his schedule, ‘Second week of May. The week after I finish reshoots.’
‘I fly to Canada the same week.’
That’s one too many ok’s for you to handle right now. You get up and mumble something about making tea, pulling his robe tight around you, as if it will stem the hurt blooming in your chest.
What the fuck is going on? He’s always been the one pushing for more. He’s always made you feel wanted. He’s the one who followed you to this fucking apartment, he said fuck lying low. He took you on a double date with Rebecca and Hank. 
And now when you tell him you’re leaving in six days’ time - he says ok?
With the kettle boiling and your back to him, you don’t try to stop the tear that slides down your cheek.
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Week 14
The last week of filming is always intense, Resurgence is no different. All week, it’s been a matter of physically making it back to the apartment and collapsing into bed. You’ve both been ships in the night - either you have a late call with HBO or Dieter has one with the Linklater team. One of you is always asleep by the time the other gets back. Besides time shared on set, you only see each other over a rushed breakfast in the morning before heading into the studio.
On Thursday night, Dieter makes it back to the empty apartment just before 8:30pm. He realises with a start that it’s the last evening you two have together before principal photography ends the next day.
Shit. He’s really let the week slip by. Grabbing his phone, he crash lands sideways on the couch and opens up Deliveroo.
When you walk through the door half an hour later, your eyes widen at the boxes taking up the entire coffee table, while Dieter fusses with unboxing and rearranging them. 
Your bag slides off your shoulder as you stare, stunned. ‘Dieter, this is way too much food! See what happens when I let you order?’
‘C’mere, sweetheart,’ he grins, making space for you on the floor, patting the cushions next to him.
Folding your knees, you sit cross-legged, giving him an assessing lookover. ‘Have you finally lost it?’
He chuckles. ‘No, baby. This is Deliveroo: our greatest hits.’
Sweeping your eyes over the dishes, you recognise some of your favourite takeout that you’ve ordered over the past couple of months - crunchy tuna roll from the tiny Japanese joint around the corner, artichoke and burrata pizza from the Italian place that always throws in a free tiramisu, baja fish tacos from the food truck nearby and -
You frown at him quizzically. ‘Poutine? We never ordered poutine.’
He plucks a gravy soaked fry and feeds it to you. ‘That’s to acclimate you to Canadian food.’
Your chest swells with warmth and you can’t help the laugh that escapes you. You lean in to give him a soft kiss. ‘Thank you. Lucky I skipped lunch today.’
You’ve worked through about a third of the food when your eyes alight on what looks like a tagine. You tap on the container. ‘We never ordered this.’
Dieter grabs the box and shovels a spoonful of the stew into his mouth. ‘We didn’t. I did - that same night I ate you out for the first time.’
His answer is so unexpected that the pulled pork quesadilla nearly goes down your trachea.
He winks at you. ‘Gotta say it tasted better last time.’
You admit defeat around halfway through the food, and Dieter follows suit, flopping heavily on his back onto the couch, his tshirt riding up to show a sliver of his soft belly underneath.
You climb onto him, your smaller body fitting perfectly on his broad chest, the top of your head tucked under his chin. You yawn lazily. ‘I’m stuffed.’
He combs his fingers through your head and you feel the vibrations in his chest when he replies, ‘I like it better when you’re stuffed with something else -’
‘Must you be so crude?’
‘You love it.’
You shift. You know he doesn’t mean anything by it - but the very word makes you uncomfortable. You don’t want to associate him or anything about him with that word. Not when the end is tomorrow.
You fold your hands over the centre of his chest, feeling his heartbeat underneath. You prop your chin up on the back of them, and you smile into his warm eyes. He tucks a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.
‘You liked it?’ he asks, just a touch of uncertainty in his voice.
You hesitate, but you decide he deserves the truth. ‘I loved it.’
He nods off not soon after, snoring quietly. But you lie awake, eyes wide, your heart in knots as the quiet hours creep in.
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‘And it’s a wrap!’
Cheers erupt, echoing like thunder in the studio as the lighting guy turns on dramatic disco lights. Dieter reaches over and pulls Brooke in for a hug, and over her shoulder, he meets your eyes from across the room.
It’s done - fourteen weeks of principal photography. Reshoots start next week, but the schedule is much more relaxed, and he’s ready to wind down before doing it all over again in Italy.
Dieter wants to make his way to you, but he keeps getting waylaid by various members of the cast and crew. By the time he’s released from Tobias’ bear hug, you’re gone from his line of sight.
He didn’t see you over lunch today as Rebecca popped in for an impromptu meeting, which he wasn’t too pleased about. He wonders if you’ll hitch a ride with him to the wrap party downtown, but reckons you’re more likely to share an Uber with Ana and the makeup girls. He decides he’ll meet you at the club as he gets ushered back to his trailer to change out of his costume. 
The club pulses with generic dance music and most of its occupants are already knee deep in drink by the time Dieter arrives. He makes his rounds, giving high fives and shaking hands as he circles the room, looking for you.
Spotting Pete, he wades through the crowds and they exchange a hug. Dieter asks if he’s seen you.
Pete looks confused. ‘I’m pretty sure she said you were giving her a lift.’
Ana stumbles into sight, throwing her arms around Dieter. He asks her about you as well. She shakes her head. ‘Oh no, she definitely said she was coming with you.’
Something doesn’t sit right. He calls you, but the line rings out all three times. 
Then he calls his driver and pushes his way out of the club.
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The door knob jangles with sudden violence, which makes you jump back and hug to your chest the item you were just folding up to pack away. The door swings open, hitting the wall behind it forcefully.
Dieter’s eyes travel slowly. Firstly over you, wound up tight as a corkscrew, then at the large packed suitcase standing by the door, and finally at the slightly smaller one lying splayed open on the floor.
His tone is accusatory as he slams the door shut behind him. ‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You said you’re leaving tomorrow.’
All the self-doubt and resentment that has been simmering just under your skin this past week finally breaks the surface. And you deal with it the only way you know - angrily.
You glare at him. ‘What difference does one night make? It’s not like you care.’ You spit the last word out like it's acid on your tongue.
Dieter looks at you incredulously. ‘What the fuck are you on about? How do I not care? I ordered you all the fucking Deliveroo that you like just last night, in case you don’t remember!’
You feel your shackles come up, and you yell back. ‘But when I told you I was leaving, you said ok - what kind of an answer is ok? You didn’t even ask me where I live!’
‘Why do I need to ask if I’m going with you?!’
It’s your turn to look at him incredulously. ‘What?’
‘I’m coming with you,’ he explains impatiently, like it's the most obvious thing in the world and he cannot believe it isn’t to you. ‘I’ll commute to the studio. I don’t have reshoots every day. I can stay with you.’
‘Bold of you to assume you could just come with me without asking,’ you retort sarcastically.
Dieter’s eyes narrow. ‘I came here with you, didn’t I? Why wouldn’t I go with you?’
Your conviction in the decision to leave, precarious as it already was, slips dangerously at his argument. But you shake your head. ‘Ten minutes down the road is very different from two and a half hours away, Dieter. And we agreed to stop after filming.’
Dieter throws his hands up in disbelief. ‘Not this bullshit again, sweetheart. You said you didn’t want to stop! That's what you said when I asked after Week 10 drinks, when I found out about Canada!’
‘Tell me - do you want to stop, sweetheart?’
‘No, no, don’t stop, please, I’m so close - I don’t want to stop -’
‘That’s it, that’s a good fucking girl - not gonna stop - ’
You feel heat swell in your stomach and climb up your spine at the memory. You can’t handle that - not now. Finding your voice, you argue weakly, ‘I said - I meant I didn’t want to stop during production.’
He scoffs with a shake of his head. ‘Bullshit, sweetheart.’
You try a different tact. ‘So what if we had another month? We still have to stop when we fly to opposite sides of the world.’
‘Says who?’
‘Says me!’ you point a finger straight at your heart, which is fucking aching. ‘I don’t want to be with someone who’s 6,000 miles away! I can’t.’
But he won’t drop it, he keeps pushing, taking two steps towards you. ‘Why the fuck not? Tell me why not!’
Because you’ll get bored. 
Because you’ll find someone else. 
Because it will hurt too much. 
Except that you don’t say any of it out loud - you can’t. The empty space between you lies heavy and cold.
Dieter’s gaze doesn’t waver, holding yours this whole time. But you can’t bear to look at him.
‘So this is it?’ he breaks the silence, and you let out the a shaky breath you didn’t realise you were holding out.
You shrug, shifting your grip on the bundle you are still hanging onto. ‘I guess so.’
The movement directs his attention to the familiar pinstriped green cloth in your arms. You watch as his eyes light up, and one eyebrow arches in curiosity. ‘Is that - is that my robe?’
Your fingers clench around the soft fabric. Oh, fuck me sideways.
Suddenly, Dieter doesn’t look so angry anymore. In fact, a small smile lifts his entire countenance. Crossing his arms leisurely, he says chattily, as if you weren’t in the middle of a breakup. ‘Just to be clear - you’re stealing my robe?’
‘No,’ you say quickly.
‘You folded it up real nice, sweetheart. Looks like it would fit into that little nook right there above your shoes,’ he nods at your open suitcase.
You blink and try not to wince as the words leave your mouth. ‘I was just tidying up.’
He grins with teeth. ‘I clearly remember you putting it away in the wardrobe a few days ago. You insisted on washing it after I dipped it in soup.’ 
You curse the day you were born. Why are you such a shit liar?
Dieter shuffles in a bit closer, but not too close. He doesn't want to spook you. He tuts, a playful smile lingering on his lips, hands behind his back. ‘You broke the cardinal rule, didn’t you? You fucked up, sweetheart. You have feelings for me, and you’re punishing me for it.’
Oh, fuck.
‘Don’t talk about me like you know me, Bravo,’ you snap.
‘But I do, sweetheart.’
‘You don’t,’ you spit back. ‘You’ve known me for all of three months - big fucking deal.’
‘Now you’re trying to distract me, you little spitfire. You’re so obvious. It’s cute, really.’
‘Shut up.’
Dieter cocks his head at you. ‘You know, that’s a lot of words coming from you, sweetheart. But none of them are - no, I don’t have feelings for you, Dieter.’
For once, you don’t have any words. You don’t protest. You don’t argue. You don't lie.
He steps confidently into your space, taking your chin between his thumb and index finger, knowing he’s got you. He's taller and broader than ever as he towers over you and slides his lips over your mouth in a no-nonsense kiss, swiping his tongue slowly against yours. He doesn't touch you anywhere else, but there's a slow burn in your blood, wanting him, always wanting him - then he exhales slowly and steps back from you.
‘I’m not going to try to change your mind, sweetheart,’ he tells you quietly. ‘You’re too fucking stubborn and you’ll just resent me even if I do. But I can wait. When you get out of that head of yours, you know where to find me.’
Not trusting your voice, you thrust his robe towards him silently.
He shakes his head and chucks you under the chin. ‘Take it. If you miss me too much, make your new boyfriend wear it and pretend it’s me.’
With one last wry smile, he turns on his heel and walks out of your life.
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Dieter winces as Ana narrowly misses taking out his eye with a powder brush when she preps him for the first reshoot the following Monday.
‘She just left without saying goodbye, can you believe it?’ she rants, brushing his hair a bit too aggressively. ‘She called me to apologise last night, but I made sure to give her a piece of my mind.’
He snorts quietly. At least she got an apology out of you. 
Ana pauses and gives him a look in the mirror. ‘She said goodbye to you, at least, right?’
He shrugs noncommittally. ‘Kind of.’
‘So - will you guys work it out?’
‘We put a pin in it.’
Ana must have sensed that he doesn’t want to talk about it, and she lapses into uncharacteristic silence while she heats up the hair curler.
Giving the makeup artist a nudge in the elbow, Dieter asks, ‘Do you have anything lined up after this?’
She turns her back on him while she rummages in her bag. ‘Got a couple of things in the pipeline, but nothing confirmed.’
‘Do you want to come to Italy? Be my makeup artist for the Linklater project?’
She spins around so fast that she knocks over a whole string of spray bottles, eyes wide. ‘Dieter Bravo, I’ll remind you that I’m holding a burning hot hair curler. if you’re joking, you better cut it out right now.’
He chuckles. ‘You know I wouldn’t joke about something like that!'
Ana pounces on him with a hug, and Dieter leans as far away from the curling iron as he can as she shrieks, ‘Yes, yes, a million times yes!’
When she lets him go finally, Dieter holds up a finger and says, ‘But I need you and Pete's help with something - well, someone.’
She shoots him a knowing look. ‘If you're talking about who I think you're talking about, you definitely need our help. I'm in.’
Dieter shakes her hand and grins, ‘We have a deal.’
Ana smiles kindly. 'Just so you know, I would've helped you even without the job offer.'
He nods. 'I know. Thank you.'
She squeezes him on the shoulder and grins at him in the mirror. 'Let's get you your girl back, Dieter Bravo.'
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Four weeks later
You’re sorry to miss Ana’s bon voyage party, but your flight to Calgary was on the very same day. It’s the first time you’re living abroad for any length of time. You’ve packed two suitcases and that’s going to be your life for the next four months.
You let yourself be consumed by your new job. There’s so much more of everything in TV - more script, more actors, more hours. You work closely with Woody Harrelson, and you hit it off from the first day. He’s such a mellow guy and so easy to work with, you’re relieved to see no signs of any drama on set.
You keep in touch with Pete and Ana. Pete’s still on Resurgence, post-production now in full swing. Ana’s loving every second in Italy and posts every day without fail on Instagram, and you’re so excited for her to work on a Linklater project, if not a little jealous. She keeps bugging you to visit her, saying that she has a spare bed in her hotel room, and she can take you around.
In Calgary, you settle in slowly with your new crew. Quite a few of them are HBO veterans with their own established friend groups, so you feel a bit of an outsider. But you go to the group lunches and Friday night drinks, though you don’t stay too late, preferring to head back to the modest apartment the studio’s set you up in before midnight.
You would pour yourself a glass of wine, open up Instagram, and check Ana’s stories. It’s cold in Calgary, but in Italy, it’s starting to look a lot like summer. The seaside town filming is taking place in is colourful, houses painted pink and yellow and green, and the sea an amazing blue. You like Ana’s posts of sundresses and sunglasses, while you're cuddled up on the couch in Dieter’s robe.
There’s been radio silence from both your end and his since that day he walked out the door, before you could walk out on him. You catch glimpses of him in Ana’s stories - a wave at the camera, a thumbs up while chewing on pizza, talking to someone at the tail end of a panorama video - all out of costume, as per industry rules for in-progress projects. 
When you’re tipsy enough, you don’t pretend to not feel the tug on your heartstrings every time you see his face.
He hasn’t updated his Instagram for months - not since Sundance. You still don’t follow him, but you check his page more regularly than you care to admit.
The weeks fly by. You forget how most projects are like this - routine, safe and steady. Two months in, it’s Friday evening again (the weeks are flying by) and you sit down for a glass of wine in your armchair. You pull up Instagram on your phone as usual, except, the very first post catches your eye and your heart lurches.
It’s a new post from Dieter. It’s a photo of him and a woman - she's gorgeous. You recognise her as the actress cast opposite him in the film. She’s a relative newcomer in her thirties, with a background in theatre. In the photo, she’s pressing her lips to his whiskered cheek in a kiss, and he’s smiling so widely that the corners of his eyes crinkle.
It fucking punches you in the gut.
He said he would wait.
Well, you suppose he’s waited two months.
You drink so much that night you pass out on the couch.
She starts to seep into Ana’s stories too, they obviously hang out socially outside of filming as a tight-knit group. She's eating pasta on a rickety table on the beach with him; or feeding him a spoonful of gelato; or pushing him into a pool, and falling in when he grabs her by the waist and pulls her in with him last-minute.
You Google her. Constance Green, 34, 5’7”, 125 pounds, 34D, nominated for an Olivier award five years ago. Single.
You know it's not healthy, but you begin to check her Instagram as well. Most of her posts are beautifully framed shots of the seaside town they’re filming in, but Dieter is in most of her daily stories, which she tags him in, and he also uploads them to his account.
The day before, it was a photo of them saluting the camera side by side with matching glasses of Aperol Spritz. 
Yesterday, it was a selfie video of them sitting on a wall next to the lapping sea at sunset, which washes them in orange and gold light.
Today, she’s feeding him pizza - only her hand is visible in the shot as he finishes off the crust, pulling her fingers into his mouth to lick off the tomato sauce. 
You literally throw the phone away as if it burns you. 
You know you have no right whatsoever. You fucking know that, but it doesn’t stop you from sinking into a funk. You stop hanging out with the crew, and even Woody brings it up one day. ‘Hey, you okay? You don’t seem your chipper self.’
‘When have I ever been chipper?’ you quip with a forced smile.
He smiles kindly. ‘You’re not wrong. Homesick?’
You shrug. ‘Something like that.’
Two weeks after that fateful post on Dieter's Instagram that set you on your somewhat downward spiral, Pete visits you for the weekend. When you open the door to your apartment, he takes one look at you and grimaces. ‘Ugh, babe. Have you been sleeping at all?’
‘Fuck you!’ you gripe, but you pull him in for a long hug. You can really use a friend right now.
You spend the weekend gossiping, eating pizza and drinking beer while playing Sex and the City re-runs in the background. On Saturday night, you two spontaneously decide to Facetime Ana, who picks up promptly and after 30 seconds of excited squealing, she pans the camera to show you the piazza she’s hanging out in with a cold drink. 
His mouth stuffed full of now cold pepperoni pizza, Pete is the first to bring her up. ‘Who’s that hottie Bravo’s been hanging out with? They seem to be joined at the hip.’
‘Constance? Oh, she’s super. So down-to-earth, and incredibly talented. Richard swears she’s the next big thing. I think Dieter’s smitten with her, to be honest. They make the cutest couple.’
You chew on the inside of your cheek, going deathly quiet.
‘Well, I say good for him,’ pronounces Pete. ‘There’s nothing like a good leading actor-actress romance. Like Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton.’
Ana comes up with, 'Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens.'
'Alicia Vikander and Michael Fassbender,' adds Pete.
You clear your throat and get up abruptly. ‘Bathroom break,’ you mutter, stepping over empty beer bottles to make your way deeper into the apartment.
You splash water on your face and meet your eyes in the mirror. Pull yourself together. You chased him away. You didn’t want anything to do with him. You could have the decency to be happy for him. Or at least to not give a fuck. 
Shutting the bathroom door behind you, you pad back to the living room. You hear Pete babbling on the phone. You can’t pick up the words, but his tone is bossy and rushed, which makes you frown and listen harder.
He’s on your phone and obviously not talking to Ana anymore. He gestures wildly with his free hand. ‘ - absolute mess, she’s crying her eyes out, man. I mean, if you can see the state that she’s in -’
Spotting your suspicious glare, Pete starts at a run around the tiny living room, easily keeping the phone out of your reach as he stands a foot taller than you. He continues speaking into the phone. 'What are you gonna do about, huh? Are you just gonna go about your life like it never happened? Cos that sounds like a stupid idea to me -'
You finally jump onto the couch and wrestle the phone from his grip. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Pete -’ you trail off as look down at the name on the screen.
Fuck. FUCK.
You hesitate for a second, thumb hovering over the red button, then you impulsive hold the phone to your ear. ‘Hey.’
There’s silence, then his voice comes on. ‘Hey.’
Your palms break out in a cold sweat. And all you can do is hope that your voice doesn’t shake. ‘I’m so sorry, Pete is being an idiot. He's just visiting me for the weekend in Calgary.’
‘It’s fine,’ he replies shortly.
You scratch your elbow idly. ‘I’m not in a state, you know. Not crying, or anything. I’m totally fine.’
‘Good for you.’
Then you both go quiet, until you hear a woman’s voice on his end. ‘Are you ready, baby?’
‘Sorry, I gotta go,’ he mumbles, but before the line goes dead, you hear him say, ‘Coming, sweetheart.’
That’s your nickname. 
You glare at Pete, your eyes watering. ‘What the fuck was that?’
He puts his hands up in defence. ‘Worth a shot. You two are clearly being complete idiots and need some sense knocked into you. Sorry it didn't work.’
At the sight of tears spilling over and sliding down your cheek, he opens his arms and you let him wrap you in a comforting hug. ‘Come here, you blooming idiot. It will get better, I promise.’
And it does get better. You find your crowd, a group of backstage crew around your age, and you’re getting recognition on the job from the directors and producers. You hear veiled hints that you might get a contract renewal for the second season with a pay rise. There’s a bounce to your step when you show up to work in the mornings. You even forget to check Instagram most days now. 
That is until you get a notification that Ana sent you a private message on the app the first week of July, so you click on the icon and wait for the app to load.
And there it is.
It’s a photo of their backs, on a cobblestone street, the dying light of day casting them in a warm glow. He’s wearing a light yellow shirt, sleeves cut off at his biceps, and linen shorts. His right arm is wrapped tight around her waist, and she has hers around him, left hand tucked in his back pocket.
You stop breathing. Then you see red.
This is your thing. After your date at the French bistro. You walked down the street just like that.
How. Dare. He.
Blindly, you scroll through Whatsapp until you see Ana’s name, and you click the call button. You don’t even know what time it is over there. She’s probably working. But you don’t give a damn at this very moment.
She picks up after four rings, sounding surprised. ‘Hello? You okay, hon? Or is this a butt dial?’
‘Not a butt dial,’ you reply firmly. ‘Listen, did you mean it when you said I could come visit?’
You have to hold your phone away from your ear when Ana shouts in excitement. ‘Girl - yes of course, I've been waiting for months! There’s a bank holiday coming up in Italy next week. Book your plane tickets, you can stay with me over the long weekend. I’ll introduce you to the whole crew and you can meet Richard.’
Yes sure, that’s why you’re going. To meet Richard Linklater. 
‘See you in next weekend.’
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On the other side of the world, Ana does a happy dance and calls Pete as soon as she hangs up on you.
‘It worked! It worked - she’s coming to Italy next weekend!’
‘Fuck yeah! Finally! Have you told Bravo yet?’
Ana scans the set and spots the unsuspecting subject of their phone conversation talking to one of the assistant directors, and replies slyly, ‘I think he’d appreciate a surprise.’
‘Ana -’
‘Hey, don’t use that tone on me, Pete. He asked for our help, and he said we can handle the details. Her showing up unannounced is just one such tiny detail.’
Pete huffs, unconvinced. ‘If you say so.’
She grins into the phone. ‘I can’t believe it took two and a half months to crack that stubborn woman. But who cares - mission accomplished!’
Pete laughs. ‘You gotta take a picture of his face when she shows up. I can’t believe I’m gonna miss it.’
Dieter waves at Ana to ask for a touch up, and she gives him a thumbs up, signalling that she’ll be right over. ‘Oh, don’t you worry - I most definitely will.’
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More notes: I know, I know, it's a cliffhanger... BUT at least it's not a mean one, right?! I have no idea how I thought I could fit everything into one chapter, even this part ran a LOT longer than my target of 6k 😂
I really hope you enjoyed this part, this was probably one of my favourites that I've written for this series. And next time, we will see how everything wraps up 🥺 THANK YOU all of you who have stuck with this story, your comments and reblogs are so so appreciated and have really motivated me to write the best story that I can for these two ❤️
107 notes · View notes
wardenparker · a day ago
You’re So Vain - Chapter 11
Dieter Bravo x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst​
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Oscar winning star Dieter Bravo’s reputation is suffering after the debacle of “Cliff Beasts 6″ and “Beasts of the Bubble”, so his management team has signed him on to a publicity stunt to find his soulmate and show the world a softer side of the erratic and unpredictable star. The plan quickly go awry, though, when Dieter’s soulmate wants nothing to do with him.
Rating: E for Explicit! 18+! Word Count: 12.9k Warnings: *Blanket warning for chronic illness, cursing, and deceased family members. This is a Dieter fic, folks, so there absolutely will be discussions of drugs, drug use, and addiction.* Enemies to lovers, food/alcohol consumption, the YEARNING, mutual pining, sex toys in public, so much teasing, bathroom sex, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, sex toy sex, mention of age gap, dash of a praise kink (use of ‘good boy’), SO MANY good things! Summary: There are more birthday shenanigans in store, both in Basel and in Geneva - and it’s getting harder every second not to tell Dieter how you feel. Notes: I have a *lot* of feelings about these two, okay? Don’t look at me like that 👀👀
Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10
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There's a little cafe across the street from the tattoo shop where Dieter made your appointment, and you're amused to see that the place is owned and operated by American ex-pats when you walk in the door. The woman out front is around your age, and she starts to greet you in German automatically but halts when she recognizes Dieter.
"Oh my God, Dieter Bravo!" She flutters, immediately looking around when she realizes she was so loud. "I mean, uh, I— hi! Welcome! Would you like a table?"
Dieter smiles, nodding at the enthusiastic woman. "We would." He acknowledges, keeping his hand firmly in yours.
The place is cozy and full of nooks and crannies where tables have been tucked for privacy, and the woman sits you at a nicely secluded table before handing off two menus and blushing all over again about how unbelievable it is that Dieter Bravo is in her restaurant. After another moment she’s gone again, off to grab your drinks and leaving you to settle into the plush chairs at your little table.
Looking around, Dieter spots the signs for the bathroom and looks back over at you with a grin. "So, uh, you wanna go first?" He asks, waggling his brows playfully. "Go slip your little toy inside you?"
The bag from the toy shop is discreet and plain, and more importantly it’s still in your hand under the table. “I’ll be right back,” you promise him, leaning over to quickly kiss his cheek before disappearing around the corner toward the bathrooms.
Dieter grins, barely able to look at the menu as he keeps sneaking glances at the little hallway leading to the bathrooms. Eager to see how you react to a toy inside you.\
The bathroom here is clean and small, just big enough for you to spread out all the instructions for your new toy and give it a wash before making sure it’s set comfortably inside you. Nerves over the upcoming appointment might have made that part difficult but all you can think about is how much fun Dee is going to have – literally – toying with you while you eat and it’s made you plenty ready. When you walk back out to the table you’re trying to smother a splitting grin and shifting ever so slightly when you walk, adjusting to the item nestled inside you.
The drinks have been deposited and Dieter is watching you closely as you walk back, grinning wildly. “I guess it’s my turn now, right?” He asks, nodding to the bag and the remaining toy still inside.
“Go for it.” You hand him the bag with a grin and settle down in your seat. “Do you want me to order for you?” The app that will control his ring is already downloaded to your phone, and you plan on glancing through the settings while he’s putting it on.
Dieter smirks and winks at you. “You choose what I’m having.” He challenges as he slides out of the chair and heads off to the bathroom.
“Me,” you mumble, watching him go with a fond shake of your head. When the owner comes back you order bratwurst and rösti for Dieter and something called a tartiflette for yourself, figuring that it will likely be late tonight by the time you eat dinner and a filling lunch is a good idea.
In the bathroom, Dieter is quickly stripping down his pants and boxers, wrapping his hand around his cock to start stroking it. Needing to be fully hard to get a tight fit around his cock and balls when he puts it on. “Fuck.” He hisses, knowing he’s going to enjoy the ache and it will make it better when he fucks you tonight. He carefully fits the device over his cock after he washes it, groaning as he pulls his clothes back up.
It would be a massive understatement to say you've never done anything like this before. You've never dated anyone like Dieter before, and on your own you probably never would have thought of doing something like playing with remote control sex toys at lunch. You shift in your seat as you wait for him to come back, texting Steph for the couple of minutes that you're alone. It's early in LA and Nora just woke her up, but she had sent you a birthday text right away.
From Stephy: Hey Birthday girl! Is Dieter treating you right for your day?
Steph sends as soon as she gets your text. She hopes that Dieter is making it special even though she knows you will think the trip to the museum is enough.
You write back immediately, grinning at the screen like an idiot while you open your camera to take a selfie wearing the flower crown that he had made for you that morning.
To Stephy: And I have a flower crown. Which is going to become a mandatory birthday element from now on.
From Stephy: Oh my Godddddd😍😍😍😍 He is being such a sweetheart. How romantic! 💘💘💘
Her heart is melting and she owes Dieter a huge hug for making this a special day for you in a way that is meaningful. Hopefully he knows how much that means to you.
To Stephy: He’s been super sweet today. And…adventurous 😇
From Stephy: REALLY? 👀👀 How so?
She is practically giggling to herself over how happy you sound through the texts.
To Stephy: Let’s just say we took advantage of having a private car on the train on the way here…and we just stopped by a very special kind of toy store before lunch…
Giving her the fun and gossipy news before you get to the much more serious item on your mind is definitely a good thing. Today is just about having fun, and you have had that in spades today.
From Stephy: Oh my God! That’s amazing! It sounds like a VERY happy birthday indeed!
She wants to ask how you are feeling about everything, but she doesn’t want to upset you. Wanting to be your cheerleader above all while you are gone.
To Stephy: I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been grinning like an idiot all day.
When it comes to it, your fingers hover over the keyboard for an extra minute before you hit send, finding that it’s just too soon to be admitting it to anyone beside yourself. And maybe it’s even too early for that, too.
From Stephy: I would be grinning like an idiot too. A private train car with sex, a private museum tour of your favorite piece and a sex toy adventure? Yeah I would be on cloud nine.
When Dieter reappears around the corner you can practically feel yourself light up, and it’s one more tick on the checklist of evidence for yourself that you can deal with later. Right now, you’re just going to accept that it’s okay to be happy to see your soulmate.
To Stephy: I love you, and I miss you, and I love/miss Nora too. We’re going to have lunch and go get my tattoo Text you a picture later!!
“Hey.” Dieter is grinning with the secret of what he is wearing. “How’s it going?” He waggles his eyebrows and glances pointedly at your lap under the table.
"Oh, ya know," you give his grin right back to him and shift at the table, feeling the toy move only slightly inside you. "Just sitting around totally normal like nothing at all is special about today whatsoever."
“Yeah.” He winks and reaches to hand you the paper to connect the app to the toy. “We might have to change that.”
With your phone already in front of you, you start putzing with the app that controls his toy and shove the paper away in your purse as soon as you're done. "Are you..."Glancing across the table at him, you end up biting your lip on the question. Having no familiarity with men's toys, you don't really know what he's feeling right now. "Comfortable? Like...does it feel good even before it's turned on?"
“It’s like your hand is around me and applying just the right amount of pressure.” He tells you, opening up his own phone and selecting the app for your toy.
"Oh, so you're really feeling good." There are so many settings on your phone screen right now that you almost don't know where to start, so you select the lowest possible vibration to begin with and toss him a smirk before hitting the On button.
Dieter jumps his eyes widening and nearly crossing, clamping his lips together so he doesn’t moan like the whore he is right now. “Fuuuuuuuck.”
"Oh...do you like that?" You nearly cackle with delight, barely managing to keep your glee to yourself because you know that eye roll. That's the way his eye roll back slightly and his eyelids flutter when you put your mouth on him.
He manages to push the button on the app to activate your own toy. Wanting to see your own reaction to the toy inside your cunt.
For a second, right when the buzzing inside your body begins, you completely freeze. It’s not like you’ve never had a vibrator inside you before but you’ve never had one in in public and you clap one hand over your mouth as soon as you can move again to stifle any noise threatening to break through. Fuck, it’s like heaven and this is only the lowest setting.
He groans quietly, seeing the way your entire body lights up. It makes his cock throb even more and he shoots you a grin. “You like it?”
“Yes.” There’s no use in being shy about it, especially when he’s the one with the control.
Dieter smirks and slides down in his own seat slightly, feeling the way that the toy vibrates around him. “This is— it’ll keep me from cumming.” He tells you with a pant. “Edging me.”
“So we just bought you your new best friend?” One hand across the table reaches for his just to have a little bit of contact, but with the other you tap the controls on your phone, selecting a slightly less predictable pattern of vibration.
He grunts, biting his lip and smirking at you when he increases the intensity and puts it on a burst pattern. “How’s your friend.”
“G—good.” Barely managing to paint on a perfectly convincing normal smile when your food arrives at the table, you relax again in your chair the second the owner has gone again. “Fuck,” you groan softly and grin.
Dieter chuckles softly. “Yep, this is going to be fun.” He tells you after his own toy falls still for a moment.
“Add it to the list of things I didn’t know I liked until I tried them.” You can fully admit that, as the thrill of possibly being caught is making the whole thing that m much more fun.
His smirk is dirty, and he leans in and sends you a small wink. “Kind of like you didn’t know you would like my cock until you took a ride on it?” He smirks again before he adjusts the intensity of your toy.
“Kind of.” Each time he ramps up the speed or changes the pattern of your vibrator you have to swallow a moan and you can feel how hot your cheeks are getting just from being turned on. “How was I supposed to know?”
“Hmmmm.” Dieter pretends to think about it. “Good question.”
“Shut up.” You roll your eyes at him, though now the words and the action are full of affection that you hadn’t even dreamt of two weeks ago.
He smirks at you before the next jolt of vibration hits him and his eyes flutter closed. “Hnnnnnnngh.”
“Eat your lunch, babe.” The idea of doing terribly mundane things while being simultaneously doing something adventurous has far more appeal for you than you thought it would, and you pick up your fork with a grin.
Dieter huffs, finding it harder than he imagined since he is doing this with you. “Have a bite of mine.” He insists, forking up a bite and holding it out to you.
There’s no way you’re going to make this easy on him, especially not when he’s chosen a very…energetic pattern of vibrations on your toy. Leaning forward, you wrap your lips around the bite of food and let your eyelids flutter shut, humming a soft moan that is only thirty percent about the food and seventy percent about the vibrator currently playing your clit like an expert musician. “Delicious.”
“Savor it baby.” He coos, giving you a shit-eating grin. He sees the riot of expressions on your face and he loves it. Loves knowing that you are being so dirty with him.
“So bossy today.” It’s as surprising to you admit is to him that you like it so much, but it’s really just that you see now that it’s a different way of prioritizing your pleasure. Different from his usual submission, where he’ll do nearly anything you ask.
He smirks and shoots you a look that asks if you’re surprised. “What? You think I can’t be bossy?” He challenges playfully.
“More like I’m surprised that I like it,” you laugh, shifting and squeezing your thighs together in your seat while you pick up another fork full of food. “I’m not…I don’t usually like taking orders. I guess there’s always exceptions that prove the rule, right?”
“A secret switch.” Dieter hums, happy that he could help you discover things about yourself. It was always fun.
“Something like that.” Maybe it’s just that you have never been with anyone long enough for them to care about trying different things together. Maybe it’s the fact that you actually have feelings for him - which is a whole other can of worms - that makes time with him fun and exciting. Who knows?
“Well, we’ll see how well you take orders later tonight.” He winks at you with a grin.
“Oh really?” While the confidence of that comment would normally have you clenching down around nothing, this time your eager cunt squeezes the toy buried inside you and you barely manage to stifle a whimper at how amazing it feels. You’re not going to last much longer at all with how good the vibrator feels and a new set of sexy daydreams in your mind.
“Mhm.” Dieter takes a bite of his food and moans quietly, both from the taste and the way that the toy is making him ache just a bit more from stimulation. “The birthday girl needs spankings after all.”
“It’s true. I do.” Tossing him a wink, you practically giggle. “I’ve been a very good birthday girl. I earned them.” Temporarily, the vibrating deep in your pussy stops and you’re able to breath. “God, the other people in our floor are going to be so glad when I leave.” You snort, smothering a giggle with one hand as it turns into a moan when the vibration pattern on your toy kicks in again. Some other hotel guests on your floor had walked into the elevator just in time to see Dee’s hand down your pants two days ago and they had immediately scuttled away to take the stairs - leaving you and Dieter laughing hysterically in their wake.
“I’m going to pout when you leave.” It’s true, he will pout. He’s enjoyed this time with you, not even having one argument with you. Maybe it was the sex or maybe it was that word that keeps bouncing around in his brain. “Have to FaceTime you when I’ve got my hand wrapped around my cock.” He will stick with sex for now, not wanting to scare you off or make things between you go back to the way they were.
“Never gonna be able to answer a call from you with Nora in the room, am I?” Rolling your eyes at him like it’s some huge deal, you end up laughing again. “Small price to pay for getting to watch you jerk off, I guess.”
“You could always watch me tonight on the train ride back to Geneva.” He teases.
“Interesting…” Actually the suggestion is surprisingly appealing and you squirm a little in your seat. “You wanna give me a little show?”
“Wanna give you a lot of things.” Dieter grunts, cock twitching in the ring and he doesn’t miss the opportunity to leer at you.
There’s no explaining away the way that such an obviously dirty thought - intended to be dirty - makes your heart and stomach flip. You can’t excuse it or wave it off. You are feeling that thing and you just need to tell your heart to shut the hell up and let your cunt run the show. That’s the part of you that you know for certain that he likes - the rest of it is only marginally less than a question mark. “Like what?” You prompt, tapping your fingers against your phone screen on the tabletop and grinning when the intensity on his cock ring ramps up by another degree.
“Shit.” He hisses softly, squirming in his own seat for a moment and it’s on the tip of his tongue to blurt out something that is way too heavy for this flirty banter. “Like this load of cum that’s building up.”
“I could let you cum down my throat before we go to my appointment.” If these toys were ever intended to help keep your hands off of each other, then you were both lying to yourselves. If anything, you just want him more at this point.
Dieter practically keens at the idea, his eyes bright with lust. “After we eat.” He pants out.
Your lips curl up in a smirk, watching him apply himself to his lunch with as much dedication as he possibly can. You only have a few more bites left and they’re gone quickly enough – already deciding you’re going to want him to fuck you in that bathroom. He can still cum down your throat, but you’re craving having him inside you again.
His own food is quickly bolted down, barely even tasting it in his eagerness to get you alone again. Biting his lip when the owner brings the check, and he hums as hands her his card. “It was great.” He tells her. “Best lunch.”
“Meet you in there?” After giving your compliments to the owner - the food really was good, you’re just distracted as hell - you slip away to the bathroom to wait for him. It gives you an extra second to take out the vibrator and clean it, wanting to save that incredible feeling of fullness for tonight in the hotel room when you can savor it. This? This is the definition of a quickie and it’s all you can do not to shove two fingers up your pussy and play with yourself while you wait.
“Would you need anything else?”
Dieter practically flies through his signature, leaving a 100% tip and biting his lip as he looks up at the woman who owns the restaurant. “Yeah.” Dieter pants. “Just, uh, don’t blast us online.” He tells her cryptically before he bolts from the table and hurries to the bathroom without even waiting for her answer.
“Took you long enough.” The second he’s through the door, you’re reaching for him. Crushing your lips against his and fumbling with the lock behind his back like some kind of sex-starved maniac. Sex-starved. That’s laughable. You’ve never had this much sex in your life and yet you’re still completely insatiable when it comes to him.
“Fuck.” Dieter loves sex, fucking loves it, but there’s something about you that just has him eager every fucking time you crook your finger. His lips trail down your throat. “Th-that eager to s-suck my c-cock?” He stutters out when the toy goes off again and makes him whine when your hand moves to cup him.
“Want you to f—fuck me.” He’s learned every sensitive spot on your body better than even you know them, and you shudder at the way he nips your skin. “Still gonna have you cum down my throat though. Fuck.”
“Love it.” Dieter is immediately agreeing, pushing you back against the bathroom sink and thanking God that there is plenty of room for you to sit on it. His fingers fumble with the button of his jeans and he pulls them down quickly, not even bothering to try to take off the cock ring. “I— fuck, I’ll cum if I try to fuck you without it.” He’s too needy right now, and he wants to see how he can make you cum with this on.
“Took mine out already.” Shifting backward on the edge of the broad sink counter, you mentally congratulate yourself for the excellent decision to wear both a dress and open panties today. “We can play with it again tonight,” you promise him, even as your fingers dig into his sides and your thighs spread wide for him. “Need you right the fuck now.”
It’s all he needs to hear and those words from your lips makes his cock throb even more. Desperate to feel your silken walls around him, Dieter quickly shuffles forward and lines up. It’s not slow, the way that the toy roars to life again has him stabbing his hips forward in a choked cry, filling you to the hilt.
The only way you manage not to scream is by muting the sound against his lips, pouring his name into a kiss instead of letting the whole restaurant know what you’re getting up to behind a locked door. The extra sensation from the pulsing and vibrating toy has you nearly sobbing, clinging to him as he fucks you into the counter even harder than when he’d wrecked you that first time in his dressing room at the studio.
He groans filthily into your neck, feeling like his entire body is on fire as he grinds into you. Knowing that he will have to make this quick, surely the owner has figured out what he was talking about. “I’m sorry.” He pants, pulling back to start rolling his hips in a frantic, unhinged beat.
“Fuck, I’m not.” Shifting a little to keep your balance, the slight change in angle hits something magical inside you and the room goes completely black for a second when you start to cum. There’s not even enough time to warn him, just your jaw hanging open in a silent scream of pleasure while your cunt clamps down on him like a vice.
Nearly biting through his lip, Dieter hisses, trying to work you through it, but he can’t fucking move for how tight your pussy is gripping him. Making him lightheaded and digging his fingers into your hips. “Fuuuuuuuuck, g-good g-girl.” He pants into your ear while your body pulses around hun.
You could have melted to the floor in a puddle for how pliant you feel, but as soon as Dieter is able to move again, you’re nudging him back to drop to your knees on the tile in front of him. If you didn’t know he was enjoying it, the clock ring almost looks painful - squeezing him as tight as your pussy just was which is obvious from how slick with your juices his cock is.
Groaning at the sight of you on your knees in front of him, his hand cups your jaw. “Fuck, let me - let me get it off.” He knows he won’t last thirty seconds with the toy no longer squeezing him and your lips wrapped around his dick. Especially when you seemed to fucking love sucking his cock.
Next time you’re going to keep a stopwatch handy, because you swear it takes well under a minute once his cock is down your throat for that strangled cry of your name and his fingertips digging into the back of your head to be joined by the deliriously hedonistic feeling of cum pouring down your throat. You hum around his length, encouraging him to bury himself to the hilt in your mouth and throat like you’ve learned he loves. Someday you swear he’s going to hit your stomach with the way you both love it when he’s buried deep, and you don’t even care.
You could fucking suck start an engine, Dieter’s thought that since the second you ever wrapped your lips around him. Whining when you continue gulping him down, his stomach twists and clenches with over stimulation that you know he adores. Making him gasp out your name one last time before he’s jerking his hips back.
Grinning up at him, you lick a few errant drops of cum and spit from the corners of your mouth before pushing up to be on your feet again. A few pieces of paper towel later and you’re fairly confident that you won’t drip your own cum down your thighs in the tattooist’s chair, and you giggle darkly as Dieter wraps you up in his arms. “Fuck we’re good at that,” you sigh in his ear.
“Yes we are.” He breathes into your neck, kissing it softly, tenderly. As much as he loves fucking you, he’s happy just like this too. But… “We need to go.” He huffs, reluctantly letting you go.
“Lame,” you complain, giving him a pout even though you know he’s right. As it stands, it’s a good thing that your appointment is right across the street otherwise you would be late.
“I know.” He takes your hand and opens the door, stepping out nonchalantly as if you hadn’t just been fucking like rabbits in the bathroom.
The tattoo parlour that Dieter picked out for you is clean, well lit, and covered in displays of previous customers’ art. There are half a dozen employees going about various duties inside, and a man around your own age with long hair and a bright smile greets you both as you walk inside. You’re precisely on time so he has a decent guess who you are and switches over to English after greeting you. Dieter beams beside you, eager to share another experience with you while you listen to the artist’s spiel.
“This is your first?” The man is very aware of who the two of you are, being a particular fan of Dieter’s, but doesn’t say anything on the topic as he pulls out a series of forms for you to fill out a sign.
“Yes.” And you’re grateful for the solid wall of Dieter’s presence beside you, holding your hand in his until the man behind the counter holds out a pen to you. “Everything I have is from my soulmate.” Just saying it makes you turn to him and smile, a flush of warmth running through you. “This is the first one I’m getting myself.”
His eyes widen slightly as he looks over at Dieter. “I cannot believe that you didn’t get some ink for yourself. But we’ll fix that.” He tells you with a wink.
“He set everything up for me.” Squeezing Dieter’s hand gently, you let go to pick up the pen and start filling things out. “Including emailing over the design. But I brought the original with me just in case. It’s, uh…it’s important to me. I did it myself, and it’s not something I chose lightly.” It’s something to honour those closest to you, and that does include Dieter. You’re glad you made that decision a week ago, because it has only increased since then.
“It’s exquisite work.” He praises, smiling at you. “When I was looking it over, others were asking about it.”
“Maybe I should be taking commission to design tattoos.” It’s a complete joke, of course, but that’s really only because you’ve never been able to take a compliment well. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop and the criticism to kick in, like it has always been with your parents. “I’m a little nervous.” You can admit that easily. “But I made sure I wore something that exposed my shoulder blade so you won’t have to deal with my clothing, and I didn’t use any lotions or anything this morning like your instructions said.”
He nods with a smile. “That sounds perfect. I’ve transferred the image to paper that will ink the design on your skin. That way you can see the outline and we can adjust it to your liking.”
Getting you settled into the chair and the design transferred to your skin is nerve-racking, but Dieter has your fingers laced through his as he walks you through it, randomly making comments to the artist about technicalities that you don’t quite understand. When the needle comes out is when you squeeze his hand tightly - this time with excitement creeping in amongst the other feelings. “I’m ready.” You’re not sure if you’re reassuring Dieter or yourself more when you answer the artist’s question about whether or not you’re ready to begin, but it’s your soulmate that you’re nodding to.
“Remember…” Dieter leans in and presses his lips to yours. “If it’s too much, they can stop at any time. I’ll sit for the rest of it if you need.”
“I know.” Never in your adult life would you have thought that kissing this man would be grounding, but you swear it’s the thing that helps you breathe. “I need to do this myself. This is…it’s got my brother in it. I know you understand.”
“Absolutely.” Dieter breathes against your lips. That is something he completely understands. He just knows that if the tables were turned, you would volunteer to take the pain of anyone you love. “You’ve got this.”
“Thank you.” It almost slips out – that word you’re definitely not saying – but you just smile against his lips as he kisses you one more time, and sit forward in the massage-therapist-esque chair that you’ll be occupying for the next few hours. It doesn’t hurt at first. Almost at all. And that’s so surprising that you manage to relax again. The pain will come with repetition, you’re sure, but not starting out in extreme pain is a better beginning than you figured on.
For his part, Dieter makes sure you know he’s there. His hand never leaves yours, thumb rubbing your palm or the back of your hand soothingly. Squeezing when you hiss at a particularly sensitive part. Offering you the option of water as he picks up the bottle and holds it out to you. “You want some baby?” Even putting a straw in it so you don’t have to move.
“God yes.” Water is exactly what you need right now, after an hour of sitting, and the addition of the straw to the bottle makes you grin. Despite not being able to take care of himself worth a damn, he’s pretty good with the little things when it comes to you. “How does it look so far?”
There's something about being able to give you what you need that fills Dieter with.an enormous sense of pride. His chest puffs up slightly and his eyes move from where you are drinking down the water to your shoulder where the artist is carefully inking out the outline of the art before he starts changing colors and shading. "It's going to be amazing. You will be sad that you don't get to see it on your body all the time."
“I’ll be staring at your back all the time.” You grin, nose wrinkling with the way the smile lights up your face. It hurts, of course, but not as badly as you feared it would. And that is definitely a relief.
He swears you do it on purpose now, not that he minds at all. Bending down as he pulls the water bottle back; he drops a tiny kiss on your lips. “Stare away.” He murmurs.
“Do you want to take a quick break before we start the shading and colouring?” The artist asks, looking between the two of you and wondering how the fuck you got here from that broadcast footage of you slamming the door in his face or him screaming at you at that restaurant. It’s mind boggling to him. “Maybe just ten minutes?” You ask, feeling like stretching your legs might be nice. The colour is going to take the longest and you’ve already been in the chair over an hour.
“You need anything?“ Dieter asks softly. “I can go get you something.” He wants this experience to be good for you. Especially since he’s sharing it with you. All his own tattoos had been solo adventures - and he’d been high.
“Will you take a picture of it?” Your phone is in your purse beside his feet, and you want to be able to post a few photos to your Instagram now that you’re enjoying using the app to document your trip. Mostly you just want him beside you, savoring the fact that he’s being extra sweet today. “I just need to stretch my legs, really.”
“Sure.” He picks up your purse and hands it to you. “Hand me your phone babe.”
"You know, I don't mind if you go into my purse for something." You've noticed that it's something he never, ever does – even hesitating this morning on the train when you asked him to grab a condom. While you appreciate the respect of your privacy, you also have nothing to hide. Still, you pull out your phone and open the camera to hand it over to him. "If I ask you to, or you like...need Tylenol or a tissue or something and I have it? You can always just go ahead."
“Thanks.” Dieter flushes slightly and gives you a small shrug. “It’s – I appreciate that you trust me.” You are probably the first person to tell him something like that since Danica and it makes him feel almost shy.
"Trust is earned." The words are quiet, but you reach over and squeeze his knee gently. "You earned it." Through the way he is with Nora before anything else, really, Dieter has proven that he's not the careless lay-about that you had once assumed he was. Does he have his days? Sure. But so does everybody else. Since the two of you have started working shit out, he has never given you a reason not to trust him.
He can’t help but try to lighten the mood. Flashing you a playful grin and winking at you. “Bet you never thought you’d say those words to me. Did ya?”
"Oh, shut up." It's so often your reply for when he teases you, but you do have to admit that you don't mean it anymore. Teasing over snark is a trade you'll take any day of the week. "Bet you never thought you'd be planning out my birthday like you're competing in the Boyfriend Olympics, but here we are."
“Am I in completion for first?” He asks, sending you a hopeful grin. “Gold medal?”
Honestly, if you weren’t positively certain that it would scare him off and ruin the day, this would be a very sweet time for that word. “Yeah, honey.” You nod a little as you stand up, stretching straight into his arms. “Gold medal all the way.”
“Yessssss.” Dieter pumps his fist in the air like an overly excited child, laughing when you roll your eyes at him.
“Will you take the picture?” It’s important for you to see what it looks like on your skin, even if the image is technically the same on his. He hasn’t said a word about pain or discomfort, so it really must be true that he won’t feel that hit of sharp pain until the very end.
“Of course.” He smirks as he takes the phone from you, watching as you turn around and present your back and shoulder blade to him. Snapping a couple of photos to make sure the lighting is right; he leans in and kisses your shoulder above the tattoo. Not wanting to spread germs to the sensitive area, but he just needs to touch you.
“You’re a sap.” Not that you mind, obviously. Those little shows of affection from him are everything to you now. When he hands you back your phone you immediately send off the picture to Steph, wanting her to see the progress and be as much a part of the moment as she can be at a half a world away.
“No one has ever accused me of that.” Dieter huffs. “An asshole, a jerk, a narcissist, but never a sap.” He taps his chin. “Unless you are just substituting it for one of those, I don’t even know what sap means.”
“It means you’re showing your emotions.” You tell him, putting both arms around his waist and carefully making sure the the strap of your dress stays out of the way when you hug him. “You’re mushy.” And the fact that he’s like this with you? It’s…sort of miraculous.
“Shut up.” He grumbles even as his lips curve up and he kisses the tip of your nose. “Bad for my image.”
“Pretty sure Libby would disagree.” You point out, sticking out your tongue at him for that same level of maturity in your banter. “Pretty sure this is exactly what she was hoping for when she made you do this whole contract shenanigan.”
Dieter sighs, knowing that you’re right. But he’s also a little - hurt isn’t the exact word - upset that the only reason that you are here with him now is because of that contract. “Yeah, because I have ‘leading man’ written all over me.” He rolls his eyes and his arm tightens around your lower back slightly before he lets you go. “Better pee if you need to.”
“You do to me.” It’s just a mumble, since you can tell his mood has changed on a dime. As much as you’re now inclined to thank Libby for the stunt these days, it’s clearly still a sore subject for him. “Be right back,” you murmur, shuffling in the direction of the bathroom while you mentally kick yourself for bringing it up.
“Great job asshole.” Dieter hisses to himself after you disappear down the small hallway that has a discreet sign for the bathroom. “Way to ruin her birthday because you went and fell in love with her.” He shakes his head and turns around to look at the art selection on the wall, thinking about getting another tattoo himself.
A few minutes later both you and the artist are returning to the chair, and the work begins anew. He predicted in the original quote that shading and colouring would take about two hours, so he has your chair facing a big screen tv with a cabinet of dvds at the ready if you would prefer watching something to making small talk or sitting in silence. He's not the kind of artist that chats away while he works, preferring to give the piece his entire attention – especially in this case where his client has done the design themselves. He wants it to be perfect. When you're situated again you reach for Dieter's hand, hoping that he won't flinch away. After sternly lecturing yourself in the bathroom, you've decided to strike the word 'contract' from your vocabulary all together when it comes to him, just in case. To you, it was a blessing in a very big disguise. But he clearly doesn't see it that way.
His fingers thread through yours, sternly telling himself that he cannot fuck up your birthday. It would be unforgivable. “After this, do you want to eat or catch an earlier train back?” He asks, wanting to leave it up to you. “Have dinner at the hotel? Or wherever you want.” He adds quickly.
"The hotel restaurants are fancy..." Although you're not sure if that is an argument for it or against, to be honest. But in the week you've been staying there you still haven't eaten in any of them yet. "We'd have to change when we got back...would that be okay with you?" There's no way in hell you're going to push him, but it sounds nice. "Maybe we could walk around the lake after if we have the energy?"
“It sounds perfect.” Dieter agrees, grinning when he imagines walking back into the room after dinner. He doubts you’ll want to go for a walk once you see what he has in store for you. “Let me call the hotel and make the reservation.” He also needs to adjust the time for the surprise he set up.
"Pick whatever restaurant you want," you tell him as he shifts backward to step away. There's three of them and they're all nice, so what do you care as long as you get to sit and share a meal with him?
Dieter steps outside the tattoo shop in order to make sure you don’t find out his surprise. It’s silly, but he wants to make sure that no one spoils the fact that he’s ordered a cake and balloons to the room after getting back to the hotel. Not to mention the other thing. Now he wants them to put it in the room while the two of you are at dinner.
“Hôtel Mètropole Genève.” The concierge who answers the phone does so with all the brightness and manners that the prestigious hotel demands. “Comment puis-je vous aider?” How may I help you?
Dieter grins as he announces himself and gives his room number. “I need to make a dinner reservation for tonight and push back the special request I have.”
“Of course, monsieur.” The concierge switches over to English for Dieter’s convenience. “Will you be joining us in the bar, on the rooftop, or in the formal restaurant?”
“The formal.” You had mentioned dressing up and he wants to give you an exquisite sit-down experience, a far cry from your first date.
“Oui, monsieur.” There is a pause and the gentle sound of clicking for a moment. “For the two of you?” Everyone in the hotel is aware of the couple staying in one of their largest suites, especially given the length of the reservation and the surprise scheduled for tonight. “Is there anything we can do to make your evening more memorable?”
Dieter looks back towards the door. “Can we have the cake and balloons brought to the room while we are eating?” He asks. “Oh, and I want to add flowers. Roses.” They aren’t your favorite flower, but every beautiful woman deserves roses on special occasions. He tells the concierge a number. “One for every year.”
“Of course, monsieur.” Another moment of silence follows, but this one carries a hum, like the man is smiling. “If there is anything else we can do, please do not hesitate to call.”
“Thanks.” Ending the call, he pockets his phone and enters the shop again with a smug grin. “Bet you didn’t know I could make my own reservations.” He teases.
“I think you’re busy.” You hum tell him honestly when he sits back down beside you. Sometimes the busy makes him forgetful - but that’s because he’s human. “Which restaurant did you pick?”
Winking at you, he gives you a small shrug. “Figured we should get dressed up tonight.” He hums happily. “Lib packed a great suit.”
“I bet you anything one of the dresses she packed for me matches your suit.” The smile that splits your face is instant. Dieter doesn’t necessarily like getting dressed up or doing a lot of fancy bullshit, but he’s doing it for you because he knows what a treat it is. How special it makes the whole day. And you — well, you love him for that.
“Guaran-fucking-teed.” He chuckles, knowing that it would match perfectly. She had been over the moon about your social media posts and how good it all seemed to be going. “We can’t disappoint her by not wearing it.”
“Ya know it took me almost a week to realize that all the designer stuff she packed me is from the same designer?” It’s never really been on your radar before - or in your budget - so you hadn’t really paid attention. “I bet you anything she signed an extra sponsorship deal.” It had annoyed you for a few minutes when you had finally noticed, but that faded quickly. It’s gorgeous stuff and you get to wear it all for free. How ungrateful would it be if you got mad about it?
“She’s good for that.” He snickers. “I bet every mention in the gossip rags says what you are wearing.” He gives you a small, bashful smile. “Welcome to celebrity life. Isn’t it glamorous?”
"To be honest I don't read most of it." In the beginning you had, but it had caused you so much anxiety during those big fights that you stopped. The last thing you needed was to read about how much people hate you. "Although it might be a lot more fun to read these days than it was even a month ago."
“I’m sorry.” He reaches out and takes your hand again. “I know you had to have gotten some shit for being my soulmate.”
"Hey." You shake your head and lace your fingers through his easily. "I did a lot of it to myself. Your fans love you and I was a giant bitch in the beginning. It's all good, baby. That's not on you." His own actions, he has apologized for and you've forgiven him, just like he has forgiven you. "It's all water under the bridge."
“To be fair, I’m kind of a dick.” He pulls his sunglasses out of his pocket and perches them on his nose to look over them at you. The sunglasses are no longer the source of friction they used to be, but it’s a visual reminder of how annoyed you were at him.
"Yeah." Since you can't shrug, you just squeeze his hand. "But you're my dick."
He waggles his eyebrows at you at that. “Yes, yes I am.” He agrees, throwing you another wink. “Anytime you want.”
By the time the artist has finished working on your tattoo, you can fully admit to it being more than just a little sore. A little over three hours in the chair isn't a lot of in the broad scheme of things but it's certainly plenty enough to make you wonder how he's done this so many times. Dieter takes a few pictures of the finished production to show you and you can't help shedding a few tears over it - seeing the representation of your brother alongside the other flowers just makes you wish he was here holding your other hand. Dieter huffs at you when you even try to reach for your wallet, and you make a mental note to plan something just obnoxiously sweet and attentive for his next birthday, because today really has just be perfect. After sending off a photo of your brand new tattoo to Steph and to your parents so that they don't pitch a fit about finding out via social media even though they haven't even called to say "Happy birthday", you loop your arm through Dieter's and head back toward the train station.
“How is it?” He asks with a grin. “Owning your own ink now?”
“It’s sore,” you laugh, willing to admit that fully. “But…kind of cool? I like feeling like I’m carrying all of you with me.”
His smile turns slightly bittersweet. “It’s nice to be able to carry the ones you love with you.” His fingers brush against the triangle on your arm. “That physical reminder sometimes keeps you sane.”
“He would’ve liked you.” Shawn had never made any bones about being a fan of Dieter’s, but the man you know now is different than the celebrity image that gets put out into the world. “He liked dumb jokes and spontaneity and he loved Fleetwood Mac. I can just see you two sitting out by the pool listening to Rumours and shooting the shit.” It’s a melancholy fantasy, but not one that truly upsets you. Thinking of Shawn doing happy things is nice in a bittersweet sort of way.
“He had to be special.” Dieter keeps his arm looped through yours and his tone light. “You and Steph don’t put up with someone who isn’t worthy.”
“Steph was absolutely nuts about him. I mean we were twelve and she just…she just knew. Even before they knew they were soulmates.” You shrug slightly, the one shoulder without fresh ink on it pulling up before it drops again sharply, and you squeeze his arm a little. “Have I ever told you about when I actually realized you were my soulmate?” You know you haven’t. It’s a story that involves both Shawn and Steph and it’s a pretty good example of what a great big nerd you used to be. But today…it feels like the right time.
“No.” He remembers that at one point you were proud to be his soulmate, so it won’t be a bad story. “When did you realize it?”
"I was sixteen." The age difference between you back then was enormous, but now it barely means anything. "And Shawn desperately wanted to go see Silhouette in the West." You grin at the memory – practically able to hear your nineteen-year-old brother bickering with your parents over his winter break about wanting to go see the movie on his own. "They told him that he had to take me if he wanted to go and he bitched and moaned but finally agreed. And there's that one scene...that shot where they show you swimming in the pond or watering hole or whatever? And I saw the scar from my cut on your leg." That was the very first sign. Your stupid little cut from not being able to shave your legs properly. "I thought I was absolutely losing it, but Shawn saw it, too. We went nuts in the theater and barely managed to not get kicked out. I went home sobbing - like so excited that I was actually in tears - and told my parents right away." Squeezing Dieter's arm gently, you shrug again with your one unhurt shoulder. "It was only a couple of months later that you got your first tattoo."
“My elephant.” Dieter nods, thinking back to that time. “Jesus, you were young.” He knows that there is nothing wrong with the age difference between you, you aren’t even the soulmates with the largest gap, but it would have been glaringly obvious then. “What did your parents say?” He’s curious that they didn’t seek him out, after all, he was a fast-rising star at the time.
"They didn't believe me until the ink started showing up." You can laugh about it now, but at the time it had been a source of friction. You were fiercely proud of who the universe had matched you with, but they clearly understood that there would be obstacles in the way. "They wanted me to focus on picking out a career and being able to support myself, and were dead set on making me wait until I was older to meet you. Mom's logic was that you were an adult with your own life and your own career, so I should have those things, too. And then if those things meshed together well when I was old enough, that would be proof that we really were soulmates."
“So your parents didn’t believe that you were just destined to be with your soulmate?” He asks, knowing that you’ve adopted that same mentality when he’d first met you.
“I think they just wanted me to be cautious.” In hindsight, it does make sense. Even though at the time you had hated them for it. “And they probably didn’t want me to come off as a gold digger.”
Dieter snorts. “I was broke as a joke then.” He reminds you. “I was just starting to roles that paid decently.” He can’t complain now, enjoying his life and the ability to not overly worry about money. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to meet…before.”
“I’m just…honestly, I’m just glad that we got to meet at all.” You confess, wondering if maybe that makes you clingy or needy. “I know it was far from the perfect meeting, but who knows where we would be if we had met ten plus years ago? Anything could have happened.” There is one thing, though, and you don’t mind admitting it. “I’m just sorry I never got to meet your sister.”
“She would have loved you.” He can freely tell you that, chuckling slightly. “Probably would have pissed herself laughing at the ‘Fuck you, Bravo!’. After she beat your ass for hurting my feelings, of course.” That last line is said teasingly. While Danica had been Dieter’s cheerleader and protector, she had very few violent bones in her body. Unless it was kicking his ass.
“I would have deserved it.” Completely and truly, you would have. You know that. “She and Shawn would have given us merciless shit. Affectionately, of course.”
“Isn’t that what siblings are for?” He asks with another chuckle. “If she hadn’t died…” He swallows. “Who knows where my life would have gone? Sometimes Libby swears she was the only one who could control me.”
“You’ve done pretty damn good for yourself.” The two of you hustle across a main street and turn the next corner to walk toward the train station. “Everyone has troubles, Dee. She would be proud of you for how hard you work and for how much you’ve grown.”
“Yeah.” Dieter looks over at you again. “Dani would have loved you.”
“Shawn would have loved you.” And if that is the closest you ever get to telling him the words you want to say, so be it.
The two of you fall into a silent lull the rest of the way to the train station, each one lost in thoughts or memories. Booking a compartment isn’t as lucky this time. Having to share the space on the much fuller ride back to Geneva. Thankfully the other occupants of the car have no interest in chatting or any kind of small talk, and you bury yourself in Dieter’s side for the three-hour ride. Aside from a cup of coffee from the cart you never move, just gazing out the window as the rain barrels down the tracks.
Your parents call while Dieter is grabbing you a cab back to the hotel, and it is a good excuse to keep the call short. Otherwise the usual woe is us stuff will start, and the day has been so nice until now. Dieter stays silent through the somewhat awkward conversation you are having, wondering why your parents have waited so late to call you. His own relationship with his mother is hard, so he doesn’t ask, instead just wrapping his arm around your shoulders inside the cab as you end the call.
“Well, that was fun,” you huff gently, shoving your phone back in your purse. The look you flash him is apologetic - as absolutely apologetic as you can possibly make it. “You don’t have to say yes.” Probably not the most encouraging way to phrase it, but too late now. “But…my parents have invited us to visit. They…they want to meet you.”
“Oh.” His brow shoots up and he searches your face to see what you are thinking or feeling about that, but your face is just apologizing to him. “It would have to be when I get back….” He offers, not wanting to commit you to something you don’t want. Tiptoeing around this feeling he has for you is starting to make his head hurt. He never puts this much effort into much beyond his art or his acting. Unless it was getting high.
“I can tell them no.” You had only said that you would talk about it, not wanting to pressure him into anything properly resembling an actual relationship with you despite how strongly you feel about him. The fact is, you would like everybody in your life to meet at some point, but it’s just that you don’t see an urgency in the timing. “I guess Mom has figured out social media and Internet gossip websites just enough to be following our trip, and she thinks we’re ‘getting serious’. Her words.”
“Do you want me to meet them?” He makes a point of keeping his eyes directed towards the passing view as he asks. That’s the most important thing, even as his heart flips at the juvenile thought of ‘getting serious’. Kind of like asking a girl or boy to go steady in school.
“I—” It feels like a trick. Like someone’s going to pop out with a camera to laugh at you if you admit it. Which is just about the dumbest thought in the world. But honesty is what you’ve been working with for the past week and it’s working, so you find yourself nodding before you really know what you’re doing. Staring down at your hands in your lap, you just hope like hell that this doesn’t send him running for the hills. “Yeah. I—I would. But I can put them off a month or even two if it’s weird or overwhelming. And you can say no if you really don’t want to. It’s your call.”
You can’t hear it, but Dieter lets out the breath he had been holding. Relief and probably a little joy that you want him to meet the parents flooding his system. “Okay.” His hand on your arm tightens slightly, pulling you towards him as he turns to look over at you. “We’ll do it when I get back.”
“Really?” Your head pops up in surprise and you don’t even bother to disguise it, realizing that you had been holding your breath waiting for him to answer. “I thought this was going to be way more of a discussion. Okay…uh…it has to be a weekend. Because of school, I mean. But San Francisco isn’t far.”
He tries for nonchalance as he lifts the shoulder opposite you. “It’s okay. I like San Francisco. It’s a quick flight.”
“You’ll get to hear all the mortifying stories, and I guarantee there will be baby pictures.” After all, like you told him earlier — they’ve been waiting for this day to come for a very long time. “I mean…that’s what parents do when they meet their kid’s soulmate, right?”
“I guess.” Dieter shrugs, not even able to imagine how his mother would react to meeting you. Probably ignore that fact and pester him about him paying for something for her. “I don’t know, my parents weren’t soulmates and Dani either didn’t have one or they died young.”
“I guess we’ll find out.” The cab pulls up outside the hotel and the two of you stretch on the sidewalk before heading inside. You won’t harp on it any more tonight because the day has been so nice, but you know you’re going to be stewing over whether or not to say anything about these feelings before your parents can ask the question.
Shaking off the questions, he smiles at you. “Let’s go get changed for dinner.” He offers, looking at his phone. “The reservation is in an hour. Wanted to make sure we didn’t miss it.” He can’t help but feel butterflies in his stomach. This is far different from the casual meals you’ve shared together and it’s special.
“We’ll see what kind of matching clothes Libby packed for us.” In the elevator you curl into Dieter’s side and turn up your chin to smile at him. “Today was perfect,” you hum, kissing his cheek. “I’m sure the night will be, too.”
“Thank God.” Dieter rolls his eyes and scrunches his nose. “Do you know how hard I worried about ruining your birthday?”
“Nuh-uh.” You laugh and shake your head, dropping a kiss on his lips the way he always does when you wrinkle your nose like that. “Everything was perfect.”
“Good.” It was important to him. “I didn’t want you to regret being here and not doing your usual birthday routine.”
“The drive-in will still be there when we get back.” The elevator lets you out on your floor and the front door to your suite is only a few paces beyond that. “But absolutely nothing could come close to the day we had today.”
Pride makes his steps a bit cockier, giving him a slight swagger as he walks to unlock the door, despite you having a key of your own. “It’s not over yet.” He reminds you with a wink. “Still need that spanking.”
“I’m going to have my work cut out for me when I try to plan your birthday.” Not that you won’t try your damnedest. Of course you will. You just hope things will still be good between you then.
“I—” Dieter bites his lip and decides that he needs to be honest with you. “I haven’t celebrated my birthday since Danica died.” He admits quietly. “Normally I’m just too fucking high to remember the day.”
Stopping in the middle of the room, you drop your purse and take both of his hands, running your thumbs over the backs of them gently. “If you would rather be left alone that day, I understand. But if you want to try to break the cycle this year, just say the word.”
“Well, I can’t be high.” He offers you, his words raspy and for a horrible second, he thinks he might fucking cry. He never thought someone, especially you, would offer to make a day that is pure bleak depression better for him. Not even Libby tried, although he wouldn’t have let her, to be fair.
“Hey…” Tugging him into your arms, you definitely weren’t expecting that strong of a reaction, but you can’t really blame him. Losing your big brother was hard enough - you can’t imagine how hard it must have been to lose a twin. “I—” Not the time! “I care about you. Hopefully…hopefully you realize that by now. That I’m not going to let you face the scary shit alone anymore.”
Swallowing harshly, he can’t even answer you. Instead, he just lunges forward and melds his lips to yours desperately. Afraid he will confess everything and ruin this, that you will walk out of his life again and he doesn’t know if he can handle that.
The kiss isn’t hungry, per se, but it has an element of desperation to it that you’re all too familiar with – the clawing need for reassurance. For him, especially right now, you have that in spades and you let the moment linger as long as he needs. “Come on,” you murmur when he finally pulls away for lack of air. “Let’s get some fancy clothes on and have a fancy dinner.”
“Fancy dinner, right.” He’s happy you aren’t making a big deal of it. “Let’s get dressed up.”
To no one’s surprise, Libby has packed a sharp, black suit amongst Dieter’s things with a shirt and tie that are somehow the exact shade of deep red as the velvet sheath dress in the suitcase that she hand-packed for you. Pretty much everything she packed for you is tailored to make you look the part of a movie star’s girlfriend, but this particular dress actually makes you feel like one, too. So when you come out of the bedroom to find him lounging on the settee tapping at something on his phone, you actually feel pretty damn good about how you look. “What do you think?”
He feels like he’s been punched in the gut. You are gorgeous. Pretty all the time, but right now, you look like you are ready to walk a red carpet with him. “I think—” he croaks out the words and has to clear his throat. “I think I’m regretting making reservations where we have to leave the room.” He jokes. “Because I should have hired security to keep back the people who will want to touch you.”
“Shut up.” Despite rolling your eyes at him, your stomach flips and knots pleasantly at the compliment and you smooth one hand down the front of your dress. “I should have guessed that Libby would pack your favourite colour. I own a lot of red clothes now.”
“Any red lingerie?” He can’t help but waggle his brows at you playfully, even as his cock loves the idea of seeing you in something sheer and red. “Fishnets? Thigh highs?” He groans slightly, drooling at the thought.
“If you’re a very good boy I’ll surprise you with something tomorrow.” What you’re wearing today isn’t the only thing you bought for lingerie here in Geneva - a little red teddy also went home with you that day. But you’ll have to go back to get any kind of stockings, which you will absolutely do now that you know he loves them.
“I’ve been very good today.” It shouldn’t make him start to tent his suit pants when you call him a good boy, but it fucking does.
“I know,” you coo at him, not missing the way he has to readjust his position in the as you step forward. “You’ve been so very good and I promise you’ll get a treat for it.
“Damn right.” He grins and can’t help but reach down and squeeze your ass as you lean against him. “It’s why I did it.” He huffs in amusement, knowing that he never expected anything.
"Sure, Dee." The corner of your mouth pulls up in a little smirk, knowing that he already showed his hand. He wanted today to be nice for you without any ulterior motives. "Whatever you say, baby."
He pouts at you, but doesn’t argue. Instead he pulls his hand back and swats at your ass firmly enough to make a nice crack. “Let’s go toots.” He adopts a bolstering tone and smirks.
Dinner is exquisite. More wine and food than you can shake a stick at, and the service in the exquisite, upscale restaurant in like a dance. It is hands down the best meal you've ever eaten. The wine pairing is perfect. All you and Dieter talk about is things you saw in the museum and what you want to do on your next day off. There are plenty of eyes on you – you've learned over the weeks how to feel the attention coming your way – but tonight it actually doesn't matter. Tonight, the entire rest of the world has evaporated except for you and Dieter at your little table.
Leaning back, he tosses you a grin as he rubs his stomach. “Want to skip dessert and make room for it later by taking that walk?” He asks, not wanting to admit that he’s got dessert coming to the room.
“I liked the idea of a walk until I put on three-inch heels.” You admit, knowing how silly that sounds. You’ve walked in tall heels before and he’s always made sure you stayed upright, but tonight you’re going to use it as your excuse to be lazy. “Do you want to go back upstairs and just hang out until we pass out? I mean…we have an early morning at the studio tomorrow anyway. Relaxing just sounds nice.”
“That sounds perfect.” Even if you don’t want sex tonight when you get back up to the room, he wants to spoil you. Especially considering the other surprise he had arranged.
"The whole day has been perfect." It doesn't matter that you've told him before, this dinner just solidified it. And at some point tonight you're sure his fingers will go fumbling for the zipper on your dress just like each night before, and you'll end up falling asleep tangled in the sheets and each other’s arms.
“Here at Bravo’s Birthday Bashes, we aim for excellence.” He jokes as the waiter bring over the bill and he charges it off to the room. He doesn’t care what it costs, it’s worth it for the smile on your face.
The way back upstairs is raucous and chatty thanks to the group of friends in the elevator at the same time as you, and when the doors open for your floor the two of you hustle out with quick goodbyes. "Oh, to be young again." you joke, tucked under his arm as he digs the room key out of his pocket.
“I could do with out the back pain, that’s for sure.” He agrees. “Never knew that it hurt that fucking bad until I got sober.”
“Right? Carrying around my students’ portfolios during grading is going to permanently reshape my spine.” You slide yourself between Dieter and the door, distracting him with a kiss as he tries to get it open for no other reason than you can. It’s a light, freeing feeling that you can never get enough of.
“Tease.” Dieter huffs against your lips, fumbling with the door even as he tries to keep kissing you and opening the door at the same time.
“Never.” The lipstick you put on before dinner was a 24-hour smudge proof formula and it is damn well living up to its name, letting you mumble against his lips and trail kisses down his neck as he pushes inside. “I always mean it.”
“Good to know.” His cock is twitching in his pants but he knows he needs to get you into the room before he strips you down. It would be damn embarrassing for you if he did it right here and someone’s little eyes sees things they aren’t supposed to. “But we have to stop right now.” He tells you as he closes the door in the dark room and reaches for the light switch.
“Suprise Aunt Gigi!”
“What the f—??” It’s only when you hear the second voice – that perfect little angel’s voice – that you don’t let yourself finish the last word. Whirling around in Dieter’s arms, you find yourself face-to-face with the two people you’ve missed more than breathing over the last week, surrounded by balloons, a huge vase of long-stemmed red roses, and possibly the most beautiful little birthday cake you’ve ever seen in your life. The tears are instant, streaking down your cheeks and blurring your vision as you rush forward to scoop Nora up in your arms and wrap them around Steph in turn. “What—how are—when did— oh my god.” Nothing coming out of your mouth makes any sense, but you crush them in the strongest hug you can muster while still trying to breathe between ecstatic tears.
“Dieter arranged it all!” Steph giggles happily, clinging to you and kissing your cheek. She hadn’t missed the way you were plastered against the man in question and she’s fucking thrilled that everything seems to be going perfect. “He called me and told me to pack for the weekend.”
“We ride a plane, Gigi! It was loud.” The four-year-old won’t be left out, snuggling against her beloved auntie and inhaling the perfume that you are wearing with a giggles. “So pretty for your birfday.”
“I can’t believe you’re both here! And you rode your first airplane!” You look to Steph with wide eyes. “You’re here for the whole weekend?” Through a torrent of tears, you turn back to find Dieter still standing by the door looking a little sheepish but proud of himself. “You have no idea what this means to me.” Any lingering doubt you might have had about how you feel about him has evaporated. If you can’t find it in yourself to admit that you love a man who has done so much to make you feel special and cared for and appreciated, then you don’t deserve to love anyone at all. “I—I will never be able to thank you enough for this.”
“You should be with the people you love on your birthday.” Dieter murmurs softly, shifting on his heels and he’s happy that everything has worked out perfectly. “And the cake is okay for Nora to eat. I made sure of it.”
"I am definitely with the people that I love." You tell him with absolute certainty. Squeezing Nora to your chest and with one hand on Steph's arm, you're nonetheless telling him directly. If you can't be brave enough to say the words the way you mean them in front of other people just yet, you can at least make sure you're including him in this feeling right now. "Best birthday of my entire life. This one, right here."
Dieter grins and gives a small shrug. You are talking about Steph and Nora, but he - for once - doesn’t care about what’s in this for him. He loves the look in your eyes. “It was the next best thing to the clown idea you shot down.” He jokes.
"If there's a little clown in that cake, it's getting smashed in your face," you warn him playfully, knowing that anything in possible with him even if it isn't probable. "Come sit, Dee? We can cut cake and hang out until everyone is tired?" When you look back to Steph you're absolutely glowing. "Do you guys have your own room? I have so much I want to show you. You're going to absolutely love it here."
“They’ve got a room down the hall.” Dieter tells you as he winks at Nora as she wiggles down out of your arms and rushes over to him. Because she missed him and because cake. “You’ve already finished the portraits, so you can do sightseeing with them while I’m on set.” He wonders if you want to stay in their room tonight, catching up and having a girls’ night.
"I've got to check in with your director and make sure he doesn't want any adjustments made, so maybe we can do a little studio tour in the morning?" You so desperately want to show them what you've been doing here over the last week, and to be able to show them with pride all the hard work that Dieter is putting in. "Then we can do a little sightseeing around Geneva after lunch?"
“That sounds perfect.” Dieter will miss having you on set, but he wants you to enjoy your time with your best friend and your niece. “Perfect. Nora and I are just here to do whatever.” Steph’s eyes sparkle. “I still can’t believe we are here to be honest.”
"I can't believe you are, either!" It's an absolute dream, and you don't mind reaching past Nora to give Dieter a grateful kiss before everyone settles down in the suite's sitting room. The enormous vase of roses is on the coffee table in front of you with the cake beside it, and you grin as you take in the beautiful sight. "It's one for each year, isn't it?" You don't even need to count to know that, the sheer volume of flowers is a giveaway.
“Too cheesy?” He asks, letting Nora tug him closer to where the cake is.
“Come on Uncle Deedee!” She huffs, impatient for the delicious looking cake she hasn’t been able to touch while waiting for you. “I want cake.”
"Not at all." You promise him with a broad grin. "It's perfect." There are four small plates and four forks out on the table beside a cake knife, and the beautifully written Happy Birthday! on top is about to be sacrificed on the altar of everyone's sweet tooth. The bright yellow buttercream screams 'lemon' but you're dying to see what other flavours might lie waiting inside. There is still half a cake left after you cut four slices and you know you're going to be excited to have some tomorrow night as well as soon as you pop the first bite into your mouth. The bright tartness of lemon buttercream and sponge along with deeply sweet plum jam is an amazing combination that has all of you groaning happily in an instant. "Oh my god, baby. This is amazing."
Agreeing, he nods quickly, shoving another bite into his mouth. “God yes it is.” He adds, smirking at the way that Nora is inhaling the cake. “Squirt likes it too.”
Steph raises an eyebrow at the term of endearment but doesn't say anything yet. She can pry you for more details tomorrow while Nora is taking a nap. "It was a great choice." She commends, having gone through the bakery's choices when Dieter first came to her with the idea of your biggest birthday surprise. He had found a place in the same neighborhood as the hotel that did vegan baking and knew that that would be safe for Nora.
“I’m glad everything turned out.” Dieter admits with a happy grin as he leans back. “It was worth it to see and hear you squeal.” He winks at you playfully.
He has heard you squeal for plenty of other reasons, but that isn't something you're about to bring up with Nora in the room. "The whole day was perfect. I mean completely perfect. Thank you, Dee."
There’s a sense of pride to his smile and he nods at you in acknowledgement. “That’s exactly what I wanted.” He tells you.
Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat​ @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri    
YSV: @tortor-mcgee @hnt-escape​ @sammus-white​ @spanishmossmagnolia  @frasmotic @quietpainter    
My Masterlist!
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mavusbshw · 2 days ago
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thesweetestdecline · 2 days ago
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write-and-buried · a day ago
Celestial Navagation
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Dieter bravo x F!Reader
(moodboard by the insanely talented @honeybrowne )
Summary: dumped and drowning in a summer storm, you duck inside a coffee shop to hide from your broken heart. Covered in plants and hand drawn images over exposed brick, it seems like a slice of heaven. The owner brings you a blueberry muffin and a promise; you'll fall in love with him before the new year.
Part 1 - New Moon - coming 08/08
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wheresarizona · a day ago
Same vibes:
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You’re right and you should say it.
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oldsoul23 · a day ago
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poenariuniverse · 2 hours ago
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Someone on twitter asked me if i could draw Dieter waking up in front of the TV with a KitKat stuck on his cheek. I found the Idea funny and cute 🤭 Poor Dieter. (I couldn't draw the TV 'cause the angle of view didn't allow me to. So i put a remote in his hand 😅)
-- I don't take commission --
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dieterbravospr · a day ago
Irredeemable Part XI Preview
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Had the sun always been this fucking bright? Jesus fucking Christ. Snow had fallen just in time for Christmas in the Hamptons, but he couldn’t be more eager to get the fuck out of this shithole and never come back. Twelve fucking weeks of hell had resulted in a constant throbbing migraine and a sour disposition that no amount of sugar could dull down. Not one fucking minute of this had been worth it. It was all puke and cold sweats, group sessions chatting about thoughts and feelings, other residents trying to play fucking tennis with him like he gave a fuck about their existence, and whatever it was they had tried to pass off as food. He wasn’t sure if the withdrawals or the “individually designed nutritional meals” that’d had him upchucking the contents of his stomach on a regular basis.
The wind stung as it whipped across his cheeks, his typical avoidance of the Northeast in the winter months foiled by this grand idea he’d had. What the fuck had possessed him to do this? His bag was light, still just the few lounge outfits he’d packed but made slightly heavier as a stack of letters almost four inches tall weighed down the front half. No cell phones allowed, the policy for people like him, but that hadn’t stopped you from getting a letter or two to him every week. He’d tried to tell you in one that email was still very much an option, but you’d romanticized the handwritten notes and he’d gone along with it. It gave him something to focus on despite every single one of his saying basically the same thing. This sucks. Hell would be better. I regret every decision I’ve ever made.
As a bonus, however, he swore you spritzed them with your perfume like he was a soldier at war. In a way he was, he supposed. He’d read them over and over, some tearing at the creases from too much folding and refolding, mostly the ones where you told him how much you missed him. And the one where you wrote out some explicit scene like a romance novel for him to dwell on. And dwell on it he did.
You’d been so supportive through it all, your filming had begun and you’d made your way over to London, his team who had come to visit three too many times, and the studio agreeing to let you take a break to come to get him when all was said and done. However, it wasn’t you who was standing in the loop the front doors led out to.
“Dieter! How are you feeling my man?” Jared greeted, holding his hand out for a greeting that Dieter wrinkled his nose at, “You look great. Healthy. Well rested.”
“Where is she?” he snapped, snatching his phone from Jared’s other hand as he offered it.
“She couldn’t make it. I’m sorry bud.”
His nostrils flared, you would have fucking made it. It was all you’d talked about since December began, his promise to be home by Christmas heavy in your memory. You’d have made it.
“You didn’t tell her,” he fumed, his body too tired and the pressure behind his eyes becoming too much to bear. The pregnant, guilty pause from his idiot publicist only stoked the rage simmering in his gut.
“No. We didn’t,” he admitted with a sigh and a step back, “Studio said it was a no-go, so we thought it was in her best interest to just not tell her.”
“Her best interest?” A nod had his fist clenching at his sides. “The studio’s best interest.”
Dieter had always prided himself on anger not being one of his flaws, he had a lot of other ones, but lashing out in anger was something he could usually keep at bay. A surprising positive aspect to himself considering who his father was, but forced therapy hours were over and he could go back to repressing that under the boulders of his snarky, aloof coping mechanisms.
“When is my flight to London?” he asked after a deep breath, its fine, he’d be in London within the next twelve hours, after three months that was a quick nap on a plane.
“What flight?” Jared replied and it was clear why he was a publicist and not an actor, the sweat beading on his upper lip in the below-freezing temperature enough of a tell to the turmoil this exchange was wreaking in his body.
“To London.”
“You’re not going to London.”
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nicolethered · a day ago
This happens during your next fight with Dieter:
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cowboydin · 4 months ago
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Pedro Pascal as DIETER BRAVO in The Bubble (2022)
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fuckyeahdindjarin · 2 days ago
Part 7 coming soon
Ok, so this is embarrassing on two fronts...
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 { << Part 6: Confute | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }
First, I genuinely thought it would take me AGES to finish Part 7, which is why I posted Sticky, so I don't make everyone wait too long for Dieter content. But somehow... I underestimated my level of thirst for this man and Part 7 has been written and is now ready for edits 🤯
Second, I know I said Part 7 would be the last chapter... but things did not go according to plan, so... Consent will end on Part 8 instead 💚 I hope this comes across as good news and not false advertising 😂
I should be posting Part 7 this weekend, latest by Monday. If you would like to be tagged, please fill in my Fuck Yeah Taglist.
A little TGIF NSFW sneak peek below the cut:
‘Don’t talk while you eat, Bravo,’ you admonish, wrinkling your nose at him.
His grin drips with lasciviousness and you quickly regret your words. Heat flares beneath your skin when his tongue darts out to lick at a smudge of tomato sauce on the corner of his plush lips. He practically purrs at you, ‘That’s not what you said last night, sweetheart.’
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trashcora · 5 months ago
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Introducing DIETER BRAVO in Cliff Beasts 6: Battle for Everest
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pumpkin-stars · 5 months ago
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blackdogdesignuk · 4 months ago
I love ✨he✨
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a7estrellas · 4 months ago
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PEDRO PASCAL as DIETER BRAVO The Bubble (2022) dir. Judd Apatow
+ bonus 👀
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di-n · 4 months ago
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Pedro Pascal as Dieter Bravo
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