#dieter bravo/original female character | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wardenparker · 1 year

Text

Bright Lights & Broken Dreams - pt 1

Dieter Bravo x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 19.6k Warnings: Drug and alcohol use (duh, it’s Dieter), mentions of dieting/food concerns, past pregnancy scare, young Dieter being a bit sleazy, the absolute sass of these two, emotional damage, self-doubt, puppy love, vaginal sex, protected sex, workplace quickie, one very determined slap, yelling/arguing, anger, mention of addiction. Summary: Taking a new film project at the last minute puts you in immediate proximity with the one man you swore you would never work with again - your old flame, Dieter Bravo. Notes: This story contains flashbacks! Nobody is underage, but it’s worth giving you a heads up, lovely reader, because this story jumps around in time.

It doesn't matter how many times you do this, each table read for a new project is always exciting. The feeling of giddiness starts in your toes and rolls all the way through you to the top of your head. It has you up and awake and ready to go this morning even without the coffee that is piping hot in your travel mug as you pull your car into one of the designated spots behind the soundstage in the studio lot. Ten years in Hollywood have been good to you - really good, if you're honest. And the years on Broadway had been amazing before that.

You've never taken for granted how impressive your resume is or how upward your career continues to climb, and that includes days like today. The studio had asked for you specifically, your agent said on the phone last night. Some timing issue with the original star that the director wanted and the producers were jumping on it to bring you in instead. No audition necessary, all contract terms agreed to with no questions asked. She even managed to negotiate a slightly higher salary for you than usual. Your best paid project to boot and it will be a character-driven drama. Surefire Oscar nominations. Everyone is over the moon about the project, she said. The only thing she didn't know was who you were playing opposite. Doesn't matter, you had told her cheerily. I'm a professional.

For the most part, the cast has arrived already when you walk into the room. There are some faces you recognize and some that you don't, but everyone is chatting merrily as they set themselves up at the table. Your coffee and water, pencil and highlighter all neatly frame the shooting script that the production assistant sets down in front of you when he also sets down your name tag - letting the other people in the room know who you are and who you're playing in the film. There's only one empty seat with five minutes left before the reading is set to begin, and you're busy replying to an e-mail about a public appearance to see the name on the tag of the person who will be sitting directly across from you.

Dieter Bravo.

******

Wincing behind his sunglasses, Dieter stumbles towards the conference room that has been designated for the table read. Unable to fathom why they insist on doing these damn things so fuckin' early. It's not like there's a scene that's going to be shot right after. Groaning, he reaches into his pocket to pull out the bottle where his aspirin, antacids and speed are all mixed together like a colorful little surprise every time he shakes some into his hand. "Goddamn." He huffs, popping a handful of them into his mouth, heedless of what they are and takes the already opened bottle of water that his long suffering assistant is holding out to him as she tries to hurry him along the sharply lit hallway. "Which one is this?" He asks, unsure of exactly what table read he is walking into. He barely pays attention to what his agent books for him anymore, just as long as he is working and there are the drugs he needs supplied, he is fine with whatever at this point.

"The working title is Ego Death." His assistant tells him, though she knows that isn't actually the question he's asking. 'It's the one filming partially in London and France." What he wants to know is where he's going. Where his partial vacation is going to be. This one, though, she doesn't mind so much. Working out of Pinewood Studios is actually one of her favorite places to be if they aren't filming at home in LA.

"Uh huh, uh huh." Dieter bobbles his head as he swallows the water and grimaces. He would prefer wine or a scotch to chase the pills but Desiree had demanded that he drink some water in the morning at least. To counteract all the non-water beverages he drinks later throughout the day. "Like France. The people seem to like me. I always get lucky in Paris."

“I know, Dee.” Of course, Desiree knows. She’s the one who has to fend off the angry one-night stands for a week or two afterward. Almost every single time. She sighs as they round the corner of the hallway. “Here we go. Conference Room C. The production assistant has me on call to come pick you up later, so I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Dieter shakes his arms and his head in an effort to clear his thoughts but all he does is make himself dizzy. Nearly tripping over the carpeted floor when he missteps and nearly goes crashing into the wall. "Fuck!" He yelps, waving her away immediately. "I'm good. Just..." He looks down at his crocks and huffs. "Fuckin' things are trying to kill me."

"Maybe next time you'll wear the tennis shoes I put out for you," his assistant suggests, knowing he never will. "Go on in, Dieter. You're actually on time."

"Why would I want to be on time?" He huffs, rolling his eyes and stopping short of the door so he can root around and look for the candy he had stuffed in his pockets. "Hey, can you get me some uh...some uh...shit?" He asks, forgetting the word for what he wants but he knows she will understand.

"Sweater pocket, not robe pocket." The little Italian hard candies that he likes are mandatory when he has anything to do that lasts more than an hour, like an edible fidget toy. Unfortunately, the fact that he's wearing a cardigan and a robe both with deep pockets means he loses track of things. "And being on time is respectful to your costars, Dee. And to the production staff. Which is why you are on time." She opens the conference room door pointedly. "I'll see you this afternoon."

He wants to grumble at her, point out that he is the star of this particular drama, but instead, he's turning towards the room full of people. Immediately cocking his head as he takes in the group behind the large, dark sunglasses. Smirking slightly at some and then his brows raise when he spots someone he never expected to see at a read through table with him.

You.

"You have to be fucking kidding me..." You look up when you hear the door open, expecting to see your final costar strolling in. Instead you're greeted with the vision of Dieter-fucking-Bravo being nearly shoved through the door by his assistant and your eyes dart down to the last remaining name tag. Dieter Bravo. It reads, and underneath it, his role. This is going to be an absolute fucking disaster.

You’re here. Quickly Dieter schools his expression into one of nonchalance and shuts down the urge to immediately ask why you are here. It’s pretty obvious when you are sitting across from the only empty seat. His seat. You’re his co-star. Dieter hisses under his breath and adopts a careless grin. “Hey everyone. Guess I made it. We can start.”

"Fantastic." The director is excited and nervous, trying his best to look and act in charge of this powerhouse cast that he's been lucky enough to assemble. This is his Oscar bait, right here in this room – the screenplay and the subject manner of the film are icing on the cake. "Welcome everyone. Good morning. The next few months are looking to be very exciting and we're going to get started quickly. This week is hair and makeup trials, costume fittings, and a few location details. Next week we'll be at Pinewood and we’ll finish with the location shoots in France. We're not wasting any time here."

"As long as there is time for playing, I'm good." Dieter jokes as he walks around to the swivel chair in front of a script book with his name on it. "Can't go to France and not play." He glances over at you, watching as you very pointedly look down at your script and inwardly scoffs at the very prim and fashionable outfit you are wearing. Everyone else is in casual clothes, but you are dressed to impress.

A reputation built on talent, hard work, and professionalism has made your name gold in this business, but Dieter never had to worry about any of that. The term nepo baby seems to have been invented just for him and that huge dynasty family of actors, directors, and producers that he's descended from. No wonder he has so little regard for everyone else's time. You shake your head to shake off the anger and flip open your script while the director talks on about plans for a speedy shooting schedule and getting ahead of the studio's timeline. It's the same stuff every director talks about in the beginning, and while you listen you jot down a few notes to yourself of questions you have and requests to pass on to your assistant. The most important being making sure that your hotel room is as far away from Dieter's as possible while you're on location.

Dieter pretends like he's not paying attention. He's good at that. A lifetime spent on stage and behind the scenes of sets leaves him with a sense of boredom when it comes to this kind of thing. Tapping his own pen on the script as he watches you scribble furiously like you are studying for a test.

"Alright, you all know how this works." When he's gotten through the speech that is meant to be inspiring and encouraging, your director sits down at the head of the long table and opens his own script. "Our first AD will read stage directions, you'll all read your roles, and we'll break for lunch before we touch base over questions and concerns." He is practically vibrating in his seat as he looks around. "Unless anyone has something they want to mention before we begin?"

"Yeah." Dieter twists lazily in his seat to look from the director towards you and he pulls his sunglasses down. "How did you come to work on this film?" He asks, smirking slightly as if he knows the answer. Conceited enough that he might just believe that you jumped at the chance to work with him again.

"I was asked." Sitting up straight in your seat, you reach for the travel mug full of coffee that you brought and instantly wish there was brandy in it as well. "I was told there was a timing issue with the previous leading lady, but now I'm wondering if she didn't pull out after finding out who she was going to have to put up with." Something you might consider doing, too, if you had found out before showing up here today. Now it would just give him too much satisfaction to feel like he won something, and you would never give him any satisfaction.

Snorting, Dieter grins as he looks around the room, not even caring that plenty of people are shuffling uncomfortably in their seats. "You mean the only one in this room with that little golden statue?" He asks, eyes finding yours again.

"And the only one who will shove it in everyone else's faces?" He would bring up your most recent snub in a room full of people just to be a dick. It was barely three weeks ago that you lost that Oscar and the wound is still fresh. Of course, it was freshest the next morning, when he had gloatingly sent a Better luck next time style note to your house. How the bastard had your address was beyond you.

"Nahhhh." Dieter shakes his head. "I keep that on display at home. I don't just carry it around." He chuckles quietly at his own comment and shrugs. "Sure that you'll get one, one day."

Your lips are pursed as you look down at your script after taking a sip of coffee, and you scrawl a note in the margins of your script to remind yourself that this would be an excellent picture to elevate yourself to executive producer on. If he's going to be petty, then you're going to be petty's boss.

Bored of bantering with you, Dieter drops his pen and grunts, reaching for his pocket to try to hunt down another one of those candies. Knowing that if he kept up, he would say something that he might actually feel bad about. Which was rare for him.

"Okay. Well." When your director clears his throat it's nervous instead of excited. "Let's get started, shall we?"

Unwrapping a candy, Dieter halfway listens as he opens the script and squints at the page. He needs goddamn glasses but he's too vain to get them and despite snorting powder and popping pills, the idea of sticking his fucking fingers in his eyeballs makes him squeamish.

It's a rocky start. You aren't vain enough to claim otherwise. And the looks on the faces of your castmates and the present members of the production team say so also. Dieter is tripping over his words despite not seeming to be overtly intoxicated and is causing the reading to take twice as long. By the time you get halfway through – to the scene containing a slap, a screaming match, and a smashed prop – you're feeling like this won't be acting at all. Starring in a movie opposite Dieter is going to be exactly as infuriating and maddening as you suspected it would be.

"Who wrote this shit?" Dieter scoffs, irritated with the way that the read is going. "It doesn't flow. It's gotta flow." He looks around for support from some of the other cast and then towards the director. "Not to act like an ass but who talks like this? We are supposed to be in the 1920's not the 1720's."

"Perhaps the problem isn't with the writing but with the reading." After the way he snarked at you in the beginning, you aren't about to let the director take Dieter's vitriol alone.

"Why don't we take a quick five?" He suggests, looking around to see relief on some of the actors' faces as they nod in agreement. "That's five, everyone. Grab a drink or a snack if you need it, bathrooms are down the hall."

Sneering at you, Dieter pushes away from the table and stomps off, needing to piss and to see why the hell the speed he had taken isn't working. Maybe he didn't manage to take any. "Fuck this."

"Hello?" Desiree wasn't expecting to see her boss's name pop up on the caller ID for another hour bare minimum, and she puts down the other half of her sandwich in resignation when she picks up the call. If Dieter is calling, something has upset him. "How's the reading going, Dee?" She asks with a pointedly cheerful tone in her voice.

"Get me the fuck out of this." Dieter growls, holding the phone away from his head. He hates the damn bluetooth built into every damn device. It fucks with his brain waves and he feels weird. "I don't give a shit how, I'm not doing this fucking piece of shit movie."

"You loved the script when you read it." His assistant frowns on the other end of the line. "You have a studio contract, Dee, and you already wriggled your way out of the thriller they wanted you to do. This is it. There's not a way out of this that doesn't involve you getting sued and losing a ton of work." She sighs softly, rolling through the possible things that could have upset him when she lands on the most likely. "Is there someone I need to push to have recast?"

Your name is on the tip of his tongue. Unease and unresolved issues with you curl and curdle in his gut and he opens his mouth to tell her exactly who he wants to have gone. But then he realizes if he does, you win. You would see it as a victory. "No." He grunts into the phone, sighing softly. "Fuck this."

"I'll see if I can arrange some extra goodies for you from the production staff." Desiree offers, knowing that getting him treats of any kind usually eases Dieter's grumpiness. "You contract riders were all agreed to, but there are always upgrades we can negotiate for. I'll see what I can manage. How does that sound?"

"I better get some KitKats too." Dieter huffs, pouting because he's going to have to deal with the sass and snark, the fucking attitude of filming with you. "Lots of them."

"I'll see what extra flavors I can get imported." As his go-to candy, the list of places to procure specialty KitKats and country-exclusive flavors is one Desiree can navigate with her eyes closed and half asleep.

"Okay." Dieter agrees after a long moment. "Hey, uh, can you schedule me an appointment for that surgery to fix your eyes?"

"I can..." Desiree pauses in thought. "I'll have to arrange it for during filming. We won't be able to get an appointment before you have to be on location."

"Do it." He grunts, rubbing his eyes. "Can barely see the fuckin' script."

"I'll pull what strings I have to." Any weakness Dieter actually admits to is worth noting, and she pushes her plate away to pull out her iPad. The agenda she keeps coordinates both of their schedules and even though he never actually checks it, it's invaluable to her. "You should get back to the reading, Dee. I'll take care of everything." After all – that is her job.

In the bathroom, Dieter leans in and stares at his reflection in the mirror. He blows out a sigh, able to see the wrinkles that are starting to crease his face, some of the gray that is starting to creep into the scruff on the side of his face. He's fucking 38 years old in two months. He's getting old. Maybe he'll get his ears pierced.

******

"Sam." As soon as Dieter is gone from the room, you slide out of your seat to go speak to the director. He's not too green in the business, but hasn't been around enough to be jaded yet, which gives you a little hope that he can be spoken to like a reasonable person. "Can I grab you for a second?"

"What's on your mind?" He asks, reaching for his bottle of water and twisting the cap off. Hoping that this tense atmosphere that has descended over the table read is just a one off. Maybe it would count as the trouble on set and the rest of the production would roll smoothly.

"First of all, I wanted to apologize." Humbling yourself isn't exactly a bad idea considering you were half the cause of the ruckus this morning, and you offer the director an appropriate frown. "Obviously that wasn't the first impression I had wanted to make on you, and it won't be repeated. I hope you can forgive and forget?"

"For what?" Sam shakes his head. "I knew that Dieter was going to cause waves. It's one of the reasons I wanted to work with him. He's unpredictable!"

“He certainly is that.” In a way that makes your chest clench on the verge of simply caving in. “I wondered if I could ask you something, Sam? Obviously I’m coming into this late and meeting people for the first time, but the script is wonderful.” Despite what some people say, you want to add, but keep your mouth shut since you just apologized for mouthing off. “I was wondering how your production team has fleshed out. And whether or not you might have room for one more?”

Sam tilts his head thoughtfully and seems to mull it over. "You know...I do." He hums, eyes lighting up. "I'll have to ask Dieter if he wants the billing. It'll go great with the studio."

“Not exactly what I had in mind when I asked.” It takes biting the inside of your lip to keep from saying something snarky or downright disrespectful. “Unpredictable is great for an artist. But not really what you want in someone controlling the purse strings, if you know what I mean.”

Sam rolls his eyes at himself and sighs. "Yeah. I can see where that would go wrong if Dieter decides to pull some kind of stunt." He agrees reluctantly before turning his gaze on you and studies you. "I'm assuming that you want the spot on the executive production team?"

“Otherwise what’s the point in asking?” You have a good reputation and an exemplary track record, so your desire to be Dieter’s boss aside – it’s actually not a bad deal for this young director. “I can get you some references if you’re on the fence, but I can assure you ahead of time that they’ll be glowing.”

Tapping the water bottle against his palm, Sam hums. "Yeah, send me an email and I will look it over tonight, okay?" He reaches out and pats your shoulder. "How do you feel about the role? Excited?"

“I really am, yeah.” In fact, the role had endless and exciting artistic appeal before you realized who you were playing opposite. “She’s an extremely intelligent and volatile woman, and I think the audience of people who will be able to relate to her is huge. You’ve got a great picture on your hands here.” As long as Dieter doesn’t fuck it up.

"I know you will be able to bring her to life." Sam offers, his own excitement for the film shining brightly as he starts to twitch. "We are going to make it happen. That Oscar that you should have won this year."

“That’s very nice of you.” Though you do wish people would stop mentioning it. The wound is still a little fresh. “I really think we have something special here. This summer will be a lot of hard work but really worth it.”

"Well, you go get a snack and some water, I'm going to go – uh, use the restroom and we will get the table read done." Sam nods towards you and steps around you to make a hurried rush towards the bathroom.

Satisfied that you saved a conversation that might have taken a very undesirable turn, you let yourself linger at the craft services table and make another cup of coffee to go with the pastry you don’t let yourself grab. You’ll be fine until you can get out of here and have something homemade. Fewer calories that way.

"They have anything with chocolate?" Dieter asks, stepping up beside you as he surveys the table. Slightly disappointed with the options today. If this shit keeps up, he will have to ask that another caterer is brought in. There's too much rabbit food here.

“No.” Tight lipped the second you realize he’s standing next to you, your shoulders tense but you exhale slowly to try not to show it. You know damn well he’s looking for candy and that there’s chocolate in some of the pastries, but you’re not going to tell him shit. “Looks like you’ll have to survive off something other than intoxicants for at least another couple of hours.”

"Well, shit." He grunts, scratching his belly and glancing over at you. "What's got your panties in a fucking twist?" He asks when you don't even look over at him.

“Don’t for one second think you had any effect whatsoever on my panties.” You bite out, focusing on not shaking with actual anger or frustration.

"Oh but I used to." Dieter chuckles and decides that he will blow up that bridge that he had been hanging on to. "So tell me..." he leans in and smirks at you. "How's the kid?" The sarcasm is lacing every word and he chuckles again.

“Go to hell, Bravo.” Without sparing him even a cursory glance, you turn on your heel and walk away. Just because you have to work with him does not mean you have to be sociable.

"So, good?" Dieter shouts after you, grinning at the way your back couldn't get any straighter if you had a board strapped to it. You don't even turn your head and after you walk out of sight, Dieter slumps slightly, the victory not as sweet as he had imagined it would be.

Without warning you’re twenty-one again and staring at the walls of your fifth-floor studio walk up the day after he left. Up and left without a word, not even to you. The pregnancy test in the trash and the telephone that never rings both taunt you, speaking volumes without ever saying a word. “Perfect.” You grit out, knowing very well that he knows you don’t have any children. Though he doesn’t know what happened at all.

******

"Hello, gorgeous." Dieter slides into the seat beside you and flashes you a charming grin, eyes lighting up when he sees the way your eyes flutter and your lip is pulled between your teeth. "I hear from a little birdie, you are going to be my co-star." He had seen your audition and actually told the producer of the play that you were his choice for the lead.

"H–hi." God, he's even more handsome in person, is the first thought in your head when you turn your head to see the former child star Dieter Bravo sidling up to you in the theater. You had gotten here early to try to set your mind straight before the first rehearsal but now it's already hazy from his smile. "Yeah, I–I'm playing Catherine." You're playing his wife – his wife – and it even includes an onstage kiss. It's enough to have your nerves on high alert, but you're so excited.

"Your audition was good, great even." Dieter praises, twisting in his seat and making sure you feel the full force of his smile up close. His mother always said his smile was what drew people in. At least when he was younger. Now that he's in his twenties, he's going through that slump that most child actors seem to endure, hoping like hell that he can spend a few years on stage before he gets his chance to show Hollywood what he can do as an adult. "I told Danny he was an idiot if he didn't cast you."

"You liked my audition?" Fresh out of acting academia, auditioning for Broadway of all things was a longshot, but here you are. Your very first Broadway audition turning into your very first Broadway show. With the world's most gorgeous stage husband, to boot. "I...that's so nice of you! I'm just– I'm so excited for this show. A–and to work with you. It's just...it's a dream come true."

"Yeah?" Dieter grins, already sensing the crush you have on him and liking the way your shy and eager smile makes him feel. "Well, we have to make sure that we make all of your dreams come true, Bambi."

"Bambi?" You knew you looked flustered, but do you really look so ridiculous that he's calling you a deer in the headlights? The idea is completely horrifying and you bite your lip again, unintentionally making yourself look all the more innocent and sweet.

"Fuck." Dieter groans, imagining that innocent look on your face as you look up at him from your knees with his cock in your mouth. "Sweet, innocent little doe eyes." He explains, reaching out and brushing a piece of pastry off your cheek from where you had already raided the coffee cart.

"Oh." At least it's nothing bad - nothing you need to be mortified over. Though your cheeks might completely catch fire if he touches you unprompted again. You weren't expecting it and you feel like you're going to spontaneously combust. "I–um...that's very sweet. But are you okay?" Concern shines through, knitting your eyebrows together temporarily. "You swore and it sounded like...pain? Maybe?"

Are you a virgin? Dieter's eyes sparkle and he shakes his head as he grins. "No, nothing I can't handle, though I might ask you for some assistance later on." He flirts.

"Oh, of course!" Nodding before you could possibly hesitate, you're leaning toward him in your seat like there's some kind of magnet drawing you in. "Did you want to run lines after rehearsal or something?"

Chuckling, Dieter nods. "Something like that." He confides, leaning in. "Think we need to run some chemistry tests." He suggests. "You know, so we don't fumble on stage."

"Oh, of course." Chemistry tests were something you had heard about from your friends who had already gone out to LA to audition for movies, but they were rare in theater as far as you knew. Or at least they never got called that. Working with a movie star was going to be so different, you could tell already. "That–that sounds like a perfect idea. The last thing we want is to hold up rehearsals being awkward on stage, right?"

"Sooooooo." God, you are innocent and Dieter's cock twitching in his pants at how quickly you agree to his idea. "I say we do our read through, and we go get dinner." He offers. "You know…talk."

"Right." Your head bobs in total agreement, pulse quickening at the idea of it. Just because you've nursed a little crush on him for about forever does not mean anything else. This is work. Your career. You're just incredibly goddamn lucky that you get to do it – the play – with him. "Yeah, absolutely. Get a...a foundation for knowing each other, right?"

"Right." Dieter grins and bites his lip. "It doesn't hurt that I think you're very beautiful." He admits with a small wink. You are pretty, you are fresh faced but he hadn't been lying. You did have incredible potential for someone right out of your acting class.

If you spontaneously combust on that spot, it will be from that wink and that wink alone. You can barely squeak out a "thank you" without feeling like your entire face is on fire.

"Awww, don't be shy." He coos, even though he loves it and wants you to keep being shy for him. This narrow window before you get comfortable with him is very finite and he wants to enjoy it. "You and I are going to get real close."

"It's such an amazing opportunity." Maybe for him things like this are old hat, but for you? This is a literal dream come true. It flies in the face of every time your parents told you acting could never be a realistic career choice, or every teacher who had told you that you weren't enough somehow. This is the big time.

Grinning, he leans back in his seat and picks up the drink that he had managed to snag before turning his attention to you. Only taking his eyes off you when the producer comes into the room. Casually sliding his arm around you and shuffling closer as the producer starts to speak. "Here we go." He grins, knowing that this will change both of your lives.

******

The hotel they have the cast and crew booked into is right in the heart of London, tidy modern rooms with all the amenities and specifically suited to dealing with large groups of long-term guests. The kitchen does room service 24-hours a day and there is a coffee machine in your room, along with a kettle and a microwave so you can do a few things yourself. It's a suite even if it's on the small side, and you don't mind that. This is work, after all. Not a vacation. If you want to have fun during your free time you can always go out. The view, at least, is fantastic. Sitting out on your balcony to enjoy the view, you're putting off unpacking just a little bit – until the French doors of the balcony next to you open. Why is Dieter in the room right next to you?

Groaning, Dieter opens the door and stretches, making sure that he scratches his stomach as he takes in the view. "Ohhhh shit, I love London." he shouts out, grinning when a few people down on the street below look up at him.

"So much for using my balcony," you grouse, immediately shoving out of the chair and going back inside. You'll have to restrict your usage to when Dieter is passed out or on set without you.

“Oh seriously?” The movement catches his eye and Dieter turns to see you getting up and puffing up like an angry ostrich as you stomp towards your slider door. “You can’t stand to be around me?” He demands, oddly hurt by the idea. “There was a time you loved being in my presence.”

Pausing halfway through the door, you look back at him with an expression that can only be described as undisguised hurt. You had been aiming for disgust and fallen slightly short despite your best effort. "Unbelievably enough, I grew out of it."

“What would you have had me do?” Dieter asks, flapping his hands in the air. “Stay?” He had the opportunity of a lifetime. The break that made him Dieter Bravo, actor and not just Dieter Bravo, child actor. He couldn’t have risked it. Wouldn’t risk it to be trapped by an obvious scam.

Tamping down the urge to just straight out scream at him, you cross your arms over the chest and force yourself to sigh out the angry breath you took. "You could have at least said goodbye."

Dieter frowns at you, unwilling to admit that he had fumbled that. Been unable to say goodbye in his panicked state. He barely remembers packing or getting on the fucking plane. Didn’t help he was blazed out of his fucking mind. “I said I had to go.”

"You told the production team. Not me." You correct him, biting out every word like the English language itself personally offended you. "You didn't say goodbye. You didn't return a single fucking phone call, text message, or e-mail. Nothing. What if I had been pregnant?" Feeling your voice rise, you squeeze your eyes shut and shudder on another deep exhale. "You abandoned me flat and made me the butt of jokes in interviews for years. How am I supposed to forgive that?"

“Forgive me?” Dieter looks personally offended by the question. “Don’t give me some sob story, you tried to baby trap me!” He huffs at you. “Who peed on the stick for you? Mandy? That girl was always pregnant. Sold the pee sticks for $30 bucks a pop to rope whatever poor bastard was on the fence with some girl.”

"I was terrified." The anger is right back on the surface in an instant, and you hate yourself for how close to tears you are. "I was so fucking–" In love with him, that's the real end of that sentence, but you veer off course rather than ever admit that to him. "Scared that I did two whole boxes of tests and went to a doctor the day after you straight out abandoned me. It was a false positive, you son of a bitch. Six of them, to be exact. It took an actual doctor's office to tell me I wasn't carrying a bastard's baby."

The rate at which Dieter deflates would almost be comical, robe tie dragging on the ground when his entire body just seems to slump. He’s held onto the idea you were trying to trap him for years, reminding him of why he was right to leave you without another word. His father’s words ringing in his ears. “Oh.”

"Oh." Your huff of disgust could rattle windows. "Is that all you have to say?"

Dieter frowns, not capable of processing the complex emotions that are trying to creep through his mind. Long repressed feelings threatening to bubble to the surface. He bites his lip and looks up at where you are staring at him. Still fuckin pretty but no longer the innocent 21-year-old you were when he met you. “Do you want—” he licks his lips and swallows, “–to have sex with me?” He asks, lifting his brows.

"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ." It doesn't even deserve an answer and you don't give him one, just turn to walk into your room, slamming the glass door behind you so it rattles so hard it threatens to shatter.

“Fuck.” Dieter hisses quietly, staring at your door for another moment before he decides that he is way too sober to deal with this new information. His emergency stash needs to be broken into and he has a feeling he will eat three KitKats for dinner.

This whole fucking production is going to be agony, you can feel it right in the front of your skull where your migraine is forming as you dry sob on the sofa in the front room of your suite. There's no way you can face anybody tonight – not with the way you're feeling now. It's going to be room service and an early night with aromatherapy, you can feel it.

******

He’s a hell of a lot more alert than he should be, all things considered. Taking several downers last night so he could get the image of your hurt face out of his mind. Grunting as he nurses his coffee and sits in the makeup chair for his call time.

There are twice as many shots of espresso in your travel mug this morning as there should be, but you had overheard some of the production team giggling about how handsome Dieter is as soon as you opened the door to your suite and it had caused you to turn right around and brew yourself a double dose to summon the strength to face the day. Your own assistant – bless her – is walking by your side trying to tell you about the shooting schedule for the day, but you feel like you're walking through fog. "Sadie, I'm sorry," you put one hand on her arm in the elevator and offer her an apologetic expression. "Will you give me that again? I'm not myself this morning."

“Are you alright?” Concern laces her expression as she looks up from her phone. You have been a dream to work for and she cares about you. Not because of her job, but because you don’t treat her like an accessory. “You’ve seemed…off since the table read.”

“I have absolutely been off since the table read.” You can admit that to her with ease. “I’ll be okay.” It’s a small reassurance, as you rub your eyes and lean against the elevator wall. “Just…what scenes are we shooting today?”

“The big argument.” Sadie explains, wincing slightly. It’s always tense when the high emotion scenes are filmed. “They felt like it would be good considering the…tension during the table read.”

“Ah.” You nod, knowing you’ll have no trouble getting mad at Dieter at any point. They always say that drawing from personal experience is the way to portray genuine emotion — well, that will be extremely easy. “I can’t say I blame them. It makes sense to get something that big when you’ve seen the tension first hand.”

“And hopefully that will get it out of the way.” She doesn’t know why there is tension between you and Dieter, but there are already rumors swirling between the production team.

“I sincerely doubt it.” You take a sip of your coffee and look at your assistant, knowing that she has as quick and shrewd a mind as anyone you’ve ever met. She’s more than your assistant – Sadie is your right arm. She’s your friend. “You have that face.” The elevator hits the bottom floor and opens, letting the two of you out. “There’s already talk, isn’t there?”

“Some.” She admits, biting her lip. “More…speculation than anything right now. But I’m sure that someone curious will find something.” If there’s something to be found is silently hanging after her comment.

You swallow a sigh and nod, heading through the lobby with her to the hotel’s parking structure where your rental car waits. “Why don’t you drive us to set, and I’ll tell you what happened? Better you should hear it from me than some gossipy PA.”

“It’s none of my business.” Of course, she desperately wants to know, but she also knows that being vulnerable is probably the thing you hate most with others. She gets the sense you’ve been hurt badly before.

“You’ve been my assistant – and my friend – for six years, you deserve the dignity of the truth.” This is the woman who has taken care of you, shielded you, catered to you, and protected you every single day without argument or complaint. She hears every rumor and knows which ones to squash versus which ones can be stoked. She fields requests from professionals in every area of life. She’s even fended off your father when he came looking for money on multiple occasions. The truth is the least you can do. “Most people in the movie industry don’t pay attention to theater,” you begin when you climb into the little Citroen that has been supplied for you by the production company. “But that’s where I started. After NYU, I got incredibly lucky and I went right to Broadway. The—” It brings back enough memories, vivid ones, that you have to clear your throat to go on. “The male lead was from a dynasty family. He saw my audition and had me cast. And then…promptly talked his way into my bed. I was just a kid and I really didn’t know any better. But he…he always knew exactly the right words. Exactly the right touch. You would feel like you were the only person in the whole world when he gave you his attention.”

Shit. Sadie’s face falls and she sighs softly. She was a huge fan of Dieter Bravo’s when he hit Hollywood as an adult. Enough to know that it sounds exactly like him. She hadn’t put the timeline together until it was laid out for her. “And it ended badly?” The fallout from a failed romance would definitely cause acrimony. Look at Lena Heady and Jerome Flynn.

“That’s a very polite way of saying it.” You look out the window and sigh at the rainy London streets moving by. “It started that first night and kept going the whole time. Until one day before call I…I told him that I thought I was pregnant and he took off without a word. That night his understudy went on and that was it.”

“Holy shit! Are you serious?” Furious on your behalf, Sadie huffs and shakes her head. “Asshole! I hope you enjoy slapping the shit out of him today.”

“Oh, I will.” There are probably few things you will ever enjoy as much in your life. “He had the nerve to say that I tried to baby trap him.” The accusation is still ringing in your ears from last night, and you’re only glad it’s not obvious how much you cried. It’s humiliating to admit that your days of crying over that asshole aren’t over. “I was twenty-one. Having a baby would have ended my career before it could begin.”

“Jesus.” Sadie snorts, shaking her head. “I know that there was a rash of that around that time, but that’s just…cruel.”

“So you can understand why I have been a little more tense lately.” You shake your head and fold your hands in your lap, trying to refocus your energy and not wallow. “I’m sorry if I’ve unintentionally said or done something to upset you while I’ve been distracted.”

“Not at all.” You were probably the best boss she could have ever asked for and in turn, she is highly protective of you. Anyone who wanted to paint you in a negative light would have to hear from her. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

“That’s very kind of you.” Of course it is. Sadie is an inherently kind person who takes absolutely no shit. It’s one of the things you loved about her right from the day you interviewed her. “I don’t know anything about his assistant, but it might be worth making friends early, if you can. He’s exactly petty enough to try to cause problems and he might use them for that.”

She smirks and looks over at you as if you are behind the curve. “We had drinks last night.” She informs you. “So I’m already on that.”

“Oh yeah?” If Sadie ever outgrows you as a client you’ll be damned upset about it. She really is the best. “What kind of poor suffering idiot does he have working for him?”

“His agent suffers no fools and knows exactly who her client is.” Sadie chuckles. “His assistant is very sexy, very gay and would probably do well working as a dominatrix if being Dieter’s assistant didn’t pan out.”

“Gay, huh?” That makes you huff a laugh under your breath, assuming it wasn’t done by accident. A lesbian would never have any interest sleeping with Dieter - making it the smartest possible choice. “Sexy in general or sexy your type?”

“Sexy as in definitely my type.” Sadie confirms with a grin. “She’s got Dieter down, so apparently a lot of his bullshit is just bluster. She says he’s a needy, surprisingly emotional, manchild.” She snorts. “Who talks about Bambi in his sleep.”

“What did you just say?” It’s a good thing that she was pulling up to a stoplight anyway, because Sadie slams on the brakes of the car in surprise and jolts both of you forward. “Did you just say Bambi?”

“What? Something wrong?” Your reaction is far stronger than amusement about a Disney movie. “She just said he cries about Bambi in his sleep, then refuses to talk about it and makes sure to get really blazed right after.” She huffs. “Maybe he dreams about his mother getting shot by a hunter.”

“I—um—” all of a sudden your throat has run dry and your head feels like it’s spinning. “He cries?” You ask, almost afraid to have it confirmed.

“That’s what she said.” The light turns green and she cautiously starts driving again. “Why? Does Bambi mean anything?”

"It–" Your voice wavers with uncertainty, making you pull in on yourself in a way you haven't done for years before this week. "I don't think I have to remind you that there are things you know about me that no one else in the world does."

“Of course.” This will be filed under Tell No One, apparently. A standard NDA is in place, but this is personal. “Not a word to anyone.”

"That's..." After not breathing a word of it to anybody for years, it feels disorienting to talk about. "That's what he called me...Bambi."

“Shit.” Sadie’s eyes widen and her head whips around to stare at you in shock. “You don’t think— no.” She shakes her head. “You think that he’s dreaming about you?” She asks quietly.

"I don't think anything." You murmur, slumping slightly in your seat as she pulls back into traffic to head to the studio. "But if his assistant brings it up again, will you try to remember what she says?"

“I’m planning on having dinner with her tonight.” She reveals and nods. “I’ll try to bring it up casually and tell you what she says.”

"Don't ruin your date with my bad decisions." If Sadie has actually found someone to spend time with despite her crazy schedule - which is your fault - and who understands how demanding her job is - also your fault - then you don't want to sully it with your own concerns.

“Are you kidding?” She laughs. “Talking about her boss’s antics is something she relishes.” She snorts playfully. “Especially since I’m an assistant too.”

"Have fun and don't break any NDAs," you huff a small laugh, glancing at her as she drives. "I'll look forward to some room service and Netflix tonight. You deserve to have fun."

“Why don’t you go out?” She suggests. “We are in London. Go to some pubs. See some sights.” It’s not a wild suggestion, but she doesn’t want you to feel trapped in your room.

"I guess I could." It would save you from being in the room right next door to Dieter for whatever naïve production assistant he talks into sleeping with him. You turn to watch Sadie again before batting your eyelashes at her hopefully. "Could I ask you to load some money onto an Oyster card for me today and tuck it into my wallet so I can go out after filming if I'm up to it?" It will save you from having to hang out at one of the machines, and moving quickly means you're more likely to blend in and not be recognized, although it is an extra stop for her to have to make today.

“Done.” Sadie will take care of that just as soon as she gets you into hair and makeup. Knowing that you will feel better when you go out and see some things that will interest you. Get away from Dieter. “I will even come up with a map to show where to go for some things you will like.”

"You're an angel." She really does take such impressively good care of you, it's unbelievable. "Put your dinner tonight on my credit card, okay? Take her someplace over the top, even if you have to use my name to get the reservation."

“Thanks.” She pulls into the parking lot where trailers and tents have been set up. The production team has been working around the clock to get everything ready and she sighs. “Well, now you just have to survive the first day.”

"Think happy thoughts for me." With a sigh of your own, you haul yourself out of the car and double check that you have everything before waving goodbye and heading for your trailer.

******

Dieter has his eyes closed, murmuring his lines to himself as Monique, a goddess of a makeup artist, finishes his look for the scene. Peaceful now that he’s had his coffee, he leans back in the chair with a small sigh.

You had desperately been hoping that he would already be done in the hair and makeup trailer before you went in, but when you open the door he's right there with his eyes closed and that stupid slappable smirk on his face and you bite back a sigh. "Good morning." Focusing on the fact that the production was amenable to bringing your own makeup artist along for the production, you give Rivkah a hug. "Ready to do this?"

"Absolutely." Rivkah gives you a brilliant smile and smirks over at where Dieter is sitting. "It won't be hard this time, huh?" She teases quietly as she starts to pull your hair back and pin it so that not a single strand will get in her way.

"Today might not be." You'll flip through your pages one more time while you're in the chair, but this fight scene is going to be a doozy. Thrown furniture, punching holes in walls, and throwing each other around a little in addition to the slap means that this scene will be the only thing you film today and that you'll have a stunt coordinator on sight, but it will be worth it to get some of this tension out.

"Ohhhhh don't lie." Dieter cracks one eye open and points it towards you. "You know you're looking forward to it."

"Slapping you?" You clarify dryly without even looking over at him. "I'm practically giddy about it."

"Mhmmm." Dieter hums knowingly and closes his eyes again. "Have to make sure I don't get too excited." He jokes, knowing that he doesn't actually like to be slapped around. He doesn't even like it when he stubs his toe. Pain isn't his idea of a good time. "Might need some breaks."

"I promise not to make Monique's job any harder than it already is." It only adds insult to injury that Dieter grew from a handsome and charismatic young man into an even more attractive and charming adult, but you know that the version of himself he presents to the camera is only one dimension of the man. He had been comfortable enough with you back then to let you see more than just that side of him, which had been one of the things that convinced you then that you truly had feelings for him. Now, it just means that you can bruise his ego a little with only a few words.

Dieter huffs, frowning slightly and then remembering the wrinkles in the mirror, immediately tries to relax his face. Hurt by the implication that he was hard to make look good, especially when you used to coo over him and tell him how fucking sexy he was. "Least your tits aren't saggy." He shoots back. "Get 'em done?"

"On what planet would I answer that?" There's no keeping the annoyance out of your voice, but at least you don't huff at him. "You'll never find out either way." But you do make a mental note to talk to the intimacy coordinator about modesty garments. Hopefully the director won't want to show too much skin.

He snorts, nearly about to remind you that he has seen everything, but he doesn't. Despite his reputation as a dick sometimes, he would prefer to keep that memory private. "Your loss, toots." He dismisses you, settling back into his chair and smirks up at Monique. "She thinks I'm pretty, don't you?"

"Of course, Dee." Monique smiles, coaxing Dieter's chin back into a straight line so she can finish his hair. She's worked in films and television for a decade and with Dieter for almost all of those years. She knows better than to express an actual opinion. Although, in this case, Dieter is handsome.

"See?" Almost as if it was validation, Dieter settles back with a smug smile on his face. "God I love your fingers in my hair." He moans softly. "I could sleep like this. Could I pay you to do that? Play with my hair while I sleep?"

"Not my line of work, unfortunately." It does make Monique laugh, though. A small chuckle from the middle of her chest. "Might make a bit more money if it was, though."

It's all you can do not to react, and you bite the inside of your lip hard while Rivkah starts brushing your hair. The sound of Dieter moaning shouldn't produce such a visceral reaction twelve years later, but apparently it does. That is embarrassing.

"Yeah you would." Dieter sighs out, stretching his legs and flexing them slightly. "God, I hate that trainer." He complains, massaging his thigh gently and hissing at the soreness. "You would think I would sleep better but noooo."

"Calprofen?" Monique gestures to the little kit under her work station that you have to assume is a first-aid kit. Everybody in this room knows he routinely takes things that are much stronger, but not one of you is going to provide it for him.

"Nahhhh." Dieter reaches into his pocket and pulls out an unassuming bottle of aspirin. "I've got some fuckin' Aleve here." Unlike his normal pill bottle, this one is simply the pain reliever. He makes it a point to not pop anything while he is on set. It's unprofessional in his opinion.

When you snort derisively in your chair beside him, it's a knee jerk reaction and not a calculated insult. There's no way what's in that bottle is just naproxen. Not with what you've heard about his pill popping or the obvious smell of pot that emanated from his hotel suite all last night.

Pausing, Dieter stares in the mirror at you for a second, glowering before he pops the Aleve in his mouth and grunts at the uncoated pill. He knows that the other illicit pills he takes aren't coated, but they make him feel a hell of a lot better than Aleve does.

"So, Riv." You shift your attention in the mirror to chat with the woman who has been doing your hair and makeup for almost everything for the last five years. "Planning to do or see anything fun while we're shooting? You always like London."

It's oddly insulting that you ignore him, making him sit back in his chair and cross his arms over his chest. Almost done with hair and makeup so he can go to costuming. Silently listening to you and your artist talk while he pouts.

It’s not that you don’t notice. You notice every second of it. The childish pout of a grown ass man who isn’t getting the attention he wants, so you keep denying him on purpose. Except it doesn’t feel nearly as good as it should, because there is an echo of Sadie’s voice in your head as she tells you that he cries for Bambi in his sleep and dopes himself to forget it. And now it’s guilt crawling in your belly instead of ugly satisfaction.

The second that Monique pats his shoulder, the signal for him being done, Dieter shoots out of his chair. Spinning around and reaching for her to kiss her cheek. "You are a goddess." He praises softly, giving her a wink. "One day, one day you'll give in." He teases playfully. He asked her to sleep with him years ago when they first met and she turned him down. He will joke about it, but he's not pushing for it. "Thank you, love."

“Go on and get dressed,” she shoos him out with affection, years of working together giving her an affection for the man that has grown into respect. When he leaves, though, she sits down in his recently emptied chair for a second before scurrying to clean up.

Why do you have to be working on this movie? Dieter curses his luck as he walks through the sea of trailers that have been set up, hands shoved in his pockets so he doesn't rub his face. He's gone twelve fucking years without having to deal with you face to face unless you count that one afterparty that he had spotted you across the room. Unsure of why he feels so goddamn guilty about the way your eyes had glazed up last night, as if you were telling the truth. You weren't. You are an actor. A fucking phenomenal one at that. You lie for a living and you had been lying about that. There had never been a baby. He reminds himself of that and shakes his head, eager to get today's filming in the can so he can go back to his room and get blitzed.

******

“Come in!” The knock on your dressing room door isn’t unusual, especially since you like to get to the theater early to go over your script and meditate before doing your hair and makeup and getting into costume. You’ve just turned the kettle off and poured an enormous cup – okay, bowl – of tea when the sound comes loudly and clearly from behind you.

"Heyyyyy." Dieter pokes his head into your dressing room and grins at you. "You busy?" He asks, raising his eyebrows and pushing inside the room because he knows you aren't. You always invite him in.

“Not too busy for you.” You immediately put down your brush and turn around to face the door when he comes into the room. Sure you saw him just this morning, but you have a day job that you go to in between waking up in his bed and coming to the theater each night.

"Mmmmm." Walking over towards you, Dieter leans in and drops a lingering kiss on your lips. "How was work?" He asks, knowing that you hate your serving job, but it helps pay the bills. He was lucky enough that the residuals from his work as a child paid for his apartment.

“Awful.” A little pout earns you another kiss, and you immediately move over to sit on the little loveseat in the corner with him. “Some lady accidentally spilled her screaming hot coffee all over me after giving me a bunch of attitude and then she laughed to her friends about it and didn’t tip a single cent.”

“Bitch.” Dieter huffs, annoyed with the woman on your behalf and shakes his head. “Hopefully you spit in her food.”

“Dee.” There’s a stray curl on his forehead and you smooth it away as you shake your head. “You know I would never do that.”

“I know.” He closes his eyes and leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. “You’re so good.” He huffs, as if it’s wrong that you are. You’re definitely better than he is but he also likes that about you.

“Only sometimes.” The tone in your voice is fully suggestive, as silky and sexy as you can manage without ruining it with a giggle. He likes that you’re a good girl, it turns corrupting you into a game.

“Other times you are very dirty.” Dieter growls, ducking his head down and nipping at your throat playfully. “My dirty Bambi.”

It earns him a reflexive little moan from you, mostly because he knows how sensitive your whole neck and shoulder area is, and you climb into his lap on the loveseat without a single moment’s hesitation. “Just for you,” you promise him, as if there ever could be anybody else.

Dieter chuckles and squeezes your ass, pulling you towards him. “God, you look so cute in this damn outfit.” He groans, knowing there is nothing especially sexy about the sweats and a tank top, but he is hard against your core.

“Dieter…” You’re a goner as soon as you feel that hardness underneath you and he knows that as well as you do. “Did you lock the door?”

“No.” Dieter huffs, kissing along your throat and pulling at your tank top, grinning when he can get his hand under it as soon as he wants. “Fuck no bra.” He breathes, happy when his hand encompasses bare tit.

“You have to let me lock it, baby.” It will mean climbing off of him for a minute, but the last thing you want is to be walked in on by your stage manager. Of course – it’s hard to focus on that propriety when he pinches your nipple just hard enough to make you squeal.

“Who cares if someone sees?” Dieter pouts when you pull away, but uses it as an opportunity to strip down. Pulling his shirt over his head before he unbuttons his jeans to push them down.

“I care.” It takes all of four steps to cross your dressing room, but when you turn back around after bolting the door, he’s already naked. “Fuck, Dee, you’re so sexy.” The expression of near-awe on your face is one he basks in. You know you’re the luckiest girl in the world that he would ever even look at you twice, those deep pangs of puppy love tell you so.

Dieter swears you are better than the best fucking drug he’s ever taken. Your near worship of him a high that he can’t replace. “Come over here.” He begs, wrapping his hand around his cock. “Do you want to have sex with me, Bambi?”

“I always want to have sex with you.” That’s been a constant truth for the last two months, and you’re not about to disguise it for a single second. Any day now he could snap out of it and realize that he deserves a hell of a lot better than you – and you’re not about to let that happen, so you snatch a condom out of your purse and drop your sweatpants to the floor on your way back over to him.

“Fuck baby.” Dieter groans as he watches you walk towards him, ripping open the foil packet with your teeth. “You are so sexy.” He praises. “So goddamn lucky.”

“Yes, I am very lucky.” Leaning back over him, you lean down to flick your tongue across the head of his cock, humming at the musky taste of precum before applying the rubber so you can climb back into his lap. “So fucking lucky you want me.”

“Not– not what I meant.” He groans, gripping your hips and pulling you closer. “Fuck, lemme have a taste.” He begs, right before he plunges his tongue into your mouth.

It’s messy and enthusiastic, like most encounters with Dieter are, and you pour a moan into his mouth while you reach between you to line the head of his cock up to your entrance, letting you sink down on him slowly. This is bliss – with this slightly weird boy and his eccentricities – but you still haven’t said out loud how you really feel about him.

Dieter’s breath bitches as you take him, closing his eyes in the sublime ecstasy of your cunt. “Shit.” He hisses, fingers digging into your skin before he slides them up to grope your tits. “Like velvet.” He groans. “Hot fucking velvet.”

“Biggest fucking dick on the planet.” It doesn’t feel like an exaggeration when it’s filling up every molecule of space in your pussy, but you have no idea if it’s true or not. Dieter knows that he’s the only person you’ve ever been with, but you’ve never said that you hope he’s the only one you ever will.

“Have you seen every dick on the planet?” Dieter still twitches and preens at your praise, rocking his hips up and pinching your nipples again.

“N—no—” Bouncing on his length takes your breath away and you love it, clinging to his shoulders desperately to hang on. “But you fill me up so full baby. It has to be.”

This was supposed to be something simple. A week, maybe a month. Something to fill his time and spark his interest…except, you have this…hold on him. The sex is spectacular and the conversations are surprisingly developed for the after coitus banter. He hasn’t moved on, instead deciding to gorge himself on you while this lasts. Trying to ignore that voice in his head that wishes it would never end. Telling him that it doesn’t have to.

These little stolen couplings in your dressing room never last long. They’re always a chase to a quick finish that has his face buried in your tits and your fingers in his hair and somebody’s hand eventually circling your clit while you ride him like a prized fucking stallion. Everything about it is perfect right down to the throaty moans that absorb into your skin and the way his cock jerks and pulses in your pussy until you both threaten to implode right there in the love seat. It’s perfect. He is perfect. And it takes everything you have to cradle his head in your hands and kiss him instead of saying it.

Dieter pants, grinning against your lips as the two of you try to catch your breaths. Happy that this has become almost automatic. He knows you well enough to touch you exactly how you need to in order to cum before he does. Most of the time. The times that he doesn't, he'll go down on you to finish you off. "You staying over tonight?" He asks, reluctant to pull away just yet. "Gonna go out with everyone tonight to have a few drinks."

“Absolutely.” His arms are tight around you and you wrap around his shoulders as you enjoy the aftershocks still making your pussy flutter every now and then. Just because these encounters are fast doesn’t mean they’re lacking in any way. “I—I may have brought some clean clothes from home…” you admit quietly, panting a little between kisses. “In case you asked.”

"Good." Dieter smirks and kisses your pulse. "But I do like when you wear my clothes too." You've had to borrow some sweats and things before, use his toothbrush. Which he usually doesn't like, but it's pretty cool with you.

“I can always accidentally forget them here and wear your clothes tomorrow.” It’s sexy that he gets a little territorial, and you’re never ever going to discourage it. “Might forget my panties, too.”

"No panties?" Dieter groans and his softening cock twitches inside you. "It's not my birthday yet." He grins and leans in to kiss you again. "Although, I'm never going to mind that."

“A dress and no panties is your favorite and we both know it.” Reluctantly climbing off of him so that he can tie off the condom, you snag another kiss from him and take your dressing robe off the hook by the door to wrap yourself up in.

“Easy access.” Dieter grins with a waggle of his brows. “You didn’t seem to mind it when I bent you over last week when we were reading lines.”

“I don’t mind it at all.” Not for one single second, and you sit back down with him again to prove it. “And I think the fact that I remembered my lines while you were fucking the life out of me should be able to go on my resume.”

“You did squeal your monologue.” He teases, shuffling his pants back up and leans back against the couch to offer you a spot to snuggle against you. “Think you should deliver it just like that.”

“Only for you.” The coo in your voice is just for him, too, but you don’t mind that. He’s reached a part of you that is just indescribable and you never want it to end. “That’s a Bambi Special.”

“Hmmmm.” Dieter grins and wraps his arm around you and turns to kiss your forehead. “Now, where do you want to block from today?” He asks seriously. “I think scene two needs a little work, don’t you?”

“That was my fault.” You’d fumbled last night and you know it, making you frown down at your hands – knowing that he deserves a better lover and a better scene partner than you are is humbling. Thankfully the recovery was quick, and there hadn’t been any critics in the house. “I’ll nail it tonight, I promise.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Dieter senses the way that you curl in on yourself. You’re a lot tougher on yourself than you need to be. “Just look me in my eyes.” He tells you, reaching out to cup your cheek. “Okay? When you stumble, look at me. I’ve got you.”

“I—okay.” You nod against his hand and swallow another apology, not wanting him to doubt you. To doubt that he can consider you an equal, even if his talent is more effortless. The problem is, staring into his eyes for one second too long, you just can’t keep your goddamn mouth shut and the woods come dripping out of it: “I love you.”

Dieter’s heart nearly stops, blood roaring in his veins and he feels almost lightheaded when he hears you say those three little words. “I love you too.” The words slip from his lips easily, almost too easily because he knows that’s what you want to hear. Even if that voice inside him tells him that it’s true, he offers you a silken smile and tugs you to him. “I love you too, Bambi.”

With a happy squeal, you practically launch yourself at him, throwing your arms around his neck and smothering him in endless kisses. That was not at all the reply you expected, but you’re thrilled to not have ruined things. You’ll make this good for him as much as you possibly can for as long as you possibly can. “You’re amazing, Dee. I’m so lucky you love me.”

“I’m the lucky one, Bambi.” Dieter promises between kisses. “Never doubt that.”

******

“You disgusting, two-timing piece of shit!” Under hot camera lights in an itchy costume with almost more Bobby pins than hair on your head, you know your eye make up is running but it works for the scene. The tears are genuine, streaking down your face as you – as your character – advances on Dieter across the tight set with fury in your face. “When you’d used me up, the bottle took my place, and at the bottom of that you found every other woman in Paris.” You’re seething, pouring every ounce of betrayal you actually feel into this moment, and when you raise your hand you know somewhere in your body that this slap will be very real. “How many other women have you abandoned for the sin of boring you, you bastard?!”

Crack.

The sound of skin on skin isn’t tantalizing at this moment, or enticing. It’s ugly, and violent, and leaves a welt on Dieter’s cheek as you crumpled in a sobbing heap like the script instructs. For a solid minute, the only sounds are your very real tears and Dieter’s sharp breathing as he deals with the pain of being hit until—

“Cut!” The director screams out across the set. “Print! One take, ladies and gentlemen!”

“OWWWWWWW.” Dieter wails, the look of fury instantly melting away into one of pain as he claps his hand over his cheek. “You were supposed to pull the slap.” He complains pitifully, his look wounded as he stares at you, “that really fuckin’ hurt!”

“Tell me you didn’t deserve it.” Your tears stop instantly, a professional even through real emotion, and you get back to your feet with dignity, still hissing at him. “Tell me you didn’t deserve it twelve fucking years later.”

He can’t say that he doesn’t deserve it, but he frowns at you. Glowering at the heat of the slap radiating as he his face throbs. “I need some ice!” He shouts to his assistant as he turns and stomps off.

Sadie appears at your side a second later with a bottle of water and a pack of tissues, and you thank her quietly before taking both to walk a few steps to your chair just behind the cameras. A perk of having an executive director credit is proximity. Access. It doesn’t matter that that didn’t feel nearly as good as you thought it would. That a loud part of you actually wants to see if he’s okay and apologize for it. It’s done now. He left, you slapped him for it. It’s done.

“Ow, ow, ow, it really hurts.” Dieter huffs as he takes the bag of ice wrapped in a towel to press his forehead. “Did she have to hit me so hard?” He complains as he rushes back to his trailer. Hurt that you would deck him in front of an entire set, he can’t deny that your performance was spot on.

“At least it was one take?” Desiree offers the only silver lining she can find as she follows behind him, shitting the door to his trailer and pulling out the bottle of anti-inflammatories so his cheek doesn’t swell up.

“Thank god.” Dieter flops down on the small sofa and shakes his head. “Otherwise I'd look like I went twelve rounds with Ali.”

“She’s dedicated to realism, I’ll give her that.” His assistant frowns, but holds out the pills and a drink to him.

“Fuck those pills.” Dieter scoffs and shakes his head. “Give me the good stuff. Or better stuff.” He doesn’t care if they technically haven’t called the day. He’s done.

“Dee…” Desiree bites her lip, still holding out the pills to him. “You still have another scene to shoot today. Two, if you do another one in one take.”

“Nope.” Dieter shakes his head. “Too bad. My face is swollen!” More than that, he doesn’t want to face those eyes of yours again. Not today, not without some chemical assistance.

“I’ll talk to Sam.” Desiree nods, recognizing a stubborn mood when she sees it, and knows that this isn’t going to go over well. It’s only the first day of filming.

“Fine.” Dieter is slightly mollified when he gets his way and looks up at his assistant. “Now where’s the other pills?”

A five second long staring match ensues before Desiree relents and goes to the trailer's smaller kitchen cupboard to retrieve the unmarked white bottle that contains Dieter's homemade cocktail of Pill Roulette. "Here." She hands it to him reluctantly. "I'm going to go talk to Sam. I'll be right back."

Watching Desiree walk out the trailer door, Dieter twists open the cap of the bottle and shakes the pill into his hand. Huffing when there’s only one pill that is what he wants, he still pops it in his mouth, it’s better than nothing.

Five minutes later she’s carefully walking back on set, wondering how badly she’s about to get screamed at for this. “Sam,” she approaches the director with feigned confidence, studiously avoiding getting pulled into any side conversations on the way there.

“Can you get Dieter here?” Sam asks as he looks up from his clipboard. “Lighting has everything set for the next scene. And good work to him for taking that slap. It looks great on camera.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Desiree shifts on her feet, noting that you are nowhere to be found. You must have gone to make up to get cleaned up. “Unfortunately, his entire cheek is swollen now, because of it.”

“What?” Sam frowns, contemplating the shot now that he is learning that there might be a physical reaction. “How bad is it?”

“It looks bad now, but it might go down quickly.” Trying to do right by her boss and the production, Desiree tries to find a compromise. “Give him a half an hour? See if it starts to fade?”

“Half an hour.” Sam nods. “Then he needs to be on set. Some swelling won’t hurt the shot.”

“I’ll make sure he’s here.” She nods and backs off smoothly, only taking off for his trailer again at a damn run once Sam can’t see her anymore.

In his trailer, Dieter is staring at the large welt on his face, wondering when the hell you learned to hit like that. Hissing as he leans in to touch the tender flesh. “You deserved that,” he tells his reflection morosely. “You’re worthless. A loser asshole.”

Two rhythmic knocks on his trailer door let him know that Desiree has returned, and she pushes inside with a sympathetic expression on her face. "I bought you some time, but Sam is determined to go on today." She tells him, hating the expression of self-loathing she sees on his face. Frankly, she sees it far too often. Anyone would think the drugs were a self-indulgence or a carelessness on his part, but it has more to do with intense depression and self-image issues than anything else. The drugs are how he runs away from reality. "How are you feeling, Dee?"

“Sore.” Dieter grumbles, looking away from the reflection and picks up the towel wrapped ice pack again. “Let me lay down and then we’ll shoot the fuckin’ scene.” He is too introspective right now to fight. Maybe playing the character will allow him some freedom from the thoughts taking over. Give him an outlet like acting is supposed to be.

"Half an hour." Desiree moves around the space, lighting his aromatherapy candles and turning on the white noise machine that helps him drown out some of the uglier and more intrusive thoughts. "I'll be back in twenty-five minutes to get you moving, okay?"

“Yeah.” Dieter slumps down on the sofa, still in his costume of a half undone suit and closes his eyes. “Thanks.” His voice calls out softly, nearly breathless as the pill starts to mellow him out.

"Of course." She's quiet when she shuts the door behind her, but Desiree sighs to herself out in the middle of the trailers. Twenty-five minutes is enough to arrange something nice for him tonight. She'll see what strings she can pull to put together a little surprise for him.

******

Dieter is nearly asleep when the knock comes on the trailer door twenty-five minutes later. Making him groan and shake his head, not wanting to open his eyes. “Go ‘way! Still hurts.” He grunts, even as he pulls away the mostly melted ice from his face.

"Let me take a look." His assistant insists, coming inside with a KitKat and a bottle of kombucha. His health really is an enigma sometimes.

“How bad is it?” Dieter asks, fearing that he might be wearing that handprint for the scene. “Maybe it’ll be good right? My character is supposed to be angry with her.”

"It's definitely pink, but I think Monique can dim that a little." It was a hell of a slap, and Desiree bites the inside of her cheek to keep herself from babying him or exclaiming too much. She really does like the man, otherwise working for him would be insufferable. "The worst thing is that your eye is bloodshot, but that's okay."

“Shit! Seriously?” Dieter bolts off the sofa to run for the mirror again. Groaning when he sees the tiny bloodshot vessels of his eyes. “Fuck, she hit me hard.” He huffs, shaking his head. “Is that going to affect my lasik?” He demands, looking back as Desiree anxiously.

"Your appointment isn't for two days," she assures him, not wanting to see the pout that will surely form on his face. "You'll be just fine by then."

“It better not.” Dieter huffs, already annoyed at the idea of using his precious few days off recovering from eye surgery, but it’s better than not being able to see shit.

"I made you a dinner reservation for tonight." Hoping to perk him up a little and give him something to look forward to, Desiree had hunted down a fairly elusive supper club that catered to artists and eccentrics as well as anyone who had the money to mingle with them. "I know you were bummed that you didn't get to go to Dashiell's last time we were here, but they had an 8 o'clock reservation open for tonight." The place is incredibly unique, offering a staged performance during dinner, followed by a live band and dancing for those who are interested, and a litany of art supplies for those who would rather sit and observe the dancers. The walls are littered with the art of patrons who have drawn, sketched, or painted the dancers and diners on previous nights. The catch, because of course there is one, is that the tables are all served sociably family style. Every table is for four, and if you go alone you'll be seated with strangers. But it's a great place to see and be seen, and Dieter is a spectacular artist.

“Good.” Dieter bobbles his head, immediately buoyed by that news. “Maybe I can get laid. I need that, I’m tired of my hand.” He huffs, feeling the need for someone to show him some attention, give him some affection. Even if it is fake.

"You usually don't have any trouble with that." The sigh of relief that Desiree breathes is silent but very real, and she offers her boss a smile. "I'll take you over to hair and make up and then I'll run back to the hotel to get you something nice to wear tonight. Sound good?"

“Fuck.” That brings a pout to his lips. “I have to dress up.” The desire to get laid outweighs the annoyance with dressing up. He can put on less than comfy clothes to get what he wants.

******

Sitting in your chair in the makeup trailer, you're really trying your best to maintain composure in the face of how emotional the last scene was and manage your conflicting feelings over how it went. Rivkah is getting you cleaned up and retouched with Sadie sitting nearby, and your angel of an assistant has even grabbed you a hot cup of herbal tea and honey to soothe your voice after all that screaming. The last thing you need is to be hoarse.

Dieter flings the door open to the makeup trailer, halfway inside before he realizes you are in the chair beside his. Stopping short and immediately looking towards Monique, not wanting to see the satisfaction gleaming in your eyes. “Can you do something with this?” He asks, gesturing to his face as he sits down and twists away from you.

"Of course." She's already been told what happened, of course, and what scene she needs to have him ready for, but she gives him a kind smile. "We'll have you looking rugged and intense in no time."

“Good.” He doesn’t glance over at you, twisting open his drink and taking a gulp of it before he puts it between his thighs so he can open his KitKat.

Rugged and intense? You manage not to laugh at it, but you had no idea that Monique was a miracle worker. There's the ghost of a remark on your lips to Sadie, but you catch her grinning down at her phone and nearly giggling, and your expression softens. "You talking to her?" You ask, not saying who in case Dieter would object to your assistants spending social time together.

“Yeah.” Sadie glances up and then slides her gaze over to Dieter. She bites her lip and then opens her texts to you. His face was swollen and bright red. Desiree said he looked like an Oompa Loompa with the makeup streaked over the welts.

You glance up at her and back down at your phone, hating the twisting in your gut and chest. It didn't feel nearly as satisfying as I hoped, you write back.

Sadie frowns, biting her lip as she sighs. Maybe satisfaction will come when you show him you aren’t the girl he thought you were.

Maybe. I hope so. The short reply comes with a nod before you put your phone away and close your eyes for Rivkah to fix your eye make up. You need to be back on set shortly and you can tell already that the afternoon is going to be an internal battle.

Dieter chews on his candy bar as Monique works her magic, closing his eyes and frowning slightly as he goes over the lines in his head. Trying to channel the anger right now isn’t hard to do with the slap you had delivered.

******

An hour later on set is when it comes to a head. This drama follows the ups and downs of a married couple as their marriage and mental health starts to devolve, and it certainly includes more than one fight. Yours was filmed in one take, but Dieter’s is being done in smaller pieces as he chases you around the apartment set. The stop-and-go is exhausting with the intensity of the scene you’re doing, but it’s working. In a purely professional way, the scene is working perfectly.

Dieter, for his part, doesn’t get upset when Sam wants the close ups of his face. The mottled expressions and anger glazed eyes as he rants and rampages and generally terrorizes your character. Resetting after each one, absorbing the praise, there haven’t been any retakes, just different angles for the shifts he has in mind. This one should be the last.

Hissing, Dieter grabs you by the arms and drags you closer to his face, well aware the camera is right to his left. “I never loved you!” he bellows, spittle flying out of his mouth as he practically shakes in fury. “I never loved you.” he repeats again, not shouting this time but just as firm in that resolve as he shoves you away and drags his hands through his disheveled hair. “How could I love you? You’re nothing, less than nothing and you’ll always be nothing.”

For as real as your fury was earlier in the day, Dieter's disgust and hatred seems to build from that same, very real place of personal experience. All of a sudden you're back on the loveseat in your dressing room after finding out he was gone – frantically trying to get ahold of him with one hand clutching your belly as waves of nausea rack your body. I never loved you feels like the most honest words he's ever spoken to you and even though it doesn't indicate you should be doing it anywhere in the script, you're crying again. Silent, stricken tears roll down your face as he shoves you away and you crumple, shoulders pulling in and eyes falling open in dismay and disbelief as Sam screams "Cut!"

“That was great, so raw, so real!” Sam gushes as he rushes out, Dieter instantly deflating and doing almost a full body shake. Hating scenes like those, he wants to get as far away from those emotions as possible, especially the feeling of his character about to hit yours. It’s disgusting.

“Thanks,” he murmurs quietly, looking over at you and wondering if he should check on you. You had turned away pretty quickly.

Thank god you have the forethought to sneak a handkerchief into the pocket of your costume this time, having found one in the costume trailer that worked for the period. It's all you can do to keep your shit together and not run away sobbing, hearing Sam heap mountains of praise on Dieter for being so cold and so cruel. When you hear him ask for another angle on the shot you shudder and recoil like you'd be hit worse than you clocked Dieter this morning.

“I don’t think we should.” Dieter shakes his head. “I think it would be better to play that as one continuous scene. Especially since the rest of this is so cut.”

The way it feels like he's rescuing you after that makes you physically nauseous, and you don't turn around. You're lucky you can manage to drop yourself into a chair and lean over to put your head between your knees and breathe deeply.

“Honestly, I think that if you reshoot this scene, you’ll lose the…magic, of it.” Dieter glances back over at you and worries that you are not doing so well and he decides that he will offer Sam something else. “Why don’t we do the bathroom scene? It’s a solo scene and it would play well after this.”

"Set's not ready for that yet." Sam shakes his head, finally looking over at you and realizing that you're looking a little green around the gills. "Hey, hey, sweetheart." He drops to his knees in front of you and puts one hand on your back. "You good? A little overwhelmed?"

"I'm fine." Pity is what does it. What makes you put your handkerchief away and hold back the last sniffle, putting your head up to look your director in the eye. If you look at Dieter you're afraid you'll say or do something unprofessional. "It's just a little side effect of the jetlag, I think. My stomach's off."

“Yeah, shit, okay.” Sam nods quickly. “We’ll put a lid on today. Call it early. You did amazing and I know it was a set of heavy scenes.”

"Perfect." Without another word you're hightailing it off the set and making straight for the costume trailer with Sadie hot on your heels. "I'm going out tonight," you tell her unilaterally, not slowing down for her to keep up with you. "Need to clear my head."

Dieter is slower to follow, the rolling of his gut not one that he likes, or is used to. Desiree comes up to him eagerly, handing him a bottle of water. “I have your suit here.” She tells him, making him shake his head. “I changed my mind.” He tells her. “You take the reservation. I can’t– not after–” he breaks off, feeling uneasy about even thinking about trying to flirt and take someone back to his room after that. “I’m just going to – you take the reservation and enjoy it with whoever you keep texting.”

"Are you sure?" Her boss isn't usually one to give up on an excuse for bacchanalia, so Desiree is immediately concerned. "Do you need a comfort night?" Normally that entails indulgent take away food and an expensive bottle of something to drink, after which he may or may not paint or just stare at the walls while he goes on a journey in his own mind.

“No.” Dieter frowns, restless and unable to say exactly what he wants or needs. “I’ll just grab an Uber and wander.” He frowns again, thinking about how you had rushed off. “Hey— uh, check on her.” He motions towards your trailer. “Please?”

"You want me to—" She tilts her head in momentary confusion but shakes it off. "Uh, sure. Of course. I'll be right back."

Dieter watches her rush off for a moment before he shakes his head. Costuming will come to his trailer to collect his garments. Right now, he needs a shower to wash the icky feelings away. And maybe another round of pill roulette.

******

"If that's Dieter, you tell him to go to hell." The knock on your trailer door is unwelcome and unwanted, and you can barely stand to look Sadie in the eye right now let alone anyone else.

Rushing towards the door, Sadie has every intention of telling whoever is on the other side to go away. Until she’s greeted with the face of Dieter’s assistant. “Oh! Uh, Desiree…” She says the name loud enough that you know who is there. “Now’s not a good time.”

"He asked me to check on her." Desiree's voice is quiet when she looks up at Sadie, eyes silently communicating her concern over the request. This isn't a social call by any means, but she can sense how important it is to him.

“She doesn’t want to see him.” Sadie answers just as quietly, figuring that Desiree must not know the history between you and her boss. “But she’s tough, she’ll be okay.”

"Who is it?" Not that you really care either way, but since Sadie didn't shut the door in their face you have to assume that it isn't Dieter himself come to gloat over making you sick on set.

“It’s Desiree.” It worries her that you were so in your head that you didn’t hear her before. Testament to how shaken you are by that scene.

You're quiet for a minute before sighing. "Let her in," you decide, blotting your freshest tears on a tissue before you sit up on the sofa. "It'll attract attention if you're talking in the doorway."

Desiree slips inside and bites her lip when she sees how truly upset you are. “Is there anything I can do for you?” She asks immediately, not sure why Dieter insisted on checking on you, but he won’t be happy to learn you are in tears. She can sense that without even knowing the details.

"No." When you shake your head it makes you a little dizzy from all the buzzing in your head, so you stop right away. "No, honey. Thank you for asking, though. It was just a hard scene, that's all." The kettle in your little kitchenette goes off and Sadie steps away again, going to fix you a cup of tea while still keeping a very steady eye on the conversation. "Actually?" Your head tips up again and you try your best to smile but it falls flat. "You can have a really good time tonight. That's what you can do. Sadie works her ass off and I can only assume that you do the same."

“I– we’re going to Dashiell’s tonight.” Desiree can’t even hide her excitement at that news. “I had made a reservation for– uh, my boss, but he doesn’t feel up for that tonight.” She feels guilty for bringing him up, but it’s never a bad thing to remind people that Dieter can be sweet sometimes.

“Well that’s fancy.” You won’t hide your surprise, but Sadie is glowing when she hands you your tea and you can’t help but smile. The first time you’ve smiled in hours - maybe all day. “Have some much fun, you guys.”

“I’m not leaving you just yet,” Sadie promises, though she smiles broadly at Desiree when she thinks you aren’t paying attention. “You still thinking you’ll go out tonight?”

“I’m honestly not sure.” After that, you’re not sure if you want to forget the world exists or just melt into it and forget you exist.

“You should.” Desiree comments softly. “There’s a great little tea and sandwich shop down from the hotel.” She offers. “It’s cozy.” She had to make a list for Dieter before they even got here, knowing how varied his tastes can be.

“Thank you. I’ll remember that.” She seems far too nice to have to put up with Dieter’s bullshit twenty-four hours a day. Hopefully she’s well paid for it. After a second, you look at Desiree again and seem to summon courage out of nowhere. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” She tilts her head curiously and wonders what you could possibly want to know. Especially since you don’t seem to like Dieter.

“I’m curious.” And you don’t mind admitting that it’s a morbid curiosity. “If you know about Bambi.”

“Bambi.” Her eyes widen and she bites her lip, curious as to how you know that name. “Dieter doesn’t talk about it.” She admits quietly. “Refuses to, gets mad if someone says something to him about it the next day.” She sighs. “Whoever Bambi is, Dieter has a lot of regrets about. Or they broke his heart. Maybe both.”

“I doubt it’s the second.” After the way he seemed to look completely through you as he growled the words in your face, it seems impossible. “Bambi was just another notch on his bedpost. Someone to keep the sheets warm while he was waiting for Hollywood to call.”

“Oh my god.” It clicks and her heart plummets to her shoes. “You’re Bambi.” She breathes out, feeling stupid for not putting it together sooner.

“I was.” You nod reluctantly. “A very long time ago.” A time that seems more and more like it belongs to someone else with every passing day.

“I’m sorry.” Desiree murmurs softly. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but I’m sorry.” Obviously it was bad, how it ended, but maybe there were some good times as well.

“Ask him.” You suggest, sitting back in your seat. “My version is bound to be different from his. But at least he still talks in his sleep.”

“I don’t know if he will tell me.” She admits quietly. “It’s like whatever happened, he’s greedily trying to keep that for himself.”

“Greedy might be the right word.” With a sigh, you look between the two women and shift over on the couch. “If you want to know, I’ll tell you the edited version. It might help with context.”

“You don’t have to tell us.” Desiree immediately blurts out, not wanting you to feel like you have to bear your soul to her. You barely know her and she’s your ex’s assistant.

"Just...whatever he says about me?" You grip your mug of tea and remain silently grateful that she didn't want to hear what could be considered incredibly good gossip. "Please take it with a grain of salt. I was very young then." Young, and oh so incredibly gullible.

“Bambi.” The nickname makes sense, and she nods. “I form my own judgments about people. He can be a handful on the best days but he–” she pauses, wondering if she should give you this information but ultimately decides you deserve it. “He’s a wreck of self loathing and desperation to be loved as he pushes people away. A rabid raccoon, if you will.”

"Rabid sounds about right." The description of him actually makes you laugh slightly, though it's more of a huff that shakes your shoulders. "Anyway, it's the age old tale of a girl and boy parting badly. That's all."

“He sent me to check on you.” She doesn’t know why that’s important for you to know about, but it seems like it is. “Make sure you are alright.”

"Are you sure he didn't send you to see how much damage he had inflicted?" It's not meant to be unkind, but you can't believe that Dieter would ever care enough to want to make sure you're okay. You'd put far more money on him wanting to make sure you were devastated.

Desiree frowns and shakes her head. “I’m not trying to change your mind about Dieter Bravo.” She promises you. “But he’s not the type of man to enjoy those scenes, but he’s not the type to check on his scene partner after either.” She draws out the scene for you. “So make of that what you will. And I’m going to tell him that you were laughing and drinking tea in your trailer when he asks.”

"Thank you, Desiree." She doesn't have to be kind, or listen to both sides of things, and she certainly doesn't have to show you any sympathy. "And really – genuinely – I hope you guys have fun tonight. Mine and Dieter's bullshit shouldn't have any effect on you guys."

“But if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call Sadie.” Desiree tells you, knowing that if Dieter calls, she will answer. It’s kind of like being a twenty-four hour babysitter for a grown up, but she’s paid really well to do it.

"I'll try not to have an emergency." You promise them both. "If it's an emergency and you don't call, I'll track you down and wallup you myself." Sadie jokes, just glad to see you smiling even a little bit after how broken you seemed coming off set.

Desiree feels like you need a hug, but she isn’t close enough to you to do that. Smiling softly and nodding. “I better go get everything done for the night so we can go.” She says after a moment. “Have a good night.”

“She seems nice.” You look to Sadie after the door closes, letting your mask of strength drop in front of the only person you fully trust.

“I think so.” She murmurs softly, giving you a concerned look. “I can cancel tonight.” She offers. “We can watch movies and eat junk with zero remorse.”

“Don’t you dare.” It’s exactly the kind of person that Sadie is, to offer to give up her night to comfort you, but you shake your head adamantly. “Dashiell’s is nearly impossible to get into and I still insist you use my card.”

Sadie hums, knowing she isn’t going to use your card for a night for herself. She doesn’t like doing that even when you insist. You are already generous enough. “Well, let me get you back to the hotel, then.” She says instead, knowing you don’t want to be here any longer than you need to be.

“I think a hot bath is in order before anything else.” And if you’re not feeling up to facing the world, you’ll just put on pajamas and crawl into that big bed and call for room service.

“I know you will enjoy that. I bought some of those bath salts you love last night.” She had planned on giving them to you today anyway so this seems fortuitous.

“You take such good care of me.” She does, and you made a promise to yourself years ago never to take advantage of her. Sadie is paid extremely well, showered with gifts, and given as much time off as you can manage to give while still maintaining a very active career. “I can’t ever thank you enough for being the best assistant in the world.”

“You make it extremely easy.” She promises with a grin and starts to gather her things to whisk you back to the hotel.

******

Almost two hours later, after a half a bottle of wine in a screaming hot lavender scented bath, you manage to get yourself dressed in clean clothes to search out the tea and sandwich shop that Desiree had mentioned earlier. If you can get your hands on any variation of a ham and Brie sandwich tonight, you’ll consider it a win.

Scratching his chin, Dieter stares at the image in front of him, his charcoal pencil tapping on the corner of the page as he studies it. The cooling jasmine tea and the extra large glass of pinot grigio ignored, along with a half eaten club sandwich. Needing to get the sight of your devastated face out of his mind.

The bell over the door chimes delicately when it opens and shuts, admitting a single person. The place is crowded but not unwelcoming, and the teenage hostess seats you without a fuss at the only empty table left in the dining room. It was good that you listened to Sadie, you decide, shifting your hands in your pockets to wrap your fingers around the thin book you brought. Just getting some fresh air will do you good, and fresh air away from Dieter will be even better.

Dieter licks his finger, smudging some of the lines to make them blurry, giving the curve of your jaw a softness that he’s always liked. Your eyes haunt him from the page. Drilling into him again and again as he can see the heartbreak in them. Making his heart burn and he reaches for the bottle for an antacid this time.

A cordial chat with the hostess stops cold when you see that the table she described as her very last is right next to Dieter fucking Bravo of all people. Your expression sours and you contemplate leaving all together but if you leave then he wins. And you’re not sure why you think that or where the thought came from but now it’s the loudest one in your head. Instead you thank the girl with a tight lipped smile and try to ignore the man just two feet away from you. You’ll have your dinner and you’ll be on your way. You’re a fucking adult, after all.

“Fuck.” He huffs under his breath, frowning down at the portrait that he is creating, putting the pencil back to the page as he isn’t quite happy with the image. It’s not what he’s seeing and he needs this. It’s cathartic, to steal a line from the half dozen therapists he’s seen on and off over the years. Mainly from the high priced drug rehab centers that he’s been to.

“No, thank you.” You respond dryly, picking up the menu that was left on the table in front of you but never looking over at him. Whatever he’s fine must be frustrating him. Good.

When Dieter is concentrating on something, he is fully emerged in it, blocking out the sounds around him as he works. Not noticing the movement as someone sits down to his right. Humming to himself when he manages to add depth to your distraught expression that was burned into him.

“Not even a pithy comeback or a bored laugh?” Putting down your menu and turning to look at him, you have a perfect – if accidental – view of what he’s doing. Your own face stares back at you from the sketchbook in his hands, tears and pain etched on the paper for his personal amusement. You see red immediately, reaching out to snatch the book out of his hands in anger, hissing “What the fuck?!” in the process.

Dieter jumps, startled out of his tunnel vision and his first reaction is annoyance. “What the fuck!” He hisses, glaring at whoever dared to touch his sketchbook as he whirls around and sees you. His face freezing and mouth dropping open in shock. “Oh– fuck–” he frowns in confusion as you glare at him. “What? What are you–”

“What the fuck is this?” You demand, clutching the sketchbook in two hands and keeping it just far enough out of his reach that he has to answer you if he ever has a prayer of getting it back. “Immortalizing the memory, are we? Planning on framing it to laugh at on a rainy day? I knew I should have hit you harder.”

He gapes at you like a fish, the surprise of you being in front of him along with the drugs he had taken making it take a little longer to comprehend what you are saying. Until he finally realizes you are accusing him of sketching your pain as some kind of sick thrill. “Give that back.” He hisses, reaching for it but he is out of reach, still sitting in his chair.

“No!” No way in hell are you going to let him keep this grotesque image, and you reach to tear the page out immediately. Hell, if this place had a working fireplace, you’d toss the whole book in it out of disgust. Except…once the page is out and in your hand, the ones remaining flap and you catch a glimpse of another sketch. Another sketch of you. “What the fuck is this?” Your hair is in an old style in this image – a style you haven’t worn since you were very young – and you swallow a sickening amount of bile as you start to flip through the pages. It’s you. The entire book is you. Image after image, younger versions of you as you were when the two of you met versus some others that you recognize as poses from films you’ve been in or promotional shots from red carpets or other events. They’re all you. “You have three seconds to explain this,” you bite out between gritted teeth. “Why the fuck do you have a book full of me?”

Dieter’s chair scrapes back, shooting to his feet as he lunges for the book. “Give it back!” He demands louder, not caring that people in the little shop are turning towards the two of you, chattering ignored because of the pounding of his heart and the rush of his blood in his ears. Cheeks flaming hot because you know. You’ve seen a book that no one else has seen. Ever. “Now!”

“Explain it.” Barely keeping the book out of reach, you shred two pages out of the binding indiscriminately. “What kind of a sick joke is this?” Heads are turning but you’re only seeing red, angry and devastated all over again for reasons you can’t put your finger on or analyze properly as your voice rises.

“Don’t! Fuck, don’t do that!” Dieter is frantic, panicking because of the pages you are shredding, hating that you are destroying the sketches he has spent so much time working on and looking at. Feeling like his security blanket is being stripped away from him like he was seven again and his father threw it in the fireplace and told him to ‘man up’. “Please.” He begs, breathing shallowly and feeling like he’s about to cry.

“Explain.” The demand is harsh, but the way he sounds like he might hyperventilate stays your hand from tearing at more pages. You’re angry, but you’re not trying to send anyone to the hospital.

“It’s– I just– I sketch to get the image out of my head.” Dieter’s own voice is small, quiet as he explains. “That’s it, that’s all. Just–” he swallows harshly and his outstretched hands drop to his sides. “Don’t ruin more of it.” His expression falls as he tries to shut himself off from the emotional connection to the book, knowing you will either keep it or destroy it completely in front of him.

“Why is it all me?” That’s what you don’t understand, and finally stop seething long enough to see the tears in his eyes and the slouch in his shoulders. As furious as you might be, this isn’t a fight in a script. It’s very real, and your confusion has brought you out of the angry haze long enough to see that someone has whipped their phone out. You’re being recorded. “Pay your bill.” You order under your breath, Shoving the sketchbook back at him and trying to compose yourself. “We’re going back to the hotel.” There’s no way you’re letting this go without a full explanation.

Dieter abandons the table and shuffles over the waitress, handing her his card and a murmured comment about the sandwich. His stomach is rolling as he tries to put the pages back where they were but he can’t. Swallowing down the embarrassment of you seeing this. Everyone else here, he doesn’t give a shit about. He doesn’t care about the scene, but you knowing about this makes him want to vomit.

The most you can think to do is apologize to the hostess for causing a fuss on the way out, but other than that you’re silent as you steer Dieter out of the restaurant and back up the block toward the hotel. There’s enough confusion jostling the anger in your mind that you can’t quite think straight, and the tense silence between you stretches right to the hotel elevator.

Dieter shuffles, his arm around the notebook as if you are going to rip it away from him again. Not sure what to say or why you are so damn angry at him. People draw you all the time, he sees it when he actually remembers the login for his social media accounts or he’s doing promotions for his upcoming movies. Forced promotions, because it was in the contract.

It’s not until you get him into your suite and lock the door that you can find the presence of mind to speak again, although the guilt of having him look at you like a kicked puppy is already gnawing at your insides. “Why?” You ask again, feeling your voice shake. “Do you have a sketchbook full of me?”

“Why not?” Dieter has finally hit annoyed, pissed that you destroyed his sketchbook, messed up his work. “It’s an old book.” He defends, even though he knows it’s a weak argument.

“That you kept for twelve years and decided to add to today, of all days?” His petulance isn’t exactly helping you have any sympathy, but mostly you feel…watched. Observed in a way you don’t like at all. Analyzed in a far more intimate way than a gossip column could ever manage.

“It’s not–” Dieter sighs and closes his eyes. “It’s not that old. I started it about nine years ago.” He confesses quietly. “A therapist told me that it might help.”

“Help what? Assuage your guilt?” It boggles your mind that he would ever have the need to talk about you in therapy, of all places, until you remember Desiree. “You do have guilt, don’t you?” Your voice softens perceptibly, turning curious. “That’s why you still dream about me.”

“How did you–” Dieter realizes he’s talking and snaps his mouth shut. Unwilling to give away if he had been dreaming about you or not. Instead he focuses on the why. “It helps. My brain is all fucked up.” He lets go of the book with one hand to motion to his head like he’s crazy. “She told me it could help get it out. What keeps rolling through my mind.”

“Somebody told me that you talk about Bambi in your sleep, that’s how I know.” While you won’t debate his mental health with him, you also won’t make fun of him for it. No one chooses depression or addiction. One look at his family is enough to show anyone what he’s dealing with – they’re worse than the Barrymores.

“Fuck.” Dieter’s jaw clenched and he shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter, I’m not stalking you. I just– I needed to get you looking at me like I’m a monster out of my head.”

“That doesn’t explain nine years’ worth of sketches, Dee.” It’s barely even a nickname, but it passes your lips without thinking.

“What do you want me to say?” Dieter asks, not sure what exactly you are looking for. You calling him Dee takes him back to the one fucking time he was truly happy, before he fucked it up.

“I—” Having him push back deflates you a little, and you realize you’re actually not sure. You have no clue what you want him to say. “I don’t know,” you admit quietly. And you hate not knowing.

Dieter acts like an ass, he knows this. He’s kind of proud of it most days. He is difficult and moody, ‘artistic’ as he likes to call it. But he’s broken. Full of anger and fear, begging for something to change and never being brave enough to try. “Do I feel guilt?” He asks, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course I do.” He huffs, unable to look at you right now while he reveals the deepest parts of himself. “Everyone I’ve ever fucking loved has left me or I’ve fucked it up. Self-sabotaged they tell me. I left the one goddamn person who made me feel normal, worth a damn, because I figured out that I was in over my head and I didn’t know how to handle it.”

“Someday you might want to tell them that.” Feeling exhausted by a day full of tension and yelling, you drop down in the nearest place to sit and grab a pillow like it was a teddy bear.

Dieter stares at you for a moment, sighing to himself and he knows that you hate him. He deserves it, but he turns around and walks towards the door of your room. Reaching for the handle, he looks over his shoulder. “I just did.” He rasps quietly and opens the door to slip out to his own room.

______ 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 @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Dieter Bravo #Dieter Bravo x reader #Dieter Bravo x you #Dieter Bravo x female reader #Dieter Bravo x f!reader #movie star reader #lost love #one that got away #The Bubble

283 notes · View notes

all-the-things-2020 · 5 months

Text

Late Night Talking

A Dieter Bravo x OFC fic

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

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

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

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

Chapter One below the cut

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then you should definitely go.”

“Is that an invitation?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I sketched out the encounter for her.

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

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

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

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

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #dieter x reader #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x ofc #the bubble fanfiction

34 notes · View notes

coulsons-fullmetal-cellist · 3 months

Text

When Javi met Dieter

(Dieter x horror loving female)

Words: 3, 135

Summary: same story as this one but from a different point of view. Also read this story to get some background on Javi. Please read both before reading this one!

Warnings: lots of adorable fluffiness, people being cute and nerdy, talk of past medical procedures and post-partum issues. Reece is an original non-binary character created @cevans-is-classic by so please use they/them pronouns

Check out masterlist here

Javi was excited but also extremely nervous. Powerpuff was his first big production since his film that relaunched Nic Cage’s career. And this was his first big production with his own production company. All his small independent films had gotten critical acclaim but the bigger the production, the bigger the stakes.

The script, written by his partner Reece, was funny and heartwarming, the cast and crew were diverse and talented. Already there was outrage over some of the casting. Some made highly negative comments over casting a woman of colour to play Blossom. There were no complaints on casting a Japanese actress as Buttercup until they found out she would be dressed in baggy clothes being uncomfortable with her body and didn’t want to wear a skirt. They were the loudest complaints sadly, but he was shown the positive comments from children who were excited for the film and the film was for children and women of all ages. And he wanted his daughter to be proud of him. Ari was only two, so she was more impressed with Spiderman than her father. She was also more impressed with her godfather Nic Cage but that was understandable.

He was looking at the set now which felt like it came out of the animated show.

“Oh wow, it’s like Colour Out of Space!” he said to himself.

“It is,” he turned to the person who just said that. “Wait, you’ve seen that film?”

“Of course.”

You were shocked that you finally met someone who had seen the film. “And you liked it?”

“Who wouldn’t?”

“I know some people thought it was too brightly coloured, but I think it added to the Eldritch horror.”

“It definitely added something new to the horror genre.”

“I love it when horror does something new!”

“My partner loves horror and has introduced me to some amazing films I never would have thought of watching.”

Filming was starting back up, so you had to go back to your duties. You gave your new friend your name before you left.

“I’m Javi,” he shook your hand. “Just Javi.”

*****

Reece was absolutely thankful their partner Javi agreed to set up an on-set daycare. Before their daughter Ari, they would be up all hours and living on very little sleep. With a toddler, they were still living on very little sleep, but they were now responsible for this little life, and they felt guilty leaving Ari with nannies all the time. This way made them feel less guilty as they could still see their child while working. The on-set daycare also opened up the opportunity to other workers in the film industry. One of them was Dieter Bravo as Professor Utonium. Javi was less enthused at the choice but agreed he was the best actor for the part.

As they made their way to the on-set daycare to drop off their daughter, Reece saw Dieter carrying his own little girl. Reece had yet to meet the actor in person, so they made their way over and introduced themselves.

Dieter shook their hand, “You’re the writer? I loved your script, my wife cried reading it so that means it was good.”

“Oh yeah, I heard the infamous Dieter Bravo had settled down and produced offspring, I just didn’t realise she was so stinking cute!”

“Hey!” a sleepy Ari mumbled.

“Don’t worry rascal, you’re still my favourite.”

After leaving their precious babies in the daycare, and after many kisses and cuddles, they both made their way to the sound stage.

“Hey,” said Dieter. “Do you know whose idea the on-set daycare was? I’d really like to thank them.”

“Uh, that was my idea.”

“It was? That’s awesome because my wife and I couldn’t work together much since the baby as one of us would always stay home to look after her. I really like being close to both of them. So thanks.”

“She’s working on the film?”

“Yeah, she’s doing the makeup for Mojo Jojo.”

“Oh yeah,” Reece tried not to smack their forehead. “I’m so glad she’s on board. She’s amazing.”

“Yeah she is.” He smiled warmly as they both reached the set. He saw you in the distance helping Jack Black put on his giant brain helmet.

“There she is,” Dieter proudly pointed you out. “My one true love.”

The lovestruck look on his face was one so familiar to Reece they couldn’t help but sigh at the adorableness of it all. They knew it was the loving gaze Javi gave to Nicolas Cage, but he now gave to them.

*****

The end of the first working day went well and Dieter was hoping Clara wasn’t missing them too much. As he walked in, he saw his little girl with two other little girls. You’d say they look like a little coven of witches, and he smiled at the thought.

Clara didn’t notice him as she was deep in conversation with the little girl with the same curly brown hair. But the other little girl with honey golden curls looked up and saw him.

“Papa?” she looked up at him with familiar eyes. “Tu barba?”

He ran a hand over his shaven face. “Lo siento patita. No soy tu papa.”

Reece came up next to him and looked at their daughter, “Hey rebel!”

Picking her up, Ari continued to look at Dieter with confusion. “Not papa?” she pointed at him.

“That’s right,” said Reece. “You remember Dieter from earlier.”

Clara finally realised her father was here and ran over to him, demanding to be picked up.

“Hey cupcake, did you make friends?” she nodded eagerly.

“Ari,” she pointed up then down, “Twin!”

“Twin?” Dieter asked. “So how do I know you’re really Clara?”

Both girls started to giggle. He looked down at Bianca. “Are you the real Clara?”

“I’m Bianca!”

She then saw her father approaching which solved the problem over who was which twin. Her father introduced himself before telling his daughter that her mother was waiting for them. Reece and Dieter both gave him an admirable look as he waved them goodbye.

“Hm,” mused Reece. “I wonder if he’s ever dressed as King T’challa?”

“That’s Marvel isn’t it?

Reece nodded, “Iron Man is my favourite and I’d hope this one would be the same but no. Who’s your favourite?”

“Spiderman!” exclaimed Ari.

“Oh,” mused Deiter. “No wonder you and Clara get along. She takes after her mum and likes spiders.”

*****

“Look Javi, all I’m saying is that if it didn’t have the same title, and if it wasn’t a remake, The Wicker Man 2006 would have been a passable film.”

“Passable?” Javi looked at his mug like a hurt puppy which would have worked on you if not for the fact that you dealt with that sort of eyes everyday with your husband and daughter.

“I’m just saying this as a fan of the original film.”

“The original is a masterpiece so nothing will ever hold a candle to it,” you nodded. “This was intended more as a dark comedy.”

“They should have made that more obvious.”

Javi sighed, “They should have. At least we get that memorable not-the-bees scene.”

“Um, they cut out that scene.”

“They what? Does Mr. Cage know?” He was momentarily stunned and changed the subject so he wouldn’t linger on it for too long. “I’m sorry, I never really got your answer before but, what is your favourite film?”

“The question really should be what is my favourite film at the moment?”

He hadn’t been asked such a profound question in a while, “Wow, no one has ever asked me that before.”

“I always thought just narrowing it down to just a handful makes it really hard to decide.”

“Exactly!”

You both paused in the nerdiness. After a small sigh, you asked. “I didn’t know you were the producer.”

Javi shrugged, “I don’t go around announcing myself.”

“I do. I have to because they always get my career wrong: I do special effects makeup, not just regular makeup. My husband always corrects people, he proudly shows me off.”

“He seems like a good man.”

“He is.”

*****

“Hey Reece, what is your favourite film at the moment?”

“Huh?”

“No one’s ever asked me that before. It’s always what are your favourite or top favourite and it’s always so hard to narrow it down.”

Reece just put their head on Javi’s shoulder, “Aw, I’m so glad you’ve made a friend who isn’t Nic Cage.”

*****

Javi had decided to pick up his daughter from the on-set daycare that day. He was too busy looking for Ari to notice another little girl ran up to him.

“Daddy?”

He looked down and saw a girl who almost looked like his daughter. “I’m sorry bonita,” he said kneeling down. “I’m not your father.”

“Papa!” He was welcomed his daughter with open arms while the other little girl gave him as big a death stare as a two-year-old could.

He saw you enter the daycare and you found Clara giving her biggest death glare. She managed to break her glaring when you picked her up. She pointed at the man, “Not daddy?”

“That’s right, it’s not daddy. He looks nothing like him.”

But Clara went back to her evil glaring. The man who looked like her father but was not her father could only result in one conclusion.

“Evil daddy.”

“Why do you think he’s evil? He’s a very nice man.”

“I’m sorry,” you said to him. “Usually her dad picks her up, so she thinks you’re her dad. But he had to shave his beard and she must be missing it and saw yours so...” you shrugged.

“Oh no, that’s fine,” he turned to the girl in his arms. “Is this your friend?”

She nodded, “Spider.”

He knew Ari had this funny way of remembering her new friends and called them by their favourite bugs. Bianca was named Bee.

You properly introduced your daughter, “This is Clara.”

*****

“I met Ari’s friend today,” Javi told Reece after their day of filming.

“Oh, she’s a cutie, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, although she kept calling me evil for some reason.”

“Were you doing your Nic Cage impression?”

“No,” he got a hard glare. “I wasn’t. Not even subconsciously.”

*****

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude your reading, but I couldn’t help but admire your book.”

Javi always loved books about films, he read them more than actual books. You lifted up the book to show the full cover: Golem, Caligari, Nosferatu; A Chronicle of German Film Fantasy.

“My husband got it for me because he knew I’d love it. And I do.”

“So you’ve seen The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari?” he asked.

“Oh yes. Old films just have a certain quality to them modern films can’t replicate.”

“I completely agree. Is it one of your favourite films at the moment?”

“It is but I really like Nosferatu, mainly because it’s an early depiction of vampires. Oh, do you know the film Shadow of the Vampire?”

“Of course, a masterpiece to honour its original film,” you nodded in agreement. “Nicolas Cage produced that film.”

“He did?”

“Yes, he grew up with all those silent films.”

“How did I not notice?”

*****

“We ended up having this amazing discussion about German silent films.”

“Wow, I’m so happy you found someone other than your boyfriend who’ seen Caligari.”

Javi either didn’t notice the quip or chose to ignore it. “She must be married to someone amazing.”

“Yeah, Dieter is a pretty nice guy.”

“Yes and, wait who?”

“Dieter Bravo,” said Reece.

“What do you mean Dieter Bravo?” he asked more sternly.

“I mean Dieter Bravo is her husband.”

“You’re telling me that smart sophisticated woman is married to that…” he couldn’t think of an appropriate word, “…man?”

Sometime in the middle of the night, Javi bolted upright in bed.

“Oh Dios Mio!” he exclaimed; startling Reece awake in the process.

“Javi,” they grumbled. “There had better be a fire or I’m setting you on fire.”

“Dieter Bravo has offspring!”

“Yes he has offspring. You’ve met the offspring.”

“I can’t believe that adorable little girl is the offspring of…” again he couldn’t find the appropriate word, “…him!”

“Were you expecting horns? Or a forked tongue?”

*****

Reece wandered into the on-set daycare as usual to pick up Ari and noticed you following after.

They held out their hand to you, “Hi, I’m Reece. I’ve made friends with your husband Dieter. Also, you’ve made friends with my partner Javi.”

“Oh hi!” You shook hands and introduced yourself. “Is it weird to say I loved your script?”

“No, not at all.”

“I teared up the way I would a Mike Flanagan series.”

“I still cry over Bly Manor.”

You would have had a fangirl moment with the screenwriter, but you were both interrupted by two little girls running up to you.

“Noma!” Ari did her usual upsie hands.

Juggling a boisterous toddler in their hands, Reece explained, “I’m non-binary so Noma is an alternative to mum or dad.”

“Oh, so you prefer they/them pronouns?” Reece raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Dieter’s assistant is the same.”

They were rather impressed at the casual acceptance, “Hey, do you want to go get a coffee?”

“No coffee!” came the cry from Ari.

“Oh, that’s right. I need to seriously cut back on the coffee. I was practically living off it, getting the script done.”

“Are you into tea? I know a place that does great chai,” you suggested. “And they make a really good chocolate milk.”

Both girls immediately perked up.

“Should have led with that.”

The café was cosy and quaint with comfortable benches. After ordering masala chai, chocolate milk and cookies for the girls, you both settled in.

“So how did you and Javi meet?”

“Oh, I was hired to do rewrites for What’s It About and that’s how we met.”

“I loved that film!”

“I’m proud of that one. How did you meet Dieter?”

“We met while doing Sap of Justice.”

“Wait, you did the makeup for it?” you nodded. “Oh, that part where his skin came off and the blood was like tree sap? I loved that!”

“Are people still talking about that?”

“Well, it was awesome!”

You both looked over at Clara and Ari having so much fun being in a new play area.

“I love that they’ve made friends,” you hummed in agreement. “They seem close in age. Ari’s birthday is the 21st of September, when is Clara’s?”

“Halloween.”

“Her birthday is Halloween?” you nodded. “Was that planned?”

“Oh no, Clara wasn’t planned at all. All we knew was that she’d be due mid-November, but I guess she loves Halloween as much as me so,” you flourished your hands in a shrug.

“Ari wasn’t planned either. But if we were planning, Javi would have tried to plan the conception, so she’d be born around Nic Cage’s birthday as close as possible.”

“Seriously?”

“You have no idea how much he loves the man.”

“So if you had another child would he try to do that?”

“Oh, I can’t have any more children.”

“I’m sorry.”

They put a reassuring hand on you, “Don’t worry about it hon, you didn’t know. Ari was an emergency c-section and that’s when doctors found a lump,” you gasped. “The option was either go through months of chemo and miss out on so much of my baby’s life or just have all the organs removed and only miss a little bit. So, I’m happy we had Ari when we did. Would you want more children?”

“I love Clara to bits, but I hated being pregnant,” Reece sighed in sympathy. “I was sick for most of it, and I didn’t cope well afterwards. Honestly if I was by myself, I wouldn’t have survived it. Dieter was one hundred percent there for me and he won’t admit it but he’s an amazing father and I’ve fallen more in love with him.”

You both just sat there in a comfortable silence until refreshments arrived. The girls were called back from their playing. Clara wanted to sit on your lap, so you moved her there and she kissed your cheek.

“She’s a cuddler, like her father,” you explained to Reece.

“Daddy huggy!”

“Yes he is!” you kissed her pudgy little cheek.

*****

“Oh, I met your new best friend today!” Reece informed Javi. “She’s adorable! I can see why Dieter loves her.” They gritted their teeth as that name was accidentally said out loud and Javi groaned in annoyance.

“The whole family is adorable,” Reece continued. “We should adopt them!’

“We are not adopting a family. Especially if that includes Dieter Bravo.”

“Javi, why the animosity? Did he say something rude to you on set?”

“No,” Javi shifted. “He’s never said anything to me. We’ve never talked.”

“What the hell? How can you say you know him when you’ve never talked to him?” Reece held Javi’s face, “The Dieter I know is a sweetheart; he’s mad about his wife and he adores his little girl. He’s a genuine good guy. He’s not going to play Mr. Nice Guy and then stab you in the back like-”

“That prick Jagar Aldritch.”

“Still hung up on that?”

“Wouldn’t you be? He ruined my film.”

“And he tried to flirt with me.”

“What? Why haven’t you told me this before?”

“It was just the once. I think my pronouns confused him,” they changed the subject. “Anyways, you should just talk to him. Who knows, it might be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

*****

Javi was happy to see you after the weekend. He promised Reece he’d make an effort with Dieter and would at least talk to him. If it came about naturally, he wasn’t going to walk up to him because it might seem too straightforward.

He hated to admit it, but he liked the actor’s work ethic; he’d always be on time and too the role seriously enough without going method. The scene where Jack Black was playing on a grand piano and Dieter was lying supine across it while singing the big musical number Sugar and Spice: A Bitter Taste was insanely hilarious and anyone else wouldn’t have pulled it off as well.

Javi praised the performance while you were once again deep in conversation. You saw Dieter approaching the two of you and finally Javi had to talk to the actor.

“Oh, hey Dieter. Have you met the producer?”

He held out his hand, Dieter reluctantly took it.

“Hi, I’m Javi Gutierrez.”

Dieter mumbled his name.

“So what’s your favourite Nic Cage film?” Dieter raised an eyebrow in question. “Well I keep having interesting conversations with your wife over several of Mr. Cage’s films so I assumed…”

“Oh, I don’t like Nic Cage.”

This was not going to be the start of a beautiful friendship.

Lovingly tagging @boliv-jenta @simpingcowboy @ellenmunn @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @chaithetics @myloveistoolittle @glshmbl @gswizzsstuff @cupcakehp @nicolethered @blueeyesatnight

#pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #dieter x honey cakes #love of horror fanfic #love of horror universe #love of horror #dieter bravo #dieter x reader #the bubble netflix #the bubble #javi g #javier gutierrez

17 notes · View notes

itsbrandy · 5 months

Text

Wildest Dreams

Summary: After escaping her small hometown with her best friend, Bee embarks on a daring journey in the heart of the Golden Age of Hollywood. With big dreams of becoming a star, she's thrust into the spotlight when she's offered a lead role opposite Dieter Bravo, a charismatic but troubled movie star known for his hedonistic lifestyle As they come together on the set of the sweeping romance film, their lives become entwined in a complex dance of ambition, redemption, and love that defies the glittering facade of Tinseltown.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Original Female Character

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, drug use, alcohol use, partying, mentions of sex, old timey sexism, additional warnings to be added.

A/N: OFC is bi like Dieter. This story was inspired by, as you can see, the Wildest Dreams music video. I just had to see this story explored with Dieter. There is pov switching. Hope you like it!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

#dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo #dieter and bee universe #agentbrandy #1950s au #old hollywood #wildest dreams

16 notes · View notes

for-a-longlongtime · 6 months

Note

I loved the first part of Nothing That I Didn't Know, but wondered who your ideal sandwich pairing is? 🥪

Santi x Frankie x Reader

Javi x Tim x Reader

Or maybe something else?

Or is there another one lurking in there?

I've been saving this one for a rainy day, @linzels-blog <3

SUCH DIFFICULT CHOICES.

Okay let me start by saying that, unfortunately for her, Javi x Tim x reader isn't even my ideal sandwich for that WIP. (That's not to say I don't love those three together though!) To me, this is the real MVP sandwich of that fic:

Tim Rockford x Javier Peña x Marcus Pike. I mean, I hope you're ready...

Then sometime in May next year, there's a Frankie Morales x Benny Miller x reader sandwich coming up for @rhoorl (which I think I mentioned here the other day? but my memory is shit so maybe I only mentioned it in a spiral squad evening on Discord, haha).

At some point I'll also get to writing a Javier Peña x Judy Moncada x reader sandwich one shot (first FFM fic, yay!). I'm looking forward to that one because that should be a trip - and yes, it's definitely going to be part hate fucking. (And lucky for me, I know that this one is definitely NOT gonna be more than just a one shot - unlike several WIPs that totally escalated) Thanks for the hyping on this one @legendary-pink-dot <3

I haven't taken any official notes for this yet, but I am planning a Dieter Bravo x Javier Gutierrez fic which I suspect may end up becoming more than just a one shot (hopefully it'll stay contained as a very short series, we'll see what happens). In that case, I'm pretty sure that there will also be a Dieter x Javi G x male original character or male!reader chapter (👀 @sin-djarin I know I haven't said anything about this yet because it was just a passing thought, but the vague idea for it *exists*)

But honestly?

Yeah, Santi x Frankie x reader is hands down my absolute favorite sandwich. For SO many reasons. It's how they actually pushed Tim x Javi aside, because they wanted to be the first fic I posted. What can I say - I have a really big soft spot for all three of them. Plus, y'know - Santi and Frankie, that's pretty much canon IMO, just look at Triple Frontier. <3

Thank you for asking and letting me yap about my sandwich love! Honestly, it's not like I only like threesome fics, or even that I intend to only write those (for example, there definitely is an Ezra x Marcus Pike WIP outline! And there's not going to be a sandwich pairing in there) - but, you know. There are so many fucking fantastic writers out there who write all kinds of pairings so beautifully, and I totally love that. I want to add something of myself and the things I care about to that.

Personally I'm a sucker for representation because I think it's super important for everybody to be able to see themselves reflected in fic, and even to just see the diversity of gender, sexuality, intimacy and all kinds of relationships. So bi, gay, lesbian and queer characters, as well as polyamorous relationships, really have been part of my fic ideas from the beginning - particularly because there are a lot fewer of those than straight male x female couple fics in the Pedro verse. I’m glad that you and others are here for that sandwich love ❤️🥪

#bi representation #Javier Peña #marcus pike #tim rockford #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales #santiago garcia #benny miller #judy moncada #narcos #triple frontier #where is my sandwich #nothing that i didn't know

13 notes · View notes

libraryofthechronicallyghosted · 6 months

Text

navigation

general

tbr

read

favorites

masterlists

rating

⁠general

teen

*mature

explicit

genre

smut

no smut

angst

fluff

dark fic

characters

Din Djarin

Javier Peña

Frankie Morales

Ezra

Jack Daniels

Oberyn Martell

Marcus Moreno

Maxwell Lord

Pero Tovar

Max Phillips

Marcus Pike

Dave York

Comandante Veracruz

Javi Gutierrez

Dieter Bravo

Joel Miller

pairing

f!reader (female reader)

m!reader (male reader)

gn!reader (gender neutral reader)

f!oc (female original character)

m!oc (male original character)

gn!oc (gender neutral original character)

warnings

noncon

dubcon

cnc

drugs

stepcest/incest

ddlg

sex work

length

oneshot

multichapter

complete

holiday

Christmas

Thanksgiving

Halloween

New Years

Valentine's Day

summer

fall

winter

spring

#navigation #masterlist

2 notes · View notes

prolix-yuy · 2 years

Text

LJ's 500 Follower Requests!

This celebration is complete, enjoy all the stories!

The Debt: Pero Tovar x F!Reader

@fuckyeahdindjarin: Pero Tovar (continued from this drabble), Companionship as Salvation

Home: Dieter Bravo x OC F!Reader

@hnt-escape: Dieter Bravo (from Below the Line), Wild Card

Negotiations: Max Phillips x F!Reader

@browneyes-issac: Max Phillips, Immortality

Phantom: Ezra x Original Female Character

@the-blind-assassin-12: Ezra, Emptiness of Attaining a False Dream

Flight Plan: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (from Sex Worker!Frankie AU)

@lowlights: Wild Card, Fear of Failure

The First Ever Touch: Din Djarin x F!Reader (from the I Think of You Series)

@pedrito-friskito, Din Djarin, Companionship as Salvation

In Print: Ezra & F!Reader

@littleferal, Ezra, Immortality

Coming Due: Pero Tovar x F!Reader

@blackirisesinthesunlight, Pero, Everlasting Love

The Road Behind: Eventual Javier Peña x F!Reader

@beecastle, Javier Peña, Heroism (Real and Perceived)

The Road Ahead: Javier Peña x F!Reader

@iamskyereads, Javier Peña, Reunion and The Power of Words

My Bluebell Song: Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x F!Reader

@marvelouslyme96, Jack Daniels, Reunion

Legacy: Din Djarin x Original F!Character

@chaoticgeminate, Din Djarin, Identity Crisis

Two Truths and a Lie: Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x F!Reader x Marcus Pike

@aynsleywalker, Jack and/or Marcus, Chaos and Order

Burn in My Bloodstream: Din Djarin x Xi'an

@amban-rifle, Heartbreak of Betrayal

#lj's 500 follower celebration #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x f!reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x f!reader #bloodsucking bastards fanfiction #max phillips x f!reader #prospect fanfiction #ezra prospect x f!reader #din djarin fanfiction

27 notes · View notes

wyn-n-tonic · 2 years

Text

Constellation

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Letty Darke (cis het OFC) Word Count: 6.5k+ Warnings: Mentions of drug use. PiV. Oral (F!receiving). Fingering. Author's Note: This bitch choppy. No beta. Don't @ me.

There seemed to be a disconnect between my body and my soul. I’m not sure when it started but, then, I’m not quite sure of a lot of things. My life wasn’t lived just on the sidelines, really. It was lived separate from even that. Out of body, almost. Everything happened to somebody else but even I felt like somebody else.

My interests were as quiet as was I. Unassuming and observant. Impeccable driving record. No negatives in my work or academic histories with a resume and references full of passive terms.

Letty is a good listener, compliant and helpful.

Always ready to lend a hand, a shoulder, or an ear.

Trustworthy and reliable.

Really, these were all ways to say, “she doesn’t talk back.” Or challenge authority. Or even want authority for myself. Not wanting responsibility but being the responsible one is how it was thrust upon me in the first place. Somebody had to do the work so that the bosses on their power trips could sit back and take the credit. Which was fine. Because it wasn’t really happening to me, I was only watching it happen, and I was grateful to be involved at all.

Which is how I came to be here. With him. Personal concierge to Dieter Bravo, the man taking up the presidential suite with a wardrobe of hoodies, a cache of cocaine and his Oscar on full display.

“She can get me coke, right?” He points to me, sunglasses slid down the hook of his nose just far enough to watch his eyes dart from my boss to me and back again.

“Like I said, Mr. Bravo,” your boss reiterates to him. “Letty can get you anything you want.”

He spreads his hands out, thick fingers fanning through the air as if against a flat surface. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

It’s hard to believe the man in front of me is so… revered. I’ve seen his movies, not that I quite understood them or why he received such praise for them, but when I heard the actor was going to be staying with us, I did look them up. Just in case, of course, he’d like to speak about himself and his work the way Justin Bieber or James Corden did. I didn’t want to be caught off guard this time. But this was just a man in sunglasses and cozy clothes looking like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

Judging by his stockpile of—and his pending request for—stimulating drugs, he probably hasn’t.

He smiles, hooking his index finger around the bridge of his glasses to move them further down to look directly at me. “I look forward to working with you, Letty.”

Maybe it was the nerves running like a river between my ears, the thought of the fact that this man and all his money and power could end my career with the snap of his fingers, but, for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was actually the one talking back.

“Likewise, Mr. Bravo.”

Mr. Bravo was incredibly respectful. Somewhere between the wardrobe and the questions regarding what exactly I could do for him, I expected him to be more demanding. Finger snappy. Time is money and all the other adages conjured by rich people who never really worked for their riches to begin with. But Mr. Bravo had in tact manners and regarded boundaries the way he’d want his own considered. At least that’s how he put it.

“My mom was my date to the Oscars,” he said one afternoon. “You look at the statue every time you come in”—he points to where it rests on the shelf now—“I didn’t think I was going to win and I took my mom just in case I did—didn’t want to take my flavor of the month and leave the one who birthed me to witness it on the television.”

“Flavor of the month?”

“You know,” he says, head bowed to the tray in his lap as he scrapes together the remnants of the small white dust he snorted just before my arrival. “Whichever girl I was fucking whichever month of whichever year.”

He raises his hands then, spreading his arms wide in gesture as if all these girls are standing in this room now. “I’m Dairy Queen or whatever that thirty-one flavors ice cream shop is—“

“Baskin Robbins.” He requested an ice cream cake for his birthday last week.

“Baskin Robbins.” He smiles, nodding his head. “I’m Baskin Robbins.”

Laughing, I nod back at him. “Anything else I can get for you, Mr. Bravo?”

“Please, call me Dieter.”

“Very well, Dieter, is there anything else I can get for you?”

“May I ask you…” He trails off, like he’s looking for the words, tongue working the inside of his cheek like he’s got something stuck back there. “May I ask you a personal question?”

“Yes?”

He pulls the sunglasses down—inside, again—and fixes me with his big, brown eyes. Catching the breath in my lungs on my last inhale, I try to school my face, to not show a reaction. Every day since he arrived, our conversations have been brief but near electric.

“You seem really electric to get out of here. You got a hot date?”

It’s like he’s the only real conversation I have all day, everything else filtered through a mental block only to receive responses from the me I feel so disconnected with.

“No, Mr. Bravo—Dieter”—I correct myself—“I’m just aware that you’ve had a long day, you’re probably tired.”

His eyebrows knit up in confusion, as if to say how foolish that notion is.

“Let me guess, you never get tired.”

Dieter’s eyes fall to the tray in his lap briefly, an emotion I can’t quite place flashing across his face, before looking back up. “No, I just like talking to you. Sometimes I feel like you’re the only real person I speak to all day.”

Heat rushes to my face, spreading under the skin of my cheeks as I try not to smile too hard. At the end of the day, he is still a client and a guest and these interactions are work. But it is the best part of my day still.

“You have my room number and my phone number if anything comes up,” I tell him. “Goodnight, Dieter.”

There’s silence in the room until the door is near closed, when his voice raises to be heard through the thick walls. “Goodnight, Letty!”

Smiling, I realize I’ve come to look forward to it every day.

“Oh my god, calm down!” I yell out, voice thick with sleep, as I tie my robe around my waist. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

“Please,” comes the response of a muffled, pained whine in a deep voice. “Letty.”

Dieter?

He almost falls through when I open the door, forearm thrown against the frame to support the weight of his body.

“It’s three in the morning,” I tell him when he straightens himself up.

He runs a thick hand down his face, the skin of his cheeks pulling his eyelids down to expose the red around the saucer-like size of his pupils. His hair sticks at all angles and he’s wearing the same clothes he was when I saw him just a few hours ago, patterned linen pants and a grey t-shirt with a warped neckline from all the times he’s pushed his arm through to scratch at his chest.

“I know,” he says, raising his other hand palm forward as if begging to hear him out. It’s crazy what a few weeks can teach you about a person’s non-verbal communication cues. I feel like we’re constantly in on a joke only the other gets. “I have a question for you, Letty.”

“I’m sure it can wait until tomorrow, when I’m awake.”

His hand drops to his waist, hand smoothing out over the pouch of his belly. I’ve noticed lately that it’s something he does when he feels vulnerable and exposed. I don’t think he realizes that it draws more attention than it deflects. The belly isn’t bad but he obviously thinks so.

“It really can’t wait, Letty.”

“What is it, Dieter?” I cross my own arms, suddenly aware of my braless chest beneath my own thin cotton shirt. “I just saw you a few hours ago.”

Dieter’s arms tighten around himself as he turns his head to look down the hall one way before turning to check the other.

“Dieter, I swear to god—“ There’s something about the camaraderie we’ve built over the last few weeks that lead me to feeling free to speak to him like this, to voice my frustrations. “I have to be up in three hours to be there for you and your call time so what is it?”

Taking a deep breath, he fixes his stare on me, tongue poking into the inside of his cheek again in the way I’ve come to realize is a nervous habit. “Do you wanna have sex with me?”

“What?”

He throws his hands back up to cover his face, loosing a deep groan from within him. “I’m sorry. Fuck. I-I think my coke was laced with viagra and I can’t sleep with how hard my dick is, Letty.”

Glancing down, I notice the tent in his pants for the first time, craftily hidden by the pattern of the fabric that swirls around the length of him. “Dieter…” It wouldn’t be the worst thing, but this isn’t the way I would want it.

“Mr. Yates said you could get me anything I want.”

Oh.

This is definitely not the way I would want it.

“Mr. Bravo,” I start, schooling my face to hold back the hot tears that threaten to fall. “When my boss informed you that I could get you anything you wanted, he wasn’t also offering me up on a silver platter.”

“Letty,” his voice comes out desperate, breathy. “Letty, that’s not what I mean—“

“Goodnight, Mr. Bravo,” I tell him, closing the door on his blood shot eyes and raging boner.

I should’ve listened to the voice in the back of my head, the one telling me he was leading me into a false sense of security. Men like that, in all his cycling variations, don’t happen to women like me, whoever I may really be.

Dieter avoided me for the rest of the week, making his requests to the production assistants on set before coming back to the hotel at the end of each day. Embarrassment streaked his face every time his eyes fell on me. Including now, as I stand on the other side of the threshold.

“Mr. Bravo—“

“I’m really sorry, Letty.”

“—you’re going to get me in trouble, they think I’ve been ignoring your requests.”

He leans forward, pulling his sunglasses down to reveal clearer—heavy on the -er—eyes than the other night. “Then tell them I propositioned you like some kind of common whore.”

I feel naked beneath his gaze despite being fully clothed, still in my hotel uniform at midnight. Not only does walking the halls in my slippers and pajamas feel unprofessional, I also felt it might steel my nerves for confrontation. “Sex work is a perfectly respectable profession,” I begin. ”And having this conversation is not my idea of a fun time but losing my job—and my home—sounds even less fun.”

A dimple pockets his cheek as he hits me with that crooked smile. “I told you. My name is Dieter.”

“Mr. Bravo…” I inhale. “Please.”

“I told you I was sorry.”

“Great.” I nod, relaxing my fisted hands at my sides. “Now can you let me do my job so that I may keep it?”

He nods. “Yes, Letty, I can do that.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bravo. Is there anything I can get for you before I turn in for the night?”

The shake of his head grants me all the permission I need, a silent dismissal beneath his relaxed body language.

Turning on my heel, I head towards the elevator. To the freedom of my own room. Freedom from this god awful bra and from the feeling he gives me.

“Letty,” he calls out just as I press the button. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t just ask you because of the drugs.”

“It was a factor, Mr. Bravo,” I respond, my back still turned to him.

When the elevator dings and I finally step through the open doors, I see that he’s still standing in the ornate frame of his door, shoulder leaned into the jamb for support.

“It was the courage,” he says, as the doors slide closed again.

The feeling as though I belong in a room—or bed—with him at all.

“Mr. Yates,” my voice comes out in a plea. “Sir, I have no interest in being your assistant manager.”

“It comes with a pay increase, Letty.”

“And a responsibility increase,” I argue. “I appreciate the offer and that you trust me, but I don’t trust myself. I’m perfect happy where I am.”

He nods, his fingers forming a steeple where they meet. “Do you really want to be a celebrity babysitter for the rest of your life?”

“I—“ I can feel tension corseting my ribs. I’ve never really considered the rest of my life, I’m only taking it one day at a time.

“Scarlett,” he leans forward. “You can move into your own place, have a proper work life balance.”

“Sir, I—“

“Is this about Mr. Bravo?” He asks. “Because I understand you want to see out your responsibilities before taking on new ones.”

I hadn’t even thought about Dieter, but, yes. There’s three more weeks of shooting, which is three more weeks that he’ll be here.

“I—“

Mr. Yates holds his hand up to stop me. “Take some time to think about it, you can tell me after Mr. Bravo leaves.”

I nod and stand. “Thank you, sir.”

Hopefully when I give my answer, I’ll be allowed to finish a fucking sentence.

Hopefully I can finish my own fucking thoughts.

When Dieter opens the door, he’s dressed much the same as usual. Soft pants in a wild pattern, something I would get at Target that likely ran him hundreds of dollars, a soft t-shirt, a cardigan and sunglasses perched perfectly on the bump in the bridge of his nose.

“Good morning, Ms. Darke.”

Dieter’s new tactic to have me use his name is to formalize mine, learning my last name from the overnight attendant at the front desk.

“It’s noon, Mr. Bravo.”

He smiles, opening the door wider to allow me access to his space, now completely his own in five short weeks. There’s blankets in every chair and new lamps in the corners, lending soft light to the usual harsh fluorescents. “It may be noon to you, Ms. Darke”—his voice follows me into the room, the door clicking shut—“but I’ve just woken up so… good morning.”

“Well, in that case, can I order your breakfast for you?”

Shaking his head, he lights a cigarette—already assuring me he’d pay for the cleaning—and gestures to one of the chairs. “Take a seat, you look like shit.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bravo, that’s very kind.”

“Fuck.” He scratches a thumb along his eyebrow, cigarette held firmly between his index and middle fingers. “Letty, I’m sorry.”

“I’m Letty again?”

“You know that’s not what I meant, I just feel like a dick all the time around you.”

The knots that tied up in my belly while speaking with the boss are relaxing in Dieter’s presence, the scent of cloves and tobacco mixing with the weed and the cologne that clings to him and all of his clothes to put me at ease.

“What’s wrong, Ms. Darke?”

“Nothing, particularly,” I tell him, sitting down where he usually does. “It’s been a long day.”

“It’s noon, Ms. Darke.”

Leaning back, I close my eyes. “I thought you had a six o’clock wake up call.”

“Ms. Darke…”

When I open my eyes again, he stands in front of me. Close and all encompassing but not in an overbearing or overwhelming way. His eyes are the clearest they’ve been since the first day, though his habits haven’t particularly slowed. He’s simply being careful since that night he knocked on my door.

“Can I get you anything, Mr. Bravo?”

Dieter kneels, one hand falling to my knee as he finds his own balance, and he looks up at me half begging. “I’d like you to take a nap.”

I huff a laugh.

“I’m serious.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Your boss told me you could get me anything I want.”

His grip tightens on my knee when I move to stand and I swear I can feel the warmth of him in my bones. “He told me I could have anything I want.”

“Well, I’m the assistant manager now and I’m telling you that you absolutely cannot have anything you want.”

His forehead wrinkles as his eyes lift in surprise and I can see the calculations taking place behind them. Tugging on his earlobe, the one adorned with a simple gold hoop, he stands. “You got a promotion?”

“Don’t look so shocked.”

“I’m not shocked,” he insists. “I’m worried.”

Laughing again, I do stand. “I only have you for three more weeks, I don’t need you to be worried for them.”

He takes a puff of his cigarette and leans forward to tamp it out into the ashtray on the table. “I see how you change around other people, Ms. Darke. Or, rather, I see how you change around me when other people aren’t around.”

All the knots are coiling back up now, deciding comfort under observation is no comfort at all. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know if you hate your job,” he begins. “But I know you’re not happy.”

“I’m fine.”

“But are you happy? Are you sad? Are you angry? Are you afraid?”

I step toward the door. “Goodbye, Mr. Bravo, I will send a selection of food up within the hour.”

“Ms. Darke—“

“My name is Scarlett!” I yell, turning back towards him with my hand gripping the doorknob. “My name is Scarlett and I came up here to tell you to expect a new personal concierge to see out your final three weeks of your stay. Goodbye, Mr. Bravo.”

Opening the door, I cross the threshold, finally releasing my held breath.

Hours have passed and I can still feel the weight and the warmth of his hand on my knee. I thought a shower would help to relieve the aches I feel—in my chest, my bones, my stomach—but all it served to do was amplify these feelings.

I can’t remember the last time I yelled at anybody. Maybe that time in the seventh grade when I’d finally pried my lips from my braces after I took a soccer ball to the face and, really, that was to call my sister back from going after the idiot who kicked it in the first place.

Embarrassment floods my brain and the lowest part of my belly, causing me to sink further into the bathtub until I hear three soft knocks on the door rapped out in Dieter’s rhythm.

I hold my breath but the knocks come louder.

“I know you’re in there,” he says. “I’ll wait all night if I have to.”

Taking a deep breath, I stand, letting the water roll off of my body, and grab the towel laying on the edge of the sink. The last thing I need is Dieter Bravo riding his high outside of my front door all night for anybody to see.

“What?”

He turns towards me, having been distracted by the elevators, and his eyes go wide. “My towels don’t look like that.”

“This may be the hotel’s room, but the decorations are mine. Can I help you, Mr. Bravo?”

He swallows thickly, appraising you up and down, and a light goes off in his head as he begins to pull his lime green robe off. “Take this, you look cold.”

“I have a very warm bath to climb back into. Can I help you, Mr. Bravo?”

“Scarlett…” He hugs the robe close to his chest now. “I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“Overstepping. I just…” He throws the robe over his shoulder now, searching for the words. “I would hate to see you throw your life away on maintaining a place like this for douchebags like me.”

“Somebody has to do it, Mr. Bravo,” I tell him, ignoring the way the air conditioning makes me shiver. “And you won’t be around to see me throw my life away, you’ll only be here three more weeks.”

“Aren’t you gonna tell me I’m not a douchebag?”

Shaking my head, I laugh. “You travel with your Academy Award.”

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he nods. “Fair. Goodnight, Letty.”

I watch as he heads back towards the elevator, to ride back up to the top floor with his head bowed.

“Why do you care so much?”

He turns and shrugs. “I like you. Like actually like you and I’d just like to see you happy and maybe even relaxed. Go back to your bath, I’ll see you around.”

This is not something that happens to me. This is not the kind of conversations I have. Not with men like him. My blocks stand tall for people pleasing purposes until I can be alone. But he gives me nerves and words that feel as though they’re both mine and meant for me. There’s no pretending to be anybody and it’s been hard to maintain.

“Dieter…”

“Yes, Scarlett?”

“Have you had dinner yet?”

He looks down at the phone in his hands—for the time, I assume—and laughs. “I haven’t had breakfast yet.”

“We should fix that.”

“Are you asking me to have dinner with you?”

Fuck it.

“Yes, Dieter.”

“I’m sorry I asked you to have sex with me after I snorted viagra.”

His tone was somber, full of regret like he’d been beating himself senseless about it since it happened. I know that he has been because he’s said it every night this week as he insists I help eat the dinner he calls to the room after he finishes shooting for the day.

“Please, you have to stop telling me you’re sorry.”

Whatever he’s going to say in return is lost as he opens his mouth, closing it again to bite down and chew on the thought. He’s stopped wearing the sunglasses inside and I think I miss them even if they are fucking stupid. I liked the way he’d pull them down and look at me over the rims.

I just like the way he looks at me.

“Saying please to me isn’t going to get me to do what you want,” he says finally.

“Sorry?”

A blush runs up his neck, turning his skin crimson red.

He takes a deep breath. “If you want me to do something, you have to tell me in very plain words.”

“I don’t—“ I shake my head as he does, his hand held up to me to stop.

“You can’t ask me nicely to do things, you have to command me to do things. Otherwise I will keep doing it.”

“You want me”—I swallow, his gaze far more intense than it has been before—“to be mean to you?”

He winces. “Not mean, I just want you to be more commanding with me.” He’s so close I can feel him, every part of me that he’s touched in any innocent way lit up like a Christmas tree on my body. “I know you have it in you.”

“Dieter…”

“Let’s try this again,” he says. “I’m sorry I asked you to have sex with me after I snorted viagra.”

“Ple—“ He squints his eyes and I catch myself. “Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop apologizing for asking me to have sex with you.”

His nose scrunches when he speaks again, standing close and looking down at me with guilt marking his face. “And why should I?”

“Because I don’t want you to be sorry.”

Dieter takes a step back, rubbing a hand across his beard. The sleeves of his grey cardigan are pushed to his elbows but he still adjusts their position on his arms, the muscles beneath his smooth skin flexing with the movement.

“You want me to fuck you?”

I do but… “I don’t just wanna be your flavor of the month, Baskin Robbins.”

“I would never refer to you like that.”

“Is that what you tell all the girls?”

The pout of his bottom lip sticks out. “Just the ones I want to keep around.”

Dieter sits on the plush wingback chair in middle of his bedroom, hands smoothing flat along his thick thighs to wipe the sweat away, and he watches me with his lust heavy dark eyes. I’ve taken to changing into my own softer, cozier clothes by the time he comes back from a shoot. Staying in uniform is exhausting and he saw me in a towel.

And he’s about to see a lot more.

“I’m really nervous,” he tells you. “I haven’t been with somebody I really liked in a while.”

His hand skates the length of my outer thigh when I stand in front of him, warm and calloused against the soft skin until he comes to the hem of my shorts.

“Would you hate it if I told you I still fucked myself that night?” His other hand trails the inside of my thigh, heat and electricity dancing along his touch. “That I wondered how cute your pussy would look around my fat cock?”

“Dieter…”

He encourages me forward, wrapping one hand around the arm that braces my weight against his broad shoulders, and watches as I straddle his lap. “Your shorts are cute,” he says. “Are they Gucci?”

“House of Old Navy, actually.”

He pinches the material between his index finger and his thumb, rubbing before looking up at me again, the tip of his nose rubbing against mine. “Would you like me to buy you Gucci pajamas?”

“No.” Because I don’t want your money. “I sleep naked.” And that’s not what this is about.

“What do you want?” He asks.

I can feel his heartbeat in my hands where they rest on his chest, the heavy breaths he takes both in the rise and fall of his belly pressed into me and the air we share so close together.

The realness of him beneath my hands and my body, the way wetness pools between my legs just looking at him, crowds up inside of me, in that small hollow part I’ve always felt lived just beneath my heart. Like that space was left for the swelling organ currently racing a marathon in my chest.

I’m not watching this happen to me, this is happening to me. I’m in it.

“Are you going to kiss me or are we just going to stare at each other all night? Because, if so, I’d like that too.”

“Just shut up and make the first move, Bravo.”

He didn’t lie, not about being told what to do or his fat cock if the swelling against my center is anything to go by. It unleashes him, as if giving control over is the only way he can function.

Lifting himself, Dieter places his lips on mine, a timid press to test the waters as if he’s afraid I’ll suddenly just back and scream like I’m on fire. But when I raise my hand to cradle his jaw, that’s the only encourage he needs to more, opening my mouth and dipping his tongue in languidly against mine and I wonder if he can also feel the slick that just his closeness is pulling from my body. I’m half tempted to tell him that foreplay isn’t required but only half. Because when I pull away from him, his head in both my hands, and tell him how pretty I think he is, the skin of his cheeks runs so red beneath the praise I’m afraid he might pop.

“How do you still have enough blood left in your body to blush like this while your dick is this hard?”

Dieter’s hands splay across my ass, pulling my hips down against his as a moan escapes my mouth. “Got a while to go before it becomes unbearable,” he says. “But judging by the wet spot you’re sitting in, I could say the same for you. Do you know what color your cute little clit is when it’s swollen? Has anybody ever told you?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Do you want me to?”

The question hardly registers as the first two still ring through my mind but I nod as I catch up. “Please.”

“Tell me what I’m going to do, Letty.”

The combination of the timbre in his voice and the plush of his stomach moving against my own almost shorts me out, causing me to clench around nothing while grabbing tightly to his hair.

“Oh, fuck, baby,” he bites out, wrapping one large hand around my wrist. “Keep doing that, pull harde—“

Kissing him is the only way to push thoughts back into my brain, my lips catching his with a force that’s sure to leave a bruise later. Loosing my right hand from where it’s fisted in his hair, I scratch my nails down the length of his beard while something between a whine and a whimper catches in his chest.

The buttons of his shirt come apart easily as I make my way down, pushing each side open to expose his broad chest and the soft skin of his tummy.

“No,” I tell him, breaking away. “Don’t suck it in, I like it.”

“You like it?”

“Yeah.” I catch his lips again on a nod. “I like it so much.”

“Fuck.”

Fuck is right. He relaxes fully. Finally. Back pressed into the cushion of the chair, one hand around my hips to hold me in place and the other squeezing at my breast.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” He practically begs. “It’s getting unbearable, you have to tell me what you need.”

Climbing off of him, I step back on shaky legs and if what he did before was whining, it’s nothing compared to the sound that action pulls from his throat. “Getting off of me”—he tilts his head, looking absolutely betrayed—“is not telling me what you want.”

“I want you to get up”—to which he practically jumps—“and take your shirt off”—something already half done for him—“and then meet me in bed.”

“You are still very clothed,” he whispers, hands snaking around my waist as he comes up behind me.

Turning in his arms, I sit on the bed, coming face to face with the waistband of his pants before looking back up at him. “So are you.”

Dieter takes a steadying breath, his hands covering his face.

“You can’t be embarrassed,” I tell him, hooking my fingers into his waistband. “You were the one banging on my door and asking me for sex at three in the morning.”

“You’re right,” he responds, words muffled behind his hands. “But that’s not what I’m embarrassed about”—he drops one hand to rest on yours, the other still planted on his cheek—“I’ve gained some weight.”

Leaning forward, I kiss the softness of his lower abdomen before taking the skin between my teeth and pulling back slowly. “I wouldn’t know if you’ve gained weight or not”—I lean back on my elbows—“and I wouldn’t care. Do you have a condom?”

“May I taste your pussy first?”

Raising my leg, I press my foot into his upper thigh. “You’re the one looking like you might just bust any second but…” I shrug as best I can. “Those puppy dog eyes have been fucking with me for weeks.”

I scoot back further on the bed, making room for Dieter to join me, and watch as slowly pulls my shorts away from my body. He keeps his eyes locked to mine, lips dragging along my outer thigh as he builds the tension and the pressure of waiting within me until he smooths a palm on each knee and pulls my legs apart.

“You…” He takes a deep breath. “You are just cute as I thought you’d be.”

He bends to me almost in prayer, broad shoulders slanting beneath my legs to hold me up, and fits his face into the wet heat of my cunt. Dieter groans, mouth opening against my clit to send vibrations through my body.

“Dieter.” His name comes out in one breath, sounding more like Dear than anything stamped on his passport. But oh god, the things his tongue are doing to me are dear to me. I can feel the smile before I see it, eyes crinkling when he looks up from between my legs, as he slides two fingers into me with ease.

“Come on,” he begs, pumping with no abandon. “Give me one and I’ll split you on my dick”—he adds another finger to his ministrations—“I can feel it, baby. I can feel this cute little hole clenching up—oh, there you go.”

I can feel wetness on my thighs, a blinding pressure suddenly relieved as I struggle, again, to say his name. He pulls fingers from me, leaving me clenching around nothing as he stands again.

“You can lay back,” he says, slipping his index finger into his mouth. “Be comfortable, I don’t want your head to be sore tomorrow too.”

On those words, I turn around and grab a pillow, determined not to watch him roll the condom on himself. I never took big talkers at their word but I’ll take him at his, having felt what I did while straddling him. If the thickness of his fingers is anything to go by…

The mattress dips beneath his weight again and he bends over me, one hand planted beside my head while the fingers that were inside of me curl around my hip. “You can tell me to get out of you at any time, do you understand?”

Licking my lips, I nod my head before remembering he wants words.

“Yes.”

He braces himself onto his forearm, hand brushing my hair as his thumb strokes the contrentration lines between my brows. I can feel his heavy length pressed into my inner thigh and I will myself to relax beneath his gaze, chocolate brown and sparkling.

“Are you ready?” He asks, removing his hand from my hip to fist himself between my legs.

“Yes.”

Lining up with my entrance, he pushes in slowly, his eyes dancing between mine as he watches me take him inch by thick fucking inch. A smile plays on his lips and his own jaw slackens when he seats himself fully into me, the scent of myself now mixed with the tobacco and the whiskey of his regular diet.

“Good girl,” he praises. “You’re such a good fucking girl, took me so well.”

Even stretched out on his cock, the simple praise runs heat up my face.

“You look nervous,” he says. He’s still holding still inside of me, waiting for me to fully relax around him. Three fingers wasn’t enough, not really. Not like this. “Wanna hear something funny?”

“Hmm?”

“I like to be called daddy. How do you feel about that?”

My belly cinches in laughter, mouth opened against his as I clench around him and… relax. Finally. I cradle his face between my palms. “You like being told what to do but you like being called daddy? That’s a little fucked up, sweetheart.”

He moves with a crooked smile, easily dragging himself from between my legs only to push back in. “I never said I make sense.”

His pace picks up and I’m sure there’s bruises on my body already, pools of broken blood vessel dotting my hips especially. He’s not a talker—too busy concentrating—but he is a moaner. Every time I raise my hips just right against his or clench around him, another breathy little sound is fed from his mouth and right into mine only to be given back seconds later until our trades are in tandem.

“Oh fuck,” he pushes into me, forehead rested against my own. “You’re so-I’m so—fuck.”

I feel him swell inside me one last time, pushing deep into me until his spent and sweaty body is flush against my own. “You’re so”—he drags his lips along mine again—“fucking quiet when you cum.”

“I’m just quiet as it is.”

“So you’re telling me I can fuck you anywhere?” He whispers into my ear.

“No,” I tell him. “You’re loud enough for both of us.”

Resting into the crook of my neck, he breathes deep. “I’ve been wanting to do that since the first day.”

Dieter’s aftercare was lazy, like his wardrobe, but not in a bad way. He was focused on comfort and warmth, offering his bath and then blankets and finally his soft green robe. “It’s designer.”

I shook my head, refusing the soft fabric yet again as I snuggled further beneath the covers in a post-coital, post-showered haze.

“Are you sure?”

When I nod, he relaxes back, finally, against the pillows. I never would’ve pinned him for such a courteous host.

“Hey, Dieter,” I ask, half asleep.

“Hmm?”

“Why do you travel with your Oscar?”

He’s quiet for a moment, nothing but the sound of deep breaths filling the space between us.

“It reminds me that there’s more to me than who I have been,” he starts, looking over to gauge my reaction. “I don’t really have any one place to call home right now, nowhere that’s really mine. But that”—he points to the statue—“is mine, I earned it.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

He takes a deep breath. “My mother used to explain it to me that there are many different versions of ourselves that we live throughout life, but they all play a part in the big picture of who we are, you know? She said we were constellations, and each part of our lives is another star that contributes to our final form.”

I watch him through heavy lids, his eyes on mine. When I don’t speak again, he continues.

“Right now, the star is off to the side. It’s disconnected from my big picture, which will, in turn, contribute to the big picture. But carrying it around with me reminds me of that.” I watch his chest rise and fall in rapid succession before breathing deep into his lungs. “And, one day, I’ll be back on track, I’ll have an actual place in that big picture. Does that make sense?”

Nodding, I snuggle into his side. “Yeah, I think so. I’ve been disconnected lately too.”

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo/ofc #dieter bravo/original female character #the bubble #the bubble fanfiction

124 notes · View notes

sirowsky-stories · 11 months

Text

Sirowsky's Masterlist

The Lonely Castle - Complete (100 000+ words) Follows canon but takes place after the movie. Pero & original female character Ember/Snow, no reader insert. Slow burn romance, idiots in love, fantasy. Explicit content, 18+ONLY.

Driving Mr. Tovar - Complete (370 000+ words) Modern AU. Pero & female reader. Slow burn romance, hint of soulmates, magic. (Horses are significant characters in this story.) Explicit content, 18+ONLY.

The Stranger in the Bar - Complete (169 000+ words) Modern AU. Pero & Female Reader. Thriller/Romance. Explicit content, 18+ONLY.

Collision - Complete (55 000+ words) Modern AU. Pero & Original Female Character Nikita. Friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, secret identity. Thriller/Romance. Explicit content, 18+ONLY.

The Lost Island - Complete (112 000+ words) Follows canon but takes place after the movie. Marcus & female reader. Enemies to lovers, fantasy, supernatural powers. Explicit content, 18+ONLY.

The Flowers Always Know - Complete, but currently undergoing an update. (148 000+ words) Follows canon but takes place after the movie. Marcus & female reader. Slow burn romance, fantasy, supernatural powers. Explicit content, 18+ONLY.

The Legend of Mar'Sol - Complete (15 000+ words) Follows canon, takes place after the events of chapter 16. Mando & original female character Mesh'la, no reader insert. Slow burn romance, slavetrade, forced submissive behaviour, the force. Explicit content, 18+ONLY.

The Last Demon - Complete (70 000 words) AU that takes place around the time between Chapter 16 of The Mandalorian, and Din's appearance in TBOBF. Din & female reader/monster. Violent content, 18+ONLY.

The Old Prince - Complete (81 000+ words) AU, Halloween themed fantasy/horror/romance story. Monster Oberyn Martell & Female reader, reminiscent of Beauty and the Beast. Horror themes/explicit content, 18+ONLY.

Din Djarin

The Stories We Tell Ourselves (1872 words) Grogu's Gift (1900 words) A Little Menace (2080 words) --Part 2 (2518 words) --Part 3 (2240 words) --Part 4 (2120 words) --Part 5 (2130 words) Surviving Christmas (6500 words) Trouble (150 words)

Marcus Pike

The Bad Day (1525 words) The Birthday Hike (658 words) Monday (500 words) Wrong Way Home (18,280 words) The Secret Lake (3630 words)

Pero Tovar

Christmas Special (8060 words) --Part 2 (8090 words) A Safe Place (3250 words) Loneliness (3921 words) Fearful Heart (1900 words) Clumsy Heart (3352 words) --Part 2 (2910 words) Date or Inseminate (1240 words)

Various Others

An Unexpected Valentine - Marcus Moreno 2838 words

Kittycat - Dieter Bravo 1140 words Attention - Javier Gutierrez 1500 words Forgiven - Din Djarin 666 words Surprise - Pero Tovar 575 words Bad Guy - Javier Pena 570 words Don't Die - Din Djarin 1500 words

-Main Page-

Neighbors - Joel Miller 920 words Acts of Kindness - Din Djarin 1450 words Anger Management - Pero Tovar 1200 words The Well (poem) 138 words Lost and Found - Joel Miller 1630 words Moving On - Pero Tovar (DMTU) 960 words Reunion - Marcus Pike 732 words Daring to Dream - Marcus Moreno 2850 words An Imagined Adventure (poem) 82 words

Masterlist

Like Father, Like Son - Dieter Bravo 650 words All Hallows Quarrel - Marcus Moreno 825 words The Haunted Toaster - Javier Gutierrez 660 words Grumpy Pumpkin - Pero Tovar 750 words Temple of Love - Pero Tovar 1570 words Recovery - Marcus Moreno 680 words

Birthday Cake Writing Challenge of 2022

River Poem 444 words Hold On - Pero Tovar (DMTU) 850 words Treat Me Right - Javier Gutierrez 3225 Words Warmth 320 words Grogu's Gift - Din Djarin 1900 words Whiskey Nights - Jack Daniels 825 words Their Poem 240 words Danger Close - Javier Peña 1374 words Fearful Heart - Pero Tovar 1900 words Max's Monster - Max Lord 3280 words The Day - Francisco Morales 8500 words --------------------------------------------

Birthday Cake Writing Challenge of 2023

Meeting Expectations - Jack Daniels 580 words Judgement - Marcus Moreno 2210 words -Part 2 3100 words Turning Corners - Javier Gutierrez 2775 words Dreamt You Were Here - Din Djarin 1485 words I Came By - Dave York 1160 words The Beauty of Mechanics - Francisco Morales 1500 words --------------------------------------------

#pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pero tovar fanfiction #marcus moreno fanfiction #marcus pike fanfiction #jack daniels fanfiction #javier gutierrez fanfiction #javier pena fanfiction #fransisco morales fanfiction #dave york fanfiction #maxwell lord fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #oberyn martell fanfiction

45 notes · View notes

sirowsky · 3 years

Text

Sirowsky's Masterlist

The Stranger in the Bar - Complete (169 000+ words) Modern AU. Pero & Female Reader. Thriller/Romance. Explicit content, 18+ONLY.

Collision - Complete (55 000+ words) Modern AU. Pero & Original Female Character Nikita. Friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, secret identity. Thriller/Romance. Explicit content, 18+ONLY.

The Lost Island - Complete (112 000+ words) Follows canon but takes place after the movie. Marcus & female reader. Enemies to lovers, fantasy, supernatural powers. Explicit content, 18+ONLY.

Din Djarin

Marcus Pike

The Bad Day (1525 words) The Birthday Hike (658 words) Monday (500 words) Wrong Way Home (18,280 words) The Secret Lake (3630 words)

Pero Tovar

Various Others

An Unexpected Valentine - Marcus Moreno 2838 words

-Main Page-

Masterlist

Halloween Parade - Pero Tovar (DMTU) 825 words Like Father, Like Son - Dieter Bravo 650 words All Hallows Quarrel - Marcus Moreno 825 words The Haunted Toaster - Javier Gutierrez 660 words Grumpy Pumpkin - Pero Tovar 750 words Temple of Love - Pero Tovar 1570 words Recovery - Marcus Moreno 680 words

Birthday Cake Writing Challenge of 2022

Birthday Cake Writing Challenge of 2023

#pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pero tovar fanfiction #marcus moreno fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #marcus pike fanfiction #jack daniels fanfiction #frankie morales fanfiction #max lord fanfiction #javier pena fanfiction #javier gutierrez fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #sirowsky masterlist #sirowsky stories

286 notes · View notes

ohworm-writes · 3 years

Text

❝ I should be sleeping. But I’m thinking of you. I’m always thinking of you. ❞

▬▬ Requesting rules | General rules ▬▬

This is a SFW blog! More than likely this fact will not change, so please do be respectful this.

I am willing to write for almost anyone! No matter the physical features, mental abilities, and everything in-between! However, I do request that you message me beforehand so I can educate myself properly on the topics as to not write something blatantly incorrect.

If it is not specified, I will write all scenarios with a Gender-neutral reader.

If a request does not follow my rules, I will simply delete it.

▬▬ Requesting rules | Requesting rules ▬▬

Please specify the fandom and character you wish for me to write for.

You can give me a pre-written prompt, choose from a prompt list I may reblog, or leave me to my own devices.

If you want me to write something that might be seen as an OC (ie. name, very specific attire/ accessories, etc.) please send it to me via DM or ask box while off anon! I have no problem writing it, but I don’t want to clog people’s dashes or the tags with something not many people could relate to.

I have no problem writing gore, so request as you please.

I am alright with writing polyamorous requests.

I will do Female!readers, but i’m slightly uncomfortable with that. As a non-binary person, it’s something that i’m not too fond of, but I will write it. All I ask is that you don’t only request it. That being said, I am completely alright with writing for Male!readers.

If you want me to write about something specific, it may take a while. I do my research about topics that I’m not familiar with.

I cannot promise that all requests will be written. I only answer requests that I find joy in writing for.

I may take a while to write requests, so please give me time and don’t rush me.

▬▬ Requesting rules | No-no’s ▬▬

These are topics that I will NOT write about under any circumstances. They may change in the future, however, I ask that you respect them while they are shown here.

NSFW (this goes for anything sex related)

Yandere

Pregnancy/ baby scenarios

Ships

▬▬ Requesting rules | Who I write for ▬▬

Tenkuu Shinpan

Sniper Mask, Yuri Honjo, Kuon Shinzaki, Mayuko Nise

Mcyts and other online content creators

c!Origins!Technoblade, c!irl!Origins!Wilbur Soot, c!irl!dad!Origins!Jschlatt, c!irl!Origins!Tubbo(platonic), c!irl!Origins!Tommy (platonic), c!irl!Origins!Ranboo (platonic), c!irl!Origins!Niki, c!Origins!Philza, Michael

Boku No Hero Academia

Aizawa Shouta, Histoshi Shinso, Ochaco Uruaka, Denki Kaminari, Tamaki Amajiki, Rumi Usagiyama, Toshinori Yagi, Tamaki Keigo, Tokoyami Fumikage, Eijiro Kirishima, Mina Ashido, Touya Todoroki, Atsuhiro Sako, Himiko Toga

BNA: Brand New Animal

Michiru Kagemori, Shirou Ogami, Nazuna Hiwatashi, Marie Itami, Pinga

Actors/ Actresses

Note: I will only be writing for their characters, not the real people.

Tom Hiddleston (Character(s): Loki Laufeyson, Cpt. James Conrad, Robert Laing

Pedro Pascal (Character(s): The Mandalorian, Javier Peña, Maxwell Lord, Ezra, Dieter Bravo, Marcus Moreno, Francisco "Catfish" Morales

Sophia Lillis (Charcter(s): Sydney Novak

Frank Grillo (Character(s): Leo Barnes

Andrew Garfield (Character(s): Spider-Man

Alfred Molina (Character(s): Otto Octavius

Willem Dafoe (Character(s): Norman Osborn

Oscar Isaac (Character(s): Santiago "Pope" Garcia, Poe Dameron, Duke Leto Atreides, Moon Knight, Jonathan Levy

Ethan Hawke (Character(s): Todd Anderson, The Grabber,Arthur Harrow

Hazbin Hotel

Alastor, Vox, Vaggie, Charlie

OFF

The Batter, Zacharie

Kakegurui

Yumeko Jabami, Mary Saotome, Midari Ikishima, Ibara Obami

Alice in Borderland

Shuntaro Chishiya , Ryohei Arisu , Suguru Niragi , Daikichi Karube

Pokémon

Guzma, Kabu, Raihan, Leon

Night in the Woods

Mae Borowski, Bea Santello, Gregg Lee

Beastars

Legoshi, Louis, Pina, Haru, Juno, Jack

The Outer Worlds

Phineas Welles, Parvati Holcomb, Felix Millstone, Ellie Fenhill, Maximillian DeSoto, Nyoka Ramnarim-Wentworth III, Martin Callahan

Arcane

Jinx, Viktor, Caitlyn Kiramman, Silco, Vi, Ekko, Vander

Far Cry

Faith Seed, Joseph Seed, The Judge, Grace Armstrong, Dani Rojas, Antón Castillo, Diego Castillo (platonic)

Marvel

Spider-Man, Iron Man, Wanda Maximoff, Loki Laufeyson, Doctor Strange, Deadpool, Hank Pym, Bucky Barnes, Pietro Maximoff, Matt Murdock, MJ (Michelle Jones)

Jurassic Park

Alan Grant, Ian Malcolm, Ellie Sattler

#navigation #rules

47 notes · View notes

itsbrandy · 7 months

Text

Wildest Dreams

Chapter 2: He's So Tall and Handsome as Hell

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Original Female Character

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, drug use, alcohol use, partying, smoking, spanking, mm kissing, ff kissing, old timey taboo

Word Count: 4.9k

A/N: Here's some angst for ya. Thank you for reading!

Dieter

Dieter was barely lucid by the time John arrived, but John fixed him up quickly. He’d made the stupid mistake of thinking John was there to break into his house despite the fact that his residence was carefully guarded by security.

“Are you taking downers?” John asked. He looked handsome. His blonde hair was neatly styled, and he was wearing baby blue. Dieter always loved it when he wore light colors. “You didn’t have to pregame so hard.”

“Dunno,” Dieter shrugged. “Too much time to wait.”

“‘Kay,” John said. He procured a pill bottle from his pocket and set a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass down on the coffee table. “Well, take some of this. You’ll pep right up. We’ve got girls coming. Lots of them. I did something you’re not going to believe, Dieter.”

Dieter took the small pill from John and threw it back with a shot of whiskey John poured for him. The shot screamed down his throat, burning up his nose and stimulating his senses.

“Nice,” Dieter commented. He loved the burn of whiskey as it went down. “What did you do?”

“I scouted the fucking acting schools,” John said. His brown eyes lit up with excitement.

“I’ve got 30-something acting school girls coming. Plus, our normal crowd. This party is going to be insane!”

Dieter was a bit too numb to match John’s level of enthusiasm, but he smiled and nodded to show his approval. If John was happy, he was happy. He hadn’t seen John this happy in a while. Ever since their big fight, John had kept his distance.

To be truthful with himself, Dieter wasn’t quite sure what the sudden change was.

Maybe it was that Dieter had drugs or that his house was bigger than John’s, so he could throw a proper rager.

Or maybe he’d gotten in trouble with his PR team for throwing parties at his own house and wanted to use Dieter’s house as a loophole.

Regardless of the reason, Dieter thought spending time with John was worth it.

Dieter was used to being used by people. All his life, he’d been used by people, whether it was for fame, money, sex, drugs, alcohol, or a cheap laugh.

“That’s awesome, John,” Dieter said. “How the hell did you manage that?”

“I’ve got connections,” John said. He poured Dieter another shot.

“Another one of my friends is bringing bottles. Don’t worry, this isn’t all we’ll have.”

“Good,” Dieter said, throwing the second shot back. “I was promised vodka.”

“Were you?” John asked, raising a blonde eyebrow.

Dieter wasn’t sure if he was playing dumb or if he was lying to him.

“Can we get some lights turned on in this place?” John asked, wandering over to the kitchen. “Do you usually just sit in the dark?”

Dieter shrugged. “I was on my own until you showed up. Let’s get those lights on so I can see your pretty face.”

“That’s more like it,” John said. He flicked the kitchen lights on, and Dieter almost gasped as he realized how shitty John looked.

He knew that he was spun out on drugs, but John had lost weight in the weeks since he’d last seen him. John’s cheekbones, usually prominent and handsome, jutted out unnaturally compared to his sunken in cheeks. His jaw wasn’t filled out either, making his chin look larger.

He didn’t look like himself.

He didn’t look like the John that Dieter was used to. But when John smiled at him, it was still that same smile, and Dieter realized he’d still kiss him in a heartbeat all the same. John just needed to eat more food. That was all.

Dieter could feed him. He made more than enough money to support John if he was struggling with eating. Or they could hire someone to bring him food. There had to be a solution.

Dieter’s mind was racing, and John’s mouth was moving, and Dieter couldn’t hear him.

“What did you say?” Dieter asked after a while. He was leaning against the counter, using it as support for his weight. His body felt heavy, and his head felt light.

“I said Mary Alice was pulled from the Paramount film,” John said with a grin. “I think it means you got the role.”

There was another man in the kitchen with John now, one that Dieter didn’t recognize.

He was taller than John but not taller than Dieter and had sandy brown hair. He was busy unloading bottles of alcohol out of a cardboard box and onto the other countertop.

“Who are you?” Dieter asked. He’d lost time between what John said about Mary Alice and now. There was a shot of whiskey served up right in front of him, speaking his name.

“Fred,” the man said, holding his hand out for Dieter to shake it. Instead, Dieter grabbed the shot glass and downed it, leaving Fred with his hand extended until he finally decided to retract it.

“When are people showing up?” Dieter asked.

“Now,” John said, as if Dieter was missing something.

When he turned around, he realized that there were already a couple dozen people milling around his living room. Music was playing from his record player, and girls were wearing shiny dresses that showed off their shoulders and their figures.

“Oh,” Dieter said. “I’m going to go talk to people, then.”

“Have fun,” John said. Dieter looked away, trying to find a beautiful girl in the room to talk to.

There were plenty of them, no shortage, really. John had done a really good job putting together the guest list.

What was it he said? Did he raid an acting school?

Genius, John.

John was so smart. So handsome. So strung out on drugs, God, he was so skinny now.

Dieter was worried, but Dieter couldn’t judge. He was also strung out on drugs.

The devil makes company.

His thoughts were like spaghetti in his hands, noodles slipping through his fingers as time and space contracted and flexed around him.

One moment, a girl would be sitting in his lap, her form pressed up against him. The next, she’d be gone, as if she was just a phantom, a poltergeist.

Dieter told himself he needed to slow down, but the drinks kept coming. Liquor flowed into his hand like it appeared out of thin air.

And the pills…

Once John opened up his not-so-secret box of fun on the coffee table, it was like all hell had sprung loose. Women flocked to the sitting area like vultures surrounding a carcass. They giggled and shrieked, taking turns as they quickly depleted Dieter’s stash.

John asked him if he had any more drugs.

Of course, he did.

Dieter wandered off to grab more from his closet—a second supply. An addict never hid all of his shit in the same place. How stupid would that be?

He dropped off the drugs with John and waited patiently for John to help him do another line. How many had he done tonight? What was it he’d grabbed from the closet?

Dieter blinked, then blinked again. His vision had gone fuzzy, but it cleared up quickly.

Time seemed to skip, bending and flexing. He stumbled backward into his seat, unaware that he’d been standing.

John laughed and slung his arm around his shoulder. He was warm and fit against him like the perfect puzzle piece. Oh, Dieter missed John. He wished John would come around more.

He wished it was just the two of them alone now. They didn’t need all of these people to have a good time.

“This is the best party I’ve been to in a minute,” John whispered in his ear.

“Yeah?” Dieter asked. “Why do you say that?”

“There are so many women,” John said with a laugh that sent tingles up Dieter’s spine. “I really outdid myself this time.”

“You did,” Dieter agreed. “I don’t know how you fit so many people in here.”

“Magic,” John joked.

He tried to remember the other parties that he’d been to with John in the months before they’d stopped spending as much time with one another. There was the one that quickly devolved into a sex party.

Dieter could almost taste John’s lips on his tongue. The memory was so vivid. It felt like he was reliving the moment now.

But then he was kissing John, cupping his chin on the couch in his living room. The brash feel of stubble against his fingertips felt like electricity. John tasted like whiskey, and he smelled like sin and smoke.

“What are you doing?” John asked.

“What?” Dieter said.

He was in John’s lap, kissing him, and the girls around them were watching. They always kissed at parties. This wasn’t anything new.

But things had changed between Dieter and John in the passing months, as much as Dieter didn’t want to admit it. He wasn’t John’s number one, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be.

“There’s too many people here,” John said, giving him a gentle shove. “Not now.”

Dieter stood up and swayed, finding balance difficult.

“Okay,” he said, as if his heart wasn’t shattered. “That’s okay.”

John gathered a young woman in his lap, swiftly replacing Dieter with her soft hips and poofy dress.

“Find a girl, Dieter,” John said. “You should enjoy yourself tonight. This party is your party, after all.”

Dieter nodded. “Yeah, I should do that. You’re right, John.”

He was lying to John and to himself.

He didn’t want a girl. He wanted John tonight.

Maybe beggars can’t be choosers, and Dieter didn’t often beg. It was just that he’d expected something when John called him earlier. He thought that John wanted to come over because he wanted Dieter, not a spot to host the biggest rager Hollywood had seen all year.

Dieter stumbled away, heading out to the front patio with a cigarette between his teeth. He puffed and inhaled, breathing in the bite of nicotine and immediately feeling more awake, more lucid.

He loved cigarettes at parties. They helped him have a second wind, waking him up from the haze of drugs and alcohol. He needed fresh air, though, and the front patio was less jam-packed with people than the inside of his home was.

Partygoers were still arriving, walking past Dieter and into his home as if they owned the place. The door was revolving—people came in, people came out.

A young actress burst through the door to puke in his front shrubs before racing back indoors to continue the festivities.

A pair of Hollywood hopefuls entered the home hand-in-hand,

sober and bright-eyed, so unaware that Hollywood would snap them apart if they ever got a role in anything.

Agents weren’t a fan of established couples. Neither were production companies.

They liked couples who drew headlines and excitement. So they would break up couples on purpose, shred them into tiny little pieces, and take away their happiness forever.

Dieter knew how it went, which is why he never messed around with dating.

Their romance would end in disaster.

Dieter was smarter than them.

He took one last drag of his cigarette before putting it out on the railing of his front porch. As he did so, he noticed two girls walking down the road. One with dark hair, the other with light brown hair.

They walked hand-in-hand also, just like the couple that had entered his home before them.

The dark-haired one caught his eye and grabbed his attention immediately.

Much to his surprise, his first instinct wasn’t to ask her if she wanted to have sex with him. He wanted to ask her if she was okay.

She looked nervous as the pair of them approached his driveway, the woman with light brown hair murmuring reassurances to her.

“Nancy,” the dark-haired woman said. “This looks like a lot. I’m not sure if I’m comfortable—”

“It’ll be fun. I promise,” the other one, Nancy, said insistently. She hung on the dark-haired woman’s arm, pleading with her. “I just need to find Alice, and then you’ll feel more comfortable. She knows a ton of people here.”

“It’s so loud. Don’t you think the cops will come?” the dark-haired one said as they passed him.

She didn’t look at him, which bruised Dieter’s ego. Her brown eyes were locked on her friend instead.

Dieter knew the feeling. He opened his mouth to warn her about falling in love with her same-sex best friend.

It’ll end badly, he wanted to say. You’ll be in love forever, but you’ll always be forgotten about. You’ll live forever as the moth to her flame. Is that what you want?

Fuck, he should listen to his own advice.

Dieter laughed and lit another cigarette as the two women entered his home without saying hello to him.

The door opening let out the raucous sound of the party, which made Dieter’s head throb and pulse with the start of a headache.

He needed another drink ASAP.

“And? We’re in Hollywood. The cops know about these things. They wouldn’t dare mess with the stars. I mean, come on. This is Dieter Bravo’s house, after all,” Nancy said.

“Hm,” the dark-haired one said. Her voice still sounded wary, but she trusted her friend. “I hope you’re right.”

“We’ll get some drinks. You’ll feel better before you know it,” Nancy promised.

-----

Bee

Bee didn’t feel better with drinks in her. She felt dizzy and too hot. Her skin was crawling with the feeling of stuffiness in the crowded home. The lights were low, filled with the haze of smoke from all of the smokers.

She kept returning to the kitchen counter to pick up shot glasses of liquor, hoping that continuing to drink would make her feel more at peace and less like an outsider.

A couple of men approached her, but she quickly shooed them away and scurried back to Nancy’s side.

It was with Nancy that she felt safe, even though she didn’t really like Alice or her crowd very much.

Alice was stunning. She was blonde, with big curls and bright blue eyes. She was thin, too, with an angular face that made Bee envious and a body that turned heads on a swivel.

With Alice, Nancy, and Bee were right in the thick of things at the party. Though Bee didn’t recognize them, there were plenty of lower-level Hollywood stars gathered around where they sat on a set

of sofas.

Nancy flitted between the laps of men and Bee’s own lap.

Every time she got bored with a prospective catch, she’d return to Bee. Bee would wrap her arms around Nancy’s waist and nuzzle her shoulder with her chin, breathing in the smell of sultry smoke that mixed with Nancy’s fruity shampoo.

How could she have fun and give into her inhibitions at a party without giving into Nancy?

Especially with Nancy practically throwing herself at her. It just wasn’t fair.

Bee always stopped herself before she got too handsy, though. She didn’t want Nancy or anyone else to get too suspicious. Sure, there were other same-sex couples scattered around the Hollywood home.

Men kissed men, and women kissed women, but they were usually tucked away in the corners of the home as Bee maneuvered it.

The straight debauchery, on the other hand, was front and center for everyone’s enjoyment.

Bee never fancied herself as a voyeur, but she couldn’t keep her eyes away from John Hughes as he playfully spanked an acting school girl who had stripped down to her white slip at some point. A crowd formed around them, hooting and cheering.

There was one man Bee noticed over in that corner of the living room who didn’t look pleased to watch the display. Bee immediately recognized him as the owner of the home, Dieter Bravo.

He was famous on the Silver Screen. Devilishly handsome and horribly promiscuous—he was Hollywood’s darling.

He’d thrown this party, though. Why was he so ticked off that it was getting rowdy?

With all this alcohol and all of these women, wasn’t that the goal?

Bee didn’t strike Dieter as the type of man who enjoyed quiet evenings at home with talk radio on in the background and a mug of hot tea to warm his hand. He was whiskey and wine, cigarettes and ash, and women.

Plenty of women. Women at his disposal.

An entire acting school of women inside his living room.

This party fit him perfectly. It was exactly his style.

Then why was he so upset?

In her drunken haze, Bee almost wanted to get up and walk across the room to ask him herself. She pushed herself up from the armchair she sat in, only to be pushed back down by the weight of Nancy.

Nancy sat in her lap, and Bee wrapped her arms around her, pulling her close. She was careful not to spill the drink that Nancy clung in her hand by moving her too much.

“I really don’t like Jimmy,” Nancy whined. “But he keeps talking to me, and he’s so boring. The only thing is, I think he might be able to help me get more auditions. Should I spend more time with him?”

“It’s up to you, Nance,” Bee said. “Do you want to get more auditions?”

Nancy giggled. “Yeah, of course.”

She hiccupped, and Bee rubbed her back between her shoulder blades. Nancy sighed and leaned into Bee’s touch.

“You’re going to be a star, Bee,” Nancy said. “We’ll both be stars. I’m okay with fucking my way to the top if we have to. Anything to make sure that both of us will make it. I’ll do anything.”

Bee’s heart sank. She wasn’t sure she liked hearing those words from Nancy. Well, half of it she was more than fine with. Bee wanted to be a star. She wanted to make it in Hollywood.

Sure, she knew that there was no future where she could proudly kiss Nancy in front of the world, but there were plenty of Hollywood stars who were gay behind the scenes. There were probably a dozen or more of them in Dieter Bravo’s house at this very moment.

Nancy wrestled her way out of Bee’s arms and stood.

“I want another drink,” she said. Nancy reached out and grabbed Bee’s hand. “Come with me, let’s go get another one.”

Nancy hadn’t finished the one she’d been drinking, but Bee agreed—anything to stay near her.

“We’re going to get another drink,” Nancy told Alice.

Alice was bent over at the waist. Her face neared a side table where she snorted up some white powder neatly arranged in a line. Nancy waited for Alice to finish and cleared her throat.

Bee watched on awkwardly and fussed with her skirt. There was a wrinkle where the weight of Nancy had been.

“We’re going to get another drink,” Nancy repeated when Alice sat up straight. Her eyes were wide, her lids fluttered, and she looked dazed.

“Okay,” Alice said with a smile.

“What was that anyway?” Bee asked Nancy as the two of them walked toward the kitchen.

“I’m not sure,” Nancy shrugged. “Alice knows what she’s doing. She’s always at these parties. I think it’s how she stays so skinny.”

Bee gulped. That feeling of envy was back, sitting like a rock on her chest.

“You think so?” she asked. It looked scary.

Drinking was one thing for Bee. She knew she wasn’t really supposed to do it. Drinking wasn’t becoming of a young woman like her, especially not in copious amounts. If she wanted to be a star, no one could ever know about any habits of hers. Even the biggest stars didn’t really let on that they smoked.

Men smoked cigarettes, not women.

Well, some women did. But only if they were really glamorous.

Nancy dragged Bee toward the kitchen by her hand.

Bee’s hand felt sweaty in Nancy’s grasp. They held hands all the time, but the fuzzy feeling of alcohol made the butterflies in her stomach flap their wings like they were feral. Her heart was pounding. Her head was a mess.

“Whiskey or vodka?” Nancy asked as they approached the counter.

“Vodka,” Bee answered.

Nancy grinned. “I don’t know why I even asked. I know you so well.”

You do, Bee wanted to say. You know me better than anyone.

Nancy downed the rest of her existing drink and filled her glass with more whiskey.

Then, tugging Bee by her hand, she guided them through the crowd of people back toward Alice and her group on the couches.

But, of course, their seat had been taken. With this many people, Bee knew better than to have not asked someone to watch it for them, but she’d forgotten.

Now, she and Nancy would have to stand back in the shadows in one of the only places in the living room that wasn’t already occupied by dancing bodies and heads thrown back in laughter.

“This isn’t so bad,” Nancy said once they’d settled into their dark corner. “I needed a break from the men anyway.”

She set her glass of whiskey down on a bookshelf and took Bee’s glass from her as well.

“There,” Nancy said. “Let’s dance.”

Nancy wrapped her arms around Bee’s neck and swayed to the music. Bee could hardly hear the beat or the rhythm over the sounds of people yelling and laughing and telling ridiculous stories, but it didn’t matter.

Her hands found Nancy’s hips, and Nancy melted into her.

“You’re so beautiful,” Nancy said. “I’ve always thought you were so pretty.”

Bee stiffened. Her hands went rigid on Nancy’s waist. Was she just saying that because she was drunk? Did she mean it in a friendly way or in a different way?

Oh, there were too many questions.

She just couldn’t take it anymore. Bee had to know the truth. She just didn’t have the words to ask her.

She wasn’t brave enough to do this.

Bee reached out and grabbed her vodka drink, and slammed it down. Liquid courage burned its way down her throat, bringing stinging tears to her eyes.

Then, Bee kissed Nancy like she’d always wanted to. Her lips fit perfectly against Nancy’s, and her hands moved from Nancy’s waist to find her perfect brown curls.

Her hair was so soft, like nothing she’d ever felt before. When she twisted her fingers in her hair to pull her closer, it felt like grabbing a handful of silk ribbons.

Nancy tasted of whiskey and floral perfume.

Bee wanted her so badly it hurt, and she kissed her like her life depended on it.

There was no time to consider if this changed things between them. They were roommates, but before that, they’d been the closest friends.

This was just alcohol and adrenaline. Not feelings. Right?

Nancy sighed into the kiss, breathing gentle acknowledgment back to her.

So, she wasn’t imagining it. Nancy wasn’t just saying things to her because they were friends.

Bee had won. She’d gotten the girl. She’d done it. She’d been brave enough.

When Nancy pulled back, Bee had the feeling that they were being watched. There were a hundred people packed into the tight space, and the lights were dim, but someone’s gaze bore holes into Bee’s skin.

There was only one person in the crowded room whose eyes were locked on them as Nancy backed Bee against the wall, holding the back of her head.

Just before Nancy kissed her again, Bee locked eyes with Dieter Bravo himself.

“Hey, Nanc,” Alice said just before they kissed for a second time. “I have to use the bathroom. Will you come with me to find it?”

Nancy turned around quickly and addressed her acting class friend as if nothing ever happened between them. Her hands left Bee’s body like they’d never ever been there in the first place, igniting every nerve in her body like electric shock.

Jealousy burned through Bee like liquor.

Alice. So pretty and so sweet and so perfect.

If Nancy was gay, what was stopping her from choosing Alice over her?

She just did, right now. Would Nancy kiss Alice in the bathroom? Would she change her mind?

“Be right back,” Nancy said. Then, Nancy went to find the bathroom with the girl from her acting class, leaving Bee alone in the corner with Nancy’s forgotten glass of whiskey and bruised lips.

She stared off in the direction Nancy left in, willing her to come back, playing the moment their lips touched over and over. It was a moment she’d never forget. There was no way.

“I saw that,” Dieter said, sliding against the wall next to her. His shoulder accidentally bumped against the bookcase, rattling its contents.

Bee gasped and swung around. Not even the sweet numbness of alcohol could stop the fear of having been caught kissing her best friend by none other than Dieter Bravo himself.

“Don’t worry,” he said. His words slid together like his lips had lost their feeling. Bee was familiar with how that felt. “I have one of those too.”

Bee looked at him, really looked at him. He was so tall and handsome as hell.

How could he be in the same situation as her? He was a lady killer. Everyone knew that.

“But,” Bee said stupidly. “You have sex with women.”

Dieter laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Of course I do. I have sex with a lot of women.”

“Oh,” Bee said. “Yeah, of course you do.”

She wasn’t sure how she felt about his admission. It made her feel dizzy and a little bit winded, but she’d also just kissed her best friend. Her wires were all crossed.

“Do you want this?” Bee asked, unsure of what else to say. “I don’t drink whiskey.”

“That’s your friend’s drink,” Dieter pointed out. “You’re really going to give it away?”

“Oh,” Bee said. She felt dumb. She’d just said ‘Oh’ twice in a row. Why did this man make her speechless? “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“So, how long?” Dieter asked.

“How long what?”

“How long have you been in love with your best friend?” Dieter pressed. “It’s been a while for me, too. Probably five years.”

“I’m not sure,” Bee said honestly.

She couldn’t remember when she’d begun to fall for Nancy. There wasn’t a day that it started. There were always days where she looked at Nancy and loved her because who couldn’t love Nancy? When that love had changed to something more, Bee couldn’t say.

“That’s the best kind of love,” Dieter said. “The type where you aren’t sure where it ends and where it begins. You just know that it’s there, and you’ll always have it.”

Bee took a sip of Nancy’s whiskey instead of responding. His words had hit too close to home. Bee sputtered and coughed. Whiskey was awful.

“Don’t do that,” Dieter scolded. He eased the glass out of Bee’s hand, warm fingertips brushing against her skin. “You shouldn’t mix dark liquor and light.”

“How do you know that?” Bee asked.

This was the first time she had heard of such a thing. She’d only known that she liked vodka more than she liked whiskey. Whiskey smelled like shoe polish, but Nancy seemed to have no trouble drinking it. Alice drank it, too.

But both of them were cool. They were the type of women who could get away with smoking cigarettes.

“I’m an alcoholic,” Dieter said nonchalantly, as if he was stating where he was from.

Bee laughed out of shock.

“I’m sorry,” she said immediately. Her eyes widened out of horror at her own loose lips. “I’m drunk.”

“That’s an interesting name,” Dieter said. “I’m Dieter.”

“No, my name isn’t drunk,” Bee said, confused. “My name is Bee.”

“Bee,” Dieter grinned, and it sent Bee’s heart rate soaring. Her pulse pounded in her ears like it only did when she was thinking about Nancy. “I like that name.”

“Oh, Bee,” Alice said suddenly from behind her. She quickly wound herself around Dieter, planting a kiss on his cheek as if she belonged in his arms.

Dieter grabbed onto her, but Bee wasn’t sure if he wanted to be touching her or if he grabbed her because Alice had knocked him off balance.

Her lipstick left red marks on Dieter’s cheekbone.

Dieter handed Nancy’s whiskey glass back to Bee. She held it eagerly, so excited to see Nancy again that she hardly cared about Alice’s posturing.

“I see you’ve met Dieter,” Alice said protectively. “Dieter and I might be starring in a movie together very soon.”

“Maybe,” Dieter said. “We’ll have to see.”

“That’s great,” Bee said. She didn’t care. There was something more important on her mind.

She looked around, but Nancy was nowhere in sight. Had Alice left her in the bathroom? There were so many strange men around. It wasn’t safe for her to be alone.

“Where’s Nancy?” Bee asked, panicked.

“She found a gent on the way back from the toilet,” Alice laughed. “I think they took a detour into one of the guest rooms if you know what I mean.”

Alice winked at her, and it was the last thing that Bee remembered except for the smash of the glass as she dropped Nancy’s drink to the floor.

Chapter 3, Masterlist

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc #old hollywood #1950s au #wildest dreams #agentbrandy

7 notes · View notes

itsbrandy · 8 months

Text

Title: Wildest Dreams

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Original Female Character

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, drug use, alcohol use, partying, mentions of sex, old timey sexism, additional warnings to be added.

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: OFC is bi like Dieter. This story was inspired by, as you can see, the Wildest Dreams music video. I just had to see this story explored with Dieter. There is pov switching. Hope you like it!

Chapter 1 : Let's Get Out of This Town

Bee

“I’d like two slices of cherry pie and a glass of milk, please.”

Bee shook her head and tapped her pen against her notepad. The man sitting in the booth in front of her looked offended that she’d spaced out.

He was the wealthier type—nice clothes, a nice hat, a nice watch. He could be a talent scout. Bee gulped and put on her most dazzling smile. Like any wannabe Hollywood starlet, Bee knew that a nice smile behind red-painted lips went a long way in this town.

“I’m so sorry. Could you please repeat that?” Bee asked.

The man’s expression changed. His dark brows unfurrowed, and his eyes softened. “They working you too hard here?” he asked, setting the menu down.

“Um,” Bee cast a sideways glance at her boss. She could feel Steve’s eyes burning a hole into the side of her face from his perch behind the bar. She’d lingered too long at this table. “No, sir. Not at all. I think it’s just the heat. I really am sorry. What can I get for you?”

“Not used to the heat here in the City of Angels?” he asked.

Bee tapped her pen against her notepad. “No, not yet.”

She hated revealing that she was an out-of-towner, but she was an easy mark. These people could smell new blood like a shark in the water of Venice Beach. “What was it you wanted?” she asked again.

“Well, after seeing that pretty smile, I think I’ve changed my mind,” the man said. He held out a hand with a black business card. “I’m a talent scout. I’m looking for bright, fresh faces like you.”

“Oh, I’m not an actress,” Bee lied. She was, but Bee couldn’t be caught talking to scouts. Not at work, anyway. The grocery store, the parking lot, or anywhere else was fair game, according to Steve, but he would fire any waitress on the spot if they entertained talent scouts on the job. “I’m just a waitress, sir.”

Steve hated the scouts picking off his employees, and if he saw the exchange, the scout risked being kicked out of the restaurant. Bee would be without a job, and God knew she needed this job to pay the bills.

The man gave Bee a knowing look. He saw right through her lie and extended his arm with the business card in hand.

“Well, here’s my card,” the man said with a grin. “My name is Daniel. Give me a call if you change your mind. Try to do it away from your boss, though. He doesn’t look like he wants to lose you. You must be a good waitress.”

Bee quickly tucked the card into the front pocket of her apron. “And your order, sir?” Bee asked impatiently.

Steve had definitely seen, she thought. He must have seen it.

“Two slices of cherry pie and a glass of milk, please,” Daniel repeated his order.

“Two?” Bee inquired. “You meeting with someone?”

“No, miss,” Daniel said. “I just think this might be a good spot to hang around for a little bit.” He winked, and Bee scribbled down his order.

She looked over at the bar again to see if Steve was still watching her. Luckily, he’d moved on to cleaning the bar top and chatting with an older couple who sat there.

“I’ll have your order to you right away,” Bee said before tucking her notepad into her apron and leaving Daniel’s table.

She put the order in for one of the cooks to cut two slices of still-warm cherry pie and snuck around to the bathroom, but someone stopped in her way.

“Where are you going?” Nancy asked.

Nancy stepped around the corner from the kitchen with her hands on her hips, her light brown hair perfectly curled back away from her face. Bee couldn’t stop herself from looking at Nancy’s perfectly red-painted lips. She always perfected the cupid’s bow just right.

Bee still wasn’t sure if she stared out of jealousy or desire, but her roommate was straight as an arrow. They’d been friends since childhood, and Nancy had never given Bee any indication that she was interested in her.

“Bathroom,” Bee said, rolling her eyes. “You’re so nosy.”

“What did he give you?” Nancy asked. “Was that a card? Is he a talent scout? He looks like a talent scout.”

“Shh, Nanc, are you crazy?” Bee asked. “Steve could hear you.”

Nancy giggled and grabbed Bee’s hand.

“Come,” she said and dragged Bee all the way to the small, single-room bathroom. “It’s none of his business.”

Locking the door behind them, Nancy grabbed both of Bee’s hands. They felt warm in her own, and Bee could feel her heart thundering in her chest. What would someone think if they caught the two of them hiding out in a single bathroom? They wouldn’t have enough money to pay their rent if she and Nancy both got fired.

“Show me the card,” Nancy insisted. Her eyes were bright and captivating. “Please, who is he?”

“I don’t know,” Bee said. “I haven’t even looked yet.”

Nancy rolled her eyes and shoved her hand in Bee’s apron pocket.

“Give me that,” she said, pulling the black card out of the pocket. “Oh my! Good heavens, Bee, are you serious?”

“What? What?” Bee asked, trying to snatch the card away from Nancy. “Who is he?”

Nancy showed Bee the card. There wasn’t much information on it, but the card was printed in neat script with gold foiling on every letter.

Daniel Jones

Senior Casting Director

Paramount Pictures

And then, beneath, a phone number.

“Are you going to call him?” Nancy asked. “Bee, you have to call him. This could be your big break!”

“I’m not sure,” Bee said. “I don’t know if I believe that he really works for Paramount.”

Sure, the man looked wealthy. But Bee had been warned more than enough times to count that fake scouts existed to prey on women. Bee had very few acting roles, mainly in a local theatre back home. Her resume wasn’t exactly stacked enough for a Paramount role, no matter how small.

Los Angeles was a dog-eat-dog world, and right now, Bee and Nancy were both very, very small dogs.

“Paramount is huge. It’s the biggest studio right now,” Nancy said. Her blue eyes were wide with excitement. “Even if it’s a scam, it would be worth giving him a call.”

“I don’t know, Nancy,” Bee said. But she couldn’t argue with that reasoning. Even if it was a scam, Bee needed more roles. She needed more exposure if she was ever going to get her big break in Hollywood.

“We’ll fight more about this at home,” Nancy teased. “Don’t want the boss man to get suspicious.”

Nancy washed her hands, and Bee followed her lead. Before she left the bathroom, Bee had the thought to tuck the business card inside the lining of her bra rather than to risk it in her pocket.

“Thanks, Bee, you’re a lifesaver,” Nancy said loudly as they exited the bathroom together.

“Of course, Nancy,” Bee said, resisting the urge to laugh. Nancy was so good with her scheming. Steve wouldn’t dare question “women’s troubles.” He’d rather be caught dead than inquire.

“Thanks, Benny,” Bee said to the cook as she grabbed the scout’s order from the window. Benny gave her a starry-eyed look rather than responding.

Bee delivered both slices of cherry pie and the glass of milk to Daniel, the scout, careful not to make any conversation with him, and returned to her position near the bar to oversee her other tables.

The diner was mostly empty due to it being late on a Monday morning. People were at work, and housewives only brought their children in past lunchtime. Silver Screen Pie and Diner was a slightly upscale type of place, but it still followed all of the general rules of most diners.

Today, she only had the scout and an elderly couple to oversee, while Nancy had a pair of teens cutting class and a solo older man. It’d be a tough day on her wallet for tips, but the meager hourly pay was still worth it.

“Is that a scout?” Steve asked when Bee returned to the bar. He stood with his arms crossed behind the bar and glared at the scout from across the way.

“You know, I’m not sure,” Bee lied sheepishly. She grabbed a rag and started to wipe down the bar, wiping at its surface in circular motions.

“I just wiped it down,” Steve said. “It’s still wet.”

“Oh,” Bee said, stopping her cleaning. “Well, it’s good to be thorough.”

“No wasting time,” Steve said, stepping forward to hover over her. “Why don’t you go ahead and wipe down the kitchen floor?”

Wiping down the kitchen floor was the last thing Bee wanted to do. The kitchen floor was notoriously nasty and took forever to mop. If she washed the kitchen floor, she wouldn’t be able to take tables for at least an hour.

Bee grimaced. “I won’t be able to watch my tables then.”

“I know you were talking to him, and he’s a scout,” Steve grumbled. “You’re lucky I can’t afford to throw out good business on a slow Monday. Otherwise, I would.”

Steve stared her down, and Bee almost cracked under the pressure. But then she thought about how Nancy would react to this shakedown. Nancy was brave. She would continue to lie until she couldn’t anymore.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Bee said, playing dumb. “But Steve, if I can’t watch my tables, I won’t be able to make us more money.”

“Nancy will take them, then,” Steve said coldly. “Go. Do the kitchen floor. Now.”

“I–” Bee opened her mouth to speak, but she knew she was already on thin ice with her boss. She really did need the diner job even though the money was awful.

It was flexible enough for auditions and paid more than most places, but still, she and Nancy were rubbing together pennies by the end of the month. They were just lucky that Los Angeles wasn’t cold. Otherwise, they’d be freezing this winter without money for heat.

Bee tossed the rag back into the bin and headed to the kitchen without another word. As she left, she caught Nancy’s eyes for long enough to mouth “Sorry.” Nancy just shrugged. They shared their money anyway, so it wasn’t like Bee would be losing out on any tips she collected in Bee’s absence.

After just five minutes of mopping, Nancy snuck her way back into the kitchen to join Bee with a mischievous look on her face.

“Bee, he left,” she whispered.

“Huh?” Bee asked, looking up from the dirty swirl of grime on the floor.

“The scout left as soon as I was reassigned to his table,” Nancy said quietly. “It’s almost like he was just here for you. Left his cherry pie untouched and everything. Only one bite taken.”

“Maybe the pie was just terrible,” Bee said miserably. She squeezed the dirty water from the mop out into the bucket, and the water ran dark brown instead of clear.

“Or maybe you were all he needed to see. You have to call him when we get home,” Nancy said. “Promise me?”

Nancy did that thing again where she put her hands right on her hips, all sassy, but Bee wasn’t able to look at her for long.

Steve entered the kitchen from around the corner. His glasses were practically fogged up from how pissed he was. His usually pasty face was blotchy and red, and his mustache quivered with his fury.

“Out! Both of you!” Steve shouted. “I’ve warned you both enough times. No scouts, no Hollywood dreams, no nothing. You can dream about spreading your legs for the camera on your own time but not here. Not in my business.”

“Steve, it wasn’t Bee,” Nancy protested. “I swear, Bee had nothing to do with it.”

“Out!” He yelled again, and Bee dropped the mop out of her hands in fear. The wooden handle banged against the floor with a loud clack, which made her and Nancy both jump.

“I didn’t—” Bee stammered. But it was a lie, and Steve already saw right through their lies.

“What’s happening here?” Benny asked, returning from grabbing more milk from the refrigerator. Benny was sweet. He was innocent and kind. Bee couldn’t stand to watch him get punished for intervening on their behalf.

“I did,” Bee fessed up. “I took the card. I have his number. He was a talent scout.”

Steve smiled dangerously. “I knew it.”

“Benny, I’m going to need you to help me wait tables for the rest of the day,” Steve said.

“We won’t have any more waitresses for a while.”

“Sir, I swear it wasn’t Bee,” Nancy begged. “Please, don’t punish her for what I was doing.”

“I don’t care who did what,” Steve said. “You’re both done. Turn in your uniforms tomorrow. I’ll have your last paycheck in the mail as soon as I can.”

“But Steve, payday is tomorrow,” Nancy said. “We have bills to pay.”

Steve shrugged. “You both knew consulting with talent scouts was a fireable offense. Now get the fuck out of my restaurant.”

Bee looked at Nancy, whose red lips were puckered. Words of protest were held behind them, but she didn’t dare say them. Bee had never seen Nancy so defeated in all the years she’d known her.

They grew up together, went through high school together, and moved out to the big city. Never once did Nancy not stand up for what she believed in. But this was a fight that was unable to be won, and Nancy knew it. Bee knew it, too. She untied her apron and tossed it on the dirty kitchen floor. Then, she grabbed Nancy’s hand and pulled her along as they left the restaurant and walked out into the Los Angeles heat.

####

Dieter

“Dieter, do you have time for a few questions?” A reporter asked as soon as Dieter left the studio. The early afternoon sun had risen to a peak in the sky, causing him to squint. Dieter pulled his sunglasses case from his pocket and retrieved his shades.

No, he thought crankily. I sure don’t.

Appearances were important in Hollywood, though. Dieter couldn’t be seen treating people badly—it was bad for his image. Every minute detail of his contract was handcrafted to catch him in a public slipup.

“Sure,” Dieter said, putting on his sunglasses. He put on an easy smile and turned on the charm. His head was pounding. Early symptoms of withdrawal made his head throb and his mouth taste metallic.

He’d need a hit and fast unless he wanted to start puking. Ladies weren’t a fan of vomit breath. Neither were men, for that matter.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Bravo,” the reporter said. “So, I see you are exiting Paramount Studios. Are you here for a role? Have you been rehearsing?”

“No, I’m not, actually,” Dieter said. “I’m actually here for an audition.”

“Oh wow! Do you think you got it?”

“Not sure,” Dieter said with a wink. “But I do hope so.”

“Can you tell me more about the project?” the interviewer answered.

“Maybe some other time,” Dieter said, hoping to keep things mysterious.

By the time Dieter got home, his head was screaming in pain. He never brought pills with him when he went to the studio. It just wasn’t considered kosher, and Dieter had his strict agent contracts signed that forbade him from getting high in public.

That audition was a drag. Really it was a walk in the park, and his agent had already hinted that the role was in his hands.

The woman they’d cast for the leading lady spot was awful, though. She’d been stiff as a board when he kissed her. Not all the charm and flirtation in the world could have made her work well with him in that scene. If she was the reason he didn’t get the role… well, Paramount Pictures was bound to have a flop on its hands.

His phone rang, loud and annoying, setting off alarm bells in his head. He needed drugs, and now. The phone would have to wait.

He walked past the phone in the kitchen and straight to the living room, where a suede couch sat in front of a table with a wooden box atop it. The box was the key to his happiness. Pills, coke, and all the accoutrements he needed to get a fix all lay in one nice, decorative box.

Dieter sat on the couch and opened a new bottle of pills from his box. He crushed up two underneath a recipe book his stylist had out for show and snorted up the powder, letting out a sigh as the sting replaced the dull ache in his head.

“Shouldn’t have waited so long,” he mumbled to himself as the rush kicked in.

The phone rang again in the kitchen, its tone somehow louder and more insistent.

“I’m coming,” Dieter snarled. He pulled himself up off the couch and marched over to the phone. The receiver felt cool in his hand as he picked it up, and the room started to spin just as he answered.

“Hello,” he slurred into the receiver. “Dieter.”

“Are you hosting a party tonight?” the voice on the other end asked.

“Depends on whose asking,” Dieter said. “I wish my friends had phone manners.”

The person on the other end laughed. “It’s John.”

John. Oh, Dieter loved John. He’d spent days tangled up in the sheets with John and would gladly spend more of them. John always had the prettiest girlfriends, too. He’d bring them around when he wanted Dieter to have a taste of them, too. And they often would—three or more consensual adults in Dieter’s massive bed.

Come on, he slept in two kings pushed together for a reason. How else could you throw a good party?

“I wasn’t going to, but now I might,” Dieter groaned. “I had an audition today with a friend of yours. It has me in the mood for drinking.”

“You’re always in the mood for drinking,” John laughed.

“I mean, it was horrible,” Dieter clarified. “The audition couldn’t have gone worse.”

“Well, I can handle your guest list if you need a hand,” John said. “I’ve got a list of people who came to my birthday party last week. It was a real rager. So many hot women, I think I was hard the entire time.”

If Dieter were sober, he would have caught onto the fact that he’d obviously been left off said guest list. He hadn’t been invited to John’s birthday. But these days, Dieter was too far gone to notice that his friends had slowly but surely been cutting him out.

In fact, he hadn’t seen or heard from John in weeks.

“Mary Alice can’t act worth a damn,” Dieter was still stuck on the audition. “I kissed her for that audition, and she just stood there. No hands in my hair, nothing.”

“Ugh,” John said. “You love hands in your hair.”

“You’re damn right, I do love hands in my hair,” Dieter slurred. “Come over.”

“I will,” John said, a challenge in his voice. “But I’m bringing people. Do you have stuff?”

Dieter looked back at the box on his couch. Not enough stuff that he was willing to share…but he could always get more after today.

“Sure, yeah,” Dieter said. “I’ve got stuff. Bring bottles, though. I’m running low on vodka.”

“We can’t have that,” John teased. “I’ll be there around 9. I’ll bring vodka.”

“And women?” Dieter pouted.

“Yes, women,” John said.

John ended the conversation, and Dieter hung up the phone and made his way back to the couch. He crushed and snorted up another pill and laid back on the couch, waiting for John and the other partygoers to arrive.

He looked up at the clock. It was only 1 o’clock in the afternoon.

Time to kill, Dieter thought.

####

Bee

Bee and Nancy were sweaty by the time they returned to their apartment, high on adrenaline and nerves. They chose to walk, knowing that together, they’d both lost their only sources of income. Even two bus tickets would land them further in the red.

“We’ll need to get ahold of the paper. I have some change saved up to buy tomorrow’s paper,” Bee said when they opened the door.

“Why do we need the paper?” Nancy asked.

“For the Help Wanted ads,” Bee said. “We’ll need new jobs as soon as possible.”

Nancy nodded. Her light eyes looked a little haunted. “I’m not moving back home.”

Bee gulped. Her memories of small-town life were not pleasant. She’d much rather be a small fish in a big pond than a tadpole in a puddle.

“We’re not moving back home. We’re going to make it,” Bee said.

“Good,” Nancy said, walking to her room to change out of her now-useless waitress uniform. “Hey, why tomorrow’s paper?”

“We don’t have today’s,” Bee said. It was 1 o’clock, and she was too tired to make the walk to the store and risk them being out of today’s paper.

“I’ll be right back,” Nancy said.

Nancy knocked on their neighbor’s door and sweetly asked if they could borrow today’s newspaper. She was always more bold than Bee was, more willing to put herself out there. If there was anyone who was a natural for Hollywood, it was Nancy.

Bee felt like she was struggling through every day in this city. She had trouble asking waitresses to remove the onions from her cheeseburgers. She’d rather just pick them off than have to inconvenience them.

“Thank you,” Bee said when Nancy handed her the newspaper.

She grabbed a pen and sat on the couch. Their living room was mostly bare. Their couch was a streetside find that Nancy had convinced a couple of college boys to help them haul back to their apartment. It was threadbare, with a huge hole in the back that Bee had tried to stitch more times than she could count.

Bee went through the newspaper, flipping through its pages and circling through waitressing jobs in the ‘Help Wanted’ section. Some gigs were ones Nancy would be good for, while others would be ones she was better suited for.

Nancy grew up with a big family back home. A job at a daycare or a school might be a great opportunity for more money. The only problem was that those jobs were decidedly less flexible. If Nancy worked at a school, she’d be less likely to pick up the rare auditions she had.

“Go change before you do that,” Nancy insisted. “Come on, I’ll make lunch.”

“I need to make a plan at least,” Bee said. “We’re going to make this work.”

Nancy’s eyes were gentle but sad.

“We have two weeks 'til rent is due, Bee,” Nancy said. “We have time to take a breath.”

Bee wasn’t convinced. She wasn’t alive during the crash of the 20s, but she’d heard enough stories about the financial crisis from her parents that she was traumatized by it. Being a struggling artist was one thing—being homeless in a big city like L.A.? A completely different story.

Bee was supposed to be the responsible one of the two of them. Years ago, when she and Nancy had finally made the decision to get out of their small town and venture out to the West Coast, Nancy’s parents had made Bee promise she would keep her safe. Getting fired from the diner was the exact opposite of keeping their daughter safe.

“I just need to do this, Nanc,” Bee lied. “It’ll make me feel better.”

But it wouldn’t make her feel better. Not really. Bee wouldn’t feel better until they had income. In order to have income, they needed to have new jobs. Ones with stability, ones that they could depend on to keep them safe. Living alone in a large city as two single women was dangerous. Living on the street could have them dead. There were serial killers here, murderers here.

Bee circled another possible fit for Nancy, but she failed to connect the shape all the way around. Nancy’s hand was on her hand, stopping the circle from making a full connection.

“What?” Bee asked. Her heart pounded in her throat, fluttering arrhythmia.

“Call the casting man,” Nancy said.

Bee’s eyes widened. Calling the talent scout was the least of their priorities. She should be calling every diner in Los Angeles, not Daniel from Paramount Pictures.

“I’m serious,” Nancy said. “What do you have to lose now? Before, you were scared that Steve would find out. Well, guess what? Steve did find out. That ship has already sailed. Now, you might as well make a go at it.”

“What if it’s not real?” Bee said. “What if he’s one of those scary men we’ve been warned about.”

There were always rumors in the city about fake casting directors taking advantage of their ability to lure unassuming girls in. Bee was always more wary of them than Nancy was—it was just the nature of their relationship.

Bee was the responsible one, Nancy was the one who took risks. Together, they were an unstoppable pair. They’d made it so far, and that was saying something. Moved into the city on their own, secured an apartment, and secured jobs…at some point.

Nancy gave her a look that was placating. Her light eyes were filled with something Bee couldn’t quite describe. It was almost like she was worried about her because she didn’t really want to take a chance with this phone call.

And why was she so nervous about it? Bee wasn’t really sure, but there was something about the fact that the scout had only noticed her that bothered her. She didn’t like the idea of making it big without Nancy. Their plan was to move to Hollywood and get famous together, not separately.

The scout had his opportunity to give Nancy his card, and he didn’t. He left instead.

“Come on, Bee,” Nancy said, squeezing her hand. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I could die,” Bee joked. “You could die.”

“Dying is inevitable,” Nancy said. “Reaching your dreams? Now, that’s the goal.”

Nancy pulled her up by the hand she held and led her to their telephone on their light yellow kitchen counter. Bee pulled Daniel’s card from her bra and dialed the number with shaky hands. She set it down on the counter, and Nancy looked on eagerly.

“Mention that you have a friend,” she whispered, tapping her fingernails against the countertop.

“He’s going to think we’re harlots,” Bee laughed.

“Well, if it comes up in the conversation, will you think of me?” Nancy asked.

“Of course I will,” Bee said, looking into her eyes. “I’ll always think of you.”

A flush rose to Nancy’s cheeks that Bee couldn’t help but notice. There it was again, that tension that popped up between them from time to time.

Bee resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She’d gone too long without letting a stranger kiss her on a date to the movies and cop a feel in the dark. What was wrong with her? Before she had the chance to answer her own question, the phone started dialing out, and a man answered on the second ring.

“Paramount Pictures, Daniel speaking,” he said.

Bee recognized the voice on the other line. It was the man from the diner this morning, unmistakably.

Nancy smiled at her and nodded at her with encouragement.

“Hi, Daniel,” Bee said nervously. Her words got caught in her throat, and before she could say her own name, Daniel started talking again.

“Hello, who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?” Daniel asked.

“This is Bee,” she said. “I was your waitress this morning at Silver Screen Pie and Breakfast. You gave me your card, so I was just calling to reach out.”

“Ahh, with the beautiful smile,” Daniel said. “I was wondering if you would call me. You seemed so hesitant to take my card. Most girls snatch it out of my hand as soon as it appears. You are an actress, aren’t you?”

Bee laughed. “Yes, I am. My resume is, um…small at the moment. But I am flexible and ready for new roles.”

“Good!” Daniel said excitedly. “Very good. Have you been in front of the camera before or just on the stage?”

“Um,” Bee said. She’d never been in front of the camera. Not for real, at least. She’d auditioned with a screen test once but didn’t get that role.

“Lie,” Nancy whispered, eavesdropping on the conversation. “Say you have.”

“It’s okay if you haven’t,” Daniel bailed her out. “I can tell an expressive face made for the screen when I see one, and you clearly have it. Let me guess, local theatre?”

“Yes,” Bee said. “I’m always willing to learn new things, though.”

“It won’t take much learning for you,” Daniel said. His voice was kind, and something in it made Bee want to trust him despite the many horror stories she’d heard. “Listen, I’m really glad you called this afternoon. I’m kind of in a bit of a bind. We have a role that we are looking into recasting here at Paramount. It’s a big film, a romance with a pretty big male lead. The problem is, our female lead we’d cast? No chemistry. Zero.”

“Oh,” Bee said, uncertain as to how to respond. She didn’t want to bad mouth another actress.

“Anyway, all that’s to say, I have a very big open role. The only requirement is that there’s chemistry. You’re a natural talent, and as long as you’re teachable, you’ll be a star. Does that sound good?” Daniel asked.

“It does,” Bee said excitedly. “I am willing to learn. I’d love to have the opportunity to learn.”

“Great,” Daniel said. “Do you have transportation?”

Bee looked to Nancy for confirmation, asking silently if she could use their savings for a bus pass. Nancy nodded and gave her a look that said, “Of course.”

“I can hear you hesitating. It’s not a problem. The audition is at Paramount Pictures,” Daniel said. “At our main studio here in Hollywood. If you have trouble with transportation, I can send a private taxi to pick you up. What time works for you?”

“Any time,” Bee blurted. “I am available at any time.”

Daniel laughed. “How does tomorrow at 2 p.m. sound?”

“Perfect,” Bee said. “Tomorrow at 2 p.m. is perfect.”

Nancy covered her mouth and squealed into her own hand. She jumped up and down in place and spun around, her curls bouncing as she did.

“What’s your address?” Daniel asked.

“1545 Spring Street,” Bee said. She was a bit embarrassed to give out their address. They didn’t live in the best part of town. “Apartment 3A.”

“I’ll have a car there at 2 p.m.,” Daniel said. “I’ll meet you at the studio, and we’ll have a chat before your audition. I can give you some pointers on what the directors want to see, but I can tell you that out of the girls I have auditioning tomorrow, you’re my top pick. There’s not much you can do to mess this up!”

Bee frowned. “How is that so?”

“Huh?” Daniel asked.

“I just…” Bee trailed off, lost in her thought. She was skeptical. It all sounded too good to be true. The private car, the role that someone else just lost, but she could win with one good audition. Toss in the fact that she was the apparent favorite? Was this some sort of scam?

“I only mean that you have the right look,” Daniel said. “That’s all. You still have to show them that you can act and interact with our leading man.”

“Right,” Bee said. “Okay, I understand.”

She was still wary, but Daniel’s explanation checked out. Women weren’t well-respected in Hollywood. As long as you had the right look and got noticed, you could go far. Bee had seen enough movies with subpar performances from pretty faces to confirm just as much.

“Tomorrow at 2 p.m.,” Daniel confirmed.

“Yes,” Bee agreed. “Thank you so much. I look forward to it.”

“Not as much as I do,” Daniel said. “Have a great rest of your day, Bee.”

“The same to you,” Bee said. And then she hung up the phone.

Nancy rushed into her arms the second she set the receiver down, wedging her way against Bee’s chest.

“You did it!” Nancy squealed against her neck. “I’m so proud of you!”

“It’s all because you encouraged me,” Bee said. She pulled back from the hug and smiled at her. Their faces were so close, and something in the back of Bee’s mind told her she should tread carefully. “Can I go back to circling jobs?”

“Heavens, no!” Nancy said. “You should go take a well-deserved nap. I will circle the jobs.”

Bee couldn’t argue with that. Though, she was a little unsure if she’d be able to sleep after all the excitement of the day. She was exhausted, and taking a quick nap sounded like just the mental break she needed.

She woke to a knock on her door, and the sun was already well on its way below the horizon. Nancy stood at her door, half-dressed and one eye beautifully painted, with a makeup brush clutched in her hand like a knife. She had hot rollers in her hair, and the smell of fresh perfume assaulted Bee’s senses.

“Do you remember that girl who I took that acting class with?” Nancy asked. “Alice.”

“Yeah,” Bee said sleepily. “Did she call?”

“Yes,” Nancy said, bouncing on her heels. “She got invited to a party and said they want more girls. You know, the best formula for a good party is way more girls than guys.”

“Uh huh,” Bee said. She rubbed at her eyes and blinked. “Are you going to go with her?”

“Yes, and so are you,” Nancy said, deadly serious. “It’s at Dieter Bravo’s house. We have to go.”

Chapter 2, Masterlist

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x oc #dieter bravo x ofc #old hollywood #1950s au #wildest dreams #dieter bravo fanfiction

7 notes · View notes

itsbrandy · 5 months

Text

Wildest Dreams Chapter 4

Wildest Dreams

Chapter 4: He's So Bad

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Original Female Character

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, drug use, smoking, old timey sexism, swearing,

Word Count: 4.9k

Dieter

“It’s intimidating. Very intimidating,” Bee had said.

Dieter tried to hold her gaze, but he felt like he’d lost her. She was off somewhere else, puzzling away what had just happened in that audition room. Staff were shouting all around them, directing people to be silent on sets while others were loudly rehearsing. Techs wheeled massive carts of equipment past on squeaky wheels, yet Bee stood solid in front of him.

He thought, for a moment, that she’d been a dream. Something willowy and wispy that if he reached out and tried to grab her, she’d simply turn to ash.

Dieter had been far from sober the night before, his mind toiling and troublesome.

Fucking John.

He’d gotten him so headfucked that it was a miracle Dieter had made it out of bed this morning. In fact, when he’d awoken, it was John in his bed, tangled up with some wannabe Hollywood starlet in the sheets. There was not a scrap of comforter on top of Dieter’s body.

“Well, congratulations,” Dieter said with a grin, shoving away the memory. “I look forward to working with you.”

Bee nodded.

“The pleasure is all mine,” she said earnestly. “Have you ever done a movie in Africa? I’ve heard it’s very hot.”

“Never,” Dieter said. “It will be a real treat.”

Bee and her friend looked at one another and smiled.

Nancy, the brunette, placed a gentle hand on the exposed skin of Bee’s forearm in a move that made Dieter’s heart start pounding.

How unfair.

He knew that touch better than anyone, how John would make a subtle play, just a caress that would look otherwise normal but held so much more meaning.

God, his heart ached.

“Anyway,” Dieter interjected, trying once again to right his brain. “You two ladies are both very talented. Where did you say you studied again?”

Bee gave an answer, but Dieter wasn’t really listening. He was caught up on the way her lips moved, the way the gloss that sat atop them caught in the light, the way the noise in the background lulled to a sudden stop.

His pills had kicked in.

Finally. It was about fucking time.

“Gotta run—sorry,” Dieter said, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “Sorry, we’ll chat later, I’m sure. Congrats on the roles, girls. You earned them! Great work!”

As he rushed away from them, another tech cart loaded with equipment whizzed by impossibly fast, careening down the hall. Well-–it hadn’t been fast; it was just that Dieter hadn’t noticed it. The cart collided with his body, clipping his shoulder painfully. The force of the collision sent Dieter all the way to the ground, and a painful cry wrenched from his mouth.

A series of hushes rung out from a nearby set that had been rolling.

Fuck.

“Are you alright?” Bee asked. She hovered over him, and all Dieter saw was dark eyes and dark hair falling down around her. She looked like a painting, and he wanted to reach out and smudge her face away.

Bee was too pretty. Distractingly pretty.

She was almost pretty enough to make Dieter forget about John.

About his face and his laugh and his strong frame. Dieter even loved his wrongs to go with his rights—his lies, his drugs, his drinking, his sleeping around. That’s how Dieter knew he had it bad. That and the fact that even when he got high, he couldn’t stop thinking about how badly it hurt that John didn’t really want him.

“I’m fine,” Dieter lied, propping himself up on his hands. “I can’t believe that tech. Can you believe that tech?” He turned his ire to the tech in question. “Can you fucking learn to watch where you’re going? I have a flight to Africa in a matter of days to film this studio’s next big movie. Can you imagine what would happen if you’d put me in a hospital? You would be personally responsible for the failure of this movie studio. Personally responsible. You.”

“I’m so sorry, sir,” the tech apologized.

He was young, just a kid, really, and he looked like he wanted to spill the truth—that it was Dieter who hadn’t been paying attention, not him. If he hadn’t been high, Dieter might have felt bad for lying, but he didn’t.

“Who is your supervisor? No, better yet, get to where you’re needed. I won’t have you wasting any more of this studio’s time. First, you’ve injured a star. Next, you’ll have been late and set a production schedule back,” Dieter sucked on his teeth. “Get out of here, kid.”

“Yes, sir,” the tech said, not needing to be told twice.

When Dieter turned his attention back to Bee and Nancy, Bee was collecting stray cigarettes from the ground on her hands and knees.

They must have gone flying when the collision happened. She tucked them all neatly into his box and handed it to him.

“Here,” Bee said. “Your cigarettes.”

“Thank you,” Dieter said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“And you didn’t have to scare that poor kid,” Bee pointed out.

“Bee,” Nancy hissed, shocked that her friend had been so bold to call Dieter out on his lies.

Bee looked at Nancy with wide eyes and shrugged.

But Dieter liked that Bee had confronted him. He knew he was fucked up and that he did fucked up things. There needed to be more people like Bee in this world, people who weren’t afraid to stand up to the things they found wrong.

Bee stood and brushed her skirt with her hands, smoothing it down and removing any specks of grime or dust that it had caught while she was on the ground.

Dieter followed her lead and peeled himself from the floor, cigarettes in hand and a head full of dizzying thoughts. It was time to go before he really said something idiotic and ruined everything. This was his costar now, after all. He’d have to spend weeks and weeks with her while they camped in the African savannah filming a romance movie.

“Right, well,” Dieter said, removing a cigarette from the box and tucking it between his lips. “I’d best be off. I’ll see you at rehearsals, Bee. Nice to meet you, Nancy.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Nancy said, reaching her hand out.

Dieter didn’t take it. He was too busy lighting his cigarette to notice.

“See you,” Bee called out after him.

For a moment, Dieter thought to say something back to her, but then another fleeting thought swept in to replace it, and the urge was gone. He walked down the hallway, inhaling smoke deep into his lungs. # Bee “You’re going to be great,” Nancy said as she brushed a comb through Bee’s hair.

“You’ve already gotten the role, remember? And there’s no way they can replace you or fire you this late. They need to get your papers together to send you to Africa, Bee. Freaking Africa. I’m so excited for you. You have no idea.”

Nancy had ribbons and hair spray set out to do Bee’s hair special for her first day of rehearsal. She’d also made Bee breakfast and had it sitting out ready for her to enjoy before Bee even rolled out of bed. It was these things, these acts of affection, that really made Bee wonder if there was something here that made her and Nancy more than friends.

Well, that and the kiss they’d shared at Dieter Bravo’s house. They hadn’t exactly debriefed that one, had they?

“Thank you, Nancy,” Bee said. “I know, I’m just nervous. You know how I get.”

“Miserable?” Nancy asked. “Annoying?”

Bee laughed. Yeah, that was a fair assessment. She got mopey when she was anxious and felt like the world was going to crumble down around her.

“Well, at least you don’t get three sheets to the wind at all times like Dieter Bravo,” Bee could see how Nancy shook her head with judgment in the mirror. “What a sorry soul. I can’t believe you got down and grabbed his cigarettes for him like that. And how could he lie to that poor boy’s face? He had to know what really happened.”

Bee frowned as Nancy ran the comb through her hair again.

“Hurt people hurt people, isn’t that what they say?” Bee asked. “He’s got problems, obviously. There’s something that he’s running from.”

“I suppose,” Nancy said, but it didn’t sound like she totally agreed. She likely thought he was just another drug fiend in Hollywood. “I still think he should be held accountable for his actions.”

“Well, of course,” Bee said. “I’m just saying I understand, is all. He’s obviously going through something.”

Nancy set the comb down and moved to grab a ribbon.

“That or he’s let the fame go to his head. I’ve seen it happen to far too many girls in Hollywood. They get one big role, and then they blow up their entire lives. Too much alcohol, too many drugs, too many random men, and before you know it, they’re pregnant and never see the flash of a camera ever again. That’s what happened to Betty from school.”

“I thought she had to go back to Iowa,” Bee mused.

“Why do you think she had to go?” Nancy’s voice rose up a notch to prove her point. “You can’t raise a baby in Hollywood with no job and no man.”

Nancy changed her mind and grabbed the comb again, smoothing out a section of hair at the back of Bee’s head.

Then, she stopped, putting a hand on her hip and pointing at the mirror with the comb to prove her point.

“And I heard that now, she’s just an addict in Iowa. Her momma is raising that baby, and she’s still addicted to all that fancy stuff she tried while she was out here in Los Angeles. Except, they don’t make it nice and clean like they do here. The drugs there are dirty, and they make you dirty, too. I bet she’s lost all her teeth by now.”

Bee made a face. She thought it was ugly when Nancy talked like this—she knew part of it was out of warning. Nancy really didn’t want Bee to cozy up to Dieter Bravo. She’d said as much the night before when they arrived back home from the studio. But part of this rhetoric and this speech was one of Nancy’s deeper flaws.

Nancy was competitive at heart, even though Bee thought she had no reason to be.

Nancy had everything. She was white, stunning, fit, trim, pretty, talented, smart. Every positive adjective in the dictionary fits Nancy to a perfect point.

But at her core, Nancy was jealous, and she loved to compare herself to other women.

Perhaps the best thing of all to Nancy was when another woman who was “just as good as her” fell from grace.

That was perhaps Nancy’s favorite thing, and Bee hated it.

The phone rang in the kitchen, and Nancy dropped the comb. “Oh shit, that’s Alice.”

Bee looked on hopelessly as Nancy darted from the room to answer the phone.

“Alice,” Bee said numbly. That was a reminder that she didn’t need. In the excitement of landing her first big role and meeting Dieter Bravo for the second time, and learning all her lines overnight, she’d forgotten that her new nemesis was coming to Africa with them.

Bee was left alone to finish getting ready in order to make it to rehearsal on time. As she finished putting ribbons in her hair and pinning it up just how she liked it, she tried her best to hum to herself to block out the endless giggling from the phone in the kitchen.

At least Alice was coming with her to Africa. Bee had to spin this fact in her head to make it less miserable. She wasn’t leaving Nancy behind with Alice unattended. Instead, she was stuck with her.

****

The town car that picked her up was just as nice as the one on the way to the audition had been, but this time, Bee sat alone in the backseat. Nancy hadn’t even gotten off the phone long enough to give her a proper goodbye before Bee left for the studio.

Bee was annoyed. How did Alice have the time to chat on the phone all morning? Didn’t she have to rehearse, too?

They were leaving in a matter of days. Bee held her documents close to her chest. She needed to turn them in to the directors so they could properly arrange her ticket to Africa. More specifically, they were traveling to South Africa, which was under British rule.

As Bee walked into the studio, she found that it was just as chaotic as it had been the day before despite the early hour. Filming was already going on, and shouts of “Quiet on set!” lit up Bee’s ears.

There was a woman at the front door who paraded Bee back to where they would be rehearsing for the movie–simply titled The Africa Project at the moment. It was top secret, something that the press wouldn’t be notified of until it was deemed allowed by marketing.

"The movie was to be a sort of experiment", the woman explained. The studio hadn’t yet caught up with others in the area of destination filming, and they were still weighing the cost of filming in a foreign country with the benefits of an immersive experience.

Bee listened in careful wonder. She couldn’t believe that she’d been chosen for such a groundbreaking endeavor.

If this project were successful, her name would never be forgotten. She’d be known throughout the history of film. When one day, the silver screen would be replaced by something bigger and brighter, people would remember those who came at the forefront, just like people already revered the silent film stars of the past and the stars of the stage.

The Roberts brothers were busy bickering in their chairs in front of the rehearsal stage, but Bee rolled her shoulders back and approached them with ease.

She injected confidence into her personality, just as she’d been taught in her acting classes.

“Good morning, sirs,” Bee said. She held out her packet of documents. “I was told to hand in these documents today for my ticket.”

The oldest two didn’t even look at her. They were too engrossed in their conversation.

The youngest brother, however, grabbed her folder from her and tossed it on the ground, where it fell with a loud smack.

“Thanks,” he said. “Now, places. We’re just waiting on Dieter.”

Bee felt like she’d been slapped. She blinked a few times, recovering from the harshness of the man’s tone.

“Yes, sir,” Bee said.

Bee wasn��t quite sure where places was supposed to be, as the directors hadn’t yet said which scene or part of the film they were to be rehearsing, but she walked up to the stage anyway and stood with her back straight at center stage.

She waited, hands folded in front of her, and she made sure to wiggle her knees every once in a while to avoid passing out.

She’d learned the hard way in church when she was young that locked knees would send you to the ground in a hurry.

Of course, they were waiting on Dieter. Despite her frustration that she was being left waiting even though she’d been perfectly on time, she couldn’t help but worry for him. When he’d left her behind at the studio the day before, he hadn’t been himself.

Or maybe he had been himself, and that was the issue.

A group of techs brought a table and two chairs onto the stage and didn’t say anything to Bee that let her know to get out of the way, instead shoving her aside with their bodies as if she didn’t even exist.

Bee would be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t flustered.

What the hell was the matter with this studio? She’d acted before, had decent roles before, and never before had she been treated like this. Sure, she’d been overlooked before, had men talk badly about her body before, but she’d never been selected for a role and been treated like she was invisible by the staff that was below her.

Bee looked to the directors, hoping they would say something, but they didn’t. They were still embroiled in their argument, so entrenched that Bee found that she was curious enough to listen in.

“I’m telling you,” the youngest brother said. “He’s unreliable. How can we take him to Africa when he’s practically a drug fiend?”

“He likes to party,” the oldest said. “That’s all. When it comes to work, Dieter is very reliable. I’ve worked with him many times, and I’ve had no issues on set. What actor of his fame and stature doesn’t party in their time off?”

“Time off?” the middle brother chimed in. “How many times now has he shown up like this? I think this is hardly a hobby he partakes in during his ‘time off.’”

“Fine,” the youngest brother said. “I mean, we’re not in a position to find a replacement, but if you’re really worried, let’s use today as a test. I’m confident that he will show up today completely sober. It’s a rehearsal day, a work day. Yesterday didn’t count. We weren’t rehearsing anything, we weren’t filming anything. It was totally off the books.”

The other two brothers exchanged a look that was all doubt.

Bee had to be honest with herself. She’d heard the rumors; she’d seen Dieter under the influence first-hand, not once but twice now. She didn’t know him well, but even she wasn’t entirely certain that she’d wager him showing up to rehearsal sober.

“Sure,” the oldest brother said. “And if he doesn’t, then we discuss replacing him.”

The middle brother agreed with a nod. “We can’t take him to Africa if he doesn’t get his act together. South Africa is under British colonial rule, but the politics there are dicey. If he gets in trouble with drugs in Africa, it will serve as a disaster for the studio. We can’t have that.”

“Agreed,” the youngest brother said.

It was as they were shaking on their agreement that Dieter Bravo himself rounded the corner. Bee didn’t mean to, but she stiffened, fixing her posture and accidentally locking her knees.

“Hello!” Dieter said, announcing his presence. He was all loud, all energetic, so unlike he’d been the day before at the audition. When he’d been hungover, he’d seemed so down, so depressed.

Dieter walked past the directors, almost as if he knew what they’d been speaking about before he entered the rehearsal space. He made straight for the stage, walking right up to Bee.

He gave her a goofy smile. “Good to see you again, Bee.”

“Good to see you too, Dieter,” Bee said. She started to feel dizzy, started feeling like she was going to fall backwards, and she suddenly thought to unlock her knees and shake out the stiffness.

“Locked knees?” Dieter asked.

“Yes,” Bee admitted sheepishly.

“You’ll get used to it,” Dieter offered, and Bee flushed bright red.

He thought she was too novice to know better than to lock her knees. It was rudimentary, something that all stage and film actors knew better than to do, and she’d done it right in front of him on her first day.

Dieter still had a goofy look on his face, something so uncharacteristic that it gave Bee pause and made her forget about how embarrassed she’d just been.

Is he high? Bee thought. She didn’t know him well enough to be able to tell, but he was just acting so odd that she couldn’t help but wonder.

She didn’t dare ask him or let onto her thoughts. The conversation between the directors was fresh in her mind, and she couldn’t risk the future of the movie based on an assumption.

“Which scene are we doing first?” Dieter asked. He tapped his temple with his finger. “I’ve got all of my lines memorized. I can start anywhere, anytime. Preferably a kissing scene.”

The directors laughed from their seats below the stage, and Bee laughed along for fear of sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Act One, the confrontation at the table in the safari tent,” the youngest Roberts brother said. “We want Dieter in the chair he’s closest to now and Bee in the chair opposite. But Bee, if you’ll remember, you don’t take a seat until halfway through this scene.”

Bee nodded her affirmation, and Dieter heaved a sigh.

The way Dieter took his seat shook the stage beneath Bee’s feet. He didn’t quite sit as much as he threw his full body weight into the chair.

“Oops!” Dieter said with a slight giggle that had Bee narrowing her eyes at him.

How could he not be high? Dieter’s character was a deadly serious explorer, not a silly man in the slightest. So, he wasn’t in character for himself or the role he was meant to play.

The Roberts brothers weren’t paying attention, though. Instead, they leafed through the script, looking for the correct place where they wanted Bee and Dieter to start.

Bee remembered this scene. It was a confrontation between her character and Dieter’s, where she would demand to be able to remain on the expedition. Dieter’s character wanted her gone. He thought that having a woman on the scientific exploration of the savannah was a liability, but really, he was just too in love with her to trust himself to separate work and play.

She started to run through the lines in her head, summoning up the rage that her character would feel at that moment. How dare he cast her off just because she was a woman. She’d worked so hard to study the African animals. She’d been hired to take notes for him, and she was damn good at it.

Hell, she was already here, sweating and uncomfortable in the African sun. How could he send her home now?

“Alright, we’re ready,” the youngest Roberts brother said, giving them a thumbs up.

Bee pulled herself out of her head and looked to Dieter to make sure he was also ready to start the scene. It was his line that went first in this scene.

But when Bee looked at Dieter, she noticed that there was something wrong with him.

Gone was the goofy look on his face he’d given her before. Now, he looked tired. His eyes were unfocused, zoned out on the table as if he found the wood grain very interesting.

“Dieter,” Bee said.

She was about to ask him if he was alright, but then Dieter was shaking, and his bottom lip was quivering. He kept biting at it as if causing pain to himself would make it stop.

“Uhh,” Dieter droned. He started to list out of his chair, drooping toward the floor.

“Hey,” Bee said, gripping his forearms with her hands. “Hey, are you okay? Dieter, are you with me?”

“Yeah,” Dieter mumbled. His eyes were closing and opening, lids fluttering. “Don’t…feel…good.”

“I know,” Bee said. She looked over to the Roberts brothers. They were distracted again, caught up in their own world.

Bee had to get him out of here somehow, some way that would get him help without forfeiting the movie. This wasn’t fair. Dieter was a hard worker. He’d shown up to work—he just had a problem.

“I have to go to the ladies’ room really quickly,” Bee said loud enough for the Roberts brothers to hear. “Dieter volunteered to show me the way while you finish your discussion.”

“Sure,” was the answer she received. So, she pulled Dieter up from the chair and forced him forward, hoping that he would cling to consciousness long enough for her to get him out of view.

“Come on, stay awake,” she said to him as they walked. “They can’t see you like this.”

Dieter got it together quickly once she told him that. He was still shaking slightly, still biting his lip, but he walked much straighter.

“What do you need? What will help you sober up?” she hissed under her breath. They were just out of earshot of the Roberts brothers.

They stood in a dark enclave in between two rehearsal spaces. If they stayed quiet, the many people who walked past wouldn’t cast them a second glance. People were too busy to pay them any mind.

“Cigarette,” Dieter mumbled.

“Lean against the wall,” she instructed, and Dieter obliged.

Bee summoned up some courage and shoved her hands into Dieter’s front pockets in search of his cigarettes and lighter. She pulled a cigarette from the pack and placed it to her lips, striking the lighter as she inhaled to light it. Then, she took a drag, simply because she deserved it, before passing the cigarette over to Dieter.

He puffed greedily, relishing in the nicotine. Bee didn’t know much about mixing substances, but she could see how adding an upper after a downer would help him feel better.

“We have to get through at least one scene,” Bee coached him. “The Roberts brothers don’t want to see you high anymore at rehearsals or filming. I heard them talk about firing you if they see you this way. Do you understand?”

Dieter exhaled a huff of smoke and nodded. “What do we do after one scene?”

“I’m going to say I have a ladies’ issue, and then I’m going to escort you home. I need to make sure you get there safely. Understood?”

“You don’t need to do that,” Dieter protested, but he wasn’t one to talk. He was still leaning his full weight against the wall while he was quickly smoking his cigarette.

“Oh, but I do,” Bee said. “And if they try to fire me because I’m asking to leave early, you have to stand up for me. Do you understand?”

“You’re asking an inebriated man to understand quite a bit,” Dieter said.

“Beggars can’t be choosers. You don’t have many choices here.” Dieter heaved a sigh and tossed the remains of his cigarette on the ground, stamping it under his boot. Bee tried her best to reserve judgment about the littering and the fire risk of throwing still-lit cigarettes on the ground indoors.

“Another, please,” he said, reaching out for the box of cigarettes in her hand.

Bee obliged him, lighting another cigarette for him and passing it over.

“Be quick. We need to get back,” she snapped.

She hadn’t meant to sound so mean, but she was getting anxious. Was she really going to cover for him at the risk of her own career? Yes, she was, but only because she was afraid of what it would mean for the whole movie if they fired Dieter. At least with her taking the fall, there was still a chance that production could go on. It was a risk but a calculated one.

As long as Dieter held up his end of the deal and covered for her properly, she shouldn’t have anything to worry about.

“Wouldn’t it be more believable that you were having a ladies’ problem if you took long in the bathroom?” Dieter raised an eyebrow. “I think that would go along with our story well.”

He had a point.

“Fine,” Bee conceded.

“Good,” Dieter said gruffly. “Fuck, I’m going to need to sleep this one off.”

“What did you even take, Dieter?”

Dieter pursed his lips. “You know, I’m not really sure. It was something new and then I think I did a line or two before I headed out the door. Could’ve been more in-between that I don’t remember.”

Bee frowned. “That sounds dangerous.”

Dieter shrugged and took another drag. He pushed himself off from the wall, more steady now on his own feet.

Bee didn’t fully buy that smoking cigarettes was the cure for his condition, but if it worked long enough for them to get through one scene, that was all she could ask for.

****

“You’re awake,” Bee said with surprise.

She’d checked on Dieter every hour for the past three hours in a row, walking into his bedroom and turning the light on to make sure he was still breathing. He was tucked gently under the covers, hardly moving as he slept off his bender.

This time, though, when she walked into Dieter’s room, he was stirring, starting to sit up in bed, looking thoroughly confused. His dark brown eyes looked tired, and his brow was furrowed.

Bee reached out to touch him but then jerked her hand back, letting it fall. She didn’t want to startle him. It was bad enough that he likely didn’t remember getting home, let alone waking up to a stranger in his house.

He’d made it through their scene but not for much longer after that. Bee had arranged a town car quickly, and he’d passed out as soon as the two of them climbed into the backseat.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” she asked. “I took you home after rehearsal, remember?”

“I’m alive,” Dieter mused. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands near the front. “Fuck, I have a headache. Do you have any whiskey?”

Bee choked back a laugh. “No, I don’t. And you need something else that starts with a ‘w.’”

“What’s that?” Dieter frowned.

“Water,” Bee insisted, furnishing a glass from the bedside table. “Drink up.”

Dieter looked at the glass of water like he hoped it was vodka instead.

“Fine,” he said. Then he looked up at her with something unreadable in his dark eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Bee said. “When you finish that, we need to talk.”

Chapter 5 Masterlist

#dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo #dieter and bee universe #agentbrandy #1950s au #old hollywood #wildest dreams

2 notes · View notes