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sp00kymulderr · 2 months

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lost, found

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x gn!reader

Warnings: homophobia, unsupportive family, bad family relationships, drug use, alcohol use, implied poly relationship, sex mentions, angst angst angst. There is an ezra in this, whether he is our ezra or not is up to you. writer projecting their emotions on to their favourite character.

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: When Dieter is hurt by the words of someone else, he turns to his art to help him. What he really needs is you.

A/N: As part of the follower celebration, @ozarkthedog asked for the prompt "I need a hug" and @schnarfer asked for "I don't want to be alone". Then I had some big bad emotions this weekend and decided to use them to write a fic which is very personal to me. Unedited and I wrote this in an hour so forgive me for mistakes.

The garage turned art studio on the side of Dieters house is something like a sanctuary to him.

A place for Dieter, and Dieter only – lucky individuals might be invited in from time to time but if there was one place on this earth that was home to him, the studio was it.

You've been in there once or twice. Those times he has wanted to paint you, brush to canvas as he muses on the art of your body. Other times he’s called you in with a proud smile to show you a finished piece. Those time are some of your favourite; unlike his acting work, Dieter was often proud to look on the art he had created in a particularly inspired period. You were proud of him too.

There had been that time too when he’d found you and Faye and Ezra all in bed together, not an unusual happening at the house, and he had demanded you all drag your naked asses down to the studio so he could watch you fuck while he painted the scene.

Dieter was different in the studio, it seemed to change him. Like stepping through a hazy veil to become another person; one who could shuck off their mask and let emotion take them completely. He would transport himself away from the duties of a public life in the times, finding a solitary world to call his own in that small space of other.

There have been times he would stay in there for days. Painting, drinking, getting high, not sleeping only to emerge three days later red eyed and covered in paint, ready to collapse in to bed with you and whoever else he’d find along the way. You never minded when he’d pull you in to bed so he could finally fall asleep, all too happy to hold him until he drifted away to a much needed slumber.

Dieter hadn't planned to paint today. Not that you know of. The two of you were supposed to be attending a movie premiere in a few hours. Your outfit was laid out on the bed waiting for you, but he’s been in the studio for three hours already and you’re starting to think you’ll be staying in tonight. You could go with Ezra, you suppose, though he always said how he hated going to those events without Dieter.

So did you. Hollywood events are so tedious, Dieter whispering lewd stories about other attendees and groping you under the table always made them better. No, you’d stay home and enjoy a quiet evening instead.

Besides, something in you was telling you to worry about Dieter. He’d taken a phone call out in the garden this morning and had been agitated ever since. Checking his phone with every ping, fiddling more than usual, quiet even when you’d straddled him to kiss him good morning and massaged his scalp just the way he liked. He’d even scowled at the gummy edibles you’d brought home yesterday, though he still took some for himself before mumbling something as he headed off to the studio.

It wasn’t like him to be quite so dour with you of all people.

Hours pass by. The stylist is cancelled, the car too. You hang your nice outfit back in the wardrobe with a quiet sigh, you’ll wear it next time. You entertain yourself with some tv and a good meal. Leftovers in the fridge for him, he’ll be hungry whenever he eventually comes back out.

You should resent him for this a little, but you don’t depend on each other like that. You both enjoy time alone, in fact with him you need it.

So perhaps he needs it right now.

Dieter is aware that everything is going fuzzy at the edges. His head thrums in a half pleasant, half sickening way. The air in here is thick and sticky around him as his brush drags burnt umber up the canvas. He’s not even sure what the painting is going to be. He knows he doesn’t like it.

Paint covered fingers scratch at his chin, smearing some new colour there. Doesn’t matter. It doesn’t fucking matter, he thinks.

For all the syrupy drip in his mind, he can still hear the ping of his phone. All the way upstairs and covered by his pillow but he can’t stop hearing it. His body tenses up with each pernicious, imagined burst of noise. His hand smacks the side of his head, makes him even more dizzy for a promising passing moment.

“Fuck” Dieter sighs, stepping back from the canvas and grabbing the bottle of bourbon.

A long swig. He can feel it all warm sloshing down him inside. Mixed with the other shit in his system, it swaddles him in a thick blanket of warmth that muffles some of the noise in his head. He can’t hear her as loud for now, at the very least. He doesn’t want to hear her ever again.

There’s a stash of pills behind the paintbrushes. He takes one more, chases it down with the bourbon and unsteadily shuffles himself back to the canvas again – contemplating with increasingly bleary eyes.

For a short moment they focus in on the painting before him, and he lets out a pained groan before stumbling backwards.

It’s a memory from his childhood; the view of his home town from the roof above the window of his parents house.

You give Dieter a few more hours and it’s well in to the night. He has yet to emerge, and you’re struggling to sleep in the too-big bed on your own tonight. It’s not often you’re completely alone here, even if it’s not Dieter there is another friend or visitor to share it with.

Tonight the loneliness is seeping in to your bones, the cold of it permeating from the studio downstairs.

You know there’s an unspoken promise to leave him be when he’s in his sanctuary, but you can’t help the feeling in your gut. You need to check on him, so you make your way back downstairs and towards the door where there seems to be silence on the other side.

“Dieter? Baby?” You whisper, knocking quietly once and then again when there is no answer. Taking a breath, you open the door and enter.

Your heart falls when you see him.

He’s sat on the cold concrete floor, nothing but his grey shorts on. Cuddling his knees to his chest, muttering under his breath. You can tell from the way he talks that he’s taken a lot, drank a lot.

“Hey, Dee?” You murmur, moving in to the room and standing a few steps from him.

He takes a moment to react, then looks over at you with unfocused eyes. He doesn’t answer you, just nods and turns back to the painting.

“I’ll...I’ll leave you alone. Just thought I should check-” Your cut off by his quiet voice.

“I don’t want to be alone”

You hear pain. Fear. Doubt. It tears your soul in two. You’re by his side immediately, sinking to the floor. His face is wet with tears, you realise when you see him up close. It breaks your heart to see him like this.

He’s looking at the painting again. He doesn’t seem proud, not at all. He doesn’t seem happy about it. But he can’t seem to stop looking at it, so you look too. It’s beautiful like most of his work, but it’s bleak, all dark colours and shadows and heartfelt emotion laced in to the brush strokes. Your breath hitches when you recognise the view.

“You’re thinking about home?” You ask softly, placing a gentle hand on his forearm.

The sombre mood after the phone call this morning is starting to make more sense. You slide your hand down to lace your fingers with his. Home, family, it’s complicated for Dieter. He barely talks about it, but he’s told you enough that you know that.

He nods again, silent to your questioning. He looks almost out of it. A lump forms in your throat at the knowledge that he’s in pain, painting not working to quell the sadness in him like it usually does. This isn’t a haven for him right now, it’s the opposite.

He’s easy to move, pliant as you get to your feet and haul him up. He doesn’t need to be in here, not now. You pull Dieter out of the studio and over to the couch to sit him down a cover him in the softest blanket you have. He just leans back and closes his eyes, but holds on to your hand with a squeeze for a moment before you head to the kitchen.

You give him food, water, gently wipe some of the less dried-on paint from him.

“Dee...please. What happened?” You whisper to him, trying to keep every motion tender and quiet towards him while he’s in this state.

Dieter lets out a long breath and pulls the blanket more securely over himself. He feels pathetic, but you don’t seem to care that he is.

“My aunt…” He finally says, voice a little clearer but barely.

“She called you today, right?”

“I told my cousin I’d try and come home for his birthday. She must’ve found out, told me not to bother-” Dieter nods, the words still a little slurred, breaking mid sentence, “Said they’d seen those photos of me and Ezra at the gala the other week”

You nod and stroke his hair as he talks, try to soothe him. You know which photos he means, paparazzi shots of the two of them kissing outside the venue. They hadn’t been trying to hide it; Dieter never usually gave a shit what anyone thought of his relationships. But his family...they still had their way of making him feel small and wrong.

“She said they were all praying for me, still hoping to get me back to normal one day. S-said I embarrassed mom and dad again” Dieter stuttered over the last words, a tear slipping from his eyes.

“I don’t even fucking care. I don’t. It’s just. Just...I need a hug...” He finally let himself break.

“Baby...come here” You’re quickly pulling him to you, wrapping yourself around him under the blanket. His head rests on your chest and you rub your hands up and down his back. It’s heartbreaking to see how even now, a fully grown man with his own life and his own world, they can make him feel like this.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, yeah? You’re perfect, Dieter Bravo. You’re free and you’re here and they’re missing out on knowing just how fucking amazing you are all because they can’t see past something as little as who you like to kiss” You whisper loving assurances in to his messy hair, kissing the top of his head occasionally.

He lets out a tiny sob muffled against you, some mumbled words you can’t quite make out.

“Fuck them. You’ve got me, you’ve got a family here…you know that, don’t you?”

Dieter sniffles and raises his head very slightly to look up at you. He looks so tired. Your shirt has paint on it now. You don’t care, you only care that he knows.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know” He answers quietly, clinging on to you still as his eyes droop with physical and emotional exhaustion. He snuggles back in to you and lets his breathing slow, mumbling a few more words

“You’re right, I’ve got all the family I need…you’re my family”

#Dieter Bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedrostories #sp00ky follower celebration #x reader #it's not good but it was cathartic to write kinda

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